Date: Sat, 26 Apr 2008 16:40:08 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: The Pipes of Awakening

			  THE PIPES OF AWAKENING
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

[Note: I'm not trying to evoke the Grecian god Pan here, per se, so much as
I am giving you a fertility god with the incarnation of the satyr playing
his pipes. I stuck with the ancient Greek background for the rest of it,
but am not trying to regurgitate any old myth here, rather, this is my own
creation and my satyr is left unnamed deliberately for this reason. Call
him, instead, one of the forgotten demi-gods who pre-date the story of
Pan.]

With a purposeful stride, he walked from the glade into the cleared areas
of Men, his hooves making a snik-snik-snik-snik sound as he went from
walking on leaves to walking on hard ground with only a smattering of grass
upon it. The yellowed blades and impoverished soil didn't distress him. It
was why he was here.

The snows had melted not long before. The weather was on the brisk side but
he didn't feel it. The sun was shining and warming things, and soon it
would be warmer still.

He carried in one hand his pipes, a collection of reeds of different sizes
and lengths, carved and chosen, then bound together to produce melody.

He found a place to sit, a temple destroyed by some disaster of the past,
whether man-made or natural (Greece was victim to both in equal measure)
and the broken column here made a passable seat. His hooves rested easily
enough upon the broken wall of the remnants of a now-gone building's wall,
and he looked about at the scene. Such a beautiful place, even in its
winter dress.

But now...now it was time for the awakening to begin.

He raised his pipes to his lips and he began to play. The tune that came
out was older than time, older than legend, older than Man. It worked its
way with a tenacity that soundwaves alone could never have explained, it
wound across the glen and over the hills, it traveled out across the land
in all directions, and the roots of the grass felt it, used it, reached
again to rebuild the greenery that would feed all life richly once
again. And the trees and bushes caught it in their branches, caressed the
sound, and the buds of their leaves used it to reach out and unfurl and
extend into the air, catching the sunlight. And the sun himself smiled at
the melody, sent his beams down to stroke the ground, turning the yellowed
blades back to green once more.

He watched all this and watched more the grounds beyond the remnants of the
temple complex which had stood here. Beyond the crumpled temple, the
deteriorated marble figure of a now-forgotten god on its pedestal, beyond
these grounds, there was the town of men, and from this direction, would
come the reward he would gain for his labors upon the meadows about.

The melody called them in, the young men still potent in their virility,
their bodies still unchained by marriage or bereaved by a young wife's
death so that they lay upon their solitary beds and were tormented by
dreams that fed upon their need and their deprivation, upon their
tumescence and their virility.

To them, as well, the tune he played called, and as he played, he smiled to
see them, the young men coming toward him as if they walked in a dream,
their faces slack and their eyes puzzled as their bodies moved them without
their choice, their volition, their control. They were moving, and they
were not even sure why.

And the tune played on, and the sky became even more blue, the weather even
more warm, the grass even more green, and the temples cleansed themselves
and took on their old air of consecration once again, and to the
non-understanding observer, who would have seen this place, he would have
called it the Elysian Fields of their ancient faith, the place where only
the most blessed of humans were permitted to dwell after death. But there
was no death here, not even beatific death, but the very air and ground and
plants and humans breathed to the tune of the opposite of death and that
was life, life, LIFE!

The humans from the town had reached him now and they were entranced by the
song he played, and now his duty was done and now he could take his payment
for his labor of music, he could change the intent of the tune, make it for
himself rather than for the world. He knew full well what he was doing, but
thought of it with the conceit that he was adding a celebration to the
otherwise mundane task of bringing the world back to life after the long
winter sleep.

He always enjoyed this moment, the time the men would shake themselves
briefly out of the hypnotic state the music invoked, long enough to look at
each other, and the music he played suddenly had a new effect on the
men. Their breasts beat in tune with the music, and the music was the music
of life, and the essential component of life is that it wishes to grow, to
create more life.

