The set up was liturgistic, like something one would see for a religious ceremony, and the lighting was set purposely low. In the center of the room, a long table was draped with purple velvet fabric fringed with gold. Two items sat on the table—a purple and gold silk cushion at the head of the table, and in the center stood a silver chalice. I observed the chalice and from the shape of the cup and base, I knew it was old, maybe fourteenth century? I deduced that it must be the vessel Blake spoke of. Apart from standing candelabrum at each corner of the room, there was no other illumination and the dancing light cast ghostly shadows.
Hearing a noise I sent my gaze to the doorway on the left. The double doors opened and a procession of seven men entered the room walking at a slow gait while chanting in a low murmur. All of the men were barefoot and wore floor-length robes of red, buttoned to the waist and gold half-face masks to disguise their true identities. To my horror, there was not one pair of trousers to be seen. The procession was headed by a man who, even though he was also masked, from his wiry form I recognized was Lawrence Blake. The acolytes took their places, three men on either side of the table. Blake passed by them and stood at the head of the table.
I was torn, fighting with my feelings of discomfiture and the building elation in my blood at knowing I was not alone—there was a society of homosexuals where each man was accepted for who he was. The thought of being part of a secret society, a brotherhood of men who understood our attraction, and shared our wisdom appealed but was unsure about the ritual aspect of this particular club!
I could leave now while they were in the midst of their childish ritual, or I could stay and find out exactly what I had been coerced into witnessing. From what Lawrence Blake said, all members would share themselves with other members. This fact began the churn of disquiet in my gut, and also drew me to the conclusion that this was not my path. I did not want to share my desires with a group of men; however, I was most certainly committed to the possibility of one man ruling my heart.
“Bring forth the vessel.” Lawrence Blake announced. I expected one of the acolytes to collect the silver chalice that stood in the center of the table and deliver it to Blake, but they did not. The two men closest to the door turned and strode to it. Each took a door handle and pulled it open. I gasped as I saw a young blond man standing there clothed in a pure white gossamer robe. The fabric was see-through and I could make out every inch of his lithe young body. I gulped and undid the shirt button at my throat. The newcomer wore a silver half-mask and I was unsure if I was hallucinating or not, but he shone with ethereal light as if there was silver in his hair and on his skin. I knew immediately, this was the German noble, Baron Leopold Von Liebenstein, and by the looks of it, he appeared to be a central figure in this play. The men each took hold of his graceful hands and led him to the table as the others recited an incantation. Leopold moved on light feet, his head held high as if he were a prized pony at a flesh auction.
Blake then spoke in reverent tones. I was sure it was Bible verse he recited.
”Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve the seed of our father”.
With a nod of permission from Blake, Leopold chuckled and gripped the chalice. He held it up to his lips and flirtatiously said “Bottoms up!” before he tossed his blond curls back and consumed the contents. I guessed it must have been wine, for a drop of red liquid fell from the side of his mouth and the boy’s tongue absently shot out to lick it away. Leopold gave the chalice to one of the acolytes who passed it up the line until it sat with the cushion at the head of the table.
Leopold held his arms out and the men who were standing either side attended to him, unfastening the robe, and displaying Leopold’s youthful naked flesh. His skin appeared to sparkle in the candlelight. He was twenty-two, yet had no chest hair at all, but there was a nest of soft blond curls at his pubis. His flushed pink prick stood proudly and while watching him from my secret viewing place behind the wall I felt heat leap to burn my cheeks and my tallywags begin to throb with unwanted arousal.
The boy let the robe drop to the floor. He then turned gracefully, sat on the table, and lay back with his head upon the silk cushion. His youthful nakedness was displayed like an offering—a sacrifice. I knew then that I was witnessing a sexual rite the likes of which I had never, in my most deviant imaginings, considered. I understood too that the vessel Blake spoke of was not made of silver, as I had initially thought, but of flesh and bone.
I could see that the other acolytes were aroused by the sight of the lithe young man laid out before them, their cockstands protruding through the gaps in their red robes—large and small, ruddy, and thick, leaking precious pre-ejaculate.
