Five miles in, and five miles out, every day. The history was worth it, of course, but that didn’t exactly make it easier for Darren. After all, as a PhD candidate in cultural anthropology, he spent most of his time with his nose stuck in a book, or looking at centuries old artifacts in secure laboratories and museums–five mile hikes were not part of his usual activities. He wasn’t exactly out of shape–but at five foot seven and skinny as a rail, he had a hard time keeping up with some of the more sizable men working on the excavation. It was the hike back that was always the hardest. After ten hours focused on meter by meter sized squares of dirt: digging, brushing, cataloging, and measuring–all under the hot sun–hiking back at dusk to base camp was a trial, when all he and everyone else wanted was a meal, and to collapse for another night.
But field work was where you made a name for yourself. You could spend a career analyzing the discoveries of other researchers, sure, but if you wanted to be on the cover of magazines, you needed to be out there, and this dig…nothing had ever really been found quite like it, ever before. A dwelling had been revealed by a muddy rockslide, and spotted by some shepherds, miles from the nearest city…and no one knew what culture it belonged to, and as they’d been digging, things had only made less and less sense. But Darren…he’d found something today, something he was somehow certain was a key to all of this mystery. An idol, carved from some stone–he’d thought it was jade at first, but a far deeper green than he’d ever seen before. He’d touched it, and he’d…felt something, a power inside of it, a logic…but more than anything else, he’d felt…possessive. He’d found it, so it was his, right?
In fact, it belonged to countless other governments and bureaucracies…but before anyone else spotted him, he took the idol, surprised by how heavy it was, wrapped it in some oilcloth and shoved it into his bag. Now, hiking back, feeling the heavy stone knock against his pelvis with each step, he wondered what in the hell he thought he was doing. Not only was this completely unethical, it was criminal! If anyone caught him with this thing, he’d be thrown in prison–and not a relatively nice American prison. The prisons here–well, his advisor travelling with him and another student on the excavation had warned them both, and he knew better, but he’d done it anyway. Still, when he’d felt it…he’d been so sure, somehow. He’d just have to take it back with him the next day, and pretend he’d found it in another square.
The crew arrived back at the base camp, where they all ditched their packs by their tents and then went to the mess hall to eat–everyone except Darren, who pulled his pack into his tent with him, dug around inside and hauled out the wrapped idol. He needed to see it again. He needed to touch it, to know that what he’d…felt earlier hadn’t been some strange folly of his own imagination. He unrolled the cloth, and there it was–he turned on his flashlight in the dusk light and examined the statue a bit closer.
It was obviously masculine in appearance, though done in slight caricature–that is, unless people in this society regularly had penises that hung to their knees. The figure was corded with muscle, and a bit squat–arms a bit longer than normal, but not quite ape like either. The surface of the stone was smooth, but the pattern of the green material almost gave an impression of hair all over the surface of the idol’s body. It was the face that fascinated him the most–rough, beastial, with short tusks emerging from the mouth, surrounded by a thick beard hanging to the idol’s belly. It had to be a god of some sort, and yet it was no god he was familiar with, especially not in this region of the world.
He stood the idol upright on the ground by his cot–it didn’t seem right to leave it lying down on it’s side. Touching it again…it felt good. Cool against his sweaty hand, but with some kind of deeper warmth. It was difficult for him to recall what, exactly, happened next. The idol needed him, it needed his praise and his worship, and in return, there was a promise–but what that promise was, he couldn’t tell. It came to him in feelings and scents, more than words and images, but he found himself prostrated in front of idol, watching it glow with a soft light, the light spreading to him as well, infusing him, and as terrified as he was, his cock was so hard it was nearly ready to burst without him so much as touching it.
Half an hour later, the idol was stashed back in the oil cloth and tucked under his cot bundled with some spare clothing. He’d had to change clothes, because he’d shot a massive load of cum right into the front of his pants, the largest load he’d ever seen, and his cock and balls were still throbbing. He went to the mess hall and piled his plate high with food, more food than he ever would have eaten normally, and stuffed himself, trying to forget what had happened–what he’d allowed to happen, and what he…knew he would let happen again. He did his best to pay no mind to the extra inch his cock had grown, or that…strange patch of green skin that had appeared on his torso, stretching from under his chest around his side and to his back, or to the fact that his clothes didn’t seem to fit quite right, suddenly. When he got back to the tent and prostrated himself before the idol to worship again, he was surprised by the sound of cloth tearing, as a burst of growth across his back and shoulder muscle tore the yoke of his shirt apart. He tugged it away from him, hand shaking, and chucked the tattered shirt towards the wall of the tent. It would all be alright, he told himself, worship the idol, and everything would be as it should be, once again.
Bracken's Corner 