Historical Sex Story Above Athens 1

We were students of Socrates, Odyithyutheus and me. I'm Lythander and I've got a thlight lipth. Not tho that you'd notith. But we were different, Odysseus and me, different than the other boys in Socrates' academy.

They had come only to listen to his teachings; to learn moral philosophy, as handed down by Plato, but as we were over eighteen summers now; old enough to be taught the agenda of the extra curricula vitae, for the advanced students of Socrates and eager to learn. We were encouraged to experiment on our own. Which we did at every available opportunity that presented itself.

We liked having sex, in the vestibules of town houses, in the public baths, next to the statues of naked gladiators with their idealized body parts, better-looking than us, no pimples, but we were alive and could do what they could't, what they would never do.

I liked sucking Odysseus' cock in the open air, in that arbor, next to the Parthenon atop the Acropolis above Athens, and he would put me in seventh heaven with ass-licks.

Boy, it was wonderful. I was Pan, the accepting one and he was Peter, hard as a rock.

I imagined I was one of those old-fashioned satyrs, the ones with goat-legs, a dragon tail above my butt-hole, dangling down between my legs, while my diminutive cock and balls hung down in front, from my furry white belly. My torso smooth, with two cherry-red pink nipples, my hair black and curly, with two small horns either side of my forehead and an impish smile and devil-may-care eyes. Maybe you don't think that's sexy, well...to each his own. Odysseus on the other hand was, a junior Hercules, heroic killer of the lion. My hero. With his blond hair hanging to his shoulders, he wore a pale yellow tunic that covered his powerful torso, a chest armored with bronzed fleshy muscle, an abdomen of sea-shells, a cylinder of iron for a waist, a butt you wouldn't believe, a dick the size of a small caducaeus and each leg, thighs thick at the top, gnarled at the knee, braced by strong ankles, which carried small robin's wings, a present fom me, adorning his delicate feet.

They say Zeus, in the guise of a Phoencian trader had seduced his mother, or so the story goes.

Odysseus and Lysander, were lovers in the greek way, till the greek church turned orthodox, and unorthodox sexual goings-on were much frowned upon. But this was years ago, when civilization was in it's adolescence, full of life and vital sensuality. So the boys were lovers; so what, who cares? Centuries have lain on top of their bones.

But if you'd known them then when time was young.

The room they shared was Spartan in design,a bed woven from flax; they were poor; making a few drachmae from posing for Klytoris, the vase painter, who likes to paint nude men, doing things that nude men like to do to each other and had a select clientele to whom he could sell his erotic vases. There's a Kylix he made, a drinking cup, that as you sipped your wine revealed Odysseus and Lysander fucking their brains out with an Attic glaze.

Lysander, the dark one, wore a light aqua blue chiton, a simple tunic that hung in a fold held by a silver cord round his boyish waist, hanging over one shoulder leaving exposed one nipple, on his not yet manly chest. The hem of the skirt just came down to meet his thighs and with only a little imagination or a little gust of wind, or any kind of bending motion and you could check out his cute ass and pretty cock. Odyssyeus on the other hand was athletic, blond, muscular and usually wore a simple linen cloak, his himation, draped over his elbows, covering his back, gathered at his hips with a gold-braided belt matching his corn colored hair. Hanging from his wrist by a thin leather strap, he carried his aryballos, a globular container containing an oily ungent, a lubrication used after excersise to anoint the body of sweaty athletes, but also served another useful purpose, a lubricant, that when spread in the wedge between buttocks and/or rubbed onto emergent hardons made s! ex that much easier.

It was a beautiful day, and after the customary morning blow-jobs the boys dressed, and after a breakfast of milk, bread and honey, wandered out, up the hill to the Cypress grove where they could look down on Athens, almost see the Adriatic sea, down in the distance. They'd brought a gourd of red wine, feta cheese, olives grapeleaf dolmas and of course, fresh baked bread for lunch. They'd planned to hike up Mount Olympus. They'd tried before but it was too high, to reach the summit, but the air was sweet and something drew them up.

