Only Kaisarion noticed the boywhore's covert beauty; and
commanded both his manumission and that we give him the
utmost attention to bathe him and coif his hair (once we had
washed away the matting, and loosened the tangles). As an
afterthought, he sent the Inimitable Livers, his guards, to the
exploiters, to compensate them for troubles caused . . . to, and
not by, the urchin. (I believe I heard, somewhere, that
their carcasses were thrown to the River's crocodiles.) Then,
Kaisarion---Pharaoh, Lord of the Two Lands, King Above All
Other Kings, and Supreme Governor of its Temples---requested a
private visit to one of the upper decks of the Lighthouse: and
now he and his new friend, half reclining on the floor just one
level below the great light, and the mirrors behind and
reflective of it, have joined their limbs to an ardent embrace,
kissing with open mouths, their tongues swriling around each other.
Shy giggles, at first, gave way, rather quickly, to gasps and moans of
pleasure: not the mighty Ptolemy XV Caesar with one of his subjects
(inhibited old prudes and prejudiced haters have recently expressed
offensive opinions), but just two slender, playful adolescents, their
long-hair cascading over their nakednesses, and their legs were
sheathed in stockings, Koan silk, flawlessly translucent except for the
soft opacity of the doubled weave that ensheathes their toes.
Starward
[*/+/^]