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Introduction:

The morning after...
A/N - Hi guys, sorry for the wait, hope this doesn’t disappoint! Please let me know what you guys think, I still love reading comments so much!

Cheers,
Steelkat29

Part 3

When I wake, I am confused. This doesn’t feel like my bed. My body is sore and when I shift my legs slightly a spasm of pain rushes through me from my womb. My skin is chilled and feels odd, but I can’t yet place my discomfort. It doesn’t take me long to figure it out though. Why the fuck am I naked? My vision is blurred and my eyes feel itchy and painfully dry. Did I forget to remove my contacts last night? I make a move to rub my eyes. As soon as I lift my hand I feel something tighten around my waist. I freeze, horror halting even my breathing as I realize the thing holding me is an arm. The strong arm pulls me backwards while I lie helpless on my side. Soft, warm skin covering hard muscle presses into my back, using the arm to form a fleshy cage around my body; and all the while I am frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. It’s only when a firm thigh drapes over my legs and I feel something soft brush against my bottom that I begin to scream.

Oh God, I’ve been raped! My screams tear through my throat and I fight hard to get away from the naked man behind me. When he tightens his grip even further I curl my body inwards and bite his forearm as hard as I can. A soft growl of pain echoes into my left ear but the man does not release me. The dry contact lenses continue to hinder my vision but I can still make out blurry shapes and colours. When I look at the arm still clamped onto me I see red blood seeping from black skin.

Black skin? Even in my panicked state I find this odd.

Still struggling, I start kicking my legs out and wriggling my body more violently. Bitter tears burn my eyes as they fall and my screaming has morphed into wails of despair. The man loosens his hold slightly as I sob and it takes me a while to realise that his other hand is softly stroking my hair, almost as if he is trying to soothe me. This, oddly, does soothe me and I calm down just enough to hear him speak my name.

“Selena,” he whispers again, “do not be afraid my love. Calm yourself; for no harm shall befall you while I still breathe.”

That voice... so deep and gentle; it makes me tremble with longing. I stop struggling and take a deep breath. My vision has cleared somewhat and I look down at his arm again. It isn’t black, but a mosaic of moving colours, swirling beneath red tattoos. I’ve seen this before... in a dream perhaps?

Yes, last night in my dream of need, lust and passion. My body was taken by a demon, my lover, my King...

Asmodeus.

Suddenly everything comes flooding back. It wasn’t a dream, last night was real. I clasp my hands onto his injured arm, wiping away the blood from the wound I created and lean down to kiss it.

“Asmodeus,” I beg, speaking into his arm, “forgive me.”

I ask this not because I’m afraid of him but because I am genuinely mortified that I hurt him and worse, that I forgot him, if only for a moment.

He stops stroking my hair and slips his arm under my body. Shifting his other arm lower, he hooks it behind my knees and pulls me toward him, cradling me like a baby. I lay my head in his chest, filled with shame, my tears leaking onto his bare torso. He releases my legs but brings his own thigh up to support me so that I am still curled up and close to him. Cupping my face with his free left hand, he turns it toward his and captures my mouth in a sweet kiss. His hand drops away from my face and slides smoothly along my body, stopping at my round rump. He gives it a sharp squeeze and the brief pain sends a jolt of pleasure racing through my heart. Our mouths move with frenzied excitement and I feel my arousal growing. I laugh against his lips as I feel his arousal as well, stiffening so very close to my centre of pleasure.

Looking up at him I am amazed that this is really happening. Here I am, in the arms of a man who is not a man at all and we are in sync, in perfect harmony with each other. Not even twenty-four hours ago, I was in my own bed at home, cold and terribly lonely. Twenty doesn’t seem like an old age, but to me, without someone I could love and who would love me back, it has felt like a lifetime. I have watched the people around me fall in and out of love, laugh and cry in its name, and all the while I lamented the fact that I had never loved at all. There were so many times I would look at my life and despair, wondering if I would always be alone. Now, here, in his arms; my heart swells with joy and thuds sweetly against my lover’s. I feel an overwhelming rush of pure love for him – (ironically) this demon who abducted me in the night – and it brings tears to my eyes again.

I press my lips hard against his once more, hoping I can convey everything I feel for him with it.

“Thank you.” I say out loud.

“For what, my Selena?” he purrs, his eyes burning so beautifully.

“You know already, my King.”

