Greek Vase

Preface

Not everyone is granted access to the secret cabinet; to be able to visit it one must have good contacts and a perfect resume that proves one isn't easily corruptible. Lucky for me I had both due to my upbringing.

At the tender age of four, my siblings and I were made orphans and taken in by an orphanage managed by nuns. Growing up my main interest was stories, and thanks to a kind man named Father Juan I was able to learn to read and write. Little by little my siblings departed the orphanage, some went to work in the fields or became soldiers, while some sisters married, and others became nuns. I wanted to become a humanist, so Father Juan made me a proposition: the church would deal with the costs of sending me to university if I became a priest, that's where my true life began.

I went to the Universidad Complutense in a town outside of Madrid name Alcalá de Henares. There I started studying Theology, Philosophy, and Grammar. In my first year I developed an interest that quickly became a passion for Latin and Ancient Greek. I started studying the two languages, but also the Ancient World in general (its history and philosophy too). By the time I graduated I was one of the leading researchers of the Classical World at the university.

That's when I asked to visit the secret cabinet. I had heard a professor talk about it once and developed quite an obsession for the mysteries it hid behind closed doors. I asked my different professors, but they all denied me. All they needed to do was write a letter of recommendation that proved that I was morally suitable to visit; that I wouldn't be corrupted by the imagery. They didn't sign due to my age; they believed I was still guided at heart by the impulse of the young.

Only my professor of Greek Grammar seemed to trust that I was capable of handling myself, and so he did me the favor after he contacted Father Juan to learn about my upbringing. They both reached the conclusion that I was far more interested in books and research than anything sexual, I hadn't even talked to women who weren't related to me or the nuns that raised me.

That summer I traveled to Naples to visit the National Archeological Museum. Once I was there and once the museum was close to the public a curator took me to a back door. He opened it with a key that dangle from his neck. That first impression is always difficult to describe. My senses overflowed, especially my sight. Everywhere I looked a perverted scene was happening, and at the center of it all, there was a statue of a satyr having coitus with a goat. I shivered and the curator asked me if I still wanted to enter. I think I was only capable of nodding. I, who had translated the text of the

Chattering Courtesans

by Lucian of Samosata shouldn't be afraid of art depicting sexual impulses.

The permit I was able to gain only let me study one piece of the cabinet. So, I needed to be careful which one I chose. I wanted to do an investigation of one that it's studying had been minimum or nonexistent. That's when I found the vase I was looking for. As far as I knew it had only been studied by a man before me, and the only thing he left was a note saying that such perversion was probably a joke and nothing to take seriously. I doubted that.

It is true that the vase was nothing special. It was Greek, even though it had been found in Herculaneum which meant that a rich family had probably asked for it to be specially made. The only drawing in it showed a young man, a

νεανιας

, with the goddess Eris; both man and goddess were naked, his penis about to penetrate her. She had her wings open and her hands on the young man's head as she looked up to the sky. The scene was erotic, but not as lewd as to dub it perverted and laughable. The thing with this vase which I named,

The Taking of Eris

, was that it didn't stand alone, inside many papyri were found. Together they formed an epic poem.

No one has translated it entirely before me, and I know I am sacrificing my career by doing it, but my passion for this old world does not permit me to turn around and abandoned it. I know the text won't be read, the church, the monarchy even the academics won't allow it. Still, I will do it, no text deserves to disappear in the darkness. So please forgive me, God, for I present to you

The Efimeid

.

Alonso Quijana.

Chapter I - Encounters

Efimios started stroking his cock, just like the lady asked him to. His

πεπλος

a large rectangle piece of cloth made of wool was at his feet, which of course meant that he was naked. His olive-tan skin shone with the light of the fire. Efimios' legs shook with excitement; in the last couple of weeks, he had done this routine with the lady. She would lay in the bed (like she was doing now) and masturbate with her fingers (like she was doing now), all while she watched Efimios do the same. A sense of control could be seen in her eyes.

