Legends of Lust

by Autumn Bardot

  I slide into the bath, slither into his lap, and whisper a decadent fantasy.

  His laugh is deep and robust, the sound echoing in the chamber. “Now that’s a diplomatic necessity I will eagerly indulge in.”

  And he does. Time and time again we engage in countless wanton indulgences.

  I stay with Solomon for three years. I decline his repeated offers of marriage but this does not affect our diplomatic or carnal relationship. He understands I have a nation to rule.

  I leave Jerusalem with many valuables: wealth, wisdom, a new devotion to Solomon’s god. And Solomon’s unborn child.

  There are five versions of King Solomon’s and the Queen of Sheba’s famous meeting: Christian, Islamic, Jewish, Coptic, and Ethiopian. Each portrays the enigmatic Bilqis, or Makada as she is also known, a bit differently. The Kebra Nagast, written in an ancient Semitic dialect, provides the most complete story of the enigmatic Queen of Sheba.

  RIVER RUNNER

  Nova poked her head around the doorway of the stone and adobe home. Her best friend Yoki looked up from her basket weaving. Yoki’s name meant rain, and like the rain, hair cascaded down her back like rippling water. It’s what made her squash-blossom hairstyle so much bigger and fuller than that of the other unmarried maidens of the village—she had lots more hair to wrap around the U-shaped styling wand.

  “Come with me, Yoki.” Nova set down her basket. “Why?”

  “I was collecting yucca when the most beautiful flute music drifted by on a breeze.”

  Yoki put down the half-completed basket and laughed. “You’re just like your name, always chasing butterflies...and imaginary music.”

  Nova pulled Yoki to her feet. “Come on.”

  They descended the ladder to the ground. The pueblo was quiet today. Every able-bodied boy and man was hunting antelope, leaving the women and children to do their daily chores without them.

  “Where are all the mothers?” asked Nova as they walked past the other homes.

  Great-grandmother, wrapped in a blanket because she was always cold, stopped in the middle of her storytelling to three girls. “They’re all at Muna’s. Discussing the best marriage prospects for you both.”

  Yoki and Nova looked at each other. So it had begun!

  “Where are you going?” asked great-grandmother.

  “I heard flute music,” said Nova.

  Great-grandmother lifted her sparse gray brows. “Describe the music.”

  “Beautiful and lively. It made me want to dance.”

  Great-grandmother’s face creased into a web of wrinkles when she smiled. “I haven’t seen or heard Kokopelli since I was your age.”

  The three young girls sitting nearby jumped to their feet. “Kokopelli?”

  They took off running, climbing up the ladders to their homes as nimbly as scurrying lizards.

  Yoki and Nova laughed. Girls who had not gone through the corn-grinding ceremony of puberty were frightened by this mischievous god. And for good reason. Besides being able to summon the rain, Kokopelli carried corn, beads, shells, turquoise, blankets, and seeds from every plant in the world on his back. That’s not what frightened young girls though. Kokopelli also carried unborn babies. Those girls were much too young for that womanly gift!

  “Go.” Great-grandmother flicked her long gray hair away. “See if it’s him.”

  Yoki and Nova dashed across the mesa.

  “Where were you when you heard him?” asked Yoki when they reached the narrow steps carved into the plateau.

  Nova pointed into the distance. “See the yucca there? Beyond that hill.”

  They raced down the steps. They knew every step, each indentation and groove of every stone. At the bottom, Nova took the lead, running north, skirting the scrub, and avoiding a rattler coiled in the shadow of a large rock. She sprinted to the place where the yucca clustered together like a pack of coyotes.

  “I was here.” Nova pressed her lips together and listened intently. “There. Did you hear it?”

  Yoki grinned. “I hear it.” She grabbed Nova’s hand. “It’s as beautiful as you said.”

  The melody was light as air, brilliant and clear, a lyrical poetic prayer to the earth and sky that captured the maidens’ hearts.

  “Is that him?” Yoki shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare.

  A lone figure emerged from the shadow of a high plateau a mile away.

  “It must be. The music is getting louder.”

  “We should make cornmeal muffins for him,” said Yoki.

  “Us? No, Takala should. She’s been married four years and has no baby. Come on, we need to tell her!” Nova waved to the figure in the distance before they spun about and raced back home.

