Konan rose at dawn from the bed he had made beneath the trees and stars at the side of the road. He stretched and ran his hands through his hair and over his body and adjusted his loincloth. He had already checked that his possessions were all there. His sword in its hard leather, iron-banded sheath, along with his knife and the small leather bag of valuables had all been wrapped in his robe, which he had rolled up and used as a pillow. His goatskin water bottle and his bow and quiver of arrows had been tucked under the heavy cloak he lay upon and wrapped around himself in the coldest part of the night just before dawn.
All was there as he had left it and his only other possessions, his loincloth and his sandals, had not left his body, though he had slightly loosened the laces on his sandals for comfort. Best to be ready always in case some opportunistic thief sought to steal from a man in the dead of night while he slept. More than once on his long journey Konan had needed to run quickly to catch such a foolhardy villain. And running was always easier to do in sandals.
Having stretched and greeted the day pleasantly, he rose, bundled up his possessions, and carried them the few paces to the bank of the swiftly flowing stream he had been pleased to find winding close to the road when he looked for a place to rest at the end of the previous day.
Removing his loincloth and sandals, he laid them atop his weapons, his robe, and his cloak and stepped into the water. It was cool and clear, bubbling merrily over smooth rocks and sandy patches at its bottom. He stepped into the center of it and was surprised to find the water came halfway up his thighs. Bending over and cupping his hands, he drew up the cool water and splashed it over his body, feeling the freshness of it and the invigorating coldness. He wiped it over his golden skin with his hands to loosen the dust that had clung to him during the two days he had been on the road since he had last had the good fortune to be able to bathe himself all over.
His manhood was hard and stood up straight, almost flat against his muscular belly, and he gave it special attention, washing and stroking it between playing water over other parts of his body. He bent over and dipped his head fully into the stream and shook it to loosen his hair and let the water flow to his scalp. Lifting his head, he threw it back, bringing a shower of water with him and sending it flying about as he shook his head, a glittering cascade of rainbows and flashes. Then he twisted his head to left and right, the water flying off again and again in cascades of silver drops, given life when touched by the morning sun.
He stayed there with his head flung back, and his hands went to his manhood and stroked it. He then ran over his body, no longer to wash it but to pleasure it. Fingers teased and pinched hard nipples, stroked his tight belly, tugged at his sac, and he quickly spouted his seed, sending it in an arc into the stream. He let out a lazy roar as he spouted, not the great roar he would have bellowed if he had spouted his seed while taking his pleasure with another man. And he was not fully satisfied.
