Temple of My Lost Angel

By Malone Margate

In the inaugural installment of the series, our hero embarks on an immersive journey as he rediscovers the love he thought was lost. In this first of an eleven-part series, our hero is fooled into participating in a transformative experience—a group sex intervention—an encounter that forces him to challenge his perceptions of reality.

Brace yourself for a provocative exploration beyond the boundaries of pleasure and perception. The start of a titillating saga exploring uncharted territories, where the lines between desire and imagination blur, a world previously confined to his fantasies.

"Temple of My Lost Angel" promises an exploration of sensuality and fantasy, weaving a tapestry of explicit encounters against the backdrop of a unique and erotic universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cypris Media
• Release date: Jul 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005458737

Malone Margate

Although bounced from one foster home to another until aging out of the system, Malone never understood what a family was until creating one. Having learned how to lie better than his foster siblings out of necessity and possessing an unnatural obsession with sex, Malone turned to writing and authorship to recreate the worlds he discovered beyond his imagination.Malone’s first series, ‘Santa Azura,’ is a fictionalized representation of how Malone found his lost angel and the founder of a loving family. A family that encouraged Malone to transcribe the erotic experiences of people and places Malone’s astral form can observe or become on other worlds, worlds where sharing one’s love through sexual affection is natural and normal.

Book preview

Temple of My Lost Angel

Santa Azura Book One

Malone Margate

This story is a work of fiction. Therefore, any references to historical events, real people, or real places should be considered an inaccurate portrayal incorporated into this literary work for entertainment purposes only. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All characters engaged or observing sexual acts and situations detailed within this fictional work are eighteen or older. The terms brother, sister, and family connect characters who share an emotional and spiritual kinship, shared values, beliefs, traditions, common experiences, or shared activities. None of the sexually interactive characters are blood relatives within a prohibited degree of consanguinity.

Fictional actions and situations should NOT be considered a representation of real-life encounters. Honest, clear, and ongoing communication with your partner(s) is essential before, during, and after any sexual encounter.

No means no.

All rights are reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced without written permission.

Portions of the cover art have derived from works in the Public Domain or copyright-free works of art

Copyright Cypris Media LCC 2022

WARNING

THIS SERIES CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT, SUPERNATURAL THEMES, RELIGIOUS THEMES, AND GRAPHICLY DETAILED DEPICTIONS OF HUMAN SEXUALITY AND NUDITY SOME MAY FIND OFFENSIVE.

BY CONTINUING, YOU AFFIRM THAT YOU ARE OF LEGAL AGE TO ACCESS SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIAL, AND IT IS LEGAL TO DO SO IN YOUR REGION, AND YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO READ SUCH LITERATURE.

1

1 In The Beginning

It was the worst of times, and it was the best of times, at least that’s how I remember the phrase, and to me, it represented that horrible time between High School and the rest of my life. A muggy crawl through one day after another, consciously avoiding my future, not wanting to decide on a career, college, or both. I needed a break from twelve years of teachers force-feeding information I understood better than they did or stuff I’d never use again.

Maybe doldrums is a better word; after all, I was in a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or depression. At least, that was my state of mind six years since I was a teenager and nine months since my friends abandoned me. Ha, six and nine, sixty-nine, get it… yeah, I know, stupid and childish; sorry, but that’s how my mind works sometimes.

I read once that a person’s personality freezes or locks into place at the age they have a significant life-changing event or a tragedy. Something like that happens to me, but not once, several times during the same week. Sorry if I sound like the same perverted sex crazed man-child I was back then; I like to think I have a justifiable reason to be at least a little obsessed about sex, and maybe you’ll agree after reading the story, I have to share with you.

Fair warning, this is not the start of my story, nor the end; it’s more like a mile marker on a Mobius loop, a never-ending journey, if you will. Something akin to a rite of passage beyond the self-imposed constraints of narrow-minded and unimaginative people who installed locks on their minds forged by the most potent religious beliefs and superstitions passed on to them from their predecessors.

It’s not easy to invoke a musical score with the written word, but let's try it. Imagine the mind-expanding theme music from the Twilight Zone (this plays a part later on) and Rod Sterling’s superior-sounding monotone calling attention to a doorway in space. This story is merely an introduction to the journey I followed to find myself and… pause for dramatic effect… how my lost angel called me to her side.

