[This is a tale of youth by Bertram. Though set in a historical period with reference to historical settings, events and persons, all the characters are fictional.]
My Journey to Tubingen (January 1699)
Growing up, my major job had been to study and learn, but also to take care of many chores that supported our daily life for Papa and me. Taking the trio of cows to pasture, herding them back, keeping them clean and milking them was routine. I fed the chickens and ducks, gathered eggs, sold the surplus poultry, and did most of the food shopping. I learned to cook too. We had a housekeeper, but it was I who got the ladder to wash windows and in winter scooped the snow from the door. And I kept the garden.
When I was sixteen, Papa, who not only had raised me single-handedly, the woman who bore me having died, but also taught me all I know both in mind and body, thought it was time for me to be out on my own and sent me away to university. I held my tears from him, already missing his care, teaching, love, and bed.
'You take my love with you always,' he said and kissed me one last time. 'I trust you have learned good will from me and will share that love with others.' I vowed that I would.
Papa was a physician, noted for his skillful concern for all our village people and those neighboring the Barony of Weisenwald. Though generous beyond others, he prospered and could well afford to launch me in life. Yet he was frugal with monetary wealth when it came to himself, and I, too, had learned the same thrift except when it came to a penchant for books. My baggage consisted of a small rucksack with well-made shirts and britches in addition to those I wore and necessary toiletries besides a trunk heavy with fifty volumes of the classics. When Papa took me along on our excursions to Basel or Freiburg and went his own way for profession or pleasure, I haunted the booksellers' shops. He gave me money that I might learn the use of it; and I preferred to spend it on improving my learning. Besides, it did not do to have too many clothes since I was still growing.
From my brave farewell, the creaky cart took me from the only home I had known to Neustadt on the first leg of my journey. Though only a few miles, the roads proved poor and the ox slow, though strong enough to drag us through the winter thaw. Though it had been fifty years since the Treaties of Westphalia ended the religious wars in the Germanies, little had recovered from thirty years of destruction except population numbers while the people themselves remained poor and the princes and estates ground the poor to build their palaces. Therefore, reaching Neustadt took most of a day on the tortured trail. And the forest, too dark and with constant jostling made impossible reading the tale of Simplicimus I had in hand to amuse myself.
The driver, bristle-bearded and powerfully built, I thought attractive in a burly way, but he remained intent on his command of the ox cart probably thinking of his young wife at home. At last we came to the post house where I obtained a small coach to continue the long descent to the Neckar Valley road and the longer trip to Tubingen where I was to matriculate.
We were few passengers at first, mostly locals going only short distances, and I dozed off and on for two days and nights, awake when the horses were changed. Then I would step outside, stretching myself by a brisk walk around the coach. At Danaueschingen, I blessed the night I could sleep solidly and undisturbed in a wayside inn. The next morning, an eight-passenger conveyance came to receive our assembly of travelers.
I identified them by their appearances. The stately but grim priest, fortyish, wore his modest black cassock and heavy bronze cross while two stalwart military men, maybe mid-thirties and mid-twenties, glowed splendidly in their regalia. Outfitted with bandoleers of cartridges across their chests, they each carried two pistols besides daggers in their belts (one is always glad of protection). A physician, presumably oldest of us all, gray-bearded and balding, carried his leather bag of instruments and medications as familiar to me as Papa's. Robust, redheaded twins my age and dress showed themselves so obviously to also be students. Because poorly dressed, their shirts worn and britches with holes in the knees and seat that opened to ruddy skin, they exuded an obvious raunchiness that I, more modest, envied in them.
The last of our company, another man, by his robe of academia demonstrated with certainty himself to be a professor of some university subject, though young. Under that robe, he wore an elegant coat and form fitting breeches in the French style where I glimpsed an impressive basket between his thighs. I wondered if we would all be going to Tubingen, but mostly I wondered about the professor, whom I thought fetchingly handsome, possibly only six years older than I, and the most promising bedfellow out of the whole troop of us. I was already eager to experience with him what I had learned from Papa.
We would take turns riding outside on the back of the box, and the exuberant twins, pushing and shoving one another good-naturedly, volunteered to be first. The rest of us allowed the priest and physician to enter the coach first, and they sat opposite one another on the right side. The officers deferred to the professor and me for the middle positions, I next to the priest, as we faced backwards; the officers came in on the left when all were settled, the younger and the fair-skinned blond of the two next to me. We would have remained strangers, had not the physician introduced himself all around.
