Chapter 3: how the psyche sings
Circe says it happens thusly...
I am smaller now. No longer do I look straight at you, meet your gaze directly, meet your height, and even beat it in a nice pair of heels. I look up to you to say goodbye, and I might as well be on my knees. It is somewhat disconcerting... I feel nervy... my tummy ill-at-ease. You pull me in and my head rests on your shoulder, cheek bone in your collar. I hear your heartbeat belt out its rhythm, and strong though it is and sure, and, yes, even blessed... it is only mortal, My Man. And I hear it only too well. Every beat taking you further from me... I nuzzle your neck, and you gently push me away, smiling.
‘I gotta run,’ you say.
I nod and straighten your tie, smooth it down... I press my face into it and breathe us in. I close my eyes, inhaling deep... and again you push me away. I open my eyes in supplication, and you look right back at me, through me.
‘I have to go,’ you tell me.
‘I know... You are gone.’
I can’t watch you walk away, so I close my eyes tight until I hear the door close behind you. Then I throw myself on the floor and sob. Oh, how I cry...
I cry for unfulfilled promises, and of gifts given in ignorance. My tears tell of gut-wrenching loneliness and homelessness of the heart. My breath is violent—penitent, gasping in panic and pain. Did I scream? Did I? Am I? Who?
What...?
I know not what I am. Does my goddess soul remain, hidden somewhere deep within? I think I have heard her shake her cage, and mumble and whisper. But I no longer share her awesome power, am unable to cast my spells. I can enchant, but am unable to produce anything worthwhile from my efforts. I look at you now, and you just grin. So I cry for the loss of you, and of me, and of us. I weep and whimper and howl, and I gag and spit up vile bile and mortal blood til I’m unconscious.
I awaken, curled up foetal, holding fast to a hand on my breast. And the only thing I know is that it’s not you. You are gone. My hearts thumps, my eyes open wide, terrified... ears fill with my deafening blood. I have butterflies in my stomach... The hand on my breast pulls me in, and the other arm, which was until now resting unnoticed under my neck, swings across the top of my chest, hand gripping my shoulder. And I look at the fine, long fingers... the pink, shiny nail on the thumb... the elegant knuckles and delicate tendons running down the back on the hand... the hairlessness and smooth unblemished skin... and her breasts sink into my back, her lips nudge my nape... She feels kindred, and I find I am relaxed. But not relieved. I sigh long and loosen up, and she too lessens her grip. We melt together, and again I turn to water.
‘Hush now, little one... quietly,’ she sings. Her voice is deep and breathy. But I still manage to sob the tune. I cough and exhale a butterfly. It is purple and shiny and it lands on my knee... She nuzzles the back of my neck, giggling on a low, serious note… ‘Circe’.
And I grin. I knew I knew I knew her. I know her name. And I find I am relieved. But not relaxed.
I feel relief in knowing it is she who has come to me. She too has felt hard treatment from The Players—those few who sit upon their mount toying with the lives of the creatures and the mortals, and those of us who do not share their lofty palace, but are, nonetheless un-human, immortal, filled with a divine soul. Those few who make Promises, and do Deals, and then find loopholes or wormholes or potholes to exploit, squirm into, or escape, to attempt shirking their obligations. Those few whose energy runs thick with that of the Old Ones, with the titanic power of oceans and skies and fires and mountains and Creation itself. I am relieved that she too has known mortality... known of blood, and real time, and the fear of un-life, and can appreciate the powerlessness and weight of human being.
But I am tense, for I also know what this once beautiful mortal girl has become. And I know of the challenges and struggles she both accepted and contested. Hers was an appalling journey... she was enchanted, deceived, betrayed, then still forced to jump through hoops to ‘earn’ what was actually hers. The only thing that saved her was her famed beauty, and ultimately, the favour of the gods, and of those I have neither. (And, might I add, she literally went to Hell and back in order to be what she is… who she is...)
