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Blindfolded.
I was about to be initiated into the most select of Senior Honor Societies at Penn State, "Lion's Phallus," in honor of the well-endowed Nittany Lion mascot that has lived for centuries atop the great Nittany Mountain. It was about 3 a.m. one day in the Spring of '97 and we had met at the Veterinary School, miles away from central campus, out near Big Beaver Stadium. No one else for miles on this day, and especially at this time. There were three of us being initiated to replace three of the eleven who had graduated at the end of winter semester and had to give up their secret keys to the secret room in the highest tower of Olde Main. I had only been to the Veterinary School once before, as I joined my gay room mate and lover to see something his professor of animal genitalia did in class. It was so unusual that my lover insisted I audit the class that day to see for myself. The professor was a pioneering veterinarian surgeon specializing, of all thing, in animal sex change procedures. His lecture that day demonstrated how he had made a bull into a cow that then grew an utter that was actually milkable. It seemed weird but appropriate that the yardstick he used to point out details in each picture in his slide show was actually the preserved prick of the subject bull. It was at least a yard long and erotically phallic with an almost human shape. Any member of Homophiles of Penn State (HOPS) would have given their left nut (even both of course) to have such a schlong -- either as their own or even better if it was their lover's. The lecture was as matter-of-fact as it could be, and the pictures proved that the apparent mad scientist was apparently successful in his mad science. Or, I thought, was he really mad? Was his science mad or had I just witnessed a visionary create something very useful -- both for its intrinsic value in that the bull could be milked for years and then still make the best filets, and for its spinoff value for improving human medical knowledge through animal studies. Would this work on ... ? That was weeks ago and I've been thinking about it ever since, but now I am to be inducted into the select society beginning at the spot on campus that was the seed, so to speak, of my evolving fantasy. Only the highest ranking student leaders are selected to Lion's Paw, and I am there because of my own pioneering work as president of HOPS. I became a national celebrity when my senior engineering project was the invention of a stainless steel, laser-scanning glory hole. It is completely sanitary, especially because the laser scan both disinfects and de-hairs the outside of an inserted cock and balls, and because the laser also safely probes into the blood chemistry to instantly and accurately show if there has ever been any contact with the HIV virus or with any of all the other STD's that can be programmed into its chromatograph digital readout. Even before graduation, I was a millionaire fag. But you may never see the glory-hole product of my pride because I sold the rights to American Standard Supply plumbing fixtures. I stupidly thought they would make and market it for their men's room supplies, but instead they buried it in their files to keep it away from the competition. My national fame came both because of the invention and because I openly and defiantly (in protest to ASS's censorship) released my technological secret to the public domain. American Standard Supply sued me, but with the help of the ACLU I both got to avoid conviction for breach of contract and also keep all the money ASS had paid me. The glory holes are now installed all over campus and hopefully should spread to your school soon. But all was not happy in Happy Valley. HOPS was the official fag club on campus, but a rival cult of wymin created Lesbians of Persuasion at Penn State (LOPPS). The LOPPers demanded equal representation and their president was blindfolded next to me to be initiated into the same honor society. Although a rival, she was a really Classy Bitch (years later I would be emasculated so I could emulate her in every way). If I wasn't a dick licker, she would have made my Y chromosome jump for joy. Her name was Cybele. So, I should have known ... Now we'll talk Statistics 101. With 50,000 undergraduates, what are the odds that the remaining seven members of Lion's Phallus and the other two initiates with me would all be female. Probably won't happen again until Penn State joins the Big Ten. Sorry, forgot, they already are in the Big Ten -- I must have been thinking about my boyfriend's Big Ten. But here we are, and I don't think it is any big deal. I get along with straight and lesbian women and wymin just fine. All gay and bi men are fine (often very fine) too. It's the straight men that can be inhuman -- but not just to bi, lez, and fag, but also to straight women they date-rape. I had already begun to think that that Y chromosome was generally a curse. But as night went on, I would learn of another curse, which at first I thought was evil but now realize just hastened the eventuality of my own reality. I am forbidden to reveal the standard secrets of the society (they used to say disloyal women members would have their cunts sewn shut and that the disloyal men would have their balls cut off). Now, I should have no fear of revealing these secrets because as you know from my first story, my balls have already been cut off in my self-desired transformation to the sex of Cybele. And as to my cunt, I already am sewn completely shut down there, and again it was self-desire. But a promise is a promise, and you will hear no more of the standard secrets. What I will tell you is the encoure part of the dark ritual around the campfire atop Mount Nittany, when our blindfolds finally came off. It was supplemented to the standard ceremony by conspiration of the female members just to add an extra thrill for Cybele (and for me too, it turned out). We already talked Stat 101. Let's now refresh Mythology 202. Remember Cybele was worshiped as a goddess