The encounters have never gone further than that, as soon as both the

νεανιας

and the mature woman orgasmed, she would send him away to his room. Efimios maintained hope that at some point he would get the chance to lay in bed with her; she would take the time to show him how to move and please. At the moment he hadn't been lucky, the only time he had tried to get near her he received a slap in the face and a cascade of insults, where the nicest was "son of a

πουτανα

".

Efimios started to accelerate his jerks, but a hush came from the woman's bed, so he went back to stroking slowly. His eyes darted to the woman's white legs, now fully shaved, (the servant girl explained to him, that she had to shave them the nights the lady was planning to sleep with her husband). He then turns the gaze upwards slowly: knees, thighs, and finally the womanhood. Shaved, just like the legs, which left the pink folds in full view for Efimios. A pair of white fingers moved in and out at a slow pace, taking their time to make sure every inch of the pussy was touched and pleased as it deserved. From the distance, Efimios could hear the noise the pussy was making as it received the thin fingers inside of it; he could even smell the sweet perfume that came out of the ivory cave.

He moved his eyes up her body. The lady's tummy was an absolute marvel if one considers that she had had four kids and two miscarriages. She had stretch marks all around it and was plump, but still, her skin looked soft through the light of the fire. The type of skin any man and woman would spend an entire night kissing. As Efimios' eyes continued their journey upwards they found themselves admiring the marvelous breasts, one falling free while the other was being massaged by the lady's hand. The visible nipple had a similar tone of pink as the folds of her pussy and occupied a large amount of her tit. Those breasts had sustained the life of her four children and had brought many pleasurable nights to her husband. Only a couple of years ago she had discovered that they could also please her.

It was when Efimios' eyes crossed her marked collarbones and long neck and reached her face when he chose to close them. The lady was beautiful. Her features were marked gracefully in the sphere that was her face as if one of the gods had painted them. Yet, it had one detail that made it unbearable for Efimios; the marks that the pox had left on it. The same pox that had taken his mother's life. His hand had stopped jerking his hard manhood.

 Look at me.

Efimios opened his eyes once more and found a par of deep-sea blue looking directly at him. When he was a child, he remembered his mother telling him the tale of the Gorgon Medusa who would turn into stone anyone that dared look her in the eyes. He imagined that her victims must have felt something like what this pair of eyes made him feel.

 Continue.

The order was heard and immediately followed. Efimios started stroking his cock once more. Strangely enough, it was as if his grip changed, the entire sensation of his hand around the shaft felt different. The skin seemed more delicate, yet more decisive. The pair of eyes watched him closely as he accelerated his jerks. He could hear the sounds coming from her pussy as she, herself, also speed the motion of her fingers as they penetrated her. Both were close, at the doors of pleasure.

A warm sensation invaded the

νεανιας

, it started in the base of his genitalia and expanded around his body, spreading up to the torso and down through the legs. Moving to the arms and reaching every finger and toe, while also warming his head, which made him feel dizzy. The fires of the torches were now within him, at least that was the feeling Efimios had; what he didn't know is that a similar sensation was expanding through the lady's body. She stared at him, and unable to keep her composure entirely she demanded, hidden within a moan:

 Cum.

That was the last order that Efimios needed. His knees buckled as his testicles tensed before shooting a long stream of cum that reached the bed and covered the floor from him to it. Many smaller streams followed as the

νεανιας

moaned in pleasure, darkness blinding as his energy abandoned his body. He fell on the floor shaking.

 Well done.

His dick kept having small spasms, releasing tiny quantities of cum as he lay there on the floor trying to catch his breath, observing the ceiling. He could hear the lady standing up and getting dressed. Efimios wished she would ask him to stay, but he knew that was impossible. Firstly, she didn't care enough about him and secondly, she had a husband.

 Get dress and leave.

As cold as ever he thought rolling his eyes as he used his regain strength to stand up. He took the opportunity to look at the lady who sat down on a chair looking out at the window. How melancholic, he thought, someone could write a song about this scene. He put his

πεπλος

on. He was about to say his goodbyes when the lady turned with a scared face. There was no need for her to say anything, Efimios already knew what it meant. Her husband was home.

