Entity Read online

  Entity

  By Dale Chase

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 Dale Chase

  ISBN 9781634865463

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Entity

  By Dale Chase

  Ak has claimed the K while I perch on the J. It’s odd, we two unable to inhabit the same space, as we’ve always done, being an entity, but the typewriter has come between us, both of us enamored of the machine that gave us language. Royal is its name, and from its shiny black keys, silver rimmed, white lettering identifying what will print, we gain what we’ve never known. Names first, Ak and Ik, both demanding the K. We await the man who sets the typewriter working, applying pressure to create the clacking which throws us about, such as we can be thrown. We insinuate deeper into the Royal at times to engage in clacking frenzy. We are much taken with frenzy, which is a word the man likes. We’ve learned so much from him. And the K we like best of all, with its lines instead of curves, its complex structure. So appealing to us, as an entity, or now entities, who are fluid at best. The key itself is round, but this is forgiven. It’s content, after all. We’ve heard the man say that.

  He’s called Bill and he gave us the idea of names. Until arriving here, there was no need, as space requires nothing, being a flurry of orbits and flashes. Arrival was confusing, encountering this thing called life and the people who carry it. So many. Amid the chaos, we flew into Bill’s hair, which is dark and plentiful, and he brought us here to his place. We stayed because we needed to absorb so much. That is our failing, we entities. No substance, nothing visible, yet thriving, taking it all in.

  Bill arrives, throws off his bag and jacket, then comes to the typewriter. When he rolls paper into the Royal, Ak rushes to me and we ready ourselves for this thing called writing, which is to us frenzy.

  Bill strikes the keys with a fury and we bound around in ecstasy—another of his words we’ve come to like. Here I must confess that another reason we love the K is he uses it so often, and when he does, he heats up. We’re sensitive to heat and when he grows frenzied with his writing, the K is used over and over. Cock. Cock. Fuck, fuck.

  Bill stops after several pages, sweating now. He opens his pants and frees his appendage. Ak and I argue on what this is called as Bill gives it many names. Cock is most prevalent on the pages, but Ak likes prick, which also appears. I consider dick because it tickles me. Imagine that. An entity tickled.

  Ak flies by, then comes back to his K and tells me, though we have no speaking facility, communication being insinuation, that he’s been pounded between keys and paper. Just as Bill writes of pounding pricks. And look at the real prick. Bill types faster and faster and the page is full of cocks and fucks, but then he stops and we watch him work the cock—prick! insists Ak—until it erupts like the flaming mountains we’ve observed elsewhere, except this is on a much smaller scale and his issue is white rather than red.

  When done, he sits back and we wait for the sigh. We like those, and the one now is long. Bill then takes up a cloth to wipe away his wad before leaving the typewriter to do other things around his place. He’s written often of a man’s wad, though it sounds funny to us. Ak reminds me most of what we observe is funny and I can’t argue. Funny itself is funny. We settle back onto our K and J keys to enjoy our place within his.

  He has another device we entered when we first rode in here. It is flat where the Royal is tall. It has no keys, no nothing, yet it beeps and sounds and Bill tends it often. Drawn by its light, we entered it within minutes of our arrival, but found chaos within. And it was too hot for us. We sprang from it as one, for we were a single entity back then. The Royal happened to be next to this device so we landed there.

  How welcoming the Royal was. Absent chaos, cool to enter, we settled as one only to split up not long after, and it was words, of all things, that caused it. I gorged until I broke in two, which was quite remarkable, as I had no idea such a thing was possible. I now enjoy company for the first time, though we do on occasion argue, mainly over the K key.

  We’ve since noted Bill has a smaller flat device which he speaks into and is spoken to. We are fascinated with speech, though we have no mechanism for it, sending or receiving. We absorb sound as we do all else, and while it interests us he uses this little device, we refuse to enter anything flat. The thing mostly lives in his pocket.

  Settled upon the Royal, we thrive on words, absorbing more and more as Bill frenzies us with his writing. And when he’s not writing and not erupting, he feeds, which is another interest of ours. He appears to lack a fuel source within, taking all manner of things into his mouth. Ak wants to go in, too, but I discourage this by reminding him of the chaos in the flat device. Bill is larger, rounder. There must be chaos within.

  At times he takes liquid fuel, dark stuff, hot. Other times he expels it, but it’s yellow now, warm, and from his dick. We hover above these activities, usually in his hair, but sometimes he pours something thick onto us and works us and his hair until we fly out, hovering above as he stands under a spray. More liquid.

  An entity need not move, need not stay. While Bill goes here and there, sometimes not returning to us at dark, we remain, though this is a departure as we—or I, back then—flew among planets and stars. Had I ever encountered another place such as Earth, I might have remained there. Doesn’t really matter if an entity is here or there.

  * * * *

  One day, after we’ve been with Bill for some time, he comes home after the sun is gone but doesn’t approach the Royal. He has a man with him, fair haired, and Ak immediately flies into that hair, then returns. He’s now tickled while I, in his absence, have claimed the K.

