Castor and Vernelia - a love story
don_don
Posts: 1,007
For those of you that have not been following the 'Hey Lost_in_Thought' thread over in Commuting, this is the tale of Castor and Vernelia (a love story in 6 parts), that grew out of that particular gathering.
I invite you to make yourself a cup of your favourite beverage, sit down and enjoy (or not as the case may be)
If you are a returning reader, please skip to the next post where I continue the story....
Castor and Vernelia - a love story
Their eyes met across the crowded room, through the haze of cigar smoke and the shimmering of half-heard conversations in the air. The room was heavy with the fug of decadence; aromas of food, fine wines, tobacco and the sticky scent of perfume masking the faintest tint of human sweat. It was hot that night, the hottest night of the year so far and Vernelia almost felt like fainting.
The look was a laser-cut to Vernelia’s psyche, drilling down to the deepest parts of her soul, parts normally kept hidden from all but the most trusted of her lovers. As if in a sudden blast of cold night air, the downy softness on Vernelia’s arms stood to attention. At once, she was fully alert, her heart drummed in her silky breast and she knew that tonight, she was his and his alone.
Castor put down his glass and absent-mindedly prodded the food on his plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore, and the unbearable heat of the room was sending rivulets of sweat down the contours of his muscular back. “Damn this oven of a room” he thought, trying to think of an excuse to leave. Castor was far happier in the icy wastes of the Antarctic, having been stationed there for the last year and a half. He had the look of a man hewn from ice – calved, if you will - from the glaciers of life. He was solid, chiselled and hard, with eyes as dark as the pit of a mighty crevasse.
Castor had decided, finally, to leave and escape into the hot night air. At that moment, his gaze was almost subconsciously drawn to a woman on the other side of the room. It was as if an angel had pulled on an invisible cord connecting the two strangers. Castor’s gaze met hers and his cold heart melted. It was if an explosion of ice crystals, sharp and stinging only for a moment before melting to soothing water, had occurred in his soul. At once, the heat was gone. His blood surged through his powerful muscles and he knew that tonight, she was his and his alone.
Castor and Vernelia walked along the riverbank arm-in-arm, as was the custom. Vernelia felt the touch of Castor’s arm on hers and shivered with anticipation. The night air was warm and humid and Vernelia felt a hint of moisture from Castor’s surprisingly soft skin. Oh how she longed to touch that rock of a man with her fingers and trace the beads of silky sweat down the contours of his chest!
They had escaped from the dinner party, separately but together, seen but not recognised, or so they thought. As they walked along the bank of the mighty Ganges, their faces were lit by the dying embers of a recent cremation. Vernelia turned to Castor as if to speak, but before she could say anything his mouth was on hers. His lips were strong, but yet soft and insistent, and she could not but yield to his kiss.
As they walked, Castor had noticed the pyre, and been reminded of the tragic death of his father in an accident at a peanut-butter factory. A loose flap of material in the crotch of his pantaloons had become caught in the machinery and he had been dragged to his death. The owners of the factory had been like parents to him since, and had named their product ‘Crunchy Nut’ in his father’s memory.
As Vernelia’s lips parted to reveal the warmth and welcome of her mouth, Castor took her firmly, almost needily, into his arms. At last, he thought, he had found someone who might help him come to terms with the loss of his father. Vernelia responded readily to his embrace and as their kiss became more insistent, more passionate, their tongues met like courting seals cavorting in the ocean. Castor drank of her kiss, as a dying man drinks of a desert spring, and he sensed the unmistakable taste of…. Nutella.
To be continued…
I invite you to make yourself a cup of your favourite beverage, sit down and enjoy (or not as the case may be)
If you are a returning reader, please skip to the next post where I continue the story....
Castor and Vernelia - a love story
Their eyes met across the crowded room, through the haze of cigar smoke and the shimmering of half-heard conversations in the air. The room was heavy with the fug of decadence; aromas of food, fine wines, tobacco and the sticky scent of perfume masking the faintest tint of human sweat. It was hot that night, the hottest night of the year so far and Vernelia almost felt like fainting.
The look was a laser-cut to Vernelia’s psyche, drilling down to the deepest parts of her soul, parts normally kept hidden from all but the most trusted of her lovers. As if in a sudden blast of cold night air, the downy softness on Vernelia’s arms stood to attention. At once, she was fully alert, her heart drummed in her silky breast and she knew that tonight, she was his and his alone.
