THE ENCHANTED FLUTE
by Jerry Weiss
These stories are based on Maurice Ravel's song cycle SCHEHERAZADE, the lyrics for which are selections from a book of poems by "Tristan Klingsor," a Wagnerian pen name for Leon Leclere, a poet, artist and musician. Listening to the music is recommended as an accompaniment to this piece. The poems' Arabian Nights imagery is emblematic of the kind of luxurious, sensual fascination with a fantasy notion of the Eastern sensibility that was very popular in its time and again in the Northern Californian counterculture of the mid to late 20th century.
While the piece below is more sensual than sexual, it does contain explicit passages, and as such, access where it is prohibited by law and/or viewing by minors is not consented to. The poems it is based on are in the public domain. While three quarters of the imagery is mine, and all the sexual passages are from my own imagination, I have preserved the outline and general tenor of the original and some of the most evocative language.
The song cycle is written for a woman's voice and the pronouns are ambiguous, but the yearning, homoerotic content of each of the three pieces is unmistakable, being, in order, about a young man smoking hashish and masturbating to hallucinatory, sado-masochistic fantasies; a slave boy in a harem thinking of his handsome lover playing his "enchanted flute" outside the walls of the palace garden; and a mature man who invites a passing adolescent boy traveler to come into his home for refreshments, only to be met with uncomprehending indifference.
This story is copyrighted by the author and any reproduction in any form except for individual printouts by Nifty readers without the explicit consent of the author is strictly prohibited.
ASIA (Asie)
Ah, the East, the East, the East!!! Magical Asia, old land of inscrutable marvels, continent of deserts and mountains, of monsoons and famine, of teeming hordes with swarthy faces, where fantasy sleeps like an empress in a mysterious forest, I long for you. My mind is full of dimly remembered bedtime tales, as I lie on my divan pleasuring myself with images of sweet boys in the first bloom of manhood, beautiful princesses in diaphanous veils and virile, handsome guards with bare chests, arm bracelets, silken pantaloons and pointed shoes.
Asia! I'd like to embark tonight on the schooner that's rocking in the harbor, the one manned by blond sailors in ass-hugging tight white pants; we'd sail by moonlight, solitary, mysterious, until we reached the open sea and in the sparkling golden waves the violet sails would spread like an immense bird of the night!
As the winds blow us on and we cut through the spumous water, I'll lie on the teak deck next to the beautiful sailors with their blond curls and green eyes and we'll kiss and dream of our adventures to come in the Orient: kidnapped and sold to a pasha in Turkey as sex slaves, rescued by Mongol horsemen who take us as their lovers, honored as royal concubines in the imperial households of China, instructed in the Kama Sutra by young Indian monks, riding tigers through the dark green jungles.
I want to sail to the Isle of Flowers, listening to the perverse sea singing in the old bewitching rhythm of sorcerers; I want to see Damascus and the cities of Persia, with their fragile minarets floating in the air. I want to see fine silk turbans above handsome dark faces with gleaming white teeth, I want to see eyes dark with love and pupils sparkling with happiness in skins golden as apricots.
I want to be invited into nomad's tents and be offered the pleasures of my host's handsome young son, I want to feel his lips on mine as I penetrate him slowly and spend a night entwined in his arms. I want to be swept up by a royal procession and brought, through gauzy silken curtains of indigo, green and azure, into the satin-pillowed tents of a great prince wearing golden, sparkling jewels who will perfume my body and caress me with down from white swans, and enter me with his enormous tumescent pillar, as servants in velvet gowns and fringed vests massage us with scented oils, and a eunuch plays the harp.
I want to see sharp merchants with shifty looks, I want to see vizirs who, with a single crook of the finger, dispense life or death as the spirit moves them. I want to go to holy India and bathe in the Ganges and then to ancient China, where I'll see big-bellied mandarins walking under umbrellas to the sound of tinkling bells, wise men disputing poetry and beauty, and linger in enchanted palaces and contemplate landscapes, painted and real, surrounded by spruce trees in the center of an orchard. I want to see beggars and queens, roses and blood!
