May 2024 – Audio Version

It is nighttime, and I stand alone on a vaguely lit, empty street. Around me, the stars twinkle, the faint drizzle catches on my crimped lashes, and the frosty air nips my nose, encouraging me to pull my Tartan wool coat and silk scarf snuggly about me. My face is awash from the glowing warmth pouring from the brightly lit windows of the Art Gallery before me. Absent-mindedly, I twirl the mahogany handle of the umbrella bar resting on my shoulder. A smile flits across my face as I glimpse the artwork hanging from the pristine white walls set like a maze around the room. This is my gallery, and these are my memories hung in beautiful compositions. 

My fingers grip the horizontal silver handle, and the door easily swings to my right. The whoosh of warm, cardamom-scented air teases my senses and whips my sapphire hair back from my pink cheeks. I furl my umbrella, securely wrapping the damp sash around its middle before setting it in the waiting stand. I pause, watching the droplets of water run together, capering and laughing down the waterproof mulberry fabric to pool on the marble floor. Unfastening the large brown buttons of my coat, I shrug out of the sleeves and unwind the cream pashmina scarf from my neck, placing both on the expectant coat rack. 

I am eager tonight and breathless in anticipation. I rise on the tiptoes of pointed stilettos, bouncing just a wee bit. It has been six long, arduous weeks since I visited my gallery, and FIVE new portraits are dying to be unveiled. Each is a unique work of beauty. Some display clean lines, the figures sharp, and the details crisp. Others share a familiarity with the Impressionist style of Monet or Renoir. The edges are blurred and best observed from a distance to truly appreciate the magic of the light fading and flickering about the memory. Biting my lip, I approach the first new piece, awaiting my appraisal. 

The scene before me is a sensual, epicurean revelry of twisting bodies. As I gaze at the nude men and women intertwined on the various couches and cushions, lost in their intemperate pleasure, the frozen figures begin to move, arms tightening around torsos, hands clenching biceps. Faint moans and gasps murmur in my ear. I close my eyes, and like the Pevensie children of Narnia, I fall into the living portrait. 

Immediately, I am submerged to become a participant in these salacious memories. 

Art One – 

I was sitting on a raised platform. My black negligee rippled on my breasts, flowing over my torso to collect in silky mass at my hips. A formidable Paladin knelt on the pallet next to me. To my right sat Jack with the Paladin’s lithsome Elfin Queen. They were familiars, comfortable and at ease in each other’s arms. My Inner Goddess grinned, content at their intimacy and elated at their shared experience. I appreciated the delight she would bring him, and my heart skipped, knowing the robust pleasure he was about to bestow on her. 

The Paladin before me was a fierce titan, capable of crushing me with his bare hands. My Inner Goddess quivered, unsure where to begin with this adept soldier. Doubt darted through my thoughts. Would I be competent enough? Did he see me as a simpering amateur? My fears rose in a great ball, obstructing my airway. Was it way too hot in the pavilion, or was it just me??

Nevertheless, as his lips brushed my own, the act was sublimely gentle, eager, and intense yet laced with sensitive cautiousness. The nervous energy prickling down my arms calmed and began to disperse at his confident embrace. At least one of us was self-assured! I moved near until my breasts were pressed to his burly chest. My arousal instantly elevated at his all-consuming approximation and the zealous heat of his naked torso. I was keenly aware of my slightness in his vast presence. Were I to stand behind him, my form would be utterly obscured, even by his dark shadow. My Inner Goddess began to pant at the acute, contrasting image of brute masculinity and delicate femininity. I felt the wings of my Inner Goddess ruffle as she slipped into control, on a mission to sate the pulsing energy around us. 

As I was tenderly lowered to the pallet on which we sat, I glanced beyond my right shoulder, making eye contact with My Love, seeking confirmation from him and affirmation from the Paladin’s dark-haired Queen. However, they were lost in each other, his head between her elegant legs, sampling her honey as she began to writhe beside me. If they were permitted such enjoyment, I, too, could momentarily give myself over to the battle-hardened Paladin kneeling at the apex of my legs. 

