Just a Little Holiday, She Said

We're out in one of the canoes; he's pulling up crab traps to see if we'll have some extra guests for dinner tonight. Hans doesn't really need my help for this, but I like to spend time with the men as they go about their tasks.

Right now though, he may want to be careful to keep that big meaty thing of his away from the crabs.

"Remembering last night," he says.

"Yes, that was wild."

My sisters and two of the men returned yesterday from a visit to town, so we celebrated in the evening. I can only wonder what Paulo, the new man they brought back with them, must have thought.

We had a big fire; the men danced around it, stomping and shouting in unison, while we sisters drummed and clapped in rhythm. As the men got louder and wilder, it became a little eerie: like something ancient, from long before history. It gave me shivers but strangely aroused me at the same time.

The men would circle a sister, shouting and stomping and waving their spears. All at once, they would lunge toward her, making her jump and squeal.

When they came to me, one man dropped his spear, then took my hands and lifted me to my feet. He began running his fingertips over my arms, my face, my belly, my hips, and my thighs, while the others danced around me, shouting and stamping. Then one by one, the others dropped their tools and joined him in touching me.

"You men started touching me all over my body. Touching so lightly, but not tickling, and not trying to excite me in the usual places; just stroking slowly everywhere with your fingertips. It was an unbelievable feeling -- a dozen hands, a hundred fingers, all over my skin all at once. So much stimulation that my eyes rolled back and I lost the ability to think, the ability to do anything but feel and gasp and moan.

"Not one of you touched me on the nipples or between the legs, but I had a crashing orgasm anyway."

"You screamed and started to collapse," Hans says, smiling.

"Then you all lifted me up on your hands and started to toss me in the air, then spin me too, with my arms and legs outstretched and my hair flying. You tossed me up in the air again and again; I felt like I could fly to the stars above. I came again, up in the air.

"When you finally put me down, there weren't enough kisses in the world for all of you. But you were all pretty excited too -- two of you came in my hands as I kissed you.

Hans just smiles again as he hauls a trap over the side of the canoe; three nice-looking crabs are inside. He rattles the big wicker basket that sits between us to shake their friends down to the bottom. I lift the lid and he tosses the new crabs inside. He baits the trap again and puts it over the side.

"But you left after we kissed," I say. "I didn't get a chance to thank you properly."

"Some of us went to make sure your sisters didn't feel left out. Paulo and I spent the rest of the night with your cheetah sister. She was ready for some touching too. So were we."

But now I'm smoking hot from hearing that story of last night. My nipples are so hard you could cut glass with them, and I have that tingling feeling between my legs. I look over the basket; I've never seen Hans so hard.

"I think we should finish what we started last night," I say, a little breathless. I pick up the basket carefully and move it behind me.

Hans takes my hands and leans back against the mast; I move close to him and kneel between his legs. I lean forward, tilt my head up and kiss him; my breasts hang low and he takes them in his hands. I reach down to caress his inner thighs, and then I move up and in from there.

"Be careful," say Hans with a grin, or we'll both end up in the water, and we'll have to catch those all crabs again too."

"Shush," I say.

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IV.

"The men who join us are all different: some stay with us for just a few hours, others for many months. They all find the life very demanding; it's hard physical work every day to feed and supply us."

A beautiful, naked young woman sits across from me. Her skin glows in the fading light; her long auburn hair twitches and lifts in the evening breeze. I found her and several handsome young men sitting quietly around me when I woke today from my midday siesta under the tree in my front garden.

It's a visit I've been expecting for some time. The woman and I sit outside watching the sun set.

She pauses, then continues. "The men need to work together to serve us sisters, and to do so without succumbing to the jealousy and infighting that would be fatal to us all. This is maybe even harder than the physical demands, but the men recognize how important it is. Those who find it within themselves to rise to these challenges stay with us longer; others tire and go back sooner.

"It's a very intense life; we know that few men can live it indefinitely. But the men are not slaves or prisoners; we accept and honor what a man is able to offer for as long as he wishes to give it."

