Just a Little Holiday, She Said

The iridescent blue sea stretches off forever on our right, its low waves rolling in lazily and foaming gently on the sand. Just at the horizon, I can see a bright line -- the outer bar. To our left, a small waterfall drops in fits and starts from the bluff down to the sand. The little stream it makes winds across the sand to the sea. At the near end of the beach lie a sailing canoe and a larger skiff pulled up on the sand. Behind us is a small clearing, then jungle.

Looking closer now, we can see our men have risen too. One is in the shallows, casting a net over the rippled sea. Another stands far out on the rocks, perfectly still, looking intently into the water, a spear in his right hand and a coil of line at his feet.

The crown of a palm tree in the distance shakes; we see a man high up, tossing coconuts to the ground, where another man dodges the falling bombs, laughing, then gathers them in his arms.

I see a form out in the surf, hair splayed out behind her -- our cheetah sister. A man in front of her tosses her gently in the waves while her crystal laugh sparkles -- we can hear it all the way up here.

.

We are three sister-goddesses here right now, and about half a dozen men. There are other sisters and other men elsewhere whose paths we cross from time to time.

Unlike my larger sisters, I'm slight of build -- I'm a lynx to their leopard and cheetah. My mother was Chinese; my father Ismali -- she gave me her breasts and hair, but my skin is darker, like his. Goddesses come in all shapes and sizes, no?

.

I hear a small noise behind us; we turn into the sun and wind. I tilt my head back and shake it to toss my hair behind me, where it sails in the breeze.

A little way off, where a narrow forest path broadens into windblown grass, stands a lanky young man in tan shorts, his eyes wide, jaw slack. On a shoulder strap he carries a large wicker pannier. As he totters a bit, my sister bounds over to catch the basket before it falls to the ground.

She sets the load carefully down, then takes the man's hand. With her other hand, she strokes his forearm and pats the back of his hand.

"Come rest," she says.

She leads him over to the shade of an isolated tree. He melts to the ground, staring up at us: first at me, then at my sister. He breathes shallowly; he swallows. He stares at my sister, transfixed.

I go over to retrieve the basket. It's huge; there are a dozen loaves of crusty fresh bread, half a wheel of cheese, several bottles of wine, and two bottles of oil.

As I bring the basket over, I study the young man. He's tall and thin, with a tan that shows evidence of much time in the sun. His hair is blond, even white; his eyes are a shade of blue you could lose yourself in. He's looking a bit better now; he sits there, legs crossed, looking up at me, very quiet.

My sister sits beside him with her arm around him. Her other hand rests gently on his knee.

"I h-heard stories," he stammers softly. "I d-didn't really believe them."

"Yet you brought such lovely gifts," I say with a smile.

It's windy up here; my hair whips around me, blowing across my breasts. I raise a hand to gather it and toss my head to send most of it behind me. He sits frozen, absolutely mesmerized.

"Lay back; catch your breath," my leopard-sister says, "and we'll climb down presently and meet the others." She leans him back; sliding around behind him until she's leaning against the tree with his head in her lap. She strokes his hair tenderly with one hand, while caressing his face with the other. I carefully remove his shoes, and start massaging his feet and calves.

He's breathing more normally now; I think the sight of us really shocked him. But we're really quite harmless -- he'll see. There's a bulge in his shorts, though, that tells me he'll likely recover.

I sit down beside him, knees together and feet to one side. We sit quietly like this for a while, then his eyes close and he dozes. I reach over and take my sister's hand; we look at each other. She gives a little squeeze, smiles warmly, and then drops my hand.

I curl up beside the young man and close my eyes. I hear her breathing become regular, and then I drift off myself.

.

I wake momentarily, finding the young man on his side, curled up behind me. I pull his arm over me and snuggle up closer. I dream of big cats frolicking in the water.

.

When I stir again, I can tell the young man is already awake, but he's very still; hardly breathing. His arm is still over me; his hand grazes my breast. But I sense he's embarrassed, like he's overstepped some bound, even though unknowingly in his sleep. I can feel his erection in the small of my back. But he's lying very still, trying not to wake me.

