The Immortal Historian

As I lay here in my hospital bed, told that I have a terminal disease which will soon consume my body, I realize that time has finally caught up to me. How ironic that I, who chased time and lust for thousands of years, would now finally become the pawn of that ultimate thief, like any other mortal.

But I get ahead of myself, and I need now to document what has happened to make me the Immortal Historian...

Where to begin, when there is so very much to tell? With introductions: I am Hector Vicente, and have always been a historian. I knew early on that there was no other career for me, even in high school. When other students moaned when the history teacher announced a new section we would be studying my heart leaped at the prospects of learning some new fact from the past. I reveled in finding antiques, leafing through dusty old books, talking to aged veterans about their experiences -- yes, you could say I was an odd ball as a high schooler!

My passion for history never abated, and I pushed myself through college to acquire all the history degrees I needed to teach and -- far more importantly -- to do research; in as fast an amount of time as possible I became Dr. Vicente. That, ultimately, is what I wanted my life's work to be, and one that I knew would take me far across the globe in search of original texts and first-person documents.

Teaching also allowed me unlimited access to my other passion in life: Women. I am the consummate connoisseur of women, and being constantly surrounded by delicious females -- whether my students, fellow professors, secretaries, administrators, or other researchers -- has allowed me to lay with literally hundreds of women, one more vivacious, sensual, and sexual than the next. But there was always something missing, always something lacking...perhaps a sense of complete libertine freedom I just couldn't find in our "respectable" modern society.

As I recall, I was in Jerusalem doing some research about the First Crusade; I was studying a document that discussed some of the more outrageous sexual behaviors of the crusaders, and so I was feeling strangely aroused. My eyes tired, my throat almost choked with the dust of the old parchment, my blood flowing pumping, I felt I needed to take some fresh air. As I strolled around the ancient streets aimlessly, I felt guided towards a street bazaar. I slowly walked along the line of booths, glancing here and there for anything of note. Unfortunately, it had seemed that the modern era had caught up to even the oldest of cities because there was little but plastic trinkets, cheap electronics, and the worst junk imaginable.

I was just about to return to the university library when I caught a quiet booth tucked away in a corner of the street. The man tending it looked almost as old as the walls that nearly hid his booth from sight, walls that had seen thousands of years of history. I approached and saw that he had an interesting collection of antique goods from the area, such as the traditional curved Arabian dagger called a jambiya, a Norman "nasal" helm, a Crusader-style helmet known as a Great Helm, copies of the New Testament that look like they were written in the 14th century, and a cannon ball I recognized as being the sort used by early Ottoman Empire guns. I was, needless to say, enthralled.

I asked the man where he had found so many rare and unusual historical objects. "Oh," he said, somewhat evasively, "I have collected them over the years. Many years...here and there."

We then began to discuss the items in turn, all of which he was able to accurately describe within its historical context and seemed to actually be recalling their stories rather than merely reciting something learned. It seemed somehow -- "personal" is the only word I can use to describe it. These ancient objects had some kind of personal connection to him. The man's knowledge impressed me, but I apparently impressed him as well. He noted my knowledge with respect, and seemed pleased when I told him I was a college history professor here doing research on the crusades. I told him how much I enjoyed hearing his almost personal explication of each object and how I so love to get in touch with the people of the past via my research.

"Ahhh...," he said slowly, as if just becoming aware of something long anticipated. "Then I have the perfect thing for you."

He turned to the back of his booth, opening an intricately carved rosewood box. Even from here I could smell the odor of aged paper and wood, something I always found delightful. The man pulled out a smaller olive wood box, turned, then slowly presented the unopened box to me.

"This," he said breathlessly, "is the Chronos Piece."

He said that so matter-of-factly I felt stupid for a moment, believing I should somehow already know what that is.

"Umm," I stammered. "What is that? I've never heard of a 'Chronos Piece' before."

The man smiled at me and said, "Few have. It is an instrument covered in ancient text, the likes of which you never have seen before nor will ever see again."

"May I read it?" I asked, reaching out to take it from the box.