“I have shown you only the minimum of what you deserve and I assure you my dear, you deserve much more. Come with me now, my pet, I shall bestow upon you a few tokens of my affection.”

He makes to move but I stop him.

“Wait.” I say, placing a palm on his chest. “I don’t need any gifts. This, right here, is enough for me.

“Although,” I consider, my cheeks burning, “I could do with some clothes.”

He laughs that gorgeous laugh of his and I feel the heat radiating from my face; my blush has always been unusually red for my chocolate coloured skin. Thoroughly embarrassed, I slap his chest lightly and hide my steaming face there again.

“Don’t laugh at me,” I protest playfully, looking up again, “I’m serious!”

But I say it with a smile on my lips, so I don’t think he believes me.

He pulls me in closer and pokes a finger into a deep dimple in my cheek.

“Were it just I who would look upon you, I would have you bare before me always my sweet. Alas, others would see that which belongs to me and they shall not have the privilege of seeing all of you. Your body is for my pleasure and mine alone, which is fortunate for you. I will provide you with everything you require.”

“Yay, lucky me, I get clothes.” It’s ridiculous to think that this tiny detail is even up for discussion. One with think that new clothes would be a given considering how my old ones were rendered useless. Then again, why should I expect anything from the demon who’s keeping me as his personal sex toy? I’m not angry though, quite on the contrary, I find his words strangely erotic.

“Yes; lucky you indeed, my Selena.” He says, with a wicked glint in his eye.

I don’t think he caught my sarcasm.

“Come, I will procure your clothing.”

He makes a move to get up again, dragging me with him like a ragdoll. I stop him again though, clearing my throat, remembering something he seems to have forgotten.

“So,” I start casually, “you don’t want me to, er... take care of your... um, friend down here first?”

I stretch my leg out slowly and rub my calf lightly against his... friend.

He seizes my thigh swiftly in his large, strong hand and pulls me left a little so that I am centred on his chest. Taking this as my signal, I spread my legs wider to straddle his hips. As soon as I part my knees though, another sharp stab of pain races through my core. I hiss at the sting and stop moving. It seems that I am still a bit sore from last night. It saddens me that my body will not allow me to fulfil the promise I made with my actions and playful words.

Suddenly, Asmodeus turns us over so that now he is on top of me, and I fret that he is going to just take what he wants. He doesn’t enter my still sensitive body though. Instead he slides down the bed quickly and stops with his face hovering over my sex, his hands clamped onto my thighs, tenderly pulling them apart.

Ah, this looks familiar.

Dipping his head down, he runs his tongue slowly over the soft folds of my opening. His sensuous soft tongue moves like deliciously hot water, flowing over and around my little nub. Whatever his mouth touches becomes wet with his fluids and mine. When he moves, a shiver expands through me from the place he last was, as the wet skin cools in the soft breeze that is his breathing. He laps up everything my body offers and my breathing speeds as my pleasure increases.

His tongue is beginning its invasion into me now and I feel no pain. All I can register is the amazingly alien feel of his mouth on my sex and one of his hands sliding up to squeeze my ass. My hips jolt as I moan loud and long, trying to regulate my breathing; and failing. He’s just too damn good at this. It’s amazing how he knows just what to do and just where to- Ahhhh.....

His tongue slips out of my body and his sharp teeth graze lightly against my clit. My gut tightens with pleasure and my chest constricts. Fuck that feels so good.

His amazing mouth creates contrasting versions of pleasure within me, making my body weak and strong both. Soon, very soon, he has me mewling like a kitten and clawing at the sheets like a tigress, affording me so much pleasure that I can barely stand it. My legs shake even as they tighten around my lover and my mind does not know whether to shut down or revel in the intensity that is the pleasure he gives me. I feel as if I’m going to explode and, as he sucks hard on my clit one last time, I do.

A small rush of warmth flows from me and onto his waiting lips as I climax hard, throwing my head back and arching my body off the bed. My legs clamp onto his broad shoulders and my scream of ecstasy echoes through the cavern. An uncontrollable shudder reverberates up from my toes to my shoulders and the sound of it rushes in my ears. When I slump back onto the bed I pant heavily and release my death-grip on the sheets. My clitoris throbs wonderfully and every little jolt sends more pleasure racing through my veins. Finally my breathing slows and all the exquisite tension of my release drains away from my body as I relax.

