Chapter 9
The Pantch Pinankanc and the Ishak

Crossing the Big River (the Mississippi) Nico saves a fisherman (Black Cloud) from an alligator and is adopted into the man's Otter clan and receives his first tattoo, a swirl above two wavy blue lines on his right breast. He has sex with the man's 11 yo virgin nephew following a manhood ceremony where a 13 yo boy has his first experience with a girl. Continuing west along the Gulf of Mexico, Nico is captured by the Atakapa, a tribe of cannibals where he witnesses them torturing and eating two captives. Nico and Swift Otter, a boy of 8, become their slaves.

Nicolau Ribeiro (16yo); Black Cloud, Red Squirrel (11yo) virgin nephew of Black Cloud; Swift Otter (8yo)
tb – cons anal

Two days travel after hearing of the origin of the Choctaw, I arrived at what they called the Big River, and big it was, so wide that I could not see the opposite shoreline and moving so swiftly I was told that one had to walk to the north for as long as it takes the sun to travel two finger-widths across a ten-finger sky before crossing and paddle hard to reach the opposite shore before the current swept one out into the Ocean Sea. Much to my disappointment, it did not look like the Nile and the land on either side looked nothing like Egypt. The day after crossing this mighty river my progress was slow, the trees and undergrowth particularly thick with vines, requiring me to hack my way through them with my sword.

Around midafternoon I emerged from a particularly thick tangle of growth to find myself in a quiet bayou. Off to one side was one of the large, graceful grey-blue birds abundant in these swamps standing on one long, thin leg, the other tucked under it as it slept in the lazy heat of the afternoon. I paused to admire it, and to catch my breath. It was as I glanced about, taken by the lush beauty of the land, that I spotted a canoa some distance ahead and along the northern edge of the bayou in which there stood a single man holding a spear and staring intently at the water, his back to me. His back was also to one of the other frequent denizens of these swamps, an el lagarto, silently swimming toward him. There being no time to warn him, I picked up my bow which I always kept within reach when travelling through these hostile lands, nocked it and took aim. Just as I released the arrow, the beast began to rise up out of the water.

Landing on the canoa, it overturned it and toppled its occupant into the murky water where he immediately began to splash about in a panic. I had meanwhile picked up my paddle and had begun paddling furiously toward him, hoping I would arrive in time to hit the beast on the head with my paddle or to lop off his head with my sword in that I had missed with my arrow. The fisherman wrapped one arm about his overturned boat, using it to keep his attacker at bay I imagined. As I rowed up closer, I discovered the beast floating motionlessly on its back, a pool of red beneath its head. The fisherman stared at it and up at me fearfully.

"Are you all right?" I asked. He looked at me blankly, as if deaf. I asked again, using hand signals, but again he did not respond.

"Are you injured?" I inquired, again gesturing with my hands.

"No, I am not injured," he replied, his accent strong but the words understandable.

"Well, let us upright your canoa and drag this beast to the shore," I said, indicating my intent with gestures.

It was a large creature, about the length of a man and a half and the weight of two men. As we pulled it up onto the shore and rolled it over, I discovered my arrow protruding from its left eye. The man looked at it in disbelief, and then over at me, and then in my canoa and then back at me with great awe.

"You?" he asked, pointing at the arrow, and then at me. Evidently I had aimed too high and the beast had leaped into the path of my arrow. I nodded. He looked again at the beast and then dropping to his knees and holding his hand up in tribute, spoke so rapidly and so emotionally it was impossible to catch all that he said, but I caught the gist that he was thanking me for saving his life and proclaiming my skill as an archer.

And so I entered the domain of the Pantch Pinankanc, whose name means "men altogether red" and also "warrior". These natives look much like the others I have encountered, their skin perhaps having a redder hue, the result of the blazing sun they live under I suspect, and the men wear their hair long and loose just like the women instead of a knot on the top of their heads or in a pair of braids. Their land I found is much like what I have already travelled through, an area of swamps, bayous and rivers flowing down to the Ocean Sea. (1)

We skinned and cut up the el lagarto and loaded it into our two canoa. Arriving at his village, he excitedly called to those along the shore, who helped us pull up our boats and unload our kill. We had enough meat to feed the entire village. He excitedly told them what had happened, and showed them the head of the beast which he had cut off and insisted we take along, my arrow still protruding from the eye socket. The villagers all looked at it and then at me admiringly and began to praise me for saving their fellow villager's life and for my skill at archery, which I knew was as much the result of good luck as it was the hours of training and practice during my time with the Saracens. They were greatly impressed, and of course insisted on the spot a demonstration my abilities, using a squash hung from the branch of a distant tree for a target, which I pierced with my first arrow, it being much easier than a moving target. I would have told them the deed was nothing compared to having to shoot an arrow through the heart of an enemy from the back of a galloping horse, which I have also done, except these peoples have no idea what a horse is.

The tale was retold that night before the evening campfire after a meal of freshly cooked el lagarto, flat bread and squash, with considerable exaggeration which I knew better than to deny. The man whom I had saved, who went by the name Black Cloud, insisted I be adopted into his clan, the Otter Clan. It was a simple process. All the men in the village who were members of the Otter Clan stood and lead by Black Cloud declared before the Otter Spirit, and before their Creator God, that they found me worthy to be one of them and were adopting me, and again lead by Black Cloud, I agreed to abide by the secret conventions of the clan which were of course only known by them and which I would be told in private, and to defend the interests of the clan and my fellow brothers with my life. Their senior member then took me aside and taking a sharpened reed and a blue-colored paste, gave me my first tattoo, a swirl above two wavy lines on my right breast, all the while telling me the secrets of the clan, most of which slipped past me as I concentrated on not crying out with the pain, or even worse, passing out. It took several days for the swelling and inflamation to go down, and much longer for me to put the experience behind me. Looking at some of the extensive tattoos some of the older men sported, I had a new admiration for their tolerance for pain.

One of the boys was undergoing his manhood ceremony upon my arrival, a four-day event. He was a good-looking boy by their standards, his forehead greatly sloping as a result of their flattening process for infant boys, accented by a particularly long beaklike nose. He was thirteen winters of age and that summer had begun the growth of his pubic hair, the signal that it was time for him to be initiated into the society of men. Like all boys that age, his muscles were still softly rounded and only beginning to develop the firmness and contours that came with adolescence, though his already difficult life had hardened his body considerably more than boys of his age back home.

He had already proven his skill as a hunter, having ventured out on his own and brought home a deer which he had given to the village chief to be distributed among the villagers, the choicest parts going to the chief and the boy's family, and he had fasted the last two days and been instructed in the lore of his tribe and his responsibilities as a man by one of the elders, his uncle I believe though I am not sure. There remained one more day and one night of fasting. That night he was blindfolded and taken to a secret, sacred place in the forest by the Medicine Man, a large, flat rock where other boys in the past had been taken, perhaps even the boy's father. Leaving him there to his teenage imagination and the wild animals that roamed at night, he was told to remain there, blindfolded, until he felt the sun on his cheek, a test of his bravery and his faith. Unbeknownst to the boy, his father remained close by to keep watch over him, and was the first to greet him in the morning.

That night there was a feast, which included some of the deer he had killed, followed by dancing and speeches proclaiming the skill of the boy as a hunter and his bravery and the boy related the vision he had the previous night while left alone, a dream of being visited by his dead grandfather, a great warrior, and together they had flown up in the sky so high they could see all the land occupied by the Pantch Pinankanc. He was given the name Sky Walker and looked about at the gathered friends and family proudly, almost as proud as his father, who presented the boy with a new bow and a set of arrows. During the feasting and dancing that followed, he visited with several young maidens who looked at him with big moon eyes, and with a proud and sheepish grin, he led one of them to a newly erected hut thrown together for the occasion. It was not long before many others also slipped away, to their homes or to the forest, with the same intent in mind. These people, as I have said frequently, are a lustful people, who use every occasion they can to feast, dance, and copulate.

I myself had been admired by several of the young maidens, and approached with offers of fresh bread and baked roots and more intimate delights if I wished from the fragrance of honey about them, which I graciously declined. Witnessing this, Black Cloud approached me and asked if I found none of the maidens to my liking, to which I replied honestly that I found no maidens to my liking. He smiled at that and left, returning soon thereafter with a young boy in tow, a boy of about eleven, whom he introduced as his nephew Red Squirrel. He did not say more, but the implication was clear, and the look on the boy's face revealed an awareness and a willingness that I had come to recognize. He was an appealing boy other than his sloping forehead, and it would be wrong to refuse a gift from my fellow clansman and the man whose life I had saved. Besides, I was a healthy seventeen-year-old youth with the humours and needs of a youth and not immune to the lust-filled evening. Smiling at the boy and thanking Black Cloud, I lead him into the woods past the sounds of other panting couples until we arrived at a secluded spot behind a thick copse of old oak heavily hung with the ever present moss. Finding a moss-covered spot, I sat down and motioned for the boy to do so also.

"Black Cloud is your uncle?"

"He is my mother's brother."

"He has been training you?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "Black Cloud is a very skilled fisherman and hunter and is much respected by our people. He provides for his wife and children well, and often shares what he has extra with us. He has taught me many things about fishing and hunting with a spear." He hesitated. "But he has not taught me how it is between men and boys."

"You are with me because he has asked this of you?"

"Yes. He said I am ready to learn of such things, and that he trusts you in my teaching. I have seen other boys, where one plays the doe and the other the stag," he added in the hopes he did not sound totally the child.

"But you have not played this game yourself?"

"No," he admitted.

"How do you feel about this?"

He looked across at me blankly, uncertain what I meant.

"About boys playing doe and stag."

"To be a good fisherman one must have experience, and the more experience one has the better he becomes. So it is to be a good wife. To be a good husband a boy cannot practice with women until he is a man, and so boys play doe and stag."

"And how do you feel about doing this with someone older like myself?"

"You are very brave, and very skilled with the bow. You saved Black Cloud's life. It would be an honour to be taught by one such as you."

I was struck by the logic of the boy's statements coming from one so young, and his unquestioning acceptance. Or perhaps, now in afterthought, I wanted there to be logic to what we were about to do and his willingness because I wanted the boy. Father Francesco would certainly have demanded a hundred Hail Mary's upon hearing of a boy having sex with another boy to practice being a good husband, and there was no way Uncle would have presented me to an older boy so I could have experience! Having the boy stand, I untied his breechclout, and as it fell to the ground and revealed his smooth compact ass and his smooth pubes and boyhood, I was overwhelmed with lust such was my depravity. Drawing him near, I caressed his tender backside and ran a finger up his crack to his asshole. I pressed gently against it and he opened to me, inhaling deeply and apprehensively. Reaching up with my other hand, I cupped his tiny, hairless stones and rolled them in their loose sack, and I took his limp sausage between my thumb and first two fingers and gently stroked it, pulling his hood back off his bulb and slipping it back over. I continued to play with it slowly and gently and it slowly began to respond. It was soon rigid and stood out no longer and no thicker than my thumb. I squeezed it gently and I ever so slowly eased my middle finger of my other hand up his tight, hot rectum. As I eased my finger in and out of his hole, his little stiff cock throbbed and jerked between my fingers.

I then stood and had the boy do to me what I had done to him. His caresses were hesitant and without the passion of mine, but as we progressed his caresses became smoother and with greater desire. He was not so eager to slip his finger up my hole, but he clearly was no novice when it came to fondling what dangled between a boy's legs. As he cupped my hairy balls and began to roll them, my member began to swell. He was most surprised I had no hood and was concerned that I had been injured there, but I assured him that I was all right and he stroked my cock as willingly and eagerly as I had done his. In no time I was erect and aching to continue.

In presenting the boy to me, Black Cloud had also slipped me a gourd of fat. I took it now and smeared it over the boy's anus and stuffed some into his rectum. I again slipped my finger in, now as far as I could, and coated his rectum with the fat until the boy's member was wagging in excitement. Removing my finger, I wiped the remaining fat on my erect member and then having the boy assume the traditional position on his hands and knees, I knelt behind him and placing the tip of my cock against his hole, I grasped his hips and slowly pushed forward, penetrating this virgin eleven-year-old boy in sheer delight. I paused with my member buried to the hilt and enjoyed the sensation of having my member surrounded by hot, moist ass flesh, feeling all the hotter knowing it was the boy's first time, and then I slowly began to rock to and fro, easing my cock in and out of this young boy's tight backside.

I paused frequently to enjoy the sensation and to slow the buildup of pressure in my loins, and fucking this innocent, eager boy there in the forest under the full moon the pressure built up quickly and it took longer and longer for the desire to subside. I was gentle and stroked the boy's stiff member, bringing him pleasure also. Needless to say I did so for only so long before I filled his rectum with my seed, unable to refrain so great was my lust. I lay back and rested for a bit, and then bade the boy to do to me what I had done to him. He was not overly surprised by that, and I assumed that the boys he had watched play had similarly switched roles of stag and doe. He greased and finger-fucked my asshole far less enthusiastically than I had done him, but he mounted me eagerly. I could barely feel his little prong up my backside, but the fact that I was being fucked by this eleven-year-old youngster caused my blood to flow hot, and the fact it was his first time made it flow even hotter. It took him a while, but in time he began to pump more erratically and his breathing came in puffs and grunts, and then he was squirming and gasping as he reached his orgasm.

That reignited my lust, and after a pause to let him recover, I had him assume the position of doe once again and once again I penetrated his rectum, now slick with my seed, which caused me to ache all the more for a good, long fuck. Grasping the boy's slender hips, I began to pump my stiff cock in and out of his body slowly, and I closed my eyes with the pleasure pulsating through my member, and from his heavy breathing and sighs he was clearly feeling the same pleasure being fucked. I thought of the thirteen-year-old boy, now a man, losing his virginity this night and wondered how many times he would fuck the lucky young maiden he had taken to his bed, and I imagined the delight he must be feeling squirting his seed up the hot, moist cunt of his partner for his first time. I came powerfully myself, filling the rectum of my eleven-year-old companion for a second time, and for a second time, I assumed the position on knees and elbows and let the young boy fuck me for a second time, and from the open grunting and wild thrusting, there was no doubt he was finding fucking the ass of a seventeen-year-old man just as enjoyable as he would have found fucking a girl, perhaps even more so given the close comradery among males in their society.

These people use a stone which can be chipped flat and to a sharp point for arrow and spear heads, knives, and tools for cleaning skins, trading crops they raise for the stones from a tribe to the north. Before I left, Black Cloud presented me with one such knife, a prized possession, for having saved his life despite my protest that it was not necessary.

As I continued on my way I found their villages to be far apart as they depend on nuts and roots and surrounding game and so cannot be too close to each other. Each village I found consisted of about five hundred people. Much to my surprise, unlike any of the other tribes I have encountered, these people have a very strict class system of nobles and commoners, the two even speaking different dialects, and marriage between the two is strictly forbidden. As a member of the latter, I had little contact with the chiefs of this society and was pretty much ignored, which was actually a welcome difference compared to how I had been treated earlier as there were no great expectations of me. Besides being less stressful, it was a humble reminder of my position in life which I must admit I had at times forgotten in this strange journey.

I was asked upon my arrival with each new group why I travelled alone and what my intention was, and when I mentioned my vision quest I was invariably encouraged to abandon my quest, or to seek another route, for to the west, I was told, was the land of the Ishak. Though the Pantch Pinankanc traded with them, they were considered a violent tribe, who treated their captured enemies most cruelly and were even known to eat them! That certainly gave me pause to rethink my decision, but I was determined to find my way back to Portugal despite my disappointment in finding the great river they mentioned had not been the Nile. Besides, I had found by now that many of the tales of one tribe about another were an exaggeration and based more on superstition and fear than on real facts. Humans eating humans? I think not! Even the heathen Saracens would never do that. And so I thanked my most recent hosts, and continued on my way into what I was told was the land of the Ishak, though I did take their advice and travelled along the coastline where they said I was least likely to encounter them. (2)

Unfortunately, I found travelling by canoa along the shoreline of the Ocean Sea impossible as the ocean currents kept trying to carry me out away from land, and I had to give a wide skirt to the frequent rivers which emptied into the Ocean Sea and whose currents were even more insistent on carrying me out of sight of land. Besides, I found myself constantly having to seek shelter from the frequent storms in the area. So, after almost a week of such travel and making little progress, I chose to ignore the advice and abandoning my canoa, headed farther inland despite the warning that the Ishak moved inland at this time of year, which from my experience I now fully understood why.

Three days later, I came to rue my decision. As I was hiking along a well-worn path through a forest of oak, heading due west and making good time and applauding myself for my decision, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a dozen young braves whom I assumed were the Ishak and taken captive. We continued along the path for the rest of the day, arriving at their village early evening. Like the Pantch Pinankanc, the men wore only breechclouts and the women went bare breasted and the children went naked, and like the Pantch Pinankanc, both men and women were heavily tattooed and they flattened the foreheads of their infant boys. Most of the men had large circular rings dangling from their earlobes and they wore their hair fuzzed out in an unkept, tangled bush.

My capture had evidently been announced as the entire village, men, women and children, lined the path to the centre of the village where the chief and elders were awaiting me. I could not help but notice behind them four other captives, three men and a boy who appeared to be about eight years of age, all tied to stakes, and my heart sank with the thought that this was how I was going to end my life.

The language of these peoples was not that different from the languages of the tribes I had encountered and by this time I was fluent enough in their tongue that I could understand their questions and answer them. I explained that I was on a vision quest and that I had come from far, far to the east, beyond a great ocean, but that I had recently been living with the Pantch Pinankanc with whom I knew they traded and that I came in peace and only wished to pass through their land back to mine. I was asked questions about the Pantch Pinankanc, evidently to test the truthfulness of my claim, and the name of my tribe, which of course was met with the shaking of heads and many more questions when I said I was Portuguese. I was scrutinized closely and asked several times about my association with the Tickanwa tic, apparently an enemy tribe to which the other captives belonged. (3)

My simple possessions were closely examined, the stone knife from Black Cloud being especially admired and my iron dagger viewed with great awe. As one of the warriors removed my sword from its scabbard, I warned him of its sharpness, but he did not take heed and grasped it by the blade, much to his regret. Dropping it on the ground, he stared at his slashed fingers in disbelief. One of the elders sitting with the chief, evidently a healer, motioned to one of the young braves near him who quickly disappeared and reappeared with moss and a poultice to stem the flow of blood. My sword was carefully picked up and presented to the chief, who tested the sharpness of the blade with his thumb, his eyes widening as he stared at the blood flowing from the cut. There was much exclaim and the sword was carefully passed from man to man, each having to test its sharpness for himself and each looking at the sword and then at me with wonder.

Having little interest in ornamentation, they gave my leggings and loincloths, arm and ankle bands, silver clasp, bear claw and turquoise stone necklaces and Cross of Saint Christopher scant attention though it was obvious from the large number of items in my possession and their high craftsmanship that I was a man of importance. My bow and quiver of arrows received a quick inspection, but my panpipe was handled with great care and suspicion. I explained it was a musical instrument and that one blew into it like a flute, mimicking the action. One of the men cautiously brought it to his lips and the others all backed away. Explaining to him he had it reversed, he turned it around and carefully blew into it. The sound he made was greeted with surprise and relief. I was asked where these strange things, my dagger, sword and panpipe, came from and from what stone they were made, which I tried to answer as best I could but my explanations were met with blank stares, these people having no possession of iron.

The one I assumed was the healer approached me and examined me much more closely and rubbed my skin to see if the colouration could be removed. He and the chief and elders withdrew and conferred and there appeared to be some debate from the length of the discussion and the tone of their voices, during which time I stood there bound and surrounded by several of the braves who had captured me. The leader of that group was called forward and there was further discussion. Finally the matter, whatever it was, was resolved and they returned to the centre of the village.

The chief announced that I was evidently not from any tribe which they considered enemies and so would be spared the fate of their other captives. I was not exactly certain what that was but I took it to be good news. He continued that it was also evident from the colour of my skin and from my possessions that I was very different from them, and a man of importance. That was not so good, as it has been my experience in my limited years on this earth that people viewed those who were different with suspicion and usually fear, and those of importance while treated with due respect were also treated as more dangerous than the common man. My sword and dagger were claimed by the chief, and my other meagre possessions by the man who had lead the group who had captured me, Swift Otter. Furthermore, I was to be his slave because he had captured me, and because the tattoo on my chest they took to be a sign from the Spirit Otter that I belonged to him. He made it clear if I were to ever disobey him, or disappoint him in any way, I would find myself joining the others. One glance at them and I knew I had best not object.

That matter having been dispensed with, attention was turned to the captives. What I relate next, dear reader, is the most horrifying torture I have ever witnessed, one which I must relate so you might know the barbarity and vile, demonic nature of these savages, and the horror their neighbours, and I, went through. For the faint of heart or squeamish of stomach, for the love of God I beg you skip these following pages.

All four captives were stark naked. From the scratches, bruises and shallow cuts on the bodies of the three men, they evidently had been tortured previously and very severely. A huge fire was started in the centre of the plaza by their Healer-Priest and the area was blessed. Several men began to beat a rhythm on drums which had been made by stretching an animal hide over hollow trees and the young men began to dance around the fire. As the drumming became faster and more erratic, so did the dance of the young men. The drummers began to chant and the dancers began to whoop and cry out, mimicking the cries of the birds and beasts of the swamps and the forests. Gradually the elders rose and began to dance along with the young braves. The cries became unnatural screams and the snarls of beasts as Satan took possession of these savages and they crouched and leaped like tormented daemons, contorting their faces and uttering gibberish. Occasionally they leaped out of the circle and danced around the four captives, reaching out with their hands and scratching the three men and menacing but never touching the young boy. They grabbed the men's genitals and pulled and twisted them with much laughter and taunts, causing the men to grimace with pain and tears to flow from their eyes.

This went on for several hours, the dancers leaving the circle and dropping to the ground where their women ran to them with drink and food while others took their place. And then the cries and hoots suddenly stopped and were replaced by an eery chanting that rose and fell in pitch and the men began to weave in and out and about the fire and over to the four captives. By this time the dancers had worked themselves up to a frenzy of madness and their red-brown bodies glistened with sweat. More logs were thrown onto the fire sending flames and sparks to the pitch-black sky. The men pulled out their knives of chiselled stone or sharpened bone from the belts holding their breechclouts, and approaching the captives they slashed out at one of the three men, cutting off slices of flesh from his body, from his breasts, his arms, legs and cheeks, causing him to scream with pain. To my horror they danced back to the blazing fire, the human flesh impaled on the ends of their knives which they thrust at the flames. Half roasting the flesh which sizzled like strips of pork and did not smell unlike it, they, within sight of the victim himself, proceeded to devour it most ravenously.

I stared in disbelief, my gorge rising to my throat as they waved the slices of half-roasted flesh before the man they had cut it from, the blood running down the blade and handle and over the hand of the native grasping it and down his arm, and they grinned a savage, diabolical grin and bit into it with the greatest of relish. The four captives watched on in horror, the boy and one of the men heaving with nausea but having nothing in their stomachs to bring up and it was only with the greatest effort that I did not do likewise. The victim they had sliced the flesh from twisted and squirmed and tried to break loose as they continued to dance in a demented frenzy and to slash his flesh, and as their knives sliced off pieces of his flesh he cried out most horridly, which only made them dance more fervently. And so in this manner they continued cutting him to pieces, finally dismembering him, cutting off fingers and finally his arms and legs until, finally, having cut away all of the flesh he died.

That was not enough for these men now gone mad, if they can even be called men for surely they were not human. One of them cut off the defleshed skull and, with the hair still clinging to it, placed it on a stick so as to carry it in triumph through the dance, the eyeballs still staring in horror now at the dancers, and at the remaining three captives. A shudder ran up my spine at the sight and despite all the killing and death I have seen in my young life, I have never felt so nauseated. That still was not the end of it! They picked up the bones about the stake where the corpse had recently hung and passed them around to the men and the male children, ensuring that everyone got one, and each proceeded to suck on the bone, sucking off the bloody flesh and sinew and sucking out the marrow like children devouring some sweet until nothing was left. I could taste the sour bile that had risen in my throat and I fought the urge to puke in fear what my punishment might be.

Now completely possessed, they seized the second man, now screaming hysterically and begging them to stop, and they hung him upside down on a long, sharpened pole, which they carried over to the fire and suffering burns themselves in their crazed condition thrust into the burning logs. Memories of seeing the Castilians burning a Moor at the stake and the stench of his burning flesh flashed through my mind, and I had to wonder at man's capability to inflict pain on his fellow man, and how man's cruelty stretched half way around the world to these heathen savages of the Indies. As the man's death screams ripped through the trees, I closed my eyes from the sight but I could no more block out the horror from my sight than I could block the demonic sounds from my ears. Thankfully his death throes were of short duration. I had been horrified that the Castilians would do such a thing even if their captive was Moor and a heathen, but their depravity was nothing compared to these savages, for instead of allowing the flames to consume the dead body as the Castilians had done, they allowed the body to roast and they then removed it from the fire and devoured it, carving it up like a pig, some, instead of using knives to cut up their victim, tearing him apart with their teeth. (4)

I was at first surprised the third man was released later that night until the reasoning was explained to me. Word would be passed along to other members of the Ishak tribe whom he would meet to allow him to pass by so that in time he would make his way back to his tribe. He would tell them what he had endured and witnessed, which would surely strike fear into their hearts and they would think twice before engaging the Ishak in battle, or even encroaching on their territory for food. The experience had to have driven him mad and I pitied him as I am sure death would have been more welcome than seeing his friends and companions tortured and eaten, and returning to tell their families what had happened.