I cried to the gods of Olympus as the Paladin’s moist tongue performed its wicked magic atop my wanton pearl. My toes furled, and my back arched under the powerful orgasmic waves that washed past and through me. Every muscle grew rigid, and I cried his skill for all the court to witness. I felt or heard the Elf Queen chuckle next to me. I turned my head to rest my cheek against the soft cotton. The Elfin Queen’s glittering eyes transfixed me as she regarded me before gracing my lips and stealing the air from my lungs with a sugary kiss. 

The daunting Paladin was far from satiated and prowled up my body. His mighty hands and imposing lips were everywhere, making my Inner Goddess wonder if there were more than one set of hands on me. Squinting through my clenched eyelashes proved only the very, very proficient Paladin adamantly adored the lines and dips of my body. My Inner Goddess sunk a little deeper into the cushion of the pallet, basking in the lascivious conduct. 

We joined, our bodies striving and straining in an exacting performance. The world beyond our bed faded, while within, everything sharpened, and my senses heightened. The Elfin Queen was erupting beside me, fueling my own detonating orgasms. I could hear her gasping breath, her willowy form squirming in her explosive desire. The sheets beneath us were taut, and the fibers twisted in our fingers. Like wild broncos, our men were indomitable, necessitating our release with each fearful thrust. Joined in stupefying pleasure, my new sister cried with me as we succumbed to the vigor penetrating our inner sanctums until the sheets were damp and permanently rumpled from the barbaric exertion. 

With unspoken agreement, the four of us collapsed, falling slightly away from each other as we gasped for breath. My Inner Goddess could do nothing but lay limply spreadeagle where she fell. I was astounded at the experience’s pure magic and lack of jealousy between all parties. My Love was beaming, and when he could move, he leaned over my limp form, and Spider-Man kissed me with so much adoration I was positive my heart might burst from sheer joy. Gods, what had I done to deserve such freedom and a love so unmarred by mistrustful envy? Hands cupping his chiseled face, I inhaled his essence as I kissed him for all I was worth. 

I gasp, resurfacing colors shifting and solidifying around me as my feet settle on the cool stone of the marble flooring spanning the breadth and width of the Art Gallery. Nonetheless, before I can quite get my barrings, a miniature gilded portrait sitting cattycorner to the first catches my eye. A figure of a knight in gleaming armor stares back at me. His gaze is impassable and pertinacious. Without a thought, I am once more falling forward, captivated by a memory. 

Portrait Two – 

I am in a decadent pleasure house, gaily nibbling bits of fruit and cheese. Clad in a petal pink negligee that dances around my ankles, my body mindlessly sways to the thumping rhythm dictating the hypnotic sensuality of the evening. Around me, bodies moved and undulated in various states of undress. Voices rose and fell as couples and throuples partook of each other in the decadent glow of our shared evening.  

A stalwart form moved in the dim lighting and began to engage me in conversation. I glanced northward to see the regal form of Lancelot staring down at me. I quickly tucked an unusually large grape into my cheek pocket, praying it did not give me unsightly chipmunk cheeks. Why, in heaven’s name, did I have to grab the largest grape and plop the whole thing in my mouth? My Inner Goddess blushed a crimson red at my unladylike manners. 

With My Love enjoying the mesmerizing attention of stunning goddesses in a neighboring pavilion, the last thing I needed was to obscure my airway, requiring the Heimlich maneuver to save me. My Inner Goddess did not think this dilemma would prove a clever way to attract the attention of a midnight lover. Not to mention, my klutzy inability to manage myself would inevitably bring Jack running to my aid and incite all manner of panic for the gathering – all because of my greedy stomach. I made a spirited effort to carry on a lively discourse with Lancelot while surreptitiously breaking the grape down into swallowable bites with my molars. My Inner Goddess finally relaxed, thankful when, at last, disaster was averted, and I consumed the last of the grape while I resumed muddling through our conversation.  

Seemingly unaware of the nigh catastrophe, the tall knight leaned close and, in a whisper I almost missed, asked if I would be partial to joining him in a pavilion. My eyes lit with a delighted sparkle, all thoughts of nibbling erased as my Inner Goddess covered her lips with both hands and excitedly squealed. Merrily, I followed the intrepid knight to a nearby boudoir. 

