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The Bend

By: sea.bee



Sometimes there are things that happen in your life that you almost take for granted.

For me, it’s one particular private area on the banks of the Lachlan river in country New South Wales, and a situation I found myself drawn into for over 2 years.

Most of the mainstream boating, swimming and fishing occurs in the area of town in which the river cuts through the centre. But towards the outskirts many areas exist that are accessible only by foot, and when you find them they are priceless. Having said this, there are few undiscovered destinations in life that you can hold onto.

My particular haven is found every now and then, and has become the resting place for no more than a dozen or so people who find their way there whenever the sun is unimpeded enough. Most like me have found the bend by chance, almost as a result of an afternoon or morning bushwalk that went a little further than usual.

Most of the river banks are elevated above the surrounding grass and trees, but this particular place cuts down to the river’s edge and provides a spacious area of river sand that is clean and comfortable for laying on. The river almost slows around the bend making it ideal for swimming.

In the two years since I discovered the bend, I can now understand why there is a level of angst and tension when a distant voice becomes closer and makes it’s way down to the water’s edge. It’s an unwritten rule that the area is “free” in that clothes tend not to be worn by those who choose not to wear them. But most that stumble onto the area are unaware of this at first, and are usually caught up in an awkward moment. They either decide to stay and join in or leave in a hurry. Most leave, not by being conservative, but I believe that they assume that we are all part of an organised group that know each other well. 

We don’t. Even though we may lie almost side by side up to twenty times in a summer and spring, and have the occasional chat the level of conversation and interaction is quite low. It’s a different world at the bend that starts the moment you arrive and ends the moment you leave. Throughout the week you may occasionally spot someone behind a bank teller or at a pub, but apart from the occasional glance things are left alone.

The scene is mostly sensual, and not sexual. Naturist and nudist groups tend to disassociate themselves from anything sexual, but I can’t see how this can be true. I’m a straight male with a girlfriend who just happens to be private when it comes to her body. At the bend I seem to lose all inhibitions about my own body and my sexuality and can become aroused at the sight of anyone’s body, female or male. People often wonder why there are few erections on a nude beach. There are erections, but this is easily disguised by lying on your front. 

People at the bend are about as natural as you would find anywhere. No super models here I’m afraid, but if there were they would be frowned upon. I think that it’s the naturalness of the situation that makes things so sensual.

My penis occasionally grows when I talk to Bec and Tina, but they laugh it off and tell me to jump in the river, or comment that “you must be desperate if you find us exciting”. Two women in their late 30’s that were in the year above me at High School. Bec has a one year old son that she brings with her. She is skinny, too skinny, with pale complexion and a brunette bob. I can’t recall seeing her without a smear of white zinc on her nose and cheeks, and she relishes the shade when the sun burns too brightly. Her breasts have dropped slightly, but she carries herself well. Bec’s pubic hair is out of control, I don’t think it’s ever been trimmed in the slightest, and even extends to her inner thighs, including a very thin trail to her navel. Tina is the complete opposite, tanned to the point of skin damage. Small and pointy breasts that would be out of place in a bra, and a mass of curly hair on her head. Tina never removes her bikini pants, only topless. She pee’s a lot, and takes off to the bush almost every half hour to squat behind a tree.

I hardly knew Bec and Tina from school but don’t remember them to be close at all. I wonder at what point they decided to be in a position to even find the bend, let alone sit together almost every weekend minus all or most of their clothes. Tina is single, not my type at all, but for whatever reason I fantasize more about Bec. Tina is too confident about her looks, even if she looks aged and damaged. Bec is so natural and uncaring about how she is perceived. Nothing will ever come of my fascination for Bec, nor would I really want it to (not after it happened, anyway). She seems content with her life, I’m sure she’s married or with a steady partner that chooses not to take part.

The least inhibited of the people on the bend I couldn’t tell you their names. They have been coming on and off for only 6 months. Aged probably in their early 30’s, and tough and wild with lots of tattoo’s and piercings. Both are shaved all over, both seem to be crazy about each other and are unafraid to let their feelings be known. They lie in an area that is semi-private, but on most occasions they will excite each other to the point that he enters her from behind, side by side. It’s over in seconds, but I can see the hidden giggles from Bec and Tina when it does happen. They know they are watched and couldn’t care less. The female will always immediately wash, but walk near or past all of us with ejaculate either dripping from between her legs or in her hands.

There is one couple that I wish would find an alternate area. Michael and Samantha are nice people who are as close to what I would call true naturists as anyone. Everything about them is great, they communicate, enjoy the lifestyle, swim and are free as birds. They may turn up only once a month, but are usually accompanied by their children. Boy 8, girls 6 and 2. Mike and Sam are unphased by nudity of any type, but having the kids along changes the dynamics. I know if anyone finds it annoying, it’s the “sex couple” who decide instead to take a walk to finish their business.

Judy has no problems letting anyone know that she is attracted to me. In any other situation I wouldn’t take notice of her. At 38, I’m active, athletic enough and still have my full head of hair. Judy’s in her mid-50’s, large, loud and breasts that sit on her chest like two balloons ready to burst. Tina in particular takes in Judy’s attention to me with a great deal of humour for a number of reasons that will become obvious.. I wonder deep down why Tina has never made a play for me, maybe it’s because I’ve never made a play for her. But if it was a choice of Judy or Tina coming onto me I know who I would take.

Judy will often lie her towel down next to me and disrobe straight away. She has never taken the hint when I arrive at the bend after her and move my towel close to Bec and Tina. Judy talks my ear off, and makes me less relaxed. Even if I lie face down, turn my head the other way and close my eyes Judy will talk and talk until I respond. It’s my fault that things turned out this way. After first meeting Judy, she offered to rub some of her suntan oil on me. Something that seems to be quite mutual at the bend, and takes a while to get used to. Judy started at my shoulders and kept going, down towards my bottom and legs. I was at the time surprised, but nobody seemed to take much notice, even though everyone watches everyone else. What happened next was over in seconds. Judy demanded that I flip over, which I did, and her oily hands worked my chest, legs and finally my penis. Without wanting to offend, and being more than aroused I let her continue. My mind blocked out any chance of an erection, but I have to admit that I enjoyed the openness of the touch. Judy asked me to do the same, and I responded. Fully, all over including her breasts and vagina. 

Since that day, I’ve realised that suntan oil seems to be the ice-breaker that removes the barriers between people. Although I have never had a rubdown from Bec (unfortunately) or Tina I have allowed myself to be oiled countless times by Judy amongst others. 

At the bend, once you have the reputation as being a “rubber” (someone who will rub suntan oil and allow them to be rubbed) it never leaves you. The ration of rubbers to non-rubbers is about 50-50. It’s different to rubbing suntan oil on someone at a beach. There, it’s the shoulders and hard to reach areas. But at the bend, it’s everywhere, no exceptions. I can see how I was trapped into becoming a rubber, and believe that Judy is the instigator who will test the waters with new people. If they take the bait, they’re hooked while ever they choose to come to the bend. Fortunately, ,Judy seems to take control of the rubbing, but when she doesn’t turn up it’s a different matter. I admit that I enjoy watching the events. Judy will offer a rub to anyone, male or female. Those that accept have no choice but to return the favour. I have never seen anyone recoil from the deal. If Judy touches you all over, you touch her all over, simple as that. I love watching new females put in the position of being asked to flip over. Judy doesn’t have a bisexual bone in her body, but I can see the female with a thousand question marks above her head as Judy’s hand glides over the front of her body, and then find herself in a position where she feels that she has no choice but to do the same. 

I sometimes think that Judy is the reason why so many people don’t return to the bend. When Judy is initiating a new male to the art of rubbing, any conversations I am engaged in at the time become slowed. We watch sideways as her hand sets to tackle his penis, and await with anticipation for an ejaculation. It happens from time to time, but rarely. When a male ejaculates his feelings of exhilaration turn into sudden embarrassment. You can guarantee that it’s the last time he will come to the bend.

For me, I have never once asked someone to rub me. I would be too uncomfortable to, and let’s face it, I don’t have any problems in doing it to myself. Bec and Tina aren’t rubbers. They accept that I’m part of the club, but find it no big deal. The only time that I’ve come close to a rub with Bec is when she’s asked me to apply her zinc to her nose. Usually Tina takes care of that. There is in no way anything sexual between Bec or Tina, but at the time they shared a sisterly bond. Tina would paint Bec’s zinc with the precision of a make-up artist, usually white but sometimes in pink or even blue. It would either be a simple stripe down the middle of her nose, and the same over both cheeks, or sometimes a traditional aussie look covering the whole nose. It gave Bec a sexy edge.

The first time a male asked me to rub him was a shock to the system. I was on my towel next to Tina, when Peter asked me to “do the honours”. I was a little taken back, as this was usually Judy’s job however Judy was nowhere to be seen. 

Peter’s a fit man in his late 40’s. He mostly keeps to himself but like most of us at the bend is open and natural. I approached his request clinically but nervously, rubbing my hands over his smooth skin as I would if participating with any female. Peter liked to use a creamy sunscreen, not oil, which required frequent topping up. I made my way down his back, over his bottom and onto his legs. Tina talked to me as though nothing unusual was occurring, meanwhile I was in panic mode that she was about to witness me touching another man’s penis.

Peter flipped over, and his body that I was so used to seeing suddenly became a battle ground. I was frightened that he may become erect, but stayed totally professional. As I was working his chest and underarms Judy appeared, and I hoped that she would want to take over. Instead, she flopped on her towel and carried on without a care. I made sure not to leave Peter’s penis until last and made my way quickly to it. It was easier than I had anticipated. I simply applied the cream, lifted up his shaft and ran my hands over it, and felt a slight growth. It was so natural that I felt excited to be able to touch a penis in that way in the company of females. When it became my turn, I was as comfortable as I would have been with Judy or any of the other female rubbers.

From this point on I was never guarded when asked to rub a male. Although I would never let on I was secretly excited to be asked the question and would look forward to the part that included the penis. In discussions with Bec and Tina I would continually make the point of my straightness while never directly referring to the rubs. I think that they knew the point I was trying to make but would never give me the satisfaction of saying that they understood. The rubs were all part of the experience to those that partook.

One thing that I had never dwelled on was the longetivity of the scene at the bend. Most people I knew there had been involved for a while and then drifted out for reasons that I never would know. Maybe the novelty simply wore off as time went on, but for me it was the changes in people and situations that changed my outlook.

