Sand and Path
The words ‘warm Mediterranean summer breeze’ send joyful shivers down the spine. Or I wonder, why not send the shivers up the spine, or through the spine? ‘Down' makes the homunculus in the brain appear as the thing that deliberately flicks the first tile in the domino of sensations. Hardly the direction of movement in most of life’s sensations.
The inner thigh that is stroked by the breeze can, without blushing, claim at least a share of whatever lively substance the warm Mediterranean breeze moves within a man. Or why not take it all the way? Spread all credit to all things even remotely Mediterranean for making shivers real and felt.
On the dusty path down from the old village of Èze, perched on its tanned, steep and storied cliff, to the railway station where trains from Monaco stopped on their way to Nice and Cannes, the five men were stroked by the warm Mediterranean breeze on this iteration of day turning into dusk. They had walked in the opposite direction when the sun was high in the sky. Uphill walks demanded more of the heart, buttocks and sweat glands, as it had been for warriors and sages alike. The slow and calm downhill walks were for contemplation of accomplishment, truth, love, or whatever the warrior or sage had been gifted with on top. The shivers did their thing to the men’s approach toward the ground.
Karl, Alejandro, Hugo, Martin and Hermann moved in silence on the path. They had parked the Volvo, gifted to their mission, at Nice airport's long-term parking. Tomorrow was going to be the last leg of their mission, and it would be by train, back to Paris and Monsieur Dumont. They managed to find contact information for the helpful knight, who fate had brought to Bellinzona, and they informed him where the car could be retrieved. They considered leaving a few tasteful nude pictures of themselves in the car. Polaroid erotica that leaves some to the imagination will be huge as digital anatomical close-ups reach saturation. But, the men reasoned, the knight likely had even more ancient tastes not served by any two-dimensional delights of men and boys. It had to be left to fate to find ways to balance the scales of gifts.
Although they knew the adventure had to conclude at some point, and they also looked forward to sharing their learnings with Monsieur Dumont, the train ride tomorrow would nonetheless mark the end of something magnificent. The men were pensive, even feeling a bit nostalgic. To the ordinary observer of young men in their prime, these affects may seem odd. But why would that be odd?
Nostalgia is not just a mental outgrowth of fond recollections of painless joints and frequent, at-will erections. A sudden realization that most things are fleeting, perhaps about to happen or just having happened, where the present strikes like lightning from a clear sky, can colour a young man’s mood, say, like a spontaneous ejaculation in the shorts during physical education can.
“We deserve answers. Do we need answers?” said Karl as the Mediterranean came into full view around a bend.
“Do answers presume questions? Answers are but a sliver of the world on this path,” pondered Hermann mystically in response.
“Pretty little town, Èze,” said Alejandro. “In one perspective, it is peak Medieval chic. In another, it is a place stuck in a past era, left on top of a hill. Did we step into a village-sized dollhouse, or did we time-travel when we went there? Regardless, pretty.”
“Eventful place, also. Many different rulers have held it, assaulted it, and desired to hold it. Not uncommon for pretty little things. We French seduced Èze to join our lands as recently as 1860,” said Hugo. “For a few centuries before that, it was part of a Duchy that reached up to the Western Alps and Burgundy. I could go on, but if I do, we may need to start fucking to bring the history lessons to completion.”
“Useful answer, Hugo. Did that need a question? To be among and inside the pretty places of the world and to bond over them is on this path, regardless,” mused Martin.
The men were close in an emotional sense, and fewer words and items needed to be added to their exchanges to create rich and wholesome meaning. A wink, a licked lip, a pinch and hip motions did their magic to the whole.
“How many boys have walked up this path in the evening to serve as a joyful release to a passionate commander of the town above? Uphill walks followed by strong buttplay with a great view are a good combination, trust me,” noted Alejandro aloud after a few additional minutes of silence.
“Did the flow go up the hill or down? Perhaps the exalted creature up top was the one who ascended to share joy and spread wisdom, whilst singing a neat tune that drew the very best boys to him. Such events have been described,” said Martin.
Hugo cleared his throat and began to sing like a Medieval tavern bard in a codpiece.
