Date: Thu, 21 Apr 2011 12:44:06 -0400
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthierdc@gmail.com>
Subject: Mauretania

				Mauretania
			 	The 19th Tale of the Daphne Boy,
				 the Ultimate Twink
				by George Gauthier

You can read these Daphne Boy stories in any order. Though the protagonist
is the same throughout, each tale stands alone. Fair warning: This
narrative contains explicit and graphic depictions of gay sex.

			Chapter 1. North Africa, 160 AD

It was a beautiful day for a run, sunny with puffy white clouds in a blue
sky, the air comfortably warm rather than hot, and with a light breeze
blowing off the Atlantic ocean. Rollers breaking offshore surged up onto
the sands in a green and white froth. I played tag with the spume, skirting
the high water line, testing if I were fast enough and nimble enough to
dodge the next incoming wave. Light as I am, my feet virtually kissed the
ground as I covered ground at an easy pace.

I welcomed the kiss of the sun's heat on my limbs and bare back and rump,
for I was running in the nude and barefoot. No one in the ancient world
ever bothered with clothing during exercise, whether at a Roman palestra, a
Greek gymnasium, at athletic games, or running long distance. As for going
barefoot, thick calluses protected my feet as well as moccasins or sandals
might, especially on sand.

I make it a point to run regularly, to keep up my cardiovascular
endurance. More than once my speed and stamina had saved my life. Mostly
though I ran for the sheer joy of it. The rhythmic breathing, the pumping
of the arms, and the scissoring of the legs induces a psychological state
of reverie and well-being, what moderns call a runner's high. Running also
gives me quality time, alone with myself and my thoughts, away from
distractions. Sometimes the solution to a problem will just pop into my
mind, all unbidden, though mostly I simply daydream while I run.

My course led along a deserted shore in the extreme northwest corner of
Africa, what today is the Kingdom of Morocco but was then a province of the
Roman Empire. The coast of Morocco consists of fertile plains sheltered
from the distant Sahara desert by multiple ranges of mountains. The
province enjoyed a Mediterranean climate, one which is wet and cool during
fall and winter and hot and dry in spring and summer. Even on the drier
coast, annual rainfall amounts to 31 inches (800 mm) and more than twice
that at higher elevations.

I had recently established myself as a merchant and melon grower in the
small city of Lixus on the Atlantic coast of the Roman province of
Mauretania Tingitana, so named for its capital city Tingis, modern
Tangier. A sandy beach stretched forty miles northward from Lixus to Cape
Spartel, the western gateway to the Strait of Gibraltar. The city lay just
back from the coast on the north side of the Loukkos River, which flows
year round. The upper city, with its temples, theater, baths, and smart
residences was sited atop bluffs 80 meters high (250 ft). Along the river
lay the lower city, a river and sea port, and the site of the garum
manufactories which converted the catch of the local fisherman to liquid
gold.

Garum was a staple of the Roman diet, a condiment sauce made from fermented
fish guts. Unappetizing though that might sound and despite the truly awful
smell of the manufactories, the product itself had a light sweet odor. Once
the liquid garum was ladled off the top of the fermented mixture and
bottled, the dregs, called allec, were sold to the common folk, to flavor
their porridge. Only the wealthy could afford true garum, which was far
more costly than caviar is today.

Although I had traveled in many lands over the centuries, I had once again
chosen to settle in the Roman Empire, to benefit from the security
conferred by the long Pax Romana, a time of near universal peace under the
so-called Five Good Emperors. In those days the Empire was so strong that
no foreign foe dared challenge it. Indeed, during his twenty years on the
throne, the current Emperor, Antoninus Pius, had never marched at the head
of his legions. He had never even had to leave Italy to deal with a crisis
on the frontiers. It was a supremely happy period for the world. As long as
the legions were strong, the rest of us could devote ourselves to the arts
of peace.

My long run was nearing its end as I started up the slope of the bluffs to
the north city gate. I pulled up to let a trade caravan pass by. That was
only common sense. Horses and mules are easily spooked by a runner racing
past. I stopped near a horseman, the captain of caravan guards by the look
of him, who had pulled his mount off the road to watch the train enter the
city. Wrapped as he was in a light colored cloak with a hood, all I could
tell of him was that he was lean and tall in the saddle.

"Thank you lad, for holding back to spare our animals. Many boys your age
would have thought nothing of sprinting right past the caravan to show off
their speed and lissom bodies."

What he said was only too true. Young males can be insufferable in their
pride and boisterousness. Luckily I had the wisdom of centuries of life
experience to tame my more rambunctious impulses.

"Not a problem, sir. I was starting to flag there anyway at the end and
didn't feel up to a burst of speed. Besides, what better way could there be
to show myself off, than to stand still here and let everyone get a good
look at me."

The man chuckled and threw back his hood revealing a handsome red-head,
younger than I had expected -- I guessed him twenty two. Under his cloak
the mercenary captain wore a leather cuirass over a military style tunic
which left most of his well formed arms and legs bare. A belt and baldric
carried the weight of a Roman style cavalry sword (called a spatha) and a
dagger.

"Well said, little one. But why not display yourself from every angle," he
replied, twirling his finger to indicate that I should spin slowly in place
to show my back and my bum.

Nothing loath, for I found the mercenary captain very handsome indeed and
wanted to tempt him with my sexy body, I did as he requested, holding my
head up, my arms away from my body, deliberately shifting my weight from
side to side as I turned, making my buttocks dimple and twitch
suggestively.

My naughty display drew whistles and catcalls from guards and drovers
alike.

Another guard a few years older and with a dark olive complexion trotted
over and spoke to his captain.

"By Hercules's pizzle! How do you do it, Pallas? We haven't even passed the
gates and here you've gone and found a boy of surpassing beauty, and he is
already naked. Ah, but you can really pick them, my friend, I'll give you
that much. Of course, a youth as impossibly pretty as this lad is very
likely taken, no doubt the pleasure boy of some wealthy merchant."

"Not necessarily. You shouldn't be pessimistic, Bocchus. There is a good
chance that this exquisite boy is available on commercial terms. Let us
find out, shall we. Now there, Blondie, are you the pleasure slave of some
rich merchant? Or do you belong to a brothel keeper? No offense to your
owner, but I sincerely hope you are a public boy and not someone's private
stock."