I can't hear my sister breathing; she must be awake too. Well, there's only one thing for it: I roll over quickly, still under his arm, and throw my arm over him and look into his eyes. He's surprised, but caught by my gaze, he can't look away.

I wriggle in very close. I smile and stroke his bottom slowly. He takes a shallow breath. I tip my head up and kiss him softly. I wait. He's hesitant; fearful of something.

I kiss him again; I caress him tenderly. "Please join us, Hans," I whisper.

I see confusion in his eyes. I kiss him again.

His head is still in my sister's lap. She's leaning over a little, stroking his neck and back gently. He's shaking a little.

"Yes, Hans," she says, "the stories are true."

Suddenly, I see his eyes clear a little. "Hans?" he says hesitantly.

"Yes," I say. I pull my hand from his back and place it flat on his chest, between us. I kiss him, kiss him again, and then slide my hand down to his shorts; resting my fingers on the waistband. I open the button gently.

I see his shoulders relax. "Hans." he says, "Yes."

There's power and peace in knowing your true name.

I slide his zipper down; we work together to push down his shorts. I roll over on top of him. He's been hard so long, I daren't waste any time. I lean down, slide forward, dragging my nipples on his chest. I reach down and guide him into me. He thrusts up into me immediately; I gasp and fade away a little. We clasp hands and push at each other. We're thrusting back and forth; in and out. I arch my back and toss my hair. Suddenly, he thrusts hard, cries out, and falls back.

I look up at my sister. She has her hands on his shoulders, kneading them. He and I are both sweating. She smiles beatifically and leans forward to me. We kiss.

.

I'm lying back now in the shade, just drifting. My sister is by the tree on her back. Hans is on all fours above her, kissing her neck; she's stroking him down low. He moves in closer; he rubs his tip on hers; she moans. He pulls back a little; slides in slowly; they both moan. She wraps her legs around him; they thrust; thrust again. She cries out, then he does too.

.

I'm standing on the cliff looking down; Hans' hand is in mine. My sister stands on his other side with her arm around his waist. It's past midday; the sea breeze has been blowing for some time now.

"It's not an easy trail down; let us guide you."

"Yes, My Lady," he says in a clear, quiet voice.

We start down.

.

As we walk across the sand from the base of the cliff, I catch the eye of a large, ebony-skinned man; he's working on a fishing net. He jumps up and comes over.

"John, there's a basket up there, by the trail. Best we bring it down before the animals get into it."

He nods.

"It's big; you might want help."

He nods again and trots away.

A few minutes later, I see John and Marcos scaling the cliff. John has a coil of rope over his shoulder.

.

* * *

.

It's very early; I'm following Hans through the forest jungle above our cove. He clearly knows where he's going, but I'm damned if I can see a trail.

I wanted to see how the men check their traps, so I asked to tag along.

"Of course, My Lady," he said in his usual quiet way.

As I follow behind him, I see him leap lightly from one tree root to the next, making absolutely no sound. A thought strikes me: if my sisters and I are goddesses, then this life truly makes our men as gods. What a specimen he is: tall, taut, brown as a berry, long pale hair, and so powerful, but so graceful too. Over his shoulder is a sling; a knife is behind him at his waist on a string.

Before we left, he explained that even though we would just check traps, we would move as quietly as possible, just on the off chance we might surprise something tasty. So he carries a short spear in his right hand, not cocked to throw, but at the ready nonetheless.

We reach the first snare. It's at eye level, sprung, but empty, except for a few scraps of fur. Hans turns to me and in the quietest whisper, says, "Something found it, but then wanted very much to live another day." Hans quietly re-sets the snare and baits it.

The next trap is empty, but the third has something in it; it looks at us with frightened eyes and struggles a little. A sereque; a kind of rodent, but large -- large enough that one or two are a main course for us all.

Hans looks intently at it, and coos softly. He approaches very slowly, singing quietly to the animal. He's trying to calm it a little, but the spear in his right hand is point-up. Even if the animal does not know the meaning of this, I do.

Then so swiftly that I hardly see the motion, the spear is through the chest of the sereque; right through the heart, I'd wager. It jerks, spasms once or twice, then is still.