Dr. Isaac Eisenberg, a graduate of Wien, which he had fled upon the advance of the Turks, 1683, the year I was born, was off to establish a new practice. Monsignor Lorenzo Gaspardi, though Italian, was attached to the bishop in Konstanz, and vague about the reason for his travel. The officers, Barons Fuersten and Heldenhas, cousins, were returning to their estates from victories in the liberation of Hungary under Prince Eugene. Dr. Nicolas Mollet, a Frenchman, spoke German badly, but was, as I guessed, on his way to a professorship at Tubingen of philosophy. As it turned out, Tubigen was the destination of us all. He was the most handsome of our company, and except for the twins on the outside, the closest to my age.
In a professorial way, Dr. Mollet, began conversation by expressing interest in me and my studies. My French was as unpracticed as his German and so we conversed in Latin, but sparingly since the Monsignor doubtless knew it better than we as the Doctor likely did as well. Already, I felt, we two wanted our conversation to be personal and intimate. At our next change in horses, we volunteered to ride outside on the box. We covered ourselves with the hairy horsehide lap robe provided and discovered it matted with clots of fresh cum, likely signs of masturbation from the frolicking twins. But we laughed and sat close together to keep warm in the raw air.
After awhile, I pretended to fall asleep and nestled against him in my reverie. He comfortingly stretched his sheltering arm around my shoulders and head, lightly caressing me from time to time. In similar fashion, I let my hand fall limply between his legs, allowing the coach's navigation of the rutted road to move it about naturally on his bulging schlong and balls. This went on for the hours that we nestled together until the next change of horses when I pretended to stir and stretch as though I had slept.
We would have kept riding outside, despite the cold, but that same chill helped collapse our genitals so that we could with good grace return inside the coach. The Barons took their turn outside. Mollet's long robe covered any stain on his breeches, and I had a long wool tunic over my shirt and vest. Inside, the twins moved to the seat next to the priest and I was between Doctors Mollet and Eisenberg. The twins, I now learned were not twins, but look-alike double cousins, their mothers being sisters and fathers twin brothers. Caspar and Carroll Vollen, they were, sons of a miller and a brewer, somewhat giddy boys with mischievous smiles and likely feeling their first freedom. Despite their chatter, I did actually doze off and fell against Mollet, this time for real so that when I woke at our stop I felt comforted and warm from his body heat and more attracted to him than before.
Mollet forged ahead from the coach to be first into the inn at Obersdorf, and by the time I came in, he told me in the Roman tongue, 'I have commanded a room that will afford privacy for the two of us.' We took our bags of travel gear to the room, basically a closet with a washstand, chamber pot and narrow bed. There, the door closed, he took me in his arms, pressed his body against mine, running his hands over me, and kissed me deeply, our tongues clashing as I knew other parts of our bodies would follow. I had learned the joys of frottage from Papa, that and oral play, and now I was eager to explore them with another man, closer to my age. Though I responded eagerly and would have continued giving to him, he held me back and said 'Later, my young friend. We must join our travel companions and share supper first.'
Mollet, in a generous mood, organized a table for us in the crowded inn, and ordered ample beakers of Rhenish wine. The Barons who were used to rough conditions in the field expressed gladness to gain a wide bed in a sizeable room and offered to share it with Caspar and Carroll, who already idolized the officers and were glad of their company. I caught the four of them eyeing one another and saw the rapscallion boys nudge one another and smirk.
That left the priest and physician to agree to share accommodations apparently despite any trepidation since Dr. Eisenberg was a Jew and Monsignor Gaspardi ostensibly a rabid Catholic in the tradition of the Council of Trent. I ate and drank modestly, saving myself for the feast to come upstairs, as did Mollet. The "twins" drank rather more than I thought was good, laughing and grinning and punching one another as was their wont.
