The Story of Philo

Philo sat on a boulder overlooking the field where his seven goats were grazing, a straw between his straight, white teeth, a glazed look in his brown eyes, as he watched the sun set over the Mediterranean. He was dreaming, or contemplating, or pondering, or just lazing before it was time to collect his goats and trudge the two-thousand pedes back to his hamlet, Teshret. It was not such a far distance for Philo. He was more than up to many more pedes than that.

Actually, it was stretching the word hamlet to call Teshret one. Enshrined deep in the mountains overlooking the city of Byblos, Teshret was comprised of ten or eleven hovels with spaces for cattle. The land around it was mainly pine and cedar land and a few scraggy fields that the villagers toiled on.

Once in a while, teams of workers would come up from Byblos to the forests to cut down cedar trees that would be exported to Egypt or Jerusalem, thus giving Teshret a little bit of a lifeline to the outer world and aiding its occupants as they trade agricultural and dairy products.

Philo’s family lived in one of these abodes, wood planks roofed with straw and clay and hardened by the winter snows and the summer sun year after year, plastered together by goat and cow dung.

Philo watched the sun dip into the horizon, orange, mysterious, and the sail ships outlined against the darkening blue of the sea. The sun must be some type of god, Philo thought, to be able to move across the skies from the east to the west, disappear, and then rise back again. He breathed deep, taking in the summer scents of pine and cedar mixed with different flowers and herbs scattered all over the ridge. His own deity was Astarte.

Oh, how sweet Astarte for Philo. The goddess of love, of fertility. Philo felt a stirring in his young groin. He touched himself over the goat-skin groin cloth and felt himself rising down there. Love, so beautiful for the 16-year-old Philo. So exciting. He felt himself erect and throb and he rubbed more vigorously, starting to breathe harder.

Closing his eyes to the setting sun, Philo reached under his loin cloth and gripped his penis. Actually, Philo was endowed well. Astarte was very good to him. Just short of a pes (30cm), Philo’s member erected proud and strong, his maleness well known among the inhabitants of Teshret. Many of the girls had tasted it already, and Philo fantasized about them as he stroked. He moaned, his eyes shut tight, his handsome face scrunched. His ejaculation was thick and creamy, shooting out with such enormous force that only a young, vigorous lad of sixteen can squirt.

Philo looked around him, somewhat guiltily, not because he had jacked off, but because it was considered among his people a waste to “throw away” his male sperm instead of feeding a wench’s mouth or wet vagina. Except for Salimana, the love of his life. He would marry her as soon as his father got better after falling and breaking his leg one summer ago, and Philo had to become the “man” of the house, responsible for his mother and three sisters. Oh, Salimana, Philo smiled. She was so beautiful, her hair long, her lips red and full, her breasts round and firm, her thighs thick and sturdy, her feet large, her hips getting rounder and firmer as she got older. She was now almost 14 summers old. Good for marriage. Yet, Philo had to wait for a while before he could get her.

The sun set, and the dusk light covered the city of Byblos, down on the shores of the wide sea, with a shroud of evening mist. Heaving, Philo collected his goats and started the walk back to Teshret.

“Hello, mother, father,” Philo greeted his parents as he walked into the dim hovel after he had herded the goats into the shed. His youngest sister, Sheela ran to him and grabbed his young, muscled thighs in a hug. Philo laughed, picked Sheela up and kissed her on the lips. “You’re looking prettier every day, little sister.”

“And you’re looking stronger and handsomer too,” she kissed him back.

Philo’s mother had already placed their dinner on the straw mat in the middle of the room. There was only this room, where the family lived, ate, slept all together. Philo sat on the mat and impatiently waited for his father to announce the beginning of the meal. Philo was starved. At 16, Philo’s appetite was not limited to girls. He enjoyed food, and he consumed a lot of it, a matter of concern for his parents since they did not always have the means to feed the whole family abundantly.

Breaking bread, Philo’s father intoned some words to Baal, the supreme god, and everyone fell to, soon joined by Ely, the Israelite who had been tending to the chicken.

“So how was the grazing today, son?” the father beamed at his pride and joy.

