“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.