A roar, that craved for attention and feeding.
His finger scratched on stone. Restless he crossed the labyrinth - his labyrinth - set up to hide him from human stares.
A gnarl escaped his hairy throat and his short, strong horns thrust against the wall. His mind was tired, like his whole being, born out of a quirk of a horny woman.
His memories remained pale: a scared cry when he was born and afterwards just twilight in which the King of Crete had condemned him to live. He wasn't proud of his son, oh no! He couldn't be. What would a bull-headed man look like upon the throne of Knossos? The white bull - this was his real father; a white bull risen from the depths of the sea as a gift from Poseidon to Minos, the King of Crete. At least that's what he figured out while he was locked up in a secret room at Knossos' Palace. Pasiphae, Minos' wife fell madly in love with the white bull; with his strength, power and beauty. With the help of Daedalos, the creative inventor, she was able to mate with him and the result was he - Asterion: a baby with the head of a calf.
He remembered vaguely the brilliant colours. The red of the colour of old blood, the azure of the painted birds and of the dolphins on the palace walls. But, by Hades, what did he know about azure blue sky? His only entertainment was to look into the azure blue eyes of one of his victims. When he consumed them, inhaled them, his aching sex plunging deep between the youth's legs - spread apart by his force - the King was feeding him; first to satiate his sex drive and second to satisfy his permanent hunger.
His bowels rumbled. It was time for supplies. But in the darkness time didn't count. There was no tomorrow and no yesterday; no morning, no evening. Just timeless loneliness.
He still was cruising aimlessly; blindly finding the existence of the many ways. Something similar to laughter escaped. No human had ever found the way out. Not if he didn't want to. And he never wanted.
His mighty cock jerked, but he withstood the urge to lay hand on himself. Saliva ran from his snout and he scraped it over the cold stone, licking the salty surface. It was time for supplies. . . time, time, time! Raving he stomped with his feet; his body shaking with desire and demand. With lust and longing.
His ears pricked up. He heard the familiar sound at the entrance to the labyrinth. The gate was opened; he could sense fear. And something else: male flesh. Firm, delicious male flesh.
He would take his time today. No wild frenzy of mating and annihilation. Not this time.
He started to run, the muzzle torn apart widely, to the entrance gate and stopped abruptly. Carefully he peered around a corner and saw. Torch light was dazzling him but he saw. Light mirroring in shiny swords. Swords? Over the back cascaded a long, white braid. The eyes were scared and reflected the torch light like splinters of green glass. His companion was black as the night, dark as the labyrinth, locks tied up with a headband drenched with sweat.
Again he smelled fear, but resolution also. His cock rose, beefy and
urgent. He groped it with both hands and crept away. The game was on.
Theseus sauntered along the fruits and vegetable stands. His fingers were itching to pick a bright yellow lemon or a velvet peach, thick like blood drops inside dark figs. He took a handful of black and green olives and breathed in their sunny scent. Then he detected the apricots, the sugar melons, the pomegranates, oranges and above all the grapes: saffron yellow or almost black.
Women picked up water from the public wells and from the spring house and carried the jars upon their heads back home. Amidst the market place was another well on whose brink a boy stood, one foot upon the brim, carrying up a long rope on whose end the water bucket appeared, full with delicious, cool water. Theseus checked him. Far too young for his taste, but the broad shoulders and glistening breast were promising. He gave him a broad smile and the boy jerked in a sudden recognition. He bent his head in a mute greeting. Theseus went on; the young body had fired his desires.
Fish monger gesticulated. Big heaps of mussels and little octopus hung over a thin rope. Beside them were stands with baskets woven from Sparto-grass, resin of the Storax-bush and healing earth from the isle of Lemnos, Theseus didn't know what it was used for.
High above the town the Acropolis towered, dazzling white and red roofs. The pillars of the Parthenon glared in dusty afternoon sun. Theseus was thirsty. He strolled along the large Stoa, covered columned halls where the Athens' citizens made business and met friends.
Theseus dove into the pleasant shade of sycamores. A humming of various voices filled the long arcades, people stood in groups, discussing animatedly. Another young lad was sitting upon a stool, writing with a stylus upon a wax tablet; he listened attentively to the negotiatons of two fat men, whose precious Togas revealed the rich merchant. His dark locks were held back with a band, like Theseus himself wore, just that it was made from a small silver band with ornamentations. The men interrupted their talk, looked at him solemnly and bent their heads. Theseus thanked them and smiled.