The first incident happened in the beginning of my third summer at the bend. The same old faces turned up, with a few new ones that either stayed or went depending on their reaction to Judy and her evasive hands. It was her hands that started my downfall. During my first rubdown of the season I became excited at the touch of her hands on my penis. It was probably the anticipation of the six months leading up to this that did it for me, but I became harder than ever and Judy sensed that she had me where she wanted me. To make matters worse, as I ejaculated she tilted my penis enough so that I spilled myself onto Tina’s towel. Tina laughed and commented that I was a poor shot, but deep down it was the first time that I felt over-exposed. Bec was bemused but in the same vein seemed to have an air of disappointment. To make things worse, the crossing of the line with Judy wasn’t the first. On the subsequent weekend I had walked off to take a pee. Judy followed me as if by accident, but took things further by asking me to masturbate her. Rather than take up her simple offer which would have been only fair, I not only touched her, but licked her and fucked her fully. This happened on two occasions, and Judy being Judy never let on to Bec and Tina but instead gave a full version of events to Mike and Sam who she was certain would spill the beans.

Not long after, Bec and Tina has a falling out. Enough to discourage Tina from returning to the bend. Bec continued to come, but was distant at first before finding a new friend to come with her. Pam was a little older and less friendly, and the two withdrew into themselves and rarely talked outside their circle.

The final unusual event for me was being asked by Jason for a rub. Jason was aged in his mid 40’s and had always been a bit of a loner when it came to the bend. Judy would rub him only semi-frequently, as most of the time he applied lotion before arriving.

On the day that I was invited to give Jason a rub it was sunny but late enough in the day that we were the last there. Judy had taken off somewhere, Bec and Pam had recently left as the others. I sensed that this was more of a “get to know you” rub, but by this stage in my life at the bend I thought nothing of it. Even the thought that we were the only two there made no difference to me. I rubbed him as I would rub anyone else, and paid no more attention to a penis than usual. Only for the first time I felt a penis really swell in my hands.

I lay on my stomach and felt Jason rub me in the same way. Then without warning, his finger slipped into me anally. I was shocked, and said firmly “Jason, I’m not gay”.

Jason replied matter-of-factly “neither am I, I’m just horny”

I got caught up in the moment, feeling too free for my own good. I let him do with me as he saw fit. He flipped me over, took me in his mouth and I came. Without a hint of hesitation, I allowed myself to be returned to my stomach, lifted my bottom and allowed his penis to enter me. I was in a whirl, but in ecstasy, doing something that I never would have considered. My body wanted his penis inside me, and bucked with rhythm enough to help him come inside me. Why I allowed this to happen I can only put down to two and a bit summers of being so comfortable around males that at this point nothing was out of the ordinary.

When finished, it was as though it had never occurred. We dressed, said goodbye, and for me said a final goodbye to the bend. It was as though I would sooner or later cross the final line, and now it had happened.

As that summer has now come and gone and a new one is only 4 months away, I wonder about whether I will get the courage to return. I don’t believe that I will. While in a steady relationship I allowed myself to have sex unprotected 3 times with Judy and once with Jason, and the testing process over the next months was a constant reminder that my time at the bend was now complete.

During the winter months, as those before it, I often see Bec, Tina, Pam, Mike and Sam, Peter and Jason amongst others that breezed in and out of the bend. To this day, I have never seen Judy once outside of the bend but figure that she must live on a farm. I wonder who knows about me, and who doesn’t. Maybe one day I’ll summon up the courage to have a coffee with Tina and find out the latest.

The Bend in the Road



Prologue

He was not concentrating properly. As he rode his motor bike down the wet winding road from the hills to the city plain, he took a sharp bend wider than he anticipated. The front wheel hit the slippery white line in the middle of the road; the bike slithered, went out of control and hurtled towards the steep drop at the side of the road. Patrick went over with the machine. They bounced down the slope and crashed against a rock at the bottom. A flash of light went through his brain, and then oblivion came.

The Lovers

Patrick had been wild throughout his teenage years. He had been an endless worry to his parents, and more than once had come to the attention of the police. He had made a complete hash of his school life and it ended by his being expelled. 

He was a good-looking boy, abounding in energy, most of which was wasted in living as riotously as he could. Girls were drawn to him because of his daring and defiant ways. There had been a number of sexual relationships, all of which Patrick engaged in with the same casual attitude he took to the rest of his life.

Then when he was twenty-two, Patrick met Sally.

He had applied for a job with a steel fabrication company. He had little chance of getting the job because he lacked reasonable educational qualifications, and the few casual jobs he had managed to get had not trained him for the position he was applying for.

He had approached the reception desk with the sort of bravado often used by swaggering youth, to try and demonstrate that he did not care one way or the other. There at the desk was Sally.

Companies that have some semblance of intelligence know that their front desk receptionist is vital to them. She – it is usually a she – is often the first contact with a potential customer. Sales and contracts can be won and lost according to how they are met initially. The "Steel and Engineering Company" for which Sally worked, knew they had a star.

Sally was twenty when Patrick first set eyes on her. And let me be frank, she was not fantastically beautiful, although not plain either. I shall at this time skip the usual statistical details, and simply say, that when Sally smiled, she seemed to light up everything around her. The recipients of her smile, no matter what there mood, whether fair or ill, suddenly felt that the world was a better place than it had been a minute ago.

One other feature I should like to point out to you, are Sally's eyes. They are hazel with long eyelids, but it is their intelligence and compassion that I should like you to bear in mind.

Patrick's usual survey of a female was centered on whether "She did, or didn't, " and whether he fancied her or not and whether he was, as he put it, "In with a chance."

Swaggering up to her desk, Patrick suddenly found his world turning upside down. She looked at him and he was transfixed. She smiled at him, and he was lost. She said "Hello," in her soft contralto voice, and he was struck dumb.

I have said that Sally was not particularly beautiful, by which I meant, not in the TV soapy and mush magazine sense. But let me be very clear, in that moment of first meeting, for Patrick, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He could not see her legs under the desk, nor did he look at her breasts, which were usually his first port of visual call on meeting a new girl. He was simply…well, need I go on?

Because this tall good looking young man was apparently struck dumb, Sally asked, "Can I help you?" Patrick started to stammer out, "I…I've come…" It was Sally to the rescue again. "Are you the young man Mr.Walters is expecting?" Patrick managed to get out, "Er…yes." "He's expecting you, I'll just let him know you've arrived," said Sally. She picked up the telephone, pressed in a number, and spoke. Meantime Patrick remained in his semi-paralysed state.

Patrick was escorted to the office of Mr.Walters and invited to sit down.

Now a very odd thing happened in the interview that arose out of two factors. First, Mr.Walters is intelligent and perceptive. Second, Patrick's meeting with Sally had brought about something of a personality change in him. For once, the bluster and swagger had disappeared, and something like the real Patrick had emerged, even if only in embryonic form.

Patrick, while still in swagger mode some days before, had applied for a job well above his existing abilities. Mr.Walters was quick to perceive this and in his mind ruled Patrick out as a viable candidate. On the other hand, he saw something in the young man that had apparently escaped his parents, teachers and the police. Lord only knows what it was he saw, but whatever it was, it led him to make Patrick an offer.

"Look," he said, "I can't possibly offer you the job you've applied for, it's well beyond your training and experience. But there is something I can suggest and if you care to take it up, I think I can promise that you could move on in the company. Do you want to hear my suggestion?" Patrick nodded enthusiastically. Meeting Sally, and now being treated as if somewhere inside him was a worthwhile human being, was both daunting and inspiring.

What Mr.Walters had to offer was that Patrick start work in the steel bays. This was a hard labouring job, "But," Mr.Walters went on, "If you care to take an interest, keep your eyes and ears open, then as other positions come up I shall keep you in mind."

Patrick at that point asked his first bold question of the interview. "You really mean that? You will keep me in mind?" Mr.Walters looked into Patrick's eyes, and said, "Yes." 

Getting a little ahead of myself in the story, I wish to point out that Mr.Walters' "Yes," always meant, "Yes." His "No," always meant, "No." Strange, is it not?

And so Patrick exited from Mr.Walters' office with a job, in consequence of which he was walking on air. On the other hand, he was also partially paralysed from his meeting with Sally. A very complex emotional condition, wouldn't you say?

So on the following Monday Patrick made his start in the steel bays. It was hard, and at times dangerous work, but for Patrick it became a challenge. Some time he had to make good or go under, and this time he was going to make good if he died in the attempt.

As he got to know some of his fellow workers, and hoping he sounded as if he was making a casual enquiry, he asked "What's that girl's name who works in reception?" The men laughed, and one of them, in elegant manner, said, "Don't get your hopes up there. A lot around her have tried to get their hands up her skirt, and got nowhere."

Patrick was not unused to this sort of assessment of girls, but when used in relation to Sally, it was different. He could have hit the speaker, but refrained because he now had a larger target in view; his future in the job. 

It was strange, but in all his behaviour, both at work and outside work, Patrick began to measure his words and deeds by Sally. Put simply, almost unbidden there arose in his mind the thought, "What would Sally think?"

Patrick's parents began to notice a change in him. His old aggressive swagger was replaced by an easy self-confidence, and he was even known to be considerate of other's needs and feelings. At first they thought he might be sickening for something, but finally decided it was because he had managed to hold a job for longer than a fortnight. The Sally factor was still hidden from them.

The "Sally factor" was, of course, founded on the one and only meeting with her. Working in the factory he rarely saw any of the office staff, and he had not set eyes on Sally since he began the job. She continued to exist for him as an unattainable being, a sort of angelic wonder.

One day, things changed just a little. The factory supervisor told Patrick Mr.Walters would like to see him, and he was to go to the office straightaway. Patrick made his way to the office and approached the reception desk. His heart was thumping as if it would break out of his chest. As he reached the desk, his heart ceased its agitation and fell. It was not Sally sitting there, but another girl. 

Patrick blurted out, "Has the other girl left?" "No, she's having lunch," responded Sally' substitute. 

Patrick lived again.

The substance of the interview with Mr.Walters was that the factory supervisor had been sending in good reports about Patrick's work and attitude, and a vacancy had come up in the machine section. If Patrick would like the position, training would be provided. Patrick leapt at it.

Once more, he exited Mr.Walters' office on air. This was really his lucky day. As he walked down the corridor there came towards him, Sally. She stopped in front of him, smiled and devastated him with her eyes. "Hello, how are you getting on?" she asked. "J…j…just g…got a sort of promotion," he stammered out. "What?" asked Sally. "I'm moving from the steel bays to the machine section," replied Patrick, now sufficiently recovered to be fully coherent. "Good Lord," said Sally, "You've only been here three months. It usually takes about eighteen months for that move. You must be doing well." "Hope so," Patrick responded enthusiastically. "Well good luck," smiled Sally, "I hope I see you soon." She walked on.