Moaning with delight, I reach down for my King and pull at his shoulders until he moves back up and pulls me onto his hard body again. I swear I could remain like this forever, my lust satisfied and resting on the chest of my beloved.

“You healed me, didn’t you?” I whisper, gingerly shifting my legs again, pleased that the pain is gone.
“Would you like to finish what I started?”

I am spent, exhausted from the superb treatment of my body but I cannot keep taking my gratification while he suffers without his. I move my hand down his chest, my touch slow and teasing. Trailing my fingers lower still, I reach out and gently stroke his magnificent tool.

He pulls my hand away like he did last night, though gently this time, and holds it in his above his heart.

I am hurt by this. Doesn’t he want me to please him?

“Later, love. I want your body not your hands.”

This time, when he moves, I don’t protest. My face is flushed with embarrassment from being rejected by the Demon of Lust himself. My throat closes and tears threaten to spill. When he lifts me up, cradling me close once more, I turn my head away, hoping he does not notice the wetness on my cheeks. What is wrong with me? My moods are all over the place and I feel like an over-emotional fool. I should not be crying over such a small and stupid thing.

Asmodeus ignores me; he must have sensed my ridiculous insecurities and is allowing me time to work through them quietly. He stands still, holding me in his arms and breathing steadily into my hair. Another flood of warm love rushes through me for him and my tears dry up. What the hell was I just crying about anyway?

To divert my thoughts I look up at my demon and ask about him; his long life, his brothers and God, whether or not He really exists.

Sighing, Asmodeus starts walking. As he walks, with me staring up into his face from my perch in his arms, he begins to speak.

“We do not call our parent god; that is a word you humans came up with to define the indefinable. No word can be accurately used to either name or explain your god. The most accurate human term would perhaps be the Creator. Crude as it is, the word can be used to label the being that created something out of nothing.”

“So He exists then?” I ask, mesmerised by the wonderful storyteller timbre his voice has taken, as well; of course, by the epic story being told.

“The Creator is neither a He nor a She and yet, is both. Order and Chaos combined, the Great One created time itself from the infinite void of nothingness. How, He|She came to be, is in and of itself a conundrum, for this Creator was borne of the cataclysm which also gave birth to time. This makes the Great One, His|Her own Mother and Father both, a feat that no other creature in this universe can boast.”

Awestruck, I process his words slowly and he is patient, pausing what I know will be a long story so that I can follow it. Curious about his words a number of questions spring to mind.

“Humans haven’t got it all wrong then, have we? Your explanation reminds me of a Greek myth; the one that explains the big bang.”

“I am not familiar with human mythology.” He answers, sounding amused. “Enlighten me.”

Annoyed, I give him the short version.

“Basically, it talks about how the Mother Goddess Gaia made the Earth from the void,” I smile up at him, “from chaos.”

He is unfazed and certainly not impressed.

“The Great One has many names. I suppose Guy-ee-ah shall suffice also.”

“Its Gaia, but enough about that; tell me about angels.” I request with relish. If demons exist then angels must too.

Now, he looks annoyed but continues regardless.

“From the Creator's right hand, strong and just sprang forth His|Her Seven enforcers, the Archangels of Order. From His|Her left hand, dark and soulful the Princes of Destruction were born, surrendering to Chaos and her charms. Neither race was like their Mother|Father, but was likened each, to only one of the two sides which make up their Parent.”

“When did He, I mean She-” I stop, trying hard to change twenty years of false conceptions concerning the divine. “How did the Creator, well… create humans? Are they closer to Order or Chaos?”

“You humans say that your god created man in his image. This is truer than anything you will ever learn, for humans were borne of the Creator's very heart. We, His|Her original children, Angels and Demons alike will never again experience His|Her touch; we will never kneel before Our Creator for we cannot ascend as humans can. We were not made in the Great One's image and therefore are bound for eternity to either Order or Chaos.” His voice is all bitterness and grief.

Eyes wide, rubbing soothing circles on his chest I ask gently, “What do you mean?”

“The Creator's gift to humanity, at the dawn of your creation, was the gift of choice. This choice enabled you to transcend the bonds of both sides and live short yet balanced lives in which Order and Chaos are One within you. This union gives you the opportunity to choose between right and wrong, and good and evil.

