A BOY A GIRL AND ANOTHER BOY

LGBTQ fiction

WARNING SEXUAL VIOLENCE

A BOY A GIRL AND A ANOTHER BOY 
The boy, Hippo, was sixteen going on seventeen, and the girl, Hrodi, was seventeen going on eighteen. Pozzo or Pozza or Pozzie, depending who was talking to him, was old enough to throw his weight around; and hated Hippo with a passion. Hrodi preferred the younger boy’s company. They lived in the village of Atomz where Hippo’s father, Thesis, was The Man; Thesis, so called because in his verbal jousting days, instead of saying, like everyone else, “I have a theory about that...”, would say “My thesis is as follows...” and so his cohort, and then the village, began to call him Thesis, and the name stuck. Thesis was  married to Lyta, Hippo’s mother, until he accidentally killed her during a feud between their two families. A decade later he married Faydee, who, unlike the stereotype step-mother, was smitten by her step-son and doted on him whenever he was around the family home.

Beginning on his seventh birthday Hippo spent most of his time learning the village trades - hunting, cropping, shepherding, smelting and smithing, carpentry and cabinet making, stone working, viticulture and wine making, baking and brewing and much, much more, from master craftsmen, younger tradesmen and senior apprentices. At the age of seventeen, he would choose one trade and begin his apprenticeship and be fully credentialed when he turned twenty one. On his thirteenth birthday Hippo was allowed to live in the communal dormitory for boys, to eat with boys and girls in the junior mess, and take instruction at night in the arts and astronomy.

Two or three nights a week the young people would socialise in their age cohorts - 13 & 14 the Weaners, 15&16 the Yearlings and 17 to 20, formally known as the Apprentices but commonly as the Breeders, for reasons that should need no elaboration; and one night a week the whole village celebrated recent birthdays and the like in the village hall or square. Making fun in their cohorts nurtured their social skills which were regularly tested and consolidated when the whole village gathered.

Within his cohort, Hippo was capable and confident but completely unremarkable. Yet at village gatherings he was not only at ease with people of all ages but especially enjoyed sparing with the Breeders, like a rising champion punching above his weight without being seen as challenging. Thus, when his cohort became the Yearlings, he gradually came to the attention of Hrodi, his polar opposite.

Not in living memory had there been a young woman so like a goddess in her ability, from almost the moment she could walk, to exact the worship of all who saw her and, by the age of ten, to make women anxious about their own allure. Hippo and Hrodi had always been involved in village comings and goings, so they knew each other as well as anyone else, and neither had any special regarded for the other until they found themselves doing more and more things together, and agreed to be mates: not mere peers but friends - good friends. They sought each other out in their own time and Hrodi quickly realised Hippo was his father’s son: that he was much more likely to succeed Thesis as The Man of Atomz than Pozzo who spoke openly about his ambitions in that regard. Thereafter Hrodi began to call him Pozzie, with sufficient ambiguity to conceal that her use of the diminutive form of his name was less a term of endearment than ridicule.

Pozzo, from the day he’d been taught to swim, at the age of three, spent as much of his spare time at the beach as he chose, in and around boats, and quickly learned the ways of seamen, including the attitude that goes with bawdy songs and other aspects of male bonding, the like of which everyone knew but never spoke of openly. At the age of five he was given a pony for his birthday, and by the age of ten was the best horseman in the village as well as the best swimmer. He used his superior physical prowess, which could have made him a natural leader, to get his way, even with older children, and became cock of the walk in his cohort, where he was called not Pozzo, but Pozzaaaaaa! As Pozzo he might have detected the mockery in Hrodi’s attitude, but not - never -  as Pozzaaaaaa.


