by Zane
“And it is you,” Nephthys spats, “who poisons them from our beds. Your lair is a scorpion’s nest.”
The ludicrousness of what she speaks tickles me. She is confused and clearly desperate. Sex and sexuality are important parts of life, here and in the afterlife. There is nothing taboo about experiencing the joys of pleasuring oneself or another. And I shall not be left to feel ashamed for indulging one’s heart’s desires, or for feeding my own pleasures. I do not wish to deprive or be deprived.
“And yours,” I snap back, “is a maggot’s delight. Your rancid womb reeks with the stench of death. Even the beetles refuse to touch your flesh. You are the worthless shell of a woman.”
Despite the relentless sun beating down on us, and the sweat upon her face, her eyes turn cold, then become enflamed. “You, Raghaba, goddess of desire, are a man eater, a lecherous, conniving thief of the soul.”
“And this,” I sneer, “is coming from the same tongue of the woman who seduced her own sister’s husband, and took him to her bed so that she might spring forth the fruits of his loins. You deliberately disguised yourself as your own sister and had drunken sex with her husband, and now you have eyes for your nephew. Yet, you part your lips to call me a conniving thief.”
I grin, wickedly. “No, barren one,” I say, taunting her. “You are the treacherous one. Unlike you, Nephthys—goddess of the desert, I entertain men for pleasure, not to steal them from their wives, or to manipulate them into planting seeds into my womb. I amuse their fantasies and allow them to experience the pleasures you and these others so willingly deny them. So, do not ever confuse me with your wickedness.
“And though I am capable of satisfying the appetite of a thousand gods, tonight I seek only one. The rest of your gods are safe—tonight. So sleep well with them. But come the awakening of dawn, when the sun rises and falls, I will make no such promise. And for you, Nephthys,” I say, pointing in her direction, matching her slit-drawn glare, “you had better pray to the gods that I find favor in you and not allow vengeance to flow through my veins. For if I do not, your vagina—the wasteland that it is—shall be pulled out and tossed into the wilderness so that the vultures may peck it apart, and then I shall have your tongue removed.”
The young goddesses cast their eyes downward, flush with embarrassment. Nephthys glowers, but holds her tongue in fear she will awaken and find it cut out and fed to the dogs that lie at her feet. I smile in victory, her eyes burning into my back, as I saunter my way toward the temple of Amun, where the gods offer food to the ancestors, and gather in recreation.
There is a sprinkle of goddesses donned in stylish wigs and flowing gowns—perched up on stools—vying for the attention of Horus. He is acutely aware of this. He sheepishly flirts with them with his eyes, but there is no twinkle that holds any promise. I toss my head up and leisurely stroll past them, catching their glares from the corners of my eyes.
“Why has she come?” I overhear Uadjet, goddess of justice, time, heaven and hell, ask. Her tongue, sharp with indignation, hisses and cracks as she holds the neck of a cobra in her right hand, its body wrapped around her arm. “Has she not spoiled enough fruits of our gods with her clever and cunning ways?” She squeezes the asp’s neck in my direction and its jaws pop open, displaying long, sharp fangs, dripping with venom.
I come to take that which you tremble to have in your bed tonight, I think, rolling my eyes and dismissing her meager attempt to intimidate me. I am admired by few, envied by most, but hated by many. I am a threat. Knowingly, I smile and take a seat across the room so that I might enjoy the view.
“Raghaba,” Khonsu, the moon god, says, briskly walking over and greeting me with a wide smile. “Most desirous and gracious one, you are lovelier than ever. My heart has longed for your presence.” He leans in to kiss me.
I catch the snarling glares of the other goddesses across the room. Jealousy and hate swim around in their pathetic eyes. Lucky for them, I am not in the mood to entertain them. Had I not already had my way with Khonsu, I would have given them an eyeful. But, Khonsu holds no purpose for me.
“Your lips”—I put the palm of my hand up in his face to stop him—“shall never rest upon mine again, nor shall you ever enjoy the pleasures that flow between my thighs.”
“Nefer, my heart bleeds. Have I done something to offend you?”
