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When the Express chugged into Istanbul Station at the break of the third day, Magnus offered Andreas shelter at the Turquhouse Hotel on the Golden Horn where he always booked when he was in Istanbul, but the young Greek said he must return to his masters immediately but would come for Magnus when he was needed. The squawking of a buxom European matron nearby who had never experienced a greeting of Turkish street urchins meeting the Express before drew Magnus’s attention, if only for a moment. When he turned back, Andreas had disappear through the teaming crowd.

Magnus took a carriage to Turquhouse in a cloud of blue funk. Andreas had, in the short time they’d had, become a necessity to him. He knew he was walking a thin edge here, but Andreas had been just too perfect. Magnus had looked forward – almost to the point of salivating over the notion – to fucking Andreas in the comfort of a four-poster bed on steadier ground that the slightly swaying, occasionally lurching, always grinding Orient Express carriage.

In fact he was so keyed up that when the Turkish room attendant bowed and scraped at the threshold of his room and asked if there was anything at all he could do for the honored Norwegian archeologist – anything at all – and gave him ‘that’ look, Magnus took him straight to the bath and fucked him to whimpering jelly while cleaning the dust of Eastern Europe rail beds off his body. Then he dragged the wilted Turk to the four-poster bed and fucked him again into total exhaustion.

Well satisfying, as a trip to Istanbul always was – and the room attendant would be well satisfied with what he was receiving for the service – but nothing like Magnus had dreamed of doing with Andreas.

While Magnus was attending to the Turkish attendant, Andreas was also being attended to. Across the Golden Horn, deep in the maze of Misir Carsisi, the Egyptian Bazaar, behind a second-floor latticed window in the gold souk, Andreas, hands tied off above his head on a sturdy bed poster, was receiving attention and instruction from his Russian master, Oleg Tarasov. Tarasov, a dark, sinister, hawk-billed ferret of man, loved his riding crop – especially for the red welts it could leave on the alabaster skin of a young Greek’s posterior.

A short slash to Andreas’s flank as Tarasov drove his cock up into the young man’s canal from behind. Andreas moaned and writhed away from the lash, only to have the leather sting his other hip.

‘Tell me you have the Norwegian enthralled,’ the Russian hissed in Greek’s ear, as he pulled his pelvis back and then lunged deeply again, raising the small Greek’s feet off the Turkish carpet with the force of his upward thrust.

‘Yes, yes, Master,’ the young man answered through gasping breath. ‘Ahhh,’ he exclaimed as the riding crop lashed across his belly. ‘Yes, he will come when you want him.’

‘I will want him soon after dusk tomorrow,’ Tarasov whispered menacingly before he let his teeth close over Andreas’s earlobe. The young man cried out in pain for him. Tarasov liked that. His cock liked that. He drove deeper up the canal. Andreas groaned at the attention. Tarasov was not very thick, but he was long, and his cock had an upward crock in it that brutalized Andreas’s tender inner walls.

‘You will go to him in the afternoon and make him pant for you. When you bring him back, you will take him straight to the green room. The belt will be there, along with the authentication papers for him to sign. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Master. Oh, no! Owww, ahhh.’ Andreas was writhing against the merciless attentions of lash on flanks and cock in channel.

He cried out for supplication to the other man in the room, the squat, hirsute, and heavily muscled Turk standing inside the door, his beefy arms crossed on bulging chest and his eyes slitted in pleasure at what he saw Tarasov engaging in with the young Greek.

‘Asil, please. Help. Please.’ It was pure desperation. Andreas knew that there was no succor to be found from the direction of Asil Hanci. Hanci was devoted to the Russian.

The bulky Turk just stood there and smiled. And Andreas’s moment of insolence was rewarded with several lashes, in quick succession, across his tender flanks, the pleasure of which brought Tarasov to his climax.

‘And after the Norwegian has authenticated the belt and signed the document, I want you to take him to the baths – and I want him to have his last breath there. Do you understand that?’

‘Yes, Master.’ Andreas let his body go limp, his weight dragging on the leather-bound wrists tied off high on the bed post. He had endured. It was over – for now.

But there he was wrong. As Tarasov turned to stride out of the room, he motioned to the Turk, who opened his robes as he approached Andreas, displaying a thick, thick cock in full erection and big, hairy, taut, cream-filled balls.

Tarasov shut the door behind him, and, with a slight smile moved down the corridor toward his bed chamber as the first screams from Andreas echoed off the hallway walls. He would leave this business to the Turk now. Once authenticated, Priam’s Belt, the prized piece from the Priam’s Treasure golden trove from the excavation of Troy, would bring a price that only the tsar could afford. Tarasov would be well on his way to the court of St. Petersburg when the Norwegian breathed his last breath in the baths of the Cagaloglu Hamami.

Later that evening the Russian gave the last instruction to Hanci before setting out on his journey to the north. ‘When the Greek returns from the baths, use him as you will and then kill him.’

The Turk grinned from ear to ear. His two favorite past times.

Andreas sighed with well-satiated satisfaction. He was stretched out, naked, on the silken sheets of Magnus’s massive four-poster bed in the Turquhouse Hotel room. The French doors to the balcony were open, and the gauze curtains were gently moving in the late afternoon breeze. A breeze from the Bosporus had filtered in to take the edge off the day’s heat. The shadows were lengthening across the tiled floor. It wouldn’t be long before they had to leave.

Magnus had taken him strongly and brutally, albeit not as brutally as the Russian and Turk took him, in the bath as soon as Andreas had arrived. It was as if the few hours they had been apart had driven the Norwegian mad.

But it was what came afterward that had caused Andreas to do what he had done. When they had dried off from the bath, Magnus led the young Greek to the bed and made long, languid love to him. It was unlike anything Magnus had done earlier, not at all like the Russian had told him the Norwegian would always do. The fucking was gentle and loving and fully satisfying.

And when it was over, Andreas told Magnus, in whispering tones as if someone beyond the side curtains of the bed were listening to them, everything. He told Magnus that he was being manipulated to authenticate the centerpiece of the Priam’s Treasure, a solid gold ram’s head belt buckle, with tatters of a woven gold belt attached that had been taken from Schliemann’s first excavation of Troy and that was fit for the Trojan king Priam himself. And Andreas told Magnus that once the belt had been authenticated, Andreas was supposed to lure the Norwegian to the Cagaloglu Hamami baths and kill him. But all Andreas wanted to do was escape – with Magnus now. He assumed that all he had to do was warn Magnus and they could disappear together beyond Tarasov’s reach and leave the belt unauthenticated.

But Magnus had listened to his tale and had shown no surprise at all. And more astonishingly, the Norwegian had said they would go ahead with the Russian’s plan – that it was reassuring that they would be permitted to leave the hidden house in the heart of the golden souk after the authentication.

Andreas had declared that he would not even think of carrying out the Russian’s plan for the Norwegian in the baths afterward, and Magnus had just taken the Greek in his arms and kissed his eyelids and turned the young man on his belly on the bed. Then Magnus had covered Andreas’s body with his own and fucked him gently and deeply again while kissing the hollow of the Greek’s neck and murmuring calming endearments in his ear.

Magnus’s eyes lit up with joy when he saw the gleaming Belt of Priam lying on the velvet cloth on the green room table. It was magnificent. And there was no doubt that it was the genuine article. He took up the pen and the authentication document lying beside it.

‘No, you can’t,’ Andreas exclaimed in a shocked voice. ‘You can’t sign that. That will be your death sentence. They won’t need you anymore.’

‘I doubt whether we can leave this place if I don’t sign it,’ Magnus answered with a sigh. ‘The house seems deserted, but you and I both know that we’re being watched – that our only hope is to make the bandits think their plan is being carried out.’

‘But, but – ‘

‘And it is the honest thing to do. This, indeed is the genuine Priam’s Belt. And authentication is what I do.’

Andreas trembled in fear as Magnus signed the document with a flourish.

‘Go check the corridor, Andreas,’ Magnus then said. ‘This is the most dangerous moment for us – finding out if they will keep with the plan they gave you. I’ll follow along behind you.’

Andreas moved to the door and looked back at Magnus. The Norwegian was holding the gleaming artifact in his hands, lovingly stroking it and feeling the heft of the solid gold. Andreas stole through the door and looked both ways down the corridor. Everything looked clear. A quick shuffle down the nearby staircase and they could be out the door in a twinkle of the eye. Once in the souk, Andreas was confident they could melt into the crowd. He hadn’t been fully honest with the Russian and the Turk. They thought they denied him mobility in the neighboring streets enough that he was at their mercy in the Egyptian Bazaar. But Andreas knew the bazaar well. He’d been here long before he ever was bought in the slave auction by the Russian. All he needed to do was to have five steps advance on anyone the Russian sent to track them down.

Andreas looked back into the room. Magnus was drawing away from the gleaming Belt of Priam on the velvet-topped table and was already half way across the room. Then he was at the young Greek’s elbow, and they moved for the door in a flash. Wherever the Turk had been hiding in wait, he miscalculated how long Magnus would spend with the golden artifact. He heard – or spied – the two leaving the green room, but by the time he got to the entrance to the house, Andreas had managed to win his five-step lead, and the two had vanished.

It was one panicked Turk who realized by the next dawn that Andreas was not coming back. Hanci’s only solace was that the authentication document had been signed, with Magnus’s authoritative signature clearly discernible, and lay beside the gleaming gold Belt of Priam. He’d decide later whether the Russian need be told that the Greek hadn’t been disposed of.

The sailing vessel was well out into the Mediterranean, en route to Famagusta, Cyprus, following the same route that the victors of the Trojan War had taken after sacking the city, before Magnus left the railing and went below to be greeted by a grateful – and naked in his readiness to express his gratefulness – Andreas.

Magnus stood over his diminutive lover and started to disrobe. Andreas’s eyes opened wide in wonder as they caught the gleam of the golden ram’s head belt buckle that Magnus produced from the folds of his cloak.

‘What? But I saw it. It was still there when we left.’ Andreas was so surprised that he could hardly form the words.

‘Something was there, of course,’ Magnus answered with a smile, as he stepped out of his clothes and gently spread his new lover’s legs as Andreas laid back on the ship’s bunk on his back. ‘Your masters fell into Schliemann’s plans beautifully. I can’t wait to see how our Russian friend will fare at the court of St. Petersburg when the tsar finds that the replica of Priam’s Belt they buy from him at a premium cost is a fake, with just a thin veneer of gold over brass.’

‘But, but – I don’t – ‘ Andreas was saying as Magnus moved between his legs and the Greek took the strong, hard phallus in his hands and guided it to his hole.

‘I could authenticate the belt because I was there when it was first found,’ Magnus continued in a lust-filled hoarse voice. The knob of his member was at the Greek’s gate, and Andreas was covering it with his saliva to ease the entry. ‘Schliemann had a duplicate made. You thought you were pulling me into the Russian’s plan on the Orient Express, when I actually was ensnaring you, pushing my way into access to the real belt.’

Magnus was pushing his way into his diminutive lover’s channel now, gaining access to his own treasurer trove. Andreas arched his back and widening his legs as much as possible to take Magnus in. He groaned and moaned, and Magnus sighed his pleasure at the taking, as the swaying of the boat helped set a gentle rhythm for the fuck. They spoke no more as waves and waves of lust and ecstasy, enhanced by their sense of freedom and victory, covered them.

Much later, as Andreas lay safe in the Norwegian’s arms, he asked the question that had been on his mind for some time.

‘Why Cyprus? Why are we sailing for Cyprus instead of returning straight to Vienna on the Orient Express?’

Magnus laughed and ran his fingers lightly around Andreas’s nipples for several minutes and leaned over and kissed him lightly there before he answered. ‘Schliemann indeed expects me straightaway back to Vienna on the Orient Express. But I haven’t quite decided yet whether I and Priam’s Belt – and you – will ever be making that trip. No one would ever suspect we were in Cyprus.’

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He couldn’t believe it, the way it had all gone down, nor how he was feeling right now, as he leaned against the back of the closed door. His body was still trembling, the room’s air chilling him, as it cooled the sweat that covered his body. Strands of his damp blond hair curled around his neck, and hung down over his shoulder.

Lonnie shivered as he thought about it all, and he licked his lips as he could still see Ashley’s face, as his body shook, as the first stream of his hot milk came jetting out, splattering all over Lonnie’s stomach. His hand automatically moved down, to feel the dried cum on his belly, and a smile curled around his lips, then he thought of Brad.

Well what could he do? It wasn’t like he had planned it, and if he really thought about it, it was Ashley who made all the moves, and like a love sick cow he had fallen for each flick of those long eyelashes, of the way those thin pale lips grinned at him. Like what else could he do, but give in?

Ashley was just one of those you couldn’t refuse, no matter how strong your will was. If he wanted you, and man had he wanted Lonnie, not even a Saint could resist his charm. The guy had it all, from the perfect six pack, to the well proportioned six foot tall 150 pound body. His arms were just right, his legs perfect, and shit, when he was naked, he was even more desirable.

Christ what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he had seduced him, or even thought about it, until Ashley had just shown up, out of the blue. His appearance had seemed innocent enough, until he asked for a drink. Then he should have known, should have refused or come up with some excuse, but the way he tilted his head, the way he had spoken to him. The soft voice, the hidden meaning coming out loud and clear, it was impossible to say no to a simple drink.

Besides, it was Ashley, and he had seen him work the bar, seen how he had never needed to reach into his pocket for a single drink. It was amazing, and he could understand it too. The guy wasn’t just a looker, but he was actually fun to be with, to just talk to. He always looked interested in what you were saying, plus if he was interested in something else, well there was no mistaking that either.

Somehow Lonnie had missed that, as he was really just too impressed by how handsome Ashley was. The blond mop of hair, the flashing blue eyes that seemed to just radiate more, whenever they met his own eyes. It was as if Ashley was as impressed with Lonnie, as he was with him. Least that is how it felt, but he should have resisted, should have said no.

Yet, the one drink had turned into a few more, and before he realized it, Ashley was undressing him. His hands were inside his shirt playing with his nipples, tweaking them, while his eyes seemed to just glitter, his face glowing. He still had no idea how it had begun, but it had, and his own body was refusing to listen to his own mind. It was as if Ashley had somehow bewitched him.

Still that wouldn’t wash, would it?

Though he had to admit, it was true. He still had no idea of how Ashley had somehow wound up sitting next to him on the chesterfield, how he had begun to unbutton his shirt, to run his hand down his chest, the fingers twirling the few tufts of hair he had there. How good it felt to feel his breath on his face, then how the head had tilted to one side.

The eyes seemed to suddenly hold his attention, to be almost like they were devouring him. He found himself licking his lips, as Ashley kept his gaze, held him captive by the glare of his beautiful blue eyes. The eyelashes, fluttering, the way they seemed to be sending his body some secret signal was unreal. It was like being held in a trance, even as the head moved inwards, the lips pouting a bit. Lonnie knew what was going to happen, but he did nothing to stop it.

The touch of those pale thin lips against his mouth felt like an electric shock. His whole body trembled at the touch, at the warmth that seemed to suddenly fill his entire body. He had felt himself shaking, had one brief moment to resist, but it quickly passed. The way Ashley put his arms around his waist, one hand resting lightly on his hip, the fingers spread out to touch his bare skin.

Lonnie had felt passionate kisses before, but nothing like this first kiss from Ashley. It started off so softly, so innocent, and before he knew it, he was tasting Ashley’s tongue deep in his throat. Hell he had almost gagged on the thick tongue, that licked him inside. The way the lips suddenly were pressed hard up against his mouth, how the fingers at his side dug deep into his flesh.

Then when he pulled back, to just look at him once again with those eyes. The hand now resting lightly on his hip, yet he could feel Ashley’s fingers, feel the tips trembling. It made his own heart continue to beat wildly, yet inside he knew he should put a stop to it, to end it before it went further, but he couldn’t. It was Ashley, everyone’s fantasy boy, and he was the one making the move on him.

He knew that every guy in the bar, in the circles he travelled, would kill to be in his position. It didn’t matter if they were 20, like him, or 80, they’d give their eye teeth to have Ashley sitting next to them, swapping spit. To have the hands of eighteen year old Ashley touching your bare skin would give some of the older crowd a heart attack, one they wouldn’t mind having.

He was that popular, and yet, he felt like he should be above that. Yet as he had stared into those eyes, felt the taste of him still in his mouth, he couldn’t stop. The way his arms seemed to have a will of their own as they reached out and encircled Ashley’s body, the way his hands seemed to be shaking as they touched him, as his chest seemed to pull in, at his touch. All of it made him lose all sense of reality, as this was his fantasy, his dream come true.

It wasn’t that he was a dork or ugly. Guys still showed an interest in him, even if he was 20. He still had that fresh look, despite the occasional five o’clock shadow. His body was still trim, fit. He prided himself on that, but when it came to comparison with someone like Ashley, he felt like the ugly duckling. Ashley was it, and here he was, touching him, feeling him, wanting him. It was a dream, had to be, but the pinch was real, the pain in his chest was real. It wasn’t a dream, Ashley was in his apartment, wanting him.

How do you refuse that?

He couldn’t, and somehow the kiss had turned into a lot more. The way Ashley seemed to become possessed, as he had stripped his own shirt off, to expose his golden flesh to Lonnie. How it seemed to glisten, and he could see the fine hairs down the cleft of his chest, standing up, waiting for his touch, for his attention. It was too much as he couldn’t help but lean forward, to taste him, to lick at the protruding nipples that seemed to waver in the air, to further entice him.

It was the perfect taste treat for him. He couldn’t believe how fresh the taste was, as his tongue licked at the firm flesh of one nipple, then another, then his lips would press down, his teeth would take hold, and he would pull back, teasing Ashley. He heard him moan, and while he was sucking on his man titties, Ashley was holding him, pulling him closer, running his hands across his back, reaching down to the small of his back, trying to work their way under his shorts.

How he survived was unreal. His cock was like a thickened steel rod, and he knew it was close. Still, somehow he kept control over it, even when he found the hand reaching down and taking hold of it, caressing it in a pulling motion. His body had shook, trembled from the rolling waves of pure pleasure that seemed non stop.

From that first flush, that first touch, they hadn’t exchanged a single word. Just grunts and moans of pure enjoyment filled his tiny living room. The way his hands moved, his mouth, as he devoured him was amazing. It made his pulse race, and it seemed like it would never reach its limit. The way his mouth could send his whole body into a spasm, just by the press of the lips on him. Lonnie had never felt so much passion, so much desire before.

His own touching was as frantic, as wild. The way his hands were reaching for that cock, that weapon that would make people drool, just from seeing its outline or press in the pants, was his to actually touch. It was so hot, so alive, that he immediately lowered his head, to kiss it, to fondle it. Just as Ashley held his cock, pulled on it, he did the same to him, but with his mouth. He couldn’t stop himself from taking the whole cock into his mouth, pushing aside all doubts, all notions of guilt. He just let it slide deep into his mouth, down his throat. He felt it shake, felt it quiver as his tongue licked at the underside, as he sucked on it.

God how good it had tasted, how the smell was making him feel so light headed. Breathing in pure Ashley was intoxicating, almost like being drunk. His moans were even starting to sound slurred to his ears, but he couldn’t stop. The way the balls slung up, rubbed against his nose, and how his nostrils flared as he breathed his scent in. It made him want to cum, specially the way Ashley was pulling on his cock, but then suddenly it was all over.

The hand was off his dick, and the cock was pulled from his mouth, and he began to fear that he had failed to please, that he had somehow disappointed Ashley. He looked up, to see the younger man towering over him, a powerful glint in his eyes, that made him shudder. Then he felt the strong hands as they pushed his pants further down, and more or less forced him to turn over.

In that second, as the hands pushed him, Lonnie knew he hadn’t disappointed, but that Ashley wanted to take him, to be inside of him. It really was like being in heaven. It was everything he had ever dreamed about, and it was Ashley too.

Thankfully he had condoms on the end table, and he felt the hot breath of the younger man on his shoulder, felt the weight of his body on his, as he reached over to grab a package out of the bowl. He was grateful too, not feeling like he would have stopped him if he hadn’t reached for the condom. Bareback wasn’t his thing, but it was Ashley. He knew he wouldn’t stop him, but he didn’t have to worry, as he heard the condom package being ripped open.

Looking over his shoulder, as he lowered his front end, raising his buttocks higher, he could see the thighs, and that amazing cock. Licking his lips, he saw Ashley’s hand grabbing the cock, and the other hand pushing something over the top of it. The sight was truly arousing, as he felt his own cock shake a bit, jerk a little, as he watched how carefully Ashley slid the thin plastic over his throbbing cock. Lonnie breathed in deeply, then out, as he let his eyes travel upwards, to see the firm belly, the chiselled chest.

Staring upwards, he saw the glazed look in Ashley’s face, saw how he was biting on the lower lip as his hands unrolled the condom to its base. He couldn’t help but see him raise his hand, the one that had covered his cock with the condom, and spit on it several times. The muscles inside his body began to tighten, as the hand moved down, and smeared the spit over the condom, then once again the hand was taken up and spit on.

The hand moved down, between his cheeks, as he felt the two fingers slide down straight to his hole. They didn’t wait, didn’t tease him, but entered him quickly. He grunted a bit, as he felt the penetration. The two fingers dug into him, pushing his body slightly forward from their entry into him. Then he felt them twist and turn as Ashley’s body leaned fully onto his upraised backside.

Groaning, he turned his head, letting the fingers explore his inside. It felt so good, so hard, that he couldn’t help but groan. The muscles in the back of his thighs seemed to tighten, to coil as the fingers moved in and out, then they were out. He felt the press of the thick cock head being pushed between his cheeks. Lonnie turned his head to let it rest on the sofa, on his side. He took his arms, reaching backwards, to grab hold of his buttocks, to help Ashley find his hole, and penetrate him.

His fingers dug into his own ass cheeks, and pulled back, opening his body to Ashley’s throbbing cock. The head was pressing up against his tight hole, and as he pulled his cheeks back, he felt the sharp jolt of pain travel up his spine. Ashley was already pushing inwards, splitting his hole, making it surrender to the superior force of the hard pulsing cock.

Lonnie cried out, feeling the pain growing, as Ashley continued to push inwards, continued to spread his insides apart. The cock head was digging in, still being resisted from Lonnie’s tiny pink hole, but then it was past. The pain roared up his spine, making him cry out, making his whole body shake and shudder. His arms quivered, as they held his cheeks open, as the cock drove deep inside, barely stopping as Lonnie’s insides tried to deny it’s entry.

He felt Ashley’s groin push into his buttocks, felt his body move forward a bit, then he felt the hard throbbing cock pull back, and suddenly it was driving back inside. In and out, in quick hard thrusts, made him continue to cry out. His heart was pounding, as sweat was dripping from every pore in his body. Lonnie couldn’t believe how good it was feeling, how the pain had been so quickly replaced with all those wonderful waves of pleasure.

His chest ached, as he struggled to breath, his hands slipped from his sweat soaked buttocks, as he lay there, enjoying each hard thrust into him. The drops of sweat that fell onto his own back, from Ashley, only added to his pleasure, as he tried to hold onto the thick cock that pounded him. Every nerve inside was tingling, was making him squirm, as the hard cock drove in and out in ever increasing speed. He could hear the shallow breathing from above, feel the drops of sweat becoming more and more like a steady rain.

The hard thrusts suddenly came less often, then he felt totally empty. Lonnie felt panic, then two hands, pulling at him, trying to turn him over. He obliged the urgent tugs, and was now on his back, staring up at Ashley. His eyes opened wide, as he felt the strong hands now grab hold of his legs, pushing them back over Lonnie’s head.

He reached up, to take hold of his own ankles, as Ashley spread the legs apart, opening up Lonnie’s buttocks. He then reached back down, and was already guiding his cock back down the open valley, until the head was once more wedged up against Lonnie’s hole. Looking up he saw the sweat dripping off his forehead, as it leaned forward, coming straight for him.

The kiss was hard, and a surprise. He lifted his head up a bit, to meet Ashley, and he felt himself shake, as their lips touched, as Ashley’s tongue pushed past and inside. He moaned, as Ashley kissed him, and drove his cock inside. The pain was just as intense as before, but he ignored it as he bit Ashley’s lower lip, pulling it back, licking at his chin, as the head moved back. The eyes were narrowed, as they stared down at him, as the hips began to twist and gyrate a bit faster.

It made the cock inside twist, jerk that only made Lonnie groan even more. He could see his own chest rising and falling, as if in time with Ashley’s. His lungs hurt, as he tried to breath, as his cock flopped on his belly. The pain inside once more turning to pure pleasure, as Ashley’s cock drove deep into him, splitting him wide open. His legs were numb, as he hung onto them, as his own head began to roll from side to side, enjoying the waves of pleasure coming from deep inside.

His body was shaking, as was Ashley’s. Lonnie could see it, see how the sweat was running down his body, some falling onto him, the rest flowing along the glistening skin to somewhere else. He saw the nostrils flaring, saw him bit his lower lip, as his hips continued to push in and out, with an odd twist to the side, every now and then.

His eyes watched in utter amazement, as he saw the veins on Ashley’s forehead throb, saw the eyelids close, saw the head tilt back. The mouth was slightly open, the tongue barely sticking out, as Ashley drove his cock hard and fast into him. He could feel the head as it pushed past every single muscle inside, as it dug deeper and deeper. He felt its fire, its burning heat, as it pushed into him, like a hot knife going through butter.

His legs were numb, his arms throbbing, as he felt the full weight of Ashley’s body on his. His eyes fluttered a bit, as he saw the muscles in Ashley’s face begin to contrict, to tighten the face into a bizarre twisted look of pain, of concentration. Then he felt the cock being taken out, but before he could do more than recognize it, he saw the head glance down at him, the eyes totally glazed over.

The hand had ripped the condom off, and was stroking the cock furiously. He could barely see it move, it was so fast, and then the loud cry echoed in the room. The harsh sound made him jump, then he felt the hot splash on his belly, on his chest, and up to his neck. It stung, as it hit, burning too.

Ashley had his eyes closed, his nostrils were flared open, and his mouth was hanging down, open. The face was totally constricted, as more of the hot stinging splashes covered his belly, sizzling almost as they struck. His own cock was jerking, as the hot cum coated his belly, making the muscles inside quiver.

As Lonnie felt the cum splattering on his groin, he felt the full weight of Ashley, who collapsed on top of him. He could hear his panting breath, his struggle for air, as he leaned exhausted on his own completely drained body. The exhaustion was unreal, his arms felt like lead weights, but Lonnie managed to lay them over the trembling body on top of him.

He felt Ashley’s head nuzzled into the crook of his neck, felt the way he breathed, his lips lightly brushing past his cheek. It was unreal, how quickly it had gone from a single drink, to the wildest sex he had ever had. His whole body ached, as he felt the total exhaustion creeping through every muscle, every nerve.

Just as quickly as it had happened, it was suddenly over. Ashley was up, and with a quick hard kiss on Lonnie’s lips, he was sitting up, dressing. It was as if he was once more ready to go again, though Lonnie was totally drained. The ache in his crotch was making his head spin, as Ashley was suddenly up and heading for the door, thanking him for the drink.

It was like nothing had happened, as he stumbled up onto his feet, to see his guest out the door. Now as he leaned on the door, he still wasn’t sure what had happened, or how. He knew though, that he would have tell Brad, but how?

The guilt was setting in, as he walked slowly towards the couch, and his pile of clothes. The used condom was on the floor, reminding him of his transgression. Christ, he couldn’t believe he had let Ashley do that, but he had, and now he would have to tell Brad. After all, Ashley was Brad’s boyfriend, not Lonnie’s. Or was he?

