Excavating a Pyramid. 7
By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to bldhrymn@aol.com
I planned to have weeks of filing reports and trying to make sense of the site and its history. That was not to be. I fell and broke my right leg. The doctors told me that saying that I broke my leg, was like claiming an amputation was a scratch. I was flown to Philadelphia for major surgery which was to be followed by an extended period of physical therapy. I was placed in a nursing home for rehab.
Back at the excavation, Gilbert became the Director, with Mud and Olivia as his assistants. I had a few brief moments when I worried, they might screw up without my guiding hand. Of course, they did very well, and the work progressed at brisk pace.
The nursing home had a male therapist, Marty. He was strong and demanding. He also was smart, and he always explained what he was doing and why I needed it. At least I was treated as an adult. My parents came to see me, and that was good. They had been unhappy I hadn't gone to work at Dad's hardware store and take over the business. When there was an article in the National Geographic, they were finally okay with me. My sister's husband was running the store now and that was a total success.
Of course, media coverage of excavations shows none of the daily drudgery and does not focus on the sweltering heat of central America, or the wind and rain of Scotland. I had a job I loved. Jobs you don't like are drudgery
Marty never sugar coated anything. I knew my physical condition. No one directly told my field days were over. I had trouble walking, bending over, and kneeling. I figured if they found a site in a temperate climate that was level, without trip hazards and where all the finds were at desk height, I could run it. I became a senior advisor for expeditions and field work.
An old high school friend, Grover, lived in Philly and he visited me. He was a successful financial advisor to wealthy people. We discovered gay sex together as teen-agers. He had followed my career too. He said his house was quiet, and large and asked if I would like to stay there. I said that was too much trouble. Grover said he had a chauffeur, a house boy, and a gardener so there were people who could help me. I realized Grover was a few steps higher on the wealth ladder than well off. I wasn't sure about it, but Grover was. I moved to his house and Marty made house calls.
The house had an elaborate computer set up, so I could have face-to-face conversations with Gilbert, Mud and Olivia. That was good for the excavation but better for me. I felt involved again.
It turned out that Grover's staff members were also playmates and were available for recreational activities. I think my pain medications must had dulled my senses. I knew Marty was gay, but I hadn't realized he connected with the house staff.
I had also not realized I was there for a purpose. The chauffeur, Edgar; the cook, Louie; and the gardener, Max, were recovering drug addicts with sex obsessions. They liked gay sex. The recovery was not complete. They no longer needed four to five sexual interludes a day to be happy. Remarkably, they avoided the fatal sexual diseases.
Grover helped them when they were down and out. You would think that Grover would be a good role model, but business and finance were not their thing. I had an interesting life of adventure and travel. Grover hoped I would be inspirational.
I couldn't drive. Apparently, some nerves in my leg misfired periodically. Once and a while, my leg would not work for 30-40 seconds. That made driving problematic. Edgar was a god send.
Grover said that everything from my cock up was in perfect working condition. I complained I wanted my leg to work. Grover was a realist. "Just remember you can't blow a leg and legs don't have orgasms," he said. Grover had a special friend, Dominic. He was a seventy-year-old lawyer. He was near the top tier of the lawyer food chain, so everything was private. Dominic was not in particularly good health, and he worried Grover might be lonely when he died. I was to keep him happy. I didn't think that would be a problem, but it was a nice thought.
I had contributed a lot to the reports of the excavations I had worked on. Scholarly reports and studies aren't readable by public. They tend to be like doctoral dissertations which are expected to be unreadable. I thought I would try to write an accessible account of the excavations and discoveries. All I needed for that was a computer and an internet connection.
Edgar the chauffeur, was an English major who went off the rails on his way to a PhD. He went way off the rails, but he was helpful. He told me he was surprised that a major drug problem didn't affect his sense of literary style. Serious addictions leave physical signs on the body. I think Edgar had been good looking, he now looked used. Edgar was a good editor, and he seemed to recall the skills that got him into graduate school. He was a good researcher and exceptionally precise.
