Date: Thu, 29 Nov 2001 15:10:44
From: Ganymede
Subject: Ring Around the Rose Chapter 14

The Ring Around the Rose, by Ganymede


WARNING:


This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual acts
between men and MINOR boys. It is not true! The story is not
intended to promote illegal acts against minors. I do not
condone child abuse, however the love of boys is a different
matter. Despite the prevalent attitudes of western society,
men have loved boys throughout recorded history. It is my goal
to help readers appreciate that love can exist between men
and boys. If the subject of man/boy love offends you, if
this material is illegal in your place of residence, or if you
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Any similarity to individuals, living or dead, is entirely
accidental. The sexual acts described in the story are the
result of my imagination. I have not performed these acts, and
I do not encourage others to perform them with minors.

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. Copies
have been placed in two archives for your enjoyment.
The story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. The story
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THE COPYRIGHT OF OTHERS:

Throughout the story there are poems and songs by others. I do
not claim this work as my own. These poems and songs are included
within single quotation marks. In some cases, I have modified the
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FINAL WARNING:

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The Ring Around the Rose, by Ganymede

Chapter 14. The Forest of Thieves

When Sandor, Michel, and the dwarf, Riall, returned to where
Kadri and I remained, sorting out the good from bad; we set about
dividing the still-edible food into two equal shares. Some things
could not be split as easily as the wheel of hole-filled mountain
cheese, so I stood back and watched the boys while they bartered
with the dwarf for the things that had been pushed to the side.
It was good practice for them, for warriors often had to trade.
Riall took the suet pudding, in return for which the boys were
eager to receive the golden fruit. Michel, by virtue of his royal
breeding, was as familiar with oranges from the southern region
as he was with the fruits of northern climes. By furtive
whispering, he soon convinced his friends that three oranges were
worth a small pudding of questionable age. The leg of ham was
also hard to split until Sandor took his sword and neatly sliced
it down the bone. Kadri and Riall drew straws to see who would
have first pick. And so it went, until equal shares were made and
nothing else was left.

Riall, while certainly not happy with the outcome of the
deal, was glad to get more than enough to eat. His amount was
more than generous. It would have fed the boys and me for at
least a day or two, and there was only one of him. He wrapped his
goods in one of the blankets he'd received in trade and hurried
off into the woods, his little squat legs jumping with difficulty
over fallen branches. Just before he was nearly out of sight, he
turned and shouted.

"Watch out for bandits on the road. Some of them are slavers
as well as thieves. They'll steal your boys and take their gems.
If you're lucky, Aidan of Aquarius, they'll give you back their
eggs and nothing more."

He laughed and darted off among the trees. I was glad to see
him go, Riall of Montjoy, a little man of little joy.

I patted Michel's shoulder even while I considered how the
dwarf was familiar with my name. To the best of my recollection,
Kadri had given him my name, but no one had told him of my sign.
The only explanation that came, at least at first, was that he
had seen me elsewhere. Michel was still cold, and the damp
blanket that he had gathered around his slender body did nothing
to keep the wind away. His teeth were chattering. Sandor and
Kadri also appeared both weak and very pale. Their strength was
quickly ebbing. The boys needed to be fed and warmed before the
chilly darkness of night overcame the feeble warmth of day.
However, the dwarf was right. The reputation of the road through
the Forest of Sonnuit was such that it had acquired the name of
the 'Road of Thieves'. We needed to find a safer place, as much
to avoid the danger of my boys being taken as slaves as to avoid
the probable return of the dragon in the dead of night.

"Come boys. Let us load the cart as quickly as we can," I
encouraged. "The sooner we are gone from here the better. Stack
the things we've salvaged close to the driver's seat and then
spread the hay around to make a place for you to sleep."

I am certain that they would have rather eaten, yet they set
to the task without complaint or asking what the dwarf had meant
by his final torment. Once loaded, I instructed the boys to climb
onto the cart and conceal themselves beneath the straw. With each
other's warmth and a couple of the moist blankets to surround
them, they would soon be warm. I scattered the straw above them
until they were as well hidden as the dwarf had been. The
camouflage was sufficient to pass a minimal inspection and no
more. I climbed aboard the cart, picked up the reins and after a
dozen taps with the long-handled whip, finally got the mule to
walking. Behind me, I heard the muted whispers of three boys as
they reviewed the excitement of the day.

I smiled and, although my ears were still pricked for the
slightest sound of danger, I began to relax as well. We were
barely on the outskirts of the Forest of Sonnuit and the chance
of meeting bandits was not enough to quell their cheer. As the
mule slowly loped along, I used my dagger to cut the cheese into
sizeable chunks. I passed it back to them to satisfy their
hunger. For a few short minutes all was quiet. I gnawed,
relishing the slightly bitter taste. What would I have given for
a slice or two of fresh-baked bread and clean warm clothes?

"Master Aidan?"

I turned and looked back, letting the mule follow its
elongated nose along the rutted twisting track. Already the trees
had become more plentiful.

"Yes Kadri," I answered tiredly. I restrained a sleepy yawn.

"Is there anything more to eat?" he asked hopefully.

He looked so utterly adorable sitting up amongst the straw.
The boys had apparently removed their armor during their efforts
to become warm. He was naked except for a small patch of rabbit
fur across his groin. A leather cord secured that furry covering
around his waist, and doubtless there was another where I could
not see between his pale thin thighs.

"Just some cod," I joked. Kadri did not get the joke. "Or
maybe you'd like some sausage meat? Although it might be a little
salty without something else to drink."

"But I didn't see either cod or sausage when we loaded up
the cart," Kadri replied seriously.

I didn't have to wait very long before Sandor laughed.

"He's making fun of what you want to eat, Kadri," Sandor
joked without elaborating.

"Huh? I've finished all my cheese."

Sandor laughed again. "Cod and sausage meat? He's referring
to your prick. It's a tasty enough morsel to be sure, but it's
not enough to feed a mouse."

"I don't understand," Kadri answered despondently. "My belly
is so empty that it hurts and you make jests about my dick."

"No joke, my darling Libra," I chuckled. "In battle, I've
often had to suckle on a young boy's prick instead of eating
meat. Try it with Sandor and Michel, and I bet your hunger soon
will be gone."

Kadri finally gave in and laughed. "You don't mind if I do
that to Miel?" he blurted out.

