Hair
«Panem nostrum supersubstantialem da nobis hodie» Matthew 6:11
Ritual
Your priestesses shave your perpetually
growing pubic hair and feed it to the
proud members of your cult, thirsty for sex
and eager to enhance their manhood and
endure demanding carnal performance.
The inner of your thighs drools while you watch
them mating with your fellow matriarchs,
lasciviously lying on the bare stone floor
of the temple your fathers erected.
Any penis, no matter how flaccid,
shrunken, and wrinkled, becomes firm, engorged,
and enlarged when the man swallows the thread
of your pubic hair, in the ritual
performed for eons by your covenant.
Your eternal lust temporarily
subsides as you watch those bodies mating,
writhing like serpents on the naked stone,
consuming the pleasure you are denied.
That is the price you have to pay, the price
a god pays every time she looks at her
creation, molded to overcome her
own limits, and she wishes she could be
part of, and she regrets she created.
Libido
When Andrew opened the door, Mary looked like a chrysalis, wrapped as she was in the bedsheets. He took the sheets off of her with one pull, unveiling her naked body. She immediately turned her back to him, switching to a fetal position, emitting sounds of complaint, and displaying the symmetric beauty of the tattoo adorning her back.
Andrew lay down so close to her that he felt like he was wearing her tattoo on his chest. The sounds emitted by Mary turned from complaint to comfort. Then Andrew started to kiss her neck and the back of her shoulders, framed by waves of blonde hair. His hands slowly began to explore the curve of her breasts, and the harmonically opposing curve of her hips.
She felt his manhood pressing against her and she suddenly moved away from him and turned around to look him in the eyes.
“Andy, please, you know how I feel.”
He lay on his back, spreading his arms and legs, and looked at the ceiling with resignation.
“Mary, come on, you are so hot. I cannot help it. I am in love with you, with your body, but I cannot even remember the last time we made love.”
“And I am in love with you, Andy, and I love your body too, and I am attracted to you, but these medications…” She did not need to complete the sentence.
“If you only allowed yourself a chance every once in a while, Mary, and you did not take for granted that it is not going to work, you might—” she interrupted him.
“Andy, you know how many different categories of sexual side effects are associated with SSRIs: the most common are reduced libido, loss of vaginal lubrication, and anorgasmia.”
“I know, Mary, and some claim the existence of an alleged post-SSRI sexual dysfunction, referring to a set of symptoms reported by people who have taken selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, in which sexual dysfunction symptoms persist for months after ceasing to take the drug. We have been spending hours discussing this.”
Mary moved back close to him and started caressing his chest and abdomen.
“Let me take care of you, Andy.” She whispered in his ear in the most seductive tone.
He did not reply. He closed his eyes in sign of agreement, still without hiding his resignation.
She started to kiss him passionately, her tongue vigorously penetrating his mouth.
Her hand moved down from the abdomen and started to gently rub his underwear.
She felt his penis hardening under her touch, until it could barely fit the garment.
She took off his underwear, kneeled between his spread legs and began masturbating him while caressing his abdomen and thighs.
As soon as he began breathing deeply, she started performing a fellatio on him, firmly holding his erect penis with the one hand moving in sync with her head, and gently caressing his scrotum with the other hand.
As she felt the pace of his breath increasing, she increased the speed of her movement.
Andrew started moaning and Mary felt his glans enlarging, completely filling her mouth.
Andrew squeezed her forearm ad announced: “Coming.”
Mary did not stop moving and soon Andrew’s penis started pulsating, erupting a conspicuous amount of semen in her mouth.
She did not stop until he asked her to, because his glans was hypersensitive.
Then she gently started milking his penis and sucking out of the meatus until the last drop of semen was collected in her mouth.
She raised her head, he opened his eyes, they looked at each other smiling, and he kindly said: “Thank you, Mary.”
She nodded and smiled even more, but she did not say anything until she got back from the toilet, where she emptied and washed her mouth.
Then she lay at his side, her head on his shoulder, one leg across his abdomen, one hand on his heart, and she told him: “I love you, Andy, and I am sorry.”
