And so it ends. After two years of travel I am back in Badchester at last. I arrived this morning by ox-cart, taking the old road from the Greenwood. I must admit I am glad to be home. It’s the smells that got me, the frying spices of the food stands, the roses that grow along Wommot’s Parade, the sweat of a million bodies all packed together into this great city. And now, the musty armchairs and cigar smoke of the faculty club. I sit here alone, thinking back on my adventures.

What you have read is merely a rough draft, dear reader, the hastiest of sketches. As I mentioned in my introduction, this book is a beginning, the seed of a much longer work. With any luck, I won’t have to write it alone. I have an entirely shameless fantasy, which I will reveal here ¹—I fantasize that this book will inspire a generation of scholars to take up the torch and begin research trips of their own. I fantasize about graduate students heading from Badchester to the four corners of the world to continue the work that I have begun here. I dream of PhDs on Thok’taglas, and monographs on Satyr-Human sexual politics in Morningtown. I that the BDSM community will begin making pilgrimages to Snarfulk Warhub to experience the pleasures of being an Ork’s lover-adversary, and of therapists traveling to Balflowesh Tent City to learn the art of erotic massage from the Phantomon. Most of all, I dream that more xeno scholars and xenophiles will visit Badchester, so that we might learn from them and teach them about Human erotic culture.

As I mentioned in my introduction, this book is “a coming out, a work of pornography, a travelogue, an ethnography, a diary and a call to arms.” I hope that you, dear reader, have been aroused by my adventures. I hope that you have recognized within yourselves the seed of xenophilia, and I hope that you will let that seed flower and bear fruit.

I leave you with my final illustration.

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Sex for the Leaflings of the Greenwood has nothing to do with reproduction. Leaflings procreate asexually, by taking cuttings of themselves and letting them grow inside special greenhouse-like structures until maturity. Instead, Leaflings use their sexual organs to nourish one another. In order to understand the role that sex plays in Leafling culture, it is necessary to understand something of Leafling anatomy and physiology.

Female Leaflings have green, chlorophyll-rich skin and are capable of photosynthesis. This process produces a sugary sap that courses through their veins like Human blood, but they lack roots and so cannot obtain essential nutrients from the soil. Male Leaflings are equipped with roots, which suck up the nutrient-rich groundwater that lies beneath the forest floor, but their brown, bark-like skin is not capable of photosynthesis and so they cannot produce sap. Sex overcomes both of these deficiencies. The male Leafling’s ejaculate is full of nutrients, which the female absorbs into her body through the walls of her vagina; conversely, the sap that flows from the female’s vagina during arousal is absorbed into the male’s penis.

Pleasure is just as much a part of sex for Leaflings as for Humans, but sex is also a necessity of life. In many ways sex for Leaflings is akin to eating. Without regular sex a Leafling of either gender would wither away and die.

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Homosexuality does exist in Leafling culture, but most Leaflings would agree that even the most ardent homosexual must, by necessity, have regular heterosexual sex in order to stay alive. Theresa Quicksap is trying to change this view. She is a lesbian who abjures sex with men. She essentially obtains her nutrients through artificial insemination. Her lover, Agatha Mayblossom, makes love to male Leaflings and then shares their nourishing sexual fluids with Theresa using her hands or mouth.

“Agatha has three times as much sex as most Leaflings,” Theresa explained to me. “She has to have sex with a man to nourish herself, then with another man to obtain nourishment for me, then she has to pass those nutrients to me through sex.”

“Does she mind all that extra work?” I asked, naively.

“Work?” Theresa laughed. “It’s sex! You haven’t met Agatha. She wouldn’t have it any other way!”

Male Leaflings are immobile, because of their deep roots, which creates an interesting sexual power dynamic. Sexual relationships between Leaflings are complicated physical and emotional affairs. When lovers split up, both partners must find other lovers quickly; their lives literally depend on it. This is often more difficult for men, as they must wait for females to come to them.

“We would never let a man die,” Theresa told me. “If a woman hears about a man who hasn’t had sex in a while she’ll go and make sure he’s well nourished. There are a few guys around whom no one likes, but no one’s going to let them die. Even I’ve done it occasionally.”

Theresa agreed to make love to me without hesitation. Strangely enough, despite the wildly different evolutionary purpose, sex with Theresa was very similar to sex with a Human woman. The most striking difference was the taste of her vaginal fluids. The clear, sweet sap that flowed from her vagina was indescribably delicious.