2 Introductions

Please, allow me a moment to introduce you to some of my adolescent and post-college companions; I've changed their names to protect the innocent and guilty alike. I've also sequenced them in alphabetical order to help me keep them clustered together in my mind; sometimes, the people I've known in the past tend to overlap and blur with those I haven't met yet.

More on that later… much later.

Anyway, in the beginning, in this life, my first incarnation, if you will, I've known Alan and Barry since fifth grade, and we all were best buds even in High School and, later, college. Despite those institutions trying to send us off in vastly different directions, we stayed together… well, until about nine months ago.

Alan had been obsessed with following his older sister into the military since I met him, despite his alcoholic mother's objections. The poor guy came from a broken home. I guess we all did in some way. After all, I never knew my birth parents, and although I never met Alan’s father, I knew enough to believe Alan was better off without a man like him as a father figure.

Barry's father left him and his mother, the mortgage payment, and everything else that went along with being a single mother in the late seventies through no fault of Barry’s. However, based on the more adult conversations I had with him at various times during and after High School, I blame his mother for her troubles; you might too when I get to that part of his story.

I thought I was just an average guy back then, but apparently, I was wrong. I saw myself as a nerd obsessed with Star Trek, Star Wars, Buck Rogers, Doctor Who, time-travel movies, whatever movie they were pushing in the latest Star Log magazine, and girls.

I also had what I did not know then was an unnatural preoccupation with the feminine form. It's been a part of me for as long as I can remember… as far back as first grade. Of course, it wasn't all about sex either; sure, even as a small boy, I was curious about what girls kept hidden under their clothes and poufy dresses. Why whatever secret they kept between their legs was so forbidden was something I didn’t understand, and, so you understand me a little better, their sex was not what I wanted then.

What I wanted, what made my chest hurt before I fell asleep alone in my bed each night as a child, was the unoccupied space next to me. I wanted someone I could feel close to and close to me every day and night. So much so, sometimes the loneliness seemed to manifest as an imploding void, sucking at the inside my chest as I secretly embraced a pillow as my comforting lover, even as a teenager, to help me fall asleep.

Before high school, I was the most experienced with the opposite sex amongst Alan, Barry, and me. At least I'm pretty confident I had given more brain cycles to wanting or needing a lover in my life than they had at that point in our lives. I was sure I had more familiarity than Alan and Barry's combined experience with girls back then and longing to be with one. But, then again, maybe girls didn't matter to either of them, especially Barry.

After High School is a different story; this story, and please, Keep in mind that this story will be substantially biased from my perspective. As the writer of this tale, I understand and am sometimes frustrated by the constraints of this medium. It is something you, as the reader, also need to accept; to realize this literary effort is one narrow frame of view at a time; my perspective as the storyteller. This concept may seem normal and acceptable to you. Still, as this story progresses, I’d like you to keep it in mind so you can better understand how lives overlap more than I thought possible when I started this journey, a journey that started before my birth parents met, married, and died.

Who and what I am manifested long before grade school. Think back to when those first inconsistent waves of hormones licked the beaches of your brain and imagine yourself as a child without a family or a consistent home. Then imagine a surgeon carefully cutting away a vital organ without killing the patient. We all have some personal horror that follows us, influencing our decisions and perspective. Mine attached itself long before grade school, but it was an event in grade school that has clung to my soul, tortured me every day, and guided me down a path of isolation and separateness.

I'm a strange bird, if that's not already obvious. Part of that strangeness included a strict personal moral code, a code that still influences me to this day. A self-imposed restrictive morality applied to anyone I imagined might fill the hole in my soul. I saw myself as a danger to anyone I loved, and, honestly, for reasons that will eventually become clear, avoiding love meant avoiding the pain after love. This fear, coupled with my inconstant family life, led to a collection of repetitive behaviors I adopted in my pre-teens years to better fit into society, usually manifesting as self-deprecating, insulting, or innuendo-laced commentary masked by a comedic facade.

I was very young when I realized I needed to pretend to be someone I wasn't for the comfort of those around me or to avoid further ostracism. The kind of mental separation from others that only abandoned children might know. Later on, as a tween, something happened that reinforced the idea I would never find someone who would be a part of my life and want me as a part of theirs.

Entering high school, I found myself walking on a razor-sharp mental tightrope. Falling from one side would shatter the illusions I had created about others to help me deal with my aloneness. If I fell to the other side of that blade’s edge, I would shatter any preconceptions they might have that I was a decent and respectful human being.