“Very well, father. I located a rich grassy field, not too wide, but sheltered, and I’m sure the goats had fed plenty,” Philo said between large bites of bread dipped into goat cheese. There was no meat or chicken or fish, delicacies not only by Philo’s family’s standards, but also by all the other inhabitants of Teshret.

“Father?” Philo paused his chewing after a few minutes. “What is it like to sail?”

Philo’s father glanced at his son, looked down at his broken and festering leg, then back up.

“Why do you ask this, Philo,” his mother answered.

“Rabu and Delaan have gone with Uncle to Byblos in order to sail and trade. What is it like?”

“Well,” his father finally said. “You have been down to the city a couple of times, so you know what the sea is like, the waves, the wind. Your uncle and cousins have decided to change their lives from farming and tending cattle to trading and sailing. But I don’t know what it feels like to ride the waves, nor do I want to know. It’s dangerous, and many a man has not returned.”

Ely gazed at Philo, wondering what was going on in his friend’s mind. Yes, his friend now. It had been only two moons ago, that Ely made his journey north from his village in Galilea, after he was cast out. He was the same age as Philo, but in no way a match physically. Where Philo was a brawny, toned teenager, more like a young man than a teenager, Ely was skinny and pimply.

Ely was cast out of Galilea because his people called him a sissy-boy when it had been found out that he was sucking another boy’s member in one of the sheds. Ely had always been attracted to boys but his people would not stand for it. Their god, Yahweh, was very stern about this kind of thing, whereas the peoples up north were more acceptable, sex being not a taboo but rather a normal human need to be enjoyed, sometimes even a sacred tribute to the gods.

Ely had walked all the way north to Byblos. In a dark, mucky corner, near the large harbor of the trading city, Ely had crouched, tattered, filthy, almost starving, and tear-faced when Rabu and Deelan passed by. They had taken pity on the boy, especially when he offered to “service” them for some food.

“Father,” Rabu had asked his dad, “this poor boy can help us in the fields if we take him back with us for food and shelter.”

Philo’s uncle had hesitated at first, but when he saw what state Ely was in, he agreed. However, later, when the uncle and his sons decided to leave Teshret and go sailing, Philo’s father had to take Ely under his wing.

Philo and Ely slowly built some kind of a boy-boy bond between them. Ely serviced Philo with his mouth when Philo could not find a girl to do that for him, although Philo kept his eyes shut and fantasized about Salimana, his love. And Ely was in heaven as he worked his mouth and tongue and throat on the largest man member he had ever seen, long and thick and hard.

Before Ely took Philo’s huge cock into his mouth for the first time, the two lads had been herding the goats and Philo had been thinking about his Salimana, her red lips, her mounds of breasts, her thick thighs. He was erected and his cock tented the goat-skin cloth covering his crotch. Ely, noticing his friend’s excitement, could not help himself from reaching down and grabbing Philo’s hardness.

“What the fuck?” Philo had jumped, opening his eyes wide, awakening from his daydreaming.

“You are so excited, Philo,” Ely had said, his voice trembling. “Let me help you. As a friend.”

Philo had gazed at Ely’s girlish face, and then down at his tented crotch. Slowly, he undid the string knot and let the cloth drop. Ely had taken a deep breath as he gazed at the most wondrous man tool, ever. Philo’s cock erected vertically at an angle, full one pes long, and at least a half pes thick. This was nothing like the pencil-like boy dicks he had serviced back home. Philo was still a young lad, but this was a man’s tool, a huge man’s tool.

“You undress, too,” Philo had told Ely.

Embarrassed at his puny body compared to the brawny teen standing a few steps away, naked  and erected, Ely had shed off his baggy trousers. Philo stared and laughed.

“What?” Ely had squeaked.

“No wonder you’re a sissy,” Philo had said, reaching and grabbing Ely’s circumcised penis. “Your dick is short! They cut it off for you, your people? To make of you a sissy?”

Ely had turned red. “You don’t understand. All the boys must be purified.”

Philo had laughed heartily. “You must be joking! Cutting off part of your dick makes you pure? Oh gods, what a fucked up people you are.”

“It’s called Brit Milah. Our god Yahweh promised to protect us if we follow his covenant with Prophet Abraham.”

Philo could not believe his ears. “By cutting off your dicks?”

