The History of Don Cocksote

"The gates of Yamaku Academy!" cried Don Cocksote in disbelief. "I had no idea it was so near! I can scarcely believe that I have been so fortunate as to live to see these! Yamaku Academy: scene of the greatest romance of our age, known to young and old alike! Every intelligent person knows of the stories that have taken place just inside these gates!"

"I've never heard of this place, your grace. Where are we?"

"Never heard of Yamaku? You've never heard of Hisao and Hanako, or Lilly or Shizune or Rin or Emi? You've heard of none of them, Sancho?"

"Not a one of them, your grace, unless Lilly's the flower, in which case I know that quite well. They're Theresa's favorite, and I always get her a bouquet for our anniversary. She prefers the white ones."

"No, not the flowers, Sancho, although if it were possible to give form to a story, lilies would grow wherever it touched the ground.

"No, the story of Yamaku Academy is the greatest I have ever experienced. Come, Sancho, let us explore this blessed isle!"

Don Cocksote bounded through the gate while Sancho struggled to keep up. The good don looked this way and that, his eyes only stopping for the briefest of moments when we recognized a building or thought he recognized a person, but he never found those for whom he was searching. Even so, the smile on his face threatened to sever his skull in half, so wide and broad was it, and his bones were immune to fatigue, or so Sancho thought, with all the walking hither and thither that Don Cocksote did that day.

Finally, satisfied that his eyes and ears had absorbed all there was to experience, he came to a rest upon a stone bench. A few moments later, Sancho arrived, dragging himself along and panting. "Your grace, I need to rest," he mumbled. "I can't keep up with you. Why are you so excited? This school looks plain to me, perhaps a little prettier than most, but I've seen pretty things before."

"Ah, you can't understand without the story, Sancho. It's a wonderful tale of love," he began with a clearing of his throat. "A young man, Hisao, once came to this school, and fell in love here, with one of five virtuous maidens, and their love was so powerful that they brought forth all of the feelings from all who witnessed it, even from those thought to have neither heart nor soul nor brains."

"One of five?" Sancho asked. "Which one did he end up with?"

"You're speaking nonsense again, Sancho. Stories never end: authors just stop writing. But the story goes on and the characters continue to live their lives, even if unseen by readers' eyes. We may not know it, but even after the story ends, they keep going, and happy marriages bear fruit, and children grow up, and love blossoms and flowers, and even though we don't know what happens, we can imagine it, and craft our own stories, and if we're lucky, the author himself will check in on his friends from time to time and update us on their lives, and thusly we know what Eric and Megan get married, while Baoqing and Matthew have three children and live a happy life together until the end of their days."

Don Cocksote sighed deeply. "But all this talk of love and ends has made me weary, my friend. Perhaps our own story has gone on too long, and it is time to end it. I realize now that I have focused so greatly on others' loves that I have neglected my own. What of my Rozabela de Norumbega? I know that she is out there somewhere, and yet I have not found her, instead wasting my time scurrying about, concerning myself with relationships that I cannot be a part of.

"I think, perhaps, that it is time for us to part." Don Cocksote pulled a crumpled checkbook from his pocket, filled it out, and handed it to Sancho. "Here is your payment, my friend. You are free to do as you like." He stood up. "As for myself, I am going to find my Rozabela and find my own love, to nourish and raise until it is as tall and strong as the oldest oak in the Schwarzwald."

Sancho took the check delicately. "I can do whatever I want, your grace?" Don Cocksote nodded solemnly. "Then I choose to stay with you," he replied, tearing the check in half. "My life has been more exciting than I can remember ever since we met, and I'm not ready to end this story yet. It must go on!"

"Very well, then, Sancho! Onwards, to adventure! Let's find Rozabela de Norumbega!"

"Yes, your grace!"

The two of them, their energy renewed, their bodies rejuvenated, ran together to the gates and to Celery. Don Cocksote turned the ignition, and the small engine coughed to life. And from there, they left, leaving behind the gates of Yamaku Academy forever.

However, here, this history must come to a pause, for the author of this history cannot find anything else written about the deeds of Don Cocksote. And yet there must exist more extant, hiding in ancient libraries and dusty tomes, for who among us is ignorant of Don Cocksote's other adventures, of his exhibitionist excursion to Neo-Mossynoecia, or of his erotic adventures that resulted in Sancho Pantsless becoming governor of an insula? Once these documents are found, this history shall continue, and with this thought in mind, do not despair, dear reader, for this author shall not sleep nor shave nor know the touch of a woman until he has brought to you the second part of the History of Don Cocksote.

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Thank you for reading! Please vote and comment; I love to receive feedback from readers, and I'd greatly appreciate any comments or constructive criticism you may have. As you can probably tell, I really enjoyed writing this story. Hope you didn't need to use Google or a dictionary too much while reading this, but I trust that you learnt a few new things. This was my little affectionate take on erotica tropes and Don Quixote, with a swipe at Tirant lo Blanc thrown in for good measure. I'm sure we're all aware how unrealistic our stories can be sometimes, and I wanted to have a little fun with it.

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