I want to see naked champion athletes chained and facing dripping walls, as their muscled backs and asses are whipped by enormous wrestlers in minotaur masks, for the amusement of the rajah. I want to see young princes held captive and debased as public urinals. I want to see deposed kings with their manly buttocks held in place in stocks and slaves invited to rape them savagely. I want to entice a saintly, handsome young student from his religious studies until he drops to his knees and worships my cock, and the cum and piss that come out of it. I want to sit on his face as he lovingly licks my anus. I want to be incarcerated in Turkish jails and service the muscled jailers' stony instruments in return for a drink of water.
I want to see those who die for love, or die for hate! I want to see massive tsunamis drown the innocent, I want to see earthquakes swallow kingdoms, I want to feel cyclonic winds that blow away my consciousness of anything but the Eternal Now, I want to see massive edifices fall, I want to be One with the galaxies above, I want to see a hundred criminals cum as great curved Persian scimitars descend on their necks!!!!
Aggghhhghhhh!!!!!!!
Aaaah!...Aaaah!... Aaaah!...Ah...
Ummmm...
I stand on the bow as the ship scuds through billowing waves, the wind blowing through my hair and my mind, my eyes open to the Glory of God. We sail on for places unknown, mysteries yet to unfold, unknown peoples, rare birds of paradise, markets with sweet, strange fruits, veiled princesses with jeweled navels in gossamer gowns beckoning me with painted fingernails, smiling boys promising me elusive pleasures with their hypnotic eyes. The indigo voyage sails on...
And when my journey is ending, I will sit in dimly lit cafes holding court to rapt young listeners, fingering my white beard, smoking my pipe and raising my cup artfully to reflect the firelight, as I recount my adventures, like Sinbad, to the connoisseurs of dreams.
THE ENCHANTED FLUTE (La Flute Enchantee)
The hour is late, and I can see the stars shining bright in the night sky outside my window. I feel the breeze of the soft summer night against my soft, perfumed skin, as high above a few fast traveling clouds make the full moon appear to be rushing across the sky. I shiver in my silken vest and pantaloons, thinking of my handsome Ali of the palace guard watching the same heavens as I just outside the garden gate, as we have arranged. For now, this is all we can share, and soon he will play his flute for me.
My master is asleep in his golden bed with purple satin sheets in the adjoining royal bedroom, his beard moving softly with his breath, his heavy sultan's organ waxing slightly as he dreams of the beautifully mounded rear ends of young men. Sometimes I like the warmth and security of his massive arms, big chest and round belly, and he is a kind lover, always reaching around to pleasure me as he penetrates my clinging youthful rectum. But it is Ali that I love.
Ali takes my breath away. His waved, flaming hair sets my soul on fire and his eyes are green oases where I quench my thirst. The golden bracelets he wears around his ample biceps chain me to desire. The brown nipples on his sculpted chest are like chestnuts I would suckle on for eternity. When I run my fingers lightly down his abdomen, the ridges make me think of the cedar-scented hills of Lebanon. The dense forest below would invite me to bide my time curling it to and fro were it not for the great treasure awaiting me next.
His manhood is the pillar of my desire, with its silken yet marble texture, the nectar that drips from him when he is close to me is sweeter than the sweetest of honeys, I know its geography and the special places on it that make his body rise in ecstasy, it is my own special toy, it belongs to me as much as him.
From outside the gates of the palace I hear the languid notes of his flute, he is playing for me, dulcet tones that are like his tongue licking at my ear. The song is sad and joyful, languorous and frivolous by turn. When I draw closer to the window it seems that each note is flying straight from his flute to my cheek, like a mysterious kiss. And as the sweet music rises and falls, flickers and sustains, I take myself in my hand. The notes direct me ---- quick, quick, quick...long and lingering...strongly...softly. We are making love the only way we can for now, and the notes moving my hand make me feel that it is he that is pleasuring me. I climax as the music does and his flute falls silent for a moment, as he comes with me.