He held her close, kissed her forehead, and replied: “I love you too. And do not be sorry.”
After a short break he added: “We will find our way.”
He sounded extremely resolute.
Goddess
Interrupting her account, Helena asked him if he had to take the call, pointing at the phone silently vibrating on the surface of the bar. The screen was displaying the portrait of an attractive young woman, whose pale skin and blonde hair contrasted with the color of Helena’s hand, now as close to the phone as to committing sacrilege.
Andrew shook his head, flipping his phone, slamming Mary’s smile onto the white marble, forcing himself to appear indifferent, acting as if he had not been concerned by that unexpected call, which might have indicated Mary was experiencing a crisis, pretending he was not feeling guilty for sitting on the rooftop of the luxury hotel where he used to spend the nights when working at his office downtown, sipping a strikingly balanced Belvedere Martini, masterfully mixed and shaken, not stirred, by the always I-am-your-best-friend, you-can-tell-me-anything bartender, amiably entertaining himself in a conversation with a beautiful, intriguing, sexually arousing stranger.
Helena resumed her account of the conference she had attended earlier that day.
Andrew was captivated by her emerald gaze, oblivious to the words being spoken by the goddess that held his attention absorbed. In her presence, he was blissfully entranced. His eyes were inextricably locked with hers, yet it was as though his vision could wander the surface of her body and wonder at its beauty.
Helena’s green eyes, compellingly vivid, seemed to possess the gravitational pull of a sun, to whose light Andrew was unescapably attracted. Her full lips were subtly highlighted by a lipstick just a nuance lighter than her skin. The rich curves of her body were modeled and permeated with innate elegance.
In the altered state induced by the spell cast by Helena, Andrew found himself in a descending elevator, kissing the surface of her cheeks and her neck, covering every bit of skin, then biting her earlobes and lips.
They enjoyed indulging on the details. Their lips disclosed to allow the tongues to explore every possible corner. An instant of complete confusion: smells, tastes, and visions of lights invaded their minds.
Instants later, in the glow of Andrew’s hotel room, Helena’s naked silhouette was painting a chiaroscuro on the white bedsheets. Her skin was the rich absorbing black of a moonless night, and the sheets a canvas where shadows and light conspired in a tumultuous dance.
She moved with fluid grace, despite the fervor in her eyes, a fervor that mirrored the insatiable fire Andrew had felt burning in his gonads since they met. She was an odyssey in every curve, a siren song that pulled him in, inexorably, into the depths of her embrace, until he would be lost.
Helena’s body was a landscape of endless discovery. Her muscles tensed and relaxed under his touch, each movement a verse in their instrumental music. The contrast of her dark nipples, hard and inviting against the soft generous swell of her breasts, drew Andrew’s licks and bites, eliciting from her a sound so primal, so full of raw desire, echoing beyond the walls of the hotel room.
As they lay intertwined, the world ceased to exist.
He wanted to move slowly, but she overwhelmed him, and he could not do anything but second her movements.
Her legs were suddenly all around him. He perceived them everywhere. Slim legs, incredibly long, preternaturally graceful, whose velvety skin he would never caress and kiss enough. They wrapped him, surrounded him, swirled all around him. They erected like columns to build a temple dedicated to his goddess, the temple and the goddess being the same thing, and he dwelled in there. He was the priest of his own private black Aphrodite to whom he dedicated his existence in that instant, which he wished would never end.
She called his name, moaning sweetly. She whispered his name. He had never recognized himself in his name like when she pronounced it. His name now only existed for her to pronounce it. He himself only existed to adore his goddess, giving her the pleasure that belonged to her.
He did not feel the impulses of his own body, but of hers. He could not take pleasure without giving pleasure to her. He was hers.
Waves originated from her and incarnated in him. He felt his abdominal muscles contracting according to her will, not his.
She begged him not to stop, invoking his name. He could not stop even if he wished so: his body, as well as his name, belonged to her. He was left with his emotions only, but those revolved around her too, collapsing and expanding rhythmically, like dust produced by explosions repeating at regular intervals, while, between an explosion and the next one, the dust is sucked in by the explosive core.
