by catt dahman
“Call me arpaktikó̱n.”
“Raptor? That’s not a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Helen shrugged and replied, “That is who I am. Can a raptor not be beautiful as she dives from the sky and floats on the air? Are her movements not graceful and elegant? Is she not strong and fearless?”
The man chuckled. “Have you no eleos?”
“None.” Helen leaned into his body, almost holding her breath against his stench. He nuzzled her neck, and she ran her lips along his throat. Very carefully so that he wouldn’t cry out with pain, she slid her razor-like fangs into his carotid artery and fixed her lips tightly against his skin to affix the suction. Blood-wine burst into her mouth, and she opened her throat as it pulsed.
Oinos. Wine.
When he was weak with blood loss and faltered, she allowed him to slink down the wall to sit, his head lolling to one side. She had only taken a quarter of her fill. “Oh, what is this?” she called out, “he falls down drunk?”
His friend roared with laughter. “His loss to be sure.” He beckoned Helen to him, “I won’t fall asleep, my raptor.”
“Good.”
“You like men, yes?” He held her tightly, and she ran her mouth across his skin, making his skin rise in goose bumps.
Helen smiled against his neck, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Remember, I am a raptor.” She viciously bit into his neck, ripping and sucking at the blood, bitter as it was.
She forced herself to stop when he sagged and let him fall to the ground. Quickly, with a silver dagger, she cut at his neck, stabbing and slicing, making the wounds vanish under her work. When he was dead, she went to the other man and did the same. “For men, I feel only miseo.”
Using his chalamys, she cleaned herself, wiping the blood off her hands, face, and neck. Her only regret was that it was over and that she could no longer make them suffer and die again.
She hunted again, watching and waiting for prey.
In a bath, she slipped in and found a lone bather; he too was drunk, but at least he was clean. Helen slipped into the warm water with him, sliding across the slippery tiles and towards him. The water made her dress see-through, and his eyes lit up as he looked at her breasts and between her thighs.
“By Aphrodite, you are lovely. I swear I am in love with you. Take off your veil and let me see you.”
Helen turned away so that he could view her buttocks and removed her veil, tossing it to the side of the warm pool. When she turned back to him, he gasped.
“Are you pleased?”
He was almost speechless. “I know I am in love, now.”
“Sit here on the side, and let me show you how wonderful love is,” she purred.
He pulled himself up and let his legs dangle into the water. She moved between his legs. “Oh, aren’t you indeed glad to see me,” she said.
“Daughter of Zeus,” he moaned.
Helen giggled, “So I am.” She leaned down, letting her hair tickle his manhood as she kissed his inner thigh. With power surging in her veins, she plunged her fangs into his femoral artery; the pain and shock caused him to ejaculate and moan loudly with the pleasure.
Ignoring that, Helen fed on his blood, finding it delicious, rich and clean, lightly spiced with the excellent wine he had drunk earlier. She wanted to thank him for having such wonderful, tasty blood but refused to stop sucking at the flow until he passed out from blood loss.
With eyes blazing with hatred, envy at how the man lived, and resentment at her own plight, she did something she had never imagined doing: all at once, she used her sharp teeth to rip into his penis and testicles and snap them off.
Helen spat the offending appendage into the water where it floated a few seconds. She yanked him into the water and let it turn red as he bled out. She felt pleasure at seeing how much blood was left to ruin the baths.
She took his chiton, and although it was too large, she made it look acceptable with some work; his himation was too long but would cover her.
With a last look at the crimson stain spreading over the bath, she left the bath still not satisfied. How many deaths would it take to slake the thirst of her soul? What would be balm to her wounds of her heart?
Helen was full now, and the pain and discomfort were ended. She didn’t want to over feed and become blood-sick from gluttony. Right now, she was in a killing mood, angry with men and taking it out on anyone she found.
There would be many more months and more to drain, so she forced herself to return home. When she grew angry with her husband, she could replay what she had done in her mind and ignore him.
