The Satyr

by Tiana Laveen

  She hissed and tossed her menu down on the table. “You’re the type of person that makes someone contract a murder for hire.”

  He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by her remark.

  “Yasmine, I have an offer for you.” He reached for the suitcase he’d set on the floor, opened it, and removed a beautiful gold and black hardbound book, the cover plain without wording, wrapped in a matching sash. She was immediately drawn to it, as if in some way it spoke directly to her, and her only. He untied the ribbon and flipped it open to a blank page, then another, and another. “This is yours.” He closed the book and slid it across the table.

  “What is it? A drawing book?”

  “A journal. You are to write a few words, or a sentence or two in it. More if you wish. Thoughts. You could even sketch something since you mentioned drawing. Doesn’t matter. Whatever you do, though, the words or illustrations are to represent what you want, who you believe you are, your deepest desires, and definitely, your greatest fears. There’s just one rule.” He held up a finger. “You aren’t allowed to lie to it. You have to be completely open and uninhibited.”

  “And why in the hell would I do that? More importantly, why would I share any of that with you?” She ran her hand along one of the pages, as if it held magic, admiring it so. This is nicely made. He has good taste, that is for sure. When she turned to another page, she saw one word written in red ink: Satyr.

  That’s right. He told me at the club that he’s called a Satyr.

  “You don’t need to share it with me. You share it with yourself.”

  “Okay. Got it. Question. Why do you have Satyr written here?”

  “That night, you met me as Raze. That’s the name I use for visitors to The Cage. The full nickname is Raze, the Satyr. I mentioned that to you at the club. It’s pronounced, say-tur. You stated to me then what you thought it meant, but you weren’t exactly right.” Boy, he has a great memory. I did. I had forgotten about that. “Now that we’re here under more relaxed circumstances, I’ll ask you the question. Do you know what a Satyr is?”

  “I believe it’s some creature from ancient mythology with animal-like legs and antlers that was horny all the time.”

  “You’re on the right track. Do you know why I’m called a Satyr?”

  “Not really, but I imagine it has something to do with the horny aspect I mentioned.”

  “Okay. It’s not because I’m an actual creature from Greek mythology, obviously.” He chuckled. “It’s because I personify all that spirit embodies. I was called that at first as kind of a joke, but it’s actually deeper than that once you truly understand the history of these beasts.”

  He went to fold his napkin, kind of toying with it as a long silence stretched between them. She was now hooked, interested; perhaps that had been his intention all along? She shifted about in her seat, then snapped her fingers, bringing him back to the present.

  “I like hearing about history… things like this. Can you tell me more? I want to know about these satyrs.”

  “Yeah, I can tell you more. That’s funny because I just started reading about them in depth fairly recently but already, I consider myself sort of an expert.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands over the table. “So, the Italian version of this, to some degree, is a Faun, which I’d be more qualified to be called since I am in fact majority Italian with a bit of Greek.” She nodded in understanding. “And Fauns are from Italian folklore, though there are some differences between the two beings, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is that a Satyr comes across as completely ruled by lust, thinking only about his dick. Yet, that’s not completely true.”

  He paused for a brief moment, then continued, “Some things they did were just for show, an act. Satyrs did love wine, but they fooled people, making them think they were drunk when at times it was convenient to appear so. It also was metaphoric. Imagine being drunk off lust. They had full control over themselves, though they had a dark nature and could be ill-tempered. Some say they were descendants of the God, Pan.”

  “I’ve heard of Pan.”

  “Yeah, he usually rings a bell for people. Pan is the God of the Wild. Pan fell in love once with a Nymph and chased her. Much like I am doing right now with you. I didn’t beg you, but I am in pursuit. Hence, the fuckin’ flowers I sent to your job that cost a lot of damn money, the phone call that preceded that, and my showing up to your workplace uninvited to have a chat with ya over lunch.” His self-awareness is comical and eerie at the same time. “That is of course what men do when they want something, or someone, that appears just out of reach.”