The rhythm increased. She breathed his name. The shockwaves shook him. His muscles contracted. She drew him inside of her with the air she breathed in, inside that temple of beauty erected around him.
The temple collapsed, smaller and smaller, the columns constricting him from every side in a composed and graceful fashion. Everything around him became smaller and smaller until he could not be contained anymore, until everything stopped.
And then, slowly, the temple expanded, thinned, vanished.
He was not sure he could hear her words, but a harmony of sounds conveyed sensations from her to him.
While they were lying abandoned, breathing heavily, their bodies covered with sweat and other mixed body fluids, for the first time a less than vague concern seized him.
Guilt
Andrew was gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension as the road stretched out ahead of him. He had not put any music on. The comforting hum, result of the overlapping sounds produced by the engine, the tires rolling on the asphalt, and the complex aerodynamics developing around the car’s body, was the only sound accompanying him on this lonely journey. Outside, the scenery blurred into a monotonous backdrop, but, inside the car, his mind was a chaotic storm of thoughts.
The night had been a burst of passion and longing, a desperate attempt to fill the void that had grown between him and Mary. Meeting Helena had been like a spark in the darkness. She was vibrant, confident, and unreservedly alluring. Her sexual drive was infectious, and her touch had ignited a fire within him that he had not known in a long time. For one night, he had allowed himself to forget the constraints of his relationship with Mary and indulge in the raw, unfiltered connection with Helena.
But now, with each passing kilometer bringing him closer to home, the reality of his actions crashed down on him like a tidal wave. The road ahead seemed endless, and so the physical distance between him and Mary.
“Siri.” Andrew invoked.
The expressionless female voice acknowledged with a casual “uh-uh”, which Andrew had always deemed pretty rude.
“Read the last message from Mary”, he ordered.
Siri’s calm voice filled the car. “Mary says: ‘Good morning, my love. I miss you and I cannot wait to hold you again. Be safe and come back to me soon!’ Red heart. Red heart.”
Andrew’s thoughts were a tangled mess suffocating him like a heavy fog. He had betrayed Mary in the most intimate way, shattering the trust they had built over years. She had been there for him through his darkest moments, always supportive, always understanding. And he had repaid her by seeking solace between the legs of another woman.
“Siri.” He invoked again, and, without waiting for the mock voice to acknowledge, he ordered: “Send a message to Mary.”
“What do you want to say to Mary?” Siri asked.
Andrew took a deep breath, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words.
“Mary, we need to talk. There is something I have to tell you.”
“It says…” Siri read the message back, showing that it had surprisingly got it right, for once.
“Send it?”
The inevitability of the action sent a chill down his spine. The weight still heavy on him, but the thought of what he had experienced with Helena tugged at his conscience. He felt like he could not really throw away the chance at something potentially life changing. What had happened might have been in fact a wake-up call.
“No.” He almost shouted.
“I will not send it.” Siri confirmed, the tone neutral and unemotional, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him.
Each kilometer brought him closer to a reckoning, but it was not just about facing Mary. It was about confronting his own desires and the possibility of a future he had not considered before. The road ahead was uncertain, but Andrew knew he had to face it head-on, for both his sake and Mary’s.
Unfaithful
The sun was about to disappear behind the mountains, casting a straight river of orange and pink on the surface of the lake. Andrew was sitting on the porch of the cabin where Mary and he spent their weekends, listening to the rhythmical lapping of the water against the shore, covered, at irregular intervals, by the rustling of the leaves covering the trees separating their safe place from the outside world.
Mary was inside, preparing dinner, her singing voice occasionally drifting out through the open window. It was a sound Andrew had always cherished, a melody that used to bring him comfort, but now it only intensified his guilt.
Andrew’s phone silently vibrated in his hand. He raised it, the screen illuminating his face in the growing dusk. Helena’s message notification hit him like a slap in the face.
I need you inside me.
His heart raced. He could picture her alluring smile, the fire in her eyes. She was a force of nature, pulling him into her orbit with an intensity he had never experienced. Yet, here he was, surrounded by the life he had built with Mary, a life that now felt suffocatingly fragile.