I shook my head and flipped the reins to keep the mule
walking. If ever there was a time to be honest about my love for
Michel, this was it. The sooner that the truth was known, the
better. What was needed was to achieve both trust and deep
affection as soon as possible. Those were qualities that we would
need later on, perhaps even during the hours ahead if the thieves
attacked.

"Of course not, Kadri, although the choice is Michel's as
much as mine. You and Sandor are his best friends. There are
things that boys can always share together no matter what they
might mean to another man or boy," I emphasized, taking care to
finish what should have been obvious to all.

"I thought you and he were,..." Kadri stopped himself in
time. He chose safer words. "Close friends."

"You can say the word, Kadri, and have no fear of my anger,"
I acknowledged softly. "We're much more than friends now, aren't
we Michel. There is no shame in being lovers."

"You've taken vows?" Sandor asked awkwardly.

I did not answer for a moment. Was it my right to announce
aloud what Michel and I had said in secret? The Master had
watched us and from that alone, implied the rest from what he
saw. Even as I pondered my concern, I heard Michel's soft voice
from underneath the straw.

"Yes. It's true. I'm betrothed to Master Aidan."

I smiled. In time, he would want to shout it to the world,
but for the present I would be content with whispers from my
little lover's lips. I was happy for both him and me for being
the first to tell his friends.

Kadri sighed and with drowsy eyes, slumped against the
slatted side of the cart. I clucked loudly and flicked the reins
and tried to encourage the mule to hurry above a crawl. I waited.
Michel and I had shared the most important secret we could ever
tell another man or boy. I expected it would not take very long
before another secret, equally important, was shared with us.

Sandor wriggled from under the straw and his head emerged
from its cocoon of blankets. Already the boys had generated
sufficient body heat for a wisp of steam to rise. I had to smile
again, imagining the small crevices where the warmth was
concentrated, for it was well known that was where all boys gave
off the greatest heat.

Kadri nudged him. "Should we tell them?"

Sandor pursed his lips. He nodded. He took a deep breath.
"Okay, let's do it together. On three. Un, deux, trios,...."

"We're lovers!" the two boys said together.

Immediately they hugged and shared a grazing kiss, which
would have lingered longer had they been in private.

"We already know," Michel chortled gleefully. "You'd have to
be blind not to see that the two of you were as close and Aidan
and me."

"You've taken vows?" I ascertained with mounting admiration.
Both boys nodded eagerly. "You understand how serious this is?"

Without a pause, they nodded again, together.

"If you mean do we know about what happens on the Altar when
boys our age take vows, then we do. It's only fair that we lose
one each," Sandor said generously. "I'd give both my eggs if
that's what I must lose to be with Kadri; and he would do the
same for me."

In truth, I was not surprised that they had learned what was
involved in taking vows to love each other. Many of the boys upon
the Mount formed couples with their closest friends. It was only
natural considering how much time they spent together. However,
few relationships survived the required time of a single Order
change. A month was all it took for boys to exhaust the enjoyment
available from their tender bodies, and to discover how difficult
it was to remain faithful to each other. For many men and boys,
the exchange of vows became something of a game. In nearly every
case, by mutual agreement, they renounced their pledges of
allegiance before a month had passed. While my instincts were
assured that would not be the case for Michel, I was not so
confident for Sandor and Kadri for I had yet to see the true
nature of their love.

"I'm very happy for you both," I commended graciously.

There were so many trees that the dim moonlight that managed
to penetrate the clouds, was all but gone. Blackness surrounded
us, and with the chill of night, it sent a shiver up my spine. I
smelled the strong odor of pine and heard the whisper of the
dying wind, the faint rattle of dead branches, the crackle of a
hunting animal upon the needles scattered thickly on the forest
floor. Were there other scents as well? However, not even
Michel's nose could detect anything of value for to our great
disadvantage, the wind now came from behind us. I pulled the
blanket closer around me and waited.

"We love each other, Master Aidan," Sandor said seriously.
"I would die without Kadri beside me."

So seldom was Sandor serious, that I sensed the depth of
love between them was much more than that of other boys. I looked
over my shoulder and observed the signs of love, deep love, in
the holding of their hands. Of any man or boy, Sandor and Kadri
could make each other very happy

"And me too," Kadri added and he clutched his lover's hand
and brought it to his lips to kiss.

Michel's head finally poked above the blanket. He brushed
the straw from his disheveled head. He grinned at me, his giggle
clearly saying 'I told you so'.

"Aidan," Michel began uncertainly. He was still awkward in
the use of my name alone. "If we have vows to love each other,
must we never touch another boy?"

"Ah,... that depends on what you mean by touch, Michel.
However, as you know ell, there is a single place that is set
aside for love. That place belongs to me. Not that the rest of
you is up for grabs, but it'll not perturb me one iota if you
share those other parts with friends."

"What part is that?" Michel asked with glee.

"Your bum," Sandor chortled. "You of all of us should know
that from what you've given to Master Aidan to earn your rose,
Miel."

"The sanctity of both that place and love we share together
is what is at stake, Michel," I continued to explain seriously.
"According to the rule, so long as both of us agree, you could
play with Sandor and Kadri as much as you wanted. Everywhere, but
not there. At least not with anything between your legs. Not that
it should matter much, for as you know even a single finger in
the anus provides more than a modicum of pleasure."

"So that was why that little man, Riall, could suckle on
Kadri?" Michel asked slowly. He answered his own question.
"Because Sandor and Kadri both agreed and it wasn't in his bum."

I nodded. We had entered deeply into the woods by then and
the trees towered far above us. They stretched over a chaotic
tangle of withered, whitened, twisting branches that formed an
impenetrable barrier that was higher than two men. If there was a
place well suited to attack by robbers, this was definitely it.

"Would you mind if they did some things with me?" Michel
asked shyly.

I turned around suddenly. Had I heard a twig snap? A faint
distant crack of a branch? A foot misplaced? I suppressed my fear
with experience and reason, yet I pricked my ears to listen
closer.

"Of course not. As I've said, they're your best friends.
It's natural, even important one might say, for boys to give
pleasure to each other," I added quietly.

At that moment, I wished that we had the added speed of a
horse. It was difficult to encourage a mule to proceed faster
than a walk. I did not want to worry the boys so I talked further
about the subject that was still hanging in the air.

"For boys as well as men, the pleasure of the mouth is the
next highest joy of all. It would please me if all of you suckled
on each other whenever the desire was there."

