Be One With Me

"The lagoon whispered my name like it knew me—knew the version of me I'd been pretending didn't exist for thirty-five years."

The thought had been nagging at the edges of my consciousness for the better part of what felt like an hour, an uninvited but increasingly irresistible guest that refused to be shown the door. The river, with its clear, flowing water, seemed to sing a siren song composed specifically for me, its voice a soft, enchanting whisper that curled around my name like a lover's fingers.

Paul.

It seemed to sigh my name, a gentle caress against the turmoil of my thoughts.

Come bathe in me.

I had been doing my best to ignore it, to focus on the myriad tasks and challenges that our strange new world presented. There was always something requiring attention—supplies to organise, plans to discuss, the constant low-level tension of sharing space with Jamie. And yet the call of the river was persistent, threading through every other thought like a melody I couldn't shake loose. A reminder of simple pleasures. Of basic human needs. Of the body's demands that no amount of crisis could entirely suppress.

"Where are you off to?"

Jamie's voice snapped across the space between us, pulling me from the brink of my daydreams with the subtlety of a bucket of cold water. I'd been caught in the act of rising, my body already responding to the river's invitation before my mind had consciously agreed to accept.

I paused, suddenly aware of the weight of dust and sweat that clung to my skin like a second garment. I looked down at my legs, brushing away the fine layer of rust-coloured particles that seemed to coat everything in this place—a tangible reminder of the distance between this world and everything I'd known.

"We've been sitting here for ages."

The words emerged as a mixture of explanation and justification, though I wasn't entirely sure why I felt the need to justify anything to Jamie. Perhaps it was the guilt that came with prioritising comfort over productivity. Perhaps it was simply the ingrained habit of explaining myself, of seeking permission for pleasures that required none.

"So?"

"So, I'm going to go have a quick dip in the river."

My response came out more decisive than I felt, propelled by a need for the comfort of water, for the cleansing and renewal it promised. I didn't wait for a response. Didn't pause to gauge Jamie's reaction or seek his approval. Instead, I hurried to the tent with a sudden urgency that surprised me.

Grabbing a towel, I felt a mixture of anticipation and something approaching guilt. The luxury of a bath—of immersing myself in the cool embrace of the river—felt almost indulgent amidst our struggles for survival. There was work to be done. There were problems to solve. And here I was, abandoning responsibility for the simple pleasure of getting wet.

But it was a call I could no longer resist. A moment of respite I desperately needed. My body had been making demands all day that I'd been steadfastly ignoring, and the river offered a solution to at least some of them.

Which way?

The question echoed in my mind as I stood on the riverbank behind our makeshift camp. The choice seemed oddly significant, more than just a matter of direction. The water flowed past in both directions, offering paths upstream and down, each promising something different.

Not upstream.

I reminded myself with a shudder that had nothing to do with temperature.

That's poo territory.

The thought was enough to settle the matter. Downstream it was.

I allowed the river to guide my steps, following its path as it carved a serpentine trail through the Clivilian ground. The landscape here was foreign yet familiar—a paradox that tugged at my sense of wonder and unease in equal measure. The same dust, the same sky, the same absence of anything green or growing. And yet the river transformed everything it touched, turning barren ground into something approaching life.

The river widened as I walked, its banks stretching outward as if embracing the horizon. It took a slow, meandering curve to the east, leading me away from the immediacy of camp and its concerns, away from Jamie's silent judgment and Luke's complicated presence, and into a tranquillity I hadn't realised I was seeking until I found it.

After navigating a few low hills, an unexpected sight unfolded before me.

A lagoon.

It was tucked away almost secretively at the end of the river's bend, hidden from casual view by the gentle undulations of the landscape. Fed by a small break in the main river, a gentle influx of water kept it perpetually replenished. The sight of it stopped me mid-stride, my breath catching in my chest at the unexpected beauty of this hidden place.

I approached with a mixture of curiosity and caution, conscious of the newness of everything around me and the need to tread carefully in a world I didn't understand. But the lagoon seemed to welcome my approach, its surface smooth and inviting, reflecting the endless blue sky like a mirror laid flat upon the earth.

Peering into the clear, calm water, I was struck by its transparency. The lagoon laid bare its bed with a vulnerability that felt almost intimate—nothing hidden, nothing concealed, every pebble and stone visible in perfect detail. The bottom was a mosaic of smooth stones, their shapes and colours hinting at the river's long history, a story told in sediment and the slow patience of flowing water.

And yet, for all its serene beauty, the lagoon was utterly devoid of life.