Mollet, to whom I was soon to submit, made a show of being tired and excused himself, followed by the ecumenical pair. In a quarter hour, I followed, displaying slow measured steps on my ascent to what I anticipated would be a glimpse of paradise. Thanks to an outside window at the foot of the bed that Mollet had opened a crack, a candle burned without suffocating us. He stood naked in the room, his white skin luminous in the moonlight through that same window. He had been washing himself and turned to face me, showing his ruddy tube of knackwurst, thick bush of dark brown hair and trail of the same fur up the abdomen and sternum to spread full-field across his broad chest. The room smelled of sandalwood and spice from the soap, as I found when he passed it to me. I quickly shed my clothes and boots, and with a fresh cloth did my own ablutions. While I washed, he stuffed his nightshirt among the bed clothes, only to recline there nude and inviting.
He opened his muscular arms to me and I fell upon him, hotly kissing and colliding as I fit my adolescent body to his self-developed sculpture that put me in mind of the amorous Apollo. His strong long-fingered hands coursed my back and buttocks, kneading my muscles in a most-welcome way. 'Parlons francais,' he said, 'la langue d'amour.'
'Mon Coeur,' I replied, stopping my kissing only to say it.
After some minutes of deep kissing, Nicolas said, 'Fait le pompier; 'mangez-moi,' as he pushed my head to his engorged knob and heavy balls.
'Tu es bien monte,' I knew enough to say before starting to lave his hugeness with my wet tongue.
'Ah, bien, mon beau gosse; tu es tres bien monte aussi.' That was enough for awhile; he had started to moan and squirm as Papa always did when I ministered to him. I held his wonder stalk in a firm grip, giving steady strokes until it was as long and hard as the penis was ever meant to be. With his wand ready, the foreskin pulled back from the purplish glory head, my saliva flowed forth. I rounded the tip of my lubed tongue on the piss slit, the ridge of the mighty flared head, and upon the tender, sensitive underside of that crown. I gave attentive head so that the tongue curled around the luscious course of my lover, first in one circle and then the reverse. Rounding back and forth I drove my worship as Nicolas gasped and moaned in the pleasure I sought for him.
I was about to lift his legs and eat at his backside when he pulled his rod from my maw, wiped up some of his pre-cum sap, licked his palm and kissed me deeply all over again so I could taste his manhood from his mouth to mine. Then he lifted me under the armpits and guided his hefty prong into my virgin arse. I knew enough from various sources that this act was possible, but Papa and I had never practiced it. Mouth fuggs, yes; arse fuggs, no. It happened so quickly and easily, that I was 'emmanche' as Nicolas said before I could be surprised; by then I realized how relaxed, eager and open I had been to Nicolas whom I most wanted to please in order for myself to be pleased.
In this position, I rode him steady and slow, savoring the feeling and pressure of his penetration within me hitting some deep well of longing there and sending tingling waves through my body as I mutually caused the same enticement in him. He reached for me, pinching my nipples, flogging my own flopping member and cupping my bobbing balls in his tight grip, finally arching his head forward to suck my cock head as I slid my shit chute over the length of his dong.
'Je vais de toi baiser en levrette,' he said suddenly, turning me over on my knees and elbows and entering me once more from the back. I understood he was fugging me doggy style. Nicolas thrust at me with powerful, rocking hammer blows as something glowed and burned within me. I felt for my 'penicula erecta' as Catullus says, though mine was more of the jutting variety, perhaps in another verse, and I clamped down on it not to ejaculate until Nicolas came at the same time. This simultaneity of bodily pleasure was the happiness Papa and I strove for when we plied one another in the 69 position and he had taught me how to damper the youthful rush to spend too soon.
'Je jouissais,' he cried, his voice strangely strangled as he bucked and shook all in frenzy as I had seen wild horses do. I took his meaning and let go, too, shooting pearlescent loops of my seed, caught in my hands to prevent as much as possible a later cold mess in the bed. Having sent his load into me, as Nicolas ate out his own semen from my arse, I lapped at the salty, sweet love medicine in my hand, more acrid than Papa's, but remembering as he always said, "Swallow it my lovely boy; it will strengthen us for the next time."
Nicolas pulled me back against his chest, and we lay quietly, panting I realized, to regain air into our bodies and equanimity to our enflamed souls. Quieting, we heard the commotion on the other side from us, the sound of four moaning and gasping males, and as Nicolas held and caressed me I fell asleep wondering who among the Barons and boys was doing whom. And the last I thought was that I hoped for them the joy we two had given to one another.
