Behind the escaping ship, with six men rowing frantically, the waters of the Strait were calming, but blood still showed, where Scylla, the six-headed monster had carried away three men.
Ulysses cursed himself for his own carelessness. He had been warned by sorceress Circe, to steer a careful course through the Strait. “Too near the right bank and the whirlpool of Charybdis will take you, ship, and all, she’s a hungry one. But the opposite bank hides Scylla of the six heads, disturb her and she will take at least six of your crew, one in each of her mouths.”
Ulysses had genuinely believed they were almost clear when he’d ordered the oars to be reapplied. But at the first breaking of the surface, the six hideous green heads had appeared from the depths. Snapping and lunging, Scylla caught three poor souls, lifting them high as they screamed their last, before she plunged back into the sea, leaving only bloodied waves.
Ulysses, already lost in depressing thoughts, now found himself as close to tears as he had ever been in his life. So much bloodshed, so many lost companions. Now, three more, gone.
“It was my fault, Halias,” he said, to his close comrade, standing nearby. “I told them to unship the oars.”
“Anyone would have done the same, sire,” Halias said consolingly. “I thought we were clear. But who else, other than you, could have negotiated those Clashing Rocks?"
Grateful for the consoling attempt, Ulysses remained bitter at how fate and the Gods had separated him from his dear wife Penelope, beginning with the madly extended war against the Trojans.
And who caused that war? Helen, the whore. By the Gods, what a silver-tongued strumpet she was. Beautiful? Yes, the most beautiful woman in the world, history would say. Ulysses regretted being one of her many suitors. Those looks could not be resisted.
He thought he had won her when she came to his room one night, threw her thin robe aside and accepted his caresses over every inch of her skin. She stroked his large sack, before her hand gripped his considerable lance, took it into her mouth, sucking madly until his seed flowed down her throat.
When Ulysses eventually thrust up into her, he had the sensation of entering a large wide cavern, not a tight unblemished cuzzy. Later, he guessed that all her other suitors had had a similar experience with her.
A face to die for. As thousands would. When she chose Menelaus to marry, and then ran off to Troy with Paris, war was inevitable. Too many years of death and destruction caused by the face of a whore!
Now, with the war far behind them, all he wanted was to be home with his dear wife, Penelope. She was cousin to Helen and beauty was not exclusive to that whore. Penelope was everything a man could wish for in a good woman. Her inventiveness in their bed had amazed him, but just as important to him was her loyalty.
How had been she handled his excessive absence from their bed. He could not admit to such loyalty, having eased his lusty aches on a few Trojan women. Such indiscretions would be admitted to Penelope. Confident she would be her understanding self. “You are a man. Your needs are greater,” she would say.
At that moment, a call from Plotter, broke his reverie, “Sire, do we hold this course?”
“Yes, just hug the coast.”
“But, sire, that will take us close to-"
“I know—the island of the Sirens. What about that?”
The plotter looked at the faces around him, “Well, don’t they say that they lure sailors with their music and then kill them.”
Ulysses half smiled, “I have a theory about that.”
“A theory, sire?” queried Halias, his close companion for much of his time at sea
Ulysses nodded his head. Yes, he had a theory that he was keen to check, and he went on, “Plotter, how long since you had access to a woman’s body?”
Plotter frowned but said, “So long, it hurts.”
Ulysses had known this feeling occasionally over time. Now he held out his left hand, “Here is a woman with the sweetest singing voice you’ve ever heard, on my right, there’s a naked woman showing all her desirable parts. Whom do you take?”
A voice from the listening crew called, “Plotter will always have the one with the biggest breasts!”
Everyone laughed, Plotter, the whole remaining crew and Ulysses himself. It so pleased him to have the crew relaxed and laughing after recent traumas. Now he could go on with his theory. He really doubted what the Gods had warned him about the music that would tempt them.
He told the crew this. They listened but when he went on, “You are all lusty frustrated sailors. Aren’t you more likely to have a woman’s fingers on your lance?”