I get that reaction a lot from macho men. They take one look at my slight
build and tight body and super cute face and mark me down as a bum boy,
most likely a professional either a catamite or pleasure boy. These days
such men think me a kept boy or a rent boy (and a walking wet
dream). That's what I get for being both blessed and cursed by a lovely
form and face that inspire admiration and lust in the heart of any male who
appreciates a beautiful boy.

I am blessed with the face of an angel, one with an elfin quality to it by
virtue of the slight points on the ears, high cheekbones, a straight nose,
and a narrow chin. My eyes are the green of growing things and are set wide
apart under finely arched brows, and my close-cropped hair is the color of
spun gold.

Besides being much too pretty for a male, I am short and slender with a
build like a fawn. My skin is glabrous -- completely devoid of body hair
and is uniformly bronzed from habitual nudity. With my androgynous if wiry
physique and fine-boned features I fall far short of normal male standards
in height, muscular development, and secondary sexual characteristics like
beard and body hair, of which I had none anywhere even at the fork of my
legs. The upshot of it all was I often wasn't taken seriously as a male.

"Neither sir. I am a free person and no man's slave. And if I ever do make
myself available to you, it won't be on commercial terms."

"I would take you on any terms I could get, pretty one."

The aged caravan master who had pulled his horse aside at the gate while
his people and animals entered the city, walked his horse over to us. I
recognized him a business associate of mine, a tough old bird in his early
sixties, a Roman citizen named Gnaeus Cassius Longinus.

"Hello, Aleksandros, I see you have already met Pallas, my new captain of
mercenaries, and his lieutenant Bocchus. Sorry to disappoint you men, but I
must ask you to speak to this youth with respect. For all his exquisite
beauty and casual public nudity, Aleksandros here is not some pleasure boy
or street boy, as you supposed. No, he is a garum manufacturer here in
Lixus and a person of means. We shall be transporting his goods on the
return trip."

The disappointment on the faces of the mercenaries drew a look of amused
tolerance from the merchant. He shook his head.

"You and your boys Pallas! You and half the men of the empire, if the truth
were known. Consorting with comely boys is all the rage, even in this
remote corner of the empire. It was Hadrian who set the fashion when he
took up with that Bithynian youth, Antinous.

"Surely one of the great love stories of history" Pallas pointed out.

"Yes, I suppose so. It is true that Hadrian and Antinous were inseparable
from the moment they met. And when the boy drowned in the Nile, the emperor
went mad with grief. Utterly inconsolable, he named cities after the boy
and had him deified like a deceased emperor. City fathers everywhere put up
nude statues of the boy. Good likenesses too, both of face and of form, as
I can well testify."

"You mean you actually saw Hadrian's Antinous, Gnaeus?" his captain of
mercenaries asked, incredulous.

"Up close and in the flesh. It happened thirty years ago, at the time of my
second voyage to Alexandria. The emperor and his consort, if I can call him
that, were traveling on the imperial barge, heading into the canal which
links Alexandria to the Nile. The emperor wore a robe of the finest
silk. Antinous went entirely naked as his master preferred him to. A good
looking enough boy, he was, but a bit soft for my tastes."

"Oh? I understood your tastes ran to women, not to boys."

"And so they do, Pallas. Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to couple with
the female of the species. Still I am no virgin with the other sex,
Pallas. I have had occasion to poke a lad now and again, as a change of
pace or when nothing else was available. So I know the difference. With a
boy, what you want is the hard body of the male, not the soft rounded,
voluptuous form of the female."

Turning to me, the merchant added:

"There's certainly nothing soft about that physique of yours, young
Aleksandros. Slender and supple and graceful though you might be, you have
the well-defined musculature of an athlete or dancer or acrobat. You might
be small, but yours is one of those physiques that is more about quality
than about quantity. As for your looks, you might be Endymion or Narcissus
or Hyacinth come back to life. Emperors would do well to put up statues
with your likeness, to immortalize that beauty for the ages."

"Why, Gnaeus. I didn't know you cared!"

"Harrumph," the old man grumbled, a feigned scowl on his face, belied by
the hint of a smile on his lips. "You know perfectly well what I meant, you
little scamp."

Actually Gnaeus was gracious to treat with me as a social equal despite my
being a bottom boy. Though many Roman males were facultatively bisexual,
fucking girl and boy alike, only the active or dominant role was deemed
socially acceptable. Sexually submissive males such as myself, boys and men
who allowed themselves to be penetrated, were considered unmanly, to say
the least, and were often held in contempt.

			Chapter 2. Lixus

A few hours later, I joined the three principals of the merchant company at
their lodgings, reclining not on Roman style couches but on large pillows
in a cozy and quiet alcove just off the common room. Gnaeus, Pallas, and
Bocchus had bathed and changed into comfortable robes. I wore sandals and a
tunic of white silk, woven as light as air. To better show off my shapely
limbs, the garment left one arm and shoulder entirely bare while the hem
reached only half way to the knees. A diadem on my brow completed my
ensemble.

By diadem I do not mean the metal circlet worn by kings but only a white
silk ribbon, tied in back leaving two fringed strips dangling from the knot
over the shoulders. Such ribbons were used in antiquity to crown the
victors of athletic competitions. We ate a tasty meal, nothing fancy, but
served with a good Falernian I had ordered for the occasion.

"So, Aleksandros what made you settle here in Lixus?" Gnaeus asked
politely.

"Commercial opportunities in the garum trade. I saw a chance to expand,
reorganize, and rationalize the manufactories. My role is to provide
capital and strategic direction; local partners provide technical expertise
and a workforce. I also grow melons in fields east of the town."

"Right where the Garden of the Hesperides, sacred to the goddess Hera or
Juno, is supposed to have been." Pallas noted.

"They say that golden apples from the garden conferred immortality on
whoever ate one." Pallas ventured. "Would you not give everything you own,
sweet Aleksandros, to stay forever young, to always look just as you do
now?"

Here was a remark that hit uncannily close to home, for I knew perfectly
well what it was like to be forever young.