When referring to the anatomy of Centaurs it is tempting to fall back on old-fashioned, anthropocentric terminology and describe them as “composite beings,” who possess a “Human part” and “horse part.” Of course, a Centaur is no more “part human” than a Human is “part Centaur” (and mutatis mutandis for a horse).

Be that as it may, Centaurs refer to themselves as composite beings ¹, and the distinction between their “two parts” is deeply entrenched in their culture, especially their erotic culture. This does not diminish the anthropocentrism of the terminology—it is merely evidence of the extent of Human hegemony over Centaur society—but it does necessitate tortuous circumlocutions if we are to describe Centaur anatomy in politically correct terms. I want this book to be readable and widely accessible, and so I will reluctantly use the old, outdated terminology throughout this chapter, with the understanding that it is used provisionally until a more a progressive vocabulary comes into being.

Every Centaur has two complete sets of genitalia—a humanoid set and an equine set. Each are found more-or-less where you would expect, with the human set located right at the point of transition into the horse body. The human genitals are often left out of classical depictions of Centaurs, and even some modern textbooks are bowdlerized in this manner. In such depictions the human waist transitions directly into the horse’s breast. In actuality, the Human part extends down between the horse’s shoulders, and the point of transition is roughly analogous to the human perineal region ².

Centaurs have four different sexes. A “stallion” has a male human part and a male horse part; a “mare” has a female human part and a female horse part; a “gelding” has a male human part and a female horse part; and a “ridgling” has a female human part, and a male horse part.

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Horatio Hmenem, my main subject for this chapter, is a young gelding. He ³ therefore possesses a human penis and an equine vagina. Curiously, it is considered taboo for the human genitals and horse genitals of two Centaurs to come into sexual contact. This is a kind of intraspecies bestiality taboo, and reinforces the idea of the Centaur as a human-animal composite.

Although Centaurs derive pleasure from both sexual systems, as a general rule the horse genitals are used for reproduction, while the human genitals (which are not associated with the Centaur reproductive system) are used for erotic relationships. A typical heterosexual gelding will therefore procreate with stallions, form erotic relationships with mares, and do either (or both) with ridglings.

There is a small and highly controversial group within Centaur society who argue that the sexual boundaries imposed on the Centaur body are a product of Human culture and are not an authentic representation of Centaur sexuality. Horatio is a prominent historian and influential member of this group. He has found evidence that the intraspecies bestiality taboo did not exist before Humans came to the Plains of Ji. He describes the movement as an effort to “decolonize” Centaur sexuality, and considers the taboo a form of oppression. According to Horatio, the idea that you can engage in bestiality with another member of your own species is simply incoherent.

Horatio’s primary lover is a mare named Braya Highmane. “During sex I stroke both of her vulvae, I lick both of her clitorises, I use my penis to penetrate both of her vaginas. Why should this be obscene? We are both Centaurs. We are both adults. Why should their be parts of our bodies that are off-limits to one another?”

Interestingly, Braya does not stimulate Horatio’s vagina during sex, as both she and Horatio identify as heterosexual. I asked if this ever causes him frustration, as his vagina is beyond the reach of his own humanoid hands. He explained that he and Braya have another occasional lover—a stallion named Kulor Brashash—who attends to him in this manner: “He penetrates my vagina with both of his penises. Each has its own size and shape, each is wonderful in its own way.”

Horatio and Braya allowed me to watch them making love. It was a tremendous privilege, and was very beautiful to watch. I must admit, however, that witnessing this “decolonized sex” triggered my own hang-ups about bestiality. Horatio’s upper body and penis appeared so human, and Braya’s rear appeared so equine. I had to remind myself that Centaurs are neither humans nor horses—they are unique beings in their own right—and gradually I began to shake off my cultural prejudices and view them as nothing but two beautiful, sentient creatures exploring the full range of erotic possibilities offered by their anatomy.

Ork sexuality can seem brutal and horrific from the perspective of a Human unused to the pleasures of sadomasochism. Pain, humiliation, domination and submission are all fundamental to Ork erotic culture. For many readers this will no doubt reinforce negative stereotypes of a cruel and barbaric society, but in order to truly understand Ork sexuality we must put such prejudices aside and attempt to understand Ork sex acts for what they are: deeply pleasurable and profoundly erotic experiences.

I first witnessed Ork sex in a drinking tent in Snarfulk Warhub, a large Ork settlement on Helth Steppe. I was invited to the tent by Hagak Kazklab, a professional brawler in the Snarfulk Combat League. Brawling is a traditional style of unarmed combat that is a crowd favourite among aficionados of the sport, and Hagak is a minor celebrity for her hyper-aggressive style. I was put in touch with her by my old colleague Primrose Crick—the foremost Human expert on Ork culture and language.

