Aphrodite's Day Off

I have grown bored with Hephaestus and his monotonous humping.

Just because he is the god of all blacksmiths and I am his wife, that doesn’t make me his anvil, to bang away on every night, with that pathetic little hammer of his. The Goddess of Love and Lust should be treated with a little more sophistication. If I can’t find what I need on Mount Olympus, I will pay the humans a visit.

Traveling to the mortal world can be instantaneous. If I wished, I could possess any of our unwitting subjects from the heavens. I prefer a more gradual approach in both method and journey. I consider it foreplay — something Hephaestus couldn’t grasp, which is why he’ll be left grasping his hammer on his own today.

My spirit soars inside an eagle, circling over the island of Keos, buffeted by updrafts as the chilly ocean winds blow across the warmer land. I let the eagle’s mind take a well-earned rest from scanning the earth for prey. He can have his mind and his lovely wings back when we land.

A small village on the southern coastline is home to several of my worshippers. Their thoughts are open to me, visible through windows of the mind kept clear of dust and grime by their devotion and worship. The cleanest, sharpest window belongs to a middle-aged woman. She is going about her household duties in a modest, thatched kalyva close to the shore. Her name is Kassandra, and she’s been praying to me a lot recently.

I ride the currents down to the beach and swap the eagle’s mind for Kassandra’s. The eagle struts around on the sand for a while, bemused, before taking to the sky again.

It is a hot and dry noontime, and Kassandra is trying to make the most of it by washing and hanging as many linens and clothes as she can. A storm is brewing above the hills of Arkadia to the west. She needs to have the washing all dry and back inside before this evening.

Her mind is troubled. Otis, her husband, has been cheating on her with a woman in the village to the north. Neither the woman nor Otis are my followers, so I cannot see into their minds for their reasoning. Not that it matters. I already know enough. Even without the cheating, Otis is not a caring husband. Kassandra is not in love with him, if she ever was. Her prayers to me are to be expected. She wants advice on how she might come to love Otis and have him love her. Her mind has been reaching out to me each night as he flops himself off her and falls asleep satisfied. She thinks him a pig. I wonder if he worships my Hephaestus; that would be appropriate.

The years of domestic duty have weathered Kassandra; Her skin feels like the linen she’s washing, dried in the sun many times over. But the chores keep her body from losing all shape. She still has an alluring quality, if only she’d smile more. Her belly and behind may not be as firm and tight as a younger woman’s, but a coy smile that betrays knowledge and experience of the flesh can harden a man just as well.

I love and admire all my followers, so I’m biased, but Kassandra is not without appeal. Surely more fireflies than the obnoxious Otis can be drawn to her mature flame?

I will find her one.

A small fishing boat is churning its way through the roughening waves into the southern bay. My chosen man is at the tiller, muscles bulging as he fights the undercurrents to bring his catch home.

Just a little subconscious nudge from me is all it takes for Kassandra to decide it best to leave the washing. I’m settling into her body and mind now, and it’s almost like we decide together to take a quick walk down to the shore to inspect the catch.

Otis doesn’t particularly like fish, another obnoxious trait for someone living on an island, and all the more reason to present him with a fish dinner tonight.

Kassandra and I make our way down the path to the beach. I have her hang back while two other women from the village haggle with the fisherman, Darius. He has prayed to me once or twice before. It seems he’s more satisfied with the ocean for a mistress, apart from the occasional tryst to satisfy his pent-up desires. His is a dark and brooding soul; his knowledge of both women and love is but a scratch on his knowledge of winds and tides.

The storm is approaching sooner than I thought. Bulbous black clouds are gathering on the horizon, and the wind has picked up a notch. I wonder what has annoyed Zeus today.

The other women leave with the spoils of their haggling. Kassandra and Darius are now alone, except for a mischievous Goddess dancing between their two minds.

Darius is weary from his day fishing. Slipping into his mind, I grant him some new found energy. I don’t wish to exercise all of my godly power on my children; I will not force him to lust for Kassandra. I will merely suggest that his mind focus on the natural attributes of the lady that now approaches him. With no other distractions, and with a rejuvenated spirit, he can see in Kassandra that which he desires. It is not a matter of trickery it is merely a matter of focus.