"And you too," Michel grinned. "But only if I get to
watch,... "

"And you have to let him help you, Michel, when you get
tired," Sandor interjected with a snicker.

When Michel and his friends stopped giggling long enough to
catch their breaths, I heard another sound, which although it was
still some distance away, alerted me to danger. I hushed the boys
immediately by holding my finger to my lips. I slowed the mule
with a careful tug upon the reins. Again, the sound that did not
belong. A whisper on the wind. I drew back upon the reins again
and brought the cart to a stop. I listened to the silence.

"Should we put our armor back on?" Sandor whispered as
softly as he could.

I nodded, but even as my eyes searched the darkness ahead, I
realized that a darkened figure had been lying in a furrow on the
road. It reared up beside the mule, grabbing the reins. At the
same time, something came from the right. I heard the sound, a
soft whistle of a missile in the air, but not the dull thud of
the rock that struck my head. I was senseless when I hit the
ground.



When I awoke, I was tightly bound at hand and foot and lying
in the cart. My head spun, flashing brilliant stars with every
abrupt movement as the cart jerked along across a very bumpy
road. I groaned, which only helped to worsen my stunned acerbic
mind. There was an equally bitter taste in my mouth, a pervading
smell of stale sweat, and muffled words whose intent was far from
clear. Nervously, I extended my hands, creeping cautiously
through the straw, trying to feel Michel, Kadri, or Sandor. I
found the damp blankets that had covered them, but nothing more.
My hands pulled back. I gnawed at the bindings and immediately
discovered that the toughest hide had been used. A waste of time
without a knife.

I closed my eyes and tried to think, to concentrate. If
these men were slavers I had to form a strategy to save us from a
fate worse than any death I could imagine. What happened to
eunuch boys was bad enough, but when they were such pretty boys,
the dragon's lair could be no worse. The cart stopped. I heard
the unmistakable sounds of the mule's harness being unbuckled.

"We might get half a gold piece for the beast and cart."

"If we're lucky, Ashfar. It's too much trouble to sell. It
will only slow us down."

"We will need it to carry them for a while. They won't be
able to much more than crawl for a day or two"

"What about him?" The voice was rough and cruel. It sounded
oriental.

"I say kill him now, Maestro. There's too much to do to
worry about him as well."

"I hear they pay good money for mercenary men. If he's as
half as tough as he looks, he'll bring a tidy sum," the man who I
presumed to be their leader answered.

"Assuming he'll fight, Mahmoud," another man commented.

I heard him spit. It splattered on my foot. I heard a cry.
Not Michel. It had to be Kadri. Then a groan. That was Sandor
from the tone. Not far away. Then, the sounds of another cry,
much louder than before, a shriek of pain. I braced myself
against the bonds to no avail. It was a voice I knew too well. It
came from Michel.

"When we're finished with his precious boys, no doubt like
them, he'll wish that he was dead. He'll fight because he'll have
no choice," Mahmoud replied.

"This one should bring a prince's ransom. He's as pretty a
boy as I have ever seen."

"Bring the candle closer. What's this upon his rear? Spread
his cheeks wider, Ashfar. Why, it's a rose," Mahmoud laughed
cruelly. "My friends, it seems as if we've found the answer to
our prayers. These three brats are from the Mount, me thinks."

"The Sanctuary of Roses?"

"No less than that hallowed citadel. From what I've heard
the place is famous for its warrior boys."

"Nonsense. Just look at them. Two of them are nearly girls
and the other one is not much better. That warrior's reputation
that is clearly undeserved," a Gaelic voice proclaimed.

By turning my head and squinting through one eye, I could
barely make out that I had not been confused by what I heard.
There was no doubt that the four men who were gathered in the
grove were thieves, and very likely worse. I could only see the
face of one. His face was badly ravaged by disease, and what few
places the boils had missed, the scars of knife wounds had not.
One eye was lifeless, or very nearly so. His nose was so
misshapen that I wondered what had happened to so distort it. His
dark-hued face was almost beyond recognition. He was dressed in
the livery of a wealthy man, although his clothing had seen much
better days. My attention was drawn to his plumed hat with
brightly colored ostrich feathers. His coat was of black satin.
His breeches similarly so, but edged with golden bands, and his
boots, once highly polished leather, were covered with mud. His
companions were dressed eclectically, and deferred to the man
whose face I saw.

"It's getting late. Do you think we should geld them now or
wait till morning?" Ashfar asked. He scratched his crotch and
smelled his hand.

"Aye, we might as well get it over with. If we wait for dawn
to do it, we'll lose another day before they're ready for market.
Madrun, heat the iron in the fire and tend the mule for we'll
surely need it later. While it heats we'll have some fun."

"Which one do you want, Maestro?"

"Why, the prettiest one, of course. Ashfar and Cheng-Wei can
have their pick of the other two, but I'll be riding the brown-
skinned brat to Nirvana. Seeing their bodies are already marked
with roses, they'll not lose value if we use them further. I've
wanted to stick my prick in a Sanctuary boy for ages." He paused
a moment. "But first let's hang their master from a tree. I want
him to see what happens to those who trespass against me, the
Lord and Master of the Forest of Thieves."

Even as the words were passing from his mouth, he stepped
back and grasped my legs and dragged me from the cart. I fell
heavily to the ground and grunted. Again, Michel screamed in
terror. The slap of a hand brought hard against his skin was very
loud. When next I saw him, his head hung limply down.

"Don't hurt him or you die," I threatened impotently.

How I could accomplish such a feat depended entirely upon my
ability to effect escape, the potential for which seemed very low
at that time. I was rewarded for my threat with a painful kick in
the solar plexus. I gasped for air while I was lugged across the
ground. Then, without more warning than a sudden heave, I was
yanked upwards to dangle upside down. They tied a knot through
the bindings on my feet, pushed me, soon had me swinging to and
fro much to my tormenters' amusement. They laughed and shoved at
me again to increase my wild gyrations. When they tired of that,
they casually walked away.

>From my inverted position I watched with shameful eyes as
they jerked my Michel up to his feet. I, who had taken the role
of lover along with protector, guardian, and master of these
boys, was to be forced to watch their humiliation, and worse; the
thing that all males fear. The leader stepped forward, and
sneering, ran his soiled hands across Michel's pure body. Michel
glared at him, his lips curling back to show his sharp white
teeth. The man laughed. His fingers, which were only a hand's
breadth away from Michel's groin, darted, grabbed, squeezed,
twisted. He did not let go until Michel screamed. I writhed in
frustrated anger, unable to do anything but watch.