The dim, scarlet-lit room was already occupied, not that it mattered; it only heightened my Inner Goddess’ poignant arousal. In one corner, a Sprite was engaged with a cherub-faced goddess, and on the long bed against the far wall, a Sylph dined on a lithe fairy, her giggles of pleasure filling the bower like tiny silver bells. Around us, music thrummed, though I paid little mind to it.

Impervious to the curious eyes following us, Lancelot wrapped his massive hands around my waist, pulling me into him. Gruff fingers hooked under my chin, tilting it upward. And then he kissed me. The world fuzzed, and the edges of my surroundings lost focus as I was lain backward on an opulent pallet. There were kisses on my delicate secret lines, callused fingers tracing the outside of a thigh, swirling across my knee and down my calf to greet my ankle and the high arch of my petite foot. Then, like gentle raindrops, kisses fell from my kneecap, moving deeper and deeper toward my quivering pearl. I could not breathe. Just when I thought Lancelot would taste my nectar, my thighs parted for him, his mouth skipped over my purring slit to kiss up the opposite thigh. 

A frustrated and bewildered sigh escaped from my Inner Goddess. We were ready, and we were needy! My naked form twisted at the eroticism and amorous attention, begging the Knight for more. Lancelot knew just how long to tease and stimulate, driving my desire through the stars. I could feel my slit glistening. My breath sounded short and heavy in my ears. 

With calculated prowess, the masterful Knight dipped his head and lit the fireworks of my soul. His demanding mouth dominated my delicate pearl, swirling my ecstasy to the heavens as I screamed my release, insensible to the peering witnesses. I was oblivious to the complaints of my cramped fingers twisted in the loose fabric of the pallet’s linens. My face was a tortured mess of excruciating lines while my Inner Goddess took flight at last, untethered to spin amongst the stars, reveling in her absolute freedom. 

I do not remember the series of events or the effectual manner in which the mighty Knight moved across my limp and trembling body, the orgasmic waves still rolling and absorbing me like a persuasive ocean. There was the soothing breeze from the leafy fans on my damp, heaving abdomen and pert breasts, and then his overpowering, comforting weight settling on me like a protective blanket. Dwarfed beneath his burning body, my soul melted as the fervent pressure of his protected crown sought entrance at my slick and swollen curtains. With a faint arch of my hips, knuckles digging into the taut muscles of his bare back, I granted access to my hallowed depth. 

I moaned at the fullness, our bodies frozen in perfect stillness while my body calibrated to the monster stretching my cocoon. With courtly patience, Lancelot waited, his muscles flexed, breathing deep and guttural as he hovered atop my form. I lifted each leg, pinning the Knight’s vast hips with my knees and calves, while I buried my countenance in the crook of his neck, signaling my readiness. Without demurring hesitance, the striking Lancelot strove, beating on the very doors of my inner gate. My body curled around him, desperate for the support of his stalwart shape as I bucked and screamed at the pulverizing cannonade of his fearsome hips. 

Like a spirited war-horse, Lancelet forged ahead, charging through my anatomy and obliterating any thread to the conscious world. With hardened, blunt strokes, his violent hips plowed my petite form to the edge of the pallet, and my head began to bang on the supportive framework of the bower. Before my incapacitated mind could devise even a simple solution, Lancelot’s illustrious hand wove protectively through my tousled sapphire tresses, cradling my head in his immense palm and creating a barrier between my head and the unrelenting wooden molding. I would have thanked him for the thoughtful consideration, but my throat was raw from my vocal acknowledgment of his brutal attack. Moreover, my eyes were already rolling back as the magnificent knight redoubled his wondrous efforts. Once more, I was catapulted into splendiferous transcendence, and my vision blacked until I knew nothing more than the coruscating fury of Lancelot’s hunger mingling with my own. 

Inhaling, I pant, struggling to fill my lungs and slow my heart as it teases the line of tachycardia. I am bent over, hands on my knees wheezing at the intense recollection. My eyes blink at the steady light of the Art Gallery, and it takes me a shocking amount of time to reacquaint myself with my current surroundings. Shoulders back, I lift to my full 5’ 2” height and sigh deeply. 

When my heart rate returns to a more reasonable tempo, I cast my gaze around the room. Here and there, through the maze of walls, I spot memories fliting in their frames, beckoning me to join them. I chuckle and shake my head at their tempting entreaties. There are yet three more paintings, hopefully biding their turn to be reviewed and admired. 

