THE PIPES OF AWAKENING
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM
[Note: I'm not trying to evoke the Grecian god Pan here, per se, so much as I am giving you a fertility god with the incarnation of the satyr playing his pipes. I stuck with the ancient Greek background for the rest of it, but am not trying to regurgitate any old myth here, rather, this is my own creation and my satyr is left unnamed deliberately for this reason. Call him, instead, one of the forgotten demi-gods who pre-date the story of Pan.]
With a purposeful stride, he walked from the glade into the cleared areas of Men, his hooves making a snik-snik-snik-snik sound as he went from walking on leaves to walking on hard ground with only a smattering of grass upon it. The yellowed blades and impoverished soil didn't distress him. It was why he was here.
The snows had melted not long before. The weather was on the brisk side but he didn't feel it. The sun was shining and warming things, and soon it would be warmer still.
He carried in one hand his pipes, a collection of reeds of different sizes and lengths, carved and chosen, then bound together to produce melody.
He found a place to sit, a temple destroyed by some disaster of the past, whether man-made or natural (Greece was victim to both in equal measure) and the broken column here made a passable seat. His hooves rested easily enough upon the broken wall of the remnants of a now-gone building's wall, and he looked about at the scene. Such a beautiful place, even in its winter dress.
But now...now it was time for the awakening to begin.
He raised his pipes to his lips and he began to play. The tune that came out was older than time, older than legend, older than Man. It worked its way with a tenacity that soundwaves alone could never have explained, it wound across the glen and over the hills, it traveled out across the land in all directions, and the roots of the grass felt it, used it, reached again to rebuild the greenery that would feed all life richly once again. And the trees and bushes caught it in their branches, caressed the sound, and the buds of their leaves used it to reach out and unfurl and extend into the air, catching the sunlight. And the sun himself smiled at the melody, sent his beams down to stroke the ground, turning the yellowed blades back to green once more.
He watched all this and watched more the grounds beyond the remnants of the temple complex which had stood here. Beyond the crumpled temple, the deteriorated marble figure of a now-forgotten god on its pedestal, beyond these grounds, there was the town of men, and from this direction, would come the reward he would gain for his labors upon the meadows about.
The melody called them in, the young men still potent in their virility, their bodies still unchained by marriage or bereaved by a young wife's death so that they lay upon their solitary beds and were tormented by dreams that fed upon their need and their deprivation, upon their tumescence and their virility.
To them, as well, the tune he played called, and as he played, he smiled to see them, the young men coming toward him as if they walked in a dream, their faces slack and their eyes puzzled as their bodies moved them without their choice, their volition, their control. They were moving, and they were not even sure why.
And the tune played on, and the sky became even more blue, the weather even more warm, the grass even more green, and the temples cleansed themselves and took on their old air of consecration once again, and to the non-understanding observer, who would have seen this place, he would have called it the Elysian Fields of their ancient faith, the place where only the most blessed of humans were permitted to dwell after death. But there was no death here, not even beatific death, but the very air and ground and plants and humans breathed to the tune of the opposite of death and that was life, life, LIFE!
The humans from the town had reached him now and they were entranced by the song he played, and now his duty was done and now he could take his payment for his labor of music, he could change the intent of the tune, make it for himself rather than for the world. He knew full well what he was doing, but thought of it with the conceit that he was adding a celebration to the otherwise mundane task of bringing the world back to life after the long winter sleep.
He always enjoyed this moment, the time the men would shake themselves briefly out of the hypnotic state the music invoked, long enough to look at each other, and the music he played suddenly had a new effect on the men. Their breasts beat in tune with the music, and the music was the music of life, and the essential component of life is that it wishes to grow, to create more life.
And every living thing must answer that siren call when it comes forth. He played his music and watched the men as they struggled, as they asked each other with their eyes, as they reached their tentative hands over to the other's body to touch, to find out if the other would possibly...could possibly...potentially...conceivably...permit?
And as they touched, the music turned the touch into fire! Not the fire that burns the skin and blackens it to lifelessness, it burned with the power of unexpressed desire and gave it a purpose and direction. With a sound that was half like a sigh and half like a moan, the men about him met each other. Their chests mashed against each other, their groins ground into each other's hips, their legs slid between the legs of the other's, their arms reached about to hold, their fingers clasped onto each other's backs to cling tightly, their lips met to let that sighing moan, that moaning sigh, be sent into each other, the better to feed the flame that had ignited within.
He knew that the lust of these men was no mere local thing, all over Greece and Asia Minor, and stretching south as far as Crete and north as far as Macedonia and Thrace, his melody had permeated the souls of all the men of these lands where his name was honored, the men had awakened to this sexual need, had sought each other, had touched each other in mutual desire and understanding. This was the essence of life, joy for the sake of love and not just for procreation, and joy was of what his music spoke, joy that needs no reason and needs no explanation, he had given it purpose and scope and objective, and now the men both with him and around the land were expressing that love.
Now that the fire had been ignited, he could maintain it easily by the merest of notes and so he feasted his eyes upon the men about him.
At his feet and to one side, there was the son of King Hippolyte and one of the King's guards, the guard, a sturdy spearman of formidable build and a prodigal dong, and he was worming that huge spear of his manhood into the young royal butt. The Prince was keening with a sound that was reminiscent of a cow lowing, but then the guard gave a shove and the keen jerked up to a groan. "Eeeeeeeee-uh-UH-KUHHHGUHHH!"
To his right, the town metalsmith was leaning against a tree while a youth from the vineyards slid his manhood into the metalsmith's broad, muscled buttocks, and the strong arms that had wielded the hammer and the bellows and pounded raw metal into shields, swords and plows, those arms now rippled as they clenched with the joy of a tumescent pud sliding into the warm nether regions of his body, and the metalsmith groaned and thrust his buttocks backwards, the better to drive this slender sword of youth deeper into his fires to dispense their molten lava of love.