  “Isn’t that the same as a stalker?” she quipped, reaching for her glass of water and taking a careful sip.

  “No. Stalkers bother people who don’t want them. It’s fuckin’ creepy and unnecessary. They’re mentally unhinged. I’ve had a few stalkers in my lifetime; it comes with the territory of what I do at The Cage. Some people get too attached and have these fantasies in their head thinking there was more going on between us than there actually was. You probably had a stalker a time or two, too.” He was right. There was a guy in college who would not take no for an answer and the memory still gave her chills. “The difference is, you want me. You and I both know this, but you’re apprehensive. I’m here right now to make you feel more at ease so we can get this show on the road and move forward.” She swallowed. “Besides, only simps plead or run away with their tails between their legs. Back to the satyrs though… They loved women, Nymphs, wine and music.”

  “Pan and his love of the flute…”

  “Exactly.” He smiled and nodded. “Their main mission was to always be happy, but most importantly, to sexually satisfy, Yasmine. Not just themselves, but others. So this idea that they are just these horny beasts isn’t really the full scope. Yeah, they fucked a lot, thought about sex a lot, but despite their reputations, they were in fact capable of love and being present in the moment, and feeling great affection for another entity, if you will. They wanted to serve – so receiving, as well as giving carnal pleasure, was what made them happiest.

  Like what he does at The Cage. What an interesting person he is, jerk tendencies aside…

  “Okay, that’s quite interesting, thank you.” She squinted, sorting through the questions in her mind. “Now, let’s get into their physical appearance. Why do you think they are depicted as these hairy beings? When I think of a sexually free and desirable being, I don’t picture these furry, beastly creature-like men that they were. Since you’ve been studying them, maybe you can explain that, too. You definitely don’t look like a Satyr.”

  The man’s brows rutted and his eyes darkened.

  “Yasmine, are you really interested in what we’re talking about, or are you just shittin’ me right now? Being slick? Trying to figure out something under the radar?”

  She smiled a bit harder, though it was more than evident that the bastard was no dummy.

  “No, I’m not trying to do anything of the sort. I am genuinely interested,” she lied… well, maybe not. Maybe she really did want to know. “I love history, and Greek and Roman history is quite interesting.”

  He hesitated for a bit, tapped his fingers against the table as if weighing the truth of her words, then continued.

  “Okay, their physical appearance… Well, the horns of a Satyr have a double meaning. In fact, as the illustrations and artwork of Satyrs evolved over time, so did their complexity.” He ran the tip of his finger along the water glass again as his eyes hooded. “They became more and more human-like in appearance. In the end, the goat-like legs disappeared, the horse-tail shortened and in some versions, vanished altogether, making them look somewhat like menacing fauns. All that remained were the horns. That’s important because those horns didn’t remain because he was an animal with uncontrollable urges any longer. No. These were a symbol of the long road he’d travelled to evolve, to be his greatest self, and so he’d never forget where he came from.”

&n
bsp; “Like a scar from a near death experience, but the experience makes you stronger.”

  He sat back in his seat, his lips slightly parted.

  “That’s an interesting way to look at it. I never thought of it that way. I like that… That’s a new spin. I’ll have to think about it.”

  So there is more depth to this man. He’s philosophical, too.

  “Yeah, it just crossed my mind as you said that. Sorry for interrupting. Continue.”

  “The horns also meant he was a fighter and would remain so no matter how human he became. He would battle for what he believed in, never giving up easily. He tricked everyone into thinking he had no substance, was unsophisticated, boorish, argumentative… hung out with the Nymphs only to fuck, drink wine, and party all day.”

  “But that wasn’t it. There was more to the satyrs, right?”

  “Yes. That’s part of them, certainly, but not the whole story. They were deeper than even many of the gods.”

