The Stone that Grew a Man Ch. 02

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.

A thought came to her; did women perhaps...; it would fit and...; it would be like... Unlike her sexual opening which was closed by her maidenhead, her mouth was open. She leant forward and took the rounded marble end into her mouth. There was no one to see the intense naughtiness of her act. What would her school mistresses have said? In her mind the idea of the phallos - Spencer's - entering her and being inside her between her legs. She suspected her mouth would be a poor substitute for that.

The phallos wetted by her mouth shone in the moonlight. It was no good, no good at all - her feelings were too intense. She was going to have to disobey what her school mistresses had told her and touch herself and see if she could make that wonderful thing happen. The thing which made her want to cry out in pleasure and necessitated stuffing her mouth with something to prevent her father hearing and perhaps waking. She giggled to herself - Spencer's phallos, now that would stopper her mouth well and truly.

She put down the phallos and reached under. She was all wet there; she knew it was her body readying herself for sexual intercourse, making it easy for a phallos to enter - and it could do that but for her maidenhead. Lovely to touch and diddle and think of her man to be.

What of their ritual first night? She had got as far as meeting Spencer at the tent and kissing his phallos. Would he take her in his arms and carry her up the hill and take her at the summit. It was a fair climb and, perhaps, more realistic for them to walk hand in hand or... she reached and grasped the stone phallos again... or walk holding Spencer's phallos. She liked the imagery. The new bride now with a man to support, protect and cherish her. And what more symbolic than to lean on his 'staff' as he took her up the hill to the marital bed?

The idea of being taken first time right on the top of a hill or even a mountain had a degree of romance to it. Different from an hotel room. But what would Spencer think, and would he be prepared to wait the several week's steamer passage to Greece or another hot enough country? Unlikely - and could she wait that long before she was intimate with him once they were married? No! It was a dream for a different place, a different people. The hotel room it would be, but she would want Spencer naked by the bed awaiting her.

But there was no reason why she could not pretend. Her father was asleep, the world was asleep; she knew the way up the hill and it would be easy by moonlight. She reached and grasped the marble phallos, crawled from the tent and stood. Before that night she had not been so much as a outside her bedroom naked before, let alone out in the open miles from anywhere. Hand grasping the phallos as if it was a real man - Spencer - beside her, she set off up the rocky track to the top of the hill.

It was strange but the higher she climbed the more she felt as if there was a man beside her, as if the phallos was supported by a real but invisible body, as if should she release her grip it would stay standing in the moonlight rather than dropping to the dust and rocks at her feet. It was a strange feeling but so was the lust she felt for a man - Spencer - as she climbed. It was an animal feeling, delicious but naughty, the desire to engage carnally with a man - Spencer.

With her free hand, when not reaching to steady herself on tree or rock, her fingers probed and diddled twixt her thighs. So wet - so wet indeed that she felt she must be leaving little droplets of her wetness in the dust below her as she walked. The touching was lovely and she knew she would make that special feeling happen.

At the top of the hill she stood as if standing with Spencer, a still erect Spencer. Around her the quiet of the land. The air warm and so clear. Above her the blackness of the firmament dotted with myriad pinpoints of light - the stars. The ground below her was hard unlike the soft hotel bed, but she lay down imagining the man preparing to lie atop her. She opened her legs as she knew she would for Spencer when the time came. She touched the marble phallos to her nipples, each in turn. The marble was cold but felt good, really good. She brought it to her lips and again opened and took it in. In her mind the thought of taking in the real phallos. Perhaps women did do that. She could see she would rather like holding the real thing between her lips.

Her hand brought the stone phallos lower and touched herself with it. The coldness of it on her hot wet sex was such a contrast but nice. The feel of its hardness against her softness delightful. She pressed it a little lower imagining Spencer pushing his phallos against her, preparing to take her maidenhead. She bit her lip realising she had placed its smooth rounded head right up against her entrance. It was exciting feeling, it pushing at her or rather she pushing it at herself.

She rubbed it up and down her wetness, feeling its firm smoothness gliding. Did men do that before the penetration? Would Spencer rub her like that first before seeking entrance? The stone was warming as she felt herself getting nearer and nearer to that special feeling. Again she pushed the end of the phallos against her entrance just as Spencer would do on their wedding night when they were finally alone.

Man and woman naked together. Would she be shy when it came to it? But she did not want to be within the sheets when Spencer came to her. She wanted Spencer standing with his phallos high so she could walk to him and kneel.

She pushed the stone phallos at herself, a gentle rhythmic pushing just as if Spencer was readying himself to really thrust at her. The feeling was building, she could feel the warmth spreading across her body. She spread her young thighs the wider. How awful if a young shepherd was to come across her. Young, olive skinned and handsome. Could she resist if excited by her display he did the manly thing? Her lust and desire were at a peak. Thoughts in her head of Spencer erect; thoughts in her head of the olive skinned lad casting aside his clothing revealing his dark, olive phallos, all strong in the moonlight; at her sex the stone phallos pushing - pushing hard.