He glanced toward the cabin, seeing Mary's silhouette moving through the kitchen. The love he had for her was undeniable, but so was the pull he felt towards Helena. He was being torn between two worlds, each demanding a part of him.
He started typing “I cannot” – he paused. He resumed typing. He hesitated before sending the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. The act felt like a betrayal, but the thought of Helena’s body, her heat. She was intoxicating. He sent the message, sealing his momentary indecision.
I cannot wait to be inside you.
“Dinner’s ready!” Mary’s voice was cheerful, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Andrew.
“Be right there!” he replied, forcing a smile as he stood up. He walked into the cabin, the smell of cooked food mingling with the warmth of the cozy interior. Mary was setting plates on the table, her eyes lighting up as she saw him.
As they sat down to eat, Mary talked about her plans for the weekend, and how much she had missed him. Andrew nodded and smiled in all the right places, but his mind was miles away, replaying every touch he had shared with Helena.
That night, as Mary slept soundly beside him, Andrew lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His phone was on the nightstand, a silent testament to his divided heart. He reached out and picked it up, scrolling through the messages from Helena. Each word was a thread, pulling him further into a web of deceit and desire.
The next day passed in a blur of forced normalcy. Andrew and Mary explored the surrounding trails, shared quiet moments by the lake, and even managed to laugh together. However, the tension within Andrew grew with each passing moment. Every time his phone buzzed with a message from Helena, he felt a pang of guilt, quickly followed by an undeniable thrill.
In the evening, as they sat by the fireplace, Mary snuggled up to Andrew, her head resting on his shoulder. “I love you.” She whispered, her voice filled with warmth and contentment.
“I love you too.” Andrew replied, the words heavy with a truth he could not deny, but also tinged with the weight of his deception.
As they stared into the dancing flames, Andrew’s mind wandered to the impending meeting with Helena.
Invitation
Surreal. That was the best adjective Andrew could think of to describe the conversation he and Helena had had in the handful of minutes between the dinner and the instant their bodies started pulsating with passion, inertly abandoned to the tides of lust.
He was supine in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She was lying at his side, soundly asleep, breathing heavily, her head on his shoulder, one leg across his abdomen, one arm embracing his chest.
Their bodies, wrapped in dark blue silken sheets, were enjoying the aftermath of their intercourse: their brains had released a flood of neurotransmitters, like dopamine and oxytocin, which contributed to their shared feelings of contentment; the post-orgasmic prolactin surge had induced in them feelings of relaxation and satisfaction, and for Helena, had resulted in a profound sleep.
Andrew, however, could not stop the flow of thoughts triggered by their previous, rather unique conversation.
They had moved from the dining table to the sofa bringing their goblets with them, from which they were sipping what was left of the bottle of Tuscan wine he had brought, his favorite blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot.
Suddenly, she had put her goblet down on the low glass table at the center of her living room, taken Andrew’s goblet from his hand, and put it close to hers. Then she had fixed her eyes into his, while cupping his hands in hers.
After an instant of hesitation, she had started telling him about the cult she was part of, speaking in the most casual fashion, and about the rituals they were recurrently performing, to the next occurrence of which she had invited him.
Eucharist
The mausoleum was laid out in a cruciform floor plan, with a central dome and barrel vaults over the four transepts. The exterior of the dome was enclosed in a square tower that rose above the four lateral wings. The brick surface was set with narrow mortar joints and decorated with blind arcades.
Light penetrated the mausoleum through alabaster window panels.
The interior of the dome was decorated as a starry sky, a regular mosaic composed of glass tesserae, golden stars on a dark blue background, a gold cross at the apex of the dome, and the four living creatures of Revelation 4:7 at the corners, symbolizing the Evangelists.
The barrel-vaults of the four arms of the cruciform chapel bore vegetal mosaics consisting of acanthus and vine scrolls. In the lunette of the western arm, a mosaic represented a deer approaching a spring, perhaps a reference to the incipit of Psalm 42: «As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after Thee, o God».
