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If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not read this salty tale. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means read on.

Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this
writing free of charge (including translation into any
language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom,
and that it remain intact and complete, including title and 
credit to the original author.

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

(A Parable for the 21st Century)

© 1997 by Ezekiel J.Krahlin
(Jehovah's Queer Witness)


(This story is dedicated to "The Witt," my biker buddy.)

Jeen-Cat, a young Cro-Magnon boy, found himself fleeing north
to escape the plunder of an evil tribe from the east.  His
village, which had dwelled in peace since before Jeen-Cat was
born, had become, in a few horrible hours, piles of splinter
and straw, pools of blood and violated corpses.  Those
villagers who were diseased or elderly were instantly
bludgeoned to death; the rest were eaten alive, or carried off
to be preserved for larder; Jeen-Cat was the only survivor,
for his father told him to run. It was still The Ice Age
(though the glaciers were now receding), and Jeen-Cat would
rather die in the cold waste of the north, than in the hands,
or between the teeth, of brutes.  Jeen-Cat's people lived in a
temperate zone, and knew nothing about survival in the land of a quiet death in snow became his only (and greatest)

Two seasons passed before Jeen-Cat reached the icy wall, and
began his treacherous ascent up the jagged crevices.  By the
time he reached the frigid plateau, he collapsed, bloody,
exhausted, and freezing at the wall's edge.  In every other
direction lay a limitless land of snow and ice. Weeping the
loss of his people, he closed his eyes to welcome death in
snow's embrace.  But fate held a different plan, of which
death played no part.  Jeen-Cat opened his eyes to the stony
walls of a cave, ruddy with the light of a warm fire...and the
broad smile of a man gazing down at him: the first Neanderthal
face he had ever seen...broader and rougher than the delicate
bone structure of a Cro-Magnon's face...but the most handsome
and kind face Jeen-Cat ever saw!

"Are you God?" were the boy's first words as he lay there,
still drowsy, tucked beneath a large, woolly blanket of
mammoth hide.  The Caveman, not understanding Jeen-Cat's
language, could only respond with quizzical lines across his
deep brow.  But the Neanderthal comforted the boy with strong,
rough hands; and brushed away his tears with one finger...then
crawled into the comfortable pile of skins to press his body
against Jeen-Cat, and embrace him with great fondness, as the
boy drifted off to a pleasant and healing sleep.

It took only the passing of two full moons before Jeen-Cat
could fluently speak the Neanderthal tongue -- they were that
happy and eager to learn everything about each other.  For the
Caveman bore great sorrow, too, before they met...his small
family of one wife and two sons were forever separated from
him by a Great Storm.

     In the Land of Ice, no family has ever been known
     to survive without The Father to lead, protect,
     and least not until the First Son
     equalled his Father in strength and skill.  And
     survival necessitated that Neanderthal families
     remain small and scattered far apart -- so it was
     usually impossible for a family to replace a dead
     or lost Father with a new one.  Freezing death
     rapidly overcame the Fatherless family; though,
     gratefully, its last conscious stages blessed the
     sufferers with the illusion of physical well-being
     and mental euphoria...thus deems Mother Nature in
     her cold mercy. Jeen-Cat's Caveman kept a special
     place in the back of his cave, where he painted a
     picture of his family living with a New Man; and
     sat there for some time each evening in the
     meditative shadows of flickering fire...for that
     picture was his prayer.

The Cro-Magnon boy and the Neanderthal man each had their own
given names, of course, but to celebrate their friendship,
they gave each other a spirit name -- which names, whenever
spoken, would bring a pain of fondness to their hearts.  They
also called each other by many different terms of affection,
but their favorite names were their spirit names, and these
were: "Little Pony" (for the boy), and "Wit" (for the man).
Jeen-Cat called the Caveman "Wit" because his Neanderthal
buddy had the most wonderful sense of humor that made Jeen-Cat
never feel sadness again, for the rest of their lives.  The
Caveman called his new boy "Little Pony" because Jeen-Cat was
as frisky and mischievous as a colt...and also because, while
Jeen-Cat's Cro-Magnon physique would always remain more
delicate than a Neanderthal's, he grew into a fine specimen of
a man, just like a muscular, strong little pony.