The butterfly slowly closes its wings... and opens again, alights from my knee. I turn my head back to watch it go, tears welling again, and my cheek brushes her lips. I rest my face against her, and feel her lips tighten in a grin... She nuzzles my ear, and sighs into my head... ‘Psyche... the breath, the air, the Soul. Goddess of Transformation...’
She sings to me.
She squeezes my breast, nudges her knee between mine, and tightens her grip on my shoulder, flattening her forearm along my collar bones. I interlace my fingers with hers and together we hold my breast, and I relax my legs and wrap my top one around her... over her thigh, behind her knee and resting my foot on her other ankle. I stroke the arm that lays atop my chest, and lean back into her. She kisses my cheek and her lips really are velvet. She flutters her eyelashes on my earlobe. I sigh... She hums... And we breathe in rhythm...
Her arm lifts off my chest, slides through my neck and her hand releases my breast, taking mine with it, still intertwined. She moves away, and I feel a pang as her breasts peel off from me. My body follows, is pulled and I roll onto my back, and right into her warm spot, and unable to resist the momentum, my gaze follows suit, and for a moment all I see is bright white light. I close my eyes tight and see butterflies. But her voice floats through my head, telling me I am safe. And she’s a sister... how can I not have faith?
I open my eyes slowly... adjusting to her luminance. She is truly overwhelming... and I see her in fragments. I see her dark, wavy hair, piled atop her head and held with a silver clasp, loose tendrils framing her face, and decorating her bare shoulders. I see a heart-shaped face, pale and fine and smooth as marble, completely symmetrical. Her lips are bright and shiny, shaped like her lover’s bow, and are perpetually smiling small, slightly parted. Her nose is traditionally Roman, as it must be, as she is. It divides her face harmoniously, sits dead centre, bringing it all together... And her eyes... you know I have a thing for eyes, right? They are huge, heavy top-lid, lashes longer than my own... The whites are bright and pure and the outer ring of the iris is deep indigo, encircling a bright aquamarine, and the pitch black hole. Her look is soft, gentle and knowing... inviting. And her eyebrows are darker than her hair, shaped like the wings of a gliding bird of prey. She smiles with those eyes, reassures me again... I grin and see her face as a whole, and gasp at its wonder... No wonder she pissed off the Goddess of Beauty. I would be fucking irate.
She smiles softly... ‘It’s alright, sweet girl. You can touch,’ she says, she breathes, she whispers. And when I unravel my fingers from her and raise my hand to touch her shoulder, I am shaking.
‘Have no fear.’ But I do. I am scared.
I look at her once more, and can’t resist the honesty in her eyes, the purity of her stare. She draws me into her. So I reach out to her and feel her warmth and sweetness before I even touch her skin. I brush my fingertips over her shoulder and down her arm... but I see nothing but the aqua pool of her eyes and the dark hole within them, into which I could be falling. I reach out to you—pure instinct—but we both know you are gone. And she knows it too... I can tell by the way she grabs me by the wrist and presses my hand to her breast. I can see from the flash of power that glints in her eye.
I tear my gaze away from her, and look instead to the most exquisite body I have ever seen. She lays on her side, head in hand, resting on her elbow. And for me, she is perfection... From the fall of her shoulder, the gentle dip of her waist, the steep rise to her hip, and the long, long, slide that is her thigh... Her bent knee resting on the bed, and slender calf rising slightly, ankle resting on her other calf, foot dangling over, relaxed... to the very tips of her pearly pink toenails, she exalts... Is it these human eyes that make her so magnificent? Would I be so amazed if I too were still Goddess...? I hear a cage door shake, and a wicked giggle from deep within... but still I see no glamour. I look back up her legs and between them, see her slit and her divine baldness, a tattoo of a purple butterfly on her mound... her abdominal curve, the dimple that is her belly button... And all of it covered in skin that’s tight and shines, miraculously unblemished.
