Chapter thirteen from book one in my near future sci-fi book universe, 2028AD.

Mike Koontz
Nov 17, 2018 · 9 min read

“Do you ever think about it, or perhaps dream about it?” she asked me.

I was laying, right next to her, on my back on the stony patch of moss that purposefully spread across the ancient gray rock.
Giving this old mountain a wondrous splash of green, vibrant life on what was nothing but rock solid stone. Scattered across the patches of green and gray, and white moss you had plentiful of strong, tall grass and wild berries of all sorts.

I counted blueberries, raspberries, lingon and smultron ( What the English folks like to call Arctic strawberries, but I used its proper Nordic name ) all living here at the same mossy patch. And just to the left of your cute and delicious ass, a bunch of tarty but pretty cute looking little berries was growing. But according to you, they apparently were slightly poisonous, so no eating those.

My shoeless left feet and my toes were resting on the bent knee of my right leg and I had folded my arms casually behind my head as I listened to your pleasant voice.

My eyes looked at my slightly worn left big toe, proudly wearing all of its battle scars from years long past. And beyond it was the rest of our valley. Well, it was perhaps not technically speaking our valley.

But after having spent a few wonderful months here with you and no one else, that was how we both thought of it by now.

As our valley. Shared with the lushness of the wild.

It was a tranquil place full of wild blueberries, eagles, snakes, wild foxes, a brown bear family or two, beavers and arctic rabbits and wolves, lynx and moose and deer, and hedgehogs too.

And in the winter, some of them took the most beautiful white fur, rendering them almost invisible against the snow and ice.
“No, not really..”

I studied the valley and the lake that cut through it with gentle bends and sloping shores, wrapping in and out of our valley and its thick forest covered hills and mountain tops for a few moments before I continued.

“Well, you know what I mean. Sometimes I think about it. Sometimes it’s there in my mind. But it is vague and opaque, like when you wake up from a dream, and it is like you were already awake and aware that you were, in fact, dreaming for those last few seconds, awake but with lucid dreams and conscious thoughts. And right in that moment when you finally open your eyes. In that split second the light of day hits your eyes and you think, ‘oh my god’, I need to tell someone about this dream, and bam, as soon as you think that all of that clarity is all gone, and instead of a million picture perfect little vivid details of clarity, you are left with a couple of translucent memories that soon are almost entirely wiped out, leaving you scratching your head and wondering, almost laughing as you think what the fuck was I dreaming”.

… “Well” I laughed.

Views from Scandinavia by Mike Koontz

“That is how it feels like for me. It´s like I can’t really see it, except that I can. But you know, I do not dwell on it either. It’s in the past now. All that matters is this life we have right now and what we will do with it tomorrow.”
“Perhaps we will return one day, but it might never happen, and I am fine with it either way.”

“How about you? Do you think about it?”

I already knew the answer of course.
We were different like that. So very much alike in almost all other ways, perfectly made for each other, alike in so many profound ways, but wonderfully different in others.

And this was one of those slightly differentiating things, but I loved you all the more for it, exactly the way you were, and I knew you felt the same.

That never ending mind of yours that kept analyzing, rethinking and revisiting things, I knew that there was no way you had not been thinking about it for all these years far more often than I had. And you might never even stop thinking about Earth.

And as if you could read my mind, you turned your beautiful face and looking straight at me you said.

“You know the answer already. I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t want to think about it, but I do. It comes to me at evenings at times, not very often at all anymore, not really, but still too often, when I am about to close my eyes. I even dream about it at times. It´s not a constant, it doesn’t restrict me, it does not take away in any way, but I would prefer it if my mind could just let all that slide away.”

The lost world XVII by Mike Koontz

A falcon flapped its wings above us and the white swans called out from down below the bird, as they slowly floated through the water.
I looked at your sensual lips as you kept talking, gently letting my fingers touch those incredibly sexy, bare legs as my hand worked its way upward, towards your hips. And as I opened my lips to answer that it’s okay. To the right of us, a big white-tailed Eagle left its pine tree nest and as it spread its wings the surroundings started to cave upon us, and somehow, like a bubble that caved upon itself to reveal the non-distorted reality behind it, we stood in our old kitchen. The one we had left behind so long ago.

I noticed the light first, the vibrant, white light that shone through the big cutesy windows. And then I noticed the smell of fresh food, not pine trees, and wet moss, no this was the scent of fresh food cooking in the kitchen.

My hands still touching your hips, and now my wet lips already kissing and tasting your neck and throat. The gentle warmth and sensual wetness of our tongues tasting and colliding.

