9 comments/ 19234 views/ 6 favorites Washing the Goddesses Hair By: Stultus Thanks to my Editors - Gandalf4217 & Fuzzywuzzy It was nearly 3AM in the morning, and from the sound of the fighting going on next door, I wouldn't be getting any sleep soon, so I got out of bed, got dressed and went back downstairs to the piano in the small bar area. If the past was any experience, I'd find out what was going on quite soon enough. Sure enough ten minutes later, she came downstairs into the semi-darkened empty bar where I was playing, pulled up a bar stool next to the piano and laid her forehead right against the top. "Déjà vu, all over again... isn't it". I laughed weakly and gave her a wane smile, and said "Well, I guess it's good that if you have to tell your troubles to the piano player, there's an advantage to at least choosing a piano player that already knows your name and most of the problems. A real time saver, it is that way!" I stopped my playing, I was just running random chords trying to pick out a new melody anyway, and added softly, "It's all over now for good this time, isn't it Elizabeth?" She kept her head down on the piano and didn't look up, but managed a "Yes, I really think it is this time". We said nothing more to each other for a good long while, and I softly played for her a few old show tunes that she had once requested of me a long ago. Long, well not quite, seems it was only last month on that cruise from Athens, but let me try and explain the story from its very beginning. My name is Saul, but most of my music friends call me Smiley. I'd been in the music business for nearly 25 years (I had made my first recording on an already obsolete shellac 78-rpm record in 1961 at the age of 17) mostly playing piano or keyboards, and had gotten my start as a studio or session musician for other artists as the rock and roll explosion of the 1960's took off. I had developed a good reputation of being able to learn a song in just one take and play exactly what the record's producer was looking for (usually as the drug addled band member I had replacing looked on). My name became known in session circles and I was in constant demand in the recording studio and even occasionally as a band member replacement or backup musician for large touring bands and I worked steadily into the 1ate 1970's. As the stadium rock era grew, the demand for computer electronics and synthesizers grew, and there became less work for old piano dogs like me. I managed enough odd day jobs doing over-dubs for 2nd rate and worse bands that didn't rate the normal full production package to keep the food on my table and keep up the payments on the seaside house I'd bought in Marin County when times had been good. I also played with several Bay Area retro "Dinosaur" bands full of "B- Team" guys just like me enough to keep the fun alive and get an occasional decent paycheck, but as the 1980's began I found myself working a little bit less each year and sometimes had to teach music part-time to keep all my financial wheels steady on the road. That was my biggest blessing that I had been relatively smart with my money and had put away nearly half of what I had ever earned when times were good and the paychecks nice and fat. The problem was my investment wasn't paying off particularly well yet. For 20 years, I had been buying up the music rights for long forgotten bands, one-hit wonders, and other relics of vintage music history that no one seemed to care about. Certainly the major record companies didn't seem to, and rarely seemed to care about repurchased lapsed rights to talent they considered had little if any reissue value. I had seen the future, CD's, and thought someday if they became cheap enough to produce, recording fanatics would want a modern "newly remastered" CD reissue rather than rely on an increasing rare slab of worn vinyl or the scratchy original shellac. Maybe someday, but for now I could still afford to wait for my ship to someday sail in. It sailed in sooner than I expected! Well, not that ship, but another nearly as good. In the middle of the night one early summer's day in 1982, I got an overseas call from an old friend Randy in the UK music business (naturally he'd forgotten about the +10 hour time difference from Greece to California). He had been mostly working as an Agent these days, and he had been landed a plum job opportunity that required at least "B+" grade talent, but was in a jam. One of the major Aegean cruise lines had contracted for piano player to handle a main lounge show every night. He had contracted for an artist to handle the gig with 3 Gold records to his credit from the 1970's, but was definitely on a steep track downwards nowadays. The guy had disappeared with the travel money advance and hooked up again with his old heroin fixer, and was now very much out of commission. Randy needed someone on a flight to Athens "yesterday" and if I would just say "yes" my plane ticket would be waiting for me at the airport, and I would get the star treatment for a few months. Sounded like fun to me, there was just one catch. I couldn't sing, nearly not a lick. Sort of like Grace Slick, I only have a musical range of about three notes, but instead of being able to shatter glass, it was more like the rumble of granite rubbing together. I could manage a bass backup for a vocalist without embarrassing myself, but I was no singer. That was why I had never released a record with my name on it since that one side on 78 shellac in 1961. Randy thought fast and said he knew of a girl that was available to accompany me. "Edna would be perfect! She's kind of a 'throwback', like you - she's got a fetish for "Hot Dance" blues and jazz music from the 1920's and 1930's." Wow, that did sound like my kind of singer. I agreed to a more than fair compensation deal and we reviewed the travel arrangements. I turned off the gas and electricity, wrote a check to my mortgage banker that nearly emptied my account, but would keep my bills paid while I was gone, made a few calls to let folks know I was out-of-town, and then started to pack. I needed one bag of "performance" clothes, including formal dress for dinner, some odd casual pieces and I stuffed my largest suitcase with vinyl. Old, rare nearly one of a kind stuff that I knew, loved and could play by ear or by heart and that she just might have the inclination to sing. Every one, reissues of old Depression era 78's when Jazz, Blues and Country sounds intermixed into the hottest music of the pre-Big Band era. Loaded for bear (and Edna) I caught my flights and sixteen hours later was sitting in the cruise line main office in Athens, waiting for Edna so we could officially sign in as part of the 'talent staff' for the cruise. With a name like Edna, I was fully expecting a mature woman 20 years my senior. Not a problem for me as long as she had the pipes for the job, but I was surprised to discover that "Edna the Throwback" was a young tasty morsel not yet out of her 20's (28, I later found out - almost 10 years younger than me!). We exchanged greetings, signed our paperwork and got escorted to the ship's Talent Coordinator, our boss for the gig, who gave us our work schedule (2 shows daily), and then showed us around a bit and got us placed into our staterooms. Jet lagged or not, we got to work nearly right away, I grabbed Edna from her stateroom (next to mine both equally decent) and we went straight to the lounge to see what kind of act we could scrape together at nearly the last minute. We had less than 24 hours until our first show and we had no idea what we were going to do. Since Edna was going to be our voice and main attraction, I started by seeing what was in her repertoire. What wasn't! She knew all of the standard Show Tunes and could do any Cole Porter or Gershwin number in her sleep. We decided to keep our lunchtime show light and airy and do that sort of Broadway and musical show tune stuff then. We scribbled out a decent set list of 20 songs we knew we could both do 'cold' tomorrow and made out a secondary list of another 30 odd songs that we could definitely also do, but a practice or two beforehand would be beneficial for the tricky parts. We then settled down to the main problem, the evening show. Actually, we were not the "Main" evening show really; there was a Paris/Vegas style variety act with a cast of dozens that operated in the main showcase theater next door. Our lounge might seat 100 or so, if folks were friendly. We banged around a few ideas and started to develop the kernel of some ideas. Neither of us were crazy about doing modern pop covers, and even the thought of doing older 60's covers wasn't terribly appealing either. This was supposed be "fun" for us, and the thought of singing even the classic songs of the Beatles for three months straight had zero appeal. Torch songs? Maybe occasionally, but that wasn't much fun for her, she did too much of that at the clubs and lounges back home. That left us with retro; stuff so old and obscure that we could maybe make it sound new. She loved Depression-era "hot dance", and I knew quite a lot of that sort of material from the original 78's (and had some with me on LP as reissues). I grabbed her by the hand and we ran back to my cabin and grabbed my suitcase of vinyl and commandeered the Disco room for the next 8 straight hours going album by album picking out songs we both knew (some of them her favorites) and we worked out an evening set list that the likes had not been heard of since Fats Waller died in 1943. We were exhausted, but happy, and with one final stop at the costume shop (every cruise ship has one) we were ready for our grand debut! With a little rest finally, we did "ok" for our luncheon debut of Show tune favorites and got nice applause. Having had no time to practice together we did not yet fit together like a pair of gloves, but no one but another professional would have noticed where we both had screwed up in places. We grabbed some lunch, and managed a few private hours in our lounge and practiced what we felt might be our rough spots in our program, and feeling encouraged we even managed to grab a few hours sleep (separately) before our Main Act began at 8PM, and after grabbing a few extra last second props as we could find them. When we had started to plan for this show, I had asked Edna one simple question, if she could have been any singer in the past - who would she have been? Her answer floored me, "A twisted sick combination of Annette Hanshaw and Victoria Spivey", she replied. OMG, what had Randy unleashed on me? The sheer insanity of the possible combination of the greatest female songbird (Hanshaw) of the 1920's combined with the wailing wicked whorehouse blues sounds of Spivey set my head spinning. But there were possibilities here, oh yes! As the stage lights came up on up, our audience (perhaps 20 folks) were initially surprised to see us, or rather how we were dressed. The stage (to the best of our limited time and available stage set items available in storage) looked like everyone had gone back in time and back into old-time New Orleans "Storyville". I was the whorehouse piano player, and Edna was just one of the girls who was there to entertain folks before conducting "business upstairs". We started right off with a bang, an old favorite Fats Waller tune "Ain't Misbehavin'" that we could both do in our sleep, and which certainly had been played in old Storyville, and at the end of each song Edna and I exchanged suggestive banter. We continued without a break or noticeable pause between songs, without pausing for applause. Our songs and our banter got hotter and wilder. Our audience was initially puzzled, but became more and more entertained. This was something "new" and not the comfortable retreads of popular cover songs they were expecting. These were cover songs all right, but from their grandparent's era, instead, spiced up and presented as hot as we could cook it. Edna was the best pure Blues/Jazz singer I had ever heard! By the time our show ended at 10:15 (we had run a little over our time to no ones complaint), there wasn't a seat left in our lounge (and darn little standing room either). Amid cries for an encore, we tried an impromptu version of Victoria Spivey's & Lonnie Johnsons "Black Snake Moan" (butchering it horribly, but no one noticed - we got it right the next day and it became our show stopping closer for the rest of the season.) We left to a full standing ovation. Our