Let Mortal Men Worship The Goddess
Three friends came to New York from Utah this week. The ringleader is Janie, the other is her husband Jeb, and her boyfriend Kenny.
I met Janie went through The Imperial Orgy website. Although I don’t really recall this, apparently the first time she went through the website, when she got to the end she felt disappointed and wrote me a nasty email accusing me of being the spiritual equivalent of an errant father. I get so many crazy emails that I don’t recall it, although it seems like something one would remember.
Later she went through the site again and it seems liked it a bit better because she began sending me emails with seductive photos of herself. After a few months of this she made her first trip to NYC so we could meet.
In the years that followed she has made quite a few visits and we have remained close.
Last summer when she visited I went to the airport to pick her up and she was nowhere to be found. I walked up and down the airport getting increasingly worried. Finally I got a call from an airport police officer who told me she was in the station house. When I got there I found out that she was asleep on the plane and a big greasy Jewish guy kept sliding his hand up her skirt. She complained to the stewardess and they moved her to another seat. Because the incident happened in the air it became a federal offense and the FBI was waiting for the guy when they landed.
A year later it was time for the court trial. The FBI was paying for Janie’s airline ticket and hotel so she could come testify. As previously mentioned, on this trip the husband and boyfriend came long.
When Janie and I first met she explained her husband to me by saying he was gay and English. She had married him so he could stay in the country. After five years they were able to divorce, but stayed married out of convenience. She claimed it was a sex-free marriage. Even though, he had changed his mind about the whole being-gay-thing.
Kenny, the boyfriend, was a tougher one to explain. He was a friend of her husband’s who worshipped the ground she walked on. He lived for her. Carrying out her wishes and following her like a sick puppy. Again, she claimed it was a non-sexual relationship.
When she would come to New York Kenny would call her every hour or two. If he couldn’t reach her for a few hours he would panic. Sometimes he would call the NYPD to ask them to look for her, which surely must have given them either a big headache or a big laugh.
During her first trip, Janie and Heather and I were having our first ménage a trios together and soon after he called in a panic. He had gotten it into his head that we were going to “sacrifice her with big knives.”
When I visited her in Salt Lake City in the days after 9/11 an awkward situation arose where Janie, Kenny and I were hanging out late into the night. Janie and I were waiting for him to leave so we could be together, and he was hanging on to see that we weren’t given the opportunity. When he finally left he told her “use a condom.” In the morning she had to go to his apartment to make sure he was OK.
Taken as a whole her situation with these two was cockeyed from beginning to end. I imagine she must torment them on a daily basis. During my visit Kenny, Jeb, and I were waiting for Janie to change clothes. As we waited in the living room she nonchalantly walked out with her breasts, magnificent as they are, out for all to see. We must have looked like three monkeys who were beaned on the head with a mallet. In the wrong crowd it might have started a goddamned riot it was such a beautiful obscenity.
In the past year I had been told that Kenny and Janie had become ‘more of a couple.’ I assumed that meant sex, but who could say for sure with that crew. Now all three were in New York City and I did not really know where I stood with Janie. Would she still be my lover? And if so, could I get a moment alone with her?
Sunday night I picked them up at La Gaurdia Airport. Janie was on a separate plane that arrived an hour earlier than Kenny and Jeb’s, giving us a few moments alone. She was dressed in skin-tight jeans and a revealing blouse. Her platform shoes were black with white skulls on them. Her hair was dyed a dark shade of red.
She was soft and voluptuous looking. An angel face and a 190 IQ.
We sat in the airport chairs and kissed. I kissed the back of her neck and shoulders. She told me I didn’t need to feel awkward about touching her in front of ‘the boys,’ as she called them. She said we could at least hold hands.
I drove them to their hotel in Queens to drop off their suitcases, then we went to Indian Row to eat. Janie sat beside me and Kenny and Jeb sat on the other side of the table. Both of the men are very nice guys, but I have little in common with them, making it hard to keep conversation going.
Jeb, the husband, is a quiet fellow. He works as a computer tech and has a no-nonsense demeanor. Kenny is the geekier of the two. His interests are in comic-book heroes and video games. He is particularly fond of Spider Man. Kenny is also a Dungeons and Dragons kind-of-guy who is into spider webs and medieval weaponry. Their taste in music and movies is very mainstream corporate. By their dress and hairstyles they had middle-America-tourist written all over them.
Throughout the meal I tried to keep conversation lively either by playing New York City tour-guide, or with sarcastic humor. (The only humor I am capable of, it seems). The social butterfly role does not come naturally to me and the game wore thin real quick. The whole thing was only a hair away from a bad dinner party scene in a Woody Allen movie. Given my propensity to misbehave in such situations I feel I contained myself quite nicely. Only once or twice did I brush my fingers lightly along Janie’s thighs underneath the table, just to remind her of old times.
Having survived the dinner experience I lead them down St. Mark’s to peer at East Village nightlife. Then per their request I drove them down through Times Square. Kenny’s only comment was, “I’m glad I’m in the car. I feel safer.”
