He clasped his arms behind his neck, and she avoided looking at everything except his face. She scraped the sand into the trash, washed the bowl in the sink, dried it, and put it away. When she looked at the idol again he was curled on his side, cat tail twitching gently in front of his chest.
"Do you have a name?"
"Seibol," he replied.
"Are you a god?"
He considered the question. "In a way of speaking, yes. I was a king. When I died I became a guardian spirit."
"And now you're stuck being a statue?"
He laughed a soft, chuffing, jaguar laugh. "No. The statue is merely a convenient means to manifest in the material world."
Rebecca was relieved. "Oh, so you're not stuck." She didn't have to release him if he wasn't stuck, and she wasn't responsible for his captivity if she didn't release him.
He sighed. "I am temporarily stuck, until I fulfill my worshiper's request."
"I didn't ask for anything."
"No, you didn't. But your sister did."
"What did she ask for?"
He laughed again, rolling onto his belly, taut muscles rippling from his back through his buttocks and down his legs. She stared at the cobalt blue body, wondering how something that looked like Jell-o and felt like stone could seem so human.
"I can't tell you," he said. "That was part of her request. You have to figure it out for yourself."
"I don't understand."
He rose onto his hands and knees, turned a circle in place, then another, then a third. He sat down, never straying from the spot he had begun. "Dare to dream, Rebecca." he flexed his feet, claws extending and retracting, snagging the white tablecloth.
"I don't want anything," she insisted.
"Everybody wants something," he replied. "It's the nature of humanity." He lay back again, hands under his neck. Rebecca's eyes strayed down his body to his loincloth. She realized she was being lewd and tore her eyes away. He sat up again, restlessly changing position and not settling down. "Release me, Rebecca."
She backed up against the counter. "I don't know how."
The jaguar eyes glowed hotly at her. "You do know how."
"I don't know anything about it!" she cried, and ran from the room.
* * * *
Rebecca dreamed of the pyramid again. Lightning flashed and roared about her, blue streaks chasing along the edges of the stone steps, ozone sizzling in the air about her, all her short hairs standing up on end with the wild electricity loose in the night. Rain poured down, slicking the stone, turning it dark and invisible, the top of the pyramid alternating illuminated and darkened by the flashes of lightning. It was hot again, and she was sweating, but the rain was washing it away. Her hair was plastered to her head, wrapped about her throat, sticking to her blouse. Her clothes were too tight, the electricity playing along her skin made it too sensitive to bear contact with anything, and she stripped off her blouse with an inarticulate cry. Buttons bounced down the steps, and her shoes toppled over the edge, vanishing into the blue glow below. She snaked out of her jeans, then tore out of her bra and panties.
The rain beat wet against her bare skin, soothing it like a caress, and she took a deep breath, glad the hypersensitivity of the electricity had eased. Blue light crackled about the top of the pyramid, and she rushed towards it, her bare feet finding certain purchase on the slippery steps. She took giant steps running up the pyramid stairs, thigh muscles so much stronger than the first night, cat-like physique carrying her into the heavens, where the idol waited.
She flung herself over the top of the pyramid, rushing onto the flat floor, and skidding to a sudden halt. The jaguar god was there, laying on his back as before, one knee up, the other leg straight, eyes staring at the heavens as he fondled the massive bulge in his loincloth.
Rebecca's knees went to water, all her new strength fled out of her. As the jaguar face turned to look at her, she screamed at the top of her lungs, drowning out the thunder, and waking in her own bed.
She huddled her cold quilts around her, found that her hair was damp, with rain or perspiration she did not know. Her nightgown was damp down below, and for a moment she thought she had started her period. She snapped on the bedside lamp, pulled up her skirt, and was appalled to see no blood. She touched her thighs and discovered that they were slick with something clear and wet. She thrust her dress down, and clamped her knees together. She laid her head on her arms and her arms on her knees and wept.
