tagErotic PoetryCadmus and the Stranger

Cadmus and the Stranger

byCal Y. Pygia©

Young men berate philosophy
And hate to hear Wisdom’s counsel,
And, as old men are fond to tell,
Thus are mistresses of folly--
Although they seek to be virile,
Manly, forceful, and powerful,
Calves pretending to be a bull,
They are, instead, like girls imperiled.

Let the fate of the catamite
Warn the youth who reads this poem, lest
He, too, end up like the rest,
His buttocks smeared with semen white--
Or a man may prefer oral
Sex, so that his lover’s lipstick
Shall be supplied by the same prick
Denied, by choice, pleasures anal.
No matter which, the youth must bear
Semen between his sleek buttocks
Or, in lieu of laurel leaves, his locks,
These tresses of his golden hair,
To be with pearls of sperm adorned.
Young men, you would do well to heed
This story, lest you, too, bear seed.
You cannot say you were not warned!

Hark, now, and I shall tell a tale
Which, if you but listen with care,
May save you grief and help you fare
Much better than the story’s male
Character, who, ignoring heart’s
Decree, committed sad treason,
Thinking the public’s favor won,
While losing himself from the start.

He was a shepherd, this young man,
Tending his flock near Thessaly,
When he heard a Divinity
Singing (or so he thought), and planned
A respite from his work, to find
The One whose voice filled all the wood
With melodious song; he would,
Seek Him for whom he rashly pined.
The young man thought he must go mad
Unless he met the One who sang
So beautifully that each note rang,
Making his heart both glad and sad.

Flashing, the flood fell past the rocks,
Into the crystal pool, wherein
The Pride and Glory of All Men
Bathed bronzed body and golden locks.

Cadmus, the shepherd, left his sheep
To graze upon the pasture’s grass,
That he might gaze upon the ass,
The sight of which made his heart leap.

Beneath the cascading waters,
Sunlight gleaming upon His chest,
The shameless Stranger stood, undressed,
In full view of any others.

Concealed among towering trees,
The shepherd youth stripped off his clothes--
What reason denies, the heart knows,
And passion’s needs must be appeased:
Grasping his penis in his hand,
Cadmus began to masturbate;
Before, in fantasies, the mate
Who made his cock swell and stand
Had always been a maiden fair
Of face and form, with breasts and hips
As soft and full as were her lips,
And with lustrous, long, curly hair--
But, now, the One who brought him bliss,
Filling his thoughts with merriment,
As if, from Heaven, He were sent,
Was a manly God, not a miss,
Rippling with muscles as He moved,
Rubbing His bare flesh, unaware
Of the shepherd youth who stared,
Watching the Stranger as He soothed
And cleansed His tired, aching body,
Eyes closed, head back, enjoying all--
Peace, solitude, cold waterfall,
And a moment’s tranquility.

Strong, the Man of the Golden Mane
Had broad shoulders, a sculpted back;
His tight, smooth ass would attract
Strong men with whom he may have lain.
Many men likely used brute force,
Seized by the passion of their lust,
Feeling their very balls must burst
If they should fail to plumb the source
Of their ardor, the snug anus
Hidden within His fleshly globes.
Off, then, quickly, with their rich robes!
That they might their thick, hard cocks thrust
Into His bottom, to their balls,
For there was no man lovelier--
Of this, the shepherd youth was sure--
Within any king’s palace walls.

In the idea that the Stranger
Was as strong in virtue as in
Physique, Cadmus took hope, for sin
Might not have won; He might be pure!
How could any but one divine
Force his will upon One so strong?
None could compel Him to do wrong
Unless He was of a like mind,
For this Youth, it was plain to see,
Was neither meek nor weak, but strong
As brave Herakles, and as long
In His resolve, a Man whom none but He
Himself could make All-Father Zeus’
Cup-bearer and sleek catamite,
Doubling pleasure and delight,
Like soft Ganymede, should this use
He let be made of Him, love won
By compliments and promises,
Gentle caresses and kisses,
And golden apples of the sun.

Thinking these wild thoughts as he stroked
Himself, Cadmus, near orgasm,
Trembled; with a sudden spasm,
Stumbled, nearly falling, and broke
A twig, which snapping loud, alarmed
The Youth, who stood still, listening,
Hopeful that the next breeze might bring
A clue as to who might mean Him harm,
If any did, for He had learned
That friends are often foes, hateful
Of anyone more beautiful;
By this knowledge, He was forewarned.