Castor put down his glass and absent-mindedly prodded the food on his plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore, and the unbearable heat of the room was sending rivulets of sweat down the contours of his muscular back. “Damn this oven of a room” he thought, trying to think of an excuse to leave. Castor was far happier in the icy wastes of the Antarctic, having been stationed there for the last year and a half. He had the look of a man hewn from ice – calved, if you will - from the glaciers of life. He was solid, chiselled and hard, with eyes as dark as the pit of a mighty crevasse.
Castor had decided, finally, to leave and escape into the hot night air. At that moment, his gaze was almost subconsciously drawn to a woman on the other side of the room. It was as if an angel had pulled on an invisible cord connecting the two strangers. Castor’s gaze met hers and his cold heart melted. It was if an explosion of ice crystals, sharp and stinging only for a moment before melting to soothing water, had occurred in his soul. At once, the heat was gone. His blood surged through his powerful muscles and he knew that tonight, she was his and his alone.
Castor and Vernelia walked along the riverbank arm-in-arm, as was the custom. Vernelia felt the touch of Castor’s arm on hers and shivered with anticipation. The night air was warm and humid and Vernelia felt a hint of moisture from Castor’s surprisingly soft skin. Oh how she longed to touch that rock of a man with her fingers and trace the beads of silky sweat down the contours of his chest!
They had escaped from the dinner party, separately but together, seen but not recognised, or so they thought. As they walked along the bank of the mighty Ganges, their faces were lit by the dying embers of a recent cremation. Vernelia turned to Castor as if to speak, but before she could say anything his mouth was on hers. His lips were strong, but yet soft and insistent, and she could not but yield to his kiss.
As they walked, Castor had noticed the pyre, and been reminded of the tragic death of his father in an accident at a peanut-butter factory. A loose flap of material in the crotch of his pantaloons had become caught in the machinery and he had been dragged to his death. The owners of the factory had been like parents to him since, and had named their product ‘Crunchy Nut’ in his father’s memory.
As Vernelia’s lips parted to reveal the warmth and welcome of her mouth, Castor took her firmly, almost needily, into his arms. At last, he thought, he had found someone who might help him come to terms with the loss of his father. Vernelia responded readily to his embrace and as their kiss became more insistent, more passionate, their tongues met like courting seals cavorting in the ocean. Castor drank of her kiss, as a dying man drinks of a desert spring, and he sensed the unmistakable taste of…. Nutella.
To be continued…
0
Comments
-
Castor and Vernelia - a love storycon'td
Archduke Ligament sat sulkily in the smoky atmosphere of the room, pointedly ignoring the attentions of the madame sitting next to him. Damn these fripperies, this idle chitter-chatter and decadence he thought, as the woman tried drunkenly to insert a grape between his lips. He brushed her off with a wave of his brocaded arm.
The untimely departure of his niece Vernelia had not escaped the Archduke’s attention. This, in and of itself, was not cause for concern to him. She was a shallow and flighty girl in his cold eye, given to acting on impulse, no matter what the offence to her Uncle. No, of more concern to Ligament was the proximate departure of the tall, dark and handsome stranger on the opposite side of the room. The man had the appearance of a warrior, fresh from combat with the mongol hordes, confident, weathered and driven by some dark internal energy. He was as an iceberg, afloat in a frigid ocean, hard and unyielding and with unseen, lurking depths. The two had tried to leave without being noticed, but Ligament had seen the unmistakable frisson of excitement in Vernelia’s eyes as she caught the stranger’s lusty gaze.
That there was something afoot, Archduke Ligament was in no doubt. He was a jealous and ambitious man, with designs on the vast Kornelius Pinkenger peanut-butter empire. He had promised Vernelia’s hand in marriage to Pinkenger’s one-legged son Hugo, in return for a 49% stake in the company. Ligament would be damned before he let this upstart destroy his ambitions. Whatever the stranger’s intentions (and he was sure they were of the animal kind) towards Vernelia, Ligament would put a stop to them.
To be continued…0 -
Castor and Vernelia - a love story - part 5
(With apologies to readers hailing from the Indian subcontinent; I have stereotyped somewhat).