* * * *
Fury replaced distress. How dare Marlene send her such a disgusting creature? She was such a selfish and wanton little bitch! She thought sex was funny; the woman actually rented porn movies! And now she was trying to corrupt her older sister through the idol.
Rebecca charged into the kitchen. "This is your fault, isn't it? You've been sending me evil dreams!"
He was laying on his belly, jaguar chin resting on the back of his hands. He lifted his head. "Release me, and the dreams will stop."
"Blackmail!"
He smiled at her, cat tongue protruding between long fangs. "It's no more comfortable for me than you. In fact, considering that I can't leave the spot you put me on, I'd say I'm worse off than you are."
"I can fix that!" she cried, and pitched him into the garbage.
He mewed piteously from underneath the pizza rinds and crumpled napkins. He was heavy, he had fallen through the light trash almost to the bottom of the wastebasket.
"I don't want to ever see you again!"
"Leave me in here and your next dream will take place in a mountain of garbage!" he retaliated.
She thought of the intensity of the two dreams, how she could feel the rain and the desire on her body, and concluded he could very likely make good his threat.
Feeling weak and defeated, she lifted him out. She never was any good at dealing with men, they were so mean. He was covered with tomato sauce and overcooked mushrooms, remnants of her pizza dinner earlier in the week. She flicked on the light, and looked at him, holding him out at arm's length, hand clasped around his middle. He squirmed a little as he looked himself over, and the feel of his glassy warm skin in her hand was too much. She dumped him in the stainless steel sink and backed away from him.
"You're obscene."
"I'll feel better after I've had a bath." He got to his feet, looked at the faucet hanging over his head, and asked, "Could you please turn on the water?"
She complied, checking the water on her wrist to make sure it was neither too hot or too cold. What would he do to her if she scalded him?
He stuck his head in the stream, leisurely rubbing his hands over the fur of his head and face, while she watched in fascination. His movements were quick, deft, and graceful, like the jaguar he resembled. He rubbed the back of his clawed hand along his face, washing and smoothing the whiskers against his cheek. Then he went to work on his tail, starting at tip. He stroked it with his fingers, washing the mess off his glassy blue hide, working his way up to his backside.
He turned his back to her then, and washed his chest and belly, then bent and washed his legs. Each vertebra of his spine pressed clearly against his skin, the illusion of life so convincing that she touched his shoulderblade with her finger. He lifted his head briefly, but continued washing his leg while she ran the tip of her finger down his back. She brushed the cloth going about his loins and lifted her hand, and he shivered, a purr mingling with the motion.
He looked over his shoulder at her then, round jaguar eyes glowing at her. He seemed part doll and part cat, small, harmless, and neuter, in spite of the maleness of his physique. She ran her fingers down his back again and he purred loudly, pressing back against her hand. She rubbed his head, fingers tracing the firm lines of his cheekbones, then finding the spot under the base of his ear that all cats love to have scratched.
"You wouldn't really make me dream about garbage, would you?"
"Well, no," he admitted, "Because I'd have to experience it too."
He wr
iggled with pleasure as her two hands scratched him in the perfect place, his purr growing louder, and his tongue hanging out between his teeth. She turned off the faucet, then cupped him in her hands, lifting him with care from the sink, afraid he might break if she dropped him. She planted a kiss on the top of his head.
The triangular ears became immobile, the skin became cold, the limbs rigid. She held in her hands the hard obsidian image of a pagan god, frozen in position as he knelt, one hand upraised, head lifting as if to ask a question. She whirled, slamming the figurine to the table top.
Then the sound of sinews cracking caught her attention, and she turned again, in time to see him finishing his stretch. Then he removed the black furred cat mask with the gaping jaws and large white fangs from his head. His forehead was broad and flat, sloping sharply back from his eyebrows, and the front of his hairline had been shaved to increase the apparent height of his forehead. His hair was long and black, and lay about his shoulders and down his back in waves. His eyes were large and dark, sunken in deep orbits, with broad cheekbones and a thin, flat nose. His lips were squarish, the chin firm, with a scar cleaving it off center.