And so I and the captive boy began our lives as slaves, the two of us at first tied up at night, and during the day joining the women in their tasks, the two of us constantly being watched so we had no opportunity to flee. We wandered the forests with the women in search of nuts and digging up roots. Back at the village we helped fetch wood and cook the meals, wash the wooden and clay bowls, and sweep the floors of the homes, I for Swift Otter, his wife and two children, and the boy for a couple who had no children and to whom he had been given as a slave. Any heavy work that had formerly been done by Swift Otter's wife or children or by the childless couple was now done by the two of us.

If we were too slow to understand what was expected of us, or too slow in doing it, we were whipped with birch switches on the back or on the buttocks by the wives, and again by their husbands when they returned to the village in the evenings until our flesh was crisscrossed with bloody welts. Constantly we were humiliated and reminded we were women-weak and inferior to every other member of the village by the men, women, and children and looked upon as if we were excrement. Constantly we were reminded that if at any time our masters were dissatisfied with us the fate of the two men who had been killed awaited us. The boy did not see that as some idle threat, and nor did I.

After the first week we were no longer tied up at night for we had nowhere to run to and would be tracked down anyway. I had hoped that as time passed my captors would lighten up on their demands, but the more proficient I became the more they demanded. As I went to bed each night I prayed to our Most Merciful God for deliverance, and I thought about the Moors and blacks and Jews that I had seen as slaves and the vacant looks in their eyes and I began to understand their despair and lack of hope though none were treated as cruelly under Christian hands as I and the boy were under these savages. The boy, at least, could hope that in proving himself he would in time be adopted as a member of the tribe and become a brave and even marry, though how one could willingly participate in the cannibalistic rites of these savages I could not imagine, and I sensed the boy was of the same mind. Both slaves, both learning our new role, both outcasts, we often worked side by side and came to rely on each other for encouragement and support.

Toward the end of my third week of captivity a messenger arrived at the village with news that members from a rival tribe, members of the Caddo, had encroached on their hunting territory. The men in the village immediately retaliated. They returned a few days later with two captives and my heart sank and my stomach turned with the thought of what the fate of these two men was going to be. Sure enough, the two men were tied to stakes in the ground and the villagers began preparing a large fire in the centre of the plaza. Unable to witness the torture of the men, I retired to Swift Otter's home but I could not block out the chanting and unearthly cries of the captors, or the screams of agony of the captives.

As the second night approached, I decided. Seeking out my fellow captive, I told him of my plan, and he quickly stated his wish to join me. If there was going to be any time conductive to our escape, this was going to be it. Alternating between states of euphoria and of exhaustion, our captors would be too preoccupied to notice our absence, and once they did, they would hopefully be too weakened and too disoriented to pursue us, and they certainly would not want to miss the conclusion of their torture of their two captives and the perverted feast that awaited them. Besides, hopefully, they would see us as too unskilled to escape far and easily retrieved after the gruesome festivities.

And so as the fire was lit and the dance about the first of their two captives began, I and the boy met in the shadows. He had stolen two stone knives and a spear from the man who had taken ownership of him and he had stolen back from others two tomahawks and two of the beautifully decorated otter pelt turbans that had belonged to the men he had been captured with, one much to my surprise having my silver clasp pinned to it and the other adorned with my Cross of Saint Christopher. He had also stolen back several of my stone knifes and tomahawks while I had retrieved from Swift Otter's home my panpipe, bow and arrows, and the stone knife from Black Cloud, unfortunately having to leave behind the necklace with the turquoise stone Many Bears had given me as Swift Otter had taken to wearing it.

He had also taken to wearing my bear claw necklace but on this night had left it behind and tossed it in the pile of my other belongings which he had left in their packs with the intention of eventually gifting his friends with them or trading them with others for items more to his liking. My medicine bundle he had not touched in fear of disturbing the spirits associated with it. Together we slipped into the home of the chief where I retrieved my dagger and sword, and the two of us slipped into the shadows and began our desperate flight. In that the tribe was spread to the west and the north, we had decided to make our escape to the east and the south.

We ran all night, our bodies filled with the energy that comes with fear and desperation. As the sun rose, we paused only briefly to catch our breaths, and were off again, having no way of knowing what we might be running into and taking the easiest trail that lead to the east or to the south. If I had been right, our captors would have spent the night feasting on first one captive and then the next and would have then collapsed in exhaustion and satiation. Few if any would be in any state to pursue us, hopefully giving us another day and night before there would be any serious pursuit. Toward evening much to our delight we came to a swiftly moving stream and finding a fallen log we hacked off the branches with my sword and dagger and rolling it into the stream, climbed aboard and floated and poled our way east. Not only would it carry us further and faster than our legs, but our trail would be eliminated.

As the sun rose, we abandoned our log and the river and headed off along a wide trail that lead farther south, running on pure fear and desperation. As night fell, I shot a bird which we dared roast over a fire, and after ravenously devouring it we slept for several hours. At the first rays of sun, we were off again, zigzagging constantly south and east. The land was barren and deserted, as we had guessed it would be, and we crossed no sign of habitation and could hear no sound of pursuit. And so we alternately ran, walked and slept and with each rising of the sun our hopes rose higher and higher. We had either lost our pursuers or they had not deemed us worth pursuing. And with each passing day our hopes drove us on with greater joy and enthusiasm which sustained our souls, while a few roots and the occasional nest of white larvae the boy unerringly rooted out of rotting logs sustained our bodies. On the fifth night we dropped off to sleep exhausted and starving but free. We woke in the morning surrounded by six men, their spears aimed at our hearts.

The Big River is the Mississippi and of course the Ocean Sea refers to the Gulf of Mexico. The Spaniard Pánfilo de Narváez, along with Cabeza de Vaca, was swept out into the Gulf while crossing the Mississippi during a storm and Pánfilo was drowned. It marked the border between the Choctaw and the Pantch Pinankanc (which would later be called the Chitimacha.) The Chitimacha lived in South Central Louisiana and they numbered about 20,000 at the time Nico passed through. Today they number approximately 900. They lived in framed houses made of poles plastered with leaves and mud with thatched roofs. Like most of the other tribes they flattened the foreheads of male children and were matrilineal with totemic clans named after local animals.

The name Ishak means 'the People'. The Choctaw gave this tribe the name Atakapa (Attakapa or Attacapa) meaning man-eater because of their practice of ritual cannibalism. They lived in the southeast woodlands from Vermilion Bay Louisiana to Galveston Bay Texas, living on the coast in the summer where they grew maize and hunted alligator, shellfish and fish but did not venture far into the ocean. They moved inland during the winter when clams and oysters became inedible and the fish migrated further out to sea, subsisting on bird eggs and hunting deer, bear, and bison. They ceased to function as a tribe around 1762 due to a high death rate from disease and fighting and merger with other tribes (particularly the Caddo and Koasata) but now a self-identified group are reclaiming tribal membership. Francois Simars de Bellisle, a French explorer, lived with the Atakapa from 1719 to 1721 and described cannibalistic feasts he observed which he said were religious in nature. This practice was also reported by the French historian Antoine-Simon Le Page du Pratz who lived in Louisiana from 1718-1734. Lous Le Clerc Milfort, a French explorer, encountered the Atakapa in 1781 and was told by them that they had roasted Spaniards alive in revenge for torturing their ancestors but they did not eat them.

Tickanwa tic means 'real people'. They were also called the Tonkawa by their northern neighbours the Wichita, a Wichita name which means "they all stay together". They lived in Oklahoma and Texas north of the Ishak and spoke a language isolate (one unlike any of the other tribes). Around the time Nico was in the area they numbered about 5000. By the late 1600's they were reduced to 1600 individuals due to disease and wars with their enemy, the Apache. They were down to 34 individuals in 1921 but now number around 600, living mostly in Oklahoma.

This account is based on the following entry in the diary of Father Fray Gaspar Jose de Solis (1767) who claims he witnessed this cannibalistic orgy, which he said was a three-day event, while with the Karankawa:

"The dance is carried on in this fashion. They drive a stake into the ground where they are going to hold the mitote. They then kindle a huge fire and bind to the stake the victim whom they are to make dance or whom they are going to sacrifice. All of them gather together and as soon as the discordant notes of the caymán are heard, they begin to dance and to jump about the fire, making a great number of gestures and terrible grimaces and uttering sad, unnatural cries. Dancing and leaping and with sharp knives in their hands, they draw near to the victim, cut off a piece of the flesh, come to the fire and half roast it, and, within sight of the victim himself devour it most ravenously. Thus they continue cutting him to pieces and dismembering him, until, finally, they have cut away all of the flesh and he dies. They cut off the skull and, with the hair still clinging to it, place it on a stick so as to carry it in triumph through the dance. They do not throw away the bones, but pass them around, and whoever happens to get one sucks it until nothing is left. They act in like manner toward the religious and toward the Spaniards whenever they capture them. Sometimes they hang the victim by the feet and beneath them start a fire, and after the body is roasted they devour it. Other times they cut stakes, about an inch in thickness, from the pitch-pine, which grows so plentifully in these parts; they stick these stakes to the victim and then set fire to him, and as soon as he is half-roasted they eat him. Some, instead of using knives to cut up their victim, tear him apart with their teeth and devour him."

There is of course no evidence that such an event ever took place and no other explorers reported that the Karankawa practised cannibalism. In fact Cabeza de Vaca (see Note 1, Chapter 8) who lived with the Karankawa after being swept out into the Gulf of Mexico by the Mississippi, reported that he and his remaining crew had to resort to cannibalism on their dead to survive the winter, and upon discovering this, the Karankawa had found their actions abhorrent. Some feel that Father de Solis had confused the Karankawa with the Atakapa, who as referenced in Note 2 above, were reported as having cannibalistic practices. Of course the defenders of the Atakapa claim they were mistaken for the Karankawa.

Chapter 10
The Karankawa

Nico encounters the peaceful, sea-faring Karankkawa with whom he feels comfortable Piercing his earlobes, nostrils and nipples, he also adds to his tattoos. He learns how the tribe determines if an individual is two-spirted and he helps teach a young boy who has been so determined.

Nicolau Ribeiro (16yo); unnamed boy (9yo)
tb – cons mast oral anal

The men surrounding us were fierce-looking but they did not look anything like the Ishak. They towered a head to a head and a half taller than myself, and I am taller than most Portuguese. Their hair was coarse and dark with a reddish hue, again due to the exposure to this cursed constantly blazing sun I assume, though their skin was brown and not as dark nor as red as some I have seen. Like many of the other tribes I have encountered, they had extremely slanting foreheads, obviously practicing this strange obsession with head flattening, and like many of the tribes their bodies were highly tattooed and heavily painted. Adding to their ferocious looks, each one had his earlobes, nose, lower lip and nipples pierced and from them had hung colored beads, bright feathers, or seashells. They all wore deerskin bracelets and necklaces and the usual breechclout and they carried extremely long bows, most at least eighteen hands long, and a quiver of arrows of half that length. There were no individuals from the village from which we had escaped, and when they spoke, the language was very different from that spoken by the Ishak, or any of the prior tribes I had encountered.

And so resorting to gestures and a few common words that seemed to form a sort of trade language from one tribe to the next, and with a lot of guess work, the boy and I explained that we had been captured by the Ishak and that we had escaped from them five days ago. Their eyes widened and they glanced about nervously upon hearing the name Ishak, and we spent much time assuring them that we had traveled as fast as we could south and east since our escape, and that we were not aware of any pursuit. The leader of the group said something to the others in an urgent voice and he and three of them quickly left. The remaining two indicated by gestures that the boy and I were to accompany them. We continued along the path we were on, arriving around noon at the shore of a great body of water whose opposite shore could not be seen and which I guessed was once again the great Ocean Sea which much to my confusion and frustration I seemed to have been skirting ever since living with the Tocobaga eight months ago. I was beginning to think I would never find the place I had seen in my vision never mind my home and family again.

We were joined just before nightfall by the other four who had traced our trail back to verify our story and to ensure that we were not being followed by the clearly feared and dreaded Ishak. Retrieving their dugout which they had hidden in a copse of trees, we paddled out into the Ocean Sea and continued south for at least a candle mark more before returning to land only heartbeats before the sun disappeared below the horizon, which it does with amazing speed in this land. We slept that night after a cold meal of flatbread and raw stone crabs which we caught along the shore, our new captors not wishing to risk lighting a fire.

We were up at dawn, had a breakfast of some roots and stems which I could not identify, and continued on our way in the dugout along the coast, past long islands with miles of sandy beaches and sand dunes and hundreds of seagulls, pelicans and cormorants which took to the air in a great commotion with our passing. We arrived late that day at their village near the mouth of a river, the village consisting of about two hundred individuals living in dome-shaped huts made of willow saplings covered with hides or bark. Beside the village was a huge pile of discarded shells from which there emitted a foul stench of rot and dead fish, evidence that they had been living there for some time.

We met with the village chief and elders, always obvious from the way they carried themselves and the deference the others paid them, our new captors, who had been on a hunting and scouting expedition, relating how they had found us, and the boy and I again relating how we had been captured by the Ishak and made their slaves and how we had finally escaped. One of the oldest members of the village whom I would guess would be about Father's age but who was stooped and wrinkled, making him look much older, questioned both the boy and me closely, asking where we had come from and how we had managed to escape without being followed. He had evidently heard of the boy's tribe, and of the Pantch Pinankanc from whence I had come, and he asked specific questions about their appearance and habits, drawing out things I had not even been aware of having observed. Of course he had never heard of the Portuguese and looked at me skeptically, which I could not blame him. At last satisfied, he proclaimed that he believed we had told the truth.

The fact we had managed to not only escape from the Ishak but with weapons besides, bought us both great respect and admiration, and my role in coming up with the plan and helping the boy, which he greatly exaggerated in homage to me much to my embarrassment, brought me even further acclaim. My belongings, my dagger, sword and panpipe, were of great interest and viewed with awe and covertness, these people, like all the others in this land, having no concept of iron or of forging. One might think that such was their desire to own such weapons that I would fear they would be stolen, that I might even be murdered for them, but these people do not have any concept of thievery either for like all other tribes I have met everything is shared, and the few personal items one possesses another would never think of taking. That night we feasted on an oyster stew with wild mushrooms and freshly baked flatbread and I went to sleep exhausted but relieved to be with these new peoples who called themselves the Auia. (1)

Exhausted from my ordeal with the Ishak and needing to decide what to do next, I decided to remain with the villagers and over the subsequent days the boy and I gradually became part of the village's routine. The village was situated beside a salt marsh and on an estuary which provided an abundance of sea life and waterfowl and the river provided not only a constant source of water for drinking and bathing, a custom practiced even by these people and which I had become accustomed to and even enjoyed, but also a link to other villages farther up the river. The temperature was considerably cooler with gentle breezes blowing in from the Ocean Sea and we were in that time of year when storms were rare, both of which suited me well. The villagers spent a considerable amount of time at sea in search of fish and larger sea life, which was a great delight for me, having missed sailing and the open sea, and I spent most of my time with the fishermen. My training with the Mamelukes and the Saracen barbarians in the use of the bow made me an excellent hunter, raising my esteem even higher, and my panpipe and my tales of my voyage so far made me a popular storyteller around the evening campfire, entertaining the warriors, the women, and the children. One evening, four days after our arrival, a great fire was built in the center of the village and a round dance was held with everyone in the village participating. I had been told ahead of time the purpose of the dance and I had slipped into the forest with several of the other men. While we were gone, the chief called for silence and announced that he had been told that they would be having visitors from very far away, visitors who did not know their customs. He said with a worried look that he hoped they would be well behaved but cautioned everyone to be courteous to them. The women glanced at each other in alarm and held their hands over their mouths, and some of the older children who apparently had met these visitors before pretended to be worried and observed that they had thought they were safe from them. The smaller children, most four or five summers of age, shuffled closer to their mothers. When the tension had built up, we returned to the village, each of us wrapped in blankets and some wearing grotesque masks of painted wood and gourds, others with masks carved and painted like one of the wild animals of the area, a bear or a wild cat, and one even with a hornet's nest over his head. Myself I had a mask to which a long gourd was fastened with two stuffed sacs trimmed with fur attached beneath it.

The Chief welcomed us and asked our names but we pretended not to understand and walked around him hunched over like animals and growling and making menacing gestures at those watching. The small children clung even closer to their mothers. The chief again demanded our names, saying it was their custom to identify themselves when with strangers. At that one of our group, a man who had stuffed the front of his robe so it was extended outrageously like a pregnant woman's, stepped forward, and with a loud belch, announced in a disguised voice he was "Likes to eat." Another who had stuffed the back of his robe similarly announced with a large fart that he was "Big Buttocks." I stepped forward and disguising my voice, identified myself as "Giant Elk Penis" for my mask did indeed look like a large penis complete with a pair of testicles, and I nodded my gourd up and down for emphasis. By this time the small children were beginning to catch on and beginning to smile, though there were some who were still not sure what was happening and hung onto their mother's legs.

The chief asked again why we are there and we shouted "to stick our penises up everyone" and opening our blankets to show exaggerated penises made of gourds that we had tied to our waists we charged, the women and girls scattering and screaming and the boys all rolling over laughing, the fact that the strangers were obviously their fathers and uncles making it even funnier. Some of us chased the other men, causing everyone to laugh uproariously, and others tried to kiss other men's wives with their huge masks, which would have been cause for a fight and even death normally. The Medicine Man stepped forward and shouted that he expected us to stop and to behave and he drew a line in the dirt and told the villagers to get behind it as his magic would protect them. We of course charged and arriving at the line pretended to bounce off it and to fall on our backsides.

Pretending to be angry, we cried out if we could not stick our penises up them, then we had come to fight. Grabbing spears and bows and arrows that had been conveniently set up ahead of time, we again charged, but tripped over each other and ending up fighting each other, some collapsing and dying with exaggerated pantomime and other pretending to be hit in the backside by the arrows or spears, causing the older boys to collapse and roll in amusement and others to hold their sides in pain from the laughter. Again the chief called a stop to our antics and announced that it was their custom to dance with strangers. A number of women, the wives of the men in disguise, stepped forward and began to dance in a circle, following the direction of the sun as it crossed the sky from east to west, and us strangers formed a circle on the outside and followed the other direction as we would in a normal dance. The women moved gracefully and sedately, but instead we leaped and wove and flapped like fish or frogs or birds, making the children laugh before we wove off into the woods. Discarding our costumes, we returned as if knowing nothing about what had happened. (2)

Once again the incongruous and yet perfectly logical behavior of these peoples never ceased to amaze me. I would have never imagined a savage people who slaughter and torture their neighbors would purposefully take the time to entertain their children and make them laugh. The two behaviors to me are incompatible and it has been my experience that there are men who approach life with all seriousness, and others who are known as jokesters, and the one is incapable of taking the role of the other. As I said though, it was very sensible. These people lead such dangerous and hard lives, right from the moment they are born, struggling to provide food and shelter and facing death from their fierce storms, wild beasts, and savage neighbors, that they would find occasions to bring a little laughter to their children and loved ones is most commendable, a Christian act one would not expect from such heathens.

And so I retired that night happy and at peace, and as I lay there recalling the evening and the looks on the faces of the children, at first fearful and then puzzled and ending with amusement, I had to smile, and as I thought of the looks on the faces of the parents and the adults of the village a warm feeling passed over me. These past nine months had been hard for me too, and the number of times I had faced death would be daunting if I took the time to consider it. It had been good to laugh, and to bring laughter to others, something I would strive to do more of in the future, for my own sanity, and in payment for the many favors others have done me in this most difficult journey.

I reached down and fiddled with my limp member as I lay there smiling and recalling specific antics of my coconspirators for a future performance, and the howls of laughter and the merriment of the younger children who became adults much too fast. As my member began to rise my thoughts turned to my own contentment and the pleasure I was bringing myself. It had been a long time since I had engaged in the act and I did so now with abandonment. I had been given a small hut to live in on my own, one whose owner had died and whose wife was now with another man. I had no need to be secretive for nobody would approach me. Many of the adults would be copulating this night, the result of the release of tension the play acting had achieved, the entire village in a mood of relaxation and happiness. And, many of the children would be laying and watching and learning, and others, some of the older as of yet unmarried boys, would surely be seeking pleasure with each other, or in the same way as I was. These people, unlike my own, had no taboos on self pleasure, or at least none that I knew of, the result of their lack of civilization and of their unbridled lust. Whether that was a sign of their heathen savagery, or their enlightened outlook, I could not say.

As my member stiffened and the pleasure throbbing through my swollen flesh demanded my attention, I put aside my philosophical thoughts and moral conjectures and concentrated on the prickling sweet pain encircling my bulb and the numb throbbing of my stiff member. I stroked my stiff cock slowly to prolong the delight, concentrating on the strange sensation as my cock grew numb and the pressure increased in my loins, the tension and the anticipation a delight. My stones slowly began to swell and I inhaled and exhaled slowly as I closed my eyes and thrilled with the slivers of painful pleasure piercing the rim of my bulb. I thought of the delight that comes when one ejaculates, a delight that is beyond description, a delight all males know with the exception of eunuchs and those who have not yet reached puberty. My breathing grew labored and I squeezed my swollen flesh below the bulb to cut off the urgent desire to spurt my seed, and I paused in my caressing to allow my passions to subside.

I then resumed, concentrating on the build up of pressure once again, thrilling with the burning around the rim of my swollen cock, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. Once again I approached that peak and too great was my desire to delay it a second time. I glanced down at my swollen cock, barely visible in the light of the full moon, and inhaled sharply as I felt the twang deep in my groin which announced the release of my seed. It raced up the core of my cock with a burning sensation and spurted out the tip. My seed few through the air in an arc and landed on the floor of my little hut, followed quickly by another and another. I had not released my seed for some time and spurt after spurt erupted from my cock with delightful pleasure and I sighed and groaned with the release, my fingers grasping my swollen cock and sticky with my seed. Later I would chastize myself for my weakness and shamefully recall Father Francisco's admonition of the Lord's wrath for engaging in such a sin and beg forgiveness, but for the moment I closed my eyes in the ecstasy of my ejaculation.

The Chief, War Chief, and Medicine Man were much interested in my tribe, the Portuguese, and asked many questions, mainly, I suspect, to be prepared for any attack for they were particularly curious about the weapons of my tribe and if the warriors all had weapons such as mine, and many questions concerned my people's nature. My lack of tattoos other than the swirl and two wavy lines on my right breast and my total lack of piercing was noted with an unmistakable sense of scorn for no man who was truly a man was without both. So strong was that sense that I found myself apologizing, saying that because of my travels I simply had not had the time nor opportunity.

That, they pointed out, could easily be rectified, and in fear of offending them and their customs, I found myself lying on my back while the Medicine Man dabbed my earlobes and nostrils with some eye-watering substance and then proceeded to pierce them with a thin, sharpened bone and to thread a cotton cord through the openings to prevent them from closing up. That was painful enough even with the painkilling substance he had dabbed them with, but nothing compared to when he thrust the sharpened bone needle through my nipples and threaded them. I bit my lower lip so hard I drew blood but I managed to cut off my scream. Much to my despair, he was still not done. He tattooed a blue half circle under each eye, and something that looked like a cluster of yellow circles high on my left breast and a similar design in purple on my right while I struggled not to scream with the pain, which would hardly have been very warriorlike. When he finished everyone was in good cheer and slapped me on the back. Myself, I was thankful he was done.