"No!" the man said, snatching it away quickly. "You cannot read something this powerful here, in the light of day, surrounded by so many uninitiated! The knowledge contained here is ancient and arcane and must be treated with respect, as if you were talking face to face with God himself! You must not read this until midnight in the solitude of your own room."

Thinking this was all very odd and that this man was very near insane, I readily agreed, having every intention of reading it as soon as I returned to the library. I asked him how much it would cost, and was quite surprised when he said, "It is yours, a gift from one traveler through history to another."

I thanked him, bowing my head deeply in genuine gratitude and slipping the box into my leather satchel bag. I returned to the library, eager to read the artifact -- believing that, even if it was far less amazing than the man said, it was still free and might look good in my office. But when I arrived at the library my research assistant, Maria -- a raven-haired Italian beauty I had hired more for her looks than any other reason -- told me there were fellow professors from a neighboring university that had arrived, wishing to discuss my research with me. I spoke to them about our various research projects for the remainder of the afternoon, and then went to dinner together.

I then had a "nightcap" in Maria's bedroom. This was something of an inside joke of ours, because the first night we had worked together I had invited her back to my hotel room for a nightcap, and within five minutes of entering the rooms she was on her knees sucking my cock. So afterwards, every night we came back from dinner I would nonchalantly say I'd drop by for a drink and we would have amazing sex. That night was no different.

We left the other professors in the hotel lobby and went to her room. Between being cooped up in that library all day, reading about the sexual exploits of the crusaders, and having watched Maria all evening as a gentle breeze lifted her hair at dinner, I was sexually crazed and pounced upon her as soon as the door to her room closed. I grabbed her gorgeous face with both hands and pulled her to me, diving into a kiss that was passionate, frenzied, and yet somehow sweet all at the same time. We embraced like that for some time, kissing as if feeding off of each other's energies, my cock almost bursting out of my thin suit pants.

I could take this no more, and so finally moved Maria over to her bed, kissing her all the while. I pushed her down, her light summer dress lifting up slightly as she landed. I lifted it the rest of way, exposing what I already knew to be her always panties-free pussy, shaved, wet, and looking amazingly inviting. After having had such a delicious Palestinian dinner, I was now eager to finish it off with an equally delicious Italian dessert.

I knelt between her legs, pushing them high into the air to allow me plenty of room, and gave her entire erogenous area one long, lascivious lick. Starting at her ass, I slowly, teasingly pulled my tongue upwards, licking her the way one does when they are savoring an ice cream cone. I licked the entire length of her slit, allowing my tongue to dip into her pussy and taste her sweet cunt juices. Then at her clit, still flowing my tongue slowly upwards, I applied a little extra pressure. Maria let out a low, soft moan the entire time I did so, letting me know I was touching her in all the right ways.

I took my time and luxuriated licking her pussy, simply loving the sensuality of slowly licking her, tasting her juices, watching her react to my sexual ministrations. Maria began to writhe on the bed the longer I gently licked her, moaning more and more loudly, squeezing her now-exposed breasts together and pulling hard on her nipples; having slowly worked her up now to a frenzy I decided it was time to step this pussy-licking up a bit.

I slid both my pointer and middle finger effortlessly into her dripping-wet cunt, and then twisted them slightly to stimulate her G-spot. At the same time I began to suck on her clit like it had the antidote to a poison about to kill me. This combination sent Maria into an even higher level of sexual ecstasy, her loud moaning becoming pleasure-filled screams, her hard nipple-pulling becoming cruel twisting and yanking. I continued to lick and suck, stimulate her G-spot while also pumping her pussy with my fingers, and Maria was soon shrieking out in complete orgasmic bliss.

My cock was by this point so hard and in need of cumming that it was practically quivering of its own restrained sexual need. Even as Maria was catching her breath and the last of the orgasmic waves washed over her body, I lowered myself onto her and slipped my cock into her liquid-like pussy. The heat and wetness of her cunt made me cum almost immediately while the sudden pressure inside her still quivering pussy made Maria begin to moan loudly again.