     How did the Caveman know about horses, when none
     existed on the Ice Cap?  Well, in sharing their
     lives, Jeen-Cat taught the Neanderthal all about
     the world of Cro-Magnon in the temperate zone.
     The Caveman was astounded to hear of such abundant
     plant and animal life at every step, in every
     direction!  But he was also greatly saddened to
     hear of such evil between tribes, that would turn
     paradise into happened to his Little
     Pony. Jeen-Cat drew numerous animals from his
     world, on the walls of their Neanderthal cave,
     including a big horse and a little horse. "The big
     horse is you," said Jeen-Cat, "and the little
     horse is me."

Fire was not yet known in Little Pony's Cro-Magnon world, so
he twice suffered a burned hand before learning to regard it
not just in awe, but with respect.  Fire was so sacred to the
Neanderthal, that rituals grew around it, which were passed on
from Father to Son; hence from Wit to Little Pony.

     It is obvious how the portable warmth of fire in
     the Land of Ice could be sacred to the Caveman,
     for without it no man could even live. In addition
     to preventing one from freezing to death, it
     allowed Neanderthal Man to:  thaw and cook food
     that he preserved outside in ice, melt snow or ice
     for water to drink and bathe in, see in the dark
     night when no man was able to see before, scare or
     burn dangerous beasts away, and cauterize serious
     wounds.  Reasons enough for Caveman to regard fire
     as a gift from the gods (Prometheus), worship the
     sun (Zoroaster), and conceive of God as a luminous
     being or creator of light as the first
     manifestation of creation ("Let there be light").

     But there are also less obvious gifts that came
     from fire, but which literally ignited the spirit
     and inspiration of Ice Age Man. Fire, by
     illuminating his cave at night, allowed
     Neanderthal time to think and party, and do
     creative things, rather than curl up and go to
     sleep once it got dark.  Fire allowed him to paint
     deep in caves where it was formerly too dark to
     see -- thus, those tribes or peoples without fire,
     could not be part of the "Secret Order Of The
     Keepers Of The Flame," whose members were the only
     ones entitled to view (and create) those sacred
     paintings. Fire, by virtue of its beautiful colors
     and flames that flicker so hypnotically, naturally
     inspired Man's meditative, introspective, and
     trance-inducing capabilities...especially before
     bedtime, when he was already tired from a hard day
     of hunting in the frigid air, and therefore most
     receptive to trance-like states of higher

Wit and Little Pony often made love around the fire, in a
male-bonding ritual that joined the worship of fire (a
provider of life to all Ice People) with worship of the male
(a provider of life to the Family).

     Since "Father" and, more generally, "The Male,"
     were the life force on which the Neanderthal
     family totally depended for its survival, it is
     natural that worship of the male body evolved into
     one of the rituals around fire...from which
     females were forbidden to participate in, or even
     witness. The ritual was usually a gathering
     between passing families, where the men and boys
     would dance at night, their fine bodies shining in
     the fire's gentle glow. Their own masculine beauty
     would draw them into incredibly erotic frenzies,
     when their homosexual drive would take over as the
     climax to their worship. Sometimes, these
     ceremonies would lead to a "bonding" of two or
     more families into a tribe...thereby increasing
     each family's potential for survival and comfort
     in a cold and hostile existence.  As the Ice Age
     diminished, more families bonded into tribes.
     Peaceful coexistence between two tribes was
     reasonably assured by intermarriage between men
     and women of both tribes...but an even greater
     likelihood of peace between two peoples, was when
     both "chiefs" of each tribe found conjugal bliss
     in each other's arms!

