WARNING:
This short-story contains explicit sexual scenes and addresses some sexual health problematic.
In the beginning, there was a word. The word was Lust.
In my early years, I never imagined myself as an artist. Not once. My family was practical, mum was a sales-woman and dad was a bus driver. We talked about money in such ways like where they are most utilizable and so, meaning I had to go study engineering. I mean, I wasn’t forced or anything, it was just the only acceptable way. There are good money and a good applicability, yada, yada, yada. I never really wanted good money. I wanted either to be rich AF or, and that came with some experience and age, I longed to be happy. Happiness is something you get, when you do things you love. If you make it a living, even better. I decided to do modelling. I was young and beautiful and if I would go to gym every now and then, I could make this work. And I did. I slept with a few people and betrayed a few others… Well, I mean. That’s how it goes. You either do that, or you quit. Of course I caught that shit in the process but, I guess, that’s the cost of being a top-model with a decent career. However, the contagion kinda shaded the hapiness. But when I got it under control, happy was mostly what I would call my life.
When I turned 27, I moved to Switzerland. I always loved the view of (mountain) tops and also, if I ever became rich AF, what other country to live in, right? As I must keep myself fit for work, I decided to use these various mountainsides to climb. One each week. And by climbing, I mean hike, of course. I chose Sundays for this purpose. I only picked the tracks that are not too dangerous, even though I’m very well insured. But with a cracked and stitched face, there’s not so much work available, is there? And I do love my job. I always wore protective clothes (expensive and fashionable, obviously) and had an emergency backpack to cure the most of what could happen to me. Alas, being very careful, no injury ever did happen, so I didn’t use the protective qualities much.
This time I decided to climb something more challenging. I’m not crazy, so I didn’t go all Matterhorn or Hardergrat. I chose moderate hike at Grindelwald, Bern. Google it, it’s quite beautiful and has, in fact, nothing to do with Johny Depp or Mads Mikkelsen. I booked a stay in a small private house near mountains via Airbnb and made it kinda solitary holiday. I had my gear but I decided to just check the lower hills first. To soak in the views and the characteristics of that place. The first day, I arrived around 7 p.m., so the sun was nearly setting. I ran up a small nearby hill just in time to see it roll over the mountainside and lay down to sleep in the saddle below.
The next day, I decided to scout around and check the hiking trails that are NOT on the maps. From what I’ve found, there are many of those and they’re mostly for local folk who know their way around. I considered myself a comely person who doesn’t disturb others by redundant talking and asking directions, but instead pleases them with a nice and lovely small talk (which we all enjoy so much, right?). So, I headed up a hill near some private gardens, hoping to find some unchartered paths. I got lucky. I did indeed find one such path. It was decorated with several rock-towers pinched with twigs, so they reminded of tiny snow-men, well, rock-men. As I climbed higher that hill, I could see some larger stones, positioned as milestones. Upon them, there were runes carved from top to bottom. The last was usually Yr, the rune of grounding. I only studied runes for my D&D gaming so I don’t remember much. But Yr looks like the peace sign so it’s easy to remember. Actually, the peace sign is Yr, only circled. I reached a plateau and I decided to rest. The sun was slowly passing it’s celestial peak and I lay down to catch a breath and take in the fresh air of the mountain. That was when I heard it first. The flute. The sweet sound of pan’s flute. Surely some esoteric tribe of alternative locals, performing a meditation ritual, thinking that no tourist is as stupid as to walk an uncharted path. I dared not go any closer to avoid unsettling them. Instead, I hid myself behind a close-by rocky hill and listened. The music was, well, a music to my ears. I haven’t heard such a melody in a while. Perhaps never. It resembled the song of birds, the breeze in the leaves, love,… Life!
I suddenly felt the urge to jerk off. I looked around and, as I saw nobody close-by, I did. I don’t know why, but I sometimes do have these urges. I finished a quick self-hand and headed back to the valley. That evening, I opened Grindr – which I thought I wouldn’t, as I was here to rest, but I couldn’t resist the urge to just fuck – and fuck I did. A local boy. The profile said 21 but I have my doubts. Anyway, when we were done and I dumped the used rubber to the bin, I inquired about local folklore and habits. He didn’t tell me anything new, and he even didn’t know who Perchta was, which I did, so I assumed I didn’t choose the right person to ask. I let him go and fell asleep, dreaming about the sound of flute.
The next day was basically the same. I had already planned to go on the hike the third day, but something prevented me from doing so. I went back to my jerking place and listened. I heard it, I got horny, I jerked off. I headed back. When I looked back, I gazed a flock of mouflons grazing uphill. Other than that, nothing. I couldn’t sleep that night. Luckily, it was Friday, and one local guy was throwing a rave, so I went there. Drunk and high, I fell asleep at 5 a.m., which meant no climbing on Saturday.
