Date: Sun, 15 Jan 2006 10:06:04 -0600
From: Lance Davids <norskebjorn@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Journey to Tubingen (1699)

[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.