The days passed in a steady pace, surprisingly fast when the Kalands rolled by, surprisingly slow as each sun rose and set, and with a certain cadence, as regular and reassuring as the tramp of the thick-soled boots of the legion on a forced march.
The rising sun brought the men to the lower patio, and with its growing warmth, Emopocles arrived with the warm semen. Not the slightest vestige of hesitation, reluctance, or shame clung to Philodorus’s graceful recline on the marble table. And his lack of conversation was borne only of concentration and thought, not of anger or hauteur.
“Excellency! It is time.”
“Of course. We were just finishing these delicious herring. Are they herring, Tully? Or sardines? Or anchovies? I can never tell the difference.”
“They are fish, Philip, fish. I will return later, after you have rested.” He picked up the tray to take it with him. He did not want Cason or one of the others to come for it during the procedure.
“No, Tully, stay. There is no reason for you to leave.” Philodorus lay full length on the table, his ankles just hanging off opposite edges. He flexed his pelvis, and moved back and forth slightly to position himself comfortably for what was to come.
Standing on opposite sides of the table where Philodorus could see neither of them, the doctor looked meaningfully at Lentillus, who shrugged his shoulders slightly and shook his head.
He placed the tray with the elephant ewer on the table next to Philodorus’s waist, pulled up his patient’s tunic, and felt his back. “You are tense, Excellency, or at least your muscles are.”
“Indeed? Well, perhaps I will have that Sicilian masseuse up after you leave, doctor.”
“Yes, as you wish. But, perhaps a pleasant unguent? instead of the usual olive oil? I mean, to lubricate the path?”
“Yes, good. That would be fine.” The doctor’s “pleasant unguents” did more than relax muscles, and Philodorus wanted to be more than relaxed. The doctor opened a small ivory box on the tray, and took out what looked like a large olive, the color of alabaster. He held it in the palm of this hand for a moment, warming in, and then deft as harpist, slipped it between the cheeks of Philodorus’s ass and into his fundament.
“Ugh! Of course! It wouldn’t be a unguent that you spread on! It would have to be one that you shove up!”
“Just breathe, Excellency. It will take a few moments to work.”
Tully and the doctor withdrew a few paces and talked in whispers to one another. Philodorus did not care what they said. He did not concern himself with the gossips or chitchat of servants. Perhaps Tully was inquiring about the efficacy of the treatments. Perhaps the doctor was inquiring about the method on payment. Perhaps….. Philodorus did not care. He was comfortable. He was ready. He was at peace.
His eyes closed. The redness of the sun seemed to penetrate him, suffuse him, fill him and bear him, like a raft on a see of light. The warmth became heat. His chest heaved, his chin raised slightly. A sound, a kind of crooning seemed to warp itself around him, and He resisted it, until unwilling, or unable, he let the warmth, the crooning, the liquid fire in his bowels take over.
That must be the trunk of the elephant. It was there between his buttocks, imploring entrance. It pushed, pushed, pulled back, pushed again. But it was not the cold, hard porcelain he knew. It was a hot, softness covering an iron core, and something else, some weight, fell in gentle rhythms against his body. Something like knees pushed his thighs apart, and a scent he knew, one he recognized, a scent of manliness and devotion, was all about him. Tully. Tully smelled like that. Why had he never realized it before?
The pounding at his ass increased, the elephant’s trunk, only bigger, much bigger, seemed to be entering and then withdrawing and entering again. But that was not the way it was done. That was the way…..
He felt a growing in his own loins. He feel a stiffening, a hardening of all the sinews in his body. He raised his hips, and put the palms on his hands on the table to raise himself, but something pushed him back down onto the table. A weight? His own weight? The sun? Someone’s hand? Exhausted with the effort, he fell forward onto the table as the pounding in his bottom steadied and penetrated deeper and deeper.
He relaxed and allowed it to happen. He allowed himself to relaxation. And then, all at once, there was an explosion! The light was blinding! He heard a yell and recognized his own voice. But he had not yelled. He had not moved. He lay still on the table. He was comfortable. He was relaxed in the moisture around him. He was at peace.
Philodorus opened his eyes. He was on his private patio. He lay on the table on his belly. No one was with him. The doctor was gone. Had he been there? Philodorus looked up and saw that the hourglass had run out. So, it had been some time then. The tray with the elephant ewer was gone too. As was Tully. But then Tully never stayed for the procedure. But hadn’t he asked Tully to….. He seemed befogged, and shook his head to clear it. He sat up. The gentle breeze brushed against his chest and chilled his abdomen and crotch. He was moist there. The cursed sloppy doctor must have spilled some of the contents of the elephant. He would speak to him about it. Were the doctor a servant, Philodorus would have had him flogged. He got up from the table, retrieve his tunic from the chair where it was neatly folded, and wiped the moisture from his belly.Next chapter