For reasons I have never understood I stopped aging before reaching my
eighteenth birthday. No, there had been no encounter with a sorcerer nor a
pact signed in blood with eldritch powers. It just happened that way for
reasons unknown. It must be something genetic, a benign mutation. At the
time of this tale when I was nearly three hundred years old, I still looked
like a stripling, a beardless boy, slight of build, and much prettier than
any boy rightly ought to be. I don't doubt that my outward beauty was a
manifestation of my innate genetic fitness.

After several refills of his goblet, Bocchus lifted his cup in salute and
said:

"Master Gnaeus, can we really be sure that Aleksandros is merely a mortal
boy? Isn't he the very incarnation of youthful male pulchritude? Does that
not suggest he might not be an immortal in disguise, perhaps young Ganymede
come down from Olympus this evening to grace us with his presence.

"Careful, my young friend." Gnaeus cautioned. "that you don't provoke the
gods. It was for hubris that goddess Nemesis punished the beauteous youth
Narcissus by making him fall in love with his own reflection in a still
pool of water. I will agree with you this far, that, among mortals, only
the fabled Daphne Boys of Antioch could match Aleksandros."

"Are you speaking from experience in this matter as well, Gnaeus?"

"Indeed I am. During both my visits to the second city of the East I made a
point of visiting the the temple dedicated to the nymph Daphne, where
comely boys are enslaved as sacred prostitutes. The fees paid to rent these
acolytes, as they are called, support the cult. Daphne boys are youths in
their teens, handpicked for their beauty of face and form, and trained in
the amatory arts. The priests who run the temple of Daphne wisely replace
the boys when they get older to keep their stock young and fresh
looking. The boys who become too old to continue as acolytes are sold into
comfortable private service."

I too could have spoken of Daphne Boys from experience, though not as a
customer, for I once spent four years enslaved there as a temple acolyte. I
have to say that even though I was then a slave, I still have fond memories
of my time as a Daphne Boy. The priests were shrewd in keeping us acolytes
reasonably contented with our lot, providing good food and light airy
accommodations. We were required to exercise regularly to keep our bodies
pleasing. Most important, the priests were very sparing of the rod, though
admittedly as much to avoid marking the boys. The priests were not overly
greedy either, letting us boys keep our tips so we would have a bit of coin
to spend on our two days off a month, when we were free to circulate about
the city.

"Thank you, gentlemen." I said, summing up "Like any good looking youth
aware of his own worth, I am just vain enough to enjoy such compliments,
but grounded enough not to take flattery too seriously. To be safe let us
make a libation to the gods, thanking them for the beauty they have gifted
me with."

That sentiment drew universal assent. We all spilled a bit of wine on the
floor and drank the toast. For Gnaeus, the evening ended early. Not long
after my libation, weary from his long ride and surfeited with food and
drink, he set aside his wine goblet, announcing that it was time to lay his
old bones to bed. He left on unsteady feet, drawing a curtain over the
entrance of the alcove. That left me in private and alone, without a
chaperone as it were, sandwiched between lusty Pallas and Bocchus,
enthusiastic boy lovers the both of them.

It was no surprise that they took advantage of their physical proximity,
continually touching me, stroking and petting, squeezing my biceps, or
running their fingers lightly over my ribs. Bocchus liked to ruffle my hair
good-naturedly while Pallas devoted himself to a tactile exploration of my
chest, thumbing the aureoles and tweaking the nubbins of my nipples,
tracing my ribs, rubbing my belly muscles. I did nothing to discourage
these attentions. I like the feel of a man's hands on my body.

The two men also plied me with sweet talk about how pretty I was,
especially Pallas.

"You have such a sexy little body, Aleksander, the incarnation of a boy in
bloom, perfect as an eromenous or consort for older males who appreciate a
beautiful boy. Forgive me if I cannot keep my hands to myself this evening,
not with you so close and so eminently touchable. Here let me slip the
tunic strap off your shoulder to better reveal that sculpted chest of yours
as a complement your bared arms and legs. With your flank pressed to mine,
I can feel your body heat and the firmness of your musculature. And surely
that is the scent of rose water that my nostrils detect on your flawless
skin."

"Aye, I agree fully with my captain." Bocchus added. "The skin of your arms
and legs is at least as a smooth as this silk tunic of yours. So why bother
with it at all? Here, Aleksandros, humor me and raise your arms while I
slip it off you and set it aside. There, now you are properly naked as the
gods intended you to be. Fah, who needs nude statutes of drowned imperial
lovers like Antinous, when a flesh and blood boy is close to hand. And such
an exquisite one too."

"And there is nary a feather on you anywhere, little one, not even at the
fork of your legs, nor even a hint of stubble that I can feel. Small as you
are, so very slender and smooth and boyish, why you don't seem more than
fifteen, though I heard Gnaeus say you were actually nineteen. Is that
right?"

"Yes, it is. I just look younger than I really am. That is not always an
advantage. Men are sometimes reluctant to conduct serious business with a
stripling."

"Especially a youth so much practiced in public nudity, one who often --
even usually goes about the streets as naked as any young slave. No wonder
we took you for a public boy earlier today." Bocchus explained. "Yes, I
confess I have been listening to the gossip about you, Aleksandros, that I
may know you better. Men say that you are a boy proud of the tight trim
body you have recently grown into. So much so that you welcome the
slightest excuse to dispense altogether with clothing."

"Now some of that is only to be expected of any healthy male, at least here
in civilization, such as at the public baths or during athletic training
whether indoors at the palestra or running along a beach or road or
footpath to improve your wind. Nor would I fault you for traipsing the
streets naked down to the lower city for a swim in the river or to take a
boat upstream to fish. But they say that you tend your melon fields as
naked as any of the slaves who labor for you. And likewise at your garum
manufactories."

"All right, I do like to show off. That is part of it, I admit. And the
weather here is perfect, never really hot nor cold, so the human body
requires no protection from the elements.

