Ile de Femme

By NAMB

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and/or sexual activity of preteen and young teen children. This is fantasy, and the author in no way endorses or practices these things on real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.
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Ile de Femme

This is more of a feminist romance story than hard-core porn. You’ve been warned.

I was all for a tropical vacation, but I had never heard of Ile de Femme. Other than translating it as “Island of Women,” I could find little on it.

Yet, that is where my parents were taking us. I was hoping that we’d stop in a place where, well, there was more of a night life, an opportunity to party and girls: a place to pick up girls.

I looked at the brochure for this place and all it showed was clear, blue ocean water, white sandy beaches and picturesque palm trees. It was a Garden of Eden but not a mention of parasailing, water skiing or surfing. There wasn’t even an inkling of fishing or golf, neither of which would interest me anyway.

Laying on the beach and soaking up the sun is fine: for maybe an hour or two a day. Only old fogies could find that interesting day after day.

We landed on a more well-known resort island but didn’t even leave the airport. We trudged across the terminal to change planes. At least we had enough of a layover to enjoy a good lunch. As the rest of the passengers gathered up their luggage and set off to resort hotels we were on our way to a flight bound for grass huts and who knows what else.

The plane we boarded was not at all like the jetliner we just got off of. It had 8 seats in all, and one of them was for the pilot: it would have been fun to sit in the “cockpit” during the flight but I wound up a couple of rows back. Even though the plane itself was small, there seemed to be more room than a regular airline seat and everyone had both an aisle and window seat.

The flight was uneventful but I enjoyed the novelty of flying in a small aircraft.

I’ll say one thing for flying small airplanes: there was no wait for the luggage. Several boys were already unloading the baggage out of the plane even before we got off.

The boys were clad in a khaki, military-style, short sleeve shirts and shorts: very short shorts, like the kind girls wear, the hem was nearly at crotch level. I figured that it was just “Island Fashion” and let it go at that, but there was no way I’d ever wear anything like that.

A small fleet of golf carts waited at planeside and we were soon on our way to our lodgings.

I jokingly thought of grass huts when I first heard about this place and I found out that I was not far from the truth.

The hotel itself consisted not much more than a check in desk under a canopy. It was at the beginning of a pier that extended out onto the lagoon. Side piers led to huts on stilts that stood above the water.

Each of the houses were arranged so as to be hundreds of feet apart and very private.

That’s when I found out about the unusual arrangement. My parents would be staying in one of the huts, while I would be staying in another.

Mom put it this way, “This vacation is for your father and me. We love you a lot son, but we’re tired of being mommy and daddy and we’d like to take this opportunity as sort of a second honeymoon.

You’re almost 16 and I can depend on you to behave yourself on your own. Besides, there really isn’t anyplace on this island where you can get into trouble.”

I wish mom has told me this before I left. I would have brought along some more suitable “reading material” for a bachelor of my age.

“Don’t worry,” mom continued, “Your father and I made arrangements to have you meet up with a guide who will give you a tour of the island. We gave the staff the information they needed to match you up and they assure me that they found the perfect person for the job

We’ll meet up for breakfast tomorrow and after that we’ll take you over to the check in to meet up.”

The room was sparse but comfortable. There were no windows, only screens and no air conditioning, just a big fan at the center of the ceiling: it was enough. The place had electricity to run the fan and the three lights (all very dim), one overhead, another reading lamp by the bed and one in the bathroom. I wondered about where “it” went when you flushed and decided not to think more about it. I found out later as the staff assured us, that it did not go into the lagoon.

There was also an outlet in the bathroom, but I couldn’t figure out a use for it. There was no cell service here, no wifi, no telephone, no TV. I charged my phone to full battery and then turned it off.

The sun set early and it got dark very quickly. Guided by the “spirit lights” on the railings I found my way to the dining room to catch up with my parents. The dining room was nothing more than a covered pavilion with tables and chairs set up underneath. The primary lighting was from candles on the table.

Maybe my parents were into something after all. It was a romantic setting, but it was lost on me, being without girlfriend at the moment.

The food, predictably, was sea food, but very nicely prepared and I was invited to partake in an after-dinner drink. Mom smiled at me, “We’re not in Mayberry anymore. It’s OK, you can drink here, but only one a night.”

It was fruity, and it had a small umbrella in it and pineapple and rum seemed to be the main ingredients. The men’s drinks were served in blue glasses while the women drank from pink glasses.

