Word of Mouth

"Come!" she always said when he knocked on the salvaged oak door. John felt something magical that he couldn't explain whenever he entered Dr. Wright's consulting room on Fridays after hours for their 'ritual'. On this April evening the sun slanted sharply away from the waiting room's east-facing windows, glittering gold on Bay Ridge, Brooklyn across the Narrows.

John felt electricity when he put his hand on the brass doorknob.

On entering, the doctor stood regally before him in the gilding light of a shaded table lamp, the colorful Caribbean art on the walls muted. She wore only an intricately patterned, rainbow hued, floor-sweeping skirt that hung slanting at her hips. Her braided hair, ornamented with golden beads, reached her shoulders.

She was the blackest woman he'd ever met.

"The goddess in me greets the god in you," she said pleasantly, showing her bright teeth between wide, pillowy pink lips. Dr. Wright presented herself as a goddess of fertility. She'd told John that over the years it had been made clear to her that this was her power in the world; to channel the Aphrodite spirit. Standing as tall as him, but as thin-limbed as a gazelle, with her chin high and shoulders back, she displayed her breasts on purpose.

He'd seen a lot of breasts but never any like them.

The goddess's had a complex shape. They were heavy, full and ripe, yet also long and sharp, the puffy nipples almost aggressive in their engorgement. The dark, black teats projected down, slightly off the horizontal, but capped sloping, torpedo-like mammaries surprisingly swollen and rigid as if stretched to bursting. And the breast flesh was a nearly purple-brown hue that sparkled with golden flecks when the light caressed it.

John felt remarkably at peace when he suckled them.

On top of the sexual energy that flowed through him then was a centeredness. He felt smarter somehow nursing on one of her dugs. Or at any rate less confused and more certain of himself. "You channel the god Eros," she'd once said to him, "Like me, your power, wisely wielded, is for the good and for the whole of humanity." Everything with her seemed to be an amalgam of ancient wisdom, Jungian psychology and earthy energy. She didn't make small talk. He didn't have the knowledge to understand all she said to him about his role in her view of the cosmos, but he appreciated that she saw him as valuable there and he embraced it whenever in the consulting room. In that place it seemed real. He was glad that Rachel had referred him.

Word of mouth is always the best marketing.

It's the only method John relied on for either of his 'enterprises'. Remodeling paid the rent and gave him a professional, acceptable outlet for his creative problem solving skills. Having sex with older women he did without gratuity, but with much gratitude. Somehow fate had led him to be a creative problem solver in the lives of needful, horny women. And when he was good at what he did his clients told others.

That's how he met Dr. Doris Wright and came to renovate the fifth floor space on Bay Street in Stapleton. It was a new building housing other medical offices and labs, but the doctor was an analyst and her office needed special features, mainly soundproofing and a separate entrance and exit. The doctor herself quickly identified in John the capacity to meet other needs of hers and of her practice.

"This room absorbs a lot of negative energy in the week, John," she'd told him. "I see many folks working through their parental complexes, healing from trauma. Couples come in entangled in each other's projections." It was a sunny room most days, light and airy, graced by the Carribean colors and her african mask collection. In the center of the space and most prominent sat the eggplant-purple couch, an overstuffed and gigantic piece of velour-covered furniture. She said it was a kind of altar. She compared her consulting room to a temple where mendicants came for healing. In sharing their fears and their pains they made an offering and she, the Goddess, relieved them of their burdens or illuminated the path out of their particular darkness.

And so now the two of them had a Friday ritual and he thought of her as Aphrodite.

"I must purify the altar regularly, John," she explained when first proposing the practice. "The best purifier is positive sexual energy, expressed with the correct intention and framed within a ceremony using sacred objects and symbols." It took several sessions to get the 'practice' down, but he'd learned quickly. "We will arouse the purifying energy and amplify it in each other, then harness it to cleanse my chakras and this sacred space."

This April evening was maybe their twenty-fourth ritual. It still felt magical.

Aphrodite stood there, breasts proud, barefoot as he entered the room. The one lamp cast the soft couch in a circle of warm light. She bent to the low table in front of the couch and lit a long taper of incense. A sweet, smoky odor quickly filled the room. John silently removed his clothes and hung them on the coat rack by the door. He walked the several steps to the couch and stood facing her, his cock rising already. It wasn't lost on him that he fit the role of a god because he resembled those marble statues of Greece and Rome, Michelangelo's David especially, as he'd often been told. John's beauty was innate in him, not cultivated - he was born this way.