“You love, hate and sin, as well as pray, fear and overcome while we, who were born immortal are shackled by the circumstances of our birth. For an Angel can neither love nor hate; while a Demon will never find detachment or peace. Neither side is good nor evil as you humans would believe. Creatures such as myself, trapped in either Order or Chaos become the embodiment of whichever Force they are attached to, making them nothing more and nothing less than vessels for Order and Chaos to work through so that a balance of sorts may be preserved.”

“You’re a demon though, don’t evil humans get sent to you? Doesn’t that in turn make you evil?”

“Is a human jailer evil just because those he guards are? Yes, I am a demon, who sends forth my sin to tempt humans towards the side of Chaos. I am however, just continuing the task appointed to me by my Mother|Father, at the moment the first human drew breath. Again, love, let me emphasize that I just tempt humans; it is their choice whether or not they follow. Chaos is a part of me; it allows me love and hate both.”

I open my mouth to interrupt again, but he shushes me and continues.

“No, before you ask, love and hate are not opposites but rather like two sides of a single coin. Both are chaotic in their own ways and by that characteristic, it is impossible for the Angels to feel either. Order makes them indifferent to everything and everyone but our Lord, though even He|She they cannot love. They want for nothing but need to be in the glorious presence of the Creator again, a goal they will never attain, no matter how much they pray.”

“That is so sad.” I murmur, “What is the point in such a life? For Angels and Demons both I mean; it seems unfair that you have to live immortal half-lives. I am truly sorry.”

I mean my words whole heartedly and if my Demon King’s words are true (I don’t see why he would lie) then it means that he will never find enlightenment. Now, I understand his little joke earlier. Nothing I or anyone else says will ever allow him to be whole or to meet his beloved Creator. He is stuck here forever, watching over the damned whose souls will all eventually “ascend” to meet the Great One, no matter what evil they have committed in the past.

“Do not pity me human!” His words are harsh and menacing. “I am a demon, not some sniveling boy. You would be wise to remember so in the future.”

Confused at his sudden change of tone, I cower as far as I possibly can in his arms and try to control my racing heart.

“I- I’m sorry.” I stutter, unsure what else to say. I have seen him angry before, but never at me.

His face softens a little and he rubs my arm reassuringly.

“Do not be love. Never apologize for being what you are. Likewise, as much as my words seem to have upset you, I will not apologize for them either. I am what I am, as you are what you are. You are a human, with human emotion but I am a monster, a child of Chaos herself and I make no apologies. As such, I warn you now that I possess a horrendous temper, which flares at the best of times. Do not take my anger to heart for I shall not harm you. As I have revealed, demons can love as easily as they hate and can manage both faster than humans. I already love you, my Selena; do not fear me.”

My trembling stops and I hug him close. Again I find myself wondering, what do I say to that?

“Do not say the words unless you mean them my pet, I know that when one human professes their love, the other must do the same, but I am not human, so I do not need sweet lies to satisfy my ego. Your caution stems from the part of you which is allied with order. You are only human and should not feel ashamed.”

Considering this carefully I answer.

“I do feel… love for you, but I don’t think I am in love you just yet.” I wince, the words sound cruel.

“Do not feel guilty my love. You have spoken the truth and that is all I ask.”

He stops walking and gently places me onto the hard floor. I am unsteady on my feet for a few seconds and take a hold of his arm to right myself. Looking around I see that we are in yet another empty cave.

“Are you sure you stopped at the right place? I don’t see any clothes.”

He laughs and gestures into the empty space.

“Are you sure you have searched properly? Look again.” That mischievous glint has returned to his eyes and my playful demon is back, all serious talk forgotten.

Smiling, my eyes sweep the cave and again find nothing.

“Nope,” I say, “I don’t see any-”

Out of the corner of my eye something glints in the unnatural red light of the cavern. Whipping my head around, I see that it is a stone chest of sorts, with iron detailing. With an approving nod from Asmodeus, I take a hesitant step towards the mysterious new object.

Turning back at my lover, frowning, I ask, “Where did that come from.”

“Questions later love, I believe you requested clothing.” He inclines his head toward the chest and lifts a hand in its direction.

I walk the remaining steps and stop in front of the chest, acutely aware of the hot-blooded demon at my back. The chest is large and looks heavy; I doubt I will even be able to lift the lid. I run my fingers over the beautiful metal-work set in the stone and am reminded of the gorgeous bed-frame in the main cavern. I notice also, that the chest seems to be attached to the floor beneath, almost as if it has grown from the stone there. Suddenly I realize how the chest and bed came to be.