Several days later, I was taken aside after the evening repast by the chief and the Medicine Man and asked point blank if I was a monaguia, which they explained as being a man who is not a man. My total lack of any interest in having congress with any of their young maidens, all of whom had been attracted to my physique despite the ugliness of having a perpendicular forehead and white skin, along with my physical strength, the result of my training and experience as a soldier and a sailor and my physical exertion these past eight months, had been obvious to everyone except myself. Again the older elder came to my assistance when he confirmed that the nature and the role of a monaguia was the same as that for what the Choctaw called a hoobuk. Figuring it best I be honest with them, I admitted that I was, and from the expressions on their faces I was glad that I had been honest, for these people evidently had the same admiration and deference as the other tribes I have encountered for these men-not men whose position and role I was becoming more and more knowledgeable of with each group I came in contact with. (3)

Nothing more was said and life continued on as normal with no requests to have congress with me, nor offers to join me for such purpose. Obviously, I assumed wryly, I was not as attractive to the males as I had been to the females. Actually, I had observed that not all men-not men engaged in sex, and though those who did usually had congress with other men, there were others who preferred and even married women. Engaging in sex for a man-not man, just like for regular men, was only part of what made up what he was. I was discovering there were many other characteristics unique to this group of individuals. When adults saw that a boy was not interested in boyish play or manly work, or a girl was not interested in girlish play or doing women's work, the child was encouraged and assisted to follow the behavior he or she preferred, for, I was told, they were following the path their spirit wished them to take. I witnessed this first hand a couple days after our conversation. I noticed a group of adults arranging bush in a circle in which they placed a bow and a basket. A boy I guessed to be five or six was then sent into the circle and told to look for an object which had been hidden and to bring it out. The object, the boy assumed and so had I, was to test his powers of observation. As soon as he disappeared into the circle, the bush was set on fire to hasten his decision. The boy brought out the basket, and I learned that henceforth he would be encouraged to perform the duties of the women. Had he brought out the bow, he would have been encouraged to engage in those activities other boys did to become a man. I was told the same would happen if it was a girl who had preferred doing boy things had been sent into the circle. I found this practice remarkably perceptive and supportive, especially for a people so ignorant in so many other ways.

Whenever I was out on the Ocean Sea, I was most tempted to strike out to the east, hoping that where I was presently was narrower than where Columbus had chosen to cross and that I would be able to reach home once again and much sooner than walking west, but the uncertainty how great that distance might be and memories of the towering waves and storms we had encountered and knowing the little dugout of these people would never survive such waves, each time the temptation arose I decided it was a foolish idea. Finally a trader who traveled along the coast to the south and westward up the many rivers emptying into the Ocean Sea arrived, and much to my surprise and delight among the many tales he told of his travels he mentioned a large, powerful empire to the east where they built great temples out of stone and where the people wore colorful feathers and sparkling stones. I pressed him for more details and though he had never seen the place himself he had been told about it and what he did know sounded just as what I had seen in my vision. This truly had to be the mighty empire of the Great Khan, though he professed not to have heard that name.

Hearing this confirmation of my vision gave me much joy and much hope, and upon hearing it I was most eager to be on my way. The elder and the trader, and others, however, warned me not to go and to avoid the people I had seen in my vision for they had heard there were peoples to the south and east who did indeed cut out the hearts of their enemies and offer them up to their gods who had an unquenchable thirst for human blood, and did many other horrifying things, though after what I had seen the Ishak do I could not possibly imagine how there could be anything on this Earth more horrifying, and being stiff-necked like Father as Mother frequently pointed out, I set my mind to travel to these people.

Heading out into the Ocean Sea for what I was determined would be my last time with a group seeking mussels, I dived into the clear, cool water with a heavy heart, knowing I would greatly miss these daily forays for food and the new friends I had made. Returning to the village with a bountiful catch, I sat down on the shore and began to help crack open the mussels I had collected. To my surprise, I found in the very first one an exceptionally large, pure white pearl, and in the next two smaller ones. I found several more in my harvest, beautiful rose-colored ones, and several of the mussels had beautiful multicolored layers of mother-of-pearl that could be chipped and shaped into jewelry. When I showed these to the elder, he said it was an auspicious omen of good luck. I gave him one of the smaller pearls and another to the boy who had escaped with me, who in turn presented me with one of the two turbans he had recovered from the Ishak, one of his own prized possessions, having returned to me my clasp and cross earlier, and I presented the village chief with some of the mother-of-pearl. The next morning I left behind the young boy who had escaped with me, the boy fitting in well with these people and content to live with them, and I headed on my way, following the coast in search of a particular river that the trader said would mark the southern border of the Karankawa and the land beyond where I wanted to go.

Nobody accompanied me, but no one had to. These people have an ingenious method of communication with each other. A fire is lit and damp leaves and logs added to purposefully produce smoke, and this smoke is then directed by way of squares of hide and by fans made from large ferns to form designs in the sky, swirls, parallel lines, circles and puffs and the like. From this, one village is able to communicate to the next, and that one to the next, warning them of approaching danger or advising them of plentiful prey, and, I was told, many other things. In such a manner those ahead of me were advised of my approach and my friendly intent. After traveling three days along the coast I came upon the next village and I was asked to delay my vision quest to assist in a ceremony they had decided to conduct upon hearing about me. Put that way I could hardly refuse.

So the next evening the villagers formed a singing circle, not an uncommon form of entertainment, but this evening a boy of nine winters was escorted into the center of the circle and left there. Someone in the circle began to sing and after looking about curiously and finding nobody was dancing, the boy began to dance to the song, his motions recognizable as those of a woman even to me. When the second song began and still nobody stepped into the center, the boy slowly realized that this ceremony had to have something to do with him though he knew not what. As the singing continued, he began to dance a second time, not knowing what else to do and feeling conspicuous standing there alone. This continued until after he had danced to the fourth song after which the Medicine Man of the village stepped forward and before those gathered there declared him to be a monaguia, a man who was not a man.

Of course if he had danced as men do, he would have been considered a man and no special announcement would have been made. I learned that from this point on the child would be formally raised as a man-not a man, the boy learning women's work and being instructed in the unique duties of a monaguia, either by another monaguia, or if one was not available, by the tribe's Medicine Man or by some other elder. The village had been considering having such a ceremony for some time, perhaps inviting those from a nearby village to join them, or taking the boy to the larger village where he would be left for further instruction if their suspicions proved to be true. Hearing about me, they decided to seek my help, which was preferable to losing a member of their small village. As it was explained to me, if I would provide the boy some initial advice, one of the elders could take over the boy's education from there. (4)

Once again I found my training and my past experience prepared me for this challenge. Coincidence or some grand plan? I can only conclude that the All-knowing and Merciful Lord in Heaven was watching over me, though why he would considering my transgressions and sins I cannot fathom and I can only conclude it was for some enlightenment yet to come, or perhaps it was some means to benefit others and I was but a tool toward that end. My skill of observation and my powers of inductive reasoning, honed by Father and Uncle as an apprentice trader, once more came to my aid.

I had by this time from my experiences and observation of others come to an understanding of what a man-not a man was expected to do and the special spiritual power he was thought to have, enough anyway to provide the boy initial guidance. The elder or others could explain the special role a man-not a man had with the spirit world and could fill in the details on the simpler, daily duties such as how to make the Black Drink or how to prepare a corpse for the afterlife and the many other responsibilities a man-not a man had. I also knew one role they were expecting me to instruct the boy on was one which I was only too happy to serve as his teacher. That I found particularly ironic considering how such a role would be considered back home, and how just a short while ago I had considered this incident might be part of some greater plan by God.

"So, do you know what is happening?" I asked, sitting down with the boy in the lodge that had been provided me.

"Yes," he said solemnly as he looked up at me. "The village has decided I am a monaguia and you have been chosen to guide me."

"How do you feel about that?"

"About their decision, or about you guiding me?"

"Both."

He shrugged and looked up at me with his big brown eyes and the innocence and honesty of youth. "I have always known I was different, as far back as I can remember. I am not like the other boys, and I do not want to be. I was unhappy but I follow my spirit now and am happy. I heard the others say you are a very great monaguia and I can feel that you are very powerful and that the spirits are pleased with you. I look forward to whatever you can teach me."

I was not prepared for his seriousness nor his absolute trust in me and at first I was taken aback by his comments, but I was also heartened by them. So we began by talking about the special powers and abilities of a monaguia, and I found the boy already knew much of what I had to say, not because of what someone had told him or what he had heard, but from a self awareness and from what he said he had sensed from the spirits around him. I found that apprehensive in a way, but also encouraging for it was an aspect I knew least about. It would also provide me many evenings of thought in the days to come as I wondered about the nature of man and of the spirits and their world and about my own preferences and desires.

As for the duties expected of him, I again found that he had an awareness of them in the same way he already knew of the connection he had with the spiritual world. So, when it came to the topic of congress with other males, it was not a surprise that the boy was aware of that also, and comfortable with it. Like all boys he had witnessed the copulation of his parents and was aware that it not only produced babies, but also brought pleasure, something kept a secret back home and the latter denied and considered sinful. Like many boys here in the Indies he had play acted being a father sexually with other boys, and unlike the other boys, enjoyed taking on the role of the mother better, and found pleasure in doing so.

So, in reality, there was little that I really had to offer the boy, spiritually, mentally or physically. Removing our loincloths, we embraced and caressed, he copying what he had observed his parents doing and me showing him some of the finer techniques which he had failed to notice or which they did not do. He had a childlike freshness and innocence and was curious and eager, and his body was soft and appealing. It was not long before the two of us were erect, my member now close to two hands long and his half that length. We began with the simplest of acts, that of masturbation, which he already knew about, having witnessed his parents engaging in the act and having engaged in it with other boys his age, both doing himself and doing and being done by other boys.

As I sat there fiddling with his little stiff cocklet I found his knowledge at such a young age surprising, and was reminded of my introduction to sex that was now so many years ago by an even younger and more knowledgeable black boy. Perhaps it is the way of the world for the more primitive and uncivilized races that their young to be more sexually knowledgeable and aggressive just as the adults are more lustful. Stroking his stiff little cocklet and having his hot little hand grasping my member and stroking it was erotic and I was soon approaching my peak. I showed him how to prevent what was about to happen by grasping the snake below its head and choking it, something he did not know, and he in turn showed me a trick of grasping the cock by the base and instead of stroking it just barely massaging the sensitive skin on the underside of the bulb where it joins the shaft with the tip of one's finger, which doubled the intensity of the pleasure. And so we continued, bringing each other to that peak again and delaying it a second time. The third time we continued until he was jerking and trembling and gasping with his orgasm, and I was spurting my seed on the ground.

After resting a bit, we aroused each other again with caressing and kissing and nibbling each other on the ears and nipples, which he had also witnessed his parents doing but had little experience with his buddies, and from there we proceeded to satisfying each other with our mouths and tongues, something he was unaware of. That I was showing him something new, and the joy and eagerness to learn in his eyes, got me so aroused I was ready to squirt my seed before we really began and I had to pause and allow my humors to cool. I then sucked on his little sausage, delighting in the way it throbbed between my lips and knowing the pleasure I was bringing him, and I then sat back and let him suck on my sausage, delighting in watching his smooth, brown lips slip over my bulb and his cheeks sink in as he began to suck and his feathery eyelashes flutter with the delight of giving suck for the first time.

Sitting there with the unique taste of his cock on my tongue and the fragrance of it in my nostrils, I inhaled deeply with the pleasure his mouth was bringing me, the rim of the bulb of my stiff cock burning delightfully and my loins aching to release my seed. I showed him how to delay the spurting of one's seed by again choking the snake, but this time using one's lips, and we then lay down facing each other in the opposite direction and proceeded to pleasure each other at the same time. I do not know which brought me the greatest pleasure, sucking on the stiff cock of this innocent nine-year-old man-not man or having him sucking on my member. We continued until once again he was quivering with his dry orgasm and I once again spurted my seed, this time into his mouth, filling it to overflowing so great was my arousal, my seed flowing out of the corners of his mouth and around his chin to hang in a pearly pendant. I was, after all, in my prime, seventeen years of age and healthy and prurient. He swallowed my thick, creamy seed and sucked deeply on my cock, draining me of my seed and I tensed and quivered with the burning of the rim my knob and its tender opening.

Again we rested, for a long time, and then once again we aroused each other. He squirmed with pleasure as I fingered his anus, and with even more pleasure when I spread apart his cheeks and licked and sucked on his hole, an act he had no knowledge of and which at first shocked him and then pleased him intensely. Having discovered the pleasure it brought, he had no hesitation doing the same to me, worming his tongue into my asshole as I had done to him and pressing his lips tightly against my hole and licking it, eager to bring me the same pleasure. Such was the mark of a true monaguia, having the desire to bring men who were men a pleasure no woman can. Having this innocent boy of nine summers hungrily licking and sucking on my asshole brought me an indescribable pleasure and my cock wagged with excitement and desire for his soft, tender flesh.

His anus slick with my spittle, I slipped my finger up his rectum and finger fucked him, causing him to squirm and thrust his hips with delight and his once again stiff cocklet to wag and ache with arousal. I then greased up his hole and replaced my finger with my stiff, aching cock, sinking my stiff cock up his ass until my hairs were pressed against his smooth, compact little ass. Kneeling there in the hut, I fucked him from behind, another act he had never witnessed and had never engaged in though he later told me the position was not unlike that his mother and father sometimes took. I was very much aware that I was taking the virginity of this nine-year-old child almost half my age, and as I slowly pumped my swollen cock in and out of his anus I savored the delight, the mental delight of knowing that I was the first to penetrate his body and to introduce him to the pleasure of being fucked, and the physical delight of having my stiff, aching cock surrounded by hot, most ass flesh and having my cock tightly gripped by his young anus. His flesh throbbed in time with my own flesh and the boy gasped and snorted with unabashed pleasure. Having already spent my seed twice, it took longer to reach my peak, and when I did I paused and savored the pain and the delight until my lust subsided, and then continued to fuck him. I was panting and snorting too, with lust and with my exertion, and knowing this was the boy's first experience made me feel as if it were my first time also. When I at last filled his rectum with my seed, the two of us grunting and panting like two rutting pigs, I swayed dizzily with the pleasure and spending of my seed for a third time.

Once again we rested and I then assumed the position he had assumed and he penetrated me with his little member, and again I quivered with arousal knowing I was the first he would penetrate with that special part of his body. I had been stuffed many times with much longer and thicker members, but the pleasure of being fucked by this nine-year-old boy and knowing the pleasure he was feeling for the first time in his life brought me even greater pleasure. He grasped my hips with his hot, little hands and thrust his slender hips to and fro eagerly, driving his hot little cock in and out of my ass. He paused, as I had done, and I knew it was to prolong the pleasure he was feeling, and then he resumed his thrusting, fucking me faster and faster until our naked bodies were glistening with sweat and we were again grunting and snorting like rutting pigs until he was trembling with his third orgasm that evening. It was beautiful. We finally fell asleep, naked, sweaty, and contented in each others arms, the musky aroma of spent seed blanketing us.

My journey through the land of the Karankawa was most enjoyable and all too short and of all the peoples I have met, I enjoyed living with them the most. Finally I left what I was told was the last village and headed south and west, gradually climbing up into a flat plateau, a dry, scrub desert with the peaks of hazy mountains far to the west, as I had been informed I would, an area sparsely populated by small nomadic tribes eking out a living in this arid, desolate land and upon whose southwestern border I was told began the empire I was seeking. With happy memories of the Karankawa, I hiked along in the heat through the rugged, barren land, confident and without fear, filled with renewed hope and sure of myself. Excited that my vision quest was at last coming to an end, and hopeful that I would soon be back in familiar surroundings and on the trail home, perhaps even seeing my family by yuletide, I wiped the sweat from my brow and plunged on though prickly brush and cacti under the still ever-glowing sun.

The Auia were called by others the Karankawa, which means dog-lovers or dog-helpers, from the practice of this group of people of domesticating dogs and using them to pull loads. They lived along the Texas Gulf of Mexico coast from Galveston Island to south of Corpus Christi. During the summer and hot months sea food was inedible so they moved inland, also avoiding summer storms, and returned for the winter months when they harvested blue and stone crabs, oysters, mussels, sea turtles, shellfish, red fish, sea trout and many other fishes, traveling in the bays, lagoons, and bayous in dugouts. Bows were up to six feet long and arrows were up to three feet long so they could be found more easily in the water. In appearance the Karankawa were similar to the Carib Indians from whom they may have originated. Their first contact with Europeans was Cabeza de Vaca when he and the fifteen remaining survivors of the Spanish expedition in search of gold in the fabled city of Apalachen in present-day Florida were swept out into the Gulf by the Mississippi and grounded on their shores in 1528. The Spaniards had resorted to cannibalism to survive and De Vaca reported that abhorred by this discovery, the Karankawa were about to kill them but decided to let them live as captives. He was eventually released and traveled through Texas and northern Mexico before finding a Spanish mission and returning to Spain. In 1687 the Karankawa killed a group of French explorers under Ren� Robert Cavelier Sieur de La Salle but six children were spared to live with them. Four of these children were members of the Talon family (ages 14, 8, 4 and 3). A fifth member of the family, Pierre Talon, age 10, had gone with La Salle before the attack with La Salle's intention of leaving him with the Hasinai (Tejas) to learn their language. La Salle was killed by a disenchanted follower and Pierre left with the Hasinai. All of the children were rescued in 1690/1691 and wrote about their life with the natives. In 1697 the area was invaded by Alonzo Alvarez de Pineda and for the next hundred and fifty years there was an ongoing battle between the Karankawa and the European settlers and with their traditional enemies. In 1858 the remaining Karankawa were attacked and wiped out by Texan settlers. The Karankawa overlapped with the Coahuiltecan and the Tlaxcala in NE Mexico.

This pantomime is taken from the fictional novel "Tatum Mound" by Piers Anthony, a resource mentioned in Chapter 4 (the Tocobaga). Such play acting was a common form of entertainment among the peoples of North America.

The diary of Fray Gaspar Jose de Solis in 1767 states "among these indians there can also be found a great number of hermaphrodites, or monaguias, as they call them. They take these with them on their campaigns not only to make use of them in immoral ways but in order that the hermaphrodites may drive off the horses and mules while they themselves attack the owners." monaguia means male-bodied and refers to that gender that is now called two-spirited. The good Father also attributed cannibalism to the Karankawa and said they eat flesh to transfer the captive's power and strength, but he may have mistaken them for the Atakapa as noted in the previous chapter. In a report by Cabeza de Vaca, the Spaniard observes an encounter with an effeminate and impotent male clothed and attired like a female who was married to another male, and who performed the duties of a female.

This formalization by the village usually occurred when the child was between the ages of nine and twelve and was practiced by various tribes across North America, just as were passages of manhood and of womanhood for other youth.

Chapter 11
The Tenochca

As the European new year begins, Nico is taken in tribute to the Tenochca, today more commonly known as the Aztec, and witnesses the human sacrifices he had seen in his vision.

Characters: Nico (16yo), fellow novices Cuacualti (Beautiful) (18yo), Ozomatli (Monkey) (17yo)

I met few inhabitants in these barren lands, and when I did meet them there were rarely more than one or two dozen individuals, mostly consisting of members of three or four families scouring the area in search of game and roots. A lone traveller, I was of no threat to them and I was greeted cordially though somewhat warily given my lightly coloured skin and strange weapons. With them heading in one direction in search of food and me usually in the opposite in search of my vision, we exchanged greetings and perhaps shared a meal, occasionally a night, and continued on our separate ways. So it was for close to two weeks, but the further south and west I went the warmer and more humid the climate and the greater the game and edible vegetation and the more frequent the encounters, all which greatly improved my outlook regarding my future. All I met spoke the same language with slightly differing accents so I was gradually able to put together a basic vocabulary. The groups I had met in the north had sworn no allegiance to any chief other than the leader of their small group, but as I progressed south and west the peoples I encountered formed gradually larger allegiances, at first to single villages and then to clusters of villages.

I travelled for close to another two weeks, the land gradually becoming more fertile the further I went. These people to the south and west called themselves the Te'inik. They were more dependant on agriculture than those to the north and lived in small, competing cities. Though none knew of the Great Khan nor of his great army of mounted warriors, they spoke of a large and powerful empire with a vast and mighty army further ahead, and the further I went the more aware they were of the things I had seen in my vision. Most advised avoiding those that I sought, warning that my life would be in great danger if I did not. A few observed that I would be much admired by those I sought on the other hand, but were reluctant to say anything further, adding to the mystery.

On the day I determined to be the winter solstice, the village I had arrived at held a special feast and dance in honour of the sun, whom they, like many in this land, treated as a deity, and they explained that they were celebrating the return of its strength in its fight against the demons who would keep it under the earth, for each day from this one it would spend a longer and longer time above ground. That these savages were ignorant of the fact that the earth was at the centre of the universe and that the sun, and all heavenly bodies, circled it came as no surprise for they knew nothing of astronomy or the sciences as do civilized people. Given that, it was amazing that they were able to tell from the position of the sun and the shadows it made, and without benefit of a calendar, that this was the shortest day of the year and for that I must give them due credit.

Three days later, I held my own ceremony of joy and celebration, commemorating the birth of our Saviour, another thing of which these savages are completely ignorant, and as I knelt there alone on a scrub and cactus-strewn plateau in this strange land I imagined my family kneeling in the House of the Lord and raising their voices in thanks for the birth of His Son and tears filled my eyes and sorrow weighed down my heart as I thought of Mother, Father, Uncle and my sisters and my baby brother, all who surely considered me dead, and how much I missed them. I offered up heartfelt prayers of thanks for my survival, it now by my estimate being thirteen months and eight days since that fateful night I decided to throw myself overboard and into the Cipango Sea. I confessed my sins and beseeched the Lord that I might find my way back home where I could provide more bountiful and more material thanks. Clutching the Cross of Saint Christopher that Uncle Paolo had given me, I gazed up into the heavens and thanked the blessed martyr for my safety thus far in my travels and asked that he continue to guide and protect me.

I crossed paths with a group of hunters three days afterward who informed me their village lay only a few days ahead, and reaffirmed that the land of pyramids and temples that I sought was only a short distance further. And so I continued on my way with renewed hopes of reaching the Empire of the mighty Khan, my heart light and my steps quick in the belief Saint Christopher had heard my prayers, arriving at their village two days later.

The following day a group of warriors, well armed and obviously well trained, marched into the village and their leader demanded from the chief a tribute of a half dozen young men. The chief argued that he could not give them so many men, for as they could see he needed all the young men he had to hunt food to provide for the village. I suspected he knew of the approach of the tribute collectors and had purposefully sent out the group of hunters I had met to make it appear that his village had few men to spare and I had to smile at his trickery and admire him for it. He called me forward and argued that I alone would be worth six men, a part of his chicanery I was less appreciative of but which I still had to admire. The leader inspected me curiously and although he tried not to show it, I could tell that he was impressed and wanted me, which the chief had surely known also. He was even more impressed with the weapons I carried. Finally he and the chief agreed upon me and two other men, both of whom stepped forward willingly if somewhat hesitantly. When the leader ordered me to turn over my weapons, I refused to surrender them. I do not know if it was because of the conviction with which I spoke, or because of my strangeness, or if he deemed me to be of no threat, but he did not challenge me.

And so on Tuesday, the first day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and ninety-four, I began what was to be a two-week march to the great city of Tenochtitl�n, the city of my vision. Along the way we picked up more men as tribute, all strong, young men, slaves, enemy warriors who had been captured and kept prisoners for the day of tribute, sons of commoners who owed debts to the nobility, and even a few sons of nobles who saw being taken in tribute as a great honour for themselves and for their families. These peoples, the warriors who collected us, the men who were taken as tribute, and the women and children of the villages were of different tribes but united by a common language and a common appearance, swarthy reddish-brown skin, dark eyes, brown or black, coarse black hair worn long and loose by the women and shaggy and chopped off shoulder-length by the men, and on the average a head shorter than most of the natives of these lands.

We were treated well, given plenty of food and water, and although we marched from dawn to dusk at a quick pace under the relentless sun, we were given frequent rests in the shade and treated with respect. It was a strange mix of company that I found myself in. Some were angry and sought escape, which was futile as we were constantly watched and those who persisted in their attempts found themselves bound. Others were frightened and docile, a few sorrowful at having left loved ones behind, and others, the majority, strangely looking forward to what was to come with a zeal bordering on that of zealots or with a resignation that such was their fate and there was naught they could do about it. Along the way I asked many questions and learned much about these peoples. (1)

At long last we arrived. Climbing to the top of a low ridge, we emerged from the forest as the sun touched the horizon and we looked down into the valley in awe at the great capital and religious centre of the Tenochca, Tenochtitlan, surrounded by large squares of cultivated land which in turn were surrounded by a large blue-green lake. The western side of the towering stone temples and palaces were gilded by the setting sun, the eastern sides cast in long, dark shadows, the stone edifices rising up like islands in the centre of the city and scattered throughout the rest of the huge metropolis. Three great stone causeways, one on the north, one on the east and one on the west side, connected the city to the far shores of the lake surrounding it. It was exactly as I had seen in my vision, and as I stood there looking down upon the pride of the Tenochca a sudden fear pierced my heart. How was it possible that I had envisioned such a marvel? What god or demon planted such a vision in my mind, and why?

Until that moment I had considered the vision as nothing more than a strange, fanciful dream, the result of the heat, exhaustion and the strange food of this land which I had been consuming. Although I had claimed to be on a vision quest, I had never truly believed such a place existed and I had used the claim to help me travel across this strange land, a person on a vision quest having a special, protected status among these superstitious savages. Now, seeing the structures I had seen in my dream down to the minutest detail, I was shaken to realize it was not just a dream and some imaginative place, but a very real place occupied by very real people. That could only mean the superstitions of these people were not superstitions at all and what I had thought fantasy was very real. So then was my vision, and not knowing the source of that vision nor its purpose bewildered me, and terrified me.