The wrists of the Matriarch were tied to the extremities of the patibulum of the wooden cross standing behind the altar. No nails were transfixing her palms, her hands falling inertly. The full weight of her body was hanging from her arms, her neck bent forward, her hair covering her face. Her breasts were chiseled with the perfection of a master Italian Neoclassical sculptor. The gentle swell of her belly flowed seamlessly, merging with graceful ease into her lower abdomen, pleasantly adorned with hair. Her lathed thighs, not touching each other, were swaying from her torso with impatient resignation, shaken by involuntary contractions every few instants, which propagated downward along her dangling legs unto her elegant feet.
Two priestesses turned their back to the small crowd gathered in the middle of the nave at the foot of the altar steps, and approached the voluptuous naked body, older than the Late Antique Roman building in which it was hanging crucified.
One of the priestesses was holding a straight razor, the other was carrying a circular metal plate. They stopped when the Matriarch’s pelvis was at nose level and within easy reach.
The priestess equipped with the straight razor gently rested her lips on the inner side of one of the naked thighs in front of her. The Matriarch was shaken by a wave originating from the area of skin kissed by the priestess. Her pores contracted and invisible hair erected all over her body. The woman emitted a suffocated moan but did not raise her head. The priestess indulged. A droplet of vaginal discharge ran down the inner thigh. The priestess avidly sucked it and licked the trace left by it, moving her head up, her eyes closed, until her nose skimmed the pubic hair. The moans of the crucified woman echoed in every corner of the mausoleum. The priestess regained a straight posture, breathed in deeply, raised her forehead to the starry sky mosaic decorating the dome, swallowed, smirked with lust, opened her eyes to the alluring breasts of the Matriarch, whose face, covered by the dark hair, she could not see.
The other priestess slowly raised the paten, holding it with both hands, keeping it horizontal. When the bare metal touched the skin of the Matriarch’s thighs, a few centimeters above the area from which her sister had licked the drop of that revered fluid, the body of the crucified woman vibrated again.
The priestess wielding the straight razor executed three swift skillful strokes, completely shaving the pubes, whose worshipped hair fell on the paten held in position by her fellow member of the covenant. The Matriarch did not flinch.
The pair turned around and walked toward the altar.
Andrew was standing in the very center of the nave, one meter from the altar steps, Helena holding his right hand with both of hers.
Everyone in the mausoleum was wearing nothing but their skins.
The priestess with the straight razor was now standing behind the altar, right between the crowd and the Matriarch.
She slightly tilted her head up, opened her mouth wide, extended her tongue out, its tip touching her chin, and cleaned the blade of the razor using the dorsum of her tongue, sliding the blade on it, as a barber would do on a cloth to clear the foam with every few passes during a beard trim. Then she closed her eyes, retracted her tongue, sealed her watering mouth, mixed the residues she had collected with her saliva, and resembled a connoisseur savoring a rare whiskey before swallowing it with satisfaction. She stood like that for a while before returning to her duties, folding the blade into its handle, and placing the straight razor on the altar.
A corporal was spread out upon the altar. On the corporal were a ciborium, a cruet filled with an opaque white fluid, and a metal chalice with a purificator laid on it, its edges hanging at the sides of the chalice, and a pall placed folded upon its mouth.
The priestess removed the pall and the purificator from the chalice, took the paten from her sister, and, using the purificator, swept the hairs into the chalice with utmost care, ensuring that not a single valuable fragment was misplaced.
She put down the paten, picked up the cruet, and poured its whole content into the chalice, soaking the hair.
She extended her hands over the chalice in epiclesis, invoking the gods to consecrate the offerings. Her hands were held palms down, slightly hovering over the melting hairs as she called down the holy spirits.
She took the chalice with both hands, held it slightly elevated above the altar and spoke the words of institution. After the consecration, she lay down the chalice, placed the folded pall upon its mouth, and genuflected in adoration.
She rose, extended her hands toward the congregation, inviting them to exchange a sign of communion before receiving the thanksgiving.
To Andrew’s astonishment, Helena took his face in her hands and gave him a kiss filled with more passion than ever before, and Andrew relived the passage from Genesis 29:11 when «Jacob kissed Rachel, and lifted up his voice, and wept»: her tongue extending to touch his lips and tongue, stimulating his lips, tongue, and mouth, their tongue touching was relief and gratitude, release from past burdens, fulfillment of destiny.
