There're many reasons to write about first times, mainly because they can be so powerful. Some stories have more firsts than others.
In the first chapter of Harey, a story about the man behind the myth of Easter, this little clip barely shows the emotion a boy must feel when he's touched for the first time without malice, his pet rabbit not killed, and when he's given a name other than Gwas, which means servant.
He ran his fingers along his cheek, wiped streaks of crimson on the ground, and Gwas knew then he must be dreaming. He had never had anyone touch him before, not like this, and it felt wonderful.
His tears stopped and Gwas sank, lost into the gaze of a man-angel.
“Listen,” Gareth said. “Your name is no longer Gwas. I christen you….” he smiled down at Bitty. “Harey. And Harey, you are not anyone’s servant. You now belong to the goddess and you are to come with me.”
Me? A real name? Harey?
Gareth shifted his hand to untie a brown cloth from his waist. “Forgive me—Harey. I am placing your pet in this sack, and then I shall have to hurt you. The arrow must come out.”
He, Harey, did not know what thrilled him more, the fact he had been deemed worthy of an identity, or the novel feel of Gareth’s powerful hand sheltering him and his friend.#
Of course, the most written about first must be the kiss and there's nothing like setting. How about a man kissing a man inside a filled church? Here's another clip from Harey. It's spring, and he's returned from a winter where no one knew where he was. The groom-to-be is so relieved to see Harey, he goes in for that first kiss and forgets his bride-to-be's name.
Harey thought his heart would burst. Gareth looked so happy. Son, brother, friend, I wish I could be more to him. “I could never miss your marriage. Gareth? I have to tell—”“Shh. First, a proper greeting.” Gareth threw his arm round Harey’s neck and fastened his lips over his gaping mouth.
Harey leaned into Gareth’s hold, closed his eyes, and the world melted away. He had never been kissed before, not like this. Gareth’s lips felt beyond wonderful, salty and firm as they molded into Harey’s. When Gareth’s tongue danced, brushing inside Harey’s mouth, his moan pulled from his toes and every molecule of flesh, bone, liquid within him began to hum.
Way too soon, Gareth eased his lips from Harey’s and a low growl forced its way through the rushing waves in Harey’s ears.
“Not now, you heathen fools,” Patrick said. “This is Maura’s day.”
“Who?” Gareth stepped back, straightened his robe, and his grin widened. “Oh yes, right. Maura. Stand by me, Harey. Sod off, Patrick. Let friends and God witness what his presence means to me.” Gareth grasped Harey’s hand. He thrust their arms into the air. “Eostre’s hare, Christ’s saint, has blessed us. Hail to our Harey!”
Please comment on whatever you'd like, for a chance to win an e-copy of Harey, a M/M/F historical romance published by Decadent Publishing. Maybe a thought if the first time a human touches another with compassion is more memorable than the first time kiss?
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