I return to the roof to check on the meats, which are roasting well, brushing them with more seasons. When the meats are done, I store them in a clay pan, then return to my bedroom to finish beautifying myself. Once I am satisfied with all the preparations, I slip into my white diaphanous gown of fine linen, its transparency revealing the tips of dark, succulent nipples—erect and inviting. I adorn myself wit
h a gold and diamond headband, hang a gold ankh and lotus necklace around my slender neck, then slip in earrings made of lapis lazuli—the deep blue stones catching the sun and sparkling about the room.
I walk out the door, greet the day with a smile, then stroll along the groves lined with sycamore and persea, one foot in front of the other. I am as graceful as all the goddesses before me were, my dress billowy, my stride giddy and light as I step on the earth.
Along the way, my mind begins to wander again, and I conjure up thoughts of how I will seduce Horus and shake the heavens. My clit begins to swell and peek out beneath its hood with the images that now swirl about in my head. Images of what might hang in the center of his crotch and the heaviness of the pouch of skin that holds his seeds, slapping against me as he slams and twists and grinds and snaps his hips into me flash through my head. Images of gyrating myself atop him, tempting him, taunting him, to reach for me as I roll my hips fast and deep, gripping the length of him send a heat coursing through my skin, through my breasts and that heat settles on the tip of my clitoris, waiting to be released. I dare myself from taking shade under a willow tree and pinching away at the prickly sensations that are nagging me. It has been three moons since I have pleasured myself. And now these images that have found space in my head have sprouted a dire need for release.
My thoughts are quickly disrupted by a deep, piercing voice calling out to me. “Raghaba, Raghaba…” I hear, cutting into my space. I glance over my shoulder, keeping pace. A sly smile forms across my face. Behind me is Hapi, god of the Nile, running to catch up to the scent that leads him to me. His full breasts, naked and free, bounce about as he closes the gap between us. “Wait for me…”
I slow my steps.
He sprints up to me like a gazelle, fast and graceful. “… hotep,” he says, his breath catching in his throat, “You have trampled my thoughts, my awakened moments consumed with the beauty of Raghaba.”
I am not amused. “And may the gods bring peace unto you. Now, why have you come?” I ask, keeping my eyes ahead, dismissing what has fallen from his tongue. I ask, but I know. He has smelled the honey that gathers between my thighs, and longs to drink from its cup.
“Are we not destined to feast on the passion that stirs between us?”
I stop, stare, then allow my eyes to linger. Hmm…his lips are beautiful; full, juicy, suck-able, mocha-colored lips that look as soft as lambs’ wool. His strong face is that of a man, but his body, with breasts that nourish Kemet, is not to my liking. He shall never enter himself, nor empty himself, into me. A hermaphrodite god is not my fancy. But, I entertain vibrant thoughts of feeling his lips against my clit, and become tempted to indulge. “Foolish one,” I say. “There is no passion that stirs itself within me for you. You can offer me nothing, but the warmth of your tongue.”
His gaze wanders lecherously over my body, his eyes traveling the curves that form me. “Then I shall caress your sweetness with my tongue under a nehet, and quench my thirst for you.”
“So be it,” I say, walking off toward a willow tree to catch the shade. “Let’s be quick so that I may race the sun before it reaches its highest point. I do not wish to sweat out my hair or have my body reek of messy deeds.”
He keeps step behind me, removing his loincloth, then spreading it out onto the ground. I lift my gown up over my hips, and sit, facing him. I glance up at his manhood. It is long and skinny with a curve, its head as thick as a plum. No, I think, he shall never slither his snake inside of me.
“My ba shall be rested now,” he states, kneeling down before me, licking his lips.
My eyes roll up in the back of my head. “Spare me. Your thirst for me has nothing to do with your soul,” I snap, leaning back and spreading my legs. “Now, cease talk and allow your mouth and tongue to do what’s in your thoughts.”
A smile forms on his face as he parts the lips of my sweet basin with his fingers, then blows on my clitoris. The opening of my vulva, filled with the richness of brown and pink colliding together against the center of its seam, is waiting, soft, wet and ready.
I lean back on my forearms, and watch him bury his face between my thighs. He licks in the center, his tongue thick, long and warm, flapping up and down along the seam of soft flesh. He darts his tongue in, then out. In. Out. In. Out. Flicks it against my tender clit, nudging it ever so gently; then he mounts his mouth around it.
A moan escapes me. I am starting to hear the song of birds overhead. “Oh, yes…eat me…mmm…devour my goodness… leave nothing untouched,” I say.
He is slurping me, exploring me, ravishing me. “Mmmm,” he moans, kissing the space his tongue journeyed. “You are as sweet as a melon…”—he flicks his tongue against my clit, again and again—“…Oh, Raghaba, between your sweet thighs lie my greatest desires.”
He dips his tongue back into me, massages my clitoris as I raise my hips off the ground and grind against his mouth.
“Mmmm…uh…uh,” I moan.
Beneath the burning sky, beads of sweat threaten to roll down my face and back as I am nearing orgasm. I clutch the sand with my toes as he digs deeper into me. He is trying to unearth hidden treasures with his tongue, trying to unlock a jeweled chest full of liquid passion. I brush my hardened nipples with the tips of my fingers. My long lashes flutter, my eyes flit up, then roll up in my head as I let out a deep moan that causes everything around us to pause and take notice. The plover burying its egg in the sand, the lion grazing, the gazelles running to and fro, the scarab beetles rolling dung about, the vulture stalking over the carcass of a jackal, they all become paralyzed in the throes of my moans. I arch my back, lift my legs, wrap them around his neck, and let him lap his way to the key until its locks snap open and a warm fountain of joy gushes out, filling his mouth, and dripping down his chin. My body shudders as I soak the cloth beneath me with my juice and scent.
Hapi keeps his mouth mounted around my vulva, suckling and moaning—begging for the last droplets of my overflowing juices. When he is done, he kisses my vagina one last time, then pulls his face from between my legs, his lips glistening, his chin streaked, with pleasure, his face and chest shining with sweat. I close my eyes for a moment, toss my head back and attempt to recover from the powerful orgasm. My insides are still trembling. I pull in deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. I wait for my heart to stop racing about, then open my eyes. Hapi stands, his serpent-looking phallus swaying about, its head swollen and large. He strokes it, looking down lustfully at me.
“I have drunk from your lips and have been filled, and now my loins seek release.”
I raise my brow, wiping myself with his loincloth, then standing up. “Then I suggest you suckle on your breast,” I say, tossing him his garment, “and stroke your own organ so that it may find the release it seeks; for I will not be the one who pleasures you.”
He brings the soiled cloth to his nose and inhales, deeply. “Then I shall breathe in your scent and unleash the fire that burns within.”
I have no further use for him. The sight of his breasts and skinny phallus sicken me.
“Do what you will. Leave me so I might continue on my way.”
“Hotep,” he says as he begins to stroke himself.
“And peace unto you.”