Finally he stood in front of the Thermae. He longed for a bath for he felt dusty, dirty and smelling. And..., Theseus' lips grinned smug, ... there he would meet the men. He entered the dazzling white building and was greeted by bath slaves and breathed in the scent of hibiscus oil, camphor and rosemary. He was gently undressed and his clothes taken away. Instead he received two large towels.
Hip baths from terracotta were grouped around a water basin with cooler water. Intense steam clouded the bodies of men, who were sitting in the tubs relaxing. Soft murmur was to be heard. Theseus' eyes wandered over the faces in search of familiars. Then he dropped his towel and stood naked.
Ricos looked up and revealed a strong-toothed grin. His round baby-eyes scanned Theseus' body, firm and with lean muscles, just the way he liked it. His gaze feasted upon his lower waist and longing flushed him like the sea, stormed by Poseidon. He knew that Theseus cock could rise to an exciting length and his own twitched with anticipation. The hairless ball sack swung deliberately when Theseus stepped beside him and slid into the tub that was filled with hot water. He shovelled it over his body and sighed contented. A full minute he sat there, eyes closed, enjoying the water before he turned his head to look at his occasional lover. One of his lovers he corrected himself, because he doubted that there was a gay man in Athens he hadn't had in his bed. He reached out and stroked Ricos' smooth cheek. Unfortunately he had never fallen in love with any of his bed mates, so he fed his hopes always with the next, but if he had already had all of them who was left then?
Rico took his hand and kissed it. Theseus withdrew his hand. He didn't like the subservience the men paid him. Him: Athens' prince. He rather preferred the fiery encounter, steaming sex, wet, hot and draining.
Ricos' round, amber eyes nearly popped out of his head. "You haven't heard?"
Ricos' face appeared jealous. "Have you found a substitute for me?"
Theseus looked excited. "To be sacrificed?"
Ricos nodded sadly. "You, of course, as the King's son won't belong to them."
Theseus fell silent. He knew of course the story. Hercules, his uncle once brought the Cretan white bull to Attica. It was one of his task for king Eurystheus. The bull created havoc on the land in his God's aroused rage, killed off Minos' son Androgeos until Theseus was able to beat the bull and sacrificed him to Apollo. The Cretan king went mad from sorrow for the loss of his son and demanded a tribute to Athens that was beyond all human pity.
In Theseus awoke adventurousness. "Why shouldn't I participate?" he called out. "After all I am the vincitor of Periphetes the beater, Skeiron the thrower, Prokrustes the stretcher and many more," he said proudly and not without self pride. His muscles swelled, outlining some old scars he had on his underarms and on his shoulders.
But Theseus didn't listen. Excitedly he pondered the consequences. So far he had mastered each challenge with the help of Apollo, Hermes and Athena to whom he was truly devoted. He believed in the power of Gods and he considered himself as their favourite hero. His deep shaded blue eyes glistened. His cock rose and stuck out of the water.
Ricos giggled. He had instantly forgotten the dangerous plan and reached over, ignoring the other men around and circled his forefinger around the reddish tip of Theseus' penis. Gently he played with the foreskin, pulled it back and forth until Theseus moaned and held Ricos' hand.
Theseus reached around and worked Ricos' cock, rubbing slowly up and down, smearing the pre cum that flooded until he couldn't take it any longer. Ricos' loud moans made him crazy so he leaned forward, pushing Ricos upon the sheets until he lay spread eagled and started a serious fuck. Uninhibited he pumped in and out until both screamed with pleasure. Boys and boys again - Ricos had always been his best fuck mate so far, although he tried to mount him now and again. But as far as was this concerned Theseus was a virgin and determined to remain so. Nothing was better than to plunge between a cute firm bum. With a loud cry he came and broke down upon Ricos' sweaty back until their breathing gradually subsided. He didn't long to pull out from this warm nest, so he lay motionless until he fell asleep.
When he opened his eyes again he was still buried in Ricos' arse, but he heard his voice. "Promise me to stay here and not go to Crete."
Theseus was wide awake now. He wriggled and pulled out his cock. He lay beside Ricos and looked into his face. "Don't tell me you were faithful during my absence. I'm sure you were not."
Ricos cheeks glowed and this was answer enough. "Don't hang your heart on me. I need air to breathe", Theseus was unusually serious.
He rose, pulled Ricos with him and engaged both into a deep kiss. "You're the best", he smiled.