When the head of commerce at

Εμποριον

arrived home the last thing he expected was for his wife to have invited their servant to their room and listen to him recite the

Iliad

. He never thought much of the boy, just that his mother used to fuck as if she had been taught by a god or goddess. He sat down on a chair hypnotized by the epic tale the boy was narrating, he even teared up when he described how Hector killed Patroclus. If he had known the boy had this talent, he would have certainly used him as entertainment when the rest of the high class of the city visited his home, instead of having him serve drinks.

They spent a few hours in a state of emotional fluctuation as if Tifoon itself had awoken in their hearts. Both husband and wife applauded with excitment when Emifios narrated a successful attack by the Greeks, cried when one of their heroes died, and shouted in anger when they didn't agree with the actions the protagonists took. Hours passed both husband and wife seemed drugged by the story, that was until Efimios finally reached the natural conclusion. The pair stood up and went to hug and congratulate him. The wife was already thinking and wishing for their next sexual encounter, while the successful merchant was about to appoint the boy in his new position when he slipped with something. His eyes turned to the floor and saw a white substance. He kneeled and took some with his finger, putting it in his mouth. The spell was broken.

The

νεανιας

jumped out of the window and run downhill not looking back at the screams that followed him. He crossed the agora and pushed some night crawlers that were drinking and having a fun time on the warm summer night. Efimios fell on the floor, he felt something breaking but chose to keep moving forward, if he didn't the consequences would be far worse than a simple broken bone. Every step he gave meant a feeling of being stabbed in the side of his chest. He could taste the metal flavor of blood in his mouth.

He finally reached the walls. If he could just climb it, he could run free, maybe some of the natives to these lands would take him in. He doubted that though, and he did not believe he could run fast enough to get away from the army the merchant would probably gather to try and get his head. Efimios gulped, before trying to climb. He slipped and fell. The pain became stronger, a sick warmth moving around his body and up to his head. He vomited before standing up.

He was trapped and he could already hear the screams a few streets behind him. Where could he go? He looked up the hill and saw it. Asclepius' temple. He was injured so the healers would have to take him in. He moved as fast as his wounded body permitted, hiding in the shadows so as to not alert his pursuers. With shortness of breath, Efimios made it to the door of the Asclepieia and knock on it. Ten seconds, that's what it took until one of the priests opened, in those ten seconds he had thought that it was his end. The story of Efimios the servant would finish at the doors of a temple in the darkness of the night.

As soon as the door opened the fugitive jolted in. The priest was about to demand an explanation, but then he saw the maimed body and realized he had a duty with him. A gentle smile appeared on the old man as he took Efimios to a small room. In it many men lay down, some were sleeping, while others just stared at the ceiling. Each of them had a different sickness or pain that had brought them here in hopes that the god Asclepius would heal them with the aid of his priests. The young man remembered clearly how his mother had been denied access as the Asclepieia was full of other citizens ill from the same sickness. Many died, the ones that were treated in the temple, like the lady, did not.

The priest sat Efimios on the floor next to a sleeping man. He left and returned with some ointments that he applied to his many cuts. The priest then looked at the broken leg, which was the worst injury and needed serious treatment. He gave Efimios a liquid to drink, it was wine, and the boy smiled loving the flavor. It didn't last long, as soon as Efimios was distracted the priest readjusted his leg. A sharp burning pain moved up his body and fogged his view as he screamed. Someone knocks on the door of the temple. Before leaving the priest turned to him

 You also have a broken rib so you must rest.

Efimios tried to catch his breath as he saw the priest standing to go towards the door. The

νεανιας

wanted to stop him; he was just unable to move. If the head of commerce entered the temple, then Efimios could consider himself a dead man. He could see two shadows created by the light of a torch; they were in the opposed wall from the door. One seemed to move and gesticulate violently while the other looked like a painting, fixed in its position. After a while, the moving shadow left, and the priest returned. He took the torch, then he said:

 They will come for you in the morning. I can't do much else.

Dancing shadows and distant whispers hunt Efimios through the night. He had always considered himself lucky, and protected by the gods, just like his mother used to say. But now the gods and his wit had abandoned him. He was injured and trapped, a fish in a net. He couldn't even relay in his storytelling, the head of commerce expected him to. He wouldn't be taken by surprise a second time.