"Actually, sometimes nudity is the only practical choice. I never wear
clothing in the manufactories because the putrid smell is almost impossible
to wash from cloth. It is bad enough that, after each visit or inspection,
I must scrub my skin raw with a pumice stone to rid myself of the
stench. And my hair! Why do you think I keep it cut so short? And yes
slaves often work naked in warm weather, but those who tend my fields are
not slaves -- any more than I am. I employ only free labor. It costs more
but is that much more productive. "

"And yes, I am quite shameless at drinking parties, at least those intended
as orgies, where I come not as an invited guest but as the eromenos of an
older male. As you know the boys brought to the wilder sort of drinking
parties are soon relieved of their clothing. As the evening proceeds, they
may be passed from couch to couch. No reason then I shouldn't show up at a
symposium already naked, bathed, primped, voided and lubricated, ready to
entertain the older males with my sweet body.  Mark you, no money changes
hands at such events."

"Understood. Your charms are never for sale, but you may share them without
charge. The gods keep you little Aleksandros, for you are their gift to
mankind!"

"Now they say that you are supremely accomplished in pleasuring a man,
Aleksandros. So why don't you demonstrate your skill in the amatory arts
for us?"

Recognizing my cue I got on my knees between the two mercenary soldiers,
eager to give these men the best sex of their lives. Their urgent kisses
and lascivious touching had me fully aroused. Soon I was in my element with
my ass impaled on one cock, another member lodged down my throat, my slight
body sandwiched between two strong males. The manly scent of these two
soldiers made my head whirl. We were soon lost in a world of physical
sensation and intense emotion.

Pallas and Bocchus were vigorous young men and their style of lovemaking
reflected that fact. They took control and bent and folded and twisted my
small body into all manner of positions, ramming, poking, prodding, and
thumping me for hours. They laid me belly down over a big pillow, to raise
my rump to a convenient level for a hard fuck. Meanwhile Bocchus moved
around to the front and presented himself for oral service, waving his
turgid cock under my face, batting my cheeks with it, circling my lips with
the purple head until finally letting me take it into my mouth. At first he
was satisfied with tongue action and sucking but then he thrust deeper,
sliding his shaft down the moist tube of my throat.

Later on Pallas put me on my back and bent me over till my knees straddled
my face, then drove into my upturned ass with his long thick cock. He liked
to pull all the way out and watch my battered and distended hole start to
close up, then drive back into it, squelching and squishing in the manly
juices he and his comrade had discharged into my fundament earlier during
our sex play.

The curtain across the alcove did little to prevent the sound of lusty
sexual congress from reaching the common room, no surprise really in such
an establishment. I was embarrassed later on when it was time to leave and
Pallas withheld my tunic, saying I must pass through the common room
completely naked where those who were still there could see the hickey at
my neck and the finger marks on my ass and upper arms, and my buttocks
reddened from spanking. No doubt they also caught catch the smell of sex on
my body especially where cum had run down my legs. Well, I've never denied
that I was highly sexed.

			Chapter 3. Volubilis

In the following months, I sported with the two mercenaries whenever they
stopped over at Lixus. The sex was fine, and we got along well, as far as
that went, but our relationship never deepened into a true friendship. Yes,
they liked me well enough and I them, but to men of their sort I was just a
delightful boy to have sex with.

That did not make them bad men, not at all, especially in the context of
their times. They were not mean or cruel or even especially crude, just
thoughtless and self-centered. The worst I could say of them is that they
were shallow young men, as macho males so often are, inordinately proud of
their size and strength and sexual prowess and looking down on males who
fell short of normal standards in height, muscular development, and
secondary sexual characteristics like beard and body hair and voice
register. They don't see boys of my sort, overly pretty and sexually
submissive, as comrades.

That was was a sharp disappointment. Looking back now, I can see that I was
feeling lonely and must have hoped to recreate the close friendship I had
enjoyed fifty years earlier in a similar setting, at my caravanserai in
Arabia, at the opposite end of the Roman empire. But Pallas and Bocchus
were not men of the caliber of Tariq, Lucius, and Sixtus. I felt a pang,
wondering whether any of my old friends were still alive. They would all be
nearing eighty by now. That is the saddest thing about
immortality. Eventually you must lose everyone you care about.

With Gnaeus I did cement a firm friendship based on mutual respect for
character, business acumen, and intellect. He dealt with me as a successful
merchant, manufacturer, landowner, and man of intellect, not as a boy
toy. We had long discussions about the places he had seen, the interesting
characters he had met, and his personal philosophy of life. Like me he had
little use for creeds and cults. He held the Olympians in contempt as a
meddlesome and quarrelsome bunch who offered no help to mortals in dealing
with war, plague, famine, or earthquake.

That autumn I decided on an extended visit to Volubilis, the chief city of
the province and Ganeus's home. I knew the overseers at my manufactories
and farms could handle whatever came up in my absence or communicate with
me by mail or messenger.

We took the fine Roman road that the emperor Claudius had built to
consolidate Rome's hold on the region. With a population of twenty
thousand, the city of Volubilis was the administrative and economic center
of the province. The city sat in a triangular plain at an altitude of 1300
feet (400 m) flanked by two small rivers.  It marked the southern limit of
imperial rule. In modern terms is lay a little north of a line joining the
current capital Rabat with the ancient city of Fez in the interior.

Most of its population were Romanized Berbers like Bocchus. Perhaps fifteen
out of a hundred were settlers like Gnaeus, who was of Romanized Semitic
stock, and Pallas, whose family were Greeks from the city of Emporion in
Hispania.

The approaches to the city were guarded by three outlying forts plus a
fossatum or defensive ditch. There was no continuous line of fortifications
like Hadrian's Wall in Britannia, only a network of forts and ditches. The
system funneled traffic through the town, protecting the settled
populations from the nomads to the south.

Other than raids by Moorish tribesmen, there was no serious military threat
to the province. The garrison for the whole province was no more than two
thousand, all of them auxiliaries rather than legionnaires. The empire also
had two naval bases on the Atlantic coast. It is remarkable that the Romans
held all of North Africa west of Egypt with only a single legion, the Legio
III Augusta which numbered no more than ten thousand men including
auxiliaries. Their main base was at Lambaesis, a thousand kilometers to the
east.

From atop his horse, Gnaeus gestured at the dramatic landscape.

"We can thank the high mountains for this green countryside,
Aleksandros. They force the westerly winds to drop their moisture as rain
on this side of the Rif and Atlas Mountain Ranges. We have nothing like it
at home. My native city of Lepcis Magna lies on the coastal plain at the
mouth of a wadi on the edge of the desert. Here in the far west, the land
is all fertile plains, watered by year round rivers and backed by forested
hills with high mountains both north and east."