A stiff breeze at this point would have made me cum, and here I was with my cock buried deep inside to quivering cunt of a 22-year-old Italian beauty. Needless to say, there was not much pumping involved before I was ready to blow my load. I was, somehow, able to retrain myself just long enough for Maria to reach another orgasm. As she lay on the bed with her mouth in a perfect "O" of orgasmic pleasure, I quickly pulled out and pointed my cock directly at that wide open mouth, using it as the target for my cum. My orgasm rocked my body to my very core, making me scream as loudly as had Maria, thick creamy stream after stream of cum shooting out of my cock and landing in Maria's mouth, on her lips, face, neck, and tits. After what felt like a delightful eternity, the last drop of cum oozed out, which Maria sucked off the tip of my cock.

After leaving her room, I arrived in my hotel suite at about midnight. It was a hot, dry Middle Eastern summer night, and I had left the French doors that led to the balcony wide open to let a soothing Mediterranean breeze flow into my suite. The wind flowed in and around everything, throwing the sheer curtains high into the air and creating a strange feeling to the night, as if the air was itself somehow alive. Even though this hotel was built in the 1880s and had been electrified for years, I liked to only use candles during my visits to Jerusalem out of romantic notions of the past.

Placing the satchel bag on my desk to light the candle there, I felt the box in which the "piece" was held and suddenly remembered the old man and my strange gift. I now eagerly opened it and was shocked to see it was a large phallic symbol etched with small written symbols. I was shocked not so much because it was a phallic symbol -- one can't explore early Middle Eastern history and not run into huge symbolic cocks everywhere -- but rather because it was made of polished stone and because it was a fairly accurate depiction of an immense cock.

The text was written in a Proto-Arabic language known as "musnad" dating from around the 9th century BC, although this looked as if it might be an even earlier variant of that text. Because I am not an expert in this particular early language the complete meaning of the writing escaped me, but I was able to decipher enough of it to realize that it discussed an ancient Akkadian creation myth about fertility -- hence the phallic symbols -- and "time and timelessness," as well as a story about two scholars named Asag and Namtar. These two scholars became so knowledgeable and powerful that the gods feared they might learn the secret to immortality, and thereby be as powerful as the gods themselves; to punish the men for their awareness and pride the gods turned them into demons and cast them into the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. Apparently these scholars were also what we would call "players" in the modern era, having had thousands of sexual partners, and so apparently the gods were jealous of their virility as well as their knowledge.

But included in this story was what appeared to be a magical spell to acquire not only their knowledge but their virility as well. It involved invoking the spirits of Asag and Namtar to channel their knowledge, sensuality, and acumen to "know what they knew, see what they saw, do what they did, and all the things they did not."

This ritual seemed to be describing the making of a simple "magic circle" composed of salt, and then the uttering of certain ritual words. Just for the fun of it and perhaps because I had drunk too much wine, I began to follow the pattern described on the parchment, pushing my bed aside and, pouring salt from the kitchenette cupboard, created the circle and magic symbols. I placed small candles at five points around the circle, then added the additional protective symbols described. The text stated that one "wishing to receive the gift of Asag and Namtar" should strip naked and sit in the middle of the circle, which I did, then invoke several magic words: "Naz galak-gazzulli, naz garrul, mash kibakk, mash gazzulli nak." I had no idea what those words meant so I just said them phonetically, repeating them the seven times the text instructed.

As I stated the last word of the incantation a sudden gust of wind ripped through the suit, gutting the candles and throwing my papers high in the air. I was suddenly plunged in darkness, save for the soft glow of the street lamps below.

I was about to stand and feel around for the candles when I realized there was a soft bluish-greenish mist glowing before me. The mist seemed to flow, pour, and twist around itself, moving as if guided by some unseen hand. As I sat there stupefied by what I was watching, I realized that the mist was taking form and shape, finally appearing like two bearded men in long robes. I sat in utter disbelief before the ethereal forms of Asag and Namtar.