"Tie him to the wheel you two," their leader commanded to
the nearest men. "I'm itching to fill his pretty little arse."

So saying, he unfastened the golden buttons of his breeches.
They dropped below his belly and clumped around his knees. His
codpiece was a foul affair, a yellowed tattered rag. With a jerk,
he pulled it to the side to reveal the strangest penis of any man
I'd seen. Far less imposing that its length and girth, and the
purple helmet-head, was the remarkable bow in the shaft. It was
so curved that it would be a miracle if it did not injure Michel
by coming out his side. I struggled harder with a desperation
renewed by fear and horror of what would soon eventuate if I did
not intervene. I succeeded only in knocking my head hard against
the tree. A black cloud spewed forth before my eyes.

By the time my dizziness had cleared, his accomplices had
secured Michel, spread-eagled and bound to the cart wheel in a
position from which he could do nothing to protect himself. I
shook my head, frantically trying to invent a solution. There had
to be a way to escape. However, both Kadri and Sandor were
trussed and lying helpless. Their friend, the boy I loved, was
about to be impaled. The leader took his place behind Michel,
forcing the boy's small cheeks apart with his thumbs to reveal
the target of his lust.

"Don't worry brat. From the look of it you've been used
often enough before. Even though this zabb of mine is bigger than
anything you will have had in there, I'm sure you'll still live.
It will surely hurt you more than me, but compared to what will
happen later, you find this quite a joy."

"Leave him be," I slurred.

The dark-skinned man turned around, leering. "Shut up or
I'll take him in one thrust! When I cut his nuts perhaps I'll let
him bleed to death."

He stroked his shaft, causing the skin to pull completely
back. There was a thick cord of white grease behind the rim.
There were festering pustules, bulging veins, an open crimson
slit, a slimy drool that made my stomach heave. His weapon was as
threatening as any that I had seen.

"Let him go," Sandor shouted.

"You'll be next brat. You won't have to wait that long. I'll
fuck this pretty flower first so he won't feel the pain when I
use the knife. It'll take but a moment to do it. Perhaps we'll
cut your nuts off when my friend is in your arse. I'm told that
when it's done at the very end, the body doesn't know the
difference between pain and ecstasy."

"Hold on! Don't do that! You'll ruin the merchandise if you
use the knife."

All four thieves turned to see where the squeaky voice had
come from. I looked too and was surprised to see Riall, the dwarf
of Montjoy. I had long since decided that he would not cross our
paths again. He looked a little tired but he quickly clambered
over a fallen log. With great difficulty he pushed his way
through brambles that would merely have inconvenienced a grown
man. With his squat legs, he must have hurried to keep up with
the mule.

"Who are you little man to dare to speak to me?" the Maestro
boomed, his gnarled dirty hand still stroking along his engorged
and ugly tool.

"I am but a simple trader, Lord and Master of the Forest of
Thieves." Riall smiled ingenuously.

He straightened his cloak and brushed the leaves away.
Casually, he extracted a thorn from the hem and picked his teeth
with it before he spit upon the ground. He glanced around the
miserable encampment, not showing a sign of recognizing any of
us.

"And what merchandise do you trade, Dwarf?" Mahmoud inquired
solicitously.

Riall shrugged. "Whatever I can find. Sometimes I trade for
food, sometimes for gold, sometimes even for carts and mules.
However, I know the market for young boys better that any other."
His eyes narrowed and he walked a few paces in my direction.
"These lads are prettier than any boy I've seen in the markets of
Islambad."

"Indeed, trader? What would you pay for him?" Mahmoud asked
craftily.

He gestured to Michel. Riall turned, regarded Michel with
interest before he approached and walked from side to side. He
examined the boy's head, paying close attention to his ears, then
ducked down and peered between the spokes of the wheel. When he
reappeared, he placed his hands on Michel's small buttocks and
spread them wide. He nodded thoughtfully.

"It's a pity he's not a virgin, although he wears the rose.
That helps. Doubtless he's of royal origin. Hm,... He's worth a
hundred pieces of gold even as he is. And nothing less than a
gross once he's been gelded, assuming it's done with care. You'll
not want to leave a scar."

The man nodded. "Hm,... I thought as much myself. Then why
do you say I'll ruin the merchandise if I use the knife?"

Riall cackled. He ambled away to warm his hands before the
fire. Absently, he nudged his boot against the irons. Given their
sharpened red-hot points there was no question of their future
use. For the briefest instant, his eyes met mine. I prayed I was
not mistaken by the meaning of that glance.

"Because I know a market of a different sort. It's a market
for special boys, where he's worth two hundred even as a eunuch,"
he enunciated carefully as if talking to a child. "But fifty more
if his balls still work. You slavers all think the same and use
your knives to geld them. Not every one wants a capon,
particularly when he's a very pretty boy," he added mysteriously.

"Where is this market?" Mahmoud demanded.

Riall shrugged ambiguously, which only served to engender
curiosity. "It's some distance away from here. I'll be happy to
make an offer for the boys right now."

"How much?"

"A hundred pieces of gold for the honey-colored boy. Sixty
each for the other two."

"That's not enough," Mahmoud said hotly. "Your profit will
be double what you pay to me."

"Ah, but I have to get them to the market, don't I?" Riall
said sarcastically.

"Another fifty!"

"I want them uncut of course, for I have no wish to prevent
their breeding."

"Why not? It's easily done." Mahmoud regarded Riall with
interest.

"There are buyers for boys like these, especially when the
trade in slaves is slow. Although it'll be some time until
they're ripe for mating they will still command a high price,"
Riall answered.

"For mating? You mean with girls?"

"Of course, with girls. There is one buyer I know who is
prepared to make a long term investment, but only for the right
boys. Each one of these boys could sire a hundred other boys
before he's twelve," Riall explained.

"You're joking. They'd be used for breeding?"

Riall laughed. "Well for a while at least. It's well known
that a boy's seed is best before it's clouded. No doubt they'll
then be cut or used for battle fodder."

"I've heard that said," Mahmoud agreed. "The seed is
stronger before it turns to cream? A boy produces boys,
especially if his eggs are heated."

Riall nodded. "Two hundred and fifty for the three of them,
but that's all.