The next day the three went to the Empire State Building and I excused myself from the social obligation of doing tourist activities. That evening Heather came back from a two week trip to Colorado and I picked her up at the airport at about 10PM. Later that night Janie called and wanted me to come meet her at the hotel. She said she would leave the boys alone in the room and come out with me. I wanted a chance to be alone with her, but it would have been too rude to leave Heather behind so I had to decline the offer.
Tuesday night Janie wanted to go to the Wine Bar in Williamburg. Normally it’s a place I wouldn’t go. It’s a wanna-be chi-chi place where they have overpriced wine and charge twenty dollars for two dollars worth of cheese.
Heather and I picked them up at the hotel and we all went to the Wine Bar. For my money it was a fairly dreadful scene. I was out of cash making the situation that much more uncomfortable. Janie sat beside Kenny against the wall and I sat beside Jeb, leaving Heather at the head of the table. Jeb looked absolutely miserable. Kenny seemed to be in high-heaven with Janie by his side. A regular cock-of-the-walk. Heather was just trying to create a pleasant evening for all, but conversation was painful.
Since we were all in a wine bar I ask if they had seen the movie
“Sideways.” Jeb said he had gotten halfway through it and quit because it was boring and pretentious. The conversation was downhill from there. Before it was all over I was trying to make jokes about the artwork on the wall, the waitress’s eyebrows, any goddamn thing to make a dead fish dance. At one point I got up and excused myself and walked around the block to get a break from the social quagmire.
Throughout the night Janie hung on Kenny affectionately. With Janie it is hard to tell whether that is due to love or just because he was the nearest man. Sexuality permeates her presence. It’s her favorite topic of conversation. It’s her weapon of power, and her temple to receive worship.
On this night the T-shirt she wore was light blue with a picture of two colorful birds on it. On the top of the shirt was the word in large letters “swallows.” Believe me she wasn’t wearing the shirt because of her interest in ornithology. Her persona is somewhat childlike. She likes to dress like a schoolgirl and feign innocence.
When we left the Wine Bar and walked towards the car, the streets of Williamsburg were quiet. The hipsters and NYU students whose playground this once working-call neighborhood has become, had all slipped away into the underground subways bound for Manhattan or back to the cramped but chicly overpriced apartments paid for by their corporate daddies in L. A. and Tokyo.
I fell behind the group, happy to have a little sense of space. Janie fell back with me and taking my hand walked by my side.
“Why have you been avoiding me this trip,” she asked.
I tried to protest that it wasn’t so, but no words came out of my mouth.
“I would’ve came down and met you last night,”
“I wanted to, I really did” I replied with resignation.
Twenty minutes later I dropped them off at their hotel, relieved to escape the group, yet frustrated by the complications of the situation with Janie.
The next day I put them off. “Call me tonight when you have free time,” I told Janie when she called. I little after midnight I hear the phone ring, but I am too close to sleep to answer. The late hour gives me an excuse to ignore the call.
The next evening is their final night in the big apple so there is no escaping a night of partying. I spend the day trying to drum up new clients for my business. Janie is in court testifying all day. As evening falls she calls and asks me to come by. From her words I believe that the boys might be asleep allowing us some time alone to say goodbye.
They were now staying at the Holiday Inn in Chinatown. When I arrive the whole gang is ready to drink. We walk up to Bleeker Street and find a hole in the wall with happy hour mixed drinks going for $2.50 a pop. A good thing considering my entire fortune consists of ten dollars I borrowed from Heather.
The crew must have had a few drinks before I arrived because they all seemed a little tipsy after the first drink. We were in a round booth and Janie sat beside me, and Kenny sat on the far end beside Jeb. As the drinks came and went the usual cockeyed situation became even more askew. The boys seemed jolly, but on edge. The conversation kept turning towards lesbianism and there were questions about Heather’s whereabouts. I got the feeling they were hoping to see a lesbian exhibition between heather and Janie. A lovely scene I can attest, but I’m not sure it’s a show Heather would be willing to provide them with.
The drunker they became, the clearer the social order of their group became. Janie was the goddess among geeks. She had been attacked in court that morning as the defense tried to destroy her credibility. Now she was feeling (or feigning) insecurity and fishing for complements to restore her ego. Compliments that the boys provided gushingly. They worshipped their object of devotion, lavishly praising her beauty, her intelligence, her goodness, her sexuality, even her cooking.
As is no surprise to anyone with a little insight into the mysteries of womanhood, as they bowed down before her, she became a bit contemptuous of her devotees. She began to slide ever-so-innocent insults into the conversation, and generally began holding herself above them. The more she withdrew from them, the more she snuggled into my side. I tried to remain aloof to it all, not feeling comfortable with any of the cuckoo proceedings.
After four drinks and lots of bad 80’s music we left and began walking the street of the West Village, meandering towards their hotel. Jeb seemed nicely plastered and for the first time in the entire trip had a smile spread across his face. He trailed behind the group, wobbling along and leisurely taking in the sights and examining oddities in the garbage that was abundantly piled on the sidewalk’s edge.