The warriors herded us down the wide road descending into the valley and along the eastern causeway, which, like the other two, was wide enough that ten horsemen could easily enter the city abreast. The large squares of cultivated land I saw now were large islands of vegetation, crops of grains, vegetables and flowers, some which I recognized and many which I did not, separated by canals. Removable wooden bridges were situated along the causeway to allow boats to pass from one side to the other and so the warriors could remove them to defend the city from attack, a most ingenious plan. Pathways lined these canals and it being close to dusk the causeways, canals and pathways were filled with citizens heading to their homes, low buildings of various sizes made of wood frames and wattle and with thatched roofs. The canals, the stone temples, and the crowds reminded me of Venice but even having seen that ancient city did not prepare me for this one spread out around me. While Venice looked and felt very old, Tenochtitlan did not.

I and my fellow captives looked about in disbelief and fascination as we were marched through the city to the palisaded compound where the prisoners were kept. Although I had seen the city in my vision, unlike the rest of my fellow captives who were seeing it for their first time, I was still unprepared for its immensity and grandeur. Never had I seen so many people in one place, not even in the grandest cities of Europe or the fabled and ancient cities of Cairo and Mecca. Like all large cities, this one was stifling with the stench of unwashed bodies and human waste, particularly strong after the freshness of the wide-open spaces I had travelled through and in the heat of the evening. The noise, a constant babble of voices, the rustle of clothing and the thumping of marching feet was deafening and a sharp contrast with the birdsong and soft whispering of hidden animals hunting in the jungles and in the night. Still, it was a magnificent sight, a tribute to the people who built it and lived in it. Tenochtitlan was not like anything I had yet seen in this land, and bore no resemblance to anything I had ever heard about the empire of the Great Khan. All that I thought I knew about these people and where I was, now was turned upside down.

The compound we were taken to consisted of rows of open shelters, where, much to my surprise, we joined over a hundred others who had been collected as tribute. I slept little that night wondering why these peoples took people as tribute and were keeping so many captive. It had to be immensely costly. Of course most pressing on my mind was what was to become of me. The many warnings that I had been given echoed now in my empty skull and I cursed myself for my stubbornness in insisting that I meet these people.

The next morning, which I was told was the seventeenth day of the seventeenth month of these people, the month of Tititl, those of us who had been brought to the city over the past week were marched to the centre of the city and to a courtyard on the north side of a large stone pyramid, the Great Temple, the largest of their temples. This month, I was told, was dedicated to several deities, the prime two being Yacatecuhtli, the patron god of merchants, whose shrine we were standing before, and Ilamatecuhtli, the goddess of the weavers. This was also the month in which the merchants and weavers initiated new members into their crafts. A large group of richly dressed men, evidently the merchants and their initiates, was seated under the shade of large palm leaves strung along two sides of the courtyard.

This and the previous month are the two coldest months in this land but the sun still blazes down relentlessly during the day, and though it was one of the coldest months, the temperature was much more like early summer back home. Also being the driest two months, there was little cloud cover. Bundles of sticks, uttal canes, which they had sprinkled with blood from their ears and which they carried always with them to protect them and ensure business success, sat beside each man. Before the Great Temple and standing in the open square were I estimated about forty individuals dressed only in loincloths and surrounded by warriors with spears. As we stood there more and more people flooded into the courtyard, forming a semicircle around those sitting, these forty individuals and ourselves. There had to be at least a thousand spectators crowded into the square including vendors selling drinks, fruits and baked goods just like in the square of any town or city except for the huge number. This was, I assumed, some festive ceremony and as individuals appeared on the platform before the shrine I turned with interest to watch the proceedings.

The individuals, obviously priests of the deity Yacatecuhtli, were richly dressed with feather headdresses and colourful robes just as I had seen in my vision. They greeted the crowds and proceeded to extol the virtues of Yacatecuhtli, and of the merchant guild, and to lead the people in prayers of thanks and requests for a beneficial year ahead. There then appeared behind them other individuals in various wondrous and strange dresses and guises to the cheering of those watching. These, I learned, were individuals dressed as the various gods these people worshipped and selected to represent them, a most curious custom.

There were, I was to discover, as many gods and goddesses as there were stars in the skies, these ignorant savages not only worshipping their gods but those of the peoples they had conquered, both those peoples far in the past and long forgotten and those peoples conquered recently and filled with anger and resentment. As a result there were gods who had multiple functions, and aspects of life that were governed by more than one god, and many gods who were known by a variety of names. If ever there were a people in need of salvation and the word of Jesus Christ, it was these, and from their ready acceptance of new deities I concluded that they would be most amiable to accepting the one and true God once informed about Him. I determined to pay close attention to the proceedings so as to inform and enlighten Father Francisco and the Holy Father upon my return home so that they might send missionaries to convert these misguided and needful heathens. (2)

As each individual stepped forward, the crowd cheered and more chants were sung as if these individuals were the gods themselves. I had been impressed with the rites of the Holy Christian Church, particularly Mass held by the Holy Father, and by the power and authority of the bishops and cardinals, when I had visited the Vatican, and I had been impressed by the devout and strict practices of the heathens in their dedication to Allah throughout the land held by them when I visited Mecca, and by the unshakable faith of the Jews and their blind adherence to the old scriptures, but the three faiths I was aware of paled in comparison to the devotion and zeal and the ceremony and pomp of these people who ignored the blazing sun and praised their gods with a religious fervour that was both inspiring and fearsome.

At last the first of the forty individuals surrounded by warriors stepped forward and mounted the two flights of steep blue and white painted steps, eighty of them, to stand before the shrine and the head priest. These were, I was told, the favourite slaves of the seated merchants and I watched with great curiosity and wondered what might be their role in this celebration. The man lay down on a large, convex stone before the shrine and four priests stepped forward and held him by his arms and legs while a fifth stepped forward and held his head back by the hair. The head priest then stepped forward and to my surprise raised a large, wicked looking knife in the air, the jagged, black blade glinting in the sun.

Saying a prayer to their god, he stepped forward another step and to my shock, thrust down with his knife, cutting open the torso of the man. Reaching down into the gaping wound and up into the rib cage, he ripped out the man's heart. Raising it in the air in offering to the sun and then to the god Yacatecuhtli, he dropped it in a wicker basket. The assistant priests lifted up the corpse and tossed it down the steep steps. There the body was picked up by other priests, one of whom cut off the man's head and deposited it in another wicker basket while the others carried off the body.

I stood there in horrified disbelief as the next man calmly mounted the steps, laid down on the stone altar, and the whole gory process was repeated. Surely not all forty of those assembled were condemned to such a fate! I glanced at my companions who stood beside me stone-faced as they watched the proceedings. I looked over at the merchants who sat there watching and quietly talking to each other. A third man began walking up the now bloodstained steps. These men, these slaves, I discovered, were deemed the best in the household of the merchants, and only the best were offered to their gods. Many of the merchants, I was told, even had a father-son relationship with their slave! Each time a heart was raised in the air the merchants cheered and the rest of those watching called upon Yacatecuhtli to accept the offering. Most of the men walked up the steps unaided, a few weak with fright having to be helped, but none resisted. They were Tenochca, and to be sacrificed to the gods was an honour, for they were the messengers to the gods from their worshippers on earth. The stone steps became slick with blood as messenger after messenger was sent off, their hearts added to the baskets, their heads collected to later be displayed on racks before the Great Temple, and their bodies carted away.

The metallic smell of blood hung in the hot, still air, mingled with the stink of faeces and urine for the dead have no control of their bladders or bowels. Clouds of sweet, cloying incenses drifted through the air from tapers lit throughout the crowd to cover the stench. The onlookers quenched their thirst and downed maize bread balls stuffed with spiced meat and hot peppers, which they called tamales, while they payed homage to the god of merchants. My stomach turned and I wanted to look away but I knew I dare not. I knew from experience we had been brought there to witness the might of our captors and the power of their gods, to impress us, to intimidate us, and to look away told them they had succeeded.

We watched until the last man was sacrificed and we were then returned to our compound. I learned there that the blood of each slave would be drained from his corpse and collected in an ornate bowl provided by his merchant owner, who would then take the blood to the temples of whichever other gods he worshipped. I sat there in the shade in shock, unable to believe what I had witnessed and beginning to understand the warnings to avoid these peoples. Most of my fellow captives appeared unperturbed by the events we had witnessed. Some were inspired to follow those who had climbed those eighty steps, honoured to be selected as messengers to the gods. Yes, inspired. That was a third reason we had been brought to witness the homage to Yacatecuhtli, to instill in us inspiration. That evening we were separated, the slaves in our group joining other slaves, captive warriors with other captives, commoners with commoners, and sons of nobles with sons of nobles. I was left to myself being none of these.

Three days later a number of us were taken to the Great Temple again where there was an even greater crowd. This time one of the priests stepped forward dressed as the goddess Ilamatecuhtli, the goddess of weavers, and sat down on an ornate throne draped with multicolored carpets as once again forty slaves paraded up the steps to be sacrificed. When they were done, a woman appeared in the courtyard below and began to sing and dance for the priest. Following her performance, she mounted the steps and to my surprise laid down on the sacrificial stone like the men had before her and her heart was ripped out. Unlike the slaves the previous day, her head was cut off before the shrine by one of the priests and the one dressed like Ilamatecuhtli, took it by its long hair, held it up before the roaring, cheering crowd, and performed a perverse song and dance with it, blood dripping from the neck and spattering the platform and his body. Below in the courtyard the weaver initiates, painted in the colours of their goddess, joined in, performing their own dance calling upon their god to favour them as they entered their profession.

I swallowed hard, sick to my stomach, aware I was being closely watched. What sort of barbaric peoples were these savages? Taking us once again back to our compound, it became clear to me another reason why the last of us to be brought to the city were being taken to watch these ceremonies. We were being shown our future! I was unable to eat that night, and unable to sleep. My future! Had I received that vision so long ago from our Merciful Father as a warning to avoid these people? I cursed myself for not listening to the warnings I had been given by the tribesmen I had met on my journey, and I offered up prayers to the one and only true God, asking for His forgiveness and His mercy and pleaded my ignorance in not understanding His warning. Although I prayed fervently, I knew in my heart that He had not sent me a warning at all. He had sent me a glimpse of what was to be my punishment for the grievous sins I have committed, sins of the flesh, and the sin of a weak and wavering faith. I knew in my heart it would only be a matter of time before I was brought before that great stone pyramid and expected to climb those eighty steps.

Two days later several of us were lined up before three elderly men wearing headdresses of freshly cut flowers and dressed in flowing white robes embroidered with colourful flowers and what to me appeared to be mushrooms. As we each stepped forward, we were examined carefully and they stepped away for a whispered conference. When I stepped forward, there was much excitement among them, and they examined me closely, particularly my tattoos and piercings and my mother-of-pearl necklace and my Cross of Saint Christopher, my panpipe, and my weapons, all of which I had been allowed to keep. I had no idea what was happening, but they were clearly greatly agitated.

After much discussion, I and two others were sent away with them. After what I had witnessed this past week, I walked behind them numbly upon wobbly legs as my heart raced and I imagined climbing those steep stone steps of the Great Temple. This was the first time I was not being watched by armed warriors and I seriously considered fleeing. I had my daggers and sword and the men I was accompanying were elderly and did not appear to have any weapons. I could easily overcome them, but then what? Having nowhere I could hide, and not knowing which way led out of the city, I would surely be captured before I made it to one of the causeways. So, like a spineless coward, I did nothing.

We were taken to a smaller temple south of the city, half a day's walk. The fresher air would have been a delight had it not been for the worries that occupied my mind and the fears that speeded up my heart, especially the fear that it was going to be ripped out of my body. Arriving at the temple, we were separated and questioned and physically examined by three senior priests even older than those who had selected us, one of whom I later discovered was the head priest of the temple himself. I was questioned repeatedly about where I had come from, to which I explained I had come from far to the east, across a mighty sea; about my strange possessions, particularly my sword and panpipe, the latter interesting them even more than the former and holding them spellbound when I played it for them; about the origin and meaning of my piercings and tattoos; about the cross I hung about my neck and its significance, and about my lack of a hood on my penis. My answers to each of these questions and others they discussed at great length amongst themselves. I did not flinch as they examined my penis most intimately and I could not help responding physically although they were all elderly and of no physical attraction. The eldest noticed my reaction and he smiled and whispered something to the others, causing them to smile also. I was asked what I knew about the gods and there being no use in lying, I admitted I knew little, explaining I had travelled much and had met many different peoples, which caused them to glance at each other and I could tell piqued their curiosity. Strangely, they asked me to sing, which seemed to please them, and to dance, which definitely amused them. All the while I pictured myself climbing those stone steps and lying on the altar stone and I tried my best to provide answers that I hoped would please them and change the course of my destiny.

Joining my two companions for our midafternoon meal, I learned that one was from the far north and a member of one of the nomadic tribes. His name was Cuacualti, which in his language meant Beautiful. Slender and of unblemished complexion with expressive brown eyes, an oval face, and long, gorgeous, wavy hair, he looked more like a girl than a man. He said he was eighteen summers, a year older than myself, but he looked more like sixteen. Deemed too weak and unmasculine by his tribe and having no interest nor skill in becoming a warrior, he was willingly given as tribute by his people, and he willingly came. The other, Ozomatli, which in his dialect meant Monkey, came from the far south, and was the son of a noble caught in warfare. Although shorter than average, he was agile and skilled in using knife and spear. He said he was the same age as myself, but he had the stature more of a fifteen-year-old. Why he had not been kept with the rest of the warriors he did not know, and neither Cuacualti nor I could hazard a guess.

Following our meal, which was quite simple and sparser than what we had been accustomed to, the three of us were taken to a small, circular, vaulted room in the temple in which a central fire surrounded by two rows of smooth stones was blazing and we were told to strip and sit on a low stone bench which surrounded the fire. Several young men, slaves I assumed from their simple loincloths and their subservient demeanor, entered carrying long poles which they used to roll the inner row of stones away from the fire and the outer row of stones close to the fire where the first row had been. Other young men entered with gourds of water which were slowly poured over the hot stones, resulting in clouds of steam which billowed up and out to envelop us. The rows of stones were exchanged a second and third time, and each time water was slowly poured over the hot stones to create more steam.

By this time sweat was pouring down the bodies of us three and the men moving the stones. This was not my first experience with this practice and I welcomed it, several of the tribes I have encountered having used a sweat lodge for the purpose of healing and as part of their religious rituals. This room I learned was called the tem zcalli. Sitting there naked and sweaty in the presence of these two good-looking, naked youths, I could not help admiring their bodies and each one's dangling manhood and were it not for the apprehension of the unknown and the fear what might be in store for me I would have surely become erect. Although I suspected it was my imagination or wishful thinking, I thought I caught my two companions checking me out also.

After what I estimated to be close to two candle marks, we were lead to an adjoining room where buckets of cold water were poured over us and our hair was washed, using a tallow whose scent reminded me of the fragrance of lavender, a common perfume found throughout the countries along the Mediterranean sea. We were then taken, naked, to a block of small, individual rooms, each containing a low, narrow bed, a small wicker chest upon which were laid out fresh, clean loincloths with a hem of brilliantly coloured and intricately embroidered flowers, mushrooms and butterflies, a pair of soft sandals, and a chamber pot, and in my room, all the belongings I had arrived with. And so it was on the second day of the eighteenth month in the calendar of these people, the month of Ixcalli, the month of growth and rebirth, I began my life as a Novice in the priesthood of Xochipilli.

Xochipilli, I was to learn over the subsequent days, was the Prince of Flowers, the God of Summer and the Morning Sun, and the God of Souls. He encompassed all things that are good and pleasureful, appearing also as Ahuiateotl, the god dedicated to the pleasures of the senses, the God of Voluptuousness, and as such was worshipped by the entire populace, for who does not love the pleasures of the senses. He was also the patron god of painting, drawing, sculpture, music, song, dance, and writing, the patron god of all things creative, and so especially honoured by those who practised such crafts. As the god of games, beauty and love he was further endeared by the people and his blessings sought. As the Prince of Flowers he was one of several gods of agriculture and closely associated with Tlaloc, the God of Rain, and Centeotl, the young God of Maize, and so was also worshiped by farmers, who made up over half the population of the city.

The next afternoon the three of us were taken back to the tem zcalli where once again we participated in a purifying steam bath and our bodies were scrubbed and perfumed and our hair combed and dried and this time braided with an arrangement of brightly coloured flowers. Wearing our sandals and the white loincloths with the decorative design identifying us as members of the temple of Xochipilli, we were taken to the main hall where the rest of the priesthood had assembled after their midafternoon meal, which we had missed. As we stood before the life-sized statue of Xochipilli, the head priest, wearing a headdress of feathers, gold plugs in his ears and nose and a gold chain about his neck, and a white robe with similar embroidery as ours and left open to reveal his body which was painted with huge symbolic flowers and sacred symbols, stood, and after his assistants lit copal incense, presented us, his new novices, to Xochipilli and invoked him to bless us so we might bring him honour and pleasure.

As the head priest prayed and gestured before the statue the other priests chanted and the three of us stood there uncertain what to expect. Gradually the smoke from the incense and the candles increased, dimming the illumination in the room, and suddenly out of the haze stepped a tall, imposing figure in a feathered headdress and an open, feather cloak. Large, tear-shaped jade stones hung from his ears and an oyohualli shaped like a teardrop and made from mother of pearl hung about his neck and rested in the middle of his chest which was covered by armour spiked with serpent fangs and in the centre of which were two suns with half-moons. He wore thick bracelets and knee caps shaped as six-petaled flowers, leg armour designed as two bell flowers ending with tiger paws which seized his ankles, and laced cactilis on his feet and a feathered headdress. He was young, in his late teens, surprisingly light-skinned, and had a broad, muscular chest and muscular arms and legs, his tightfitting armour making him appear even more muscular. The priests dropped to their knees in reverence and from the way he carried himself and the look in his eyes there was no question of his authority. We were in the presence of Xochipilli ixiptla, the God Impersonator, only the god himself ranking higher and I felt myself being drawn to him as iron filings are drawn by a magnet.

One of the assistant priests brought out a large, ornately painted ceramic bowl and dropping to his knees he offered it to the Impersonator, who raised it to his lips and took several long draughts until he had drunk a quarter of the contents, and then to Cuacualti, Ozomatli and me who did the same. The drink had a slight mint odour and very little flavour and was like drinking a tankard of little balls of gel the size of the nail on my littlest finger, little black, oily globules. This was followed by a second bowl of the same size containing a warm, thick, creamy black drink with a nutty flavour and the odour of goat cheese and that reminded me of the constituency of semen as it filled my mouth and flowed down my throat. It was like nothing I have ever tasted before and left a sharp though not unpleasant aftertaste, sweet and slightly bitter. This was followed by still another bowl, this one containing a cold, thick, deep brown, bitter liquid topped with a froth. (3)

By the time I finished the drink my sides were beginning to ache and I was sure I would be unable to swallow a single drop more. I began to feel a tenseness through my entire body, a tenseness that caused my body to cringe and my heartbeat to quicken along with a feeling of great apprehension. A vision of myself and my two companions being led out of the temple and onto a platform above a cheering crowd and our hearts being ripped out of our chests flashed in my mind. That image certainly did not relieve the tenseness I was experiencing and I had the feeling that my body was swelling and I was about to explode. It was more than a feeling. Something was swelling, a response to all the liquid I had consumed I assume, and the pleasure that swelling brought momentarily distracted me from my discomfort. It was only momentarily as the pleasure I was feeling caused me to swell all the faster and turned to embarrassment as it was impossible to hide what was happening what with the thin breechclout I was wearing. A quick glance down revealed that my two companions were experiencing the same problem, and from the looks on the faces of those watching us and the glances they gave each other, our condition was not going unnoticed, which caused my errant member to rise all the more.

Dropping to our knees upon instruction by the head priest, we were approached by the three most senior priests who opened their flowing white robes, revealing that they were not wearing breechclouts underneath and were in the same condition as we were. I and my companions being in our late teens I was not surprised by our prurience, but to see these three old men, who looked to be the age of my grandparents, standing there with erect cocks was a surprise. Despite the man's age, I eagerly reached out and cupped the large, dangling stones of the priest before me and drawing close, inhaled the heady fragrance of his sweaty balls and hot, throbbing cock. I eyed it so hungrily my body ached, the desire to taste it and to pleasure it stronger than I had felt for a long time, and I eagerly bowed my head and took the knob of his stiff, swarthy brown sausage in my mouth. On either side of me my two companions did likewise to the priests standing before them.

There before the head priest and all the other priests the three of us sucked and worked our lips up and down the stiff cocks of the three senior priests like starved men. I closed my eyes in delight at the flavour of the swarthy cock in my mouth and my cock throbbed with the same lust and desire as it did. Beside me my two companions noisily and unabashedly did the same, and the three priests openly sighed and gasped with their pleasure. We were soon rewarded with the juices of their bodies, and the three men filled our gullets quickly and lustfully, their seed overflowing and oozing out of the corners of our mouths and down around our chins they came so quickly and voluminously. We knelt there and drank down their juices and clamping our lips about their throbbing members we sucked their tight, swollen stones dry, our own members throbbing and jerking with desire and dripping with the clear nectar that precedes a man's seed.

As the three priests stepped back, the next three most senior priests took their places and once again the three of us eagerly took their members in our mouths, our chins dripping with the semen of the three who had preceded them. Again we sucked hungrily on the three stiff, throbbing members and bobbed our heads, easing our lips down their stiff, throbbing shafts to the tight curls of their pubic hairs, and then easing our lips back up to encircle their hooded knobs. Soon these three were squirting their seed down our throats to join the seed of the three before them. They were replaced by still another three, these priests being younger that those who had proceeded them, and even more eager to squirt their seed down our throats now lined with the slime of the others. As I sucked on the stiff member of the priest before me and he tensed and sighed with pleasure, the fragrance of his balls and the flavour of his cock swept over me and I swayed with lust as I felt a twitch in my loins and my own seed began to gush up the core of my throbbing, swollen cock. The youngest acolytes, the youngest a year or so younger than ourselves, perhaps sixteen or seventeen summers, had, unbeknownst to us, crept forward and were prepared, and as I and my companions squirted out our seed they caught it in gourds held before our jerking, throbbing members.

A third threesome stepped forward to be serviced and the three of us went down on their swollen cocks just as eagerly as we had gone down on the first three, the spending of our seed having not diminished our lust in the slightest. I inhaled deeply, relishing the fragrance of cock and sweaty balls and fresh cum, and I ran my tongue over the hooded knob in my mouth, my own cock still jutting up stiffly between my legs, the ache to release another load just as strong as the first ache had been. Again my mouth was filled with that tart slime and again I eagerly swallowed it and sucked the man's balls dry. Eight times we were approached and eight times we eagerly sucked our fellow priests and swallowed their slime.

The three youngest, the acolytes who had caught our seed, then took their turn, and as I sucked the throbbing cock of the handsome young priest who had caught my seed I recalled the look in his eyes as he had knelt there collecting my juice and my cock twitched with lust with the memory. A feeling of love and desire passed over me and I wanted to embrace this young man whose name I did not even know but whose cock I was sucking and kiss him and caress his smooth, beautiful body. We were both gasping for breath and sweating profusely and he grasped my shoulders and threw his head back as his seed raced up the core of his throbbing cock and spurted into my mouth. As I eagerly began to drink his thick, white offering, I shot a second time, adding my seed to the first that had been collected, unaware that one of the priests was kneeling beside me ready to collect my juice.

Gasping for breath and our minds as numb as our swollen members, the three of us turned our attention to the head priest who had stepped up before us. I ran my tongue up along the inside of his right thigh, leaving behind a slime trail of my spittle and someone's seed, and I slipped my lips over his nut and sucked on it. Cuacualti did likewise on my right, licking the head priest's left thigh and sucking his left nut, his long, feathery eyelashes fluttering with delight as Ozomatli approached the head priest from behind, pulling apart his buttocks and eagerly licking it as if he were licking a pot of honey. Cuacualti and I continued up his torso to his nipples. Though one of the oldest men in the temple, he had a strong, muscular body and a firm, broad chest. Being caressed and licked by three handsome, teenage youths, he was soon erect and panting with lust.

Cuacualti and I fastened our lips about his teats and sucked on them like babes sucking on their mother's breasts while Ozomatli pressed his lips against his hole and sucked on it. We made our way down once again and the three of us took turns licking his stiff cock, running our tongues up and down the shaft, around the rim of his bulb, and along the tender skin below it. He shuddered and cried out as he came, his seed shooting up into the air and falling back, splattering the three of us in the face. We eagerly lapped up his seed as it flowed out of the opening and oozed down his shaft, lapping up the streamers as kittens might lap up streamers of milk.