Nonchalantly, I turn in search of them. My stiletto heels give a satisfactory click, click with each assured step. The sound echoes in the stillness of the mezzanine, rising above the indistinct moans issuing from the dozens of hanging paintings. 

I am in no hurry. 

A particularly libertine sight catches my wandering eye. The figures of almost a dozen Olympians engaged in all manner of carnal delights almost unhinges me, and I am well-nigh distracted from my mission. I groan but am resolute. I wind around the corner until I see the canvas I have been searching for. 

The regal frame is mammoth, standing nearly 12 feet tall, and made of gilded gold with intricate leaf and vine work twisting along the breadth and width of the structure. Within the borders stand the majestic embodiment of the fairy queen Titania and her king, Oberon. A spring breeze has ruffled her long moon-kissed curls, while a silver crown of wrought stars twinkles proudly on Titania’s head. Next to her, shiny green laurel leaves rest above the noble king, his hand sitting protectively about her waist.

With a smile, I close my eyes, allowing my mind to be utterly submerged in the reflection. 

Portrait Three – 

I had spent the day with the fairy queen. Our time was filled with laughter, deep revelations, and even silent moments of pure quiet as we picnicked and relaxed under a cloudy spring sky. The invisible fingers of Peaseblossom, Moth, Cobweb, and Mustardseed ensured that our goblets were continually filled with the nectar of blackberry flowers and the malted grains of summer wheat. Our time passed so pleasantly that we barely noticed the cloaked sun had dipped below the horizon and mutely disappeared.  

In a fit of silly giggles, Titania and I strode up the hill toward the pavilion. Strode might be too strong of a word for our slightly precarious assent. Though it was not entirely our fault. After all, it was a steep incline in the darkness, laden with our picnic supplies and laughing with the pure joy of life itself. I also place a bit of blame on Puck for tipping the fairy attendance’ hands to overindulge when they poured our libations. As they trailed behind us, heaven only knows what Jack and Oberon must have thought about our state of intemperance and childishness. 

Our giddy lightheartedness accompanied us to the lush pavilion. Titania and I made ourselves ready in the sanctuary’s privacy while our consorts busied themselves, disposing of the picnic supplies and other sundries. Mercifully, we found our way onto the bedstead. Titania lay on my left, our heads sunken into the plush pillows. At the foot of the bed, Puck began to materialize a deep fog billowing around him, the enchantment dulling my senses and weighing my eyelids. Abruptly, I shook my head dismissively, sending the haze puffing away from us. Now was NOT the time for sleep. 

The jerking movement of my head stirred Titania, and she turned her luminescent eyes to mine. She was enchanting in her refined beauty—the light within her spoke of magic and impishness. Soundlessly, the fog crept close again, and I was tempted to snuggle close to the Queen of the Faries and abandon myself to sleep. 

Wordlessly, Titania moved close and kissed me! Her lips were softer than cashmere, and her embrace banished all thoughts of the dream world. I cupped her cheek and returned her kiss, marveling at the perfection of the feminine form lying so close to my own. Titania giggled and pulled back ever so slightly. 

“We should get them in here,” she purred, referring to our consorts. They won’t want to miss this!”

Indeed, they would not! We could just distinguish their voices from the adjoining chamber, though exact words could not be identified. It took several attempts through calls and whistles to garner their attention, though I cannot fault them. It might have been impossible for them to distinguish our intention through our brazen gales of gaiety. 

At Jack and Oberon’s entrance, Titania grabbed my recumbent face in both hands and kissed me with all the weight and passion of a Queen who knows her lure and influence. On my release, I blushed a brilliant scarlet at her audacious embrace. Not knowing exactly what they were walking into, our consorts’ gasps quickly transformed into feral growls of expectation and lust that further deepened my flush. 

With the previously discussed asseveration and boundaries in place, Jack skirted the foot of the bed, making his way to Titania, while Oberon’s fiery eyes never left my body. The predatory slits of his eyes overwhelmed my Inner Goddess. Though postulated, given our merry state, my Inner Goddess had been uncertain a dalliance was possible. Now, with Oberon baring down on me, she bit her lip in bated anticipation. 