“Oh, Philo, never mind about that now. Astarte is a much more generous goddess than our Yahweh.” And then, on his knees, he had taken Philo’s huge and hard cock in his mouth and had brought him to a fully intense ejaculation.

Philo had often teased Ely by exposing his dick and pulling back the skin to show the Israelite the fat pink knob, then pull the skin over the head, and then again back under the ridge.

“It looks alive,” Ely had once commented.

“Yours looks like a dead stick. So naïve to think that by cutting off you penises you become pure. Praise Astarte.”

Ely would go silent, mesmerized and content to watch Philo play with his foreskin.

“You mean you have only one god?” Philo had once asked Ely, incredulous, resting his back against a pine tree trunk, spent, his huge dick hanging limply on his low-hanging balls. “How can that be?”

“Yes,” Ely had answered, his lips still glistening with Philo’s creamy ejaculation. “One god and he gets angry easily and punishes everyone.”

“Not me,” Philo snickered. “I have Astarte to protect me and my member,” he continued, grabbing his still semi-hard cock.

“I don’t care about our god and about our people,” Ely said bitterly, removing Philo’s hand and replacing it with his, fondly rubbing. “Fuck them all.”

Philo laughed loudly and pushed Ely’s hand away from his crotch. His bare smooth and ribbed chest glistened with beads of sweat, for the summer sun was hot. His abdominals were well toned, and it was only a short time ago that he noticed some hair which had grown below his waist under his belly button, forming a trail down to the thick pubic hair of his crotch.

Ely was smooth all over, even in his crotch. Only a few wispy hairs curled around the base of his pencil-thick member. When he got excited, he would not grow up to even half the size of Philo’s. But Ely never cared about his own manhood. He reveled in the other boys’ manhood, especially the huge thing between Philo’s legs.

Looking at Ely, Philo understood why the Israelite was banished as a pussy-boy. The red lips, the smooth and skinny body, the puny penis. The Israelite was a handsome lad in the face, except for his hooked nose of course, and Philo liked him, but not in the way he liked the girls. Even when he tried to do to Ely what he loved to do with the girls, except for Salimana who would not go for it, he only managed to penetrate Ely’s anal hole with his cock knob when Ely started screaming and crying. He tried to calm his friend down by not thrusting any further, but Ely’s screams were heart-rending. Philo had finally pulled out to leave Ely squirming and weeping on the ground. He noticed that his knob was covered with red and he realized that Ely had bled, just by the initial penetration.

It went without saying that although Philo had an open mind towards sex, like everyone else in the hamlet, he liked girls and had never done anything with a boy, until the Israelite came. He usually felt awkward with boys but easy-going with girls, except Ely looked and behaved like a girl. Maybe that was why? Yes, for sure. 

An older man had one time tried to approach him and fondle his crotch. The old man had offered Philo money if Philo allowed him to suck his cock. Philo was so disgusted that he had almost punched the old man in the face. Not so with Ely, however. Philo did not think of Ely as a man, but rather a sissy-boy.

“But I don’t understand, Ely,” Philo said, “how your people or your god would consider it a sin to do what you have done with me and what you like to do? You were born this way. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I don’t know, Philo,” Ely said miserably. “Your gods are different. And yes, I have been attracted to boys since I was a small kid. I don’t know.”

“Your god must be evil, my friend,” Philo smiled, for Astarte would surely approve of Philo and his conquests. “But unlike you, Ely, I would rather have a wench suck on me and play with my member.”

“Oh, Philo, you are so strong, so manly, so hung,” Ely said wistfully.

Philo smirked. “We better tend to the goats before I grow hard again and you will have to release me, again. I need to save some of my juices for the girls tonight.”

“Why? What’s for tonight?”

“It’s mid-summer,” Philo tucked himself inside his loin-cloth, his crotch bulging out, showing his manhood. “There will be mead drinking and pig eating and wench dancing and who knows… I might get to fuck a tight and wet vagina,” Philo laughed happily, jumping up, his pronounced leg calves stretching the strands tying his sandals.

Ely mumbled sadly as he tagged along: “I am not allowed mead, not allowed pig, cannot dance, and will not fuck.”

“Come, my friend, don’t be sad. If I don’t get very lucky, you are welcome to suck my cock.”

Philo did get lucky. Still, Ely did suck cock.