And I look to my hand on her breast. It is pressed hard against her, nipple in my palm, dead centre... and I melt for the excess flesh of that breast. She overflows from my small hand, puffs up between my spread fingers. I wish I could be lost in that softness... and suddenly I am there, face pushing into the flesh. Both hands overflowing with tit and I push my face into her cleavage and push her breasts against each side of my head, attempting to hide there... trying to make myself so small I could live there forever... just burrow in deep and never come out.... In a panic, I lick her nipples... watch them grow... Circle the aureole with my tongue, and marvel at the golden liquid beads that sweat from her nipples... I touch my tongue to the droplets, and I know I’ve never tasted anything so sweet. And I am almost ageless...
So I suckle at the breast of this fine Goddess for as long as it takes, and she strokes my face and weaves fine braids through my hair and sings me lullaby’s from a childhood I never had. I suck, and milk her Ambrosia with my tongue, pushing her against the roof of my mouth, feeling the warm squirt, mouth bursting with saliva and syrupy nectar. I swallow. I occasionally rest, leaving her nipple on my lower lip, but unable to stop my tongue circling to keep it hard... I sleep. I dream. I drink and drink and drink... til I am full. Til I am strong and assured and ready for myself, whatever that may mean. Til I am cured of my grief and my tears. Til I feel a spark of spirit. Til I know that I can win. Til she pushes me away...
‘That is all that I can give. Consider it a gift. ’ She strokes my face, and I look to her, smiling in thanks.
‘But Circe, sweet girl... really, I am here to take.’ She leans forward and kisses me, and her words become meaningless...
Her lips press on mine, slightly parted and she moves them gently, opening my mouth. She tilts her head, plants her mouth over mine, and I instinctively move my tongue towards hers. They meet and caress each other gently, slowly, the tips circling and slowing flicking over the other. She opens her mouth wider, and opens mine with it. And her hand is in my hair, pulling my face into hers, squashing our noses together and into the cheek of the other. And her kiss is deep and slow and full of feeling. I follow her lead completely, moving closer, a nipple brushing her breast, then resting against her. I move my mouth in time with hers, let her have her way with my tongue, and am licked and nibbled and caressed by her lips, until that familiar warmth in my belly ignites, and I feel the throb of my sex.
The cage door swings open and my goddess soul flees in a gust.
And Psyche breathes in, sucking through my mouth like a vacuum, emptying my air of lungs, and pulling in more air through my nostrils. I am limp and still... I am in shock. She inhales my precious goddess soul, she takes every last bit. And it wasn’t even hard for her. Was as easy as breathing...
She gently breaks the kiss... slowly withdrawing her tongue, closing her lips with a quiet smack. She moves away from me and smiles... And I am with her and wondering why I don’t feel devastated... She sighs out my name.
‘Ahhhhh, Circe...’
‘My Psyche, yes?’
‘You are aware of what is done?’
I nod and smile. 'Yes, sister. I am.’
We smile at each other.
‘Circe, I trust that we will meet again.’
I pray, but I don’t tell her that. I simply nod and bow my head to her. I find myself staring at her butterfly tattoo. It is almost as beautiful as she—bright and intricate and transformed. But when it shimmers and closes it wings, stretches them again, and takes flight from her sacred place, my eyes well with tears... and I think I feel that thing they call hope. I watch a purple blur jerk its way through the air, and eventually blink at my tears and clear my sight. But the butterfly is gone. And of course, so is she. I lay back and breathe, and although I have no idea what I am to do, I know that whatever it is, I will do it. I am ready for anything...
And your keys rattle in the lock, your briefcase hits the floor, your heavy tread makes its way toward me. You start whistling an old-time show tune... and then you are above me, grinning, loosening your tie.
‘Hi, honey. I’m home.’
‘Yes, My Man. Yes, you are’.
And I grin at you sexy and wicked, because I know that I am too. I may be mortal, I may be soulless, but I am Me, and I am back. I am Ambrosia-fuelled and ready to play.
No. Fuck that. I am ready to win.
I pull you to me by your tie that is mine...