Oberon met my lips with the prowess of a trained hunter. He knew exactly what he wanted and just how to obtain it. Laying next to his Queen, under the vigilant observation of My Love, I dissolved as ferocious kisses and wild nips temptingly made their way down, down, down, to my dripping apex. My knees spread of their own volition, wanton nectar already coruscating my inner thighs. I clenched my jaw, portending the astounding climax soon to rip my body to stardust. 

Titania was already in her element. I gazed in stupified wonder as Jack’s arm pistoned above her, fingers deeply buried within her consecrated shrine. With unerring determination, Jack exacted the Fairy Queen’s thunderous deluge. Her pleasure fell like sprinkles of rain, and she writhed, bucking against the force orchestrating her destruction. Every muscle in Jack’s sculpted chest bulged in Herculean beauty, and the tense veins of his arms swelled and protruded from his bronze skin. I watched in proud awe at the strapping form of My Love.

Only the compulsion of my own mushrooming orgasm compelled me to close my eyes to the impetus aura of My Love. Oberon’s tongue toiled with dictatorial insistence and imperious claim of my pearl. My senses wavered between the vigorous adoration of my nucleus and the potent impact of Jack’s skill beside me. Oberon resolved my focus when he released my pearl and stalked northward over my body with premeditated grace. 

My Inner Goddess suddenly lost her breathing ability as we lay entranced by his approach. We quickly recovered our voice as, with a single thrust, the King of the Fairies asserted himself. Brilliant lights, like rainbow fireflies, burst across my vision. I curved my nails to bite into my palms lest I mar his skin as my orgasm tore through me. Sweet torment appropriated my Inner Goddess. With his bulbous crown currying my inner jewel, my floodgates were helpless and burst, declaring my willing surrender. 

Next to us, Jack and Titania were engaged in a similar position. I was only cognizant of this because, during the briefest of respites, Oberon would lean down and kiss his Queen with all the overtures of a young knight wholly besotted with his lady. During these periods, Jack and I would stare into the limitless depth of each other’s eye, a million words conveyed in a single breath. Any residual fear or hesitation surrounding our situation was instantaneously eradicated in the boyish electricity dancing within Jack’s hazel eyes. 

In the course of one of these intermissions, a silent message was communicated between Jack and I. The hour had grown shockingly late and our bodies could only endure so much after a glorious day and limited hydration. Breathless, I made my apologies, craving water for my parched and raw throat. With thoughtful alacrity, Oberon removed himself and made his way next to Titania. Jack, witnessing my wobbly ascension to my feet, held my elbow and joined me in the kitchen. The trajectory of the day, the explosiveness of my resounding climaxes, and subsequent exhaustion left me uncertain if my feet would actually bear my weight. I was grateful for his companionship, his familiar warmth. 

Returning to our guests, I lay in a similar fashion next to the recumbent Queen, finding solace in a prone position on my abdomen. Overhead, the fan tenderly whooshed cool air across our exposed derrieres. Our consorts lay next to us on their respective edges of the bed. It was a perfect moment as we breathed, inhaling the magic of our existence. 

However, the inconspicuous Puck was not quite ready to abandon the night’s mischief. With all the rascality of his born nature, Puck compelled Oberon to smack the Queen on her vulnerable buttock. She moaned and giggled in assent. Oberon drew his hand back. The slap reverberated around the pavilion. My toes responsively curled in jealous appreciation. Another wallop fell, harder than the previous blows, and still, Titania wiggled, begging for more. 

My Inner Goddess would not be denied, and my hips wriggled in silent entreaty. I, too, sanctioned Oberon’s inquisitive question before I could stop myself. Knowing from past encounters that I could handle a significant wallop, I silently hoped Jack would be copacetic with the punishment. He was aware of my proclivity to pain, but knowledge and witnessing, especially given the group’s slight insobriety and weariness, were another matter entirely. 

As the first blow fell, I buried my face in the feathery gray pillow. 

“Three,” I said, stating my pain level not only for Oberon’s benefit but Jack’s as well. The crack of hand on bare skin had been thundering, but nothing I could not handle. However, I did need to clarify that my pain scale spanned 1-10. A three was barely noticeable on my scope. 