“Boy of town and fisher boat,
you look to sky and wonder,
what words in ear settle would:
what to love, what now, what more,
stop I say, your questions hurt like thistle brush.
When and who, and what and where,
your manly search not tiny,
stare not into fuzzy clouds,
downhill such boys do tumble,
Stone and root on path both help and hurt, that’s life.
My song hear now, join our dance,
wiggle butt and grab a crotch,
come create, not wait on words,
myth and truth our body holds
like net, with toil you catch both in nature’s flows.
Create to feel given truth,
Boy of joy, love needs no why,
Play and toil with fellow boys,
Thus, my song and dance invite,
I foresee times and lands our boys understand
Play and toil with fellow boys,
Play and hold the toy-like boys,
Play and toy with holding boys,
Play and moan, oh boys, oh boys,
Play and fill true and good with your fellow boys!
Like rod and butt, them you know,
Boys’ search and toil relax must,
Ground and truth eternal are,
Boy now blessed in love and butt,
Yet at sky he wonders: act I must, but what?”
Further up the hill, an unseen man cheered the tune. Hugo’s friends looked at their friend and smiled. Hugo could sing. Sexy.
“That was something,” declared Karl.
“The Medieval bards and mystics set the bar high for us simple moderns,” answered Hugo.
A few minutes of silence followed. The five men walked more slowly. They tried to prolong the moment. They felt anxious, as if sand was moving through their fingers, which made them uneasy and unsure what to do with their bodies to stem the flow.
Since at least the Bronze Age, energetic men in that uneasy state have searched for friction, competition, and battle. It can manifest as small and playful acts, as bullying behaviour, wars even, if a better venue for the urge is not found.
Suddenly, on the path, Hermann pulled down Alejandro’s shorts and slapped the tanned buttocks. Alejandro pulled up his shorts and continued the hike. But Hermann needed a battle, so he did it again and slapped the buttocks again to create that unmistakable sound. Alejandro, who stumbled each time Hermann played his bugging game, pulled up his shorts again. When Hermann bared Alejandro the third time, the young man turned around, annoyed.
“Well then, off they go,” Alejandro said and removed his shorts entirely. On his feet were hiking shoes, around his waist and genitals were the transparent fabric of his jockstrap, but otherwise his lower body’s tender skin was out in the open.
He kept on walking on the path, strutting even. Hermann and the others laughed at first and lightly teased Alejandro’s barely dressed state. They aimed a few lustful pinches at the butt as well.
Alejandro was committed to his provocation. No teasing would perturb him, so the buttocks remained bared. Even when the five men met two men on an evening ascent to Èze, Alejandro kept his shorts off. With a smug smile, he rather stopped, turned to look out over the Mediterranean, flaunting his naked pretty ass to the ascending men. Without a word spoken, but with knowing smiles, lingering looks and licked lips, the two men slowly walked past the five men on the path. Nature’s awesome substance and scenery come in many forms.
“God Almighty, are you trying to get us arrested here on our last day? There are laws, you know,” said Hermann, upset, once the two hikers walked around a bend.
“You kept pulling them off, so whatever, this is what you wanted, was it not, tough guy?” said Alejandro dismissively. Alejandro then bent over, as if he had to dust off his shoes, giving Hermann a view of precious and fuckable meat, illuminated by the soft evening sunlight.
Somewhere between consternation and animal fuck mode, Hermann grabbed Alejandro, lifted him off the ground, and placed him over his right shoulder, then carried the playful, revealed man off the path into the shrubs and trees alongside it. The other adventurers followed, and in less than a minute, they were all out of view from the path.
Sex sometimes happens after careful effort and a slow and steady escalation of intimate acts, as some crowning act of commitment. Sometimes sex happens to accomplish something, perhaps a trade, a sacrifice, or to deal with an itch. But sometimes sex happens, entirely in the moment, entirely without external justification. It just pops into being, like a quantum fluctuation in a vacuum, bringing it about by all appearances and relevant laws of nature, in a random fashion.
The descent from Èze, as far as we can tell, followed that path of the mystically creative.