‘My beautiful, glorious Man... let the games begin.’
I am smaller now. No longer do I look straight at you, meet your gaze directly, meet your height, and even beat it in a nice pair of heels. I look up to you to say goodbye, and I might as well be on my knees. It is somewhat disconcerting... I feel nervy... my tummy ill-at-ease. You pull me in and my head rests on your shoulder, cheek bone in your collar. I hear your heartbeat belt out its rhythm, and strong though it is and sure, and, yes, even blessed... it is only mortal, My Man. And I hear it only too well. Every beat taking you further from me... I nuzzle your neck, and you gently push me away, smiling.
‘I gotta run,’ you say.
I nod and straighten your tie, smooth it down... I press my face into it and breathe us in. I close my eyes, inhaling deep... and again you push me away. I open my eyes in supplication, and you look right back at me, through me.
‘I have to go,’ you tell me.
‘I know... You are gone.’
I can’t watch you walk away, so I close my eyes tight until I hear the door close behind you. Then I throw myself on the floor and sob. Oh, how I cry...
I cry for unfulfilled promises, and of gifts given in ignorance. My tears tell of gut-wrenching loneliness and homelessness of the heart. My breath is violent—penitent, gasping in panic and pain. Did I scream? Did I? Am I? Who?
What...?
I know not what I am. Does my goddess soul remain, hidden somewhere deep within? I think I have heard her shake her cage, and mumble and whisper. But I no longer share her awesome power, am unable to cast my spells. I can enchant, but am unable to produce anything worthwhile from my efforts. I look at you now, and you just grin. So I cry for the loss of you, and of me, and of us. I weep and whimper and howl, and I gag and spit up vile bile and mortal blood til I’m unconscious.
I awaken, curled up foetal, holding fast to a hand on my breast. And the only thing I know is that it’s not you. You are gone. My hearts thumps, my eyes open wide, terrified... ears fill with my deafening blood. I have butterflies in my stomach... The hand on my breast pulls me in, and the other arm, which was until now resting unnoticed under my neck, swings across the top of my chest, hand gripping my shoulder. And I look at the fine, long fingers... the pink, shiny nail on the thumb... the elegant knuckles and delicate tendons running down the back on the hand... the hairlessness and smooth unblemished skin... and her breasts sink into my back, her lips nudge my nape... She feels kindred, and I find I am relaxed. But not relieved. I sigh long and loosen up, and she too lessens her grip. We melt together, and again I turn to water.
‘Hush now, little one... quietly,’ she sings. Her voice is deep and breathy. But I still manage to sob the tune. I cough and exhale a butterfly. It is purple and shiny and it lands on my knee... She nuzzles the back of my neck, giggling on a low, serious note… ‘Circe’.
And I grin. I knew I knew I knew her. I know her name. And I find I am relieved. But not relaxed.
I feel relief in knowing it is she who has come to me. She too has felt hard treatment from The Players—those few who sit upon their mount toying with the lives of the creatures and the mortals, and those of us who do not share their lofty palace, but are, nonetheless un-human, immortal, filled with a divine soul. Those few who make Promises, and do Deals, and then find loopholes or wormholes or potholes to exploit, squirm into, or escape, to attempt shirking their obligations. Those few whose energy runs thick with that of the Old Ones, with the titanic power of oceans and skies and fires and mountains and Creation itself. I am relieved that she too has known mortality... known of blood, and real time, and the fear of un-life, and can appreciate the powerlessness and weight of human being.
But I am tense, for I also know what this once beautiful mortal girl has become. And I know of the challenges and struggles she both accepted and contested. Hers was an appalling journey... she was enchanted, deceived, betrayed, then still forced to jump through hoops to ‘earn’ what was actually hers. The only thing that saved her was her famed beauty, and ultimately, the favour of the gods, and of those I have neither. (And, might I add, she literally went to Hell and back in order to be what she is… who she is...)
