Excavation at Gustem Hall 4
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@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
As Kenneth had his party at an upscale hotel, I had planned a little party at Gustem Hall with Nigel. He was called back to London to work on a news segment on the excavation. That night I ran into Mark and Bunny and we had a little romp. They weren't generally considered to be handsome or attractive men, and their personalities were difficult. They saw me as desirable.
Mark knew I was open minded about sex and sexual partners. I am afraid that given a choice between sex with unattractive men and no sex at all, I tend to go for the men. I was revved up to play with Nigel, and I seemed to think that it could only be so bad.
We all had a great time. I think we all went into it with low expectations. Mark and Bunny were more of the Miss Congeniality type than the beauty queens. They weren't that congenial anyway.
I think that men tend to put a high value on willingness. Bunny liked any sex that wasn't overtly nasty. Mark was used to being insulted and rejected. I am polite regardless of the situation. Bunny's ass was wide open, and my cock slipped in deep. He then tightened his sphincter and we had an erotic battle in the confines of his ass.
Bunny had remarkable stamina and Mark and I took turns fucking him. Bunny loved it and Mark liked it too. Mark shot off and was pleased when it was clear that I liked sloppy seconds. I was surprised that using Mark's sperm as lube was a turn on. My cock discovered that first and my brain followed its lead. Mark had a short recharge time, and little later his cock was using my prostate for target practice.
Mark shot off in my ass. I pulled out of Bunny's hole and sat on his erect cock. Bunny had a spectacular orgasm that tickled my ass. We broke apart and a little later I shot off in Mark. It wasn't mind-bending sex, but I was enjoyable, seven or eight on a ten-point scale.
Bunny told me later that he bottomed a lot, mostly because that was the only way a guy would have sex with him. It was rare when he enjoyed it as much as the top. Bunny liked his job recording Mark's notes and cataloging. This was the first time he had any job that was important. He was a little cog in the expedition staff, but everyone knew of it and his family even seemed to be impressed he was associated with anything worthwhile.
I had recently discovered that Bunny had a useful skill. His time at Oxford was spent studying Latin. That is useless except for teaching and Bunny would have been a stunningly bad teacher. He could copy the Latin inscriptions and then arrange them in the right order most of the time. That saved a great amount of time and effort for me. His Latin skills combined with his tight ass began to change my impression of him.
I went to work on the spring site the next week. The area was covered in thick vegetation which was now mostly cleared. I noticed that while the growth had been dense and formed a thicket, it wasn't tall like surrounding areas. I wondered if there was something like a pavement below that stunted growth.
I assumed the spring was the terminus of a processional way from the temple and shrines below. I assumed there was a gathering place at the spring, and perhaps a shrine so I looked to the rear of the spring for a shrine. That would be the best place to view it as it framed the spring. Romans were partial to impressive architectural frames.
The media thought I was an archaeologist genius, who had a nose for major discoveries. I knew I was just incredibly lucky. I discovered the foundation of a small circular shrine, about ten feet is diameter. Five feet behind it were six marble slabs. The marble was a higher quality stone than the other inscribed stones. We raised one slab and found a void and what looked like a skull. It seemed to be a tomb.
That was 100% wrong. The void didn't hold a body; it was a sculpture. The walls of the rectangular void were marble, but it encased a perfectly preserved cult statue. I assume it was the god that cured male infertility. At first, I thought it was a satyr. These were mythical man-goat creatures that were perpetually erect. The man and goat parts met at the oversized penis.
When I looked at the head, it looked like the Greenman from Celtic legend. Instead of hair, the figure's hair, beard and pubic are were leaves. There was no need for deep or intense speculation about the statue. It represented a merger of classical and Celtic traditions to form a male fertility figure. Remarkably, the oversize cock was intact and still attached to the body. Normal wear and tear combined with Christianity usually removed the offending organ.
The figure was five feet six, about the size of a modern man. It would have been the size of a tallish normal man in the Roman period. The burial chamber was complete and later analysis indicated the statue was buried with flowers and herbs. Later analysis found 1,500-year-old dried sperm. That indicated that chamber was not intended for a human. The Green Man god was buried with full honors and a sperm bath.
Modern technology is wonderful. The flowers and herbs dated from 515 to 520 AD. That would have been after St. Patrick's reintroduction of Christianity to Britain. Obviously, the Green Man worship was still common. There had been a clay cap over the marble. This was burned. I thought that indicated a violent end to the shrine. Later analysis indicated burnt offerings were made on the clay. This eventually formed brick like top that sealed the statue. While the Green Man was Celtic, the sculpting was Roman or Greek, and much older than the burial chamber.
We now had two, major sculptures. A new god, complete with shrine, offerings, images, and a written explanation of the rudiments of the cult. All of this had been entirely unknown two years earlier. Since I was located away from the major urban centers such as London and York, this may have given a truer view of life in Britain in Roman and Post-Roman times.