At weekly gatherings relationships across cohorts were developed and cultivated. Romance could break out as young as twelve and was not discouraged. Such liaisons were chaperoned until the age of seventeen, after which the only role parents and neighbours had with courting couples was that of role model. And so, when Hrodi asked Hippo  if he would like to graduate to another meaning of the word mate, he was taken aback at first, but soon agreed it made sense to become lovers.
“Made sense! Shouldn’t you be a bit more enthusiastic than that?” she wondered. As though able to read her mind, he pointed out that as a Yearling he was free to be her mate but not to mate with her until he turned seventeen, and that in the meantime they would have to take instruction from The Mete, the envoy of the harvest moon.
“Oh well,” said Hrodi, “even if we have to wait, I am so happy!”
Hippo’s face darkened momentarily but he smiled as he said, “Let no man living say that he is happy.”
“Yes, said Hrodi, we hear that all the time, but what does it mean?”
“It means you can think you are happy one day only to find the next that you aren’t. It means that your life can be judged as happy only when there is no possibility of it ever being unhappy again.”
Such had he learned as, every month since the age of seven, children gathered on the afternoon of the full moon to listen to The Mete recite the epic stories the village had adopted from another place and time, not as Religion but as Story, culminating each year at the autumnal equinox in a full week of dramatic performances in the Festival of the Harvest Moon.

What to young minds were lovely stories were then broken open each month on the night of the new moon to reveal the darker cautionary tale within to prospective lovers. Hrodi endured six moons of these instructions with impatience and irritation. Hippo was devastated by what he heard. His life had been such child’s play. A glittering chrysalis from which tragedy would soon take wing.
“How charming it is,” he said to The Mete, “that there is a Goddess of the seasons whose apotheosis is the harvest moon, until it unfolds that she is has that role only because her daughter was abducted, and even the highest power in heaven was limited by self interest to do anything more than meet her half way.”
 Hrodi rolled her eyes and said it was only a story. “Yes," said Hippo, "there are no gods, but these stories about gods are a way of getting our heads around the fact the events happen in ways the we are powerless to influence. It is our awareness of tragedy that prevents us from succumbing to  all the unavoidable shit that make our lives suck.”
The Mete clapped her hands and told Hippo, “You’ve really got this,” and continued, “think aloud for us about Sisyphus.”
Hippo could see only the hatred of the gods in the rock roller's eyes. The Mete asked, “What’s inside that hatred, Hippo, what’s the fuel of this incandescence?”
“The injustice of it all,” said Hippo. “The gods hate him because he knows what they are. They use power in the service of self interest. They are despicable and his stare tells them that he knows that they know that he is what they choose not to be: righteous. His life sucks, but instead of being crushed by it he has what it takes to stare back and say without using words, You are all powerful but you cannot extinguish my will be your accuser.”  Hrodi now staring open mouthed at Hippo’s passion couldn’t wait to feel it inside of her - literally. The Mete took Hippo’s left hand in hers and said, “You could not have known that from the story as I told it to you. You have broken open the words, seen beyond space and time. You have no further need of my instruction.” She took Hrodi’s right hand in hers and said, “You know what to do.” 

The next night was the first of the harvest moon and the village celebrated the mating of Hrodi and Hippo. To shouts of Get a room! Hrodi led Hippo away from the crowd into a space beneath a banyan tree inside the circle of aerial roots where she had laid out rugs and cushions; the Harvest Moon taking a prurient interest in what she could observe through gaps in the canopy of the tree.


As well as formation in the ways of domesticity, some of the young were initiated into activities that required uncommon commitments. The village rites of passage, for example, were led by two women, The Arte and The Mete. Girls who felt the call to serve as acolytes swore an oath of celibacy year by year for as long as they served in the retinues of the Mystresses. Though there was no need for defence as such, boys learned the skills that, in previous eras, underpinned their role as warriors and brought them to confidence and maturity. There were, as well, other informal rites and practices of male bonding that were necessarily secret men’s business. The Arte and The Mete like all of the village aristocrats - they would more accurately be called meritocrats: their status was not hereditary and did not pass to their offspring - lived on the High Mountain, though they spent most of their time in the village and had second houses there provided at public expense.

It was to the public house of The Arte that Hippo went in search of relief from horror and embarrassment. “I want to take the oath of celibacy," Hippo stammered. He withstood The Arte’s stare and after a moment to regain his composure, he continued, “I want to be one of your acolytes.”
“But you’re male” said The Arte. “And you can’t just walk out on your wife - how long has it been, six moons?”
“She’s not my wife,” said Hippo. “We didn’t.... I couldn’t.... I am so full of shame. I want to die. But if I can be your acolyte I can have a an excuse...” He couldn’t finish what he was saying.