I rated each sonorous thwack as 4, 6, 3, 5, and 3, respectively. I could feel Jack’s body tense beside me, but my breathing remained even while my milky skin bloomed a shocking rouge. Oberon alternated between Titania and my buttocks. Barely able to witness my own, my jaw dropped at the cardinal flush flaming the Queen’s porcelain skin. She cooed against her king’s chest, and I knew she was a kindred spirit. 

After a time, Titania expressed her longing to return to Senaliesse (Seen-a-lise) and her gathered Summer Court, where her King could truly satisfy her unquenchable needs in the seclusion of her own pavilion. Oberon’s eyes lit with an unholy glow, yet by the way Titania bit her lip, I recognized that this was exactly the response she sought from her consort. Rising, we bid our royal guests a fond farewell before collapsing into each other’s arms.  

I am once more in the Art Gallery. I stretch, serpentining my body at the memories. I smooth non-existent wrinkles from my little black dress to settle my racing pulse. Heavens, three portraits down, and I can barely restrain my Inner Goddess from racing away to induce another masterpiece for our collection! I exhale in pursuit of another experience. 

I find the object of my inquest around a far corner. This one is delicate, soft, and full of intimacy and femininity. At first glance, there does not appear to be much to entice the viewer. A queen bed stands in the corner of a room brilliantly lit by a dazzling spring sun. The walls are washed in shortbread yellow paint balanced with seashell trim. Beneath the starch-white linens and rainbow-hued bedspread lay two supine goddesses seeking the succor of sleep, their long hair splayed, covering their individual pillows. As I stand there, slowly, the paint begins to blend. The colors amalgamate and alternate until subtle currents of movement can be detected as the goddesses shift restlessly beneath the cotton linens. 

Portrait Four – 

My head was throbbing—not painfully, but insistently stressing the necessity for at least a 20-minute nap. Sleep was a fickle entity and remained elusive. Internally, I grumbled while trying to focus on lying statuesque so as not to disturb the shapely goddess beside me. Nothing, not even a tendril of sleep, murmured in my ear. 

With her back to me, the celestial daughter of Aphrodite shifted a wee bit closer. I remained frozen, unsure if she was asleep or, like me, grumpily counting sheep. She edged nearer, and I stayed solid, supposing that in her sleep, she was seeking the consolation of a solid presence to assure her. Unsatisfied, the deity rolled to face me. I coiled my body to receive her warmth and womanly curves as she nuzzled her face into the outline of my neck and exposed bosom. I sighed at her serene companionship as her arms encompassed me. Now, this was the way to sleep!

But no! Goddesses are notoriously playful and quite unquenchable in their desires, and mine was no different. Soft as peonies, kisses brushed my throat and jawline to my lips. I cooed, keeping my eyes shut lest this be nothing more than a phantom of my imagination. Nonetheless, the kisses she placed on my lips were ambrosial, and her confident fingers felt divine as they traced my breasts, down my ribs to my hips. 

“Stay here, keep your eyes closed,” the seraphic goddess whispered in my ear before kissing my cheekbone. 

Did I detect a bit of devilry in her voice?

My breath caught, my heart pumping madly at the unexpected turn of events. I tuned my ears for clues as she rustled in the dresser drawer across the room. What was she doing? How could I reciprocate? Was this really okay? Nervous energy shot through me, and I fought to remain still, eyes closed. 

The mattress squeaked at her return. I rebelliously peeked through my lashes. The winsome goddess was seated on the bed, her back to me partially obscuring my view, as she focused on parting my legs. Gods of Olympus, this was really happening?!? Instinctively, my fingers gripped the bedding to fortify my Inner Goddess. 

A wicked buzzing noise filled the quiet room. I gulped. Her delicate fingers were parting the opening of my lounge shorts as she lowered the curious device to my pearl. Oh, oh, oh…no!! My mystifying goddess was sliding something oblong and hard between my quickly moistening slit. The fullness of the toy parted my dampening curtains, cautiously gliding past my inner jewel and beyond. All the while, my mind continued to race, questioning the reality of my situation. The vibrations rumbled closer and closer to my pearl while the thicker part continued its internal journey toward my inner gate. Realization struck me. The device must be constructed of two parts: one long and slightly phallic, the second a smaller nub stationed lower to the base for dual pleasure. 