I did my best to keep away from the media. I sort of liked the media attention, but the finds were so spectacular, and time spent with the press seemed like a waste of time. I became "Calvin Miller, the brilliant, but reclusive archaeologist." Skippy Jones was a media magnet. Skippy was intelligent and knowledgeable, had a spectacular South Philly accent, was pleased as punch to be involved in the expedition and down home. When someone said he was humble, he replied that he had a lot to be humble about.
Townsend Price's television special was growing into a series. His plan was to launch himself as the new star of the BBC upscale programing. He wanted to be the new Kenneth Clarke or David Attenborough. Nigel was going to be the top photographer in the cultural and scientific parts of the BBC. Townsend was pushy with the BBC but deferred to the scientists.
Two days after we discovered the Green Man, we encountered bad weather with drenching rains and high winds for four days. We had bad weather the winter before so most of the site was protected but the field guys had little to do. A rain induced lull is not that bad for people who had been doing heavy or delicate work. Trying to excavate and conserve a 1,600-year-old object nerve wracking. If you make a mistake the object may be ruined. Down time is good.
Nigel had the same problem. I take pictures to record what I am finding. Nigel want to take a picture that perfectly captured the objects appearance and was beautiful. He saw scientific illustration is the same way the fashion photographers treat their models. Nigel did not believe in touching up a photo, it had to be right.
I had spent most of the night working on a difficult translation of a Latin passage discussing a complicated sex act. I think the act involve being tied up and suspended from above, impaled on a cock and being twirled around until the man who possessed the cock shot off. You were then to eat the cum that drooled from your ass. it was a complex translation. There were several verbs I had never encountered before.
I went to bed at four in the morning and work up a ten. I found Nigel and Hank in the shower. They were in what some might have thought was a comprising position. I like sex, but I don't fantasize about sex. I don't hear wedding bells ringing in my ears. "Do you guys have any sperm to spare?" I asked. I love the refined, elegant approach.
Hank, not to be out done in the witty repartee department told Nigel, "Calvin has a prehensile asshole. It's a trip if you are into that."
"Calvin, I have no control over my orgasms. You might end up taking my load whether you want it or not," Nigel added.
I replied, "Be still my heart."
"If you like sperm deeper in your ass, I be glad to shove it in deeper after he shoots off," Hank said. That conversation seemed to establish that I was not with two innocent virgins. I couldn't remember why virginity was valued anyway. Nigel had a nice thin, long cock. Somehow, I hadn't noticed it had an unusual curve. It surprised me and my prostate.
In theory, I like to play the strong silent type. I seemed to be moaning in appreciation as Nigel explored my ass. As in all things, Nigel explored my ass thoroughly and with gusto. I think he was searching for the perfect place to make his deposit.
"Calvin, I don't shoot off in just anybody. I'd love to christen you," he whispered. "Hank wants to do you too. Are two loads too much?"
He was shooting off before I was able to say I would love several loads. Nigel pulled out and I don't think my ass had a chance to close before Hank was in me.
"Damn, I was planning to seed you Nigel, but your cum is giving my cock a nice tingle," Hank said. "Are you okay Calvin? I'm planning to spend some time enjoying the sensations." I moaned a yes. He shot off in me about ten minutes later and Nigel returned to fuck me. With two loads of cum in my ass I didn't need any lubricant.
Nigel seemed mellow and at ease this time. I'm not sure that taking a cock in the ass can be lyrical, but it seemed that way to me. I had the feeling it felt that way to him too. I'm not sure how long it took him to shoot off the second time, but it was full scale orgasm. I felt him shooting and I fell asleep. When I woke the next morning, Hank was in me, gently massaging my ass. Sun was shining in the window. Hank shot off and we dressed, had breakfast, and went to the site.
The rain exposed new artifacts. On a normal excavation, these would be major finds. Anything short of the Ten Commandments tablets was minor on our site. There were a few terra-cotta tablets inscribed with prayers for help. These tablets were well made and professionally inscribed. Some were marked on the back by their makers. I assumed a handsome inscription would impress the god more than the homemade tablets we found earlier.
That made sense to me, Celtic-Roman men might see it differently. That afternoon excavators found a marble price list. Marcus, a Scribe and Priest, would inscribe prayers using "the words favored by the God. The words were so pleasing, that hundreds had been cured." Marcus also did tombstones and mausoleum inscriptions. Most of the price list was lost, but silver coins were required.
As we dug, we found over 100 of these tablets. They were buried in an orderly way and were in good condition. I realized they had been purposely buried near the spring. The tablets we found earlier had been thrown into the stream. The newly discovered tablets near the spring were in the high-rent district of the site. It was possible that the spring's spurting waters were a god or spirit. The spurting may have been the god's orgasms.