boss the Talent Coordinator was confused (didn't understand our act at all) but liked the crowd reception we received and so our jobs were safe. He also promised to get us a prop painter to do things up a bit better for our next shows, which happened first thing the next day. Each show just seem to get better, and by our 4th night at sea on this first cruise (these were 7 day cruises of the Aegean hitting most of the popular islands) we were considered the "must see act" of the ship and had standing room only even for our tame luncheon show. We played some more LP's on a borrowed crewman's old portable player in my cabin nearly every morning before our lunch show and added at least a solid new song or two to try out each day. Afternoons we rehearsed songs and our salacious and witty cross banter. Soon we had a working play list of nearly 100 vintage songs, spiced up and ready for perversion at our eager hands. By the end of that first cruise, I knew I was falling in love with Edna, and by the end of the second week I could barely stand the times that I was not together with her in the same room, beside her. One night, just after the end of our show (now usually close to 11PM), we were taking our evening deck stroll to wind down before bedtime and without thinking or comment took her hand in mine. She did not object. Stopped a few moments later at the stern to look out on the Aegean ocean in its moonlit star filled beauty our lips somehow accidentally bumped and before I could help myself, I was kissing her. I pulled back a little disconcerted, the last thing I wanted to do was upset our work relationship and make her feel uncomfortable being with me. She pulled me back close and with the moon in her eyes smiled, and said "Well it's about time, I was wondering how many real "suggestions" I was going to have to make in our act before you got the hint. Shut your mouth now "Big Daddy" (my stage name in our act) and come up with me to my room upstairs... we've got some 'business' to conduct". Oh, how we did! Neither of us ever slept alone again the rest of that cruise, and we made a deal to turn in our two cabins for a slightly larger one (with a balcony! I knew then that management loved our act and wanted to keep us happy). On the last cruise of our summer contract, we asked the Ships Captain to marry us, and it was the happiest day of our lives together. We happily did the next years Summer and soon even the Winter cruise schedule, spending the remaining six months of the year at my (now our) home near San Francisco. We started trying our act at home, at small Bay Area clubs and soon built a slowly growing but rabid fan base of weirdos, misfits, shellac addicts, and 'musical contrarians' and met many old (and new) lovers of 78-era recordings. Our play list eventually reached about 1000 songs and we could now do shows for a week straight without a song ever being repeated. Our cruise pay, doubled and yet doubled again, and we attracted numerous European repeat customers who would only book their cruise if it was confirmed that "Edna and Smiley" were going to be performing. We were doing great financially, and Edna wholeheartedly agreed with my unconventional "retirement plan" and our library of song "Rights" steadily grew. Edna seemed a little weak and tired for the start of our Cruise season in the summer of 1986, but neither of us though much about it and thought the sun and sea would restore a little life to her, and it did, for a just a little while, but she seemed to get continuously worse. The ships doctor seemed to think it was urinary tract related (she had a recent kidney stone attack a few months back), but his limited on-board equipment didn't show anything that seemed serious, Edna seemed to get continuously worse and was now often in severe abdominal pain, the severity of which she hid from me, and took pain pills constantly to keep the show going. If I had realized just how bad the pain she was in was, I would quit for the season entirely and forced her to go home or into an Athens hospital. Instead we stayed right to the end and she sat for her final performances looking so obviously in discomfort that it was obvious to everyone that she was very sick. We left as flew home as fast as we could but the damage was already done, she was in final renal failure with internal infections that were devouring everything from her kidneys to her urethra. She died by painful inches in bed at our home, there was nothing the doctors could do for her. At her request, her ashes were scattered on the beach by our back door. It was her favorite place to sit and think by herself and she especially didn't want her ashes decorating my fireplace mantle where I could just sit and brood looking at them for the rest of my life. My loving wife knew me oh, so well. I told Randy that my cruising days were done, but he had a slightly surprising alternative offer to make. Would I consider just performing "Piano Lounge" for a season? Less work (less money, but not much so), I wouldn't have to sing and could just play sad piano songs at 2AM in the morning for the insomniacs and the broken hearted crowd. I laughed and laughed at the thought of this and didn't quite say no (or yes for that matter) and received my plane tickets to go a week later. Since I had never bothered to call and cancel, I somehow found myself on my annual flight to Greece for the start of the summer of 1987. The new job wasn't nearly as taxing, and the Cruise Line management was delight to see my return (and were genuinely sad for our loss - they had even sent flowers for her memorial service). They let me set my own hours, but asked if I could play from at least 11AM until 2AM every evening. I resisted the urge to throw myself overboard that first night as everything I saw, touched or did seemed to remind me of Edna; where we had met and fallen in love, but I forced myself into the new work routine and I found myself enjoying the freedom of just playing whatever I wished, when I wished, and soon was nearly a constant sight at all hours of the day or night in the piano bar. My music became a mirror of my moods, surrounded by delighted little old ladies from London, Berlin or Paris, I could play old big band favorites or classical works. For folks of my generation I'd bang out pop songs without limit (often giving them little odd jazzy twists), and for the growing number of gay and lesbian guests ("Rainbow Cruises" were now starting to be en vogue) I could perform show tune standards or soothing piano Jazz. Word spread that my late night playing was "different" I began to attract an eclectic crowd of admiring listeners. Late at night was when I missed Edna the most, and I usually played the blues, letting my piano do my mourning for me. I even began for the first time to start composing new material of my own. It didn't come easily, but for the first time in my musical career I felt like I had songs inside me yearning to be written. A voice, all of my own that was waiting to be expressed and by the end of the season I had at least five songs I was not ashamed to play in public, and more that I could see hints of waiting to be released from my subconscious. I left that September a somewhat happier man ready to go on with life, and the Cruise management was happy to continue my old two seasons a year, Summer and Winter work schedule. This provided both financial security and emotional comfort, and I was happy to accept this arrangement. Washing the Goddesses Hair As I worked these cruises I found myself spending much more time with the ship's officers and crew and started to make some friends. In the four years I had sailed with Edna we had been so absorbed with each other that we had not socialized especially much with others, making few close friends. I made especially close friends with a young cheerful 2nd Officer named Nereus, who came from a small island near Rhodes that I couldn't find on any of the first three maps I looked for it on. He taught me enough workable Greek that I wasn't a complete laughing stock when I spoke, and encouraged me to spend a day or two visiting his island after my current season was done, before flying home. He gave me names and addresses of family who would "make me feel at home" and I promised to do so. His uncle ran the islands only tourist hotel and there was a boat that went every other day between there and Rhodes. I promised I would indeed go for a visit. I did, and enjoyed every second of my stay (only a far too brief two days) and was made to feel just like a member of the family. Word had preceded me that I was not entirely an ugly ill-tempered brute with poor table manners, and a welcome party was staged for me that I think featured every suitable unmarried woman on the island. There were two good sized villages on the island; the larger one with the harbor and tourist hotel at the north end of the island. I kept my Greek at a minimum to avoid accidentally committing to any marriage proposals, but the feminine scenery was truly magnificent. At least half of the women would not have disgraced any Paris or Milan fashion runway, and the fact that topless (and even nude sunbathing) was an unremarkable common event on every beach only enhanced the appeal of the lovelies that I met. I vowed to return at least twice a year from now on, usually stayed now for a week or so at a time before and at the end of each Season of cruises. Each visit it became more difficult for me to leave and I recommended the island (and its jovial hotelier) to every troubled young lady or couple that ever graced my piano at 4AM unable to sleep due to relationship problems. From what I could tell, Dr. Saul's cure was nearly 100% fully effective, but it was also an addictive cure, "Uncle Hilarion's" hotel was becoming more popular every visit and sometimes alas, I couldn't get my favorite room, the upstairs far NW corner, with it's perfect view of long unspoiled beaches and fantastic sunsets. The NE corner room next door, had the best view of the harbor and was nominally considered "the best" in the hotel, but I preferred my more peaceful view (and the far from irregular occurrence) of nicely bronzed or starting to tan bare breasts and asses that walked by or sunbathed within view of my appreciative eyes. There were said to be a few remaining classical period Greek ruins on the island but I never seemed to manage to find the time to go looking for them. I did mention that there seemed to be no nudity taboo on this island, and the attitude towards casual (and even semi-public) sex was scarcely stricter (as long as the girls were 'of appropriate age'). I began to regain my lost sex life, which improved my disposition to no end. As Uncle Hilarion explained to me once in his excellent English while we were talking late one night during my second visit, "We are a friendly happy island that has not known war or any great sadness for many, many generations. The troubles of other lands seldom come to our shores, and even the rule of the Ottomans, and the terribleness of this centuries great wars, never fully became our lamentations to share. Strangers sometimes come to us, but most strangers are like you, great life-long friends that we had not yet met for the first time. Our men have greeted you with open arms and kisses of friendship. Our women apparently with quite open legs and kisses of another kind entirely." We laughed heartily, and embraced, and I think at that moment I truly became part of the "family" and I never referred to Hilarion ever again as anything other than "Uncle", and his loving wife Adelphe became my "Aunt" It was the winter of 1989, when my perfect streak of relationship repair counseling had its first failure. During one of my early December cruises, I was enjoying a rare night of semi-quiet in the piano bar at 4AM, with only a few very quiet listeners in the room when one Elizabeth Barrett slink into the bar and over to my piano, like a madwoman possessed. She looked for a tip jar and couldn't find one (I don't use one, I was being well paid - the highest of any other pianist on any ship of the Cruise Line, and didn't like to act "needy"), so she flung open her handbag and tossed down a Ten Pound note in front of me and said simply "Sad songs, and keep them coming." She then got a big glass of wine and sat down next to me with big sad eyes that looked pretty well teared out, and started to gulp her drink. Sad songs I definitely knew a