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Hagak was somewhat shy during our initial meeting and seemed reluctant to talk about her sex life. I did not press her, and we spoke, instead, of the various forms of combat in which Orks take such pleasure. It was only later that I realized that Hagak was flirting with me during this first encounter. For Orks, the thrill of combat and the thrill of arousal are identical.

At around midnight I heard a commotion coming from over by the entrance to the tent. I looked up to see a gang of large, burly Orks making their way towards the bar, knocking over tables and shoving other patrons out of their way as they went. There were five of them, all male, and they were bigger than anyone else in the place by a clear foot.

Hagak nudged me and gave me a wink: “My lovers approach,” she whispered. “Stay out of the way.”

The largest of the gang pointed a clawed finger at Hagak and shouted something in Hrukuk that I did not understand ¹. Hagak stood up from her stool and glared around her, her arms raised in fighting stance. She screamed back at the five newcomers and spat one the floor. The patrons at the nearby tables quickly backed away, fear and excitement in their eyes.

There then began the most spectacular and impressive fight I have ever witnessed. The five Orks set upon Hagak at once, using grappling techniques to try to pin her. Hagak fought back with her fists and bare feet, striking out viciously at her assailants, drawing blood almost immediately. At first, Hagak’s attacks looked desperate. She seemed to fight like a wild animal, lashing out with rage and fear, but the longer I watched the clearer it became that her fighting was absolutely disciplined and precise. Each move was calculated to keep her attacker’s at bay while leaving them no openings. There was a strange and unfamiliar beauty to it. The fight must have been brief, but from my perspective it seemed to last an age. I do not remember being frightened—although I suppose I must have been—I just remember a sense of fascination. I have never been a fan of combat sports, but there was such a ferocious intensity to Hagak’s movements that I found it impossible to look away. The world around me seemed to fade, and all that mattered was this all-consuming moment of violent struggle.

Hagak succumbed to the five giant Orks. She never stood a chance, but when they had finally grappled her to the ground and pinned her there they had more than their share of bruises and bloody noses. Hagak struggled beneath them, foaming at the mouth. Her assailants tore off her loincloth and armour plates, stripping her naked on the muddy floor of the drinking tent, in front of a crowd of chanting onlookers, and then they had her, one after another, while she shouted and spat in their faces.

They left her shuddering and panting on the ground, covered in mud, sweat and bodily fluids. I looked stared down at her, wide-eyed and mute. Then she opened her eyes and smiled up at me, a look of unmistakable satisfaction on her face. “Delicious,” she whispered.

After that Hagak was ebullient. She pulled on her clothes carelessly, not bothering to fully cover her mud-smeared breasts, and ordered a round of drinks. We stayed at the bar for hours and she gushed about the experience, describing it with giddy excitement and referring to her lovers with tender affection. She explained the meaning of the word “Mshiktar,” which translates as “lover-adversary.” She explained that Orks experience the adrenaline rush of fighting as urgent sexual need, and that sex and combat are always inextricably linked.

I asked if she had consented to what had happened, and she told me that she had not only consented, but had arranged the whole thing. “I asked Braggjk to bring four others tonight,” she explained. “It is essential that the struggle be real. I would have easily overpowered a single lover-adversary, which would have ruined everything.” She grinned, proudly. “Professional fighters who wish to have submissive sex require a lot of friends, you see?”

She told me that all Orks are what we would call “switches ²” , who enjoy both domination and submission. “We are a warrior culture,” she explained. “There is as much glory is defeat as in victory. It is the gut-wrenching intensity of the catharsis that counts, not winning or losing. Either way, the tensions of the battle are gloriously resolved.”

I must admit that I was nervous about making my proposition. I spent a good half-hour gathering my courage. I knew if I didn’t at least suggest it I would regret it later, so I finally took a deep breath and said: “Hagak, will you be my lover-adversary?”

She smiled at me, baring her fangs, and then she was upon me. I might as well have put up no resistance at all. She slammed me to the ground, knocking the wind from my lungs. As I gasped for breath she wrapped the clawed fingers of her right hand around my wrists and held pinned my arms to the ground above my head. She pushed her knees my thighs, forcing my legs apart and with her free hand she tore my clothes from my body. Within a matter of seconds I was naked and completely at her mercy. I tried to squirm out from under her, but it was futile. I was utterly powerless beneath her. Hagak is not much heavier than I am, but she might as well have weighed a thousand tonnes.

