A man. Perhaps the manliest of men that has ever been dreamed up by history or by imagination. He sat. A colossal statue crafted from marble, ivory and gold. Stern, implacable, massive and most of all strong. He was one of the wonders of the ancient world. The statue of Zeus at Olympia. He sat because he had to. If the statue were alive and stood he’d take the top right off the temple; stone plinths, ceramic tiles and all. His shoulders were broad, his gaze fixed and direct. He bristled with all the strength, all the Power (with a capital P) of masculinity.
Zeus, god of the sky and of thunder, represented order and civilisation. Ultimate power, judgement and control over the world. He was also a serial adulterer, egomaniac, rapist and wife beater. But he held the power of the thunderbolt. And, as far as gods are concerned, might is right. Continue reading
I was alone.
It was late. I can’t recall how late, it had been a big day. I think it was 3 or 4 am, and the street lamps flitted by. I didn’t notice them much through the haze of exhaustion and shock. My mind was on other things.
I was numb.
Too tired to be behind the wheel. Probably too shocked to realise how tired I was. Probably worrying too much and thinking too fast to realise how shocked I was.
It’s always been awkward with new people. I’d told a few close colleagues, and I’m sure a few others had worked it out for themselves, but it wasn’t common knowledge. Not yet. But that was about to change, it was probably unavoidable. I was backed into a corner.
What to do? Come out and show everyone? Fake it and hide it? Or just sit patiently and wait, revealing the truth only if the opportunity presented itself. I mean it wasn’t as if I was going to deny anything, I wasn’t lying to myself. It was just that I’d only reveal it if asked.
“You feel fantastic!”
“There, you like that?”
“A bit sticky, don’t worry I’ll take care of it for you”
“Here, let me rub this on you, it’ll make it a bit smoother”
It is rhythmic. Pressing. Pressing as hard as I can then pulling back again ready for the next thrust. My hands run up and down as I go, passing over the softness. Kneading and rubbing. I press in again.
It’s so nice to get some me-time.
I freeze mid thrust, as my head turns sideways. Two pairs of sparkling eyes are staring at us curiously. The children don’t understand what we’re doing, but now that they’ve seen it; they want to get involved. I sigh.