And every living thing must answer that siren call when it comes forth. He
played his music and watched the men as they struggled, as they asked each
other with their eyes, as they reached their tentative hands over to the
other's body to touch, to find out if the other would possibly...could
possibly...potentially...conceivably...permit?

And as they touched, the music turned the touch into fire! Not the fire
that burns the skin and blackens it to lifelessness, it burned with the
power of unexpressed desire and gave it a purpose and direction. With a
sound that was half like a sigh and half like a moan, the men about him met
each other. Their chests mashed against each other, their groins ground
into each other's hips, their legs slid between the legs of the other's,
their arms reached about to hold, their fingers clasped onto each other's
backs to cling tightly, their lips met to let that sighing moan, that
moaning sigh, be sent into each other, the better to feed the flame that
had ignited within.

He knew that the lust of these men was no mere local thing, all over Greece
and Asia Minor, and stretching south as far as Crete and north as far as
Macedonia and Thrace, his melody had permeated the souls of all the men of
these lands where his name was honored, the men had awakened to this sexual
need, had sought each other, had touched each other in mutual desire and
understanding. This was the essence of life, joy for the sake of love and
not just for procreation, and joy was of what his music spoke, joy that
needs no reason and needs no explanation, he had given it purpose and scope
and objective, and now the men both with him and around the land were
expressing that love.

Now that the fire had been ignited, he could maintain it easily by the
merest of notes and so he feasted his eyes upon the men about him.

At his feet and to one side, there was the son of King Hippolyte and one of
the King's guards, the guard, a sturdy spearman of formidable build and a
prodigal dong, and he was worming that huge spear of his manhood into the
young royal butt. The Prince was keening with a sound that was reminiscent
of a cow lowing, but then the guard gave a shove and the keen jerked up to
a groan. "Eeeeeeeee-uh-UH-KUHHHGUHHH!"

To his right, the town metalsmith was leaning against a tree while a youth
from the vineyards slid his manhood into the metalsmith's broad, muscled
buttocks, and the strong arms that had wielded the hammer and the bellows
and pounded raw metal into shields, swords and plows, those arms now
rippled as they clenched with the joy of a tumescent pud sliding into the
warm nether regions of his body, and the metalsmith groaned and thrust his
buttocks backwards, the better to drive this slender sword of youth deeper
into his fires to dispense their molten lava of love.

To his left, two soldiers who composed one of the King's phalanx of
warriors were reaching their own accord, one had knelt and taken the
love-muscle of his comrade and was blissfully feasting upon the turgid
glory, and the zephyrs of spring that blew about were tossing the soldier's
hair about with playful abandon, the strands waved like a brave banner held
aloft in the thick of battle, to pronounce to all who needed heartening to
look up on it and know that their phalanx still held!

He was wondering now only about the acolyte from the temple, the one who
had recently chosen to study the great mysteries of the gods to better
serve them and through them his people. He had known this town would bear
him only a few such uncommitted men (though those who had wives did partake
of his glory with their mates and through them brought more sons to join
the future pairings inspired by his pipes), and so that only seven had been
called to his presence, that was a sufficiency, only where had the young
devotee gotten himself?

And then he felt it, the supple warmth lapping at his testicles and he
chuckled, letting the sound work itself into his music. What better partner
could a temple servant choose for his lovemaking but he himself? So rather
than fend off this advance as he would have in other circumstances (for men
should join with men rather than pine unendingly for he who could offer
nothing but a moment's delight before traveling on about his many duties),
he spread his legs and let the slender tongue delve deeply into the
scent-pores of his sexual organs, knowing them for the heady ambrosia that
they were. This young man would become important in his town, for the
devoted tenor of his sacrifices and the ardor with which he taught them
about the one who was himself, and the power he wielded for the welfare of
the world.

The young prince was moaning most ardently as the guard's dong slammed into
his ass, he threw his head up and let passion roar out like a lion's roar
into the now-verdant meadows, he would make a warrior-prince now, in order
to lead his father's men out into the fields in search of adventure (and in
search of the nights when they could again share this most delicate of
delights), and the royal prick throbbed and threatened to fertilize the
soil with the seed of his body. The guard understood his partner's plight
and reached under to aid the passion, to wring the prince's cock for every
erg of its desire, and the prince moaned, his ecstasy nigh!

