Date: Thu, 03 Oct 2019 20:59:47 +0000 From: puermalo1 Subject: EKDYSIAN FESTIVAL part 1 Where would we all be without the amazing Nifty?! Please consider a donation to keep this vibrant resource available. THE EKDYSIAN FESTIVAL A PUBERTY INITIATION RITE FROM ANTIQUITY I have based this story on historical sources, notably the writings of the Greek historian and geographer, Strabo. The initiation process he describes forms the outline of my story. The characters and events are my own and are fictional. There will be sexual activity involving teenage males so the usual caveats apply: Proceed no further if this kind of material is illegal for you to read or if you are likely to be offended. Crete, 1600 BC. The apex of the Minoan civilization. In the city of Knossos, citizens are gathering for an annual festival known as the Ekdysia. This is an important event for any boy passing through puberty as it marks his initiation into manhood. At this particular festival, on this particular day, there are around thirty boys preparing for the initiation. This story follows the events of one boy. His name is Aranare and he is thirteen years of age. ... "Sit still!" complained Aranare's mother, "How do expect me to tie your hair up if you keep wriggling?" "You keep pulling it," Aranare grumbled, "It hurts." "I'm doing the best I can, it's not easy." "Well, I don't know why the silly topknot is necessary, it looks silly." "You'll have to put up with it. It's important for boys to have one for the ceremony." "Why?" "Don't ask silly questions," his mother replied, pulling his long hair upwards again, "It has always been done this way, that's all I know." "Well, it makes me look daft," Aranare sulked. "Finished," mother declared, holding out a mirror of burnished bronze to her son. He looked at his reflection. "By the Minotaur's breath! I look more like a girl!" She clipped him round the ear and sent him off to put on his ceremonial clothing. "Make sure you've got a clean loincloth on," she called as he disappeared into the adjoining room, "Not one of your grubby ones!" Aranare was a handsome boy. At around 5' he stood a shade taller than his peers. His physique was lean and slender and hinted of his growth spurt. His olive-dark skin was matched by two deep, dark shining eyes. His black hair was long, swept up into a knot that sat on top of his head. The smallest hint of fluff on his upper lip was the only indication of his approaching maturity while the rest of his body was immaculately smooth and hairless. The outfit he was about to put on comprised a short kilt and laced boots. The kilt was a simple affair. At the front it barely covered the boy's groin then it tapered to a longer length behind, sitting upon his buttocks. Aranare fastened it into place and tied the cord that supported it. The boots were more of a challenge for the boy. He was nearly always bare-footed and lacing the leather boots up around his calves took time and patience. Once dressed, Aranare walked about the room proudly. He might have looked a little odd but he knew this was an important day for him, one he'd been awaiting throughout his boyhood. Today, he would cease to be a little boy. Today, he would become one of the warrior menfolk of the mighty city of Knossos. "Are you ready?" called his mother. "Yes, I'm coming," Aranare replied, rejoining his mother in the room that served as the family's main living space. The rest of his family were there; his father and his younger siblings, a boy and a girl. "Oh, my! How smart you look!" beamed Aranare's mother. "Come here, Aranare," said his father, "There's one last item you need." Aranare stood beside his father who solemnly presented him with a ceremonial necklace. It was a family heirloom, a piece of finely-worked copper discs that was passed down the generations and only ever used for special occasions. "Wear it with pride, Aranare," his father said, putting the treasure around the boy's slender neck, "You leave home today as a boy but when you return you'll be a man!" The family paused briefly at the small shrine to the mother goddess near the doorway to offer thanks. Then they walked out into the bright Mediterranean sunshine and set of in the direction of the great palace. ... It had been only a few months prior to this that Aranare had been told he was ready for the next Ekdysian festival. At the end of school one day, his mentor had requested to see him. The education the boys received was centred around military training. The pupils learned the basics of literacy, and a little music and dancing, but it was physical education that came first. Developing a boy's strength was the aim so there was gymnastics, running