"You sang to him?" I ask.

"Bad enough to die, but to die in fear is worse," he says.

He frees the sereque from the snare and stows it in his sling, then re-sets the snare.

Hans is a little wired, so talks to me to calm himself. "We used to field-dress them up here, but it makes a big mess that scares their friends away. There's also no water, so it's hard to clean ourselves up afterward."

We check the other traps; they're all still in place. Hans looks at each carefully, then leaves it alone when he's satisfied.

.

We're back at the top of the cliff. I take his hand as we look down at the cove.

"Let's rest a bit. Remember that tree?" I say.

"I'll never forget, My Lady."

We walk over; he lays down his sling and spear in the shade and unties the knife from his waist. I stand behind him as he does this. I stroke his back, ending up with my hand on his hip as he turns toward me.

He's at full mast; I can't resist touching him. He purrs quietly and puts his hands on my hips. I look up at him.

"My sisters and I can always guess what you men think of us," I say. "Is it awkward, up and down all the time, like that?"

He thinks for a minute.

"When I was a small boy, it would often get big for no obvious reason. It felt a little weird." He goes on, "At that age, it wasn't sexual at all, but it still happened, quite often even, and I definitely noticed it."

He's surprisingly willing to talk today. He continues, "But later when I wore a man's clothes, it could be embarrassing, yes, if it got big at the wrong time. I didn't want it to be noticed." He pauses. "Men would chaff you, but women, you didn't want to intimidate or embarrass them."

A long pause. "Here, it's different. The men will be working together on something. We'll stop for a moment to breathe, then suddenly one of the men will begin to stiffen. We know what he's thinking, though -- he's thinking of one of you, either remembering or anticipating. We all understand immediately. We might smile, but we don't razz him, because we feel the same way too.

"And when one of you sisters sees us hard, it's pure pleasure. We can see how much you enjoy it.

"It's so different here; there doesn't seem any need to hide it."

Still stroking him lightly, I place one hand flat on his chest, and tilt my head up to kiss him softly.

"Perhaps," I say, "but right now I feel an unaccountable desire to hide it anyway."

"Oh, you'll regret that, My Lady," he says, smiling.

"I truly hope so," I say, smiling too.

He strokes my hips; his right hand drifts behind me, caressing. He pulls me close. We kiss.

He does his level best to make me regret my pun.

.

* * *

.

The water's fairly calm today; just a gentle swell.

A few minutes ago, I came down off the cliff all sweaty and dusty, and saw Hans working by the shore, lashing some long flexible sticks together to make a crab trap. It turns out he was a carpenter in a previous life.

I beckoned to him and he jumped up and chased me into the water, then we fell in all laughing and splashing. We swam out, quite far actually, then drifted slowly back in. Now we're down at the far end of the cove, away from the others, at that magical depth where he can stand, but I'm over my head.

I'm sideways in his arms with my arm around his neck; we're kissing softly. I'm toying with the hair on his chest; he's teasing my nipple. I can feel his erection graze my bottom as the swell rises and falls. I'm so light; I'm just floating in his arms.

He turns me around so my back is to him. He's holding me by the hips, bobbing me up and down a little, stroking my skin, nuzzling my neck. I reach back with one arm and pull his head forward to kiss him.

He rubs my belly with one hand, then slides it down between my legs. The other moves across my chest, massaging the opposite breast, twisting my nipple. I moan. I can feel his big tool tapping against my inner thighs. He's working his fingers in between my lips, sliding gently up and down, and that little hill down there is becoming a mountain. I'm getting warm, fading out and in a little, and I'm definitely tingling down there.

I reach down between my legs to touch him, and I hook my toes behind his thighs. Now my legs are wide open, and what he's doing down there is getting really distracting. I fade out for a bit again.

I feel him shift his fingers a little, then suddenly he's inside me, thrusting upward. Coming into me from behind this way, he's hitting a special little spot inside, making me moan and pant and really drift away. He's sliding in and out; I'm drifting farther and farther from shore. He tenses and moans, then I'm clear out of sight of shore for a long while.

.

We're back to me sitting in the crook of his arm, kissing, touching, tickling; gasping occasionally.

