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desperately about the room for a point of egress furthermost away from
Matheson, and finding one he slunk from the room. All the time the
female, if such she could be called, remained in delectus flagrantis, she
had not moved, other than to lift a glass of fine wine to her lips.
What do you want? She sneered.
Who are you ? He gasped. He was desperately trying to make sense of
what he saw. He thought he was under the grip of a severe hallucination.
The creature in front of him did not belong to this worlds reality. He was
engulfed in a vortex out of time. Atoms whirled around him. Spheres of
light encircled him. High frequency sounds pervading the highly charged
atmosphere. A big booming noise suddenly arose and everything fell
silent. A deep inhuman voice spoke sententiously. Mortal behold the
Great God Pan. I come on this earth under many disguises. In this female
body I use the well documented fact that mortals are driven like fools by
their libido. I lure men into the dark recesses of their animal instincts. An
awesome brute force untamed because repressed, feared and
misunderstood. This is my nature, much older than mankind. A
tremendous power that can bring corruption and destruction or love and
wisdom according to will.
As she delivered this speech, the creatures body seemed to change,
becoming more recognisably human. Matheson recognised her as Helen
Vaughan, whose portrait he carried in his briefcase. She was a statuesque
woman with waist-long jet black hair, ruby lips and the thinnest waist he
ever saw. Her charcoal eyes had glimmering red lights dancing in them.
Despite his self he felt attracted to her. Most men are corruptible she
went on, contemptible, greedy and weak. On their knees shall they
worship me. She had risen to her feet, displaying her long legs adorned by
fishnet stockings and six inch French heels.
Matheson mentally steadied himself for the new assault on the senses that
he suspected was about to be unleashed upon him. But madam he
stuttered, I am a man of science, of the new age just now dawning in the
world. I do not share your pessimism about the power of human
sexuality. There was a lull and Mathesons confidence grew. As a
student, Matheson had been inspired by the ideas of the radical
Georgeosopher of sex Havelock Ellis and his circle, surely in the bright
beam of light cast on the human condition by this great free thinker there
was inspiration to aid him in his present predicament?
Sex he continued, is the great creative voice of nature itself, and the
great god Pan, so I once believed, and perhaps still do, also had, perhaps
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still has, that possibility. I have never rallied to the war cry of the Roman
sage Plutarch, that Pan is dead. But you madam, I cannot believe that you
represent that true force, whose demise in antiquity sent shivers through
the ages and rocked to destruction the ancient oracles.
A shiver of rage passed over Helens perfect body, her nipples stood out
large and erect against the pale skin of her full breasts. Matheson with his
physicians eye saw from their size and colour that this woman had never
borne a child. Arms akimbo, she stood insolently before him, her legs
slightly parted. Involuntarily Mathesons gaze passed down to the neat tuft
of hair, which by itself was barely able to conceal the unnaturally swollen
lips of her sex. Despite himself he thought of how much her skinned
glowed in the fire light, the moisture of coition still blatantly upon her,
recharged no doubt by the flush of anger that had spread over her perfect
skin as they talked. Despite himself, Matheson felt his own ardour
beginning to rise, he could feel his member beginning to stretch the rough
fabric of his trousers and before he could prevent himself he had glanced
down to ensure he was still decent.
Ah! Helen Vaughan exclaimed in triumph, your mind talks of high
science and the classics but your body tells another story. I have brought
you up. Then a different expression passed across her face, she sighed
and went on But enough of this breathless antagonism, let us converse in
more reasoned tones, will you share a glass of wine with me?
Without waiting for a reply, Helen swung around in the direction of the
piano, a silver tray held glasses of the finest cut crystal and a half finished
decanter of dark red wine. She refilled her own now empty glass and then
a second fresh tumbler. This done, she pressed the pianola into action.
Matheson recognised the subdued strains of La Gaite Parisienne by
Offenbach. She turned back to him, the tumbler in her outstretched hand.
Mathesons throat was dry and he took the drink. As he quaffed it greedily
Helen dipped her beautifully manicured finger into her own glass and
flicked a libation onto the carpet, To Bacchus she cried. Matheson said
nothing. Then Helen said would you like to dance?