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It was another sultry, hot, miserable Delta day, next week would be my birthday and I would be 19 years old, a full grown man by all standards. My

Father owned a plantation Here in the Mississippi Delta, we grew cotton, some tobacco, and some other crop I had never heard of before and Oriental crop called Opium Poppies or something like that. The Sun was going down and I had been booked for a date with Miss Susan McCalister, a wealthy Southern belle, Debutant, sorta gal, but hell I didn’t know why, I still had not had any hankering for a lady friend and I was just doing it because my Father wanted me to.

Well the evening went just about as I thought it would, boring as hell, and I went dressed to the nines, and looking like I was going to a wedding or something. I met up with Susan and was rather cordial and quite gentlemenly, well, at least as much as I knew how to be, and after it was over I went home just as lonly and unsatisfied as always. Most of my sexual experience had been in the barn hayloft with my right hand and I had a few jerk offs with overnight stays at my friends, which kinda seemed the thing for young lads to do back then, mostly checking out each others dicks to see which of us had the biggest and who could shoot cum the farthest.

This particular night we had just heard that the War between the States had started and of course we were in the Southern States so we were considered Rebs. Hell I didn’t want to fight on either side.

My father had gone to Tupelo to pick up some new farm hands (Afro-Americans of course) But I was a little strange, I had played with some of the little colored boys all my life and didn’t think of them as servants, just my little friends.

Father came up in the wagon with about Five new servants 3 women for maids work and working the gardens, and 2 males, an older man about 35-40 Big muscular, burly looking gent, and a younger one about my age.

Dad said the older mans name was Joe, and he would be tending the fields and animals, and the younger mans name was Arlan, I smiled at Arlan and Joe and said Hey how are you? they looked at each other and just kinda shrugged.

My father then told me that Arlan was to be my personal servant and I was to let him help me, and he was to take care of me in any way I so needed.

Hell I didn’t want someone to be at my becon call every hour of the day. But to please Dad I let Arlan follow me around, Hell he even started giving me my bath, Well shower really, We had a windmill apparatis on top of a little shed outback of the main house and on the top was a large Metal tank and the windmill would spin and drawpump water into the tank from a deep well and the sun would warm it up during the daylight hours and It would get quite warm, plenty of warm water for several showers, really quite ingenious.

Well one afternoon I wanted to take a shower an Arlan came along as usual when we went into the hidden area below the tank there was a little area for stripping naked to take a shower, there was a table for clean clothes, and a bench to sit down on while dressing.

I walked into the area and started undressing. and then Arlan started undressing too. I wasn’t expecting this, but he was my manservant. As I was undressing I was stripping off my slacks I noticed Arlan stopped and stared at me looking straight at my crotch, I just looked up at him and smiled, being a little self conscious, but something was happening inside of me, I kept undressing untill I had gotten totally naked, Then Arlan finished, Damn, He was built, muscular, heavy veiny arms, chest like a greek god, and thighs like none I had ever seen before, and when I beheld his cock and balls I almost fainted, an uncut cock that had to be 8 inches soft and thick as his wrist, I had never seen one that big before.

I didn’t even realize that looking at his cock like that was giving me a hardon like a brick.

Arlan then grabbed my hand and said I give you bath,(he didn’t speak very plain English) but he was quite understandable, I followed to the shower head and he pulled the rope then he took the soap off the rack on the side wall of the shower and said I take care of you, The warm water started falling onto us and he began to wash me, he washed my hair, then my face, then my chest, and then my legs. and feet starting at the bottom and back up to the goodie bag, and he began to wash my balls with soap lather I thought I would pass out from pleasure, I had never had another man touch my dick before and this was an experience like no other untill that time.

Arlan then took my balls into his hand and took his other hand and went to the rear and slid his soapy hand into the crack of my ass, Holy Shit! I thought I would die. the feeling was incredible, and while massaging my nuts with his right hand and having my asshole massaged with the other hand and even having it peirced with a couple fingers was too much my cock was standing straight up, then Arlan raised his right hand and started washing my hard cock, He milked the foreskin back and soaped up the head and behind the head, so gently slathering it back and forth with his hand, I was moaning and grunting and just letting him do his thing.

I was standing there with Arlan’s hand around my cock, groaning and wimpering and Having my eyes shut, then I came to my senses and opened my eyes Fuck Arlan’s Cock was standing straight as an arrow out from his body, It was huge and I could make out every vein in his cock, shit, it was gorgeous, Arlan spoke up and said ‘Masser needs a good Milkin’ I said Oh Yea he does but so does Arlan. Arlan said I do that myself sur, I looked at Arlan and said If you can do that for me, then I can do that for you, Arlan, I want you to be my friend, not just my servant, he spoke up and said I don’t know what to say, Ize always been a manservant since I wuz a youngin. And I been milking my massers eber since. Well You don’t do it to me because you have to, I want you to like to do it, do you hear. YES sur, I hears he replied, And I wants to sur, Then he went back to stroking and milking my cock untill I grunted and unloaded a big load of cum all over the shower floor, I then took Arlans cock into my hand, Shit my hand wouldn’t even reach around it, and started my stroking of Arlans beautiful Huge Black Cock, Arlan leaned his head back and started bodily jerking and grunting and moaning like a hog at a slopfest, Fuck he shot a rope of cum all the way across the room and landed on the bench, I said that was Bodatious, just awesome Arlan, your loads really pack a wollop. He just smiled and looked up and said Yez Sur! they does.

The days progressed into months and All I could think about was Arlan’s beautiful cock, And We milked each other quite a few times.

Well one day some of my co-plantation friends that I had known for years were together at a party and got to talking about sex and one of my buddies named Wilfred, said he had a girl servant at his plantation that takes of him, she sucks his cock and swallowes his cum, I thought of Arlan, and the more they talked the more I thought about Arlan,.

The evening progressed and I drove my carriage back to our plantation and went looking for Arlan, He was in the barn putting up a few bales of hay, I said Arlan, do you know about sucking a guys cock? He looked up and smiled and said Yez sur! Have you ever done it? Yez sir, my last masser made me, but I had to do it with him, I’d likes doin it to you. I said come with me,

We went into the tak room and I turned around to Arlan and kissed him on the lips, He looked stunned and said Sur whats ya doin? I said that same thing I want you to do to me. He said Yez sur. I then started taking his shirt off and then went on to his pants. I noticed he was starting to get a real boner and I got excited as hell, I couldn’t undress Arlan fast enough, I was fumbling and overdoing it with excitement, and when his pants came down I grabbed his balls hanging there and took his gorgeous cock as far as I could into my mouth, Arlan was shocked at first and then he started moving with the flow. I pulled out and started licking his nuts and sucking on his balls god I was lost in total heat and lust..

I began to relax my throat and was taking his huge black cock all the was to the bush, the manly sweaty odor and salty taste was intoxicating I went wild with lust, I couldn’t get enough of that beautiful cock, and I wanted to swallow his whole body, fuck I was dilerious, and about to faint I had taken that monster cock all the way to the hilt, and I wanted more complete lust and abandon had taken over,

Arlan pulled me down, and said calm down boss, and lets both be for pleasuring each other.

then he layed down and started sucking my cock too, we were sixty-nining each other and the sensation of his hot, wet, soft mouth ,and the pressure he was putting on my cock was just beyond words of explaination, My breathing was eratic, my heart beat was so fast it felt like a drum beating in my head and I was lost in complete, love and lust like never before in my life. Arlan was doing things with his tongue to my cock that was making me vibrate all over my body, and I felt my nutsack tighten up and my nuts disappeared into my body cavity somewhere, and I felt the spasming down in the lower part of my rectum first and I could feel the load of cum as it moved from inside my body up every inch of my 7 inch cock and out of the opening of the head, I was lost to the rest of the world and could not see or hear anything, Arlan just kept swallowing my load and then the sensitivity hit me, My cock head was so touchy I felt like it would come off the shaft, I just started laughing and then a few more sucking movements up and down on Arlans cock and He started unloading,, Dam it was like a horse shooting his load, I did my best to get it all and I did pretty good too. We layed there totally spent but in an aura of complete satisfied bliss. and then I leaned over grabbed Arlan and kissed him on the mouth and tongued him, and told him that I thought I was in love.

Arlan said He felt the same way but It wouldn’t work out that way for us, He said, Masser Ize Black and you is white and we be killed if they finds out. I said I don’t care, then we will just have to keep it our secret.

Well as time went on Arlan and I met and had sex I found out what that big cock felt like up my ass and I found out what an asshole felt like around my cock too.

Any thing I needed Arlan was there for me, And our love affair lasted untill the Emancepation Proclamation took place, but even then Arlan stayed on my Plantation, Not as a servant but a hired hand,and of course my close friend and lover. He died on February 21, 1886, He was my friend, lover and soulmate. Rest in peace Arlan. I love you and always will.

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I couldn’t be faulted for doing my best to fight off the depression from these urges that had clutched at me since high school. My parents, bless them, had done what they could to help me – my dad, especially, by guiding me through various sports programs, giving his all to the effort to give me the All-American sports hero life – using up all my time so I didn’t have much of a chance to get into trouble. I’d enjoyed the sports, and they certainly had toughened me up, but any effect they had on my ‘walking on eggs’ depression was all superficial. I couldn’t even begin to tell my parents what was really at the root of my problem. My dad would have curled up and died.

It was only when I was out of college – and beyond the consuming collegiate football and basketball programs – that I was able to seek help on my own terms, to give name to my urges and voice to how deeply they screwed with my life.

Dr. Shelton was the first one ever I told of my affliction. I just sat on the sofa in his office and looked into his sympathetic and nonjudgmental eyes and poured it all out. It did feel a little better to have it out in the open to someone beyond myself. But that didn’t get rid of the urges and of the guilty feelings they evoked.

I’d always thought that these shrinks didn’t really suggest anything of use, that they were trained to make you face it yourself and come up with your own answers. But Dr. Shelton came right out with what I latched onto as a brilliant idea: retreat; leave the hectic urban life for a while, where I was constantly brought into contact with other people. Retreat for a while. He even said he could arrange it for me.

The town of Hamburg, Pennsylvania, was just north and west of Philadelphia, along the highway a bit past Allentown. But it was a world removed from urban, sophisticated, and enticing Philadelphia, the ‘city of brotherly love.’ The farm Dr. Shelton sent me to was north of Hamburg, right up against an eastern spur of the Appalachian Mountains. Amish country, for the most part. Quiet and remote; neighbors who kept to themselves and their own ways and showed little curiosity about anyone coming to retreat for just a spell – coming to get their head on straight and put a spike in these depressions over I had from the urges.

Farmer Bill was what Dr. Shelton called the man who owned the farm and worked it all by himself – and offered retreat and hard, honest work to some of Dr. Shelton’s patients. He indeed was a farmer, Dr. Shelton said, but he also was trained in working with young men with my problem. If anyone could help me with this depression, Dr. Shelton said, it certainly was Farmer Bill. He was a man close to the soil, an expert in the basics and rhythms of life.

For some reason the day I drove up the Northwest Extension to Allentown and turned west was a light traffic day and the farm was a lot easier to find than I thought it would be. I was more than an hour earlier than I’d been told to show up. When I pulled into the farm yard, I maneuvered my Mustang between a pickup truck with the farm’s name and logo on the driver’s door and a Saab convertible with Maryland tags. I had assumed that I’d probably have to wait in my car until the appointed time, that Farmer Bill would probably still be out doing farm chores. But maybe not if there were two vehicles here at the house.

I got out of the Mustang and climbed the stairs to the porch of the white-painted, somewhat ramshackle wood-framed farmhouse with a fieldstone foundation. I went to the door, walking around a couple of smart-looking tan suitcases nudged against each other at the top of the porch stairs. The screen door was closed, but the front door was wide open. I couldn’t see a bell, so I knocked on the door frame and called out whether anyone was home. Silence, although I heard what seemed to be a radio talk show mumbling from somewhere inside the house, not too close to the door.

This was the country, so I decided I wouldn’t be shot or lambasted if I waited inside rather than out in the car.

I went in and wandered for a few minutes around a sparsely, but cleanly appointed room – undoubtedly the living room – which had several windows on two sides letting in the sunshine of a temperate-zone summer. But I kept hearing sounds from somewhere down a hallway that led off behind the foyer stairs. Maybe Farmer Bill was back in his study or something and hadn’t heard me knock or call out at the door, I thought. I moved back through the dim hallway.

It wasn’t a radio I had heard. The two figures, both naked, were stretched out on a double bed in a room nearly all the way at the end of the hall. Both were men, although I could only see the one on his side fully facing the door. He was young, not any older than me, blond and nicely muscled, these muscles now tightly strained at the effort he was making. His arms were stretched over his head, his fists wrapped tightly around rungs of the bed’s brass headboard. His waist was lying on the arm of another man, who was stretched behind him and who had that ropy arm, bulging with veins, stretched around the young man, with a large hand wrapped around the young man’s engorged cock. The other hand of the man behind was holding the young man’s right leg up and away from his body. Focusing my shocked stare that the midsection of the young man, I could clearly see the churning base of the ‘behind’ man’s thick, condomed dick buried between the young man’s butt cheeks.

The young man’s head was thrown back and facing up at the ceiling and he was burbling with exclamations of passion and highly pleasured taking. Groaning and moaning and grunting out for more, deeper.

I only caught a glimpse of the tableau before I withdrew back down the hall, but I couldn’t get the image of the young man’s beautiful body, undulating and glistening with a light sweat of being well-exercised. And of that cock root churning in his channel.

The urges. This was exactly what I had been fleeing from for over half a decade. All of the enticements and spurned opportunities in the big city. The mental images of being in the place of that young man in the bedroom down that hall. And here, where I had retreated to escape all of that, here it was happening before my own eyes. I could only wonder, as I silently as possible stole back through the living room and out onto the porch, what Farmer Bill would do if he stumbled onto that scene.

I knew I didn’t want to be here when that happened. I nearly stumbled over the two suitcases as I slipped down the porch stairs to my car.

I had arrived much earlier than expected. I’d just get in the Mustang and drive back to Hamburg and see if I could find someplace that sold smokes or could sell me a beer. I needed to calm down. I’d come back at the appointed time and just pretend I hadn’t seen anything, and take my cue from whatever Farmer Bill had discovered – or not. But I had seen it – all that I had been running from. I needed a smoke. Or a drink. I needed both.

I had managed to find a tavern in Hamburg and both the smokes and a beer, and it was with calmer demeanor that I showed back up at the farm ten minutes after the originally designated time.

A middling tall, rangy man in, perhaps, his late forties was leaning languidly against a wooden column at the top of farmhouse porch when I pulled into the farmyard. He was giving me a friendly smile, telling me I was expected. A handsome, square-jawed, if darkly tanned and weather-beaten, face on a spare, wiry frame. He was wearing a denim shirt and faded jeans over well-used, obviously serviceable work boots. Big feet for his frame and big, veiny, hard-worked hands too. A look of a no-nonsense, highly efficient and competent, close-to-the-soil working man. Without at doubt Farmer Bill. And he was looking much at ease, so I doubted that he had discovered what I’d seen in the farmhouse not much more than an hour earlier.

We were exchanging initial introductions and he was asking about the journey and the traffic on the highway as I walked up the porch steps to his level, my duffel bag hanging off my back. As I shifted the weight of that, I realized that the suitcases were gone from the porch. The Saab with the Maryland plates wasn’t in the farmyard either, although the farm truck was there, parked in the same place it had been earlier.

‘Come on it,’ he was saying. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’

I followed him back, through the foyer, beyond the staircase and into the hallway going into the back of the house. He turned near the end of the hall, into ‘the’ room, and my heart leaped into my throat and I got all sweaty and trembly.

‘I hope this will be OK,’ he said, ushering me around him and into the room. The bedspread was pulled tight now over the brass headboarded bed. No evidence of what had been going on there just a little more than an hour ago.

‘This is where Dr. Shelton’s referrals usually stay. Just had a guy from Maryland in here, but he was finished up earlier today and has gone home. Nice kid. Was glad to be able to help him.’

I was listening to what Farmer Bill was saying – at least half way, enough to absorb what he was saying – but my eyes had latched on the strong, sinewy, vein-streaked hand he was gripping the knob of the bedroom door with as he leaned back against the door frame. Those hands, those ropy, tightly muscled, vein-bulging forearms. The man ‘behind.’

Dr. Shelton was certainly right. Farmer Bill was an expert in his field, in every sense. He treated me just like he would a skittish colt, and he took it slow and easy.

At dinner, in talking the theory of farming.

‘It’s all about sewing your seed in fertile soil, Ron. Knowing just where and when and how deep to plow. Respecting the soil, preparing it well, letting it run through your fingers. Winnowing and sowing and then being joyful in the harvest. Bringing it into season and plowing and seeding and harvesting. Making love to it, uniting with it, harmonizing with nature. Can you see it?’

Yes, I could. And he was being ever so charming and friendly and fathering.

And in the fields, doing honest, hard work close beside each other.

‘It’s going to be hot work, Ron, best we lay our shirts over there under that tree.’

‘A lot of this work is just repetitive motion, Ron, leveraging your muscles against the load, finding a rhythm and taking control. Thrusting against it and thrusting against it and thrusting against it. And knowing what muscles to use. The chest and thigh muscles on this here post digger.’

And the graceful, repetitive undulation of his torso muscles against the fence post digger was poetry in motion. Sensuous, manly, overpowering. Each downward thrust of the thick post digger between his thrusting thighs into the hole and twist and retraction and repeated thrust both suggestive and enthralling.

‘You’ve got to have passion in all you do out here, Ron. Whether you are digging a hole or filling a hole – digging, filling, digging – you’ve got to put muscle and passion behind it. You got to develop a rhythm. Understand?’

Yes, I did. And so did the urges.

Standing at the stockyard fence, big booted foot up on the first rail, side by side, both shirtless, Farmer Bill’s arm loosely around my shoulder, him pointing to the stud horse breeding a mare and the bull earning his keep with that big, veiny hand of his.

‘Whatever is in nature is natural, Ron. You know? Whatever is in nature is good and right. And everything comes into its season and, when it knows it’s natural and right, then it’s OK, it’s good. You understand? Eventually, you’ve just got to let loose and let nature be nature. The great cycle of life. And you only live life once. You might as well get as much out of that life as you can, when you can. Preparing and plowing and seeding and enjoying the harvest.’

And at the end of the day, the rule of not entering the house dirty. The outdoor shower by the barn. Stripping down together, rinsing and soaping up and rinsing off again under the showerhead, together. And drying off with towels as we raced for the house, buck naked, together. Laughing. Him slapping me on the butt cheek; me blushing and trying to stay ahead of him, not wanting him to see the effect the shower ritual was having on me.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on Farmer Bill – if you didn’t count his thick cock and heavy balls, of course. The hard work farming required was evident in his trimness and his sinewy musculature. Beauty in motion when he moved, however. And a master craftsman and every inch in charge.

When he first fucked me, I was ripe for the picking. We were out in the small vineyard he had on the first rise up toward the Appalachian ridge at the back of the farm property, well away from the rest of the world. He’d parked the truck in a depression below and let the tailgate down. After we’d picked several bushels of grapes and the shadows of the encroaching evening were quickly lengthening, Farmer Bill said he’d brought some wine from the last harvest out with us – and some cheese and bread.

We sat, side by side, leaning our butts against the truck’s tailgate, stripped to the waist, dribbles of grape juice dabbling our torsos. Drinking wine and chewing on whole-grained peasant bread and sharp, locally produced cheese. Silently watching the sun set off to the west down the ridge and the lights of a few isolated vacation homes along the ledge twinkle on.

‘I love it out here,’ I said. ‘So quiet. Silent. Lovely silence. Isolation.’

‘You’re not alone, and it’s not silent out here, Ron,’ Farmer Bill said in a low husky voice. ‘Listen again.’

I did, and he was right. I could hear low sounds. A twittering and the sound of a frog in the nearby pond. And crickets.

‘The sounds of nature, Ron. You hear them now, don’t you? I don’t think you were able to hear them at all before you came. But you hear them now, I can tell.’

‘Yes,’ I murmured.

‘And you know what those sounds are now, don’t you?’

I didn’t answer. I knew where this was headed. I knew I was ready, but still the old reluctance, the twinge of guilt over the urges.

‘Mating sounds. Nature coming into season. Doing what’s natural,’ Farmer Bill murmured, his lips close to my ear, his arm around my shoulder.

‘Yes,’ I said, my voice low and hoarse now too.

‘I think you’ve come into season, Ron.’

‘Yes.’

He pulled me over, leaning me back into his lap. His arms went around me, and his lips buried themselves in the hollow of my neck. He unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down my thighs. I pushed them the rest of the way myself, taking my briefs with them, and stepped out of them. His strong arms were squeezing me, and his broad-palmed, sinewy hands were roaming all over my chest and belly and down to my rising cock.

The first fucking was right there, like that, me being held into his lap, my butt cheeks nestled in his bush, as he leaned his buttocks against the tailgate of the truck. One of his hands on my chest, working my nipples and the other one on my belly, guiding the rise and fall of my hips on his buried, plowing cock until I’d taken the thickness of him inside me and had moved from pain to passion and gotten the rhythm of the fuck. Then that hand slowly descending to my tool, a maddening thumb latching onto the head of my knob and applying rhythmic pressure while the other fingers wrapped themselves and stroked me. Pent up as I was with years of unfulfilled urges and frustration, I spilled my seed on the ground twice before he shuddered and finished his studding of me for the first time.

Farmer Bill. Doing his job. Naturally. Studding me. Breeding me. And doing it masterfully; making me want it.

Then he turned me onto my back on the tailgate and hunched over me and licked the drabbles of grape juice off my torso and sucked me to a third spilling as he came into season for a second plowing and harvest. He wishboned my legs and nuzzled his pelvis between my hips and took me long and hard and deep, as I lay there, moaning and sighing, arching my back and writhing when he was riding me hard and lying back and languidly cooing as he took long, slow glides inside me, searching and exploring every crevice. Lying there, wondering why I had taken so long to give into the urges, and watching the stars flicker on over the Pennsylvania Dutch farm country.

And then again, later, as wisps of clouds scuttled across the early night sky, out between the rows of vine stands, studded like a horse, on my knees, buttocks lifted to him, my cheek on the soft moss, my fists grabbing at the soil, bunching up with each thrusting inside me of what he was breeding me with, a tool that would be the pride of any horse or bull – masterfully melting any mare or cow into burbling acquiescence. Smelling and tasting the rich soil of the farmland, doing what came naturally.

I stayed with Farmer Bill until I was fully comfortable fucking with a natural, joyful lust. But the day came when my Mustang was nuzzled out in the farmyard beside the farm truck, gassed up for the journey back to Philadelphia; my duffel bag was sitting at the top of the porch steps; and I was stretched out on my side on the bed in that bedroom for the last time, gripping the brass rungs of the headboard overhead for dear life, as Farmer Bill fucked me hard from behind in a farewell taking that put sealed to any reluctances or pangs of guilt I ever may have had. Exuberantly thrusting my hips back at his pistoning pelvis, while the knob of his master tool found my prostrate and rubbed me to new heights of ecstasy and lustful frenzy. The welling up and the release, followed briefly by murmurings and kissings and light tonguings across moist, hard flesh, and then the quiet, languid fuck of peace and mutual appreciation. Renewed passion and rhythmic fucking – and then farewell.

One of the first things I did when I got back to Philadelphia was to try to make an appointment to see Dr. Shelton.

‘I’ve talked with Farmer Bill, Ron,’ he responded to me down the telephone line. ‘In fact, I had a very long, interesting, conversation with Farmer Bill. You have no further need for my professional services. I can’t meet you as your therapist . . . but I could meet you as your friend, if you want to see me and talk about it.’

He scheduled me for after the last appointment of the day and waved his receptionist out the door as I entered his office.

‘About Farmer Bill,’ I began, when he’d settled in a chair across from the sofa where I sat.

‘You came to me depressed about your urges, Ron,’ he interrupted. ‘And you wanted relief. In our discussions of what was bothering you, I didn’t really get the feeling that you, deep down, rejected the urges. You were just trying to suppress your natural instincts. And that was what was causing your depression. It was the guilt and resulting depression you needed to be liberated from, not the urges. That, at least was my assessment, and that is the last thing I have to say in any remotely professional therapist capacity. Was I wrong, Ron?’

I chomped on that for a few minutes. I had to be honest. That’s one of the things Farmer Bill had taught me. To be honest with myself.

‘No, you weren’t wrong, Dr. Shelton.’

‘No, not Dr. Shelton. Hank. At this point, it needs to be your friend, Hank. And your depression? Did Farmer Bill help with that?’

‘Gone,’ I admitted. ‘Farmer Bill gave me a whole new perspective.’

‘And in your perspective am I, your friend, not your therapist . . . attractive, Ron?’

ZING!

Well, I had to be honest. ‘No, Hank, you aren’t in the least unattractive.’

‘If you’d like to just slip off those trousers, Ron, I think this would be a natural time to do a completely nonprofessional prostate exam.’

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Maybe it was their mood in general or maybe it was what they had been inhaling while laying around Marc’s basement while watching television.

After flipping through channels they stopped the search while watching an old black and white pirate film. Some member of the crew had just done something wrong. Other crew members were ripping his clothes while tying him to the ropes.

His back was bare down his buttocks just before you could see his crack. In fact as he moved you could see just the beginning of the asscheeks separation.

The crew member who held the whip was half naked too, his tattooed bulging chest displaying a ring from one nipple.

‘I didn’t know they let that be seen then’ Adam said

‘What the crack or whipping?’ Marc asked.

‘No the piercing’ he rubbed his chest through his tank top.

‘Hey they showed a lot more in older films when it comes to sex. Hell they talked more about it then too.’ Seymour contributed.

The whip cracked and the boys jumped.

‘Shit it looks like they actually hit him’ Adam said. His hand was still rubbing his nipple through his shirt.

‘Did they have a stand in or dummy?’ Marc asked.

‘Shit’ Adam muttered seeing another shot of the whipper as his thick arms bulged.

The marks began to show on the bare back of the actor being whipped.

‘God did they really do that?’ Marc wondered

‘Yea in fact they used to knot the ends of the cat of nine tails so it would cut flesh more’ Seymour again jumped in with his apparent knowledge.

The whip flailed its several strands as it landed on the actors upper back.

‘Christ’ Adam said

A shot of the actor’s face showed him grimacing.

‘Fifty lashes? God if they did it now, nobody could handle five.’ Marc said

‘Shit, I could’ Adam said

The arguing that surfaced became a dare that they all agreed to.

‘I bet you can’t take more then three’ Marc said ‘what do you think Sey?’

A smiling Seymour who always loved these types of dares they did added ‘Naw he can take that, but I bet he can’t take more then five.’

Adam peeled his shirt off. ‘What are we gonna use?’ he stood looking around.

‘Be right back’ Marc ran upstairs.

‘Belt’ Seymour said, ‘wide one can you take that?’

‘Hell I take that all the time. My Dad uses one’ Adam said

‘Here we go’ Marc reappeared waving a cat of nine tails.

‘Shit where did you get that?’ Seymour fondled the strands

‘Some movie prop my brother bought. He buys this stuff on eBay. Ready?’ Marc flicked it at Adams bare chest.

Adam flinched.

‘We need to tie him up somewhere’ Seymour suggested

‘No guys I’m ok’ Adam said.

‘No you gotta do it right, use the beams’ Sey said ‘rope?’

‘In the chest there’ Marc said

Adam began to wonder if he had accepted a bet he should’ve as his arms were tied overhead.

‘When I say uncle, stop ok?’ He said

Marc and Seymour didn’t respond as they were tying Adam’s hands.

‘Pants’ Sey said

They unbuttoned Adams jeans and pulled them down.

‘Just in case we miss’ Marc said patting Adam’s bare buttocks ‘Ok ready?’

He whipped the cat across Adam’s back.

‘Oh shit that hurts’ Adam said. Seymour and Marc laughed

‘One’ Marc said ‘want another’

Adam held his breath and nodded.

‘Two’ Marc said as he swung the cat cross Adam’s already reddened shoulders.