His penis wilted in his hand,
Cadmus froze, a living statue,
Knowing not what to say or do,
Deciding like a tree to stand.
So busy had he been before,
Imagining the thoughts the Youth
Might think, that, to tell the strange truth,
Cadmus had managed to ignore
His own nakedness; now, recalled,
As a wind fanned his firm fanny,
A zephyr tickling his knees,
A breeze at play about his balls,
The shepherd youth blushed, aware
Of how narrow his shoulders were,
How shallow his chest--like a blur,
His faults, from his dull, matted hair
Down to his narrow, long, flat feet,
(And slender, feminine belly)
Flashed before his mind; alas! he
Found nothing beautiful or sweet.
His robe, he saw, lay on the ground,
White linen in which he could hide
His blemishes, restore his pride,
If he could but make no sound.
Bending, he found the gown lay just
Beyond his reach; he almost fell,
And, in his smarting eyes, tears welled--
He must retrieve the robe; he must!
Standing erect again, he stepped
Softly, as gently as a deer,
His soul a reservoir of fear,
Maintaining silence as he wept.
Spying the hated, trait’rous twig,
The shepherd youth began to hope--
Could not the stick be used as rope?
The twig was strong, and it was big
Enough to reach the cast-off gown;
The woody stem that had distressed
The shepherd now would help him dress
In the white robe upon the ground!
Twig in hand, the shepherd youth leaned
Far forward, to retrieve his gown;
His ass, though a lovely, cloven mound,
Appeared not sexy but obscene,
For its sleek, full cheeks, parted wide
Showed all of his most private part--
We speak not of his lungs or heart,
But of a hole most men would hide!

So he was, and so he looked, when
The bathing Youth, leaving His pool,
Caught sight of this farcical fool;
Deciding forthwith, there and then,
That nothing but one penalty
Would suffice to teach the shepherd
The error of his ways--a word
He whispered softly: “Sodomy!”
“Before the day fades into night,”
The Youth added, as the shepherd ran,
“My cock, up your ass, shall unman
You, and you’ll be My catamite!”

At the sound of the Bather’s voice,
Cadmus half-turned and looked around,
The cock he saw did quite astound
His eyes; he groaned to think no choice
Had he: the stranger’s prick would pierce
Him soon enough, its rigid shaft,
Shoved up his ass, would split him aft;
He feared the fucking would be fierce,
For how could a cock of such size
Be gentle? It would rip and tear,
Even if it were used with care--
The shepherd wished that he’d been wise
Enough to listen to the words
Of Wisdom: “Males’ virginity,
Should be guarded with chastity.”
He wished he’d practiced what he’d heard!
But he, like others of his age,
Laughed heartily at such counsel,
Thinking such conduct beautiful
Only in regard to a maid;
Men, who need not fear pregnancy,
Were free to frolic as they pleased;
As long as they caught no disease,
They should enjoy full liberty.
That was the thought among young men,
Who thought talk of morals was vain,
An attempt to prevent the rain
Of semen upon young women
Too weak to refrain from passion’s
Demands. Why should young men reign in
Their mighty steeds of desire, when
‘Twas girls’ duty their sperm to shun?
Had he listened to Wisdom’s speech,
Cadmus would not be in the jam
He was in, a cock set to ram
His ass. Sometimes, Fate must teach
Lessons that others could have taught:
Learn from the experience of
Those whom life has taught, and in love,
Be careful that, sought, you’re not caught!

When the Youth, standing in the pool,
Bathed, His back was toward the shepherd;
Cadmus saw not His phallic sword,
And knew not, until now, poor fool,
What an enormous erection
Would soon impale his sleek buttocks;
Pissing, he had seen others’ cocks,
But none approached the perfection
Of the Bathing Beauty’s phallus--
Its purpling dome, its swollen
Shaft, smooth and rigid as marble,
The smooth, tight, risen scrotum full--
These were traits of gods, not men!
There was, from Cadmus’ point of view,
But a single flaw, one thing wrong--
The massive penis was too long;
He feared it might split him in two!

Without another thought, Cadmus
Bolted, running from the bold Youth,
For, ‘though He was lovely, in truth,
The shepherd feared his huge phallus.
Were so mighty an instrument
To penetrate his tight anus,
The shepherd feared that, from lust,
His buttocks in twain would be rent!
Although fast the shepherd could run,
Having run races with his peers,
Winning contests for many years,
He was fated to lose this one.
The athletic Youth let his weight
Bear Cadmus to the ground, his knees
Scraped the hard-packed earth, and the trees,
Like sentinels, cut off his escape.
The naked Youth fell forward still,
His groin slammed Cadmus’ smooth ass;
The shepherd felt a stiffness pass
Through his sphincter; his rectum filled.
Cadmus had never been a girl,
So, crammed fill of cock, his asshole
Impaled upon a fleshly pole,
His confused mind was set awhirl.