The priestess administered the sacrament to herself and her sister before distributing it to the congregation: she opened the ciborium, took out a thin disk of unleavened bread, dipped it in the chalice until it was soaked in the fluid the pubic hair had melted in, and then ritualistically repeated the series of gestures she had completed when cleaning the blade: she slightly tilted her head up, opened her mouth wide, extended her tongue out, its tip touching her chin, and she lay the host on the dorsum of her tongue. Then she closed her eyes, retracted her tongue, waited until the thin disk melted into her saliva, swallowed, and opened her content eyes, now more lascivious than ever.
At the foot of the altar steps, the crowd diligently reorganized in two parallel lines. Andrew, instructed by Helena with nothing but a complicit look, followed her joining the middle of one of the queues.
The priestess descended the stairs carrying the chalice slightly elevated above her naked breasts and stopped walking when she was within easy reach of the first congregates in line, who were waiting in ill-concealed impatience.
The sister reached her holding the open ciborium in one hand toward her, and the paten in the other under the chin of the first communicant who had already spread her mouth wider than a young cuckoo, the tongue sticking out.
The priestess picked a host from the ciborium, dipped it in the chalice, lay on the first of the many protruding tongues in front of her, eagerly waiting for their supersubstantial bread, necessary for their own existence.
At each administration, the priestess spoke solemnly: “Τὸ σῶμα τῆς Ερωτοφόρας.”
It took Andrew a few iterations to figure out that the priestess was presenting the consecrated host to each communicant pronouncing the Ancient Greek words meaning “the body of Erotophora”, which he assumed was the name the covenant used to address the Matriarch, meaning eros-bringer, the bearer of passionate, sensual love.
Each communicant responded by saying “Amen”, as if affirming their belief in the real presence of Erotophora before receiving the host were not redundant.
Instants after the last of the congregates had swallowed the thin disk of unleavened bread, soaked in whatever fluid the pubic hair had melted in, the nave floor was covered with a convulsing mass of contorting bodies gasping, grasping, moaning, touching, sweating, rubbing, drooling, licking, screaming, penetrating, in pursuit of the peak experience.
That was when the crucified woman slowly rose her head and turned her gaze to them through her thick dark hair.
Her insatiable desire momentarily ebbed away as she looked upon those entwined figures, their movements sinuous like snakes upon the bare stone, indulging in the carnal pleasure that she had always been denied.
She paid the heaviest toll every time she observed her own creations, beings crafted to transcend her limitations. The vision evoked an irrepressible craving to join them, coupled with a profound sorrow for having ever brought them into existence.
Vial
The burning light, emanating from the fireplace, danced agitated on the otherwise comforting wooden walls of the cabin on the lake, reflecting and refracting excitedly when encountering the glass cylinder and the thick, opaque white fluid it contained.
Andrew sat at the edge of the couch, turning the vial, hanging from a metal necklace, over his fingers, the surreal events of the ritual playing over and over in his mind, torn by a mixture of apprehension and excitement.
Helena had kept her eyes locked into his while adjusting the thin chain around his neck, and he had felt the cold of the hanging vial burning on his chest while the whole covenant was welcoming him warmly.
Mary walked toward him, her bare feet silently tiptoeing on the carpet, sweatpants and oversized t-shirt concealing her femininity.
She put two cups of fuming matcha down on the low wooden table between the couch and the fireplace and asked: “What is that?”
Andrew took a deep breath, his resolve hardening.
“The tiniest drop of this fluid could awaken your deepest desires, break the chains holding you back, and reignite the passion that has been long gone from our intimacy.”
“What?” She exclaimed, apparently amused, while gently falling on the couch.
He turned his head to look her in the eyes without adding anything.
“Come on, Andy. What is it?”
“I have no idea. A kind of drug, I guess. All I know is that just a single drop can increase libido and arousal. I believe we should try it.” He appeared extremely resolute.
Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she did not look away.
“Are you serious? This sounds risky, Andy. I am already on antidepressants. Mixing drugs does not sound like a good idea.”