To his left, two soldiers who composed one of the King's phalanx of warriors were reaching their own accord, one had knelt and taken the love-muscle of his comrade and was blissfully feasting upon the turgid glory, and the zephyrs of spring that blew about were tossing the soldier's hair about with playful abandon, the strands waved like a brave banner held aloft in the thick of battle, to pronounce to all who needed heartening to look up on it and know that their phalanx still held!
He was wondering now only about the acolyte from the temple, the one who had recently chosen to study the great mysteries of the gods to better serve them and through them his people. He had known this town would bear him only a few such uncommitted men (though those who had wives did partake of his glory with their mates and through them brought more sons to join the future pairings inspired by his pipes), and so that only seven had been called to his presence, that was a sufficiency, only where had the young devotee gotten himself?
And then he felt it, the supple warmth lapping at his testicles and he chuckled, letting the sound work itself into his music. What better partner could a temple servant choose for his lovemaking but he himself? So rather than fend off this advance as he would have in other circumstances (for men should join with men rather than pine unendingly for he who could offer nothing but a moment's delight before traveling on about his many duties), he spread his legs and let the slender tongue delve deeply into the scent-pores of his sexual organs, knowing them for the heady ambrosia that they were. This young man would become important in his town, for the devoted tenor of his sacrifices and the ardor with which he taught them about the one who was himself, and the power he wielded for the welfare of the world.
The young prince was moaning most ardently as the guard's dong slammed into his ass, he threw his head up and let passion roar out like a lion's roar into the now-verdant meadows, he would make a warrior-prince now, in order to lead his father's men out into the fields in search of adventure (and in search of the nights when they could again share this most delicate of delights), and the royal prick throbbed and threatened to fertilize the soil with the seed of his body. The guard understood his partner's plight and reached under to aid the passion, to wring the prince's cock for every erg of its desire, and the prince moaned, his ecstasy nigh!
And the metalsmith was thrusting his buttocks back at the young vineyard worker even more vigorously, only the resilience of youth could have taken such an energetic partner as he without being bruised or broken, but the young man only moaned and held the metalsmith's hips in his hands and thrust into him more rapidly, panting in his rising tide of delight.
And the soldiers on his other side were engaged in a more delicate but just as ecstatic joining, for the strong man above had the other's head in his grip and was guiding the mouth upon its journey, adding his muscles to the fray, so that his partner had less to move and more to endure, and hold tight to his love-column, and the soldier's motions became jerky and spasmodic. And beneath him, the young acolyte was pounding his dong as he licked at his master's testicles, now thoroughly coated in the youth's saliva and warm and clean beneath his cock, and he realized that his own joy would be a part of this time, it wasn't always, he usually scampered away and found some nubile nymph to molest with his passion and spend upon her his spunk of arousal, but this time, he would join these seven strong young men of the town, give them the perfection of two times two times two, an octagon of orgasm.
It was time, it was time. He shifted his song into the end-movement, the sounds of the pipes became faster, more staccato and frantic, like the gasps of the men about him, the pipes warbled out their music of rising excitement, of passion overtaking and trampling the senses, he made the melody throb in the men's temples, pulse in their veins, pound in their loins, and the song and the sperm together boiled and surged, and sought its release in hot geysers of male ejaculation.
And so the guard's cock disgorged hot squibs of joy into the prince's bowels, while the prince howled with joy and sprinkled his virility in pearl-colored splats upon the ground beneath him.
And so the two soldiers became one as the jizz of the one was gulped into the other, and the soldier who drank moaned, and his spunk peppered, the legs of his comrade, and the seed sank into the soldier and they combined into a unit of lovers, who could stand back-to-back in battle and win honors aplenty as they struck their blows in battle for their lord's glory and safety.
And the metalsmith crooned his ecstasy as he splashed the tree-trunk with his come, and the young vineyard worker plowed deeply into the strong buttocks before him, and planted his seed within the metalsmith, the better to invest them both with the bonds that would mean they would never the more be lonely in their trades.
And the acolyte gasped and he felt the hot sperm jet up and splash his forearm, laughing, he knew that the power of youth was strong but hadn't expected such a climactic explosion from his young protege, and he let the milk-like cream of his adorer's delight remain, and the jism dripped from his arms down and upon the pipes which he had played, and the hot spunk seared itself into the reeds and marked them ever after.
And as all about him, the men of his gathering collapsed with their expunged ecstasy down into the brief oblivion of their exhaustion, he closed his eyes, arched his hips and his own godly climax burst out into the world.
No mere squibs such as men made, this orgasm was prodigious, it sprayed the men about him and covered them in numerous ovals of pearl-like fluid, and as it touched them all, it imbued them with a bit of his immortality and his power, a mere microscopic fraction of his totality, it was nonetheless more than enough to adorn these men irretrievably.
For himself, he gave it not a thought, how none of these seven men would now ever take a wife, none would ever desire any but the company of other men in their beds, he was who he was and what he was, and that meant that he never gave thought to the consequences of what he had done, whether intentional or not.
His work was done and he got to his cloven feet, his stride unsteady still due to the force of his delight, and he went back into his sacred glade, there to live his life as once such as he should, only joys and happiness to be his, until next year, when he would again show himself, somewhere within the lands that honored him, there to renew the world once more with the goatish energy that was his, once again, the glory of the goat that is the vitality of the universe, and he would bring it all forth once again, awaken the world by the music of his pipes and the joining of men.
THE END
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