Her eyes ran over the rest of him, noting the jaguar skin gloves, imperfect black, showing shadow circles, each finger tipped with a claw, and the jaguar skin boots. He no longer had a tail, but was a perfectly normal man, except for the Mayan cosmetic deformity of his frontal skull. He wore a simple white loincloth, his bronze skin perfectly smooth and hairless contrasting strongly with the color.
"You're free!"
"Not yet, but we're making progress." He set the jaguar head mask on the table, and put his arms around her body, his lips meeting hers. She was surprised to discover that he was short; she did not need to tip her head up for his kiss, and was relieved. Had he been a big man, it would have been too much to bear. But short men were nice, they wore glasses and lived with their mothers.
His mouth covered hers with firm, warm pressure, his lips undulating gently against hers. He sucked her lower lip first, wetting it with his tongue, but not attempting to force an entry. Under the ministrations of his tongue, which was rough like a cat's, her lips became extraordinarily sensitive, sending electricity cracking through her body. He transferred his attention to her upper lip then, his tongue running along it, bringing it to such a level of awareness that she could not stand to have her lips touch one another, and her mouth opened.
His tongue plunged into her mouth, shocking her with sudden pleasure. Seemingly of their own volition her lips eagerly sucked the invading flesh, urging deeper, more complete penetration. The tip of his tongue danced around the inside of her mouth, little jolts of fire burning wherever it touched, increasing her need to be touched to quench the fires that were now burning in her mouth.
Her knees melted with the heat of his kiss, and she crumpled to the floor, he falling with her, mouth still embracing hers, arms supporting her, letting her down as she lay on her back on the floor, his body over hers. His lips left her mouth then, tracing the line of her jaw until they reached her ear. He breathed very gently into her ear, the heat of it sending tingles through her upper body. He licked the shell of her ear, then brushed his lips across it, like feathers. She shivered in mixture of fear and pleasure, for she had never been kissed like that before.
"What will you give the god?" he asked, his bass voice rumbling against her chest.
"My virginity," she whispered.
* * * *
He stripped her naked, then parted her legs. He pressed the tip of his erection against the soft petals of her outer labia, and she felt the rock hardness of him pushing against her, a mass she was sure was too big to enter her virgin orifice. His hand slid between their bodies, finding the small bump of tender flesh nestled under the curly hair of her body. He slid his thumb gently over the bump, making her jump, the movement impaling herself partially on his hardness. He completed the move without hesitation, sinking to the hilt in her softness. She cried out in fear and pain as her hymen gave way, then the finger flicking across her clitoris blotted out all conscious thought as her muscles spasmed and trembled. Fluids gushed around his erection, and suddenly the pain of penetration was replaced with a delightfully slippery, sliding sensation. She arched her back, her legs locked around his waist, and incoherent cries came from her throat as he taught her how to dance while lying down.
Her movements became more frenetic, and she dug her fingernails into his shoulders while her legs clenched and tried to bury him even deeper in his body. Then she convulsed, limbs twitching and jerking, breath stopped in her lungs, eyes rolled up inside her head. He held steady, letting her shake herself into oblivion.
* * * *
They lay together afterwards, with him dropping soft kisses across her breasts. "And what shall the god give you?" he asked.
She answered dreamily, "Dan Miller."
He kissed her again. "Done." He climbed to his feet. She got to her knees, then pulled on the table to get to her feet. He was gone. The blue idol remained on the table, but though she picked it up and kissed it, it remained cold and unmoving.
Footsteps sounded on her front porch, then the bell rang. She scrambled into her dress, zipped it up part way, and looked through the sidelight to see Dan Miller standing on the porch. She realized she did not have time to make herself presentable before he would give up and go away, so marshaling her aplomb, she opened the door.