Nicolas woke me in the morning with his tender kisses and on my eyes, arms and nipples. During the night he must have covered me for so I was and I could feel the cold air of the room thanks to the window still ajar. We talked quietly as he held and stroked me, and he asked about me. I told him of my wise and loving Papa, my learning to read and reading everything, my love of the Greeks and Romans and their writings, my desire to learn all there was to learn, and my wish to do something important with my life. He asked of my experience with me, and I said, half true, 'I just took to it as a given.'
We talked of religion after he had said he was unsure of the truths of the Bible. I told that though I had been raised in Catholic lands under the Hapsburg Austrians, Papa exposed me to "all religions." Nevertheless, I was also unsure, or at least questioning, thanks to Cicero's De Natura Deorum and other authors that had either corrupted me or liberated me, depending on your view. He asked me of my family and I answered, 'Papa raised me and now has sent me off on my own; I think he wants to find a husband, someone to share the rest of life with him, and I do not expect to return to him.'
'Oh,' he said, 'would you be my son? That way we can live together without question.'
Without further thought, I said, 'Of course. I would like that and love you as dutifully as I possibly can.'
I excused myself to piss out the window, and as I was shaking the yellow drops off my cock slit, Nicolas came up behind me and I felt him grow in my bum crack. I nestled onto him and would have welcomed his sunrise fugg of me, but he backed off saying we must ready for the day ahead.
Outside, it had snowed where Caspar and Carroll were making snowballs and pelting one another. I went out to greet them as they came over to me.
'We heard you last night,' Caspar said.
'That was you was it not,' asked Carroll, 'you and the professor making the beast with two backs?'
Instead of an answer, I asked bluntly, 'Did I hear you? Who fugged whom?'
'The Barons took advantage of us,' said Carroll. 'We were a little drunk, and they seduced us.'
'I hope you enjoyed it.'
They grinned. 'Did you?' they both asked.
'I always do,' I said.
'Do you want to threesome with us?' Caspar asked invitingly.
'Maybe some day. Right now I sticking with my Daddy.'
'Your Daddy?' Caspar exploded, and Carroll looked like he was about to be sick.
'Yes; he adopted me.' That was mostly true.
'It is good to learn from an older man, is it not?' Caspar, always more forward, now wanted assurance.
'I must say that it is. Especially one who loves you.'
'Even without love, I would say.' That was Carroll. 'First they undressed us, just to admire our physiques, they said. Then they wanted to compare and showed us their bodies and genitals. They admired and stroked us on our arms and thighs. We had to admire back. They are very manly, strong and firmly muscled. Then they sat side by side on the bed and pulled us between their legs, groping our butts and starting to finger our ass rings. Soon I did not want his probing to stop.'
'It did feel good,' Caspar added. 'We never pulled away. My man kissed me and Carroll's his. They pushed us to kiss one another that we did obligingly. Then my man kissed Carroll and Carroll's kissed me. Soon we were kissing and stroking all around. They pulled us into bed rolling around together and the sucking started. Better than jerking the pole. The candles went out and the cavorting continued. It was hard to tell in the dark who was working whom. At one point I had mouths at my cock and ass and someone's dick in my mouth.'
'So had I,' Carroll said. That was me sucking your manroot, Cuz.'
'And that was my dick in your mouth, Cuz,' Caspar said back before concluding. 'Anyway, when we really wanted it and begged to be fugged, they fugged us side by side, entering from the top with our legs over their shoulders. We two caressed, kissed and tongued one another as they worked their exciting magic on our bodies, moving all our senses through us from the inside out. Afterwards they collapsed spent on us and we reached around to pound ourselves off between their legs and on to their hairy asses even as our two heroes snored away.'
'And we heard the twosome next to us on the other side also going at it.' Carroll added.
'The priest and the Jew, why not?' I commented. 'They are entitled the same enjoyment as the rest of us.'
Because of the cold and snow, all eight of us crowded inside the coach, a tight fit, but supposedly we were all friends and known by this time to be of the same or similar bent. Thanks to the exertions of the previous night, most slept, though fitfully. Nicolas slept too, his head almost in my lap, while I was awake the whole time in wonderment and pondering about the joys of doing what scripture and church seemed to forbid. Such love was more powerful than any teaching.