The Bathing Beauty’s beautiful
Prick slid through the shepherd’s anus,
His long, hard, thick, swollen phallus
Filling him more completely full
Than any other man’s cock
Could have done, and with every
Plunging lunge, with each new entry,
With every hammering knock,
The Youth, fucking the shepherd’ ass,
Determined to ride him harder,
With faster tempo and further--
The shepherd’s buttocks were first class!

Before the thrusting, humping Youth,
The shepherd, both rammed and slammed, rocked;
Mind reeling, he was half in shock,
Thinking himself a girl, in truth,
‘Though he had neither cunt nor breasts,
And his cock, risen and erect,
Male sex and gender did reflect,
His masculinity attest.
Back and forth, and in, but never
Out, the Youth worked his penis thick,
Until the shepherd grew heartsick
At being the Other’s lover.

The cock slammed home; the shepherd gasped;
His upper body quivered; his balls
Bounced; his buttocks flattened; the walls
Of his rectum, the member rasped.
Seized by passion, the Stranger shoved
His erection through the asshole;
It seemed the penis filled his whole
Being, as if the gods above
Added inches to the Stranger’s
Phallus, doubling and redoubling
Its length and girth, that, so doing,
He all the better might bugger
The helpless, frightened catamite
For whom this sunny afternoon,
With no marriage to make maids swoon,
Became an early wedding night!

Warm tears ran down Cadmus’ cheeks,
For his ass was now a pussy;
He’d lost his masculinity--
And, although now for many weeks,
Secretly he had dreamed of this,
Imagining he was ravished
(Lately, a fervent, furtive wish),
He never thought he’d know such bliss:
There was a difference between
Reality and fantasy:
One jailed, and the other set free,
Letting a man become a queen
In his heart and mind, not in fact,
Vicariously letting him
Satisfy a deep, long-held whim
Gaining--in dreams--what he lacked:
Feminine beauty, breasts, and cunt,
To be added or subtracted
When and where he pleased, to bed
Freely whomever he should want,
At this moment or another,
One beautiful and feminine,
Or one most clearly masculine,
For women may take a lover
Of either sex more easily
Than may a man, and without shame;
Women are not concerned with blame.
Now his dream a reality,
He wished he’d never heard the tale
Of beautiful Hermaphrodite,
Who was, of sex and gender freed,
Being made both male and female,
For this story, haunting Cadmus,
Was the source of the fantasies
In which he, likewise, a she
As well as a he, his phallus
An incongruous appendage,
He would secretly acknowledge,
To be, between his thighs, well wedged,
In relation to the badges
Of femininity he wore--
Womanly buttocks, cunt, and breasts--
Each a feature that did attest
To the sex to which it witness bore,
Declaring him quite beautiful;
In fact--despite his veiled manhood--
It could be said, and, frankly, should,
He was sexy and wonderful.

Another lustful, forceful plunge
Into the shepherd’s unmanned ass
Made the lad think himself a lass,
As he did at the next deep lunge;
He was horrified, as it seemed
He’d grown a pair of sleek, soft breasts
Upon his once flat, manly chest,
Features of which he had once dreamed.
Full, round, with budding nipples pink,
Each fleshly orb had heft and weight;
He knew not whether love or hate
Was more proper, nor what to think,
For these womanly charms were real!
He could tell by their weight, their shape,
They way they made his own eyes gape--
And, most of all, by their warm feel.
These were not idle dreams, but true
Mammary glands that could give suck
Or provide cleavage for a fuck.
They were even marbled with blue
Veins, not gross, nor thick, but fine lines
Such as Nature, with finest brush,
Might paint a lovely landscape lush,
A sign to men of the divine.
Not only had the shepherd breasts,
His buttocks, like his narrow hips,
Swelled and rounded, and his thin lips
Became as soft as all the rest
Of him, hair vanishing from chin,
Lips, jaw, chest, legs, arms, and stomach
(There’d never been one on his back),
And he, who’d been stout, became thin,
Or willowy, if you prefer--
No one who saw him now could know,
Except by that which remained below,
That this miss had once been a “sir.”
Another thrust, another ram,
The Youth who’d bathed within the pool
Knew well how to use His tool;
With it, the shepherd’s ass He crammed
Until, at last, He gave a gasp,
Driving his cock home to the hilt;
Before His mighty prick could wilt,
He rammed His manhood deep, and clasped
The shepherd about the hips,
Spilling semen in rivulets,
Wild as a man who’s lost his wits,
And sought to kiss Cadmus’ lips.
His prick slid free, launching its seed,
The thick white fluid splattering
Perineum, ass, everything,
Including trees and river’s reeds.