The Arte, tall and slender with long arms of fine musculature had the strong distinctive shoulders of an archer; aloof yet engaging to anyone who dared; an Alpha woman; competent in ways men couldn’t imagine; superior without appearing to be so, and celibate by choice for the sake of transcendent awareness, saw what Hippo could not. It would be unusual to have a male acolyte, but if that’s what it would take to save his life things could be arranged; and he would take the oath like everyone else for only a year at a time, during which things might be sorted out. She explained this to him and said, “You’ll be given a new name. You’ll be known as Poly.”
“But that’s a girl’s name,” said Hippo.
“Everyone gets a new name. My name hasn’t always been Arte, and it applies only here in my public house. Outside you will continue to be Hippo. And don’t think of Poly as a girl’s name. In this roll you will be nurturing your feminine qualities. Poly is a feminine name, not a girl’s name. Take some time to think about this; come back to me on the day of the next new moon; and tell Hrodi that you’ve been to see me.”
“I haven’t yet told you everything,” said Hippo. “What I haven’t told you is much worse than what you’ve heard so far. Hrodi has denounced me. She has accused Faydee, my step-mother, and I of incest.” The Arte failed to conceal her shock. Hippo continued, “Hrodi talked to Faydee about us. Faydee listened with great care, but in attempting to console Hrodi said that she had to fight off an awful attraction to me. Hrodi misunderstood and fled from the house. She found me in the village square and screamed that she finally understood why I... can’t... can’t... “

For six moons Hippo lived as Poly, tending The Arte’s grotto. Hrodi raged daily at the village square. Faydee took her own life. Thesis, in grief sent himself into exile, but inexplicably arranged for Pozzo to become The Man of Atomz from when he stepped down. The village was in disarray. Opposing factions emerged, one believing Hrodi, the other accusing her of gross betrayal. There was a meeting on the High Mountain that resolved nothing. The Arte and The Mete worked together to save the village from self destruction.


On the first day of first harvest moon since the mating of Hrodi and Hippo,  Poly walked towards the paddock where the horses gathered at night. He saw Pozzo shortly after leaving the sanctuary. Fearing the worst he turned to run, but Pozzo invoked his authority as The Man of Atoms to  stop Hippo - he would never acknowledge him as Poly - and pretended to offer a truce. He had, after all, become cock of the walk of the whole village, not just his cohort. He could afford (and feign) to be magnanimous. He put his arm around his captive’s shoulders and steered him to a grove of trees out of sight of the village.
“You know, Hippo,” he said.
“My name is Poly,” said the younger man.
“Yes, yes, that’s all very well, but you know, Hippo, you and I have never done that male bonding thing everyone does. I’m in charge here now, and I insist. So come on, let’s have a circle-jerk - just the two of us.”
Hippo knew it wouldn’t help to say that he’s taken an oath of celibacy. Pozzo would regard his oath with contempt; and even if he was prepared to consider it relevant he would argue that what men and boys did together was not the same as having sex. Hippo had considered the question himself, along with the difference between celibacy, chastity, and virginity. Should he resist and risk unnecessary injury? Or should he take the path of least resistance, knowing that in all fairness, he could not be thought to have violated his oath if he had been coerced.

Pozzo dropped his dacks and shoved his big swinging dick at Poly-Hippo - the young man did not know who he was at that moment as he felt his own cock engorging at the sight of the the behemoth jutting from Pozzo’s luxuriant bush. Ordinarily Pozzo would be satisfied with the younger man’s hand but took Hippo’s head in his fists and dragged the boy’s mouth down on himself. Hippo felt his whole being dilate as Pozzo’s cock invaded his mouth.  He knew he should be feeling violated but his mouth and lips ravished the phallus of his assailant. How was it possible, he wondered, that he was being raped yet feel so utterly glorious about it? His right hand grasped Pozzo’s balls as his lips and mouth ravenously enveloped more and more of the rock hard shaft and his left hand reached around to caress the right cheek of Pozzo’s arse, his fingers sliding along the crack till they found the puckering orifice.