To a man, they were more than willing to follow Ulysses theory. When they were back to their duties, Halias echoed the one doubt he had, “Ships and sailors who came this way, have never been seen again, sire.”
Ulysses nodded, “I know it. We need much caution. Maybe a helpful message from the gods will guide us.”
When Halias had gone, Ulysses was left pondering and hoping. It was not often he refuted the advice of the Gods, but he trusted his own instincts. Hadn’t he been right about the huge model horse, so successful, in the early invasion of Troy? He had been one of the first of his legion to descend and attack.
But this might be just a little different. What problems would these Sirens set him?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Talia, lyre in one hand, fingers of the other tracing around her left nipple, looked morosely out over the empty sea. There hadn’t been a ship in days, and the last one had been so far away from their island home.
A slight ‘toot’ behind her, had her turning to see her sister, Parina removing her flute from between her lips. “Wishing it was a manhorn?” Talia asked grimly.
Parina dropped her hand to between her thighs, “This is where I need it.”
“Don’t talk about it.” Talia cried, “I’d need a hot tongue to ready me. I’ve gone so bloody dry. Where in the name of Hades are the ships?”
They stood close together, naked, but for the thin veil-like material draped from their shoulders. Their bodies were slender and highly alluring, as they had to be to carry out their duties.
Just like Charybdis and Scylla further North and before that, the Clashing Rocks, their mission was to rid the seas of sailors, a threat to the world of the God of the sea, Neptune. The only difference was their method was much more subtle and deceptive than the monsters.
“I wonder if Ligia has learned anything from talking with the Gods.”
Ligia was the youngest of the three sisters, just as attractive, and very thoughtful as she left the tiny white chapel, built for communication with the Gods.
Heading up the cliff path to where her sisters waited expectantly, she was feeling the same physical torment at the long-term absence of a hard manhorn in her cuzzy.
She was also slightly angry, having been told that a certain God, unknown to the others, who was deliberately spreading vindictive rumours about why no sailors ever came ashore on their island.
Reaching the clifftop, she told her sisters of this rumour. “And we don’t know who it is?” Talia asked.
“The other Gods had no idea.”
Parina cursed loudly before saying, “So, this rumour tells the world that our music attracts sailors, causing them to crash on the rocks.”
“And then we kill them,” Ligia sighed.
“That’s partially true. Only they kill themselves,” Parina laughed. “They tadge themselves to death
Talia growled. “Was there no good news?”
Ligia blushed, “Oh, yes, all this moaning, I’m forgetting. A small ship has got past Charybdis and Scylla. It could be here before the sun is fully risen. Crew of nine.”
“Nine?” Talia mused. “How long will we have them?”
“Neptune is angry that this one got beyond Scylla,” Ligia told them. “He demands that they be done within two rises of the sun.”
“Two? How can we manage that?” Talia wailed.
Parina laughed, “Like always. Sunrise to sunset they tadge us or we suck them.”
“Until they are totally empty of strength.” Talia laughed.
“What about the slow start? It always takes time for them to decide whether to come ashore or not.”
“Neptune has said he’ll arrange that they get close to—” LIgia began.
“But he always wrecks them on the rocks,” Parina butted in.
“Not this time, it seems.” Ligia half-smiled. “Maybe he wants them to see more of what’s on offer.” Then, laughing, she pointed at Parina’s breasts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Halias was atop the mast. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he gazed ahead, before calling down to Ulysses, “Mist not totally burned off. Nothing shows.”
Ulysses sighed. He was so impatient. He knew, somehow, that, despite everything he had achieved in the past the coming events would be a real test of his leadership qualities. The gentle breeze was filling the sails adequately, but he’d considered resorting to the oars to speed things along.
He decided that would be unfair to the men who had worked so diligently in getting them away from the fierce Scylla. All he could do was plan how he might deal with the Sirens. Difficult, when his theory might not even be correct. It was all a matter of wait and see, And it was damned frustrating.