‘Fuck’ Adam exclaimed.

‘You won’t get through this if you do that, you gotta try to relax your body and know it will hurt but just let it happen, don’t flex either’ Seymour said as he ran his hand from Adam’s shoulders down his back to his buttocks. He patted them.

‘We have lots of places to work on’

‘Three, Four, Five’ Marc said using the cat in a quick series of hits.

‘Christ’ Adam said

‘I win’ Seymour ‘but I’ll pay you a dollar for each one you can take’ he added taking the cat from Marc.

‘Just don’t do the same place’ Adam said.

‘Fine’ Seymour began the task of turning Adam’s white skin red. He swung the cat on the middle of his back, his buttocks, then back to his shoulders. He used it on each side which made Adam curse louder.

‘Fuck man, he’s red’ Marc said ‘you ok buddy?’ he put his hand on Adams bare chest. Adam was breathing hard.

‘yea’

‘Shit he likes it’ Marc said.

‘What?’

‘He’s got one hell of a boner’

Seymour looked around and saw Adam’s hard cock too.

‘I bet we can make him cum’ Seymour said ‘don’t worry buddy we won’t tell’

‘be right back’ Marc said.

Seymour flicked the cat against Adams chest and stomach. He didn’t complain just muttered ‘shit’ a few times.

Adam’s cock seemed to bounce each time.

‘He’s drooling’ Seymour said to Marc who had returned.

‘Who wouldn’t?’ Marc said

‘No, I mean his cock, its flowing out precum like a river’ Seymour pointed. ‘What’s that?’

‘A gag, so he can yell as loud as he wants’ Marc began to put the ball gag in Adam’s mouth. ‘Don’t worry buddy you can scream with this, don’t want some neighbor calling the cops’.

Adam didn’t protest as the ball was put between his teeth or the strap buckled tight.

‘My brother has all kinds of stuff’ Marc explained.

The whipping resumed and Adam did indeed yell into the gag. Marc lowered his pants so the whip would redden his butt, legs, belly and chest.

The two pulled their own erections out as they watched their buddy suffer and seemed to enjoy it.

‘He’s cumming’ Seymour announced somewhat saddened that Adam’s body was collapsing in the ropes that held his wrists.

They untied him and let him move to the floor. After removing the ball gag they asked

‘Are you ok buddy?’

He nodded.

‘Shit what are you doin?’ Marc asked

‘He wants this too’ Seymour was quickly masturbating aiming his cock towards Adam’s red naked body ‘don’t you buddy?’

Adam looked up and opened his mouth wide as if to catch the future streams of cum that Seymour would soon be shooting.

Marc moved his hand back to his own cock and joined in until both were sending riches of cum across Adam’s face and chest.

Adam returned after his trip to the shower. He was still naked and the marks of his whipping could be seen clearly.

Marc and Seymour examined him as they put some cream on the injuries they had given him.

‘I think you two owe me lots of money’ Adam said as he lay on the couch enjoying his nudity.

‘Hell for that orgasm I think you owe us’ Marc said.

‘Tell you two what, you guys pay for it and I’ll get my nipples pierced like that guy on the film.’ Adam said pulling on his erect tits.

‘Maybe we can head to Palm Springs. I know a place we can stay that will let us tie you outside and everyone can watch us do you gain. We’ll make enough money for the trip and get your tit’s pierced’ Seymour said as his fingers pulled on Adam’s tits.

‘What will you do for us?’ Marc said

‘Well I guess you guys know about me now’ Adam said as he moved from the couch to kneeling on the floor.

‘So I guess it’s whatever you want from now on’ he said feeling Seymour’s hand already on his bare buttocks.

Marc unzipped his fly, ‘if you mean it, we’ll give you what you deserve again later, right Seymour?’

Seymour had already aimed his hard cock towards his friends butt.

Paul first saw him in the prison library. His name was Dexter, and Paul helped him find a book. An adventure book with words that weren’t too difficult to comprehend. Paul felt a chill go up his spine when their hands brushed against each other – and he knew.

Dexter was an indescribable mix of races that pretty much resolved itself into ‘mean.’ Skin that came across as deeply tanned without having taken the effort to go outside, a montage of tattoos that screamed brutality, and a physique that revealed he’d been penned up for years with little better to do than work out and work at working off angry aggression.

Paul couldn’t believe – couldn’t hope – that Dexter would ever be in a position to leave the penitentiary, but after months of exchanging pen pal letters, it looked like that might be the case.

While he waited, Paul, who worked a couple of volunteer hours a week in the prison library, dutifully went to his accountant’s job in a medium-sized cubicle in an unending bank of cubicles on the third floor of a mammoth insurance agency and quietly and innocuously put in his time. After working into the early evening hours, he’d stop at a modest grocery store on his way home and pick up his canned or quick-frozen supper. And then he’d enter his sixth-floor, one-bedroom apartment without a view in a medium-rise, thirty-year-old apartment block and sit and eat his meal with a television show going in the background that he never watched or listened to.

While Paul ate, he’d concentrate on dredging up and continually replaying the last short, seemingly innocuous conversation he had with Dexter in the prison library. When he was finished eating his meal, he’d wash his dishes and stack them back in the cupboard. Then he’d walk over and turn off the television, take a shower, and then, naked, lie on his bed and masturbate to the rereading of the letters from Dexter and the imaginings of being fucked by Dexter, being Dexter’s cellmate and being taken by Dexter without his consent. Then spent and satisfied, Paul would turn off his night light and sleep until it was time to start the cycle all over again.

When he learned that Dexter was being paroled, Paul broke out into a sweat and his hands trembled so badly that he could neither finish his evening meal nor his nightly masturbation. It was only then that he realized that perhaps the reason he had focused on Dexter was that he seemingly was unattainable. Safe. Probably never going to see the outside of the prison.

But Dexter was paroled. And on the day Dexter walked out of the prison, Paul was standing on the pavement outside the gates, as he had agreed he would be, waiting for Dexter.

‘You got a room?’ was the first thing a miraculously free Dexter said at the prison gate.

‘Yes,’ Paul said meekly. And, indeed, he did. It wasn’t his apartment, of course. It was a room at a good motel. And he’d prepaid for a week. He’d promised Dexter the room would be clean and his – for a week.

‘Clothes first. I gotta get out of these shitty rags. And money. You said you’d give me a thou.’

‘Yes, here’s the money,’ Paul murmured. He couldn’t look at Dexter. He was all atremble. Scared and aroused at the same time. Being alone in his apartment with the letters and Dexter behind bars was one thing. Dexter here in the flesh out on the street and the content of those letters zinging through Paul’s brain were something else altogether. ‘My car’s over here. I’ll take you to a good clothes store.’

‘Think they’ll have something to go over these pecs and biceps,’ Dexter asked with pride in his voice. He flexed and made the tattoos running down his arm jiggle.

‘Yes, sure, we’ll find something,’ Paul responded. A whole other world, he was thinking. There was absolutely nothing that Dexter’s world had in common with Paul’s. But then Paul’s life wasn’t all that hot, he thought. This gave Paul a little thrill, and he felt himself going hard. Maybe this would be OK.

‘A bar. After the clothes, then a bar. Then that room.’ Dexter gave Paul a look – that look – and he smacked his lips and sucked his teeth in.

Paul looked down and blushed.

‘Hey, you really want this?’ Dexter asked. ‘You know the money, clothes, and room will do me if you don’t. I can find someone else to screw. That ain’t no problem.’

‘No . . . no. The clothes, a bar, and then . . . the room. It’s what I want.’

Later, in the motel room, blinds drawn, and a underamped light bulb in a bedside lamp sending shadows into the corners of the room.

‘What you said in the letters . . . what you described . . . did you really . . . ?’ Paul couldn’t complete the sentence. He was hunched down in the chair, Dexter towering over him, naked and aglow from a shower now except for his newly purchased briefs, having wanted to wash every hint of prison from his body the first thing after they’d entered the room.

‘Yeah, it’s true. It’s what I do. It’s rough in there. And when you don’t got no power in one way, it sorta shows in other ways. You either do or you get done. And if you do, you make sure everyone knows you can do.’

Paul trembling a bit now. And aroused. On the edge. Those letters . . . they were quite graphic. And, as the correspondence had progressed, they had increasingly become focused on Paul. Paul knew it probably was only because of what he promised to do for Dexter – the transition from prison. But . . .

Paul looked up at Dexter, at the rippling muscles of his chest, the constantly rippling tattoo display, the barrel chest tapering down to the thin waist. The broken nose, the mean, screaming gash across his cheek. The ropy muscles with the veins popping out, the rock-solid meat inside giving them no place else to go.

The thought of what was there under the prison uniform, plus what was in those letters, had sustained Paul for months of solitary masturbation. Now, in the flesh. . . . Paul felt himself turning to jelly. He suddenly longed for this to be fantasy. It had all been a fantasy. Hadn’t it? He attempted to transport himself back to his cubicle, among all of those other cubicles, soft, nondescript music in the background, crunching numbers as he listened to two guys down the corridor discuss the previous night’s basketball game.

But there was no transporting himself to the ‘other side’ – to safety.

‘Did you mean what you put in the letters?’ Dexter asked gruffly. ‘Do you want this?’

He dropped his briefs. He was ready. Long and thick and throbbing and ready.

‘Yes,’ Paul murmured quietly. He hadn’t meant to say that. But someone in the room other than Dexter had said it, so Paul guessed it had been him. Paul didn’t want to look at Dexter’s mammoth cock. But he couldn’t look anywhere else.

‘And you want it prison style, like you said in your letters?’

‘Yes.’ Whispered. Surely by someone else. Paul wouldn’t have said that.

‘Like a virgin? First night in my cell? Guards pissy at the new pretty boy in my cell, needing to be taken down a notch. Everyone lookin’ the other way?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you that, Paul? Are you a virgin?’

‘That way. That way, yes,’

Dexter was smiling. He also was stroking his cock – which was growing in size, although Paul hadn’t thought that was possible.

‘You bring rubbers?’

‘Yes. There. There, in my briefcase.’

‘Lots?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tonight. Tonight, you understand. Then that’s it. I get the money and the clothes and this room for a week. And you get lost. And no calling the cops, no matter what, Right?’

‘Right. Yes, it’s what we agreed.’

‘Cause if you call in the cops, I got friends that’ll do you good and forever, understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘After it starts, no stoppin’ it, you understand? Otherwise it ain’t real. Not like in my prison cell. Not like fresh meat thrown into my cell.’

‘Yes.’ Close to tears now. The last yes whimpered. Hanging out over the edge. He wasn’t safely tucked away in his cubicle now.

Paul’s head snapped to the side in pain and shock as Dexter took two strides toward him and backhanded him across the cheek. An evil grin on his face. Wanting and intending to take. Brutally.

This pushed all of the air out Paul’s lungs, and he was given scant chance of replacing that. Dexter grabbed Paul’s head between his hands and had the head of his cock forcing its way between Paul’s lips.

‘Treat it right, Baby, or you’ll regret it.’

Paul, trapped in the chair by Dexter’s hulking body hunched over his, gagged and fought for breath as Dexter filled him to the back of his throat and, grabbing Paul’s hair in his hands, began moving Paul’s head back and forth, back and forth on his rod.

This was only the beginning. And Dexter saved himself, wanting the virginal ass – and sooner rather than later. When he released Paul from the face fuck and turned to fish condoms out of the brief case, Paul made a struggling lurch out of the chair and for the door. This definitely wasn’t fantasy. This was overload.

But Dexter turned and tackled Paul down to the floor. He held Paul down with one strong hand holding the accountant’s arm twisted, painfully behind his back, Paul’s face buried in the carpet, while the erstwhile inmate jerked off Paul’s pants and briefs. Then, crowned, but without lubricant or any other preparation, Dexter pulled Paul up to his hands and knees, hunched over his pelvis, and brutally thrust his dick at Paul’s hole again and again and again, until he was in, past the sphincter, into the tight, previously unused channel.

Paul was gasping and crying out to the ceiling and writhing. Dexter was laughing and pounding away. Having a good old time. When Paul’s knees gave way, Dexter just rode him down to the carpet, and kept thrusting away.

Later, Paul laying on his back on the bed, exhausted and brutalized. Dexter, sitting, still naked, in the chair facing the foot of the bed. Swigging one of the beers they had brought back to the room.

‘Stroke it,’ Dexter said in a guttural voice. ‘Stroke yourself.’

‘What? Why?’ Paul said, his voice spent and trembling.

‘Just do it. I want to see how big it gets.’

After a bit.

‘Ah. Good. Nice size. Keep it up. I want to see the cream. Think of the letters. You said you did it to the letters.’

Heavy breathing, from both bed and chair. At last an ‘Ahhh,’ and Paul let his head drop back, spent, dribbles of cum on his flat belly.

‘Spread ’em.’

‘N-o-o,’ wheedling, weakly voiced. ‘Please, no.’

‘I said spread ’em for me. I’m in a fuckin’ mood again. Your jackoff put me in a fuckin’ mood.’

Dexter was already at the end of the bed, pulling Paul down to the edge with a fist wrapped around his ankle.

‘Nooo,’ Paul whimpered, trying to come up in a sitting position. He started to say something else, but this was cut off by a backhand across his face that sent his head reeling back onto the bedspread.

‘Here, hold this,’ Dexter said as he thrust his half-empty beer bottle into Paul’s hand. ‘Don’t lose none.’

As Paul meekly took hold of the beer bottle, fighting to keep it upright, Dexter fisted Paul’s calves and pulled them wide apart. Then he grabbed one of the bed pillows and stuffed that under Paul’s hips, raising his pelvis. Dexter took the beer bottle back in one hand and pinned Paul’s sternum to the bed surface with the other. Paul didn’t have a chance. Dexter was twice as big and three times bulkier than Paul.

Paul cried out in surprise and pain as he felt the cold glass of the beer bottle neck being pushed into his ass. He started to struggle, but Dexter lifted his hand long enough to backhand Paul’s cheek again and then returned it to his sternum.

‘The more you struggle, the worse it will feel,’ Dexter said, giving his prey a cruel grin. ‘Thought we’d do it this time with some lube.’

The cold beer felt strangely soothing as it spread and sloshed around inside Paul’s stretched and shredded channel, and Paul just laid back and took it. Again.

Soon the thrusting bottle was replaced with a hard, thrusting, insistent cock.

Dexter was in high heat. Who knows how long it had been since he’d gotten his rocks off – years at least since he had been able to enjoy it without keeping one eye and ear cocked to the cell door in case a guard was passing by – assuming that it would be one of the few guards who cared what he was doing with and to his cellmate.

While he fucked, Dexter lowered took Paul’s cock in one hand and treated it like it was the stick shift in a drag race. He grunted and lowered his lips and teeth to Paul’s nipples and neck and licked and kissed and bit and chewed, while Paul panted and moaned and groaned and moved in waves of his own new-found passion and lust under the attentions of a man who fucked brutally and roughly – and completely.

Hours later a bruised and whimpering Paul was dumped unceremoniously outside the motel door, on the balcony overlooking the parking lot and a Pizza Hut, and the door to what was now wholly Dexter’s room was shut firmly and locked. It was several more minutes before Paul was able to rise and drag himself down to his car . . .

. . . and back to his life.

Paul saw him for the first time three weeks later, in the prison library. His name was Digger, or at least that was the name he went by in prison, and Paul helped him find a book. An adventure book with words that weren’t too difficult to comprehend. Paul felt a chill go up his spine when their hands brushed against each other – and he knew.

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‘Come on, let me at least look at it. I have a bet going. I’ve declared it can’t be true.’

‘No,’ John said. But he was smiling. He knew the British bomber jockeys were a boisterous and randy lot, and most were too good-natured to raise his dander. And there was a heart-wrenching war on. And, mostly, he was too embarrassed that he was chained to a desk and, this not being his war, at least not yet, locked into a nothing, thinly symbolic liaison job while they were up there laying their lives on the line.

‘Come on, then, John. Just a peek. I’ll be dead next month. Would you want me to go without knowing?’

Trevor Chelton was being morbid, of course, but they had to be that way, the British war pilots. And they had to grasp at any humor in it that they could…or else none of them could have made it this far. Six months. That was the life expectancy of a British bomber pilot in this second world war. And no one had known anyone who had retired from this. At least not yet.

When John Silverman had just arrived at RAF Mildenhall air base in September 1939 as a nominal American liaison officer to the British war effort, a twenty-one-year-old, fresh-out-of-college U.S. Army Air Corps lieutenant, the best sign of support the Americans could offer to the British at this point in their war against Adolph Hitler, he had ‘gotten’ it the moment he had arrived. His welcome escort had taken him to a barracks building and told him to pick out the billet he wanted.

‘But all of the bunks are taken,’ he had said, after his eyes had scanned the long room and seen the unmistakable sign of primitive, yet determined domestication around each one of the neatly spaced cots.

‘No, they are all available,’ his British counterpart had said quietly. ‘None of these lads are coming home.’ It wasn’t until much later, at war’s end that John would learn that only 10 percent of the British bomber pilots who ever flew off over the channel survived the war. But just the image of that seeming full, but empty barracks that day was all he ever needed to see to believe the horror of that reality. And that was enough to make him vulnerable.

Which was why, in the end, John had given the young and tragically dashing Trevor Chelton the look he wanted…and why he had softened to the young man when his eyes went wide as saucers when he got that look.

And it was why in late November he let Trevor come to his cot in the ghostly empty barracks and had sat on the edge of the cot and let Trevor lower his naked body into his lap, facing him. Why John had sat quietly and docilely and let Trevor rise and fall rhythmically on John’s manhood, nipples rubbing nipples, hands encasing John’s head so that their lips met and they kissed while Trevor sighed a satisfied sigh of fulfillment and peace…and momentary escape from the reality of the times and expectations.

For three weeks that late fall they were lovers, John progressively being won over to Trevor’s desires and needs so that by that last afternoon, Trevor was laying on his back on the cot, buttocks at the edge, and John was holding Trevor’s trembling legs spread wide and was actively entering and entering and entering Trevor to the tune of Trevor’s cries of passion and pleasure at the depth of the never-ending, mutually engaged taking.

That had been on the 16th of December. The legendary Wilhelshaven Raids over Germany had started two days earlier. No one knew then when they would end. All suspected it would be when the last British bomber pilot was dead.

There was a frenetic, ‘forget the world,’ element to John and Trevor’s lovemaking. John had never lain with a man before, but he felt so helpless and superfluous to the brave defense these young men were putting up for their homeland, their great sacrifice in the face of sure death and probably futility. He could deny Trevor nothing in these circumstances. And for these days of impending horror, he let himself go. They fucked like there was no tomorrow, for, indeed, there probably wasn’t going to be a tomorrow for Trevor and his compatriots. Again and again and again, Trevor in the deepest throes of passion at what John was willingly and completely giving him now, feeding deep inside him. No need for condoms. Skin on skin. Trevor arching his back and his eyes rolling back in his head, his cries of joys lifted to the ceiling of the eerily deserted barracks room as John sank in, in, in. No thought of tomorrow. Only today, and the frenzy of the deep fuck.

And on that day, John believed that it was Trevor who held his love. No other. Trevor was his whole life. And he was no longer even thinking he was doing this because of the unusual circumstances they were in. Trevor needed him in order to get through the days, to motivate him to climb into that Wellington bomber in the twilight and take his next dark-of-the-moon run into the German, flak- and Luftwaffe night fighter-filled skies. But that was passed them now. They were fucking because they were lovers.

The Wellington Raids ended on the 18th of December 1939, the British force exhausted but having made a decisive, staving off impact on the German war-making capability.

In this last sortie across the channel in the Wilhelshaven Raids, Trevor Chelton’s Wellington bomber was shot down by a German ME-109E as it had the English channel in its sights after a successful run over Wilhelshaven, with the plane ditching in the North Sea.

Three weeks later, John Silverman was reassigned to Claire Chennault’s fledgling Flying Tiger ‘support’ aid force unit that was forming in Kunming, China, to help bolster the Chiang Kai-shek government’s resistance to the Japanese invasion in the east. And it wasn’t long before John was fully occupied with an entirely different sort of war and without the time or luxury of private mourning for his lost lover. Young men were dying at every turning. There was no time to think on the senseless wasting of them individually any more.

It was late in the November of 1963 in a quiet Cleveland, Ohio, suburb, when a distraught and drained John Silverman answered the ringing at his door. If he hadn’t been distracted, he might have just let the doorbell ring and ring until whoever was there gave up and went away. But he had been watching the television coverage of the assassination and burial ceremonies for the U.S. president for days, and he was confused and drained and just went to the door without really even thinking about it.

The man was young and sad looking. John immediately started forming in his mind whatever he could say to get rid of a door-to-door salesman as quickly as possible. He was in no mood for anyone else’s hard-luck story or personal tragedy at this time. He had all of that he could manage himself now. He was worn out by life.

But he was wrong in thinking there was no more of this to face.

‘Did he suffer?’ John asked, sitting there in the dimly lit silence of his living room in the long shadows of the late afternoon, the television set turned off for the first time in a week.

‘No, not really. He went quickly, once we knew for sure that he was that ill.’ The young man, Raymond Bock, as he had introduced himself, dragged up a swelling of old, bittersweet memories for John. It probably was his English accent.

‘I had no idea that Trevor had even survived the war,’ John said in a halting voice. The shock that Trevor Chelton had recently died was magnified by John’s assumption that he had been dead for twenty-four years already.

‘He didn’t want you to know,’ young Raymond said. Bock was a strikingly handsome young man. Lithe and blond. Fine, expressive hands. Probably an artist of some sort. Certainly artistic, sensitive. He had shown as much sensitivity as possible in letting John know that John’s old lover…Raymond’s most recent lover…had both lived and died in a completely separate dimension from John’s postwar life.

‘He didn’t want me to know?’ John was still stunned and a little confused. This wasn’t his sharpest week. He was vulnerable.

‘No,’ Raymond answered in a low, throaty voice. It sounded like he was a bit on edge himself, barely holding in his emotions. ‘By the time he found you after the war, you were married and had children. How many was it?’

‘Six. Six boys. In seven years.’

‘But your wife?’

‘Mary died in having that sixth child. I raised the boys on my own. The last of them…Phil…is off at naval training now.’

‘Six children in seven years. What took her? A difficult childbirth?’

‘She was just worn out. I tried to get her to slow down. But she always . . . she just wanted…’

‘Can I see it?’ Raymond’s voice was hoarse. John sensed a thickness in it. A familiar tone. He looked up sharply at the young man. As if seeing him for the first time now.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Trevor talked of you . . . of it . . . often. In the throes of passion, he would cry out your name. I was jealous for ever so long. Not that he cried out your name. But jealous of what he had to say about it. I wasn’t sure I ever believed it. But he was so sincere. He was fixated, and I’m afraid I’ve become fixated too. I’ve come all the way from London. Please, can I see it?’

Perhaps if John had not been at such a low point, his life would not have taken this jolting turn to the past. But the last of his boys gone. No one to care for. The tragedy of Dallas. The shock of learning that Trevor had survived the war but now, just as suddenly as he had been regained, was gone. Here and gone on the breath of a handsome young, vibrant man, in a silent, lonely room in a quiet Cleveland suburb as the whole world collectively mourned the irretrievable loss of innocence. A man with an English accent just like Trevor’s. A need just like Trevor’s.

They fucked right there in the living room as the late afternoon progressed into dark night. Raymond straddling John’s lap once they both were naked, sinking down, down, down as he arched his back and lifted his gaze to the darkening ceiling and warbled in ecstasy at the long, long journey down into John’s nestling pubic thatch.

Later, as Raymond was bent over the arm of the sofa, John hunched over and behind him, and Raymond felt the renewed throbbing moving ever more impossibly deep into the quick of him, the young man thought of that suitcase he had set down out of sight of the front door on John’s front porch and wondered how soon there would be an opportunity to suggest that he bring it inside.

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Trent kept turning the key, then moving over to the cowling, looking down at the greasy motor, looking for something, though he hadn’t a clue as to exactly what. He was no gear head, and each time he just felt more frustrated, as he would stand up and look around. It was frustrating, the one time he went out, and had the place to himself, there was no one about.

Standing there, wearing his lifejacket, and a pair of broad shorts, he felt suddenly chilled. There were lights starting to go on at the various houses on the far bank, and he realized it was getting dark. Still, someone would come by, he hoped. Looking over to the silent motor, he felt like kicking it, except he had no shoes on, and he really didn’t need to break a toe or two, right now.

It was nearly the end of summer, and this was the first time he had the family summer cabin to himself, fat lot of good that was doing him. He had it all planned, to get one or two of his friends to come up, spend the week with him, and hopefully use up the condoms he had bought, but suddenly everyone was busy, or off elsewhere. He had been forced to come up alone, but he figured one of the locals help pass the time, and once again he had been wrong.

It was like a ghost town, with everyone gone, or more or less gone. Jimmy, one of his prospects for some fun, wasn’t even up this weekend, and good old reliable Jeff had flaked too. Even the local gas jockey seemed to be pre-occupied, barely giving him a second look when he had filled up the boat. Now here he was, his last night alone, and for his efforts, he had managed to whack off a few times, watch some porn videos alone, and do nothing else. No horseplay with the guy from the grocery store, no looking for a quiet spot to do some serious fucking and sucking, just a bored day stretched out on a blanket, soaking up the waning rays of the summer sun during the day, and knocking back a few cold drinks at night, alone.

He sat back down, staring at the open cowling, at the shiny chrome around the stern, wondering what he was going to do. Like an idiot, he hadn’t brought a jacket, nor did he have any other clothes aboard. Oh sure, he had his little brown bag, the one with condoms, some lube, and even a nice red dildo, but like that wasn’t going to get the friggin boat started, sure as hell wasn’t going to keep him warm, or stop the rumbling in his stomach.

Even the blankets were back at the dock, along with his clothes, as he stared out at the growing darkness. It was getting chilly too, and the water was starting to lap up against the sides, rocking the boat a bit. Normally he enjoyed that motion, but right now he felt like wanting to puke.

His first year at College was just a few weeks away, and he doubted if he’d be back until summer. It wasn’t like his friends were any different, except maybe Sam, who was already out in the world, working in some construction outfit. College wasn’t for Sam, but then he was already starting to beef up, no longer the puny runt he had been in High School. Might be fun to do him, once he filled out more from actually working, but that wasn’t gonna help him right now, as he stared off at the far bank.

Yelling might work, if anyone was out, but so far he couldn’t even spot the glow of a burning cigarette, or even see a darker shadow, that would signify someone being out. It was as if everyone was inside, packing or eating, and when he heard the voice, he almost fell off the seat. It had come out of the blue, and turning around he couldn’t see anyone, until he let his eyes narrow a bit, and there was this mop of shaggy blond hair peering at him, almost up to the side rail.

‘You stuck’ the voice asked, and Trent couldn’t help but notice the very white teeth, set off by the darker skin of the face. Definitely sunburned, and the hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb or brush for months. Still, the eyes seemed to be sparkling a bit, and it was a lean looking face. Almost babyish in appearance, as he finally answered back that the engine wouldn’t kick over.

‘Help me aboard, I’ll take a look if you want’ the voice said, as his canoe bumped alongside the sleek side of the stalled motor boat. Trent moved over, to stick out his hand, noticing how tiny his saviour looked. He couldn’t be more than 100 pounds soaking wet, and if he was 5ft 6in he’d be wearing high heels. Yet his body was not emaciated looking. He had some meat on him, and you could tell it was well suntanned.

As he climbed aboard, Trent couldn’t help but feel relieved. At least he wouldn’t be stuck out all night, shivering. Plus, his rescuer seemed nice, but no more than maybe fifteen or sixteen. He put aside his fanciful thoughts, as he judged the young man’s age, as he padded over to the open engine cover.

Despite his first impressions, he couldn’t help but check out the butt, as he leaned over the silent engine, and reached to pull at something or other. He whistled a bit, as he pulled on this and that, then stood up, with obvious satisfaction.

