"The Eternal Youth" - A Blast From My Past - Another moving melodrama intended for television audiences (of the future).
The contents of this story are made possible by Puschen Dickinson and the generous contributions of Petey Rastey, a lifelong friend of the author.
Written by a Literary Gentleman in the year of our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Ninety Three, that is, XMXKCLCLIIVIVX or something. Damn it's been a long time since I was in school.
WARNING***************> Trailer park moralists,
Tooth fairy believers &
Twenty-below-the-average-IQ Fundies,
This may offend your delicate Sensibilities. Please do not read any further! The last thing that I want to do is offend your delicate Sensibilities. I lay awake at night worrying about that.
You HAVE BEEN WARNED and cannot later complain that I sprung this pornogr- uh, literature upon you. THIS MATERIAL IS NOT INTENDED for anyone and I am posting it while asleep and unaware of my actions, as I suffer from narcolepsy, or something like that, and cannot be held accountable. So there. Pppllttt!
WITHOUT FURTHER ADO,... Let us begin.
THE ETERNAL YOUTH
Written (Sometime) and (Somewhere)
by Drow Elf - radix mallorum
Io credo, che saranno radi
Che tua ragione intendan bene
Tanto lor sei faticoso ed alto.
I
Commentary
I dedicate this story to young gay/bisexual men like myself all over the Earth. Our numbers are legion!
Nick Tails is one gay erotic writer who I admire. Is he really dead, as per the footnote in IDLEREC2? I believe that he himself wrote this footnote as a dramatic finish to a game he tired of playing, that is, the writing of erotica for computer users.
If only I knew better, I would not be writing this nor anything else for computer users, a most ungrateful lot.
In this age of AIDS, fucking, sucking, and even kissing are out until the plague is subdued, which may take a lifetime, but at least you will have that lifetime. Mutual masturbation, massage, using toys, and using your imagination are ways to be safe. Monogamy is a possible reliever of this condition, but you must be sure your partner is faithful. This requires an old- fashioned device. No, not the chastity belt. I'm talking about Love. Genuine love and loyalty, as well as honesty and openness, should preserve a monogamous relationship.
If both partners fully realize the threat of AIDS, it is hard to imagine one partner being unfaithful. Cheating on your partner in the age of AIDS is a double betrayal, because you put your lover at risk of dying of a horrible disease. But being realistic, it could happen. That is a chance one may or may not want to take when he is in love.
Hard facts: those with better judgement might survive this plague; those with poor judgement will die. AIDS is a genetic purge, as much as war and famine, and is just as imperfect, but I foresee certain results becoming apparent in the future, especially if a cure remains undiscovered for a century. My predictions concern genetic (hence more permanent) tendencies, but evolving environmental influences will doubtless reinforce these tendencies. Homosexuals as a group will be less promiscuous; less impulsive; more cautious; anal sex will be practiced less, not necessarily for lack of "tops", but because "bottoms" will be rare. Sadly, homosexuals will also be somewhat less numerous. Admittedly I base my predictions on a primitive understanding of genetics, but I stand by it.
I visited the local gay bar last night for the first time in 6 months. As I sat at the bar and surveyed the crowd (the place was packed!) I asked my friend how many people he thought had AIDS. "About half!" he said. I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. As the night wore on he pointed out an acquaintance of mine who rumors said had HIV. I looked at the fellow, a young, promiscuous rascal, and began developing my theory of who the AIDS plague will take and who it will spare. I plan to survive it; I know that much provided I am not already infected from my less cautious younger days (I did practice safer sex then). How about you? Will you survive this age of AIDS?
I mention the plague because all of us need to keep very aware of its presence, and not forget. We can never be careless. We must always have AIDS at the back of our minds. This is not a completely negative thing; monogamy and stronger relationships should result. But, damn it--we have to stop the casualties that AIDS is inflicting on the race; it's taking out some of the most lovable people, while the Puritans march merrily on.