Without a word he advanced towards her. His hands encircling her thin
corseted waist as they started to waltz around the room. The light from the
fire cast unreal shadows over the walls. The thick dark red rug silenced
their steps. He felt intoxicated by her aromatic perfume. His mind wasnt
clear. He felt like he was an actor in a lucid dream. Where would all this
lead him? Helens eyes were abysmal pools of darkness that would
inexorably swallow his being. She was speaking again:
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I have always had a peculiar morbid fascination for Black Widows. They
engage in ritual sexual practices and at the peak of a savage orgasm they
devour their unsuspecting male consort; Mandrake and Chateau dYquem
what a wonderful combination!
Mathesons mind struggled to piece together the meaning behind what
Helen Vaughan had just said. Did she mean Black Widow was the name
of a drink, a strange cocktail, wine and mandragora autumnalis. His limbs
were weak. Something told him she was preying on him, absorbing his
energy in some subtle way. His will power was starting to evaporate.
Subtly she began to undress him. As suddenly as she started she stopped,
pushing him down onto the large sofa. With a deft, he would almost say
practiced movement, she slid his trousers to his ankles and kneeling at his
feet swiftly unlaced his shoes and threw the whole bundle into a dark
corner of the room. With a gasp Matheson was naked from the waist
down and whatever protests he might make his body showed all too
obviously that he was very aroused.
Helen Vaughan stroked his swollen member with the tips of her
fingernails. A meal should be consumed while pipping hot she said in a
hungry voice. A strange blend of emotions passed rapidly before him.
Outrage at the speed and lasciviousness of this female but another darker
feeling - pleasure and anxious pain combined. Pleasure that sent fine
shivers through his whole body as her nails delicately stroked the over
sensitive skin of his phallus. So intense, almost painful, part of him feared
those talons that might just grasp him and tear at his sex. Then to his utter
astonishment she took the purple head of his manhood into her mouth!
Never in all his years as a medical student and as a medical practitioner
had he even dreamt of such depravity. And there were yet deeper and
deeper depths to her baseness as he felt his manhood absorbed and
enveloped by the soft folds of her mouth. One hand stroked and petted his
testicles whilst another tugged at the skin of his penis so that it bulged
even more alarmingly. The sensations soon became all mixed up, perhaps
he sensed a finger pressing on his anus, another time she pulled at him, as
if trying to making his organ even longer. Sometimes she rolled him like a
cigar, her permutations were endless, and as much as he knew he should
fight her off and remonstrate with her, the pleasure, no doubt amplified by
the potion she had tricked him into drinking, was so intense, he gave into
her utterly.
He was in a deep swoon, and felt a hard electric ball forming somewhere
deep within his abdomen. Im approaching climax, he thought to himself,
a pity, he would have liked this heaven to go on forever. Matheson felt a
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muscular twitch between his legs that he recognised as the first spasm of
his climax. Perhaps Helen felt it too, as she paused in her ministrations,
her mouth clamped hard around his member; she seemed almost to be
rooting within him for the source of the spasm. She pressed Matheson
hard on the perineum, the slight pain this caused seemed to drive the
spasm away and Matheson could feel his climax slipping away from him,
becoming a warm sea of sensation that spread and dispersed over his body
in a totally extraordinary manner.
He steadied and felt almost normal. Red faced Matheson gasped why did
you stop? And regretted it almost immediately. Helen shrugged her
shoulders and laughed. You men, you think everything is for you. Did it
never occur to you that I might like something too? Indeed, it was to
Matheson a novel thought.
Dont worry she continued, youll get youre fun - full house - you just
need to take care of the jack. I want you to do to me what I just did on
you.
And with that she launched herself at him again, pushing him back into the
soft covers of the sofa and crouching over him, so that her sex was poised
delicately over his face.
Come on she said, lick my quim.
She seized him by the hair and firmly pushed his face down into her. Only
in his wildest fantasies could he have imagined that womankind could be
so damned perverse! Thats a good boy she cooed. At first gingerly, he
started exploring, with his tongue, the hidden wonders that were presented
to him. Warm scented juices started to fall freely on his face. He couldnt
remember any other experience that had brought him such ecstasy. This
moment was all that mattered. As a student he remembered certain
Georgeosophers talking about the dissolution of Self in the eternal quest
for union with the One. Their treatment of that particular matter had often
surprised him by the way the words ventured into what could only be
described as peaks of some of the most torrid eroticism ever to grace an
ancient text. He thought of the sex-starved metaphors of St. John of the
Cross and St. Teresa of Avila. And all the while Helens perky breasts
were moving rhythmically just above him. Her eyes were half closed and
she was quietly humming something to herself. Her face was calm and
smooth. His tongue felt like a pencil sharpener. He was cutting his way
through soft coils of fleshy delights. A warm stream engulfed him. He was
floating in the air on a bed of wild orchids. The universe, as he knew it,
was undergoing metamorphosis. Every theory had to be revised. Was
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receding from him and he could see for several yards around him. Light
oozed through the fleshy walls giving them an unmistakable red glow. He
was completely naked and there beside him was Helen.