His drug addictions had diminished his sexual functioning. Edgar was attracted to Marty, but a non-functioning cock was a problem for Marty. Unexpectedly, Edgar's cock recalled how to get erect with his renewed interest in English. I was nice to Edgar and his work as an editor was a huge boon to his self-esteem. That same boost encouraged his cock.
Once I was off pain killers my cock became fully functional. Marty knew my injured body well, but he wouldn't have sex with a patient. Marty thought returning to regular sex was good for a patient, but he had bad experiences when a patient became overly attached to him.
Marty wasn't sure how to have sex without injuring my leg. Had it been amputated; sex would be fine. You can't hurt a missing leg. My leg was attached but fragile. Some of the bones were slightly askew, and some of the nerves followed unusual paths.
Marty had some long talks with Grover about my sexual likes and needs. One solution was a sling. Being strapped into a sling, wasn't the most romantic or affectionate way to have sex, but it exerted almost no stress on my body. Grover went whole hog on the sling idea. He had a furniture maker create a chair that could convert from being a conventional chair into a sling with seemingly minor adjustments.
It easily converted from being an armchair into a recliner and with a few more adjustments into a sling. I got stiff when I was in a position for a long period, I could pull on the arms and adjust my position. I was supposed to exercise and walk some, but not too much. Some of the was to slowly rebuild my muscle structure, but some was phycological. I need to get comfortable walking again.
During the day Edgar was working near me. He was checking facts and the correct documentary citations. He also helped me get up and get to the kitchen to eat and into the bathroom. I thought I was doing well, but I think Edgar and Marty had a lot to do with that.
Marty was a good researcher, and that was helpful. I soon treated him as an associate not as an aging drug addict. That made a big difference in his life.
I began by reviewing work at the Roman Temple complex at Gustem Hall. I was clear that the sacred spring was ancient and pre-Roman. The early Britons saw the spring's periodic eruptions, either as the earth having an orgasm, or it was an evocation of an orgasm. To most early cultures orgasms were characteristics of males. To the Romans it was the seed that grew in a womb to become a child.
The fragility of women's lives played an important role in early mankind's view of women. Men don't die because of an orgasm. Fatherhood was a sign of virility and strength. While older women could be high status, getting to attached to a fragile younger woman was unwise.
The Romans turned the British male fertility gods into a Roman cult by associating it with the Emperor Augustus. Augustus had a single child, and thus was not a poster boy for fatherhood. Since the people pf Britain had no first-hand information about Augustus, there would have been no problem with his merger with the local, fertility god.
From the excavation we had inscriptions, prayers and thank you notes of the afflicted. Remarkably were also had drawings of the rituals. Some were schematic and crude. Others were well executed and detailed. To the modern eye most were obscene. To the Romans they were sacred how-to illustrations. Edgar liked the subject matter and the illustrations.
Edgar noticed that the therapy for sterility and modern gay sex were identical. All the participants in the rites were male. I suspected that since most marriages had a financial component, that a successful ejaculation into a plain old woman caused confusion. When a man shoot's off into another man's mouth or ass there were no financial problems. No one became pregnant by accident.
While most of the images of sex between men were expected, a few were more complicated. Edgar said he would like to try them out. He offered to try some reenactments. Of course, a reenactment was identical to a normal homosexual interlude.
I am a normal gay guy who is no longer young. I like Edgar but wasn't attracted to him. I was attracted to Marty, but he wouldn't consider sex with a patient. I assumed I had outgrown the urge to have sex with anyone had vanished as I aged. That wasn't at all true.
Somehow, I was in my chair in its sling like position with Edgar getting ready to work his well lubricated cock into my ass. Edgar had a popsicle type cock with a large knob on a long, thin shaft. Edgar pushed and my ass opened to welcome it. He moaned as it slid deep into me.
I felt like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Every thing was beautiful. My sphincter opened to greet the cock as it pushed past my prostate and went deep. I moaned in pure satisfaction.
"Damn, I forgot what a tight hole feels like," Edgar said.
"Lots of fond memories?" I asked.
"If I told you my memories are foggy, would you be surprised?" he asked. I shook my head and squeezed my sphincter.
