CHAPTER 8. The sea breeze had ceased, but the land breeze had not yet stirred, leaving the air stagnant and heavy with late afternoon heat and the penetrating fragrance of almond blossoms. Colin and the Professor had dallied many times along the path to the temple - stealing kisses from one another at every scenic overlook, of which there were quite a few. Draper stole more than kisses, of course: Colin was willingly forced to lick Draper's smoking fingers at least a dozen times during their languid ascent, savoring her musk as if it were Olympian nectar. Yet they both held back, wishing to save their coming for when they were properly coupled. By the time they gained the summit of the island, the redhead was frantic with sexual tension: her intimate moisture had coursed down her inner thighs, causing dark wet streaks in her chinos. The sun was setting and Venus, low on the horizon, now shone brightly just as the island's cicadas were tuning up for their nocturnal concerto. With the distant surf crashing against the base of the cliffs, it was a classic Bacchanalian evening and every girl on the island was infected by its mood - even the four little Greeks. The cella of Circe's temple was softly illuminated by the same hundred oil lamps that had been burning just before that fateful dawn when the island's twelve girls were still men - in those final moments before their transmutation into females. The lamps had never been extinguished; they had been burning now for a week, yet their oil had not been consumed. Their warm, yellow light, blending with the fading purple glow from the west, filled the temple with a sensuous incandescence that made everything appear mystical, magical - and highly erotic. As Colin and Draper entered the temple, unseen panpipes and tambours struck up a swirling melody- yet no one on the island island possessed panpipes or tambours, nor knew how to play them. The wild music continued for some five or ten minutes, while Colin and Draper, hand in hand, looked about in mute wonder. The frenzied swirling of the pipes and tambours abruptly ceased - as if the invisible players had reached the end of an overture. After a pause, the music resumed, but with a new rhythm, a languorous one, which could not be mistaken for anything but the rhythm of... slow copulation. Presently the eleven transmuted girls - all of them except for Colin - fluttered into the cella like a corps de ballet, each clad in her own choice of fancy bra and panties and covered with a transparent white scarf that floated lightly about her body like gossamer. Each held one arm gracefully arched over her head, while the other arm, extended straight up, held a large phallic effigy on an ivory stick. The girls shimmered like colorful hummingbirds, the azures and whites and pinks and amethysts and corals and baby blues of their lingerie melding into the soft violet light of the evening. But their eyes were blank - they stared everywhere and nowhere - their faces like expressionless masks. Even the four little lesbians were bewitched, made to hold high the effigy of that which they loathed. Only then did Colin and Draper notice that one of the transmutes - Neal, the full figured one (who was clad in sky-blue panties and bra, trimmed with bone-colored lace) - carried not one, but two effigies. Neal detached herself from the group, skittered over to Colin and tapped her on the crown of her head with one of them. Colin instantly was ensorceled. Her eyes became glazed, like those of the others, and her body assumed the rhythm and beat of the music. In a bizarre striptease, she unbuttoned and discarded her workshirt, then unbuckled the belt of her trousers and stepped out of them, revealing her ivory-white nudity for all to see, her orange bush glistening in the muted light of the oil lamps. Neal proffered Colin one of the effigies, Colin took it, kissed its tip, and undulated over to join the rest of the girls, shepherded by Neal, and assumed her position in the weird chorus line, swaying and dipping in harmony with the other girls to the obscene beat of the music. The ensemble, obeying the direction of an invisible choreographer, proceeded to perform a highly erotic ballet with the aid of their explicit props. Draper instantly recognized the dance, of course, from ancient Greek myth, even though it he had always certain it never been danced - but anything was possible now! It was known as the Invitation to Priapus and was supposedly danced by dryads, hamadryads, niads and other nymphs just before a Bacchanal, to assure that the satyrs and fauns they had invited would be hard enough - and stay hard long enough - to satisfy their lust - the nymphs' lust, that is. The enchanted girls now formed a circle, holding their effigies high so that their tips came together and touched. They lowered them in unison; each