"Someday I would like to cross the desert, Gnaeus, just to see what is on
the other side. Perhaps I could travel with one of the caravans that bring
trade goods from the far south. They say the land there is peopled by
Ethiopians."

"Nay, Aleksandros. It is true that those beyond the Sahara have dark skins,
but they look quite different from both Ethiops and Nubians. Their
physiques are robust and their physiognomies rather different too, coarser
to my way of thinking, but then my aesthetic was formed here in the
Mediterranean world. They must think we look strange too."

Gnaeus's eyes twinkled as he added:

"On the positive side, I can report that their men are prodigiously
endowed, if that is of any interest to you, my young friend."

"It might be." I allowed with a grin.

It turned out that I did not have to travel all that way to meet one of
these well-endowed southerners. Several had taken up residence in Volubilis
to facilitate the cross desert trade. In particular there was Kolo Kalou a
man in his late twenties, originally from a town situated along what is
today called the Senegal River. Pliny the Elder called it Bambotus, meaning
behemoth, for its hippopotami. Kolo was the major domo for one of the
leading merchants of the city. Not a household steward, as majordomo, Kolo
was responsible for day-to-day oversight of business operations.

I ran into him by chance at the public baths in Volubilis. In Roman
society, the baths or thermae were as much a social institution as they
were infrastructure. Centers for public bathing, socializing, and exercise,
they offered varied services including libraries, light refreshments, and
libations, as well as more personal services like massage, plucking of body
hair, and even the attentions of pliant boys or girls. Roman males usually
went daily every afternoon, stripping naked and putting on sandals to
protect their feet from the heated floors. Besides the baths per se, the
facilities included a palaestra, or outdoor gymnasium where men and boys
would engage in ball games and exercises such as wrestling, lifting
weights, or throwing the discus and usually a big swimming pool.

I loved to swim at the baths. Not only was it good exercise, it was a
excellent chance to show off my sexy body up close. I used showy dives to
attract attention, twisting or turning in the air, cutting the water
cleanly with hardly a splash, then gliding back to the surface. When I
lifted myself out of the pool, I would deliberately pause, bracing myself
on my arms for a moment, which let everyone watch the water sluice off my
pert rump. Sometimes, while I waited for another diver, I stretched my arms
upward, flattening my belly and tightening my glutei to accent their
cleavage. Or I bent over as if stretching my hamstrings but really to
display to advantage the shapely curves of my bum.

One day, while I was bent over like that and totally vulnerable, I felt a
man's hands reaching for my buttocks -- big strong hands with rough
calluses. I looked around and saw a huge black man standing just behind me,
towering over me really. His legs were like black pillars greater around
than my waist. Great slabs of muscle padded his chest and shoulders and he
was covered by the blackest skin I had ever seen. I would not call his face
handsome, but it had an arresting appearance, especially at that moment ,
with his eyes twinkling and his lips parted in a feal grin.

I tried to straighten up but he put one massive paw between my shoulder
blades and pushed me down again and ordered me to stay bent over, rump
high, reinforcing his command with a spank. I braced myself, hands on knees
worried that I had angered a man who could break me in two. What did he
want with me? Meanwhile he reached down and gripped my balls, tugging them
back between my legs.  He cracked my nuts just hard enough to show that he
literally had me by the balls and that I must do as he told me.

"Spread those skinny legs of yours, boy. Let a real man get a good look at
what you have put on offer. My oh my, aren't you the prettiest little thing
ever, a perfect combination of comely face and boyish physique. Smooth and
glabrous everywhere in the Roman fashion. And deliciously shameless in your
exhibitionism. I would guess you for some merchant's catamite or perhaps
one of the public boys who work the baths here, selling themselves for
coin. My misfortune that I have not encountered you before."

All the while his hands were exploring my fundament, rubbing and squeezing
my butt cheeks, fingering my hip bones, boldly inserting his thumbs into my
anal ring and spreading it apart, even inserting a couple of fingers to
gauge how tight I was back there. I tried to protest, but the man had
already established a physical and psychological dominance over
me. Besides, my body was responding to his overwhelming presence and
masculinity.

"Excuse me sir, that I must correct you, but I am neither a slave nor a
public boy. You have no right to feel me up or to probe my orifices."

My plea fell on deaf ears.

"Maybe not by your laws nor even by intent, but any boy as tempting as you
should know better than to show-off at the public baths, notorious places
of assignation that they are. About time you learned that when you put out
an invitation like that you must entertain those who take you up on it. I
mean to have you boy, right here and right now. That's no more than you
deserve, you little tease."

"Now I don't want to hear any more back talk from you. You have no choice
but to accept the inevitable. Even so, I can tell that this prospect is not
entirely unpleasing to you as evidence by your fast breathing and flushed
skin and the way your cock has plumped up and is jutting straight out from
your body while your ball sac is pulled tight to the fork of your
legs. That makes you the very picture of a pleasure boy in heat."

I sputtered a protest:

"But that's mostly your own doing ... from the way you stimulated my
erogenous zones. Being the boy that I am, can I help it that my body reacts
accordingly? If there was any invitation, it was only to look, not to
touch."

"Tut, tut, little one. A pretty notion that, merely looking but not
touching, to deliberately stir a man's blood and then leave him hanging,
aroused but unconsummated. That might appeal to the ineffectual males of
your own effete civilization but hardly a consideration for a warrior of
the Mandinka. Now lets us repair to this comfortable alcove. Prepare
yourself, my young friend, for the hardest fuck of your life."

To whistles and cat calls from our fellow patrons of the baths, the giant
led me over to a secluded bench. A friend of his, a Berber by the look of
him, waved the others back allowing us some space. With one huge hand
clamped to my right biceps escape was impossible. Our disparity in size
made resistance futile. The man was a giant with three times my mass. The
top of my head didn't reach the level of his shoulders. He was a man full
grown and all muscle, while I was but a slender youth. I resigned myself to
my fate, chiding myself for playing the tease that day. The man was right
about that, I'll admit.