There being nothing else to do and my parents, particularly my dad being eager to get back to their room, we took a walk on the pier where my parents walked off to their hut and I continued onto mine where I read the latest issue of Sports Illustrated for the second time this trip. I really did regret not bringing racier material.

As I sat there reading an otherwise boring article on officiating in the NBA, I started getting hard. Without any provocation, I was getting an erection. This used to happen at the most inconvenient times when I first started puberty but it had been slacking off. Like most boys, I woke up with “morning wood,” but that would go down by itself without any further action on my part by the time I finished brushing my teeth.

This erection seemed to have a mind of its own. It would not go away no matter how much I tried to think of other things. So I relented, “If you can’t beat it, beat it,” as the old saying goes. I laid down on the bed and jerked off.

It was a fantastic cum. I had no idea why. I was actually rerunning an old fantasy in my mind involving one of my classmates I used to have a crush on. But she was a long past flame and not a current interest.

Maybe it was the warm tropical breezes caressing my naked body or maybe it was because I was doing it outside. You can’t call a couple of screens, walls. The only real walls were those placed strategically that you could not see the other huts. Even they seemed to be made of flimsy bamboo.

I might just as well be doing it on my back porch at home. I bet that would delight old Mrs. Denison. Now if the thought of the elderly, quite overweight woman didn’t quell an erection, nothing could. Mrs. Dennison is a really sweet lady and a great neighbor, but she is not and probably never was, centerfold material.

The ejaculation really took it out of me physically and the thought of Mrs. Dennison or not, my erection still didn’t totally go away. However, after cleaning up, tiredness overtook horniness and I fell asleep to the sounds of the jungle critters on the nearby shores.

I woke up a couple of times during the night and I was still hard. At dawn, I awoke to the sun shining on my face. I had a sticky mess in my crotch. I had a wet dream! I hadn’t had one of those since I spent a week at my cousin’s a couple of years ago. We shared the same bedroom and for the whole time I was there, I didn’t get a chance to masturbate.

I thought wet dreams only happened to little boys. Also, I had just cummed and cummed quite a bit just before going to bed. I know from experience that I am good and I can recover from an ejaculation rather quickly and go onto the next masturbation within an hour, but that takes some serious stimulation this was not like that at all.

I took a shower and tried to forget about it. I checked my watch and although I had been up for quite a while, it was only barely 7 AM. I guess that happens to you when you use the sun as an alarm clock in the tropics.

I killed some time and met up with mom and dad for breakfast at 8 o’clock. Mom looked absolutely radiant. I never saw her so cheerful this early in the morning. Dad was smiling too, but seemed to be a bit tired.

We had a leisurely breakfast and spent time in general conversation. Mom and dad mentioned that they were going to some sort of class with some of the other couples. I asked, “What kind of class?” and mom responded with some vague answer about it being a meditation class and that I would be toughly bored and that you had to have signed up for it before you arrived.

It was clear that mom didn’t want me anywhere near the class. Grown-ups! Who can figure them out?

Our cargo handling crew was now serving duty as bus boys, removing plates and otherwise tidying up the place.

A man came over to our table and I recognized him as the person who checked us in. “Madame et Monsieur Ambrose, I hope you enjoyed your breakfast?”

“We did,” mom replied, “Everything was perfect.”

“And this, I presume is Mark.”

“Yes it is.” Mom replied. “Mark, this is Monsieur duBois. He’s our host while we are here.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” I responded. It was a polite nothing, but it was polite, and mom always insisted I be polite.

“Very well,” the man said to my parents. “Your guide has arrived. I believe it is time for the two of you to meet.”

He turned towards the check in counter where a man was talking to a woman who was standing with her back to us. I paid no attention to the man. The woman had the attractive, dark-tanned skin that most of the people here seemed to have here, a shapely figure (from behind) and curly, black hair that just touched the bottom of her shoulders. She was wearing a top in a tropical pattern and matching shorts. Her midriff was bare which seemed to be the style for women on the island. Her feet were adorned in sandals.

“Angelique,” duBois cried out, “ici!”

The woman turned. I got one look at her face and my penis reacted before my brain could. She had a beautiful face: perfectly symmetrical with deep, brown eyes accented by perfect lashes, a petite nose with just the right about of flare at the nostrils and a pair of inviting lips, pink with just a slight bit of plumpness. My instinct told me that I wanted my lips on hers.