The butterfly slowly closes its wings... and opens again, alights from my knee. I turn my head back to watch it go, tears welling again, and my cheek brushes her lips. I rest my face against her, and feel her lips tighten in a grin... She nuzzles my ear, and sighs into my head... ‘Psyche... the breath, the air, the Soul. Goddess of Transformation...’
She sings to me.
She squeezes my breast, nudges her knee between mine, and tightens her grip on my shoulder, flattening her forearm along my collar bones. I interlace my fingers with hers and together we hold my breast, and I relax my legs and wrap my top one around her... over her thigh, behind her knee and resting my foot on her other ankle. I stroke the arm that lays atop my chest, and lean back into her. She kisses my cheek and her lips really are velvet. She flutters her eyelashes on my earlobe. I sigh... She hums... And we breathe in rhythm...
Her arm lifts off my chest, slides through my neck and her hand releases my breast, taking mine with it, still intertwined. She moves away, and I feel a pang as her breasts peel off from me. My body follows, is pulled and I roll onto my back, and right into her warm spot, and unable to resist the momentum, my gaze follows suit, and for a moment all I see is bright white light. I close my eyes tight and see butterflies. But her voice floats through my head, telling me I am safe. And she’s a sister... how can I not have faith?
I open my eyes slowly... adjusting to her luminance. She is truly overwhelming... and I see her in fragments. I see her dark, wavy hair, piled atop her head and held with a silver clasp, loose tendrils framing her face, and decorating her bare shoulders. I see a heart-shaped face, pale and fine and smooth as marble, completely symmetrical. Her lips are bright and shiny, shaped like her lover’s bow, and are perpetually smiling small, slightly parted. Her nose is traditionally Roman, as it must be, as she is. It divides her face harmoniously, sits dead centre, bringing it all together... And her eyes... you know I have a thing for eyes, right? They are huge, heavy top-lid, lashes longer than my own... The whites are bright and pure and the outer ring of the iris is deep indigo, encircling a bright aquamarine, and the pitch black hole. Her look is soft, gentle and knowing... inviting. And her eyebrows are darker than her hair, shaped like the wings of a gliding bird of prey. She smiles with those eyes, reassures me again... I grin and see her face as a whole, and gasp at its wonder... No wonder she pissed off the Goddess of Beauty. I would be fucking irate.
She smiles softly... ‘It’s alright, sweet girl. You can touch,’ she says, she breathes, she whispers. And when I unravel my fingers from her and raise my hand to touch her shoulder, I am shaking.
‘Have no fear.’ But I do. I am scared.
I look at her once more, and can’t resist the honesty in her eyes, the purity of her stare. She draws me into her. So I reach out to her and feel her warmth and sweetness before I even touch her skin. I brush my fingertips over her shoulder and down her arm... but I see nothing but the aqua pool of her eyes and the dark hole within them, into which I could be falling. I reach out to you—pure instinct—but we both know you are gone. And she knows it too... I can tell by the way she grabs me by the wrist and presses my hand to her breast. I can see from the flash of power that glints in her eye.
I tear my gaze away from her, and look instead to the most exquisite body I have ever seen. She lays on her side, head in hand, resting on her elbow. And for me, she is perfection... From the fall of her shoulder, the gentle dip of her waist, the steep rise to her hip, and the long, long, slide that is her thigh... Her bent knee resting on the bed, and slender calf rising slightly, ankle resting on her other calf, foot dangling over, relaxed... to the very tips of her pearly pink toenails, she exalts... Is it these human eyes that make her so magnificent? Would I be so amazed if I too were still Goddess...? I hear a cage door shake, and a wicked giggle from deep within... but still I see no glamour. I look back up her legs and between them, see her slit and her divine baldness, a tattoo of a purple butterfly on her mound... her abdominal curve, the dimple that is her belly button... And all of it covered in skin that’s tight and shines, miraculously unblemished.