If this sounds creepier than it should, I want you to know that puberty hit me hard about four years before Alan and Barry and at least a year before Bonnie Hockaday experienced her first period unexpectantly in sixth grade. As will become clearer as this story progresses, between my fifth and sixth grades, something happened that made me understand I could never ask any girl I was attracted to out on a date for three reasons. First, after studying them and overhearing their recess, lunchtime, hallway, and school dance conversations, I realized I didn't like the real girls. The fantasy ones in my imagination were better in every possible way and far more mature.

Second, I knew they would never say yes to me, not to the king of the nerds. Not the always-watching creep who knew more about their bodies and what puberty was doing to them than they did.

And three, I blamed myself for what happened to my first crush. A traumatic set of events handled ignorantly by an immature boy starved for companionship; and the first mile-marker on my journey to infinity and beyond.

I would not say I was more emotionally mature than Alan or Barry as we advanced through grade school and middle school together; I wasn’t. Both had serious family issues and personal trauma I was only vaguely aware of at the time. And looking back, I realize they handled their situations far better than I would have.

Our middle school was limited to seventh and eighth grades, and none of us officially 'dated' back then. Alan was too focused on caring for his mother and his goal of becoming an Eagle Scout before turning eighteen. Barry’s interest lay elsewhere, or more specifically, his mother’s interests in Barry’s future lay elsewhere. And, if you were not aware, peer pressure for geeks is an intricate system of balance and equality far too complex to explain here. Maybe it's simpler to admit I was too afraid to get hurt or hurt someone I might care for, and their home situations didn’t allow Alan or Barry the option to consider long-term commitments to someone else.

3 High School

The intricate and perfectly balanced nerd support model I envisioned as part of our childhood relationship matrix collapsed the second week of our first year of High School. Hormonal influences that started distorting Alan and Barry’s perspectives kicked into high gear during our freshman semester. Their suddenly hyperactive glands overwhelmed their unprepared brains with conflicting and constantly reprioritizing emotions. Mental battles I had fought against angered passions trying to influence my mental processes. A private war that started the summer between fifth and sixth grades; an unseen war I fought until I suppressed and repressed the fears, anger, and regrets attempting to consume what remained of my soul.

As I suspect with most high school relationships, ours was, and is, a long, convoluted story that becomes confusing and disjointed when summarized. So please bear with me as I try to bring order to chaos.

After our sophomore summer, Allison became Alan’s steady girl, but not until the woman he had an instant and persistent attraction to, Debra, turned him down several times. At the start of our sophomore fall, Allison was a new student at the school, and I remember Alan following her around like a lost calf looking for its mother’s tit to suckle. Or, maybe, she was leading him around like a bull with a lasso around his balls. In either case, Allison had the upper hand in their relationship. An impressive feat considering how his presence always seemed to fill a room.

Allison was also well aware that she was Alan’s rebound and consolation prize, not the woman he had initially wanted to share his heart with the year before. Instead, she was the first woman who satisfied his need for companionship through athleticism. Allison seemed ok with her role as Alan’s backup choice, and we all knew enough to never broach the subject with them, even in jest. You could say it was our version of don’t ask, don’t tell.

Their relationship was something we teased him about in the hallways or playfully alluded to during our late-night trips to Denny’s after a show or school event. After all, Allison was ‘the innocent girl next door,’ raised by religious parents who took their family to church every Sunday. And Alan was the wholesome Captain America poster boy who sacrificed his Eagle Scout goal by donating all his spare time to Allison.

Debra was, and still is, the most maternal member of our high school group of friends. She assumed the ‘Mom’ role after Allison joined our expanding fraternity. Her divorcee's mother looked like an older and sexier version of her daughter. If the term MILF was around, then I never heard it, but Debra’s mother was a model candidate for the moniker, and so was Debra. Every guy in or near our clique's orbit wanted Debra, mostly for her snuggle-inspiring bosoms and a sultry soothing voice that could melt butter.

Fair warning; it will be a while before the naked squishing begins. I tend to be a little wordy as I want to capture and convey as much detail as possible about the start of my never-ending journey. It keeps me rooted to where I came from, if I ever end up back there… and, hopefully, that little tidbit will eventually make sense.