Edgar moaned again. "Fucking a guy when you are sober is a trip," he said. "Do you take loads? I'm tested and clean." By the time he said clean, he had begun to squirt. It was a massive load and Edgar was almost crying when he pulled out.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I had almost forgotten what it is like," he said. "It was beautiful, was it okay for you?"
"I've been in hospitals and nursing home under heavy medication for months. You were great," I said.
Edgar converted the sling into a chair and went off. He said his head was still spinning. I dozed off a little while.
I was awake when Max came in the room. He had been a muscle-bound tribute to steroids. After a near death experience, he was now just a well-muscled guy. He rarely wore a shirt. He had stopped shaving his body and his Greek ancestry expressed itself as a hairy chest and treasure trail.
"Edgar told me what his did," he said. "Are you okay? Grover would kill us if we hurt you."
I smiled. "I'm afraid that is would be very unlikely that a cock in the ass would be a problem for me," I said. "I do have a limit. No more than five guys have fucked me without a break."
"My limit is seven, or at least I think it was seven," he replied. "My mind is foggy about the exact number."
"Were they nice guys?" I asked.
"One was," Max said. "The rest were into winning the award for the fastest time between shoving their cock into me and shooting off. Somehow I seemed to think they were friends."
"Are they still friends?" I asked.
"Maybe it's no surprise to you that none of them turned out to be friends," he replied.
I knew what he wanted. I already had Edgar's load in me. An odd thought popped into my mind. Somehow, I thought Edgar's sperm was lonely and needed company. I wondered if one of my pain killing drugs made a return visit.
Five minutes later I discovered that Max's steroid addition did not cause his genitals to shrink. It was a near perfect fit. He was not too big or too small. Max didn't show emotion and I was afraid that was a mental condition. Apparently, his cock was the on switch for his emotions. He was joyfully fucking me. It was joy, not a manic episode. After fifteen minutes he shot off. He left and returned to the garden.
A half hour later Louie, the cook brought me some cookies and a drink. Louie was Italian, had the shape and grace of a brick, a hairy brick. He was friendly and rather jolly.
"I hope you have had a pleasurable day," he said.
"Have you been talking with Edgar and Max?" I asked.
"I had a little talk with them," Louie said.
I smiled. "Would you like to add to my pleasure?" I asked.
Louie was wearing light weight shorts. He was already erect. I was only wearing shorts. Putting on long pants was a two-man operation. I converted the chair into a sling again. Louie was already naked.
Louie had a fireplug type cock thick and blunt, a real ass stretcher. It stretched my ass as far as it could. He used my prostate as a punching bag and the popped. It seemed as of half of his body weight was in sperm.
The next day, when Marty came for therapy, he was annoyed. He gave me a complete check-up and then we did our normal exercises. He grudgingly admitted I was more limber than usual. It was a good day for me. The next day I had to get fully dressed for an interview.
The interview was with a journalist from a learned journal. She was a negative and bitter woman. It took a while to figure out the problem. She was the sister of a man who was rejected leadership on the Gustem site. I told her I was there accidentally. I was an assistant when the person who was intended for the head position decided against it. I had no idea what the problem had been.
It turned out that the man I replaced told her that he had been forced out. I replace her brother who fell into a despondency and killed himself. I had nothing to do with the situation. The entire interview was a total waste of time.
When I walked back to my room my leg gave out and I fell. Louie was near, he yelled for help and then got to me quickly. Max and Edgar were there seconds later. Max called Marty on his cell phone. I was in my bedroom by the time Marty arrived. After a quick exam Marty found no problems. My troublesome nerve acted up and failed. Marty had a heart to heart with Grover.
I was back working the next day. The rituals seemed to have three tiers. They were based on the level of impotence, and the size of the offering. The Romans would have thought this was perfectly correct. You had to make an offering to please the god or spirit. Naturally the god would be more pleased by a bigger offering. The Christian god's willingness to help the poor was too silly to consider.
For the first tier, you would be sprinkled with spring water, and the priest, or his acolyte, would kiss the tip of your cock. You walked through the water in the second tier after having an acolyte wash your feet. Then an acolyte would wash your genitals then he, or a priest would massage your cock with his mouth. If your offering was large enough, he would caress the underside of the cock.