As other patrons gathered to watch the commotion Hagak began to grind her hips against mine, rubbing the soft, supple leather of her loin cloth against my vulva. Even though I had asked her to do it, even though I knew she would not hurt me, I felt an overpowering helplessness that edged into fear.

I do not pretend that I experienced anything like what Hagak had experienced earlier that evening, but the surge of adrenaline I felt made my heart pound and my breathing became fast, shallow and ragged. As I lay there in the mud, totally under Hagak’s control, I got a taste of how fear, submission and arousal can blend into one another. The physical sensations of my fear and helplessness were identical with those of my arousal.

Shuthuth the Elder is an ancient Treewoman of the Greatstump Clan, a renowned mathematician and my primary subject for this chapter.

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Although the Treefolk of the Greenwood are essentially immobile, and never touch one another directly, they lead rich sex lives, particularly during the spring, or, as it is known in the Greenwood, the Flowering. Shuthuth explained to me that each flower is an exquisite and delicate sex organ in its own right, and to flower is to open oneself utterly to the Greenwood and to all other Treefolk. “Think of it as walking naked through a city,” Shuthuth told me, “and accepting each and every sexual advance made towards you, without hesitation or shyness. It is a beautiful and liberating experience.”

When the flowers open, bees, butterflies, hummingbirds, and other animals are attracted to their pollen-rich centers. Stimulation of the stamens and pistils at the center of the flowers is immensely pleasurable for a Treewoman. “Bumblebees are my favourite,” Shuthuth told me. “Such a fuzzy, delicate touch.” The pollen is then taken away, and transmitted into the flowers of other Treefolk.

For Shuthuth, at least, the anonymity of this sexual interaction is an important element of the eroticism: “I love not knowing where my pollen might end up. Maybe it will fertilize an ancient gnarled Treeman or a supple young sapling. We all share pollen around here. It’s all a little incestuous, I know, but that’s the Greenwood for you.”

Pixies often lick pollen and drink the nectar from the flowers of Treefolk, and I asked Shuthuth if she considered this a form of xenophilia. “Of course, my dear,” she replied. “All living things are sexually entangled, especially here in the Greenwood. Without xenophilia, we Treefolk would not be able to have sex at all.”

With Shuthuth’s permission, I took my clothes off and climbed up into her branches. I had expected her bark to be rough, but I found it beautifully smooth against my skin. There is a deep and primal playfulness in climbing a tree, and I found myself giddy and laughing as I straddled her limbs and hung upside down by my legs. I rubbed Shuthuth’s pollen onto my finger, my breasts, my cheeks and then I ran naked through the Greenwood to find another Treewoman with whom to share it.

Gloriana Mustardseed, my primary subject for this chapter, is a hunter by profession, but Pixies do not hunt for meat—they hunt for eros. The tips of Pixie arrows are smeared with a potent aphrodisiac, derived from the sap of the sugermilk tree. A Human whose flesh is pierced by such an arrow will feel no more than a sharp prick (the sensation is similar to that of a bee sting) but will almost immediately begin to experience a powerful and urgent arousal, and will seek satisfaction in whatever manner is most convenient to him or her. The erotic culture of the Greenwood Pixies is based on voyeurism and mischief, and there is no greater joy for Pixies than to watch other creatures making love, especially when there is something illicit or scandalous about the sex. The Cupid myth, variations of which are found in many different cultures and historical periods, is clearly based on Pixies.

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Gloriana told me that the ideal prey for a Pixie hunter is a couple who normally hate each other, but who are unable to resist each other under the influence of the Pixie tincture. It is a rare occurrence to find such a couple, as the hunter must rely on trickery and luck to lure a pair of enemies into the Greenwood at the same time. Gloriana explained that it is the contrast of emotional states that is so delicious to Pixies, the sudden and startling transition from pure hatred to pure lust.

Gloriana made love to me without hesitation or embarrassment. There is no taboo on xenophilia in Pixie culture, and Pixies often take Human lovers. The size-difference between me and Gloriana made for a strange and wonderful experience. Her touch was exquisitely delicate, and she made delightful use of her wings, fluttering them against my nipples and vulva during foreplay. She worked my clitoris between her hands, as if it were a ball of dough she were kneading. The sensation this produced was utterly unlike that of a finger. It felt simultaneously more precise and more full-bodied. She used her entire body to penetrate me, climbing into my mouth and emerging moist and glistening with saliva, then wriggling into my vagina as if it were sleeping bag. It was a bizarre but extremely pleasurable experience, feeling her inching her way inside me until only her feet were poking out beyond my labia. She massaged my G-spot with her arms and breasts until I ran with the juices of my desire. She nuzzled against my cervix and licked its opening. She writhed about inside me, and remained inside me as I came. I worried that the rapid contractions of my orgasm would crush her, but she emerged laughing happy, covered from head to toe in my fluids.

