Grendel Rising

Chapter 3: By Moonlight

Chapter 3: By MoonlightWith the giant gazing raptly up at the full moon, I felt free to continue my own rapt gazing. It wasn’t, I soon discovered, easy to do. I found again and again that after about a dozen seconds of staring at that magnificent central manifestation of virility, I had to look away. Again, the idea of looking at the sun came to mind. But it wasn’t quite like that. It wasn’t painful—only overwhelming. And fun, too! For each time I looked away, at the right hip for example, or the navel, I did so with the delicious knowledge that in a little I would again be able to return to the well for another intoxicating sip of visual nectar.

And even if I didn’t direct my gaze back at the Center of All Things, just looking at another part of the giant’s physiology seemed, inexorably, to lead back by means of contiguous, topographical features, each of them massively and acutely male, to that most daunting and powerful center of action, the phallus.

And so, gradually, sip by sip, I acquired at least a heady sense of experience, of ready familiarity with that male member and its two majestic and adjacent masses that, large as coconuts, hung beneath.

I looked around then, at the stillness of the suburban street which I saw the moonlight made unusually beautiful too. I looked up at the moon, too. I had always felt there was something magical about that queen of the night, something about its light. Now, at full moon, seeing its effect on this male giant, it showed a strange, unearthly, yet festive feeling, by which I imagined night animals might celebrate.

All that from reflected sunlight!

But no! That rational approach would not work here. I looked up at the giant again and choked back a laugh. Rationality, I thought, is not in the ascendency here and now.

Looking away from the giant silvery form and back at the moon, I repeated the term, queen of the night, in my mind. Queen? No. That wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t enough. I sought the word, and finally murmured, “Goddess!”

Yes, that was it!

And then I remembered part of a line from a poem I had been forced to memorize by my sixth-grade teacher who, idiosyncratically had made us learn one poem a week all year. They were short poems, but still—writing them out from memory on Friday each week was a challenge. And now? I only remembered two of those poems in full. One was “Loveliest of Trees” by Housman, the other “Ozymandias” by Shelly. But this, one about the moon as a goddess. How did it go?

I stood there, staring up at the full moon, and opened myself up to its mysterious beauty, murmuring the word over and over: “Goddess.” Nothing came for several minutes. It was only when I was about to give up, that the line came to me:

Goddess excellently bright!

Oh, yes! And it fit, too! Those words! That syncopation in the second word, breaking the rhythm of the meter, somehow perfectly. So beautiful! It fit the moon goddess—who was that? Diana? That sounded right. Repeating the phrase over in my mind, I gazed at the full moon, which was so bright, and at this wonderful giant it was illuminating, making him excellently bright, too!

A sense of magic seemed to permeate the very air of the night. Did it come from that full moon? I looked at the giant, struck again by his silvery glow, by his majestic form and his massive size. It wasn’t the moon, I decided. The moon merely—what? Activated the magic in him? In any case, the magic now came from him. In fact, it seemed fairly to pour from him, into the still night air.

Into me.

Now, moved by wonder and beauty, I found I could look at the giant—all parts of him. Yes, he was magnificently masculine. Of that there was no doubt. He seemed to embody the masculine archetype, every part of him exquisitely formed, beautifully proportioned and massively muscled. And—again—everything was so big!

Looking at the giant’s face again, I decided it wasn’t exactly handsome. But it was virile, and in its own way quite beautiful. He was still gazing up at the moon too, eyes wide open, as if he was drinking in the moonlight.

It was at this point all this fixation on beauty and wonder was, at least possibly, a kind of deliberate distraction—from the object of central interest. But I was uncertain. So, I would have to test this theory. I looked right at the giant’s genitals.

Oh!

The phallus curved massively out over a pair of coconut-sized testicles. Even semi-flaccid the shaft was as thick as my forearm and over a foot in length. The enormous head was proudly shaped, its curves majestic and seductive, its surface shiny smooth like a massively overgrown plum.

Taking all this in, I felt a flutter in my stomach. I became possessed of a desire to simply step forward and reach up—to where it hung like some tantalizing, forbidden fruit, higher than the top of my head—to touch it, to simply put my open palm under it and lift, to feel its warm spongy solidity, its heft—and even, perhaps, to caress it.