Kassandra looks lovely to Darius. Her mature shape is easy to make out below the light peplos blouse that is now billowing around her with the long brown hair that has fallen from its fastener. He admires the generous curve of her hips and recognises strength in her thighs and upper arms. As she comes closer to him, her face betrays the years it’s smiled through, but it is far smoother than his own — that has weathered the ocean for over forty years. She has a proud nose and full lips with just a few cracks from a coastal life. When she’s standing before him, her eyes are not shy like a young girl’s. They fix on him with a direct blue stare.

Darius reminds Kassandra of the fisherman in a story her mother used to tell her. A big strong man that could haul in a net with a thousand thrashing mackerel, he lost his true love at sea when a whale breached their boat. She can’t remember now, how the story ended; her mind is distracted by the sight of him before her. His sandaled feet are planted in the wet sand in front of the boat he’s dragged single-handed up from the surf. His hands are on his hips while he waits for her to get close enough for conversation in the growing wind. A simple fisherman’s tunic hides only his waist and upper thighs. Scars from nature’s wrath adorn his chest, arms and face. Care and kindness show through facial scars and haggardness. His brown eyes are as direct as her blue ones. But squinting into so many suns has ploughed furrows around them.

“Would there be any fish left for me?” she asks him while trying to catch and hold the full-length blouse billowing up around her. It wasn’t the best choice of attire to wear to the beach, and she wonders why she had felt the need to hurry so, without changing first.

“Of course, my lady”, Darius assures her. “But please, I need to pull my boat further up the beach, lest the waves suck it into the storm.”

Kassandra sits then, just above the wet sand mark and watch as he hauls the small vessel by its bow. He pulls it three feet with every heave, and she enjoys watching the muscles in his back work. A mischievous thought occurs to her then; she wonders if those muscles would move like that as the fisherman made love to whichever lucky woman found herself under him.

With the boat beached well away from the water line, Darius approaches her. She looks demur to him, sitting in the sand. She’s not dainty and in need of furniture under her backside wherever she sits.

He likes that.

He extends her a hand and pulls her up to stand next to him as if she weighed no more than a single mackerel.

She likes that.

The two have exchanged a dozen words, seen each other for mere moments and now held hands. It feels to both that those events have conspired to change the course of the day. Like the storm rolling towards them, freshly charged atmosphere has blown away their previous preoccupations and troubles. Neither can explain the feeling to themselves.

I dance between their two minds. I hardly need to nudge them now.

Darius has a somewhat bewildering desire to feel those ample curves under his hands.

Kassandra wants to run her fingertips over his raised scars, feel the tightness of his skin across his chest. She has no guilt at these thoughts. Otis is a distant memory; she no longer looks forward to annoying him with a fish dinner. She has her own hunger to satisfy.

“Come back to my boat, and we’ll pick the best fish for you, my lovely,” Darius murmurs, not releasing her hand, but ready to let it go if she wishes.

She doesn’t.

The first spatters of rain fall. The beach is now deserted but for my two playthings. I’m enjoying myself immensely. It’s a privilege as a God to share the physical and mental feelings of both man and woman. There will be three of us pleasured today. I no longer need to guide these two. Their movements, motivations and reactions are all their own now. Another good reason to play with more mature subjects. They will not be giggling and ruining moments while they fumble around with each other’s bodies.

The purchase of fish has become a pretence now. They both know it. Darius’ hand feels strong and protective to Kassandra, and she would let it lead her anywhere. Darius instinctively knows this. He feels younger and more alive for it. This lovely lady is putting herself in his care.

The boat has tilted to one side by the weight of its small mast, and it offers protection from the prevailing wind and rain, in the small triangle created between it and the sand. Darius turns to Kassandra when they reach it, his back against its wet hull. Leaning on the wooden partner that’s carried him on the waves for years, he looks into the eyes of this new partner, about to carry him to other places.

Kassandra still does not remove her hand but gives him her other, wriggling her smaller fingers between his larger ones. She moves her body into him. He is big, strong and seems to be able to shelter her from more than just a storm. To her, he does not smell of fish; he smells of sea spray, and adventure.