What he did know, was the mind of a sailor. Two things would attract the attention of his crew. Good deep red wine was one, and the other? Easy. The nubile, willing body of a woman, and Ulysses' theory had him sure that was what they’d find. Maybe they did sing or play beautiful music, but did they tadge, and get genuine pleasure from a man’s lance heaving in their warm cuzzy? Could his crew take advantage but maintain caution?
Could he? His theory avoided looking at the fact that no sailor had returned from these encounters. Stay alert. And keep thinking, Ulysses, keep thinking.
Halias called, “Island in view. And isn’t that three figures on the cliff top?”
Ulysses followed the direction of his finger, “Indeed it is. Female—and naked.”
Halias blinked in the glare of the rising sun, “By thunder, how can you tell from this distance?”
Ulysses laughed, “There are no male protuberances where the legs join.” A little closer would ascertain the fact. Then the music began. It was indeed sweet music.
Ulysses looked back and yes, the motions of two women suggested they could be playing instruments. The other held her empty arms wide, almost welcoming. Maybe she was singing. But the melodic sound was becoming clearer.
Ulysses saw some of the crew move to that side of the ship attracted by the music. Would it really lure them?
“All right, men?” Ulysses called down.
“Good sound.” One called back and there was a chorus of agreement, but no apparent wish to swim ashore. Ulysses was relieved at that.
His relief was short-lived, as the whole ship shuddered, and Plotter who had taken the tiller yelled, “She’s pulling right. Can’t hold her.”
Ulysses, with Halias, raced to help. Was this how ships were pulled onto rocks? All three men heaved to turn left, but their efforts were in vain. He despaired for their safety.
Then, just as suddenly as it had veered, the ships stopped completely. Ulysses took stock of how it lay. They were in a sandy channel. To turn left now would run into a sandbank. Turning right would run them onto the sandy beach, no more than twenty body lengths away, he estimated.
But all estimation ceased as he saw that, on the water’s edge the three naked women had come down from the clifftop. Whatever musical instruments they’d held were gone they held out their arms entreatingly, while one of them sweetly sang:
“Oh, come to us, sailor bold,
Come find a cuzzy, oh so willing
Give us your mighty manhorns
To feel such power would be thrilling."
Halias chuckled, “Leaves no doubt about what they’re expecting. Nice song.”
All along the rail, the crew were shouting, and yelling obscenities. Some had even exposed their hardening lances and were wafting them like promises to the naked women, who responded with their tongues and arms
Ulysses was aware that there were only three women, and fearing trouble he called, “Steady, crew.” But the words of the song and the appearance of these exquisite naked women had caused his lance to lift his tunic. He was finding the need for caution difficult to maintain, even though this was exactly as his own theory had suggested.
The tallest of the three women suddenly stepped into the water, which came only to her ankles. Ulysses was surprised. He had assumed that, because the ship was well afloat, they were in water that would need swimming. Now he saw that where the siren had stepped was a sandy bar, only just covered with water. Not only that, the sandy bar extended exactly to the rail gate of the ship.
Signalling for Halias and Plotter to follow, Ulysses opened the gate, leapt into the shallow water and with fast, long strides was all but pressed against the woman. So, close he felt her nipples again his near bare chest. Her hand of greeting on his shoulder sent tingles through his body.
“Call me Parina,” she said, as they moved off the sandbar.
Almost breathless as he viewed the fantastic beauty of these three, he managed, “I’m Ulysses, I have eight crew.”
The other two beautiful women stepped forward, “This is Talia.” A woman who might have been her double, but with deeper, more lustful eyes. She nodded her head and moved in front of Halias
“And this,” pointing out the singer, “is Ligia.” Ulysses thought she could be the younger sister. But apart from anything else, she had a charming smile, as she stood beside Plotter.
Parina’s hand moved up Ulysses' arm. She was longing to have this wonderfully built man to start with. It had been so long and whatever was pushing against his tunic excited her.