‘Give it a try now’

Trent shrugged and reached over to the ignition. Turning the key he heard the whine, then the stutter, then suddenly the motor was running again, rumbling its normal sound, and he felt totally relieved.

‘Thanks, man I thought I’d be here all night’

‘Yeah it was quiet out here today, noticed you earlier, but thought you were just getting some ray’s.’

‘Sort of was the plan.’

‘Bitch being stuck, when no one is around, I mean you hope for a day without all the noise, the traffic, then get it and wind up stuck.’

‘Yeah, I was thinking just that, when the damn engine wouldn’t start.’

‘Kind of thought so, thought I’d hop on out, besides, needed to work off dinner.’

‘You came out special to check if I needed help?’

‘Well you sort of looked like you were having problems, besides I needed to work off dinner. Bit of rowing always helps.’

‘Don’t look like you have to worry about that too much.’

‘Oh I pack it on, unless I work it off later, and I don’t want to go off to College looking like a beach ball, the coach wouldn’t approve.’

His eyes seemed to widen at the news that this was no squeaker. One thing was certain though, he sure as hell didn’t look like he was old enough to shave, let alone attend college.

‘College? Coach?’

‘Yeah, I got a scholarship to State, for the wrestling team, and well, the coach is fanatical about weight.’

‘I’d never have guessed, uh?’

‘Jason, Jason Walters’

‘Well thanks Jason, I am Trent, uh, can I offer you a drink or a tow back?’

‘Drink would be nice, you are over in the arm there, aren’t you?’

Trent wasn’t sure, but he rather liked the way Jason sounded. He certainly looked good, and being good enough to be on a College wrestling team explained why he didn’t look like a sack of bones wrapped up in skin.

‘Huh? Yeah, how’d you know?’

‘Recognize the boat, and seen you around.’

‘Ah, I see, well hitch your canoe up and we’ll head back to the dock, assuming this beast doesn’t die on the way.’

‘Shouldn’t, just some gummed up line, but you should get it cleaned out by a mechanic before you take it out again.’

‘I will, okay ready?’

Jason nodded as he finished tying off his canoe. Trent couldn’t help but take his lithe body into his vision, finding it rather exciting. Turning back, to guide the boat and turn it towards the arm where the cabin was, he didn’t notice Jason looking at him, or that his little bag of essentials was right next to him either.

The boat ran like new, as he slowly angled the bow towards the dock, to let it glide in as he cut the engine. As he did, he turned to leap out and tie it off, when he noticed that Jason had a strange look on his face. He didn’t think much of it, as he got onto the wharf, and tied the boat off.

‘Ready for that drink?’

‘Sure, uh, nice place you got here.’

‘Yeah, nice when you can get it to yourself, doesn’t happen often.’

‘I know the feeling, I got four sisters, and they always seem to be around.’

‘I only have one, and a younger brother, still, its enough.’

‘Yeah, uh, maybe we can just have that drink here? Kind of nice to just kick back and enjoy the stars, the quiet. I don’t get that at my place, those sisters of mine can’t be silent for two seconds.’

‘Haha, yeah girls, go figure, if they aren’t talking, they aren’t happy.’

‘For sure’

‘What can I get you? We got cold beer, even some white wine, and all the other stuff.’

‘Got some milk?’

It made him shiver. He couldn’t explain it, but as he stared down at Jason, he was certain the guy wasn’t talking about cow juice. The way his head was tilted, how he was sitting on the dock, and looking at him, suddenly seemed more than just casual. As did his request for milk, and that smile, even in the growing darkness, he couldn’t help but see it.

‘Uh yeah, sure that’s all you want?’

‘For now, it would be great.’

Maybe spending nearly a week alone had him frazzled, but he was certain that Jason was flirting with him. Then again, maybe it was just that he felt like he had been rescued, that had him feeling that way, imagining what really wasn’t there? Could be that, as he left him at the dock, his feet dangling over the side, while he went up to the cabin for the drinks.

Could be simply that being a Jock, Jason was into a no alcohol thing, or something as innocent as that. Still, the way he had looked at him, how his face had sort of gotten a bit of grin to it, like he knew something, or thought he did. Strange thing was, he didn’t really recall seeing him around, though Jason obviously had seen him.

It was perplexing as he grabbed two glasses, along with a pitcher of cold milk and headed back to the dock. Most likely he had seen him, but didn’t let it register, given how he looked too young for him. After all, last thing he needed was to get involved with jail bait. Mind you, finding out he was the same age, eighteen, was giving him a rather naughty sense of pleasure.

There was no doubt that he was good looking. His build, his whole package was inviting, though the height could be a distraction. After all Trent was a tad under six foot himself, and he definitely outweighed Jason. Then too, he had heard all about short skinny guys, how their dicks were usually where all their height went, and that would be an interesting concept to check out, if the subject arose.

Walking through the bushes, he saw Jason stretched out on the dock, and right next to him was Trent’s little emergency bag. He stood frozen, as he saw that Jason had obviously been looking. Standing there, he wondered if he should just act like nothing was amiss, or should he be ready for a fight?

As he was trying to decide, Jason turned and spotted him in the bushes. He just stared, his eyes looking like tiny stars, the way they flickered at him. In his hand Trent could see he had his dildo, and was glancing at it, and then back at Trent.

Slowly he walked down, and handed Jason a glass, then filled it. They held eye contact all the time, as he filled his own and took a quick swallow, wondering if he should say anything or not. However, just as he decided to ignore the dildo, Jason made the first move.

Holding the dildo in his hand, and placing the glass of milk down, he looked up at Trent, as he asked him if the dildo was for his own use, or if he was hoping to catch a mermaid man. It was a lame attempt at humor, but it broke the ice, as he laughed, saying he would settle for that, at this point.

‘I can hold my breath under water for nearly two minutes, does that count?’

He just stood there, unsure what to say. There was no mistaking the look, the way Jason’s eyes suddenly seemed glued to a spot in line with Trent’s crotch. It was like there was some sort of electrical charge sparking around and between them, as he stood there, unsure how to proceed.

Trent stood there, as Jason stood up, and stepped out of his own shorts, tossing his hair back. It showed off his body, that seemed to just glisten in the growing darkness. It was odd, as he then laid back down, resting on his hands, while his body was aimed at Trent. His legs were spread apart, and there was not mistaking, that he had a hard on.

‘I figure rescuing you out there, well, worth something, uh in compensation for my time, don’t you agree?’

‘Uh I see.’

‘That all you gonna do? Stare at it?’

He had to laugh a bit at that, as he sat down at looked over at Jason. There was tiny hairs on his legs, all them seemed to be sticking up, but it was that patch of hair that surrounded that looming tower of a cock. They were right, or at least in Jason’s case they were right about compensation for his lack of height was made up by the size of his dick. God it looked so huge, and it was standing there, barely moving in the night air.

The balls looked like a pair of grapefruits, the way they lay on the wooden planks of the dock. Looking at Jason, his dildo looked more like a bloody toothpick, as he wondered just how big it was. He glanced up at Jason, who was just staring at him, with a look of pride.

‘Good thing you weren’t sinking.’

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘Cost you more than a glass of milk and a blow job.’

‘Maybe I’d not mind paying the extra.’

‘You can always go out and pull the plug after, then we’ll see how willing you are.’

‘Hate to lose the boat, but it might be worth it.’

‘It would, but well, it’s safe and sound and dry as a bone.’

The grin was infectious, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the words too, as they both stared at the boat. For a brief second, he actually thought about jumping into the boat and pulling the plug, but hell it was a fifteen thousand dollar boat, his father would skin him alive. Besides, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to take that dick easily, not without a few good sized drinks first.

He reached out, and let his hand rest on Jason’s leg. The touch made the leg twitch a bit, then it sort of just moved closer to Trent, and the talking was over as they just stared at each other. His heart was racing, and he had to admit, it was the strangest pick up he had ever encountered, and the strangest seduction he had experienced.

Crawling forward, he let his chest push up against Jason’s hard cock, as he moved to sort of lean above the smaller young man. The feel of that giant dick across his chest, then his belly made him tremble, and the idea of it being between his ass was a bit frightening. Jason was right, it might be too much of price, but he couldn’t help but want to try.

Staring down at Jason, he could see the twinkle in his eyes, the grin on his face, as he let his hand roam lightly over the chest, feeling the muscles coil under his touch. He could also feel the heart pounding inside, feel the chest rise and fall to his heavy breathing, as it let his touch move all over. The firm nipples were a surprise, but so were the rolling muscles under the stomach. They felt like coiled steel springs, as his hand kept moving over and around them, while his eyes stared down into Jason’s.

His own chest was heaving, as he sucked in the night’s air, feeling the hard cock move with the motion of his chest. Trent could feel the racing beat of his pulse, as he leaned down more, to close the gap between him and Jason. He saw the lips part, and closed his eyes as his mouth made contact with Jason’s.

The kiss was unlike any had ever felt. It was rich with flavour, a sort of taste that made his nerves tingle, his senses awaken. His body was suddenly on edge, as he felt his tongue darting forward, duelling with Jason’s. It was sort of sweet to the taste, yet felt so different than any other tongue. It felt good, making him even more excited, as his body lowered down further onto Jason’s prone body. The hard cock was nestled tightly into his chest, pushing into him with its thickness, and its stiffness.

The night was cool, but the combined body heat was making Trent sweat, as beads of perspiration were forming all over as he lay on top of Jason, kissing. He tasted him, then moved down to kiss and lick at his neck, at the hollow, and then raking his tongue down, the centre of the chest, all the way to the belly. He felt the body shake, as his tongue traveled slowly downwards, as his body slid further down.

He felt the hard cock throbbing as his chest moved down its length, feeling the vein pulse to his touch. It was unreal, making him sweat even more, as he breathed in the musky scent of the young man’s groin odor. It made the nostrils flare, the nostril hairs flutter. His own body shuddered, as he let one hand reach down, to grab hold of the giant balls, to squeeze them and probe them.

Jason was moaning, his body slippery underneath Trent’s. It felt amazing, as the slender body snaked around under him, moving and shaking. He felt so alive, as his hand cupped the balls, as his mouth came closer to the wriggling pole that was sticking up into his throat, as he licked at the belly.

Then he moved down, his hand encircling the huge cock, his fingers wrapping around the base, pushing down the pubic hairs, as he moved down, and let his face stare directly at the monster cock. His eyes bulged as he saw the winking eye of the monster, the white glow as it showed it pleasure to his touch. It was moving between his fingers, alive.

Licking his lips, he bent down, to kiss that one eyed monster, tasting it. His whole body quivered at the touch, and he felt Jason murmur his own excitement. It was unnerving, as he opened his eyes, to see that huge cock head so close, so inviting. The sound of the wind, the water lapping up against the dock, the swaying of the whole dock, made him groan, as he closed the eyes, lowering his head, opening his mouth.

The taste of the skin, the smell, made him moan, made his own cock twitch and ache. Jason moaned again, as he widened his mouth as far as possible, his jaw stretched as wide as the jaw hinge would let him go. He felt the huge head pass his lips, felt his tongue being flattened, as it tried to taste the hot flesh of the head.

His throat muscles groaned, his whole body shook, as he lowered his head more onto the cock. It trembled, shook as his teeth grated over the skin, lightly. Jason cried out, and Trent felt the two hands reaching up, grabbing hold of his own hair, twisting it, as he continued to feed Jason’s cock to his mouth.

There was no way he would get it all in, no way he could take it all, but he tried to get as much as he could. He felt his throat muscles resisting, felt the gag reflex inside, as he tried to stuff more in, but he couldn’t. He cried a bit, tears at the corners of his eyes, as he was forced to pull back, despite the press of Jason’s hands on his head. Again he sucked in air, then tried to swallow more, until again he was forced to pull back.

In and out he went, taking just a bit more each time, enjoying the salty taste of the hot flesh, revelling in its jerking motion as it passed into his throat, gagging him. His body ached for it, his mind blank, as he concentrated on the huge pole that kept stretching his throat. Faster he went, while his other hand stroked what he couldn’t swallow. His fingers wrapped tightly around the huge pole, moving up and down in a steady motion, as the sounds of his effort echoed in the night.

His ears heard the water, heard the beat of his heart, the constant moans of Jason, as his body tried to accommodate the huge missile. He sucked on it, trying to wedge more of it inside, holding the huge shaft tightly, failing to take it all. Yet he could feel the blood rushing, feel the excitement in the other, as he kept trying, kept sucking on it.

Jason’s breathing was becoming more ragged, more short and desperate. He could feel his body shaking more and more, feel the cock vibrating as it went in and out of his throat, thrusting in with the added push from Jason’s hips. His jaw was throbbing, the pain dulled by being so constant. His wrist hurt, as he held tightly to the thick shaft, stroking it in time with the motion of his head.

Trent felt the body trembling, felt the cock actually thicken, as the blood was rushing quickly along the whole shaft, then he heard the moan, the shudder, as the cock jerked inside his mouth. The body stopped shaking, the sounds were gone, as the cock reared back, then flung itself forward.

His own body suddenly tensed, then he felt the stream of hot liquid pouring out into his throat. Trent gagged, as his hand tightened even more around the shaft, as his lips seemed to melt into the hard burning flesh of the cock, as the milk filled his throat & mouth. It was pouring in, as he tried to swallow it all, failing as he felt the cum oozing out of the corners of his mouth.

Shaking, he kept struggling to hold the cock inside, to drink the heavenly flow of milk that just seemed to keep on boiling out. It had a salty sweet taste to it, as it flowed down his throat, flowed out from between his lips. The cock itself was shaking, yet the body beneath him was silent, as he drained the huge pole of the hot milk.

The cock was empty, his own body was in rapture, as he lifted his head up off the softening pole. His chest ached, as he felt his heart pounding, and then glanced over at Jason. The eyes were closed, the face a bit pallid, as if he was asleep, but as he stared, he saw the eyelids flutter, then the body shook, as if being awakened from a sleep.

He stared as the eyes bugged open, wide eyed as if in a daze, as if lost. The legs bucked and he felt them bang into his, as Jason saw him, and stared, with recognition finally coming to his facial features. The grin over his face, told Trent he had enjoyed the moment, as he saw him lick his lips, then sit up.

As he did, Trent realized, Jason had actually passed out, or at least fainted for a few seconds. It gave him a slight chill, as he saw the color returning to Jason’s face, the glow in them making his smile even more appealing. His chest was shaking, not yet fully recovered, but as his eyes moved down the smaller man’s body, he couldn’t help but notice, that the monster dick, wasn’t all that soft.

He felt the ache in his backside, as he turned to look back up at Jason. The eyes were staring deeply at him, then at his cock, then back at him. It was like he was thinking the same thoughts as Trent was. He couldn’t be, but that look on his face, that glance, seemed to say otherwise. His hand moved up from the deck of the dock, and ran across Trent’s chest.

His body shook, as if a stick of burning embers was being run across his chest. His whole chest heaved, as the hand moved down towards his crotch, then stopped. The fingers played with the waist of his shorts, then fell back to rest on his own stomach. The eyes were glittering, as Trent smiled down at him, and rolled off to the side. He lay next to Jason, his hand moving lightly over the still trembling body. He had all night, as he just enjoyed the warmth of the smaller body nestled into his. Suddenly the week didn’t seem like a total wasted effort, as his hand continued to move up and down the warm body.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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I am a single, relatively normal, well not in the sexual area, average Ameican man. I am 23 years old, I am a only child.

My parents came into some money from a great Uncle that passed, and since they were in their early sixties, they decided to retire and move to Florida, well we had lived in a sorta medium sized midwestern town.

Mom and Dad had made arrangements to sell me the house and I got my own furniture and all the household ammenities over a period of a year.

The house was in a small subdivision, and at the back of the subdivision was a wooded area beyond the houses, very nice and rather senic.

The house next door to my home had been up for sale for about six months. And I was wondering how long before I would have a new neighbor or what kinda of people they would be.

One afternoon, I was off work this particular day, I noticed a car with a real estate office sign on the side of the car. I noticed a Red, really hot looking Mustang parked in the houses driveway and I just had to get a look at the Man or Woman who was going to buy the house, and a few minutes later I noticed a really awesome looking man who looked to be somewhere between 25-30 yrs old.

He was talking to the real estate lady and signing some papers that she was handing him.

They left and I didn’t see him again for about 3 weeks.

About noon one day about three weeks later, I noticed a Pickup truck with a Medium sized U-Haul trailer Pulling up into the driveway beside my house, backing in to start unloading.

Then Brandon (I found out that was his name later) opened the door and got out, He was wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts, My stomach gave a lurch, His thighs and legs were built like a Olympic speed skater and he was wearing a polo shirt and He was built, I was drooling. I just had to meet this guy, I noticed he had no wife with him or no lady was present yet, but that she could still come later. Well he started to unload and I noticed He was by himself and he had quite a bit to unload.

I put on a pair of the sexiest shorts I had and a nice pull over sexy shirt, with the sleeves cut out of it and walked over to my new neighbors and said ‘Hey there neighbor, could I give you a hand?’ He looked up, kinda surprised at the offer and said, I sure could use it, and then he stuck out his hand and said Hi, neighbor My name is Brandon M——, I said mine is Klye.

Well, I helped him unload his trailer and his pickup, and then the big truck pulled up with his furnishings, which I noticed was very nice and very expensive looking things. We I lucked out on this the movers were from a moving company and they unloaded their truck.

I helped Brandon get his stuff into his rooms and helped him with the little things. After we were done, I ask him out for supper my treat and He said he stunk with sweat, to which I responded without even thinking what I was saying, You smell pretty damn good to me, to which he just kinda looked up to me and raised his eyebrows and smiled. Then he said I need a shower, but the gas would not be turned on untill the next day, and the hot water tank is gas heated. Little ole me offered my shower for his use and He said Hey man thats awesome.

I was kinda in awe Brandon was really muscular, built like a friggen stone shithouse, and facially just as handsome as a model.

well Brandon came over to take his shower, He stripped down to his briefs and and I got a shot of his package, to which he didnt have a problem with me looking he was built even better than I could have dreamed, He shucked his breifs and walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower I think he knew I was maybe interested because of the way I was constantly stareing at him, then he called me into the shower room and was standing there as naked as the day he was born. I almost fainted, I was breathing hard and he was just teasing me with his body, I once again stared at his cock and balls, beautifully circumcized and it looked like it belonged on a porn star. He must have had a good 6 inches soft and his balls were just as awesome as his cock. He had the most luscious looking black bush around his cock, and I was stuttering saying yes what’s wrong, Brandon saw my face and smiled a little and said Hey man gotta towel for me, Please? I said Oh yea! and I got him a clean towel, he said, Thanks. and I got the hell out of there before he noticed I had a boner about to split my shorts.

He finished his shower and ask me If I wanted him to leave the water running for me. I said I guess so. Brandon just stayed right there in the shower stall and dried off. When I came in there I didn’t think he would stay there naked while I stripped down. Well I couldn’t wait anylonger and I stripped for my shower. Brandon just smiled and said, you have a good looking body, thanks I said, And so do you, and then I slowly pulled my shorts off and up springs a boner like a light pole, It always stood kinda straight up. Damn I was embarrassed and he just laughed and said Hey man it happens to the best of us, and I noticed his cock was almost completely hard too.

We both got dressed and went out to dinner, we talked and I learned a little about Brandon, He was married but not happily, His wife was a lawyer, and she was part of a firm in Denver and didn’t want to move with him, He had been transferred to our town to open up a new branch of the Company he worked which was A string of Dojo’s across the country and he was not only a businessman and financial official for the company but he was A ninth degree Black Belt Karate instructor. Fuck no wonder he was so well built.

Well we had supper and went on home and went to our seperate houses, we were both worn out.

The next morning I got up and since My property has a Privacy fence around the side and back no one can see into my yard and I have a patio with an awning covering it. I had never noticed it but Brandons back yard was almost Identical, patio and Awning covering his Patio too.

I looked over his direction, and I saw him almost every morning drinking his coffee and just setting there in his sleeping shorts. It was really getting too me I would go into my house and have to jerk off from seeing him like that, untill one evening I ask Brandon, after he came home what he did for sex, He just said, ‘sex, What’s that? and he sorta chuckled, I said a good looking, well built built man like you, should should be getting off at least 3-4 times a week. and then he ask me and what about you, I said man I have a wonderful relationship with my hand, he laughed and said, Exactly, touche!. I said Brandon surely you like the feel of someone else touching, kissing and rubbing your body in hot wet raunchy sex of some sort, or at least a good blow job once in a while, He looked up at me and said I love a good blow job, but that fucking wife I have would get close enough to my dick to even see what color it is, I started weighing my words wisely, and said Hey man it don’t have to be your wife, there are other alternatives. After that I didn’t want to push the issue, I thought I would let those thoughts settle in for a day or two.

The next morning I walked out in the warm summer air it was just after sunup and I was just in my underwear (Boxers) slit open fronts and Brandon came out on the patio and I noticed he had a pair of those thin kinda flannel sleeping pants with the button split fly in the front, I took my coffee cup and walked over to his patio and he just stood there with his coffee cup in his left hand and, shirtless and I looked at his crotch and he was sporting a Three quarter hard cock under those pants, I could see the veiny outline of it and the visable penis head outline, he wasn’t wearing underwear either and I could see the under side of an almost hard cock, I couldn’t think straight. I was kinda studdering and staring at his bulge and getting a hardon myself I was in a dilema, I couldn’t hide it, and he said have a seat and when I did my cock came sticking out of my boxers straight up hard as the Washington Monument.

Brandon set his cup of coffee and down on his patio table and walked over to me and kinda leaned over behind me and wispered in my ear He Kyle I have been thinking about what you’ve said last night and I layed awake all night thinking about a few things. And I think I really do need a good blow job, do You have any suggestions, He said it so sensually and erotically that I almost fainted, and then he stuck his tongue into my ear and started nibbling on my earlobe and sent electric shockwaves down my spine, he started slathering my neck with his lips and tongue and almost made me piss my pants. My cock was leaking pre-cum from the excitement and Brandon had noticed, He reached over and grabbed my dick in his hand and said impressive, quite impressive, and he swirled his thumb around the opening slicking up the head with the precum for my cock, I was in a state of ecstacy, and I was rolling my head around against his gorgeous chest and I turned my head and took his nippel into my mouth and he let out a moan, I then opened my eyes and looked down there in front of my face was at least 8 thick hard throbbing inches of the most gorgeous cock I have ever seen, My mind was spinning and I looked up at Brandon and said can we go into the bedroom and get more comfortable, he said, I was thinking the same thing. Brandon took my hand like a little boy and led me boner sticking out of my short and all into the bed room and then, He said teach me, Klye I know you want this as much as I do, I have noticed you staring and I have had to jerk off thinking about you several times, and It’s time we do someting about that, don’t you think? I just grunted, yea, I was stupified from the wanton lust in me for Brandon, I reached up and grabbed the waist band of the sleeping pants he was wearing and I slowly slid them down to the floor and he stepped out of them, I looked up And I recognized who Brandon looked like, someone I had always had the hots for ‘Chris Evans’ the actor in the ‘Fantastic 4,’ he looked like Chris Evans. I like to swallowed my tongue God he was hot Looking and his cock was leaking precum now like my own was. Brandon was leaning back with his eyes closed and I reached over and cupped his nutsack with my hands, He let out a moan, and said god that feels awesome, shit nobodys touched my balls in forever, I then told him to lay down on the bed and he did, then I reached over and started to rub his lightly hairy chest, god I was in heaven, I rubbed his nippels and he groaned an wimpered, then I rubbed his stomach, his beautifully muscled stomach, I was hoping I didn’t die from a heart attack from this I was so excited. then just for fun I leaned down and started sucking on Brandons nuts, He like to lost it then and there, he started grunting and saying, fuck man, no ones ever done that before.

I started then to raise him up and lick his gorgeous ass and I rested a pillow under his ass and spread his cheeks and started licking his turd tunnel. I thought he would tear the bed frame down but I kept right on Plugging my tongue into his ass, I then let him come down from his high and set up and finally took his cock into my wet, hot, steamy, loving mouth and started to work his dick over with my mouth, throat and hot lips. Brandon went wild. Oh Muther Fucker, Oh Jeeezus H Christ, MMMMMMMMMMMM,ughmmmmmmm, Damn Klye, nothing has ever felt this good before, and What took you so long bringing it to me. God Damn.

About 3 minutes of good hard sucking and swirling my tongue around the head of his beautiful cock and he started, way back in his throat snorting, grunting, cursing and moaning and I could feel his cock swelling up larger, harder, and the bell around the head became much more pronounced in my mouth and then He started shooting his load I then took it all the way to the back of the throat and swallowing it all and he just seemed to keep cumming. Damn he was a horse I massaged his balls as he was shooting, His body was convusling, and jerking and finally he calmed down and layed there for a few moments and then spoke, Klye, god damn man, I would have never believed you could pleasure a man like that, I want to repay you, I will give you a nice hand job to start with, and I want you to teach me to service you like that, that’s awesome. fuck that pussy stuff, I want to learn more about this.

Brandon and I layed there and I might say he does know how to pleasure a man with his hand, Later that week I let him fuck me and He totally got into that and told me as soon as he got the gumption up he wanted me to do the same to him too, About a week later I got to initiate his rectum to man love and He came for the first time while getting fucked in the ass and shot a heavy load without even having his cock touched, He loved it.

Last week he gave me my first blow job He was new at it but he did it like a champ and he is learning and he swallowed my cum too. Damn I am glad I was in the mood to be helpful to my new neighbor.

I am looking ahead to a wonderful life with Brandon as a neighbor and I will do all that I can do to Just be NEIGHORLY.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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Intro

Cool waves crashed over his head as he dived into the river. He opened his eyes under water and thought about the Misty Rose, the miraculous herb he nearly died trying to obtain. It was good to have washed away the dirt and sweat of his long journey. His relief though was only momentary – too strong were the fears that urged him home. The waves of the Euphrates spat him to the shore, where he knew his clothes lay safe along with his most important possession: the Misty Rose, a simple herb though important enough to save a life.

No human being had crossed his path in the deserted loneliness that bordered his home land. Naked and with dripping hair, he approached the place where he’d shed his clothes, dropping them with the bundle holding the herb. The clothes were still there, as well the small, grey bag, but his instincts flashed a warning. He stood petrified as water ran from his hair into his eyes. He blinked away the sting from the water and there lay an empty snake’s skin , dry and torn.

Upon the bag slithered a fat, brown snake covered with a brilliant yellow pattern, shining in the sun; blood-red eyes watching him. Her split tongue slid over the Misty Rose, then her mouth opened and she started to swallow the hard-fought for herb.

His shock dissolved and with a despairing cry he jumped upon the creature, ready to kill her if need be to stop her from consuming the plant or . . . ready to be killed himself if that was the will of the gods. Without the herb his long journey would have been in vain. As he wrestled with the serpent, it grew under his hands, then snapped for his fingers, sinking her powerful and sharp, poisoned teeth deeply into his palm. Yet, he didn’t loose grip of the herb. The snake again tried to swallow the herb as his own body shuddered in spasm. The poison had reached his blood system, his heart pumped it through his body yet his grip remained fierce on the Misty Rose. There was a hollow, crashing sound as the snake’s mouth clapped shut with only part of its prize — a small part of the Misty Rose lay in his hand. Quickly he squeezed it into his fist and stared at the creature as it continued to grow. Her red eyes gleamed like bloody garnets and her tiny nostrils swelled as she started to hiss.

‘Nobody sets his foot on my land, human ruler,’ she said. ‘You have walked my land when I do not know your name. But…’ she said as she moved her mighty body over the sand and bare stones dangerously near him again, her look full of deceit, ‘I need to thank you for now I am the Queen over all my race. I can change my skin and grow. I am immortal.’