The snake observed the young turn on the floor, sit up, and lay back down. Looked at every corner of the room, yet he did not see it. It slowly slithers across the room, passing through the legs of the sick and injured until it arrived next to Efimios. It did not move, the slit eyes fixed on the soon-to-be dead. Finally, the young eyes fell on it. Instead of cowering away afraid of the scaly creature he extended his hand as if he knew, deep down, it meant no harm. The reptile just turned and slither away. Efimios followed.

He limped through the sacred floors not knowing where the snake was taking him, yet he knew he needed to follow it. Something deep down told him it was his only chance of survival. The reptile stopped in front of a door. It was beautifully crafted, with different drawings representing someone's life: a birth in a funeral pyre, a centaur and a boy, a young man curing death, a lightning bolt, and a divine ascension. Efimios pushed the door and entered the room, there, high and mighty stood Asclepius god of medicine.

The god had a stern yet preoccupied expression on its marble features. One hand is out to help his patient stand, while the other hand holds a long staff. It seems like it was inviting Efimios to go and hold him, to let the god cure him. The snake slithered to the feet of the statue before climbing up the staff. Once it stopped it occurred. The marble started cracking, the

νεανιας

fell on his back in shock. His body trembled as light started shining from the breaking statue. Pieces of marble fell to the floor, forming a cloud of dust started. Efimios tried to protect his eyes from it so he kept them half-closed. He saw movement.

 Did I startle you?

A strong yet calm voice came from behind the dust cloud. Efimios could barely control his bladder as he saw the huge figure walk towards him, a sort of warm light coming out of his body. The young tried to crawl away, but he was frozen in place. His mind was unable to believe what was happening. It was impossible, this was impossible.

 Do not be afraid, here, let me help.

What once was a statue kneeled in front of Efimios and touched his leg. The pain vanished as heat started to emit from his bones. He even saw how the superficial wounds started to close, and he could once again breath without effort as his rib healed. He looked at the bearded face of the god and mumble a thanks.

 You do not have to thank me, Efimios, that is what brothers are for. Do not look at me that way young man. Did you think your little tricks with storytelling were just that? Tricks? No, you are a son of Apollo as much as me.

Laughter escaped Efimios lips. A son of Apollo? A demigod? No, he was just the son of a servant whom one day found that her master's guest wanted a special kind of entertainment, and she couldn't say no. If he truly was the son of a god (of such a god!) he wouldn't have been raised in poverty, right? His mother wouldn't have died in their small house due to sickness. If he was a demigod, his mother would have received treatment, she would have been a princess and he would have been raised in a palace and expected to be king someday.

 You are our father's son; it does not matter if you believe it or not. But I would be thankful if I were you Efimios, I am only here because he asked me to help you. To push you towards your destiny. Don't look so weirded out, all heroes have a destiny, you should know it, you always sing of them. Yours starts now, getting out of this town on the edge of our world and going to Delphos. Here.

The god stretch his hand and put something in the boy's right palm. It was heavy. Efimios looked at it, a silver ring.

 Trust me, brother, it will help you. It was made by Hephaestus, inspired by a certain story he heard from an Athenian. Slip it on. See, now you've vanished from sight. No, don't try that. I am a god; I can still see you. Yes, hide it away. Now go brother, go towards the port, and grab the ship that sails towards Greece. For once in your life take control of your destiny. Just remember, the ring is only for you to escape. As soon as you are safe you must give it to a god as a gift.

The statue moved away from Efimios. He went back to the pedestal and stood there. The god Asclepius gave one last look at his brother before the light started to vanish and his skin became marble once more. The young man looked around; the room seemed perfect as if nothing had happened. No piece of broken marble, no nothing. The only thing that proved his encounter with the god was the ring around his middle finger. He gulped and made his way through the temple. He found the priest who was working late. He couldn't see Efimios. It was the proof he needed. He pressed his hands and walked out. A group of soldiers sat at the door, waiting for sunrise before storming in to grab Efimios, they didn't know that the boy was slipping past them at that very moment.