However, since you've got the irons ready to stop the
bleeding,..."

"What do you want?" Mahmoud demanded.

"I want their eyes put out," Riall said calmly. "I'll pay
two-hundred-and fifty only if you cauterize their eyes for me.
It's no harder than cutting off their balls."

"Why blind them?"

Riall laughed again. "If you saw the whores they'll
fertilize, you'd know. Actually, it is a simple way to keep them
from running off. What say you, King of Thieves? Do we have a
deal?"

The four men talked among themselves, not noticing that
Riall moved closer towards the trees. He came within a single
pace of me, then reaching out, gave a sudden heave. I swung
wildly to and fro, my hands dragging in the mud. It was on the
fifth or sixth such oscillation that my fingers touched the ivory
handle of a dagger.

I craned my neck to see if anyone had noticed. Riall, still
chortling with glee from tormenting me, had returned to the fire.
He heaved a log into the middle and sent a flurry of sparks into
the air. The thieves snarled and told him to be careful.

"Three hundred," Mahmoud demanded, "and not a farthing less.
And we want it now!"

Riall smirked. "Three hundred pieces of gold? Its far too
much for three miserable boys. Even if I agreed to that
outrageous sum, I could not pay you now. You expect me to carry
that much through the Forest of Thieves?" He shook his head in
disbelief. "Besides, for three hundred, you could not have your
fun. I'll not see their value lessened by men like you. I need
them healthy, not with splayed legs and sore bums."

He made a hole with the finger and thumb of one hand and
crudely pumped the first stubby finger of the other hand through
it. It was a gesture that every man knew. The thieves scowled,
not at all happy that they would be denied their pleasure with my
boys.

I used the distraction to pick up the knife, an exceedingly
difficult task given that the cords around my wrists effectively
prevented any but the slightest movement. However, I was able to
finally wrap both hands around the short carved handle. I hoped
the blade was sharp. I would have but a single chance. It had to
work. I counted slowly, summoning my strength. And then I changed
my mind. It was time the boys were blooded.

I nodded to Riall as if trying to clear my head now that the
violent singing had finally stopped, then deliberately I looked
towards the flaring fire. I needed another distraction to effect
escape. Riall's head barely moved.

"Why not?" Mahmoud snapped. "It makes no difference to their
breeding if they've been fucked by men. Besides, none of them are
virgins. They've all been ringed already. Why would another cock
reduce their value?"

Riall did not answer. Instead he stumbled. He fell hard
against Ashfar, cursing loudly that he had tripped over some of
the garbage that was strewn across the ground. I heaved and
lifted upwards, bending in the middle and reaching for the sky. I
slashed at the cords around my feet, felt the leather yield, then
crashed hard onto the ground. Instantly, the thieves began to
move, darting back from the fire, reaching for their weapons. I
moved faster, not stopping to try to slice the bonds around my
wrists. Instead, I bounded across to where Sandor and Kadri were
lying. It took but an instant to free Sandor, though in my haste
I feared I slashed his wrist. Certainly, he yelped. However, a
mere flesh wound would not have slowed him down. He leaped to his
feet. With open mouths, the thieves watched the naked boy execute
a triple somersault, the center one of which carried him clear
across the blazing fire.

In the orange flare of light I glimpsed that marvel of the
Mount. Sandor's short erection jutted out, pointing up his smooth
lean chest. Beneath, his scrotum had contracted to a darkened
wrinkle. Sex or battle, for Favonius or Vulturnus, it was simply
a matter of degree. One died in love and war, the 'little death'
of orgasm or the death that lasted for all eternity. We had the
advantage of surprise. By the time Sandor had reached Michel's
side, I had freed Kadri. They had employed a thicker leather
thong to tie his feet, but it barely slowed the knife. I heard
the rush behind me even as Kadri snarled.

The first man's eyes went wide. It only took a moment to
even the score to a number manageable by the boys. Three against
three was close to fair. I saw that look of fear, of knowing
death was near. That realization that he could not stop the
inevitable thrust no matter what he did or said. I plunged the
knife into Madrun's scrawny neck, twisting the blade as he fell
toward me. He gasped, his scream issuing not from his mouth, but
a hand's breadth lower down. It ended as a gurgle, a spurting
gush of vivid blood before he died.

I handed the knife to Kadri. It was ample to defend his life
even though the handle was slippery with blood. On the other side
of the fire, Sandor had recovered his short sword from amidst the
straw. He stood side on, erect and proudly defiant, both of his
swords raised in the traditional aggressive posture. He shouted
to the three men who were still standing.

"You want my nuts so badly? Come and get them you sons of
bitches!"

One of the men laughed, the one they called Ashtar.
Foolhardily, he came first. He had a scimitar, a useless weapon
when speed and agility were needed. And Sandor was fast! He moved
nearly as fast as the eye could see. Ashtar blinked. Stupefied,
he turned around, searching to the sides. It took a heartbeat
before I realized that there was a shadow behind the wheel. I
prayed that Sandor would be careful, for his new position, while
offering the advantage of surprise, left Michel exposed until he
was freed. The man advanced, literally grinning from ear to ear.

"That's right! Run you little cur," he taunted to a boy who
he still could not see. "Let's see how your friend likes my sword
stuffed up his rear."

Michel shouted, screaming the blood-curdling cry of a
warrior. He sprang back from his place spread-eagled upon the
wheel, no longer bound to the wooden spokes but free to kill. The
man smirked, losing his interest in the boy who was not in sight.

"You're a pitiful brat with a prick is no bigger than my
little finger," Ashtar growled.

Michel stood his ground, glanced quickly to the side,
evaluated the distance to his sword that still lay inside the
cart.

"And you fuck women!" he shouted.

"Better bitches than runts like you," Ashtar countered.

I watched with amusement as Michel's legs began to tense. He
needed to learn the art of concealing intentions, but that would
come in time. A warrior would have cut him down before he moved.
His plan of action was also questionable. I had seen him jump
before, but never from a standing start. To clear the cart rail,
he would have to jump at least my height above the ground, an
impossible task for a boy as young as he. He leaped. He very
nearly made it without mishap. His foot smacked loudly against
the wooden rail, tearing the skin along the shin. He fell
headlong into the cart, sending a shower of straw as his feet
sprawled out. The man lunged, suddenly seeing Sandor appear from
behind the spokes of the wheel at the same time as he raised his
scimitar to decapitate Michel. It was the last thing that he ever
saw. Sandor heaved his sword, point first and skewered the man
between the ribs of his thick chest. Sandor was trembling. His
penis had attained the apogee of hardness, his hips thrusting
with the urgent need to ejaculate his unformed seed.