Dimly aware I was beginning to feel a bit silly, I stifled a giggle. It was then the suppressive part of me, having got my attention, said, Well? What exactly could you do with it?

Certainly, this was a point. But another part of me, the joyful (and horny) part, responded this was completely beside the real point—which was simple adoration, celebration in proximity and in touch—especially of the rubbing sort.

Certainly, it was far too large for any kind of penetration, but so what? Its presence was what counted. Its profoundly virile, intoxicating quality, nature and being, as the center of the giant’s overall masculine quintessence, was what I wanted to luxuriate in. It was beyond mere horniness, any desire to simply get my rocks off. I had now been completely overwhelmed and had surrendered deliciously to a chronic wanton state of reveling in which touch alone was sufficient.

A line I had heard from a sit-com came to me—that whatever that massive phallus might be “saying,” I only asked to be a part of the conversation.

All this was getting a bit overwhelming, so I forced myself to look away. A moment later, I was aware of a change in my state. I was feeling observed again.

I looked up, at the giant’s face, and saw he was looking down at me. His expression was benign, his large, pale eyes were gentle even while their effect on me was quite strong. He was, I thought about fifteen feet tall, almost three times my own six-foot stature. It made me feel small, which was something I was definitely not used to. And I found I very much liked the feeling.

But small, I decided, wasn’t exactly how I felt. I searched for the term and came up with a word that wasn’t quite it either, but closer: petite. I felt like those slightly-built guys I had always envied. I had attracted that sort of men myself, and I had attempted relationships with them once or twice. Only it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be them, not be with them.

And it was now, for the first time in my life that, looking up at this giant and feeling the power of his regard as he gazed down at me, I felt a welcome sense of rightness, of fulfillment of a my long-sought-after romantic dream. And so, in that massive, masculine presence, I saw not just beauty and powerful virility. I saw—possibilities.

Our mutual stillness was broken at last when the giant leaned forward, looming slightly over me, in what I realized after a second or two must be a bow. The experience of having him loom thus was disturbing and exciting at the same time. Then he stood upright again and said, “I thank you, sir.”

The sound of his wonderfully deep, resonant voice again plunged me into a sea of Eros. I had to struggle to make any sort of reply. I managed to choke out something at last, though my voice sounding to my own ears both shaky and squeaky.

“Uh—you’re welcome.”

The giant smiled in response. Then he turned and looked down at the depression his extraction had left in the yard. Looking back at me, he grinned. “Perhaps we had better tidy this up.”

I nodded, grinning back.

So, we both got to work. I didn’t do much, really. It was the giant’s large hands scooping such enormous amounts of soil that made short work of the task. It was also very distracting whenever he moved, the enormous muscles stretching and bulging. I saw again how those hands were amazingly good at the work, including the smoothing out. I did help replacing the pieces of sod, however.

When we finished at last, there was a pronounced dip in the lawn where his bulk had been. This wasn’t a surprise. What did strike me was that the depression seemed much less than I thought it would be, given the giant’s size.

“That will fill in by morning,” the giant said, as if as sensing my doubts. “It always does.”

Always does? I wasn’t sure what this meant, but in my current intoxicated state, I decided if this big guy understood it, then that was good enough for me.

We stood there, in the still complacency of a job well done. It was comfortable, even companionable. But I began to wonder what to say or do next. My thoughts raced along various channels, some of which caused my pulse to race. The important thing, I felt, was not to lose contact with this magnificent male. But how to proceed?

At last, looking up at him I said, awkwardly, “Would—would you like to come back to my place? For—uh—a coffee?”

Having said this, I felt totally stupid. For one thing, my voice had been choked again. For another, the invitation struck me as utterly inane and inappropriate. It was a terrible cliché too, that sort of invitation in the gay community. For, though it might include coffee, such offers of hospitality generally were understood to mean other, more intimate things as well.

But I forced myself to continue looking up at the enormous face, as the big eyes continued to look down at me. At last, slowly, a smile—a knowing smile, I thought—spread over that big face, causing my heart to flutter at the possibility of interest in that look. And, though I had no idea just how that interest might express itself, I decided in any case I was interested—whatever was involved.

“Thank you,” he said in his deep voice. “I would like that.” Then he added, “You have freed me.”

“Oh, uh, I was glad to be of help,” I said offhandedly, shrugging.