Andrew managed to push aside a pang of anxiety.
“I know it sounds weird, but we have been struggling for so long. I just want to give us a chance to feel that spark again, to remember what it was like to be so connected.”
Mary folded her arms, her expression skeptical.
“Are you absolutely positive this is safe? What if it interacts badly with my medications?”
Andrew took her hands in his, looking deeply into her eyes.
He had not put the vial down, the thin chain still entwined among his fingers, and Mary felt the cold of the glass and metal it was made of on the back of her hand.
“I would never ask you to do this if I were not sure it is safe. Trust me, Mary.”
She hesitated, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit.
“Andy, I need you to be honest with me. This is not just about fixing things quickly, is it? Do you really believe this can help us?”
“I do.” He said, his voice soft but firm. “Just one drop, Mary. If it does not work, we never have to use it again. But I need you to trust me on this.”
Mary looked at the vial, then back at Andrew. She sighed, her resolve wavering. “Okay. Just this once. But if anything feels off, we stop immediately, okay?”
“Of course.” Andrew agreed, relief washing over him. “Just one drop, I promise.”
He carefully unscrewed the tiny cap of the vial and let a single drop fall onto her fingertip.
The liquid felt warm, almost alive, as she touched it to her tongue, tasting a faint bitterness.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, her eyes widened, and a flush of warm color spread across her cheeks.
Her breathing quickened, and she looked at Andrew with a sudden intensity that took his breath away.
She whispered his name, her voice husky with desire.
Without another word, she pulled him close, their bodies crashing together with a fervor that was both new and familiar. Their clothes fell away, and they tumbled onto the carpet, wrapped in each other’s arms. The passion that followed was unlike anything they had experienced before. Every touch, every kiss was electric, charged with an intensity that left them both breathless.
As they lay together afterward, their bodies entwined, Andrew felt a profound relief.
The fluid had worked, but more than that, it had reminded him of the deep connection he shared with Mary. For the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful about their future.
Mary looked up at him, her eyes soft and loving.
“That was amazing.” She murmured, tracing her fingers along his chest. “I feel like we found each other again.”
Andrew kissed her forehead, his heart swelling with emotion, and held her close.
Cheater
Andrew committed two sacrileges in the cabin on the lake.
Mary had flown to her parents on Thursday. Andrew did not require an excuse to evade the trip: Mary’s relationship with her parents had always been complicated. Not by chance she had suffered from anorexia, although luckily not a severe form, for long years, and she, for first, used to avoid any type of contact with them as much as possible. Andrew hated them because they were obnoxious people, but first and foremost because of all the pain they had caused and continued to cause to Mary. Therefore, Mary usually did not even ask him to join her when she had to visit them for some inescapable reason.
Andrew and Helena arrived at the cabin on the lake on Friday evening, and, after eating two juicy steaks accompanied by crunchy roasted potatoes, masterfully cooked by Andrew, they were sitting on the very couch, in front of the very fireplace, where, a handful of weeks before, Mary and Andrew had opened the vial for the first time, whose contents they had been using many times since.
Violating Andrew and Mary’s safe space by inviting Helena was the second sacrilege committed by Andrew in the cabin on the lake.
Andrew emptied the bottle of his favorite Champagne into his and Helena’s goblets, a blanc de blancs vinified since 1729 by the oldest winery founded in the eponymous region. He put the empty bottle down on the low wooden table between the couch and the fireplace where the goblets were standing, and reached out for them. Helena intercepted his hands and held them in hers, gently pulling him closer, until their lips touched.
Andrew withdrew. That place was permeated with Mary, their memories, their history. The sole idea of making love to another woman there felt unbearably wrong.
He cupped Helena’s face in his hands, allowing himself to get lost for an instant in that beautiful magnetic green gaze, and explained to her, his voice barely above a whisper, the guilt gnawing at his conscience.
Helena took his hands in hers and laid them on her thighs in the most reassuring way, glancing at the chain holding the vial around Andrew’s neck, the vial itself being concealed by his shirt. She extended her hand and pulled the vial out intending to dissipate Andrew’s guilt with just a drop of its contents.