She just hoped she never lost control and drained Menelaus.
Maybe, he should know that.
In veils, Helen went to the Dionysus festival in Sparta, a very secret event that they had only five times a year, and it cost her untold wealth to find out where it was and when. She was allowed to join them when she donated a statue of Dionysus that was the size of a real man reclining upon a carved couch.
Helen liked the statue the way the artist had designed it, just as she had commanded him. Dionysus’ face was more than life like with sullen sneer that said he only desired fun and pleasures of abandonment. His face was a little feminine with full lips and lovely curls.
His reclining body was slender, more like a young boy or a terribly athletic girl with beautiful hands, feet, and legs. Helen had commissioned the artist to sculpt the penis full erect and quite over-sized. The artist had snickered and said, “A wonton lady could relieve herself on him, yes?”
“Indeed. In a year, the poor thing will be rubbed down to a mere twig, “she said as she giggled.
That statue Helen had given to the cult ensured her place in the festival. Every woman dressed in red, as Helen was, passed by the statue and ran her fingertips along the shaft. I noticed a shadow at my elbow as the heavy incense began.
“What is this with you following me?”
“It’s my first time, and I don’t know how to or what to do. You dance and drink a lot of wine, and you abandon everything, and you let go, okay,”
“You can play with boys or girls or both.”
“With boys or girls? I’m both,” he whispered.
“What? Show me,” demanded Helen.
He raised his red chiton to show Helen an impressively large male member; instead of
testicles, there was a tight little purse that was pure female. He slid his chiton down to show that he had slight breasts topped with pretty, sensitive nipples. “Hermaphrodite.”
“It is said.”
“I haven’t a partner for the night. Would you consider being with me?’
“Really? You’re beautiful. You would be with me?”
“I desire to explore both your feminine side and your masculine side, and we share one who looks as androgynous as possible for the full effect. If you desire the entire thing, we can use the statue I generously volunteered…is his member not magnificent?”
“Let’s sit by it so we can use it first. I’m nervous.”
“You won’t be when the incense begins, the wine flows, and the scent of sex and blood mingles with the dancing and drum beat. You’ll become a very lusty stallion who can be satiated, and I’ll be your mare.
Then, Dionysus will be the lusty stallion, and you can be the mare.
Next, you can be another stallion, and I will be the mare to his stallion, too, and you will be happy tonight,” Helen explained as she felt excited about the upcoming events.
As the wine was generously passed and everyone began dancing maniacally, the debauchery began, and Helen and her partner, Lyomedes, allowed the wine to overcome their senses, and they coupled happily, exploring every perversion available to them.
Helen pulled a man dressed in brown to them and undressed him. He joined in the passion with them, swearing Helen and the hermaphrodite were the greatest experiment of his life and that he was in love with both of them for all time. He swore devotion and offered riches
to them for never leaving him.
But Helen slyly slid her fangs into his throat so sharply and so quickly that he hardly felt the sting. She offered the bleeding stream to Lyomedes, and he eagerly joined in to drink, praising Helen for all she had taught him. The pair, playing with abandonment, painted one another with the blood, rubbed the liquid into their skin, and drank their fill.
Not only was Helen beautiful, but she also was able to fulfill her inner lust and act in ways she never would have been allowed. For some months, she enjoyed her festivals along side of Lyomedes until the night she found him absent.
“Have you not heard?” a woman asked her as Helen questioned everyone about her friend’s whereabouts.
“Tell me.”
“It’s horrid. He was in the country enjoying pleasures with a maiden. He had just started to feed when herdsmen came upon him and were terrified by all the blood, her squirming, and fighting. They thought he had raped her and was eating her dead body.”
“No….” Helen whispered. Of course, what they thought was very close to the truth.
“They dispatched him with blades of silver, and the woman was killed as well.”
Helen moaned, “Who did it? How could they know what he was?”
“They are wild ones.”
“Who?” she asked again.