  “Do you think his cock is as big as they say?” Nova skipped up the steps.

  “Bigger!” laughed Yoki.

  “Do you think he knows the men have gone hunting?”

  “Why don’t you ask Kokopelli when he comes?”

  The girls burst into a fit of giggles. Once at the top, they raced across the mesa and climbed the ladder to Muna’s home.

  Breathing hard, Yoki and Nova entered the room crowded with wives, young and old.

  “Kokopelli is coming!” said Nova.

  Twenty heads swiveled toward Takala. The shy wife buried her face in her hands.

  “Go, Takala.”

  “Make cornmeal muffins for him.”

  “This is a good day.”

  “Your prayers have been answered.”

  The wives offered kind words and encouragement to the childless Takala, who reluctantly stood and plodded back to her own home. The wives followed her out, spreading the word to grandfathers too frail to join the hunt and to the grandmothers sleeping in the sun.

  Kokopelli was coming! There was so much to do. Food to make. Hair to style. Best dresses to put on.

  Soon, everyone heard Kokopelli’s flute, his joyful song rising to the top of the mesa.

  “Take hold of Kokopelli’s staff and pray for a long life,” said a grandmother to her married daughter.

  “Which staff is that? The one of wood or the one of flesh?”

  “Both of them.” Grandmother made two fists and jerked them up and down.

  The wives and grandmothers laughed. The music grew louder and louder, and everyone held their breath.

  Kokopelli danced into their pueblo. He wore a tooshort breechcloth around his waist and deerskin moccasins. His forehead was tied with a colorful cotton belt and atop his head was a crest of spiky plumes. He wore his hair in a hömsoma, tied in a black cloth at the nape of his neck. He was handsome and athletic, with graceful sinewy limbs that swayed to the rhythm of his melody.

  The women sat down while he played, his music so enchanting they felt as if they had all been struck with a bit of love madness, tuskyaptawi. Kokopelli sang a song about being fruitful whatever you do, whether it is weaving baskets, stringing beads, shaping pottery, sowing seeds, or making babies. Plant your time and you will succeed, he sang.

  The wives brought him fresh piki bread, roasted dove, bean soup, and prickly pear. Takala, her head lowered, shuffled her shy feet across the mesa and offered Kokopelli a corn cake.

  Kokopelli gobbled it down and pronounced it delicious. Takala blushed, but when Kokopelli pushed away his breechcloth to uncover his cock, her hand flew to her mouth.

  Yoki’s and Nova’s jaws dropped. Kokopelli’s cock was huge, and as long as a gourd. Kokopelli lifted his flute to his mouth and played a suggestive tune just for Takala. He moved close to her, brushing her shoulder with his and making seductive eyes at the shy wife. He whispered in her ear.

  “What do you think he’s saying?” Nova asked Yoki.

  “Sit on my gourd.” Yoki buried her face in Nova’s neck to muffle her laughter.

  Kokopelli took Takala’s hand and together they went to Takala’s home. He set down his flute and Takala lay on the bed, squeezed shut her eyes, and turned away her head.

  Kokopelli crouch
ed down and laid his hand on her flat belly. “This energy is good.” His hand moved to her head. “But this energy is blocked.”

  Takala grimaced.

  “Do you always do that?” asked Kokopelli.

  “Do what?”

  “Make that face when your husband is close to you.”

  “Just get it over with.” Takala wished Kokopelli would stop talking and just do it.

  “I’m not surprised you have no babies. Bad energy.” Kokopelli stroked Takala’s cheek. “Tell me how it is with him.”

  “He puts it in and it is done.”

  Kokopelli rubbed his chin. “Is he young?”

  Takala nodded. “We are a good match. We are both shy.”

  “A shy man and wife do not make good lovers.” Ko-kopelli kissed Takala’s forehead. “I’ll help you but you must make me a promise.”

  “Anything.”

  “Do everything I say and don’t make that face again.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Kokopelli slid Takala’s manta off her shoulder, pulling it over her young ripe breasts to her waist. Embarrassed, Takala looked away.

  “Look at what I’m doing.” Kokopelli removed his feathered headdress, plucked off one feather, and swept it back and forth over Takala’s breasts until her nipples hardened. Next he lifted his palms and set them gently across each breast.