With those slightly ambiguous words from Sally, I should now like to turn to her side of the story for a moment.

Like Mr.Walters, Sally was perceptive. On the first meeting with Patrick, she had seen something she liked in the staring, stammering young man. I do not suggest she fell desperately in love with him on sight, but he did keep popping into her mind. She hoped they might run into each other again.

This is the bind some young people find themselves in. Take for example, Patrick. Had Sally been the sort of girl he usually consorted with, he would have known just how to deal with her. Most likely he would have dated her and screwed her in the back of the car the first night. Sally was a very different prospect, and he knew it. Thus, he was in no way equipped to approach her with a view to a closer relationship.

Equally, Sally had no idea how she might to get to know Patrick better. She was not, shall we say, "the brazen type," and in any case had never had to approach any male for a date. Dating offers there had been aplenty, and she was well equipped with reasons for not accepting most of them. The central point is, Sally would like to be asked out by Patrick, but had no idea how this could come about. But the gods were on the side of Patrick and Sally, and they provided the means for the fulfillment of the young people's desires.

Patrick and his younger brother Stephen (a much more stable youth than Patrick had been, and two years younger) were invited to a birthday party. You have guessed it. Sally had been invited as well. 

The meeting was to say the least, momentous for the pair. First, they had a legitimate reason for conversation; to wit, "I didn't know you knew Audrey." "How long have you known her?" "Do you know her brother, Ken?" And so on. 

Secondly, if Patrick was able to muster his courage, there might just be an opportunity to ask Sally for a date.

Patrick did muster when, at the time of the party breakup, and shaking with anticipation of rejection, he asked Sally to accompany him to see a film later that week. Sally, in her straightforward way, said, "Yes. I would like that."

In romantic movies, this is usually the moment when the strings sweep up with a triumphant melody. I always think it sounds ridiculous, but at Sally's "Yes," a mighty symphony with double orchestra soared on high. Shall we say it was Patrick's "Symphonie Romantique"? It continued its soaring in the coming days.

For Sally the moment was a little less noisy, taking on more the sound of a Chopin nocturne that reverberated across her days and nights.

In trying to describe that first date, we have to take account of a couple of circumstances. Let me begin with Patrick.

When dating girls in the past Patrick's main objective was what happened in the back seat of his car sometime towards the end of the evening. Nine times out of ten he "scored." Most times when he failed it was due to bad timing in the girl's menstrual cycle. Any refusal to perform on other grounds meant no more dating.

In Sally's case, she was accustomed to attempts to get her into the back of the car, and having to make repeated demands that she be taken home. Sturdier means of repelling the forceful youth usually resulted in his having a severe pain in his nether regions and a walk home for Sally.

So you see, Patrick and Sally approached their first dates from opposite ends of the spectrum. 

It is difficult for me to give specific details of this date, but even given the above, I must say first, that Patrick very badly wanted to make love with Sally, but had no intention of doing so. Sally wanted to make love with Patrick, but hoped he would not try.

Given this difficult situation, they both managed very well. Patrick did not even try to hold Sally's hand, and not once did Sally behave in a coquettish manner. They actually found that you could have an interesting conversation between a man and a woman without it ending with sexual union. 

Here I would like to point out the dangers of this situation especially where young people are concerned. You see they might start to respect each other, then they might fall in love, and this can be followed by the even more deadly malady of loving each other. This in turn can lead to a lifetime commitment, and is this not a sad outcome? Well, is it or not?

On other occasions, I have found my distinguishing between "Falling in love, "and" Love confuses people By my definition, "Falling in love," refers to that mad time when two people are all in all to each other. When they are so wrapped up and obsessed with each other that for a while they tend to exclude all other relationships.

"Love,' or "Loving," is for the longer haul. It is the caring; supporting, companionship and that bond which can include others, especially their children.

So all these dangers stood in the path of Patrick and Sally. Perhaps Sally understood these matters better than Patrick, women often do. If she did, for the time being she kept them locked in her heart, and accepted another invitation from Patrick. Patrick saw her to the door of her parent's house up in the hills, bid her goodnight without even attempting to kiss her, and got into his car with the symphony orchestra going at it hammer and tongs. Sally entered the house accompanied by Chopin.

Date now followed date, but it was not until the fourth date, and what is more, at Sally's urging, Patrick kissed her. As they sat in the car outside Sally's home she said, "I'm not made glass you know, you can touch me. When do I get a goodnight kiss?"

Patrick placed his hand on her cheek and turned her face towards him, and very gently, kissed her on the lips. "About time too, Patrick," said Sally, "Goodnight." She laughed her throaty contralto laugh, and was gone.

After that the "In love" stage had definitely been arrived at. Patrick was lost. Sally was elated. They no longer needed specific reasons to be together, it was sufficient to be together. Then towards the end of their third month came those most sinister of moves in the progress of love, meeting the parents.

Patrick's parents were amazed at their son's audacity in courting such a lovely girl. His brother, Ken, considered whether he could ever capture such a prize. Should they ever marry, which Patrick's mother thought unlikely as Sally was sure to discover how awful Patrick was, Sally would have no problem being accepted into their family.

Sally's parents were a little less enthusiastic. Her father played the old fashioned dad and asked about Patrick's prospects. Their attitude is understandable in that they knew what a prize the man who married Sally would have won. On the other hand, Sally did not see herself as something to be won. She was too straightforward to play those sorts of games.

There came the night, sitting outside Sally's house in the car when Patrick said words he had only ever used before to manipulate some girl into getting her knickers off. He said, unhesitatingly, firmly and with utter conviction, "I love you, Sally." 

Sally smiled a secret smile, and said, "Good, because I love you. When do you think we should get married?" Patrick was confounded. He protested, "I'm supposed to ask you, and I was just going to." I know you were," replied Sally, "So I thought I would save you the trouble." She flung her arms round Patrick's neck and kissed him. She finished by saying, "By the way, you haven't said 'Yes'." They both burst out laughing.

Now there followed those mad whirlwind things that seem to need doing at the approach of weddings. Parents meeting parents, this and that to book, measurements taken, dresses ordered, clerical gentlemen to be interviewed by, and the myriad other details to be attended to.

One week before the wedding Patrick and Sally had the house to themselves. Sally's parents had gone to see an opera. Patrick, decided that as he would be travelling on his own, he would ask brother Stepehn if he could use his motor bike. Patrick liked an occasional spin on the bike, and he and Ken used each other transport from time to time.

Now it may amaze you to know that no sexual intercourse had taken place between Patrick and Sally. It was not that they did not desire to come together, on the contrary, but, at the risk of sounding corny, it was something to be treasured. The time had to be just right for that fulfillment of their love. They had not even discussed this, it was just something each knew the other understood.

On this night as they sat on the couch in front of the fire Sally, without preamble, said, "Patrick, I think now is the time." Without her having to say more, Patrick understood what she meant. He said, "Yes." Then he took her in his arms and kissed her long and hungrily, and began to undress her. 

Finally, she stood before him naked. There was no giggling modesty; she simply stood proudly before him, wanting him to see her. 

Patrick was overwhelmed. He had never seen her naked, and he cried out, "Oh God, you are so lovely." She helped him undress. He touched her very tenderly, running his hands over her breasts as if they were the most precious things in the world, which or course, in that moment for Patrick, they were. He laid her gently on the couch and explored her clitoris with his finger. As he felt her become ready he started to enter her, and felt her wince. "Did I hurt you, my love," he asked. "I'm still a virgin, Patrick," Sally murmured. 

Patrick was astounded. They had never talked about this, even though he had confessed his own past. He had just assumed somewhere in the recesses of his mind, that at some time Sally had…but he was to be the first."

He stopped penetrating her and buried his face in her hair. "Oh Sally, I love you so much, I don't want to hurt you." "Go through, darling, please go through quickly, I want you to, but be quick."

Patrick made a sharp thrust into her. Sally gave a cry, and then said, "Oh my love, my darling. I'm so glad you are the first." Patrick was deeply moved, and felt tears pressing against the back of his eyelids. "Sally, my lovely Sally, you'll never know how much I love you," he gasped out. "I do know," said Sally.

Patrick came into her.

Afterwards they lay together for a long time saying nothing, but holding on to each other. About eleven o'clock they dressed. Shortly after Sally's parents returned and Patrick prepared to leave, putting on his motor cycle gear.

At the door, Patrick and Sally held each other in a long embrace. Patrick went to the motor bike and started it. Sally ran over to him for one more kiss, then he moved down the drive and onto the road. It had been raining.




The Bend in the Road



Epilogue

As Patrick rode the bike down the winding road his symphony orchestra soared again, this time with great chords from a mighty concert organ added. He was brimming with that joy that only fulfilled love can inspire when it is known that what has been given will be given again and again. He thanked whatever gods there might be for the gift they had given him in Sally and shouted out aloud, "I love you, Sally."

He approached the sharp bend in the road...



The Bene Elohim



"And again the Lord said to Raphael: 'Bind Azazel hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dudael, and cast him therein. And place upon him rough and jagged rocks, and cover him with darkness, and let him abide there for ever, and cover his face that he may not see light. And on the day of the great judgement he shall be cast into the fire... ...And the whole Earth has been corrupted through the works that were taught by Azazel: to him ascribe all sin." The Book of Enoch

"Now it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the Earth, and daughters were born to them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men, that they were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves of all whom they chose." Genesis 6:1

THE SONS OF GOD

I lie in darkness. No light, no food, no water has reached me for thousands of years and yet still I live, buried until Earth's final day. The archangel Raphael imprisoned me here. Oh, I fought him; but his strength was far greater than mine and besides, our Lord was not about to let him fail. His anger was beyond even my imagination, when it came. Truthfully I had always known it would end like this. I accept. So I lay in darkness, a silent captive beneath a dry desert mountain, awaiting the Day of Judgment. On that day I shall be thrown into the fires to burn, and burn, and still not die. I accept. Given enough time, you can.

I am Azazel. To me has been ascribed all sin, beyond even that of beautiful Eve. For this, I pay. But for all time, while I wait and while I burn, I shall remember. And smile.