“Oh, did I not tell you? It was the Dioscuri themselves.” Castor and Pollux, Helen’s own brothers.
Chapter 13
Paris of Troy
Paris Alexandros was the son of King Priam.
When Paris was born, a seer foretold that Paris would be the downfall of Troy, and to save the kingdom, the child should be killed. Priam saw the beautiful baby and couldn’t bring himself to kill his own child, and so he asked his herdsman, Agelaus, to take the baby’s life.
Following orders, Agelaus took Paris up Mount Ida and left the child there to die of dehydration and hunger or to be attacked by animals. Strangely, a female bear found the baby, and instead of devouring him, she suckled him as well as her cubs, saving his life as she protected him. After nine days, Agelaus went to Mount Ida to bury the baby and found that Paris lived.
Agelaus told Priam and Queen Hecuba that the child was dead, so Troy was safe, but secretly, Agelaus took the child to rear as his own.
Paris Alexandros grew into a handsome and noble man who fought thieves and excelled in athletics. He was intelligent and kind. In time, he took a lover named Oenone of Phrygia. She was a mountain nymph and daughter of a river god, which allowed her many freedoms.
Nymphs were considered to be somewhat divine and were devoted to water, the underworld, land, plants, and celestial. Each was beautiful and not bound by the Spartan ideal of chastity; thus, Oenone was free to enjoy the delights of the flesh with Paris. She was trained in the arts of medicine by the god Apollo and well known for her abilities to heal.
It was whispered by some that Oenone and her sisters enjoyed the festivals of Dionysus where no men were allowed, at least by choice, and some claimed that at the celebrations, the women acted wantonly, coupled with whomever they pleased, and drank huge amounts of wine when their passions overcame them.
Often men, women, and children vanished from the countryside, and it was said that the devotees of Dionysus had stolen them and consumed the blood-wine and the very lives of those victims.
Old women of the village whispered that Oenone used a droplet of her own blood to cure the most savage of injuries because the blood was infused with both life and death. Paris once asked his lover about the tales, but Oenone only giggled and said there were mysteries that even the gods had forgotten, but she knew well.
Paris had an unusual ability to raise prized bulls and began to enter them into fights and contests and began to win. For mischief, the god Ares turned himself into a bull and entered a contest against Paris’ best, prized bull. Ares easily won the contest and was the champion, and Paris awarded him a golden crown, despite being tricked. The gods of Olympus were impressed with Paris’ honesty and kept the event in their minds.
In time, Zeus hosted a great wedding of a hero and a water goddess; he invited everyone except Eris, also called Discordia, because she was the goddess of chaos and trouble; Zeus didn’t want trouble at the wedding. Discordia was furious and devised a clever plan to cause massive trouble at the wedding. At the edge of the garden, where the guests gathered, Eris threw a golden apple engraved with the word ‘kallisti’, which means ‘the fairest’.
Hera, Zeus’ wife claimed the apple was hers since she was the most beautiful; Athena claimed it as well, and then Aphrodite. The three goddesses quarreled and demanded Zeus settle the argument and say who was the most beautiful of all.
Zeus knew that when he chose one, the other two would cause trouble and make his life unbearable, so he decided that Paris Alexandros, the man who had judged the bull fight fairly, should decide this contest as well.
Hera tried to cheat and offered Paris all of Asia and Europe if he named her the most beautiful. Athena promised she would give Paris all of the wisdom and skill for battles if he called her the most fair. Aphrodite promised that she would give Paris the most beautiful woman on earth for his wife.
Paris chose Aphrodite.
After this, Paris and his foster father returned to Troy where Paris entered a boxing match, and Paris bested each youth, in turn. However, the last contender, Deiphobus, had the doors bolted, and if he lost the match, he was prepared to stab Paris to death.
Agelaus intervened and explained that he had raised Paris and the boy that would kill Paris would be one of Paris’ own brothers. Priam and Hecuba were worried about the prophecy, but they were quickly won over by Paris and loved him as dearly as they loved his older brother, Hector.