few of, but I sort of resented her intrusion and abruptness of manner, so I thought to myself that if she wanted sad, then Sad was what she's going to get. For the next half hour or so I played the five saddest songs I knew of... they were the ones I had composed that first year in my mournful early morning hours after my loss of Edna, and these songs were guaranteed when heard all together to make nearly anyone run to throw themselves overboard, or reach for a straight razor or long length of rope. My favorite of this lot "Gray Mists at Dawn" make Billie Holiday's singing of "Gloomy Sunday" sound like a church revival song. At the end she looked up at me with wonder, and said "That was beautiful, what's that song called and who recorded it?" I told her the song names, and that they were my original compositions, and I wasn't quite yet ready to record them. My appraisal of her rose considerably and I took a moment to get a fresh glass of wine myself (and brought a new one for her as well) and started to give her a proper look over. The effort was well worth the time, she was a looker, and maybe even a stunning beauty when her face wasn't all washed out from crying, and looked to be in her mid-late 30's, albeit extremely well preserved and superbly maintained. She had those 'one in a million' perfect set of cheekbones that made other women hate her instantly on sight, and smallish, but very well presented breasts (B-cups?) that even a baggy T-shirt couldn't completely disguise. The butt and legs looked considerably well above average as well, but I hadn't managed a suitable view yet of them while she sat wearing jeans. Emboldened by her smile and a glass of exceptional Northern Italian Cabernet, I volunteered three observations to her. "I don't need three guesses to tell that your problem doesn't involved any vegetables or minerals, so your problem is most definitely "Animal. Also, don't chug down that glass of red, that's some decent stuff that needs to be sipped and appreciated, and speaking of appreciation, if your lover doesn't appreciate you they're obvious bughouse nuts then and you should run screaming in the opposite direction yourself, because you are a pearl amongst a very large herd of swine". I raised my glass to her and she burst out in a new revived torrent of waterworks. Slowly, a sip of wine at a time, I got her to tell me her story. As I suspected she was a former fashion model, now retired to working on the other side of the camera as a Photography Editor for a famous international women's fashion magazine. She was American by birth, but had spent most of her modeling career in Europe, and now lived in London close to her magazines offices in Chelsea, but often still traveled. This particular trip for her was to manage a ship-board photo shoot of some swimwear and poolside loungewear that would be featured in the magazine later this coming summer (Fashion always works about 6 months in advance, in the wintertime they are planning summer, and vice versa). Her "lover", a much younger mid-20 something female model, was incorrigibly unfaithful to her and paraded her other lovers shamelessly before Elizabeth. This particular evening, Elizabeth had phoned back home to London to find that her lover (Meg) was having a wild lesbian orgy in their flat (and in Elizabeth's bed) and had made innumerable unkind and cutting remarks about the all of the delicious "younger and fresher cunt" she was getting. Situation normal for their relationship, it seemed. Meg was constantly chasing and bedding girls of her own age in an endless cycle of non-stop partying, while Elizabeth desperately tried to hold the relationship together even by a thread, all the while her lover was rubbed her infidelities shameless into Elizabeth's face. I was frankly dismayed and horrified at this behavior, and at her willingness to continue to forgive and accept this continued treatment. Why hadn't she thrown the "ungrateful bitch out long ago?" Elizabeth had no answer. We refilled our wine glasses another two times that early morning and talked until early breakfast was ready. I told her of my own recent loss and unhappiness and we became willing partners in misery. I offered my elbow to her, which she accepted and I escorted her to breakfast. She declined my offer of an escort to her room and we parted with a brief hug, but no peck on the check. It was no surprise to find that she again joined me the next night by the piano when I started at about 10PM after dinner. The bar was very crowded that night and I had several well-wishers and saw an old acquaintance or two (including a woman that seemed quite inclined to accept any offer of intimate companionship I might care to make). Elizabeth gave me a weak smile and settled into a large comfy chair in a corner and settled into doing some irregular writing into a large spiral notebook in her lap, often with long pauses where she stared into the ceiling seeming lost for words or inspiration. By about 4AM we were nearly alone, my amorous admirer had long since settled for a lesser (but more obtainable) piece of dessert. We had not managed to speak a word together until then, and she moved over and greeted with a refill of my wine glasses (along with one for herself) and asked me to play my songs through for her again. "Are you sure?" I asked, she seemed fairly upbeat in mood at the moment and my new songs were a bit depressing. She was VERY sure. "Play it Saul; you played it for her now play it again for me". A woman who loved Bogart! She was now ranking very high indeed in my estimations. I played for them again for her, and she would sometimes have me stop and repeat a certain measure or two for her. She seemed at time to be mouthing some words I could not distinguish and often looked at what she had written in the notebook. Sometimes stopping to violently scratch out some passage and hurriedly writing something new in its place. Under no circumstances would she allow me the slightest peek at what she had written. We spent the pre-dawn hours in this manner until breakfast time, after which she left to take her brief morning nap before the start of her photograph duties later that morning. This became our daily schedule for the remaining 4 days of this cruise. She would sometimes take my hand gently now, give me an occasional hug and a "goodnight" peck on the check after breakfast. The afternoon of our scheduled return to Athens later that evening, I arose early (I normally slept days now and stayed up all night) to watch her at work with her photo shoots. On the job, Elizabeth seemed vigorous and supremely confident, always knowing what photography or lighting angles would improve the shoot and how each model should be best presented. She seemed to get along well with her photographer and the lighting and makeup crew. She also displayed a light touch with her models and seemed to know exactly how to get their best efforts. This was a completely different woman than the insecure seemingly beaten down by life woman I was spending my nights with. I remained well out of the way and just observed for several hours and don't think Elizabeth ever once noticed me. During a short break when Elizabeth was talking with the lighting supervisor suggesting a new arrangement to reduce glare for the next poolside shot, I noticed that the photographer, a slightly older woman of about my age with wedding bands on her hand, came over to talk to me in a whisper, asking me if I was "Beth's new friend Saul?" I admitted it, and she chatted with me quietly for a few minutes, praising me highly for "what I had done for Beth on this trip". I confessed, that I had done little other than provide her with a friendly ear to tell her troubles to, and while I might welcome a closer relationship, that decision was not mine to make. I would be just be her friend until she wanted or asked for anything more. The photographer (Jane), said she was a old friend of Elizabeth's and had shot her in her younger modeling days, and that she would add me to her prayers. She kissed me on the cheek and returned to prepare for the last final round of photography. Glowing slightly, I returned to my room for a nap before we docked, feeling strangely odd inside... knew then I had started to fall in love with Elizabeth but that she was trapped in her loveless relationship, seemingly seeing no way to fix it or able to abandon it. I expected Elizabeth to come to the piano bar to say goodbye to me there (I still didn't know her stateroom number) but when disembarking began she did not appear. Eventually I found a ships officer that got the information for me that she and her photography crew had been among the first to disembark. I was heartbroken. Elizabeth had left without saying a goodbye. This hurt me much more that I would have expected and I even felt on the verge of tears when I felt my officer friend Nereus, tapping my hunched shoulders. A woman it seemed had given him a large envelope before disembarking. I looked at it, and it was indeed from Elizabeth. I thanked Nereus who was in some hurry to disembark himself, he had a week of vacation now starting with the very personable companionship of a stewardess (or are they air hostesses now?) from Air France. They were heading home to the island for a bit of sun (lots of bare sun from the sound of it - they had became engaged by the 4th day home, I heard to my delight upon his return later). Inside Elizabeth's package was a short handwritten note, and five pages of carefully hand-written lyric sheets - one for each of my songs. They didn't just fit, they were PERFECT. Whatever muse had inspired her, her composition was flawless, there was not a single word that I would or could change. Together, the completed work became not just "pretty good" or even "great". They were a Masterpiece. I knew now while I had loved Edna with all of my heart, that Elizabeth now seemed to possess some missing part of my soul. As I read her short written note to me, my despair became near overwhelming. "Dearest Saul, I cannot tell you how much the recent hours of your life that you have shared with me have meant, or how deeply I sincerely regret that we can no longer share even the small pieces of our lives together that we have over this last week. I am resolved to not abandon all hope yet for my current relationship but will try and value and incorporate as much of your advice as I can. I miss your selfless companionship already. I'm not sure if we will ever meet again, but I will remember you always - and wish things (many things) had been different. - Beth - I brooded for several weeks in utter misery and at length composed a short reply letter to her address to her London office (she had attached one of her business cards with her address, but the phone number had been scratched out). "To My Dear Troubled Elizabeth, I would be the last man alive to obstruct or interfere in the affairs of any happy couple or to offer them unwelcome advisements, but should you feel in the need to take a vacation for the purpose of repairing a damaged heart or a troubled relationship I can wholeheartedly suggest this certain island hotel where you and yours would be welcomed as family. Should you wish to also renew the acquaintance of a certain old tired piano player, the fine hotelier whose card I have enclosed is well acquitted with my scheduled comings and goings, so I could welcome you or not, as your needs, inclinations and as the particular circumstances might dictate. I wish for you every joy and future happiness, and know that I think of you only with fondness, and no regrets. - Saul - There was nothing more I could or should say. I mailed the letter but received no reply, but I hardly expected any. At the end of the winter season, I spent two weeks on the island visiting Uncle, Aunt and my other friends (even a few lady ones), but she had not phoned Uncle or written, nor did she appear during my stay. My hopes died to an ember, but this seemed to fuel my own muse and I wrote several new songs, slightly more hopeful in mood and emotional tone than my earlier ones over my stay that early spring. When I arrived again at Uncles hotel for a short 10 day stay just before the start of my summer season of cruising I was given some very welcome news of a mixed blessing nature. I had arrived two days earlier than planned (the Cruise Line wanted me in Athens a few days earlier than needed to help consult with them about a proposed refit