  A battle ensues, such as entities can manage. We insinuate into and out of each other with great force, then, as the men begin their own insinuation, we relent, perching on our keys—I still have the K—to watch. Standing, they bring their mouths together and remain fixed for an interval during which arms circle each other.

  “Kissing,” insinuates Ak. “He’s written that.”

  I think back to Bill’s pages and yes, mouths together. “Kissing,” I repeat to Ak.

  After a time the men relent, speak, then start again, only this time their lower parts rub together. Their heat radiates to such a degree we note it even at a distance.

  When the men next disengage, they begin to shed clothes. We’ve watched Bill do this, accepting the human ritual of covering and uncovering the body, though we have yet to understand the reason. When alone, Bill is often unclothed or partly so, and at times views his reflection in a long glass. Unclothed, the men now continue kissing and rubbing until Bill draws back and says what he so often writes. “Fuck me.”

  We cannot remain fixed at such a time. We fly to Bill, but his heat is such that we pull back, circling as he lies down and raises his legs. Just like he’s written. I rush to Ak, but he refuses any insinuation, flying off to view the men from the other side of the bed.

  Bill keeps saying it, “Fuck me,” and the man, whose dick is stiff and rather large, rolls a condom down the thing—Bill writes of these, as he does lube and greasing—lubes himself, crawls up to Bill, and slides the cock into Bill’s bunghole. We’ve learned from Bill how cocks go up bungholes, but we never got this was fucking. There is some excitement at gaining this knowledge, but more when the man begins to push in and out. Bill uses other words for where the cock goes, but we like bunghole best.

  Bill appears highly pleased with the fucking, as does the man, who we learn is Max when Bill cries out, “Fuck me, Max, fuck me.”

  Ak finally joins me and we perch beside Max’s knee to view the fuck, which is impressive. Had we bodies, we’d give it a try. The cock and bunghole seem well suited and, while Bill continues to call out, Max’s mouth falls open; his tongue, which we haven’t quite figured yet, despite Bill’s writing, escapes the mouth to run about the lips. The men now appear wet, taking on star shine all over their bodies. Glistening with sweat, I recall Bill writing. So much is rising up off the page.

  Ak grows bold, gliding down to the connection, which is dangerous as he could be swept inside the bunghole and we’ve no idea what lies within these creatures. Having observed much of what goes in and what comes out, it’s best to stay away, so I fly down and draw Ak to safety on the Royal’s keys.

  Just as we settle, Max issues a cry that fills the roo
m, sound waves coursing over us. He’s plowing Bill now. Yes, plowing. Bill uses that often in his writing, many times just before he stops to tend his cock. So Bill is now plowed by Max and the room’s atmosphere becomes chaos until Max relents and pulls out of the bunghole. His prick goes soft, while Bill’s stands tall. We watch as Max discards the condom, then bends over to eat Bill’s cock.

  We are alarmed at this awful turn because Bill’s dick seems important to him. We fly over, only to see Max isn’t actually eating the thing. He’s licking and sucking, playing with the tip then taking the whole thing into his mouth. We’ve gotten to understand eating, how teeth do mean things to food, but there’s no meanness here. Max is bobbing on the cock and Bill is squirming, issuing low cries until he suddenly stiffens, raises up, and Max withdraws mouth, applies hand, and works Bill to an eruption. Hand fuck? We haven’t seen this on Bill’s pages, but that must be it.

  The white wad lands on Bill’s chest, and once he’s finished and his prick is soft, Max crawls up to lick the stuff. We had no idea it is food.

  The room’s atmosphere quiets and we watch the men lie close and touch each other. Things are said, but we recognize little. No more “fuck me.” Now and then they are tickled; now and then they kiss.

  People are so odd. The first time we saw Bill recharge, we were concerned life had left him so we moved in, only to find he still breathed. This intake and expulsion of air is fascinating. People keep putting things into their bodies and drawing others out. Air seems the quickest and most efficient exchange. The men now have closed eyes. They’ve blackened the room and we wait on our keys. We discovered on arrival that most of the creatures stop in the dark, like Bill and Max do now. Are they recharging together?

  Ak and I wait with ease as we are constant. An entity neither takes nor gives any externals. We simply exist and now, having observed people, we are pleased with our state. Ak did once insinuate into what Bill called lemon pie because Bill seemed so happy with it, but the journey must have been bad as Ak won’t speak of it.

  Words are our greatest discovery here on Earth. We never had a means to communicate before but, being one entity, also never had the need. We insinuate into the words, or they into us, doesn’t matter which, and the vastness of universes falls away as we describe what’s before us.

  People seem dependent on their star to start up again and when the room is light, Max fucks Bill again, only this time he enters the bunghole from behind. We hover between Max’s legs and watch him do it. Then we discover Bill has his prick in hand and is working a frenzy until the room is again chaotic and the men cry out about coming.

  The eruption! That’s coming. Bill’s pages make ever more sense. Max slaps Bill’s bottom as he does it, comes, while we enjoy a frenzied ride on the room’s chaos.