“Don’t nefer me,” I say, feigning a pout. “My beauty has nothing to do with this. Why have you not called upon me?” I ask this, but it is of no real concern to me. I only inquire to see if his tongue will flap truth or lies.
“I have been to Elephantine and Hermopolis since the last season. But I have kept you close in my thoughts and, even now as I cast my eyes upon you, you have kept me deeply aroused.”
I glance down at his short and very thick penis, pressing up and straining against his loincloth. And in a flash, I see his testicles—tiny bite-size radishes—clinging tightly up against his body, and instantly I remember being shocked at how such little things could produce a heavy load of cream that shot out of the tip of his dwarf-like phallus like rushing, curdled milk. I remember how he lay there on his back, after the illicit act, with the slippery thickness of his seeds on his stomach and thighs, breathing heavily, then falling into a deep, heavy snore as if he had slain the wombs of a hundred goddesses.
Traveling along these memories, remembering how the several nights with him had been such a waste, disgusts me. What a waste, I think, rolling my eyes. Being with him was like going to a feast of the gods with very little meat to fill you. He always left me hungry for something more. However, I shall admit that his only saving grace is his tongue. Other than that, it is no wonder I bored with him so quickly. But I dare not tell him these things. To bash his manhood would be most unbecoming. Yet, I will not lead him to believe he was a great lover, either. Or that he was a master of pleasure. To do so would be a calamity. Still in all, I accept the reality that fulfilling the sexual desires of one’s heart will never guarantee the fulfillment of my own, all the time.
“And when did you return?”
“The beginning of peret,” he replies.
I laugh to myself. Hmm…and we are now in the shemu, the season of harvesting. How interesting, I muse. While others were planting seeds into the fertile earth, he was out doing a little planting of his own seeds—seeds which will sprout and flourish during the growing season, then spring forth fully grown crop during the harvest. I do not know why this foolish man feels the need to be dishonest. We are not bound together by commitment or marriage, so there is no need for insincerity.
I let out a disgusted sigh. “Stop with your lies,” I say, looking over his shoulder. Seth, the god of chaos and destruction, is eyeing me. Lust is smoldering in his eyes. He discreetly strokes himself over his loincloth, challenges me to cast my eyes downward onto his ever-growing bulge. He does not make my clitoris throb, so I refuse the bait. I frown, giving him a sickened stare. I dislike him almost as much as I do his miserable sister, Nephthys. He winks at me, and I roll my eyes—returning my attention to the Khonsu. “It has been revealed by the gods that you have taken up with Meshkenet down in the Delta. So, now, let that swamp creature soothe your yearnings.”
“Raghaba, it is you I adore. Meshkenet does not hold my heart.”
“And it is your heart that is the seat of the soul, and shall be weighed against your deeds. So, be careful of what your tongue speaks.”
He is blocking my view of Horus and I am becoming annoyed. “I don’t wish to continue this; please leave me.”
“Then I shall visit with you when the moon lights the sky.”
I clench my teeth. “And, if you dare,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “I shall summon the gods to strike down upon you.”
“Raghaba,” he whines, clutching his chest, “why have you turned on me? It is you that has captured my heart.”
“But it is she who has captured your semen, no?”
His eyes widen, surprised that I am aware that she is
with child. He is as foolish as a mongoose. Does he not know that Raghaba knows the desires of all?
He opens his mouth to speak. Again, my hand stops him. “Khonsu,” I say. “I’ve had enough. Go suckle the sagging breasts of Meshkenet. And let me be.”
“You are as beautiful as you are evil,” he says. “Your tongue, as soft and loving as it can be, has the hiss of a snake. But it captivates me.”
“And your tongue,” I say, narrowing my eyes to slits, “is rotted with lies. Good day.”
I excuse him with the flick of my hand, but he still stands—waiting. For what is of no concern to me. I am done with engaging in idle conversation with him. Humph. What a waste, I think, rolling my eyes in my head. He couldn’t even stir the bottom of my honey well, right. Oh, yes. This conversation is definitely over. I blink, blink again…make him invisible.