II
Introduction
MY GREATEST WISH would be to live forever in eternal youth, with an escape clause: I could only die by violent means. Otherwise, I would be immune to the aging process, disease, and poison. Immunity to violence would unfortunately enable some painful situations, such as Prometheus' fate.
As I've said, I don't care to be an invulnerable Terminator, but I would like to have enough time to do what I want to do. The list is endless, my friend. If I had time, I'd become a scientist for 50 years, then a doctor for 50 years; then a computer programmer...etcetera. I would live every role imaginable. I would accumulate wealth and build a great lair where I might endure the centuries, reading every book written by Man and watching every movie (would this be more a torture or a delight?). I would seduce both genders in every race and indulge in sensual delights for thousands of years! Then perhaps for an eon I might become a monk and live in meditative seclusion, pursuing spiritual goals. Science fiction writers suggest that an immortal would get bored. Sorry guys, but that is bullshit. The world is full of endless wonders. I regret not having time to explore them all, and having to die in a mere 80 years, the last decade of which I will be enfeebled.
I am reconciled to dying only on an intellectual level. I am happy to have the time I do have, short though it may be.
That little essay should have shaken off shallow thrill- seekers looking for simple smut. Ciao, guys. To the more patient I will reveal my intention in this story. I am going to write a fantasy about an immortal youth whose hot little body has felt the throbbing cocks of gentlemen through the centuries.
Let me warn you--this fantasy will not appeal to all tastes. The central character is not the brute or jock that some gay men prefer. He is a wonderful, willing and worldly Boy, predestined by his exceeding good looks for an erotic odyssey. In this first story (I'm not going to write the entire novel--at least, not for computer users) the Boy will become acquainted with the English vice as well as the good old in-out.
I have my own reasons, not easily explained, for releasing this fantasy to the public. Simply, I feel that my sexual talents have been, and will be largely wasted, to no great satisfaction or purpose. I have enjoyed brief flings with acquaintances, but seldom have these trysts approached the least of my fantasies (excepting a few memorable occasions, however). I perceive that few are any better off than I in this regard. I empathize with people like myself. I release such writings as these to unknown readers who I hope will find a sweet, brief bliss by sharing in my fantasies. The human existence usually being one in which sexual intimacy is uncommon, furtive, risky, and costly, fantasies such as this are welcome releases for our common biological urges.
I receive no money, no thanks, no acknowledgement, yet I write this out of a mystical desire to extend cerebral tentacles that will fondle unknown readers; stirring their pulse with a paragraph, bringing them to orgasm with a sentence. No, in my lifetime I would not be able to engage every reader that is following even this sentence. Some of you are no doubt good looking, some cute enough that I would be thrilled to know I was getting you off. This story is from me to all of you, a gift from a young man who you might have wanted to know intimately. Yeah, I guess... We might have made hay. Instead we share this fantasy.
Without further ado...let's rock.
III
A Prologue to
The Story of a Boy
I remember distinctly what I was doing in 1716 because it was the year I became immortal.
I was in England, working at a tavern in a small village on the road from Dover to Liverpool. I was an 18 year old orphan who looked about four years younger and was slight of build for my age. My complexion was clear and smooth, and my jet black hair dragged slightly over my blue eyes.
With my fresh young face I had found work at Troll's Nose Tavern. My only wages were scraps and leftovers, but the kindly tavern keeper's wife treated me well, feeding me hot gruel on the Sabbath and letting me sleep in their stable. The tavern keeper was moderate enough towards me when sober, but once he got a few drinks in him, he would whip me over the most trivial matter.
It was a quiet Spring night when a well-dressed traveller walked in. By his fine clothes one might have thought him a gentleman, but on closer inspection one saw the earthy, cunning face, the sharp, critical eyes, the bulging money pouch, the ready dagger, and one could surmise him a merchant at best, or else a smuggler... Two associates travelled with him, one a burly huntsman with a rapier at his belt, and the other a fat, dark- eyed, sinister rogue with missing teeth and a firearm at his belt. The well-dressed traveller was clearly not to be trifled with.