As the man turned me to face him, my eyes widened at the sight of his
prodigious manhood, by now fully engorged. The blood flowing into the huge
dark skinned member had turned it a dark purple, I mean all of it, not just
the head. The shaft was gnarly with protruding veins and rooted in a close
clipped triangle of wiry pubic hair. It visibly throbbed to the beat of his
heart. I could see a pearl of seminal fluid glistening at the tip. A
servant boy brought Kolo a jar of lubricating cream. He scooped up a
generous helping on three fingers and applied it to my boy hole, even
spreading some down my by-now turgid shaft.

"Have to slick up your boy teat as well, for milking later on." he
explained off-handedly.

My body trembled under the big man's ministrations. He smiled and asked
whether it wasn't more from lust than from fear. Wasn't I really more eager
than afraid. I shook my head, in denial rather than in refusal, for I knew
how useless that was. I spoke up once again, to plead with him, trying to
sound forceful but failing utterly as I let out a sob, wincing at hearing
my voice come out so very young and shaky. Mine was the voice of a
frightened boy beseeching a superior, rather than that of a young man
standing up for himself.

"Please sir, I know that I am in your power, only don't hurt me. I realize
that I have been naughty, tempting you as I did, shaking my booty here at
the baths. But surely I am not the only boy excessively proud of the sweet
body he has so recently grown into. You must know that I cannot take that
huge cock of yours up my ass. I am just a little guy, a skinny kid with
narrow hips. You saw for yourself how tiny I am back there, my hole I
mean. That monster cock of yours would tear me up for sure, set me bleeding
like a virgin. Ruin me forever. So spank me if you must, to punish me, or
force me suck your cock, if that would satisfy you, but don't impale me on
your prong."

"Nay, pretty one, you must let me be the judge of these things. I am older
and more experienced with male sex than you. It is true that you are small
and tight back there, and yes, you can expect some pain when I slide into
you, at least at first, though less than you would suppose. Never fear. I
am sure you can take my cock without serious injury, as have so many others
in the past, though they too were dubious at the start. My cock has a way
of insisting on entry into warm welcoming holes like yours."

"Understand me well and don't be put off by my fierce appearance. I have no
wish to hurt a pretty little thing like you, just the opposite. Actually I
am quite fond of sissy boys of your sort, small in stature, over-sexed, and
far too proud of their girlish looks for their own good. Soon you will
realize the pleasure a really big man like me can give to a slip of a lad
like you, no matter the initial pain. I predict that in days to come you
will seek me out for more of the same, virtually throwing yourself at me,
begging me to impale you. And of course I will accommodate you. All you
white boys are like that. Once you get a taste of the real thing, you can
never get enough of black cock."

The man straddled the bench, turning me around and set me on all fours in
front of him. He laid himself atop my back, his black skin pressed to mine,
covering me like a stallion does a filly, practically engulfing my small
body though keeping much of his weight on his own legs. Kolo kissed my
shoulders and the back of my neck and tugged at my hair with his teeth.

I whimpered as I felt the head of his cock pressing at my anal whorl, then
push in slightly, spreading me open. The pressure mounted as the intruder
pushed past the guardian sphincters till the head of the cock was lodged
inside me. Then Kolo paused to give me a chance to adjust to his girth. I
gasped and breathed deeply, my limbs trembling under the weight on my back,
sweat pouring off me, eyes squeezed shut with pain, whipping my head form
side to side, the very picture of a bottom boy struggling to accept his
impalement.

To his credit the man was careful with me, proceeding slowly, not forcing
himself into me with one quick thrust. Slowly, a little bit of a time, he
penetrated deep till he was fully lodged inside. I gave a small cry as I
felt him seat himself. By this time, tears were running down my
cheeks. Kolo reached with one hand to turn my head back enough for him to
reach out with his hand to taste my tears.

"Salty and sweet, just as a boy ought to be. I prize each of the fluids I
can draw from a boy: tears and cum, sweat and spit, seminal fluid and even
blood. Yes, you were right, little Aleks, today a bit of your virgin's
blood will flow to mix with the manly juices I will fill you with. Never
fear. Before long the pain will stop and the bleeding soon after that."

Things turned out just as he had promised. Sharp pain in time gave way to
intense pleasure. It took longer than with others who have fucked me,
because the black man was so huge. Fortunately he was slow and careful, In
time the familiar tingle started and I felt a rush of warmth to my belly. I
found myself pushing back with my hips to meet his thrusts, moaning now as
much in pleasure as in pain. I urged him to thrust harder, that I could
take it. That I was his boy.

In the fullness of time we climaxed nearly together then slumped onto the
bench in post-coital lassitude. I managed to brace my knees under me, the
better to support his weight so I could keep breathing. Realizing my
difficulty, he sat down with his back to a wall, pulling me towards him
till my small body was spooned into his.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it little one?" he asked softly. "My
fleshy spear did not tear you as much as you feared it would."

"No, Kolo, er ... sir. There was a bit of blood, true, but I am fine,
really. Thank you for the care you took in fucking me. I have known many
who have hurt their boys, carried away by passion."

"Such brutes miss the whole point of it. There should be pleasure for both
man and boy, or you are doing it wrong."

I snuggled deeper into his arms, comforted and protected by his presence. I
thought to myself, here was a man I could get to like a lot. We chatted for
a while, till we got our second wind, then went at it again, only this time
with me on my back so Kolo could watch my face the whole time and I
his. His skin was so dark and his teeth so white that his smile lit up his
whole face. When it came time to part, Kolo allowed himself a smug grin
when I told him that I very much wanted to see him again, that a single
tryst at the baths was not enough for me.

"Ah, it is just as I foretold, pretty one."

And that is how I became the friend of Kolo Kalou.

			Chapter 4. Sahara

It turned out that Kolo and Gnaeus were acquainted. Gnaeus was spending
more time at home these days, thinking about retiring. So we often took our
meals together, just the three of us. Both were good conversationalists and
loved to speak of their travels. Seemingly they had been everywhere. Gnaeus
had traveled the length of the Mediterranean and had been to Alexandria,
Antioch, Athens, and Rome. Kolo knew the country beyond the mountains and
desert to the south all the way to the sea. In their time they had gone off
to war and come back sobered by their experiences. Neither man saw any
glory in war and neither was interested in enriching himself with
loot. There had chosen honest routes to the wealth they enjoyed.