and wrestling alongside the more formal instruction in military skills. The afternoon had been spent wrestling, one of Aranare's favourite activities. The boys began by rubbing oil onto the bodies of their classmates. Aranare standing in the shade of an olive tree with his best friend, Pura, a boy of ten years. Pura poured some drops of oil onto Aranare's naked torso. It trickled down the boy's sun-kissed chest but before it reached his groin Pura smeared the oil across the boy's front. He then moved his hands backwards and forwards, coating the boy with a thin layer of the embrocation adding a lustre to his flesh that accented his nascent musculature. As Pura's hands worked across his friends firm little nipples, Aranare giggled. "You like that, don't you?" Pura chuckled. "Yes, I do," Aranare replied, "It sort of tickles but in a nice way." "You mean a naughty way!" teased Pura. Aranare didn't answer, but Pura had been quite right. The feeling of someone touching his nipples always sent a shiver through him that he didn't quite understand. All he knew was that if Pura had continued for much longer then his cock would have stiffened. He was spared the embarrassment as Pura was now standing behind him, massaging more oil onto his back. "Don't use too much," Aranare instructed, "Last time you overdid it and I was as slippery as an eel every time I grappled with the others!" Pura now moved to Aranare's legs, coating the teen's slender limbs with a glossy layer of sweet-smelling oil. The mentor paired the boys off and the wrestling began. Unlike the Greeks, who pursued many physical activities completely naked, the Minoans had a degree of modesty. At all times, males were expected to have their genitals covered so each of the wrestling boys was clad in a tight-fitting loincloth. As Aranare wrestled against one boy after another the mentors wandered from bout to bout assessing each boy's skill and offering advice or encouragement. There were five bouts in all, and Aranare was triumphant in all but one which had been against a much older boy. So when the mentor summoned him, he expected it to be to offer compliments for his skilful grappling. "Aranare, before you go home today there's something we must decide," said the mentor, "Come to my chamber, please." Aranare followed the mentor to one of the smaller rooms that formed part of the gymnasium complex. After the bright sunlight, it took the boy a moment for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness of the windowless room. It was cool though and Aranare was grateful for that. His mentor was a man in his fifties called Glaukos. In his time, he had been a formidable warrior but now he devoted his time and expertise to coaching the next generation of soldiers, boys such as Aranare and Pura. Glaukos was sitting at a roughly hewn table pouring himself a flagon of wine. "Aranare," began Glaukos, "Do you know why I've asked to see you?" "I hope I'm not in trouble, master." "No, nothing like that, boy. Tell me, what do you know about the festival of Ekdysia?" "It's the annual festival when the boys become grown-ups." "That's right, and I've asked to see you because I think you may be ready for this year's festival." "Really, master?" said Aranare excitedly. Taking part in the festival was the dream of every Minoan boy. Aranare had longed for this day to come and was delighted by the prospect. "Yes, really," continued Glaukos. "As you say, it is the moment when a boy enters manhood." "I am very honoured," said Aranare, "But are you sure I am ready?" "I have been observing your progress in school. You're a strong boy. Your wrestling is good and you are one of our best runners. You're a promising archer, too!" "Thank you, master." "These things are all important, of course, and signs that you are growing into a fine young man but there are some other factors that must be considered." "What are they, master? I am sure I can prove capable, whatever they are." "Well, all that you have studied is necessary for an adult citizen but to be a real man you need to have certain special qualities." "Special qualities, master?" "You need to be capable of making the life-giving seed granted to all men by the great goddess Rhea herself." Aranare felt himself blushing. He already knew plenty about the life-giving seed. Like all boys, it had been the source of smutty banter and idle curiosity for many years. He vividly remembered when he first witnessed it for real. When he was seven, an older boy had enticed him into an orchard with promises of delicious fruit. Hidden amongst the trees, the older boy had shown Aranare his cock. It rose in all its splendour before the young boy and seemed a