  Max doesn’t eat Bill’s cock this time, nor does he lick up the wad. So it can differ, this fucking. So much to learn. I am tickled at all this and Ak is, too. I feel his words. “Fuck me, Ik. Fuck me.”

  “If only,” I think back to him. Not so long ago we had no words, no fucks, no ideas, no nothing beyond flying around.

  The men rise but do not dress. They go to a little room that we avoid, the place of expulsion and a great swallowing device. Water abounds in there and we are cautious about water. From the doorway we watch the men stand beneath the water. They handle each other and pricks harden, but we don’t see the coming and when one later expels into the swallowing device, we flee. The men then dress, eat, and leave. We are left to absorb all that went on.

  When dark returns, Bill arrives alone, though he is talking into the little flat device. He’s tickled, we can tell. Is Max in there?

  Ak tells me we should make ourselves known to Bill, and after I absorb the suggestion, which is absurd, I remind him we have no powers beyond insinuation.

  “That’s it exactly,” says Ak. “Get in there and announce ourselves.”

  “How?”

  I get nothing further from Ak because he has no idea how he’d announce us. New to thinking, he doesn’t use it well, suffering human chaos as a result.

  “It’s not good to announce our presence,” I tell him. “Humans would become even more chaotic if they found unseen entities among them.”

  “We could insinuate words into him,” argues Ak.

  “He would think them his own. No, Ak, we must remain separate.”

  From this point on there occurs a shoving match, such as entities can manage. Energy is the weapon and Ak’s outburst is enough to drive me over onto U and then Y. It’s getting difficult to recall we were once one.

  When Bill sits down at the Royal and rolls paper into it, all is well. We return to our K and J, pulsing with anticipation, and when the clacking begins, we enjoy frenzy as we are thrust and pulled by Bill’s words.

  He is rampant this night, typing page after page, with the pause to free his cock. The words flow faster and there come the fucks and the plowing. Then, bunghole ravaged, Bill stops to work his cock to eruption. A come. We observe this with great delight, then watch as he wipes his wad away. He types a bit more, then gets up and flops onto the bed, where he closes his eyes.

  Ak wants to examine the source of Bill’s frenzy, but when we glide over, we find the prick in Bill’s hand. Ak wants to insinuate into the thing, but I say no as humans are hot and we are cool, being of the universe. “We have no proof we wouldn’t be consumed in there,” I add as we hover. Then Bill is suddenly awake, turning the upstanding device to light the place. He gets up, washes the cock, rubs water on his face, then shakes and makes odd noises into a large cloth. He then closes the pants—Ak is caught on that word, pants, and is becoming annoying—prepares food, and looks at his flat device while he eats. I think of Max eating cock and share this with Ak, but he’s still thinking pants, pants, pants.

  Once filled with food, Bill takes up the smaller flat device, speaking and listening as he lies on his bed. His place is small while the world outside is large, and I wonder if people like smallness. This device doesn’t get him stiff like the Royal does and we wonder what else it holds.

  * * * *

  Two nights pass in this manner, so when Bill settles at the Royal on the third night, we look forward to the frenzy. He rolls paper into the typewriter and, perched on our keys, we await his heating up, but instead of plowing in, he stares at the sheet, as if he’s reading words there. We are puzzled at the delay, but he finally begins to type. One line, Ode to Max, and then nothing. More staring at the page.

  “Where’s the frenzy?” Ak insinuates into me.

  “Give him time,” I reply. “He makes the stuff up and maybe it won’t come.”

  But Ak is right. Even when Bill types a second line, You crashed my life, it’s without frenzy. Then more staring at the page. Ak bounces around on the keys like he can get things moving, and in his absence, I move to the K. Finally another line from Bill, And I’m in pieces. Ak returns to the K and I slip to the J.

  “This is un-frenzy,” insinuates Ak.

  “No fucks,” I reply.

  “No pricks.”

  “No cocks.”

  Bill’s cheeks are growing wet and we note water dripping from his eyes. We are puzzled, as water is usually in the expulsion room or the eating place. All I see is golden, he types, and then, All I feel is love.

  “Love,” says Ak.

  “That’s a new one.”

  “No open pants,” notes Ak. “No hard prick.”

  “No coming.”

  The atmosphere changes as Bill emanates something new. His face is red, he’s as caught up as when he’s ready to come, but his cock isn’t free. He’s about to burst, his energy crowding the room. Then he rolls the paper down to a new spot and writes, I love you, Max Burk. With all my heart, I love you.

  Ak thrashes around in the words. “Fuck me, love you. What is this?” he asks.

  “Humans are possibly more than fucking,” I say. “Maybe we should go try some others.”

  “No,” Ak insinuates, but I can tell he may be swayed. Depends on Bill.

  Before Bill leaves us next daylight, he folds up the Ode to Max and slips it into his pocket. We like pockets and are tickled at watching something go in. How we would like to have pockets and carry things, to have things wanting carrying. Humans have so much to do and touch. Typing, pockets, fucking.