After they seated themselves, having roughly expelled a dozing drunkard from a table by the window, I approached them with trepidation and meekly asked them how I could serve them. The huntsman and rogue said nothing, but stared at me as if I would be better off dead; the merchant, however, inquired if we served any decent wine. I said we did, even though I knew my master watered it. The merchant told me to fetch him and his mates a bottle, a loaf of bread, and butter. I asked if that would be all, and he gave me a sharp glance, smiled, and purred that if he needed something else later he would let me know.
I was trying to decipher that last comment as I walked back to the kitchen. Before I went in, I turned around and looked back at the merchant. He was staring right at me! The huntsman and rogue appeared disinterested, lazing in the chairs and yawning or stretching their arms. I hurried into the kitchen.
The tavern keeper was in a bad state tonight, sprawled in a chair with a bottle of devil's brew in his lap. I gave his wife the order for bread and wine, and she began preparing them. Abruptly the tavern keeper grabbed my arm and asked me if I was doing a good job. Since I knew better than to try and get away, I kept still and said that I was. He used me as a support to get on his feet and walked out and surveyed the main room. He asked me who I was serving, and I pointed them out. "Fine gentlemen, they," he said, "and ye bloody well take care not to spill any wine like ye did last month, Larson!" For Larson was my name. I said nothing but turned to his wife who had nearly finished loading the tray. After a moment she handed it to me. As I passed by the tavern keeper, he whispered about what to charge these men, and I nodded my head.
Careful not to spill anything, I slowly advanced to the merchant's table. I laid the tray down and the three men immediately took the bread and began slathering the butter over it with a short knife the rogue had produced from his shirt.
The merchant eyed me closely, resting his stare particularly on my waist and below. Slowly I became aware that he was staring at my body as another man might look at a woman. You may think I was naive, but keep in mind that I was a young lad, only recently forced out into the wide world. The thought had just crossed my mind as I took the wine from the tray and approached the merchant to fill his mug. While I poured the wine, the merchant grinned lustily at me. I darted a quick glance at him. Suddenly I felt him pinch my bottom! Startled, I dropped the bottle on the table, where it quickly rolled off onto the floor and shattered!
The tavern keeper, who had been overseeing my work with an eagle's eye, bellowed an epitaph. The rogue and huntsman burst into fits of rude laughter. I reached back a hand to rub my pinched bottom and blushed with embarrassment. The merchant stared at me in amused wonder and shook his hand, still smiling. I heard the thundering steps of the tavern keeper approaching me but the fact didn't register in my stunned mind until his heavy hand was clapped on my shoulder, which he then held in vise-like grip. He briefly addressed the three men, apologizing for my clumsiness and growling, "He shall serve ye another bottle, after I get through whipping him!"
At the mention of a whipping I shuddered. My buttocks tensed as I imagined how sore my behind would feel when he was through with it. The merchant tried to interject a confession that he had some part in my accident, but the tavern-keeper interrupted him, saying, "I've had enough of this lad's wasteful ways, and I shall put an end to it! He'll work the rest of the night but I warrant he shan't be sitting down tonight nor several days after! Nay, good men, you shan't be able to tell the difference a pair of plums and this lad's bottom, ere I finish!" I flushed in embarrassment at this mention of my impending punishment.
He took me to an adjacent table and had me lie across it on my stomach. It suddenly dawned on me that he meant to whip me in front of these men! I cursed under my breath but knew it was senseless to struggle, because he would only whip me harder. In my position I could see the merchant and his friends behind me if I turned my head to the left. The merchant watched with avid interest while his two companions merely seemed amused. I bitterly realized that I was providing entertainment for them. The only other customers in the tavern were a drunkard, who I noticed with relief was now passed out.