When Hermann leaned down to place Alejandro on the ground among the shrubs, the man in jockstrap, who by no means was a weak or limp boy, wrapped his legs around Hermann and flipped himself on top, and Hermann rather on the ground. With his naked ass placed right on Hermann’s groin, Alejandro began a frenetic back and forth hip motion, giving Hermann’s dick underneath the shorts some rough stimulation.
With a helpful tug from Karl, Hermann’s shorts and underwear flew off and his dick swung out, erect from the range of naughtiness in the previous minutes. Alejandro climbed on the dick, with a deep breath took the tip inside himself, and then began a rapid and wild power-bottom’s ride of Hermann.
Hugo dropped his shorts and bent over to begin sucking and licking on his two friends bodies, from Hermann’s ear, neck, nipples and down to the pubes, and then from Alejandros’ bobbing dick up to his belly button, arm pits, neck, and pretty lips, and then back and forth. If it was part of Hermann’s and Alejandro’s strongly manly bodies and in need of loving tongue attention, Hugo was on it.
A man like Martin must act when near parted buttocks as handsome as Hugo’s. So while the Frenchman was using his mouth on Hermann and Alejandro, Martin used Hugo’s butt to feel the glorious grip of butt around his dick. Martin did not hold back, and kept the same pace and thrust as Alejandro’s riding.
Karl dropped all his clothes and took whatever position was in most need of an added piece of firm and warm male flesh. So for a while he sat on Hermann’s face and gave him a muscle butt to eat on. Then he stood up and gave Alejandro dick to suck on. Then it was back down, so that Karl could choke on Hugo’s dick in a rhythm set by Martin’s pushes. Finally, to give Martin maximum release, Karl skillfully pried two fingers between Martin’s buttocks and twiddled and toyed with the groaning man until he thrusted and throbbed like crazy.
It was a quick, wild and joyful event of supreme male sex noises. No words, just bodies. It was exactly the right kind of grounded, primordial abandon that the handful of minutes needed to be filled with, or whatever time unit applied. They felt joy. They smiled.
Further up the hill, an unseen man cheered the tune. It was unclear where the source of the sound was, or if the five men had been visible in their excited actions, or if only their full-spectrum fuck noises had travelled beyond their secluded space. At least, their joyful acts had been in part accessible to the senses of some observers elsewhere in this world.
The five men laughed, put on their clothes, and returned to the path. They walked at a quicker pace and soon arrived at the train station, from where they would go to Nice for a night of sleep before returning north to the city by the Seine.
“I wonder what Monsieur Dumont has in mind for the future,” said Karl. “I sense that we have barely scratched the surface, and although we have gotten things done, we are novices still. A method this potent can do a lot of good in the world.”
“True. But I wonder what reasons guide those who have been obstructing us,” added Hermann. “Monsieur Dumont could have been a bit more forthcoming on what all that was about.”
“That guy we caught in Milan, for example,” added Martin, “he was given a fine for his recklessness, but that was it. He needed to be interrogated the Medieval Milanese way, if you ask me. But he was just let go. Was he alone? I doubt that. Was he only out to sniff our underwear? Hardly! My underwear has been sniffed many times, and I could tell that that guy was out for more.”
“Maybe I am merely channelling the French élan,” interjected Hugo, “but I want to get to the bottom (or is it the top) of the philosophy of the method. It is real, this is not just some delusion. The good and proper sensations we have swirled in are proof thereof. Still, what follows? Treatises are waiting to be written, tomes, magnum opuses perhaps!”
“I haven’t figured out yet what your story about your well equipped friend was about, the guy with the violin and his dick in tight Asian ass. It is all very confusing, so before a tome is written, deal with the basics first,” said Martin.
“Oh well, what’s an intricate and meandering adventure? After all, I suppose it would be frightfully dull and boring, and completely… completely wonderful,” said Alejandro theatrically.
“Eternity is all around,” said Hermann and readjusted his dick inside the shorts.
“If so, as men of the path, keep it good, keep it happy.”
“We deserve answers. Do we need answers?” said Karl as the train station came into view.