The Toltec migrated from the north into Mexico to form the dominant civilization between 700 and 1200 AD. They were replaced by the Chichimec, a nomadic collection of wild, independent tribes, in the north (the dry, sparsely populated area of Southern Texas and Northern Mexico through which Nico traveled) and by a branch of the Chichimec which migrated further south and became known as the Mexica. Those who settled still further to the south became the Maya. As the Maya civilization began to decline and the main population moved again further south into Central America, those who remained formed smaller cities and ceremonial centers. Chief among these peoples were the Huastec, who were in turn conquered by the Aztec in 1450 but who kept considerable self-dependence and paid tribute in the form of goods and people. (This is the tribe Nico was with at the time he was taken in tribute.) The culture that dominated the central area of Mexico was a tribe of the Mexica, the Tenochca (which is what they called themselves at the time of European conquest.) The Tenochca founded the island city of Tenochtitlan on Lake Texcoco between 1300 and 1375. At its height the population of the city was between 100,000-300,000 and at least half the population were farmers who left to farm in the morning and returned in the evening, using chinampa (reed rafts covered with soil) to grow their crops and replace the shallow lake surrounding the city. Tenochtitlan formed the Triple Alliance with the city-states of Texcoco and Tlatel�co, it and Texcoco each claiming 2/5 of the tribute to the Alliance and its leader dominating the other two leaders. The Tenochca are often referred to as the Aztecs, but Azteca is a more general term referring to all Nahua-speaking peoples in the Valley of Mexico, which included the Tenochca and the Triple Alliance and other tribes that either paid tribute or were at war with the Alliance.

As the Tenochca conquered the surrounding tribes they incorporated their gods into their own pantheon. They worshiped four main gods:

Huitzilopochtli (hummingbird wizard), a war and sun god, the main god of the Tenochca, worshiped especially in months 2, 5, 9, and 15;

Tezcatlipoca (smoking mirror), god of the night sky, moon, stars, young men, warriors, and schools, chief god of the Aztecs in general who became the sun disc, eternally young but his foot was lost in battle and replaced by an obsidian mirror [which was used by priests for divination], worshiped especially in months 5 and 9, represented as a jaguar on earth;

Xipe-Totec (Flayed one, he who has skin/foreskin), the god of spring and fertility; and

Quetzalcoatl (sovereign plumed serpent), god of civilization, priesthood, and learning, Venus morning and evening star, worshiped throughout Mesoamerica especially in months 4 and 6, represented as an old man, body painted black but light skinned and bearded and swore to return to earth and reclaim his empire.

Cortez had been assumed by the Aztecs to be this god, which is partly the reason for his success in conquering them. These four gods were seen as the sons of the creator gods, the Ometoeotl, Ometecuhtli and his consort Omecihuatl. Below them was an infinity of other gods, including

Tlaloc (Rain god and god of lightning and his four helpers, Tlalocs or Tlaloques, who are clouds, red, white, black, and yellow, highly worshiped as rain was essential for crops and survival);

Chalchihuitlicue (woman with the turquoise skirt), goddess of growth, seas, and lakes, Tlaloc's wife or sister;

Tonatiuh (a sun god, the dominant god of the fifth era when the Europeans arrived)

Xolotl (Evening Star, twin to Quetzalcoatl, who was deformed – twins are seen as an abomination); and

Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli (dawn, a muscular warrior, god of warriors.)

Chia seeds from the Salvia hispanica, a relative of the mint family, are known to provide a high level of sustainable energy and were drunk or eaten by Aztec warriors for that reason. The seeds are either black or white and today are added to porridge and puddings or soaked in water or fruit juices. The seeds have a mucilaginous texture and form globules like miniature tapioca balls. The drink was called chiapas in Nahuati. It has a similar effect as caffeine, fighting off drowsiness and acting as a stimulant. The second drink is made from the taproot of the Lepidium meyenii, which grows in the high Andes of Peru and comes in a variety of colors, black being the strongest. It was eaten by the Inca, roasted as a delicacy, mashed and boiled as a porridge, cooked in stews, jams and empanadas, and ground as a flour used to make bread, cakes and pancakes. It was called maca-maca by the Inca and is known to increase and prolong erections, increase the volume of semen, and to be an aphrodisiac. It is assumed in this story to have been known by the Aztec as a trade item and item of tribute from southern tribes. The third drink was a common drink among all levels of Aztec society and especially used in rituals. This was xocolatl, chocolate, a bitter, spicy drink made from cacao beans seasoned with vanilla, chile pepper and achiote (annatto). Chocolate is also known to increase the volume of semen and to be a mild aphrodisiac. Chocolate contains theobromine, which fights fatigue, which was why it was drunk by Aztec warriors, and is high in caffeine. Chocolate was also eaten combined with maize as a thickener and emulsifier, and with honey and fruit. As a drink it was consumed cold, not hot.

Chapter 12
The Tenochca – Novice

Nico, along with two older captives, becomes a novice worshipping the Aztec god Xochipilli, engaging in religious group orgies and tending to the needs of his followers.

Characters: Nico (16yo), fellow novices Cuacualti (Beautiful) (18yo), Ozomatli (Monkey) (17yo), 44yo fat artist; 6yo boy and his 6yo cousin.
Mt, tt, tb

I sat there in a daze. By this time I should have been exhausted and my lust satiated, but I found I was as full of energy and my body just as tense, perhaps even more so, than when we had begun. The Green Drink, the Nectar of the Fire God, coursed through my veins and my heart throbbed with life, as my member throbbed with lust, the Nectar giving me the energy of ten men. This drink, made from the crushed leaves of a plant they call chia, is consumed by the emperor's couriers and allows them to run in relays across the empire ten times faster than a normal man. The raw sexuality of thirty-two virile men in rut, the smell of them in my nostrils and the seed of ten of them in my gut added to that energy and lust so I knelt there aching for more. Much to my delight, I was soon rewarded.

Standing and bending over and grasping my knees, I spread apart my legs and I saw out of the corner of my eye one of the priests step up behind me along with the head priest who proceeded to lubricate my anus and the stiff cock of the priest behind me with a warm, fragrant oil. Grasping my buttocks and pulling them apart, that priest pressed the tip of his stiff, greased cock against my lubricated hole and lunged forward, penetrating me with his long, thick member with first thrust. I groaned loudly and delightfully with the penetration and the pleasure of having my rectum stuffed with a thick, stiff cock, much to the pleasure of those watching, most of whom were erect once again, several sitting there and stroking themselves as they watched.

My two companions were similarly mounted with the same enthusiasm and from their responses with equal pleasure, and the three of us were lustfully fucked before the congregation of hot, naked, prurient priests whose ages I guessed ranged from sixteen to sixty. The three fucking us grunted and groaned with delight as they thrust their aching cocks in and out of our teenage bodies, and we grunted and groaned with equal delight as our anuses burned and ached with the same desire as our cockheads and our rectums throbbed with the same lust as our swollen members. The room was filled with the erotic fragrance of male sweat and fresh semen and of perspiring balls and raw, throbbing cock replacing the copal incense. I filled my lungs with that fragrance and I ached to release my seed though I had already done so twice.

The priest's cock throbbed hotly up my rectum as he thrust to and fro, gasping and panting with pleasure, and I threw back my head and sighed and moaned with equal pleasure, my anus burning with that painful pleasure of being stretched open, my rectum throbbing hotly and numbly in time with the member it was clutching. My two fellow Novices were gasping and groaning with equal pleasure, their cocks jutting up between their legs and aching to be pleasured, as was mine, my stones at the brink of contracting and squirting out my seed a third time. As the priest fucking me grasped my hips and I felt his seed spurting up my rectum, I quivered and I felt my seed begin to race up the core of my swollen, numb cock. Somehow the young adept knew and caught my seed as two others caught the seed of my companions.

Bent over with exhaustion from hours of sex, I found myself being mounted a second time, and then a third and fourth as the three of us serviced the servants of Xochipilli, at times being fucked by one while sucking another, and in our frenzy the two exchanging places, the first thrusting his member slick with my spittle up my ass while I eagerly sucked on the other member slick with the slime from my rectum, all the while my member swollen and numb and throbbing with a pleasure that filled my very being and I vaguely recalled adding still another load to the gourd held out to catch my seed.

As the priests faded away, the three of us embraced and caressed each other, running our fingers over sweat-slick muscles, caressing stiff, sensitive nipples and trembling thighs, skipping our lips over sweat-slick skin, kissing and sucking, delighting in the taste of salt, the taste of each other's lips, the feel of a man's stiff nipple between our lips. Cuacualti dropped to his knees and took my stiff, aching member in his mouth and began to suck on it and Ozomatli slipped behind me and took me from behind and I sighed with pleasure as once again my rectum was stuffed with a man's stiff member. I looked down at the beautiful, swarthy-skinned Cuacualti sucking on my cock, his bright, eager eyes brilliant beneath his long, feathery eyelashes, and thought dreamily how appropriate the name Beautiful fit this effeminate, eighteen-year-old youth. I arched my back as I felt Ozomatli's cockhead brush against that sensitive nub deep up a man's rectum and I quivered as I felt his coarse hairs press against my smooth buttocks. He squeezed my hips tightly in his lust and filled with delight I glanced down at his slender, dark fingers contrasting with my soft, pink flesh.

I dropped to my knees and Cuacualti twisted around and I took his stiff member in my mouth, Ozomatli skipping around on the tips of his toes and balancing on the tips of his fingers like his namesake and not only keeping his cock up my ass but keeping up his rhythm. It was as if the three of us were crazed, drunk on the seed filling our bellies as Cuacualti and I sucked on each other's cock and Ozomatli thrust his in and out of my hot, grasping rectum. Despite the number of times we had sucked and been fucked and the number of times we had come, we quivered and groaned with pleasure and sucked and fucked as if it were our first time that evening. As I felt the pressure building up in my loins once again to the point where there was no holding back, I slipped my mouth off of Cuacualti's cock and as if on some signal the three of us disentangled at the moment our seed raced up our swollen cocks, and somehow the three young adepts were there to catch our seed one more time.

It was our fifth time, and the three of us came as forcefully and as copiously as we had the first, adding still more seed to the slowly filling gourds held out to catch every precious drop. I sighed as once again I felt the burning delight of my seed spurting out of the burning tip of my numb, swollen cock, and I quivered as spurt after spurt of my thick, white slime joined my previous four loads. The adept catching my seed reached out and squeezed my numb cock and pulled on it, milking out my slime.

Sitting there on the floor in an exhausted daze, I slowly became aware of the silence in the room, and then of the Xochipilli ixiptla sitting on his pedestal behind his altar and looking down at us. In the lust and frenzy of the evening I had totally forgotten about him, and now as hard as I tried, I could not recall him taking part in any of the orgy. He had removed his armour and he now slowly stood, totally naked save for his feather headdress and the pendant of mother of pearl about his neck. His skin was the lightest of any man I had yet seen in these lands, not as light as mine, but the closest any man has come. He had high cheekbones and thick, sensuous lips and his thick hair had a bluish-black sheen. His broad, hairless chest was muscular and his abdomen flat and rippled with muscles. He looked down at us imperiously, his eyes filled with lust. His cock, over two hand-widths long, was stiff and pointing at the ceiling. As I looked up at him I was filled with a burning need to please him, my body aching with the desire to feel his cock up my rectum and to drink his seed.

He stepped toward us and we rose slowly and surrounded him, my companions feeling the same attraction to him as I. Our hands and lips explored his body, caressing and kissing his smooth thighs, his flat, muscular stomach, his broad chest. We sucked his nipples until they became erect and he squirmed with arousal, his stiff cock jerking excitedly. We kissed those thick, sensuous lips and his breath smelled of honey and his lips tasted of rose petals. We caressed his back, following the curves of his body to his firm, compact buttocks. We dropped to our knees and kissed and licked his large, low-hanging nuts and his erect sausage. We slipped our lips about the bulb of his member and sucked eagerly on it and ran our tongues over the tip and he rewarded us with the clear, sweet nectar that preceded the release of his seed. His breathing became more laboured and erratic as his arousal increased, as did ours.

Inhaling deeply, he threw his head back as his seed raced up the core of his cock and spurted up into the air and fell back down, splattering the three of us. Streamer after streamer of his hot, thick seed spurted from his cock and he twisted from right to left so that his streamers laced the three of us and oozed down over our faces, following the curve of our noses and oozing over our upper lips and into our mouths, oozing down our hot, flushed cheeks where it clung in thick globs. The oldest of the four of us, this teenage youth came repeatedly, lacing our faces with his seed, baptising us into his faith, anointing us as his newest apostles. The head priest stepped forward and presented him with the first of the three gourds containing our seed, that of Cuacualti.

He raised the gourd to his lips and threw back his head, draining the gourd of its warm, creamy contents, his eyes glassy and filled with pleasure. He bowed his head and parted those thick lips and drooled the contents of his mouth over his still erect cock. The thick, white slime oozed down over his hooded bulb and his thick shaft and down over his pendent balls in rivulets and Cuacualti stepped forward and caught the rivulets of his creamy seed in his mouth. He eagerly licked up the streamers of his own seed off the genitals of the other man as if licking up streamers of honey, cleaning the other's cock and balls of his own juice.

Ozomatli was next. The ixiptla again accepted the gourd of semen and emptied it into his mouth and savoured it, and then drooled it over his still erect cock and his pendent balls. Kneeling before him, Monkey lapped up his creamy white juice, licking it off his nuts, running his tongue up his shaft and licking the slime from his bulb. And then it was my turn. I watched as the ixiptla poured the seed from my body into his mouth, swirled it around, and then drooled it over his cock and balls, and I leaned forward and licked the perverse sauce up, licking up my own seed, warm, slimy and salty-bitter, off his stones and stiff cock and taking it back into my own body. It was like sweet honey to my mind and I eagerly lapped up my slime, cleaning the young ixiptla's stiff cock and hairy, pendant balls and swallowing my seed while the others watched in a glassy-eyed stupor. (1)

The next day we were introduced to the routine of a Novice. The life of a Novice is split equally into performing those menial duties required to support the temple and the priesthood, learning the many legends and secret rituals associated with Xochipilli, performing those rites honouring him and assisting his priests in those rituals involving his worshippers, and attending to our personal needs, a quarter of the day for each. Our day began with preparing the morning meal two candle marks before dawn, which consisted of baking tortillas, pancake-like flat bread made from corn flour, preparing a simple bean paste to accompany them, setting out fresh fruit from the cold cellar, and drawing water from the well in the temple courtyard.

After washing up the dishes we scrubbed the floor, walls and steps in the many corridors and in the many rooms in the temple, and then attended lessons by one of the priests who began our instruction in the many legends Xochipilli is associated with, and the chants and ritual associated with his worship. We then helped prepare the midafternoon meal, which varied according to the game and vegetables available but usually included tamales, a maize bread rolled in a ball and stuffed with beans, chiles, or meat, usually turkey or duck which were raised in the city and given in offerings to the temple, wrapped in maize leaves and steamed in a pot. This meal was served in the heat of the afternoon when it was too hot to work.

We then tended the floating gardens surrounding the temple, gardens on floating mats which provided the vegetables and fruits for our meals, the flowers for our ceremonies and traded in the market nearby for necessities we could not provide ourselves, and the assorted plants and herbs used in our ceremonies, including those which had been the basis of the drinks we had consumed in our initiation. We also pruned the maguay bush, whose leaves are used to make the major brew of these people, octli, a drink vaguely similar to beer brewed back home but flatter and weaker. We also assisted the priests in performing those rituals required to continue receiving Xochipilli's blessing. The evening was then spent assisting the priests in seeing to Xochipilli's worshippers and in more lessons until after midnight, after which we had four candle marks of sleep before rising to do it all over again.

The month of Izcalli was dedicated to the honoring of the dead, this being largely a family ceremony in which ancestors and family gods were worshiped. It was also the month for honoring among others Xiuhtecuhtili, the old fire god, and for honoring the elders for their wisdom and guidance. In the middle of the month we once again we gathered before the Great Temple in the capital before an even larger crowd than the last time, this time in the plaza on the north side of the temple and as night was beginning to set. As I stood and watched, now as a Novice wearing the loincloth of Xochipilli, a quiver went up my spine as I recalled the previous two times I had been brought here, unpleasant, frightful memories, and I waited with apprehension and a premonition of more noxious ceremonies. A wooden image of Xiuhtecuhtili was brought out and given homage by his priests and by the people, and then set on fire, using the embers from the ceremonial fire which burned continuously at his own temple. Animals which had been caught over the previous ten days were then brought forward and added to the fire, the stench of burning fur, feathers and flesh masked by smoldering pots of burning incense scattered throughout the courtyard.

Finally a young man dressed in the guise of the old fire god and moving like an old man, a slave who had been selected to portray Xiuhtecuhtili, appeared on the top platform and the crowd cheered loudly and bowed as if this impersonator were the real god as he waved and appeared to bless the crowd. The crowd cheered even louder when he laid down on the sacrificial stone and his heart was cut out and raised before them, his rich dark blood running down the arms of the priest and soaking into the sleeves of his robes! Vendors wove through the crowds selling shrimp tamales, maize bread balls stuffed with shrimp, followed by other venders selling octli and for the cheering, dancing youngsters, fruit juice. As I headed back to our temple on Lake Xochimilco and prayed that night, I wondered what sort of people made a joyous family festival out of witnessing a man having his heart ripped out of his body. What sort of people slaughtered a man chosen to imitate their god? Of an even greater mystery, what sort of man steps forward to become a god impersonator knowing that his fate is to be slaughtered so he can become a messenger from the people to the god? I had no answers.

This was also the month for honoring the elders for their wisdom and contributions to the community. Special prayers were offered and special ceremonies were held throughout the month for them. Like all the other tribes I have encountered, these people lead hard and short lives. Many die young, of injuries or diseases, and they age quickly, both men and women, losing their fine looks and attractive bodies by their mid twenties, often earlier. The seniors of any village, and here in this great city, are more often than not younger than Father, who would now be forty-two and considered to be in middle age and in his prime back home, and certainly were younger than Uncle Paolo who was now fifty, and their bodies were as wrinkled and weak as those twice their age back home, those the age of Grandfather and Grandmother Ribeiro who are near the ends of their lives. (2)

As I have said, we often spent our evenings assisting the priests in seeing to the needs of Xochipilli's worshipers, which I slowly realized, were either male, which was most often, or women who preferred sexual relations with other women. They came with gifts and offerings to Xochipilli, foodstuffs, cloths and feathers, octli and occasionally gems, which they left on the altar before the statue in the main hall of the temple before which they knelt and prayed. Many this month were elderly, mostly poets, musicians, artists and dancers. After their prayers and offerings, they sometimes sought out one of the priests who took them aside to one of the small adjoining rooms for I assumed counseling or further acts of piety or supplication. As I watched them kneel and pray from the shadows, I wondered in my ignorance and innocence what they would think if they knew of the initiation ceremony we had engaged in and if they had any suspicion at all that Xochipilli's priests engaged in such lewd behavior. At the end of the day most of the offerings were taken to our store rooms to be used by us, always leaving something back for Xochipilli of course.

It was after assisting one of the senior priests in one of these special evening ceremonies about two weeks after my initiation as a Novice, that he took me aside and informed that one of the senior supplicants that evening, a venerated artist and influential citizen, had recently lost his lifetime partner and would be most appreciative if I would play for him on my panpipe and do whatever I could to brighten a very sad time for him. I had seen enough of the world in my seventeen years to know what the priest meant by being "most appreciative". So the man, wheezing and shuffling with the burden of age and excessive weight, accompanied me to one of the adjoining rooms where he was served honey cakes and a sweet cactus wine and I played for him, much to his amazement and joy for he had never heard the panpipe before. I had also seen enough of the world in my seventeen years to know what being requested to "do whatever I could" meant without being told.

That did not bother me. This was a special month for the elderly. Besides, I was from past experience accustomed to providing pleasure to men older and of higher rank than myself. I was beginning to realize that the priests of Xochipilli had no qualms about providing such pleasure to other men either, and this was known and accepted by the general public. The individual in this case was, I discovered, forty-four winters old, two years older than Father, but he was obese and heavily wrinkled and short of breath, making him appear much older.

Putting my panpipe down, I approached him and sitting beside him I placed a hand lightly on his thigh, causing his eyes to light up and his member to stir. He was going to be easily aroused and I knew I was going to have to be slow and circumspect or he would be finished before I had barely begun. A reed mat covered with a colorful blanket with a complex geometric design lay in one corner of the room we had gone to and from the wall hung a tapestry depicting one of the many legends of Xochipilli, in this case the gift to the Tenochca of the plant tonatiuh yxiuh from which the drink known as the elixir of the sun was made, a drink which I was told gave objects a golden fringe when ingested and said to contain the knowledge of the sun.

On a low stand stood a clay statue of the Prince of Flowers and fresh flowers stood in vases on either side of the statue. In a bowl before the statue were a variety of small cakes, their shapes and the imprint on the dough indicating what herb each contained. One increased one's energy, another speeded up his arousal, a third dampened his sensitivity, and so forth. I offered them to him but he declined, saying my youth and beauty was sufficient to enhance his performance, but he told me to go ahead and eat. My reply that he was all I needed to achieve my arousal and bring me pleasure pleased him, and it was the truth for though he was the opposite age to the one I preferred, I found congress with the elderly could be pleasing, and often they had tricks and techniques to teach.

And so we embraced and caressed and kissed and slowly disrobed and as our naked bodies pressed together I felt his member begin to swell which caused mine to do likewise. He was pleased and flattered that I found an old man and an ancient, obese body arousing and said so. His breasts were flabby, like those of a woman who had spent her life nursing children, and his forearms and thighs over four finger spans wide. Though gnarled and twisted, his fingers had an unexpected gentleness. He cupped my stones and rolled them in their sac and he raised his fingertips to his nose and inhaled the fragrance of my sweat with delight as if admiring the fragrance of roses or of fowl roasting on the spit.

Dropping to my knees, I took his still swelling member in my mouth and gently sucked on it as I caressed his soft, rotund buttocks. He continued swelling slowly until he was hard and I continued to suck on his member, easing my lips down over the hooded bulb and down his fat shaft and then tightening the grip of my lips I eased them back up. His breath quivered with arousal as he exhaled and he arched his back with pleasure. Letting his member slip from my mouth I ran my tongue up the shaft and circled the rim of his bulb still enclosed by his hood and he sighed again with delight. I prolonged our play, caressing his plump buttocks and thighs and nibbling on his fat stomach, allowing the desire in his loins to subside. Clearly congress with a seventeen-year-old was much to his liking.

I waited for him to take the lead and in time he bade me kneel on the mat and he knelt down behind me. There was a gourd of fragrant oil beside the mat and he dipped a finger in it and lubricated my anus and then slowly inserted his middle finger up my anus and finger fucked me. Dipping his finger in the oil again, he lubricated his member which was standing as tall and firm as any man's. Wiping off his fingers, he shuffled up between my legs and grasping me by the hips he pressed forward and as I felt the tip of his greased member press against my anus I opened up to him and the old man slipped his stiff member up my rectum.

He was breathing heavily with arousal and with exertion and paused to catch his breath, and then he began the slow, rhythmic motion of an experienced lover, relishing the pleasure my tight anus and throbbing rectum were bringing him and knowing the pleasure I was feeling in return. His hard cock slowly eased in and out of my body, pulsating with his lust and sending ripples of pleasure through my anus. He reached around and grasping my stiff cock he began to stroke it slowly, knowing to avoid the tender rim of my bulb to prolong my own pleasure. He paused once, resting his head on my shoulder, his hot, sweaty, flabby breasts pressed against my back and his plump stomach pressed against my buttocks, and I closed my eyes and concentrated on the pleasure of a hard cock up my ass. In time he resumed fucking me and stroking my cock, timing his actions so that we came within heartbeats of each other, he filling my rectum with his seed and vigorously rubbing my bulb so that I shot forth my seed heartbeats after he had come.

There were towels and a bowl of water beside the bed and I washed the sweat from his body and the slime from his member and dried him off and then saw to my own toilet. I escorted him to the entrance to the temple and when we parted he thanked me and I knew his thanks was sincere. A day later he returned to the temple and presented me with an elaborately engraved gold comb to pin up my hair, gold being a common substance for ornamentation among the nobles of these people and their craftsmen skilled in working with it.

As the month drew to a close, we attended a special ceremony in the capital held once every four years at this time. Children in the area between the ages of two and six were gathered in the central square and a dance was performed before the gods and maize cakes were shared. The children were kept awake until midnight when, prearranged by their parents, strangers took them into the temple where the priests held them down and their ears were pierced and their arms were held over ritual fires as an endurance test and evidence of their faith and then over healing incense by the younger priests to dull the pain and prevent blistering.