We were awake, conversational and filled with camaraderie when we stopped for the night at Horb, an inn just outside the tower gate. Barons Fuersten and Heldenhas suggested a walk to reinvigorate us, and we did so. The military charged ahead, seemingly deep in conversation. Nicolas and I sauntered and the Cousins C fell behind with the older men. At dinner Fuersten and Heldenhas stood us a couple steins of beer and the conversation turned to the topic right out of Plato's Symposium on questions of love, love among equals, both pure and sensual love. When Gaspardi and Eisenberg had professed their admiration of the youthful male form and Caspar and Carroll had answered with the honor they wished to given to the wisdom of their elders, the Vollen cousins raised their eyebrows and stood.
'We are taking the Eisenberg and Mollet rooms,' Caspar said. 'You four are left with the Baron's big bed. Sleep well.' And they were off for the upstairs.
'You are most welcome to share with us,' Fuersten said at once to Mollet and me. We are used to sleeping with whole platoons of men.' Heldenhas nodded.
'I don't mean to be disrespectful,' I launched, 'but it sounded last night that you were fugging my age mates. I am not up to the same duty.'
Fuersten guffawed. 'Well, I don't fugg men, only boys, and my cousin, Heldenhas, is the same. We have our urges, but we are not faggots to be burned at the stake.'
Nicolas intervened in slow, careful German. 'Calm yourself, Bertram. We can share a bed with these worthies. Since they have already said they sleep alongside other adults, we have nothing to fear; you will just sleep on the outside of the bed, or on the floor if you choose. All right?'
'All right, Doctor Philosophiae.'
As we went upstairs, Nicolas whispered to me, 'Just follow my lead.'
In the room, as the others readied for bed, Nicolas undressed me and I him, as we washed and readied for bed. He opened two windows for the two candles we had carried. They were in their nightshirts, and we got in after them, naked as newborn. Nicolas sang softly a little French song in call and response as I sang the repeat of each line translated into German.
'Ravenous lion, red-gold wild mane and fur bristling, body built and flexed for angry meat match, savors lean, supple, mature and gamy beef, seasoned, or unseasoned.
'All tawny cub bone gnawers welcome when fired to choke down the big ones, be nibbled, gobbled and guzzled, energetically hosted to steam making in woodsy lair.
'Sun country, savannic sessions featured, doing each other sunup, high-noon, sundown or intertwined cuddling naps, siestas, spent nights, rising refreshed to yawn, stretch, licking one another to action, and devour again.
'Openings for joiners to this King's pride.'
'Is that a prayer? Fuersten asked.
'It is for me,' Nicolas said. And he got between my legs and fell to kissing me, moving against my outstretched body in simulo and sucking, gnawed at my cock, balls, and arse hole. He began to lick from under the base of my balls, along the scrotum line, and then to the tip of my prick. I felt I might orgasm at once.
It was as though my body filled with lightening, and I began moaning and twisting under his attention. That was no act. Then he turned over and pulled me on him and I did the same thing to him till he squirmed and said and a voice choked with sensuality, 'Emmanchez-moi; emmanchez-moi.' Humping his hips, there was no mistaking what he was commanding. I spit on my hands, moistened his arse, itself wet with sweat and other juices, and placed myself at his door to paradise. I raised his legs over my shoulders and moved my way in.
'Mon Dieu en Ciel,' he moaned in the most voluptuous, ecstatic and reverent way. 'Fait moi l'amour a la papa.'
I took my time until he was writhing with fists full of sheets and screaming 'plus vite, avec toute vitesse.'
I shot in him, tossing myself around as though a madman, as he shouted the telltale sound of a man in orgasm and exploded his cum all over his chest, face and head. We fell together gasping and in moments I was licking up his spill, smacking my lips and rolling my eyes. We lay together, me playing with his chest hairs moistened with his sweat and my saliva, he wiping my rod and licking his fingers.
We looked over at the Barons, wide-eyed as they were and making tents of their nightshirts from mighty erections. 'Your turn,' Nicolas said, 'follow our lead. Show us your stuff.'
