RITE OF PASSAGE (Fin Bheara encountered) :
THE FAERY KING
A brisk caress, then comes the reason.
Breathing deeply, slow panting the march of lust, comes upon mine ear. The grasp of anticipation, welling the heat up inside me. Oh, how my cheeks flush, like a young virgin touched by amour. They flush in heat of a different kind. My eyes roll back, escaping my control and it is then that I hear the breathing cease.
Rest. Whereto the sound?
To my new found vision, there it is, beheld that I am strolling in the Garden of Death. The Yew tree, ready for the hangman, dances in the evil dusk. It has no leaves. Among the beckoning flowers of Luna I helplessly stroll. The petals brush my skin, bare as one who enters their creation. The portal of birth denied, I fall to the soft grass and the stems curl around my legs and pry them apart. Here in the darkness of serene night and timid breeze, wrapped in a veil of chill. My breasts taught with cold, peaked by hungry nipples, reaching for release. How the vines coil. How the vines coil around my body, constricting and brushing hard on wanton skin.
Between my legs, in a rush of surprise, the vines crawl through my crevices, rubbing and licking at skin, draped in moist. Not for lack of resistance, I writhe at once for the strange lovers I’m surrounded by.
The moon paints my body with pale blue and she blesses the earth with arcane secrets, not revealed by any conscious soul. Secrets of sensuality, the moon whispers to her children, the trees. The trees and the plants of a paradise once ruled, now untamed and free-willed. They bend down to kiss my face and force my eyes shut, my knees open to receive their primal gifts.
At once I feel that caress again, the breath continues in my neck. The grasses whisper his name, but I don’t comprehend and thus, lie in willing sacrifice, awaiting the sting that only pleasure of this magnitude can bring.
“Feel me. Feel me.”
I feel lips, slightly agape, cover the taught peak on my breast, quenching it’s desire. The hot breath emanating on it, scorching my groin. Attentions given to my breasts, echoing in the halls of my womb. Fingers invade inside, in submission I allow these alien sensations.
My hair swept by faeries, away from his voice, now in sound, elevated by passion.
Penetration full and hard, overcomes my judgment and skewers my shivering body. Tongues from the four corners, lap upon my belly and thighs, promising a deep delight. They crawl too, they crawl toward the softer skin where the tiny little hairs invite them. Over hips and curves of femininity, they find their way. Wet. So wet. Saliva meets sexual succulence in a wave of nocturnal sin and the very earth screams with joy as he bites into me.
All the (under)world stand in silence, awaiting his command. The Goddess in the night sky, whimpers, jealous and ripe with envy for my significance. She weeps at her denial, listening to my ecstatic death. They surround my figure in awe and bow to the One who rapes my squirming carcass and eats my desire. The night beasts cry out and the faeries cheer. I am home. I walk no more in this trivial world, but roam in spirit where the moon weeps and the Yew tree dons her victims, swaying in a howling wind.
I am Home. I am home.