"What about the sisters?" I ask.

"The sisters tend to stay somewhat longer than the men. Our work is not as physically demanding; it's mental and emotional work instead.

"The men organize themselves to feed and protect us; we sisters don't interfere in that. Instead, the sisters decide where we will live, when to move on, and how we will interact with the rest of the world."

"One does hear rumors about your 'interactions'," I say with a smile.

She smiles too. "Yes, I suppose so. But we're more circumspect about this now; we keep a lower profile when we go into town. In the early days, we tended toward orgies at the local cantinas; now we slip into town quietly, actually wearing clothing sometimes."

I chuckle at this.

She goes on, "But the sisters' most important task is maintaining harmony within the group. We need to do this carefully, subtly, with a light touch, like a feather."

"You're a matriarchy," I say, with a laugh. "And why not? The world has been practicing patriarchy for a long time, and the results are at best mixed. Maybe it's time for a change. Some of the North American native nations were matriarchies; the Iroquois, for example. Their experience was swept away and largely lost, though."

We sit quietly for a while, each lost in her thoughts.

"Young men are so full of energy, sexual and otherwise," I say. "They need something to test themselves against."

"Yes; in our life, the test is to feed and equip us. Fish, hunt, trap, forage, weave, make rope, build shelters and boats.

"The sexual energy we take care of in the obvious way, but it's not the burden you might think; the men adore and worship us, and it's very, very arousing to be desired by so many men you admire.

"Most importantly, as long as we take no favorites among the men, they can direct their energies to their real work, rather than to fighting among themselves, as they might if we gave them reason to become jealous. We also watch for the men having favorites among us.

"But all this aside, we find that those who do stay with us, both men and women, are people of goodwill, people who can work together. Some were already this way, others learn it as they live with us. The men learn to work together, and to value and honor women; to respect, please, and support them."

"And the sisters?" I ask. "What do they learn?"

She pauses a long time, collecting her thoughts.

"Strength, confidence -- even fearlessness. Leadership," she says.

"Rare lessons for women in our world," I say.

Then a thought comes to me, and I smile. "You sound like a boot camp for young people learning to live with each other."

She laughs, but then stops suddenly with a look of deep recognition. "Now that you say it out loud, it fits perfectly. Isolation from society, extreme physical and mental demands, learning new skills and outlooks, building confidence, teamwork. A boot camp, yes."

She pauses, and smiles broadly. "Then we unleash our recruits on an unsuspecting world." We both laugh.

The young men have joined us one by one as they finished their work cleaning up after dinner. They sit on the ground watching us, listening quietly.

I stand, stretch, and yawn. I breathe deeply; the scent of honeysuckle fills the air. I open a button at my neck, shrug my shoulders and slide my kaftan down over my hips to the ground. I tip my head back and shake out my hair. I hear gasps, and a low whistle. Under his breath, a man whispers, "Whoa, Mamacita!"

I walk over to a man with blond hair and sharp features. He looks up at me with huge eyes. I reach out my hand. "There's soft grass up the hill behind the house, and a lovely view of the sea. Will you join me, Sven?"

The moon is out now; the evening breeze is warm and soft on my skin. The man stands silently and with a quiet smile he takes my hand. "Sí, Mamá," he says.

We turn and walk into the dusk.

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We've all heard of the goddesses of old: Artemis, Iris, Rhea, Aphrodite -- not to mention Odysseus' Calypso. We think we know them, but it's been a long time, literally thousands of years; who's to say now what the Greeks were really talking about?

And who among men has never looked up and seen a woman so graceful, so assured, so stunning as to take his breath away, even if just for a moment?

Perhaps there are special times and places, unique circumstances when ordinary young women find something hidden within them; something they didn't expect, but something that was always there, and that they recognize immediately. If you needed a name for this something, you might call it the goddess within.

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Copyright 2024, department42.

Thanks to Omenainen, who read this story for me and offered their thoughts.