monster compared to the two inches of his own little rod. The boy had stroked it, rubbing its length back and forth with increasing vigour. Aranare had watched as if entranced, in awe of the size of it but also the effect it was clearly having on its proud owner. The boy uttered moans and Aranare saw his grimaced face as he stroked himself. Suddenly, the rubbing stopped and the older boy gripped his cock as it shot a creamy load amongst the leaves of the pomegranate bush where they had been hiding. Ever since then, Aranare's curiosity about the strange, sticky fluid had intrigued him. He longed for the day when he might make some himself but, in the meanwhile, he managed to persuade various other older boys - from time to time - to show him this mysterious juice. As he grew older, he frequently played with himself, delighted to see that with each passing year it grew a little bigger. He loved to make it stiff and he relished the lovely feelings it gave him as he rubbed it like the older boys did. Standing there in front of his mentor his mind quickly went back to something that had happened only a few weeks before. He had been swimming in the sea with a group of boys from his neighbourhood: "Hey, Aranare," said one of his friends, a boy called Duripi, "Let's go crabbing!" Aranare and Duripi had soon left the other boys behind as they clambered among the rock-pools. As they searched they chatted away and before long, Aranare didn't remember who had begun, they were talking about sex. "Can you make spunk yet?" asked Duripi. "No, I wish I could," Aranare replied, a little dejected, "What about you?" "Yes, I've been able to for a few months." "Lucky for you!" "I'm surprised you can't yet, though. After all, you have some hairs down there, don't you?" "Yes, a few little ones, that's all." "Well, if you have hairs then I reckon you should be old enough to make spunk!" "Do you think so?" "Why don't we see?" "What? Now?" "Yes, no-one can see us. I'll even do it with you if you like!" Aranare felt his cock swelling beneath his little loincloth. Duripi pointed and laughed. "It looks like you're eager to start!" "You go first," said Aranare. Duripi unfastened his loincloth and let it fall to the ground. His erect cock bounced upwards. Aranare could see that it was a little longer than his own, perhaps four inches against his three-and-a-half. A sprinkling of dark pubes curled at the base and the balls hung loosely in their hairless bag. "Come on, then," said Duripi, "Let me see yours!" Aranare removed his loincloth and stood there as his friend inspected him. "Nice cock!" complemented Duripi, "You have some hairs growing in too." Aranare's pubes were delicate, straggly hairs. They adorned the base of his young cock, a few on each side rather than directly above the base. They weren't yet like the curly ones Duripi had but Aranare was proud of them. Duripi was wanking now, rubbing his shaft using the tips of his fingers. Aranare copied him, his little cock too small to use his whole fist. He loved watching other boys as they wanked. Each one he had seen had his own peculiarities. Some used fingers, others used their whole hand. Some played with their balls as they wanked. Some squeezed and twisted their cocks, others concentrated on the head. Some, like Duripi now, enjoyed pulling their foreskins right back fully exposing the dark mushroom crown. "How are you doing?" Duripi asked after a little while. "I don't know," Aranare replied, "It feels nice but I don't think I'll be able to spunk up." "Do you want me to help you?" Aranare didn't object so Duripi told him to lean back against the large boulder where they stood. Then he knelt in front of Aranare and took hold of the boy's throbbing cocklet and began to wank him. "Oh, that feels so good!" gasped Aranare. It always seemed much hornier when your cock was being touched by another person's fingers, he thought. "Tell me if you feel anything," said Duripi, working his fingers feverishly on the young rod. They continued for a while, Duripi deftly wanking himself with his free hand as he jerked Aranare. "Anything yet?" asked Duripi, "My hand's going to get tired." "It tingles," said Aranare. "Like you want to pee?" "Yeah, a bit like that." "That's it! Don't hold it back, just run with it. Close your eyes and enjoy it!" Aranare was breathing heavily now and Duripi guessed he was about to cum. He took his hand from his own cock and cupped Aranare's little balls as if to coax the fluid into action. Aranare's legs stiffened and, with a gasp, he ejaculated. It wasn't much, just a droplet of clear fluid that oozed from the tip, but it was his first time. He looked down at Duripi who was squeezing