Skip to main content

Celaeno's Curse

So, here's a weird topic. Around 2000 years ago, a Roman named Virgil wrote an epic poem called the Aeneid. And it contains a story which had a huge effect on me, and made me think about the world differently. And I'm going to tell you about it. Isn't that exciting!

The Aeneid is, roughly speaking, a story about a bunch of Trojans, who, after the Trojan war, which they did not win, went wandering through the world, and eventually find Italy, and become the progenitors of Rome, and the Roman empire.

Like all epic poems, it's long and rambling. Aeneas, the protagonist of the story, and the person after which the book is named, goes wandering around getting in all kinds of trouble, everywhere he goes. And he get's cursed quite a bit. The most famous of these curses is Dido's curse. He and Dido had been, well, rather intimate, and then he suddenly took a notion to leave, and she put a curse on him that her people and his would fight endless war until one of them was utterly destroyed. This did not work out well for her people. But that is a different story.

The curse I'm here to talk about is Celaeno's curse. Caeleno was a harpy, who were basically bird women with wings. Wait, I will get to the good stuff eventually. The Trojans were fleeing from somebody and they wandered into the harpies' realm. In the process of escaping, Celaeno put a curse on Aeneas and his pals. She cursed them with hunger, horrible, horrible hunger.

She said that they would be consumed by hunger, a hunger so terrible, they would have to eat the tables.

So, they sailed around, had adventures, met the afore mentioned Dido, and eventually landed in Sicily.

It was nice there, so they had a picnic. A big picnic. They did not have picnic blankets, so they used these mats, made from a kind of hard bread crackery kind of thing to put the food on. And they were hungry, so they ate all the food, but crackery things were kind of sitting there, so they ate those also.

And that's when Aeneas' son, Ascanius, realized what had just happened. They were so hungry, they ate the tables.

You may wonder why I am telling you this boring story.

Because it's not boring. Aeneas and his crew were cursed before the gods. They were doomed. Doomed to a horrible fate. And yet, that prophecy came true, and it was as nothing. It was literally a picnic.

That had a huge effect on me, and how I view the world. Fate, destiny, the path I am forced to tread, there is naught I can do about that. But I own it. It is for me to decide what it means. I can take what I am handed and make it a picnic.

And that's a pretty good lesson from a two thousand year old text. I'll take it.


Popular posts from this blog

On The Couch

Kids at a friends. I come home, and there you are, on the couch. Barefoot. Flannel shirt. Jeans. Drop my bag and I'm on you. Buttons fly everywhere. My hands all over. Reach in your pants. No panties! Rubbing your pussy. Faster. Don't cum yet. I push my cock in. Fucking until we can't move.


When she came to his house for dinner, he had been oddly quiet. She had been dating him for a while, and found him to be fun, and pleasant, and gentlemanly. She had the most conflict with the gentlemanly part. She liked it, and she also was eager to see the ungentlemanly side of him, but it had not been forthcoming. And he wasn't talking. He took her coat to the closet, and took a box from it, as he was putting the coat in. He looked at her fixedly, as he handed her the box, and said, "You know where the bathroom is." She was puzzled for a moment, then, when it was clear he was not going to explain, walked to the bathroom, and took a look in the box. There was a black dress, a very nice string of pearls, that looked to be antiques, and a note. It said, "wear this, and only this." She thought for a second. This was quite the odd left turn from gentlemanly. She felt very funny about it. And she also began to feel wetness near her thighs. It seemed

Flogging Flogging

It is more than what it is. It seems a very simple thing, a physical transaction. The arm moves and the falls strike the skin. The leather or suede or whatever material they are made from patters in a tiny storm and draw themselves along the body, leaving their evidence as they travel. Slide off and the arm pulls them back. Then through the air to strike again. It seems almost as nothing. Simplicity itself. It can be, of course. But it can be more. It can be transcendent. It can be meditative. Which sounds like nonsense, until you experience it. When I began, it was all I could do to, with minimal competence, to land the falls on the beautiful expanse of skin before me. All I could do to accomplish what is so simple. And so, the raw, physical act was all there could be. But somewhere it became more, much more. One day it was different. It is something in the rhythm, perhaps. Or maybe more. Because, for me, and those I have shared it with, it creates a place in isolati