My Inner Goddess shuttered as vacillation perched over my astonished pearl. My eyes rolled back, and my body bowed as if possessed! With unspeakable skill, my goddess began to work the implement back and forth, engendering one orgasm after another, or was it truly just one monstrous orgasm?? Even now, I am baffled at her expertise. I am not an enthusiast of internal devices, eschewing all for the pain and discomfort they bring. Of the dozens I have attempted, all failed to stimulate or kindle my fire but rather left me sore and often too swollen for a gentleman companion. 

Yet, this virtuoso goddess contrived to produce such an inferno, discerning when to quicken or increase the speed and vibration. My nails now clawed the wooden headboard as they sought purchase to anchor my soul to this earth. My mind was too far gone to study her strategy so I might repay her favor. I feared I might break the bed in my eternal blissful agony.  

The rhythm gradually slowed, and then it was over. My body began to relax back into the bed. My bosom rose and fell in great heaving pants, and I was incapable of opening my eyes. What was that!?!? To this day, I do not know what magical device the goddess possessed and wielded on my behalf. A part of me never wants to know. Allowing the mystery and magic of the memory to remain steeped in consecrated perfection. 

As I endeavored to recover, the daughter of Aphrodite rose and moved to the dresser.  I heard a faint “sprits, sprits” of what I assumed was a cleaner. The dresser drawer opened and closed, and the soft shuffling of her returning bare feet sounded like music as the goddess rejoined me. 

My Inner Goddess elbowed me in the ribs. My turn to reciprocate. I clumsily rolled on my side and blearily opened my eyes, surprised to see the precocious goddess on her side, back scooting closer to me. Her raven locks flowed like holy water down her shoulder, spilling across the plump pillow and pooling onto the bed. Gods, she was breathtaking even in her repose. 

I was further taken aback when the goddess assured me she wanted naught from me. She had accomplished her mission and she wanted nothing more than to cuddle up and sleep. My arguments were silenced as her soft body molded into my curves. I affectionately ran my fingertips over her elegant shoulder, whispering my eternal gratitude. Before I could utter another word, sleep blanketed me in its tranquil arms, and I knew only her comforting presence and sacred darkness for the next two hours.

The lights and colors of the Art Gallery flood my senses anew. I am bewildered and overwhelmed by my experience. I stand, surrounded by so many intimate moments that I am inundated with thankfulness and indebtedness. Who would have believed that out of my darkest years, the despair, betrayal, and abandonment I endured, I would find myself here, surrounded by such beauty and love? Never in a million years could I have imagined such a life for myself. I place a hand on my heart as tears moisten my eyes.

I retrace my steps to the entrance, and the chilly night air and dancing stars waiting for me. Before I can reach the door, something seizes my attention. A baroque display easel rests in the corner, holding one last portrait captured in a mossy green frame. This is a guest portrait, a rare glimpse into another’s event. Yet the hallowed impression is so permanently burned into my memory it sits in this cherished corner of my gallery. 

The pirouetting stars outside are forgotten as I slip into the canvas and emerge beneath the translucent ocean waves, arriving at the venerated city of Atlantis. 

Portrait Five – 

I am a guest, a witness but not a participant, and tonight, I feel honored to be such. At the back of the gathered mermaids, I am lured to the edge of my seat, beguiled by the limpid scene before me. The sight is breathtaking and almost too holy to observe, but I am perfectly ensnared and can barely breathe out of fear I will break the night’s enchantment. 

At the center of the ringed assembly, a mermaid straddles a half-moon device, its stout helix driven into her core. Her pale chin is tilted to the glittering surface, and her breathing is soft and delicate, lifting her buxom breasts to float in the calm current with each inhalation. The mermaid’s thick raven tresses float about her in rippling midnight rivers, cascading over her shoulders to sweep and tease the swell of each perfect orb and, at last, trailing down to her abdomen. Above her tresses rests a crown of brilliant emeralds. The crystals trap light from the tiny phosphorescent creatures drifting throughout the pod, fashioning a verdant halo around the central mermaid. The mermaid’s opaline fingers grasp a blue-gray bit of ivory Narwhal tusk, sculpted as a steadying handle. In front of this water goddess floats a sister mermaid, possessing a small black box, its midnight vine snaking to connect with the half-moon device. This is the key to the Emerald mermaid’s gratification. 

