It's Not Easy to Be a Love Goddess Ch. 05

Barry was the first to propose marriage to me, but he wasn't the last. I was getting older, and the men with whom I most often came into contact were at a different stage of life than my previous liaisons. In the past, if men of this age came to me, I was so young that they were not the kind who was looking for marriage. If they had been, they wouldn't have dated me.

Now, I was suddenly meeting men who wanted to "settle down," find a life partner, give Angela a daddy. I wasn't quite sure how to handle all this.

So this is the stage at which I had to begin to define myself as a prostitute in order to accomplish my task. I had to begin letting newcomers know immediately that I was available for only one ceremony. And while I never used the word "prostitute," the association was pretty immediate in their minds, along with "loose woman," "slut," "call girl," and "white trash" for some.

Those who considered themselves respectable didn't respect me; and those who did not see themselves as respectable often were not safe enough for me to be with.

Barry was also not the first religious celibate to try to save my soul. But after him, I got better at spotting the incorrigibles, and didn't spend my time on them, already knowing the outcome. There were too many other willing adherents to find, even though many of them were looking for their One and Only. Sometimes I was able to convince them that a night with me would only enhance their life with their future One and Only.

But many of them were so bound up in fear, they were sure they would contract some horrible disease from me. My body was sanctified to its holy purpose, and the golden energy cords which Darian sent through it regularly cleansed out all impurities. I don't suppose they could realize that.

So I humored them by getting tested in their barbaric medical facilities for sexually transmitted diseases, so I could show them a paper which testified in their eyes to my clean health. Let me tell you, it took an extra dose of Darian's vitalizing strands to purify the toxins I received from the primitive needles which were inserted in me to draw my blood for the tests.

There were also then many men that came to me who were already married. Of course, most of them did not volunteer this information; but the light-colored indentation at the base of their ring finger was pretty easy to spot.

I was glad for this, because I felt I could help them a great deal. They had fewer problems with the limitation of my service, and they had a woman in their lives already with whom to share the lessons I gave once they left me.

My ministrations to them were often just what they needed to take home to their wives. After all, my goal was to teach the highest nature of Love, and their wives needed this as much as they did. I remember one in particular.

His name was Bobby. I met him in a hardware store where I was buying lamp oil for the soft lamps I liked to light in my Temple along with the candles. I always made it a point to frequent stores and shops that catered to the interests of men. Not only did I meet lots of them that way; but I was often the only woman in the joint, which could only work to my advantage.

My exquisitely sculpted form was always on display in well chosen, tasteful, and subtly seductive apparel, the better to draw the bees to the nectar, my dear.

Few men failed to notice. In fact, the only ones who didn't were deep in discussion about overhead cams or the latest football upset, and just hadn't looked up yet.

I derived a great deal of pleasure from this adoration. It didn't make up for the lack of respect my profession generated in this world, but if I couldn't have respect, I suppose appreciation was the next best thing. After all, it is the mechanism by which all creatures are drawn to higher things. Some think they must grasp with a stranglehold that which they desire, but that does not render the desire itself wrong.

Anyway, Bobby had a sincere, distinct, and pointed appreciation for the work of art in front of him, as his eyes targeted me from the far end of the aisle.

He made his way up it while I perused the shelf, and considered buying another cut glass lamp that was particularly pretty for my collection.

"You like lamps?" was his first pick-up line. It was not overly smooth, but not overtly crude either.

"I'd like to light your fire." Oops, spoken too soon.

I looked at him then in full gaze. "No, I would like to Light yours," I replied.

He took it as a game, so I joined in. "No, I wanna light yours."

"No, I want to Light yours."

He laughed and I smiled, and I knew it wouldn't take three dates to get him to my Temple. So I invited him over for the evening and gave him my address.

When he arrived, Angela was sleeping peacefully in the back bedroom, and Darian was hovering about the ceiling. Sometimes he liked to create special effects for my visitors at the moment of climax, when their minds and hearts were unsheathed, and the veil between worlds thin.

Some of them actually saw him watching over us because of the higher vibrations in which their bodies were moving at that moment, and later confessed to a confidante that they had once seen an angel.

A few even saw him through closed eyelids. But they could always dismiss it as a moment of insanity, and laugh it off as a figment of their imagination. They figured the strum of a harp chord or the long note of a saxophone had to have happened only in their mind, when they recalled it later.

So Bobby came in, and whistled at the luxurious furnishings.

Looking around, he commented, "I sure didn't expect a fancy place like this. You'd never know it from the outside o' the house."

He whistled again.

Then he looked at me, and grinned, and gave an even more appreciative whistle.

"I shoulda known a high-class lady like you would have a high-class pad to match," he said, moving toward me.

I offered him a drink, and he said a beer sounded good. I never imbibed alcohol myself, except for the fermented extract which imposed sterility on my womb; but I did greatly enjoy the savor of it on the mouth and tongue of the men who drank it in my presence. It had an inflammatory effect on me when I kissed them. In that form, it was delicious.

He sat on one of the couches with his beer, and I joined him, availing myself of the opportunity to enjoy his beer my way.

"You don't pull any punches, do you," he commented, coming up for air.

I kissed him again, moving my hand over his thigh and right onto the growing mound under his jeans. I massaged it firmly, with just the slightest hint of restraint; then began to undo his jeans and pull them off.

He stopped me. "Could you . . . dance a little?" he asked.

"Why yes," I lilted, and stood up.

I put some music on the stereo, and began to undulate slowly, like a snake rising out of a basket. I kept my eyes on him; and watched as my writhing motions created correlating little movements in his muscles, and in the member which he stroked, watching me, until it outgrew his underwear and peeked out. His face was a comical reflection of the changing emotions moving through him as he took in the show.

I undressed while I danced, using shed clothing to caress my body where I knew his hands longed to touch. Then I danced over to him, removed his underwear, and began to rub up against him with my bare legs, arms, and torso. His pillar was ripe to bursting, and I took it into my mouth with relish, savoring its spongy tang and hard softness.

He grasped my shoulders, and I could feel the tightness of his body as I increased the rhythm of my movements, until the milk of his joy spilled down my throat and he became still once more.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Wow! You are something' else!"

He picked up his beer from the end table where he had set it, and finished it off.

"Well, thanks a lot," he said, picking up his discarded clothing.

I took it from him. "Oh no," I smiled seductively. "You're not going yet. It's my turn."