Kenny was now in the role of the spurned lover and tried to take the insult with humor. It seemed a role he was well acquainted with. Janie walked arm and arm with me and kept telling Kenny, “This is the buddy system. I have my buddy and Jeb is yours. You have to hold him up.”
When Kenny tried to walk beside her she pushed him away in Jeb’s direction.
“I guess I’m out of favor tonight,” he complained.
I tried to stay remote. Taking whatever came or went with a reasonable amount of detachment. As we walked she whispered, “You’re so handsome. You really are.”
“That’s nice to hear,” I replied, attempting to be nonchalant.
“You saved my life, when I thought nobody cared,” she continued. “Your website changed my life. I kept going back again and again, and then I’d make everyone… Jeb look at it.”
The streets were surprisingly empty except for a couple who were locked in an impassioned embrace on the other side of the street, causing Kenny to hoot out loud at them.
“Kenny!” Janie reprimanded him as if he were an errant child.
As we moved down Spring Street the boy’s attention were often diverted by the sights in the shop windows. Janie tried to move ahead of them as they lagged behind. Feeling bad about the nastiness of the whole affair I tried to keep an eye on them and not allow them to fall too far behind.
As we walked she cooed, “I love you, I love you, I really do,” Over and over again.
I don’t know how things got turned around and I was the one looking out for the two guys, who the laws of the jungle dictate I should be in competition with. The whole scene had an air of quiet pathos. Women’s favors come and go. As much as I might desire, I also have more than most men ever dream of. It’s not worth trampling a couple of weak souls underfoot for. Or at least, not worth rubbing it in their faces.
When we got to the hotel there were two beds for the three of them. Janie flung herself onto one of the beds and ordered Kenny to undress her.
“You can’t undress right now,” he replied.
“Then take off my shoes,” she demanded.
Kenny did as he was commanded. Shoeless but still clothed Janie grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me into the bed with her. If she could have had her way I think she would have had me fuck her silly right there before their eyes just to torment them. Although I wanted her, I didn’t want to be a tool in her cruelty.
There was something frenetic in the air. Repressed sexuality that threatened to explode, but only if I obliged to lead the way. Janie was wearing a top with no shoulders or arms. Kenny was acting like an over-excited child, babbling something about how great her breasts were, he put his head between them outside her top and moved his head back and forth wildly while making blubbering sounds.
I got out of bed and Janie pulled me back in. Repeatedly.
“She’s drunk and horny,” Jeb commented.
Finally I pulled myself out of the bed one more time and shook both of the men’s hands to say goodbye. “You can walk me to the elevator,” I told Janie.
“Wait till I put on my shoes,” she replied.
“You don’t need your shoes,” I responded forcefully.
I know if she put her shoes on we would end up in the alley and I would be fucking her up against a brick wall. And as wonderful as that sounds I just didn’t want to do it to those poor fucks. Maybe I should have been more selfish. Maybe they would have liked to sit and wait knowingly while I defiled their Goddess in the New York dirt. Maybe I should have let her come back to her subjects with my seed dripping from her womb. Let them to smell my sweat on her for days to come.
But alas, instead I walked Janie to the lobby by the elevators and kissed her. I kissed her neck and face, feeling a bit mad with the pent-up lust.
“I love you,” she offered.
“I love you too,” I whispered hoarsely.
“You never said that before,” she intoned.
“Life is too short not to have you in it,” I teased.
Then right there in the open light of the Holiday Inn lobby I tore down her top allowing her naked breasts to burst into the open. I took her left nipple in my mouth and sucked like a starving man.
“Oh my god…” she moaned.
Powerful women always want to be overpowered. Once when Janie and I were driving on a cold winter’s day, I pulled over behind a garage at a truck stop and pulled her out of the car. Pushing her face against the cement block wall of the garage, I lifted her skirt and took her from behind. After I had my pleasure I took her by the hand and lead her back to the car.
“If I didn’t love you before, I would love you now,” she said weakly.
Back in the hotel lobby I released her breast and pulled her top back up covering her nakedness. Giving her one last kiss I said, “I’ll find a way to see you again soon.”
As I got into the elevator she mouthed “I love you,” one more time and I winked at her in response.
I can’t imagine what the scene was like when she returned to the room with her boys waiting. I felt good about my behavior. And otherwise…fuck it. Fuck em’ all. When you live in a cesspool there’s not much room for honor. You can only do what you can do. Beauty is devoured and ripped to shreds like meat before sharks. And sometimes a woman’s innocence is a trap that ensnarls and devours just as viciously. Enslaving the poor bastards who need the enticements of a helpless little girl to make them feel like men.
It seems that the less I want, the more I receive. The less I give the more is offered. There is an unspoken code of valor to men who love women but don’t give themselves to any. Women respect what they can’t conquer. They seem to lay less blame on the Don Juan than other men do. After all, who truly celebrates the glory of Woman with a capital ‘W.’ Let mortal men worship the goddess. Let god’s on earth be their consorts.
