The Mask of Pan

"And yet, you've brought me here."

"You are one of us, that was immediately apparent." Paolo said.

The remark was so unexpected and confusing that I decided to try to process it later.

"May I go closer?" I asked.

Paolo laughed and said, "I don't believe that after all of these centuries you can damage anything."

I approached the huge shaft and examined the surface. Close up, it was easy to distinguish the marks of prehistoric tools that had worked on the monolith. I made a circuit of the stone and then began to examine the peculiar stone placed in front. On the inclined face there was a long bowl shaped indentation that lowered to a bowl on a shallow stone shelf below. On either side of the shelf there were stone steps that looked as if something had once sat upon them. The top of the altar was flat and again there were indentations carved into the sides that were crossed by stone handles that something could be tied to.

"Obviously this was once an altar." I said to Paolo. "But I wonder at how it was used?"

"I have heard that virgins were sacrificed here." he replied.

I looked at the surrounding forest and at the proud erection and I said, "It is hard to believe anything so gruesome could have taken place here."

"I don't believe it was their lives that were sacrificed." Paolo said. "Merely their virginity."

"Then, my touching the stone is not a sacrilege." I replied. "Nevertheless, the configuration seems very awkward."

Paolo did not reply.

"There has been a fire made here recently." I said, walking to the edge of the plaza.

"Vagrants sometimes camp here and travelers who can't afford a room. They don't harm anything."

Even though it had felt cooler when we first entered the forest, the clearing was exposed to the full sun and the heat and glare bounced back from the face of the rocks. My shirt was entirely drenched with sweat and clinging to my body. Paolo's shirt also was wet and clinging but I was careful not to look too long or closely at him.

"Is it always so hot here in the summer?" I asked.

"This summer has been particularly brutal." Paolo replied. He stood musing for a moment and then he asked, "Would you like an opportunity to cool down?"

"If at all possible." I replied.

"We're only a short distance from a small river. The water is cold because it comes from the mountain. Shall we go there?"

"With all possible speed." I replied.

As we left the clearing via another path I looked back at the enormous cock rising out of the ground. I regretted leaving and hoped that I would be able to visit again.

After walking for some minutes we came to the bank of the waterway. As Paolo began to remove his shirt I suddenly became self conscious.

"I have some rather ugly scars." I said.

"I do, also." Paolo said. "We can compare our wounds."

Nervously I doffed my clothes, my back turned to Paolo, and when I was nude I turned to face him. He was nude, also, and an exemplary vision of masculine beauty. He truly resembled one of the prints back in my room.

Wide muscular shoulders topped a muscular chest that was thickly coated with black curls. His slim waist flared to a flat abdomen that was also covered in curls. At his crotch a thick uncircumcised penis hung over a hairy ball sack. I at once wondered how large his cock would grow when excited.

"Your skin is so pale." he said, making me aware that I had been staring at him. "You should spend more time in the sun. And you are blond all over, I haven't seen that before."

I wondered if he was making fun of my sparse body hair.

Paolo stepped closer to me and I could feel the heat radiating from his body and smell the clean, masculine aroma of his flesh.

"You were shot." he said, looking at my scars.

"Twice, unfortunately." I replied, pointing to each entry. He grabbed my shoulder and turned me so that he could look at my back and I was aware of his flaccid cock hanging less than an inch from my hand. I had an overwhelming desire to cup it in my palm and feel its weight.

"The bullets went all of the way through?" he asked. "I suppose that is why you survived."

He looked at the rest of my body and noticed the many scars on my legs.

"I am very fortunate." he said. "I wasn't shot or hit by shrapnel. I have this, instead."

He turned to the side so that I could see the back of his shoulder, then lifted his arm. Beginning on his shoulder blade there was a thick, livid scar that curved around under his arm and descended his torso until it finally ended on the front of his right hip, mere inches from his cock.

"The German who gave me this was trying to stick his bayonet in my back." he said. "I managed to turn at exactly that moment and you see the result. I lost more blood than you can imagine and I was unconscious for two days after they found me. It took a long time for me to heal, every time I tried to move I tore the stitches open."