And the metalsmith was thrusting his buttocks back at the young vineyard
worker even more vigorously, only the resilience of youth could have taken
such an energetic partner as he without being bruised or broken, but the
young man only moaned and held the metalsmith's hips in his hands and
thrust into him more rapidly, panting in his rising tide of delight.

And the soldiers on his other side were engaged in a more delicate but just
as ecstatic joining, for the strong man above had the other's head in his
grip and was guiding the mouth upon its journey, adding his muscles to the
fray, so that his partner had less to move and more to endure, and hold
tight to his love-column, and the soldier's motions became jerky and
spasmodic. And beneath him, the young acolyte was pounding his dong as he
licked at his master's testicles, now thoroughly coated in the youth's
saliva and warm and clean beneath his cock, and he realized that his own
joy would be a part of this time, it wasn't always, he usually scampered
away and found some nubile nymph to molest with his passion and spend upon
her his spunk of arousal, but this time, he would join these seven strong
young men of the town, give them the perfection of two times two times two,
an octagon of orgasm.

It was time, it was time. He shifted his song into the end-movement, the
sounds of the pipes became faster, more staccato and frantic, like the
gasps of the men about him, the pipes warbled out their music of rising
excitement, of passion overtaking and trampling the senses, he made the
melody throb in the men's temples, pulse in their veins, pound in their
loins, and the song and the sperm together boiled and surged, and sought
its release in hot geysers of male ejaculation.

And so the guard's cock disgorged hot squibs of joy into the prince's
bowels, while the prince howled with joy and sprinkled his virility in
pearl-colored splats upon the ground beneath him.

And so the two soldiers became one as the jizz of the one was gulped into
the other, and the soldier who drank moaned, and his spunk peppered, the
legs of his comrade, and the seed sank into the soldier and they combined
into a unit of lovers, who could stand back-to-back in battle and win
honors aplenty as they struck their blows in battle for their lord's glory
and safety.

And the metalsmith crooned his ecstasy as he splashed the tree-trunk with
his come, and the young vineyard worker plowed deeply into the strong
buttocks before him, and planted his seed within the metalsmith, the better
to invest them both with the bonds that would mean they would never the
more be lonely in their trades.

And the acolyte gasped and he felt the hot sperm jet up and splash his
forearm, laughing, he knew that the power of youth was strong but hadn't
expected such a climactic explosion from his young protege, and he let the
milk-like cream of his adorer's delight remain, and the jism dripped from
his arms down and upon the pipes which he had played, and the hot spunk
seared itself into the reeds and marked them ever after.

And as all about him, the men of his gathering collapsed with their
expunged ecstasy down into the brief oblivion of their exhaustion, he
closed his eyes, arched his hips and his own godly climax burst out into
the world.

No mere squibs such as men made, this orgasm was prodigious, it sprayed the
men about him and covered them in numerous ovals of pearl-like fluid, and
as it touched them all, it imbued them with a bit of his immortality and
his power, a mere microscopic fraction of his totality, it was nonetheless
more than enough to adorn these men irretrievably.

For himself, he gave it not a thought, how none of these seven men would
now ever take a wife, none would ever desire any but the company of other
men in their beds, he was who he was and what he was, and that meant that
he never gave thought to the consequences of what he had done, whether
intentional or not.

His work was done and he got to his cloven feet, his stride unsteady still
due to the force of his delight, and he went back into his sacred glade,
there to live his life as once such as he should, only joys and happiness
to be his, until next year, when he would again show himself, somewhere
within the lands that honored him, there to renew the world once more with
the goatish energy that was his, once again, the glory of the goat that is
the vitality of the universe, and he would bring it all forth once again,
awaken the world by the music of his pipes and the joining of men.

				  THE END
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