Dan looked at her in surprise. She was standing in bare feet and no stockings, dress sticking to her thighs, and hair wild and disheveled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I drove by on my way home and saw your lights were still on, and I thought you were alone. I was going to offer you a shoulder to cry on, but I guess you don't need one."
She burst into tears. "He left! He's gone back to Mexico!"
"I'm sorry. You must feel awful."
She was not quite sure how it happened, but he was sitting on the sofa with her head on his shoulder, weeping into his handkerchief. He stroked her hair and murmured comforting words to her. She lifted her head, sniffled, and wiped her eyes. "If I got fixed up, could I accept that Chinese dinner you offered me?"
"I'd be delighted to go anywhere you want."
"I'll just be a minute." She jumped up and ran into the bedroom.
It took her quite a bit longer than she said, for she had to wash up, redo her make-up, and get dressed in something that was not crumpled and sweaty. He wandered about the living room, looking at the various plants and knickknacks she had. Sitting on the kitchen table was a blue obsidian figurine of a sort he'd never seen before. He picked it up.
"Oh, that. My sister sent it to me from Mexico. She's constantly doing things you wouldn't believe," Rebecca said coming into the room. She was dressed in a demure blue suit, with a white ruffled blouse. But her eyes sparkled like he'd never seen them before.
He set down the idol and it winked at him. He stared at it for a moment, then decided it had been glint of light, nothing more. He smiled at Rebecca. "You look lovely. Shall we go?"
She accepted his offered arm, and nestled snugly at his side.
BRAIDED BONDS
Velma J. Bowen
Cassie sat in the kitchen, idly tugging at one of the thin braids hanging over her shoulder as she watched her cousin stir the preserves on the stove. While this trip to the mountains had started as a favor for her mother, she had to admit that the escape from the city was pleasant. She hadn't been here since she was a child, some twenty years ago, and little had changed: the stove was the same gas-burning one she remembered; the tablecloth was yellow-and-white checked cotton, as were the curtains and the cushions on the stools. Twenty years ago, they'd been blue and white, she recalled, but that was the only change she could see.
Cousin Lil gave the contents of the pot a final stir, then snapped the lid down again. "Those berries can just cook themselves down now," she muttered, half to herself, "and I can talk with you, now that the kids are out. Come with me, child, and
we'll talk while I brush out my hair." She rumpled the curls on top of Cassie's head as she passed, and Cassie smiled, then rose to follow.
"You've never been in my room, have you, child?" Lil asked, then continued, "You'd have been too young to remember it, probably, and I daresay it's changed since then. I bought myself some fancy wicker furniture a few years ago – had a devil of a time getting it up here – and that's made it all much brighter. Course, I didn't replace all of the old stuff: I loved my grandmama's vanity too much to ever give it up."
They entered a room in shades of pale brown and green, with graceful wicker furniture all around – save for an immense carved mahogany vanity, with three mirrors and multiple drawers. Cousin Lil waved Cassie to a fan-backed chair, then sat down on the mahogany bench before her vanity and began undoing the silver plait that was pinned around her head.
Cassie watched, her attention split between Lil's wiry figure and the triple reflections in the mirrors. Her mother had said that Lil was probably somewhere in her late sixties, but it was hard to believe from some angles, more so as she shook out waves of hair that covered her to her waist. Lil laughed, and tossed a picture from the vanity to Cassie: "Yes, child, you may well look like this when you get older – you look much like I did. Course, I only had the one set of holes punched in my ears, and I'd have never cut off most of my hair..."
Cassie laughed, then studied the photograph in her hands, and was startled at the resemblance. Apparently Lil's wiriness was a product of age, because the woman in the picture was as rounded as Cassie. Though a black-and-white photo, she could see that Lil's skin had been lighter as a young woman, and her hair looked to be as black and wild as Cassie's own, a mad cascade of ringlets falling down over one shoulder to her hip. It was a carefully posed photo, with Lil obviously in one of her best dresses, gazing steadily at the camera out of wide dark eyes under winging brows, and holding... a length of rope.
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