Actions of Man on Covert Mission

New Treasures As Well As Old

“Please direct your attention to this sculpture.”

At the front of the lecture hall, filled with stale air, an image was projected. The image was of an ancient sculpture of a nude man, attractive and with a determined look on his face and a dead reptile in the hand. Most of the reptile had been broken off and lost to history, so it was up to the observer to contemplate its precise appearance.

“Furthermore, here is the same sculpture from behind.”

The projected image changed and a perky ass in marble filled the wall with the shape of natural aesthetic quality. A few creaks were heard in the dark lecture hall as some members of the audience adjusted their asses.

“This is a recently recovered statue with its origin in Ancient Greece, exact date and place unknown, yet timeless and universal in its story. A warrior, no doubt, who after a battle with a monster returns home, not just to a house, but to a special place in the world. Proof of victory in his hand, yes, but more so in body and spirit. The facial expression determined and genuinely happy. Eudaimonia in the flesh. Not the dumb joy we see in statues of drunk Dionysus or the erect Satyr, neither the ‘death stare’ of the muscled beast or general who has tried and failed to quench loss and disappointment in the blood of lesser ugly men.”

“The ordinary observer might call the portrayed man effeminate, even sensual. The ordinary observers, far too numerous on this campus, lack insight into the full range of masculine fortitude and virtue.”

“Along with this statue, animal hides were recovered, on which a first-person account is given of an event an ancient warrior lived. He was of mountainous lineage and rebellious outlook. The account is by the warrior whose form is captured in marble thusly. The ordinary observer would demand peer-review, citations from ‘authoritative’ sources, or some other smug ritual of certification. As men and citizens, true creation can be revealed to us. Hence, as the words I am about to read are felt within you, know with certainty the body of the man who lived them, as you look at the marble statue projected on this wall.” 

“I now quote, for the first time in English translation, the unvarnished first-person account. Excuse the inconsistent rhythmic scheme, I had to emphasize content over poetic form a few times as I did the translation.”

The speaker picks up papers, clears his throat. There is silent anticipation in the audience.

“‘Before what is sudden, unexpected, and least within calculation, the spirit quails. The uncertain world, the possible violent end, the prospect of loss of oneself up ahead make limbs of any man shake. Born with gifts of capacity, and brought up with habits equal to my birth, the greatest monster I face, and thus I keep unimpaired the luster of our name. This was in my body and spirit, though brought forth by fellow man, he who walked with me, he who loved me and he who lit the spark deep inside me. The account that follows is praise, record and an eternal enchiridion. All men to be of this world, this truth must be known, in spirit and in body.’

‘The battle we fought with weapons of metal, under the bronze sky of Earth, it verily does not matter. The battle of which we had to be victors, was that within and above. That was true for both myself and my fellow, he the man who walked with me. With the risk of blushing, I now describe him as he was revealed to me. Nude, but for sandals, sword and cock ring, the latter engraved and of metal, he saved me from death on the fields of meaningless war. His chest was wide and hairy, his jawline as square and solid, as if Pythagoras’ stick it had drawn. His muscles were full of unending power, his nose slightly crooked, his smile sure and knowing, and his manhood, by Zeus, as long, thick and throbbing as those submarine monsters our nightmares at times produce.’

‘Soon I learned, soon I felt, his fears and worries, because despite his body, the demons could reach him in spirit. A king, a father, a friend or a mentor, someone had failed him, the man with massive penis who walked beside me.’ 

‘Wounded, thirsty, cold and troubled, we barely limped away from the fields of paltry wars. I did my duty, he did his, and we sought to heal the other, our bodies our spirits. I was bleeding, my buttocks hurt, some irrelevant warrior had punched and sliced, even tried to violate me. Darkness took me, I was lost, but he woke me, the man with balls heavier than Sisyphus’ boulder, he who truly loved me. With water, with kisses, he embraced me, like two spoons rubbing and throbbing prepared for the next meal.’

‘I knew it, he also, the meal to eat, the field on which to battle, had to include, dick, ass, mouth, belly and wiggling feet. He bent me over, face down ass up, my buttocks he fondled and praised. He mumbled, he groped, his aim unsure, but in spirit I knew he was hard, ready and loaded. So I did my duty, I teased, wiggled, pressed and licked, and soon his cock ring was strained, release by a boy’s tight hungry grip, the only available cure.’