Blond Heldenhas looked at auburn Fuersten, their eyes deeply intent on one another. 'One time,' Fuersten said, and his cousin fell to kissing and licking him as Mollet had first done with me. I got up to blow out the candles, and by the light of the moon, they fugged one another, first Fuersten overpowering Heldenhas, and then Heldenhas easing his way into his elder and superior officer. We all fell asleep, but once half awake, I heard them fugging one another again before dawn.
In the morning, the mighty warriors were somewhat sheepish, but before we left their room, they both gave each of us a brotherly kiss right on the mouth and said, 'Thank you.'
Caspar and Carroll, none the worse for wear, tumbled down the stairs, excited to tell me of their exploits. 'I showed myself to Gaspardi,' Caspar said, 'but with false modesty, cupping my privates and favoring him with my arse side as I backed against his loins in bed. When he reached for me, ever so tentatively, I turned to him and moaned, "I want you," and Monsignor embraced me fully I worked on him with lips, tongue, teeth and mouth for what seemed an age until he moaned and trembled, "Don't ever stop," and then I plunged into him, and he gasped so deeply, I thought his heart had stopped.
'But as he exhaled, I plowed him, and I went at him with a steady pace until he roiled under me and we came together. He crawled out from under me and got on his knees to pray, whether for praise or forgiveness, I didn't give him time to express. I sat in front of him and his mouth gave way to licking me clean.
Carroll told a similar story. 'Caspar might play at modesty, but I cannot. I calmly dropped my clothes and felt myself, quickly hard from the touch of my own hands and skin. I'm fully grown or overgrown when it comes to the manly member, so I lay back and in bed and did what I routinely do - self-suck. I pull my legs up toward my head, my back arches, arse up ends and my best and most friendly limb finds my mouth. And I suck it with as much wet luscious slaver as possible.
'The bearded one was out of his shirt, wonderfully hairy and his prick rock hard. "I want some of the putz," he said, and he sucked up my balls into his mouth, rolling them around and then plied my ass with his fingers, preparing to fugg me. But I got the best of him, pinned him under me and entered his hot ass. His eyes rolled back as I though he would seizure, but instead, he stuffed his shirtsleeve in his mouth and stifled the scream. I drew the ficking fugg out as long as I could until he was thrashing so bad I thought the fit was really on him. Then he came. He held me in him until I had shrunk to a third of my boner and withdrew from his tight chute. He washed me then, so very tenderly, before he sponged himself and we clung together with his tobacco-scented beard in my face.
"What a shtuper you are," was the last thing he said before we fell asleep.'
'What about you?' they both asked.
'Like you, fugged one night, a fugger the next.'
'Rich as the Fuggers,' Caspar punned, laughing at his own play on the name of the German banking family.
We assembled again, the eight of us inside the coach, a tight fit, but by this time we had all fugged another in various combinations and would not deny any of it. The conversation turned to our future and the sad possibility of our separation. 'We must stick together,' Eisenberg said, 'we have found one another whether by accident or providence, and we ought to remain in contact.' He lit his pipe and puffed it before passing it around the octet of us. Everyone took a hit and kept it going, as the air turned a little blue from the haze. The smoke made me feel high and easy, as it seemed to do with the others. Banter began, and Eisenberg began to exclaim about the size of Carroll's erection.
'Can this be?' Gaspardi exclaimed; 'if so, it is a miracle worth investigating.'
Carroll, who had already proclaimed his inability to be modest, threw down his coat, tore off his shirt, shed his boots and scooted down his britches and pulled off his stockings. Only his flimsy loincloth was left and his Singschwan was already flying high. He stood on his clothes in the narrow passage between opposing seats and pulled off that last bit of ineffectual innocence. Gaspardi and Eisenberg on one side and Fuersten and Heldenhas on the other side all managed to get their heads up to his ficken flagpole licking and kissing what had become an idol for them. Caspar got up behind his cousin to hold him up to the ministrations of church, medicine, and military while also reaching around to pinch his nipples and rub his own clothed member against Carroll's naked arse.
To make room for the tourbillion growing in our midst, I moved over to Nicolas' lap who in moments had his long-fingered hands working inside my britches, and then they were off. Monsignor Gaspardi pulled his cassock over his head, leading the rest to undress and throw their boots and clothes between the seats. Carroll stepped up the mounting pile that filled the passage until he had to lie upon this fill of garments or bump his head and the roof. With his boner aloft, Gaspardi fell to straddling it and Caspar dropped his dong into Carroll's mouth while, positioned crossways, started slavering on my erection. Nicolas had wriggled out of his clothes and shifted himself so that his manhood was growing in my hot, welcoming arse.