I asked Gloriana if she ever used her arrows to arouse xenophilic lust in other creatures, and she told me the story of her greatest triumph as a hunter. During the great Dwarf-Ork War of the Third Cycle, a Dwarven warrior escaped into the Greenwood after her company was routed from the battlefield. In the depths of the wood she came upon a pool, where one of her Ork foes was bathing and nursing her wounds. Gloriana saw this and pricked them both with her aphrodisiac-laced arrows. The Dwarf and the Ork were unable to resist one another, and the most vicious hatred turned into the most passionate love-making that Gloriana had ever seen.

The Satyrs of Mossbottom Forest are unique within this study. They are the only group for whom xenophilia is a ubiquitous and celebrated part of their culture. All Satyrs are male, without exception, and although homosexual play is common, Satyrs consider their primary sexual partners to be females of other species, including Human women.

In nearby Morningtown, the Satyrs are considered barbaric, animalistic and dangerous by mainstream society. The townsfolk warn their daughters that any woman who ventures into Mossbottom Forest runs the risk of falling victim to the depredations of these lascivious man-beasts. However, both the Morningtown Constabulary and Badchester College have studied the matter extensively, and have found that when sex has occurred between Humans and Satyrs it has always been consensual.

It is entirely true that Satyrs are wanton, bawdy, priapistic, lust-filled creatures, who engage in sex with a frequency and enthusiasm that may intimidate some Humans, but they are also a peaceful, non-violent people for whom enthusiastic consent is an absolutely obligatory prerequisite to sex.

It soon became clear to me that the horror stories told about Satyrs by the elders of Morningtown are intended to discourage Human women from seeking out Satyr sexual partners, but the matrons of the town tell these stories with half-smiles and knowing winks.

Morningtown is a conservative and highly religious community, in which sex before marriage is condemned and the children of unwed couples are sent away to Badchester orphanage. For young Morningtown women, therefore, the Mossbottom Satyrs are perfect partners for sexual experimentation: they are not members of the community, so there is little chance of discovery; there is no chance of rejection, as no Satyr has ever been known to turn down an offer of sex; there is no chance of accidental pregnancy, as Satyrs and Humans cannot interbreed; and—perhaps most importantly—they are passionate, muscular, virile lovers with large phalluses that never become flaccid.

My informants in Morningtown told me that having sex with a Satyr is something of a coming-of-age ritual for women of the town. They reckoned that the majority of Morningtown women lose their virginity to Satyrs. One woman, who wished to remain nameless, told me that she and a group of her friends began going into Mossbottom at the age of eighteen. They would meet in a secret clearing on Friday nights, stash their clothes in the bole of a hollow tree, and walk naked into the forest in search of Satyr lovers. The friends continued this tradition right up until their marriages. My informant spoke of Satyr-Human sex with nostalgia and great fondness, but when I asked her if she would ever consider taking a Satyr lover now, she said: “That’s a young woman’s game. I don’t know if I would have the energy for it any more, but it was such fun in my earlier years.”

Naturally, after hearing these stories, I knew I had to give it a try, so I hiked into Mossbottom Forest a little way and stripped naked. They say that Satyrs can smell the scent of an aroused woman from a mile away, so I masturbated as I walked into the wood, smearing juices onto my flesh like perfume.

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It wasn’t long before I heard someone crashing through the branches towards me. It was Tom Billyman, my primary subject for this chapter. He let out a cry of delight when he saw me and extemporized an ode to my beauty on the spot. I laughed and told him I had heard that Satyrs were great lover, and I had come to the Forest to find out myself. He said he would be only too happy to demonstrate, and pulled off his codpiece to reveal the most astonishing and beautiful erection I have ever seen.

He had me up against a beech tree, my back pressed against its smooth, grey bark. The sex was vigorous, energetic and delightful. I held him by the horns as he thrust into me, my legs wrapped around his waist. The fur of his thighs felt soft and luxurious as they slapped against my buttocks.

Tom told me that he has had thousands of Human lovers. He confirmed that most of them were young, unmarried women, who came into the woods in search of a one-off sexual encounter. Some of his Human lovers are older, however, and have been coming to him for years. There is even a married couple who visit regularly. While Tom makes love to the wife, her husband watches and masturbates.