I surveyed the field, a bloody sight, deciding I should get
ready to intervene. I used Madrun's sword to cut the cords that
held my hands. However, three Sanctuary boys, even unarmed, were
enough to match the two men who were left alive. The oriental man
turned swiftly and was advancing on Kadri. Like the other man, he
carried a scimitar, both between his legs as well as in his
outstretched hand. At first glance, his weapon greatly
overwhelmed Kadri's small dagger.

"Be careful, Kadri," I said. "Remember the ploy of Master
Gavin."

Kadri nodded. That he was frightened was clearly evident,
yet he stood his ground with barely a tremble. His hand tightened
on the dagger. He would have a single chance. He feinted left,
then right, ducking low each time. The scimitar whistled through
the air. However, it was an unwieldy weapon at the best of times.
On the second feint, Kadri moved into a roll. It was a perfect
ruse for the man swung the scimitar up at the precise instant
that Kadri rolled. He leaped back to his feet, now behind his
attacker. With no other choice, he thrust the dagger deeply into
the man's buttock.

"What!" the man squealed. Instinctively he felt behind him,
then lifted his hand and found it bloody. "You shit! You fucking
stabbed me."

"Now who's arse is bloody?" Sandor challenged with a laugh,
his unsatisfied member forgotten for the moment.

He came up beside Kadri, unarmed and naked, but no less
deadly. I smiled. They made a team, Sandor and Kadri. Lovers or
warriors, it made no difference. They moved in together, circling
from opposite directions. The man's eyes shifted from side to
side, his scimitar wavering mid height. I heard the boys thoughts
as clearly as if they had spoken aloud. This man was Kadri's to
kill, and his alone.

Again, Sandor performed the somersault that would one day
bear his name. It took the man completely by surprise. Cheng-Wei
glanced away just long enough for Kadri to leap. The next thing
he knew there was a boy was clinging to his head, lithe but
powerful legs wrapped securely around his neck. Kadri bent back,
arching until his upturned head looked back towards the man's
cloth-covered groin. His finger-sized penis stuck straight out,
blunted but as hard as bronze. Then, he plunged the knife in to
the hilt, dragged it upwards until the man's belly was split like
a pig. There was no sound, no cry, not even a gasp when Kadri
disemboweled him. Cheng-Wei's intestines spilled out, steaming in
the cold air. Kadri's legs released and he flipped as he sprang
back to his feet. He was shaking violently, but not from fear. I
glimpsed his sex, swollen and pulsing with frenzied jerks. Unlike
Sandor, whose fight had been brought to a swift conclusion, Kadri
had enjoyed that ultimate of pleasures.

That left Michel and the other man, Mahmoud. The Prince of
Boys and the King of Thieves. My wager was on Michel. Somehow in
the fray he had managed to recover his sword from the cart and
get down upon the ground. He circled the last man left alive. His
eyes were narrowed to mere slits. His teeth bared. His nostrils
flaring with every breath. My beautiful boy had become a tiger,
an animal whose only purpose was to kill. Like the other boys,
his weapon, so familiar to me as his chosen lover, was also an
unyielding spike of flesh. Oh, how I loved that brazen honey-
colored boy.

The King of Thieves kept glancing nervously around him. His
accomplices in robbery lay dead. Mahmoud had met his match. His
raised his sword, preparing to charge, intending to kill one boy
before he died himself.

"Easy, Michel," I hissed. "Take your time. He's a fool like
the others, but a lucky fool can kill you just the same a
warrior."

Mahmoud was a far superior opponent than if the other three
men were combined to make a single fighter. To make the situation
worse, Michel had but a single month of training. Michel stepped
back, his eyes flickering from side to side. He was very close to
the cart. Perhaps too close if he needed to effect a sudden
movement. He had no means of escape. I could see him counting to
himself. It was one of the ways that boys were trained to remain
calm during battle. 'Think, Michel,' I counseled silently. 'Plan
ahead'. 'You cannot beat his strength.'

They moved about, testily eyeing each other. Kadri and
Sandor stood beside me, both as worried as could be. The man
thrust and Michel neatly parried, then returned the blow with one
of his own. The swords met in a crashing blow. In a fight like
that, the man had the advantage of sheer strength. To survive
Michel would have to change the rules.

He sensed what was needed and began to apply the skills that
he'd been taught, never staying longer than a moment before he
moved about. Again and again the man hacked and slashed, only to
discover that the target was no longer there. With his heavy
weapon, Mahmoud began to tire while Michel drew energy from
imminent success. He weaved and ducked, challenging the man by
dancing in his nakedness, blatantly erect. His eyes flashed, his
mouth broken by a smile as he maneuvered back and forth. Then,
seizing an opportunity, Michel's blade sliced.

"Damn you brat!" Mahmoud cursed. There was a long gash down
his left arm. "Stand still and fight."

Michel shook his head and laughed with mirth, never stopping
in his taunting prance. Whenever the man came to close, Michel
leaped away, vaulting, somersaulting, tumbling, whatever was
required. Indeed, a long time passed before he even raised his
sword to fight.

"By the Gods, I'm getting bored, Miel. You'd best finish him
off before daylight," Sandor joked.

His comment only served to anger the King of Thieves.
Mahmoud rushed forward. Again Michel feinted, swung back, used
his sword to slit the man's left thigh. The man stopped, gasping,
chest heaving, face glistening with sweat. Unlike Michel who
visibly derived great joy, and proudly displayed his throbbing
boyhood, the man's penis had shriveled to a stub.

"You wanted to geld me," Michel said under his breath. "You
said that I might bleed to death. Now who's bleeding."

"Bastard! I'll fuck you yet," Mahmoud screamed in anger.

"I need a man for that. With that pitiful excuse for a
prick, you'd better stick to women," Michel sneered crudely.

Still he backed away. The cart wheel stopped his backward
travel. It was the one place where he should not be. The man
smirked, seeing his opportunity. He charged. However, even as he
pressed his advantage, Michel jumped. In a single graceful leap,
he did what he had not been able to do before. He vaulted, not
backwards but cleanly over the man's head. He regained his
footing like a landing bird. In a single motion, the positions
had been reversed.