And I look to my hand on her breast. It is pressed hard against her, nipple in my palm, dead centre... and I melt for the excess flesh of that breast. She overflows from my small hand, puffs up between my spread fingers. I wish I could be lost in that softness... and suddenly I am there, face pushing into the flesh. Both hands overflowing with tit and I push my face into her cleavage and push her breasts against each side of my head, attempting to hide there... trying to make myself so small I could live there forever... just burrow in deep and never come out.... In a panic, I lick her nipples... watch them grow... Circle the aureole with my tongue, and marvel at the golden liquid beads that sweat from her nipples... I touch my tongue to the droplets, and I know I’ve never tasted anything so sweet. And I am almost ageless...
So I suckle at the breast of this fine Goddess for as long as it takes, and she strokes my face and weaves fine braids through my hair and sings me lullaby’s from a childhood I never had. I suck, and milk her Ambrosia with my tongue, pushing her against the roof of my mouth, feeling the warm squirt, mouth bursting with saliva and syrupy nectar. I swallow. I occasionally rest, leaving her nipple on my lower lip, but unable to stop my tongue circling to keep it hard... I sleep. I dream. I drink and drink and drink... til I am full. Til I am strong and assured and ready for myself, whatever that may mean. Til I am cured of my grief and my tears. Til I feel a spark of spirit. Til I know that I can win. Til she pushes me away...
‘That is all that I can give. Consider it a gift. ’ She strokes my face, and I look to her, smiling in thanks.
‘But Circe, sweet girl... really, I am here to take.’ She leans forward and kisses me, and her words become meaningless...
Her lips press on mine, slightly parted and she moves them gently, opening my mouth. She tilts her head, plants her mouth over mine, and I instinctively move my tongue towards hers. They meet and caress each other gently, slowly, the tips circling and slowing flicking over the other. She opens her mouth wider, and opens mine with it. And her hand is in my hair, pulling my face into hers, squashing our noses together and into the cheek of the other. And her kiss is deep and slow and full of feeling. I follow her lead completely, moving closer, a nipple brushing her breast, then resting against her. I move my mouth in time with hers, let her have her way with my tongue, and am licked and nibbled and caressed by her lips, until that familiar warmth in my belly ignites, and I feel the throb of my sex.
The cage door swings open and my goddess soul flees in a gust.
And Psyche breathes in, sucking through my mouth like a vacuum, emptying my air of lungs, and pulling in more air through my nostrils. I am limp and still... I am in shock. She inhales my precious goddess soul, she takes every last bit. And it wasn’t even hard for her. Was as easy as breathing...
She gently breaks the kiss... slowly withdrawing her tongue, closing her lips with a quiet smack. She moves away from me and smiles... And I am with her and wondering why I don’t feel devastated... She sighs out my name.
‘Ahhhhh, Circe...’
‘My Psyche, yes?’
‘You are aware of what is done?’
I nod and smile. 'Yes, sister. I am.’
We smile at each other.
‘Circe, I trust that we will meet again.’
I pray, but I don’t tell her that. I simply nod and bow my head to her. I find myself staring at her butterfly tattoo. It is almost as beautiful as she—bright and intricate and transformed. But when it shimmers and closes it wings, stretches them again, and takes flight from her sacred place, my eyes well with tears... and I think I feel that thing they call hope. I watch a purple blur jerk its way through the air, and eventually blink at my tears and clear my sight. But the butterfly is gone. And of course, so is she. I lay back and breathe, and although I have no idea what I am to do, I know that whatever it is, I will do it. I am ready for anything...
And your keys rattle in the lock, your briefcase hits the floor, your heavy tread makes its way toward me. You start whistling an old-time show tune... and then you are above me, grinning, loosening your tie.
‘Hi, honey. I’m home.’
‘Yes, My Man. Yes, you are’.
And I grin at you sexy and wicked, because I know that I am too. I may be mortal, I may be soulless, but I am Me, and I am back. I am Ambrosia-fuelled and ready to play.
No. Fuck that. I am ready to win.
I pull you to me by your tie that is mine...
‘My beautiful, glorious Man... let the games begin.’