Midnight in Venice...

[GreyJack]

"But," he says softly to you, holding up his index finger, upon which you notice the glint of an elongated fingernail, "you are not yet prepared for any of these." His gaze hardens upon you as he slowly approaches to stand beside you.

"Stand. Do not speak. Close you eyes and simply...listen." You feel the warmth of his presence, so near and yet untouching. His lips -- his breath -- at your left ear.

"This is a place where goddesses become women once again. If you looked, you saw the pale marble of these walls. But they are not walls. They are...fogs, mists, over vast, endless vistas. Clouds that linger in the sky. Above you, a marble ceiling, but is it? Notice how its pale blue veins run together, becoming more pale, until the blue of sky shows through. And, then, fades into nothing but light, cool, emptying light..."

"Here is the place where the proud, the haughty, the powerful goddess sheds her reserve, her duties, her reverences, and becomes again: woman. But woman without encumberances. Not mother, not daughter, not wife, not warrior. Only woman. Woman with all her senses opened. Where every breath she feels upon her is a wind, warm, moist, strong. A wind to sway, to make her hair move, her knees weak. Where every touch is electrifying in its strength and urging. Where every scent fills, overwhelms, makes the mind reel with intoxicating and exotic swirls of color and sound. And every sound is both melody and chaos, a crash, a sigh, the ocean's throbbing pound and whispering ebb. Where every taste conjures other tastes, raw, salty, acid, sweet, merging, overpowering, and fleshy."

"When you are that woman, all women, all woman overtaken and surrendering to the rich tapestry of intertwining threads of your senses...then you are prepared, eager, needful. Desiring."

"Then, we may begin to see what pleasures these simple objects, these touches and sensations may bring you..."