Behind them, the six remaining crew members on board the ship were baying their frustrations
“My crew?”
Parina smiled as she turned back up the beach and waved at her sisters to join her, “Don’t worry,” she said, “everything is under control.”
The three sisters stood in line with one hand on a breast and the other over their hairy triangles. So provocative.
A moment’s pause, but then Ulysses noticed that three identical women, exact in every way, had appeared three-man lengths behind the originals and beyond that were another three in the same pose. Nine in all.
Parina murmured, “A little gift for your crew from our Gods.”
Ulysses waved for his men to leave the ship. After a mad scramble, he got his panting crew into a rough line, almost laughing as they called out, “Please, sire, release us.”
Talia had taken Halias’ hand and Ligia had a grip on Plotter’s arms. Seeing the look on Ulysses' face, Parina explained, “Your crew can get any of their desires fulfilled by our, shall I call them ‘shadows’? Sadly, the three of us will feel none of the resultant sensations. But your men will find plenty to delight them.” And she gave a little chuckle.
Ulysses waved at his men, “Any of those six are yours.”
The six crew had been surprisingly patient, but now with a variety of cries they rushed at the siren ‘shadows’. Four lifted their chosen one and carried her into the trees, whereas two bundled their selection to the sand, and within seconds their bared buttocks were heaving under the sun.
“Can we get to the spring now?” Talia asked impatiently.
"My very thought," the pair agreed.
Parina led down a wooded path, and they came to a clearing where a small waterfall tumbled into a clear stream. Surrounded by flowering shrubs of delicate colours, Ulysses thought that it was how he imagined the garden of the Gods to be.
“Our mossy mound is this way,” Talia growled at Halias, as she pulled him out of sight
“And I have my leafy bed back here,” Ligia of the sweet voice, said, pulling Plotter by the hand, to vanish behind a red-flowered bush.
“For you and I,” Parina declared, “not another step. One quick tadge, then you can really savour my body.”
Ulysses had already removed his tunic, and stood, tall and naked, as Parina thanked the Gods for gifting her this magnificent manhorn that bounced above her as she threw herself to the grassy stream bank. She spread her thighs, realising that all the hundreds of men who had ridden up her cuzzy, had been pathetic compared to what she was about to receive. She reached for it.
Ulysses, as ever, when he entered an unknown cuzzy, offered a futile apology to Penelope so far away. That was always followed by the dreaded thought that she could have remarried. That thought alone brought on such anger that he thrust ferociously into Parina’s surprisingly tight passage, harder and harder until in short time he was spurting deep inside her and went on spurting madly.
'Oh, Gods, what wonder have you sent us?' Ulysses was immense. Filling her cuzzy completely. And now he was pouring his wrath into her so fiercely, so venomously that she never wanted it to stop. Then she found herself worrying about the inevitable ending of this. He would be spent like all the others. It had to be like all the others. No hiding from that.
Soon, Ulysses pulsed out his last drop and lay still on top of her, stroking her incredible body. Sleep now, would have been good, but then Talia and Halias, followed quickly by Ligia and Plotter arrived to enjoy the waters. When they were out and dry, there was only a little talk as Ulysses prepared to go off with Talia and Ligia led Halias away.
Parina wished she’d had time to take Ulysses down her throat. Still, next sunrise would herald a full of day. He was going off with Talia now.
Ulysses followed Talia towards her mossy bank among the trees, but having expended all his passion into Parina, his thinking was becoming more rational. He had allowed the allure of the inhabitants of this tantalising island to block out all thought of caution. That could no longer be ignored.
Talia, of the darker, more lustful eyes, tried to rouse him by stroking and licking his limp lance. She became annoyed when he didn’t immediately respond. When his lance finally came to full hardness and she’d given it an admiring glance, she stated that she wanted it in her smaller entrance at the rear. She bent forward to accommodate him.