He looked questionly at Helen, which evinced the monosyllabic response
what? from her.
Where are we? Matheson asked feebly
This place has many names, came her reply, But in the age in which
you live and by those who have the wisdom to understand, it is known as
a temple, the temple of Malkuth. Would you like to know more?
Matheson was uncertain whether he wanted to go any further. He
sidestepped the question with another of his own. What has happened to
us, a moment ago we were engaged in the most earthly of delights in your
drawing room and now this?
Helen considered her reply, we are still there, or at least part of us is.
Here, she said, feel this and she motioned Matheson to place his hand
on the pink tunnel wall. He did so and immediately tore his hand away as
if he had touched a red-hot coal. But in that instant he had felt it, an
unmistakable pulsing, like a piston being driven hard into a tube. Helen
repeated her question, would you like to see more?
Mathesons insatiable quest for knowledge reasserted itself, despite the
deep fear that still gripped his innards. OK, he said tentatively, just a
little more. And taking that as her cue, Helen seized his hand and began
to lead him across the tessellated floor of the chamber towards a receding
dark passageway.
He felt sure they were heading deeper into the confines of the earth but
then a beam of light broke through in the near distance. They were
emerging into a vivid landscape illuminated by a russet moon. The tides
were high and a salty invigorating marine air filled his lungs. Helen drew
his attention to a dark shape and speaking in a soft tone she told him that
the midnight vessel was waiting for them to board. She motioned him to
follow her towards the water. They waded out until they were knee high in
the warm waters, and they were beside the figurehead of a small vessel.
Invisible forces lifted them gently into the boat. She spoke again The
other side is waiting for us.
The vessel moved off, skimming the surface of the water, driven on by
unseen oarsmen. He could see feint shapes in the mist. She spoke again
while turning her eyes to the star encrusted sky. Weve entered the world
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of night, of shades and of mirrors. Nobody stepping into these waters can
ever be the same again. Your deepest memories have been stirred and
now something is calling to you.
Mthesons gaze moved over the deck and came to rest contemplating the
dark waters, beneath them he saw images from the darkest ages leading to
present day evolution. Something there seemed to be waiting for this
breakthrough, for the darkest abysses to be propelled to the surface. With
a jolt Matheson suddenly caught a glimpse of the awesome strength of
these powers. All history from time immemorial was there vibrating with
life eternal. I must keep in balance he thought I must avoid the great
vertigo that lures all travellers on the way.
He could see the shoreline with more clarity. Helen rose to her feet.
Weve arrived she said, offering her open hand for him to take. Follow
your memory, she will take you back to the hidden landscapes. They
were ready to disembark on a small pier. He saw high ornamental pillars
that seemed to stretch upwards to the heavens. As the vessel berthed huge
stone steps could be seen surrounding a colossal square pool. The water in
it was as black as ink, and the constellation of Orion was reflected on the
still waters. Something moved in its depths. In an instant a shaft of white
light emerged and shot vertically from the pools waters. Growing in
height and vastness it rose up until it joined the sidereal skies with the
innermost earth.
His voice. Unnaturally hushed by the dignity of his surroundings, framed
yet another question to his companion. Where are we?.
Questions, so many question came Helens reply, why cant you just
experience, why always question. She paused but then went onto answer.
This is the temple of your own desire.
It looks so familiar yet I know I have never been here?
Your memories give it form, for some it would always be of ancient
Egypt, the lost kingdom of the Gods, for others Greek or even the ancient
Hindoo, and for yet others it will be a formless archetypal place, but in
essence these are all the same.
Matheson was familiar with the look of both Egyptian and Greek Temples,
but this place seemed to have very little parallel in those cultures. Where
after all was the great pylon gateway and the nested courtyards leading to
the holy of holies? As if anticipating his thoughts Helen told him that they
had approached the holy place by the path direct, if he looked carefully
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into the western lands he might just see the desert pylon close by. He
guessed that they must then have entered the holy precinct by some
special way, whose route was perhaps a closely guarded secret.