The Bathing Beauty left Cadmus
Lying naked on his belly;
Sad no more; he now was happy,
Blessed with all--breasts, balls, and phallus;
The Bather’s love had set him free.
When he was being female, he thought,
Neither sex nor gender meant aught;
Confusion became liberty.
Having been female, he had learned
He had no need to feel ashamed;
He had no need to be blamed;
His loving self-esteem returned.

Before the Bathing Beauty left,
He spoke the words that Wisdom had
Sent Him to impart: “Those are sad,”
Said He, “who do not weigh the heft
Of Wisdom’s words, which weigh a ton
Apiece, but, in their arrogance,
Leave health and happiness to chance,
Determine they care more for fun
Than truth, and suppress who they are
If who they are does not happen
To match social expectation,
When they should think their lucky star
That they are what gods, through Nature,
Consciously and deliberately
Made them be; Hermaphrodite
Was loved not less, but more, ‘tis sure,
When he was made both maid and man--
It is presumptuous to say
The gods did not make me this way,
But my own thoughts, which I should ban,
For from what source comes emotions,
Beliefs, fantasies, hopes, and dreams;
Both of which is and only seems;
Thoughts, attitudes, faith, and visions?
The gods are our creators; they
Made us, flesh and blood and souls,
Breasts, cocks, balls, cunts, even assholes;
They know our thoughts before we pray.
The Deity who sent me here
Many times has spoken to you,
But you would not accept as true,
Because you did not trust, but feared,
The feelings and the dreams you had,
Which were revelations divine,
Sent to you through your heart and mind;
They should have made you glad, not sad,
For you, many a night and day,
Wished you had been born a woman,
Thinking how, if you weren’t a man,
Gay and pleasant sexual play
Would be for you and your lover.
Wisdom gave the ability
To Me, while we coupled, to see
As you see, as if another
I were not, but was one with you,
Thinking as you think, and feeling
As you feel, hoping and fearing
My instincts and insights were true,
And I was as I supposed I
Must be: a woman trapped inside
A man’s body, potential bride,
Not groom, who should no more deny
Her true self--so wise Wisdom sought
Through your dreams, in longings and sighs
From the heart, in feelings and cries,
To guide you to as to how you ought
To live; since you chose not to accept
Wisdom’s words, she has now transformed
You into your present male form,
With a manly cock and balls, except
With maid’s breasts and buttocks adorned.
Thus, with mercy, justice tempered,
Wisdom punishes, your whimpered
Anguish teaching you to not to scorn
The portions which the gods have served
To you in giving dreams to you
That they grant to only a few,
The chosen ones, for whom, they knew,
Not all things are as they appear:
To mortal eyes, the ways of gods
May seem ambiguous or odd,
Which is why they want faith, not fear,
For maybe ambiguity,
Embodied in your enchanting
Form and face, is their way to bring
Humanity the eyes to see
The beauty that resides in all
Creatures, male and female, on sea,
Or on land, whether great they be
Or the gods chose to make them small.
The gods made you, the grass and brooks,
Flowers and rocks, naiads and elves
To show the nature of themselves,
For nature is their holy books.
The Makers of the universe
Placed mortals side by side with them
On purpose, and not by mere whim,
Variant lines of the same verse.”
So said He to explain His use;
He had been sent to teach the truth
To a foolish, vain shepherd youth;
There’d been purpose in His abuse.

Before He left, not bothering
To dress, His bronzed flesh and golden
Hair making Him appear not men’s
Son, but One of the gods’ offspring,
He said his name was Iolaus;
A Nephew of the great hero
Had turned to joy what had been woe,
Enlight’ning with his great phallus!
“If he had been free, Herakles,
My uncle, himself would have come,”
He said, but the shepherd, in sum,
Was glad his uncle was not free.
“In this green pasture, near the pool
In which you bathed, I shall, in praise
Of you,” he vowed, “a phallus raise,
For yours, ‘tis true, made wise a fool.”
Having imparted Wisdom’s words, he leaves,
And the repentant shepherd, wise,
Accepts the truth; he does not lie;
‘Tho, having loved, he must now grieve.

Behold those who are both female
And male, and, in them, learn to see
The greatness of the gods’ beauty,
Which is a lovely, wondrous tale,
For it is not by rocks and stones,
Thistles and thorns, and paths to Hell
Alone the gods their story tell,
Nor by these things their glory’s shown.
The sacred text, the holy book
Is dark, sometimes, but light, also,
And, just as above, so below
It should be, so take a good look
At shemales who happen to pass
You; it may well be that you see
Something both sexy and holy,
Deity’s image in her ass!

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byCal Y. Pygia© 0 comments/ 7703 views/ 0 favorites

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