Anyway, Debra, like her mother, had this beautiful mix of dark Greek hair and Italian skin tones with an Asian ancestry around their eyes. Debra’s mother’s flesh tones were slightly darker, and Debra was a shade or two whiter in the sun, but both had a definite olive-green tint to their skin tones. Debra’s full-lipped smile held my attention whenever she spoke to me unless her olive-tinted cleavage was on display. An unexpected encounter with her offered a spark of hope that Debra might be someone I could learn to love until I understood why Alan had no chance whatsoever. Even so, Debra looked like she would be a very comfortable and accommodating partner. Not wild, slutty sex-Olympics kind of sessions; more like a cuddly, warm, squishy, "That’s a good boy, let Mommy help you feel better," kind of encounter.

While Alan did his best to keep up with Allison, Barry took to the theater program like a fish to water. Even as a sophomore, Barry was on stage in every production, no matter how small the part, eventually becoming the coach’s go-to lead during our senior year. Barry also found a new group of friends that shared his desire to pursue acting as a career and people who understood him better than he understood himself.

Before graduating high school, an eighteenth birthday present to himself, Barry confirmed what I already suspected; he preferred men over women. I’m not sure I handled Barry’s confession the right way. Being a narcissist, I was more nervous about him hitting on me and the guilt I would feel having to reject his advances than I was about his emotional state. Nevertheless, we talked for a long time that night, and I must have said something or done something right since he’s still my friend. I may have helped him come out to his mother, but that was a double-edged sword. A trauma I’ll detail from two perspectives later.

I like to think I helped him somehow, or perhaps my unjudging and mostly indifferent acceptance of his sexuality may have started him down a path from which there was no return. Honestly, I’m not sure; the important thing is that he continued to be one of my two best friends.

What role did I take on in our little life-play? Well, allow me to introduce myself; my name is CC.

Christian Church, but I consider myself more of a product of hell than heaven, and as such, I prefer to go by my initials and not my… wait for it… my Christian name.

Someone lacking imagination named me after the building whose steps a nun discovered me on. Hence the name Christian Church.

In high school, I was the goober who moved the TV carts and AV equipment around the campus before the start of the day and back to the safety of a locked room after school. I was also a stagehand who provided technical support for the Theater and Band, but not the Chorus, as the vocal coach was a self-centered jerk, not unlike myself.

During that first year of high school, I blossomed into a full-on nerdy geek, but not the Revenge of the Nerds kind; I was a part of a new, more evolved form of hominid.H.sapiens.nerdus. I didn’t have thick glasses or pocket protectors, and I was terrible at math. I was also co-president of the Sci-Fi club, Alan being the other co-president. I preferred to look professional in the casually clothed environment, sporting bright solid colored (mostly pastel) dress shirts and the thin ties that were the style back then.

In defense of what you might be imagining in your mind’s eye, I had what I considered a unique ‘preppy’ style that only I could pull off in a Pacific Coast High School, long before it became a trend of spoiled brats on the east coast. Moreover, thanks to the State of California's excellent medical coverage for foster children, I was never cursed with acne, and my teeth were perfectly straight before graduating high school.

4 Extended Fraternity

Others joined our extended fraternity during the four years of social chaos and the years that followed high school hell. Elena was in her third year of a two-year college program when our worlds started to overlap. She was also my first obsessive objective of lust as a legal adult. A platinum blonde with a wardrobe of slutty fashion that had her sent home more than once to change into something that complied with the school’s dress code. She plastered on her makeup like a modern-day sex-warrior and took her fashion sense from every sluty model in an MTV music video. Everything about her, her hair, clothes, even the way she walked, screamed, "I’m accessible for a price, but not to you."

Elena was a subject of particular interest to me. She seemed to have all of the perverse features I wanted in a woman. Elena’s ‘in-your-face’ taunting sexuality complemented her clear understanding of what a man needed from her or wanted to do to her body. Most importantly, according to rampant rumors about her source of income, she had a price.

"One I might be able to afford; if not per night, then maybe a couple of hours per month," I postulated after hearing whispered suggestions she was a part-time prostitute. After that nugget of knowledge found its way into my ears, my warped mind devised plans to get close to Elena, plotting ways around her defenses. My mind and imagination were continually scheming ways to get into her good graces so I could be an exception to her ‘no-free-rides’ rules allowing me to sample her unseen talents strictly for testing and experience purposes.

Even though all my