Castor awoke. Vernelia’s limbs were tightly intertwined with his and there was a look of utter contentment upon her still sleeping visage. Small spats of butter-chocolate upset the smoothness of the plaster, here and there on the walls and ceiling of the room. They had giggled like school children, as Castor purchased a tub of luxury body-chocolate from the only Thorntons outlet in Varanasi. The elderly chocca-wallah had given them a knowing look, and slipped a 72% cocoa chocolate willy into the bag, while Castor wasn’t looking. The bitterness of the dark item had been the perfect foil to the sweetness and saturated fats of the body paint, which had made Castor slightly nauseous. He hoped he could repay the old man’s kindness in the fullness of time.
Vernelia awoke with a start. The scent of chocolate came to her senses and she was immediately consumed by her memories of the night before. She had given herself completely, utterly, unselfconsciously and chocolatey to Castor’s soft yet insistent ministrations. This was not her first time of course. A life spent in the exotic heat and relative freedom of the colonies had encouraged her to experiment discretely with her young man-servant. However, Castor had taken her to a place beyond her wildest dreams, where his love had crashed like a stormy ocean on the beaches of her heart. He had left her panting like a fawn at bay, and slightly sticky. At once, Vernelia knew she was truly, madly, deeply in love.
To be continued…0 -
Castor and Vernelia - a love affair - concluded
In order to give closure to the events surrounding Castor and Vernelia’s love affair, I will summarise the salient points of the rest of the story. Contrary to appearances, even I have a life and this could go on for months if I’m not careful :roll:
The evil Archduke Ligament, driven by ambition and greed, hatches a dastardly plan with Kornelius Pinkenger’s one-legged son Hugo. Using Vernelia as a decoy, they intend to lure Castor to Pinkenger’s peanut-butter factory. There they will throw him to his death in the same machinery that killed his father, making it look like a tragic accident.
On the day of the heinous plot, Castor arrives at the factory before Vernelia. He believes she has asked him here to confront the demons of his father’s death and lay his spirit to rest once and for all. When he enters the building he is bundled into a blanket by Ligament and his henchmen. As they are stood on top of the nut-grinding machine, Hugo hops up to take one last look at the man who would steal his prize. To his horror and astonishment, he sees it is Castor, the brother he never had, who had stood up for him against the taunts of ‘Hop it four-eyes’ from the older boys whilst they were at school.
A titanic struggle ensues, during which Archduke Ligament and his henchmen fall into the machine and are killed. Later on, Kornelius Pinkenger is devastated to hear that the man he calls his son was almost murdered on his behalf. He has a seizure and dies, leaving the company to Hugo, who invents a new type of yeast-based condiment which he sells to Arcturus Marmite & Co. for a million pounds.
Castor and Vernelia leave India and return to Great Britain, settling in Cornwall. They have many fine children and live happily ever after…
So you see folks; when you are struggling into that cold November headwind, in the melee of the embankment peloton, and you see a beautiful young woman on a Giant Bowery fly past, silken hair flowing in the wind and with not a care in the world; give a cheery wave and shout “Ahoy Lost_in_Thought!”, Great, great, great granddaughter of, yes you’ve guessed it, Castor and Vernelia…0 -
Good god man, you're like a dog with a bone
<must resist cheap temptation to put the letter r in brackets at the end of that sentence after high quality if misguided literary showing by DD>
<must resist>
(r)
Damn, sorry <FAIL>"Impressive break"
"Thanks...
...I can taste blood"0 -
Don, is it too late for the Man Booker this year? Failing that, maybe Jackie Collins could use some ghosting.
Great stuff, and I'm more of a Cycling Plus man myself0 -
chriskempton wrote:Don, is it too late for the Man Booker this year? Failing that, maybe Jackie Collins could use some ghosting.
Great stuff, and I'm more of a Cycling Plus man myself
You are too kind I'm a C+ regular too.
Perhaps I'll work on something new to keep me occupied during the winter nights. Maybe a ripping yarn of some sort? Don't want to overlap with 'Sprocket of Destiny' though -
[/url]http://www.citycycling.co.uk/issue40/issue40page23.html" rel="nofollow">
Any suggestions for subject matter??
0 -
0
-
-
Thanks Steve, that looks entertaining. I prefer to think of Castor as being entirely scrupulous and honourable though...
0