‘Now hear me, and hear me well, oh reader, what followed words never fully can capture, so please forgive me, as I try to do justice by the man whose insertion lit the spark deep inside me. I was opened, filled, and firmly commanded, then slapped, probed and uniquely tickled by thrusts, thrusts and ever more thrusts. I breathed and I squeezed, and escaped from my mouth were sounds and sweet song, that drove the man above me to pace and passion a lesser man would not endure. He flipped me over, he pressed down upon me, he smiled and commanded, his manhood as hard and mighty as ever, I love it, oh reader, I love it.’

‘Do not think however I am but a vessel, a hole and a body, for the man deep inside me. No rather I know the tricks and the turns that will tease him, please him, excite him. With them in my quiver, I guide this venture to great heights and majestic passions. Up there we merge, we connect and bond, in ways a lesser man with his butt at the bottom could not appropriately muster. A man of this girth, with potentials and talents, must be united, in body and spirit, with a man of my special brand of awesome masculine prowess. Fuck yeah, fuck hard, slap that meat against me, yes reader, such are the warrior cries on this field of battle.’

‘He slows down, he calms down, he finally sees it: men love, produce, empower and carry the weight of the world, together, as duty, this merger and union, the grip and insertion, feel the force all around. Now where was I, in my praise, oh well, never mind, that tight tingling sensation is almost cresting.’

‘The man inside me, with love rising, he who will walk beside me, praises my body and spirit. Those buttocks, moving, waving and flexing, I cannot help but to love, fuck and grab them, a handful of meat, sweet, plump and tender. His words are poetic, his cock all inside me, oh Zeus, take a bow for your design of our manly nature, all profound, also festive, and so creative, and of course very rough and steely, not one note but chromatic, not still but productive, but oh why is it so tough to uncover?’

‘So reader, I assume, your knowledge of bodies is basic at least, so you can imagine what the man above, and yes I as well, was gushing and pumping in, on, and all around our merry meaty manly merger. The grip and insertion, the body and spirit, have moved us both one mighty step along on the victorious path.’ 

'The war is not won, because can it ever, the dumb, weak and foolish are far too plenty. But why believe that is the conclusion that should matter, why rather, I ask, not gaze over the land, the mountains, trees, beaches and rivers. I declare, listen boy or man to be, look ahead, feel the girth, butt and manhood, know this well, and know this for certain: an arduous journey across the hurdles will be the masculine life worth living. And yes, you surely guessed it, you do thus with your most sexy fellows. Do so with him, not alone, not grumpy nor angered, you do so with him who walks besides you, with him who loves you, and with him whose body and spirit, which in that most exquisite manner, light the spark deep inside you.’”

The speaker went silent and put down the papers. The talk had concluded. A chorus of creaking chairs was heard in the dark room, which soon fell silent. It took a while before a professorial type stood up, asked for the lights to be turned on, and then with a slight Germanic accent began talking.

“Good. Very good, Mister Watt. Hearing that even made me a bit schvitzy. Your commitment to original truth is commendable. I hope men — good men — of this continent can shoulder the duty to keep this spirit alive as the Old World recovers from folly. Of course, Billy, you understand this work is unpublishable. Imagine the kvetching by all ungefickten Griffelspitzern if art this manly and potent was spread? Oy vey iz mir! It will have to live, as wisdom did in ancient times, through the medium of spoken words, sagas, myth and bodily experiences shared in communities across the land. There are worse things, I do not have to tell you that. But in order for you to officially obtain a passing grade from Princeton, I will file your essay on why the Pact of Locarno from 1925 doomed the Weimar Republic… a very ordinary and passable essay — it will fit right in.”

“Again, gentlemen, a round of applause for Billy Watt, a proper mensch. Some of you I will meet again next semester — others, enjoy the summer, goodbye and godspeed. Class dismissed.”

A number of the students walked up to Billy to ask questions, though most of them were really there to make more of a statement. There were numerous requests to obtain copies of the ancient first-person account, because ‘there was some detail in the rhetorical flourishes they did not catch’, or whatever the excuse was. Billy was no fool, he knew what piqued their interests the most. As a good man however, Billy promised to mail copies in discreet manila envelopes to all who provided their addresses.