In my disgrace I am unknown now, as are my brethren who came with me to Earth. All two hundred of us lie buried or destroyed. But I remember how once I was an angel of the Cherubim, the guardians of the fixed stars, and keepers of celestial records. And I remember brave, blazing Shemyaza, a Seraph, higher and closer to our Lord than me. He knew well what risk we ran. He had already seen Satanel, another Seraph and the greatest of us all, thrown from Heaven with all his followers. Yes, the once bright and shining morning star, thrown from heaven! It shook Shemyaza hard. Yet Shemyaza had wanted it as much as I, and so he overcame his fear and bound all two hundred of us in a solemn oath. We all swore to do it. Our Lord sent the archangel Michael, the warrior who will call us all to the flames one day, to deal with Shemyaza. Oh, terrible Michael! How we feared him, in the end. Once we looked down on Michael from a greater height, Shemyaza and me. Now we lie in the belly of the earth on which we once walked with such wanton joy. 

Before we left our heavenly dominions, we two hundred were beings of light and fire, the Sons of God, the Bene Elohim in the ancient tongue. We were also called the Watchers, because our Lord chose us to watch over the children, Adam and Eve. And so we did not support Satanel when he refused to kneel before them. Although we felt for Satanel and understood his agony and rejection, we did not join his rebellion; instead, we kept apart from the war, kept our hearts and minds on the children as He had ordered us to do. On the day he fell, Satanel cursed us for standing aside. On that day, we should have taken heed.

The watching of the new creation was a solemn duty to us, at first. The gentle creatures were frail, being of the Earth. Death was not in the Garden, nor disease or sickness; they lived in the sustaining grace around them, but they did not have our power. And there were other differences. We were created with the knowledge of all things, while Adam and Eve were innocent and unknowing. They were ignorant of good and evil, the ways of the Earth and the order of things. They lived as our Lord intended, knowing nothing of desire, fear or pain. We were charged with a great responsibility; to watch the children, always, to ensure they never changed. We were the Watchers.

We did not reveal ourselves except as streams of daylight through cloudy skies or moonlight on murmuring streams. Unseen, we walked beside them and listened to their childlike chatter, flew beside them as they ran through the grassy, open places and sat beside them in the fern-filled woods on temperate summer days. Slowly, our solemn responsibility gave way to enjoyment of them. We caressed their skin with gentle breezes, filled their nostrils with the fragrance of roses, and gladdened their sight with wild flowers everywhere. They laughed at the simplest of pleasures, and it made us love them. We put seeds in their hands, induced them to bury them and, to their wide-eyed joy and wonder, we made the Garden abundant for them. Nothing failed them, including us. The years went by and the children were safe, and truly loved, in our care.

How it was that he slipped by us, I will never know. He had always been the mightiest amongst us, the prince of the angels, and I suppose we never thought Satanel could conceive of such malice. Certainly, we could not. We never once thought of how he had cursed us, as he fell. Had we become careless after all those years, that we left Eve so alone? We asked ourselves many questions after that fateful day. Poor Eve!

We never guarded the Trees; we just turned the children away gently if they strayed too close. The fruits from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil were forbidden to them, as were the fruits of the Tree of Life. They knew this, although they did not know why; sweet, simple things, they never questioned why. But their grace was dependent entirely upon their ignorance. Which they lost, of course, the instant they ate from the first Tree.

Our poor, confused children were thrown out! They were driven from their home before they could understand anything of what they now felt; shame, fear, turmoil and despair. They were driven out on our account, for now we could not be trusted to keep them from the Tree of Life. We failed, and it was Adam and Eve who paid.

In mute shock, we watched them go. Later we questioned the justice of it, but at the time we could do no more than stand in silent, heart-wrenching sorrow as our children were driven out of the Garden, to first begin their struggle to survive. 

Looking back now, I see how it changed us. It was not only Adam and Eve who fell from grace. When Satanel shamed us, when the children were expelled for our complacency, we knew guilt for the first time. We never admitted it, even to ourselves, I think; but in each of us there grew a private resentment. Though our hearts were changed, we did not yet dare to disobey our Lord. From our remote height in the heavens we continued to watch; but we no longer watched for Him. Now, we watched for us.

We had taught them well in the Garden. Adam and Eve survived. In time, they even taught us something. They turned to each other for comfort in their misery and, for the first time, we watched them copulate.

Shemyaza and I shared a special curiosity in the children's procreation. It was something our Lord had not explained to us, we having no need of the knowledge. But it was like a dance to us, and it fascinated Shemyaza, especially. When he chanced upon a coupling, he would find me to watch with him, to watch the rising pleasure and to smell the copious release, and later we marked together the swelling of the women's bellies and breasts. Then when the women suckled their babies, we watched in silent wonder and moved our lips to the sounds, the like of which we had never heard before. 

The women were a mystery to us. Across the airless void, Shemyaza was drawn to them and so was I. But our fascination troubled us and to indulge it felt like betrayal, so we never spoke of it. But this, now, I understand: if you do not voice your longing, it will grow. It grew in Shemyaza, as well as me. As it turned out, we were not the only ones.

It was the silver-shining Jeqon, a Watcher of the lower angels, who brought it all to a head as he, Shemyaza and I watched Eve planting seeds one fine autumn day.

"Why do we stay apart from them?" he asked.

"Why?" Shemyaza answered, amazed at the question, "Because that is the Earth, Jeqon, and we are celestial beings. We belong here, in the heavens."

"That's not an answer. If it's the only one you've got, I say we should be there with them."

"Are you angry with me? Jeqon, I only offer what I know."

I, too, caught his rebuke. It wasn't his question that stunned me, it was his audacity. This was not the way to put a question to an angel of either the Seraphim or Cherubim. Jeqon's tone was sharp and accusatory. I could see Shemyaza considering him, wondering if he had been encouraged to be so brave. 

"Well know this, both of you; I am sick to my core with their suffering. They've gone from ease and joy, to fear and abject misery and we've done nothing but watch from our glorious heaven!"

His spitting contempt stung, but as I watched Eve drop seeds into the stony holes she'd made, I remembered our Lord's commands. "We were told not to interfere, Jeqon, it is forbidden." I answered, softly. "We are to watch them, only. What would you have us do?"

"Convene the Watchers. Let me speak to them, if you will not. I say again, we should be there with them!"

I deferred to my brother, as usual. "Shemyaza? You are the highest among us, what do you say? Shall we discuss it?"

Shemyaza's eyes were darkly glowing in his golden, radiant face, his gaze intent upon Eve's sweat-streaked, dirty body. His words came slowly.

"I remember the commands. I know it is forbidden, and I do not wish to deceive. But I remember nothing about where we were to watch from, Azazel, do you? What if we watched them from on the Earth, just to be closer to them? There would be no harm, and perhaps we could comfort them with our presence." Suddenly he turned to me, "For myself, I only want to be closer to them. It's the women, Azazel." He would not say more in front of Jeqon.

It is tragic now, to remember the pleading in his eyes as he asked me to know his heart, finally, and my own swift surge of hope. Oh, Shemyaza, I already knew your heart because I knew my own! From that moment, the rest was inevitable.

And so it was me who coolly said, "Call the Watchers, Jeqon. If we all agree, then we'll go down and walk amongst them." But then I looked directly into Shemyaza's face, "Know this, though; if we do more than watch, then it may go badly with us. Let us be clear on that, when we decide." I swear I saw flames in his eyes. I wonder now; was the fire his, or was it the reflection of my own?

When the two hundred met, Jeqon put the case for descending. He quoted Shemyaza. That was clever because all of us, including me, respected Shemyaza and considered him our leader. Among the Watchers, Shemyaza's word was law. If they knew Shemyaza had said we might go down, then they would listen. Jeqon spoke carefully, and well. In fact, those who knew his usual boyish enthusiasm would say he had been coached.

Then the massive red fire of Gadreel, another of the lower angels, pushed his way to the front. His deeply resonating voice spoke clear and loud. True to his nature, he scorned our compromises and threw the Fall in all our faces.

"What does it matter where we watch from, if all we do is watch their slow death? Look at them! They scavenge from the land, and barely have grain enough for their daily bread. Who among us does not feel responsible? Does it seem enough to you, to go down and be hidden among them, just to watch them? What good is that? I say we go down, and I say we go as men!" A ripple of anxiety spread through the throng. "Yes! Let us do more than watch! Let us repay the debt we owe them. Let us help them and work beside them! We owe them this!"

A few turned silently to each other to gauge their brothers' reactions, uncertain how to respond. They were tense, guarded, but none turned away. Then quiet Araziel spoke, softly shimmering in the muted colors of Earth's sunsets. His voice was the hush of the end of the day.

"It is true, we all have knowledge they can use. Gadreel, you know metal craft and can teach them how to make tools. Penemue, you know the properties of all the plants and can help improve their nutrition. There is so much we can do, all of us. For myself, I know the ways of the Earth. I see how the harvests have failed, and what the grains need. I will teach the children these things. And when I do, I will work alongside them so that I can train them and make their learning complete. I will not be hidden, and I will not appear to them as I am now. I will be as a man. And as a man, I will take a woman."

Finally, it had been said. His softly spoken words crashed into them like a meteor. The Watchers burst into uproar, arguments for and against surging like a solar storm around them. Shemyaza's glowing light paled. "Azazel, what have we done? This goes too far. Speak to them!" Quickly, I stood forward.

"Araziel, your gifts would ensure the life of the children, and Gadreel, yours too. But we are not men! Listen to me! Listen!" the conflagration died down, and they turned to hear me. With some, their eyes were wild; some were defiant, some were frightened. The Watchers had never been divided before, not even when Satanel had asked us to join his war.

"Think about what you are saying, Araziel, and you others who agree. To interfere in the way we speak of is against the commands, this you well know; but if it is to sustain our Lord's creation, then perhaps we may be forgiven. And you, who disagree, you must know that if we are to teach skills in earnest then we must show the children how these things are done. These are not things that can happen as if by accident, as we taught them in the Garden. So we must be as men, if we agree to show them the ways." All the Watchers nodded, murmured their agreement; so far, so good.

But the question was no longer 'shall we go down?' or even 'shall we go down as men?' but now, 'shall we take women?' Shemyaza hissed a low warning in my ear, "Mark well your next words, Azazel. They will be remembered."

I took a breath, and spoke as reasonably as I could. "Watchers, to appear as men and to live as men are two distinct things. If we give up our power and take on the bodies of men, then we may teach them well. But we still belong to our Lord. Whatever we think of what happened, and yes, I know you think of it, we are still His. If we lay with the women, then we cheat Him. It is betrayal, Watchers. It is Sin. Think on it. When we are ready, we will decide. We will decide as one!"

They discussed it a long time, in pairs and in little groups. Some stood a way off and watched the children while they considered alone. Shemyaza and I watched the children too, while we waited, saying nothing until Shemyaza said to me, "Azazel, whatever they decide, and they will decide to go down it's just a matter of how, I am the highest one. They listen best to you, but I am the one who will bear the wrath, if it goes badly. I don't want to be the scapegoat."