The air was filled with a silent blow. A blow without echo. A golden abyss opened in the snake’s eyes; deep and endless. He feared the light shining from her fathomless orbs would burn him and a shudder ran through his body. Ishtar was here, the god of love and fertility, occupying the snake’s body. ‘You can not win,’ the divine voice drowned in his ears. ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’

The hiss grew to a storm in his ears. Full of panic he took his clothes and bag and ran upstream, fist clenching the remaining portion of herb as Ishtar’s strange, hissing laughter filled his head. ‘Go, human king,’ it hissed. ‘But know your journey was in vain.’

***

It was one of those Autumn-nights. The leaves fell down with a soft rustle as they loosened themselves from the branches. I can hear them fall, just like I can see things other humans can’t — many things, through all the ages. It has been a long journey for me and my companions; my clique, my band.

Clique. What an odd name to use for me, for us. When I had been born it seemed only natural to fraternize with other men. Later they called us sodomites and other less pleasant things. I must say, I am delighted to have reached this stage of time and this place in the world where to fraternize with my own gender is not worth any more of a mention than that given to a falling sack of wheat. I had experienced the start of yet another millennia, the second after the new chronology. And I wondered if it would bring any good. Considering the past – those gone millennia – had brought only mishap and wars, killing and unbelievable cruelty. Inventions, actually made to please our life, had turned against humankind. In the one hundred years of capitalizing, economizing and industrializing we have managed to enter the path of destruction. All within a short one hundred years truly a blink of an eye for me.

I slowed my pace and opened my senses . . . the entertainment district! Lights turned the nights to days. People crowded the streets. Noise filled the air. There was the reverberating drums of music . . . manly laughter . . . bodies hardly hidden behind corners, offering and waiting, finding relief for a minute and searching on for more. Dates were set up, disappointment followed. All things combined, there was too much excitement and diversion to hold on a moment, to be faithful, to love.

We have something magical, my group and I. I know this. It is like a blurred glow surrounding us. People hesitate, recognize a difference and it unsettles them, but they don’t know why. It is the ancient magic that still works its charms.

Romeo next to me turned his eyes upward, seeing a round neon-light that advertised a dance-hall. My Italian comrade conjured a hunter’s grin on his face. He smelled men.

‘That’s it.’ Blue eyes fixed on me, then Leopold grabbed Romeo’s waist and pulled him along. Leopold had taken over the work as guide. It was his town – Vienna – in a country called Austria in the heart of Europe. I watched his black, rustling overcoat blowing in the cool wind. He had bound back his hair into a Mozart-plait – as he named it – and left the job to me to remember all about this musician. I had learnt his language quickly; one of the fortunes of the kind of being I am. I learn fast.

I went back in my memory to two hundred and more years ago, when the ballrooms of Vienna were famous. Hadn’t I met this small young man with the big head and lace-covered breast at the premiere of his first Opera? Yes. It was a complete flop for him, but I had listened to the floating melodies with great affection. The memory caused a shiver. It is not so easy to take when the winds of millenniums touch me. Ahh . . . to master all my memories! They are like a hurricane in my mind at times, some are bright, some pale and on the brink of vanishing. Pictures passed my inner eyes; pictures in pale, powdery colours; yellowed, dusty, like the first Daguerreotypes. But one memory is clear and vivid as ever. In my dreams I still see him: my friend, my brother, my lover, my comrade.

My mate.

The wind tugged at my black cloak — an old-fashioned tribute to ancient times. I know I look stunning enough to draw the attention of others. It makes it easier, the search that is. One of the my most peculiar features are my dreams. Back in Mesopotamia when I was a king I had dreamt of him, coming from the steppe into the town to challenge me. Those dreams never left me, no matter in which places I searched. Some dreams were useful; most of them were false. They led me to corners of the earth I’d have been better never to have known.

Sometimes I thought to have found him, but a look in the eyes of the man told me I was wrong again. And my search would continue. Sometimes I stayed with the man to brighten my days, because he reminded me of him. But how long should I stay? To see this surrogate grow old while I remained young?

I try to find him at dance halls that serve the longing to find a mate to sweeten the night. . . twitching, winding, steeled bodies. . . muscles beneath smooth shaven, shiny skin. . . beats and flickering light, impudent, challenging eyes. From time to time eyes would meet mine, but they were not the one’s I sought. I wait still for that ultimate prize for which I seek endlessly. I had dreamt about it; eyes, meeting in darkness beyond all barriers, like two beams of searing lasers fixed on each other, causing looks that plough through your very being and rip out your heart; looks that I remembered from so very long ago.

And I waited. So far it hadn’t happened and I ‘d been searching for so long. Was it 4.000 years? Or more? I reckoned it was rather more; I can not quite put up with the new chronology after the birth of Christendom. I wait for my twin, my soul mate; once found and then lost. I know I will find him. What does it matter if it was a thousand years or more?

Leopold lead the way through the entrance, paid and got carried away by the writhing mass of sweaty bodies. Once he was a brief companion of my empty nights. He was quite young, so careless and proud.

Sean, the Irish member of my group, lanky and pale, but black-haired and blue-eyed like all Irishmen I had ever met, muttered to himself. ‘Bad idea.’ I understood what he meant. I had found him recently in a pub in Dublin, looking miserable, unable to organize his life.

‘Women-lovers’, he mumbled, ‘I can smell them.’ I opened my eyes – wet ponds of anthracite – and took it all in. Before me was the exciting gathering of humans ready for sexual adventures. ‘It just brings trouble , Sean said. I knew he despised hetero-orientated men. He unfortunately had fallen always for them. One of another fortunes of our group was that we could now determine pretty closely the sexual desires of the people we met. Call it a sixth sense or a little mind-reading. Today they call it ‘Gaydar’ only we were much more certain in our senses. In the old days of Uruk, when Babylon had not be founded yet, I had named it seeking for manly friendship. But that was when time was young and we were mortal.

I knew the feeling to be the centre of attention all too well. We shed our coats and cloaks and threw them carelessly aside. It was like a rush of adrenaline blowing through the large, yet surprisingly cosy room. I smiled at Romeo as I pulled him close and placed a kiss on his red, Italian lips to leave no mistake with the party people that we were playing in the same league.

I was deciding the crowd in ‘lookers’ and ‘turn-aways’. And then, it happened. My intestines received a strong blow, almost knocking me over and my eyes started to glow like a silver plate. I received a wave-like shock; an electric tickle that climbed from the soles of my feet up to my hair which flooded, black and silver, over my back and the white silken shirt I was wearing. Though I did not see anyone, the connection blasted me to my core. The walls shook and the lights went dim for a brief moment, enough to stop the music and to leave all in utter darkness. People started to scream, then stopped as the lights came on again.

He was here.

My heart pounded wildly in my throat. I had a bitter taste in my mouth from too much adrenalin and of blood because I had bitten the flesh inside. What would he look like? Which body had his soul chosen to be born again in? Would it be the familiar litheness of a cat; the dangerous glistening in his yellow eyes?

I felt Romeo stiffen as he watched me. My hair crackled and I clenched my hands to fists. In the distance I saw Sean flirting with a boy who looked very uncomfortable at this blunt encounter. Music filled my whole being. It was the kind of dance music that made my feet start moving and gave me an exuberant feeling of joy. I relaxed immediately.

He was here. Somewhere.

And like iron drawn to a magnet I would figure him out. But what would happen to him then? Blue laser beams showed me the way when I crossed the dance floor. White fog hovered over the ground, hiding my boots. I had learned to walk softly with a springy, floating quality, like a hunter searching for his prey and I knew that all eyes were following me. An invisible breeze played with that which was my main pride ñ my hair. I had not cut it for years after his death even though each of my folk had expected me to shave myself completely as sign of mourning. What would he say? Would he believe the enormity of my sadness about his loss? And then, he was there in my sight!

His amber coloured mane gleamed like a mass of spun gold as he sat casually against the wall, watching his territory as he might once had watched his herd of animals on the steppe. Orange light flickered over his face, making it appear as if it were chiselled in smooth stone; translucent like alabaster, cool like the surface of a quiet pond. His corkscrew locks had been tamed with a black hair band that gave him an unfathomable touch of feminine manliness.

I stood and stared. How could I had thought he would look different? His soul had found again his body, the one I was so familiar with. He was man through and through. My man. The sun-shaped golden pendant hanging on the very thin chain around his neck was immediately familiar: the amulet of Shamash.

Would I be able to see the old lines upon his skin? The pale black-red patterns; lines winding upon his arms like desert snakes, building words in a language that had always remained unknown to me? Was the Ibis on his shoulder blade? The one I had kissed so often? And was the secret line drawn down his smooth, hard belly, leading to the mystery that made us two lovers?

I longed for him now as endless relief flooded my body. Relief and fear. My journey had ended. Here I stood, frozen, after a string of endless days and nights — endless centuries! Who, of all these humans I was surrounded by, could understand this feeling I now had?

I sensed Romeo’s hand touch the small of my back. He looked questioning and knowing before a small smile appeared on his dark face. I nodded in silent agreement and he gave me a broad smile in return. The pressure of his hand increased and the moment of my hesitation was gone; it is just not my nature to be timid. I concentrated instead and opened my mind, erasing all thoughts not related to him. ‘Enkidu! My soul mate.’

He turned his head and I was drowned in his green-yellow eyes. His eyes sparkled like the steppe by night when the lion’s pride gathered under a Jacaranda-bush, their eyes gleaming with satisfaction. I saw the change in his face as I approached. The light, now a pleasant, soft crimson, set his locks on fire; his skin was sun drunken like a peach.

‘Who are you?’ he said with a voice, soft, like a tongue caressing the inner side of my thigh. My manhood hardened instantly. A quick look told me he was in the same state of excitement. But his embarrassment lasted just a small moment. He adjusted his elbows that supported his body, leaned back even more, opened his legs and offered his body to me. Brief thoughts of men’s toilets and steamy encounters entered my mind. I had learned to value those acquisitions of homosexual freedom. The crowd closed around us again, chattering and laughing, as I made a step forward. We were alone, secluded from each of them. Yellowed pictures appeared again; faded picture memories of when I had seen him in reality for the first time, matching him with my foretelling dreams. He was more now. He was flesh whose heat blasted my own.

‘I have a gift for you,’ I told him quietly. ‘Immortality.’

His eyes flashed back like laser beams, and for a moment I thought he would laugh.

‘You mean the little death?’ His lips curled. ‘I can show you.’ His head made an imperceptible yet unmistakable movement in the direction of the men’s rooms. I stepped further forward, now standing between his legs, and my hands came to a rest on his thighs. As if by chance my palm brushed his groin, feeling the hardness that matched my own. I sighed. I could have him right now, but I would lose him in that very moment of satisfaction. Instead, I locked my eyes with his and spoke his name.

‘Enkidu.’

His eyes became glassy before he focused them on me again. ‘My name is Lucien.’

Lucien – a name like melting chocolate on my tongue. ‘Come to my place,’ I said. He rose instantly and willingly, forced by the power of my mind. I felt a little regret. He shouldn’t need a prompt from my power, but instead, be the old Enkidu that I loved and lost; one that would need no urging. He’d always been a strong man of his own, with his indescribable youth and innocence . The contrast between strength and innocence always blended magically within him. He followed me and I heard his little gasp when he saw the flood of black hair covering my back . Sean was there, Leopold and Romeo also. I heard their whispers of understanding.

I had rented a house on the outskirts of the city for I liked to be separate. Glow-worms tumbled in the night as we drove through the little park attached to the property. I felt like a nobleman bringing home his conquest. Lucien would not be the same by the time the morning dawned.

He was silent but I felt his eyes on me in the mirror over the driver’s seat. ‘I don’t know your name’, he said finally with his smooth-rough voice. Again I sensed his licks between my legs and my all too willing member twitched in anticipation. I needed all my willpower while this little plague in my trousers screamed and my mind scolded me. ‘Idiot!’

I searched for Lucien’s hand lying beside his thigh and he let me have it. ‘You aren’t Austrian. Which country do you come from ?’

‘From Mesopotamia.’ Why start our new life with a lie, I thought? I stopped the car and turned my head to him. There, under the calm facade, something seethed. I felt it, just like in the old days we had shared together. My wild man had been tamed by a trapper and a temple boy, but he still carried the smell of animal and I was crazy for him as ever. I leaned over and parted his mouth with my lips . . . there was nothing but pure fever. With a bolt, it all came back to me — the heat, a temperature rising to burn myself to ashes.

His lips’ movements were the world to me, brushing and sucking; his smooth tongue caressing my own. I couldn’t get enough. I had waited close to 5000 years for this kiss and I laid my complete soul in his. My body pressed him to the car’s door and I saw his eyes widening . . . in recognition perhaps? It was the first lecture I gave him – a flashback for him to remember: the first kiss of his life. I felt him react and fight with me for domination — like he had always done, playfully like a lion’s cub, but with incredible power in his hands. I tousled his hair, removed the band and his locks fell into my palms like a ripped pillow full of downy feathers. Very softly I heard him moan, a growl from deep in his throat. I felt his palms pressing my head to his own and the kiss seemed never-ending. Then, as our lips separated, I came spontaneously into my underwear! Ah, but what did I care, this source was never-ending!

He stared into my eyes. His face flushed. His lips, a luscious strawberry red, wet and glistening, parted slightly. Then he grinned diabolically at me and I recognized this smile. Yes, it was him.

‘Enkidu,’ I repeated, touching his lashes, black and thick, and kissed the short, wide nose. ‘My name is Lucien,’ he insisted, though with a hint of uncertainty. He searched my face for something indefinable, something he couldn’t yet fathom. I felt the buttons of my trousers open and eager fingers pull at my penis. Surprised, but pleased, he looked up. ‘Are we staying here in the car or will you invite me in?’ he asked, pointing to the dark house.

I saw myself in the mirror of his eyes. I saw a longish face with dark complexion and eyelashes so black they framed my eyes like those of an Egyptian king. Ah! To have met those androgynous kings from ancient Egypt . . . but their time was over and I was still alive. I recognized the primal wildness in Lucien’s eyes. He had never been able to hide it once we had been lovers. The candle’s light, set in each corner of the room, made them glisten with the memory of a foreign country and the smell of the Euphrates whose waves licked softly at the shores. He had always watched me swimming, but never went into water himself. As with the lions, he was water shy; he had lived too long among them.

I smelled burning wax and sensed the heat radiating from his body. He stood still, watching my face. I raised a hand and traced a line from his neck under his ear, over his collarbone and down into the neckline of his shirt. I opened a button and instantly old lines appeared; pale, ochre coloured lines, forming a bird. The Ibis.

My fingertips burned with the heat. The lines vanished as soon as I removed my fingers. His gaze deepened and yet it was shy. Furtive. A little suspicious. ‘Why do you call me En . . . what was the name?’

‘Enkidu,’ I said low. It was a magic word. I had tried this name on several men, but each time I touched them the way I did now, the skin remained unblemished and without change. But then, I had never had this absolute conviction that this man was him, my lover lost so soon in our earlier life together.

‘Enkidu,’ he repeated as he chewed the word on his tongue. ‘What a strange name.’

‘It’s yours.’

He wanted to laugh again, but something stopped him. There, again, was that questioning look. He stepped away from me. ‘Is this your house?’ he asked. I nodded.

‘Just for a short time. I plan to return to my home some day.’ What was I saying here? I can never return to my home. Mesopotamia doesn’t exist anymore. Foreign people, with a foreign belief, have occupied it. The country was separated and covered with wars. And yet I yearned to see the soft winding of the rivers again, making the country bloom — a small, green patch while the rest of it remains a barren and stony desert. The sun shone different there, the light was yellow and strong, but by night, the exotic scents wafted through the open windows. Here, in the heart of Europe, everything was pale and filtrated with a rough smell of civilization.

‘Return to Mesopotamia?’ he asked surprised. ‘That’s the two-river-land, right? Where civilization started.’ He pondered a moment. ‘Are you really sure? The war has just ended, are you a refugee?’

Refugee. Yes, in some ways I was. I had left my home country after I had searched for him in every corner of the land before I started my journey around the world. He could be reborn anywhere and I feared I would miss the appointed time. But then, hadn’t the old, wise man who had survived the Big Flood promised me that I would recognize him? His promise had now become reality, I just hadn’t known it would take so long.

I watched Lucien pacing the room, looking at modern paintings on the wall that didn’t exactly match the massive, oak furniture. I had rented the house with them, and it just didn’t matter to me. Nothing mattered except the completion of the task that was standing before me right now.

‘Have you ever been there?’ I asked his back.. His broad shoulders shrugged. ‘Of course not.’

‘Are you sure?’

He turned surprised. ‘Of course I’m sure.’ His voice was growing impatient and he returned to me. He grinned a seductive smile, implicating the question I was waiting for.

‘We have the whole night, if you like,’ I answered his unasked question.

‘Good.’ He grinned broadly, revealing strong teeth of a dazzling white and started to touch me. I jumped away. I couldn’t possess him without letting him know. The semen in my pants continued to dry with a coolness that made me shiver. He seemed to be disappointed. His arms hung empty beside his body and he frowned. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘I need to tell you a story,’ I started with quivering voice. All my strength seemed to leave me.

He laughed. ‘A story? A kid’s good-night tale?’ Playfully he approached me again. ‘You are beautiful,’ he murmured suddenly and ran his fingers through my hair. ‘Is this the fashion in Mesopotamia? Have you ever cut this long, beautiful hair?’

I didn’t answer. If I hadn’t cut it, my hair would be as long as the distance from Vienna to Uruk. I just kept it in form because he once had loved my long hair.

Again this intense stare covered his eyes as if he tried to remember. I saw the effort with delight. Perhaps the more he touched me, the more the memories would return. ‘Chocolate and silver,’ he mumbled. ‘How old are you?’

Chocolate and silver. My hair still had the old colour and the waves, ending in ringlets, flooding over my back. But the silver was new, an exotic addition indicating my age. I was undying, but I could get older in the row of millenniums. Perhaps it was just a sign of grief and impatience. ‘Not a single year older than you,’ I said.

He examined my face again, searching for wrinkles and lines. There weren’t any, I knew. Just perhaps the skin that had been too burnt from the desert sun.

He smiled. ‘Then tell me the story and hurry up.’ His hands brushed my groin, setting it on fire again. I guided him to a settee, beige with red roses. ‘Are you thirsty, hungry?’ I asked, on my way already to the bar, examining the several flasks and bottles. Whisky would do me good, I loved the raw, smoky taste.

‘Whisky?’ he suggested.

I smiled and returned with two glasses. He took it and let the ice cubes jingle. Then he leaned over and brushed his lips with mine. He hesitated. ‘You taste … familiar,’ he managed to say, before he devoured my mouth. The whisky sloshed. ‘Are you sure about the good-night tale? You can tell me afterwards.’ He set aside his glass, pulled me closer, buried his hands into my hair and chewed at my earlobe. ‘I want you. I’ve never met anyone like you.’

I fought the seething urge in my loins. Not yet, I chanted in my mind. Not yet. Not yet. ‘It was in Uruk, when the days were young,’ I whispered.

‘Uruk?’ he whispered back.. Outside a night owl hooted. A soft breeze billowed the long curtains and a scent of rotten leaves wafted through the room. It was cosy. His kisses were promising. Why didn’t he whip off his shirt finally? I thought impatiently. Show me your body. Show me the old lines. I touched his naked underarms and pale lines followed my stroke. Desert snakes. Winding and turning. A scar where the claw of a lion had hurt him. They vanished as soon as I removed my fingers. He opened the buttons of his shirt and his skin gleamed through the white fabric. I didn’t dare to touch it.

Gently, yet determined, I pushed him back.. ‘Uruk. The old capital of Mesopotamia.’ I dropped back to my dreamful voice. ‘I saw him in my dreams. They said he was the most powerful man ever. His charmed body was strong, the muscles long and lithe. A delicate fur of golden hair covered his whole body, a protection against the burning heat and the coldness of night because he lived outside Uruk, the kingdom town. He had grown up amidst wild animals and spoke their language. The night I had seen him standing at the gate that leads to the entrance through the thick town walls, I had sat up. He was waiting for me. But his body was covered now in clothes, a loincloth hiding his masculine attributes. His skin was smooth and gleaming with sweat. I saw the lines because the Gods had marked him.’

I guided my gaze back to Lucien to find him, mouth partly open, listening to me as a child would had done. His eyes reflected the golden shine of the candles gaining the brilliant colour of a peridot. ‘You have seen him?’ he asked. ‘I mean, you dreamt of him? Who was he?’

‘A child of nature. A master of bow, spear and knife. He was eating grass from the hills and with his weapons he used to kill animals for his lion’s flock. He used to hunt with the females and mate with the males.’

Lucien’s lips curled. ‘Mate with the males?’ His smile vanished. The eyes, a crystal peridot-shine, became stony like marbles of jade. The whisky glass in his hand trembled.

‘Mate with lions. That’s gross,’ he mumbled, then said in a fainter voice, ‘No, it was necessary.’

I raised my eyebrow. Necessary?

‘Yes!’ Lucien was suddenly very engaged. ‘Many do this to keep friendship. To protect the herd, to take away aggression. Didn’t you know? It was bloody animal.’

Animal.

‘I watched and then I joined.’ Lucien’s eyes were far away. His corkscrew locks hung to his shoulders, appearing like a lion’s mane. ‘It was a ritual for us. They told me it was a great honour when the master of the herd joined their peaceful friendship.’

My heartbeat quickened. Was he about to wake up? I touched his face, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were getting a shade darker. ‘There was this trapper who saw me and then there was this temple boy, a courtesan from the temple of Shamash, the God of Sun.’

‘He was sent from me to tame you,’ I threw in furtively. I didn’t want to interrupt his memory. My glass was empty and so was his, but I didn’t dare to move.

‘Why would you send a temple boy to tame this nature’s child?’ Lucien’s eyes were again green-golden like before, oblivious to the memory.

‘There are two temples, for girls and boys. They were highly honoured because they served the Gods and to mate with one of them means to be accepted and blessed by the Gods. I wanted to tame the danger the strongest man of our world radiated.’

‘And who are you? Why were you afraid of a hunter, living amongst animals? Speaking their language, eh?’ Lucien smiled his enticing smile again and I longed to kiss him. But I did not.

‘I was not afraid. I wanted to put our strength on trial. See if he was as strong as they said.’

‘And this temple boy? Was he pretty?’

I was silent. Lucien should know if he was pretty. The boy had seduced him, making him lose his animal being to become a human man. Again I touched Lucien’s face, wiping his forehead and the locks, so soft to my palm. I remembered them well. I saw them flooding over the pillows and the furs covering our bed state.

‘He was pretty. He was painted around the eyes, and his hands and feet had patterns of henna-paintings.’ Again Lucien’s voice hesitated in delicate memories. I closed my eyes and saw what he saw:

To the watering place they came: gazelles, zebras and buffalos, and finally Enkidu came to quench his thirst. He saw the boy with shining hair, pearls in his earlobes and golden rings around his wrists. Both stood and stared, then the boy shed his loincloth and stood proudly in the sun, his sign of manhood very neat and anointed, the testicles smooth like apricots. He circled the child of nature who sniffed at him and took in the scent of manhood. His penis rose and the boy opened his legs, kneeled down and offered himself. He would work a miracle to alienate the wild animals and make Enkidu a man. He gritted his teeth when he felt Enkidu’s mighty meat entering him from behind, shedding his hot semen instantly. The boy was surprised, he hadn’t even had time to get hard himself, but then he felt teeth pulling at his neck, a licking tongue, and the heavy, fur- covered body pressing its weight upon him, entering him again, shedding his semen, entering him again and again. Untiring like the lions he mated with the boy and with each time he lost his animal being and a man was born.

‘After seven days and nights of mating I woke up, satisfied and weak. I looked after my wild pride and they looked at me, but they didn’t recognize me anymore. They went away and I was another person, something else completely; alienated and sad. The boy I had used to satisfy my frantic urge, lay beside me and I felt pity. But he was smiling. He rose and neared his face to mine, then he pressed his lips upon mine. I was overwhelmed and imitated his actions. He forced my lips open and played with my tongue. And I was on fire again. It was fever. It was wet and he showed me how to mate gently without haste. First, he guided me to the water hole and washed my body that had lost its fur. My skin was tender and white and he creamed it with an ointment of exotic scent, rose petals and cool cucumber, aloe and cinnamon. I watched him pull out a tool and with it he brushed my hair until it sparkled like fire and was soft and without dust and burrs, but rather smooth ringlets fell down my shoulders.’

I watched with fascination Lucien’s face. It had changed. His eyes had become greenish- yellow like a lion’s eyes and his skin blazed with power. Between his legs I saw a large bulge had built and I longed to stroke it — make love like in the old days, when the temple boy had taught Enkidu to be a perfect lover. Gentle but keeping his lust, soft and wild.

I could have jubilee. I did inwardly. He remembered. I took his upper arms. ‘Yes. The boy showed him how to kiss, how to love. He told him to eat with knife and fork. He taught him words. And Enkidu learnt fast. And then one day the boy wandered back with him to his home town. Uruk.’

‘Uruk.’ Lucien woke up. ‘That’s a very exciting story of yours,’ he said broadly grinning. ‘It’s almost as if I was there. Now,’ he peered down at my crotch, ‘finish your story later, or how long do you want to wait?’ He stood up and stretched out his hand.

I could not follow. Or should I? ‘Wait a moment. I need another drink.’ Without waiting for an answer I refilled our glasses and sat down again. I could hardly tame myself, but it had to be. I didn’t want to lose him. ‘Four thousand and seven hundred years ago, Uruk was the capital of the Two-River-Land that spread between the rivers Euphrates and Tigris. That’s where our so-called civilization started indeed.’ I had taken Lucien’s wrist and pulled him beside me on the settee. He drank from the whisky that gave his complexion a healthy, rosy touch. Sun-drunken peach, I thought once more. ‘There were wonderful temples for the God of Heaven, Anu, and for Ishtar, the hermaphrodite God of love and fertility. The king of this city state was named Gilgamesh. Do you know what they say about him?’ But I fell silent. Lucien had fixed his eyes on me, looking me up and down like a stranger. I saw this name awoke reflections. ‘I … I have heard this name before. In school?’ he suggested.

”Gilgamesh … since the day he was born his name is splendid. Two thirds of

him are God, one third is human. He is the wild bull, the perfect one, awe-inspiring…”

On the gate of the town wall Enkidu hesitated. He had never been in a town. But the temple boy dragged him along. Enkidu watched carts pulled by donkeys pass them. A market. Old men sat on the streets on carpets, drinking tea and playing a game with stones. He sniffed several scents — roasted lamb and onions . . . fresh bread and sweet millet gruel. And then there was a festively dressed group gathered in front of a brownish brick stone house. They had decorated themselves with garlands of flowers and the ground was covered with fresh petals.

The temple boy held Enkidu’s arm. ‘Look, that’s a wedding. Do you see the bride? And next to her is our king, may Anu be gracious with him and may he have a long life.’ He kissed briefly his fingertips and bowed his head.

‘What…,’ Enkidu cleared his throat from dust, ‘what is a wedding?’

The boy’s brown eyes sparkled. ‘It’s a promise between two people to stay together for the rest of their lives, to honour and trust each other in good and bad times.’

Enkidu stared. One mate for the rest of the life? Just one? He could not understand the reason. Was it not the task of nature to mate with as many different beings as you could to have fun and to spread your semen? There had always been just one male in his flock, but many females. Enkidu’s lips curled to a smile. But then, it was not Enkidu’s nature to mate with the females.

‘Our king carries out his right of the first night’, the boy continued. ‘After a wedding it is his right to deflower the newlywed.’

‘Deflower?’

‘It’s what you and I are not,’ the boy smiled. ‘A virgin.’