Billy belonged to those in the class who was not coming back for another semester. He had concluded his education, at least the one available through Ivy League universities. It had been hard work, many long and lonely nights in libraries. There had been only two sources of joy that were not mediated by words, really. First of which was the trip to Alicante in Spain to see and feel a unique style of architecture and sculpture that recently had been unearthed there. Billy had the early outlines of a theory that certain constructions of houses and the male nude defined a natural unity in the concept of home. The tangible and intangible merging, so to speak. It was tentative, but he could feel there was something to it.

The second tangible joy of course had been to spy on his roommate as he was fucked, good and proper, by the most accomplished rower in the proud Princeton rowing club. Billy had thought about adding his tongue and butt to the mix. A muscular thrusting man on the brink of climax does send a certain tingle down the spine after all, Billy reasoned. But he had to admit that he had not had sex since, well… since before all went crazy a few years ago.

“Nice talk Billy. As wholesome as apple pie.”

Billy spun around. He had not heard the man who had stealthily approached from behind, who now stood tall above him. That voice. That chest. Him… Marco. Words stuck in Billy’s throat. Am I about to start crying, he thought?

“Yes, it is me. Not just in spirit. I should have come sooner, I understand if you are angry, go on, punch me if it helps, I frankly deserve it…”

Marco had not said more before Billy dropped his lecture notes to the ground and wrapped his arms around Marco and pressed his face against the muscular chest he knew so well. He felt also through the sweater the crucifix that always seemed to sit steady and firm at its place above the manly heart between the bulging pectoral muscles. 

The body had grown even bigger, it was like Marco had become a size larger in every way, Billy thought. As so often happens in young men’s thoughts, he naturally wondered if that size enhancement applied to Marco’s dick as well… oh Lord, if so, I will have my jaws surgically altered so I, and I alone, can suck him happy, Billy thought involuntarily.

Billy separated himself from Marco and with a Herculean effort made sure his gaze did not drift down to the crotch area, at least not yet.

“I thought you were dead. That government man, kind of a bland type, he came to see me, he seemed to think you were dead too. What have you done, where have you been, are you well, did you hear what happened here?” Billy asked in rapid succession. Marco waved his hand to calm the flow of words.

“Things will be answered in due course. First, you refer to Agent Cooper, my superior. I was indeed beyond his reach for a while. I have already cleared all things with him. He knows I am alive. Furthermore, he knows I have left the Agency. Until my country needs me to settle another crisis, I have ended my government missions and now my capacities are aimed elsewhere in service of this land, people and ideal.”

He spoke with such confidence, more than ever before, a baritone that is felt, not just heard. Clearly that meant his dick indeed had grown even more, Billy concluded in jest and swallowed hard. There was so much to tell. 

“I enjoyed your talk. I was in the back of the hall. So is that what you have studied all these years?” Marco asked.

“Yes, a lot of stuff. Professor Strauss has been great. Sculpture and the built environment, produced by men’s sweaty efforts, I like to say is the theme of my studies… of course I have done most work in libraries, you know, I am just a silly, limp boy not a rough man who works with his hands.” Billy felt a bit stupid, like he was a fraud who knew more about construction worker’s sweaty chests than about actual sweaty construction work.

“Do not speak ill of yourself. Exertion of force is a necessary part, yes, but to what end? Direction, insight, wisdom are as arduous, maybe more, to acquire as heavy powerful muscles. Besides, I can see you have stayed in shape. Your pants are snug and tight because there is a lot on the inside, several handfuls by my estimation” Marco said and winked.

True, Billy had kept in shape. Uphill running whenever possible, and swimming of course. Sadly alone and in silence, so more helpful to the body than the spirit. 

Marco’s words blew away the bad and nervous feelings from Billy’s spirit. If only I could feel like this more often, Billy thought. 

“Marco, I do not know if this is confidential, but I must tell you nonetheless. You know my father, he is dead. It happened some time ago, you maybe know already. But what is less well known is that my father’s patriotic act, which killed him, really was part of a secret plan to kill Stalin, that tyrant and mass-murderer. Apparently, my father had fabricated documents, made them look like genuine CIA documents which detailed the most salacious things about the Soviet Politburo and high command. He then pretended to be a mole, and so my father managed to get these documents into Stalin’s hands via a Russian spy. And it is believed that the fury, confusion, maybe even the arousal, that Stalin felt as he read these accounts gave him a stroke, which killed him.”