Our sculpture required little cleaning compared to most objects which were encrusted in dirt. It seemed to me the head was of a British-Celtic deity grafted on a Greek style sculpture. Celtic images tended to be crude or abstracted linear designs. I assumed it was imported, and Gustavo confirmed that. As is the way with obsessive archaeologists, he knew the quarry.
He also explained the sculpture must have been expensive. Many of the sculpture studios produced copies of great works, and many were cult figures of the major gods. The sculptures were not exactly mass produced, but they were standardized. Gods and emperors were the most common. They were known to produce replacement heads. A dead or deposed emperor's statue might be beheaded, and the head replaced by the new emperor.
A custom design like our statue was rare and thus expensive. I wonder how many marble cocks survived on Classical statues from antiquity. The break off easily and those that survived were castrated to avoid Christians.
We also found a pedestal and a raised area in the middle of the shrine the right size for the pedestal and the statue. We moved the pedestal back and re-erected the statue. Nigel spent the entire day photographing it. He wanted to see how it looked with the sun's daily movement. He also was able to catch the spring when it spurted with the statue in the background. We now had a Roman cult figure in its original positions of 1,500 years earlier. We were well on the way to revealing the entire cult complex.
That night at the Gustem Hall we had a surprise guest, Skippy Jones the benefactor. He was interested in the old house. I had met him a few times before, but he had been working on the dig site and was wearing mud-covered work clothes. He seemed bigger than when he was wearing a suit and tie. Kenneth was in London, and Jones was using his bedroom, so we shared the shower.
Suits and ties are designed to flatter older, out-of-shape men. Skippy always looked like he had picked up a suite at a charity shop and the suit didn't fit. He was one of the few older men I have seen who looked better naked than dressed. He wasn't handsome, but he was big, muscular and in good shape. He looked like the men playing a naughty Santa in Christmas porn video. His was bald with a trimmed white beard, but nothing was trimmed below his neck. He was a ginger, but the hair was turning white for top to bottom.
He had a nice cock that became nicer as we talked and showered. His wife had died a year earlier after a long illness. I had a feeling his cock hadn't been shared with anyone in a while. I noticed his semi erect cock and he said he was sorry about that adding he hadn't been naked with guys in a while. He stroked it. I dropped to my knees and sucked it.
Skippy moaned. "You shouldn't do that," he said.
"I'm just helping a man in need," I said. His cock looked stumpy but average. It grew into a fat, uncut, six inches.
"I have a short fuse," Skippy whispered. I knew that wasn't the same as telling me to stop. We turned off the shower, dried off, and went to my bedroom. The lull in the activity gave Skippy a chance to get his cock under control. I returned to sucking him and soon was savoring his precum.
After about ten minutes, he asked me, "What am I supposed to do for you? Should I suck you too?"
"You do what you want to do. I'm fine as is. It's up to you," I said.
"Could were take a little break? My head is spinning. It's been a long time," he said.
Skippy told me he had some good experiences with men in college, but when he met his wife, that was all over. He fell head-over-heels with his future wife and stayed in love with her until she died. "This may sound stupid but getting together with another woman seems like I am cheating on her. This is okay. Does that offend you?"
"If I told you I just like to suck cocks, does that bother you?" I asked. He laughed and I sucked him again. A little later we switched and sixty-nined. It was clear that he had no problem with that and that he might have more experience sucking cock than he intimates. Eventually he told he had had liked fucking years ago. He rolled on his back and I sat on his fuck tool.
I rested a little when his knob reached my sphincter. His big knob was made me feel I was sitting on a toadstool. I relaxed and his cock popped through. I felt his cock head rub my prostate and then slide deep; his shaft tapered at the head and at the base, but the thickest part of his cock lodged next to my prostate. I loved being stretched wide, but the pressure on my prostate was continuous and exciting.
They say you never forget how to ride a bike. The same seemed to apply to fucking. Skippy was into it. He moaned. "I don't remember it being this good," he said. "Guys said I was too thick." I was bouncing on his tool and all was well. After five minutes he said he was going to shoot and asked if I wanted to get off. I didn't say anything. A little later I sensed he had lost control. He tensed his body and I could almost feel his sperm leave his balls and race into his cock.
I could feel him squirting; each ejaculation was distinct and pleasurable for me. even after the strong spurts I stayed impaled on his cock. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?" he asked.
"It was good, but to tell you the truth Skippy, I don't think it came close to being as good as it was for you," I said. He laughed. Skippy was a happy man. We showered again, dressed, and went to dinner.
Hank, Georgy, Nigel, Trevor, Mark, and Bunny were in the dining room. Loring produced an excellent dinner and, as always, there was fine wine. Jones was a jolly man, with a great sense of humor so the conversation was fun.