No fish darted in its depths. No mosquitoes or gnats skimmed its surface. No algae clouded its clarity, no water plants reached upward toward the light. It was pristine in a way that felt almost unnatural—too perfect, too still, too empty of the teeming activity that should have filled any body of water this inviting.

The absence filled me with a profound sense of solitude. Here, in this secluded spot, the world seemed paused, held in a moment of silent contemplation that existed outside of time. It was as if the lagoon had been waiting for me specifically, preserving itself in this state of perfect stillness until I arrived to disturb its surface.

I kicked off my shoes, taking a moment to stand barefoot at the water's edge. The cool earth beneath my feet grounded me to this eerily serene environment, connecting me to something larger than myself. Then, with a tentative motion, I dipped my toes into the water.

The sensation hit me immediately.

A cool tingle of excitement shot up my leg—not just the expected response to cold water on sun-warmed skin, but something more. Something that seemed to bypass the usual pathways of sensation and strike directly at the pleasure centres of my brain. My cock stirred in my jeans, a response so unexpected and so immediate that I actually looked down in confusion, as if my body had done something without consulting me first.

There was a hesitation that followed, a brief battle within myself. I knew what might happen if I stepped in completely. The earlier experience in the river had already shown me how my body responded to full immersion—the overwhelming vulnerability, the unexpected arousal, the way the water seemed to strip away more than just dirt. And this lagoon felt different somehow. More intense. More... hungry.

Yet the allure was undeniable. The water whispered promises of escape, of release, of pleasures I'd spent a lifetime keeping carefully contained.

But it's worth it.

The thought surfaced with a certainty that surprised me. When had I become so willing to surrender to sensation? When had the careful, controlled Paul Smith—devoted husband, responsible father, upstanding member of the community—started listening to the demands of his body instead of suppressing them?

Perhaps it was this place. Perhaps it was everything that had happened since stepping through that portal. Perhaps I'd simply reached the limit of what restraint could accomplish, and something inside me had finally broken loose.

Whatever the reason, it took only seconds for my clothes to join my shoes, carelessly strewn along the bank in a heap that would have horrified the orderly part of my brain if that part had still been functioning. My shirt. My jeans. My underwear—fresh from the bag Luke had brought, already discarded. I stood naked at the water's edge, exposed to the sky, my cock already half-hard with anticipation of what was to come.

This wasn't like me. None of this was like me.

And I didn't care.

I slid into the lagoon's embrace, and the world transformed.

The water enveloped me in an intoxicating caress that sent waves of pleasure coursing through every inch of my skin. Not just sensation—pleasure. The kind that made my breath catch and my eyes flutter closed. The kind that made my cock swell to full hardness without any touch beyond the water itself. The kind that I hadn't felt in years of dutiful marital sex, of quick releases in the shower, of carefully suppressed desires and rigidly controlled responses.

Christ.

The word—the profanity that would have earned me a disapproving look in my Mormon upbringing—escaped my lips in a breathless gasp. The sensation was almost too intense, a stark contrast to the dusty heat and constant vigilance that had defined the day. Here, in the water, I found more than a sanctuary. I found something that felt dangerously close to worship.

I submerged further, allowing the water to cover me completely, to reach places that had been parched by more than just sun. The coolness touched my chest, my stomach, my thighs—intimate places that responded with a sensitivity I hadn't known they possessed. Every nerve ending seemed to have awakened, every inch of skin transformed into an erogenous zone that quivered at the water's gentle touch.

My eyes closed without conscious decision, and I surrendered to the experience.

The vulnerability of my nakedness, far from the prying eyes of Jamie and Luke, allowed something rare to surface. It stripped away the layers I'd spent a lifetime constructing—the responsible eldest brother, the faithful husband, the dutiful father, the man who always did what was expected of him. Layer after layer fell away like clothes discarded on a riverbank, revealing something raw and unguarded beneath.

A version of myself I seldom acknowledged. One that craved not just physical release, but freedom from the constant weight of expectation. One that wanted to feel something—anything—without immediately cataloguing whether it was appropriate, acceptable, allowed.

Floating there, suspended in the lagoon's gentle grasp, I felt a connection to the world around me that was both profound and terrifying. My hand drifted downward almost of its own accord, finding the hardness between my legs with a familiarity that required no thought. The touch sent shockwaves through my system—pleasure building on pleasure, sensation layered upon sensation.

I should have been ashamed. Paul Smith, thirty-five-year-old father of two, masturbating in an alien lagoon like some hormone-addled teenager who'd discovered his own body for the first time. The thought should have been enough to stop me, to restore the control I'd cultivated over decades of careful self-discipline.