Ricos took Theseus arm, opened the door and both stepped into another
big basin of warm water to wash off sweat, oil and cum and to get
aroused again.
Incense wavered around the head of the priestess and his father Aegeus behind. Sunbeams broke upon the spear of the ivory-golden statue of Athena. She was standing there in full armour, smiling archaic, her sapphire stone eyes glistening coldly and dangerous. Here, high above downtown, on the Acropolis, he felt the breath of the Gods. The Parthenon and the Zeus temple, and there behind, at the sanctum of Pandrosos, he could see the branches of Athena's holy olive tree waving in the breeze. She once had let it grow with her spear when she was in a contest with Poseidon about the protecting power over Attica. Poseidon himself stomped his trident into the stone and a salty born bubbled up...
Theseus listened. It was very quiet now. The mumbling had stopped. He knew that everybody was listening now... and there it was: the sea's roar coming up from the lowest level of the Erechtheion, there where Poseidon's salty well gushed... the wind was coming from the south and Theseus knew the Gods were with them. Right now.
All this was sacred area and sacred action and it meant a lot to Theseus. He might be a boaster, proud of all his fulfilled tasks but he wasn't that foolish to believe, that he did it all alone. No, the Gods were with him always and he never forgot to thank them. So, this morning of the ceremony he had washed himself at Athena's well to wash off Ricos' scent, to clean himself from all the dirt, inwardly and outwardly. He had dressed into his best stark white tunic with the blood red himaiton above and fastened it with a emerald fibula, a gift from his father when he was a baby and grew up at his mother's house back in Troezen.
Aethra, his mother was the daughter of the king there and Theseus was sired, while Aegeus was on his travels and left the pregnant Aethra behind. He had left a present for his son under a stone - sword and shoes - and directed her to take them from under it. The time had come, Theseus was then on his way to Athens and was finally acknowledged and declared his father's successor.
Ricos was standing beside Theseus. He felt his friend shivering despite the warm sun. "You really have thrown your name into the ballot box?"
Theseus nodded and listened to the name, the high priestess proclaimed. The young man whose name was called hung his head although some of his friends around cheered and patted his shoulder. For them it was one great adventure and perhaps they were certain that the gods would have pity on them and send them straight to Mount Olympus as heros.
Theseus watched him. Yes, he had put his name into the ballot box although his father had forbidden him to do so. But Theseus didn't want to be different from the others and second he trusted the Gods. He just wasn't sure if he should believe that the Gods would excuse him or gave him the opportunity to prove once more his braveness and to become Athens' immortal hero.
All youths that were called out were standing now beside King Aegeus in front of the bluish chalk pillars of the Parthenon when Ricos heard his name resounded over the place. He almost broke down beside Theseus and just his quick grip could avoid Ricos fall to the ground. Theseus shuddered himself. Unconsciously he prayed that the next - and last - name would be his own.
Breathless silence when the high priestess called with loud voice: "Theseus, Aegeus' son, prince of Attica."
First there was silence, then a sharp and endless sad look from his father met Theseus' eyes. Ricos, walking up the stairs, leading to the temple, halted and looked behind in Theseus' direction. The people were still silent, nobody spoke. But he could sense the exertion in each pore. He held his father's gaze while he entered the staircase himself, walked up with his head in the air and lined up between the now seven young men. It was as if the citizens just now realized the meaning of losing the heir to the throne and the consequences. Protest started, and embittered curses towards Crete and its merciless ruler.
She proudly lifted her head. "The Goddess will accept this sacrifice. The highest we can give: Our prince. And end this all. Just believe.
A servant threw myrrh into basins of flames and more smoke and haze covered the crowd standing in front of the stairs. When the haze had dispersed, she was gone. Aegeus was still there - a man in his best years, still black hair, a black beard, but he was slumped together, broken, sick. Theseus felt the urge to say something to his folk, but wasn't sure to find the right words, so he simply walked over to his father, and embraced him after a brief hesitation.
Aegeus loosened his body from his son's and took him by the shoulders. Then he kissed his forehead. "So be it. I have no faith. But hope."
The crowd cheered now.
Seven young men and the crew of the ship were standing aboard saying motionless good bye while Athens' citizens were gathered at the harbour of Piraeus. Again the priests and priestess had lit fires and sacrificed rams to a happy return.
Everybody on the beach followed it until it had vanished on the southern
horizon.