in a woman-powered society. Men only became empowered and preistly after they had been castrated in ritual by Cybele or one of her preistesses. The gelded Gallae were Cybele's servants, but with special powers that negated the negative effect of the costly Y chromosome. After the standard ceremony, the women and wymin of our society performed one last ritual. A blindfolded and naked man was brought before the campfire. He had solicited his participation in a ritual like this through the secret grafitti that college fags and lezzies use to communicate. "If sex has you by the balls, Cybele can get you off: call 865-6969." The naked and blindfolded guy knew (when he saw it carved into the keystone in the obelisk) what this message meant, and he answered. He begged to be accepted, and here he is. Then I recognized two things right away. The blindfolded and nude hunk has a beautiful 10-inch boner in a familiar and unusually sensual shape, and Cybele is the wymin who sat beside me as I audited the lecture on trans-gendering a bull. To my skeptical pleasure, I now know that the erect and blindfolded beauty is my boyfriend and that Cybele is his classmate, both minoring in Animal Science. Like it was rehearsed (because it was of course), all of the women and wymin strip naked around the campfire. My boyfriend the flamer is brought close to the flames to excite his cock with the radiant waves of warmth. The sacred silver chalise has been filled with red wine and is boiling over the fire, right below my boyfriend's huge hairless set of steer-sized balls. Cybele instinctively knows what to do. She seems to be the reincarnation of her namesake goddess. She stands and holds her arms high and tilts her head back to stare at the stars. The others take the sacred sword and slice her clothes to reveal a body so fine it would cause a straight quarterback to fumble the ball if she were ever a well-positioned sideline cheerleader. The sword is thrown high into the air, and Cybele snatches the great baton just as it is dropping sharp-point-first toward her own loved-by-lesbians snatch. Then there is the great fumble. And not just one ball, but two! Cybele turns the point into the fire to make it a self-cauterizing scalpel. Then lifting it quickly while the feminine voices chant into a glorious crescendo, she deftly slices across my boyfriend's glistening sack of gonads. The two extremely beautiful balls, along with their scrotal carrier, drop into the boiling cauldron of the sacred chalise. It is still one hour to sunrise, and my boyfriend's cock is still risen higher than I have ever seen. This is exactly the scene he had told me he had been dreaming and fantasizing about for years. He has always wanted to be transgendered into the female world of magick wymin, and he knew that the first step required his castration so he could replace testosterone with estrogen. For my boyfriend, Cybele was by no means a mean radical fem, but a very good friend, and the one who by her training by the mad vet would turn my boyfriend into the preistess he was meant to be. When my boyfriend was at last un-blindfolded, he was glorious beyond reason. He had no idea I was going to be there to witness his perfect ritual and his great surprise prompted him to leap across the flames and tear off my own clothes. With all the eroticism, it was only right to accept the instructions from everyone to have my cock sucked into a great orgasm in front of the fierce fire of cult passion. As I was about to have the greatest cum shot of my life, Cybele pulled my boyfriends mouth away from my cock and pointed my fibrillating phallus at the sacred chalise. The boiling potient of balls, sac, and wine were then topped off by about a magnum of my huge stream of steaming semen. With the needle point of the sacred sword, Cybele then speared a perfectly prepared boyfriend ball from the potient and placed it on my drooling tongue. She told me to wait while she speared the other ball and placed it on my boyfriend's panting tongue, again telling us to wait. Cybele instructed all the naked females to remove the chalise and to urinate into it to cool it a bit and to add some extra nectar. Then while the other females knealt around her to lick her clean, Cybele drank quickly from the chalise, so quickly that much of the potient streamed down her naked perfection and into the lips of her naked femme cult. As Cybele began to drink, she had ordered us to begin slowly chewing the massive and marinated gonads. Drawn from all of us, the chromosomes of X and Y became sparks out of the campfire as they rearranged themselves to magickly and erotically re-enter our bodies through the anal portal. It was a special effects scene from Star Wars, but the sparks of chromosomes were real strings of ball lightning. Having lightning shot up your ass just as you are masticating on your boyfriend's delicious manhood caused an orgasm beyond belief (especially because it was my second World-Class event in less than a few minutes). And for the females, their steamy brew brought all of them to instant climax. Cybele was the last to cum, holding out incredibly as she let her passions swell while here preistesses serviced her with their worshiping tongues. But cum she did. And what did it for her the most, and what conviced me that I would soon need a set of wonderful breasts of my own, was how she tit-fucked herself with the sacred sword. She had my boyfriend's boiled scrotum on her tongue and into her mouth as she came with a scream that must have been heard across the commonwealth, echoing all the way to her sacred Beaver County. Some days later I would witness her again in tremendous nipple orgasm as she used the preserved 10-inch cock of my boyfriend to give herself another great tit fuck. How she got the 10-inch cock from (and to the delight of) my boyfriend will be my next story. I may or may not believe in myths. But I do believe in legends. I have related the two great legends that have moved me the most, and you shall hear them all.
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