It was only after looking at her for several seconds that my brain registered what my penis was already telling me. This girl was stunning. And that is when it hit me. She was a girl, not a woman and approximately my age.

I tried to keep my jaw from hanging slack and swallowed my saliva lest it drool out as she approached. My eyes caught her every movement. To divert them would seem sacrilegious.

She stood there, tall and confident. I sat there like jello that was left out in the sun: quivering and melting.

“This is Angelique, my angel and my daughter. She is like her mother. Is she not beautiful?”

All I could do is nod. Dad managed a “If her mother is half as good looking as she is, you are a very lucky man, monsieur.” Mom said, “She’s a fine-looking girl. How old is she?”

“Elle a quatorze ans. ... She is fourteen years.”

Dad gave me a punch in the arm. “What’s the matter with you, boy? Say hello to the girl.”

I mustered my strength, stood up, took her hand and bent to kiss it. “Bonjour, avec plaisir.” I responded with my best High School Freshman French. I am sure to her ears it sounded like the Spanish Cow my teacher screamed about whenever we mutilated the language in class. We all knew what she really wanted to shout was, “Merde!”

Nonetheless, it seemed to please her as she put her hand up to her mouth and giggled. That giggle was a like a musical scale rippling down the xylophone that was my spine.

Who was she and how could it ditch my guide to spend time with her?

Then duBois put duex avec duex for moi, “Angelique is a bright girl who is good in her studies. She knows much about the history and nature of the island. I am sure you will find her to be the most excellent guide.”

My brain felt like the inside of a bell that was just pounded with a blow from a sledge hammer. Thousands of voices raised up in a cacophony of confusion. So this is what shock must be like. Carefully, I found my seat and sat down. Slowly, it was dawning on me that I would be spending most of my day with this girl every day for a week. The alcohol in the drink I had last night could not compare to the intoxication of that thought.

“Come, Mark,” she said, “Let me show you our island. Do you have an outfit to swim?”

“Of course I do,” I said, finding my voice.

“Then put it on under your shorts. I know a cove, it is isolated and pretty, we can swim there.”

She took my hand and I followed her. I felt like a well-trained puppy on a lead.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

She giggled again and again it was like music inside of me.

“You tell me, silly! I do not know which of these is yours.” She said sweeping her hand across the collection of huts.

“Unless, of course, you prefer to swim without your trunks?”

The very thought made me blush. She noticed and giggled again. “Come, take me to your place and you can get dressed.”

I walked along in a blissful, trance-like state holding her hand. It was very minimal skin-to-skin contact but I was keenly aware that I was touching her.

We got to my hut and I pushed open the door. She stepped in in front of me. I then realized that I was alone in my room with a girl. I wanted to grab her and kiss her, but even I was smart enough to know that it would be pushing things too fast.

I rummaged through my suitcase looking for my trunks. She noticed my underwear and said, “Ohh, tres jollie, very pretty.” That made me blush again and she giggled again. “Such a modest boy,” she managed to say amongst the laughter. The girl seemed to delight in making me uncomfortable and was very good at it.

I found the suit and we just stood there for a moment. “Alons!” She said, “It is a beautiful day and there is much to see. Let us not waste it here. Or do I have to spank you like a naughty little boy who does not wish to get dressed for school?”

The threat did not sound serious, but the thought excited me. I grabbed my trunks and went into the bathroom to change. My penis was as rigid as it had ever been and was achingly uncomfortable. Unfortunately, I did not have the time to relieve myself.

I got both suit and shorts on and came out of the bathroom. She looked at my crotch and smiled. There was no doubt in either of our minds how much she excited me. Girls have an advantage, they can “fake it.” Boys, well, as I heard one of my older female cousins once say, “The penis never lies. When it unfurls, it’s for the girls.”

Angelique had my Sports Illustrated in her hand, she had it open to a page where there was a shot of the line of scrimmage in a football game. Only it was taken from ground level and under the high-kicking leg of a cheerleader. A line of cheerleaders in the same pose could be made out behind her.

“These women, you call them cheerleaders, n’est pas?”

“Um, yes,” I admitted.

“What is their purpose for the sport?”

‘Well, they lead cheers,” I said, giving a very obvious answer.

“But why are they dressed so. Is it not cold? I can see snow,” she said pointing to the picture. “I have never seen snow except for pictures but I am told it is cold.”