Even though I was full of sympathy for what had been done, I couldn't stop myself from looking at his lush ass. The rounded globes stood out in almost perfect semi-circles from his hips and the deep crack was filled with more of his wiry curls. I could feel my cock beginning to swell, so I ran forward and plunged into the river.

It was indeed cold and I lost all inclination toward an erection. Paolo followed me in and I submerged myself so that I was sitting on the silted bottom with only my head above water. Paolo went out further and swam back and forth in front of me with his superb ass cheeks visible above the water line. I sat puzzling over my lately discovered lust for other men.

After half an hour or so, we heard voices and a group of four men came toward us from the path. They shouted out a greeting to Paolo, acknowledged me with a salute and began to undress. I judged them to also be roughly my age and when they stood naked and unembarrassed on the bank I was confronted by four more examples of masculine beauty. The thick muscles of their arms and bodies betrayed their history of hard work.

They immersed themselves in the river and began splashing each other and Paolo, frolicking like children. I watched their antics for awhile and then Paolo came beside me.

"They are farm workers who are close to the village." he said. "They've come for a midday break. We should leave soon so that you may have lunch."

"Let's not hurry." I replied. "I'm not hungry and the water and breezes are so cooling. I want to lie on the bank and dry first."

I stood and walked to the bank and climbed up onto a sun warmed rock that lay there. It was so large that I was able to lay down full length and rest on it. Paolo came and sat beside me and watched the others playing in the water.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I was conscious of was the men in the river shouting something and laughing. I opened my eyes and looked up at Paolo beside me.

"What are they shouting?" I asked. "What's going on?"

Paolo smiled down at me with a mischievous look and said, "They are shouting grosso cazzo, it is what they call the temple. It means 'big cock'."

He then looked down the length of my body and I became aware that I had developed an erection in my sleep. I am one of those men whose cock looks fairly normal when it is soft, maybe a bit larger than most. When I have an erection, however, it grows to a disproportionate size. I've always been a bit ashamed of how over sized I am and had been careful to not allow anyone to see me. Now, I was lying in the sun with a massively hard cock in front of total strangers.

I quickly rolled over onto my stomach and said, "I'm so sorry. Please forgive my crassness."

Paolo, still smiling, said, "It is only natural. They are probably jealous that you are so well endowed."

The men in the water had come closer, still shouting the phrase and one even splashed water on me. When I looked over my shoulder, they were motioning for me to turn back over.

"They're a cheeky bunch, that's for sure." I said.

"They mean no harm; it is a joke to them."

I thought for a moment about what he had said, then jumped up and faced them. I grabbed my erect cock at the base and waggled it at them as they laughed and made cheering noises, then for good measure I turned and shook my buttocks at them to more loud cheers.

Paolo was laughing so hard that he had trouble breathing. I began to pull on my clothing and the men in the river made booing noises and slapped the water loudly while making motions for me to join them.

"We'd better go before they beat me." I told Paolo.

"I don't believe beating you is what they have in mind." he replied, still laughing.

When we were dressed we started back while the farm workers still jeered and catcalled. I heard one shout something about the American and I asked Paolo what he had said.

"He told me, 'Paolo, be sure to bring the American back for us to play with.'"

I wasn't sure how to interpret that and was turning the phrase over in my mind when Paolo said, "They want to be your friends, don't take things so seriously."

As Paolo led me back through the forest I began to think of how his naked body had looked and of how the farm workers had looked in the water, their abundant body hair plastered to the flesh and the flesh gleaming in the sunlight. Once again, I began to grow an erection.

When we left the forest I realized that Paolo had led me back via a different path and I was sorry that I didn't get to once again see the phallic temple.

"Will I be allowed to go back to the temple, again?" I asked.

Paolo smiled again and said, "Be assured, I will guide you there soon."

We crossed a field and were soon back in the village. When I knocked at the door where I was staying, the landlord opened it almost immediately and ushered us inside. As I passed him he smiled and said, "You smell like the river. And you have gained some color from the sun. I wish I had known, I would have come along."

I envisioned what he must look like nude, his muscular hairy body bare to the sun and my unwelcome erection began to start swelling once again.