I slept most of Saturday and only got up to drink and pee. In the evening, I watched Heartstopper on Netflix and ate a whole package of air-fried chicken wings from the freezer. Jerked off, went to bed.
Today is Sun-day. It is indeed sunny. A word got to me, that there had been an avalanche fall at one of the hikes I was planning to take. Noone died but maybe that’s because I didn’t go. I am now very glad that I had heard the flute and chose to pursue that instead of my fitness plan. The flute! I remember. I dress up quickly and lightly and head up to my Jerking Place. The name sticks. On the way there, I notice that some of the rock-towers are now decorated with ribbon and flower upon them. It must be some sort of holiday for the eso-people today. I’m proud of my thoughtfulness. I even brought an offering – a knife. I was given the knife three years ago by a friend, who is a blacksmith. I never knew what to do with a knife, anyway… I plan to give it to them as a thank you for the music and as a token of friendship. I find that gifts are an ice-melter everywhere. I just hope they’re not fanatics and don’t use it to spill my blood or whatever.
I get to the JP before mid-day. I don’t hear anything but, as it is a jerking spot, I decide to bless the earth once more. I lay the knife atop the rock, I hide behind it and do the deed. With a lustful moan, I release my cum and sprinkle the rock beneath. I lean back and look towards the sky.
“Thank you!”
FUCK! I jump away, startled. The half-hard dick still in my hand, still dripping softly. Atop the rock sits a man, no, a creature of sorts. The legs are those of a ram and the top of his body is human, except for the two huge, spiralling horns and overly long elf-like ears. He’s super-handsome, very masculine and he’s only wearing a vest of fur and wristbands made of the same material. His hair is raven-black and his deep brown eyes sparkle with life. He eyes me up-and-down and I realise I’m flashing here with my (now soft) dick. I hide him in my shorts and smile.
“I’m sorry,” I utter nervously.
“What for?” groans a deep, manly voice. “You brought an offering of matter and an offering of life. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He clutches the knife I lay there before, unsheathes it and examines it, thoroughly. “It is a nice handiwork. Did you make it yourself?”
“Oh, I wish… A friend gave it to me but I don’t need it, nor will I ever use it. So I thought it could make a good offering. Though I thought there was a tribe or a society here or something.”
“There is just me. There has always been me. Once, I was everywhere. But since my services are mostly unwanted, I came here to enjoy some peace,” he shrugs.
“What do you mean, was everywhere,” I ask dumbly, which I realise when he answers:
“Don’t you see me? Have you met many a satyr?”
“Oh, of course, sorry. I’m just a little startled still, he-he,” I lie.
“No, you’re not. I can tell that you’re lying. Don’t insult me like that. It’s okay to be wrong sometimes.”
“Okay, sorry. Won’t happen again,” I say, and try the most humiliated tone I can.
“See? You’re doing it again. Now you even lie to yourself. You need to cut that.”
“I’ll try,” I shudder, not knowing what more to say.
Then he rises, stands on his hooves, stomps and jumps. In an eye-blink, he’s standing next to me, clutching my butt firmly with one hand and leaning his head towards mine, in the most sexual way. I’m suddenly aroused like I’ve never been. Poppers? That’s sugar to cocaine. This is cocaine. Yet, I’m perfectly sober. Just horny AF. I lean my head towards his so our noses touch. His other hand grabs my hardening cock. I can smell his breath, a mixture of grass and herb. I start shivering with excitement but try and stand my ground. He presses his forehead against mine, looking deep into my eyes. I’m glad I shaved today, I would hate to be bushy for what is to come. His stubble, though, is the sexiest thing in the world.
His hand slides up, across my chest and stops and the Addidas logo on my breast. Clenches it hard and his mouth starts kissing me. Passionately. I don’t resist. I feel the urge to touch him too. And I do. I slide my hand about his hairy chest, enjoying the hard feel of muscle under the masculine hair-growth, and down, towards where I hope to find a dick. I keep on kissing him, as my hand discovers every inch of his muscular body. The hair starts to thicken, which means I’m close. And then I find it. It’s very human-shaped, just, so fucking large! I can barely wrap my hand around it, and it’s still not very hard. I slide below and find huuuge balls. Definitely not human. No human has balls the size of an Emu egg. Rams do, I recall. He pulls his tongue out of my mouth, looks at me again and says:
“Shall we go to my shrine? To do some… worshipping?”
“Oh, anything with you, please, anywhere! Wait, how do you do worshipping?”
“I don’t. I’m a god. You will do the worshipping,” he smiles.
“Okay, and how does one worship you?” I ask but I have a pretty good idea.
“How?” he smirks. “Fucking, of course. Come, I have an altar up there. It’s bed-shaped.” He grabs my hand, reaches to pick the knife and drags me with him. Not that I wouldn’t follow voluntarily.