and redecoration of the ships lounges) and I received the surprise news that Elizabeth and her lover had been there for almost a week, and were scheduled to leave the next day (the day before my original scheduled arrival. Uncle knew of my history with the young lady and when I told him that I would stay with a friend elsewhere, so as not to make my arrival known, Uncle (and most especially Aunt) was most adamant. "I was to stay and under no circumstances leave this hotel." I could have my own normal room, and stay locked in there if I must, but "Stay you will!" was the mantra. I had learned long ago never to cross Aunt, so stay I did, and I learned a few interesting facts that I guessed Aunt and Uncle had been winking about. Elizabeth and Meg were in the last stages of their final breakup. The plans for a romantic getaway for the just the two of them self destructed nearly immediately after their arrival. Meg found no parties welcoming her and no discos to entertain her at night, and soon became thoroughly bored. Nearly immediately she was seducing other hotel guests and even enjoyed a local girl or two. Currently, she was infatuated with a young pair of Turkish tourists and screwing the both of them, together and separately, whenever she got the chance. Elizabeth had finally had enough, she ordered Meg out of her room and out of her life. As she watched Meg leave down the hall with her bags (and entering the room of the Turk couple) she heard my distinctive piano playing downstairs, and came down to join me, once again at 4AM in the morning. It seemed to be our best time together. Once again, I was reunited with Elizabeth in one of her moments of emotional crisis. "Oh God Damn It" Elizabeth finally bellowed, as we had been looking at each other now for nearly 10 minutes without saying a word. "Come give me a hug and a kiss.... You don't know how much I've missed you." We hugged and even kissed on the lips in a fairly unchaste fashion that hinted at, but didn't actually involve, later tongue participation. We moved over to an old comfy sofa and hurriedly told each other "everything" that we had been doing for the last 4 months or so. We were so absorbed in each other that we didn't even notice Meg leaving the hotel sometime around 8AM, with her new Turk lovers in hand as they left for the harbor and the boat to Rhodes. Nor did either of us much care. I did get Beth to call one of her London friends (it ended up being Jane) to get the keys changed to her flat and get Meg's bags packed and left for her on the doorstep. Jane told me later it was one of the happiest "favours" she had ever done for a friend. Meg was now gone from Elizabeth's life forever. To me, she was now "Beth", she hated "Liz", she hadn't liked it when she was called that at school and Meg had also normally used that name for her. Beth it definitely was from now on. Washing the Goddesses Hair Our new life together seemed pitted with obstacles however. Walking on the beach together that afternoon, we both enjoyed the walk and the view of nude (or nearly so) men and women, but Beth could not relax enough to remove her top (let alone her bikini bottoms) and go bare breasted around me - despite admitting she had done so every day here earlier when with Meg. She could hold my hand ok, but sudden male movements seemed to make her nervous and I had to exercise considerable restrain as to where and how I touched her. I began to suspect a very bad abusive male relationship somewhere back in her past, or that even she had been a rape victim. The answer, as I found out later that night in bed (both of us clothed) was "Yes, both". She had married at 19 to an angry and abusive young man that squandered her model earnings on drugs and hurt her physically and emotionally everywhere it was possible to do so. She stayed with him until his arrest for assault and drug possession, and with some effective victim counseling was able to bring hersekf to divorce him. She changed her name and moved and worked primarily in Europe afterwards. She discovered her bisexuality there and primarily had lesbian relationships from that time onwards. Women had never hurt her as much, and she felt she could share trust with her female partners. No relationship ever seemed to work out in the long term, and she had been determined that she would give every last bit of effort to her relationship with Meg before admitting failure yet again. With me, she was in a whole new undiscovered country, and our trust began slowly to build. The next day for our afternoon walk, I deliberately dropped my shorts onto a beach chair and said, "Ok, love. There you go! There it is... weak and pitifully small isn't it (it wasn't by any means, but I was being self-depreciating), a menace to no one and severely lacking in some sunlight. Let's have our walk then... or have you decided that you can do with some sun yourself?" She paused for what was a very long moment and took and held a deep breath and then unfastened her top. I had always known that she was hiding a spectacular pair of tits, and now I could see them. They had gotten a little bit of sun recently it seemed as there were some cute freckles all around her areolas and magnificently long nipples. She smiled and took my hand and we had a fun long walk, by the end of it she allowed and was comfortable with my arm around either her shoulder or her slim waist. We picked up our clothes but before she could start to dress, I got each of her hands in mine, and gently pressed her against my chest giving at first a comforting hung and then a gentle kiss on the mouth. I wished that this moment of her bare breasts pressed against my chest would last forever. Her closed mouth kissing mine began to open and our tongues now met for the first time, and I held her tight with my arms around her and she kissed me hungrily, almost like she were drowning, but when my hand pressed against her ass she broke the kiss and slightly withdrew. We dressed and went back into the hotel again hand in hand and changed for dinner. We did not sleep together that night, but we did sleep (that is all) together the next night. That day we had seemed to make a little progress, and for our afternoon beach walk together she again went topless and after a bit of considerable internal debate dropped her bottoms as well. This region of Beth was just as beautiful and perfect as the rest of her had been. She was smooth shaven with a very distinct clitoris and full featured vaginal lips. I yearned to give this new part of Beth a proper greeting but I somehow controlled myself and remained (mostly) a gentleman for our walk. Before dressing for dinner we shared our first fully nude body kiss, as I held her closely against me she allowed my hands to briefly caress the sides of her breasts and her ass cheeks. Our passionate embrace ended all to soon as he became startled at the rapid growth and erection of my cock brushing against her bare pubic mound. That seemed to dampen her fun, and we quickly then dressed and went inside. That night she slept for a few restless hours in my arms in my room dressed in only a t-shirt and panties. I slept fitfully also, and by about 3AM, after holding each other in bed and talking, we put on at least some minimal clothing and moved down to the little bar with its old piano. I played my three new 98% completed songs for her and she listened avidly, even offering advice on a tempo change that I was still undecided over (she liked it, but thought it need a slightly better transition). I also got the impression that words for these new songs were appearing in her head, and when I caught her scribbling madly a few hours after breakfast she knew her secret was out... but still wouldn't let me see anything until they were "Done". The days passed quickly, and soon our first week together was nearly done, but our relationship seemed hopelessly stalled, we were still not yet lovers in body as well as soul. In three days (Wednesday) I would have to leave for Athens, and our future together began to seem uncertain. Beth knew that the blame was within herself, that there was some emotional blockage they she could not seem to break past that was preventing her from offering me her unconditional love and utter trust. We gave it our best shot on Sunday night. Aunt and Uncle fixed us a special romantic candlelit dinner for two and let his best wine flow freely. We even danced together (without music) on the outside patio walkway before I led her to our bedroom (she had given up hers back for Uncle to rent back out after the first night she had slept beside me). I lit several candles for her and opened the balcony doors to admit the strong sea breezes and an reveal an almost full moon. Slowly I undressed her, kissing softly every inch of her body, giving extra long attention to her neck, breasts and stomach and soon she reclined nude on our bed for the first time. I continued to kiss her and speak loving endearments of encouragement to her and she permitted me to lick, kiss and finally suckle her breasts. She seemed completely aroused and gave no discouragement to my kisses as they drifted further southwards, down to her flat belly and finally to her soft bare pubic mound, which soon glistened in the moonlight from my kisses. Her legs began to slowly part and I discovered the joy of her sensitive clit and wet slit, which parted readily under my gentle fingers into an extremely lubricated and seeming eager cunt. I caressed her clit slowly and first and then a bit faster. Sensing no "Stop" orders, I embolden myself and replaced my now dripping fingers with my tongue and eating my lover's cunt for the first time. I felt in heaven. Her legs parted even wider for me, allowing my mouth and tongue full access to anywhere I desired, and I took full advantage of it, letting my tongue taste her everywhere. Her first orgasm was now imminent, and I licked and sucked her engorged clit with all the fury I could muster. I was sure her cries were heard by everyone in the hotel, and just as she started to relax I climbed up next to her to enter her, but just as my cockhead pressed slowly against the sides of her cunt lips, she cried out in emotional pain and despair and withdrew from me, curling up into a tight ball beside me, but facing away from. She would not speak a single word to me and just sobbed there next as I tried in vain to comfort her, and at length she put on one of my t-shirts that mostly covered her ass and a robe and left the room in full tears without having said a word. I sensed that she need the time alone and I respected her wish, and spent a sleepless night in our room. In the morning I went down early to find Beth helping "Auntie" make breakfast. They had a fulltime cook, but Auntie definitely ruled the kitchen. They appeared to be deeply in conversation having "women's talk" and my arrival was warmly greeted, but I was firmly encouraged (ordered) to leave the kitchen at once. I passed the next hour until breakfast banging notes on the piano pretty much at random, but I accidentally that way found parts of a coda that I thought might be of use later, so the time wasn't a total loss. After breakfast, Aunt and Beth walked down to the beach and sat in chairs next to each until nearly noon, deep in female discussion. At length, when the luncheon bell rang, they arose and embraced, hugging and kissing each others cheek. As they started to walk back to the hotel, I saw Aunt put something small and silvery into Beth's hand and press it closed tight. Lunch was a very quiet one, with only 3 other guests present and they provided the vast majority of the table conversation at the meal. A little after lunch, Uncle sidled up to me and in a faintly conspiratorial tone of voice suggested that I might like to take Beth on a drive around the island, and maybe stop for a picnic later somewhere along the way... hint... hint. He then pressed a set of car keys into my hand that fit his old, but serviceable Land Rover. Obviously, Uncle had received his orders from his wife, who came immediately prepared with a large wool blanket for us and a basket lunch that could have fed half of the island, and half pushed us both out the door and to the car. Something was definitely up, but Beth still wasn't talking. I got a few terse directions, and we were off on our little adventure, and soon we were both as totally lost as two folks on a island with only one main road around it could get. We made the