I told Kolo how much I wanted to to cross the desert myself, someday. He
shook his head dubiously.

"That is not a journey to be taken lightly, my young friend. It is two
months across at best. Why it takes ten days alone just to reach the edge
of the desert at the oasis of Tafilet on the far side of the High Atlas
mountains. The route crosses the mountains then follows the Ziz river which
eventually disappears into the thirsty sands of the desert. From there you
must contend with wells gone dry, sandstorms, and raiders -- not to mention
venomous snakes, spiders, and scorpions."

"And bad news -- for you especially, you little scamp -- you would have to
wear clothing the whole time, as protection from the burning sun and
blowing sands and the cold of the desert night. That means tunics and
hooded cloaks. No running around stark naked. No bathing either. No
offense, little one, but I think a pretty boy like you is too soft for such
a trip."

"Excuse me!" I protested, jumping to my feet, fists held high. "I'll have
you know that I can do tough, if I have to. I have been around. I can do
fierce too." I added with a theatrical scowl.

We all laughed at my mugging. Then Gnaeus took up the thread of
conversation.

"You know that under the current emperor Rome is not expansionist, but that
could easily change. It would not take much for the empire to push south
across the Atlas mountains, to establish a garrison at the oasis on the
edge of the desert as a defense against raiders and to control the trade."

"A century ago the great general Suetonius Paulinus (who later defeated
Boudicca's revolt in Britannia) managed much more. According to the account
in Pliny, he crossed mountains covered with snow even in summer; those
would be the High Atlas. Then he traversed a desert of black sand and burnt
rock, the Sahara, obviously, till he reached a great river called the Gerj,
which he followed to the sea. Beyond lay a wooded region abounding in
elephants."

"Yes, my people have the tale too." Kolo added. "The Romans marched all the
way to the Bombatus river where my people dwell, where my family
lives. It's been two years since I saw my wives and children." he added
with regret.

"Wives and children!" I wailed, drawing chuckles from both men.

Then one day, Kolo's representative in the oasis town of Tafilet died of an
illness. Kolo would have to travel there to audit the man's accounts and
appoint a replacement. To my great joy, Kolo agreed to take me with him
across the mountains and to the very edge of the desert. The trip would
take ten days each way with a stop over of three to five days. Gnaeus asked
to come along. Since it was Kolo's caravan and not his own, Ganeus'
guardsmen Pallas and Bocchus stayed in Volubilis.

A seasoned traveler, I know how to equip myself for a hard journey across
varied terrain. We would have to cross gorges and defiles, negotiate high
mountain passes, and pick our way along the river bottom and finally cross
soft sands and hard desert pavement.

As we saddled up for the start of our journey, Kolo saw me settle my
weapons about me. On this journey I carried a spatha, the straight Roman
cavalry sword. Longer than the gladius of the infantry, it gave a rider
enough reach to slash at mounted foes or those on foot. I also bore a
dagger at my belt, a brace of throwing knives over my chest, and a sling
with lead bullets. For armor, I contented myself with a buckler on my left
arm and a leather cuirass.

"You are quite the toy soldier, little Aleks." Kolo remarked, a
condescending smile on his face.

"Listen Kolo, I like you a whole lot, and I am making allowances for the
fact that you know me best in bed where I am but a boy. But when you see me
go about armed like this, know that I am no boy but a man. I'll thank you
to treat me like one."

He was startled by my changed demeanor. I had deliberately let my mask slip
and let him see a little of the toughness and strength of character that
three centuries of life experience had instilled in me. Confused and a
little worried, he nodded and got on his horse without another word.

The outward bound trip was full of minor incident, hard slogging, and
terrific scenery but basically uneventful. We made the trip without losing
anyone to injury or illness or foul play. In Tafilet Kolo dedicated his
time to business over the next four days. That gave me and Gnaeus the
chance to explore the town.

To paraphrase Herodotus, Tafilet is the gift of the River Ziz, like Egypt
and the Nile or Timbuktu and the Niger. Even when the river dries up, as it
does seasonally, water continues to flow underground in the water table to
feed shallow wells. The town lies at the foot of the High Atlas from whence
the river flows. It is a welcoming patch of green at the edge of a vast
barren plain, the largest desert in the world. At 3.6 million square miles
(9.4 M sq km) the Sahara desert is as large as all of the United States
(including Alaska), or China, or Canada.

No wonder Rome never seriously contemplated expansion beyond that vast
wasteland. Expeditions did march to the Senegal River and the Inner Niger
Delta, the area of lakes and flood plains just south of the desert near
Timbuktu. But it was obvious that trying to hold conquests on the other
side of a desert 1500 hundred miles wide was just not worth the effort.

Rome did annex the Kingdom of the Garamantes, an terrestrial archipelago of
oases and towns in the Fezzan region in the southwest of modern Libya. The
Garamantes grew wheat, figs, barley, and grapes with the help of elaborate
underground irrigation systems fed by their oases. They traded wheat, salt,
slaves, and amazonite ( a form of feldspar) quarried in the Tibesti
Mountains for wine and olive oil, oil lamps, and Roman tableware. What they
did not trade for, they simply seized.

They must have thought themselves safe from retaliation, with their oases
so far into the desert, five hundred miles from the Mediterranean
coast. But the Garamantes were vulnerable in a way nomads were not. They
were farmers who had something to defend. The could not just cut and run
but had to stand their ground.

Tired of endless raids on its coastal cities and traders and irked that the
usual combination of diplomacy and subsidies and threats had not brought
the kingdom to heel, Rome did not merely send a punitive expedition. The
emperor sent an army to conquer the kingdom, disarm it and occupy it with a
Roman garrisons. The empire levied taxes to make the locals to bear the
expense of maintaining the occupation. It was an object lesson in
deterrence. Don't mess with Rome.

That was why the empire could hold North Africa west of Egypt with only a
single legion. The introduction of the camel several centuries upset the
military balance in favor of pastoralists over agriculturalists.