Aphrodite faced him and placed both pink-palmed hands on top of his head in his dark curls. Slowly she moved the hands down each side of him while speaking incantations. It sounded like as many as four languages and he barely understood the English parts. The goddess invoked the powers of the four directions, the grace of the ancestors, the wisdom of the sages, the clarity of purpose of the inner animal. She lowered to her knees until her hands held his and his cock stood tall before her eyes. Taking a sponge from a basin of steaming liquid on the table she began washing his erect member.

With a serious attention to these ministrations she bathed him in the hot, oily mixture. Peppermint and lavender smells enriched the air. Drops of the liquid spattered her breasts as she gently worked her fingers around his balls and stroked his cock upward. He was entranced by the silver trails they left on her ink-black skin. John kept still and felt the mysterious power enter him. It was more than the desire to fuck. It was the certainty that his work in this time and place was essential, something bigger than himself. She paid special attention to his organ's corona, rubbing the oil into his flared knob.

"You are the god Eros embodied," she intoned, "Your balance of power and desire, unhindered by attachment, by anger, by fear, is the stabilizing force in this moment."

She set aside the sponge and left him dripping both with the anointing oil and his own excited fluids. With the fat blossom of her pillowy lips she lay a holy kiss on the tip of his cock, trailing a string of his juice as she pulled away and stood again. Aphrodite turned and sank into the deep, purple cushions. Untying and pulling the colorful wrap aside she spread her thighs, revealing the tight-curled bush at her delta. John knelt between her knees and placed a hand on each thigh. She covered his hands with hers and made another incantation calling on the eastern power to enter them both.

John leaned down and took one pulpy nipple in his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of her flesh and felt that calming certainty. As Aphrodite murmured holy words he suckled each of her full breasts, pulling much of the dark, bumpy areola in his mouth with a deep suck. His cock hovered between her thighs, magnetically drawn to the center of her, to the gateway at the parting of her. The odor of arousal joined the spicy air.

He put his open mouth on her vulva, her fat lower lips kissing his. They were wet. And warm. And the pink of her tenderest inner flesh peeked out from their swollen creases. John tenderly used his tongue to probe along the seam, to taste the bittersweet cream that Aphrodite dripped. It was thick, pungent, oily and made his mouth water fiercely. She pressed her hips forward and rocked them up. His tongue found her pearl. She shuddered. She began another incantation in a musical language and he kept a matching rhythm diddling her engorged clit. Together they pressed her legs further apart.

Many minutes went by and he disappeared into the chanting, gently and steadily flicking his tongue at her bud. It was a kind of trance, a pure note of arousal held for a long time, savored. But naturally the power built. As Aphrodite rose in arousal her chanting faltered. Deep breaths interrupted the cadence, gasps syncopated the rhythm. And she shook, the trembling running through her legs under his palms. The doctor raised her face to heaven and her voice filled the room. She called to God when the orgasmic wave arose. She called to all the gods and went rigid, her hips rising into John's working mouth. Aphrodite hung there on his tongue quivering while the power coursed through her.

When her body went slack John swept her up and carried her to the end of the couch and lay her on her back over the thick round bolster, her shoulders down in the plush seat. Her curly mons rose high at the apex of her widespread legs, feet dangling, her unhooded clit prominent. It seemed to John that the goddess's dripping vulva glowed with holy pink fire as he stepped between her thighs and pushed his cock down to press the knob into her soft, wet folds. As he sank smoothly into her she began another chant invoking the southern power, this one of a slower rhythm that he matched with his thrusts.

Deep and hot and clasping, her pussy received his tool to the root. He was grateful that the doctor was as tall as he was - she could take all of him with all of his force. Few women could. She was lean and bent back sharply on the couch. John could see his knob swell her belly when he pressed deep. The chanting rose on that deep thrust and sank as he pulled back, watching the grasping pussy lips drag on his ropy shaft, the yellow light glistening on their wet flesh. He hooked his hands at her hip bones to keep from driving her off the cushion and she put both hands to her delta where she methodically rubbed her clit, rising again toward release as he steadily impaled her, the full breasts squeezed together between her reaching arms. Again the chanting faltered as the power of Eros flowed through her. Again she went rigid and shook helplessly in the power of the gods. Her chant became a long-held note of ecstasy.