  Takala drew a sharp breath of surprise and her eyes widened as her nipples stretched like flowers toward the sun into Kokopelli’s palms. He slowly rotated his hands, rubbing the tips of her nipples. Takala gasped. She had been impatient for Kokopelli to fuck her, but now she thought only of the wonderful feeling knotting inside her.

  “Do you like that?” asked Kokopelli, despite knowing she did.

  “Oh,” sighed Takala, wondering if this was what people felt when they had love madness.

  Kokopelli bent his head and kissed the top of her full, soft breast. He cupped both breasts in his hands, and inched his way down until his lips kissed her nipple. Takala took a deep breath and stared at the knot of hair on the back of his neck. Kokopelli was kissing her breasts!

  Kokopelli took a nipple in his mouth and sucked, and Takala’s ass lifted off the blanket.

  “You suckle like a baby.” Takala set her hand on his burnished shoulder.

  Kokopelli lifted his head. “If you want a baby, your husband must suckle like one.” He moved to the other nipple.

  Kokopelli’s tugs and licks stirred a strange feeling in Takala’s löwa. It felt like the first few steps of a dance, her feet not yet in rhythm to the beat.

  Kokopelli untied the cloth belt and pulled Takala’s manta over her hips and down her shapely, strong legs.

  “You’re beautiful, Takala. I must pray to your löwa.” He lowered his head and kissed her knees, one hand massaging her breast, the other drawing zigzags across her thighs. Takala’s breath was ragged. Her legs tensed with both pleasure and anxiety.

  Kokopelli lifted his head and uncoiled the string securing his homsoma. Unbound, his glossy hair fell over his shoulders and down his back like a cascade of black water. He shook it and laughed, then gathered it in his hands and dragged the ends over her thighs. Takala’s tension left her body and her thighs parted like a blossoming flower.

  Kokopelli offered his ponytail to Takala. “Take hold of my hair. Pull when you feel the energy of the world inside you.”

  Takala did not know what that meant but made a fist around his hair anyway. Kokopelli lowered his face between her thighs. She was moist and smelled of woman. He danced his tongue over her, the rhythm like the thumping feet of a Butterfly dance.

  Takala tugged his hair. She felt the earth’s pull on her löwa, felt the sun’s warmth on her skin, and the wind’s gusts on her heart. She tugged again.

  Kokopelli’s tongue danced fast and deep. Takala kept tugging. When Kokopelli felt Takala’s buttocks join in the rhythm, he knew she was close. He lifted his face, glistening with her dew, spread her thighs, and settled himself between her legs.

  Kokopelli’s cock was enormous. Bigger than any human’s. But he pushed his way into Takala’s slippery löwa. Takala whooped and grabbed Kokopelli’s firm ass. Like the river after a storm, her body was swept away in an eddy of pleasure. The strong current pounded her body and soaked into her skin and soul. Kokopelli kept thrusting. The shy wife needed more than just one lovemaking lesson.

  “Get on all fours,” said Kokopelli.

  Takala remembered her promise to do anything he asked and got on her hands and knees. Kokopelli took her from behind, his gourd-length cock thrusting into the shy wife who wasn’t so shy any longer. With one hand on her hip and the other clasping her two long ponytails like a rein, he rode her hard. Takala sang fertility’s song, a long joyful croon that Yoki and Nova heard as they crouched next to her door outside.

  Kokopelli sang his own song and sowed his seed deep inside her.

  Afterward, he asked Takala to fix his hair. She wrapped its length and tied it tight.

  “When your husband comes home you will show him what I did.”

  “I will, and I’ll tell him to plant his time here.” Takala pointed to the sticky slick entrance to her löwa.

  Kokopelli emerged from the home, ate the prepared food, then told more stories and played the flute until late into the night. He left the pueblo after playing a tune that made everyone so sleepy they went to bed.

  But Kokopelli wasn’t done yet. He had seen the lustyeyed looks of Yoki and Nova. The maidens were eager to experience the pleasures of marriage.

  The next morning, Yoki bounced into Nova’s home.

  “It’s hair-washing day,” said Yoki.