As she realized that the quantity of fluid in it was way less than she expected, she stood up abruptly, grabbed her purse, turned on her heels, and headed for the door.
Andrew had committed the first sacrilege when he had let Mary swallow the first drop from the vial. And that, to Helena and the cult of Erotophora, was unforgivable.
Andrew called her name, scrambling to his feet, and followed onto the porch, the cool night air hitting him as he stepped outside.
Helena stopped on the porch, her back to him. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small syringe. Before Andrew could react, she turned around and injected his neck with a swift, practiced motion. His vision blurred as a numbing sensation spread through his body.
Equilibrium
When Andrew reopened his eyes and his vision cleared, he saw a stairway leading to an altar and, beyond the altar, a woman hanging from a cross, her neck bent forward, her hair covering her face. Everything appeared reversed.
Andrew’s ankles were tied to the top of the upright beam of an upside down wooden cross standing at the foot of the altar in the mausoleum. The full weight of his body was hanging from his ankles, his wrists were tied to the extremities of the patibulum.
As he regained consciousness, the worshippers of Erotophora gathered on the stairway, standing in front of him. Amidst the small crowd of naked people were Mary and Helena, Mary’s pale white contrasting with Helena’s ebony.
A priestess walked away from the crowd descending the steps toward him. She carried a chalice. When her shaved pubes was at his nose level and within easy reach, she knelt before him and put the chalice on the irregular stone floor. Andrew moved his eyes as looking up to the sky, except he was looking down at the chalice, filled with the thick, opaque white fluid he immediately recognized.
The priestess took a vintage metal syringe out of nowhere, or so it seemed to Andrew. She inserted her thumb into the ring at the end of the plunger, wrapped her index and middle fingers around the finger grips, inserted the tip of the needle into the liquid contained in the chalice, and pulled back the plunger until the syringe was filled. She did not care to expel air bubbles. She just stuck the needle into Andrew’s neck and pushed the plunger until the syringe was emptied.
The thirst of an animal deprived of water for days could not compare to the intensity of the sexual urge that pervaded Andrew the instant the priestess removed the needle from his jugular vein. His penis became so firm, engorged, and enlarged that it hurt. He started moving his head around, exploring those naked bodies surrounding him, looking for help, begging for someone to alleviate his unbearable burden.
As the priestess turned her back to him, three women approached, and the remains of his lucid mind went to the female disciples of Jesus at the crucifixion, the Three Marys according to John 19:25, «some women» according to Mark 15:40, «many women» according to Matthew 27:55 – who cared! As long as they were going to feed his excruciating hunger!
They were indeed: they started taking turns to masturbate him, and he came at once, with his most vigorous orgasm ever, but that was not enough, he needed more. Nothing seemed to satisfy him. He did not want it, he just needed it. To breath, to feel, to know he was alive.
And he came again and again, each ejaculation producing conspicuous amounts of semen that was meticulously collected in a chalice. He could not stop ejaculating.
Pleasure soon gave way to pain. Every contraction of his penis caused a pang originating from his glans and propagating along the shaft to his testicles, which were aching as if hit with a table tennis paddle.
He begged the three women to halt, but they would not stop milking him.
He invoked Mary and Helena multiple times, in vain: they were smirking, Helena holding Mary’s right hand with both of hers, just like she had once done with his, at the foot of that very altar.
He soon went into a seizure, his body stiffening and shaking, he remained conscious, but he started experiencing unusual feelings and sensations, sudden and unexplained feelings of joy, anger, sadness. Nausea. Then fear, anxiety, déjà vu.
He thought he saw a priestess wielding a straight razor walking toward him, unfolding the blade, slicing his throat.
—
At the foot of the altar steps, Mary and Helena lay on their sides, their heads between their respective thighs, mutually stimulating their clitorises using their lips and tongues. Their opposing bodies, Mary’s pale white contrasting with Helena’s ebony black, were interconnected in a self-perpetuating cycle of pleasure, two complementary and, at the same time, opposing forces forming a cohesive living system in which the whole was greater than the individuals.
Fabio Scagliola,