circuit in about an hour and passed though both villages, returning to where we had started from without ever finding our intended destination, whatever the heck it was. Beth still wasn't being very helpful, and the instructions she had given me were rather vague. I checked our gas (still mostly full) and we did the circuit again, and yet AGAIN. It was now getting close to evening, the sun at most at hour from setting when I stopped the car right in the middle of the dirt road, seeming in the middle of nowhere with nothing but olive groves and vineyards as far as the eye could see to the right and nothing but beach and Aegean Sea to our left, and waited either Beth to spill the beans or wait for divine inspiration (or directions). I got both. In a few minutes, an old farmer and his wife who looked to be at least in their 70's came toddling up and began kindly babbling at us. I caught about one word in every 7 or so, but I still had no idea where I was going and just shrugged at the couple saying "I don't know". Beth did, and finally broke down and said in English, slowly "We're looking for the Temple of Aphrodite". "Aphrodite!" the woman exclaimed, that was a name she knew, and she and her husband began a rapid fire exchange that I couldn't understand in the slightest. After a minute or two, she shooed her husband back to his work (threatening him with her rake if he didn't hurry along). She then gave Beth and I a good look-over, grunted something, and then handed Beth a key from her pocket, and gave me some slow instructions that mostly made sense. She pointed at a large gentle sloping tree covered hill about 2 kilometers down the road to the right and made the indication for a bridge, and then a gate there, and pointed at the key in Beth's hand. She then seemed to touch Beth's head lightly and uttered some sort of an old Greek blessing and left to join her husband and resume their chores. Strange, but it all seemed to make some sort of sense. I restarted the car and drove slow, and sure enough we soon crossed a tiny old wooden bridge over a small stream that flowed from somewhere near the hill. Near the bridge was a locked gate in the fence just off of the road that led into a little meadow at the base of the hill. Beth got out of the car and tried the key in the old lock. To no surprise, it fit and the chain was removed, opening the gate so that we could drive onto the meadow for a short ways. Once out of the car, we both got a better look at the large hill. We could see some traces of some stonework at the very summit. There were quite a few trees that blocked most of the view of the hillside view, and the little stream that crossed over the bridge did seem to originate much of the way up the hill, before flowing on its short journey to the ocean. We grabbed the blanket and our picnic luncheon (now to be our dinner) and decided the best course was to follow the banks of the small stream up the hill to the Temple, and this we did. In about ten minutes, just as the setting sun cast its last reddish orange glow over the hillside, we came to our obvious destination, a flat grassy clearing about 3/4th of the way up the hillside, featuring a decent sized pond, that overflowed from its bank gently on its western end creating the small stream. The pond waters were continually renewed by a small waterfall about 10 feet above the lake that originated from a small and probably volcanic opening in the upper hillside. The water was gently warm to the touch of our touch, and the smells of the air surrounding us were delightful. Above in the gloom, I could see the pitiful remains of an extremely old, apparently circular temple at the very crest of the hill. This was probably a very old temple site then, predating the "Classical" Greek rectangular architecture of the "Golden Ratio", perhaps harkening to the far older Stone and Bronze Age female-centric "Goddess" worship cults of the far pre-literate past (I may not have had a proper college education, but I had read a good many history books). I saw more recent, probably "Classical era" remains of smaller structures nearby and two particular areas immediately came to our notice in the quickly fading light. To the right of the lake, there was a small gazebo sort of structure, facing a stone statue. Next to the statue, a small paved stone walkway lead to a little carved ledge that would allow a person to walk up under the waterfall, just a foot or two above the level of the pond. This was definitely the Temple of Aphrodite; the carved statue was roughly carved and quite crude, and showed intentional damage inflicted upon it at point in its past (her head and one breast had been knocked off and lay in the grass nearby. I lifted up the damaged head and set it back upon the Goddesses stone shoulders and it looked like it might stay there for at least a minute or two, but was none too steady. I set her lost breast in her lap, next to a large stone circular offering bowl. Without fixing cement there was only so much I could do and her other minor losses could wait. Clearing fallen tree branches from inside the gazebo area, we found that under the grass and leaves was fine white marble, and we spread out our blanket there and ate a little of our food without much appetite as the last daylight disappeared and it soon became quite dark. Beth had apparently been given some sort of very specific instructions by Auntie, and seemed extremely nervous but ready to implement some sort of plan of action. When it was quite dark, and the stars started to appear over the meadow pool, Beth held me as tight as she could and kissed me as deeply as she ever had before, and then entreated me to remain still and to be as quiet as possible. She then stood up on the blanket, and began to strip. When she was completely nude, she picked up one of our unused picnic drinking glasses and carefully scooped some water from the pond and poured it into the circular offering bowl. This took a great many trips, as the basin could probably hold several gallons of water. When this was done, she held aloft the ancient silver coin she had received that Noon from Auntie, that bore the image and an inscription to Aphrodite, and she placed it into the water filled offering bowl. She then knelt down onto both knees on the hard stone before the statue and began to pray, clearly invoking the Goddess to purify her and to "Wash her hair". Periodically Beth would stop to momentarily dip her hands into the water basin and then touch her head, breasts, stomach and then her bare sex. This pattern was repeated for what must have been several hours; it was too dark to read my watch, but the moon was starting to rise, and just at the time that it cleared the trees and its reflection could be seen clearly illuminating the pool, something happened. A woman of indeterminate age, but certainly not the elderly lady whose land the temple belonged to, appeared out of the trees off the mostly hidden pathway to the right of the Gazebo area by the Goddess statue, and stood next to the kneeling Beth, and bid her to stand. No words were exchanged and even the night noises of the tree covered hillside seemed stone quiet, I could now even hear the not too distant sound of the surf on the beach. This mysterious stranger's face was unknown to me, she was not any of the women that I had met in either village that I could recall, and I assumed then that she was the daughter or even the grand-daughter of the elderly couple we had met earlier. She was beauty herself, and even on a island full of beautiful women she would have stood out as being special. She was tall and had a soft womanly figure that seemingly had just the perfect amount of body fat, and in all the right places. She wore a thin white gossamer linen or cotton ankle length shift that seemed nearly transparent and clung to her in a flowing diaphanous way. There is no man alive that would have kicked her out of his bed, and I began to have trouble concentrating and keeping still. The Priestess touched her hand to Beth's forehead and gave her a short blessing, and in turn touched her hands to Beth's cheeks, lips, each breast and nipple in turn, her stomach and naval, and lastly placed her hand over Beth's sex and entered a long middle finger into her vagina for a moment before withdrawing it. Beth fell to her knees again and began tearfully kissing the Priestesses feet, and the Priestess offered her hand, the one that had caressed Beth's cunt, to her and Bess kissed and licked it gratefully. The Priestess stepped away for a moment and returned with two pitchers, one of silver which she filled with water from the pond, and the other of decorated stoneware or pottery. As Beth continued to kneel at her feet, the Priestess slowly poured out the silver pitcher of water over Beth's head and hair, kissing it softly as the last few drops of water fell. She then took the other earthenware one, and removed a stopper releasing a delicious floral scented fragrance into the air and poured a small amount of its contents upon Beth's head, which she then slowly and delicately in a highly erotic way massaged all over into Beth's long wet hair. The scent became nearly overpowering, and bidding Beth to rise, the two walked ogether hand in hand across the short pathway and onto the ponds ledge and they stood together under the waterfall and kissed each other deeply. With a seemingly effortless motion the Priestesses shift was removed and the two resumed their soul kiss utterly naked together, both sets of hands caressing every part of the other's body. Within moments it seemed, the expert clit rubbing hands of our mysterious Priestess had brought Beth off to a loud orgasm. The two continued to kiss passionately, but this was seemingly not enough and after Beth was skillfully brought to orgasm again and again and her cries of pleasure must have been able to he heard for miles in all directions. With Beth now nearly limp in her arms, the Priestess again gave her a blessing and gently caressing her now washed and clean hair, she kissed every part of Beth's body before let her slip into the warm pool waters to drift alone in her orgasmic afterglow. The water didn't seem too deep, and Beth was floating as if in a trance, and I knew she was in no danger, and I felt completely at ease. As the Priestess turned and started to leave the way she came from, I jumped up and grabbing the two pitchers and I offered them to her, my head bowed in silent thanks. She smiled at me, and just as she was about to reach for them I spoke the only words that anyone spoke there that night, without knowing if she could even understand me. To this day, I don't know what possessed me, or if they were spoken in English or my horrid Greek. But they seemed at that moment the 'right words to say'. Washing the Goddesses Hair "It seems Priestess that you spend your life washing the hair and the cares away from others, but who washes your own hair?" She stopped, stunned and transfixed, and then she began to laugh and then to my surprise she slowly knelt before me with her head slightly bowed. Somehow, in seconds I was undressed and was standing before her slowly pouring a pitcher of water over her head and then I gently applied a little of her herbal lotion from the other jug. Slowly I began to shampoo the Priestesses hair, and it seemed as if all time was now standing still for us. Still kneeling when I was done, she first kissed the head of my cock (which I admit was now as rock hard and engorged as it had ever been in its life), then the sides of my shaft and then both of my testicles. As she started to arise she kissed and gave each part of me a little blessing to each part of my body, and then holding hands we stepped together into the waterfall and began a lip kiss that I will never forget until the end of my days. It was nothing like any kiss I had ever felt before, it tingled from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It was absolutely electric. Gasping for breath with water streaming everywhere all over us, I began to kiss the Priestess nipples, take each one in turn into my mouth and suckling them, my hands searching for and finding her clit and entryway into her cunt. We kissed again, and I felt myself pushing her back against the wet stone and in a sudden motion she threw her arms around my neck and her legs wrapped around my waist, she mounted me standing, impaling my cock into her unbelievably tight and wet cunt. Standing in