It’s Greek to Me

The day was warm, we spent most of it outside in an attempt to sluff off the down of the lingering winter months.

"I've never been to these gardens; new in town."

"I've been here too long it seems, nice to share something old with someone new."

"All we need is something borrowed and blue, am I right?" You look at me me, puzzled, your dark eyes narrow.

Shit, I forgot- not your Mother tongue...fuck half my repartee is probably lost you isn't it? But those eyes, like onyx jewels beset in an ritual headdress, harkening back to lifetimes lived, though not always remembered.

I shift, taking your hand and kissing your palm, "Just a joke. I was being silly." You smile.

"I think we should leave now, we can have some food at my place, I made you a salad. I hope you like Greek."

My mind flashes back to the first time a dark-eye boy and I had Greek. I was so young and he was so...horny. I was expecting pita and gyros and found myself being finger-banged on the bathroom sink of the small restaurant. The smell of olive oil and garlic mixed with industrial, pink hand soap.

My hands are in yours and now you are kissing my palms, a time traveller's trick to restore me to this place and moment....I'm back.

"Greek sounds lovely." We slip our shoes back on, though it has been so nice to feel the cool blades of grass on our bare skin.

We arrive at your place, part historic Victorian, part apothecary mixed with fairy garden. The porch is tidy and neat with a small alter and offering bowl of incense and dried rose petals. A mason jar half filled with moon water and few quartz crystals for clarity. A fat cat is drinking the moon water...a feline shaman or just a cat, I wonder. Why not both?

Your home is as I would expect it. Tidy, lots of plants, minimal furniture; reminiscent of your European roots. Stacks of books, almost everywhere and about almost everything.

"Sit, be comfortable. I will bring us some drink and something to eat."

I pile my shoes and purse in the corner, and remove the shall, I meant to wear, but didn't because the weather was so nice. The fabric draws against my shoulders...shit, I got burned. I'm pressing my palm to my chest and neck when you return with rosemary-lemon water and fresh berries to nibble. You notice my slightly scarlet skin and wince in empathy. "It's fine," I reply to your wordless question.

We sit and sip. This is lovely, refreshing. You're telling me a story, I'm sure it's interesting. But your home has a way of teleporting me. As I lick the errant strawberry juice from my lips I remember my first Witch. She truly was an old soul, her alabaster skin the color and texture of Ivory soap. Her clear blue eyes, deep pools you wish you could swim in, and the most perfect breasts I have ever sucked.

You touch my shoulder...I'm back.

"This looks like it hurts, are you sure I can't put something on it." Reasoning that the burn will hurt worse if not tended to, especially considering I wore a low cut, strappy dress, which means the clothes real of life are gonna sting, I acquiesce, "That would be nice, thank you."

You return with...a container of yogurt? "I thought I had a cream, but I couldn't find it. My mother would use this remedy when we were kids. Would be worth a try?"

Your error in syntax makes me smile. Your broad shoulders and gorgeous mouth, make me say yes.

"I think we should move your straps, I don't want to ruin your dress."...of course.

I slip the straps of my dress off my shoulders and pull my arms out the fabric now taut around my breasts. You sit facing me and begin to paint the cool yogurt on my hot skin. I jump a little, but agree it feels nice....is that a pastry brush?

Your fingers are long and delicate, but strong. Sitting close to you now, I smell you. Amber and cedar, mixed with jasmine. You have a hint of old smoke about you. My nipples and pussy are involuntarily responding to your proximity and touch. You have shifted from my back and shoulders to neck and chest. I reach up to push a lock of hair from your brow. You smile a little and look at me through your lashes. I melt a little. "Done. Let's eat and let this set."...I'm back.

I follow you into the small dinning room, perhaps it was a reception space of sorts when the house was built. The room is cozy and bathed in the warmth of the late afternoon. You have made us a beautiful Greek salad, with fresh herbs and mint from your garden. It's restorative. We discuss philosophy and ancient tales, the infinite and expansive juxtaposed with the pedantic and ever-changing. I enjoy your brain. I'm looking forward to enjoying more of you.