"The home of the Gods, maybe we'll get to see one!"

"You don't believe those old superstions, Odysseus, there just stories for children, you'll be believing in egg-bearing rabbits next!"

"Maybe I'm foolish, but wouldn't it be neat to meet Zeus or Apollo? Even you told me about that sex dream you had when Hercules plowed your butt and you woke up, cum all over your belly!"

"You're my Hercules, Odysseus!" said Lysander groping at Odysseus'crotch and felt up his lover's strong penis, stroking him in a familiar way.

"You never get enough, do you, Lysander! Let's find a place. Over there, beneath that olive tree, by that rock."

They walked over, and Lysander lay over the huge boulder in the shade of the tree. Belly against stone, he parted his legs, hugged the rock, as Odysseus took a glob of oil from his aryballos, and applied it to Lysander's rosebud asshole, inserting his fingers, making it slick and slippery. Odysseus stood against his friend's back, his cock long, thick and hard, with a slight curvature, parted the opening of Lysander's bonny buttcheeks and the shiny pink head slipped inside, while Lysander, looking back over his shoulder, pursed his lips, opened his ass, closed his long lashed eyes, took a sharp intake of breath, as more of Odysseus glided into his outstretched body. It went in so easily, it was no stranger. Odysseus clenched his butt, driving home, til all was in, buried in the youth's rear, all the way to the hilt. The sun beat down, as Odysseus slid back and forth with a gentle rhythm, getting faster, more vigorous, more energetic till the pace became quite frenetic. Lys! ander dribbled spit on the rock as his face ground against stone, grazing his cheek, as if learning to shave. He raised his legs back, intertwining them behind Odysseus' calves, his feet anchoring him, as he savored every plunge of Odysseus' burrowing phallus, penetrating within, til both could take no more and love-juices poured forth and spilt, trickling like a babbling brook inside. Odysseus had fucked his friend many times before, but each time it was more pleasurable, more sensual. They were building a bond that never would be broken.

And when the delicious moment of orgasm arrived, buried deep in his dark-haired lover's ass, Odysseus cupped his arms around the boy's torso, pulled him backward, pushed his hips forward and delivered a second load of cum-love,filling Lysander's bowels,who greedily accepted it all, lost in a paroxysm of lust. They fell to the ground exhausted, laughing and cuddling and kissing, and were caught unawares, surprised to notice the stranger standing before them. A Goatherd, older than them, only by a year or two, twenty at most, dressed in roughshod sheep wool, leaning on a sheperd's crook. He smiled.

"What the fuck are you fellows's doing?" he asked innocently.

"Errm,.. Lysander was tired... I was..er..giving him energy so we can make it to the summit." said Odysseus, getting up and trying to clothe his nakedness.

"I've done that with the goats before. It gets lonely up here. But what you fellow's were doing...doing it to another man..."

For a rustic he was quite handsome, needed a bath, smelled a bit. He took off his sheep wool tunic, pulled it over his head.

"Show me.Teach me your Athenian ways."

He stood between the youths, and put his strong bronzed arms around their shoulders. Lysander, ever curious, game for anything, put a hand between the stranger's legs and lifted up a grimy cock.

"They grow them big up here in the mountains!" "But he's so dirty!"

"We can clean him up. You've got that oil you keep in your aryballos, let's use it for what it was really meant for."

They lay the goatherd down, who was eager to learn city ways. They applied the oil and scraped it off, removing the dirt. Th unkempt goatherder enjoyed the attention as the Athenians rubbed over his body, especially when they took dutiful care, when they lifted his dick, and stroked his fecund fleecy ballsac. They turned him over and worked on his muscular back, and when it came time to clean his buns, he was delighted, when one of them placed a rosy sucking kiss on one of his ass-cheeks. He was doubly delighted when an oily finger was inserted between his ass-crack, two fingers entered him and cleaned the inside too. Finally the cleansing was over and he sat on Lysander's chiton and wondered what was to come next.

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written by davistrell