“I don’t know. That’s just the way they dress.”

“And why are there not men?”

“I never thought of it. In college they have some men ... sometimes.”

“That is so silly. Why is it one way for the women and not for the men?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t have a good answer for that.

Mercifully, she did not let me stew in that uncomfortable state for too long. Once again, she took my hand saying, “Come, there is much to see and do today.”

We walked back down the pier to the check-in desk. She stopped a moment and said, “Pardon, where we go first is far and it is difficult to walk. I must put on my shoes for tennis.”

It was my turn to laugh, “We just call them sneakers.”

“Sneakers! That is a good word. They are made for sneaking around,” here she pantomimed some stealthy movements and I had to laugh. Then she added, “Sneaking around perhaps to meet a lover in a secret tryst.”

The girl had a vivid imagination when it came to romance. Maybe this boring Garden of Eden wouldn’t be so bad if I could share it with my newly-found Eve.

I felt like the sun went behind a cloud as she took off her sandals and donned her “shoes for tennis.” It was a shame to hide such beautiful feet. I was willing to make that sacrifice as long as she didn’t cover the rest of herself up.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“We go to the mountain.

Oh, do not worry; it is not too tall, but it is steep.”

“What’s so special about the mountain.”

“It has a view full of beauty of the whole island and the ocean, but that is only the beginning.”

“What else.”

She gave me a playful slap on my rump, “Silly, impatient boy. I will show you when we get there.”

“Here, take this,” she said handing me a small valise.

“What is this?” I asked.

It is for the beach. A towel to sit on and to dry.”

As we walked along she pointed out the various plants and flowers. I normally don’t have an interest in flowers, but these had colors more brilliant than I thought that even nature could provide. I picked one and gave it to her. She put it in her hair and she frowned, “It will die tomorrow. This kind of flower does not live long, but it is so pretty for the one day it is in bloom.”

“Then I shall pick you another tomorrow. One beauty deserves another.” Where did that come from? I’m usually not that poetic.

We stood there and she said, “Ecoutez, Listen! Tell me what you hear?”

“I hear some birds.”

“Tres bien. What else?”

I closed my eyes. I figured with my sight cut off, my mind could give more attention to the other senses.”

“The ocean. I can hear the waves crashing on the beach.”

“Tres bien. What else?”

I squeezed my eyelids tighter and tried to sort out the sounds. Something else ... less tangible and almost silent. “The wind! The breeze in the trees.”

“Very Good! You are a good student.”

“I didn’t know this was a lesson.”

“All of life is a lesson. Today, I have taught you how to listen. Make attention to your body. It can tell you many things.”

Nearby, a bird gave a thrill. Angelique said, “That is a male Joybird. I am sure that some silly scientist has given it a less-romantic scientific name. But here we call them Joybirds.

He is looking for his mate. Let us listen to see if she responds.”

The bird called out a several more times about a minute apart. And then Angelique’s head snapped and she pointed “La – there. She is there.”

I had not heard anything. The bird next to us gave one more thrill and flew off in the direction in which Angelique was pointing.

“It is well. He has found her.”

I felt disappointed that I could not hear the response. Or was it that I could hear the response but did not hear it because I did not know what to hear. I doubted that my guide’s sense of hearing was that more acute than mine. But she knew what she expected to hear and heard it. She was in tune with the local bird life and her own body.

She read my thoughts. I must have been telegraphing them with my face. She said, “You did not hear?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

Then she said something very philosophical, “That is because you are not present. You are somewhere else, but you are not here and you are not now. It is difficult to escape such distractions especially when you come from a world where all is distraction. Perhaps you will learn while you are here.”

She smiled at me and that quivering sensation returned. I tried to change the subject. “How much more do we have to go.”

“There you are again my impatient little boy. Perhaps that clap on your derriere was not enough to teach you to be patient.”

I liked the way she teased. I could not get enough of it.

“It is not far.” She finally said.

We reached the summit and I was amazed. The view was everything she said it would be. What surprised me was the stone in the center of the clearing. It had strange carvings on it and it looked like some sort of Aztec altar.

“We are on sacred ground,” she declared. “According to the legends of our ancestors, this is where the world was created out of the sea.

A goddess, whose name we do not know gave birth to the island on his spot.”

“How come you don’t know her name?”

“To know a person’s name means that you have control over her. She is the goddess and that is all we need to know.”