“You created this, didn’t you?” I ask in awe. “You made this with your power, the one you used to melt the walls.”

“Yes, dear one, anything you see in my domain is my will. Here, everything is as I wish it to be and now, I have willed this chest into creation. Open it; I am sure you will find clothing in there to your taste.”

I open it - the lid isn't as heavy is it looks - and peek inside. Beautifully coloured shimmery material shines up at me; the chest is filled with silk dresses. I gently lift out the one nearest to the top. It's navy blue with a plunging neckline, flared skirts and a lace back. Running my fingers along the intricate patterns which make up the lace I am astonished to find that is made of finely spun silver. How the silver is attached to the silk, I have no idea but the effect is breath-taking.

"You made this?" Again I am astounded that something so utterly beautiful can come from the imagination of a demon.

"Of course, love. Art is chaotic and beautifully so. As such, all demons are artistic; did you not notice the art on the walls of my throne room?"

I shudder, thinking back to the bloody looking art on the walls.

"I remember. This is nothing like that though. Your art is in a class of its own."

"It pleases me that the clothing suits your taste. Try on as many as you like, I will allow you some time. I have other business to attend; however, I will send a herald to deliver you to me in one hour."

With that he turns to leave. This causes me to panic slightly, I am afraid to be here alone.

"Wait!" I cry, "Don't leave me! Who will help me pick the right one? I can’t see how I look in them."

I add this seductively, swaying my hips toward him.

In response, he simply raises a clawed hand, curling his fingers inward and on the wall next to the chest, a large iron frame begins to grow from the rock. Delicate cracking and wind-chime sounds signal the addition of a large glass pane, again, growing out of nothing. A thin sheet of silver forms behind it; polished and reflective. Eventually we're left with a full length mirror set in an iron frame.

Like everything he makes, this is also a gorgeous work of art.

“This should suffice. Anything else you require shall present itself to you of its own accord.” He says this with a curious glint in his eyes, almost as if he is testing a theory.

He leaves before I can protest again, sealing me in the new cave. When he is gone I feel cold; any happiness he brings me is slowly sapped away. Again I am trapped in a cave, alone and afraid.

Just one hour, I remind myself so that I avoid a panic attack. I have never been claustrophobic but I think I may have recently acquired the acute fear of closed spaces. To further distract myself I head back over to the chest, lifting the silk gowns out one by one, holding them in front of my body and admiring them through the mirror. All the dresses are beautiful but I decide to stick with the blue one I picked out first.

The back is tied together with silk ribbons and I undo them before stepping into the dress. As the silky material slides over my itchy legs, I suddenly have the immense urge to shower before wearing anything. I wouldn’t want to sully such finery with my unwashed body.

Dropping the dress back into the chest I rest my hands on my naked hips, trying to think of a way to solve my dilemma. While I am thinking, visualizing a ravishing hot shower, I actually begin to hear the sound of running water, further into the cave, on my right.

Following the sound with cautious hope, I eventually stop at a small waterfall, about six feet high, the perfect makeshift shower. Anything I require shall present itself aye? Not bad.

The water is clear and falls gently in a small stream, just two feet wide. A small chasm has been formed underneath it to catch the water and a metal grated hole helps it drain away. The result is a rustic looking shower with surprisingly warm water cascading down from who knows where.

I step into it with relish, soaking my hair and loving the heated caress of the waterfall massaging my shoulders wonderfully. As soon as I wish it, a bar of earthy-scented soap appears in a rocky alcove in the wall. I wash away all my fear and tension, my mind so clear, as always, during my shower. Even at home, shower time has always been a time for me to think and reflect. It’s hard to remember, given how content I am, that I am also essentially a prisoner in hell.

In hell. Why am I okay with this?

Even under the warm water, my body begins to shake. Goosebumps rise on my arms and a shiver creeps up my neck. Why am I here?

My breathing is uneven and tears spill, hot and heavy from my eyes. I can’t stop the tears or the choking sobs which escape, speeding my breathing but not allowing me a full breath. My chest is tight, and my lungs scream for oxygen but try as I might to calm my hyper body down, my situation only gets worse. I swear it feels as if the ground itself is shaking. Hitching wails and stuttered breathing makes my body weak and I have to lower myself to the ground. Huddling in the corner of my unnatural shower, I tuck my legs in closer to my torso and stick my head between my knees.