There was a look of surprise on Mahmoud's face, utter
disbelief at what had happened. Then he died, impaled by my
Michel's blade, driven so hard that it skewered him to the wheel.
Michel stood still, shaking like a leaf. He turned to me, his
body drained. He had suddenly become a fragile little boy,
desperate for my strength and love.

One thing remained before we consummated once again and then
completed the ritual that would join me with the boys. First,
Sandor. I stooped and dipped my hand in the blood of the second
man who died. It was still warm, where it oozed from the chest
wound around the boy's blade. Unless his man had died in battle,
a boy's blooding was always performed by his older lover. In
Sandor's case, and for Kadri too, I would take that right of
passage as due to me, for only a warrior could blood a boy.

"Come here, brave boy," I called.

Sandor approached, no longer breathing hard but still very
aroused for he had been cheated of his 'little death'.

"You've killed a man with honor, Sandor," I said quietly.
"Wear his blood with pride. You are no longer a boy, my young
warrior."

Tradition required that boys were blooded, at least on face
and hands, if not elsewhere. Dutifully smeared and daubed in red,
he stepped back. Then, it was Kadri's turn. I knelt before the
ruptured corpse, soaking my fist by plunging it into the awful
opening. I wiped his face, both cheeks and forehead, then across
his narrow chest while I repeated the ritual words for blooding a
young boy. Finally, I beckoned to Michel. We walked together to
the King of Thieves.

"You were very brave too, my lover boy," I whispered.

"I was so scared, Aidan," Michel replied timidly. "I hated
it when then hung you upside down."

"Hush, Miel," I said tenderly. "You're still so young. Most
boys are four years older before they kill another."

"Why do you put the blood on us?" he asked meekly.

He wrinkled his little nose when I reached forward and ran
my fingers down the man's bloodied chest,

"Because in battle it is done to boys," I answered. "Blood
is but life itself. His life has passed to you. The blood is a
symbol of what you've won." I smiled reassuringly as I pronounced
the sacred words. "You've killed a man with honor, Michel. Wear
his blood with pride. You are no longer a boy, my young warrior."

Michel grinned. He lifted up his head and allowed me to
smear my fingers across his cheeks. On his honey-colored skin the
blood was crimson.

"Now your hands, Michel."

I dipped my fingers into the wetness on the man's hair-
covered chest. I applied it a liberal swathe across Michel's
narrow smooth-skinned body, leaving a streak from breast to
belly. Finally, with my hand replenished, I cupped my palm upon
his groin, transferring the blood to him. Surprisingly, like
Sandor, his little penis was still hard.

"You didn't orgasm, did you my prince of boys?" I whispered
in his ear.

Michel had heard the tales from other boys, and from me as
well. He had been aroused throughout the fight, but in killing he
had not released. His eyes revealed what had not happened for him
in the heat of battle. I nodded understandingly.

"It's not unusual," I explained. "Especially when a boy is
young."

"Did my brother?"

I nodded. "Yes, but Etienne was four years older. He
fountained as soon as it was over."

Michel giggled. "Tell me."

I sighed, remembering the night when I had bloodied Etienne.
It had been a terrifying battle with enough carnage on both sides
to turn my stomach. Etienne had fought very bravely from start to
finish, taking no less than four lives with his sword and another
with his dagger. However, it was the first man who nearly killed
him, and who challenged his every skill. He bathed in blood that
night, his bravery witnessed by a hundred men and boys.

"One day I will," I muttered, "but not now, Michel. Tonight
is yours."

"Why did you put more blood on me?" he asked curiously.

I gestured around the camp. "All of you fought very hard,
but you had a harder job to win with this so-called King of
Thieves. Thus, your victory brings you even greater honor."

I directed Michel's attention to Sandor and Kadri. They were
locked in a passionate embrace, their arms around each other's
body, with eyes only for the other. They kissed with abandon, and
even as we watched, they eased down to lie upon the muddy ground.
The rule of nature caused Kadri to lie upon his back, and for
Sandor to kneel before him.

"They're going to,...." Michel whispered.

"Yes, they are."

We watched Sandor's sudden entry. Penetration was different
for a boy for the weapon was much smaller. Once he placed the
tip, his hips bucked. Just once. That was all it took for Sandor
to drive the point home. Kadri gasped, then sighed aloud, feeling
his lover contained inside him.

"I want to too," Michel pleaded. "I need you in me."

His voice was urgent, rasping with immediate lust. His eyes
flashed, his breath hot against my chest. We merged together, our
hands grasping at each other. Michel's hand wrapped around my
shaft, urging the slippery juice to seep out from the tip.

"Oh! Ohhhhh! I love you," Michel moaned.

Throughout his fight, he had been so close to ecstasy, that
our embrace was sufficient to bring him quickly to the edge. He
humped my thigh, straining to complete his desire, to hold it
back until I was inside him. He shuddered furiously, whimpering
as the need exploded through him. My lips were forced to his,
stabbing tongues into the other, until our breathing came in
frenzied gasps.

Michel dropped away, still clinging, bringing me down on top
of him. I gazed into his eyes, full of love, hot with desire.
Like mine. I towered above him, triumphantly erect and ready to
penetrate. I grinned at Michel, delighting in his teasing
whimpers, his silent pleading for me to take him quickly.
However, some things should always be savored, a young boy's
bottom more than any other.

"'And you fuck women'?" I teased, quoting what Michel had
said to the man who had very nearly killed him.

Michel giggled. "It worked didn't it? Besides, he made me so
mad, I didn't know what else to say."

Indeed, poised above Michel, I could not think of a better
insult. What man in his right mind would want a woman when he
could have Michel? His small hand reached up and found my lips. I
tasted blood, but wet his fingers with my tongue. It would not be
enough to last the night, but it would surely get us started.

Lovingly, I closed the gap between us. Michel's wet and
slippery fingers eagerly seized my hungry penis. At the same
time, his knees pulled up above his shoulders, splitting his
buttocks wide apart. I gazed down into his beautiful blue eyes.
His hand tugged, pulling my body closer to him. He added more
saliva from his own mouth and then positioned my penis where his
heat was greatest, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs. I
pressed against him, feeling elated as my penis burrowed between
his firm smooth cheeks. His hot node weakened quickly, relaxing
naturally until it slipped around the head, and like a little
open mouth it swallowed me until his fleshy firmness closed
behind the swollen glans. Michel sighed happily.