In time, Paris decided to go to Sparta and pretended to be on a diplomatic mission, but he wanted to see Helen, who was said to be the most beautiful woman on earth. He was curious to see if she were as people claimed and thus, the woman meant to be his bride. Aphrodite had promised it.
The second he saw her, he fell deeply in love with Helen and decided he would have her at any cost. Paris Alexandros charmed Menelaus while they talked about raising bulls and horses, hunting with a bow and arrow, and sharing other stories.
Helen, sitting at dinner with them, was bored, despite the elaborate feast Menelaus ordered. The feast started with a dish of eggplant, fried and covered with cheese, green beans with peppers, big black olives stuffed with feta and clams, and hummus with lemon and thyme. He ordered goat drenched in tzatziki, duck tongues with sweet green onions and peppers, and a different dish of goat in a sauce of cinnamon served with potatoes. Candies walnuts, dates, and fresh plums were offered for dessert.
Helen was hungry, and although it was unladylike, she ate heartily, popping a ripe olive into her mouth while looking at Paris from beneath her lashes. While he bantered and drank with Menelaus, he cast secretive glances at Helen, as if questioning her and acting curious about something.
Menelaus showed off his daughter Hermione, and the child was delightful; Paris was exuberant, praising her intelligence, beauty, strength, and childish wit while all the time, saying she was so much like her father. He laughed at everything, listened to Hermione’s babbling, and even entertained her with carvings he made of wood. “Here is an owl and a bear,” he said, giving her the little figures.
“See? She is the most adorable child, is she not, Helen?”
“Of course, she is. She favors her father,” Helen replied automatically.
As Paris exalted everything the child did, Menelaus grew more and more fond of the visitor. What might have happened, no one could tell, but Menelaus was called away for the funeral of his grandfather (Catreus-his mother’s father) and had to be away from the palace for several days.
Before he left, he bade Helen to entertain their guest and to show him the lands like a good hostess. Helen showed Paris her beautiful bay, Polytimos, and the white horse, Mellanippe, which Theseus had sent to her
in jest; they rode the horses along the hills and valley together.
“You flatter Menelaus by flattering his daughter. What reason do you have to gain his favor?” Helen asked boldly.
Paris laughed and replied, “I am not used to such bold talk from Spartan women.”
“You avoid the question.”
“Did you know this: your husband swore an oath that if he were chosen as your husband, he would sacrifice one hundred oxen to the goddess Aphrodite?”
“I didn’t know that. And?”
“And he forgot or didn’t bother. That tells me that Aphrodite didn’t bless your marriage with love because of that slight to her.”
“That’s not your business.”
“But this is,” Paris Alexandros told Helen the story of the golden apple and what Aphrodite had promised him, “so, here I am to see if you are the most beautiful woman on earth and the one meant for me.”
Helen merely looked at him for a minute or two, appraising this man. Paris was tall and lean muscled, his body was sculpted by athletics and good food, and he was truly beautiful. He was probably the most handsome-bodied man Helen had ever seen, even more beautiful than her beloved Theseus. Paris’ jaw line was square and strong, face, nose, and forehead perfect, and about his head was a mass of oiled, ebony curls that matched the boyish smile he always showed. What woman would not think he was as handsome as a god?
“You don’t know me. I might be a vicious monster, a succubus that creeps out after men’s life sources,” she said quite honestly. “I might be a deadly type or hateful and shrewish, slovenly and dull. I might be improper.” She fetchingly cocked her head to one side letting the sunlight turn her hair to flames against her cool, bright blue chiton.
“You are proper because you are Spartan, and your women are the most chaste women in the land, and besides you are royal; you are not improper. You are far from dull because you ride a horse as well as I, and I know you come down to swim in the river and lounge on the falls.”
She did, just as her mother had when Zeus came to her as a swan. Paris must have spied on her. “That only means I like animals and nature.”
