Mythology Fucks
“Let me tell you a story from the lands I grew up in,” said Karl. “We need some stimulus, intellectual and otherwise, during this train trip to the south of the Alps. We, men on the move, need storytelling. We are a primordial gift to storytelling.”
“So, a friend of mine from up north in Sweden, an engineering student, not just smart but also a proper lad, if you get the drift, he told me of a side business he created. Here’s the deal. In Swedish folk myth, there is this creature called Näcken. The myth speaks of Näcken as a male-looking creature, stark naked, who sits near rivers and brooks in the forest, playing the violin seductively. It takes little imagination to understand he’s really snazzy.”
“You say ‘snazzy’? Why not use something more established, like ‘hunky’?” asked Hermann.
“No, no, no. Established and normal are not for men like us. I’d say keep it proper with ‘dishy’ or ‘dapper’,” suggested Alejandro.
“Stop it! We all know the definitive phrasing is ‘a man of a prepossessing and most agreeable countenance’,” countered Hugo.
“Better yet: ‘yes, king, his face is facing, no caps’,” added Martin.
“Regardless,” continued Karl, “if a girl or curious boy came too close to Näcken, attracted to aesthetic excellence, deep forest solitude or a sizeable dick, Näcken ruins them, say by grabbing hold of the girl or boy and drowning them. Some like to say these folk stories spread as memes because of their benefit to our ancestors who otherwise would fuck around too much near strong currents. The lusty sex meets gruesome-death meme template. That’s a surface-level reading, but anyway, for another time.”
“My friend also knew there were tourists who travelled up north for midnight sun, reindeer and below-30 degrees summer temperatures. His idea, therefore, was to tap into the high-end cultural event tourism. He developed a walking tour of Nordic cultural mysteries, which involved telling, showing, and performing mythology to visitors from afar who were interested in local culture and learning. So sophisticated folks, at least in aspiration.”
“As we all know,” said Karl with one eyebrow raised to signal the ambiguous nature of all that is told and conveyed, “to some persons, culture is pornography dressed up in a respectable excuse, though private tab browsing has diminished that somewhat. My friend, therefore, knew that his customers were also on the lookout for some of those throbbing sensations. As I said, he’s smart.”
“Parenthetically,” interjected Hugo, him too with a single raised eyebrow, “we wouldn’t be fluent in French philosophical thought if we couldn’t deliver a convoluted twenty thousand words essay on the inverse, that is how the pornographic can, in the right enframing, episteme, or embodiment, also act as culture. But do go on, I don’t want to interrupt your story.”
“So my friend designed the mythological tour with a climax of himself performing as Näcken near a beautiful brook. He was dedicated to his art. He truly wanted to give the hormonal glands of his tour group a jolt of authentic Nordic myth. So he played his violin by that secluded brook, about twenty metres from his tour group, and my friend did this dick-swinging naked. And my friend, apart from being equipped with excellent brains, is also exceptionally equipped in terms of all manner of manhood.”
“Pardon me while I start fanning myself,” said Martin and began waving his hands with feigned shock.
“He has that kind of thick pendulum dick that move majestically between his muscular thighs,” continued Karl while moving his arm in a slow pendulum motion to convey a trunk-like quality words alone fail to communicate. “I’ve been nursing his manhood a few times. Trust me, it’s the kind of meat you just know radiates only the best and most potent of manly powers.”
“So when he was performing his violin tunes at the mythological climax, he unsurprisingly became very popular. His nice fat dick added a meaningful amount to Swedish GDP on account of all the additional tourism it created. If he had stuck to it, I am sure he could have given David in Florence a run for his money on which muscular man with his dick out generated the most tourist expenditures in all of Europe.”
“The hormonal economy is huge, huuuuge” noted Alejandro with exaggerated horizontal hand gestures. “Big Tech, Big Oil, Big Pharma, forget it, Big Throb and Big Moan are the best categories. Tremendous. Economists today are dickless.”
“Have you heard of fuerdai?” asked Karl. “That is the name of the spoiled Chinese sons and daughters of the newly super-rich over in the Middle Kingdom. Being the only heir to huge fortunes has created some Chinese boys who are well groomed, well dressed, and infamous for going on epic shopping sprees that make Imelda Marcos seem frugal.”
“Deep cut there, Karl,” said Hermann. "One wonders how a man at your supposed age is so knowledgeable of the rogues gallery of the Cold War,” he said with ironic intonation and movement as he stroked his square jaw.
“Some yearn, though, to get away from one-party state control to circuit-party frenzy,” said Karl. “Ecstatic times are possible. No doubt. But let’s face it, true joy does not enter and animate a young man’s body as alkaloid molecules through the nasal mucosa. The happy release from authoritarian rule is best had by joy entering the body as a fat dick probing and pulsating hard and deep in the smooth and firm flesh while embraced by the vast primal nature where wolves’ howls and spring water rules the soundscape.”
“To put it simply, what is truly needed is raw, rough, rock-hard manly force with proper heft, pressing against bodies, an authentic creation of nature that outwardly acts and commands mightily through the God-given gravitational fields that span the Milky Way and further on into the unfathomable vastness that awaits discovery.”
“Is that what you call your dick? A bit convoluted, perhaps? I call mine Pippin le Dur,” said Hugo, biting his lower lip.
“Steady yourself,” noted Karl. “But to move the story forward, enough setup, the butt of this narrative comes courtesy of one of the premium tourists on my friend’s tour. A pretty and well-groomed Chinese lad, who was the sole heir to his father’s fortune.”