"I have found the trousers I mentioned earlier." he told me, brandishing a pair of natural colored linen pants. "Try them on and see how they feel." he said.

I took the pants and started to go to my room when he said, "There is nothing to be shy about, we are all men here."

I decided that he was right and peeled off my heavy pants.

"No one wears underwear when it is this hot in the village." Paolo said and I remembered noticing his own lack when we dressed. I peeled off my undergarment and pulled on the light trousers as he and the landlord watched. With the thin shirt, it was almost as if I were wearing a pair of light pajamas, wonderfully cool.

"Leave your shirt tails out." the landlord said. "And leave those heavy boots off, too. We will make a real villager of you in no time."

I walked about, marveling at the cool air flowing against my body, the feeling of my cock and balls swinging untethered and the cool tile against my bare feet.

"Supper won't be for an hour or two." he then told me. "Why don't you go down to the café and enjoy the breezes there and allow the locals to see and become familiar with you. Paolo, I need a word with you, please."

He ushered me back out and as I walked barefoot the few doors up the street I looked back over my shoulder to where he and Paolo were in deep conversation. I couldn't hear what they were discussing.

When I arrived at the café, I sat down and looked around myself. There were several men sitting at one of the other tables, engrossed in a game of dominos and they merely nodded to my greeting and stared at me with blank eyes. I was feeling very bohemian until I noticed that some of the other men were also barefoot.

As soon as I sat down the inn keeper appeared with a glass which he set down in front of me before I had a chance to order. I thanked him and looked at the drink.

It was a pale pink, somewhat cloudy. I sniffed it and at once thought of the blue flowers that grew in the village. I sipped it and it was as if the perfume had been distilled and sweetened, that same aroma with its underlying note of muskiness. I found it delicious.

As I sat sipping my drink and pondering the morning's events I became aware of a singular apparition entering the village and making its way along the street.

A bicyclist, clad in a soft tweed cap and plus-fours wended his way toward the café. When he arrived in front of where we all sat, he dropped the bicycle in the dust and loudly asked in a heavy British accent, "Does anyone hear speak English?"

If the plus-fours hadn't already made me hate him on sight, the braying voice interrupting the peaceful afternoon would have.

No one spoke and finally I felt compelled to answer, "I do."

"Oh, thank heavens!" he exclaimed and immediately moved up and seated himself across from me. "I thought I was doomed to ride across this entire country before I heard another civilized voice." He looked down at my bare feet and at my clothing and then said, "At least you look only half savage."

"We all have our aspirations." I replied.

He made a great show of waving at the inn keeper and snapping his fingers at him until the man leisurely walked over to where he sat. He looked at me and I raised my eyebrows in helplessness.

"Cool drink." the Englishman said loudly, miming drinking something. "Orangeade? Cool drink?" he repeated as though he were talking to a half-wit.

As the proprietor turned his back and walked away, the Englishman said, "You would really think that these savages would learn to speak proper English if they expect civilized people to visit here."

"You could always learn Italian." I said.

"What a waste of time. No one I know speaks Italian."

"It must be a trial." I replied.

"Do you know, I couldn't get anyone to tell me where I am after I left the train? It's almost as if they didn't want to."

"Yes," I replied, "I'm running into more and more ignorant people daily."

The Englishman gave me an odd look and I went on.

"I suppose that they were unaware of where you were going, also." I said. "Where are you going?"

The inn keeper appeared and roughly set a cup of steaming coffee in front of the Englishman, making sure that it slopped over the brim and into the saucer.

"Now, honestly, can you imagine serving boiling coffee in this heat? Is everyone in this country mad?" he asked me. "What is that you're drinking?"

"A medicinal tonic I'm forced to imbibe frequently." I said. "I suffer terribly from flatulence and this helps somewhat." He gave me a look of revulsion.

"Coffee at this hour must be a local custom." I then said. "Where did you say you were headed?"

The Englishman distastefully pushed the steaming cup away and said, "I'm searching for some ruins that I've heard mentioned. A Roman temple or some such. I'm not really sure, I just heard that there were some extremely risqué friezes or something of the sort and I thought I would take some photos to show my friends back home." He held up the camera suspended on a cord around his neck.