I heard the sound of the tavern keeper unbuckling his belt and then snaking it of his pants. I took a deep breath and braced myself for the first lick, tensing my buttocks. Then the merchant spoke up. "Hold there, good man!" he said. The tavern keeper turned and looked belligerently at the merchant. The merchant continued, "I fear that the lad will not taste the full flavor of your belt unless you pull down his pants, which now protect his bottom." I glared sideways at the merchant, who I now saw placing a shilling on the table by the tavern keeper. The tavern keeper grunted his assent, pocketed the coin, and said to me, "You heard the gentleman, Larson! Down with your pants! Right this instant, boy!"
I was mortified at this turn of events, but could do nothing. These men would watch my bare bottom be whipped. Much as the thought embarrassed me, I was resolved to have the episode over quickly. Hurriedly I unfastened my pants (I had no belt) and they dropped to the floor, baring my bottom for all to see, since I had no undergarment. The air felt cool to my naked flesh, which I knew would soon be warmed. I turned to look at the men. The merchant was now studying my naked butt with gleaming, fascinated eyes. His companions apparently didn't share his sexual interest, and were laughing and drinking their wine.
The tavern keeper raised his belt and lashed it across my bottom with a resounding SMACK! My buttocks jiggled with the stinging blow. Another followed with a SMACK!, then another SMACK! I felt the sharp eyes of the horny merchant upon me almost as much as I felt the belt. I knew he was glad that I was bent over a table near him with my pants down. My bottom seemed to be on fire as the belt rained down with increasing force. The tavern keeper aimed several licks at the left side alone, and then switched and whipped the right side for several licks. Then he would strike both at once, working his way down from the upper part of my bottom to the legs. Soon my entire bottom was stinging from his belt. I cried a little, and then the tavern keeper gave me three more licks in the middle of my bottom, and stopped.
The tavern keeper caught his breath and said, "Well gentlemen, what think ye--is his bottom a proper shade of red?" I don't know why he asked--surely it was very red and I had welts to last me a few days. The sly merchant said, "I shall have to secure a closer look," and he went behind me and examined my bottom up close. I thought the tavern keeper might protest when the merchant reached out his hands to touch and feel what interested him so much, but he merely chuckled and said, "Methinks his bottom is hot as fire--take care you don't burn your fingers!" The merchant nodded, then grasped my sore buttocks in his hands and squeezed. I moaned softly; the merchant sighed. "Indeed you painted his bottom a proper pink," he said, "and I find your handiwork most enticing!" He removed his hands from my butt and reached into his money pouch to produce some shillings. He said, "Now if you would be so kind as to leave this lad in my care for the rest of the night, I would be most appreciative!" Holding out his hand, the tavern keeper said, "That could be arranged, with enough persuasion." The merchant tinkled the coins into the tavern keeper's palm.
I was nervous about this situation. If I ran away, where would I go? How would I eat? I had to do what I was told. I wondered what would the merchant do to me. I know he wanted to use me sexually, but I was at a loss to guess exactly what he had in mind. I knew he liked my bottom. Would he whip me? I couldn't bear another whipping. Would he pay any attention to my cock? I was eager for some cock-play, at least. I didn't know what to feel about his playing with my bottom, though I didn't mind it, as long as he didn't whip me.
The merchant made arrangements for a room upstairs for the night. I noticed he only rented one room. I assumed his companions would be sleeping with us. I wondered what they would do to me, if anything. They didn't seem interested in using me that way.
His other two companions did not follow him as the merchant grabbed my left arm and led me to the room. I stumbled along this way, having a hard time walking because my pants had sunk down to my ankles. The merchant didn't give me any time to pull my pants up. I waddled along like a penguin, my cock slapping noisily against my legs.
Once we were in the privacy of the room, the merchant said, "Strip off the rest of your clothes, boy." That didn't require much effort; I lifted each foot and my pants were on the floor, and then I took off my shirt. The merchant studied me intently, paying special attention to my long-neglected cock, which dangled lazily. His eyes travelled back to my face, and he exclaimed, "Such a beautiful boy!" This time I didn't blush, but grinned slightly. I was almost starting to enjoy this game.
He began pealing off his clothes. I took a deep breath as he got down to his final garment and took it off, revealing a partially erect cock about 5" long, large and fat to my virgin, teenage eyes. Only rarely had I seen another man's cock before, when one was pissing. I stared at his member in fascination.
