Chapter 2 - Mary
How many countless girls had climbed up to ride him? How many, urged on by their sisters and friends, had let their peplos fall to the ground and stepped forward naked in the bright Greek sunlight to mount? How many young virgins had he deflowered? The mingled blood and girl-oil dripping from his member to the dust below. How many young girl hands had ceremonially cleansed him with water from the cool spring by the Temple leaving his body and phallos shining white in the sun ready for the next impalement?
And then the awful day when the temple had been sacked, the single stroke and the uncouth barbarian laughter as the proud upstanding phallos had been knocked from his body to lie in the dust below. The first dreadful act before his whole body had been smashed with hammer blows; the beautiful, centuries, old statue broken, his wings shattered into a thousand pieces. His colourful taenia dirtied in the dust.
The phallos had lain in the dust for centuries, kicked aside and then left. Once or twice goats had moved it as they nosed around for grass. Several had urinated upon it. It had been a hard time after centuries of girl mountings.
The man and his daughter had come. They had moved in the bright sunlight and he had felt an appreciation of his temple after so many long centuries. Not quite worship but something akin. He had felt the man's appreciation of the damaged beauty of the structure despite its ruinous state. He had rejoiced in the clearing of the overgrowing vines bringing what was left, so tumbled and ruinous, back into the sunshine.
The man had identified the pieces of the statue - or what he could find and had tried piecing it together but it had been the girl who had found the phallos. They had camped in tents nearby and it had been her, up in the early dawn, who had found the once proud male organ. Beautifully carved long ago in such detail it was lying beneath a small half dead bush barely visible and half buried in the ground. The girl in her long skirt and blouse with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair escaping from a severe tying, had crouched and reached for him.
For the first time in more than a millennium he felt the touch of female hands to his phallos. The so remembered gasp of wonder he had heard countless times from girls delighted him. She had recognised the stone for what it represented - indeed was holding it at the angle it had stood for centuries.
He had felt the rain countless times - and the goats' urine - but now his phallos was washed entire. It was like the ritual washing of old. The cool water fetched by the girl from the self same spring by the temple where the girls had found and brought water for the ceremonial cleansing.
Her fingers upon the cold marble, the very same tracing of finger tips he had felt so many, many times from the young virgins discovering in marble representation, exquisitely detailed carved marble, what the upright, erect phallos of a man was like. So very different from the kynodesme tied organs of the men and boys at the running track. Perhaps they had heard from mother, elder sister or friend, how much larger the erected phallos was - magnificent and hard - and they would be seeing a perfect representation for the very first time, complete with the normally hidden smooth bulb of the glans penis and the taut fraenum so perfectly carved in the marble, unobscured by the posthe and akroposthion - the prepuce.
Light feminine touches as the girl turned the phallos this way and that in the bright sunshine. Without a body the feelings stayed within the phallos, surging back and forth along its length unable to infuse the whole marble body with its energy. The girl had touched her finger to the tip where were carved the twin lips of the opening to the male body, for both the male and female need to urninate and the male need to release that precious substance of nature.
She had hidden the phallos, not shown it to her father. The girl had wrapped it in a cloth and hidden it in her tent and only when dark had fallen had she unwrapped it again and gazed on its beauty in the moonlight.
He had recognised all the signs, the shivering and the sighing of aroused young femininity. She had risen and gone to the spring and washed herself in the cool water. Face, hair, limbs, her marble white breasts with their little hard nipples and the places between her legs, the dark curls that grew in such profusion, the places where she performed basic bodily tasks and the special womanly places which she had found more and more difficult not to touch despite the warnings of her school mistresses.
The prospect of being married to Spencer Frossington had been much on her mind of late; it was not just she missed his engaging company, as lovers would, but there was something more - an excitement about what happened between man and wife and, in the course of time, would be for them. More and more she had lain in her tent all alone in those hot Greek nights, and thought about what it would be to lie with a man - specifically Spencer Frossington. What would it be like when naked together. What would it be like when he lay atop of her on their wedding night? Nothing between their naked bodies except... his phallos.
She had walked back from the spring naked in the moonlight - an unheard of thing. From her father's tent came snores. There was no one to see her naughtiness but the crickets and night time animals.
In her mind's eye Spencer Frossington standing naked by her tent, his hard body so clear and white in the moonlight and there, rising from his hips the so different thing, the male sexual organ, erect and powerful, and looking so like the marble phallos lying on her cot in her tent. Perhaps on their wedding night he would be standing by the bed like that ready to take her maidenhead. Would that hurt? She had wondered often. Such a rite of passage. The man making the girl, his new bride, a woman.