Then we all accommodated one another so that Dr. Eisenberg could plug Gaspardi's butt while sucking Henldenhas' rooster, himself head to head in hot kisses with his cousin, Fuersten, who has pumping himself into Caspar's posterior. I looked around at the cross work of bodies, realizing everyone was getting it two ways except Nicolas, who seemed to be all right just fugging me. I doubt we added to the jouncing of the coach over the rough roads, but a collective moaning grown of sexual ecstasy was rising that must have been heard by the drivers. Who knows what they were doing. Our pace increased, everyone with the object of his affection, and when Carroll whose exhibition had started the whole orgy reached his spasm, everyone else came in the same exultant minute.
Eight men and boys shook, shouted, shot, and shrunk. We panted for new breath and caressed anyone on every side. The coach, full of steam, sweat and stale pipe smoke, reeked like a wet dog in heat. I have to say it was wonderful. But more fun was to come. Fuersten reached for Mollet's stylish suit and began to put it on. Caspar donned my clothes and I took Carroll's. Carroll put on the Heldenhas outfit, who accentuated his youthful looks by donning Caspar's, and Eisenberg put on Gaspardi's, who dressed in Eisenberg's. Nicolas wore Fursten's, weapons and all.
I found Carroll's ripped clothes exciting, especially the tear below the moon of my bum and the torn neck that exposed my chest. All the more sensual was seeing Nicolas as the commanding officer. I wanted to fugg him all over again or have him fugging me until I was mad with delicious sexual delirium. When we reached the next change of horses, and tumbled out of the coach, the drivers showed clear surprised at our altered attire, but said nothing. We stayed in these costumes for the rest of the way that day to Tubigen, so intimate now as to share all our stories of past sexual fantasies and experiences.
Before evening, we came to the house that Eisenberg had secured by advance arrangement. We walked from the post house stop to find it, nicely situated between the market and various university buildings. As typical of the city, it had an entry floor, previously used as a barn, two upper floors and a three-tiered attic under a steeply pitched roof. Because the house came unfurnished, we begged mattresses from the neighbors up and down the street, and bought blankets so that we could all stay together there one more time, though dividing up into our variously chosen rooms. Already it was decided, the boys, Mollet and I would rent from Eisenberg. Gaspardi would bed with him in fond farewell before going off to his appointment, and the Barons would spend the night before continuing on to their estates.
That was the first night of four years. Mollet and I, changed from Bertram von Weisenwald to Bernard Mollet, shared a comfortable third floor apartment, soon overflowing with books and the papers we wrote. He learned from me to speak German as a native as I learned French from him. The Vollen boys and many other youths came and went in the three attic dormitory tiers that Eisenberg improved against the elements and opened to more light and air with banks of windows through the roof on each level. Gaspardi bunked with Eisenberg whenever he was in town, thanks to missions that became more and more frequent, and the Barons maintained rooms for the times they wanted a break in town from their obligations of manor and family at home.
Over the four years, I earned my baccalaureate in the liberal arts and tutored other students who would otherwise fail in Greek or Latin. Carroll, who could barely keep his manliness in his pants caught syphilis, had to endure the painful mercury cure under Dr. Eisenberg's care, and went farther down the Neckar to the Rhine as a boatman. Caspar did not finish at the University either, but became a mercenary; there were always plenty of wars.
I missed both of them for their vitality and exuberance very much.
Though Nicolas and I loved and enjoyed one another in full and joyous commitment, studying and teaching kept us occupied, and we only fugged one or the other about three times a week, but never with anyone else. Thanks to the wars and other political machinations perpetrated against the Germanies by Louis XIV and his agents, anti-French feeling always strong, accelerated. In 1703, the university dismissed Mollet from his professorship. We thought for a time that we would go to the Sorbonne in Paris. But Fredrick Hohenzollern, who was Elector of Brandenburg, gained the Emperor's recognition as King of Prussia, and open to more diversity, invited Nicolas to the University at Halle, an institution only slightly older than I am.
I went along with Nicolas to that very stimulating atmosphere. But that is another story.