“But my father had been too convincing, so the Russians killed him. Revenge, covering their tracks, mistake, class warfare… I mean who knows what reasons can form in the mind of a communist? Regardless of exactly how, my father's passing was directly related to Stalin’s demise and therefore a first small step towards a freer East Europe. In a private ceremony I received my father’s Congressional Medal of Honour. I have framed it. I cherish it.”

Billy noticed that Marco looked concerned, maybe even bothered. Of course Billy knew that his father had not been kind to Marco after… well, after he realized that Billy enjoyed being drilled, fucked and turned into a moaning heap of pleasure-seeking meat by Marco’s strength and girth. It was now Billy’s duty to comfort the big man.

“Marco, I know my father was a flawed man. Maybe even hateful at times. I disliked him after he punished me, and I resented the things he said about you, about us. But you know, hate is a slow rotting from the inside. He could not tell true virtue, many of his acts were therefore bad. They made sense, however, given the flat uninteresting horizon of stone, so to speak, that he only ever managed to perceive in life. Why let hate corrode me and my fellow men when wrong was done out of ignorance, from a lack of insight, or a wrong in a distant past, perhaps generations ago, which has spread like disease over time and space? I accept what I have been given, both the burdens and the gifts. My job is to do good with what I have, warts and all, so to speak. He was my father, that is all good. I am Billy, I must do good. God willing, I can do so, and better than my father did. Work on what is yet to be written. His important and fateful act at the end, the medal my father was posthumously awarded, that all make me better. Sorry for the sermon, but I wish, for your sake and mine, that you can walk beside me, so to speak, on that matter.”

Billy ended his earnest speech. He sometimes got a bit verbose and preachy. Maybe, he thought, a habit he had picked up from those lengthy Sunday mass sermons he attended dutifully. Well, they were truthful words and, he saw, impactful, because Marco’s frown changed to a smile.

“Like I said, direction, insight, wisdom…” Marco said.

In the awkward silence that followed, Billy kneeled down to pick up his lecture notes he had dropped earlier. While down on the ground he naturally peeked at Marco’s crotch. The trousers protruded, even more so than the first time they had met. Billy fondly recalled how he had pushed out his butt, even wiggled it a bit extra that time long ago in the ballroom as he hoped to catch the attention of the great man who had seemed so bored and blasé. So naive I was. And so right I was, Billy thought and stood up with a smile.

“Well, now what? Your plan began with lurking on me in the lecture hall, then the plan continued with you sneaking up on me being all apologetic and oh-punch-me-I-deserve-it — very dramatic I might add. Add some tight leggings and we are in Shakespeare territory. What was the third act going to be? Was it to suggest we stroll through Herrontown Woods, blushing rosy from the setting sun, so you could show me wild natural fauna, but really, you have lured me out there because a man of your type and girth must be nurtured, loved and dutifully drained by a man of my type?”

Billy could see Marco’s eye almost pop out for a brief moment, his biceps tensed, the palms grabbed empty air, his dick made a nearly imperceptible push forward. These were the micro-movements of an apex top guy getting horny. Billy knew that from his studies of ancient aesthetics. In fact, he recalled some very detailed notes on that matter related to a capable Primus Pilus of the Roman legion who had done battle in the Northern parts of the Roman Empire. 

“The woods are in that direction. This will be a nice summer evening. Very rosy I predict. Shall we?” Billy began to walk, and he made sure his buttocks moved, waved, flexed happily ahead of Marco, who followed. Billy felt the sweet feeling rise. Soon, he thought, this man, my man, who loves me, will again be deep inside me, lighting all kinds of sparks again, which have been dormant for too long. We will connect. Small twitching movements were felt across the body.

On the path to the forest, the men talked.

“What will you do now after you have graduated?” Marco asked.

“I do not know. I will go and see my mother, kiss her on the cheeks and express my gratitude. I then wish to travel to London, get to know that great city a bit, but after that I do not know. I am a bit lost, honestly speaking. I do not have a trade.” Billy replied.

“Then here is what you and I will do. I will travel with you to London. I know a handful of boys and men over there, who I know you can learn a great deal from and who will delight us both in body and spirit. We can make that a fun trip with a lot of knowledge gained. After that, we return to our continent and you and I move to a ranch in Montana, and we plow the land, herd sheep, produce, create and connect. That will be the home we make together. You will learn how to construct buildings from me, how to shape dirt and stone with purpose, and in turn I will learn ancient wisdom and truth from you” Marco said.