Now that we've calmed down and are just enjoying the glow, drifting back toward shore, I ask him something that's been intriguing me since he first arrived.

"How'd you find us here? This place is pretty remote. I'm sure the Maya knew about it, but they all live in cities now."

He pauses. "It's a long story, My Lady, especially in a place like this where we do rather than talk."

I consider this. It's true; our men are so attentive to us that we can be goddesses of few words. They don't need many words either, since their worship is mostly of deeds.

Still, I'm curious.

"I think if you go slow, you'll be fine."

He's quiet for a long while, collecting his thoughts for unaccustomed display in words. He makes to start once or twice, but then stops up short when he thinks better of it.

Finally, he begins. "In that time before, when I answered to a name I no longer think of very often, I lived in a small village by the beach. It's the kind of place you see many of here; a stone road with the beach on one side, and on the other side houses with small shops in their lowest floor. Opposite the houses there's a low stone wall along the road to keep the sand out. Often in these towns there will be a little cantina on the beach side of the road, with tables in the sand.

"I did a little carpentry then. But there's never enough work in one town, so I would travel to other towns up and down the coast when I heard of work there. So while this one town was my home, I would often be gone for long periods.

"As I traveled the coast, I would sit in cantinas in the evening after my work was done. I'd sometimes strike up a conversation, but mostly I just sat and listened to those around me.

"I heard many stories, legends, and tall tales told by the local people. The fishermen had the best stories: sea monsters, mermaids, that sort of thing. After a while though, you've heard all the stories, and it's just pleasant and comfortable to sit and hear them again, maybe told better, maybe not.

"But a few years ago, I started to hear new stories. I never heard them all in one place, and it was quite a while before I came to think that they might be connected.

"There were strange little stories of goddesses by the sea, but also of large cats like leopards and lions running wild there. That was crazy talk, of course; there are no big cats anywhere near here.

"But there were also odd tales of young men, and sometimes women, who would just vanish, leaving nothing behind but a little scattered clothing on the sand. No marks of violence, no blood, just scattered clothing. There were even whispered stories of wild orgies on the beach and in the surf -- not something you'd expect in this sort of place.

"As I said: odd, confusing, whispered tales. But new tales, which I found interesting. They say there's nothing really new under the sun, but as far as I could remember, I'd never heard any of these stories until just a few years ago.

"And then there were other strange stories, not of the vague, legendary kind, but things you could actually hear a first-hand account of. Young men walking in naked off the beach in the morning; men none of the locals recognized. When asked who they were and where they were from, the response was just mumbled ramblings of tigers and goddesses.

"These stories were so scattered, though, that the only way to hear them all was to travel the coast like I did. A story here; a tall tale there; but never all in one place."

He pauses, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Then it happened to me. Work was slow; I was home for a while. I was sitting at a table in front of the little café in our town. The tables are in the road, shaded by the houses in the morning -- very pleasant.

"As I sat sipping my café con leche, I saw someone walking up the beach. I first saw him at quite a distance. I didn't watch him the whole way, of course, but just noticed him from time to time. I was actually far more interested in the pretty young girls passing by in their flowing summer dresses.

"Eventually, though, this man came abreast of the village, left the hard sand by the water and walked over the soft sand to the road. As he stepped up on the wall to cross it, I saw he was naked.

"He was also heavily bearded and had very long hair down his back. I didn't notice these at first, of course. Other things about him were much more distracting, as you might imagine."

Hans gazes out to sea, seeming to consider how to phrase the next part of his story.

"But when I say 'naked', that doesn't really describe it properly.

"Now if a man is caught with his pants down, he may cover his privates, or he may act bold and pretend it doesn't matter. Either way, he's naked and he knows it.

"This man, though, acted as though he didn't know he was naked. Not like he didn't care, but like he truly didn't remember. You could imagine someone telling him, 'You're naked!' and him looking down and saying, 'Oh, yes, good point.'"

I reach down and grab Hans' most obvious point, give it a little squeeze, and say, "Here's a good point!" He pokes me in the ribs, making me squeal.

"Do you want to hear this tale, My Lady, or are you ready for another round so soon?"