Date: Mon, 3 Apr 2006 22:25:01 -0400
From: Arthur Jerome Weiss <jerryw@pipeline.com>
Subject: THE ENCHANTED FLUTE

THE ENCHANTED FLUTE

by Jerry Weiss

These stories are based on Maurice Ravel's song cycle SCHEHERAZADE, the
lyrics for which are selections from a book of poems by "Tristan Klingsor,"
a Wagnerian pen name for Leon Leclere, a poet, artist and musician.
Listening to the music is recommended as an accompaniment to this piece.
The poems' Arabian Nights imagery is emblematic of the kind of luxurious,
sensual fascination with a fantasy notion of the Eastern sensibility that
was very popular in its time and again in the Northern Californian
counterculture of the mid to late 20th century.

While the piece below is more sensual than sexual, it does contain explicit
passages, and as such, access where it is prohibited by law and/or viewing
by minors is not consented to.  The poems it is based on are in the public
domain.  While three quarters of the imagery is mine, and all the sexual
passages are from my own imagination, I have preserved the outline and
general tenor of the original and some of the most evocative language.

The song cycle is written for a woman's voice and the pronouns are
ambiguous, but the yearning, homoerotic content of each of the three pieces
is unmistakable, being, in order, about a young man smoking hashish and
masturbating to hallucinatory, sado-masochistic fantasies; a slave boy in a
harem thinking of his handsome lover playing his "enchanted flute" outside
the walls of the palace garden; and a mature man who invites a passing
adolescent boy traveler to come into his home for refreshments, only to be
met with uncomprehending indifference.

This story is copyrighted by the author and any reproduction in any form
except for individual printouts by Nifty readers without the explicit
consent of the author is strictly prohibited.


ASIA (Asie)


Ah, the East, the East, the East!!!  Magical Asia, old land of inscrutable
marvels, continent of deserts and mountains, of monsoons and famine, of
teeming hordes with swarthy faces, where fantasy sleeps like an empress in
a mysterious forest, I long for you.  My mind is full of dimly remembered
bedtime tales, as I lie on my divan pleasuring myself with images of sweet
boys in the first bloom of manhood, beautiful princesses in diaphanous
veils and virile, handsome guards with bare chests, arm bracelets, silken
pantaloons and pointed shoes.

Asia!  I'd like to embark tonight on the schooner that's rocking in the
harbor, the one manned by blond sailors in ass-hugging tight white pants;
we'd sail by moonlight, solitary, mysterious, until we reached the open sea
and in the sparkling golden waves the violet sails would spread like an
immense bird of the night!

As the winds blow us on and we cut through the spumous water, I'll lie on
the teak deck next to the beautiful sailors with their blond curls and
green eyes and we'll kiss and dream of our adventures to come in the
Orient: kidnapped and sold to a pasha in Turkey as sex slaves, rescued by
Mongol horsemen who take us as their lovers, honored as royal concubines in
the imperial households of China, instructed in the Kama Sutra by young
Indian monks, riding tigers through the dark green jungles.

I want to sail to the Isle of Flowers, listening to the perverse sea
singing in the old bewitching rhythm of sorcerers; I want to see Damascus
and the cities of Persia, with their fragile minarets floating in the air.
I want to see fine silk turbans above handsome dark faces with gleaming
white teeth, I want to see eyes dark with love and pupils sparkling with
happiness in skins golden as apricots.

I want to be invited into nomad's tents and be offered the pleasures of my
host's handsome young son, I want to feel his lips on mine as I penetrate
him slowly and spend a night entwined in his arms.  I want to be swept up
by a royal procession and brought, through gauzy silken curtains of indigo,
green and azure, into the satin-pillowed tents of a great prince wearing
golden, sparkling jewels who will perfume my body and caress me with down
from white swans, and enter me with his enormous tumescent pillar, as
servants in velvet gowns and fringed vests massage us with scented oils,
and a eunuch plays the harp.

I want to see sharp merchants with shifty looks, I want to see vizirs who,
with a single crook of the finger, dispense life or death as the spirit
moves them.  I want to go to holy India and bathe in the Ganges and then to
ancient China, where I'll see big-bellied mandarins walking under umbrellas
to the sound of tinkling bells, wise men disputing poetry and beauty, and
linger in enchanted palaces and contemplate landscapes, painted and real,
surrounded by spruce trees in the center of an orchard.  I want to see
beggars and queens, roses and blood!