“Montana… will there not just be a bunch of hicks trying to hurt us and mess with us?”

“Some will try. All will fail. Do not doubt the abilities of my body and spirit to protect and defend the good that matters. And yes, it will not be easy. And that is good in fact, not bad.”

Billy walked in silence. He thought about it. It was the right thing, he felt that. That ranch could become a genuine expression of beauty and prowess. Refined sculpture and hauling manure, intellectual thought and powerful sweaty sexual gymnastics, all necessary parts of great manly accomplishments, the historical record was pretty clear on that point.

“So… am I your man? Would it be you and I, or will there be others?” Billy asked.

“You are my man, yes. Your ass is mine, in a manner of speaking. And because of that, because of the strength and love we create, others will join. That is just the forces of nature moving men, in body and spirit. It is not some utopia we are building, but rather a place in this world where imperfect growth, novelty and love can live. What that means longer term, who knows? That is for God to decide. You and I must do what is right and good, here and now. When the first men come knocking, curious about us, their dicks and asses tingling, we should be charitable. A dear friend showed me that is so. However, it is our shared burden and duty, our forces combined, you and me, in this world to each other, that matters above all else as we make a home.”

“Well, I hope you are not going full strong-stern-ancient-man on me. We need modernity too, at least a radio and a sexy and fast American car with oil and gears doing their engineering magic. That ok, my man?” Billy asked. Marco smiled and nodded.

Billy felt the words. They were true. It was settled. He smiled a mischievous smile and spoke in an exaggerated Shakespearian manner.

“Oh hear ye men and rebel boys come learn,

perk up, unsheathe thine quill, and grab that book, 

the virtuous man just spoke of grand concern, 

he is so strong and well equipped, just look.

His words of love and strength receive we must,

though, men and boys, be of this truth aware,

through effort and ache we make things, build trust

perk up thine butt, prepare the derriere.

Uphill the aim is set for plow and axe,

broad chest and intellect a home there raise,

by thrust by grip at end of day relax,

man up thine flesh and soul, sing Heaven’s praise

Not given, the virtuous man and his snake,

good boy, thine acts of fortitude him make.”

Billy laughed at his naughty, spontaneous sonnet. There are benefits to a bookish education, do not dare to say otherwise. 

Billy knew his next duty: speak words that spawn action — good, strong, healthy action that connects. He stopped, turned around to face Marco, and spoke:

“You know, I really just asked that question about being your man because we are now deep in the forest and I am becoming impatient, wondering if your zipper is stuck, or something. Because why else is your massive cock not free already and inserted deep inside me, plowing, thrusting, and creating reasons for sweet spirited moans to escape from my lips as only that meaty creature can? Do I really need to grab him and tug my man inside?”

“You little… cock teasing has consequences” grunted Marco with a wide smile and forcefully pulled Billy in among the trees, clothes flying off bodies. The sweet, round and precious buttocks of Billy awoke as they were exposed to the crisp air and manly touch. Billy caught a fleeting glance of the thick, long and hard dick Marco had freed from his pants, at the base an ancient metal cock ring. Indeed, it clearly was bigger and more powerful than before. Billy swallowed hard yet again.

Billy’s body and spirit were commanded to become exposed, uncovered and ready to receive, and ready to give. Billy felt Marco’s wet fingers inserted inside the tightness and warmth of the grip. The ass twitched when it felt the touch. The dick spontaneously bounced up in anticipation. Billy whimpered with joy when he felt Marco’s dick make first contact. Mission accomplished. 

Marco happily inserted his dick into the sweet tight grip of the ass of Billy. After months of no sex, travelling in search of the one true first-class bottom, Marco had no doubt about what and who mattered. It all served the higher purpose of connection, creation, a virtuous exercise of masculine power, both in body and spirit, for many minutes to come, maybe hours even, in this precious moment of life full of meaning.

THE END

Author's Endnote: Thanks for reading this indulgent exploration of genres and themes, in a fictional world not quite realistic, but very real in another sense. I have done my best to stay true to geographical and historical facts that frame the story, and then the fantastical has filled in the rest. As some readers no doubt will have noticed, I have borrowed rather bluntly themes and memes from select stories of Ancient Greek literature, no disrespect, though with some subtractions of killings and additions of hard dicks and perky asses to better suit our refined tastes.