"Tell them your fear, Shemyaza. You may find they will have consideration for your position. If our decision is to go down as men, and to take women as men, then make every one of us swear to it before we go. Then no Watcher can ever say that what he did, he did only in obedience to you."

And that is how it was done. That is how I doomed us all.

THE DAUGHTERS OF EVE

The Bene Elohim, the Sons of God, made friends with my son Cain and his people first. I didn't know them then, because after the terrible thing Cain did, he left Adam and me. I don't know which hurt me the most; that, or the killing of my beautiful Abel. Anyway, Cain made his own life away from our community. My daughter, Awan, went with him to be his wife. So I lost three of my children that day. Adam said Cain had to go, even though I begged him not to drive him off. No use, of course. He wouldn't even talk about it. He just reminded me that, here on Earth, God made men master over women. It was a long time before I could bear him near me again, after that.

So anyway the Bene Elohim came down and met up with Cain first. I heard about it from Awan when she came to visit one day. No need to tell me something was up; she looked a sight, I can tell you.

She came riding into our village on a white ass, with a gaggle of her women in tow. My son Seth and my daughter, Azura, were working in the fields with their boy Enos. Their girl, Noam, was helping me to fire the new pots. She had an eye for her brother already, much the way Awan had for Cain when she was her age, so I kept her out of the fields until she was old enough to marry. It wouldn't be long; my daughters have always been ready for baby-making.

"Mother! Mother! Look who has come to see you!" My beautiful, tall Awan with the flowing red hair ran across our village center and caught me up in her long bare arms, giggling and swinging me about until my heart melted for the love of her.

"Awan, my fine daughter, what have you to say for yourself? I have not seen you for too long! Let me look at you... what have you done to yourself? Noam, look at this!" Noam ran over to see.

"Oh, Aunt Awan you have patterns all over you! They are so beautiful! See, Eve, they are on her hands and all along her arms and, oh, they don't rub off! And your golden dress, Auntie, where did you get it? What is it made from? Look Eve, it is so fine, you can see through it!" All the women were giggling helplessly, nudging each other and whispering behind their hands.

"The patterns are stained in my skin, Noam. They will fade away eventually." Awan explained. This material will last longer; it is called byssus and it comes from animals that live in the sea. They live in shells, and grip the rocks with fine threads, and people make byssus from those threads."

"How do they make it, and what is the sea? Can we have one here? If they lived in a sea here, would someone make a dress like this for me?" The poor girl blushed at the uproarious howls of Awan's tribeswomen, but in truth I understood little more than she did.

"Awan has a lot to tell us, Noam, let us make her and her tribeswomen comfortable. Fetch water for them to wash and put bread and fruits on the table under the shade trees. Quickly now!"

When we were settled, Awan told me of her visitors. "They say there are more of them, but there are just ten in our village. They have been with us for two years now. They won't talk of where they came from but they are different from us, many of them have golden hair and blue eyes, Mother, can you imagine? Blue, like the sky! They built homes for themselves in our community. But they go about on their journeys, sometimes they are gone for weeks, and when they return they have many things for us that they give us for nothing in return. Oh, and Mother, they have taught us so much! So many things have changed. You must come, and bring Seth and Azura and the children, bring the whole village! You see how well we look, we owe it all to them and you should live so well too. Say you'll come?"

"Easy, girl. I have seen such as you speak of before. I know where they come from. I don't know why they have come. Do you know? Hmm?"

Awan had the decency to blush, and lower her eyes. Nothing in return, indeed! "Cain does not mind, Mother. He says they have spoken of many more things they can do for us. It pleases him that they stay."

I passed her a pot of dates. "Eat, and tell me."

As she reached for one she asked, "You see my hands?" How could I not? Her fingernails were stained deep red, her hands and arms trellised in dark brown and red patterns. The artistry was of another world. I saw the swirl of water streaming around a stone, the long fringed spread of a senna leaf, the tiny petals of wildflowers, the furl of a dove's downy breast feather. My daughter's hands and arms were living glimpses of the Garden. They had made her a messenger, sent her to tell me they were here. My throat tightened, my eyes stung, my heart grew heavy for my divided family and our lost paradise. But Awan had never heard of the Garden; to her, she was made beautiful with pretty patterns, that was all.




The Bene Elohim



"Mother, you do not like it?"

"No, Awan, I like it, I am just in awe of it. Tell me how it was done. Tell me this artist's name."

"He is called Azazel. Oh, he is tall, his eyes are the darkest blue, his hair is blue-black in the sun, and when he looks at me I feel like he can see right into me. Cain does not look at me the way he does. Azazel makes me feel, oh, I don't know, I feel like the air is light when he is near me and I must breathe deeper to keep from falling. Does that sound silly? My heart beats stronger near him. It was like that from the moment I first saw him." She fell quiet.

'She misses him,' I thought. I could not chide her for her roving eye; I, too, knew loss of love.

"Oh, I must tell you! You remember our son, Enoch? He is fifteen and married now. He got a horrible skin infection this spring. It frightened me; his legs were red and itching and it was spreading. Then Azazel's friend, Shemyaza, came and said he knew a plant that would cure it. He came back later that day with a plant from the marshes; he called it henna. He ground the leaves and mixed in oil and made a paste. Then he and Azazel smeared it all over Enoch's legs and the itching stopped right away. They did this for three days and after they washed him clean on the fourth day there was no sign of the contagion and it didn't come back! Shemyaza is beautiful too, Mother, and so wise! He knows all the plants and what illnesses they can cure."

"That is truly useful and I am glad for Enoch, then, that they were there. So... tell me about these designs, daughter! Who did them, Shemyaza or Azazel?"

"Well I'm getting to that. After they had cured Enoch, they told me about henna. They said they used the marsh plants on Enoch because those grow differently from the shrubs in the dry lands. Azazel said the marsh plants would not mark Enoch's skin, but if they had used the leaves of the dry growing henna, then Enoch's skin would have been stained and it would take many days for it to fade. Azazel was drawing on a slab of clay while he talked, and then he showed me the design he had made."

"He asked me if I liked it, and when I said it was strange but beautiful, he said that was just how I was to him. And he said that, if I let him, he would paint his designs on me with henna so everyone could see how he saw me." It had taken some time for her to summon up her courage, but a few days ago she had gone to him.

My daughter's eyes were distant as she described how he had painted her. She had gone to his house in the dry heat of the afternoon while the others slept and, while his friend watched, Azazel had untied her dress and slipped it down from around her. He had laid her down gently, naked to her waist, on his cot. With his long, cool fingers he had washed her, tracing the patterns he wanted to draw in little rivers on her skin, whispering to her how each curve would be made to charm all who looked upon her. Then, after he had dried her, he had patiently trailed the henna paste in fine, ornate designs on her hands, feet, arms and breasts. He sat with her while it dried on her skin, keeping her still and wide-eyed with promises of other things he would do to make her beautiful beyond compare. As the paste had dried and flaked off, he had blown it away gently with his cool breath to reveal the patterns beneath, deeply stained in her skin.

She told me no one had ever made her feel like that. When I asked, 'like what?' she simply whispered, "Cherished".

Awan described how he had smoothed the last of the henna from her breasts, then, as Shemyaza watched from across the room, he had gripped each of her nipples and slowly rolled them between his index fingers and thumbs until they swelled. Smiling down at her, he had bent his head to suck first one, then the other, and she had felt the yearning build between her legs. "He was so slow, Mother, it was such rapture," she told me.

He had pulled away his skirt to show her his rigid and distended state. "For you, beautiful Awan," he had told her. She had expected him to mount her then, and spread her legs for him, but he did not take her. Instead, he spread her lips and held them open while he slid the tip of one finger between them, drawing the juices from her and spreading them around and around her little tongue. Then when it, too, had swelled, he had slid down and between her legs to pluck it gently with his lips. She had looked uncertainly towards his friend, who had smiled encouragingly at her as he pulled on his own imposing erection.

"Then Azazel slipped his fingers into me, Mother, and pulled them out, then in again, and I got wetter and looser. Cain would have been all done by then, but he just kept pleasuring me until I thought I could stand it no more. He put more fingers into me, and twisted them and hooked them and kept spreading me wider. I couldn't believe what he was doing!"

She begged him to take her. But still he did not. It shocked her, but instead he opened her anus in the same way, spreading her with her own juices. She had let him do it to her.

"Then he rolled me on top of him, Mother, and told me I could have him, but that I must let his friend have me too. I said yes; I would have said anything to have him inside me. When I slid myself down onto him, I thought Shemyaza would take me after Azazel was finished. But Shemyaza didn't wait. He came over and knelt behind me, and he spread my cheeks and pushed himself into my back passage while Azazel was in me. I wanted to pull away, but Azazel thrust himself further up into me, and I could think of nothing after that."

She had held herself still for them. They took her together; sometimes they thrusted together, both filling her at the same time. Sometimes they countered each other; one pushed himself into her while the other drew himself out. They moved slowly, sensuously, giving her time to feel their bulk inside her. "They made me moan, Mother; they made me like it. Then they went faster, and harder, and I cried out because I was shuddering and my womb was pulling on Azazel's organ."

They slowed, but they didn't stop. Azazel steadied her, stroked her hair and told her how beautiful she was, how much she pleased them, that she was perfect for them, while they continued to take her. Then they moved faster and faster, each thrusting to his own rhythm, until finally one and then the other lunged, to spend his seed deeply within her. Then they collapsed together in the pools of their shared sweat and juices, and she slept through the heat of the afternoon. When she awoke, she found they had washed and dried her clothes for her, and they washed and dressed her like handmaidens before walking her companionably back to her home.

With a shake of her head, she came back to me. "Ha, ha! So, I have become a plaything for Azazel. He says my thighs cry out to be painted, and he will make them blossom like the desert has never seen. Isn't that funny? But Mother, I have so many gifts for you. I have food! And this material, I have some for you, and for my sister. Where is she, anyway? Isn't it time for her to come in from the fields? I'm going to get her, she works too hard! You all work too hard!" I watched her run off.

God gave Adam and me long life. We age slowly, and I am still able to bear children. I don't know if it is in compensation or retaliation, but Adam and I have lived here hundreds of years since we were thrown out of the Garden. In all that time, I have never once lost my temper. As soon as I ate the fruit, I knew I'd been tricked. I knew there was evil in the world, and I knew it had used me. I gave the fruit to Adam so that I would not live in estrangement from him, for how could I have lived without him? It was selfish, I know, and I have born my shame, and his unspoken reproach, for all these years without a murmur. I never sought the name of my deceiver, or blamed him a single day. I chose to eat the fruit. I alone.