“So this goddess, does she have a husband? I mean there must be a husband if this island is her baby.”

“Not according to the legend. She came conceived. This is not too difficult to believe. It is this way in other religions too.”

“Although she does not have a name, she has a sign.” Here she showed me her wrist. On it was a tattooed marking that resembled three arrows one curved left, one curved right and the other up the middle.

“This is the sign of the feminine and it is the sign of our mother goddess. You can see it here all around the altar.”

I had seen that mark before. “You father has one just like that.”

“As do all women and men on the island. When a girl reaches the age of 12 or a boy the age of 13, they come here for their ‘stepping up’ ceremony. Each makes an offering for the right of passage.”

“What kind of an offering?”

“For a girl, ‘le premier sang:’ her first blood. For a boy, the flesh on the head of his penis.”

I cringed at the descriptions and I was sorry I asked.

She told me, “This is the way in other religions too. Sacraments of flesh and blood. At least it is not human sacrifice or even a sacrifice of the life of an animal. All life is sacred to the goddess.

It is at this time that a girl becomes a woman or a boy a man and receive the mark of the goddess.”

“Well, I am certainly glad I don’t have to go through that. I was circumcised as a baby.” Did I just tell a girl one of my deepest secrets? Deep down I felt that she was going to find out anyway.

“Since you are already, how do we say, ‘cut,’ all that would be necessary is to pledge yourself to the goddess. Then you could receive your mark.

The offering is quite painful for the boys, but they endure it once. A girl offers her blood for the rest of her life.”

“No thanks,” I said, trying to put as much distance between me and this conversation as possible.

“I can see that this displeases you. I am sorry. Let us not talk about it for now.”

I was all for the not talking about it but wondered about the “for now” part.

“Um, no, it does not displease me. I just have to get used to it. You’re making me look at some things in ways I’ve never looked at them before.”

“This is not a good thing?”

“Oh no! It is a good thing. But my brain is like my stomach. If too much goes in at once, I have a hard time digesting it.”

It took her several seconds to break that sentence apart and reassemble it in her mind ... and then she got it and burst out laughing. Her laughter was like the sun breaking out through a dismal overcast.

“Come, I will show you something else.”

She led me away from the hilltop and down towards the shore. There was a little cove there and a small obelisk – a monument of some sort.

“This is where the first white men came to the island. They came from a country called France and our ancestors could not understand of a land over the waters.

They taught us their language and tried to convert us to their God. We accepted the language but we learn the original language of the goddess in school. We do not teach it to les etrangers. Our religion we kept to ourselves.”

“It all sounds confusing. Do you people go to church?”

“But of course. We are in church now. The island is our church. It is the bounty of the mother goddess with the flowers and the plants and the birds and the fish in the sea. That tree is church, every grain of sand on the beach is church and when it comes, every drop of rain is church to us ... and each one of us is church to each other.

The French, they held ceremonies to talk to their god once a week. We talk to our goddess all the time. She is here, she surrounds us. We are like children in her womb.

She is here right now, with us. Her heart beats inside my heart. I can feel her. Can you?”

“Well, sort of,” I did feel a bit funny, but really didn’t know what to make of it.

She smiled at me, “You are too much like Puritan. You believe God is out there beyond the sky.” And then she added, “and he is a man.

In this ceremony that the French did, they called upon their god saying ‘Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.’ We have heaven here. The will of the goddess rules on earth; not only in heaven. I have heard that it is not like this in other countries ‘across the waters’ where male gods make war on one another. Sometimes even the same god making his children fight. I cannot make sense of that. Here we are all children of the goddess and she loves us equally.”

I am not the holiest of people and the last thing I expected was to be holding a discussion on theology with a gorgeous girl. Normally these religious type girls are the Puritans, stuck up about everything.

Angelique was not like that at all. She was in touch with nature and her nature. Whereas I mouthed, “Our father” she all but named her goddess as “Her Mother” and to her it wasn’t just words. The goddess was every bit her mother as the woman who gave birth to her. I felt envious of someone who could be so much a part of all the life around her and who, for her part, absorbed it all and poured it out.

I had no doubt that I was in the presence of the daughter of the goddess and if “like mother, like daughter” – the goddess must be of exceptional beauty.

Normally, I find religion to be a boring topic. Yet she made it so alive. I looked at her and with my eyes beheld the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. My mind must have been deceiving me because she looked even more enticing than when I first saw her. My mind does play that trick. The more I like a girl, the better looking she gets. But that normally takes some time to develop.