"More," he murmured.

I pushed a little harder, surging through his anal band,
sinking deeper. The heat absorbed my penis in a rush, yet it took
another thrust to complete what I had started. I felt the ripple
begin, becoming stronger, holding my manhood captive, that
instinctive gripping need that comes to every boy as soon as a
man's penis is sheathed within him.

While I waited for Michel to give way, I glanced to the
side. Already Sandor was hard at work. Young boys were like that.
They used up their energy with vigorous fast strokes, pumping
outside as often as inside. Poor Sandor. His frustration showed
in his frenzied endeavor. However, it was much worse for Kadri,
for as soon as he felt Sandor stabbing in the place he needed,
the small spike slipped or jumped outside. There were jokes, of
course, about boys who did it, but each held more than a grain of
truth. I resolved to explain to Sandor the art of love from a
man's perspective. Only when he discovered that he should attend
his efforts to Kadri's needs would his own desire be fully
satisfied.

I pressed my lips back to Michel's sweet mouth, reveling in
the passion of his wriggling wet tongue. How that boy
accomplished so much without gasping for breath I would never
know, for he had the ability of giving himself totally to me. We
kissed and kissed, and when I lifted up, Michel continued to
urgently suckle on my chin, my cheeks, my nose, my ears, even
down my neck. Indeed, it often seemed that my neck was his
favorite place to kiss.

I rode him gently at first, using my skill to make him
loosen. He groaned softly, closing his eyes to slits to contain
the wanderings of his mind. After a little time, he began to
moan.

"A little harder, Aidan," he purred in bliss.

"Like this," I murmured in his ear.

Men who love boys soon learn that the greatest joy that is
felt by one is not the same as for the other. The trick to giving
pleasure involved keeping the swollen head of my penis where it
would agitate Michel's hidden gland the greatest, at the same
time achieving the sensation that I needed. That entailed moving
the head back and forth through Michel's anus, taking advantage
of the muscular band that was just inside him. While some level
of manly pleasure could be attained by using the full length of
his rectum, the void beyond was tiresome in its feeling.
Unfortunately, it was the tiny bump within that void that Michel
needed rubbing

With practice, a man learned to interchange the strokes. Not
with any degree of regularity, for that was tedious to both, but
by erratic variation. Some deep, some slow, some deep, some
shallow, some hard, some soft. It was possible to play a boy with
the harmony of a harp. Not only did it satisfy both needs, but
the technique prolonged the final moment. Often with Etienne, I
reached the point of physical exhaustion before we ejaculated
together. Did I dare to do the same with Michel, a boy who was
barely a day from being virgin?

I began my thrusting, listening constantly to Michel's
sounds. Sometimes he whimpered, needing more. At other times, he
groaned aloud to show his pleasure. The sound that came from
building stress was very different, more urgent, a guttural sound
from deep within his throat, almost as if the air was being
rasped from his lungs. Back and forth, I moved inside against
him, watching, listening, feeling his every heartbeat. Already,
we were well attuned. I was closer to Michel than any other boy.
His need was my need and we shared our love completely. Indeed,
it seemed that Michel was aware of what I felt as well. If true,
and it certainly seemed so to me, it was not only a remarkable
accomplishment for a boy given the anatomy of sensations in the
bowels, but a miracle for his tender age.

We made love together beside the blazing fire. We were equal
partners for the first time. Not as man with boy, but as man and
boy. Nothing could compare. To those who watched, Sandor and
Kadri, and Riall who had finally come out from hiding, it must
have appeared a strange sight. I was so much larger than Michel
that I covered him entirely. Yet, as our urgency increased to
fever pitch, his slender legs lifted up and locked around my
waist. No longer was he the subservient Favonius boy, succumbing
to passive joy every time. What Michel discovered, and what I
knew all along, was that even Favonius boys could be equal with
their lovers. Love was balance, harmony, a merging of two souls,
a man and boy finding happiness together.

"It's beautiful to watch," Kadri observed in a nervous
voice.

"I hope that will be us one day," Sandor acknowledged.

"I just wish we could do it now."

"Me too, but I'm still too small," Sandor agreed. "I think
they'll come together," added hopefully.

Michel strained to displace his gland, urging his slackened
bowels to tighten, to force out the juice of Ganymede. The added
lubrication served to ease the way for my pumping, pounding
shaft, enabling the increased pace we both desired. After a dozen
thrusts he made that sound between his gritted teeth, the fearful
sound of approaching death. No doubt, the same sound came from my
mouth, yet my mind was focused entirely on Michel just as his
mind had shifted to dwell upon the man who loved him. His body
tensed, every muscle pulled taut until it seemed his body would
explode. The spasms came as blasts, not mere jerks of orgasm, but
powerful contractions that squeezed my penis like a vise. At the
same time, my fluids spurted out deep inside Michel. A torrent,
bursting, splattering the seed of life along his anal tunnel.

I slumped down, pressing his body down into the muddy
ground, breathing in simultaneous gasps, hugging together until
the frenzy passed. My penis softened, contracted, shriveled,
shrank back until it slipped out of Michel's anus and released a
trickle of creamy fluid.

I stroked his face with tender fingers. I wiped away
splashes of dark mud, the redness of another man's blood, bits of
grime and broken leaves.

"I love you, Michel, Scorpio, of Favonius," I whispered
weakly in his ear.

"And I love you, Aidan of Aquarius, Master of Favonius,
betrothed of Michel."

It took a while before either of us could find the energy to
stand. I helped Michel rise proudly to his feet. Kadri and Sandor
moved quickly to his sides, helping to support him as only best
friends could.

"One thing remains to make you warriors," I said tiredly.
"When a boy is blooded, he joins with others from the Sanctuary
in a very special way. Gather around me. Now place your hand upon
the loose skin at the very end of your penis and pull it free to
show the rose that joins you."

Michel was in the center, between Kadri and Sandor. His tiny
reddened rose popped out. It was beautiful to see. It seemed
forever since I had accompanied him into the sacred chamber and
watched the Master make the tattoo on him. However, I had a task
to do. With care I used the ivory-handled knife to make a tiny
slit in each boy's foreskin exactly where it attached to the
underside of the head, and then I cut upon my own. When droplets
of blood began to ooze, I brought their organs against mine. Four
hands closed around our penises, holding them together, sharing
the blood of a thousand generations of men and boys.