In the words of TFTSS: "Anyone who thinks believing in God and knowing sexual pleasure are mutually exclusive is talking through his or her hat"
*Passages in Italics are taken directly from the Old Testament- Song of Solomon, KJV
A Lover's Ode
A one-shot based on Song of Solomon 4: 1-16
I
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
He admires her. Each curve, each peak. Each crest and fall. She is lovely. And he cannot help but to compare her body to the midnight silhouettes of the hills he sees in his dreams.
As she shifts in her sleep she turns to him, her lips parting in a silent sigh…
II
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
Her lips. Those lips he now kisses, tempting her from her slumber. As he sucks…tastes…his tongue outlining her heart-shaped mouth… she is delicious. And then, as she awakens fully, it is his turn to be tasted.
Her mouth is all encompassing. Welcoming. Wet and warm and sweet. He relishes the feel of her tongue, pink and moist as she caresses him; each brush a silent worship of his body…and then…it's her turn.
He emulates her actions- worshipping her from her feet…to her head…each kiss...each taste…sweet…like the fruit of pomegranate…his mouth suckling at the base of her neck…
III
Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
He worries gently at her breasts with his teeth…watching her peaks rise to greet him as he fed upon the sensitive flesh…the soft sighs escaping her parted lips…calling his name as if in worship to a God unknown to him and yet intimate with her...She arches into his attentions…
IV
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
His fingers sweep over the expanse of bare skin as the sheets fall away from her body and she becomes bare to him…she glistens in the heat of his touch…each caress is like fire as he nimbly works lower and lower…igniting her…consuming him… and soon…oh so soon…he will feel her…become one with her…
She is flawless in her abandon…
V
Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
She screams out- her cries hoarse and feral…and he rises and falls with her…both are consumed in the fires of their love and she sees him…and yet…not….She is flying above him…higher and higher…as he continues his ministrations she claws him and scratches…and he knows she is trying desperately to hold on…but she cannot…and he cannot…as he surges within her…
VI
Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
They are together, in body and mind…of one thought…one consciousness and he cannot remember a time when they have been apart…It is more than a physical completion…it is the consummation of all that they are…and the manifestation of how much more they are when they are together…and he realizes why the creators of the heavens made male and female and how the competing opposites meet to make a perfect whole…
VII
Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,
He is beneath her now…his mouth poised at the entrance to her garden…that sacred place that gives life...to taste to breathe…to know her essence…He pushes against the walls begging her for entrance and she succumbs to him…she is sweet like honey when she comes for him…
VIII
Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:
A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.
He becomes the dam that blocks her flow…expanding against her as she contracts…and he can feel the pressure building…the promise…of release…soon to come…
X
Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
And then…like that of the sudden winds it is upon them both as she can no longer hold back and he can no longer hold her and she falls and takes him down with her as they explode in a thousand different places…their love flowing…and she is racing and he is coming with her as now his garden joins with her as Geb joined with Nut and they are to become one as the seeds are planted….
And their garden grows anew.
Author's Note(s): There have been many requests for a "honeymoon" to Ascension and though I don't believe that would have been appropriate for that particular work…a couple of little birds ( ladies of WA and STCC Writer's Guild) have suggested that this could serve as such.
Also…My TOS Story, The Women He Loved- has been updated.