I see Toth—god of sacred writings and wisdom, coming toward us, his manhood swaying beneath his loincloth. He is lean and muscular with chiseled features and the goodness of the sun burned into his shiny, bronzed skin. His eyes are big, brown and bright. I smile, knowing he has also held me in his dreams. A vision of me on my knees with my face down, back arched and Toth inserting himself slowly into the back of my vagina, straddling me, clamping the inside of his bulky thighs around my hips, then pumping deeply in and out of me while pulling me by the hair flashes through my head, and I quickly decide that I will engage him in frolic. That I shall climb atop of him, lower my womanhood down onto the length of him, then close its opening around the width of his penis—snapping it shut, like a crocodile taking a bite. Yes, when opportunity presents itself, I shall melt myself all over him, fuse my vagina onto his manhood, and we shall become one.
Until such time, I strain to keep focus on Horus—who is still seated at the table playing senet with Khnum—instead of the meaty lump that bounces in the center of Toth’s crotch. I shift in my seat, cross my legs and pinch off the swelling in my clitoris.
Toth greets me with eyes dancing and with a smile and lustful gaze. “Raghaba,” he says, his voice deep and masculine, looking directly at Khonsu, “have we a problem here?” He lifts my hand and kisses it, keeping his eyes locked on Khonsu.
“Not at all,” I reply, allowing him to hold my hand in his—much longer than he should. “Khonsu was just leaving.”
Khonsu nods. “Indeed I am.” He bows his head slightly, in my direction. “Raghaba, as always…it has been a blessing to lay my eyes upon you.” He nods to Toth, who graciously returns the nod.
“Be safe in your travels,” I offer snidely as he walks off.
When Khonsu is safely out of earshot, Toth leans in and whispers, “You, beautiful goddess of desire, have certainly caused quite a stir among the gods today.”
I smile. “And so I should.”
“And, as you can see,” he says, nodding in the direction of Uadjet and the other goddesses, “none of the goddesses have found favor in your presence here.”
“Nor should they,” I offer, dismissing his comment with the flick of my wrist. I roll my eyes in their direction, then return my attention to the beautiful specimen that stands before me. Our eyes lock and we share a smile.
He moves in closer, inhaling me. “You smell sweet as the lotus.”
“And I taste even sweeter,” I tease.
His hand finds its way to the small of my back, tracing light circles. “Perhaps I shall taste for myself?”
“Perhaps…,” I offer, pausing, my eyes traveling across the room. Toth beholds my face as I look forth from my seat at Horus. He is immersed in his game. Its ivory and ebony board sits on four legs carved like bulls’ feet. I keep my eyes fixed on the hands, thick and long, that hold its pawn in an attempt to outwit the evil forces so that he may reach the kingdom of Osiris—and win. I silently cheer him on, hoping for his victory, and for what lies in wait. My mind lingers on…imagining his fingers kneading my nipples; the warmth of his hands enveloping my breasts, then gliding along the curves of my body. I clamp my smooth thighs tight, shutting off the dew that collects along the creases of my labia. The other gods who are present slyly find cause to gather around me. They smell my excitement, but dare not touch. My erotic scent floats around them, the faint aroma of sex and sweat that has been baked into my skin by the sun.
Horus looks up; his eyes find me. His hunger for the pleasures that only I can bring him ripen in his gaze, and without words, I am certain, as I have always been, that it is I he desires. I hold his gaze for an endless moment, then smile.
My smile, slight, yet seductive, is an invitation for what’s to come. He knows I am aware of his salacious thoughts, just as I am of the wanderings of the gods who sit before and around me. They, too, yearn to be pleasured, their erections straining against their garments for release. Perhaps release shall come, but not today and not with me.
My attention returns to Toth. “…You shall,” I continue. “But, not in this hour, nor on this day.”
He follows my eyes, glances over his shoulder, sees Horus, and knows from whence my passion grows.
“Then perhaps,” he responds, kissing me lightly on the cheek, “we shall walk under the moonlight, and share a moment, exploring each other. I look forward to such time.”
