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.