We continue the decorated path until we reach a larger plateau with a few birches growing in a circle around a stone-paved ground. There are many a chair, pillow and sofa, and in the middle of it, the altar. It’s no altar at all, it’s just a large round bed, covered with blanket of thick fabric and several pillows. He lays the knife on one of the chairs, takes me in his arms, like I didn’t weigh 90 but at most 20 kilos, and throws me onto the bed. He then lets the furry vest slide down from him and stomps again and he‘s next to me. He leans atop me and starts kissing me, passionately. I feel a fire burn deep within me. A primordial force, awakening. Wanting him, worshipping his presence with mine. He tears my tank-top and shorts apart to reveal the brand-new jockstrap. I’m glad I did wear that today. He smiles, I do too. I spread out his legs for him and try and relax, as much as I can. I never had a dick this huge. But he’s a god so he knows his ways. He kisses me once more and then his tongue continues down my chin and neck, my chest, my six-pack (which I’m proud of!), and on across my underbelly. He licks my cock and balls over the fabric, and then goes on down to the butt-hole. Oh my new god! Never, have I been licked so well. The skill, the strength of his tongue, the slippery moves he does, soften me completely… I never felt such bliss just from being licked. He could do only this and I’d come soon.
Then, he uses his finger, and another, and then…
Then, he slowly, gently, in the most experienced manner, shoves his huge manhood inside me. I thought I would scream or at least yelp with pain. But no. What comes of my throat is a moan of pure ecstasy. My head wants to explode, and so does my entire body. The bliss, the agony. The pain that is pleasure. And then, he thrusts. And again, and again. And I feel I’m on the edge of bottom’s orgasm. But then, unexpected, he puts his finger on my lips and I kiss it, let it in, lick it and bite it softly. He winks at me and I can feel the air thicken with electricity. His eyes are shining. He’s performing a miracle! And a miracle this is. The act lasts for an entire hour and for the whole time I’m on the edge. The primordial fire burns within me, scorching me in the most pleasurable manner. My guts and my head want to explode, my body sweats and so does his. For now, I am his and only his. For at least a full hour, I feel the energy bursting through my every cell. I suddenly remember when I have felt this sensation for the last time – the moment I was born. And I never recalled it until now. I’m just being born again. I moan in pure enjoyment, my head flipped back, and I see the birches growing down from the stones above me and the mountains behind them spanning over the azure sky beneath. Then I glide my eyes across the blue sky, until I see his horns and his face. He’s all sweaty now, but still as handsome as he was when we started. No sooner do our eyes meet, his flickering with a million stars, when I feel his hot semen bursting from his phallus and flooding my innards. And again I feel the air thicken, and I too come. He remains like this for another few minutes, his eyes slowly fading to deep brown again. His cock, slowly pulsating within me, softens and then eventually slips out. I came at the very moment when I felt him loading up my guts with his hot cum. It’s still there. I’m lying down, all sweaty and soft, with his hot life liquid, or whatever he’d call it, inside me. I never want to push it out. I want to keep it and have his baby. Silly me. But, I like the thought. For many reasons. It would ruin my career, sure, but I don’t even care about that anymore. His cum flows warm in me and I just enjoy that.
Then I remember.
“Shit!” I pull away.
“Well, that’s a first,” he glances at me over the wristbands, that he’s now taking off as they are full of sweat.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry,” I almost cry. “I forgot to tell you. I liked you so much and didn’t want to ruin this. But I fear I may have desecrated you. Is there like… a sacrilege in your church?”
“In my church there is only lust and satiation,” he looks very calm. Of course, he doesn’t know.
“I have to tell you. I should have before. I am a Poz, you know what that means? I’ve got HIV…”
“Yes?” he raises his masculine black eyebrow.
“Yes. And after such a long time in me, you could be infected. Well, you shouldn’t be because I do take the medication and I am at zero, so it’s not contagious. But still, you should use protection, unless you’re on PREP which, I suppose, you’re not.”
An eerie silence lays upon the altar, at the court of the god of Lust. The satyr doesn’t express anything, just gazes into nothingness, as if he is remembering something. Then, he blinks, and he looks at me. He stares me in the eyes. His face is hard, not showing any emotion.
Then he bursts into laughter.
Oh great. Denial, there it is, I think.
“My dear Martin,” he starts through a soft chuckle. How does he know my name – of course, he’s a god. “Do you think that such a trivial thing would hurt me? Or even deter me? Me? I am lust, I can’t be punished for it.”
“Punished? No, no, it’s not a punishment, it’s a disease. A virus.”
“My little human,” he smiles and lies on the side next to me, so I can feel his breath upon my mouth again, “I’m here for a little longer than you. And if I say it is a punishment, then a punishment it is. The Christians invented it and brought it upon themselves. Or was that a curse? I’m not sure, it’s a long long time ago, and not really my expertise. I do Pleasure. Did I please you?”