the fluid to a glistening pearl. Duripi smeared it on a finger and held it up to Aranare. "Look!" Duripi exclaimed, "Spunk! You made some spunk!" "Daydreaming again!" said Aranare's mentor, jolting the boy from his reminiscence, "Did you hear what I said?" "Sorry, master," Aranare apologised, I was just thinking about something else. "How can you be thinking about something else at a time like this?" Glaukos admonished, "I said that you're going to have to prove your readiness for the festival." "Oh, I see," said Aranare, "What do I have to do?" "We'll begin by taking a look at your penis. That should indicate if you are soon to be a man." "You mean...?" "Yes, I'm telling you to take off your loincloth and show me!" Aranare hesitantly unfastened his loincloth, placing it on the table. "Come closer, boy," Glaukos ordered. The boy approached him, his hands concealing his groin. "Take your hands away," said Glaukos, "How can I see when you're hiding yourself like that?" Aranare reluctantly lifted his hands away. Glaukos stooped for a closer inspection. "Ah, very good," the mentor said, "You have some new hairs growing there, boy." Aranare quickly covered himself again and took a step back. "Is that sufficient?" he asked. "No, no," Glaukos chuckled, "The pubes are merely an indication. I need to see if you can ejaculate." "Ejaculate?" "Yes, you know what I mean. Don't pretend you don't do what every other boy I've ever known does all the time!" "Wanking?" "Yes, although that is a rather coarse word for it." "You need to watch me having a wank?" "Not precisely that, no," Glaukos explained, "All I need to know is if you can make sperm." "Well, I can," said Aranare, defiantly, "So there!" "Let me explain, Aranare. The rules of the Ekdysian ceremony are very clear. A boy cannot be accepted until a member of the citizen's council verifies the boy's potency. I am a council member and I am obliged to milk you before your name can be put forward." Aranare gulped. He had no idea that this was a requirement of his initiation. "Now, I want you to lie on the table for me," Glaukos ordered, "Come along now, let's get this done!" Aranare realised he could not back down. Besides, he respected Glaukos and could not disobey him. So he clambered onto the table and lay down flat on his back. Glaukos stepped alongside of the boy and reached a hand towards the boy's groin, taking hold of the flimsy cock. "First, we need to get you stiff, Aranare. Close your eyes if that helps." The feeling of the man's hand upon his little organ soon made it swell. As it pumped to erection Aranare wondered how many boys' cock this man had touched over the years, hundreds maybe, perhaps thousands! Glaukos smeared some oil from Aranare's chest down onto his groin, lubricating the little pole so that it slipped through his fingers with an ease that made the boy moan. Aranare was now fully erect and Glaukos pulled on the shaft, peeling the foreskin back and making the three-and-a-half incher throb between his fingers. Aranare felt fingers on his tight, hairless scrotum. They squeezed the small orbs inside, not enough to be uncomfortable but making the boy draw in his breath. "You have a sweet pair of balls, Aranare," Glaukos said, "I'm sure they are full of seed and I won't be disappointed." Glaukos commenced masturbating the boy. Aranare, now accustomed to his situation, resigned himself and began to enjoy it. With his eyes closed, he recounted his sexual experiences with other boys in his mind. He placed his hands behind his head as Glaukos rapidly rubbed his slick organ. Aranare's thoughts turned to his young friend, Pura. A month ago, Aranare had been alone with him and they had masturbated together. Pura was amazed when Aranare's cock ejaculated and he watched the dribbles of fluid in awe. Aranare had played with Pura's tiny penis but the boy was far too young to cum. All the same, it had been fun being naughty together. His memories urged him on and he soon felt his orgasm approaching. "Oh, that's so good," he whispered, "Keep going!" "I think my young pupil is getting close," said Glaukos, "Give me your lovely boy-sperm, Aranare!" Aranare's legs stiffened then twitched. A droplet of clear fluid spurted from his cocklet, perhaps an inch or so, before falling onto his smooth belly. Glaukos, with a finger on the boy's perineum, could feel it pumping as more cum dribbled from the boy. It trickled down Glaukos's fingers and, knowing that Aranare still had his eyes closed, he took the opportunity to taste the boy's offering, licking the milky nectar from his hand. After his orgasm had subsided, Aranare sat up. "You passed the test, Aranare, well done!" Glaukos