In the morning after the wedding all the people knowing. Everyone they met would know what had happened in the night before. Would know the groom's phallos would have grown large and been inserted into his bride - perhaps with difficulty, perhaps with pain - and consummated the marriage. It was a very natural act, she had seen the bull and the cows, the ram and the ewes but, but so awful to see the eyes of people and know they knew.
Better by far for the ritual to be performed in secret, indeed why not by moonlight as she was now on a hillside in Greece. The air warm and conducive to nakedness. She, ritually bathed, greeting her new husband and his phallos. Perhaps she should drop to her knees and kiss and fondle it, as she had touched and fondled the phallos she had found.
She was on her knees making to crawl into her tent. The moonlight from behind her illuminated the marble phallos lying on her cot. It looked big and strong, as she hoped her husband's would be. She reached and held it in front of her as if it was indeed Spencer's. Holding it in one hand erect she ran her fingers over it with the other, just as she imagined doing to her new husband and then bent forward and kissed it, like she imagined a new dutiful bride should do. It was cold on her lips: she rather thought Spencer's would be quite the opposite - warm or hot with the surging blood within.
A thought came to her; did women perhaps...; it would fit and...; it would be like... Unlike her sexual opening which was closed by her maidenhead, her mouth was open. She leant forward and took the rounded marble end into her mouth. There was no one to see the intense naughtiness of her act. What would her school mistresses have said? In her mind the idea of the phallos - Spencer's - entering her and being inside her between her legs. She suspected her mouth would be a poor substitute for that.
The phallos wetted by her mouth shone in the moonlight. It was no good, no good at all - her feelings were too intense. She was going to have to disobey what her school mistresses had told her and touch herself and see if she could make that wonderful thing happen. The thing which made her want to cry out in pleasure and necessitated stuffing her mouth with something to prevent her father hearing and perhaps waking. She giggled to herself - Spencer's phallos, now that would stopper her mouth well and truly.
She put down the phallos and reached under. She was all wet there; she knew it was her body readying herself for sexual intercourse, making it easy for a phallos to enter - and it could do that but for her maidenhead. Lovely to touch and diddle and think of her man to be.
What of their ritual first night? She had got as far as meeting Spencer at the tent and kissing his phallos. Would he take her in his arms and carry her up the hill and take her at the summit. It was a fair climb and, perhaps, more realistic for them to walk hand in hand or... she reached and grasped the stone phallos again... or walk holding Spencer's phallos. She liked the imagery. The new bride now with a man to support, protect and cherish her. And what more symbolic than to lean on his 'staff' as he took her up the hill to the marital bed?
The idea of being taken first time right on the top of a hill or even a mountain had a degree of romance to it. Different from an hotel room. But what would Spencer think, and would he be prepared to wait the several week's steamer passage to Greece or another hot enough country? Unlikely - and could she wait that long before she was intimate with him once they were married? No! It was a dream for a different place, a different people. The hotel room it would be, but she would want Spencer naked by the bed awaiting her.
But there was no reason why she could not pretend. Her father was asleep, the world was asleep; she knew the way up the hill and it would be easy by moonlight. She reached and grasped the marble phallos, crawled from the tent and stood. Before that night she had not been so much as a outside her bedroom naked before, let alone out in the open miles from anywhere. Hand grasping the phallos as if it was a real man - Spencer - beside her, she set off up the rocky track to the top of the hill.
It was strange but the higher she climbed the more she felt as if there was a man beside her, as if the phallos was supported by a real but invisible body, as if should she release her grip it would stay standing in the moonlight rather than dropping to the dust and rocks at her feet. It was a strange feeling but so was the lust she felt for a man - Spencer - as she climbed. It was an animal feeling, delicious but naughty, the desire to engage carnally with a man - Spencer.
With her free hand, when not reaching to steady herself on tree or rock, her fingers probed and diddled twixt her thighs. So wet - so wet indeed that she felt she must be leaving little droplets of her wetness in the dust below her as she walked. The touching was lovely and she knew she would make that special feeling happen.
At the top of the hill she stood as if standing with Spencer, a still erect Spencer. Around her the quiet of the land. The air warm and so clear. Above her the blackness of the firmament dotted with myriad pinpoints of light - the stars. The ground below her was hard unlike the soft hotel bed, but she lay down imagining the man preparing to lie atop her. She opened her legs as she knew she would for Spencer when the time came. She touched the marble phallos to her nipples, each in turn. The marble was cold but felt good, really good. She brought it to her lips and again opened and took it in. In her mind the thought of taking in the real phallos. Perhaps women did do that. She could see she would rather like holding the real thing between her lips.