I want to see naked champion athletes chained and facing dripping walls, as
their muscled backs and asses are whipped by enormous wrestlers in minotaur
masks, for the amusement of the rajah.  I want to see young princes held
captive and debased as public urinals.  I want to see deposed kings with
their manly buttocks held in place in stocks and slaves invited to rape
them savagely.  I want to entice a saintly, handsome young student from his
religious studies until he drops to his knees and worships my cock, and the
cum and piss that come out of it.  I want to sit on his face as he lovingly
licks my anus.  I want to be incarcerated in Turkish jails and service the
muscled jailers' stony instruments in return for a drink of water.

I want to see those who die for love, or die for hate!  I want to see
massive tsunamis drown the innocent, I want to see earthquakes swallow
kingdoms, I want to feel cyclonic winds that blow away my consciousness of
anything but the Eternal Now, I want to see massive edifices fall, I want
to be One with the galaxies above, I want to see a hundred criminals cum as
great curved Persian scimitars descend on their necks!!!!

Aggghhhghhhh!!!!!!!

Aaaah!...Aaaah!... Aaaah!...Ah...

Ummmm...

I stand on the bow as the ship scuds through billowing waves, the wind
blowing through my hair and my mind, my eyes open to the Glory of God.  We
sail on for places unknown, mysteries yet to unfold, unknown peoples, rare
birds of paradise, markets with sweet, strange fruits, veiled princesses
with jeweled navels in gossamer gowns beckoning me with painted
fingernails, smiling boys promising me elusive pleasures with their
hypnotic eyes.  The indigo voyage sails on...

And when my journey is ending, I will sit in dimly lit cafes holding court
to rapt young listeners, fingering my white beard, smoking my pipe and
raising my cup artfully to reflect the firelight, as I recount my
adventures, like Sinbad, to the connoisseurs of dreams.


THE ENCHANTED FLUTE (La Flute Enchantee)


The hour is late, and I can see the stars shining bright in the night sky
outside my window.  I feel the breeze of the soft summer night against my
soft, perfumed skin, as high above a few fast traveling clouds make the
full moon appear to be rushing across the sky.  I shiver in my silken vest
and pantaloons, thinking of my handsome Ali of the palace guard watching
the same heavens as I just outside the garden gate, as we have arranged.
For now, this is all we can share, and soon he will play his flute for me.

My master is asleep in his golden bed with purple satin sheets in the
adjoining royal bedroom, his beard moving softly with his breath, his heavy
sultan's organ waxing slightly as he dreams of the beautifully mounded rear
ends of young men.  Sometimes I like the warmth and security of his massive
arms, big chest and round belly, and he is a kind lover, always reaching
around to pleasure me as he penetrates my clinging youthful rectum.  But it
is Ali that I love.

Ali takes my breath away.  His waved, flaming hair sets my soul on fire and
his eyes are green oases where I quench my thirst.  The golden bracelets he
wears around his ample biceps chain me to desire.  The brown nipples on his
sculpted chest are like chestnuts I would suckle on for eternity.  When I
run my fingers lightly down his abdomen, the ridges make me think of the
cedar-scented hills of Lebanon.  The dense forest below would invite me to
bide my time curling it to and fro were it not for the great treasure
awaiting me next.

His manhood is the pillar of my desire, with its silken yet marble texture,
the nectar that drips from him when he is close to me is sweeter than the
sweetest of honeys, I know its geography and the special places on it that
make his body rise in ecstasy, it is my own special toy, it belongs to me
as much as him.

From outside the gates of the palace I hear the languid notes of his flute,
he is playing for me, dulcet tones that are like his tongue licking at my
ear. The song is sad and joyful, languorous and frivolous by turn.  When I
draw closer to the window it seems that each note is flying straight from
his flute to my cheek, like a mysterious kiss.  And as the sweet music
rises and falls, flickers and sustains, I take myself in my hand.  The
notes direct me ---- quick, quick, quick...long and
lingering...strongly...softly.  We are making love the only way we can for
now, and the notes moving my hand make me feel that it is he that is
pleasuring me.  I climax as the music does and his flute falls silent for a
moment, as he comes with me.