My eyes beheld her physical beauty, but with some sense other than sight, I could see the radiance glowing from within her. I was beginning to feel the presence of the goddess though this incarnation of her that stood before me.

We stood in silence looking at each other, yet communicating without gesture or word. She could see my pensive mood and asked, “Are you there?” “Present!” I responded.

“Present!” a word she had used before. I was beginning to understand her meaning of the word: here, now, the two of us and surrounding us and within us, the goddess.

She broke the spell by speaking first. “Come, I could talk about the goddess all day if you let me.”

“You can talk about whatever you want. I like to listen to what you have to say.”

“That is a good attitude for a boy to have.”

Taking me by the hand, she said, “Come, there is more to see and do.” and led me off to the beach.

As we walked along, I asked, “What happened to the French?”

“The men, a few stayed and were joined to our women. Most went back to the sea. We have no gold, no silver, no spices. There is nothing here they wanted. We have all the riches of the goddess, yet they could not see them.”

She led me down a narrow ravine barely wide enough for one person to pass through and we emerged on the shore. There was hardly any beach to speak of. We spread out our two towels and they took up most of the area the beach had to offer.

However, it was just the two of us, and it was perfect.

She stood and stripped off her top and shorts revealing a minimal bikini. During our walk and our discussions, my mind was diverted to the point where I was walking around with my erection only at half mast. That changed in an instant as it sprang to attention in honor of the girl in front of me.

My shorts could not contain it and I certainly did not want to give up what little protection they offered.

“Are you not swimming?” she asked.

“Maybe not right now.”

She was blunt, “You do not want me to see you are excited. N’est pas?”

I was getting very proficient at blushing in this girl’s presence.

“Silly boy. It is the gift of the goddess to men. It pleases her that men should be this way and you flatter me by doing it.” She said taking a bow.

I was amazed by this girl, at one moment she could be deep and pensive and at the next an innocent little child, playfully prancing and pranking her way though the day.

I would never have believed that I would ever meet a girl who was so open about sex.

“I have seen boys before. There were two at my ceremony and they made their offering. I have also been at other offerings. You have nothing I do not know about.” And here she giggled, “But I have never seen a white boy before. Perhaps you are different.

It is nothing to be ashamed of. Come, enjoy the water.”

If she could be so open and honest about sex, I suppose I could be. I stripped down to my trunks. I did, however, get into the water as quickly as possible to minimize the amount of time she would see me in this condition.

“Silly boy!” she said, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

We swam and splashed and for a while, we were just a couple of kids playing in the water. We had no concern other than for the present moment.

Finally, she said, “It is time to go.”

“Aw, do I have to!” I said jokingly.

“Don’t make me pull down those trunks and spank you, you naughty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I replied.

She took me by both hands and led me out of the water. When we got to the shore, she moved her arms around my neck and kissed me. At first I just let her do it. I was being kissed by a girl. She was doing it; she was in control. I stood there passively in her embrace. Then I decided to participate. We kissed for a little while until she broke it off.

She moved her hand down to my crotch and palmed the bulge there. “Your friend, he is happy again.”

“Very happy.” I replied, not objecting to her touch at all.

“Remember it is a gift of the goddess and not to be ashamed.”

I was beginning to like the goddess.

“We must hurry,” she said gathering up the towels. “It gets dark quickly and we have a way to go.”

She was all business on the trip back leading me expertly along the trails. This time we went around the mountain and not over it.

We parted at the desk. I wanted to kiss her again, but thought better of it with her father standing there.

“I will see you at 10 tomorrow” she said, blowing me a kiss.

I met my parents for dinner, had another blue drink and went back to my room to masturbate. There was no way I could resist. There was something about this place that made sexuality more intense. I felt more in touch with my body than ever before. It went beyond sexual satisfaction and lust. It was part of who I was. Without TV, video games and my phone pinging at me constantly, my senses were free to listen to what was in and around me.

I thought I would miss being “plugged in” but I was too busy with other thoughts, thoughts that seemed more important, to note its absence.

Angelique invaded my every thought. I could see her face clearly in every image my mind displayed. I could her voice, smell her hair, feel the silkiness of her skin and the ticking of the music in my body when she laughed.

I fact I spent most of the night masturbating going from one ejaculation to the next with hardly any rest in between until exhaustion overtook me and I fell asleep. If erections were a gift from the goddess, then what must orgasm be?