They were then taken home but kept awake until dawn when they returned and danced again and were again taken into the temples where there was much shouting and chanting as the people prayed to their gods which greatly frightened the exhausted children. Godparents were assigned to them, a necessity in this land where their parents' lives could be cut off short by warfare, accident or disease. This was followed by a communal feast with much drinking of octli, including the children, and as dusk approached the thin, flat beer was poured down their throats until they were silly drunk, unable to walk or talk, and often not even able to stand. The purpose of this ritual I did not understand for rarely is any of the population to be seen in public in an intoxicated state.

As we prepared to retire to the temple to Xochipilli there in the capital where we were planning on spending the night, a smaller temple a short distance from the grand temples in the central square, I was approached by the elderly artist from a week earlier with a plump, gorgeous child of six in tow, his grandson, with his ears freshly pierced and burns on his upper arms. "For tonight," he said. "It will be another first for him. And so he will not be totally alone with strangers, his cousin," he said, revealing another boy behind him, a chubby, fat-cheeked boy of the same age. There was a marked family resemblance between the two boys, and between them and their grandfather. "I am sure you know of one who can join you to make this night one of pleasant memories." Taken by surprise, I glanced at Ozomatli who was standing beside me and he smiled at me, his eyes sparkling eagerly, and then down at the boy as he reached out and took the boy's hand. I glanced back at the old artist and he smiled with a slight nod of agreement.

The two boys followed us, stumbling and tottering from one side to the other in their drunkenness, the lack of sleep and the octli dulling their minds and their sight, their beautiful eyes wide with awe and apprehension. Arriving at the temple, we were directed to one of the side rooms by one of the senior priests of the temple. There we offered prayers of thanks to Xochipilli and requests for his guidance and blessing, my prayers being as much for myself as for the besotted boy I had been asked to initiate in the pleasures of congress with one of his own gender.

I had never in my life entertained thoughts of having congress with a boy so young, and certainly not with one whose mind was befuddled with drink. It had been my thought to find the boy some quiet corner where he would surely drop off to sleep, perhaps stroke his little tiddler to bring some pleasure in a night that surely had been terrifying and exhausting. Ozomatli was of a different mind. Kneeling down before the boy, he told him how beautiful he was, calling him his plump little quetzal. The boy blushed and giggled as he stood there swaying to and fro, and when Ozomatli tried to engage him in conversation and he slurred his words and found he could not get his mouth and tongue to work properly, he giggled all the more, his fat belly bouncing like a bladder of air and his flabby cheeks quivering, causing his cousin to laugh also. As his cousin tried to speak and found he could not form a simple sentence either, he also began to giggle, causing the other boy to double over with laughter, the two likely reacting to the relief of stress after the pain of having their ears pierced and being subjected to the ritual fires and then the noise and confusion of ritual after having gone a day and a half without sleep. The laughter of the two drunken boys was contagious and Ozomatli and then I joined them in their laughter, causing them to giggle all the more.

Ozomatli removed the chubby boy's breechclout and gently ran his fingers over the boy's body, telling him again how beautiful he was and again calling him his plump quetzal, and he picked up the boy's little cocklet with his thumb and first finger and stroked it, telling the boy to relax for there would be no more pain or fear. His cousin stood there watching with numbed awareness, uncertain what to make of any of this, and then glanced at me apprehensively. Following Ozomatli's lead, I removed the boy's breechclout also. His ankles and wrists were bruised from where the priests had grasped him and his arms were blistered where they had been held over the ceremonial fires despite the healing ointment that had been applied afterward. I told him how brave he had been and how I knew how frightened he must have been, but that it was understandable and that part was over, that the piercing of his ears and the prayers and fire meant he was growing up, and that what we were about to do was a part of growing up too, a very pleasurable part, and I promised he would enjoy it very much.

Taking his little tiddler between my thumb and first finger, I gently stroked it, feeling the sensitive bulb under his hood. His member was shorter and thinner than my smallest finger and soft as a noodle and it felt strange to be stroking it, and, I confess, enjoyable. The two boys found it enjoyable also and stood there staring down at their little cocklets being stroked. To my surprise they began to swell and their little tiddlers were soon jutting up above their tiny, hairless little stones as hard as bone. I had no idea a youngster at that age could feel arousal, and it gave me pause to wonder why one so young would feel pleasure when it would be years before they would mature enough for their cocklets to be more than hoses to eliminate their water. I thought back to my own youth but could not recall ever having been erect at that tender age, though I do recall sitting in a corner and pleasing myself by innocently stroking my little member until I was discovered and admonished for my sinfulness. Ozomatli removed his breechclout and his Novice ceremonial robes, revealing his partially aroused member, and he reached out and guided the boy's hand to it. I again followed his lead, and as my little partner's hot little fingers wrapped about my member and began to stroke it, I quivered with the unique pleasure of being fondled by one so young and innocent.

Both Ozomatli and I were soon stiff and the two six-year-old boys stood there staring wide-eyed at the size of our throbbing cocks. Ozomatli crouched down and taking the chubby boy's now stiff cocklet in his mouth, he sucked on it and slipped his lips up and down its length, causing the boy to quiver with delight. He then stood, and told the boy to do the same to him. Kneeling there before him, the boy did as he was told, his mind too numbed by octli and exhaustion to object, and the throbbing pleasure of his own little cocklet motivation to bring the same pleasure to the man who had pleasured him. Once again I followed Ozomatli's lead, and I quivered with the delight of sucking on the little six-year-old boy's cocklet and knowing the boy had never before felt such pleasure and had not even known such pleasure existed. And when the boy knelt there before me and looked up at me with those wide, trusting eyes and then slipped his lips over the bulb of my cock and began to suck it, tasting cock for the first time, I quivered with a delight unimaginable.

I know you, the reader, will be shocked by what I have written, and I can provide no excuse for how I felt. I could say the horrors I had seen had numbed my mind so that I knew not what I was doing, but I did know. I could say the perversity of those all around me had corrupted me, but that speaks poorly of my moral strength and Christian training. The simple fact was that I was finding sex with this innocent, drunken six-year-old toddler highly pleasing, and he was finding the same regarding having sex with a seventeen-year-old novice priest. I write these things not to promote such acts, nor to repent and seek forgiveness, but so that others might understand the nature of these savages and as a record of my experiences. Had this occurred in my homeland I would be accused of corrupting one so young and probably killed by his irrate father, but in this land, I had been requested to do it by the boy's grandfather as a matter of trust and training.

Six years old. Who would think engaging in sex with one so young would feel so good, and be so arousing? He sucked on my cock initially because he had been told to do so, and boys obeyed their elders in all cultures even if reluctantly. Once he began, he sucked my cock not out of obedience but because he was enjoying it, he was enjoying the pleasure it brought him, and he was enjoying bringing me pleasure. That too is common for boys in all cultures, to seek pleasure and to find pleasure in pleasing others. I thought back to the little black nigger boy in the Kongo who had introduced me to congress between two males. I thought back to the two Berber boys who had eagerly sought pleasure of the flesh with myself and the cutpurse Ahmar. Who is in error, one who would deny a boy such pleasure or one who would promote it?

As I looked down at this six-year-old's cherubic face and the sparkle of pleasure in his eyes as he sucked on my cock and bobbed his head, I felt a rush of arousal pass through my body and I quivered with the delight. Heartbeats later I felt the stirring deep in my groin that announced my juices were about to flow and I made no effort to prevent them from doing so. I warned him to be ready to begin swallowing and when I came he did so but he could not keep up and my juice overflowed out the corners of his mouth and oozed down over his chin. As he tasted a man's seed for the first time and drank down that creamy nectar, I quivered with delight. Anything that felt that good could not possibly be wrong. Completely satisfied, I sat down gasping for breath as the last of my slime oozed out of my stiff cock and the two of us watched his fat-cheeked cousin suck Ozomatli's cock and then attempt to swallow his seed.

The four of us sat there hot and flushed and our breathing labored as we slowly recovered. The release of our seed had not dampened our lust. Rather, it had ignited it. We were, after all, seventeen and in our prime. Lubricating the anuses of the two drunken children, we coated our members generously with the oil. The boys giggled when we told them our intentions and eagerly spread their legs and bent over. It was a tight fit for both of us but we were persistent and the boys were willing. We penetrated them slowly and gently, and ever so slowly our blood-engorged bulbs spread apart their anuses until at last our knobs popped inside their rectums. We slowly continued to press forward, stuffing the two six-year-old boys, filling their rectums with our thick, throbbing cocks until our hairs were pressed against their smooth, compact buttocks. Grasping those chubby hips, we slowly drew our cocks out of their tight enclosures and then pressed forward again. The boys squirmed and gasped with the sweet pleasure-pain pulsating through their stuffed rectums and encircling their stretched anuses. My cock, two hand widths in length, throbbed delightfully in the boy's hot, moist chamber. Never had it been gripped so tightly and I closed my eyes and sighed with the pleasure. It was delightful, but I knew to try to prolong the act would not be pleasant for the boys and prolonged stretching of their virgin holes could be harmful to those so young and so despite the desire to do so I did not. Despite having come not that long ago, I was soon ready to do so again and when I filled the young boy's rectum, it was with such force I would not have been surprised to find my seed spurting out his mouth. As we separated, gasping and panting with exertion and pleasure, our bodies flushed with arousal and dripping with sweat, the four of us praised Xochipilli, I just as fervently and sincerely as the others.

The following day was the beginning of Nemontem, the Barren Days. The calendar of these people consists of eighteen months, each containing twenty days, followed by Nemontem, five days during which the gods are not bound by ritual and evil spirits wander the earth. These are considered unlucky days and are greatly feared. No business is conducted and no cook fires are lit. It is a period of bloodletting and fasting in which only one meal is eaten each day, a meal of cold, dry tortillas which were cooked the day before Nemontem began. It is five days of abstinence, meditation and reflection. I am aware of nothing like it in the Christian or Arab world.

Even the business of the temple was set aside these five days, leaving me with little to do. As I lay on my cot and stared at the ceiling, I had much to think about. It was now over a year since I had thrown myself overboard, almost a year and three months by my calculations. My long hair normally extending past my shoulders was now perfumed and pinned up with a gold comb, my body naked most times except for a loincloth, tattoos beneath my eyes and on my breasts, rose pearls dangling from my earlobes and a large mother of pearl pendant resting on my chest below the Cross of Saint Christopher, gold rings in my nipples and a gold plug in my nose, I surely would not be recognized by my former shipmates and certainly not by my parents or friends. Raised as a god-fearing Catholic, I lay in a temple of a foreign god, one of his Novices, in a strange land where men are sliced open and their hearts offered to their supreme god, and grandfathers offer their six-year-old grandchildren for sexual pleasure. What would Father or Mother or Uncle Paolo think of me if they could see me now?

Dedicated to Xochipilli, I had much time to think of my Christian faith. Which is the true god, my Christian God to whom my foreskin was sacrificed as a babe, Allah who demands prayers from his followers five times a day and death to all nonbelievers and to whom I prayed while struggling to survive with the Saracens, or Quetzalcoatl who demands human hearts to prevent the sun's destruction and who ruled over the land I now found myself in? I have seen such devotion and belief of Christians and Jews that they would give their lives in defense of their beliefs and their god and in defiance of all others. I have seen a devotion and belief that are in every way the equal among Arabs who would die fighting for their god and their faith, and how can any belief or devotion possibly be greater than a Tenochcan's willingness to have his heart ripped from his living body for his god? Which is right when all three are defended with such passion and such sacrifice? How can I, a seventeen-year-old youth untrained in such matters, determine which is the true god? Not knowing something so basic, how can I say what the true purpose of mankind is? How can I say what my purpose in life is? When I set forth on this voyage, I would have said it was to serve my God and my King, which meant traveling the seas to promote the Christian faith and practice and to seek information that would benefit my monarch and my country. Now I was not so certain, and what I should do from this point forward I did not know.

I have lost my way, not just directionally in my effort to seek the land of the Great Khan and ultimately my way home, but spiritually also, willingly partaking in these heathen ceremonies and sinning in the eyes of my god with no guilt nor regret. In my weakness for pleasures of the flesh with my own gender, I have rejected the teachings of my Christian faith and joyfully and eagerly sinned. I have embraced the deflowering of little boys and lusted for those of my own sex not out of the need to survive but for the pure pleasure of such congress. I have fallen in with Satan and wallowed in his sinfulness and debauchery.

On the fifth day of fasting and meditation, I pierced my earlobes and collected the blood in a bowl which I offered to Quetzalcoatl in thanks for my life and with the request he guide me in whatever I must do next for this was his land and his people and I was traveling in it at his pleasure. I pierced the loose sack of my stones and dripped my genital blood on dried flower petals, which I placed in a bowl and lit on fire before Xochipilli, thanking him for all that had befallen me upon entering his temple and asking for his guidance for I was a disciple of his and living in his house. I knelt before a cross I made of two twigs and upon which I hung the Cross of Saint Christopher and I thanked the Holy Martyr for his guidance and protection on this strangest of voyages and I begged The Holy Father for forgiveness for my many transgressions and asked Him for a sign what I should do next, for in my shame and wickedness I truly did not know.

The details of the sacrificial ceremonies described in this and subsequent chapters are based on actual accounts written by early Spanish conquerors and priests. The details of the sexual ceremonies on the other hand are purely conjectural as they were held in utmost secret. Xochipilli is also known as the god of homosexuality and offerings were made by both males and females who were in same sex relationships seeking his blessing and favor. Nothing is known of the rituals involved in his worship other than that he was also associated with hallucinogenic plants and statues representing him appear to be men in a drug-induced trance.

Information on same-sex relationships among the Mexica is contradictory. On the one hand, conquistadors and priests claimed sodomy was rampant, that there were male prostitutes, and that unmarried temple priests sodomized each other. There were stories that the emperor Montezuma had relations with young warriors before they were sacrificed and there were claims that in Veracruz the sons of chiefs had boy prostitutes. The Milanese Girolamo Benzoni documented his travels in the new world 1541-1556 and cites widespread homosexuality. In his justification of enslavement of the native inhabitants, Columbus gave as his second reason the fact that they are pathics – passive partners in homosexual anal intercourse who "wear no beard". Hern�n Cort�s in 1519 said all natives are sodomites and "engage in this abominable sin." According to Bartolom� de La Casas the natives believed their gods were pleased if they prettified the boys as girls before sacrifice. The Franciscan lay brother Peter of Ghent, who lived in the valley of Mexico from 1523 onward, stated "some of these priests do not have wives. Instead of them, [they have] muchachos, whom they abuse. This sin is so common in these regions that not only the young but the old commit it. And children six years old find themselves infested with it." Nu�o de Guzman reported in 1530 the capturing of a woman whom everyone admired for her bravery and skill at arms and were surprised to discover she was a man. This warrior was named Chichimeca and said he had long earned his living dressed as a woman since he was chequito. The Spanish soldiers were abhorred a man would behave so and killed him.

On the other hand, conquistadors and priests reported that unlike the other tribes of north and central America there were no reports of berdaches and there was a high intolerance toward those who engaged in sex with members of their own gender. Like Europeans, the Mexica were a patriarchal society, which is usually intolerant of homosexuality. The Florentine Codex specified severe punishments for those who engaged in adultery and in homosexual practices, including castration and death for the dominant partner and removal of the inner organs through the anus for the passive partner. The difficulty with this Codex, like all the other Codices, is that the original does not exist, and the copy that we do have was written by indigenous people under the supervision of Spanish priests in the 1500's. Whether the Codices were an actual record of pre-Columbian laws, a record written by the conquered peoples writing what they knew the priests wanted to read, or a record censored and dictated by the Christian conquerors we do not know.

The average life expectancy of the Mexica at the time of European invasion was 37 +- 3 years.

Chapter 13
The Tenocha – Priest

Nico's initiation as a priest includes a drugged dance, receiving tattoos, and butake with his fellow priests. As a priest he participates in an Aztec new moon ceremony and a fertility ceremony and sees to the needs of Xochipilli's worshippers. He ends with another drugged vision of his future.

Nicolau Ribeiro (16yo); 10yo guard, 8yo dancer, the brother of the guard, various priests, 26yo goldsmith, 13 and 14yo boys, teen slaves
MM Mt tb – cons anal

The next day, the first day of the first month, Atlcahualo, the month of Ceasing of Water, I was summoned before the head priest. I found sitting on either side of him, his top two assistants, both of whom had interrogated me upon my arrival at the temple. Doing any form of business on the first day of a month was most unusual and my heart speeded up immediately with apprehension. Wondering what I had done wrong, I tried to recall all I had done recently, and particularly these past five days. They had to have seen me making my crude cross and praying before it and to Saint Christopher.

My mind raced as I tried to think of an explanation for my behavior but my mind could not focus, my thoughts interrupted by images flashing before my eyes of the men I had seen laying on the sacrificial stone, their hearts being ripped out of their chests, their bodies being tossed down the pyramid steps where their corpses were beheaded and their heads stacked on racks before the pyramids. I pictured my own head sitting there staring out at myself for I had prayed to a foreign god in the land of Quetzalcoatl and the house of Xochipilli and I had transgressed from the One and Only True God by practicing rituals most vulgar and most foul. So engrossed was I in my thoughts that the head priest had to raise his voice to get my attention and repeat himself.

"When word of your discovery reached us, we suspected you were different, and our examination when you arrived at Tenochtitl�n supported our suspicions. We have been watching you closely since you became a Novice and were not surprised to find our suspicions confirmed." I did not understand. Suspicions? Which suspicions? I lead a life that was such a pack of lies I myself no longer knew the truth. "Because of your exemplary work, which has brought praise and honor to the temple, and because of your dedication which serves as an inspiration for your fellow novices, the council of elders has decided you should be granted the privileges and responsibilities of full priesthood without further trial."

Full priesthood? For my exemplary work? What exemplary work? I had done nothing unusual, nothing the other novices had not also done. And for my dedication? Three days ago I was on my knees begging for direction from not one but three different gods, one of whom they had no knowledge of. I did not know what to say. Normally it took Novices months or even years to prove their competence and dedication and to memorize the many legends regarding their god, and usually movement up the hierarchy of the priesthood occurred for only one of three reasons, when there was a vacancy due to the death of a priest, because a senior priest left for a new temple in newly conquered territory, or because more priests were needed due to the growth of the population.

Admittedly all three occurred more frequently than one might suspect. The priesthood was one of the most important occupations among these people for many priests were needed to serve the many gods and to discern their will. There were five thousand priests alone in the capital to serve Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc, and forty thousand others in the city to serve the other gods. Still, I had not expected it to happen to me. Having never imagined I would be elevated in position and having never even considered the possibility, all I could do was mumble my appreciation and promise to fulfill my duties, which they mistook for humility.

My fast began immediately and I was left in seclusion to commune with Xochipilli. I had asked for a sign as to what I should do now, and this was unquestionably a sign. My request had been fulfilled, but much to my dismay I was in a quandary as to which deity had responded! Was this a message from Quetzalcoatl, the sovereign plumed serpent, the god of wisdom and knowledge, one of the four most important gods in their pantheon? Was the Plumed Serpent telling me I was to forsake my countrymen and all I had learned and believed and become a member of the Mexica, to adopt their customs and beliefs and remain where I was? Was the message from Xochipilli, the Prince of Flowers, my patron god? Was he telling me to become a disciple of his and promote his ways, the love of one's own gender, to accept who and what I was, a life I must admit I was enjoying and was not averse to living?

Or was the message from Yahweh, the one and only true God? If it was, what was He telling me? Was He expecting me to infiltrate this false faith and as a heathen priest bring about the enlightenment and conversion of these ignorant heathens to Christianity? The Cardinal bishop of Ostia, Henry of Susa, postulated that the heathens lost their dominion over the earth upon the arrival of Christ in this world as Lord over the earth. Because of that, Mother Church was justified in sending her missionaries out into the world to convert the heathens, missionaries who just as often were martyred and put to death as succeeding. Was that what was expected of me, the seventeen-year-old son of a merchant sailor? Why not? Peter was the son of a fisherman.

Left alone to commune and not knowing what else to do, I communed with all three deities, apologizing for my ignorance which could only be a sign of imperfect faith, and begging for another sign to clarify who had responded to my request and what I was to do. I felt most foolish and ignorant doing so, but I was seventeen and inexperienced and untrained in such matters and knew not what else to do. I begged forgiveness from the one who had granted my first wish for not knowing, pleading ignorance and a lack of worldliness. I reviewed everything I had done and what had been said as I sought again evidence that it might be one over the others, and if it was that one what that might mean regarding my future, but again I could arrive at no conclusion. Not surprisingly, the gods had nothing more to say and I slept fitfully, hungry and fearful.

The following morning I was given a gourd of cold water to drink and a dry, flat tortilla that tasted surprisingly like a communion wafer, but I knew that was only my desperation for a sign as to which deity had answered my prayers and not a true sign. I stripped and was taken to the tem?zcalli where I was purified by steam until my skin was red and I had a good idea what a lobster had to feel like. Two pre-adolescent boys dried me off and so great was my worry that I made no effort to touch them and did not even fantasize what the three of us might do as they toweled me off. I put on a new breechclout, this one having a multicolored fringe which indicated my new station, and the sweeping, mushroom and flower-embroidered white robes of the priesthood.

Lead to the main audience chamber in the temple, I knelt before the high priest who inducted me into the priesthood before the other Priests and Novices of the temple. Chants and songs of praise were sung to Xochipilli, young and old voices blending together and rising to the heavens. I stood stoically as a priest knelt before me and tattooed my calves with intertwining vines ending at my knees and tattooed the same on my forearms ending at my elbows. I stood there unmoving and unfeeling as I considered the significance of what was happening, a sign of the turmoil of my mind but for those watching a sign of devotion that I had not needed anything to deaden the pain. Quails, which had been sacrificed to the Prince of Flowers that morning, were now brought in on huge platters by slaves, the fowl now roasted and their skins crisp and brown and sitting in a flavorful sauce, along with platters of tamales, bowls of stew made from dried squash and sweet potatoes and mushrooms, and platters of small, honeyed, purple-hued cakes and gourds of chilled milky-white octili, frothy xocolatl and a strange, flavorful, bluish-hued drink. All were delicious after my fast and I gorged myself, as did the others.

The fast, the lack of sleep, and the excitement all took their toll and I began to feel dizzy and drowsy. The room began to spin and I felt a wave of great relief and peace pass over me, accompanied by a feeling of great prurience. My member began to rise which normally would have filled me with horror and embarrassment but which on this occasion I found amusing. I imagined Father Francisco finding himself in such a state on the day he was confirmed as a new priest and his absolute mortification which added to my amusement. I do not know what the others thought of my chuckling, but I do know that it was noticed.

A line dance began, lead by the head priest who was followed according to rank from the highest Priests to myself and the Novices at the end. We followed a sinuous path across the temple floor, twisting and doubling back on ourselves, splitting to form two columns and then four which split and wove in and out and we gyrated and swayed and we twisted our arms like vines swaying in the wind or snakes rising and about to strike. We circled the stone statue of Xochipilli and caressed it, the surface smooth and oily to the touch from thousands of such caresses. He smiled down at us with the caresses, encouraging us to caress more firmly and more intimately, and I reached up for his breasts, the carving of flowers now looking more like nipples, and slipped my fingers along his backside and along his thighs to his crotch. His member rose up rock hard between his carved thighs and my member rose up equally hard. Cloaks were shed and breechclouts followed and we danced and swayed, thirty-one men, naked, aroused, converging on Xochipilli, bodies touching, stiff cocks rubbing against hot, sweating flesh, against the warm stone of Xochipilli, his stiff cock now alive and swaying like a coiled cobra.

I looked down and found my own cock transformed into a snake, writhing and swaying on its own and I gyrated and twisted my shoulders as my entire body was transformed into a large, undulating cock, throbbing with lust, aching with desire for Xochipilli, for my fellow priests, the room now swirling, the stone columns becoming flaccid and bowing like melting candles, losing their shape and the colors flowing like ripples in a pond and blending together to form shapeless blobs, my fellow dancers now circling me and caressing my body with their hands, their arms, their bodies, wrapping thighs about me, stroking my naked flesh with their large, swollen members. The hard, stone statue of Xochipilli began to grow warm and to melt into a shapeless mass much as a candle melts beneath its flame, and in its place stood the ixiptla, the god Impersonator, naked and fully aroused. I danced about him and worshiped him with my hands and my lips, caressing him, kissing him, running my hands along his marble-smooth limbs and torso, kissing his broad, firm breasts and slipping my lips about his nipples and sucking them.

Warm, sweet milk flowed from his breasts into my mouth and I sucked like a babe at his mother's breasts. I ran my hands down his torso and cupped his large, dangling stones in one hand while I wrapped the fingers of the other about his rigid cock and stroked it, feeling its pulse and power. I slid down, melting like hot wax myself, and slipped my lips over his knob and sucked on it as I had sucked on his nipples, desiring another milk, just as creamy and white, just as delicious. I was rewarded and this God Impersonator filled my mouth with his seed and I eagerly swallowed it, delighting in its nutty fragrance and in its creamy texture. It filled my mouth and flowed down my throat and I was so filled with pleasure my own cream began to rise up the core of my cock and I throbbed out my essence and began to melt, becoming a pool of hot wax, merging and mixing with the hot pool of my creamy semen.