But the lagoon didn't care about should. The lagoon only cared about was.

And what was, in this moment, was a man finally allowing himself to feel.

The pleasure intensified, building toward something that felt different from any climax I'd experienced before. It wasn't just physical—it was everywhere at once, in every cell of my body, in the air I breathed and the water that held me. The distinction between myself and the lagoon began to blur, my edges softening until I couldn't tell where I ended and the water began.

Be one with me, Paul.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere—soft as a whisper, vast as the sky above. It might have been my imagination, or it might have been something else entirely. In this moment, I didn't care which. The words washed over me like the water itself, an invitation I couldn't have refused even if I'd wanted to.

Be one with me.

I closed my eyes tighter, not in fear but in willing surrender. The feelings of joy and passion—emotions I'd rationed so carefully throughout my life, doled out in measured doses to wife and children and work—intensified beyond anything I'd known. They filled me with a warmth that radiated from my very core, building and building toward a crescendo that felt less like an orgasm and more like a revelation.

The lagoon, in this moment, was more than water. It was a living entity, whispering secrets of Clivilius that I couldn't quite grasp but could feel humming through my veins. Secrets of life and existence so profound they bypassed language entirely, communicating directly with something ancient and primal inside me.

I let these feelings wash over me, engulf my senses completely. Overwhelming yet oddly comforting. Terrifying yet desperately wanted. It was surrender in its purest form—surrender to the moment, to the sensation, to the undeniable truth that despite everything, I was still capable of feeling this. Still capable of losing myself in pleasure. Still capable of being more than the roles I'd been assigned.

The sensations reached their peak, and my body arched in the water as release finally came. Not a controlled, quiet climax—the kind I'd trained myself to have during all those years of married sex with children sleeping in the next room—but something wild and unrestrained that tore a sound from my throat I didn't recognise as my own voice.

Waves of pleasure crashed through me, each one more intense than the last, until I was left floating boneless in the lagoon's embrace, gasping for breath, my mind wiped clean of everything except the aftershocks still rippling through my system.

Christ.

Christ.

The blasphemy came easier now, in the aftermath of something that had felt almost religious in its intensity. I lay on my back, buoyed by water that seemed determined to hold me, staring up at the unmarked blue sky while my body slowly remembered how to function.

A wild, unabashed grin took hold of my face—the kind of expression I hadn't worn since childhood, before life had taught me to moderate my joy into acceptable ranges. It was a physical manifestation of pure, unadulterated satisfaction, bubbling up from somewhere I'd forgotten existed. A place that had been parched for this kind of release far longer than I'd admitted, even to myself.

Tiny water particles, cooler than the air yet warmed by the sun's touch, seemed to mingle with my skin in ways that felt almost sentient. They seeped into every pore, a delicate invasion that promised rejuvenation and something stranger—a communion with this alien world that I couldn't explain and didn't want to question.

Be one with me, Paul.

The voice again, or perhaps just the memory of it, fading now as the intensity ebbed. But I understood something I hadn't before. This place—this lagoon, this world, this impossible situation—was offering me something I hadn't realised I needed.

Permission.

Permission to feel. Permission to want. Permission to be something other than the carefully constructed version of Paul Smith that had been living my life for the past fifteen years.

Floating there, I felt a part of something larger than myself. A tiny thread woven into the vast tapestry of this world, connected in ways I couldn't comprehend but could feel humming through every cell of my water-kissed body. It was humbling and exhilarating in equal measure.

Yet even as I basked in the afterglow, reality began to reassert itself at the edges of my consciousness. This moment of unity, of transcendent pleasure, was a stark contrast to the challenges and uncertainties that waited beyond the lagoon's banks. Jamie would be wondering where I'd gone. Luke might return with supplies that needed unloading. The business of survival would resume the moment I climbed out of this water and put my clothes back on.

The complexity of our situation remained unchanged—we were still trapped, still stranded, still facing an uncertain future in a world we didn't understand. But something in me had changed. The lagoon had shown me a version of myself I'd been denying for too long, and I wasn't sure I could go back to pretending that version didn't exist.

The sensations had passed now, leaving me breathless but oddly sated in ways that went beyond the physical. I floated a while longer, reluctant to end this strange communion, reluctant to return to the world of responsibility and restraint that waited on the shore.

But eventually, I would have to climb out. Would have to dress. Would have to become Paul Smith again—husband, father, brother, survivor.

I just wasn't sure, anymore, that I knew who that man was supposed to be.

The lagoon had cracked something open inside me. And I had a feeling, floating there in its impossible embrace, that it wasn't going to close again anytime soon.