One day, Wit decided it was time to initiate Little Pony with
the "Taking In Of The Fire"...a form of tattooing called
scarification, whereby a tattoo is burned into the skin by the
end of a sharp, fiery stick made from the bone of a white

     TAKING IN OF THE FIRE:  As fire worship, the
     initiation denotes taking the sacred flame into
     one's self.  As animal worship, it represents the
     wolf, who for time immemorial has stood by the
     entrance to Man's cave, eyes glowing in fiery
     reflection...finally taken into the cave (and
     Man's heart) as "Best Friend".  As male worship,
     it symbolizes the Neanderthal's initiation into
     true manhood.  It is excrutiatingly painful, and
     that is how it should be.

At the arrival of the next darkest night (New Moon), The
Neanderthal burned a tattoo of a dancing horse into his
lover's left shoulder. "Believe me, buddy, it hurts me more
than it does you!" Wit kept hollering at Little Pony who bit
down on a stick to keep from screaming, while the Caveman
etched the fire into flesh.  But Little Pony was proud, very
proud, to finally bear the mark that made him a True
Neanderthal.  Since the night he "took fire," he would often
fall asleep with his fingers touching the raised mark on that
shoulder.  But for the Caveman, to touch his Little Pony,
anywhere, was his greatest honor. There were some interesting
anatomical differences between Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon.
For one thing, while Wit was of small stature (only an inch
taller than Little Pony), his bones were so dense that he
weighed 206 pounds, while a Cro-Magnon of the same height
would weigh only about 150.  He could pick Little Pony up with
one, outstretched arm.  Wit also had much thicker skin, which
took a deeper cut to draw blood, and healed more rapidly than
Cro-Magnon's.  His skin would shed periodically, in large,
thick flakes.  And, while Little Pony was susceptible to
dental cavities, the Neanderthal's teeth were not...if he lost
a tooth, another would grow right in!  Little Pony sometimes
got pissed off because Wit never had toothaches, and because
he was constantly cleaning little piles of skin flakes from
the cave floor.  ("God, every time you scratch yourself, we
have a snowstorm in the house!" he'd holler at his Caveman

     We all still have a bit of Neanderthal genes
     inside us, some more so than others.  How
     fortunate for those who can eat all the sugar they
     want, never brush their teeth, yet always have
     perfect ivories!  How fortunate for those men born
     with Neanderthal bones, that give them such
     strong, butch bodies without lifting a single
     finger to exercise!  But how unfortunate for those
     born with shedding skin, now considered an
     incurable disease (or at best, a terrible
     nuisance) called "eczema," the worst forms of
     which can disfigure one's face.

At first, Little Pony was quite upset at the way Wit greeted
his male slipping a hand into the guy's crotch
(friend reciprocating in like manner).  But the Cro-Magnon boy
finally calmed down, after Wit explained, very patiently, that
this was how two Neanderthal men indicated friendly, rather
than evil, intentions.

"Can't you just shake hands?" complained Little Pony, "That's
how our people indicate friendliness."

"Yeah, well you ain't gonna just let anyone stick his hand in
your crotch, if you're the least bit uncomfortable or
suspicious," replied Wit, "How much easier for an enemy to
pass into your cave with the shake of a hand!  If your people
used the crotch method, I'm sure your enemy tribes would have
been identified quickly enough to protect yourselves from any
possible destruction."

"Oh, yeah?" snapped his little buddy, "Then the Great Father
would have never found an excuse to bring us together!"

And so they lived out their blissful lives, Little Pony and
Wit, in the Land of Snow and Ice, and Brotherly Love.  And in
the later part of their lives, when it seemed that Neanderthal
would soon leave this mortal veil, Little Pony wanted to die
with him. So they walked for miles, together, to a place where
they could perish in peace, under a blanket of snow beneath the
starry sky.


                    Ilustration by The Witt