Ulysses had always found the rear-entry rather decadent, but was quietly surprised to find that entry into this lady was wonderfully easy, and, although she acted as though she was merely doing a job, at the moment of his releasing into her she gave a squeal of, what he assumed was delight.
But there was no more than that, and soon they joined the others in the pool, where the women looked at the sky, and declared they could get one more in before dusk
Parina declared brightly, “I look forward to an early sunrise start.” And her eyes were on Ulysses as she said it.
Later, he would wonder how he had never asked how they seemed tied to this sunset restriction. By then, he had realised that it was just as well.
So, for his final session he had Ligia, the rather sweet younger sister, and he started by immediately letting her know that it might be a little while before he could do anything for her.
Her head nodded as she lay back on her leafy bed, looking so delectable that he regretted not being able to tadge her there and then. But then she said huskily, “Would you tongue me?”
Surprised, Ulysses asked, “You’d like that?”
“Very much. Most of the sailors want a rough tadge, and that’s all.”
As he bent over her delectable body, Ulysses murmured that he was glad to oblige. She flinched at the first touch of his tongue on those lower lips. There was much moisture down there, and he raked his tongue up and down her slit, poking briefly in her tempting, leaking cuzzy. Such a joy to hear her gasps of pleasure.
Her taste was amazing, yet it reminded him so much of how Penelope had tasted so many years ago now. There was a creaminess laced with a tart honeyed flavour.
Ligia’s body squirmed and bucked as his tongue found the uncovered bud which immediately opened like a tiny plant and she squealed. Ulysses felt her fingers close around his lance.,
“Oh, your manhorn is growing, and growing. Dusk is coming, Ulysses. Please, in me, quick!”
Happy to oblige, Ulysses moved between her thighs, lifted her knees over his shoulders and entered her. Not harshly like the other two. With Ligia he slid his length slowly up her soaking cuzzy, retreating a little before each advance.
Soon she was pushing back at each slow thrust, and then gradually they were going faster and faster until finally her legs clenched on his neck and she screamed, “Ulysses, I’m away with the Gods.”
Ulysses released his load into her and was so happy to have given her some pleasure. That was confirmed when she whispered, “That is higher than I’ve ever been. Thank you.”
They lay until he slid out of her and then he lowered her legs and lay back. “Will you sleep beside me?” she asked. It was getting dark now so obviously their action time was over.
He didn’t need to answer, because as soon as he lay his head back, he slept. And that was when the Goddess Aphrodite came to him. A dream? Or real? He never knew for certain. She was a white glow that flickered whenever she spoke, and she had important words to say.
“Ulysses, we have not met since I blessed your marriage to Penelope. Given all the years that have passed since you were last together your disloyalties are forgiven. You have been bold and brave, but if you are to return to Penelope you must get off that island while darkness reigns. I have called on the God Somnus to dust the eyes of the sleeping Sirens. That dust will hold them in slumber until beyond the next rising of the sun. But you must be well gone by then. Gather your crew and go. And beware the wrath of Neptune.”
Ulysses was not sure if he had slept. Had it been a dream? He nudged Ligia hard. She did not respond. He found Halias and Plotter close to Parina and Talia. They had to move Talia off Plotter, but she did not awaken. Already, Somnus had done his work.
They were so weary, but donning their tunics, they went to find the rest of the crew. Plotter checked that the ship was seaworthy. Finding the six crew took precious time, but there were no ‘shadows’ with them. “You don’t cast a shadow when you sleep,” Ulysses observed.
Plotter reported that the ship was ready. “Many break-up tools lying suggest that sunrise will see her broken up.” He took the steering, as Ulysses and the others seven went waist-deep to push the ship backwards, amazed at how easily they reached the open sea.
Soon they were heading out to sea. “Row, men. Row us home!” Ulysses urged the crew heaving on the oars, while under his breath, “Row me to my dear Penelope.”
The ship made swift progress while overhead the myriad of stars faded.
