I enter the cool darkness of the temple, wearing only my white silk robe and a diadem of tiny stars. Inside all is silent, the darkness only relieved by torches held in sconces on the walls. I am aware that today I am the sacrifice to be made here.
Moving to the altar, I spread my arms wide, offering myself to worship. My nipples prickle hard and erect beneath my robe, the stubble of my pubic region rustles against the silk. I have shaved, and the lips of my vulva and exposed clitoris are caressed by the fabric, tantalising me, tempting me to seek my own pleasure. My fingers ache to run up and down the lips of my vagina, to fall to the floor and stroke my tiny budlike clitoris until I roll around in ecstasy. But not today β today the pleasure of my body will be for my priest alone.
Carefully, I trace the ancient dance on the floor. Around the first altar, the length of the second, anti-clockwise around the second, and finishing back at the tomb. My lover-to-be waits within.
Drawing my sword, I cut aside the shroud of the Tomb. There he stands in his magnificence. His brow is slightly drawn as if frowning a little, his hair is dark and short, his skin tanned and smooth. A little stubble lines his cheeks. His chest is broad, his shoulders straight and wide, arms crossed with muscular biceps. His fingers are those of an artist, long, clever, slightly roughened. His hands are incredibly strong, yet so gentle. His body is in perfect proportion, tapering to hips I long to wrap myself around, muscular thighs that I ache to squeeze. He is in repose, eyes closed, asleep until I awaken him.
I raise my sword and speak the incantation. At once, his eyes fly open. Dark eyes, burning with warm flecks of chocolate and green. His intense gaze swivels and focuses on me. Inhuman, godly. I shiver, afraid of what I have unleashed, and step back involuntarily as he takes three steps forward. He is not yet complete β I hurry to anoint him with water, wave the incense over him, as his eyes follow me β unafraid and seemily contemptuous of the trivial details that will restore him to life. He speaks again, commanding me. I fetch his robe, his crown and dress him. I long to touch him, to caress his shoulders, his firm waist, yet I dare not. I am in awe of him, knowing what I must do and yet in fear of this man - part God, part Human, all masculine beauty.