I slowly realized that the priests had all disappeared, evaporated into the air or melted along with the temple columns and merging with them and flowing about me in ebbing and waning swirls. Only the six Novices remained, including Ozomatli and Cuacualti, circling me now like the liquid columns and priests, reaching out and caressing me, desiring me, and I desiring them. My swollen cock throbbed and my naked body throbbed in unison with it as if they were one as a dozen hands caressed me, running over my chest, arousing my nipples until they were burning with that sweet pain that causes one to arch his body with delight and with agony. Slender fingers stroked my thighs, causing my member to twitch and my seed to leak. They spread my clear, oily pre-seed over my thighs and my chest and more leaked out the burning tip of my swollen cock. They smeared the oily essence of my body over my naked chest, anointed my hard, burning nipples with it, and raised their slick fingers to my lips for me to taste my own seed.

They were erect, all six of them, and I reached out and stroked their cocks, wishing I had six hands and not two and with that thought I grew four more arms and four more hands. I squeezed their aching members and their hot marrow oozed out the tips, which I caught with my fingertips and offered back to them, and they sucked on my fingers, relishing the taste of their own marrow and the marrow of their fellow worshipers. The joy and lust of Xochipilli filled the room and filled our bodies as we caressed and groped and kissed, a single body with seven heads and fourteen hands and seven stiff, throbbing, dripping members and seven pairs of swollen, ripe stones. We caressed each other and ourselves with growing urgency. A pair of lips fastened onto my right nipple and began to suck and another pair fastened onto the left. I felt a hot mouth envelop my cockhead and a hot tongue strike at my anus and I spread my legs and opened my asshole and was rewarded with the sensation of a hot, fleshy, spit-slick tongue wedging itself in the opening. A hot tongue licked the inside of my right thigh and another the inside of my left thigh, leaving slime trails behind them. Hot, eager mouths sucked on my fingers and on my toes. A tongue ran up the sole of my foot, another ran up the length of my soul.

Someone came, their hot seed spraying the back of my leg and running down the back of my thigh in thick rivulets. Another blast sprayed my chest with creamy globules and I watched fascinated as if in a dream as the globs oozed down my chest to my nipples to be eagerly sucked up by the lips that had been sucking on my teats. A hot, thick wetness struck my stomach and I felt it ooze into my hairs. My stones were wet, with man seed or my sweat I knew not. Semen spattered my back and my backside and hands smeared the perverse cream over my hot flesh. And then I blasted, sending forth a streamer of thick, white cream into the air, and six men dove for it, eager to catch it in their mouths, to savor my sacred nectar. Spurt after spurt erupted from my body as if I had been holding it back for a week, and I quivered with the burning, throbbing pleasure as I spattered the eager faces vying for a taste. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the thick, humid air heavily scented with sweat and fresh seed. My stones were drawn up tight and my numb cock throbbed and spurt after spurt left my body. It seemed to go on forever until I could no longer stand and I collapsed on weak, rubbery legs, my swollen cock and numbed mind throbbing and swirling in a multicolored spiral of thick, creamy cum and everything went black.

When I awoke, it was morning and I was in my room, laying naked on my reed mat. I stank of sour sweat and musty semen, of raw cock and ripe stones. I rose and bathed and donned my new loincloth and robes of office. And so I began my life as a priest, as a tlamacazqui, leaving the mundane, manual chores that had taken up a quarter of my day to the Novices. That time would now be spent memorizing still more of the songs and chants to Xochipilli, assisting the senior priests in seeing to the ongoing flow of worshipers not by assisting them but by performing the rituals and accepting the offerings of the faithful myself. Knowing that I had a strong knowledge of medicines and herbs, the head priest assigned me to a senior prelate whose chore was the preparation of the sacred potions, ointments and foods used in our services, including the cakes I had consumed the day of my confirmation which I discovered contained the ground seeds of a plant they called mixitl, a plant with large white or purple-hued trumpet-shaped flowers and spiny seed pods which, depending on the amount and how it was prepared, could be used for divination, or for malevolent purposes, causing one to become paralyzed and mute. I was most thankful that whoever had prepared the concoction I had consumed had known what he was doing. It was difficult work, being a priest, and I rose early and went to bed late just as when I had been a novice.

Going with several other priests to the market the next day, I and they stepped aside as a group of warriors marched by. Women called out encouragement, urging them to bring back many captive warriors and promising pleasures of the flesh for their success. I recalled similar scenes just before Nemontem, the Barren Days, and I commented on the increased frequency of such scenes. My fellow priests informed me that these warriors were engaging in the flower wars, the xochiyaoyotl, an agreement with surrounding tribes as part of the tribute expected by the Tenochca where warriors engaged in mock battles with neighboring and conquered tribes and brought back captives. Such ritual wars, I was told, were engaged in several times during the year when a larger harvest of captives for sacrifice was required. Wars by mutual agreement to collect sacrifices? I said nothing but raised my eyes to the heavens in supplication for understanding of these irrational practices, which my fellow priests took to be an expression of thanks to the gods and chorused their praise and good wishes upon the departing warriors. (2)

Two days after my initiation into the priesthood was the ceremony of the new moon, a ceremony held once every cycle of the moon on the first night the slender, silver sickle of the new moon appears after its absence. The day was spent purifying our bodies in the tem?zcalli, fasting, and meditating on Xochipilli and on Tecatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror God, the god of the moon. That night as dusk descended and the moon was about to reappear, we gathered in the large central hall. Thirteen young boys between the ages of eight and ten entered, the sons of noble families, dressed in plain white breechcloths and plain white vests, opened in the front, white breast feathers adorning their carefully braided, dark black hair. They walked slowly and rhythmically as they sang, circling the hall and then stopping before the statue of Xochipilli. One of the boys, the oldest, carrying a spear with an ornately carved handle, detached himself from the group and retreated to the entrance to the hall where he turned and stood rigidly on guard.

Another boy approached the altar before Xochipilli and taking two sticks and rubbing them together lit the ceremonial fire and then stepped back and prayed to the Flower Prince, his voice loud and clear with a prepubescent high pitch. The other eleven boys formed a circle about the altar and statue and began to sing again, softly at first but slowly growing in volume and passion as the rest of us stood along the walls watching. The sweet, clear voices of the eleven young boys reminded me of the choir boys I had heard in Pisa and the Vatican and their voices filled me with joy and comfort, and with lust. Each of the thirteen boys was handsome and lithe, his body smooth and unblemished, his face fresh and angelic, his eyes sparkling with his youth and innocence.

I thought of the choir boys I had known carnally back in the Italies and of my countryman Fabiao and the horrible practice of castrating young boys to maintain their childish bodies and high voices. The young boys then began to dance, taking three steps forward and three back as they continued singing, gracefully waving their hands. Six times they stepped forward and six times they stepped back, the boy kneeling before the fire burning at the altar raising his hands to the sky in the shape of a flower as he concluded his prayer, welcoming the silver sickle of the new moon as it appeared in the opening in the ceiling of the temple. (3)

At the same time the ixiptla appeared at the altar. Again the boys danced for him, three steps forward, three steps back. Lead by the boy who had prayed at the altar, the boys chanted now to the Xochipilli Impersonator as they circled the hall one last time, filing past us with their eyes focused straight ahead, the guard at the door bringing up the rear. My body flushed with lust and my groin aching with desire at the sight of those smooth, red-brown chests and pert boy nipples and those slender arms and thighs and those sweet, innocent faces and delightful voices, I followed my fellow tlamacazqui out of the room. Ahead of us, the young singer-dancers were heading for the outer doors of the temple and home except for one who had separated from the others and was following one of the senior priests, and the boy who had lit the sacred fire who was nowhere to be seen. As I headed to my cell, feeling frustrated and prurient, a figure stepped out of the shadows of the hall ahead of me, a short, slight figure, the boy who had guarded the door, still carrying the ceremonial spear. He stepped in front of me, rigidly erect, spear held across his chest, eyes straight ahead.

"I offer you my spear, tlamacazqui," he said, his face fresh and innocent but his eyes bright with lust and his voice thick with desire. There was a hint of arrogance in his stance and the tone of his voice.

"I accept," I replied, not sure what his intention was given the look in his eyes nor why he figured I needed his protection. I smiled as he turned and marched smartly ahead of me. Considering the battles I have engaged in, the idea that a ten-year-old child was offering me his protection was humorous. Although I had never seen this boy before to my knowledge, he marched me directly to my room. As we entered, I wondered if he had any inkling as to how I felt about him, if I should pursue my desire, and if so, just how I should initiate things. The boy, I discovered, had his own plans.

Standing his spear in the corner, he turned and untying his breechclout, he allowed it to fall to the floor, revealing his other spear, which was standing straight up in the air above an impressive sac. He placed his hands on his hips and spread his legs as he looked up at me proudly, the arrogant look still on his face. For a ten-year-old, he was well endowed, his stiff member as long as the width of a palm, and two fingers thick. Like all of his race, it was hooded. Stepping up to him, I knelt before this precocious, prurient child and reached out and took his stiff member between my thumb and fingers. It was as hard as his spear and throbbing with lust. I slowly pulled the skin back, revealing his bulb, and was pleased to find it clean.

Unable to resist, I dropped to my knees and bending my head, I took his member in my mouth. Closing my lips about the shaft at the still hairless base, I sucked on the throbbing sausage, delighting in its unique taste and fragrance. My mouth quickly filled with spittle and as I swallowed the cock-flavored saliva my own cock began to rise. Looking up at the boy, I found him looking down at me with the same arrogance, unfazed by my actions. I continued to suck on his member as I began to ease my lips up and down his shaft and over his bulb, and he continued to stand there with his legs spread, but I detected a slight intake of his breath and a slight quiver as my lips brushed past the sensitive rim of his bulb.

I debated continuing until he reached his orgasm but decided instead that he put into practice what I had done to him. So, I stood and untied my own breechclout and let it drop, similarly revealing my member, also now stiff and standing proudly above my hairy stones, knowing that my cock and balls were significantly larger than most men. To my surprise and bewilderment, and I admit disappointment, when he looked down at my crotch he showed no surprise nor appreciation. He asked for lubrication, which given my size was understandable, and so I decided if that was what he wished we would go directly to that. I retrieved the gourd of perfumed grease that I had found in the room upon being assigned to it and returned to him with it.

Instead of taking it, he spread apart his legs and I realized he was expecting me to lubricate him. I was bemused but found the idea of this child fucking me erotic so I knelt before him and generously lubricated his stiff member. In that he made no effort to take over, I reached behind myself and lubricated my anus and slipped my greased fingers one by one up my rectum to lubricate it. Putting aside the gourd, I dropped to my hands and knees and the boy stepped up behind me. Grasping my hips and spreading apart my ass cheeks, he flexed his knees and shuffled forward until the tip of his greased little member was wedged in my anus. He slowly pressed forward and I felt his cockhead spread open my anus and pop inside my rectum. He continued to push forward, sinking his cocklet up my ass until his smooth pubes were pressed against the cheeks of my ass. The ease with which he penetrated me could only have come from experience!

Continuing to grasp my hips, he began to pump his cock in and out of my rectum and I worked with him, tightening my anus as he withdrew and relaxing as he sank his cock back up my ass. The ring of my anus burned with delight, which spread to my stiff, throbbing cock and the rim of my bulb burned with the same painful delight. I was tempted to reach down and stroke myself, but decided against it and instead decided to enjoy the throbbing pleasure pulsating through my cock and pulsating up my rectum. My pleasure and arousal were heightened by the fact that it was being caused by a ten-year-old boy. The idea of one so young engaging in an act of sodomy with a seventeen-year-old man was foreign in my land, particularly as the dominant partner, and as his stiff cock throbbed up my ass and his breathing became labored with his effort and his lust, I found my own cock throbbing with desire and the lust deep in my groin rapidly growing.

The boy's panting became gasps and his pumping became faster and more irregular until he whimpered with delight and quivered as he pumped his hips to and fro erratically with his dry orgasm. The fact that this boy of ten winters had climaxed triggered the release deep in my loins and I felt the twang and hot rush of my seed up the core of my swollen, benumbed cock and my seed spurted out of the tip with a sharp, burning delight. He trembled with his spasms and I gasped and grunted and arched my back as spurt after spurt of my seed flew through the air to land on the floor. I inhaled and exhaled deeply with the pleasure, my head spinning with the violent release of my seed. Panting just as deeply, the boy finally stopped and grasped my hips tightly, his stiff cocklet buried deep up my ass as he caught his breath and savored the flush of relief that passes over one's body after his orgasm.

At last he pulled his cocklet out of my ass. Stepping over to the stand where I kept my water for washing, he dipped the cloth in the bowl and wiped off his cocklet, and then bending over, he picked up his breechclout and retied it. Picking up his spear, he gave me a curt bow, and marched out of the room, leaving me standing there with my now flaccid, dripping cock hanging between my legs. As I stared after him, my jaw hanging open, I once again found myself asking what sort of peoples these were where ten-year-old boys fucked seventeen-year-old men.

While I was at the market several days later, a group of warriors and priests lead by the Tlaloc Impersonator marched by escorting thirty or so children, boys and girls, all richly adorned in feathers and gems and carried on litters festooned with ribbons, flowers and feathers. Dancers and musicians playing flutes and drums wove in and out and around the litters. As they passed, the people stopped and bowed and cheered. They were slaves, I was told, being taken up Mount Tlaloc two days hike away from the city where they would be sacrificed to Tlaloc in the hope they would please him and he would bring rain.

Most of the children looked stoically ahead. A few smiled and waved, enjoying the attention and being in the parade, and a few looked down from their litters with a look of pride and prestige. A few of the children, I noticed, were crying, and I was told that was a good thing for these were tears of the Rain God, and the tears would ensure heavy rains to come. I was not told how they would be killed, and thankful I did not have to witness such atrocity, I did not ask. I returned to my room much depressed, unable to put out of my mind the images of these innocents lying on their backs and their hearts being ripped from their bodies.

Again I have to ask, what sort of people are these? What sort of people would kill innocent children to appease their gods and seek their favor? And what sort of gods demand such sacrifices? Surely no god would ask such a thing of his or her followers. Gods are supreme in knowledge and goodness so how could such a thing be. Of course the answer was that there could be no such gods. How, then, could any people believe in such ignorant superstition? As I knelt there in my cell seeking answers, the story of God demanding of Abraham that he sacrifice his son Isaac as proof of his faith came to my mind and I fell silent. It had been a test of Abraham's faith, and in his belief in his God, Abraham had been willing to fulfill it. The only difference was that God stopped Abraham before he carried through with God's demand whereas Tlaloc has not stopped his followers from performing their task. Was there really that much difference between the two? Much sobered, I knelt there in wonderment, not knowing what to think.

We did offer our own sacrifice at Lake Xochimilco, seeking the blessing of Xochipilli for rain, the Flower Prince being closely associated with Tlaloc as I have mentioned. The evening before the ceremony we drank generously of the thick, nutty-flavored drink we had been given the night of our induction as Novices, and the following morning we were served the drink I have already mentioned as being common in their rituals, the dark brown, bitter xocolatl. We then assembled in the main hall where we were lead in prayers to Xochipilli by the head priest. Shortly after we had begun praying, a figure stepped out of the haze of incense and the shadow of the stone statue dominating the room, the ixiptla, the God Impersonator He dropped his feathered cloak, revealing his trim, muscular body tattooed with vines, flowers and mushrooms, a body as I have said much lighter in complexion than any of the other natives I have encountered, almost as light as my own.

We all dropped to our knees and raised our hands in the form of flowers to him in homage, chanting our praise. While the rest chanted, several of us, including myself, played flutes, and I played a solo on my panpipes, an instrument whose range of tones much impressed these natives. As we played and sang, the head priest lead us on a dance about the ixiptla, one filled with gyrations of the hips and shoulders and the caressing of one's own body, a dance designed to raise up the humors of lust in the male body, and to raise up the male member. Our God Impersonator was becoming aroused also, as evidenced by the bulging of his ornate loincloth, which he finally removed, revealing his most spectacular, erect penis and a pair of stones of a generous size.

One by one we also dropped our loincloths and danced about our God naked and with growing lust, our members all erect and throbbing with desire. We reached down and squeezed and stroked those throbbing members in open delight, presenting them to our God who similarly reached down and stroked his swollen flesh. We circled him and sang as we began a dance similar to that performed by the noble youth on the first day of the new moon, stepping forward three paces and then back three, then stepping forward four and retreating three so that we step by step drew closer to our God, the blood in our veins flowing faster and faster and our members aching for the release of our seed. Those in the first circle of eight men were now in reaching distance from the ixiptla, and then half that distance again. One priest could hold back no longer and began to ejaculate, his thick, white seed flying out of the tip of his cock and spraying the naked body of the handsome, naked youth in the middle of the circle of priests. Another quickly followed, and then another, until all eight were spurting and spraying the ixiptla's body. Blobs of seed splattered against his stomach, his hips, his buttocks, his thighs, and as spurt after spurt struck his body the room was filled with the nutty fragrance of fresh seed.

We stepped back three paces, and as we stepped forward four the first row of worshipers stepped between those advancing, stepping back to the last row and then circling in the same direction of the sun for a quarter circle. Those eight now in the first row released their seed almost simultaneously, thick, white streamers streaking the short distance to spatter against the naked, already splattered body of the God Impersonator. They quivered and gasped with their release as their seed oozed down the smooth contours of the handsome youth of eighteen or nineteen. Then they too stepped to the back and circled to the left and the third row stepped forward. Being one of the youngest priests, I was in the fourth and final circle with the six Novices and one other young priest a few years older than myself. It had been with supreme effort and the fear of embarrassment that I had been able to hold back my seed, but finally stepping up to the naked, bespattered young God, his body streaked with the slime of those who had preceded me, I did not need to hold back any longer and I threw back my head and gasped with pure delight as I stroked my swollen cock now in earnest and my seed raced up the core of my stiff, throbbing cock and erupted out the tip to strike the naked young man in the chest, joining a dozen other streaks of slime oozing down over his breast, following the contours of his body down to his crotch where globules of seed clung to his short hairs.

And then he too erupted, his seed flying high into the air and returning to splat against his pumping fist and oozing down his swollen member. Spurt after spurt erupted from his cock, spraying his own body with his seed, slime oozing over his fingers grasping his member and hanging in pendants from his now swollen, tight balls. And then we stepped back and circled to the left and what had been the first row of priests now stepped forward, still masturbating, and they added their second load of cum to that already clinging to the ixiptla. I was aching for a second release myself despite having just come with delightful force and volume and I clenched my eyes and gritted my teeth as I strained to hold back as I stroked my swollen cock and slowly advanced row after row until I once again found myself in the front row. Having circled a quarter circle to the left, I found myself now facing the ixiptla's right side as I blasted out a second load of thick, creamy seed.

We again stepped to the back and circled left, continuing to masturbate, and again advanced a third time and now facing him from behind I spattered his back and backside with my hot seed. Such were my lust and devotion my release was as copious and as thick as the first time and my arm felt no weariness. We again retreated and advanced and for a fourth time I spattered his body, this time his left side, my seed as thick and as voluminously as the first time, and for the fourth time our God quivered and shot forth his own seed. Exhausted, we inhaled and exhaled deeply and slowly, sucking in the thick, musky air as we stepped back and then all four encircling rings of priests stepped back, now advancing three steps and withdrawing four steps. The ixiptla disappeared back into the shadows and the mist of incense to take our plea for rain back to Xochipilli and Tlaloc. Drained of energy and our balls tight and aching and drained of seed, we spent the rest of the day in isolation in mediation and prayer, recovering from the multiple releases of our seed and being allowed neither food nor drink. As I sat there in my cell I again had occasion to think and I considered the ceremonies I had engaged in with Father Francisco back in my simple village, of the ceremonies I had witnessed in the Vatican, of the ceremonies I had witnessed in my travels through the land of the Saracens, and what little I knew of the ceremonies of the Jews. There were similarities to be found in all, including the ceremony I had just engaged in and I wondered what it was that caused all five to have those similarities. There were also differences, marked differences, causing me to wonder with such differences how one knew which of the five was correct, for surely, only one could be. I knew nothing of pagan practices, and I had to wonder if Satan had a hand in any of them and particularly the latter, having heard that witches and warlocks engaged in depraved orgies and wanton sex. After a day of contemplation I was no wiser, which greatly troubled me, and of them all, I had to admit the one that left me feeling most drained but also most connected to my god was the ceremony I had just engaged in, and that troubled me most of all.

Also held that month were the tlahuahuanaliztli, the warrior sacrifices to Quetzalcoatl, the Plumed Serpent. This being a major festival with feasting and celebration, Quetzalcoatl being one of their major gods, there was much merriment, and in that the people were desperate for rain and eager to please their gods, the sacrifice to Quetzalcoatl was attended by the thousands. Young men, mostly warriors paid as tribute from the outlying districts, were tied one by one to a pillar by a short length of rope and given a ceremonial staff to ward off their attackers, and were then attacked one on one by an armored opponent usually carrying one of their obsidian long knives.

Only the strongest and bravest of warriors were selected for they would act as messengers to the Plumed Serpent upon their death, and only the best were deserving to act as messengers. To my surprise, these brave young warriors usually went to their death willingly and proudly, honored to have been selected to act as messengers in death! They, in a sense, reminded me of the ancient Roman gladiators who fought in the arenas of Rome for the amusement of the barbarian Roman citizens. Even more to my surprise, many of these modern day gladiators defeated their opponents despite the odds against them so great was their skill and strength. If they managed to survive seven attackers, they were given their freedom, but even more surprising, those who did manage to do so waived their right and continued to fight until they were ultimately killed. There was a story of one such gladiator who had killed two dozen men before finally meeting his own death. The people of this land are afflicted with mass insanity! The alternative, that they were the most faithful of all peoples, I could not believe, but nor could I stop of the possibility coming back repeatedly to nag at my mind.

Days passed and we began the third month, Tlacaxipeualiztli. Around the middle of the month as dusk approached, everyone in the temple spread out to the surrounding fields, individually, in pairs, or in small groups where we were joined by the young teenage slaves who tilled the gardens and did the heavy work and the teenage sons of nobles who oversaw the farms, boys the ages of thirteen or fourteen. The day temperatures had risen considerably, it now getting as hot as in August back home, our hottest month of the year, though the night temperatures here dipped considerably being situated on such a high plateau. Rain had begun to fall more frequently and the flowers were all beginning to bloom.

As the moon rose above us, we offered prayers to Xochipilli as the God of Agriculture, asking for abundant crops this year, and we danced below the gibbous moon for him, mimicking the rays of the sun, the falling of the rain, the emergence and flowering of the young plants, and more obviously, the motions of a man in the act of copulation as the teenage boys watched. Conscious of their eyes on me, I gyrated and thrust my hips seductively and threw back my head as if having an orgasm as I had once done as a dancer in a life that now seemed so long ago and the two young priests accompanying me copied my motions. The teenage boys, easily aroused at that age, were soon fidgeting with arousal, which made me accent my motions all the more until they were ready to have orgasms themselves. My member ached with lust from having aroused these impetuous young boys and so great was the lust that you could feel it throbbing in the air.

I and my two fellow priests and three of the nobles' sons paired up with six of the teenage slaves, our bodies flushed with arousal and our eyes bright with lust. As we dropped our breechclouts, the boys glanced at each other and at us with curiosity, trying to act nonchalant and as if this were a routine occurrence in their lives but obviously self-conscious of their nakedness and arousal, typical teenage boys, at the age of thirteen or fourteen sex still being something new and mysterious. All nine boys were very obviously conscious of their masculinity as they alternately tried to cover their nakedness with their hands and flagrantly thrust out their hips, proud of their endowment. They were all partially aroused and their members continued to swell as they covertly glanced at each other and at us, particularly curious as we were anywhere from two to seven years older and priests. The three noble boys glanced at each other knowingly and leered with anticipation, the corners of their lips curling as their eyes slanted and their members began to rise. The six teenage slaves, though only entering their teens, were muscular and in top physical condition, the result of their daily labor, and though just as curious and aroused, glanced about less certainly.

Having been told what they were expected to do, the six slave boys slowly and hesitantly bent over and the six of us, we three priests and the three nobleman sons, mounted them there in the open, tilled fields. We six were eager to satisfy our lust, and the six slaves, though uncertain and playing the passive role, were just as aroused and eager for sex. The slave boys had been oiled in preparation and we mounted them with little effort other than what was required when engaging in sex with someone who had not done so before, which was the case of these six boys. We priests and the three sons of nobles were experienced on the other hand and grasping our partner's hips we began to pump our hips to and fro, working our stiff cocks in and out of their tight holes while the remaining teenage slaves and nobleman's sons formed a circle about us and watched.