On the return trip, just two days into the mountains we ran into
trouble. Kolo had been suspicious of riders who kept our caravan under
surveillance from a discreet distance. So he made us set up camp on
defensible ground. The drovers picketed the horses and mules against a
canyon wall, protected by our camp site which we situated to command the
avenues of approach. That meant we would not have to split our forces to
guard animals and goods and men.

In the last hour before dawn, Kolo had everyone wake up and stand to, on
the alert and fully armed. At my suggestion, we tied bands of white cloth
around their heads or helmets to mark our fighters from our foes. They came
at us moments later, infiltrating on foot. They had nearly twice our
numbers, and all of them well-armed fighters whereas our drovers, poor
lads, were armed only with slings. Now Gnaeus was too old to mix it up
close so Kolo put him in charge of the slingers.  Their fire would be more
effective when massed against a particular target such as a cluster of
foemen threatening to take us in the flank.

In that fight I gave a good account of myself. I know that I accounted for
five bandits myself and lent a hand as our guards dispatched several
others. Three centuries of training, practice, and combat experience had
made me a supremely competent warrior. My small physique made me quick and
nimble. As long as I had room for maneuver, I could more than hold my
own. I discarded my cuirass, which I mostly wore against arrows, so its
weight would not slow me down. I remained clad only in my tunic and sandals
plus the white head band.

As for Kolo, he was magnificent, both as a leader and as a fighter. He took
charge and acted swiftly and decisively. In battle he inspired the men,
shouting his war cry, rushing to any threatened point, and laying about
with his huge sword to dispatch his enemies. For such a big man, he was
deceptively fast. My opponents expected speed from me but not from
him. With his speed and his devastating strength he was irresistible, a
veritable dark skinned demon of death. I actually saw him cleave one foe in
twain with a sweep of his blade.

Potential foes shied away from him, fearful to take him on. Their fixation
on Kolo made them vulnerable to the rest of us who took them from behind or
the side. I do not count it shameful to stab a thug in the kidneys or slash
his hamstrings from behind. These men would have killed or enslaved
us. They deserved to die. At least their deaths were quick.

In a desperate battle like this, no quarter is asked or given. We took no
prisoners, giving a quick death to wounded enemies except a few whom we
allowed to live just long enough to bury their fellows. Only two or three
managed to get away. In the morning's light we found one of their dead
where they had kept their horses.

Afterwards, Kolo looked over at me and caught my eye then brought his sword
up smartly in a salute, acknowledging me as a fellow warrior. I very much
valued the man's respect and showed my appreciation when we stopped that
evening at our next camp site.

Safely back in Volubilis, Gnaeus announced his retirement. He had taken no
real hurt but he was tired. Travel and adventure was a young man's
game. This was the time of life for him to enjoy the fruits of his
labors. I came to love that old man. Until his death years later I was
always a welcome guest in his household. And no he never asked me to bed.

Kolo returned home two years later. Our parting was friendly for I wished
him well, even if it was to return to the arms of his two wives. We joked
about how he had sprung their existence on me that day with Gnaeus. He was
a good man and a good friend. I am sorry that we never crossed paths again
though I did hear later that his life along the River Senegal was long and
prosperous.

Only recently could I write of these things, choosing, from caution, to
cast them as fiction, a series of fanciful tales of an immortal youth
written under a pseudonym. My secret is safe for no one in these days of
modern science will believe it. Except for the genuine historical figures
all the names have been changed, though the events described really did
happen just as I have written.

			Epilogue

In time its citizens of Lixus abandoned the bluffs and built a whole new
city on the flats on the south shore of the river, modern Larache.
Volubilis is a prime tourist site for Roman ruins. There would have been
even more of them, but over time the site was looted for building stone to
construct palaces at nearby Meknes.

The Roman province(s) of Mauretania (spelled with and e) fronted on the
Mediterranean, hundreds of miles north of the modern Islamic Republic of
Mauritania (spelled with an i).

			Author's Note

This is another story about the Daphne Boy, an immortal youth named
Alexander. It is the nineteenth in a series of tales that chronicles his
misadventures down the ages.

The other stories in this series, written out of chronological order, are:

'Antebellum', set in the American South just before the Civil War, 'Daphne
Boy', set in Roman Syria, 'El Dorado', about the conquistadors, 'The
Erythraean Sea', set in Arabia just before the rise of Islam, 'Stupor
Mundi', about the Sixth Crusade, 'Ferghana', a tale of the Silk Road in
Central Asia, 'Zulu' set mostly in Southern Africa during the Anglo-Zulu
War, 'Sol Invictus' set in the Roman Empire during the reign of the
dissolute androgynous and sexually insatiable gay emperor Elagabalus,
'Reniassance' set in Italy around 1500, 'Gupta' set during the Golden Age
in India in the Vth century AD, 'Palmyra' set during the crisis of the
IIIrd century that nearly destroyed the Roman Empire, 'Tobago', set in the
Caribbean and South America during the middle of the XVIIth century, 'The
Apostate' set during the age of the Roman Emperor Julian the Apostate in
the mid IVth century, 'Marlowe', set it Elizabethan London, 'Isfahan' set
in XIth century Persia, 'Delos', set in the Mediterranean during the Ist
century AD, 'Ship's Boy' set in around the Red Sea in the Ist century BC,
and 'Caravanserai' set in Roman Arabia in the early Ist century AD.

These stories can be read in almost any order. The first story,
'Antebellum' introduces the character with extensive flashbacks of his
origins. The second story explains how he came by his appellation of the
Daphne Boy, the term for a comely youth enslaved as a sacred prostitute at
the temple of Daphne in ancient Antioch in Syria.

This tale is as historically accurate in its setting as I could make it,
with only minor poetic license for the sake of the story. This tale, after
all, is fiction. It is not a historical monograph. Except off stage
historical characters like the emperor Hadrian and his lover Antinous and
Suetonius Paulinus the characters are not intended to resemble any actual
person living or dead.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my other historical series
'Naked Prey'. Each tale features its own protagonist, all of them cute
twinks on the run bareass from some peril or other. For a change of pace,
there are my 'Jungle Boy' tales about gay twinks in Hollywood, posted in
the Gay/Authoritarian section of the archive.  For links to these and other
series of stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.

Comments and feedback welcome at georgegauthierdc@gmail.com.