"You're cracking"...I'm back.

"The yogurt has dried and is cracking, we can take it off now."

I follow you to your bathroom. The clawfoot tub and tufted bench under the hanging fern are no surprise at this point. I sit. You fill the basin with warm water and soak a washcloth. Tending to my shoulders first. Pressing the warm, wet fabric to my skin. A compress, rehydrating the remedy and gently wiping it away. Your touch and tenderness are otherworldly. How have we grown so disconnected in this realm? You cleanse my throat, leaving your hand a bit longer than anticipated, you tighten your grip and kiss me, gently. "I'm sorry, you are too delicious."

I respond only in a reciprocating touch on your thighs that I gently squeeze.

You kneel in front of me pulling my dress down, you kiss my body so sweetly, it's as if butterflies have landed upon me. You rise, removing your clothes, an offering to the Goddess. I rise to meet you and do the same. You take me in for the first time.

You lead me to your bed and ask me lie down. You kiss my eyes and collarbone. Your hands gently caress down my body. I wince slightly, the burn is better but still tender to the touch.

You fetch a bottle of oil. Almond, I can smell it.

You anoint me.

Your hands slick on my body, my slit, slick with desire. I allow myself to be worshiped. I am the goddess; I accept your offerings. You hands soothe tight muscles I didn't recognize were holding so much tension. Your lips, touch and suck the hard places on my skin which your touch has softened.

Your tongue curls along my jaw and shoulder, finding it's way to my nipple which you gentle suck onto your warm mouth. Your teeth grazing and tightening down enough to feel resistance. My breath catches in my throat with a sharp intake of air at the sensation. Your hands gliding over breast bone and down my central meridian. Your hand rests on my mound, the other brushing tendrils from forehead as you rise up to meet my mouth. Connected again, our lips and tongues dancing as your fingers tease and explore my moistened folds. I welcome the sensation and spread my legs for you forming a diamond with my knees. You stop kissing and look at my legs, your fingers sliding and dipping into my primal pool, "Sacred geometry," you all but whisper. "I'm sorry?"...you begin to explain the origins of the universe the interplay of life and nature, of gods and star dust, all while gently finger-fucking me, your other hand massaging my breasts, my abdomen, those lovely long fingers, trailing along my inner thigh. My hips rocking into your hand, my clit seeking the firmness of your palm. My breath lengthening, deepening, my orgasm building from my soles as you tickle my soul.

My mind drifting, spinning, ancient music, incense...what is real, what is transcendent?

"It is pleasing to see your pleasure. To feel your waters flow in my hands."...I'm back.

"What?"

"You are beautiful and sacred. I wish to make you cum."

"Ok"....my breathing ragged a bit, I'm trying to stay in my body. This beautiful man, making love to me...not just my body. How many lovers, how many times...this feels different, hits different. It's religious, it's ancient, it's church.

I give myself over to him. I have become the offering. "Yes, I am yours." He kisses my eyelids and between my breasts and now attends to my pussy with both hands. The sacral massage itself a worship. The waves build and crest and crash. My back arches involuntarily, my head tilted skyward, eyes closed, the sound of pure pleasure escapes my lips as tears slide from my eyes....am I back?

Your body slides along mine. Behind me, aside me, astride me. Your mouth on me, in me, with me. My head is filled with music that is not playing, swirls of colors that dance in my third eye. We are rhythmic and primal. You enter me, my body not yet fully reconnected to my as you slide in and out. A dance partner I rise to meet with my hips; my arms around your shoulders, following your lead. The tempo and intensity increase...a tango. I feel your energy change, I can sense you are close. I pull your mouth to mine. Our moans combine into a single chord. I cum, almost immediately.

My pleasure was the gift you were seeking, you cum, filling me with your seed. We fold into each other, our bodies wrap like serpents seeking warmth. Who are you? How did I get here?

You kiss me between my eyes, "You should get some rest, I'm going to make us tea."

...I'm back.