The staggering mermaid breathes, adjusting her body to the monolith penetrating her sanctuary as a faint rumble emanates from the half-moon contraption. The sister mermaid’s eyes are slits of concentration. She deciphers the response from the Emerald mermaid as she adjusts the twin dials protruding from the box in her hands. The royal assembly is hushed as the muffled vibrations increase ever so slightly. 

A moan drifts from the coral lips of the Emerald mermaid, her chin tucked into her chest. Her nude form is bathed in silvery moonlight, highlighting the absolute exquisiteness and purity of her female form. We witness her muscles tensing beneath the softness of her pure skin as the change begins to take effect. Her breath is coming faster now, and her knuckles chalk white as she undulates to the growing pleasure. 

My mind studies and catalogs every minute detail. The way the Emerald mermaid’s shoulders dip as she curls forward, her hair concealing her form as she groans. Her elegant throat extends as she uncoils, her aquiline nose tipping to the obscure stars, her opulent lashes silhouetted and fluttering in the soft illumination. From her neck, my eyes travel down to her bosom. Her lithe arms thrust forward for support, and spiraling tresses tease me and shroud her breasts. Only when the Emerald mermaid sits upright and the current pulls the raven rivers away am I permitted to worship the beauty of her femininity. 

The silvery light catches the outline of her abdomen, draping her curves and ample hips in wondrous glory. My fingers could only speculate on the dulcitness of her rounded hips as my eyes move to her Cadmium tail, or is it Castleton green with hints of gold and sapphire? In the shifting glow and my distant vantage, I am unsure of the precise hue of her splendid fin. 

The oscillations began to thunder throughout the pillared columns of Atlantis. Anticipatory energy courses through the palace, and every aqueous eye is glued to the Emerald mermaid. Her muscles are convulsing and twitching. Her breath comes in beautiful puffs as her climax edges nearer.

I have witnessed dozens of women in the throws of childbirth, their bodies controlled by an excruciating force, not their own. In those moments, I beheld the raw, heart-rending capacity of the female body and the triumph on the other side of their pain. Afterward, I bowed my head to each woman in honor of her intrepid valor.

This night, I observe another version of the capacity of womankind as the Emerald mermaid is caught in climactic tendrils, vulnerable yet fearlessly uninhibited, ravished by her orgasms. No words in the world of man or Atlantis can accurately represent and express the terrifying and wondrous pageant of a mermaid at the height of her indulgence and self-gratification. Tears flood my eyes as I behold the scene before me.

The mermaid bucks and sways with fluid grace on the device. Her flutey moans an unsung melody, pronouncing her exhilaration. Shivers run like tiny waves over her skin, and her body, still straddling the half-moon device, huddles in a near-fetal position. The half-moon device quiets. The Emerald mermaid’s gorgeous hair flows like a majestic mane as she lifts her flushed face and takes a shaky breath. It is done. The stately assembly claps in overjoyed unison. The Emerald mermaid’s crimson cheeks flame as she attempts to hide her eyes behind her long lashes, but her weary smile flickers charmingly behind her raven locks.

She remains captivating as she resumes her cushioned seat amongst the coral and sister mermaids. Her muscles slowly relax, and her smooth skin turns from bright rose to milky white. But it is the enthralling afterglow that emanates from her soul that nearly steals my breath away. Feeling like an intruder, I try not to stare at her radiance, but I know that the person who returns to the surface on the morrow will not be the same person who descended to Atlantis so many days before.

I blink, regretfully returning to the eggshell walls of the Art Gallery. As I relive the experience, the memory continues to fascinate me. I had been an honored spectator to one of the most fascinating and exquisite events. A memory I will cherish forever. 

I run my fingers through my sapphire waves, appeasing my pulse. At the entrance, I secure my cashmere scarf in a simple slip knot around my neck before passing my arms into my coat sleeves. With my hand on the door, I pause and study the exhibition again. This will not be my last visit. After all, this is my gallery. Beaming, I step into the night with an impish bite to my lip. My Inner Goddess is already scheming our next artwork. 

Until next time, XO. Elsie