I woke up with my body rigid with fear. My eyes opened and it was still dark. The thought had occurred to me that this trip will have an end and in only a couple more days, and then no more Angelique. The thought of not seeing her again was painful and I wept. The exhaustion and blackness of this realization put me into a much darker sleep.

I met up with mom and dad for breakfast and they noted my somber mood.

“What’s the matter, Mark? You seem depressed.”

“It’s nothing.” I replied, putting on a stoic face, “I’ll be fine.”

“I know it can’t be Angelique,” mom said, “You two seemed to have hit it off.”

I had filled them in on what we did yesterday over dinner, leaving out the philosophical and theological parts and most definitely went out of my way not to mention the sexual parts.

I put on a pretense of being cheerful for the rest of breakfast for their sake. After all, this is their vacation too. “So how are the classes going?”

“Very well,” mom answered. “Your dad is having such a good time that we might be able to take him off that ulcer medication he’s on. He gets so stressed out about things and I think he’s learning that there are some things that just are not worth getting stressed out about.”

“We’ll somebody’s got to put a roof over our heads,” dad responded.

Mom almost sounded like she was lecturing me in her response to dad,” Jack, you’ve done a fantastic job as a breadwinner for this family and I appreciate all the nice things you buy for me and Mark, But do you honestly think that if you screw up a single project that you’ll get fired?”

“No.”

“And have you ever come close to screwing up a single project?’

“No.”

“And if worst came to worst and you lost your job, do you think you could find another that pays at least enough to put the three of us up in an apartment?”

“Of course I can.”

“Then stop worrying. Armageddon is averted. We won’t die starving and freezing in the street.

What’s that the instructor said, oh yes, ‘Plan for a disaster, but concentrate on the present moment and the disaster is less likely to happen.’ So ‘carpe diem,’ my love, for at least as long as we are here.”

What is it with these darn people and “the present?”

I went back to my room for a while and pondered. Damn, Angelique! Why do you have to be so beautiful? Why do you have to be so alive? Why did I open my heart and let you in? Why did you get me to start thinking? I was blissfully ignorant until I met you.

No matter how hard I tried to criticize her, I could not find anything but affection for her in my heart. One that would be in pieces: a piece with me and a piece with her, when we parted. I cried again and I didn’t care. I needed to cry as no boy back home would ever admit.

I met up with Angelique in her “shoes for tennis” at 10 O’clock. She looked at me funny and I could tell that something was going on inside her even though everything seemed normal on the surface.

Yesterday, on the mountain we came as close to reading each other’s minds as could be possible.

“We will picnic today,” she said with a smile and then added. “I know the perfect spot and have some delicious food.”

We were barely out of earshot of the desk when she said. “What is it? There is a cloud of sadness that covers you today.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“It could not be more obvious if you rode in on an elephant trumpet blaring and waving a banner.”

“It’s like this Angelique. I like you a lot and I hope you like me.”

“I do.”

“In a couple of days I will be leaving and we will never see each other again.”

“Is that it, silly boy?”

“Well yes,” I said, this time taking objection to her use of “silly boy.”

“I said silly for a reason.

You are leaving in a few days and there is nothing that will change this?”

“Yes.”

“You do not know that. Leaving has not happened yet.”

“But it is going to happen.”

“Is it happening now?”

“No, but it will in a couple of days.”

“You do not like being with me now?”

“I do, of course, I do.”

“Have you forgotten what we talked about yesterday about present?”

My eyes darted back and forth as if to pick up the pieces of the conversation we had the day before.

“I don’t think so.” I said with some uncertainty.

“You have heard the words and they live in your mind, but they do not yet live in your heart.” She said tapping me on the chest over my heart.

She went on, “You are allowing an event that has not yet happened to shadow over the happiness that should be happening now. You live in a land and a time that does not exist. It is called the future. It might as well be one of those lands over the waters our ancestors told us about. It is not here, and it is not now.”

I took her hands and looked into her eyes, “Angelique, I don’t want to lose you.”

“That will not happen,” she responded, “I have led you to the goddess and I can see that she has accepted you. All you need is to accept her. Through her, you can come to me and I can come to you.

We share in the life of the goddess and that means we share in each other’s life.”

“What do I have to do to accept the goddess?”

“You must go to the mountain to make your offering.”