All of a sudden movement, as pressure became too much and the stone phallos lurched into her; a ripping of her maidenhead - unheard but felt its going as a sharp stabbing pain; the delight of suddenly being filled; the feel for the first time of a phallos within her; she shuddered, her eyes clenched and her arms shot backwards as she arched her back pushing her hips, her sex upwards towards the sky and at the stone.

It seemed as if the stone phallos was moving of its own accord, pushing in and out, travelling deep within her. She could do nothing but pant and shudder as the orgasm, one beyond any she had felt before, rippled through her.

What had she done, what had she done? She lay there in the moonlight not daring to move, feeling intense pleasure and remorse. She had taken her maidenhead herself rather than given it to Spencer. Between her thighs, within her body, the ancient stone carved phallos. It had taken her.

She felt with her fingers. The phallos was well lodged. Had she really pushed it so far in? She remembered the movement, the thrusting of the phallos but was not at all sure she had done that. She was suddenly frightened. There was little of the phallos outside her that she could hold but despite the slippery wetness she managed to extract it. Even by moonlight she could see it was covered in red blood - her maidenhead.

Unsteadily she rose to her feet, thinking how unwise she had been. Remorse for her lost maidenhead but never, never had she felt like that. Never such a feeling of lust and abandonment as on that night naked under the stars.

Naked she made her way down the hillside and bathed herself and the phallos in the cool water of the spring by the temple, the water running red for a moment.

In the moonlight she held the white marble phallos aloft. She could not deny how much better her diddling had been with a phallos, not a real one but a beautifully carved representation and then... the feeling of it inside. What pleasure she could have in her tent night after night with it... only... only.

How old was it? Her father had dated the temple to 400BC. Was the statue the same? What was the purpose of a statue with an upstanding phallos? She could not ask him - he had not seen the phallos.

It was beautiful, an epitomy of maleness. Once again she felt the desire to take it in her mouth. Her lips closed over it, cool once more from the water. Lovely and smooth. How she would want to do this to Spencer again and again. Squatting she reinserted the phallos into herself and looking between her thighs she could see it going in and out of her body. She pulled it right out and then pushed it in again, the smooth roundness of the glans penis so right for opening her.

Again she reached that special feeling. Fingers to her wetness and with the other hand working the phallos. Again the blood. It had not finished flowing. It was as if a second maidenhead was being taken by the phallos. It almost seemed to pulse in her hand.

Once more she washed herself and the marble phallos in the spring. Her limbs as white as the marble phallos.

Remorse and still pain but, now she had done it once why not again and again on other nights? No, it had been wrong. The remorse built and with a cry she dropped it and heard it roll down the hill a little way. In her tent she cried herself to sleep.

There was regret the next night that she had not kept the phallos. She was surprised at her desire. It was stronger than other nights. Thoughts of Spencer but also the white marble phallos. There was no point searching for it in the moonlight.

She could not find it the next day when she took a break from helping her father. He for his part was his usual meticulous self but before nightfall she noticed an unusual excitement. After the evening meal she found him with his many finds working on the bits of a statue he had found.

He had been shocked at seeing her looking in the tent and told her to leave. There was something there she should not see but she had seen it: the stone phallos, somewhat reunited on the bench with its body or rather the shattered fragments of a pelvis.

The embarrassment of her father as he had tried to explain.

"Himeros or in the Latin, Himerus, yet another son of Aphrodite and Ares. One of the Erotes. Like his brothers, he is depicted with a bow and arrows, to create desire and lust in people. Himeros represents sexual desire or unrequited love. You are to be married soon, your mother, had she been with us, would have explained that men, that Spencer, that their... their penes become engorged." He picked up the phallos with distaste. "Like this, the carving is so good but so wrong... not in its anatomical accuracy, my dear, but in just depicting this salacious, vulgar thing. Men become engorged so they can inseminate - enter the woman's body through the... the vagina and plant their seed."

"It is something I do know, father. Am quite prepared for it. I have seen beasts in the field. The goats only yesterday."

The old man looked relieved. "Quite, yes, that is good, Mary. Himeros is depicted usually as a winged youth or child. It is a beautiful statue apart from... such delicate carving. It would have looked wondrous in the ancient sunshine. Perhaps painted and certainly wearing a taenia, a colourful headband around his forehead, the sort worn by athletes. You see here the fragments of wings but it is a youth, a young man by the musclature, stature and, alas, his virility. I have not seen a Himeros with an almost Priaptic organ. It is most unusual yet the Greek means 'uncontrollable desire' and so perhaps..."

The old man seemed to muse, "Perhaps an aberration, a local aberration best forgotten. Who knows what pagan rites were undertaken before or on this statue? Terrible, terrible! I shall take the statue home but not the phallos. I shall destroy it. It is an aberration."

"No, father, you should not decide what is right or wrong, just bury it. Leave it here where it belongs."

The old man nodded. "You are right, Mary. I could not have brought the hammer to it."

In her tent, in her cot, Mary tossed and turned. Between her legs she was damp, very damp. Thoughts of Spencer in her mind but also a winged youth, white as marble with the sweetest smile, a colourful headband around his head but otherwise beautifully naked and strongly erect.