But I would not stand by and see my daughter induced to commit the sin of adultery by another of their kind! No! Not again, no!

The dates went flying as the dashed pot shattered, before I even realized I had it in my hand.

That evening we sat around the fire on the rooftop of our house and listened to the women tell of Enoch's marvelous recovery, their full stores of food, and their plentiful supplies of fresh water. They talked of the trade the visitors had started with other communities, and they speculated on the new things the strangers would teach them. I drew Adam aside. For once, he was willing to listen to me.

"I must go and meet with them. I am the matriarch, the daughters are my responsibility. Their influence may be all for the good and food and medicine we can use, but I am concerned about their intentions."

"I agree. I would come too, Eve, but it is September and the early sowing must begin soon. Not all the fields are ready. If we leave it too late, we will miss the winter rains and the barley and wheat will fail. This is your duty, Eve; I give you leave to go."

Like it was his idea.

Awan stayed with us for three days and nights. Adam and I never ate better in all our days on Earth. She and her women had brought us dried animal meat, a strange thing but so good in the barley broth. There were roots too; onions, garlic, leeks, and turnips. Adam slept like a baby through the night, after he had burped his satisfaction through the evening. By the time I left, it was not the intentions of the strangers he was interested in so much as the learning we might gain. Like father, like son.

From the first, I declined the gift of the shining thin material, keeping to my plain flax homespun. Awan was disappointed.

"But you are my Mother, and I want you to look your best. Wear it when you come back with me, for my new friends! They will think I do not want to share nice things with you, that I don't care about you."

"What they think of either you or me is not my concern. I will not dress to please them, Awan, I will dress in consideration of my status. I am the Mother, as such, it pleases me to have modesty. Do you realize you can see the hair above your legs when the sun catches that material? When the breezes blow, I can see the shape of your nipples through it! Do you not care? Does Cain not care who sees your goods? You embarrass your father and your brother, and young Enos can not take his eyes off you. His sister asks every day when she can wear it. Do you not see the trouble it causes?"

After that she wore flax while she was with us, but refused to travel back in it. She said it would be degrading for a woman of her status to wear flax among her folk, and Cain would be displeased. I worried what other new customs and attitudes had been wrought by these strangers. Perhaps I would not be able to influence my daughters for much longer. It was with a troubled heart that I said goodbye to my husband and our village.

Cain's community was to the east, on low land near the edge of the river marshes. Three days journey later we came to the small hill that must be crossed before descending to his valley. As we broached its crest in the late afternoon, I saw my son's home for the first time in many years.

"Heavens, Awan! Are there people living in all those houses?" I had no idea how their community had grown.

"Well, some of those buildings house the extra grain we harvested this spring and over there is our hospital, but most of the buildings are homes for our people, yes."

We rode down towards the city, my daughter and her womenfolk talking excitedly now. I had butterflies in my stomach; suddenly I felt unsure of my place among these people. They didn't seem like my family any more. Somewhere along the way they had grown apart from me. Would they know me? Would it mean anything to them that I am Eve, the Mother of them all?

In the distance, I saw a small group of men coming out from the town. They came along the beaten track on foot to meet us. As they came nearer, I heard a strange noise carried on the breeze, like birds singing in unison. They were playing flutes, made from the marsh reeds. The men were playing, chanting, beating small drums, and clapping. They sent a rhythm like the sound of my heartbeat on the air towards me. I had never heard music before. It shocked like an unripe grape on the tongue, called like a dreamer's cry in the night. It sounded like the serpent in the Garden; wild, beckoning. 

"They welcome us, Mother! Our friends have all come to welcome us!" Awan leapt down from her mount and ran down the road to join them, the women likewise dismounting, clapping and ululating in jubilation. Suddenly all around me there was laughing and dancing, hands waving to the sky, singing, twirling bodies weaving around me, all to a wild, thrilling, crashing, pulsating sound. I felt dizzy, until I locked eyes on one who stood still before me, his head tilted slightly to one side with a bright, mischievous smile on his face. His steady, gray blue eyes were finely lined at their corners, betraying the weathering of many other smiles. He was tall; I had stayed mounted and his eyes were almost level with mine, even as he bent slightly forward at the waist to hold my attention. For his height, he was broad shouldered; his chest was bare and hairless, his skin was deeply tanned; not olive like the color of my menfolk, but golden like the color of the long byssus skirt he wore. It was wrapped around his lean and muscled abdomen, falling in soft folds to his calves. He stood in a wide stance before me, his fists on his hips. I could see the bulk of his penis and testicles. His smiled broadened as I quickly looked back to his face. His hair was the color of the burnt wheat stalks left over from the harvest. It fell away from his square face in short straight sheaths as he shook his head and laughed at my frank assessment of him. He was clean shaven, his mouth straight and firm between the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He was fine. He was very fine. 

"Welcome, Eve." His voice was quiet, yet I heard him clearly below the whoops, and trilling and drumming all around me. "I am Shemyaza. You are long known to me, Eve, and I welcome you. We are all honored by your visit; thank you for deciding to come. Shall we see if we can move them? Otherwise I fear we shall be spending the night here!" He spun around with a sweeping gesture of both strong arms and all moved as one, noisily following Shemyaza along the road to my son's city. Apparently it did, indeed, mean something that I was Eve.

THE CITY

I like to remember her arrival. It is a joyful memory, one that has sustained me through all the ages I lay buried here. The city's welcome was tumultuous and we were pleased for her; it made her feel proud to be so exalted. Even so, Eve left the airs and graces to her daughter. And how my Awan put it on! The bare acknowledgements, the haughty regard as she rode through the street crowds clamoring for a glimpse of the Mother; it made me laugh, but not Eve. Instead, Eve dismounted the patiently plodding ass and went through the crowds on foot, taking hold of outstretched hands and greeting all warmly. And when she came to Cain and Awan's house, she wagged her finger gently at the wide-eyed awe of the gathered servants. She kissed their cheeks, held their babies, and smiled, and smiled, and smiled, until her face began to ache. Then she caught Awan's eye and scowled at her. My little minx giggled as she led her mother away to her chambers.

We had built the house large in preparation for this day. It was as four houses in one, built around a courtyard, with another two on top. Some of the rooms were not for living in. They were the industrial center, where women combed clean, washed fleeces, and others drew the fluffy wool into yarn with spinning spindles. There were rooms where women wove yarn on huge looms we had built for them. There were natural yarns of creams and browns, but also flashing reds, warm oranges, and deep midnight blues. The indigo plant had yielded our favorite dye. In other rooms, flax fibers were spun into threads and woven into cloth. In the smallest rooms, women combed and twisted the hair-like filaments from the pen shell mollusk, to make the fine golden weavings of byssus silk. Awan told me later there had been wonder on her mother's face, but Eve had said the most gratifying thing to her was the children's glowing skin, the women's plump arms, their strong teeth, and the glossiness of their hair.

And she had loved her rooms. We had made them cool and airy with south facing windows and smooth walls. We had covered the floors with rugs and cushions of finely woven wool. The rooms were simply furnished, but the square-framed tables and chairs were handsomely made. The bed's rushes had been cleansed with cedar oil and their perfume filled the rooms. We had traveled far for the oil, but it was worth it to hear how she had closed her eyes and inhaled deeply when she entered.

We had built a spacious room off the sleeping quarters and sunk a glazed tile bath into the floor. The bath faced the west wall, where we had set wooden doors so the room could be opened to the beauty of the setting sun. Beyond the doors was a small private courtyard, dense with shade trees, flowering shrubs and pots of flowers. There was a small fountain, and here and there we had set low couches and tables for her. It was not quite the Garden, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

Shemyaza and I had filled the biggest clay samovars with water earlier in the day, and set them over fires outside the kitchens. By the time she arrived, they were ready. We filled big pots with the heated water and tied them to the center of long poles with stout flax ropes. We sent them to her rooms suspended between pairs of strong men, each pair carrying a pot between them. The bath was soon full of warm water, and finally she was alone to soak away the journey, the dust, the worry, and the tumult of her welcome. Well, almost alone. I sat hidden in the courtyard, across from the open doors. I had not been able to watch her since our descent, and I had missed her.

As I listened to her splashing, a mocking bird sang to the encroaching evening. The fine drapes billowed at the courtyard doors, catching the color of the flaming sunset. The soft air was drenched in the heady evening scents of flowers. And then Gadreel appeared, his fire-red hair glinting in the slanting rays of the sun. I watched as the drapes drifted just enough for her to glimpse him through the courtyard doors. My brother turned and nodded to me; I wordlessly acknowledged him in return, and he left.

I heard the urgent splashing almost immediately, as she hurriedly left the bath. Just then Awan's youngest maidservant came to help her dress for the welcome dinner. Eve said nothing about her visitor. But as soon as she was dried and dressed, Gadreel returned. This time, he ignored me.

"The guests may as well all go home. You have outshone them already," he declared from the entrance. "But so you can be sure, I bring you a gift, if you will have it."

His voice was deep, resonant, masculine. As I watched, the maid silently left and Eve came to the courtyard doors. The red glints danced in his wildly twisting hair, short unkempt beard and moustache. As a man, he was broad, powerfully built and tall, but shorter than Shemyaza and me. He disdained our golden skirts and bare chests. Tonight he was dressed in his customary long brown woolen tunic and armless cloak; one heavy hand rested on his chest, grasping the cloak's edge, and one held a green linen bag at his side. He looked like he'd dropped by on an evening stroll. He sounded like he meant business.

"I am Gadreel, and you know what I am," he told her, quietly.

"I know what you are." Her response was cool. "And do you know that I do not trust you, Gadreel?"




The Bene Elohim



"You think I came to see you naked?" he retorted. "To take advantage of you? I saw you bathing, yes; but I didn't come sneaking for a second look. I came to give you this, and now I see I have again chosen my moment badly so I shall leave."

"So then, you come and go as you please? It seems all your kind can do that. Well I can't stop you. But before you go, tell me why you're here. These are my people; I have the right to know."

He turned back to face her. For a moment, I thought he would strike her. He breathed heavily, nostrils flaring as he glared at her; and then his breathing slowed, his eyes widened, and a smile broke across his face. And then he threw back his head and roared with laughter until the small courtyard was full of the sound of it. It was too much for her. Now she was the angry one.

"What is so funny?! Stop it! Stop it, you... fool!"

He doubled up and howled. I chuckled inwardly at the sight of the tears streaming down his face.