girl kissed the tip of hers. Then the circle disbanded and the dancers fluttered over to where Draper was standing - amazed and speechless - and surrounded him, ending their invocation to the God of Lust by bringing the tips of their effigies against his body. The music stopped. The girls blinked, looked about in confusion, and, finding themselves clad only in their undies and holding phalluses three feet long, and seeing there was a man present, they screamed, dropped the effigies and fled the chamber, their arms and hands all aflutter. All except Colin, who, finding herself nude, fainted at Draper's feet. Draper instantly got down on one knee, and propping up the unconscious girl, began lightly slapping her cheeks. She quickly opened her big blue eyes, threw her arms around Draper and started to cry. "Do you know what happened?" he asked her. "Yes, I became one of the dancers!" she replied through her tears. "I could do nothing about it, Peter! Some force beyond my will was controlling all my movements! It was terribly frightening!" "Well, it's over now," Draper said, blotting her tears with a handkerchief. "Here. Let me put your shirt over your shoulders." He tenderly helped the redhead to her feet and cloaked her in her oversized khaki shirt. "Now let's get you dressed," he continued. "I'm sure that'll take your mind off this little incident." He picked up her basket, and guided her by the elbow out of the cella and into the living quarters of the temple. "Left here," Colin said, "Now right Go to the end of the passage... This is the door to my room." They entered the cell-like bedchamber, illuminated by two oil lamps in sconces. The room was sparsely furnished with chair, bedstead, washstand and clothes-chest. A second door, ajar, led to a small balcony overlooking the sea, whose calm surface reflected the last res glow of the sunset. Draper set Colin's basket on the clothes-chest and began to inspect the room with the trained eye of an archeologist. He was astounded to find that the marble floors, walls and lintels were highly polished, most likely with pumice, something he could not have appreciated from excavated ruins. While he was examining the details of the stonework, Colin emptied the contents of the basket onto the bed, and set all the lingerie apart. "Peter!" she cried, when she had finished arranging the panties and bras, "Stop examining the architecture and pay attention to me! You'll have lots of time to inspect the temple tomorrow. I'm about to pick out some lovely undies for the very first time, and I want you to approve my selection. So stop looking at the Goddamn temple and look at me!" For this was a momentous occasion! You see, it had taken Colin barely twelve hours as a girl to discover how ridiculously sensitive her new sex was - her babysoft outer labia smoother than rose petals, her moist and delicate inner ones, which took on a divine edge whenever she became aroused, and her fantastically responsive clit, which, she quickly learned, could hardly bear the direct touch of even her feminine fingers and could only be felt through the skin of its hood. Ever since these startling dsicoveries, Colin understood the ineluctable logic - the absolute necessity - of fine lingerie to coddle her softness, to pamper her delicate skin, to keep her in that mild state of perpetual arousal that is the birthright of women. From that moment Colin began to pine for the confinement of panties, for the silky restraint of a bra. She imagined how she would step into her first pair of panties and pull them up over her smooth, hairless legs, pull them up until they snugly conformed to her curves and her hollows; she imagined how the downysoft gusset would cradle her labia, barely indenting her slit. She craved the silky feel of a bra supporting her breasts like two gentle hands, craved the friction of the silk over her nipples as she moved about. She longed to feel her legs tightly sheathed in nylon, to feel tug and pull of her garters and the cool breath of air waft through her stockings as she walked. Why, she'd brought herself to orgasm at least a dozen times just imagining what it would feel like! Now here were the genuine articles right there on the bed before her! All she had to do was reach out her hand, pick something out and try it on. She practically purred to think that now she was female, she was sentenced to wear such incendiary garments every day. Wordlessly, she slipped off the shapeless khaki shirt, dropping it to the floor like the disreputable masculine garment it was. Revealed in her stunning nudity, she turned to face Draper. She executed a graceful low bow - an introduction to the reverse strip tease she was about to begin. Draper comprehended the gravity of the occasion; he took a seat on the room's only chair and composed himself for the coming performance.