But those eyes, still looking down at me, made me a bit giddy with pleasure, both at this expression of gratitude and the simple sound of that deep voice. In that moment, it made me want to—well, just dance around.

“And,” the giant added, “thank you to your friend.”

I saw, somewhat to my surprise, that the giant’s gaze now rested on Jake, who was standing beside me, looking up at the big creature. I saw his tail wag at these words, just as if he had understood the statement. I smiled inwardly and experienced both joy and relief.

Oh, good! He likes dogs.

A moment later, I was slightly unnerved as the giant bent down and reached out a big hand toward Jake, enormous fingers outstretched.

Gently now, I thought, clenching my teeth in a moment of fearful anticipation. But, a second later, I discovered I needn’t have worried, for the hand was wonderfully gentle. The tip of the forefinger barely brushed the hair along Jake’s back and then the top of his head.

I was impressed, too, at how well Jake took this. Ordinarily, he didn’t like strangers petting him. Yet, with this enormous being there was no backing away, no raised hackles, and no growling. Indeed, he wagged his tail, albeit tentatively.

After that gentle touch, the giant held the finger in front of Jake to sniff, which offer was accepted, and the tail wagging became more pronounced.

Watching this, I felt something inside me melt, for I trusted Jake’s judgment of people. I decided I liked this giant—quite apart from any s****l excitation or appreciation of his beauty. He was “good people.”

The giant straightened up and looked down at me again. Placing his enormous hand against his own chest, he said in a solemn voice, “I am called—Grendel.”

I started slightly at the name. Apparently, the giant noticed this, for he smiled again.

“Yes,” he said. “I am named after that—character—of that story, written in another age.”

“Oh!” I was confused, but still very keen to show politeness in my turn.

“I’m Ken,” I said hastily. Then I pointed at Jake. “And this is Jake. He’s my best friend.” I reached down and petted him.

I saw the giant—Grendel, I guess—nod approvingly at this. “Yes,” he said. “That is well.” And now he raised a big hand, palm out, fingers spread in a kind of greeting. “Hello Ken. Hello Jake.”

“Hello, Grendel!” I responded, making the same hand gesture.

This somehow made me feel more comfortable than I had been up to that point. So, when the obvious question arose in my mind, I took a chance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but what are you?”

A low rumble came from the giant`s chest, by which I decided he must be chuckling. (The vibration of that sound distracted me again with pleasurable physical sensations.)

“I,” Grendel said, placing his hand on his chest again, “am a troll.”

“Oh!”

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. Thinking it over, it occurred to me that this wasn’t altogether welcome news. Everything I had heard or read about trolls was pretty bad. The character Grendel in the classic Anglo-Saxon poem “Beowulf,” after whom my present acquaintance was apparently named, for example.

I saw that Grendel noticed this reaction too. He said in a sad voice, “I see that our reputation has proceeded me.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling guilty, realizing that my experience with Grendel thus far was anything but negative. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m being prejudiced.”

The big head tilted slightly and then nodded, showing a smile. “I really am a nice person once you get to know me.”

I experienced a thrill at these words. Gazing up at this magnificent physical specimen, I told myself fervently, Oh and I want to get to know you!

It was this renewed appreciation of the troll’s physicality that made me notice, for the first time, that there were small, irregular areas on his skin that were darker than the overall silvery sheen. I decided they were probably bits earth sticking to the troll’s skin.

“I’ll bet you could use a bath,” I said.

“Am I dirty?”

I suppressed a grin, and the desire to say: I certainly hope so!

What I did say was, “Actually, I’m surprised there isn’t more earth sticking to you.”

The smile broadened, and at this moment I felt myself again liking the troll, quite apart from anything else. I realized I was beginning to think of him as a new friend—a friend with a beautiful smile (among other things).

“Oh,” said Grendel, holding out his arms in front of him and looking at them with a frown. “We generally do not have that problem. It is just that—sometimes, it is something that the passage does.”

“Oh,” I said, not really understanding this. Faced with such beauty, I found that I really didn’t care very much whether I understood the guy or not.

“Still,” the troll said, his voice becoming even deeper (was that suggestiveness? I wondered), “a dip—would not go awry.”

“Terrific!” I felt my heart leap. “I know just the place.”