"Eve! Oh, Eve! Oh please, don't do that!" He gasped and hooted some more until he had his breath back. She approached him, until she stood directly before him, her feet flat upon the ground on which she stood. The ground of her Earth. Not ours.

"Gadreel. For hundreds of years I have survived starvation, scorching summer droughts and ruinous winter floods. I have struggled in this wilderness with fear, shame, and my husband's silent reproach. I have born children in blood and ripping pain; my offspring now populate the Earth. What is so funny about my asking you a straight question?"

Neither Eve nor I expected the tenderness that came over him. His face softened in the fading light as his eyes wandered over her with open admiration.

"I am sorry, Eve," he said, finally. "I had no right. It's just that I think of you as a child still, because you were just that to me, when you were in the Garden. I was there with you then, you know."

"No you weren't. On one day, you weren't."

She hurt him, then. His eyes snapped closed, and his face contorted in a grimace as a wretched groan rose from his chest. He hissed through clenched teeth.

"I have sworn, Eve, I have sworn if I ever see him, I will tear him apart with my bare hands. I will eat his gore. I would even kill myself, if it would put you back." He opened his eyes, blinked rapidly at the sky then looked to the ground. He could not look at her. "I, too, have struggled with shame. For all this time it has scourged me, and it will never end. I am even too ashamed to ask you to forgive me." 

In the deepening shadows I heard his pain, the pain that had driven him to argue for our presence here as men. The pain I had used to persuade him.

Eve was dumbfounded, but he still would not meet her eyes. At last it dawned on her that this stranger she had never seen before had suffered every living moment with her since the Fall. And then I heard her gasp. Of course; she had just told him she did not trust him. I saw her compassion, then. Her heart told her the words to say.

"I don't know how to soothe you, Gadreel, but you should not suffer on my account. I made the choice; it was of my own free will. Perhaps I was a child then but as a woman, now, I forgive you. Will you accept that from me?" He considered and then, quietly, he spoke.

"Know this, Eve. When you look upon my gift, you will look upon the most beautiful thing ever created. If you will accept that from me, then we are atoned."

Quickly, he grasped both her wrists and pressed the bag he held into her hands. Then he darted away and strode purposefully about the courtyard, lighting the wicks of the nearest oil-filled lamps. He stayed away from me. I watched her open the drawstring bag and draw out something flat, oval, and hard. I smiled in recognition; I had watched him make it, a magical thing. It was the width of a small melon and the color of moonlight. Its stem was set into a long, gleaming, dark wooden handle. It was tapered and balanced and lay easily in her hands. In his workshop, he had shown me the smooth rings of gold encircling the wood, and the tiny figures of golden animals and dancing people, the silver tendrils of plants and branching trees, all in relief and chasing around the silver oval in a wide band. She didn't understand it, but she saw it was finely crafted and a beautiful thing and she told him so.

Slowly, deliberately, he stepped close behind her. She froze. I could see his body pressing against hers. From her breathing, I could tell her heart was pounding. Gently, he brought his arms around her. He took the thing and turned it over in her hands.

"No, Eve," I heard him murmur, "I poured all my skill into the making of it, used the purest gold and silver I could find, but what you have seen so far is not the most beautiful thing ever created. This is."

He raised her hands up to her face while she held the thing, and I heard her gasp again. She had seen her wavering reflection before in deep pools of water, but in Gadreel's polished, silver mirror I knew her face was as clear as if she were looking at another living being. Her trembling hand moved over her face; she felt it, and saw it at the same time. Her eyes were bright, dark and alive.

I watched Gadreel's arms slowly drop away from hers and fold around her waist. I heard his entreaty. "Permit me, Eve, please. I have dreamed of this. Tell me what you see in the mirror. Spend this moment with me; let me hear your sweet, low voice. Let us be atoned."

She could not speak. This passionate creature, this gifted artisan who spurned finery for himself, had created for her a gift the world had never imagined. I heard her sigh a single word; "Cherished".

I watched her lean back, stretch her chin and neck, and tilt her head back into his chest. She held the mirror high above them. Beneath the emerging stars, in the flickering lights of the lamps, I watched and listened as she healed them both.

"I see that my mouth is soft, Gadreel, with a fullness that I like." 

He pulled one arm tighter around her waist while he raised the other across her breasts, to slowly caress her shoulder. In the mirror, she must have seen that his eyes were closed.

"More," he said.

"My skin is like the senna plant. It is the color of the pods before they are fully ripe; it is brown, but it has the gold of the senna flower and the green of the leaf in its color."

"Yes."

"My cheeks are high in my face, and wide beneath my eyes. My face is smooth, like a pebble from the river bed."

He bent his head to her hair and sighed.

"My chin is shaped like a bird's egg and my jaw is firm, but not heavy."

"No, not heavy at all." He pulled her tighter against him and began to sway her gently, slowly.

"My nose is straight and high; my nostrils are fine, they curve like bird wings rising into the air."

"They are beautiful."

"My eyes are shaped like almonds. They are dark as night. They are shining."

He lifted his head. In the mirror, their eyes met and held for one moment; then he pulled her around to face his hunger, to see the slackness in his mouth just before he plunged it down upon hers. He pressed her to him with one hand on her back, the other against her buttocks. I watched him adjust his stance and press himself against her, against her body and against her mouth. She melted into him, weak beneath his crushing strength and his need for her. In that moment, for them, there was nothing else.

He folded her to his chest in silence when he had stopped kissing her. She clung to him, holding the mirror limply at her side. I knew she was evading the awful guilt that would come, holding instead to the scent and solid feel of his body. They had achieved their atonement; she was blissful again, at long, long last.

"Eve, you must go to the dinner," he told her, eventually. "You will be missed."

Reluctantly, she came back to the world. "You won't come?"

"No. I will be alone, thinking of you." He lifted her chin and smiled down into her face. "I will see you again." And then he left, the way he had come; still sounding like he meant business. He threw me one meaningful look as he strode past me. He was hers; I understood. It was the bargain we had struck when I persuaded him to argue for coming here, when all the Watchers had met to decide. I would not break our agreement. I only wanted to watch.

And I did watch her for a while, as she sat inside with Gadreel's gift in her lap, vacantly staring at her lost-looking face. Then I left her, to await her presence at the dinner party on the nearby roof.

The musicians were there, including a harpist who was playing a light and bouncy sound that buoyed up the laughter and chatter of the guests. The servants had almost finished bringing up the platters of food. The low tables were full of meats, breads, and fruits. There were pots of cooked leeks, lentils, and mashed turnip, and plates of cool watercress, lettuce, and beets. She came quietly among us, and Shemyaza, sensing her mood, solicitously selected a small amount of each meat and handed her the plate of samples, explaining what they were. There was cooked pigeon, goose, goat, mutton, beef and gazelle. Another Bene Elohim joined them both, lowering himself easily onto a cushion beside her, effortlessly balancing his wine cup. I sat nearby, where I could hear them and watch Awan at the same time. Shemyaza introduced our brother.

"This is Penemue, Eve. He is busy in the kitchen most days, or gathering herbs from the fields. He knows them all, the bitter and the sweet." He was a gentle creature, slim and lightly built with graceful hands and long limbs. His fine, golden hair fell to his shoulders, reflecting the light of the lamps around him. His eyes were blue, but not the gray-blue of Shemyaza's; his were the blue of a cloudless summer sky, the flower of the flax grass. He was fascinating and strange to her, and she found it hard not to stare.

Penemue was sensitive, and knew how to draw her out. "What do you think of the lamb? I cooked it in a pot with salt, water, beer and onions and with coriander, cumin, and garlic. I hope you like it," he added, shyly.

"It is wonderful. In my village, it is the women who work in the kitchens. Would you teach me the recipe to take back to them? The whole village would enjoy this. But of course, we have no sheep. Abel was our shepherd, but when... We don't know how to care for them."

"Sheep and goats are easy to raise, they will find the forage they need and they do not require as much water as cattle. You have some oxen for plowing, do you not? But you do not raise cattle for milk or meat? Is water a problem?" He listened intently, nodding quickly as she described the trials of her village and the limitations of their lands. He beckoned to Araziel.

As they talked, she began to see how it was that Cain's people were so well cared for. Araziel explained the local geography, and how the land was used. As they talked, another joined them and then another, and soon her head was swimming with the use of plants for medicines, the seasons for the birthing of the herds, how to know the best time to spread their dung on the grain fields, why it was best to plant lentils in a field the year after harvesting grain from it, the signs to look for when deciding where to dig a well, the ways to forecast the coming of the rains, what stars will be where to tell you, and the shape of the moon when the greatest harvests can be gathered. Barâqîjâl knew the stars, Araziel knew the ways of the Earth, Penemue knew the nutritious properties of plants, Êzêqêêl could read the weather. Each of them offered their knowledge freely.

Shemyaza said very little, and I said nothing at all, but we both watched as her appreciation of our brethren grew. The music grew louder as more beer and wine was consumed, and soon Eve's womenfolk drew her teachers away to dance. Awan had unbraided her flowing red hair because I loved it so; flashing her dark eyes at me, she leapt up to shake her hips before my face. Oh, the joy of her! Cain leapt up to dance with her, to spin her around and drive her. Awan clapped in time to the band's rousing beat, laughing and sinuously weaving through the jubilant throng as he pursued her. I watched, smiling. She did it for me.

Close by, Eve and Shemyaza were talking below the din. "There are two hundred of us, Eve, but none so honored as us few here tonight. What do you think of our efforts, so far?" he asked her.

"You have given much. I see the children are happy, and the land produces more than I could have thought possible. What is it you ask in return, Shemyaza?"

"The love of the women." He answered her directly. Given her earlier state, I wasn't sure it was the right moment but he had set the course. I said nothing. 

"You have no right to that."

"Not unless it is freely given, no. But if we ask, and it is given without fear, if we accept refusal and do not threaten reprisal, then where is the harm?"

"You lure them from their menfolk." Ah, she seeks to be persuaded, perhaps. But to do so would bring recriminations later. He saw it, and stayed his course.

"And I say again, we have no right where it is not freely given. But if we love a man's wife and he does not object, and his wife is content, then who is harmed? Our love making is not as men do it. We honor women's bodies, Eve. Their pleasure is the highest joy to us. Just the scent of a woman arouses us."

It was the truth, and she knew it. For a moment her eyes were far away. I knew she was remembering Gadreel's closed eyes as he held her, the serene pleasure on his face. I knew she understood; once again, I heard her utter the whispered word, "Cherished". 

"But surely not all the men permit it? Are there no husbands who refuse?" So close, Shemyaza, so close.