place, under the waterfall seemly endlessly locked in bliss, at last I released my sperm into her questing womb, and still mounted tightly together we slid into the warm waters to join Beth, who now seemed much revived. My cock still seeming locked in place inside the Priestesses cunt, we shared a happy three-way kiss that seeming lasted for hours, but was probably only a just a few minutes. We wordlessly moved to the shallow end of the pond where the water came to about the women's mid thighs, and we stood and had another group kiss and caress, leaving no lips, breasts, cunts or my cock neglected for longer than a moment. The Priestess smiled at Beth, and gave her an especially deep probing kiss and then parted her vaginal lips with her fingers to reveal my leaking semen load. Beth sunk to her knees before her, and after first kissing each nipple and the Priestesses full bushy pubic mound, sunk her tongue deep into her the cum filled cunt and licked and sucked out every drop. The women then began an especially long and erotic kissing and caressing session that I was loathe to interrupt, and watched as they emerged from the pond and fell into a passionate 69 embrace that I'm certain did last for at least an hour. At length the Priestess left the clutches of our shared lover, and she beckoned for me to come close. I was still rock hard but the Priestess took me deeply into her mouth for a few minutes until my rock felt like it was at least 10 inches long, and every bit of coated with her saliva and the cunt juices from my beloved. When I felt that I was about to burst, she withdrew my cock from the happiest home it had ever known, and holding it gently in her hand, placed me inside Beth's parted and soaking wet vaginal lips. As the Priestess held our hands and kissed both of our bodies, Beth and I became enjoined true lovers at long last. Her emotional pain was all gone and we cried tears of happiness and love. I never seemed to become flaccid and we copulated repeatedly, the three of us, over and over again, with each of the women's orifices receiving my seemingly endless cum loads. At some point, still mounted inside Beth, the two of us fell into a near exhausted doze, snug within the love of each others soft arms. When we recovered enough to stand up and look around at about sunrise, to thank the Priestess one last time, we found she had already left us. We were alone. She had never spoken a single word to either of us, but we would have liked to have at least known her name. Neither of us still felt much like talking, and we breakfasted on picnic leftovers in silence in the growing light and the loud morning calls of the songbirds. We then slowly dressed and packed up our picnic supplies and left. The Priestess had taken the two pitchers with her when she left. After carefully relocking the gate, we drove back to the hotel and got there still in time for a second breakfast (we were both still hungry) and we went up our room and took a nap together until after lunch, and enjoyed a gentle leisurely first lovemaking in our own bed. The Goddess had indeed washed Elizabeth's hair and her fears, doubts and inner demons were exorcised forever, and we vowed that afternoon in bed together that we would never be willing apart ever again! There was zero jealousy over our three-way love making of the night before. Absolutely none. I would not begrudge her an occasional female bed partner, especially if we could share (wink). We somehow knew without any doubt that any temporary lovers the other might take merely involved just "sex", and not true love. Our LOVE was abiding and eternal within our hearts. May it remain so forever.. The next day we hurried back to the home of the couple who owned the land and the hill the Temple was on and returned the key. Daughter? She lived on another island with her husband and their Grand-Daughter was a child of 14. When told of the "Priestess" she closed her mouth shut and would tell us no more, but kissed each of us a hearty goodbye. We made our final goodbye to our "Family" and friends and caught the boat together to Rhodes. That summer, Beth took a long vacation from work and joined me for my cruise duties, and once again (this time for forever) I was married to the woman I loved by the Ship's Captain. She joined me every night in the piano lounge and together we wrote what must have been at least 8 more songs by the end of that season alone. Traveling to her home in London, she made arrangements to work part-time as an assistant editor a few months of the year with both the London office and the US West Coast office, thus able to spend about 7 months of the year with me in the Aegean either on the our cruises or vacationing on the island. While Beth caught up on her work in London and was getting familiarized with her new duties, I rented some insanely expensive recording studio time at Abbey Road and started to record my first solo album ever. It was hard work and I called in every IOU I could recall from the rich and famous and not so rich and famous folks I had worked for so often in the 60's and 70's. Several volunteered to play backup on each track for me, with my piano being the main instrument and someone luckily found the perfect young Jazz vocalist whose voice reminded me more than a little of Edna's, and as we started to record in earnest, it became obvious that we had captured lightning in a bottle, and the word started to get out. We started to get daily visits from "A" list artists that one normally prefixed by adding either "the Legendary" or "Sir" before their names. Sometimes both. By the end of the sessions everyone knew I had created something "unique and special" and I accepted a worldwide distribution contract for my recording that offered slightly less of an advance than some other record companies had offered, but promised a much higher royalty and allowed me to retain all my rights. Allegedly, one of the "Sirs" had ordered the label to "get this record at all costs and at any expense, and that "it would be worth every penny of it." Steep praise indeed, but I now had other thoughts on my mind; Beth had discovered a month into our summer cruise that she was pregnant. This was not great surprise to us as she had never been on birth control, and nine months to the day after "The Goddess Washed Her Hair", our first daughter Millicent Adelphe (after her mother and Auntie) entered our lives. When my CD "Washed by the Waters" was released two days later it was anticlimactic, and more of a relief to us than anything else. It was now time to head back to Greece, and rest nude on the beach at Uncle's; with our newborn daughter at her breast (definitely a size larger than they once were) we missed entirely the splash the record made on the charts. With a decent advertising campaign and viral like word of mouth recommendations from every corner, a very un-pop music piano recording from a almost completely unheard of artist moved slowly up steadily up the Album Sales charts each week, peaking at #6 before leveling for it's eventual decline. But it declined slowly, seemingly losing only a position or two each week until resting finally near the bottom next to "Dark Side of the Moon" where we remained near constant companions mostly ever since, rarely ever dropping from the top 100, and even then only briefly. Music critics began calling the last song of the CD "The Goddess Washes Her Hair" as one of the single most important songs of the 20th century, many calling it the single greatest song of "Hope and Redemption" that they had ever heard. I can only take half of the credit, and the night that I got called up onto the stage to accept the first of the three Grammy's our recording would earn, I dragged Beth up on stage with me protesting, and wobbling from being 6 months pregnant with our next child, a son, Albert Hilarion (after my father and Uncle). When we eventually got tired of all of the nagging phone calls from new friends and old (and numerous record company exec's) asking "when's the next record coming out?" we got off our now rich, lazy butts and spent the next summer cruise tour after Albert's birth polishing up the best dozen songs we had written into something even vaguely recordable. I was definitely "A-list" now, and my longtime Cruise Line employers worked out a new contract where I now could work much, much less often, but made much, much more than ever before, eventually doing only 8 one-week cruises a year at an outrageous talent fee, they willingly paid and we cheerfully accepted. We both wanted to spend more time with our growing toddlers, and with a fresh one now being in the oven, and likely to be our last (Beth was nearing 40), we made our final decision concerning our new "permanent home". We were moving back to the island for good, it was now in a great many ways our only "real home". We took a last trip to my Bay Area residence, gave away or sold as much of its accumulated junk as I could bear to part with, and loving packed my 78 and vintage hand-crank phonograph collections for a long trip. We put the house on the market for an outrageous starting sum and we received multiple offers within days, and I eventually ended up finally getting over 35% more than my original asking price. I borrowed the Dead's recording studio in San Rafael (close to my beach home) and gathered a few old- time "Dinosaurs" and we hammered out my second record the best we could. It was not quite lightning in a bottle, but there were a couple of songs (particularly the title song "Warmed by the Light of the Sun") that I was especially pleased with. We experimented with different takes and different lead singers on it but it wasn't ever quite "right", until after one late-night take where we had been tried some synth arrangements with Beth huskily half-singing half whispering the words, it all came together for us. It wasn't quite "perfect", but it would do and we never had any regrets. It sold well anyway, but didn't have the legs of "Washed" and did eventually drop into the 2nd 100 to stay, but never going out of "availability". Where "Washed by the Waters" was about pain, despair, hope and redemption, "Warmed by the Light of the Sun" was purely about unbridled and unapologetic joy and the happiness of life. Critics didn't quite swoon over it, but said many kind things about it anyway. We didn't win Best Album or Best Song for "Warmed" but we enjoyed our last trip to any awards show having all the fun we could stand, and spent a very memorable evening afterwards with a very famous, beautiful and bisexual female singer-songwriter that nearly everyone would know. Returning to London, Beth packed up her even sparser flat (giving most of her stuff away to friends and old co-workers) and due to the insaneness of Chelsea real estate, sold it nearly overnight also. Our last bridges to our pasts were now dismantled. I held on to my song rights catalog, we didn't need the money, nor would be probably ever, but the timing just didn't seem "right". We packed our suitcases one last time and flew "home". In our absence, Uncle had tendered our purchase offer for the Temple hill, and surrounding vineyards and olive groves (all in all about 15% of the islands land). He received a written counter-offer asking for only half as much cash. "They were old", Uncle said to us later handing us the gate key to the property - the only lock on any building anywhere on the property, and wanted the "Hill" to go to someone who would cherish it and protect it forever. An envelope a long letter addressed to Beth and filled with old 19th and early 20th century photographs was found on top of a table next to the front door, and to this very day I have never been permitted so much as glimpse of either the letter or the photos. Even now, all I know is that the property had been in that woman's family along the maternal line for a very long time, and that it had been the historical duty of the women of her family to long tend to the Temple. Quite apparently the torch so to speak had been passed on to Beth. We were all agreed on the Temples urgent need for preservation and restoration, and we started an ambitious plan for the sites restoration, which would be a slow and painstaking process; even with the extremely large amount of money we were willing to invest into the project. We started by building a large two story villa on the grounds of the mostly flat meadow area at the base of the hill near the roadway, and