The merchant caught my gaping stare and was evidently pleased. He ran a soft hand through my hair and with his other hand patted my sore bottom, which made me groan. He purred tenderly, "What's wrong, my precious? Does it still hurt?" I snuggled my head into his chest and nodded, whimpering a little. He embraced me tightly. I felt his hard cock, a throbbing warmth pressing against my stomach. An idea occurred to him, and gently he broke away and retrieved his cloak. He sat down on the bed and felt along the inseam of his cloak for a hidden pocket. His hand dug in, reached around, and fished out a small blue glass vial. Not unkindly he said, "Come to me, boy, and lay across my lap."
I studied his eyes, wary lest I take another spanking. I decided he wouldn't spank me. Perhaps the blue vial had a healing salve that he would rub on my tortured bottom. Obediently I laid my naked body over his naked lap. My cock pressed snugly on his left leg, and my upper body lied draped comfortably over the bed, as did my legs. My sore bottom was stretched slightly in the bending posture--I hoped he wouldn't take advantage to smack it, because I'm sure I would have begun bawling like a child.
His own stiff cock was pressed to his stomach by the side of my body. I felt its heat and wondered what he would do with it.
I heard a popping noise as the merchant opened the vial. Next I felt a very cold drop of liquid tap my bottom! Surprised, I drew a quick breath. Three more drops followed, and goose flesh rose on my bottom. The merchant said, "This will heal your wounded flesh, boy, so that you may enjoy our sport to-night!" As he rubbed in the cold liquid, my bottom tingled crazily and nervous tremors shot up my spine. After a brief electric moment, I sighed and all the tremors ceased. I felt possessed with a vibrant energy, as though I could suddenly leap up and run a marathon. The merchant whistled in astonishment and said, "Sure does work fast! You're healed, boy. Turn around and behold your once-blistered posterior!"
I turned to look, and was flabbergasted to see unblemished white flesh where a pink and welt-crossed ruin had been! I exclaimed and reached a hand back to feel my bottom. No sore spots! I was completely healed, just as the merchant had said. I looked to the merchant for an answer, but he merely chuckled and waved the blue vial before my eyes. "It's a miracle potion!" he said. I said, "Can it heal anything?" "Aye, anything, from disease to wounds to mental infirmity. What is more--" (and his eyes twinkled) "this potion is the elixir of Life! Once it mixes with a man's blood, that man becomes immortal! As I am!" My lips gaped with amazement. I could not but believe the man; after all, a few drops of the potion had instantly healed my bottom, which otherwise would have needed several days. Seldom had I seen such a display of science (perhaps it was sorcery-- I did not know).
I hardly need to describe the way I pleaded with the merchant to let me mix the potion with my blood, that I too might become immortal. The idea immediately fascinated me and I could think of no better destiny, than to live forever, and what is more, to never grow old! The merchant laughed at me and seemed oblivious to my entreaties. Desperately, I cried, "Please--I will do anything for you!" On a sudden inspiration, I knelt down at his lap and seized his cock. His eyes gleamed with lust. I opened my mouth and lowered my face down on his cock. The taste was salty from the crystal drops that I had seen oozing from his cock-head. I swallowed this pre-cum fluid and bathed his cock in my saliva. I thrilled to feel his warm cock expanding in my mouth. My tongue probed around his cock, playing, dueling with it. My teeth nipped lightly at his cock-head. I was a novice to cock sucking, believe me, but was simply highly motivated and eager, and everything came naturally to me.
You can bet I had the merchant's undivided attention. His cock quickly grew rigid inside my mouth. Finally the merchant lifted my face up by the chin and looked me in the eyes. "Enough." he said. "First I will take your cherry and then I will apply the potion. You will then be immortal. Now, get on the bed, on your hands and knees!" It was plain that he meant to fuck me in my ass. The idea did not scare me; in fact I was interested in finding out what it was like. Anyway, I would have done anything to become immortal. I eagerly complied; then the merchant took control of the situation. He put his hand in the middle of my back and pushed me down until my chest touched the bed and my bottom was raised up, the highest part.