Satyrs are liminal beings who straddle our conceptual boundary between Human and animal. There is no bestiality taboo within Satyr culture. Satyrs can speak to animals and consider all living things to be sentient, including trees and flowers. They do not distinguish between animals and xenosapient creatures. They often take wild goats, deer, bears and other forest dwellers as sexual partners. Tom told me that Human women are his favourite, but some of his friends prefer other, more bestial lovers.

When I explained the background of this book to Tom, he was confused by the very concept. For Satyrs, species distinctions are utterly irrelevant to sexuality. To him, I might as well be studying sexual relations between people with different eye colours.

Orthodox religious movements consider all xenos to be morally and spiritually inferior to Humans, but Satyrs have long received special condemnation from religious institutions. The scriptures depict them as irredeemably evil and many religious sects have even based their devil mythology on the image of the Satyr (albeit, devils are usually depicted without the Satyrs’ prominent erections, for modesty’s sake). I believe these xenophobic attitudes are a response to the way Satyrs view species distinctions. Satyr culture rides rough-shod over the category boundaries that separate species from one another, thus exposing such boundaries as arbitrary cultural constructions. The church is much more comfortable dealing with people who simply claim that they are superior to Humans, such as Orks. Such an attitude reaffirms the religion’s established hierarchy, it merely quibbles over the details. The attitude of the Satyrs, however, questions the very premise of any such argument. This is a much greater threat to religious authority.

I must admit, their attitude towards xenophilia is extremely appealing to me, and it is tempting to hold Satyr culture up as a model towards which Human culture should aspire, but such idealization is also dangerous if it ignores the very real differences between the two cultures. For example, the line between animals and xenosapient peoples is an important one in Human culture; the fact that such a line does not exist in Satyr culture does not change that. Unlike a Satyr, a Human is incapable of obtaining meaningful consent from an animal, and so what is permissible for a Satyr may be impermissible for a Human. I nevertheless believe we have much to learn from Satyrs, and a study of their culture will reveal much about our own prejudices and assumptions. More in-depth research is certainly needed.

Nimbustown is located high in the Longspine Mountains. It is a remarkable city that juts from a sheer cliff face, a series of ledges and narrow platforms on which the Zephyra make their nests. Below one’s feet lies a dizzying drop into the Blustercloud Valley. It is not a city designed for flightless creatures—no stairs or bridges connect one ledge to another—and so Mortimer and I were each assigned a pair of Zephyra chauffeurs who carried us about on specially-designed chairs that they bore upon their shoulders.

Zephyras are a proud and dignified people. Their economy is based on herding and harvesting clouds. The peoples of Helth Steppe and the Greenwood contract Zephyra cloudherders to shepherd rainclouds down out of the Longspine Mountains to water their lands. Without these cloudherders, the lands to the east of the Longspines would be as dry and drought-stricken as the Pablik Desert, and the Greenwood would be far less rich and verdant than it is today.

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Lalash Wishling is one such Cloudherder, and my primary subject for this chapter. She seemed overjoyed to meet me and help me in my research. She was excited and nervous during our conversations, as if she had been waiting all her life to discuss sex, but had never had the opportunity. She explained that sex is an extremely private affair in Zephyra culture, and that social attitudes are conservative in the extreme. Despite the fact that the ledges of Nimbustown are without walls, and the nests in which the Zephyra sleep are exposed to view, nudity and sex are absolutely forbidden in the city.

In traditional Zephyra culture, sex is only engaged in for purposes of reproduction, and it is considered immoral to take pleasure in the act. Zephyra couples fly into the depths of a storm cloud to have sex. The interior of these clouds is so dark that the lovers cannot even see one another. Most Zephyra have therefore never seen another naked Zephyra.

For Lalash and her friends, however, nudity has become a form of glorious and erotic rebellion. She is the founder of a group of young Zephyra, known as the Sky Dancers, who engage in illicit, naked flight.

“Sky Dancing is a rejection of the puritanical attitudes of our culture,” she explained to me, in the quiet lilt of Whispertongue. “We gather in secret, on a natural ledge, high up in the mountains. We undress, and then we fly through the air together, leaving our clothes behind, soaring naked through the sky. There is something indescribably erotic about being utterly exposed up there, with nothing but the wind and sun and clouds against our flesh. We feel free in a way that seems impossible in our daily lives.”