In the third tier, you would walk deeper into the pool up to your navel. You would then go to the priest's pavilion, and he would massage your ass with his cock. If your offering was larger, he would seed you. If you were exceptionally blessed, the priest might have a spontaneous orgasm.
Edgar thought that if your impotence problem was psychological, these rituals could work. If you had a taste for men, they would be enjoyable and, you could claim you did all you could do to your wife.
I wondered how many men a priest could fuck in a day. I though a priest would get tired lose interest. I knew that there were three priest in a pavilion, so I assumed they alternated.
Edgar told me he had some experience with overactive sexual urges. "I can tell you I never lost interest," he said.
"What was your recharge time?" I asked.
"I don't really know," he answered. "I think it might have varied due to the drugs I was taking at the time."
"Did you get emotionally involved?" I asked.
"I didn't care who I fucked or what he looked like," Edgar admitted. "I fucked doggy style and if you've seen one ass, you've seen all of them."
"How in hell did you survive?" I asked.
"The doctors said it was a miracle. I was out of it most of the time," he said. "I would be willing to time it, if you would like to try."
"Is this your scientific interests coming to the fore?" I asked.
"Damn, your ass was good. I want to do it again," he said. "It's a poor answer, but it's part of my effort to tell the truth. Is there any chance you would like to do an experiment? You noticed Max and Louie had a good time the other day"
"I had a good time too," I replied. "What sort of an experiment?"
"Well, there were three priests in the Pavilions. I was thinking we might be able to figure out the number of men they could serve," he said. "The boys are interested. It depends on your stamina."
I said I would think about it. Grover was away for several days on a business trip. Marty was off for his parents 30th wedding anniversary. They lived in California. He would be away for a week.
I don't think of myself as a slut. I knew the experiment was just to give Edgar, Louie, and Max a chance to get back into my ass. It was just a cheap trick.
Later that afternoon I realized it didn't care. Cheap tricks or pretend experiments did not bother me one bit. I was willing to know how much I could take. I also wondered if I could completely drain their balls before my ass was too sore. I told Edgar I was willing to try it the next day.
An hour later Max came to see me. "Edgar told me we are on for tomorrow," he said. "Is this supposed to be a real experiment or is it plain old sex?"
"I guess it could be either, but I was hoping it would be pure sex," I said.
Max smiled and said, "I was hoping that was what you wanted."
I wasn't sure what I was getting into. I was curious and knew if it didn't turn out well, we could end it.
The next day was overcast and rain threatened. It was a good day to stay in. I had a call from Marty to make sure I had no problems. I said I was fine. Edgar, Max, Louie, and I gathered in my room after breakfast. We stripped as we discussed the rituals. We knew from the graffiti; the priests and the supplicants were all nude. The priests were erect. The supplicants were naked and soft. Some bent over to expose their asses.
Edgar was first in line. He coated his cock in lube, as Max sucked me. I was a bit tight, but Edgar knew how to open a tight ass. Louie seemed to like watching Edgar thrusting his cock into me.
It took a while for Edgar to shoot off. He pulled out and I had a little rest period. Louie was the next man in line. I noticed he seemed to like using Edgar's cum for lubricant. When he shot off, I had a rest period and then Max assumed the position.
When Max slipped his cock into me, I had a feeling he had never fucked a cum filled ass before and he liked what he was feeling. Max took his time. That was good for him and for me. Eventually, his sperm tickled my ass. He took some extra time, but that was fine, a cock can't help but feel. Sometimes a Roman priest must have encountered a particularly good and enjoyable ass.
Almost an hour later, Edgar returned for a second session. He reentered my ass and was still hard, but not quite as vigorous. He shot off and a half hour later Louie returned. He didn't return to fuck me. He wanted to suck me. That was a nice thought. I didn't think I would shoot off, but my cock made friends with Louie's mouth. I thought my cock just made friends, but it was more intense than that. Louie greatly enjoyed eating my cum. Louie left as Max entered. The experiment was a success.