After a good night's fuck, Raul always wakes first. The first rays of sunlight enters through between the tapestries, drives out the darkness from their quaint bedroom. He always sleeps deeply after their lovemaking. It's always a deep short dip into the freshening unconsciousness.
But last night was long. Driven by the necessity to release the load of solaced semen that brewed in his balls during their prolonged foreplay, he could not follow what Daisy had said in the height of their fiery passion. It seemed something unpleasant, something premonitory. A minor worry kept buzzing in the back of his head last night. His sleep was interrupted by a long repetitive dream.
His grandfather, his loving late grandfather, who died five years ago, was taking Daisy away from him. He came in a groom's dress in a white horse. Daisy was in a white bridal dress when she rode the horse and sat in the front of the virile old man. Raul was seeing off Daisy, giving her hand in marriage to her father, who was taking her to heaven.
Raul dreamed the dream a million times. Every time the old man drove the horse, Raul's heart cried in love for Daisy. Thus he cried for her a million times in one night. He loved her never more than he loved her in last night's dream, which was vicious, repetitive, but inspired a sad romance that made him want her even the more. He wakes up and sits upright with a jerk.
He finds her beside her, sleeping as the way she was born, but not a child, a mature woman in her feminine glory. She is supine. Her legs form a soft quadrangle. Her heels are touching. The source of her womanhood is in lurid display. There is no trace of anxiety in her haloed face.
'Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Because Daisy can alleviate everything evil,' Raul says to himself, wiping his wet eyes. His eyes fill with new tears, the tears of love and desire and taboo happiness.
He looks along her bodily organization. Her breasts are lodged on her wide chest. The juicy gourds banish premonition and brings hunger for heavenly lust. They are his twin Mount Everest. Climbing up her breasts is more desirous, more thrilling than climbing up the world's highest peak. The long nipples, not so long in their peaceful hibernation, are lousy in leisure. They have a tender glow about themselves. These nipples are his life's steering, his center of destination, and his shining beacons dead at night, like the Lighthouse of Alexandria when there were no other lighthouses in the Mediterranean. He can eat her raw. He can gather the salt from her sweat silted in the pit of her arms, in between her fingers and toes, in the roots of her hair, in the depth of her navel, in the crack of her asses. He can happily have breakfast lapping languidly on her minx's skin. But now, in this early morning, what he needs is her scent. Every time he wakes up he needs her scent. But today he needs it more than ever. Only her scent can sooth his stirred nerves, stirred for the first time in his life.
His glare is ablaze on her matted moor in the ravine between her bronze thighs. Before he takes his day's scent, he has a look at her thighs for the first time of the day.
Her thighs are the thighs of Athena. 3000 years ago, the chief architect of the future city Athens had asked the virgin goddess Athena, "What should look like the columns of your Temple, Holy Goddess?" Goddess Athena had opened her sash and shown the architect her sexy thighs. The virgin goddess indicated to the architect from her knee-cup up to the slope of her ass and asked him to make her Temple's columns in the shape of her thighs. Thus was erected the famous Temple of Athena. Subsequently, the columns of all Greek temples resembled Athena's powerful thighs. 3000 years later, Daisy's curved thighs resemble all the columns of all Greek temples.
Daisy is Raul's Athena. Daisy' thighs are the bulwark against any disaster that may befall him. He looks at their sleeping power, more potential than what blew up Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He gather's his life's and afterlife's strength from the strength of the celestial thigh's of his incestuous beloved. Now it is time to take his day's scent.
Between her thighs, Raul prostrates at her dry garden, as if it is a basket of flower bouquets for worshipping an angry goddess. His nose touches the crispy sheet their secretions formed during their prolonged fuck-play. He swivels his nose in search of a softer place until the tip of his nose touches her skin breaking the sheet of cum where it is the thinnest.
He finds it. He finds her smell, the smell of a forest animal. He breathes deeply, filling his lung. He slides his nose downward; the tip of his nose touches the tip of her dry clitoris. Diving below, he finds the dry seam. Swiveling across the net of hair, he manages to poke his nose across the silky lips.
This was his nostrils' ultimate destination. Shoving a few millimeters deep, he breathes with all the strength his healthy lungs can master. He inhales the humid air which was purified in his sister's womb and which is now climbing up the walls of her sleeping cunt-flesh, bringing along its way the many flavors his Athena produces with her kinky lust. The scent is rain-sodden country mud. He breathes deeper. The holy scent reaches the farthest corners of his body, his fingertips, his cranium, and his waking scrotum. This is heaven. This is his supreme asylum.
'God, Father of heaven and earth, make me this lucky every morning with this scent washing my lungs, my blood, my innards, and I will be a slave in the stable of your next prophet,' Raul prays blissfully.