Nervously Matheson contemplated the forms of other beings that, as they
spoke, were continually arriving at and filling the spaces that surrounded
the pool. Where he could catch a glimpse of a shrouded visage he saw
only a look of anticipation as if the owner of the face had come expecting
a spectacle of some kind. Instinctively he knew that to be the case, all of
them, he included, had been brought to this strange place to witness some
primeval event, about to be played out, presumably in the darksome
waters of the pool. With growing curiosity and not a little apprehension,
Matheson too began to wonder what nature of spectacle he was, by some
strange privilege, being transported to this wondrous place, about to
witness. He did not have to wait long to find out
The silent congregation were now motionless, all heads turned towards the
western end of the court. The dark silhouette of a tall man moved towards
them making strange hieratic gestures as he approached. As the priest, for
as such Matheson guessed he was, moved closer, he looked at him with
awe inspired curiosity. A mask covered his face. A white cloth wound
around his waist formed a neat kilt, but above that his bare torso was trim
and muscular. The priest was clutching something in his hands. With a
shudder Matheson recognized the shape of a large knife with a glittering
blade. It suddenly struck him that the fearsome figure was the sacrificial
priest officiating in the sacred rituals. Matheson recognised the priests
mask as that of one of the Egyptian gods, probable, he thought, the
arch-opposer Seth!
Again Matheson felt his fear growing and rising within him. There could
be no sacrificial priest without a sacrifice to be performed. He looked at
Helen. She looked calm almost happy, and he thought she must be waiting
for this moment with anticipation. They stood side by side now, near the
pool. The masked priest was approaching. Quickly and quietly Helen
whispered to him you are on your own now, mortal man alone with the
Gods. I am going back to the realm of primeval creation.
In an instant Matheson understood what she meant. Shed moved a
fraction closer to the edge of the pool, embracing her fate. What followed
happened in seconds. The man had raised his knife and wounded Helen
mortally in the back. Matheson watched the drama unfold like the slow
moving figures of a zootrobe; he was paralysed in horror. How could this
be, surely she was one of the immortals? Then everything around him
seemed to be stained with crimson blood. Seth had lifted up Helen lifeless
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body and thrown it into the dark waters. Screaming, mad with terror, the
doctor was fleeing the scene of the sacrifice, but it was no human that had
been sacrificed but one of the immortals themselves. He felt that he had
never run at such speed in his entire life. He arrived at the pier, where
earlier they had disembarked. He jumped in the empty boat and started
rowing with frenzy. He thought he could see the malevolent, incandescent,
reptilian eyes of a deadly crocodile sliding through the waters following
him. Faster he yelled to himself faster.
A cold sweat of panic covered his body. As he passed the midpoint of the
stream, the crocodile turned away, as if some invisible barrier prevented it
for pursuing its prey further. A strong helpful current drew the vessel
nearer and nearer its original destination. Matheson glanced over his
shoulder and as the high shores swung closer into view he sprang into the
clear crystalline shallows waters. He ran in the midnight landscape. He
could see the entrance of the cave from which they had earlier emerged
before this whole tragic adventure. The soft light of the moon ran its
beams inside the dark recesses. He could see the door that had led to all
this madness. He pushed it open. But saw only blackness. He senses
reeling as he stumbled forward into the gloom and darkness engulfed him.
Matheson did not know for how long he had been unconscious. His head
thumped as if he had drunk too much absinthe. He opened his eyes and
details of Helen Vaughans drawing room began to swim into view. The
pianola was silent. The fire had burned low. He looked down and saw his
clothes in wild disarray. He turned his head half expecting to see Helen
next to him. But she was not there.
He dressed and collecting his things began to search to house looking for
her. It did not take him long to find a small bedroom. He breathed a sigh
of relief as there on the simple brass bed he saw her sleeping form. But his
relief was short-lived, for as his clinicians gaze passed over her body he
saw the unmistakable emblems of death.
Coming closer he saw also the clear cause of death, her delicate throat
constricted by a cruel hempen rope, one end of which was securely tied to
the brass headrest of the bed. So Helen had met her end in exactly the
same manner as all her society lovers, by slow strangulation. Silently and
purposefully, Matheson fled the scene. And over the coming weeks he
scoured the papers expecting to read news of yet another society murder,
her murder in bizarre circumstances. But no such report ever appeared. It
was as if Helen Vaughan had simply disappeared from the face of the
planet, never to be seen again.
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Had she disappeared like so many of the illusions she had engendered?
continues . . .
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