  Since their mothers had told them to expect visits of eligible men from other pueblos, the maidens kept a schedule. The pretense for these visits was trading. Yoki and Nova knew better. It was a way to meet single men from different clans. So far, they had met several they liked. Clean, shiny hair styled into a squash blossom was very important.

  Nova took the yucca soap and grass brush, and followed Yoki down the ladder. They talked about Kokopelli’s visit as they crossed the mesa, descended the steps, and walked the wide path to the river.

  “Looks like Kokopelli is bringing rain.” Nova pointed to a distant mesa where a gray cloud mass stretched wide and heavy in the sky.

  “I wonder if he is also bringing Takala a baby?” Yoki took off her moccasins and pulled her manta over her head.

  “We’ll know soon enough.”

  They untied each other’s squash-blossom hair, two black waterfalls falling to their waists.

  “Do you think Kokopelli is handsome?” Nova walked into the river.

  “Handsome enough to do business with.” Yoki burst out laughing. Doing business was grandfather’s phrase for fucking. As if trading turquoise for shells gave the same pleasure!

  “No wonder the adults are so happy on trading days.” Nova splashed Yoki.

  They played in the water, splashing and diving, and whipping their hair about. Kokopelli was watching them from behind a vertical ledge of red rock upstream. It was time for some fun.

  “What’s that?” Nova pointed to an object drifting toward them. Against the current!

  Yoki stopped her splashing and narrowed her eyes. “No. It can’t be.”

  The object floated between the two girls, spun about, and veered toward Yoki. She grabbed it and lifted it out of the water.

  “It’s Kokopelli’s cock!” said Yoki.

  It was! And though the maidens had never touched a cock before they knew the shape and size of Kokopelli’s. He had made sure everyone saw his when he was dancing.

  Yoki and Nova looked down river. There was no sign of Kokopelli.

  Yoki stroked the smooth skin of Kokopelli’s cock. Her fingers followed the length and fondled the soft skin at the tip. She pushed back the foreskin, examined the shiny head, and tapped the tiny hole at the top. “We need to know how to make our future husbands happy.”

 
; Kokopelli’s cock leapt from her hand and dove into the water. Yoki and Nova squealed and their eyes searched the river’s depths.

  “There it is!” Yoki pointed behind Nova.

  Kokopelli’s cock circled her three times and disappeared under the water.

  “Find the cock! I want the cock!” said Nova.

  “Oh!” Yoki’s arms flew from the water. “Oh, Nova. It’s trying to get in me!”

  Kokopelli’s cock pushed. A virgin löwa was a tight squeeze, but once in it was glorious.

  Yoki smacked her hands on the water. “It’s too big. It won’t—” She yelped.

  “What happened?” asked Nova.

  “It’s in!” Yoki reached for Nova. “Help me, his cock is lifting me off my feet. Oh—” Her feet slipped on a slick rock and she fell back, Kokopelli’s cock still thrusting.

  Nova lifted Yoki under her arms. “I have you.”

  Yoki’s head rested on Nova’s chest. “Oh, oh, oh.” Yoki’s slim brown legs spread wide and floated upward. “It feels so good. I just wish Kokopelli had sent his hands down river as well.”

  “Use your own.”

  Yoki massaged her own breasts, stroked her nipples, already firm from the cool water. Her back against Nova, Yoki closed her eyes and let the sensation of Kokopelli’s cock and her own hands swirl around her. She felt like a blossoming flower, like a hawk soaring on a breeze, like a beating drum. All at the same time!

  “What does it feel like?” Nova felt her friend’s body tense and relax, shiver, then tense and relax again. Yoki’s heavy breathing made Nova horny.

  “Like the path to happiness.” Yoki’s hand slid over her belly to her throbbing löwa and stroked the nub.

  Surprised and delighted that Yoki’s löwa was slippery with pleasure, Kokopelli slowed his thrusting cock. He had a lesson to teach. Humans were too eager to race down the path of happiness. Sauntering along the path delivered a more fulfilling experience.

  Kokopelli snuck a peek around the rock ledge. It was all going to plan. Was there anything better than fucking two virgins on a sunny day? Kokopelli lifted his gaze to the sky and sent a silent message of thanks to the gathering clouds. The clouds rumbled an answer.