Enkidu watched the king from afar. He was taller than most. His splendid, brown hair was tied up with silver bands and a ring with colourful gems and jewels wound around his forehead. He appeared very strong. The white, shiny shirt clung over his muscled arms and chest; the rest of his body was hidden by a long skirt that reached to the ground coloured a deep, vivid blue, decorated with golden embroidery. Enkidu’s innocent nature did not know any better how to behave in public and so the temple boy took notice that a hard erection strained Enkidu’s loin cloth; it was impossible not to notice.

Gilgamesh was about to enter the house with the newly- wedded husband when he turned. His eyes found the child of nature, standing calm with big, amber-green eyes, his face framed by a fluffy mane, a spear at his side. The king’s eyes found the unmistakable outline of his hard erection and he let loose of the husband.

He drew nearer and the people fell silent. The temple boy bowed deeply, but Enkidu just stood and stared unblinking.

‘You are Enkidu, the son of the gazelle and the wild donkey. Welcome to Uruk.’

The people murmured. This was the big warrior who lived with the lions and wild animals?

‘Please bring him to my palace,’ Gilgamesh said to the boy, ‘and be thanked for your help.’

The boy bowed again.

‘I have a task to do,’ Gilgamesh turned to the waiting husband standing in the doorframe when Enkidu took hold of the king’s arm. ‘Do not,’ he said. The murmur grew louder. No one was allowed to touch the king of Uruk unasked. Surprised, Gilgamesh turned. ‘Why not? It’s my right.’

Enkidu’s eyes flickered over to the pale man waiting. ‘Will he enjoy mating with you?’

‘It’s not about if he enjoys it, it’s about that I enjoy it.’ Gilgamesh’s voice was a sharp snap, but Enkidu didn’t leave. ‘Then search for a man who will enjoy.’

Gilgamesh turned now fully to the wild man, the man he had tamed by a trick, and a little smile played around his mouth. His eyes stroked Enkidu’s body, the lithe muscles, the pale lines where the Gods had marked him. The wild eyes. The straining erection, matching his own, he realized with surprise. He touched Enkidu’s arm, embraced it and went on with him.

‘Taught him a lesson, that wild man did, huh?’ Lucien said sleepily. I looked at my watch, it was past midnight.

‘He taught him you shouldn’t need to fight to be friends, like the lions mate for friendship and stop aggression.’

I wondered about Lucien’s quick comprehending. He emptied his glass and put it aside. ‘And then both went to the king’s palace and fucked the brains out of themselves?’ he said playfully. ‘That gives me an idea.’ He stretched out his hand and started to unbutton my white shirt. I didn’t know how far his memory had recovered and I did not want to help him remember except with my words telling the story of myself and him.

‘They went straight to the king’s bedroom,’ I continued slowly, ‘locked the door and undressed each other.’

Lucien’s hands had finished their unbuttoning and pulled the shirt out of my trousers. He stripped it off from my shoulders and ran his palms over my chest. His eyes sparkled again with brilliant peridot-green flares as he locked them with mine and then a significant thing happened. My hair started to crackle from electricity and before my eyes Lucien’s breath became laboured and over his face scurried shadows.

‘I know what you are talking about,’ he said quietly. ‘It is as if I have seen it. Was participant. Watcher. It’s just… so funny. Such a strange feeling.’

To hell with my caution, I shouted at myself. I wanted him so badly. I couldn’t wait any longer, even if I had waited 4,700 years for this moment. Lucien’s fingers played between my legs, stroking my covered balls, his head tilted with a rapturous smile on his face. ‘First Gilgamesh’s long skirt was falling and the loin cloth he was wearing was wet from the droplets of joy he had shed in anticipation. Wasn’t it so?’

Lucien’s candid, innocent look broke my heart. Yes, it had been so. I rose to my feet, took Lucien’s hand and guided him upstairs to the bedroom. I hadn’t prepared anything, so I threw a red shawl over the little lamp standing by the bed and pulled back the covers.

‘And Enkidu’s unblemished soul comprehended that the king of Uruk would make him the biggest gift: his body,’ I continued my tale, not without shaking legs. ‘Enkidu’s senses, still intoxicated from the experience with the temple boy, remembered how to make love. He still had this unbelieving staying power, but, he thought, this would only be natural.’

Lucien laughed while he dropped my trousers, seeing my underpants wet from droplets of joy. ‘You live your tale, baby.’

I thought I was about to faint when everything happened at once. Lucien gave me a private strip show, his gaze never leaving my eyes, before he stood proud, naked and erect in the soft glow of the lamp. He approached me and ground his abdomen into mine. It tugged at my heart to the point where I could have screamed. Wherever my hands touched him, lines appeared. They followed my fingertips up his upper arms, over his shoulders, down his chest . . . as smooth as I remembered. He followed my hands with his eyes and I saw in their expression that he was seeing them too. He didn’t seem to wonder at their appearance. We both had reached a state where past and present melded together. He hooked his thumbs into the narrow waistband of my pants and pulled them down.

And then he started to kiss me. His fingers fondled up and down the shaft with oh, so familiar movements. He gave me a push and flung me on the bed leaving my lips as he devoured my manhood. ‘And Enkidu surely admired the king’s size,’ he chortled indistinctly, chewing at my meat that filled his exquisite mouth. I was on fire, I was on the brink of explosion and I had to do something about that. Although . . . I knew very well my old lover was untiring. I struggled and removed carefully my penis from Lucien’s sucking mouth, sat up and pulled him close. His member swung between his long legs, hairless like the rest of his body, except the trail from the belly leading to the abdomen because he had lost his fur on the threshold of becoming human. ‘Enkidu was not shy,’ I told him. ‘He remembered all the things the boy had taught him. Rimming for instance.’ I grinned and saw Lucien’s eyes lit up. ‘Make it slow, raise the tension.’

I leaned him on his back between the pillows. ‘It was a four posted bed, covered with the furs of zebras, gazelles and leopards. Enkidu, now human without his animal friends, didn’t object to the killing of them. He lay down on them and spread his arms and legs.’

Lucien spread his arms and legs and I kissed his rosy nipples, licking and biting until they were hard and big. ‘Do you see the little ibis? Enkidu had the same.’ My hands trailed along, over the curve of his waist, and the flat, hard belly. He was hard as ever when I gave his member a stroke. Long and rather thick it snuggled to his belly in a soft, leftward curve. ‘Gilgamesh loved the look of his new lover. He admired his powerful tool and the natural way with which Enkidu was moving in bed, like a courtesan, offering everything. He took his manhood between his lips and sucked slightly on the tip, tasting the crystal droplets…’ I was copying the actions of my tale, and Lucien growled. It was so hard for me not to give in, let it end in the heat of a moment, take him, make him mine again, show him how much I loved and missed him. My hands caressed his ball sack, the silky surface, with its delicate heaviness and the velvet line beneath, leading to the place of my utmost desire.

‘Let me mount you,’ Gilgamesh whispered and Enkidu’s ears jerked as if he had to scare away a fly. ‘Mount me?’ he asked. ‘I was mounting the boy for seven days and nights. I don’t know what it is like to be mounted.’

‘Heaven,’ Gilgamesh said. ‘I will show you. You must follow my words.’

Enkidu blinked. ‘And my reward?’

Gilgamesh’s fingers had opened his hole already, massaging the little rough entrance, smearing some of the fluid oozing off his member around the wrinkled place of pleasure.’ Lucien moaned. He opened his legs wider and pressed my head between them for me to lick the tender skin. ‘Mount me,’ he hissed. ‘I’ve never done it before, I was just mating with lions and the boy.’

I removed my tongue and looked up. His eyes were open and glazed. Amber- green. ‘Please, be my king.’

He was here. Enkidu. Finally with me. I opened his legs even wider and smeared olive oil around his opening and on my aching penis. I knew how to do it and he knew instantly how to react. I leaned forward over him and pushed. And he pressed.

‘Enkidu, my love,’ I murmured, kissing his lips which opened like a flower for me to smooth the pain he was certainly feeling. I waited for him, withdrew and pushed again. He arched his back and opened his mouth in a soundless cry before the pain subsided. ‘Deeper,’ he demanded. I sat on my knees, shoved my hands behind his back and pulled him close to me. He rested on my legs, face to face. ‘Deep enough, my wild man?’ I asked. His smile was answer enough. His locks fell into his eyes and I stroked them back. His gaze became unfocussed, as he moved gently up and down, placing my hand around his shaft. I teased him, giving it little strokes, tickled it with my nails, until he didn’t know if to laugh or to scream for pleasure.

‘Seven days and nights you said you mated with the temple boy?’ I asked him, feeling the climax building.

‘Seven days and nights. I was quick. It just lasted a minute each time.’ He moaned when he felt my lunges deep into his hole. ‘But then . . . then he showed me how to prolong, to hold on. Oh…!’ I gushed my semen into his hole, not able to hold on. It shuddered my body, rocked him and he sprayed our bodies with white cream.

‘Let’s do it again,’ he said after a while of blissful agony spent burying his hands into my hair, ‘you’re so beautiful. So wonderful.’ He kissed me tempestuously, and it was more than I could take. He moved the muscles in his anus. ‘Stay hard, will you?’ he whispered and I had to laugh. It was not hard to obey when the love of your life demands love.

‘And then let’s go out and you show me the town. I’ve never been in a town. There is so much you have to explain.’ He swung his leg around my head and stretched out between the cushions. I was still hard as I had been before when I plundered his sweet hole again, pulling him tightly to my body and he let it happen as if he had never known anything different. I stroked his meat until it rose again and he gave little sighs. I was overwhelmed that all my old feelings for him were as fresh as they were on the very first day when we had met and shared the bed together. I found it all again, his heat, the surrender, the tender frantic coupling. I buried my head into his hair that smelled musky like his being and intoxicating like oriental roses.

We found the perfect rhythm, as we had always done before and nothing could have separated me from him; not my second climax nor his release after I had turned him around to clamp my mouth around his spear giving him the intense feeling of contentment and utmost peace.

His whole body heaved when I laid beside him. My fingers ran over his moist skin and with gratitude I protected his spent and satisfied private parts with my palm.

‘Am I the only one?’ he whispered, eyes closed.

‘From now on you are.’

A long glance met mine. ‘I’m yours.’ He rose to his elbow. ‘And now we discover the town, right? I have never been to this temple the boy was telling me about.’

‘Beloved,’ I said carefully, ‘look around. What do you see?’

Lucien looked around. ‘A room, a bed, you.’

‘Have you seen the furs? Have you seen me?’

A bolt shot through his body. When he opened his eyes again they had their usual brilliant colour and he looked at me like at a stranger.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked sharply.

He untangled his body from mine and I felt cold and alone. I longed for his warmth.

‘What have you done to me? Do you transfer your dreams onto me? I saw . . . no, I see that you and that stupid king you were telling me about are one and the same! Are you mad?’

He stood there, hands supported on the bed, shouting at me. I sighed. This was harder than I thought for him to accept.

‘And why do you call me Enkidu?! That’s the name of the wild man.’

‘Because you are Enkidu.’ I decided to play it tough. It was now just a matter of time before he would remember everything. ‘I lost him and have now found him back.’

Lucien ruffled his hair in agitation. ‘But that’s insane! How old is your tale? When has this king lived? Before Christ, wasn’t it?’

I watched him as he left the bed and began pacing the room. He appeared ethereal in the soft, reddish light. His hair blazed. I felt the urge to take a brush to smooth it. The muscles in his butt cheeks clenched with each step. I saw a glistening trail of oil and semen on his thighs.

I was desperate. What was I to do? Should I influence his mind, transfer my memories to his own, so that my memories would now be his? It would never be the same. Somewhere, deep down under this all too handsome surface was hidden my old Enkidu. My lover, my world, my everything. All those men I had mated with in the flow of thousands of years could not stop the nagging pain of loss I had felt. And now, that I had found him, it should end in desperation? I had to try again, harder.

‘Lucien,’ I said softly, strived to calm him down and open his mind. ‘Look at me.’ He turned around, but his eyes didn’t show any signs of memory. ‘You owe me your name.’

‘Gil…’ I hesitated. ‘Gil. It’s Gil.’

He laughed. ‘You want to say Gilgamesh, right? The king of Uruk. Are you lost in a theatre-piece? Are you an actor, an author, who can’t find the way out of his profession? Is it true that all of your types are schizophrenic?’

He was serious. He stared, then he quickly gathered his clothes and ran through the door and down the staircase. I followed close on his heels. Downstairs, I saw a figure leaning against the doorframe to the living room. It was Sean, watching us with a cynical smile.

Lucien stopped and looked confused. ‘I think I should go. A threesome is nice, but not tonight.’ He tried to pass my Irish companion, but Sean stopped him with a simple and quick movement of his arm. A questioning look at me from those Irish eyes confirmed I had made little progress. Lucien, his clothes still pressed to his chest, flashed at him and freed himself from Sean’s grip, dropping his clothes. ‘I don’t know what you’re playing here, but I’m definitely out of this game.’

Sean didn’t move. His blue eyes wandered over Lucien’s body. Perhaps he saw the old lines there. Then, in confirmation, he stretched out his hand and touched the Ibis on Lucien’s shoulder. Lucien stepped aside and his body hunched, ready to attack anyyone who would do him harm. I recognized the fluent movements with which he had charmed me once — the underlying power and strength. Lucien was the hunter of the steppe, eyeing his prey. His body was coiled tight as a spring, the muscles in his backside clenched, like the ones in his thighs and calves.

But Sean smiled. ‘You better listen to Gil’s tale. It’s not as creepy as you think. It’s actually fascinating.’ Fearless, he moved his face nearer to Lucien’s. Confused, I looked at the Irish man. There was something threatening about him. Something that had never been there before.

‘Do you believe in everlasting love?’ he asked now. ‘Non aging love? Love that lasts through the ages, centuries, millenniums?’ Sean’s voice was intense. ‘Isn’t it fascinating?’ I saw his fingers glow where he had touched Lucien’s naked breast. Now he slowly lifted his eyes and turned them directly toward me. For a single moment I saw an abyss and in its depth a golden halo, like the fire ring around a sun’s eclipse. I had only seen eyes with that fire one time before – back in Uruk, nearly 5,000 years ago, and by Anu, this was not a pleasant memory. But then Sean blinked and the image in my mind vanished, yet my confusion remained.

‘Fascinating?’ Lucien called out. ‘When he tries to creep into my mind? I thought we were having real sex instead of having sex only lived out in my brain.’

‘Is that so?’ Sean raised an eyebrow. Another face appeared at his side. Leopold. Sean wrapped his arm around his waist.

‘Don’t be stupid, boy,’ Leopold said. ‘You’ll miss the love of your life . . . of all of your lives!’

I indicated for Leo to be careful. I knew it would be a shock for Lucien to be in the company of immortal men, but the shock would only grow bigger if I was not able to show him who he was. His mind had to awaken from the long sleep ñ his mind and his soul. A good way he had managed, but it was not enough.

‘Do you remember the lions?’ I asked him, my voice low and calm. Lucien turned. He was still naked, as was I, but his body slowly relaxed; the threat was over. I approached him. ‘What did you see when we were together? You were asking me to show you the town. Which town did you mean?’

Lucien looked confused. ‘I was born here in Vienna, so why should I ask you to show me the town. You are the foreigner here.’

‘We both are foreigners. You asked me to show you Uruk. Where do you think these questions come from?’

‘Who are you? Are you playing a game without telling me the rules?’

I gathered his clothes for him and pressed them to my chest. I shivered under his glare. I felt vulnerable. ‘There was this look of his, from those wonderful, innocent eyes, that did not know about harm, about the things humans can do to each other.’ My voice trailed along, becoming lower and lower as I spoke directly into his face. He was silent, his lips slightly pressed together, but he was listening.

‘He was trustful like a child, and in constant need for words for my little temple boy had not had time enough to teach him everything. Enkidu did not know about the Gods, but I saw the pale lines on his skin, a beautiful pattern I followed with my eyes. His exquisite mouth smiled trustfully at me and I knew I wanted him for my companion.’ I paused. ‘I am talking of you.’

Instantly I felt Sean’s eyes on me. He flashed me a gaze that burnt through to my intestines as he looked my naked body up and down. We had never been bedfellows, for whatever reason. I felt distracted and lost my concentration. And felt immediately that I was losing Lucien.

‘Why don’t you both go upstairs and take a nap,’ I said sharply. Leopold got the message and pulled Sean with him.

‘You were talking about me?’ Lucien didn’t seem to sense the interruption. As quickly as I could I crossed the room and took him into my arms. He was cold. My trembling hands traced along his back, over his butt cheeks where I felt the moist fluid still lingering — my shed semen.

‘Look, you were in trance, you saw things of your past. My words just helped to arouse your buried memories.’

‘But how can this be? If you are Gilgamesh you are … ancient! And what am I then? The wild man from the moor who fucked with lions?’

I nodded. He laughed unbelievingly. ‘It’s impossible!’

‘Love, anything is possible! It’s like magic, it’s always there, you just have to learn to use it.’

‘Magic! Wow,’ he sneered. ‘You’re still into your kid’s good-night’s tale.’

‘But you’ve seen them, the lions, the temple boy. You told me what he looked like and I swear it was the truth; painted eyes, henna-hands and gold around his wrists.’

‘Right. Probably you used hypnosis,’ he said dryly.

‘Sort of, yes.’ I shook him a little. ‘What’s there so mysterious about working with hypnosis. Have you never heard of people talking with foreign tongues? Or experienced lives they have lived millenniums ago?’

‘I think that’s nonsense.’

‘It is not.’

He was unsure, I sensed. Unsure of what to think and uncertain if he should leave me. He laid his head on my shoulder and I pulled him tighter to me. ‘Don’t leave me,’ I whispered. ‘It is too good to hold you. I have missed you for so long.’ He lifted his head and looked me in the eyes. A little darker they appeared, like Enkidu’s eyes. ‘Don’t you feel it?’ I continued to whisper. ‘We are connected from head to toe; warm limbs snuggling onto me, your fragrant body, still carrying a scent of a wild animal, ready to give me everything. You have been the master of sensual joy. You have taught me the act of love in its most delicious ways.’

‘His name was Siduri.’ Lucien looked at me with enraptured eyes.

‘Whose name?’

‘The temple boy’s name.’

‘Oh. I didn’t know that.’ My heart beat in my throat again. His manhood hardened at my thigh. ‘I had mated with him for seven days and nights and then he told me his name, as well as he told me my name.’ His look lost itself somewhere in the room. ‘Who has given me this name anyway?’

‘I don’t know, Enkidu. Everyone knew this was your name.’

Furtively I started to stroke him again. My fingertips slipped down the line of his slender yet muscular thigh, over his hip and down his abdomen, outlining the contour of his hard penis. He didn’t seem to notice, at least it did not reach his mind.

‘Tell me more,’ he said finally.

But where to start? ‘Didn’t you feel the initial attraction between us? Your body was on fire, I could see it. I sensed it.’ I started furtively and felt his body stiffening. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Happens sometimes.’

I gave him a sharp look and shook his body. ‘It happens sometimes? How often does it happen you go with a man you met two minutes ago?’

‘It happened.’

It happened? Then I had a more old-fashioned conception of . . . what? Sex? Love? Wasn’t there anything more than just plain sex or an encounter for one night?

The oddest thing I felt right now was Lucien, trembling as he clung to my body as if he was enjoying my warmth. It was chillingly cool in the living room and the fire was out. ‘Do you still want to go?’ I whispered. ‘Are you still afraid?’ His lips brushed my cheek when he lifted his head. I felt his hands raking through my dishevelled long hair. ‘Were you really born more than two thousand years before Christ?’

I nodded.

‘But … but … how?’ An unsure smile appeared on his face. ‘This happens only in movies or fantasy-literature. And what about the others, living here with you?’

‘Wherefrom do you think those writers get their ideas from? If you imagine it, then it’s possible to become reality. Had anybody thought it would be possible to walk on the moon one day? And yet it happened.’

His head tilted a tiny bit and his eyes searched for more answers. ‘The others,’ he reminded me.

‘Like me. Undying.’ I held my breath. I had said it and waited anxiously for his reaction. ‘How?’ he asked. His fingers untangled my hair, like Enkidu used to do after a night full of pleasure and fulfilled desire. By Anu, if he just would realize how familiar his movements were, his scent, his voice, the way he kissed me, the way he opened his legs for me with that innate innocence in his amber-green eyes.

‘How?’ I repeated. ‘It’s not the time to speak about immortality, love. Don’t be afraid of me. All I want is to have you back. . . our shared memories, our shared life.’

‘Then tell me more finally. Why do you think I’m Enkidu? What happened to him? Why had he to die while you still lived ?’

Mentally, Lucien had made a step forward. He was accepting the miracle. I searched in his face, so close to mine.

‘I have seen that new God.’ I paused. ‘The son of a God, I should rather say. He was immortal like me. His name was Jesus and he walked through the desert on his mission. Though… I never heard himself claiming to be the son of a God. I didn’t know which God he meant anyway, for he didn’t even have a name.’ I smiled. ‘Do you remember Shamash, the brightest of all our Gods? He had given you an amulet to protect you from the wrath of Humbaba, the guard of the Holy Cedar.’ I touched the sun-shaped golden pendant hanging on the very thin chain around his neck.

A tickle covered my body when I saw Lucien’s wide open eyes. ‘This is …? It’s in my family as long as I can remember. Longer than that. It was bequeathed over the centuries.’

I realized his skin had raised into goose bumps. ‘You want me to remember, right?’ he asked. ‘First I have to accept that something unnatural has happened. You speak of soul wandering? You think Enkidu’s soul has manifested in my body? And where is Lucien then?’ He pulled from me and watched me in silence, demanding an answer. I made a helpless gesture. ‘Lucien?’

‘Yes, Lucien, me, my being, my history, my life before I met you. I’m twenty two. Is this the age you met Enkidu? How can you suppose I can continue my life as a … wild hunter of lions? Shall we go to Africa then? Or would you like to live here in Vienna with me? How have you managed your life through the ages? Where do you get your money from? Are you working?’

I shook my head. Too many questions at once, but it was understandable.

‘I do have a boyfriend,’ he continued, unknowingly hurting me with this statement. ‘What about him? What if I don’t like you? If I – Lucien – don’t want to live with you? And what’s the point anyway? You are immortal, I’m mortal.’ Suddenly a light appeared on his face. ‘Wasn’t there a nice Greek story of Eros and Psyche, his butterfly? In the end both were immortal; the Gods can decide. Are you a God then?’

My head still swirled. Somewhere I registered how odd our situation was. Both standing naked in the middle of a cold room with nothing to drink nor to dress. His clothes lay untouched upon a chair. ‘Your boyfriend first,’ I managed to say. ‘What’s about him? Do you love him?’

‘No. He’s just a boyfriend. Nothing that matters for too long.’

‘It makes you shallow.’

‘Shallow?’ He laughed. ‘I’m sure you had a million men to satisfy you.’ His eyes touched briefly my manhood and I saw a glimmer appear in his eyes. ‘Have you lways been faithful to them?’

‘A million men?’ Now it was my turn to laugh. ‘You have no clue, Lucien. Has it ever been so easy for us like it is today, here, in this place? While right now, that old man, who claims to be the representative of the nameless God of Christendom and to have a direct line to him, is preparing another smear campaign against us? Against us: the abnormal, the perverts all the others have to protect themselves from because we undermine the moral fabric of society. We are not worth living in his book. He should be ashamed of himself.’ I breathed through my nostrils like an exhausted horse. Hadn’t I learnt to change bitterness into tranquillity? I forced myself to speak calm and low. ‘We are the ultimate sin according to them, aren’t we. We are responsible for the negative results for society and morality. We are damaging the righteous development of humankind.’ I grinned. ‘I would laugh if it wasn’t so sad. And so dangerous for us.’

Lucien stared at me, but didn’t interrupt.

‘How many of us have been burnt or bashed to death or better yet, gassed in concentration camps? It is just a little over one hundred years ago since the British law sentenced one of their greatest poet to jail which meant the equivalent to a death sentence for him. Oscar was so …’ I screwed my eyes up in painful memory.

‘You’ve met him?’

‘Of course. I met each personage I was interested in. Oscar Wilde… he was brilliant, though very, very shy in bed. He was rather a watcher, not participant. His soul belonged to men. His heart belonged to that unfortunate young man who was no good for him.’

Lucien looked at me with unreadable eyes. Not even I could penetrate the unfocussed depth. Something told me that he knew what I was talking about; the other part of him remained in awe.

‘And what about all the other, nameless victims?’ I said quietly. ‘And you ask me how many millions of lovers I had had? When we had to hide in grubby rooms of shacked houses? In backrooms of dubious repute, always on guard for police and informers? I won’t mention the inquisition… And now, at the start of a new millennium, are things really easier?’ I made a step in his direction, taking his upper arms, stroking my palms over the skin, up and down. ‘I learned my biography well to tell my lovers about what I am doing and where I come from. Those lies are nothing to be proud of. But how can I fall in love when I know right from the start that this love is bound to die? I can’t hold on. I can’t let myself fall into the arms of a man, cheating myself by saying this time it’s forever. It is not. It is never forever with mortals.’ I took his shoulders. ‘But it could be.’

There was a long silence between us. Birds softly twittered sleep-drunken in the middle of the night. Again the night owl hooted. The candles were about to drown into their own wax.

‘I like you,’ he suddenly said. ‘You are right, my body was on fire the second I saw you. It never happened before. You are just so … frightening, so dark, so mysterious.’

‘I saw nothing of that when me made love. You were not afraid.’ Lucien nodded. ‘When you speak those names – Shamash – our God of the sun, Anu, the God of Heaven, or even Enkidu… it’s as if I have heard those names before. They are part of my sunken life, my forgotten life. Something I see in the very distance, but the more I approach the more it blurs. You still have to tell me what will happen to Lucien and the life I lead.’

‘Nothing,’ I said simply. ‘For the world you remain Lucien, but for me you are my lover lost, now found. It won’t be difficult.’

‘And your friends? Are they …?’

I nodded.

Overwhelmed he sunk upon a chair at the table. ‘You’re not pulling my leg, playing a dirty game?’

‘No,’ quickly I stepped to him, sinking to my knees beside him. ‘The more I tell you, the more you will remember. And the final story YOU will have to tell me.’

He looked down on me. ‘The final story? About how I died?’

I nodded silently, stretched out my hand and took his. Together we rose and climbed the stair in mutual agreement. I poured two copper beakers full of scented, red, flavoured wine; white pepper, mint and cumin. Lucien took one, inhaled the aroma and drank.

‘Do I look like him?’ he asked.

‘A part of you, yes. Your hair, your eyes … sometimes. Your movements.’ I tilted my head and kissed his lips. ‘Your movements in bed. Your underlying power.’ I smiled. ‘You are my unbridled young man.’ My smile fell. ‘But now I know we roused the God’s disappointment. They had sent you to me as my counterpart. They wanted to see a fight. I had become too strong.’

‘What? We had to fight?’

‘Yes. But instead, we became lovers. We were spoilsports, so to speak.’

Lucien laughed his bewitching laugh. ‘But that’s funny. And the Gods were pissed off, yes?’

I nodded, unhappily. ‘That’s when the tragedy started.’ I sank upon the bed, patting the place beside me, our beakers still in hand, drinking. I wished to lick the red wine from his lips, or pouring the liquid over his body, his backside, where it would trickle away in the moist crack of his cheeks, as we had done so often.

‘The tragedy?’ Lucien said. ‘You mean the fight with Humbaba, the giant bird with the big ears?’

I laughed softly. ‘You always said he was a bird with big ears! He was a daemon with big wings!’

Lucien laughed with me. ‘Anyway. It was creepy!’ He paused terrified. ‘Did I just say that? A bird with big ears? Humbaba, the guard of the Holy Cedar?’ He shook his head. ‘Wow. I can see him. I can see us, as we were travelling far away from Uruk to Lebanon. It took us ages!’