“And the time shall come,” I say, taking him by the hand, “where we shall meet beneath the stars, and I shall allow you to feel the sensation of my tongue, my mouth, my lips, against your flesh.”
He kisses me again, softly on the cheek, and says, “Then I shall wait until such time.” He excuses himself, gliding back to the other side of the room. I turn to find the burning eyes of Nephthys, and decide to give her something extra to toss into her fire.
I get up from my seat and saunter past her and the others, then make my way toward Horus and the other gods who are gathered around the board game. I maneuver my way in between them, then lean in, pressing my soft lips flush to his ear. “Do not speak,” I whisper. He nods. “Dine with me tonight, and you shall act out what you have kept locked in your dreams. I have prepared you a feast that will take you through the night, and greet you when the sun awakens.” Horus keeps his eyes locked on the board game, but he smiles. I blow lightly into his ear. “I shall await your arrival.”
He nods.
I walk off, leaving him and the others admiring the flawless curve of my backside, and sultry sway of my hips, drooling.
“She is absolutely breathtaking,” I overhear one of the gods say.
“Mesmerizing,” another says.
On my way back across the desert, I visit the shemayet, the office of musician, the highest position to be held, to fetch Rahjidaha so that she may play the harp in the private garden while Horus and I dine. Then she can leave when it is time to begin an evening of splendor. I busy myself around the house until the hour arrives.
“So you’ve come,” I say, as Horus steps through the door, greeting him with a smile. Although no man has ever refused me, there is always a first time. I am glad tonight was not it. My earlier encounter with Hapi has left my insides churning for something more.
“I am not one to turn down an offer to be in the company of a woman, especially one as lovely as you,” he says.
“Come,” I say, taking him by the hand. I lead him to the table. “Sit with me by the fire so that we might eat and drink from the cup of passion.”
“I do pray that the cup from which we shall drink is large enough to quench both my thirst and my hunger for you.”
“And if it is not,” I say, smiling, “then we shall keep filling it until it does.”
He takes his seat as I begin serving him his meal that has been kept warm in clay pots. We give thanks to the gods, then eat. Very few words are said during the meal. Yet, he can barely keep his eyes off of me long enough to finish eating. I smile with this knowing, but say nothing. I sit across from him and watch him wrap his full lips around the neck of the clay bottle from which he drinks beer.
“You are a very mysterious woman, my
dear Raghaba.”
“Do you not like mystery?” I ask, sipping my cup of wine.
He leans in, places his elbows on the wooden table, interlocks his fingers, then rests his chin on his hands. “I do like the element of surprise; being kept on the edge of suspense can be quite intriguing.”
“And quite uncomfortable,” I say coyly.
“Nothing makes me uneasy,” he states, licking his lips. “Nothing,” he softly repeats, his voice dripping with innuendo.
I smile.
“Tell me about you,” he says. “Share with me everything about Raghaba.”
Hmm…to share or not to share? That was the question I mulled over in my head as I looked him in his piercing eyes, then locked my eyes on his lips, imagining what it would be like to feel them—full and wet—all over my body. I think for a moment. Contemplate whether or not I should invite him into my personal space. About me? I think. Do I tell him that I am a woman who cannot be bothered with love, that there is no room in my heart for hurt and disappointments? That I shall not allow myself to be loved? Do I tell him that I am a woman who holds neither regrets nor guilt for loving, wanting, needing, sex? That I am comfortable in my sexuality; that I am liberated? Do I tell him that I will make sweet, sweet love to him, give him all there is to give of me—tonight, but come the beginning of dawn, there will be nothing else left to give? Do I tell him that there will be lots of sex, but will never be any intimacy? That the only thing that causes my heart to race with joy is thoughts of illicit affairs that bring forth roaring orgasms? Does he want truths? Do I bare all and tell him these things? No, I answer. There is no need to. This is not about me.
He takes a heaping gulp of beer.
“There is nothing to tell,” I say.
“Ah, yes, beautiful one, there is always something to be told, something to be shared.”
Perhaps, I think as he stares at me. “Not in this hour,” I state, looking at him over the rim of my cup as I slowly sip, “nor in this life.”