I gaze at the moon and the great sky full of stars and know he is too, as
his plaintive tune resumes and gets further and further away. Oh, Ali, I
long to kiss your lips and be with you forever!  May Allah grant my wish!

The flames in the hanging braziers are flickering their last.  In the
darkness, I steal softly to my place in the great golden bed with purple
satin sheets, at my master's feet.



PASSING THROUGH (L'Indifferent)


I'm sitting in the swing on the porch of my cottage, slowly arcing back and
forth in the lazy afternoon.  Cicadas are chirping waves of clicking sound
high in the towering trees.  Not much traffic on the sidewalk-less road;
the wild roses in bloom in my yard waft their perfume my way.  I daydream
about my young manhood, so long ago, when finding and making love was so
easy, when my days abounded with supple young boys, muscular, demanding
men, pliant bodies by the bouquet full, a shower of male flowers blossoming
my life, the ache of the body never wanting satisfaction, soft skin against
mine day after day, night after night.

As I muse, a newly minted shirtless boy of about fourteen is walking down
the road in shorts and sneakers, toting a backpack.  His hair is kissed
lightly by a zephyr, and he supplely brushes it away with a languid
movement of his hand.  Ah, fresh youth, your movements might be mistaken
for feminine, but they are the remnants of the childhood you are leaving,
boy-man.  Your legs are those of a man, your crotch seems ample, your ass
is perfect, but above your waist your chest is not yet completely filled
out and your face is not quite at the turning point when pretty becomes
handsome.  The only hint of a beard is the soft blond down on your rosy
cheek, which only serves to make the line of your chin the more seductive.

You nod as you pass me.  I say, "Hey dude, how's it goin'" hoping to sound
hip, and you stop for a moment.

"Hiking up into the hills to spend the night under the stars.  Is this the
way to Woodside?"

"Yeah, just keeping going in that direction... Umm, you look like you've
been walking a long time, would you like to come in for a drink or a
smoke?"  I put my thumb and forefinger together.

Come in and let's get stoned...  We'll put music on and light some incense,
and when we've got a good buzz, our legs will entwine and I'll caress your
smooth arms and chest and you'll lean into me to be kissed, and our lips
pressed together will make us feel like we're floating in a cloud of plum
blossoms.  Your shorts will fall to the floor and I will lay you on my bed
and kiss you everywhere.  Ah, let me feel your lips melt beneath mine, as I
run my hands up and down your lithe body, and caress your rapidly rising
member.  Let me put your boyhood in my mouth and go down, down, down into
the warmth of your virility.  Let me feel you raise your hips in rising
excitement and grab the back of my head as you pump your white juices down
my gullet.  Let me turn you over and lightly brush the dewy melons of your
youth with my hand and lips.  Let me spread your cheeks and discover your
virginal rosebud, quivering and puckering in and out.  Let me lick your
love bud with my tongue for days.  Let me feel you writhe in ecstasy, as
you raise your ass to meet my pussy-worshipping tongue.  Let me insert one,
than two, then three fingers in your sensitive, tight tunnel, until your
fundament begins to bloom open and say to me "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me
please."  Let me pull out my hard tool and as I poise to mount you from
behind...

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"No thanks, man, no time, gotta keep goin' so I can set up my bedroll
before it gets dark.  Have a good day..."

I wave.  "Later, dude..."

You amble away, your buttocks winking with every laidback step, and I watch
long as you disappear slowly down the road into the trees.

Ah, it's starting to get cool; I take a last sip of my wine, and reach for
my coral t-shirt.  My right hand kneads my cock and balls underneath my
jeans.  I return to my daydreaming...foggy nights in San Francisco when we
never fell asleep, shotgunning marijuana smoke with hippie boys come in
from Kansas, orgies of the innocent where we lost track of where our bodies
began and ended, evenings at the beach in each other's arms watching the
sun set over the ocean.

Hmm, wonder what I'll have for dinner?

The breeze rustles through the tops of the trees, the gardenia bush next to
the porch is knocking itself out, I lazily pluck a fresh fig from the
overhanging tree.  The road is turning from sun to shadow.

Copyright 2006 New York by Arthur Jerome Weiss