"I shan't be gentle, lad," the merchant confessed, "but bear with me, and after a few moments you will be past that pain. And after I'm finished I shall make you immortal." I nodded. Then I felt his cock moving between my buttocks. I flexed them apart to allow him easier entry. I felt him moving his cock to line up with my anus; then he pressed inward, hard! The pain mounted--he might as well been trying to stick his foot up my bottom! He grunted, struggling to get past my tight sphincter muscle which just wouldn't open. Then he pressed really hard, and I shouted with pain; but he got inside me, even though I felt like he had ripped me apart. My eyes shut tight and I clinched my hands into tight fists. He plunged all the way into my rectum which had to rapidly expand to accommodate his size. My anus was on fire with the pain and heat. I whimpered a little. As he slowly pulled out half way, a warm liquid, which I knew was blood, streaked from my broken cherry down my leg. He pushed his cock back in, deeply, and paused there. I felt his hands grip my hips and knew he was going to start fucking me. He did, with irregular thrusts, creating a burning friction in my anus. I thought to myself, "So this is what women feel! I swear to be gentle when I take a woman's cherry." The thought of myself fucking boys hadn't occurred to me at this point.
The merchant pumped me hard, reaching my prostate, and this caused my erection. The pain was certainly still present, though less excruciating; but I began to settle down into the idea of being fucked. I began to like feeling his cock go in and out of me. My cock became very hard. I also imagined how much pleasure the merchant enjoyed, ramming his cock into my rectum. As fluid began dripping from my cock, my sphincter tightened around the merchant's cock, and he had to push harder. The added pressure on his cock had an effect, though, and soon he moaned deliriously and his cock stopped moving. I knew he had cum inside me. He laid his hot, sweating body over my back and embraced me, his cock pulling out. I felt it leave, but my anus remained involuntarily open. His hot body pressed on top of mine was an incredibly erotic feeling, and I stroked my cock, soon bringing myself to orgasm. (It was not my first; I had masturbated myself before at the age of 12.) I shuddered as the cream flew from my body.
After a golden moment when both of us laid there together, neither saying a word, but just enjoying each other's warmth, the merchant got up and fetched the vial. I surmised that he would fulfill his promise to me now. He let a few drops of the potion on his fingers, and inserted his fingers easily into my slippery anus which was now dripping with blood and semen. His fingers tickled, and I reflexively wiggled my bottom. He rubbed the potion all around my anus and somewhat inside my rectum; when he finally connected with some open tissue, still bleeding, I felt an immediate sensation, an electric impulse that swam through my nervous system until it struck my brain. When the merchant removed his fingers, my anus and rectum were completely healed-- and I was certain that I was now immortal.
Ah, there was further sport we made that night. After the merchant had cleaned his cock, I performed fellatio for him, and he returned the favor, many times. He claimed my "boy-juice" was sweeter than honey, and on my part I had developed a taste for his cum, which that night showered over my mouth, face and hands. We drifted off to sleep very late into the night. When I woke up, he was gone, and there was not a trace of him or his companions to be found anywhere in the town. I felt deserted, certainly, but there was an incredible store of hope in me; after all, I was immortal, an eternal youth, never to grow old, never to lose my good looks, and I had the whole world and many thousands of years before me!
The tavern-keeper received a bottle of wine across his head from me as I was leaving. It was a meager revenge for all the whippings he had meted out to me in the past. I left him unconscious in his own tavern. Later I heard that thieves had robbed the place while he had lain thus helpless for an hour.
I set off in the direction of the rising sun, away from the tavern and my temporary residence there. I went out into the world with a happy heart freed from knowledge of inevitable death, in search of fun and frolic wherever I could find it. And find it, I did...
[The End of the Prologue.]
I just thought of this on the sperm of the moment!
Rex Reed- kiss my ass
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