When she went limp John pulled her up and carried her to the back of the couch where she bent over and presented her lean ass to him, her fingers again playing on her clit. Pigeon-toed and face-down in the cushions she began a third incantation, this one to the western power, to the gods of transformation. John pulled her cheeks apart and lay his dripping, spongy knob on her rectum. He pressed as she called out and the muscle eased for him. The passage was slick, tight and torrid, prepared by her in earlier ablutions. Her ass was clean and oily, a tighter channel that grasped at him even more fervently than had her vulva.

Aphrodite's voice took on a deeper, more strained timbre and the chant became slower, as did his pace. His cock felt the fingers she'd buried in her pussy as he slid deeper. John gazed at the lumpy chain of vertebra in the channel of her long back, the sharp blades of her shoulders, the ladder of ribs. He filled his hands with her tight, charcoal-black buttocks and held her down while she quivered with each penetration. The chant grew faster and his thrusts did, too. His mastery of his own power came to the fore now. John, too, rose toward release, but it wasn't yet his time. Aphrodite must first complete this third cycle before he could complete on the fourth.

In her colon he swelled as he grew more aroused and she responded with frantic fingers, calling the deities again when she crested a third time. Aphrodite ground her face into the seat cushions, muffling the triumphant cries of her ascent to heaven. She heaved on his pinioning rod, grinding her puffy mons down onto her fingers, plucking herself to a last release.

This time when she collapsed he wasn't as hurried in moving her. By the waist he lifted her flaccid body and eased her around to the last, the northern end, of the consulting couch. John lay her on her back, shoulders on the arm, head hanging upside down, the coarse curtain of braids brushing the floor Her body struggled for air, her heaving chest sucking in breath as she decompressed, her fingers still lightly caressing her crotch. While she recovered he washed his cock again with the warm, oily preparation. Repeating the words she'd taught him, he stepped to her where her soft, pink mouth waited for his offering, her eyes closed, those swollen breasts now pointed to the sky, her nipples black berries on the spongy cones of her areolae.

"Life spirit we call you into us. Reform us and make our every action vital. Take this, my seed, and energize your goddess. Make her power one of healing and renewal."

Aphrodite opened her mouth and he felt her thick tongue slide along his corona as he leaned into her, sinking the wide crown between her teeth. Those fat lips clamped him and he sensed her relax her throat and swallow. He eased deeper. Her throat swelled. The tight, hot and slick grip made him swell, too. Her dark nipples wept drops of white milk, oozing, beading and running down the swollen breasts. His mouth watered to take the spongy flesh and suck. She took one in her hand and massaged. The milk ran down her fingers.

This was the obedient execution of their obligation to the divine, the surrender to a power greater than themselves, to be carried beyond consciousness and reason to touch the face of God.

Aphrodite began humming the chant to the northern spirit and his cock buzzed into full life, called to its ultimate purpose. Into her throat he thrust. Once, dragging foaming spittle out on the recoil, a second thrust into the heat and her humming became a gargle, a third time as his knob fattened and his shaft stiffened. He rose on tiptoes, his balls tingling, pulling up tight. On the fourth thrust she arched her back, milk sprayed from her nipples, he sank to the balls and the kindling of his explosion was sparked. The divine energy burned in his fingers and shot down his spine. It rocketed through his scrotum, scorching a path up his cock and burst deep in her, throat muscles working feverishly to swallow his offering.

He pulled back and she gasped, froth splattering. His cock spouted a thick ribbon across her body that jeweled her straining breasts, mixing with her milk. A second arcing volley lay pearls of cum in a string up to her nipple. Then he pressed down into her mouth again and she sucked hungrily to pull out the flagging spurts of semen, burbling the froth churned up as he spasmed out his last seed. Aphrodite's elegant fingers massaged his spunk and her milk into her shining black flesh.

They both wilted then, he to lean over the couch heaving for breath, she just a folded jumble of dark limbs and braids almost disappeared in the deep purple cushions. Then the music played that marked the end of her analysis sessions. She didn't need to tell him it was time to go and he did so quietly, slipping on his clothes and closing the door silently behind him, wavering down the stairs on rubber legs.

It confounded him that this wringing out of his sexual energy somehow made him even better able to serve his client list during the week. But it confirmed in him the conviction that his calling was to bring the power of Eros to life for that growing list of female souls. The magic of Aphrodite's power would flow through him until the next Friday when he'd come to worship with the goddess once again.