Our raw sexuality pulsated around us as we fucked with wild abandon, grunting and groaning with unabashed pleasure, the six of us ramming our cocks up the asses of the six teenage slaves, and the six slaves grunting and arching their bodies with lust and tightening their anal muscles about our stiff cocks as we took their virginity, the six boys deriving the same pleasure being fucked as we were doing the fucking. For me, that I was encircled and being watched by over a dozen boys in their early teens tripled my arousal. They were all healthy, teenage boys, and there was no doubt in my mind that they were all sporting erections beneath their loincloths and aching to release their seed. Nobody exudes raw sexuality like a teenage boy and you could smell their sex in the air. I thrust my cock in and out of the young boy bent before me, delighting in his tightness and the warmth and moistness of his virgin hole.

We twelve rutted openly and unabashedly like animals, our grunts and panting exciting each other until we six were filling the rectums of the six slaves for the first time in their lives and the six boys were spilling their seed on the freshly tilled earth where it soaked into the ground, the fertility of the soil hopefully mimicking our own. I had no idea how such magic worked, but I did know there were things that were beyond the ken of mortal man.

These six slave boys had been selected because they were virgins in every way, having never had sex with the opposite sex nor with those of their sex and never having spilled their seed by their own hand. As they stood there naked before their friends and superiors, their rectums filled with hot, thick seed and their stiff cocks dripping with their own seed for the first time, I wondered what they were thinking. What must it have been like to feel one's seed rise and spurt out of one's body for the first time and to witness others experiencing the same thing? What were they thinking as they felt their bodies being filled with another man's hot seed and knowing that everyone present knew what was happening to them? I tried to imagine how I would have felt had it been I and as I thought about it I felt my body fill with such lust it ached. I had to wonder too how many of those watching had stained their loincloths, and how many of those for the first time. The fertility gods had to be pleased. I certainly was.

The next day a goldsmith, dressed in the attire of his craft, a feather skirt and red sandals, and with large gold plugs in the septum of his nose and his earlobes, arrived at our temple with a curious tale. He had gone to the temple of Xipe Toltec, the patron god of goldsmiths and silversmiths, along with his fellow craftsmen on the day set aside for them and there along with the others he had presented the Flayed One his finest work in thanks for the profitable year past and in hopes of a similar year coming. He also confessed to his god his loneliness and frustration in finding a mate. That night, he said, he had a dream in which he was returning from the gold mines and was attacked by a jaguar which would have killed him except Xochipilli descended from the sky and chased the animal away. He had intended on making an offering to the Prince of Flowers anyway and saw this as a sign of confirmation and permission from Xipe Toltec.

He had intended on doing so the very next day but his father, a farmer, took ill and he spent the day seeing to him. It was that night, last night, that he had witnessed our fertility ceremony, and much to his surprise, I was the exact image of the Xochipilli of his vision, right down to the colour of my skin and the cross of fertility about my neck, referring to my Cross of Saint Christopher, which I had discovered was considered a symbol of fertility among many of these peoples. He brought an offering of exquisitely crafted gold flowers, and had asked the priest officiating at the altar specifically for me, believing that Xipe Toltec had not been confirming his decision to make an offering to Xochipilli, but had in fact been indicating to him the one who could relay his request for a mate to the Prince of Flowers. Hearing requests of Xochipilli's followers was of course one of my duties, and in this case I saw it as an excellent opportunity to find out more about the evidently great abundance of gold these people had access too, not yet having given up on my mission to find out all I could on this voyage for my sovereign king.

So I accepted his offering on behalf of Xochipilli and the temple and took him aside to one of the many rooms used for private consultations. I lit the copal incense, performed the rituals of intercession on his behalf and recited the prayers to Xochipilli seeking his blessing. The goldsmith came prepared to perform a blood offering. As I took out the dried flower petals and cactus spine and prepared the sacrificial ointment, he removed his skirt and stepped up to the statue of the Prince of Flowers. Reaching over and holding up his flaccid member, I dabbed his foreskin with the ointment made from water in which fresh leaves from a plant which numbed the flesh had been soaked and with a quick thrust of the spine I pierced his foreskin and dribbled the bright red blood over the bowl of dried leaves. He did not flinch even though even with the ointment the procedure had to be painful. Dabbing the puncture with a thick gel which stemmed the flow of blood, I placed the blood-soaked leaves on the altar and said the necessary prayers.

He was an attractive man and from my experiences as a tellak in the Ottoman bathhouses and as a kocekler dancing across Caucasia, I knew a man is more likely to reveal things to a person with whom he has had congress. So, I proposed to him that there was an additional ritual that we might engage in to gain Xochipilli's favour. He apparently found me attractive also for when I made the suggestion he agreed to it immediately. So we discarded our clothes and I proceeded to arouse him, another purpose for the private rooms surrounding the altar chamber. I quickly discovered that while a skilled and confident goldsmith, he was not so skilled nor so confident when it came to congress with others of his sex. Although he was in his mid twenties, eight years my senior, he had limited experience with either sex. So I engaged him as I would a novice, going slowly and offering him praise and encouragement. Of the acts I proposed we could engage in, he chose that we satisfy each other orally so we lay down on the mat and as I took his member in my hand and ran my tongue up the shaft and swirled it about the bulb, he did likewise to me. Once he was stiff, I slipped my lips over his bulb and slid my mouth down his cock to his hairs and then slowly drew them back up, sucking at the same time, and again he copied me. After a couple minutes, I clamped my lips below his knob to cut off his desire and lay still until I was sure he had cooled down and then I resumed. At the same time I caressed his buttocks and fingered his anus and I caressed his thighs. We continued until again I felt the urge approach, and again we cut off each other's desire.

We resumed once we had control of our desires, and I closed my eyes and delighted in being sucked, and in sucking another man's cock and my passion slowly began to build again. When he came, instead of swallowing his semen I collected it in my mouth and then spit it out into one of the small gourds placed around the altar and placed it before the statue of Xochipilli as an offering beside the bowl of blood-soaked leaves. We talked then, about his life as a goldsmith and how a farmer's son had come to enter such an occupation, about men who loved other men and his failed relationships in the past, and of course about the Empire's gold and silver mines. In return I told him to come back in midmorning in two days to the fountain sculptured in the likeness of young boys carrying gourds of water. He looked at me curiously but I said no more. I knew that a young artist in his early twenties would be there sketching the flowers in the morning light as he always was, and from conversations we had, that he was unattached and liked older men. He and the goldsmith would be a good match I was certain.

The days passed and the moon waned until again it disappeared and then began anew, and again with the appearance of the first silvery sickle of the new moon we gathered to worship Xochipilli with the dance of the new moon. Recalling the last ceremony, I was filled with lust and hope, especially as the thirteen young boys appeared, the ten-year-old guard who had fucked me the previous month included. I could not keep my eyes or mind off him in the hopes of a repeat performance and at times I stumbled through the prayers and motions as we prayed much to the annoyance of the lead priest.

As the first time, after the ceremony I made my way toward my room alone, and as the first time I was again intercepted by a shadow stepping out from the dark. It was not the young guard, however, but one of the young dancers, a boy of eight.

"I have been sent by my brother, tlamacazqui," he stated. "He has said that you are very skilled, and that there would be none better for my first time."

I studied the boy closely. I had not noticed before, but there was a strong family resemblance between him and the ten-year-old guard who had fucked me a month ago. I wondered when the two had talked, and why the topic of having congress with me had come up. I tried to imagine the conversation between the two boys and as I pictured the older boy telling his brother about fucking me and the pleasure he had found, and as I imagined the younger boy's wide-eyed wonder and curiosity, my member began to swell. None better for his first time. How wonderful those words were to mine ears. As I looked down at this fresh, innocent boy, at this virgin child, the tip of my member ached with desire. My arousal did not go unnoticed by my young dancer who shyly looked up at me with hope and with apprehension.

And so he accompanied me to my room. We quickly disrobed, and as the young dancer removed his loincloth I saw he was already aroused, his little cocklet sticking up in the air no longer nor thicker than a man's thumb. That he was wanting this made my own desire all the stronger. I gestured toward my groin and he hesitantly reached out and wrapped his fingers about my partially swollen member and stroked it. He was inexperienced and awkward, but that only heightened my arousal and speeded the swelling of my cock. I showed him how to prolong our foreplay, assuring him that engaging in foreplay would bring as much pleasure as the final act and was not something to be rushed. I caressed his smooth, rounded muscles, his tight, compact backside, his protruding shoulder blades and boy breasts still soft and undefined. I cupped his tiny, hairless testicles and rolled them in their loose sack, and I gently pulled back the skin covering his bulb. At the same time I guided his hands, explaining to him that it was best to avoid those places that are the most sensitive initially in order to prolong and heighten one's arousal. I quivered as his small, hot hands caressed my body inquisitively and awkwardly, and I sighed with delight as those hot little fingers wrapped about my stiff member and stroked it.

And then I greased his member and my rectum and this eight-year-old boy mounted me. I could barely feel his tiny cock in my rectum as he pumped his hips to and fro, the shortness of his cock preventing him from having much of a thrust and the narrowness giving my anus little to grasp. He was like a jackrabbit rutting in the bushes and that thought sent a quiver of arousal up my stiff cock as I pictured him as a rabbit fucking another up the ass. As this precocious child pumped his cock in and out of me, I could not help but recall how his brother had done the same, and the idea of me having been fucked by two brothers not yet in their teens I found wildly erotic and especially knowing it was the younger one's first time. I imagined their conversation after this night, the two pre-adolescent brothers comparing fucking me and I wished I could listen in on their conversation. I could not help imagining the two precocious children becoming aroused as they discussed fucking me, and the two of them, eight and ten, fucking each other to satisfy their lust. That I would love to witness. Soon the boy was tightly grasping my hips and banging his naked body against my buttocks as he trembled with his dry orgasm, and as his little cocklet throbbed up my rectum I quivered with my own orgasm, quickened by my vulgar imagination and the perverted physical pleasure of being fucked by this eight-year-old virgin boy, my seed racing up the core of my cock and shooting through the air to spray the floor.

Two patron gods of war were worshiped the month of Tlacaxipeualiztli, Xipe Toltec and Huitzilopochtli. Six days after my session with the goldsmith was the vernal equinox, that time of year when the length of daylight was the same as the length of darkness. These people being dependant on agriculture and on the weather and seasons of the earth, I was not overly surprised that they were aware of the event and I found it gratifying that I had been able to so accurately keep track of the days since my rash decision to throw myself into the Cipango Sea despite the lack of quill and paper.

Crowds gathered early that afternoon to witness captive warriors being lead up the steps of the Temple at Yopico to have their hearts ripped out and their corpses thrown down the steps to be decapitated. The ixiptla of Xipe Toltec, a muscular young man in his early twenties, a slave who had been captured forty days earlier I was told, appeared to the cheers of the crowd and paraded before them, flexing his muscles that had to have been oiled the way they reflected the midday sun. One side of his body was painted yellow and the other side tan and his lips, neck, hands, and legs were painted red. For the past forty days he had been treated as if he were the god himself, clothed in the finest robes and most precious gems, fed the choicest food, and treated with the greatest respect. As the Impersonator of Xipe Toltec, I expected him to preside over the sacrifice of warriors to him and to accept their deaths on behalf of the god he was representing.

You can imagine my shock as instead he stepped up to the sacrificial stone and lay upon it and the head priest stepped up to him and raised his wicked obsidian knife to the cheers of the watching crowd and was plunged into the ixiptla's body! And then to my unbelieving eyes and horror his corpse was flayed, his skin being carefully removed as if it were the outer coating of a seed and as if the process was of no more significance than a snake shedding its skin. I stood there in shock and disbelief as the head priest donned his bloody skin and lead a dance in honor of Xipe Toltec! There followed mock battles between young nobles wearing the skins of other sacrificial victims. These skins, I learned, were considered to have a curative function and were worn for twenty days, until the end of the month, after which they would be put in jars and stored beneath the temple. From their tattered and decaying condition and the stench cloaking the warriors I had no doubt what I had been told was the truth, about their age that is. The curative function was a much different matter! Sickened to my stomach by the sight, I turned away, unable to watch, and I wished I could similarly disengage my ears and my nose. It was all I could do to keep my gorge down.

Assuming from my reaction that I was hungry, my companions, Ozomatli, Cuacualti, and the other young priest, Little Reed, suggested we have lunch at the market, and eager to leave the bloody, obscene scene I readily agreed. We purchased jugs of octli, which I eagerly downed, and they ordered a special meal being served for this ceremony, tlacatlaulli, a stew of corn and a spicy ground meat. It was not until I had almost finished my bowl and had commented on the unique, spicy taste, that I learned I was eating the flesh of the sacrificial victims. My gore rushed to my throat and I fought it back down with great effort, the fear of revealing my revulsion and perhaps endangering my own life the only thing preventing me from disgorging the contents of my stomach. I downed the rest of the flat, weak beer in an effort to remove the taste, which fortunately my companions took as a toast to the victim I was eating. Pushing the bowl and the remaining contents away, I looked everywhere but at it. I learned, as we headed back to the temple, that on this day and others earlier this month the bodies of the sacrificial warriors were carved as a farmer might butcher a cow or a pig and their flesh sold at the markets! Each day I discover a new atrocity, and so repulsive are these newly revealed behaviors I am certain that there can be no other discovery more shocking.

The remainder of the day was spent getting the temple ready for the ceremony marking the spring equinox that evening, dull and routine and doing nothing to get my mind off the repulsive events of the morning. We filed into the main hall that evening according to our rank as was our custom, the senior prelates first and myself and the Novices bringing up the rear. We recited our thanks and reverence to the creator gods, to the chief gods of the pantheon, and of course to the Prince of Flowers, at which point the head priest began the prayers and lead the chants to the Prince. Shortly thereafter the ixiptla stepped out from the shadows. The head priest bowed low before him and beseeched him for his blessing and for a bountiful harvest this season and slaves filed in with cages of live quail which were removed and held up to the Impersonator before having their necks wrung and their lifeless bodies tossed in baskets at the base of the altar.

I knew elsewhere in other temples throughout Lake Xochimilco, Tenochtitl�n and the Empire nobles were offering their best slaves to Quetzalcoatl for sacrifice and collecting their blood in ornate bowls to be taken to the temples where the noble worshiped to be offered to the other gods he worshiped, and that the scalp of the slave would be taken and hung in his home in a place of honor. They would then hold a feast for the noble's family and friends where the flesh of his slave would be fed to his guests, though having a father-son relationship with the slave, the noble himself would not partake of the meal. To me that was a strange acknowledgment of their relationship considering he had ordered the slave's death to begin with. In comparison to our ritual that vernal equinox, I was most thankful I had been chosen to be a priest of Xochipilli instead of Quetzalcoatl or Xipe Toltec. Our ceremony was surprisingly brief and the Impersonator strangely played a very small role but I was grateful and I sought my bed and solitude but I could not escape the sights and the thoughts of the day.

That night I resolved that I had to get out of this godforsaken land, and as soon as I could. I had no idea how I was going to leave the temple unnoticed, and I had even less idea which direction I should head should I manage to get out of the city. This Empire spread out in all directions and in which direction lay the court of the Great Khan nobody knew. I thanked my all merciful and all-knowing Lord for His protection and guidance so far in this savage land, begged forgiveness for my many sins, and prayed for His help, promising should I return home I would erect a monument on the lands of Quintas de Ribeiro in His honor.

The next day, the day after the spring solstice, I was summoned by the head priest, and again I found him flanked by his two top assistants, causing flutters in my heart all over again as I wondered what was about to happen now. If I had been discovered kneeling before my makeshift cross and the Cross of Saint Christopher so be it. I would make no excuse for praying before my God, not after the atrocities I had seen in honor of Xipe Toltec. The head priest was clearly concerned and he came to the point directly. He and the top priests of our temple had decided to elevate me to the position of Xochipilli ixiptla, the God Impersonator! That was the last thing I had expected him to say and I stood there gaping in surprise! The position of ixiptla was the highest anyone could attain, higher than that of head priest and even higher than that of Huey Tlatoani, the Great Speaker, the name they gave the position of their Emperor.

The briefness of the ceremony and the small role the Impersonator had played considering the importance of the spring equinox in the responsibilities of Xochipilli the previous night had given me cause to think something was wrong and I had apparently been right. The current ixiptla had fallen ill and was incapable of continuing on with his functions. Indeed, it was thought he would not last another day. Many questions raced through my head. The immediate of course was why the current Impersonator had become ill. And immediately following that was which one of the many gods I worshiped and served, openly and secretly, was responsible for this latest change in my fate. Regardless of whom it was, I knew the decision had been made, by the deity and by the priests of Xochipilli, and that I really had no say in the matter. That night the ixiptla died, from mistakenly eating poisonous mushrooms we learned, which I suspect was not an uncommon occurrence given that mushrooms, particularly those that caused visions, were a large part of his diet and that of the elite of the nobles.

And so on the next day, two days after the spring solstice, after my ritual bath, the tattooed vines ending at my elbows were extended up to my shoulders and those ending at my knees were extended up to my hips. To these were added stylized flowers of different shapes, sizes and colors along with mushrooms of various types, all without anything to dampen the pain for part of the test to see if I was worthy and the head priest was correct in my appointment was my ability to endure pain. Feathers were woven into my long hair and I was clothed in the ornately embroidered breechclout and flowing robe of Xochipilli and the mother-of-pearl pendant, the oyohualli, was hung about my neck below my Saint Christopher's Cross, one deviation from the usual costume of Deity and Impersonator in deference to myself, these priests truly believing I was some messenger sent by the gods, in anticipation of this day, or perhaps for some greater purpose known only to Xochipilli, and revering me, and also fearing me. Assuming my position in the shadows behind the huge statue of Xochipilli, I waited nervously as the priests filed into the main hall once again according to their rank and the head priest began the prayers and lead the chants to the Prince of Flowers to bless the one chosen to be his messenger to his followers, and to deliver the messages of his followers to him. For two hours the head priest prayed and gestured and performed those rituals that would magically transform me into the living image of Xochipilli himself.

At the appropriate time, I stepped into the light and I heard the gasp and whispers of those assembled, for despite the tattoos and the ceremonial paraphernalia it was evidently I who stood before them and not the Impersonator of two days ago. Live quails were brought in by the slaves, decapitated, and their bloody corpses offered up to me for my blessing, and as I did so I again offered up silent thanks to whoever was responsible for me being a follower of Xochipilli for I know I would not have been able to stand there as his Impersonator had the ritual involved the sacrifice of humans. The dead bodies were carried away to be cooked for a special evening repast and more prayers were said and as the Impersonator of Xochipilli I blessed the priests kneeling before me and expressed my appreciation, promising a successful and rewarding spring and my personal blessing on their lives.

I retired, not to my former room, but to larger and more elaborate accommodations in the quarters reserved for the high priest and the most senior members of the priesthood on the upper floor of the temple. These accommodations consisted of three rooms, a bedroom with a cot twice the size of the one I had in my priest's quarters with a mattress of stuffed down and a large assortment of pillows of various sizes and shapes, an ornately carved cabinet containing all my belongings and another containing the possessions of the former ixiptla, and assorted candles and incense sticks in ornate and intricately carved containers gilded with gold; a small, private bathroom with its own bath and a chamber pot, and a private audience room with a life-sized statue of Xochipilli, an ornate throne and kneeling mats for the petitioners. It faced east and large doors opened onto a high-walled patio fringed with flowers of every possible color and palms and ferns for shade and for privacy.

I rested that afternoon, exhausted by the stress and unfamiliarity of my new position. That evening we assembled again in the great hall and the quail which had been sacrificed earlier were brought in on huge platters by slaves, the fowl now roasted and their skins crisp and brown and sitting in a flavorful sauce, along with platters of small, honey-soaked cakes, gourds of octli, and frothy xocolatl causing me to think back to the feast I had partaken in when I had been initiated as a full priest, and of the orgy afterward. My stomach growled and my member began to rise in anticipation of both. Following our meal there were more prayers to myself and more chants and dancing to the rhythm of drums, flutes, and rattles and I performed several solos with the panpipes and with song while the priests sat transfixed by my music and by my voice. I overheard several of the senior priests whispering that I excelled over any other ixiptla that they could remember and truly had to have been sent to them by Xochipilli himself.

Along with a feeling of great euphoria and great energy, was a feeling of great prurience and my member began to rise. Removing my robe and my breechclout, I stood before the congregation of priests stark naked, revealing my new tattoos and my erect member, and they were respectfully impressed with both. They too disrobed and danced about me, gyrating and looking upon me with dreamy, lustful eyes as they wove a pattern about me that I had not seen before. They caressed their bodies and reached down and openly and joyfully stroked their stiff members and rolled their stones and their breathing became heavier as perspiration beaded on their foreheads and trickled down their smooth, naked bodies. A bowl made of some form of crystal appeared and when the time came, the priests, one by one, in pairs, or in small groups approached the bowl and squirted their seed in it. The sight of those naked bodies and spurting members caused an ache deep in my groin and I inhaled deeply, inhaling the musky fragrance of freshly spilt seed. Despite my need, I held back as time and time again the priests stepped forward, squirting their seed a second and third time into the bowl now filling with the creamy, opaque slime, Xochipilli's special elixir.

They then stepped back and looked up at me reverently as the high priest took the bowl and stepped up to me and held it up. Holding it up to my lips, the bowl a quart and a half of semen, I drank deeply. The creamy, slimy fluid oozed down my throat and coated my tongue and gums, nutty and tart with the constituency of curds and egg white. I swallowed mouthful after mouthful before my worshipful donors and I shuddered with the perversity as it oozed down my throat. In response my own balls contracted and I felt my seed rise up the core of my cock. The head priest was prepared and as I erupted he caught my seed in a second crystal bowl. I came violently and profusely, squirt after squirt filling the tumbler held before me as I downed the remainder of the seed proffered me and handed the bowl to one of the assistant priests. The tumbler I had filled with my seed was passed from priest to priest, from the highest rank to the lowest, and each dipped in his tongue to savor my seed and bow down in reverence.

While I recovered the priests filed out of the room except for the head priest and two assistants. I stripped naked and one of the assistants lit containers of copal resin, white, sticky and expensive, while another ground the leaves that are smoked in this land, tabaco, and rubbed them on my arms, legs, and chest. The priest prayed to Xochipilli and his assistant produced a platter of six dark mushrooms, dishito, which were passed over the smoke from the copal resin, one by one, as the priest prayed again, and were then passed to me. I took each mushroom and slowly chewed the raw pulp, the room and my lungs filling with the woody copal resin smoke and the sharp taste of the mushrooms assaulting my tongue. It was not long before I began to feel dizzy and began to perspire profusely.

The flames on the candles and the copal turned colors, becoming intense pinpricks of reds and blues and violets, and then doubling and tripling and beginning to float about me, like the stars in the heavens, thousands of them, swirling and then forming clusters and then bursting out again. As I watched they formed a face with thick lips, a long, prominent nose and a flattened forehead and it smiled down at me but it was not a face I remembered ever seeing. As the pattern broke up and the colors began to swirl again, my body rose in the air and melted and began to swirl with the colors. One pinprick shone brighter than the others and gradually became larger and brighter than the others, a golden light that grew until it filled the room, and floating up to join it I flowed out of the building and out of the city, flying high above over the fields and then dense jungle. On and on I flew and far below me were pyramids and temples, most of them crumbling and in ruins and the jungle invading them and I felt a great sadness.

I descended and landed before one of the larger temples and the people around me dressed in feathers and their faces painted shouted and chased toward me with spears upraised, whether in joy and welcome or in anger and hostility I could not tell. The temple began to crumble and crash down around me and I ran into the jungle. Chasing me and then running along with me were Cuacualti and Ozomatli and we were naked, and then it was I running with a black jaguar while a monkey swung in the trees above us, and then the monkey was riding on my shoulder and I was riding the jaguar and a feeling of prurience passed over me and I was sporting an impossibly large erection which the monkey grasped and milked and my seed spurted out like a volcano erupting and I faded into unconsciousness.

The drink was made from the bluish-hued flowers and ground black seeds of the plant called Tlitliltzin which when imbibed cause visions. As mentioned in the previous chapter, xocolatl (chocolate) acts as an aphrodisiac and increases the volume of semen.

Flowers and feathers were considered precious, so the word "flower wars" were used to describe these ritual battles to collect "precious" men for sacrifice. Being previously agreed upon between the Tenochca and the neighboring tribes, it was understood that actual war for the purpose of conquering a neighbor was not being declared.

The new moon ceremony described is based on descriptions written down by native scribes after the invasion of the Spanish. There being no description what happened after the conclusion of the ceremony, the description that follows here is conjectural and based on the claim by the conquistador Bernal Diaz del Castillo that the Mexica practiced pederasty and that there was male adolescent sacred prostitution in the temples, a claim that admittedly was refuted by others. The other sacrificial ceremonies and practices described in this chapter are based on actual accounts by the Spanish invaders, which just as many claim are true as not. The ceremony welcoming the God Impersonator has not been recorded anywhere to the knowledge of this writer and is imaginative.

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