I gaze at the moon and the great sky full of stars and know he is too, as his plaintive tune resumes and gets further and further away. Oh, Ali, I long to kiss your lips and be with you forever! May Allah grant my wish!
The flames in the hanging braziers are flickering their last. In the darkness, I steal softly to my place in the great golden bed with purple satin sheets, at my master's feet.
PASSING THROUGH (L'Indifferent)
I'm sitting in the swing on the porch of my cottage, slowly arcing back and forth in the lazy afternoon. Cicadas are chirping waves of clicking sound high in the towering trees. Not much traffic on the sidewalk-less road; the wild roses in bloom in my yard waft their perfume my way. I daydream about my young manhood, so long ago, when finding and making love was so easy, when my days abounded with supple young boys, muscular, demanding men, pliant bodies by the bouquet full, a shower of male flowers blossoming my life, the ache of the body never wanting satisfaction, soft skin against mine day after day, night after night.
As I muse, a newly minted shirtless boy of about fourteen is walking down the road in shorts and sneakers, toting a backpack. His hair is kissed lightly by a zephyr, and he supplely brushes it away with a languid movement of his hand. Ah, fresh youth, your movements might be mistaken for feminine, but they are the remnants of the childhood you are leaving, boy-man. Your legs are those of a man, your crotch seems ample, your ass is perfect, but above your waist your chest is not yet completely filled out and your face is not quite at the turning point when pretty becomes handsome. The only hint of a beard is the soft blond down on your rosy cheek, which only serves to make the line of your chin the more seductive.
You nod as you pass me. I say, "Hey dude, how's it goin'" hoping to sound hip, and you stop for a moment.
"Hiking up into the hills to spend the night under the stars. Is this the way to Woodside?"
"Yeah, just keeping going in that direction... Umm, you look like you've been walking a long time, would you like to come in for a drink or a smoke?" I put my thumb and forefinger together.
Come in and let's get stoned... We'll put music on and light some incense, and when we've got a good buzz, our legs will entwine and I'll caress your smooth arms and chest and you'll lean into me to be kissed, and our lips pressed together will make us feel like we're floating in a cloud of plum blossoms. Your shorts will fall to the floor and I will lay you on my bed and kiss you everywhere. Ah, let me feel your lips melt beneath mine, as I run my hands up and down your lithe body, and caress your rapidly rising member. Let me put your boyhood in my mouth and go down, down, down into the warmth of your virility. Let me feel you raise your hips in rising excitement and grab the back of my head as you pump your white juices down my gullet. Let me turn you over and lightly brush the dewy melons of your youth with my hand and lips. Let me spread your cheeks and discover your virginal rosebud, quivering and puckering in and out. Let me lick your love bud with my tongue for days. Let me feel you writhe in ecstasy, as you raise your ass to meet my pussy-worshipping tongue. Let me insert one, than two, then three fingers in your sensitive, tight tunnel, until your fundament begins to bloom open and say to me "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me please." Let me pull out my hard tool and as I poise to mount you from behind...
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"No thanks, man, no time, gotta keep goin' so I can set up my bedroll before it gets dark. Have a good day..."
I wave. "Later, dude..."
You amble away, your buttocks winking with every laidback step, and I watch long as you disappear slowly down the road into the trees.
Ah, it's starting to get cool; I take a last sip of my wine, and reach for my coral t-shirt. My right hand kneads my cock and balls underneath my jeans. I return to my daydreaming...foggy nights in San Francisco when we never fell asleep, shotgunning marijuana smoke with hippie boys come in from Kansas, orgies of the innocent where we lost track of where our bodies began and ended, evenings at the beach in each other's arms watching the sun set over the ocean.
Hmm, wonder what I'll have for dinner?
The breeze rustles through the tops of the trees, the gardenia bush next to the porch is knocking itself out, I lazily pluck a fresh fig from the overhanging tree. The road is turning from sun to shadow.
Copyright 2006 New York by Arthur Jerome Weiss