The spirits spoke to me and I heard them not with my ears but rather in my mind, their words resonating and making the air itself vibrate. They spoke in their original ancient pre-Arabic language, yet I knew exactly what they were saying. "You who seek knowledge and life," their voices almost chanted in my mind, speaking together, "do you wish the gift we have to offer?"

I sat there, speechless and numbed, my mind unable to form an answer. Yet they stood there -- or floated, as the mist on a cool morning does -- awaiting an answer from me.

"What gift is it you offer?" I finally said, but said it in my mind and not with my voice.

"The gift to know, and the gift to live." And then in an instant I seemed to know what they knew, see what they had seen. I saw that these men were religious scholars, men whom during later ages would be called alchemists or sorcerers, and had learned how to shift time itself and to remain immortal for so long as they lived in the past. They practiced moving through time at their will, thereby learning things far beyond what any mortal should know and attaining great wealth as they did so. The men had also developed the knowledge regarding attracting and pleasing women sexually, and had fathered so many children to make keeping the various obligations and relations when it came time for war difficult to trace. The spirits these men served knew these men were becoming a powerful nation unto themselves, and so trapped them in what was essentially a time rift.

So the gift these scholars had to offer was the ability to go back in time, to experience all the history that I had ever learned about from a first-hand point of view. I would get to see, touch, feel, and smell all the events of history I knew so well, but during the entire time that I walked the path towards this very minute I would not die, could not die. I would live, immortally, until I returned to this second in time. I could not change the history that had already happened, but I could witness it or take part in making it. I would also be able to understand all who spoke to me as if it were my native tongue, so no matter where I went or to whom I spoke I could learn and be aware.

And, perhaps even most delicious of all for a man like me, women would find me absolutely irresistible and would want to fuck me where ever I went.

Wordlessly, I said to them, "Yes! Yes, I want it all!"

In an instant there was a flash of blinding blue-white light, so strong that I threw my arm up to shield my eyes. When the light faded I lowered my arm, and my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. As they did I looked around and realized I was lying naked in a smoky, dimly lit mud brick hut. I looked around the hut, and could see there were thick furs and skins on the dirt floor used as a bed, a small smoky fire used for cooking, and a few simple copper tools and weapons hanging from the walls.

As my eyes became more accustomed to the gloom I realized there was a woman in the hut with me. She stared at me gaped-mouthed as if I had appeared out of nowhere -- which I suppose from her perspective I had. I was as buck naked as I had been in my suite, and realized that my cock had somehow become rigid beyond measure during my time travel. The woman, who was very small and petite, stared at my thickly engorged cock with a rapaciousness and hunger that I found irresistible.

Without saying a word, the woman knelt on the fur blankets and slowly crawled to me across the hut, keeping her eyes on my cock all the while. Her look seemed to say my cock was the most delicious treat she had ever seen and feared it would disappear suddenly if she didn't soon act. She crawled all the way to my cock, slowly reached out a trembling hand to grasp it -- which looked absolutely gigantic in her small hand -- and smiled, now convinced it was real as well as being able to feel its rigidity and heat.

Among social historians there has long been a quiet debate as to when oral sex first began within human society. Some say it was the Egyptians, some say the Hindus, and some even the Chinese. I can now report from first-hand experience that blow jobs began very, very early in human history.

Having happily grasped my thick cock in her tiny hand and cooed happily, the woman plunged my cock deep into her mouth. She placed the head to her lips and suck it in a little, as one might as they ate a grape, the continued using the suction as she slid the entire length down into her throat. This was a highly impressive move here, because even though my seven inches is slightly above average for a modern cock, this woman was only about four feet tall, so easily sucking the entire length of my cock into her tiny mouth was an admirable accomplishment indeed.

And admire her work I did indeed. Lying back on my elbows I watched happily as she slowly sucked in the entire length of my seemingly massive cock, and then managed to swipe her tongue against the base of it and my balls even as she somehow continued to keep suction on my cock. She would then grab the base of my cock and seemed to be pulling it out of her mouth ever so slowly as she brought her head back. Once to the head she would kiss it gently, and then use her hands to stroke the length of my cock, occasionally kissing and sucking my balls as she did.