  Without a shadow of a doubt, she knew he was speaking of himself. Did he know that he was revealing his secrets? Probably. As this man was giving her a dissertation on the life of Satyrs, she was pulling him in, extracting the innermost information he’d claimed he would not give her, although in code. He kept his guard up, while appearing open – a tricky feat he’d mastered, had down pat. He told no direct lies, and no direct truths. Everything he was saying then however was about HIM. He was the satyr, to his very core. It was up to her to decipher the code, if she so wished.

  “So, he cared about the women he had sex with?”

  “I wouldn’t go as far as to say he cherished them or anything like that, but he didn’t want to only focus on his own needs when it came to pleasure, so there was a general sense of caring, I suppose you could say.” He made air quotes to emphasize his point. “As long as the women he bedded were happy, that’s all that mattered to him. He’d make love to them for days on end if he had to, and satisfying a Nymph was no easy feat. Satyrs were friends of Dionysus, who is the god of—”

  “Wine, fertility…” He brandished a crooked, appreciative smile. “I am starting to remember some of this. It’s coming back to me. In high school and college we studied Greek mythology and I had found it fascinating. I believe Venus was my favorite to study but Satyrs were amusing to us – you know how silly teenagers can be about such topics. But it appears they were not all fun and games.”

  “The most entertaining person in the room rarely is all fun and games, Yasmine. Going below the surface is important. Plucking out the truth is not a job for the lazy. You’re not lazy, are you, Yasmine? Evidently not based on your current research of me.” He winked.

  Shit. So… he knows. He knows exactly why I asked him to talk more about the Satyrs and he is fine with it. He’s rolling with it. Damn it! I should not have come out with him. I am actually enjoying this conversation. He’s actually… likable. This was definitely not the best choice for me to make.

  “I took Greek Mythology in undergrad but barely recalled it until fairly recently. I should’ve remembered.”

  “I wonder why now that’s changed?” They stared at one another, and the energy in the room transformed. He’d let her off the hook, but something was going on between them, and there were no words in the human language to define it. “So, yeah, as I was saying… Satyrs also fought alongside Zeus to defeat the giants…”

  Like horny Italian lawyers going up against big corporations. He’s a medical lawyer after all. This all makes sense. Wow… this is incredible.

  “Satyrs are fearless, fun loving, but can turn on a dime and destroy an enemy without breaking a sweat,” he went on. “Only a Nymph can tame them. Not the gods, fairies, warriors. Everyone else who pissed them off got the horns.”

  They held gazes again.

  His dark blue eyes spooked her. They were mesmerizingly beautiful; like jewels, almost unreal. She was certain he wasn’t wearing contact lenses. That blue hue belonged to him – windows to his dark soul. She was falling under his spell… He was too fucking beautiful. Not just the way he looked, but the things he said, and the way he said them. He even cursed with a nastiness that was wrapped in something smooth and sexy, something hellbent on dragging her libido up into the sky. He spoke beautifully as he mesmerized her and wrapped truths and tales together in a bundle, hand-delivering them to her in hopes of a reconnection.

  Like a serpent in the garden of Eden.

  Seducing her.

  Where was Adam? Nowhere to be found. It’s over for me… I’m too curious about him to turn back now… Fuck.

  “Yasmine, I want to get to know you better. You’re the type of person who will only allow that to happen if you feel some way in control. But see, that’s a double-edged sword because you can’t cum if you’re in control. You’re not attracted to men you can run all over and you definitely need to learn that being powerless is actually a sense of power – in the right setting.”

  He casually smoothed out the napkin he’d been toying with earlier on the table.

  “You’re making assumptions about me, Nix.”

  “Assumptions based on observations, our brief time together and facts. I’ve researched you, just as you’ve researched me. I’m still researching you as you sit here.”

  “Really? Hmmm.” She smirked. “And what have you concluded?”