And then I heard someone speaking behind us, and when I looked up, we were sitting in a café and the waitress asked us if we wanted the blueberry pie or the peach pie with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream with the black coffee.

My stomach was loud and clear in its message, telling me to order the blueberry pie with a big splash of real vanilla ice cream, sitting across me you were already smiling as you knew exactly what I would order.
I smiled at you since we both knew it very well. And my god, I felt so horny. I really just wanted to kiss you and to let my hands and fingers touch your shaved wetness beneath the table.

“Apple Pie and Vanilla ice cream for us both please”

The words had hardly left my open mouth when the strangest of things happened.

The couple sitting down at the table behind you, I could see them, talking and eating, loud and clear, and she had a pretty darn slick pony tail, and they were eating warm rhubarb pie with black coffee in white mugs but as I thought about how hot it would be to fuck you with my fingers right now, my eyes, seemed to dry up and it felt like I had gravel inside them, and all of a sudden they people eating rhubarb pie started to fade away.

I could still see them, but they felt muted and faded, and to the left, the window that was facing the empty and quite quaint street outside, it started to look awfully transparent.
Textures were dissipating before my eyes, and a strange kind of light from another place where shining through it now.
No, that was wrong.

Light where shining through everything. And I could hear the rumble of the open ocean. I could fell your tongue against mine, your nipples between my fingers, stiff and aroused, I spread your legs and tasted you with my tongue.

The ocean, it called for us.

My head started to spin around and my stomach suddenly felt awfully ill as your hands grabbed a firm hold of mine.
Salty water splashed against us.
A daring seagull walked across the warm rocks, not more than a few feet’s from us. And your sweet, soft lips kissed mine as your fingers found my hard sex.

to Climb
the Wall
a Tsunami
at the
Crossroads of the daisies meadow …

Your lips, they touched my heart, as your tongue craved my full attention. And the sensation of your skin against mine, the aroma of your entire being flooded me, my god, how I loved kissing you. I kissed you, I fucked you, I made you cum, wetness against my tongue and fingers, as you tasted me.

The man kept punching the inside of his own skull with fists that were nothing more than bloodied stumps by now. His teeth’s were aching and he could taste his own blood as it dripped out of his nose, his eyes and broken lips and skin. Swollen and aching. Bones and skin breaking in new places. Old wounds, a life made up of blood.

He was a prize fighter. Blood and pain was his gold.

Your tongue against mine, my fingers opening your blouse, and my fingertips gentle as a breeze touching your stiff nipples. My wet tongue tasted your nipples. I held your hair, firm but gentle, as I pulled your head backward, my fingers inside your wetness.

I nibbled with my teeth against your stiff nipples.

He was chewing his own tongue now.
In a fit of rage, fuelled by the swarm of bees that now nested permanently inside his mind.
He could feel them crawling around his gray matter.
Massaging his brain and synapses, firing neurons of obsessive hate. He hated them all. The fuckers that did not see, that hate and violence were the one true solution.

Norse autumn by Mike Koontz

“This is wrong, it is WRONG”, the man screamed in silence.

My god, how I loved the taste and fabric of your wetness, how sweet and naughtily horny, yet loving our kisses always where, I kissed your clit, your dripping wet pussy, my tongue tasted your little butt hole. My fingers, traced your swollen clit, and slowly fucked your insides.

A car slammed its breaks as the driver in a maddening pace kept hitting his horn. The self-driving cars around him, just kept driving, avoiding the entire incident with perfect elegance.
He was just another human being, reckless, tired, drunk or inadequate. And he should not be allowed to drive.
The autonomous cars evaded him, but you had to jump almost off the road and back up to the sideboards, and despite the seriousness of the situation I could not help myself from laughing, and as the driver angrily stared at us and even gave us the finger as he drove by us, you started to laugh as well.

You turned to me, and I knew what you would say, because we had once upon a time been right here, hadn’t we? Or were we supposed to go here one day, to stand right here and witness this angry man that should not drive a car?

Would this soon happen? But just not yet?.

My mind felt disengaged, and then, my naked feet were back.
Laying on my back, right next to you, and my hand touching your naked skin and legs, your ass, right beneath your skirt.

I felt quite strange, and I looked at you as the falcon flapped its wings and once again left the tree, as we both looked at how it took to the sky, soaring higher and higher.
And somehow, I thought to myself, it should have been an eagle, and right in that moment, you opened your lips and said.

“I thought it was an eagle.”


From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

Mike Koontz

Written by

Author & Photography. PT, health & fitness. Science and sustainability advocate | ,



From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

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