Lalash’s description of Sky Dancing reminded me of the giddy thrill I got from skinny dipping for the first time as a teenager, or streaking through the men’s dormitories back in my student days, but for Lalash, Sky Dancing is something more than that. It is a form of political defiance, a far more transgressive act than skinny dipping or streaking were for me.

Although it is not technically illegal (the Zephyra do not have an explicit code of laws) Sky Dancing is a risky enterprise. Anyone caught engaging in this sort of behavior would be shunned by mainstream Zephyra society. Lalash is the only member of the group who has publicly outed herself as a Sky Dancer. She is an outspoken evangelist for the group, and publicly encourages others to try it out. As a result, she is a social pariah and has a difficult life.

“It’s worth it,” she told me. “Sometimes it’s frustrating. Sometimes I think it would have been better to keep it all secret, but then I go flying with my friends, naked and grinning, and I know it’s all worth it. Many of them never would have joined if I hadn’t gone public. Anyone who wants to join knows they can come to me. I believe every Zephyra has this urge within them, even if it’s buried very deep, and the only way we’re going to let that out is by being honest about our desires.”

Sky Dancer membership is steadily growing, and Lalash believes that in time more members will come out of the closet, and when that happens mainstream acceptance will begin to grow.

Although Sky Dancing is a deeply erotic activity, sex does not come into it. Lalash, in fact, is a virgin. After a flight she sometimes retires to the interior of a cloud to release the thrilling arousal in masturbation, but this is always a solitary pursuit.

On my final night in Nimbustown, Lalash brought me to the secret ledge and we stripped naked together. I wrapped my arms around her neck, my legs around her waist, and she held me close to her beautiful, blue body. Then she launched into the air, beating her powerful wings, carrying me with her. Thus burdened, she did not have anything like the stamina, speed or agility that the Zephyra usually possess, but for this researcher the experience was absolutely thrilling nonetheless. We soared above mountaintops, into the cool wetness of clouds, down into gorges and up again, riding warm currents of rising air. Lalash’s body was warm and soft again mine. Maybe it was the working of her stomach muscles against my crotch, or maybe it was the sheer exhilaration of the experience, but in mid-flight, a thousand feet above the Longspine Mountains, I achieved a sudden and startling orgasm that made my whole body shake with pleasure.

Trade between Badchester and the Phantomon communities has been booming since the Rantington expedition, and we hitched a ride with a merchant caravan on its way to Balflowesh Tent City, a major Phantomon commercial hub. A team of fifty desert foxes pulled our covered wagon across the dunes of Pablik and for weeks we saw no signs of civilization, just sand as far as the eye could see in every direction. After experiencing the lifeless immensity of the desert, I found myself in awe of Shara for her perseverance and faith. The existence of habitable land beyond the Pablik was mere speculation before her famous journey last autumn. I believe I would have given up after only a few days under that punishing sun if I had not known what awaited me on the other side.

The desert ends abruptly, at the Ostrun River, one of three rivers that feed the Great Plains of Mak. The savannah seemed a lush Eden after our weeks in the desert. It is a flat, verdant landscape, blanketed with bushes and fruit trees. An intoxicating fragrance of fruit and flowers fills the air and the tall grasses seem to caress you as you walk through them. After the dry heat of the desert the air feels moist and heavy, a physical presence. I had a strong urge to throw off my clothes and run naked through the grass, letting the air envelope my dry, sunburned skin in its damp embrace.

The merchant couple who were our hosts explained that the Phantomon are a nomadic people and that Balflowesh Tent City moves from place to place with the seasons, but that Phantomon scouts would soon hear us and bring us to the city’s current location. Sure enough, by that evening a pair of Phantomon scouts approached us, welcomed us warmly and told us to follow them to the city.

Phantomons do not speak Common, and few Humans speak any Monueese, so we spoke in a rough Pekkish, the language of the Perrigog hills. I had never seen a Phantomon before in real life and I couldn’t stop myself from staring. I was fascinated by their elephant-like heads and legs. In particular, I found their sinuous trunks to be very beautiful.

Phantomons are a very large people, standing well over seven feet tall, but they move with a grace and delicacy that is difficult to describe. They have excellent hearing and the soles of their feet are very sensitive to vibration. The scouts explained that they were aware of our presence in their lands as soon as we crossed the Ostrun.

Balflowesh Tent City is a truly wondrous metropolis, a nearly overwhelming maelstrom of colour, scent and sound. I have neither the space nor the skill to describe the city’s many wonders here. I refer my readers to Dr. Rantington’s splendid account of her time among the Phantomon: The Peaceful Empire: First Contact with the Phantomon. For the purposes of this book I will focus on just one of the Phantomons’ cultural institutions: the massage tent.

