Page 59 of The Very Virile Viking

Where will I be tomorrow, or next week, in this strange journey I am on ?

Why can I not keep my hands off the woman?

Enough was enough! Well, not nearly enough… but enough lest he go insane from an overabundance of nonsex… which came close to nonsense, to his mind. Nonsex, Nonsense, same thing. So he was off to set some ground rules with Angela about this nonsense. No more "making it." Or was it "making out"?

Whatever !

But he got waylaid in the kitchen, where Juanita—the goddess of cooking—was whipping up batter for blueberry waffles, his favorite morning feast in this land… next to scrambled eggs, Froot Loops, fried ham, strawberry jam, fresh orange juice, and toasted, butter-dripping muffins, that is. If he was not careful, he would soon lose his fine physique. And wouldn't that be an outrage—a fat Viking?

Until the meal was ready, he decided to crawl under the table and play hide-and-find with Lida. Hamr, Kolbein and Njal were under there with Magnus, pretending to be quacking ducks. It was amazing the way the reticent Kolbein had lost his shyness now that they were at the Blue Dragon. The boyling no longer felt the need to be attached to his father like a bothersome burr. Kirsten and Dagny were doing an outrageous Britain Spear-type dance around the kitchen to some raucous music on the raid-he-oh, trying further to distract Lida. Jow was barking wildly, making sure he was part of the activity. Torolf and Jogeir had aprons on and were helping Juanita serve up the food. Grandma Rose was no doubt off in the downstairs bathing room smoking one of her toe-back-hoe sticks in her usual surreptitious manner, as if she were fooling anyone.

That was when Angela walked into the room. Her eyes practically bugged out at the scene they all presented; then she burst out laughing. But he'd also seen the gleam in her eyes as she'd watched him playing with his children. Angela liked him. She really liked him.

Therefore, Magnus did as any thinking man would do. Or was that nonthinking man? Whatever ! He took Angela's hand and discreetly led her off with him to the nearby pantry, where he locked the door behind them. Then, hoping they'd be momentarily forgotten in all the chatter and activity of a huge breakfast, he and Angela engaged in some more nonsex. And that was before he had eaten any blueberry waffles… which was saying a lot.

His resolution to end this nonsense was further thwarted that afternoon when Angela came out to the machine shed, where Miguel was teaching him how to check over the motor of a clanking tractor. She was wearing a white tanking-top over den-ham braies that were cut off practically at her woman parts, and skimpy leather sandals on her bare feet. He wasn't sure which made him randier, the nipples visible through her tanking-top or the pink toenails peeking out of the sandals. Not that it took much to make him randy these days. Randy could become his second name. Magnus the Randy. Aaarrgh ! Naturally he and Angela ended up having more nonsex on the seat of the vibrating, still-running tractor when Miguel went off to buy a new car-burr-ate-whore.

That night, he was determined to end this nonsense before he did something really foolish, like break his vow. In fact, it would be more than foolish. It would be dishonorable. That, he would not—could not—do.

His downfall, this time, was a guard-her belt… the most scandalous, tempting garment ever invented by

man… or woman. Whooee ! The things a man could do to a woman in a black lace guard-her belt with sheer black hose and high-heeled shoes. By midnight, when Angela had left his third-floor bedchamber, the bed linens were in a shambles, his knees were scraped raw, his lips were swollen, his legs were shaky, his cock ached from lack of a female sheath, and his muscles were tense and trembly. In essence, he felt wonderful. No wonder he forgot what it was he had been going to tell Angela.

All shook up…

Magnus was shaken the next afternoon, upon returning from his vineyard work, to learn that Angela had gone back to the city where work presumably beckoned her.

Apparently Dare-all had called and canceled his visit for the next day, postponing it till the following Monday. That gave her some free time to go back to work in her office and earn more money, or so Grandma Rose explained. He could have given her any money she needed, he had started to say, but halted himself, knowing Angela was a prideful woman and probably wouldn't accept what she would consider charity from him. If their positions were reversed, he would feel the same way.

It was all for the best, he supposed. They needed some time apart… a resting period during which each could evaluate this irresistible force that drew them into a fiery sexual maelstrom every time they were within kissing distance of each other.

But then Miguel took him up to the old winery, which had been closed down the past few years. That was when Magnus's world came apart with a crash.

Miguel, with tears in his eyes, held up a bottle of wine from the last vintage, six years past, and pointed out the label to Magnus. It read, Blue Dragon Vineyard, Sonoma, California, 1997 .

Magnus was thickheaded at times, 'twas true. So it took several moments for the fact to sink in that the wine label read 1997—supposedly six years past— which would mean that this was 2003. In other words, if he was to believe what he was seeing, an entire millenium had passed since he'd left the Norselands.

"Miguel, what year is this?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Two thousand and three," Miguel said, casting him an odd, questioning look.

"Are… are you sure?"

Miguel nodded. "Magnus, are you all right?"

"Nay, I am not all right," he murmured as he staggered out of the winery and off toward the house.

How was it possible? A thousand years! Impossible! But so many perplexing things about this land began to make sense to him now. Like the turning pages of a book, he saw the modern inventions that he had tried to explain away as just the innovations of a different land and culture, the peculiar manner of speaking English, the intuitive sense he had had all along that there was some puzzle to be figured out All these things, and more, convinced him that the answers had been there all along, and he had not recognized them.

But if he accepted that he was living a thousand years in the future, then he would have to accept that he and his children had traveled through time. Paradoxical. Wasn't it?

Torolf caught up with him at the pond, where he was sitting on the grass, staring off into space. Miguel must have sent for Torolf, concerned about Magnus's behavior over a mere wine bottle he had shown him.

" Faðdir?" Torolf asked, sinking down to the ground beside him and placing a hand on his back. "What is it?"

"We are time travelers," Magnus informed him bluntly.

"What?" Torolf squawked at him.