“What kind of fortune?” asked Martin, placing his hand on Karl’s thigh for additional attention and to signal the urgency of his financial query.
"Injection moulding, plastic polymers, mass-produced something-something for the global consumer economy, who knows really?”
“Anal beads and vibrators?” suggested Alejandro with a coy index finger pressed against his cheek.
“Sure, that is a truth so poetic it would be morally wrong to quibble with it. So one of the premium tourists on my friend’s tour was the heir of a vast anal beads and vibrator fortune. When the fortunate pretty boy saw my friend transform into the dangerous and naked Näcken, that unvarnished creature of the eternal organic shadow, this pretty boy swooned in proper 19th-century style. With money in hand, he begged for a personalized mythological lecture by my friend. My friend, of course, knew what was truly going on.”
“He’s well equipped, after all, body and mind,” noted Hugo while touching his head with one hand and his crotch with the other.
“Excellent, I like an attentive audience,” responded Karl.
“Not news to us, or half of Paris,” said Alejandro and drew a wide circle with his hands.
“So at two in the night, the sky eerily illuminated by the midnight sun, my friend brought this Chinese pretty boy to the edge of the brook. My friend, already transformed into Näcken by this point, began peeling designer fashion off the pampered boy, ripping if necessary. Hermes, Bottega Veneta and Prada were no match for some applied manly force of the rugged, primordial variety. Resistance was futile, physical or psychological. When man and myth inhabit each other, the deeply embedded truth and associated force make trivial reasons and weightless deductions go poof.”
“Let me channel my friend directly on what followed that night,” said Karl, spread his legs a bit extra, pushed out his jaw and spoke in a fake deep baritone.
“Fucking great ass. That ass made me go full fucking beast mode. I put that boypussy thigh-deep in the river, naked of course, I bent him over, and I turned that neat little personal-trainer perfected butt into a tender meat package, chockfull with all the best sex feelings and juices. With each thrust into him, pretty boy dripped and squirted into the water, his ass gripping so fucking hard around my dick. A true bottom’s muscles were made to submit to dick, that’s just science. We breathed as one, perfectly synchronized with the dick motions. Pretty boy and I surrendered to the flows and motions of natural reality, and Näcken set that rhythm.”
“Oh yeah, fuck that ass, such good ass, take it, you love to get dicked down, don’t you, get ravaged by some fat Nordic cock right in the heart of that boypussy, feel my fur against your groomed ass, moan for me, boy, I will fuck you so sore you cannot sit down without cumming for the next two weeks,” concluded Karl with maximum vocal swagger and manspread.
“A remote forest, midnight sun, moose bellows and ass to plow… I’m jealous,” said Hermann and wiped drool off his mouth.
“As you no doubt can deduce,” continued Karl in his usual voice, “this was the beginning of a hot and steamy relationship. But not just that. My friend, well-equipped in all the very best manly ways, and his newly found and happy partner, founded a company up there in the north and are turning deep knowledge of nature into technical precision output, with investment capital from the fortunes of anal beads and vibrators.”
“What technical stuff?” asked Martin.
“Rare earth metals, male connectors, electron holes, powertrains… Those are words I’ve heard mentioned. But I am not a student of Polytechnique, so let’s leave it at that,” concluded Karl, leaning back in his seat and smiling.
“Prithee, good bard, what lesson doth thy tale impart? What providence hath woven first to last through fortune's wheel?” asked Alejandro with flourished hand.
“My dear friends, I think I know,” responded Martin. “Find yourself a crazy-rich Asian pretty-boy and fuck, fuck, fuck. Asian ass has a most spankilicious reputation and if it is gushing with money, the better. So men of this world, assert yourself and grow to be as equipped, blessed and able in body and mind as Karl’s northern friend.”
“That is too materialistic an understanding of the narrative,” objected Hermann. “Consider the ideals at work, the dreams that guide the men, the gestalt of the actions. Aspire, young men, the story calls out. Seek authentic connection in all your acts, free yourself from artifice, strip deserving men of artifice by force if necessary, and allow the virtuous loving journey in itself to become life.”
“Myth is life, and life is myth,” countered Hugo. “The agents of the drama were neither Swede nor Chinese, but Näcken as well as the both deadly and nourishing water of the brook. Myth moves us, and it is happy to stay in the shadows and fool us into thinking we move ourselves. Only in moments of the most voracious bodily acts, can we see and feel the truth of life and myth, in this narrative in the shape of Näcken.”
“All of that and none of it, I guess,” concluded Karl. “I get horny on crowded trains, the rhythm and the peculiar closeness to strangers. So to deal with the feelings in my body, I shared a lustful story.”
“But Karl,” exclaimed Alejandro, “if that was the issue, you could have saved your voice and told me and I would have gulped and quaffed on your nice fat dick, nourished myself on and communed with your potent spirit. Look at these eyes. Look at these lips. See my tongue,” said Alejandro and moved his body in ways that would make any man burst with visions of cock-sucking perfection.
The five men laughed. This had been a good way to pass the time. Men on the move create some of the best stories.
They were also vaguely aware that a few seats down, an anonymous passenger was, by all appearances, eavesdropping and jerking off. As young men in their prime, this was not the first time an observer of their movements and bodies was, more or less, discreetly stroking himself. So the five men did not pay any further attention.