The mere thought of this crass idiot trespassing at the sacred site, leering and snickering, sickened my stomach.

"There were some standing stones here, once." I said.

"Standing stones? What good are standing stones? We have the most famous standing stones in the world back in England. If I wanted to see standing stones, I could have taken a day trip to Stonehenge." he replied.

"Well, even they aren't available to view." I said. "During the War, the Germans dynamited them and now all that remains is a pile of rocks. That's one of the reasons that the locals hate foreigners so venomously."

"I didn't think the Germans made it to this area." he said, his eyes darting about.

"Apparently they made a special trip." I said. "Some idea of destroying national pride or something. Anyway, there's nothing left to see."

"I was given a bad tip, wasn't I?" he replied. "I should have guessed there was nothing worthwhile in a sinkhole like this. Is there at least a hotel or rooming house?"

"Oh, no." I said. "I've been here a while now and one of the locals was kind enough to allow me to sleep in his goat shed. It's really quite comfortable, except when the goats get loose. I've already had a shirt and a pair of cufflinks eaten. Would you be interested in sharing my space?" I smiled most sincerely.

With a look of abject disgust, the Englishman said, "I believe I'll just chalk the whole affair up to experience and make my way back to the train."

"In that case, I should hurry if I were you." I said. "There are robbers and brigands loose all over these mountains that come out at dark and as I said before, the locals despise foreigners. Such a fancy bike as yours would probably be worth your life to some of them."

The Englishman blanched and said, "You're probably right. Thank you for your help, such as it was."

He threw some coins on the table, remounted his bicycle and briskly peddled off in the direction he had come. "What an arrogant prick." I muttered to myself and turned to see the men at the other table looking at me.

"Scuse" I said.

When he was out of sight, the inn keeper appeared at the table.

"The gentleman didn't like his coffee? "he asked in perfect English.

"Apparently he was in the wrong place and had to hurry off to catch a train." I said. "What do I owe you for my drink?"

"The first drink at my café is always free." he replied. "We will tally up when you decide to leave the village." He hesitated and then asked, "Was the drink to your liking?"

"Very much so." I replied as he smiled. "It is made from the blue flowers, isn't it?"

"Indeed so. It is distilled only here in this village from our flowers and it is not to everyone's taste."

"That may be so but I found it delicious." I said.

The inn keeper picked up the coffee and flung the brew into the street, then went back into his building. I sat musing, totally at peace once more. The drink seemed to have energized me, I could feel the blood coursing in my veins and the light and smells of the village seemed somehow heightened. I could also feel my traitorous cock once more beginning to stir.

The inn keeper returned and sat down opposite me before placing a small bottle on the table.

"Since our local liqueur is so to your taste, I thought that you might like to have some for later." he said.

"If you drink it before retiring, you will have blissful sleep and pleasant dreams. Carlo, your landlord, can show you how it is prepared."

I was overcome by his generosity and I said, "I don't know how to thank you enough. Everyone here has been so kind to me."

"We want you to feel comfortable and at home." he said, rising.

I sat a while longer, looking at the bottle on the table. It was a deep red color surprisingly and there were gold glints that shimmered in the depths of it. It almost seemed to move about as it sat in the container.

I looked up and my landlord was beckoning me from his doorway so I stood up, pocketed the bottle and took my leave of the other gentlemen.

One of them, as I left, said, "Grosso cazzo."

"I have seen it." I said, hoping he might understand. "It is magnificent."

On my way up the street it occurred to me that that was the same phrase the farmhands had used earlier when referring to me and I hoped that he was not referencing that embarrassing episode.

My landlord had prepared dinner for the two of us and I found myself eager to eat again. We sat down and began and as we ate I drew out the bottle of liqueur.

"The inn keeper gave me this to help me sleep." I said. "He said that you might show me how it is prepared."

"It is a very good sign that he has accepted you so quickly." Carlo replied. "Usually he is suspicious of all outsiders. You must have made a good impression."