considered it the best money we ever spent in our lives. It was open, roomy and spacious, well suited for entertaining, with a room allotted for each child and several guest bedrooms and an office area for each of us in addition. The house was completed just in time for Beth to give natural birth (with a midwife) to our last daughter Aphrodisia Efrosyni (more or less "Aphrodite's Joy") and from nearly her first words she was an unusual and "fey" child and while we loved all of our children equally, "Joy" seemed to occupy a special place in our hearts as she grew up into a delightful child who was seemingly never very naughty and rarely ever cried, even with a minor hurt. We got to know all of our neighbors and our employees that worked our fields, vineyards and olive groves all on a first name basis. The previous elderly owners had paid well, rarely cutting corners and sought only a small profit from the their lands, and we happily continued all of their wise policies and soon had the complete trust of our foremen and found that while we actually had few if any real duties as the resident lord and lady of the manor, as it were, we enjoyed learning everything about the daily tasks that kept our land well cared for and nurtured, and it was a became a rare day that we didn't "get our hands dirty" and helped with at least some of the work. We didn't neglect our old village friends one bit either, and friends were constantly in and out of our house, which being rather large, comfortable and hospitable, often now became the new central meeting place for discussions between the leading citizens of the two villages of our island. Within a few years, it seemed like we had become the real "Mayors" of the island, and men and women both would often seek our advice on matters both great and small. The most delicate matter of all, being the Temple of Aphrodite on our hill. Beth became increasing involved in meeting with most of the head women of the island in her plans concerning this. This matter was VERY definitely "women's business" and none of my (or any other man's) affair. Even Uncle could tell me nothing of what transpired on afternoons when the "church ladies", as I called them jokingly had left, or the occasional evenings that an increasing number of women climbed the hill together to the Temple Pond... returning hours later with wet bodies and hair (and dry clothes). Once when I remarked casually one evening to little Joy that I was wondering where her mother had gonen off to, she replied in her strange little way "She's serving the Goddess right now, but she'll be home soon" and scampered off of my lap to play with one of her toys. As we became increasingly close with the islanders, our sex life, which has started to settle down a very slight bit into a comfort zone after the move, seemed to explode. Our house seemed to be constantly full of visiting young women desiring a proper Sapphic education from my darling wife, but mostly not minding at all if my now 50 year old body occasionally joined the fun. Birth control was an immediate problem and while we had condoms, we didn't seem to ever have enough (I started to buy them by the case from Athens), but things generally transpired that most of the young ladies preferred to stay off the pill and save their cunts for fucking only by their steady boyfriends, but willingly offering their mouths and tight asses for my inspection. While permissive casual sex was common and of no concern to anyone, most parents did prefer the father's of their new grandchildren to be single and marriageable. There was a complicated "Hair Code" that I never entirely figured that had dozens of possible meanings; 18 and over wearing loose unrestrained hair = "ok" looking for fun; other codes specified "looking for a specific lover" man/woman, discrete or not, anal ok or not, oral ok but everything else not, etc. The strangest was when I saw an elaborate hairstyle that seemed to feature two upraised horns with a bun in the center. Beth giggling non-stop for the next hour, eventually taking pity on me she told me that this was the signal that her husband was infertile but they wished for a "sperm donor" to father their child! Fortunately we never had any accidents and I never fathered any additional children (that I'm aware of). More time passed and it seemed as if the "Church Ladies" were definitely up to something. The ladies held weekly meetings now, often at the Temple site that was slowly but surely being restored. Something definitely seemed to be in the works that none of the men seemed to know anything about, and all of the women seemed to involved with up it to their eye teeth, and seemed unusually smug and secretive. At long last, I the Lord of the Land, was deemed acceptable to be informed that we would be soon hosting a party for most of the 700 or so islanders (and probably up to another 100 or so "friends and tourists". Fuck me very much. Plans for the food were already established (more "women's work"), so I was left with the dull parts about obtaining tents and blankets and getting them setup on the meadow lawns and onto our beach front, and ordering a vast amount of various liquid refreshments for the party. I was also given the task of obtaining an improbable amount of firewood and seeing that it was delivered to the top of the hill and placed inside the great stone Neolithic circle. I muttered dark oaths, and promised vigorous spankings to my lovely wife's bottom if she didn't start to spill some beans. None of which gained me any further enlightenment as to what was to be in store, but engendered a few promises that I was delighted to fulfill - Beth always loved any and all attentions to her perfect ass. Washing the Goddesses Hair At last, the morning of February 6th dawned bright and auspicious and my darling wife finally took me into her confidence (in between bouts of her taking me in her soft mouth to quiet my cries of utter shock) and told me about most of what was likely to occur that day and later that night. She got me nicely worked up but refused to grant my cum's much needed release, saying I would need all of my strength for later. My thoughts of revenge were swift and dire, but we both arose to start the duties of this lengthy day. Just after a quick light breakfast, the catering trucks began to arrive and several pits were dug into the beach sand and a cow and several sheep began roasting over spits and long before the party was to start at Noon early guests, wishing to help with the setup arrived and soon I had very little to do whatsoever except watch and wait. Increasing numbers of groups of women began setting tables for the feast and hanging decorations everywhere, largely of hearts and other classic symbols of Aphrodite. We poor mostly confused men began gathering around the wine kegs and invented increasingly creative ways of tormenting (gently) our women folk at a suitable opportunity later. By Noon, it was impossible to park anywhere near our house and latecomers had a bit of walk to get to the party, which was now starting on the beach. Women everywhere, hundreds of them, began removing their clothes and were soon only dressed only in a small thong with an embroidered heart at the front. Now this was an eye opener! Soon, nearly all of the men joined them and became fully nude. I thought this was going to be the start of some enormous orgy, but the women kept things (mostly) under control and while folks sometimes found a little bit of privacy away from the children playing on the beach, things never massively deteriorated, though as the afternoon of eating and feasting continued, kissing and the open caressing of tits, cunts and cocks became much more blatant, but the heart thongs (mostly) stayed in place. As evening fell soon on that nice late winter's day, the children were all fed one last time and sent off to a large groups of tents prepared for them with blankets and pillows, and were left into the supervisor of some elder children that either elected to stay or were deems "too young" for what was now going to occur. The "Church Ladies" made their disappearance first, taking with them a number of young attractive (heck, they were ALL attractive) ladies, all it turns out without any husbands or serious boyfriends yet. Nearly all of them had shared Beth's (and my) bed at least once. Some were regular guests. After we had enjoyed a superb seaside sunset, and the stars began to appear everyone started to make their way up on a newly finished stone pathway lit regular by torches and folks came (many for the first time) to the Temple and the Sacred Pond. Everyone was directed to bath first in the pond, a very welcome request to most as nearly everyone had sand in delicate places by then. When folks were clean (and with a minimum of grab-ass) they were directed to approach the now cleaned and mostly restored Gazebo and first pay their respects to the Goddess (as fully restored as I could make her, having nearly no trace of her former damage). The women now at last removing their thongs, and kneeled with their men fully nude in brief supplication. Six of the "Church Ladies" were blessing each of the participants with water from the Sacred Font (the Goddess's statue offering bowl), anointing everyone's head and genitals with blessed olive oil. All six were dressed identically in thin nearly transparent shifts that exposed much of their shoulders and cleavage, and the hem quite a few inches above the knee. I guessed they were now the Matron Priestesses of the Temple, but where was my wife? After the blessing we took a separates path around the sides of the hill that led to the stone circle temple above, the men directed to go the left and the women to the path on the right. We assembled at the top of the hill with men and women standing separated on opposite sides of the standing stones. At each stone, a young woman stood holding a torch, they were 28 in number (all of them the young ladies that left with my wife earlier) and dressed in very skimpy see-through gowns that showed plunging cleavage down to their navels or lower, that just barely covered their young delectable asses. Even the few body parts that these gowns covered were clearly visible, but if my guesses were any indication they would not be wearing them for long anyway. The Six Matron's came to join us after the last of the participants had arrived and been blessed. Three went to the women's side and three came to the men's. The men were directed to open a group of chests that lay nearby and opening them were found many drums, large and small, and other musical instruments. I think nearly every item on the island that could make music smaller than my piano was stored in these boxes and most of the men found instruments that they were either familiar with or could beat, bang, blow or clash into some sort of a rhythm and we were all directed to sit in a large semi-circle facing the stone circle. The High Priestess (my darling wife) made her appearance at long last and first offered the blessings of the Goddess to her six senior Priestesses and then blessing each in turn all of the junior ones. The Priestesses resumed their former positions standing at each of the stone pillars and the High Priestess ordered the men to play, and we did. The sound at first was awful, a discordant off-beat wailing as several hundred men sought to find a common rhythm, and soon the drum beats began to synchronize and the High Priestess ordered her young Priestesses to begin to dance, and dance they did. Following the growing movement of the drum beat they twirled their torches and one by one surrendered them to the care of the Matrons, who placed them into the large pile of firewood in the center of the circle and soon a bonfire was started that clearly illuminated everything within the circle. The young Priestesses now began their frenzied dancing in earnest, their gowns falling away, soon each was dancing nude around the fire and in a semi-orgasmic tracelike state. While they danced in their mania, the Matrons began to strike each of the dancers with long stemmed roses given to them by their High Priestess and soon rose petals and small blood droplets from whipped breasts and cunts where flying everywhere. If the dancers noticed the slight discomfort of their thorn scratches, it was not evident, and lost in their lust they began to soon kiss and fondle each other, all eventually falling onto the rose petal covered