I took the beaker from his hand and leaned with him against the cushions, stretching our bodies side by side. ‘Tell me more,’ I demanded.

‘Yes. Those cedar-forests… I still have no clue why we desired this travel to fight a daemon. Do you know?’

‘Because we were able to do it!’ I halted. ‘No, love. Because you complained about your lost strength and power. You had lost your ability to speak with the animals. You weren’t their master anymore. You had lost part of your freedom in order to share your life with me. I was so thankful for your presence that I wanted to give you your reputation back. My people should love you as well as they loved me.’

‘So fighting the Humbaba, taking away the Holy Cedar to bring it to Uruk would had been a piece of heroism?’

‘Yes,’ I simply said.

‘Hmm. We made a great door from it for the town walls.’

‘Yes. A monument for the Gods.’ I leaned over. ‘Humbaba’s cry frightened you to death, remember?’

Lucien nodded. ‘We wouldn’t have made it if Shamash hadn’t sent terrific storms that blew the forest and kept Humbaba at a reasonable distance until we could circle and bash him.’

I searched in his eyes. ‘He cursed us before he died.’

A shadow floated over Lucien’s face. I laid my hands upon his breast and felt his heartbeat was quick. ‘Why did Shamash help us?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps he was so keen on the monument?’ I smirked. ‘On a raft, we had made from other chopped cedars, we returned to Uruk.’

Lucien closed his eyes. ‘Yes… the Euphrates,’ he said, voice tinged with melancholy. ‘I remember the lazy flow, the brownish water, the palms along the shore, and the flat brick houses. Workers gathered mud and built brick stones from it, to let them dry in the sun. And there were workshops where the bell’s pots were made.’ He turned to my side, propped his elbow and peered into my eyes. ‘You showed me everything, the mosaic- workers for instance. Their works were later attached to the temple-buildings. Your palace was full of precious things, carpets from Persia, incense from Arabia, spices and ivory from India, copper and gold from Egypt. Your town was full of craftsmen who knew how to make a sweet smelling soap, how to dye clothes, how to work glass. You taught me to understand the pictograms engraved into the stone.’ He paused. ‘And then HE came,’ he said. ‘I’d never seen him before.’

‘He was a hermaphrodite.’ I remembered him. ‘Ishtar, the god of fertility, of love and war. He was the embodiment of both genders, he loved women and men.’ Lucien shivered. ‘Why do you speak in past tense? He’s still there.’

I fixed him a look. ‘How do you know? I mean, why do you think so?’

Lucien’s face became tensed and closed. ‘I’m not sure. It’s a feeling.’ He shoved his leg over mine and started to play with my hair. His lips were close.

‘Why can’t we return to Uruk?’

I stared into his eyes. Greenish yellow with dark speckles. Round and stressed with black, long lashes. Lion’s eyes. My Enkidu was back. ‘Love, we can’t return. It’s not our country anymore. Mesopotamia is lost. It’s parted. There’s Iraq and Iran and both cherish great enmity for each other. Don’t ask me why though. The world has gone mad.’ I halted. ‘No, the world has always been mad.’

‘Enmity? But you’re the king of Uruk. You can gather an army to fight against these occupiers.’

I laughed and kissed his nose. ‘Those times were long ago. Now I’m king of the world.’ I looked deeply into his eyes. ‘And if you want to be, you are my prince. My equal. My king.’ I grinned. ‘Immortal like me.’

‘I don’t know what it means to be immortal.’

I sighed. It was ten minutes before three in the morning and a deadly silence filled the house. How could I answer this plea for answers. What was it like to be immortal? My quest had come to an end. But the only possibility for me to stay with him was to convince him to live with me. For the rest of … the world.

‘Gil?’ he asked furtively. He had always called me this. ‘What is it like?’

‘I stood in front of the shrine in the white temple of Anu.’ I started instead of answering his question. ‘It was hidden at the top of the ziggurat. Stones, covered with colourful glazed bricks. I had to climb a ramp leading over several graded quadratic platforms guiding to his small sanctuary. I was alone when Ishtar appeared behind the altar.’

‘How do you know it was her?’

‘Him. This time she was a he.’ I smiled. ‘Confusing. Sometimes he was both. An androgynous being with swelling breasts and a manhood we all would be proud of. In my case there was only the manhood. She knew I preferred men to women.’

‘Ah! But how do you know?’ Lucien insisted.

‘You will certainly recognize a God when he’s in front of you, love. There was no mistake.’

‘He was naked?’ Lucien’s hands stroked my body.

‘Not naked. Although the translucent clothes didn’t hide much. Gold and green veils and jewels that sparkled out of his eyes that rested on me, examining my body. He spoke to me with honeyed voice, then with fire. He harried me, he told me how beautiful I was. How strong. How mighty. How could I resist?’

Lucien lifted his upper body. ‘You betrayed me with Ishtar?’ he called out. ‘No wonder you never told me about your meeting!’

‘Hey! Calm yourself. I haven’t said anything about betrayal.’

‘But of course! He was a God and how could you have resisted that manhood!’ he hissed. ‘I was just a stupid guard of the animals, drinking water from a hole and pairing with the lions, not able to eat with fork and knife, not able to speak properly, biting your neck when I was mounting you.’ His lips had curled back and now he had an amazing similarity to an angry cat. I had to laugh good humouredly. I took his arms and rested my hands upon his shoulders. ‘Oh how I missed your little outbursts!’ Fearless I neared my lips to his, kissed him and whispered ‘I love you. I have always loved you and always will.’ I felt my manhood rising against his thigh and sensed his palm closing around the shaft. It was a natural movement for him. ‘He was bigger than you?’ he whispered back. ‘He tried to seduce you?’

‘Sure he did. He dropped his clothes, and told me to unite with him.’ I looked down, where Lucien’s hands did a little administering, circling his forefinger around the head of my penis. The memory was still fresh after thousands of years. ‘Ishtar was humongous, colossal. Apparently this was his idea of how to seduce a homosexual man. He rubbed his body on mine, lifting my short skirt to feel what was under there, trying to make me hot.

”I’m not only going to make you mine’, he said, ‘but I will make you my husband. I offer you immortality. Be mine for all time and experience the most sensual life.”’

‘Never-ending sex?’ Lucien suggested.

‘Probably.’

Lucien still rubbed my penis with tender hands. ‘But you surely got all this from me. What more was there for you to wish for? And besides, I don’t think sex is so important.’ ‘Ah! That’s not you’, I said light hearted. ‘You were a little rabbit, you know. Mating with me for hours, non stop.’

Lucien’s cheeks flushed. ‘Did I?’ His hand continued to work its miracle and I started to shudder. He lifted his forefinger that had trailed around my member and licked it. ‘That’s embarrassing’, he said playfully. His eyes sparkled. ‘And what did you then? Spread your cheeks for him.’

‘No! How should I have been able to take such a monstrous thing? I refused of course, in favour of you.’ Now I clasped my palm around his half-hard penis. ‘Of yours.’

He was still as youthful, smooth and straight as I remembered. A perfect size to fit into my hand and into my canal of love. But being offered to be immortal was another thing. Lucien moaned quietly and screwed up his eyes. I wiped his droplets over the head and outlined the rim of his rolled back foreskin. Now he shuddered. ‘And what did he do then? Take you against your will?’

I closed my eyes. ‘Ishtar showed no mercy in his feverish urge to mate with me. He had promised me everything. There in the dark sanctuary of Anu, he pressed me, tried to force his member into me or persuade me with sweet voice to administer to his tool with my tongue. He promised me a taste of caramelised dates but I still refused. ‘What is there so ugly about me’, he asked me then, his face burning and flaming with anger and lust. ‘What is there to prefer this hunter boy to me? We could live forever, we can reign forever. In love and war.”

Lucien knocked me over onto the bed and started to lick my penis, nibbled my shaft up and down, kneaded my balls until I came into his mouth. ‘You taste indeed like caramelised dates’, he grinned when his face appeared over mine again, the corners of his lips white like the tongue he put into my mouth to give me a taste. ‘It was Ishtar who made you immortal? Why haven’t you said it?’ With sudden anger Lucien rose and came to sit on my lap. His penis was sticking out between his thighs, reddish, wet, quivering and longing for release. I came up again and started to stroke it. ‘No, you have it all wrong. It was not Ishtar who made me immortal. It was…’

Myself.

‘Who was it then?’ Lucien succumbed to my hands stroking him.

‘I’ll tell you later.’

I know I was being evasive. I know I had had a naive imagination of what’s it like to be immortal. Never-ending fun or sex, as Lucien expressed it? Never-ending love, never-ending health, the never-ending certainty you can’t die and will be able to watch the struggle of humankind to survive. It sure was interesting. It sure was exciting to meet all those personalities of science, politics and arts. Who can claim to have talked to Nefer’titi of Egypt in person? I know the secret of her leaving her husband Akhe’naton, about her vanishing and the place of her grave. I could have made a fortune when I had joinedt those British archaeologists who dug the hot desert to detect finally Tutan’khamun’s grave. But did I want it? I had had enough of glory and praise when I was still king in Uruk and honestly I believe in peace for the past ones.

It was an amazing way to follow the developments. If I imagine the old days when life was so much harder, when the bodies were drained from too much of work, getting old before their times, when life was a trap, dependent on the quirks and power of the superiority held by landlords, dukes, kings and clergy. I followed the small steps humankind made with each century. I followed the slave-ships from Africa to the new detected continent which was called after Vespucci, the seaman; I followed the ships with their cargo of sentenced men from England to Tasmania, to see them work and die hard. I saw the turnout of the tribes in America and Australia and I saw Africa coming under the exploitation of the white man. But what had been useful of all this? There were very little things useful. Gutenberg’s invention for instance.

But nobody had told me about the never-ending pain to see people I loved suffering and finally going, leaving, dying. I couldn’t recall the many times I fled, leaving my lovers and friends because I couldn’t say good-bye. And they shouldn’t know about the secret of my non-aging appearance. What was I suppose to tell them? Well, a few I told. Romeo from Verona for instance. And Lui-Sa from Edo, the old name for Tokyo. I left immortal men at each continent, but I had chosen them well. There once was a little French boy I had fallen in love with so much I wanted to have him around. He died at the river Somme in that terrible year of 1916; a gun had blown his head away and even an immortal men cannot live without his head. I took him and buried him in the garden of my house in England. And then a miracle happened.

Lucien moaned softly, his head thrown back into his neck, his eyes half closed. He looked so, so absorbed in his own world of feelings that my heart threatened to blow for love. I had found him back, the love of my life, and all the men in between didn’t mean a single thing. I had loved them, but nobody I had loved as much as I loved Enkidu. I stroked his penis up and down with a firm grip, the other hand I had laid around his waist to protect him from toppling over, until he came into my hand; large drops hit his chest and mine. Then he opened his unfocused eyes and smiled. ‘You’re great as ever’, he murmured. He wrapped his arms around me while I was gently and absentminded smearing the last of white drools over the head of his member. How was I going to explain to him all of this? About the history of world, seen from a walker through the ages? I appeared as young as I was when we had to part, but my eyes were ancient. They had seen everything.

Quietly I continued my tale. ‘Ishtar had almost left me with his still stiff manhood between his legs, outraged and fuming that I wasn’t submitting. ‘You forget I’m two quarters God’, I had called after him. He had returned quickly, piercing my eyes with his bluish pieces of glass he had instead of eyes. ‘And yet you are mortal. That one quarter human blood makes you nothing. It ruins your blood and your power’, he hissed. And then I had seen it: The abyss opening behind the pupils of his eyes. A blazing flame launched upwards until I was afraid it would slap my face.’

Abruptly I released Lucien’s dick and sat motionless. A terrible suspicion rose inside of me. But Lucien embraced me and rubbed his semen into my skin, his flattening penis against my abdomen. ‘So you refused him in favour of me, yes? And then?’

‘He went away,’ I croaked.

‘Just went away?’ Lucien asked disappointed.

‘What do you expect? A wrestling fight with a God?’

‘Fighting a God can’t be worse than to fight a male lion.’

‘Ha!’ I laughed. ‘You’re something. Gods can do magic.’

‘And you? Being two quarter Godly? Weren’t you able to do something for that?’

‘I did,’ I said simply. ‘We did together. Fighting the Bull of Heaven.’

I detected a blissful expression on his face, before I sensed an all too human urge.

‘Don’t move’, I said to him. ‘I need to go to the little boy’s room.’

With pounding heart I slipped through the door for the bathroom ñ and there he was – about to enter the room himself: Sean, and instantly I felt the strange sensation of being watched by an abyss again. Sean smiled innocently.

‘Made progress?’

‘Yeah.’

Now he grinned abusively. ‘He’s still as good in bed as he ever was?’

‘How do you know what he’s like in bed?’

‘Well, why else should you be looking for him? Nobody can satisfy your demands.’

He tilted his head. ‘That’s the reason you never slept with me?’

I scanned him thoughtfully from head to toe. What was the reason for this banter? He had never suggested before that he wanted to sleep with me. ‘And now that I’ve found him again, you’re getting jealous?’ I asked, probing the borders.

And there it was: the brief flash of the golden halo around the black pupil in his blue eyes. For a second I had the impression his face would melt into something else. I hadn’t told Lucien everything. There had been a second meeting of me and Ishtar: the one that had led to the obvious hatred. I had seen him appearing at most unexpected places. He had become careless; he was walking as a living God among the crowd. In public he tried to corner me, seducing me in each appearance: as woman and as man, and each time he was a little bit more crazy.

Then came the day when I started to fight back, to humiliate Ishtar openly, although I knew I couldn’t win against a God. ‘You bring mishap to each of your lovers,’ I called to him, standing proudly with all his beauty in the market place. My folk started to gather and watch. ‘Do you want me to line up in the row of your unlucky or dead lovers? Possessing me and pushing me away after you had what you wanted? Me, the king of Uruk?’ People started to snicker. Others stood in awe, ready to receive a divine sentence. Ishtar had the power to burn the town to ashes. His face was dark red with scorn. He moved his arms and vanished. But I had never forgotten the golden abyss, full of hate, in his eyes and from this moment on I lived in fear. So, what now? What if my fears would be real? What if Ishtar had occupied Sean’s body to take revenge, now that I and Enkidu were together again; like Ishtar did before when he was possessing the snake, fighting with me for the Misty Rose?

Sean opened the door to the bath room and my impression evaporated. I heard his soft laughter.

‘Are you laughing at me?’ I followed him, standing in front of the toilet sink, fumbling with the slit of his pyjamas trousers. He threw a seductive look at me over his shoulder and didn’t answer.

‘You’ve never believed my quest, have you. And yet you must agree there’s something magic around.’ I hesitated. ‘How is it that you are immortal?’ I whispered. ‘It’s only me who has admission to the herb. Have you stolen it?’

‘You don’t have exclusive rights to immortality’, he said coolly. He stowed his penis and turned to me. ‘How long will you need?’

‘I’m not halfway through’ I said automatically, fixing his eyes. He wasn’t his normal self. Sean had never been cynical. He had been unhappy when Leo had found him, and managed his life in the company of immortal men very well. But he had always refused to eat from the herb until he was absolutely certain he wanted it. What had changed? Was he Ishtar? Did the God chose my Irish man and waited for the ultimate fight? How could I protect Enkidu then? And myself?

‘Is Leopold the reason? Are you ready to share your endless life with him?’ I asked low.

Again that searing look that threatened to burn my soul. ‘No.’

He opened the door and left me. At least he had admitted his immortality. When I had relieved myself and entered the corridor, he had gone.

Lucien stood at the window, looking out. He had pulled back the curtains, dressed only in his pants. His arms he had wrapped around his upper body as if he was cold. Silently I went closer until my body touched him. He jumped a little. ‘Lost in thoughts?’ I asked quietly. He nodded and pointed to the moon, hanging full and bright between the branches of the chestnut trees. ‘It’s so close tonight’, he whispered.

‘Yes, it is. It never changes, just in its appearance. But its was always there, sometimes closer, sometimes wide afar. We loved to watch the moon, do you remember?’

Lucien nodded. ‘Four thousand years ago it shone into our rooms in the palace.’

‘And for four thousand years I remembered and wished you would be here with me.’ I kissed his neck. Stinging wetness started to fill my eyes and I had to blink.

‘And then came the day when a human set his feet upon it, whirling ancient dust and gravel, marking it with a flag as his own. I was excited and angry at the same time. What was the use?’

Lucien turned in my arms. ‘Well, as Armstrong said: it was a tiny step for him but a major step for humankind.’ He smiled a little.

‘But what for?’ I insisted. ‘I knew before that it is cold up there and without oxygen and without water and plants. And without the man in the moon.’

He was silent. ‘We do it just because we are able to. Aren’t you curious?’

‘Not any more. I’ve seen too much.’

Lucien laid his head upon my shoulder. ‘Tell me about it.’

What could I tell him? If I spoke for a lifetime, it still wouldn’t be enough to let him know about all of my experiences. Except… if he would join my undying being, then we could learn together. ‘We were born when Stonehenge was still young.’ I said, then continued. ‘But we hadn’t any knowledge of its existence. They say, you only see what you know. So, afterwards… I had enough time to increase my knowledge to perfection. When you have an endless time ahead you have endless leisure without any need to rush. I visited the hanging gardens of Babylon, one of the seven world wonders, as the coming generations called them. Babylon…’ I paused and pondered. ‘Babylon rose to unbelievable power while Uruk fell apart after I had left it.’

Suddenly, I had to laugh. ‘You know, a couple of years ago I went to the capital of Germany, Berlin, to watch the old Gate of Babylon and its procession street that led into the town. It was amazing to see it again, protected in a museum, under a roof and with many visitors from all over the world. The deep-blue glazed brick stones were still there with the yellow lions. It looked as if it was hardly a hundred years old. I stood and looked and stared and was thankful that the archaeologists had been able to find it again, even if it is lost for our country.’ I paused. ‘It is the Ishtar-gate.’

Lucien’s pupils turned to pin heads, but he said nothing.

‘After I had left Mesopotamia I settled down in Egypt where nobody knew me. I worked for the pharaohs as writer and translator. And I was witness to Moses’ exodus from Egypt and the seven plagues the country experienced, sent from Moses’ God…’ Lucien lifted his head, his face a mixture of amazement and doubt. ‘The seven plagues? But that’s just a legend, isn’t it?’

‘No. They came. It was a terrible year. The locusts destroyed the harvest on the fields. Gnats and vermin plagued the people. Because the Nile had great high water, the red mud and silt was pushed through the water pipes and so it appeared red when it bubbled up into the fountains. That’s when they said that water turned into blood.’

Lucien still looked at me with big eyes. ‘And there was an eclipse?’

‘Yes. The sign of horrid things to come. It was simply a bad year.’

‘And the killing of the firstborn?’

‘A fight of tribes. I’m not sure who did it. The God’s are brutal in their intentions and devices.’

Lucien shuddered.

‘Jerusalem had been founded, there on the chalk rock in the mountains of Judea, the town of three world religions and I lived there for a while to comprehend their belief and to study their history. I lived there in several appearances and under several names. Athens had been founded and much later Rome. All those useless struggles for power . . . It seems to be so ridiculous when seen with undying eyes. I lived in Jerusalem until the Romans came and conquered the land. Then I thought it’s time to leave. And yet I hadn’t found you. Not in Babylon, nor in Thebes. Not in Jerusalem, nor in Rome. You could be anywhere. But one thing the old wise man from the sea had told me: a soul needs seven years for a first re-birth. And if this happens I would feel the signs and it would guide me to the right place. So . . . all I had to do was wait . . . and travel. But you were never among the seven-years-course. The Gods left me waiting way too long. They were angry.’

‘Angry,’ Lucien whispered. ‘Like they were when we were fighting the bull. The Bull sent from the Gods as another test for our love. Surely they had never thought it possible we could survive.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘The Golden Bull from Heaven was mighty. He was so huge . . . so wild. Fire flew from his nostrils and his golden skin flamed. He rampaged throughout the and, with his first snort the earth cracked and a hundred young men fell to their death. He stomped with his feet and an abyss opened, killing another few hundreds of our folk. We had to do something to stop it.’

‘It was fun, wasn’t it.’ Lucien released me and started to walk across the room. ‘Ishtar had been furious about your refusal to love him and had asked his father, Anu, to kill us. But we were strong.’

‘You were the greatest hunter on earth, love’, I said quietly. ‘Skilful in movement and I was strong. We broke its neck and I cut out its heart, showing my trophy to the people and then placed the heart at Shamash’s shrine to thank him for his faithfulness.’

Lucien stopped his pacing. ‘And then Ishtar appeared upon the walls of Uruk. A wavering figure with green-golden veils and blazing hair and he looked with great hate at me until I tore off the Bull’s right thigh and threw it at him.’

‘Yes, you did!’ I had to laugh, although this was the last straw. ‘I saw him, standing upon the walls, arms raised enraged to heaven to call the God’s wrath. His father, Anu, and all the Gods with him saw his shame and his refusal to quit . . . and his utter humiliation. And the people lamented with him, frightened to death. The prostitutes and courtesans came from both temples, girls and boys, and lamented with him or her because for each gender he had the right appearance. Dust swirled around, covered the dead Bull of Heaven, his golden skin became dull and blind. Blood still seeped into the ground until there was no more left. Ishtar then had raised him up to the heavens, leaving the spot where he lay empty and silent.’

Lucien, who’d been staring at me intensely, bent his head. ‘That night I had a dream in which the Gods were meeting in council, and Enlil, the God of Earth, was declaring that, because of our involvement with the deaths of Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven…’ Lucien stopped. ‘I became weak’, he finished his sentence abruptly.

I took Lucien’s hand and sat with him upon the bed, taking him into my arms.

‘You suffered from a high fever. You faded each day a little more. Now I know what happened. Enlil persuaded the others to do me harm. I had become too powerful and Ishtar still envied me my happy life with you. And so it was settled: It was not me who should die, but my pain should be the greatest ever known. They took you from me so I would know endless grief.’

A jolt went through Lucien’s body. ‘I saw him, the bird with the red-golden plumage that circled around my head. Ready to take me to the underworld. I prayed to Shamash, cursing the trapper, and the temple boy who civilized me, and thus had led to my downfall. But Shamash, the golden mask over his face, reminded me of the good times I had had, and I repented my harsh words.’

‘That’s what you saw?’

Lucien nodded once in my arms. ‘Then I was transformed into a bird myself and led to the palace of the Queen of Darkness. All the inhabitants of this dark place were clothed like birds, and they were once rulers of earthly kingdoms. The Queen of the Underworld was there, and the recorder of the Gods who held the book of death. She looked up and enquired as to who had brought me here. But then…. I woke up.’

Lucien looked at me. ‘Yes, you left me alone. I died alone.’

‘Shsht, I tried to save you.’

‘But I died alone! That’s the reason for my sadness. Now I know it. There was something undone, a word I wanted to tell you, but you weren’t there to hear it.’

‘I feared death.’

‘You feared it so much that you didn’t want to hold my hand when I passed over to another land?’

‘No, no!’ I soothed him. ‘I feared death so much that I wanted to save you. The Misty Rose. The herb that made old men young. Don’t you know that this is my name? Gilgamesh: the old man is young. It was my destiny.’

‘Destiny. Fate. What does it mean?’

‘Everything. It’s the herb that makes you immortal. I crossed the country on my horse until I reached the great mountains of Mashu, and the gate that lead through them was guarded by two man-scorpions.’

Lucien’s wet eyes shimmered like cat’s eyes by night; golden saucers that reflected the light. ‘Man-scorpions?’ he asked. ‘Did they harm you?’

I shook my head. ‘Their bodies were hard and slimy at the same time, one was red and the other black. They menaced me with their big stings though. They warned me that no mortal man had ever done what I was to do. But then they opened the gate for me and I walked in total darkness for many miles until I found myself in the garden of the Gods…’ I paused. ‘The memory is still strong, still with me,’ I continued low. ‘After all these thousands of years. I wonder if it is still there, the gems and riches, the meadows and palaces.’

‘It is,’ Lucien whispered. ‘The Gods are still alive, but they fade away because nobody worships them. Nobody speaks about them to preserve their memory. Wouldn’t you fade away when the memory of you was dead? Do you think anybody at Uruk or Babylon remembers your name?’

I bent my head. It didn’t matter. It was not important if my folk remembered me or not. They are not my people anymore. Our Gods are different now.

‘Shamash indeed wore a golden mask,’ I continued. ‘I came across him in his delicious garden by night, for by daylight I couldn’t have stood the glorious brightness. Though he was friendly, he warned me. I wouldn’t find eternal life.

Nevertheless, he told me that across the Ocean an old man lived with his wife in the land of Dilmum, the garden of the sun. It was Shamash’s own country and he had allowed the man to live there. Utnapishtim and his family had been the only ones who survived the Great Flood.’

I laughed quietly. ‘What a nice hotchpotch the book is the Christians call Holy Bible, Lucien. The Great Flood! I had met the man who survived the Great Flood. The Gods made the flood because they were angry with the raucous humans and thus agreed to exterminate mankind. But because the God of Water had pity on Utnapishtim – or Noah – as the Christians call him, he was given warning and so he made a boat and saved himself.’

Lucien smiled.

‘And remember, MY story is older than the Old Testament.’

‘But what happened then, Gil?’

Lucien’s tears were dried. ‘Did you find the herb? The misty rose?’

‘Do I have to tell you? Look at me.’

‘But how? And why haven’t you returned to share it with me?’ Lucien fell silent. He knew the answer for sure.

‘I did. I did return.’

How could I explain? I reached over to the nightstand and refilled our glasses with wine. This time I mingled it with wild honey, stirred it and Lucien took it. I watched his face, pale with feverish, sad eyes. When would he allow me to call him by his right name? Was I allowed to tear him out of his life?

‘Tell me the rest’, he said after a while once he had finished his sip of wine. He motioned for me to lie next to him, then smiled uncertainly. ‘I feel very confused. There are moments when I’m not myself. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am. I can’t be Enkidu for you, although I feel you once were so important to me — the ultimate love of my life. We were so happy, but somebody was always against us . . . I see all those pictures; faded and yellowed and I know they are true.’ His smile now winning out over his confusion. ‘Give me more time to rediscover you.’

I felt as light as a bird. He’d asked me for time! ‘Love, time is what I have in abundance’, I said softly and pulled him close. Nonetheless I was at a loss. How could he deny his life as Lucien and continue a life as Enkidu, the hunter of Mesopotamia side by side with the former king of Uruk, whose history was engraved on 12 stone plates for the afterworld? I felt his pain and confusion deeply.

My fingers stroked the skin over his chest. ‘Do you see them?’

‘The lines? Of course I do. The signs of the Gods. Can you do magic? Do you have these powers, these abilities to make me remember? To set me back in time?’

‘Yes, Love, I do. But I don’t want to use them. You can see the lines on your body, that’s good. It’s a start. I won’t pressure you.’ I pulled him even closer and started to speak softly next to his ear. ‘I loved you the first time I saw you. I knew you were the man equal to me. It was you who taught me to love instead of to fight, you were a great hunter and I had made you weaker and this was my punishment: the endless search for you to offer you my gift.’

I sensed Lucien’s helplessness. ‘Immortality.’ I continued, ‘To live through the ages of the world with you. But before you decide, there is so much for you to weigh. It is a mighty gift and sometime you will feel it as a curse.’

A lock of his hair wrapped around my finger. Oh, how good it felt to be together. It was as if we never had been parted. He was my confidante for my days and my beloved man by night; I never had considered another. ‘My strong, fair Enkidu,’ I whispered. ‘Now, that you are back with me I cannot believe the wonder, the miracle. It’s like a dream I dreamt a million times yet finally, now, the dream remains upon awakening; so vibrant, so real.’ I felt his skin glowing under my hands. Lucien leaned against me in absolute silence though I heard the blood rushing through his veins and the heart beating strongly; the physical process of cells duplicating and the brain working hard to produce pictures of a long forgotten time. And then the miracle happened.