Shemyaza shrugged. "Yes, but do they love their wives? I mean, truly love them? Are you in favor of a man possessing his woman, Eve? In the way he owns his cattle? Does your heart not demand love?"

"When He expelled us from the Garden, God said that men were masters over their women. It is not for a woman to say what is right or wrong, or to demand love."

"So you would refuse the caress of one who loves you, if one who does not love you will not permit it? You would actually give up the love for which you were created? Unless I mistook your scent when you first arrived, I think you would accept." Oh no, too hard, Shemyaza.

"You speak like the serpent, and you don't know what I accepted tonight, or for what reason!"

"It is true, I do not know what reason you had for responding to him, but I know there is no deceit in what I say. If he is who I think he is, and he is conspicuous by his absence tonight, then I am glad for you both because you have both suffered greatly. I can tell you there was no deceit in his feelings for you, either. Forgive me if I challenge you so hard, but we have considered this well and we can find nothing right in refusing love. We have given up much for our belief."

I would not have put it to her so, would not have challenged her so directly. She had not asked for us to leave the heavens for the love of her daughters. Or the love of her. Regretfully I watched her wander away alone to consider the right and wrong of the bliss she had taken in Gadreel's arms, while Shemyaza got up to dance with the delicious, writhing mass of female flesh.

HIGH SOCIETY: EVE DECIDES

I'm not sure when Mother left the dinner party. I think perhaps she was tired after the journey or maybe the party was too much for her. After all, as the first lady of the city I threw a party most nights, but she had never been in society before. And she had been talking business with the Bene Elohim all night. So I sent a maidservant to check on her when I realized she had gone, and ordered more beer and wine to be brought to the rooftop. As far as I was concerned, the night was still young!

Shemyaza and Cain danced with me, Cain in front and Shemyaza behind. Oh and I knew, didn't I, that was his favorite position! Ha! Cain laughed as he watched Shemyaza's hands come around and cup my jiggling breasts and bounce them higher in front of his eyes. I slithered up and down between them, rubbing their penises with my body. I loved the lust in my husband's eyes when I teased him! And I know Azazel noticed. That pleased me even more.

In a corner, Azazel was doing what he loved best, seducing the women. He had brought cosmetics and bags of trinkets for them and was gathering the women around him on the piles of cushions. When we got tired, we joined them. The band took a break as the rest of the dancers flopped down on the cushions. A harpist took over, and we settled down for some fun.

"No, no! You should let me do this, now hold still!" Baraka was giggling as Azazel leaned over her, cradling her head in his lap. He had a tiny curved wooden stick in his hand. "This is kohl. Hold still and I will make your eyes beautiful. Not only that, but when you wear this you will be protected from flies and the diseases they can bring to your eyes. Yes! It's true! Flies hate kohl. And the sun will bother you less because kohl is dark, you see. There now. How does she look?"

"Ooh, Baraka that is beautiful! Your eyes are enchanting! You should kiss Azazel, just turn your head a little and give him an enchanted kiss!"

The women leaned over them both, laughing and cat calling as she turned her head in his lap and quickly kissed the bulge under his skirt.

"Bring it out, Azazel, make her pay full price!" "I'll pay you in full, Azazel, if you paint me next!"

Baraka licked her lips salaciously as Azazel gave her a slow, deliberate smile, teasingly drawing his skirt aside to show her his penis and testicles.

"You kiss the python head now, Baraka! Show him your gratitude!" "Pay him in full, Baraka, go on!"

There were more shouts and laughter as Baraka reached up to take his semi-flaccid penis in her hand and planted her soft lips on the skin enfolded tip.

"Thank you Baraka, now she gets a necklace. Here, gold and cornelian beads for my beautiful Baraka. Now the next one will have a little more to kiss. Who will put her head on my thigh for painting next?" Azazel nonchalantly wiped his little kohl applicator on a cloth and dipped it into his leather kohl bottle. He sat exposed, ready, and more than willing for the next customer.

They lined up; each woman kissed his penis and receiving a trinket after Azazel had outlined her eyes. Shemyaza came and sat beside him, and took up the plate on which Azazel had combined goose fat and red ochre.

"Line up here for lip paint! If you want to kiss my python you have to do it with red lips, I only want painted lips on my snake!"

Immediately there were two lines, but they weren't very well organized. Both Azazel and Shemyaza were quickly brought to full erections and the kissing turned to prolonged sucking and moaning as my womenfolk took their turn at bobbing their heads up and down on their shafts. Soon the cosmetics were forgotten and some of the other Bene Elohim were getting sucked for free.

Then one of the women was lifted to her hands and knees, eyes and legs wide while Araziel mounted her and began to fuck her the way the dogs do it in the streets. I watched her mouth open in a big, red lipped, silent 'Oh!' as he enjoyed her. Another had beaded trinkets pushed into her anus while Barâqîjâl and Êzêqêêl suspended her over Penemue's thrusting cock, all the while sucking and pulling on her bouncing nipples. Her legs were outstretched stiffly in their tight grip, her face a grimace somewhere between pain and pleasure as she was vigorously impaled. 

Some women had their vaginas licked by a Bene Elohim while they sucked on another's penis, he in turn with his face buried in the spreading wet lips of another woman. One woman lay on her back on a low table, her ankles held high and apart by a Bene Elohim while he knelt at her opening and took her deeply. Another of the women swept away what was left of the plates and cups, climbed up, and lowered herself onto the moaning woman's face. She rubbed her slit on her face, while she held her full breasts up to the delighted, pumping Bene Elohim before her. While I lay on my side and watched the fun, Cain curved around my back and lazily fingered my vagina with one hand while he squeezed my breasts with the other. I hiked my dress, lifted my leg and exposed myself for him and anyone else who wanted to see. 




The Benefit of a Storm



A dark and heavy cloud had hovered for days, although patches of sunlight appeared spontaneously through the short breaks. A pile of washing begging for me to attend can wait for now. What the hell it's Saturday, time for a coffee and read up on what's news.... 

I glance at the wall clock, and surprise myself by seeing that the morning is almost over, the dark skies disguising the time. Hell! I'd better get a move on or I won't get my housework done by this time next week.

Gathering up my dirty washing, I drop a load into the machine and a crack of thunder shakes the house, followed by several more. It seems that the storm has finally broken. A flash of lightning casts eerie shadows on the walls and then the heavens open up with a torrent of heavy rain.

I add detergent and press start. The washing machine continues on its merry way. I get out the vacuum and start in the lounge, moving furniture aside as I go.

A loud boom of thunder followed closely by lightning takes out my power leaving me with a full wash and no lights.... . I reset my circuit breaker; I had power, but the storm had damaged my washing machine.

Grabbing my torch, I clamor for the local directory and find the number for the nearest repairman. Ringing the number a recorded message said that they were extremely busy and to leave a brief message and they would attend as soon as possible and apologized for the inconvenience. 

Leaving my message I quickly tidied up and hopped into a hot soaking bath. Laying there I drifted off into a fantasy. It had been three years since that rotten mongrel of a boyfriend had left me. The bastard, he even had the front to fuck me just before he left. God, I miss his fucking.

I look at my body lying there, not bad for sixty three I thought. My tits not quite firm, but not as saggy as the bitch he left me for. I touch a nipple and instantly it arouses itself, my hand gently squeezes the firmness. I feel so good with myself.

Taking a sip from my wine glass I lay back, I'm feeling rather sexy, my pussy poking its hairy bush through the water, my breasts excited by my touch. My index finger reaches downward feeling for my already stimulated clitoris and long soft strokes arch my back and curl up my toes to a very satisfying orgasm.

I lay there for the best part of an hour, the water becoming a little cold. Drying off I reach for my housecoat and in doing so, hear a knock on the front door. Hurriedly I rush to open it, neglecting to fasten my gown. 

"Hello, my name's Terry I'm here to look at your washing machine"

I introduce myself as Jean, making comment about the weather as we walk through to the kitchen. 

"Like a coffee?" 

"Love one thanks" 

Sitting drinking our coffees I notice Terry being a little restless, glancing at me and then looking away. 

Strange? I thought.

I gathered the cups and in doing so, not realizing my gown wasn't fastened, my breast fell out complete and was exposed to Terry's staring eyes. Our faces, both turning crimson, then we burst out in spontaneous laughter.

Terry stood up to check the washing machine, his trousers held back a very thick stiffy. My fanny flooded down my legs.

"I'll just get my tools, don't think it will be much, these models have a surge protection built in." 

Just like me I thought. 

"There you are not much to it, I won't even charge you, seeing as you put on the coffee and show." 

We both laughed lightheartedly, he then picked up his tools and paperwork and bid farewell....... .

Unbeknown to Terry, he had mistakenly picked up Jean's front door key with his paperwork. Several calls later he noticed the key on his seat and realized what must have happened. 

It was nearing ten o'clock when he got back to Jean's. The place was in darkness apart from the soft glow of a bedside lamp. 

He tapped on the door, no response, he tapped once again, still no response. He threw caution to the wind and inserted the key, opening the door, softly calling to Jean, so as not to alarm her. 

As he went to place the key onto the telephone table he glanced into Jean's room, she lay spread out, one leg hanging off the side of her bed. She looked so, so horny. 

Terry dropped his trousers, rubbed his thickening love pole and gently placed it at Jean's mouth. Her lips murmured, and opened slightly allowing entrance of his reddened manhood. Jean's tongue licked on it as she softly suckled it. Still she slept on.

He reached out, feeling for her breasts. He'd wanted to do this ever since she had first carelessly allowed him a view. Her near firmness was not unlike many of the girls half Jean's age. He lowered his lips to her nipples and sucked her delicacies. Her breath quickened.

He drew back the covers, exposing her perfect naked body. His tongue sought out her sweetness and tasted her beautiful nectar. He positioned himself between her thighs and with prick in hand rubbed Jean's pussy folds. Her torso rocked in motion to his strokes. Still she slept on.

Releasing his hand he pushed forward slowly, absorbing every sensation that this delicious woman had to give. His pace hastened, long strokes, pulling out completely each time and then spearing inward impaling this defenseless woman with each thrust. Mercilessly ravaging her as she lay still sleeping. Terry's balls tightened, veins on his glistening prick rose, up filled with a torrent of built up spunk lust and spurt outward, flooding Jean's depths. 

Thoroughly spent, Terry raised himself off her, stood at the side of the bed, saw Jean still sleeping and pushes his knob into her mouth. Jean instinctively closed her lips around it and licks ...the end

He softly kisses her lips and quietly exits as he "came."

He whispered on the way out, "I am coming back for more when you are awake my lovely."