Darius lets her hands go, but only to put both arms around her and hug her close.

“Are you not cold my lovely?” he asks.

“No, not now,” is all that Kassandra can reply with. She has no awareness of the temperature, not outside of the heat that is growing within her.

“Well, you must be wet though, I fear?”

“Soon.”

I laugh and have to be careful that I don’t disturb their inner thoughts with my presence. I am the God of Love and Lust, and I could not have delivered a more perfect answer than Kassandra’s. I feel sudden pride in my faithful subject. She and Darius are a fitting reward for each other.

Darius bends then and lowers them both to the sand beneath the boat. The wind and rain still reach this little haven, but with less force.

Just as he’s about to lay Kassandra down, she twists a little, and he can’t help but drop to the sand first.

“Let me on top,” she says.” you must be tired from fishing all day. Lay back”

And with that, she straddles him, just below his tunic. His thighs can take the weight of her, a safe assumption on her part. She works at the laces of his tunic and pulls the two halves apart, to either side of his hips. Darius is too old for embarrassment and too enamoured with her to feel anything but desire at being exposed. Her blouse billows around her still and the light fabric brushes against his manhood.

Kassandra pulls her clothes over her head. She shoves them in a bunch between the boat and the sand, lest they blow away. Nude now, and sitting on her fisherman, her breasts sag only slightly, and rosy pink nipples are growing and reddening in the biting wind. Her tummy curves outward somewhat but doesn’t hide a generous bush of dark hair between her thighs. She shares a shameless smile with Darius as they enjoy the sight of each other, before she reaches down and takes him in hand. He is already erect at the sight of her and a quick stroke completes his growth. She moves her bottom over, onto just one of his thighs. He feels wetness there. Her hips rock back and forth, preparing for him.

The rain is driving across the beach, drenching the boat and soaking the new lovers as it bounces onto them from all angles. The wind is cold, but not freezing, and it has no chance of tempering their heat. Kassandra lifts her bottom and re-positions her knees. Darius reaches for her hands, wanting to contribute something to the act.

She lowers herself onto him. There is no need for fingers to guide; she knows her body well, and he is tall and stiff, like the mast of his boat. Flesh makes way for him, and she feels herself filled.

Darius wonders if Aphrodite herself has taken him into her.

I again have to restrain myself from obtrusive thoughts of triumph. Other gods might fume at the blasphemy of a human being compared to them. Not me. Kassandra is part of me, and I’m part of her. Just as I’m part of Darius. That he thinks of her as me is a spiritual delight. I have achieved my goal and brought my subjects to a new plane.

Kassandra rides him, and all her thoughts, senses and emotions amass between her legs. They surround his length just as her flesh does. Each time she sinks down and takes all of him inside her she comes nearer to ecstasy.

They lock hands together in the sand at either side of Darius’ weathered face. He tries to assist with his hips, thrusting in time with hers. It doesn’t matter though. Kassandra can take them both there. He looks down to enjoy the view of their joining. When she reaches the top of each movement, he can see where he’s penetrating her. The sight alone brings him closer. When she rocks back down, he feels her soft bottom on his thighs.

Kassandra slides down his length with even more conviction. She feels full and complete and… joined. Her sex encapsulates her. She leans her head back into the storm and feels the rain on her face as she climaxes. Waves of ecstasy ripple outward through her body from her center. She cries up at the angry black sky, and just as the waves abate, she feels Darius explode deep up inside her. A new warmth joins her own, and she shivers all over again. His hips push steadfastly up under her, and they both hold that position together. Both fighting gravity while he empties himself into her.

When she feels he’s done, and her own orgasm has dwindled to a background feeling of warm fulfilment, she gently leans down and repositions herself in his arms on the sand. The storm seems satisfied too, as it grumbles off down the coastline.

My new lovers lie in each other’s arms, and I stay with them a while.

I’m a Goddess, but the joining these two mortals share is as powerful as anything I can produce.

I will watch over them in the times to come. And I may even join them again.

After all, Darius hasn’t had his turn at the tiller yet.