“I can’t do that. I told you that I no longer have anything to offer.”

“Silly boy, the skin is but a symbol. There are other things you can offer.”

“Such as?”

“As women, what comes from within us is an offering: our monthly blood and even our children.

And so it is for you. What comes from you, if done as an acknowledgement of the goddess’ bounty is an offering.

It is what other religions call, a sacrament.”

In my mind, the horizon spun around coming to rest with sky on the bottom and sea on top. My world was turned upside down. In my former world, masturbation was considered a sin, here it was a sacrament.

I surrendered to my heart. “How do I go about making this offering?”

“We go to the mountain where a priest will assist you.”

“You have priests?”

“Every woman is a daughter of the goddess and in her image and likeness. Yes, we have priests. Every female who bears the mark of the goddess is a priest.”

“So you’re a priest?”

“I am a woman, so I am a priest. I can preside over offerings although I have not done so yet. I would like you to be my first.”

“I would like that, too.”

“Come, let us go to the mountain then.”

As we walked along, I asked, “So there are no men priests?”

She laughed, “Silly boy. How can a man be a priest? He is not like the goddess. Through the women on the island, she loves him and protects him and takes care of him and through the women, he honors her. Whatever a man does to please a woman, pleases the goddess.”

“I would like to please you,” I confessed.

“I know you do. I can feel it. You are beginning to get in touch with the goddess and through her, I can feel you.”

We were at the summit of the mountain before I knew it.

“So now what do I have to do?”

“Offer yourself to the goddess. Once you do, you are hers. There is no turning back.”

I nodded and she went on.

“Do you accept the goddess as the source of life and love?”

“I do.”

“And do you promise to obey her commands as you understand them?”

“I do.”

“And do you accept the authority of the priests who represent her?”

“I do.”

“Are you prepared to make your offering?”

“I am.”

“Take off your clothes and make yourself naked to the goddess.”

There was no second thought. I simply stripped as Angelique looked on. I occurred to me that she had probably seen boys do this on this very spot before.

“Lay down on the altar,” she commanded.

I lay there exposed to the sky and the goddess and did not feel ashamed.

Angelique took hold of my penis and gently stroked it. There was no need to get it erected. It had been in that state every moment I was with her.

As she moved her hand up and down the shaft, she chanted in a language I did not understand.

Slowly she brought me towards the point of ejaculation, yet this was not a lustful experience for me, it was a blissful one. I could feel my life flowing along with the fluid in my body being coaxed by her had as an offering to the goddess.

As sexually peaked as I was physically, I was on another level in my spirit. I should have ejaculated within moments of her touch, yet it was so gentle and her chanting was so hypnotic that she was able to bring me to the brink and hold me there.

Then as she chanted the few last magic words, I came. The physical experience was more pleasurable than I had ever experienced, but it was not just my physical body that had the experience. Every bit of whatever it was that made me, me, came forward at that moment.

I surrendered myself to Angelique and her goddess – now my goddess.

She allowed me to recover from my blissful state and then bent over and kissed me on the forehead. “You now belong to the goddess. Come, I will take you to a place where you can bear her mark.”

She took me by the hand and led me naked back to where we had our picnic. “You have no shame now. You are a child of the goddess and once you have her mark, you will have nothing to hide from her or all of us who share in her.”

I did get dressed and we “broke camp” from the picnic site and went to a hut where a woman gave me my mark. I was wondering how to break the news to mom and dad. They were not keen on the idea of my getting a normal tattoo at home.

The resolution to that problem came about when I met my parents at dinner. They, too, were bearing the mark of the goddess.

“Mom, dad, I don’t want to leave,” I told them.

“We know, son,” they replied. “You don’t have to. We understand.

We’ll return to ‘the lands over the waters,’ but it won’t be the same for us. Outwardly, life will go on, but inwardly we are at peace with each other and the world in general. We’ll come back here on pilgrimage from time to time to refresh our vows.”

I spent the next couple of days making lists. I told my parents who to say goodbye to and made out sort of a last will and testament to distribute my worldly possessions to my friends. They would enjoy them more than me. I had no need for them here.

It was not with sadness that I saw my parents off at planeside. I knew what they now felt. We all shared in the experience of the goddess and I felt very attached to them even though they might be thousands of miles away.

Angelique and I held hands as we watched the plane disappear over the horizon. She kissed me and said, “Come, let me show you more ways to please me and the goddess.”

(End of File)