smiled, "Now, get off the table and get dressed again." After Aranare had fixed his loincloth into place he looked at his mentor. "Am I ready for the festival, master?" "Yes, indeed you are, Aranare. I shall put your name forward at the temple tomorrow. Now, run along, I'm sure you can't wait to tell your parents the good news." "Thank you, master," Aranare beamed, "I'll see you tomorrow." Glaukos had one more thing to say before the boy raced off. After all, he needed to cover his tracks and didn't want anyone else to know how he tricked so many boys to submit to his desire for youngsters. "One last thing, Aranare," he said, "What has just taken place is part of the ceremony so it must remain a secret. If you tell anyone what happened your place at the festival will be lost. Do you understand?" "Yes, master," Aranare replied, "It will always be our secret and my lips are sealed!" ... A few weeks passed. At a large hall in the city a group of young men to eat and drink together. They were all young soldiers, the latest recruits to Knossos's formidable army. The chamber they were in resembled a mess hall and was known as the 'andreion'. All of the participants had one thing in common. They had each undergone the Ekdysian initiation ceremony in the past year or so. The youngest, newer initiates were around 14 years of age, the oldest were perhaps nineteen or twenty. Once a boy had been through the Ekdysian ceremony he would be expected to enlist, continuing his military training. This might last several years, during which time he lived with the other recruits, eating his meals at the 'andreion'. As in modern military training, recruits were placed into units resembling platoons. These units, called 'hetaireiai', were an excellent way of building a sense of camaraderie and support amongst the young soldiers. On this particular evening one such platoon was sitting around a large table together as they always did. They were discussing the forthcoming Ekdysian festival. "Hey, Kitanenos, have we been assigned a new recruit yet?" called Kikeru, above the hubbub of the noisy room. Kikeru was fifteen, a tall slender lad considered the best archer of his platoon. He had been initiated two years before and was keen to be on the other side of the rite of passage – a participant rather than the focus of attention. "Yes, we have," replied Kitanenos, "What do you need to know?" Kitanenos was the leader of the platoon, at nineteen years old the most senior of the group. "Who is he? What's his name?" Kikeru asked. "He's called Aranare, do you know him?" "Yes, I do. We trained at the same gymnasium a couple of years ago." "Do you want to lead on this one, then?" "Yes, that would be great!" "You'll need to choose two other supporters to help you. It's your choice, as long as they're both in our platoon." "I think I'll choose Rusa," said Kikeru. Rusa was another boy of fifteen who had joined the platoon at the same time. He was Kikeru's best friend and they were always together. "And who else?" Kitanenos asked, "How about Bansabira?" "Yes, that's a good choice," said Kikeru, "I'll tell him later." Bansabira was seventeen, a skilful user of the javelin. He had a special attachment to Bansabira that went back to his own initiation. ... Aranare and his family were walking through the narrow streets of Knossos, making their way to the palace complex. The festival day had finally arrived and there was a buzz of excitement in the city. Festivals were always anticipated and everybody joined in the feasting and celebrations. "You're looking a little anxious, Aranare," said his mother, "Are you feeling alright?" "Yes, mother, I'm fine. I suppose I'm a bit nervous but I'm also quite excited." "Why can't I go with Aranare?" grumbled his seven-year-old brother, Itaja. "You're not ready yet," his mother said, "Your time will come soon enough." "Why aren't I ready, mummy?" Aranare felt like saying, 'You're not ready because you're too young to spunk up, you idiot!' but decided to keep his thoughts to himself. Their mother also ignored the whining child. "Hurry along or we'll be late," she urged. They had arrived at the imposing southern entrance to the palace. Crowds of people were being ushered into the complex, passing a row of smartly-dressed soldiers who were standing guard. Each had a plume of peacock feathers in his burnished helmet, and each carried a large shield and javelin. Aranare looked around as the people made there way into the long corridor that led to the central courtyard. He noticed several other boys of his age who were dressed as he was. They were other initiates, he thought. The crowd shuffled along the narrow corridor talking excitedly. All of