From the days of his youth, it had been clear that Cazzio Garanhão was to become a great man. Second-born son of an exceedingly rich merchant, he had from, from his youngest age, all cares possible to keep him comfortable, and was presented with all the challenges to allow him to grow. His academic life flourished as he amazed all of his tutors in all the fields they presented him. He excelled in all that he did. Swordfighting, boating, horse riding, even the few domains of the arts he dabbled in graced him with surprising results. The only time his life had lost any of its stability, it crumbled away.
At a certain point in his life, he began to feel dreadfully aware of his sexual needs- and how ironic the last name “Garanhão”, or stallion, was- .He had made love to a hundred different women. Most feared his uncannily sized member- and those who didn’t eventually did.
No woman could go through intercourse with him. And he tried it all. He learned how to pleasure a woman without his shaft. He learned how to pleasure women beyond their wildest dreams with his hands and tongue, bringing them everything they could want before penetration. Yet none lasted.
He slowly fell into drink, in a pitiful attempt to comfort himself. He sank enormous quantities of money into courtesans, only to receive their sincerest apologies. None had ever seen a man like him. And none wanted one. No matter how far he fell, he refused to take them by force, as he unwittingly lost more and more money.
Eventually, his father could no longer ignore the change that operated itself within him. He had him thrown from the household, never to return. Abandoned by all, even a high class education couldn’t get you a job if you tried to seduce women all day (Which he had become surprisingly good at) and stank of wine.
And so he gave up. Decided that he had enough. Of trying, of his society. So he embarked on the first boat heading to the new world. A life was cut short on this trip, had warned his captain. It was all in the goal of wiping out a particularly pesky group of savages. He nevertheless believed he’d return to his mangled life.
---
Now, standing alone amidst the sounds of a million different animals, green, lush forest all around him, he doubted that he lived his last day. He had been separated from the main group in the earliest days, making off into the wood with a couple other men, and this very morning he had barley escaped the rain of darts and arrows that had slaughtered his companions.
His bare, tan chest was dripping with sweat. The small fat of a comfortable life had melted away from his now chiselled muscles. He walked in a dreaded marsh, his boots almost knee high in what he could only guess was a mix of water earth and vicious animals. Mud was splattered over his handsome features and his mouth open in disarray revealed the rows of straight, somehow still white teeth, though his steely gray eyes still darted around him with confidence and rigour. His hazel hair had grown long and it would soon be necessary that he find something with which he could tie it.
If he lived long enough for it to grow anymore.
Indeed, he had escaped the pursuers of this morning and was far enough west now that he was probably far from their territory, yet he still felt watched. By whom? By what? He’d never know unless he saw them first, he mused to himself.
At a certain point in his life, he began to feel dreadfully aware of his sexual needs- and how ironic the last name “Garanhão”, or stallion, was- .He had made love to a hundred different women. Most feared his uncannily sized member- and those who didn’t eventually did.
No woman could go through intercourse with him. And he tried it all. He learned how to pleasure a woman without his shaft. He learned how to pleasure women beyond their wildest dreams with his hands and tongue, bringing them everything they could want before penetration. Yet none lasted.
He slowly fell into drink, in a pitiful attempt to comfort himself. He sank enormous quantities of money into courtesans, only to receive their sincerest apologies. None had ever seen a man like him. And none wanted one. No matter how far he fell, he refused to take them by force, as he unwittingly lost more and more money.
Eventually, his father could no longer ignore the change that operated itself within him. He had him thrown from the household, never to return. Abandoned by all, even a high class education couldn’t get you a job if you tried to seduce women all day (Which he had become surprisingly good at) and stank of wine.
And so he gave up. Decided that he had enough. Of trying, of his society. So he embarked on the first boat heading to the new world. A life was cut short on this trip, had warned his captain. It was all in the goal of wiping out a particularly pesky group of savages. He nevertheless believed he’d return to his mangled life.
---
Now, standing alone amidst the sounds of a million different animals, green, lush forest all around him, he doubted that he lived his last day. He had been separated from the main group in the earliest days, making off into the wood with a couple other men, and this very morning he had barley escaped the rain of darts and arrows that had slaughtered his companions.
His bare, tan chest was dripping with sweat. The small fat of a comfortable life had melted away from his now chiselled muscles. He walked in a dreaded marsh, his boots almost knee high in what he could only guess was a mix of water earth and vicious animals. Mud was splattered over his handsome features and his mouth open in disarray revealed the rows of straight, somehow still white teeth, though his steely gray eyes still darted around him with confidence and rigour. His hazel hair had grown long and it would soon be necessary that he find something with which he could tie it.
If he lived long enough for it to grow anymore.
Indeed, he had escaped the pursuers of this morning and was far enough west now that he was probably far from their territory, yet he still felt watched. By whom? By what? He’d never know unless he saw them first, he mused to himself.