At that moment two things happened. Hippo realised with dismay why he hadn’t been able to reciprocate Hrodi’s importuning. He had no word for what his feelings told him about himself. He’d never been in a circle-jerk but knew from the way it was slyly talked about, that if anyone else ever felt the way he was feeling right now, it would be disguised by the vested interest of all concerned in maintaining fiction that men had wives for sex and each other for bonding. Here he was luxuriating in the fact that he was pumping another man’s erect penis with his mouth and feeling as though he wanted to swallow him whole. And Pozzo sneered. “You’re really getting off on me, aren’t you, you fucking little poofter.” Hippo pulled away and began to run. Pozzo tried to reassert his presumed authority but Hippo was not spooked this time. He ran towards the horses knowing that he was the better runner and would find shelter among them. What he hadn’t accounted for was Pozzo’s skill with horses - his ability to communicate with them in grunts and sign language. In no time at all Hippo had been cornered, captured and manacled to a horse rail.

The sun was setting as Pozzo stripped Hippo’s clothes from him and began to grope every part of his body to gratify some appetite Hippo had not the will to imagine. When Pozzo knelt behind Hippo and put his face to his arse and ran his nose down his crack then returned with his tongue, Hippo said, “And you call me a fucking little poofter.” Pozzo guffawed lecherously and stood. Hippo saw his formidable tumescence and correctly guessed what would happen next. He screamed and turned away but Pozzo overpowered him and manhandled him up against the horse rail and lashed his forearms to it so that he couldn’t turn away again. He grasped Hippo’s hips and thrust his battering ram into Hippo’s sorry arse. The pain was worse than death. Hippo’s sobs shook the ground they stood on, and when he looked up he saw on the horizon the first rim of the rising harvest moon. “Demeter!” he screamed and passed out.

When he regained consciousness he was prone on the ground with a herd of horses surrounding him. Pozzo spoke. “I wanted you to be awake for this. I could have had you trampled while you were out to it but I waited. I am about to murder you I want you to know it is me ending your pathetic existence.”
“Thank you,” said Hippo. “I’d rather be dead than have to face The Arte after this.”
“Don’t you even want to know why I’m not going to let you live?”
“When you lie about what happened make sure you say I died happy.”
Pozzo was overcome with fury at Hippo’s claim to be happy and whinnied like a stallion.

The mob broke into a frenzy. Hooves rained down and broke the bones of Hippo’s body and he as saw the final blow coming that would crush his skull, he saw in his mind’s eye something totally unexpected: a host of victims of homophobic hatred, too numerous to give an account of, but one group stood out more prominently than all the others. They were wasted and frail though mostly young; each accompanied by a carer; all staring accusingly, righteously, at something or someone. At first Hippo thought it was he. But in the same way that he saw them, he saw the target of their indictment: those who willfully used power in the service of self interest - not the gods of Olympus but people of smug countenance with a banner bearing a graphic of a cross superimposed on a red elephant. Their victims’ stare softened as they shifted focus back to Hippo. He opened his arms and drew them all into himself.

As he was swallowed up by death he knew that the village would say his life was a tragedy. But he heard the words of Solon: “Let no man living say that he is happy.” As he faded to black, he knew that he, like Sisyphus, was truly happy in a way that the living could never know.

 

Dramatis Personæ

Character                                                                               Performer
Atomz, the village                                                                       Athens
Thesis, The Man of Atomz                                                            Theseus
Lyta, first wife of Thesis, mother of Hippo                                      Hippolyta
Hippo, son of Thesis; Poly acolyte of The Arte                                Hippolytus
Faydee Faidy, second wife of Thesis, stepmother of Hippo               Phaedra
Hrodi, the village vamp (vamp may be too harsh - or not?)             Aphrodite
The Arte, one of two Rites of Passage celebrants: the hunt              Artemis
The Mete, one of two Rites of Passage celebrants: the harvest         Demeter
Pozzo, Pozza, Pozzie, son of an Aristocrat, nemesis of Hippo            Poseidon