a sudden the dark confines of the passageway opened out into the sunlit splendour of the palace courtyard. Palace officials shepherded the people. "Families this way, please," called one. "Spectators, please make your way towards the terraces, hurry along now," directed another. Eventually the jostling crowds were settled. Aranare could see a podium in the centre of the courtyard, festooned with flowers and branches. Behind it was a shaded colonnade where rows of young soldiers were paraded. "Look, Aranare," said his father, "Those young warriors over there are all members of the 'andreion', You'll soon be joining them yourself." At that moment, a heavy door swung open and a procession of city's elders entered the courtyard. They were followed by priestesses, acolytes, musicians and courtiers. There were even members of the royal family, so rarely seen by the population except for special occasions such as this. Aranare had witnessed the festival before and had been adequately rehearsed in the preceeding days. He knew what to expect and was looking forward to it with a sense of trepidation. The crowd hushed and the ceremony began. Each initiate was called forward in turn. He made his way onto the podium where he was joined by a priestess and two soldiers, one an experienced senior officer, the other a junior member of the 'andreion'. Once prayers and incantations had been recited over the boy, the priestess stood to one side. The senior soldier stepped forward. The boy had his hair untied, his kilt was removed and replaced by a metal breastplate. Finally, he was given a bronze-bladed sword, his first weapon. The brief ceremony symbolised the leaving behind of all boyish things - he no longer looked like a boy, his hair was long and his kilt was now armour – yet there was plenty more to come before he was formally recognised as a man. This is where the 'andreion' played their part. One of the young soldiers, assisted by two comrades, now had the task of grooming the boy over the next two months, preparing him for a full place in the platoon. Aranare heard his name called by one of the city officials. "Go on, it's your turn," his father urged, "We're all very proud of you, Aranare." The boy stepped forward and made his way anxiously to the platform. He was looking forward to becoming a junior soldier but, at the same time, was sad to see that his childhood was about to end. Approaching the podium from the other side was Kikeru, carrying the breastplate that would soon adorn the young boy. Aranare climbed the steps and stood before the priestess. He was too nervous to pay much attention to the priestess, murmuring her strange words and sacred invocations. Instead, he looked at Kikeru and was relieved to see the boy offering a gentle smile of encouragement. The priestess finished so that the senior soldier could preside. No words were spoken as the man untied Aranare's topknot. The boys hair tumbled down on to his shoulders. This was how true soldier wore his hair, thought Aranare, glancing at the flowing locks of his raven-black hair. Now the soldier unfastened Aranare's little kilt. The boy felt strangely exposed. It had never bothered him before but here he was, in front of all these people, wearing just a few threads of skimpy cloth. Kikeru stepped forward. The breastplate was small, more symbolic than practical, yet Aranare was surprised by its weight as it was buckled around his naked upper body. The older soldier presented him with the heavy blade. It took all his strength to lift it into the air in order to salute the emblem of the city, a symbolic set of horns representing the Minotaur set atop a stake on the podium. The crowd cheered and Aranare was led off the platform, Kikeru guiding him towards the colonnade. "Come with me," said Kikeru, "I will take care of you." Aranare just had time to glance back at the crowd before being led from the courtyard. He could see his parents in the distance. His father was waving enthusiastically while his mother was perhaps wiping a tear from her eye and she bade goodbye to her boy. "What happens next?" Aranare asked uneasily. "You'll see!" grinned Kikeru, "It'll be a whole lot of fun! Follow me!" ... This is not the end of the initiation! The ceremony merely marks the start of the process. The initiate must now journey to a secluded place in the countryside accompanied by three other teenagers. Here he must remain for a period of two months. If you would like to read about the teenage exploits of Aranare, Kikeru, Rusa and Bansabira then let me know. I welcome all comments and suggestions and can be found here: puermalo1 @ protonmail.com REMEMBER TO SUPPORT NIFTY WITH A KIND DONATION.