Pan In my mouth
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine.
I sit on the edge of a coach in a dark room, the dark is the dark of night. This nearly empty apartment on the edge of Kurami Village is lit only by the street lights and the red and green lights of late night traffic. I am woman waiting for something, waiting in near darkness, sitting on the edge of my eat. I am a customer awaiting the appearance of a dream she had ordered. Pan is in the other room, getting ready to make an entrance. It is a rare thing in life to be able to call into being the haunting mysteries that have followed once since childhood. If I tell you I am almost fifty when this night began, this night of seductive apparitions, will it make it harder to hear what follows? An aging woman waiting on the edge of her seat for the dream only another woman can give her?
I smell her perfume before I can see her. Pan comes out of the darkness, and I turn her gaze from the direction of the windows to take her in, Pan's steady even progress towards her. Pan's blue hair barely touches her shoulders, her face is marked by the redness of her lips, the hard blue-gray brightness of her eyes; she has the slightly worn look of a girl who has seen it all. A small smile plays around the edges of her full mouth. Her slender shoulders push the darkness open.
I hear nothing now but the sound of my goddess's approach. She stands before me for a minute, a tall, broad girl in a white blouse opened at the throat so her breasts swell above me, a short leopard-print skirt rides high on her thighs, all done to my order. "Is this what you wanted, Chichi?" she says, half amused, confident that this is exactly what I wanted. I cannot take my eyes off her face, off the world of work and experience she is radiating in the darkness. I see again, as I did as a child, my mother dressed for work and, at the same time, dressed for her lovers. My mother in that erotic blend self-support and desire on the prowl, her costume, the black dress, saw her arms raise before the mirror. I saw that mix of pain and pleasure that came to my mother, her beauty, her leaving.
I cannot drop my eyes from Pan's face. I do not want to. She sits in the chair we have placed right in front of me a few inches from the edge of the couch. Still smiling, she raises one leg and tucks her toes under the sofa's pillow. Her skirt is now a band around her lap, and she sits, waiting for me to drop my eyes. She grows larger in the darkness, in her solid angular position, wanting for me to do what I must, what I have waited years to do. I am hardly breathing; I have lost all sense of what sex I am. The dark night has become illuminated by the power of myth, the power of legend. "Go ahead," she encourages. My breath escapes me now, and I lower my head, taking my eyes from her large, strong face with it's youthful,
cool welcome, to what she is exposing to my view. It is only a small distance to travel, but I am terrified of the journey.
As I reach out to touch our shared sacred root, she moans, "Chichi…."