circle around the bonfire and began an unbelievably lusty daisy chain as each girl ate and soothed the scratched and gently bleeding cunt of the girl next to them, until each had cried out in orgasm at least once. When all were temporarily sated and our musical rhythm began to falter, all of the Priestesses, young and old both, left the circle one by one and grabbed the hand of a seated woman (many of whom were now openly masturbating) and bringing them into the circle of dancers. Slowly the circle of hand-in-hand dancers continued to grow until it was a nearly unending spiral of intertwined dancing women of all ages, and all dancing naked under the firelight each being blessed by occasional strikes for an unceasing supply of roses wielded by wild-eyed Priestesses determined to see that every tit, cunt and ass cheek displayed at least one rose thorn scratch. The pace of the drum beats and other instruments grew faster and as the dancers became more frenzied until one by one women dropped to the ground from exhaustion and desire until eventually the entire area outside the bonfire, and even out beyond the edge of the stone pillars, was a writhing mass of women young and old lost in their Sapphic embraces and pleasures. Finally about midnight as the full moon appeared to be directly overhead of us, the High Priestess signaled for the men to join the action, and how they did! A few drummers stayed behind to continue a slow steady driving beat and were replaced over time as temporally sated men returned to their drums, bells and other instruments allowing rested men join the orgy. Beth and I met and fell at once to the ground as she demanded to be immediately screwed as she couldn't withstand her lusts any more. We fucked ceaselessly for seemingly hours, and occasional her mouth would be gifted by a passing sticky tit, wet cock or increasingly sloppy and well fucked cunt, and when I finally had to take a moments rest she was soon surrounded and quickly became fully penetrated with cocks in her ass and cunt while her mouth and busy hands alternated between another cocks and several sperm dripping well filled cunts. Never had she looked happier (at least since the night her "Hair Was Washed" anyway, and with her body covered and hair plastered with cum she had never looked more lovely and beautiful in my eyes. All too soon it was dawn and the exhausted celebrants slowly made their way back down the hill to their clothes and resumed their normal daily lives. February 6th became an annual event each year and soon word began to spread about an "Aphrodite Cult" on some small obscure Greek island and tourism doubled each year for the next five years. Beth even allowed an old London lesbian friend of hers to write a few carefully chosen words about the Temple of Aphrodite in a Lesbian magazine. These comments were picked up by a Lesbian Travel Guide as "The place to go for your vacation if your relationship is in a crisis and you both want to save it". Soon we had tourists stopping by our house on a nearly daily basis during the holiday seasons (Brits and French mostly in the summer, and Germans and Scandinavians during the winter months). Most, if polite and personable, would get a visit to the Sacred Pond and the Temple. If their need seemed great and an appropriate offering was made to the Goddess (I began to tray and corner the market on ancient coins, especially ones featuring the Love Goddesses of the ancient Mediterranean like Aphrodite and later Roman coins bearing Venus), the High Priestess might 'Wash Their Hair' for them and try to set their hearts at ease. I won't say that her success rate was 100%, but no one ever left the waters of the Sacred Pool unhappy. We started getting regular repeat visits from friends we had made in this way, many returning at some point at least once to our annual February 6th 'High Holy Day' celebrations. We finally ended up fixing the attendants at 1000 people only and requiring an invitation to enter our property. Enough gate crashers (fence jumpers mostly actually) made it necessary to eventually replace the old low sheep fence around the property with a modern barbed wire one. As I've recently reached my 60th birthday, I've begun to reflect more upon things especially now that our children are all grown, or nearly so. My sexual stamina remains great, and only feel as I were maybe 45 instead of over a decade older. Beth seems to be well preserved also in her early 40's and can still out fuck any 20-something young lady that challenges her to a duel of clit twisting tongues. I finally asked Beth one rare early morning when her mouth wasn't busy sucking my cock or one of our frequents guests well worn cunts, exactly how much of this whole "Priestess thing" and the resulting rituals, major and minor were real and how much concocted by herself and the "Church Ladies". Surprisingly much of it had been passed in oral and written traditions that were closely guarded secrets of the island women throughout history. Their men folk might fall in battle or disappear lost forever to the sea, but the women at home had preserved the "old ways" the best they could for over three millennia. Sometimes they had been without a Priestess to lead them, but the old ways had never been entirely forgotten. Now their Temple is being restored and the "old worship" returned, the island has experienced a bit of a baby boom in recent years and no one was the slightest bit unhappy at these changes. I sold my "Retirement" nest egg of music rights a few years ago - the timing seemed auspicious. Dozens of newly remastered collector box sets of these lost artists works are now available in better record stores or through the Internet, and thousand of world-wide collectors would have praised my name (if they had known). This earned a rather respectably fat return on my lifelong investments but more importantly has directly paid for the endowment of a Foundation to preserve and restore the Temple grounds, and provided some needed services for our growing island community; such as paying in full for a new larger well-equipped school and a small Hospital. Our continuing flow of music royalties for our two best selling records continue to pay our every conceivable financial need, now and for the future. We thought about polishing up a dozen or two of the better songs we had still left, but unrecorded, but we never gathered much ambition to finish the job and take then into a recording studio for the first time in over ten years or so. We did cobble together a "live recording" that featured a few of these songs performed on one of my last Cruises (I quit doing them a few years ago when even the lure of more money couldn't drag me away from my wife and home. There are plans slowly in the works to incorporate this new live materials as part of a comprehensive five-disc "Complete Works" Box Set, that would also include a "Best of Edna and Smiley" DVD transcription of one of our better video recordings of our old Lounge act, and a CD of just some solo piano recordings I was vaguely pleased with that I've recorded here at home. We don't need the money, but folks have wanted to hear it and we gave in. 100% of the proceeds will go to our Foundation... there are always roads that need paving and the harbor and docks look like they could use a good refitting in another year or two. Just being millionaires many, many times over has given us no particular pleasure, and the larger our bank account has grown the more charity works we have tried to do for our island community. This year we funded 10 college scholarships to the University of Athens, next year we hope to do a bit more. Of our own children, all of them are a delight to our aging eyes. Millie has been a world famous "Super Model" since about the age of 16 and now receives absurd sums for a short days work, and is in constant demand by every major designer. Her name appears annually on every list of the world's 10 most beautiful women. How could she not, with her mother's superb genes! She has a long train of male and female admirers and has not yet settled on the man or woman (or one of each) that she wants to settle down with. She visits us often when she can, and never misses a Feb 6th party, as she is one of the Temples Junior Priestesses now. I'm terribly proud of her in every way. Albert is now attending college at Oxford, Majoring in Classical Studies, Classical Architecture and Archeology. In a few years, he plans to start getting his Doctorate and he is certain to succeed. He is as serious and scholarly as his older sister is frivolous and fun loving. It is our hope and ambition for him to complete the final restoration of the Temple to exactly the way it once exactly was and preserve it for the next generations that follow. He's a bit more circumspect about his young romantic life and doesn't get home as often as we would like to see him, but we respect that his studies do come first. He too seems to have numerous romantic admirers but on his most recent Christmas break visit home he brought with him a most enchanting (and openly bisexual) young lady with a torrid and seemingly endless appetite for sex, at one point with the two of them spending the night in his old bedroom with another local young man and lady, both being of long childhood friendship acquaintance. Joy says that they'll all get jointly married together and fuck each other happily for the rest of their lives. Joy would know, she seems to be never wrong about much of anything. She was the one that showed us at the excavation of one of the classical era outlying ruined buildings where we would find the original temple service items, which included a silver water pitcher and an earthenware decorated ewer for annointing the hair. Once, when I was about to turn away a single gentleman who had wanted to see the Temple (my wife was "in session" with a young lady visitor from the UK at the time), Joy stayed my hand and asked the fellow to swing with her on the porch for awhile "and wait". He did so, and passed an hour with us in pleasant conversation until my wife and her guest had returned. In one of the strangest sights I have ever beheld, the visiting woman and man saw each other, dropped whatever they had been holding and ran into each others arms, never to leave each other ever again. It turns out they had been old lovers at college who had lost contact with each other. They married at our Temple and returned, to stay, the following year, becoming the High School teachers at the new school. Joy just looked at me afterwards and gave me her best smug "I told you so" look. I get the feeling that this sort of thing is going to start happening around here a whole lot more often. Joy, or Aphrodisia, as she prefers more often now to be called by non-family members, is now a ripening mid-teenager, but her sexual preference for now is with other girls her own age. She has several especially close ones that often "sleep over" with our blessing and others she'll just "have fun with" on nude romps on the beach. She looks much like her mother, but as she matures she seem to bear more and more of a resemblance to the original Priestess of the Temple that we had met that one time only, never to be seen by us again. I anticipate that her beauty when fully grown will rival even that of her older sister, but in a more "primeval feminine" sort of way. Recently we were talking together on our favorite place, the front porch swing and I asked Joy what she wanted to do after college? "College?" She looked at me in a puzzled tone of voice. "This island is my home and I hope I shall never ever leave it again in my life. Besides, someday Mother will need to take her rest and can no longer be the High Priestess, and then I will take my turn to continue what she has begun in her place." I stopped rocking the swing for us and looked down upon her with shock and more than a little dismay. It was as if the Oracle of Delphi had just pronounced our dooms. Joy, hugged me and kissed my face all over. "Don't worry Daddy", she said with a tear also in her eye, "I just know you and Mom will be with us for a very long time to come still, so I wouldn't start planning either your retirement or funerals if I were you for a very long, long time. And you know, I think I really do believe her! My darling loving wife of over 20 years came and scolded us for not being already at the dinner table and then the three of us went inside arm-in-arm together.