The tradition of massage among the Phantomon is a very ancient one. It is believed that massage mimics the original act of creation, in which the elephant god Jerook took a lump of clay in his hands and formed it into the first primordial Phantomon. It is believed that massage is necessary, not just for good health, but to sustain life itself. It is a rejuvenating ritual, an infusion of that original creative energy that Jerook poured into the clay. The Phantomon believe that without regular massage, they will whither away and die. Sometimes friends will massage one another—this is particularly common among university students who don’t have a lot of money to spare—but the majority of Phantomons go to professional masseurs or masseuses. The massage tents are some of the largest and most opulent in Balflowesh Tent City and every neighbourhood has at least one.

Phantomon massage always begins and ends with orgasm, but the Phantomon use different words to describe these two orgasms, and there is a conceptual separation between them. The initial orgasm is meant to empty the client of energy and to put him or her into a passive, receptive state for the massage. My interviewees described this orgasm in terms of catharsis, relaxation, shedding of tension, letting go, and unwinding. They told me it was a fairly serious, even somber, experience. The second orgasm, on the other hand, is meant to fill the client back up with energy and strength. My interviewees described this second orgasm as joyful, celebratory, invigorating, passionate and somewhat funny. They reacted with incredulity when I told them that we do not distinguish between different types of orgasm in Common Tongue.

Illustration 4.1 – Click image to hide/show clothing

My primary subject for this chapter, Glagnire Moroth, is a masseur in the Grand Sun Tent, located in one of the city’s more upscale neighbourhoods. All massage tents are magnificent, but the Grand Sun Tent was the most impressive I saw during my time there. Decorative, brightly coloured silks hang from the ceiling and the scents of a thousand different massage oils waft through the air. Glagnire is immensely proud of his skill as a masseur, and when I asked if I might get a massage from him he agreed enthusiastically and said there would be no charge for such a distinguished visitor.

Massages are considered intimate experiences, but they are not private. Groups of friends often go to the massage tent together as a social event. I attracted much interest as I stripped naked and climbed onto the cushioned table.

Glagnire instructed me to lie on my back. He closed his hands around my thighs, raised and spread my legs and began stroking my labia and clitoris with the tip of his trunk. A Phantomon’s trunk is a truly extraordinary organ. It is extremely strong, but is also capable of exquisitely precise and delicate manipulation, as I discovered in the most pleasurable way. Both male and female Phantomons use their trunks as penetrative sex organs, but trunks are also penetrable themselves. They are essentially hollow tubes, and the “nostrils” can stretch and expand to receive a penis or even another trunk. Both the inside of the trunk, and the finger-like appendage at its tip, are extremely sensitive and a Phantomon can be brought to orgasm through trunk stimulation alone. Lovers and close friends will twine their trunks around one another as a sign of affection, similar to a Human kiss, and genital stimulation using the trunk is analogous to oral sex.

Within moments of the massage beginning I found myself gasping with pleasure. As I approached orgasm, Glagnire dipped his trunk into a bowl of massage oil and pushed the end firmly into my vaginal opening. Only afterwards did I consider the size of the thing that entered me—his trunk is at least four inches in diameter at its smallest point—but thanks to the combination of the slippery oil and my utter, gaping arousal I accepted it without pain. It moved inside me like a flexible, muscular phallus, touching and rubbing me in all the right places, filling me up and making me squirm with pleasure. He brought me to orgasm like that, holding my thighs tightly in his huge hands as I came.

Then he began the massage itself. He worked my muscles slowly and firmly, finding spots of deep tension and releasing that tension with the pressure of his huge fingers. He said he had adjusted his technique to accommodate my unusual physiology, but he made me promise to let him know if he ever pressed too hard. He never did. Occasionally his ministrations were painful, but it was always the delicious, decadent pain of muscles shedding their soreness.

As I lay there I felt like I was sinking into the firm cushions on which I lay. I felt all my worries leave me, and for a long while the sheer sensation of his hands and trunk on my body was all that existed. And then gradually, I felt arousal returning. I felt his hands on my breasts, his trunk against my clitoris once more, and I felt that arousal grow into a rising tide of energy. That second orgasm was a bright, noisy, colourful thing. I cried out in pleasure as it surged through me and then burst into laughter. I did indeed feel invigorated and full of passion afterwards, a feeling that lasted for the rest of that day.

I am certain this form of massage is the cultural practice to which Shara alluded before I left. I look forward to comparing notes on the experience with her.