‘The servants were there, waiting at the end of my bed.’ Lucien started to speak in our old language. He painted the words with Sumerian sound and I listened in awe. How long had it been since I’d heard them? ‘Your mother was cooling my hot forehead, I was burning inside. The fever pricked me with thousands of needles; eating me inwardly and the red-golden bird was with me again, circling my head, screeching into my ears: ‘He never returns, he never returns’. It is horrible to die alone. I wanted to tell you that you are forgiven for taking my strength away. There had been though, enough of it left to fight with you, side by side, even if I had lost my friends, the wild animals.’

He moved off a bit from me to look into my eyes. His own shone like the sun-shaped pendant around his neck. Was Shamash showing pity? Furtively I touched it and turned it over. There was engraved the holy wisdom of Shamash: ‘Hudash’ – ‘Live’.

‘I knew I would never see you again when I closed my eyes and drifted away to a colourful land.’ He finished very low. ‘Now it’s for you to tell me the rest.’

I sighed and started to form the letters to the old language we used to speak.

‘Utnapishtim was a still young man, strong and terrible. He told me he would show me the place of the Misty Rose after I had stayed awake for seven days and nights.’ I glanced to Lucien’s face. He seemed to understand me and listened with closed eyes. He lay as peaceful as he might have laid when he had been passing over to the colourful land.

‘But tired as I had been from the journey to Utnaphishtim’s land, I fell asleep instantly and woke up seven days later. As proof of the time passing as I slept, his wife had baked each day a loaf of bread and placed it next to my head. I was terrified, not able to think of anything but failing you! I felt you were getting weaker each day that had passed. And then Utnapishtim showed pity and allowed me to dive into the sea to search for the herb. In the deepest depths of the green water I saw it, swaying, formed like a rose with many stems and long, thin leaves. I plucked it and drove back to the shore. I cupped it in my hands as if it was the most precious of all jewels, for it would make you healthy again and none of the Gods could hinder its power. Then, I tried it, put a bit of it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. And then I was knocked unconscious.

‘I don’t know how long I’d laid there, but my hands still clasped the herb when I awoke. The world had shifted its colours, they were now bright and shimmering. I wondered if I had followed you to the land of no pain and of oblivion, but my senses slowly came to the surface and I could touch and feel again. I clasped the herb into my fist. It smelled like ocean, green and wild and yet a little foul when I breathed its scent. It was like the bitter taste that lingered in my mouth after eating it. I stood, took my clothes and bag and then, the most miraculous thing occurred ñ I heard the dolphins sing. I understood the screeching of the sea gulls. They warned me to make haste, for you were about to pass into the other land.

‘I paused on my journey home only long enough to give myself the time needed to gather my wits. By the time I had reached the Euphrates, I stopped for a quick bath. I didn’t want to feel the pain of losing you.’

‘And then?’ Lucien asked. His gaze rested upon me. Those curious, yet steadfast, round lion’s eyes studied me with resignation. ‘You brought me the herb, but it was too late,’ he said, calmly and without blame.

‘Yes. Though I had almost lost it while I was fighting with a snake. She had eaten a great part of it, and there was just a tiny bit left for you.’ I paused and shuddered at the memory of the snake’s metamorphosis and its hissing. ‘You can not win.. I will follow you.’ She had been right. I had come too late. Ishtar had won in the end. ‘Half-mad I followed the way of the carrier of the corpse to the place of your burial in a crypt. I again came too late. Uruk was painted white. Even the people wore white as sign of their mourning. The greatest hunter had died and the king of Uruk had vanished for good.’ I looked at him. ‘Did you know that you would return someday? Did you know I would wait for you? Our people believed in rebirth. In reincarnation. Did you have faith, Lucien?’

‘Lucien? My name is Enkidu. I was the greatest hunter in all of Mesopotamia.’ He raised his upper body and stared down at me. ‘Of course I had faith. Of course I believe in rebirth. But what took you so long?’

By Anu, what have I started? He looked down on me like an avenging angel of the Christians. Then suddenly his facial expression twisted and I had lost my Enkidu again. ‘Do you still have the herb?’ Lucien asked me in his normal language.

I nodded, not knowing what to do. I found it hard to follow his sudden time-jumps.

‘Have you made all your companions immortal with that?’

‘Not only with the little I had. No. I needed a supply.’

‘Supply? You went again to the land of the ocean and dived into the sea to pluck it?’

I shook my head. It was too complicated to explain. Too supernatural, to fantastic.

Outside the sun dawned. A fresh wind billowed the curtains and the morning birds started their first sleep-drunken songs. The night was over and I was tired to my bones. But Lucien seemed to be more awake than he had ever been. My mental energies were getting weak.

‘I always dreamt about being immortal,’ Lucien said dreamily. ‘What I would be able to do with all the time! When I had nothing to fear, when I could watch for life to develop. Which path humankind would take? What would happen to our planet? Would I be able to see aliens arriving someday? Or the final victory over diseases and hunger? Or the ultimate blow in wars and armament? Would I see the final destruction with hunger and pollution, when there’s nothing left but cockroaches and viruses as the sole inhabitants of this planet? Would I still be alive then?’

‘We are closer to that than ever,’ I said. ‘But it was a long way for me. I told you about the curse. I am immortal, that’s true. But I can die as well. The body is vulnerable.

‘What about AIDS? We haven’t …’

‘It cannot kill me,’ I said softly.

‘Only if you lose your head?’ Lucien suddenly laughed out loud. ‘Like Connor McCloud, the Scottish Highlander!’

I looked confused at him.

‘Don’t you know the film ‘Highlander’!? ‘There can only be one’.’

‘One what?’

‘One survivor. One immortal.’ Lucien said impatiently though his eyes belied real upset.

Did he still think I was pulling his leg?

‘I know you aren’t kidding me,’ he told me softly. ‘I believe you. It’s magic. As you said, when it can happen in movies it can happen in reality. Magic is everywhere, you just have to see and use it. I just don’t know what kind of magic this is.’

‘I’m not a sorcerer,’ I grumbled.

‘Do you know what the prize is?’ Lucien asked me, ignoring my miffed state of mind. ‘The prize for being the last one of your race?’ He paused dramatically. ‘Mortality.’

‘That’s a stupid prize. All the fight would had been in vain then.’

‘But that’s the trick! That’s the philosophical outcome. You fight to be the last of all to receive peace in the end.’ Lucien’s eyes widened as if he just right now realized the meaning of his words. ‘It would mean you are unhappy being immortal.’

I said nothing, but agreed silently with a nod. ‘You are excluded from life,’ I mumbled finally. ‘From friends, from family. You carry your secret deeply within you and struggle all the time that nobody finds out. It’s not exactly pleasant.’

‘But you have money, haven’t you?’

‘I have. In the nineteenth century, I had a large mine for diamonds in South Africa. The diamonds are well saved and if I need money I sell them in Amsterdam. Some of them are bigger than the Koh-i-Noor.’

‘Wow. I should stay with you then.’ Lucien grinned a boyish grin, leaned over me and started to kiss my lips. ‘It was a joke,’ he whispered then. ‘I’m hungry. Another day has started already and we haven’t slept for a single minute.’ He rose from the bed, pulling me with him. As I stood in front of him he ran his hands through my hair, untangling it again. ‘Isn’t it pretty impractical, your long hair? How long do you need to wash and comb it?’

‘I have always someone who helps me.’

‘I thought you had shaved it completely when I died, as our folk does,’ he said seriously in the old language.

Surely I couldn’t bear it. He was jumping from one person into the other without knowing himself. Should I ignore it? Should I help him to find a way out of this schizophrenia?

‘I had no time for that. I left Uruk without anyone noticing me except my mother. I said good bye to her, offering her the herb, but she refused. She must had known the mishap it would bring. She certainly had seen it in her dreams, but she didn’t stop me from leaving. I had eaten the Misty Rose without thinking it over and now it was too late. The only way to stop it would had been to ask someone to cut off my head, but who was to do this?’

‘And jumping from great height? Stabbing yourself? Poisoning yourself?’

I shook my head. ‘My body would heal instantly.’ I enjoyed his hands in my hair and embraced his waist. ‘Come down to the kitchen and I will tell you another story.’

I prepared the coffee machine and he sniffed at the spicy scent. ‘What is it?’ Lucien asked.

I turned, surprised. Who was he right now? Lucien or Enkidu? ‘Coffee,’ I said, ‘the Arabs brought it to Europe. Well, actually it was the Venetian merchants that brought it in the 18th century.’

‘Coffee’, Lucien said pensively. I poured him a cup full, added milk and stirred. ‘We only had tea, do you remember?’

‘Surely.’ He tasted furtively. ‘It’s a funny taste. Bitter and full of aroma.’ He emptied the cup. ‘What is it good for?’

I smiled. He reminded me of the Enkidu new to the civilized world. He had known nothing and I had been his teacher. Why not start all this again? ‘It’s a stimulant for your circulation. It keeps you awake when you are tired. The people drink this usually in the morning or in the afternoon.’

‘Funny.’

When I turned to get some butter and toast Sean stood in the door frame. His arms were folded and he had this new-found, cynical smile on his lips. ‘Good morning,’ he said, looking curiously at Lucien, standing, still only in his pants. His eyes lurked but he said nothing more.

‘Good morning,’ Lucien said cheerfully. ‘Did we meet before?’

Surprised by the question, Sean sat at the kitchen table as Leopold followed and Romeo appeared around the corner. They all helped themselves to coffee and waited for the toast to be finished.

‘Don’t you remember the night before? When Gil picked you up in the bar?’ Romeo asked, chewing a bite of his toast.

Lucien looked puzzled then his face lit up. ‘What’s it like to be immortal?’ he asked.

‘It’s great.’

‘Annoying. ‘

‘Difficult.’

Lucien was confused. ‘Now, what is it?’

‘All of these and more,’ I said, trying to figure out which aspect of him was in front of me, Lucien or Enkidu. Judging from his questions it had to be Lucien. ‘Then you have to tell me what is the great part of it and what the difficult.’

‘Lucien, I told you just now. Loneliness is the most difficult part. And the annoying part is that you have to lie all the time.’

‘And the great part?’

‘The great part is to share it with somebody.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ Sean interrupted me. ‘You can’t share your immortal life. You can never fall in love, except with an immortal too.’ He looked at me. Again I seemed to see the golden abyss in his eyes and I shuddered. My cup dropped to the floor and shattered. He grinned. Romeo rushed to pick up the pieces of pottery. ‘Ouch,’ he cursed and put his finger into his mouth. Blood seeped from the cut and d ribbled from his lips. Lucien took Romeo’s hand and held it under water from the faucet. When he removed it from the stream, the cut healed in front of his eyes with a rapid speed. ‘You see, that’s the fortune,’ Romeo said dryly. ‘Have you told him about the little French boy?’ he asked me.

‘The French boy?’ Lucien asked curious. ‘Was he immortal too?’

I nodded.

‘There was a French boy that he was absolutely in love with, although he knew it wasn’t the man he was searching for,’ Sean said sneering. ‘You see, he betrayed even your dead body.’

‘Sean! What’s that talk about?’ I turned to Lucien. ‘You didn’t think I was living like a monk through all the centuries, surely?’

Lucien looked bewildered.

‘I knew him for so long and he knew my history, about you. Despite all of it he wanted to live with me as long as it took for me to find you. That was the agreement. He was so…. careless though. He thought he couldn’t die and nobody could harm him. He was a daredevil in each place we went, in each war he fought. He became a legend… until the bombs were invented. He died on the battlefields of the river Somme.’

‘How?’

‘He lost his head.’ I thought briefly about this movie ‘Highlander’ that Lucien had mentioned and how fiction can impact reality.

‘Sad. So you are be able to die. And yet you regret your immortal state?’ Lucien asked, looking at Sean. But Sean remained unmoved, nonplussed. I wondered if Leo sensed his different personality too.

‘What did you do with his corpse?’ Lucien wanted to know.

‘I took him to England. That’s where I live. We buried him in the garden of my house.’ I didn’t mention the miracle that happened after the passing of seven years from an immortal’s death.

‘And you?’ Lucien turned to Romeo. ‘How old are you?’

‘Hm.’ Romeo smeared butter ponderously upon his toast, following it with a heap of marmalade. ‘I have forgotten. I lived in Verona.’

‘Verona! But you can’t be THAT Romeo; as far as I know he died.’

Romeo was about to take a bite from his toast and stopped halfway. ‘THAT Romeo?’ he said. ‘I was a contemporary of Shakespeare’s Romeo if that’s what you mean.’

‘So the story is true?’

‘Sure it is. Just the end is wrong. Romeo and Juliet survived and lived in Ferrara. It was a sad story, my cousin told me. In the end they hated each other as much as they once had loved one another.’ Romeo leaned over the table. ‘You see, it was common to marry that young of age as Romeo and Juliet had been, but they forgot how long you have to be together then. Can you imagine being in love with someone for, let’s say, forty years? When you breed one kid after the other, see then half of them dying and in the end there’s nothing left but disappointment, a tired mind and a drained body? You end up in silence or in quarrel and love dies. That’s when I regretted for the first time being immortal. I think Shakespeare knew the troubled end in store and tried to paint a brighter piece. Keep the romance. If you wish to savour the romance, you have to die young.’ Suddenly he laughed then finished his toast in one bite. ‘But do you all remember the time in Florence?’

Sean remained reserved. He was not able to remember. I had met him twenty years ago and he certainly wasn’t immortal then. Leopold joined his laughter. ‘All those randy artists! They picked us up from the streets, undressed us and claimed to be interested in our body parts just for artistic studies!’ He laughed out loud and his little braid hopped. ‘It was really a good time, despite the Holy See in Rome and so. The popes weren’t any better then either. You know,’ he said, turning to Lucien, ‘the real hard times started when the light of knowing flooded the people’s mind — the so-called enlightenment in science. It wasn’t the middle ages when the funeral pyres burned, it was the time after, during the breakthrough in medicine and technique, when the church felt they lost contact. Their revenge was bitter.’

‘You met the Florence artists? The painters and the sculptors? Michelangelo? Raphael? Leonardo?

‘To name a few.’ Romeo chimed in. ‘The real horny ones pale a bit in contemporary memories. I could tell you stories! Orgies with monks in their monasteries; those poor lads had nothing but each other.’

‘I remember the trial Leonardo had to suffer when he was accused of having a love affair with one of his pupils. He was careful afterwards, but we all know what was going on in his studios,’ I said. ‘Do you remember his painting of ‘Holy Sebastian’? Can a man be more effeminate? It’s his self portrait, like everything he painted was a portrait of himself, including Mona Lisa. He just borrowed my long hair.’

Lucien stared at me. I could read his mind, his thoughts swirling uncontrollably, trying to sort out what was truth and what was pure invention. But none of this was invention; we had lived through these ages.

‘You should tell him about the young men’s suicides when they recognized themselves gay and there was nobody accepting them.’ Sean said with stern voice. ‘I’m not talking about the old times. I was raised in an orphanage in Dublin. Do you know what this means? It was a catholic orphanage. I knew I was different right from the start, but there was no one to help. Instead, the nurses punished me when they found me playing with myself under the bed covers. I had to lay naked in their chapel, facing the altar, flagellate myself. I had nothing to eat for days. I ran away to find relief and other equal-minded men in parks and toilets and ended up regularly at the police station. I was forbidden to love while at the same time the priest was allowed to rape little boys for his pleasure.’

Silence filled the kitchen. What should I say to this? I knew his story. I knew the situation hadn’t changed at all.

‘Don’t forget about the young men they left dying in the fields after they had beat them because they were gay. Don’t forget the rules and punishments in Muslim countries and don’t dare to travel there. Don’t forget the subtle humiliation even in this country. We are outsiders and remain outsiders.’

‘Sean. This is not what it is about,’ Leopold said. ‘You can enjoy your immortal life despite your different sexuality. The gloomy days are over, at least here in Europe.’

‘Ireland belongs to Europe!’

Awkwardly, Leopold looked away. ‘We have lived through all this and survived. There’s nothing more we can expect.’

‘How poor.’

Leo took Sean’s arm and guided him out of the kitchen. ‘It’s raining,’ Romeo remarked while looking out of the kitchen window. ‘I’m off.’ Then he turned to Lucien who clutched his mug of coffee. ‘There is so much for you to learn, Lucien. If you get the chance take it. If you have found a companion keep him. The fortunes of being immortal are so much bigger than the misfortunes, believe me.’ He gave me an imploring look and left the kitchen.

I didn’t dare turn now to Lucien although all what I wanted was to take him into my arms. Everything that he had heard must have had frightened him. But then I felt him tugging at the sleeve of my bathrobe. When I looked at him I saw his bright eyes. ‘I know what I am, Gil. May I call you Gil? I know your full name, but don’t you think ‘Gilgamesh’ is a tad too long?’ His eyes twinkled and I nodded. ‘No matter what I have been in the past, I want to change my life. You know…. I’ve felt like a hunter all these years. I’ve looked for someone equal to me, not just those one night lovers I forget all too soon. I’m young, and so are you. I’m old in the mind, and so are you. We are meant for each other.’ He hesitated. ‘Where do you keep the herb? May I see it?’

Silently I beckoned him with me to the living room. Romeo had stirred the embers in the fireplace and we were greeted with a cosy surge of warmth. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing. He was still unprepared. Was I being selfish? I could live with him without him being immortal like me. At least I could try and leave his decision for later.

‘Lucien,’ I started in hesitation, still having already opened the wooden trunk with my key I always carried. ‘I’m not sure about this.’

‘What? The whole night you’ve spent telling me how much you loved and missed me and now that you’ve found me, you aren’t sure?’ he called out playfully. ‘I just want to see it. Please.’

I gave in, felt for the bundle and opened it. A grey-green, dry herb appeared. It still carried the scent of the ocean even though this wasn’t the original. It had grown much later when my supply had been almost used up. Lucien stared at it with glowing, interested eyes. ‘Is this what the snake had left over?’

I shook my head. This story I would save for later. Lucien stepped closer and touched it with his fingertip. It rustled and began to crumble away. ‘The greatest of power can be held in the smallest of things,’ he whispered.

‘It’s a borderline,’ I told him. ‘Once crossed there’s no return. Remember the trouble it would be to die. The burden you would place on someone’s shoulders if it would be your wish to die, for you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. You will live through the ages until the end of the world, with all consequences you can’t foresee right now.’

‘But you are so wise. You are the answer to all my questions. You could be famous. You could claim to be a scientist with great, secret knowledge about all the things humankind has no answers to. I could learn so much from you . . . like I did in the old days, when our love was young.’

‘Your family? Your friends, your boyfriend? How will you explain your young appearance when it’s actually about time for you to be old and grey?’

Lucien shook his head. ‘That’s nothing compared to the possibilities you offer me.’ He touched the amulet around his neck. ‘You forget that Shamash is protecting me.’

Shamash couldn’t protect him from the council of the Gods. He had to adhere to the sentence, so why would his power be still strong enough to protect Lucien now? And was he still there actually? I had renounced all God’s worship, no matter which one of the new Gods it was. I had decided a life without religion was a better life. I was free.

I placed the herb in a bowl that was sitting on the table in the middle of the room. We both stared at it, not knowing what to do. ‘You have time to decide, love. You shouldn’t do it if you are not absolutely sure. What does it matter if you take it now or in ten years? We could settle down to our old life, see if we are happy together.’

My eyes betrayed my words. How could I tell him such stupid things? I had searched the world for him and then I told him I wanted to wait? He wasn’t the only one for me? He wasn’t the one I had saved my heart for?

I stepped to him and took him into a tight embrace. His skin was warm although he seemed frozen. I longed to sleep with him, to savour everything that I had missed for so long. If he desired, we had all the time ahead of us we could want. Literally.

‘I love you,’ I heard him murmuring at my ear. ‘I don’t need ten years. I want to stay with you.’ My hair covered us like a cloak. But then I heard the crackling sound and the silent blow to my guts telling me it was too late. Behind me I heard a sizzling sound, something was burning and it wasn’t the wood in the fire place.

With a jolt I turned, leaving Lucien’s body to stand on its own, and I saw the Misty Rose burning in the bowl upon the table. In a flash it burnt to ashes, leaving me no time to do anything to stop it. I cried out loud and swore an old curse, but it was too late.

Sean was standing in the doorframe, arm stretched out, his finger pointing to the bowl with the cindered, smoking herb. In a violent rage I tried to throw myself upon him, but some invisible barrier blocked my movement. I couldn’t approach him. Before my eyes, Sean’s appearance changed. His face melted into something very ancient. A flame flickered around his legs, licking at his genitals. He was naked. His eyes showed the golden abyss I had seen before, drawing me invitingly, the black hair shimmering like polished ebony, flat to his head, long and fluent.

‘You thought the old Gods are dead because you decided to live without them?’ his voice sounded through the room. I darted a look at Lucien who stood stock still with a slightly opened mouth.

Ishtar laughed and it sounded terrible. How could I have deluded myself indeed, with such naivety?

‘We have lost power this is true. But how can an immortal die? We are always there, although we lost influence. I just needed to wait.’ He stepped slowly closer. It looked at if he was rolling on invisible skates; flames still wavering around his feet. With disgust I watched his member grow to the abnormal and unnatural length I remembered from ages ago. He still hadn’t learned.

‘It was just a matter of time until you found him.’ A look from the glassy- fiery blue eyes touched Lucien. ‘It was easy for me to occupy the body of this Irish man. He has the Irish spirit. He was sad and easy to manipulate without his knowledge.’ I felt the coldness of the flames as he approached me. ‘And you still prefer him to me? This minor hunter’s boy?’ His ringed fingers played with his erect member clearly visible through the silent flames. His eyes lured me, his unmistakable movements tempting my body against my will. I felt something strong tugging at the thoughts in my brain. ‘Surrender’, it whispered, ‘and he will live. Surrender your body, surrender your whole being and he will be saved. Don’t you want it? It is huge. It can give you the most absolute pleasure this world has ever known! And it will be yours. We can live as Gods throughout the millenniums.’ I watched clear drops of his immortal essence trickling off the long shaft, dripping into the fire. ‘It is your choice to save his life.’

Aloud, he said ‘Now is the time for us – you and me, Gilgamesh. I will kill Enkidu’s spirit once and for all time, just like I eradicated the last of the Misty Rose. It is completely withered now, finally. And it is dead also upon the grave. There is no chance you can revive it.’

I felt sick. There was no chance? Was I to choose Ishtar in order to save Lucien’s life? My face contorted in a grimace as I prepared to fling myself upon the flaming god. I would sacrifice myself in an attempt to save that which was most precious of all things.

‘Minor hunter’s boy?’ I heard Lucien’s growl suddenly behind my back, causing me to pause in my action. He moved around the table and approached Ishtar’s glowing body. The God of love and fertility still mighty and powerful and still of a mind to possess me, shifted his eyes to Lucien, but before he could stretch out his arm with its killing power, Lucien threw himself upon him with a mighty cry, similar to a lion’s roar. ‘I am Enkidu, the greatest hunter on earth. You don’t dare to call me other names.’

My cry died in my throat. I was unable to move. Motionless, I could not stop his attack. I had found him and lost him all in one night. There was no way to overpower Ishtar. Petrified, I watched Lucien walk through the cold fire front, and saw Lucien attack Ishtar’s body, nails bent to claws, his golden hair bristling and catching fire. He bared his teeth, ready to tear the God’s throat, but still I had no hope. The moment Ishtar would stretch out his finger and use his power, Lucien would die. A fire wall blinded my sight and there was nothing I could do except to stare and pray and wait for the end.

A lightning bolt shot through the glare caused by the flames. I saw the brief flash from the little, golden plate, then the fire parted and I could see again. Shamash’s amulet had pressed itself upon Ishtar’s forehead as the two writhing figures lay entangled upon the ground. It gave a hissing sound and a thin wisp of smoke appeared. Ishtar’s body jerked and he let out a last curse then lay still. As Lucien rose to his feet, I saw the words ‘Ishari’ – Die – burnt into Ishtar’s forehead.

Released, I fell to my knees. All power had left me and I felt weak like a baby. Finding my voice again, I sobbed. Lucien stood though and stared at the scene below him. The God Ishtar’s body started to smoke and crumble, then it stood in fire and when the fume vanished Sean’s trembling body was left lying there, eyes closed, unscathed outwardly yet seared internally from the inferno that was Ishtar. The body clearly was on the brink of death.

His lips moved weakly. ‘. . . touched me with . . . power,’ I heard. ‘Bury me . . . you will . . . live.’ And then, he was no more.

Lucien kneeled down to stroke his head and his tears dropped onto Sean’s face. ‘He was so sad,’ he whispered. ‘Now we know why.’

Slowly I felt the power streaming again through my body. What had happened? Was Ishtar really dead. The undying one? Had Shamash, the God of Life, spoken a last mighty word to save us? But the herb was lost and there was no supply. I had lost Enkidu for ever. I had to let him go.

Softly, very softly, I felt a touch in my hair. ‘Get up, Gil. It’s over’, Lucien said. ‘He said we need to bury him and we would live. What does he mean?’

‘I don’t know.’ I rose and wiped my face. Calmer now, I said ‘The dream is over, love. If you want to go I won’t stop you.’

‘It was magic,’ Lucien said. ‘I fought for us, like we always had done. You fought for me and I fought for you. We can do this from now on, together.’

I shook him. ‘But don’t you understand? The herb is gone. You can’t become immortal.’

There was a tiny moment of sadness, but the next minute Lucien’s eyes were bright as ever. I saw the Ibis upon his shoulder and the lines snaking up his underarms. ‘I’m Enkidu for you as long as I live. If you can bear for me to grow old, perhaps there is a chance for you to end your life with me.’

Yes. I saw it clearly. I was tired of living alone. I was tired of living without an end. Was there a better prospect than dying together after a life full of love and trust?

I took his hand. Together we looked at Sean’s dead body. In death, he looked more peaceful than he had ever looked in life. I sent a prayer to Shamash and Anu, wherever they would watch. Lucien’s amulet was mangled and scorched. He tugged at it until the thin chain ripped and placed it upon Sean’s chest. ‘We need to bury him.’

* Leopold and Romeo were with us when we departed to England, Sean’s corpse with us in a coffin. There, in the garden of my house at Cornwall, we buried him under a white blooming rhododendron bush next to my boy from France. His grave had been destroyed. The remains of the growing herb were withered and burnt. Ishtar’s revenge had been complete.

But I had no time for mourning. Lucien accompanied me for a long travel through several continents. I initiated him into the secrets of life, the mysteries of history, and guided him to unknown places nobody will ever find except for us. We shared the secrets like two consecrated beings. No one ever knew what happened in the house in Vienna, when magic was close and alive.

EPILOGUE

It was the seventh year since Sean’s death. I urged Enkidu to return home, giving in to my silent hopes. At one point in our travels, the mystery of Sean’s final words became clear to me. Though it wasn’t possible, was it? Sean had been mortal as he had ever been, just the possessing of his body by Ishtar had made him appear as if he would have ancient knowledge and power. Sean had been wrong. Ishtar’s power had not transferred to his body when he was dying.

Enkidu couldn’t understand what I was waiting for. We still had the silent agreement to end our lives when it was the right time. And Sean’s grave was bare of the Misty Rose when we arrived. I kept my secret to myself. The old man from the sea had told me once that the herb that makes men immortal would grow after seven years upon the grave of an immortal. Was there still hope?

I had modelled our bedroom after the one we had in Uruk. Furs upon the large bed and candelabras beside and bowls made of alabaster from which scented mist wavered around. I held him when he was moving gently within me, remembering his strength and staying power he had gained again year after year. He still was biting softly my neck, whispering words of love and I laughed silently. There was nothing to fear for us.

My first look the next morning was to Sean’s grave. And there, a tender shimmer of first green had appeared. The Misty Rose.

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