I understand now what has happened. Unable to fight against what is happening to me and trapped here against my will, my fight or flight reflex has been warring within me all this time, finally imploding and causing the mother of all panic attacks. If I don’t calm down soon, I know; I will black out.

Breathe, Selena.

My breath is still hitching slightly but eventually I manage to calm down. This doesn’t help my situation much though, I’m still trapped here and I want to go home.

How could I not see this before? What was I thinking? Did I truly believe that I would stay here with a demon for the rest of my life? What about my family? My sister, my brother, my parents; were they waking up now to find me missing?

As this fresh thought assaults me a river of tears flow freely over my cheeks; surging past my lips and dripping off my jaw line, until it mixes with the hellish water and is sucked with it into oblivion. Like the water and tears being drained away, I feel my emotions spiral out of control.

Not for the first time I find myself wondering how I could have possibly been at ease with a demon all this time. The answer presents itself swiftly as I remember the power of Asmodeus’ heated stare. In my panic last night, it was his gaze alone which subdued me, crumbling my defences against his other power. It is his other power, his pure magnetism, which had actually led me to believe that I could love a beast. This attraction I feel for him is more dangerous than the mind control he first used on me. It is not that he’s actually forcing me to love him; it’s the irrevocable certainty of my attraction to him. Whether he is aware of this power or not is unclear to me but I do know now that just being near him makes me forget where I am.

Here, away from his gaze and over-whelming presence, my mind feels clear and sharp. A question which has been shackled under his impenetrable aura breaks free and taunts me once more. How do I escape?

Continued in Part Four
24 comments

Anonymous readerReport

2014-10-04 01:39:30
is there a country in the world where: (1) prorvessiges don't have major influence? (2) This same place has a reasonable standard of living? -- Also, I'd say every Western country prior to the 1960, or 1990s, or whenever it it that prorvessiges took over in toto.The fact that progressive-run countries seem like they are also best ones to live in stems from the fact that their standard of living is a fruit of prior, non-progressive generations' accumulation of capital.Progressivism is a parasite on this capital. The quality of life in a Western nation corresponds to the amount of cultural capital that the prorvessiges had not yet eaten through.

Anonymous readerReport

2014-10-03 16:45:53
It's really a great sereis. I found it through NetGalley, and thought hey, I'll give it a shot . The title made me hesitate a little (I didn't know what a sylph was and couldn't pronounce it well) but once I started reading, I was immediately hooked. I haven't read book one, but I hear book 2 is better (it's REALLY good!), so you're safe to start there you'll just spoil the story of the first. I wish more of the books I read were as good as Rosalie Lario's. Her writing and storytelling is superb.Thanks so much for commenting! Let me know how you like it!

Anonymous readerReport

2014-10-03 10:24:45
More posts of this qultyai. Not the usual c***, please

Anonymous readerReport

2014-10-03 09:56:01
haboush:It's hard to say, really, whheetr they actually believe what they're saying. But you're hardly the first to notice.Go to tvtropes.org, which is a site for discussion of common recurring ideas in the entertainment media, and you will notice that all Western television, film, and game script writers and producers appear to have been inmates in the same Maoist reeducation camp for the duration of their college studies. Therefore a script cannot exist unless its contents are at least 80% didactic infantile Cathedral agitprop by weight, and if by some miracle, contradicting all known laws of science, such a script were to come into existence, it could never be produced.This likewise obtains when we note the "infotainment" filler in the Cathedral's other official unofficial propaganda organs, such as the NYT, CNN, Fox "News," etc.

Anonymous readerReport

2014-10-03 09:41:10
Beyond parody. Just cechked the front page of the NY Times (not sure if it will be up there by the time you read this) and they are running some kind of interactive feature on NYC residents titled "One in 8 Million: NY Characters in Sounds and Images."They feature 3 residents: An E. Asian woman with an adopted black child. A young Hasidic Jewish woman who "escaped" her religious community and became a runaway. And a straight white guy with the Nordic name of "Paul Bockwoldt"......who has a gay brother and "joined a predominantly gay rugby team on Randalls Island to bond with his brother."Are the writers and editors of the NY Times just incredibly not self-aware and not self-conscious of what they actually publish? Or are they as brazen as they appear in trying to manipulate and shape public opinion in such an obviously blatant manner?

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