  “I’ve taken in your body language – how you sit very straight to denote class and clout. You clasp your hands in a special way, showing great femininity, and you dress professionally, with a touch of modern trends such as your jewelry and the cut of the collar on your shirt and jacket, to demonstrate you’re still hip, if you will. You barely touched your water, not because you aren’t thirsty, but you don’t want to leave lipstick on the rim.” Her heartbeat picked up pace, and she fought the urge to be freaked out by his accuracy. “We’ve been waiting a very long time to receive service, and you’re hungry, so you’re dragging out the conversation to help take your mind off it, but also to try and get clues about me that you feel you would not receive otherwise. You’re intimidated by me, but you see my power, too, and you know that behind closed doors, sexually, I will destroy you. In a good way. I will make you submit. I will force you to face and accept yourself for who you are – the person that your clients, friends, and family don’t see. The woman who wants a little pain, a little humiliation from a man who is on her level intellectually.” He paused. “That turns you on immensely.”

  She glanced at her glass of water, then back at him. Taking a deep breath, she managed a smile, then exhaled. “What else do you know about me?”

  “I’ve looked at your work history, the cases you’ve won. I went to your social media and though it’s limited, as it should be considering our occupations, I discovered things about you, like the fact you come from a good family with a lot of brothers and sisters, and how much of a go-getter you are. How you take great pride in your race and the upliftment of it. You are struggling. You don’t strike me as a bigot and though you’ve always been attracted to non-Black men, too, you feel a bit guilty for that.”

  “What would make you think that?”

  “You are a part of at least four African-American-centric groups. You are active there; so much so that it almost feels like over-compensation for being attracted to a guy like me.”

  “I see… That’s untrue, but you have a right to your opinion I suppose.”

  “No, I believe I am right. You just have not faced that part of you yet. Anyway, there are a lot of things, old tapes in your mind, that have to be removed.”

  “Tell me what you like, Nix? I want to know more about you.”

  “All right. I believe you and I have much in common. However, I also understand that you and I don’t necessarily have all the same tastes and… inclinations. You like to play it safe, research the hell out of things like I do, but you have a more traditional approach to life than me. I prefer to take calculated chances in order to garner new opportunities. I like nice sh
it, helpful friends, good wine and fantastic beer, five-star restaurants, opulent hotels, top of the line sex clubs, adventure, working out and Judo.” He does Judo? Wow. “I love sexy women with good minds. I have a type, and it’s not only about physical attributes. I like chicks with great heads on their shoulders and fantastic pussy, and I like a lot of it.”

  She smirked at his words.

  “What makes a pussy fanatic?” she whispered across the table.

  “Everything yours is… wet. Can take a beating. Slippery, has grip and warm as hell.” Her stomach flipped. “I like a good fight and I live to break customs. We’re working in reverse, though… you and me, ya know?”

  “Working in reverse?”

  “Yeah. You like to meet a guy, get to know him, then give yourself. We’ve already done that. We’ve already fucked so there’s no putting that genie back into the bottle, and I wouldn’t want to. However, we can use that to our advantage.”

  “How?”

  “Well, I told you the night we met that I do consultations.” He clasped his hands together. “Do you recall that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Here’s the deal. We are going to proceed in that manner, but with a twist. You will become my client, my lover and my hope is that at the end of it all, you will feel more comfortable and we can move on in a specific direction. Now, usually, the chick and the guy talk, get to know each other by going out, dating, movies and all that shit, and we’ll do that, too, but I will do the serving. Meaning, I will be the one doing a lot of the work, coaching you… Though, at times, it may feel as if you are having to do the work.” His eyes hooded.

  “But you aren’t a psychologist!” She laughed. “You’re a lawyer, Nix. You really are a trip.”

  “Where can I get a degree in fucking? If you know of a place then clue me in because I definitely qualify and would get straight As, Dean’s List, gold star and all that shit. I know how to fuck. I know how to make almost any woman cum. I have yet to meet a woman I could not make orgasm and I don’t need a fuckin’ piece of paper, a degree or credentials to be able to do that. I needed to go to law school to practice law or I’d be arrested. For what I do at The Cage, and what I want to do with you, all I need is my mind,” he pointed to his temple, “my personality, my mouth, my fingers and my dick.” He raised a brow. “Now listen up.”