“Yes, very much.” I want to succumb to his natural spell, offer myself up again, shaking with lust. But the remorse is gnawing on my brain like a hungry caterpillar. “But I am infected…”
“No, you’re not. Not anymore. There is no punishment for lust. Not in my church. You humans invented that. I never told you to do that. Someone was so bitter and toxic – and due to that unwanted – that he brought this sad thing upon you. And when I descended among you, like today, he shunned me, he even blamed me for it and he called me Satan. I have no problem with that name, I have been called much worse, and at least here you can hear the Satiation, which I truly offer. But he denigrated me. Me, the primal force of Nature, that has been blessing you for tens of thousands of winters and made you so successful as a species, and he called me evil. None of you would have been born without me, and I am evil. That’s just hilarious. Except it’s not. Because it hurt you. I loved you all, and he made me look like I hurt you. Not only did it hurt me, but it also threw you into the darkest age I have witnessed. Puritanism, renunciation, shaming the very nature of a living thing. He put you against your very selves. My little man, this is reeeeally stupid.
“The paradox is, as I was forbidden, more of you longed for me, more of you beseeched me to be with you. Truth is, most of you have worshipped me always. Many still do. The more you fuck, the more you worship me. And I know you specifically, are something of a fanatic.” He smiles and kisses me again. I melt. I grab his horn and never want to let go.
“Wait,” I suddenly realise, “did you just heal my HIV?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s a punishment. And you bring it upon yourself. You fucked a god, of Lust. That means you believe. Therefore, the crap has left you. When all of you humans give up the idea of fucking as something forbidden and should-be-hidden, all this bullshit will just… go.”
“I don’t think I understand,” I say desperately.
“You don’t. Because you’re a child. You haven’t seen thirty winters yet. And you’re not a god. But you have to trust me, my little human. I won’t leave you, not as long as you believe in me. Because I do believe in you.” He looks me in the eyes, smiles and kisses me again. I can feel his sweaty breasts against mine and I pull myself closer to mix my sweat with his. “Turn around,” he whispers then.
And I turn my back against his chest, lying sideways. I can already feel his hard phallus gliding over the surface of my love-hole. And then, effortlessly, he slips back inside me. He kisses my neck, spoons me and fucks me again in this position. This one is shorter but very nice. Personal. I press his arm against my chest, entwining our fingers together, wishing this would never end. I refuse to let him out of me and he chuckles.
“Martin, you’re not my only worshipper,” he mumbles sweetly in my ear. His deep voice is so hot!!! He continues: “I like you and I love you. We’ll meet again. Until then, do fuck! Everyone who wants you and whom you want. Fuck, and enjoy it! That is life, that is me, that is you, now.”
“Can I have one last question before you kick me out?” I lean my back against his chest once more.
“Well, it is you who needs to let me out,” he shambles his hips to remind me of his captivity within me. I do let him out gently and roll on my back to look him in the vigorous eyes again.
“What is your real name?” I eye him, very curiously.
“I have no name. I have been here since before words. But in my favourite period of your history you called me Pan, or Satyr. You may remember me so. I like those.” Then he hugs me and kisses me sweetly on my cheek. I caress his head, his horn and his chest and I feel myself falling fast asleep, exhausted with the best possible fuck of my life. I am safe, I am loved, I am healthy. I am home.
I wake, I’m back at my Airbnb bedroom. Alone.
It’s dark, must have been hours. What a peculiar and detailed dream. So vivid… I check my phone. It’s 10 p.m., still Saturday.
Satur-day, means Satyr’s day… What an irony.
So, none of it happened. It really was a dream. Well, at least I don’t feel hungover anymore. That’s a plus. Also, I didn’t fuck anyone at the party. That’s a minus. I’ll have to fix that soon. This dream made me so horny and needing it!
But not just yet.
First, I need to go to the bathroom. I sit on the toilet and let go. It’s liquid. And there’s a lot of it. What did I eat again? Or did I take something at the party? Something I’m not used to? I don’t know. I rise up, wipe myself clean, turn around and want to flush it. But it’s not shit. It’s cum…
I run out to the terrace and look towards the hill. And there, at the very top, against the rising moon, I can see the silhouette with spiralled horns. I listen carefully. And I can hear it.
The distant sound of Pan’s flute.
If you have any suspicions concerning your sexual health, get tested soon. You should also get tested preventively once a year (yes, even in a monogamous relationship). It doesn’t cost you anything and makes a big difference in (not only) your life.
HIV+ means medication for the rest of your life. It is easily treatable, you can live a full life with it, even get not infectious again. However, that doesn’t mean we should ask for it, right?
Not all of us can fuck a magical Satyr.
Get tested, be happy, and remember to worship the right god! 🙂