Ulysses had bad feelings about what might come with the sunrise as he recalled Aphrodite’s warning. The Sirens would sleep beyond the next rising of the sun. And the more threatening, “—beware the wrath of Neptune.”
His bad feelings were justified. All calm as the first rays appeared, but Ulysses urged the oarsmen to be prepared. When the full orange orb rose above horizon level, the sea instantly began to heave. He and Halias joined Plotter at the tiller.
The very first wave lifted the ship and tossed it like driftwood, It remained afloat as the crew continued the battle, steering, manoeuvring through channels of massive waves. fighting a battle that Ulysses knew they could not win.
For a moment, Ulysses stood, waved his fists to the heavens, and yelled, “Neptune! Hear me. You may take my ship, but you will never take one more soul of my crew.”
That was the moment that Halias yelled and pointed. A rocky shore had appeared, and they were being driven towards it. Ulysses looked along the line of threatening rocks.
He pointed out to Plotter, a small bay-like break he had spotted, still viciously rocky, but nearer the beach. “Could we possibly place the ship in that opening?”
“It will be a struggle.”
And a struggle it was. Crew straining every sinew on oars, Ulysses and Halias on tiller going along with every suggestion Plotter made, they got the ships square on the gap. The very next wave helped by moving the ship into the bay.
This must have so angered Neptune that he sent his mightiest wave that drove the ship crashing and crunching into the rocks. They all fell to the deck, but Ulysses knew that they were close to the beach. And, after an uncomfortable scramble, soon were recovering there.
Up on the road, set to go separate ways, Ulysses thanked each man individually and hugged him. Happy that he had carried out his promise to get them home safely.
As he was hugged, Halias asked, “Back to being King of Ithaca?”
Stunned that war, and time along with thoughts of only Penelope, Kingship had been forgotten, Ulysses walked for two days before Mount Olympus, distant left, told him he was almost home. Down the coast, a kindly boatman carried him to step ashore, disguised as a hooded beggar, on Ithaca, his homeland, his kingdom.
Empty streets but crowds near the palace puzzled him. Pulling his hood low, he asked someone what was happening.
“Contenders for the Queen’s bed. King Ulysses is lost at sea.”
King! That surprise status. “What is the test?”
Ten rings were strung high in a line as they descended in size. He listened as the man explained, “Arrow must pass through every ring Furthest wins a place in the Queens’s bed. Vatlor is favourite.”
“Is he?” Ulysses, said, moving to a better viewpoint. Now he could see, on a raised platform, his dear Penelope, dressed in a white gown trimmed with gold. So beautiful, so sensual. Ulysses blood flowed faster.
Several contestants could not even bend the bow, his own bow. One tall, bulky man sent an arrow as far as the sixth ring before it dropped to the ground. It remained the leader until a chant from a section of the gathering.
“Vatlor! Vatlor!”
A tall, muscular, man, stepped forward, picked up the bow and gave an easy couple of tugs. With a practised hand, he fitted an arrow, and, angering Ulysses, smiled leeringly at Penelope, before pointing the arrow at the first ring.
When he released, there was a gasp from the crowd as the arrow left the bow. At each ring, the crowd became more excited. But the fading arrow struck the ninth ring and fell to the ground.
Vatlor, his arms held out wide in triumph, sneered. “Is there anyone brave enough, strong enough to beat that?”
No one moved, and Vatlor turned towards Penelope to claim his prize.
Ulysses, remaining shaded by his hood, stepped forward and picked up the bow.
“Not beggars, you fool,” Vatlor snapped, wafting a hand, as though Ulysses was an offending insect.
Penelope’s lovely, longed-for voice said, “Anyone, that was my order.”
Ulysses, so familiar with his precious bow, selected an arrow, fitted it and in one motion, raised the bow and fired. The crowd gasped as the arrow sped through ring after ring, to bury into the tree beyond the tenth.
Vatlor growled, “Luck.”
Seeing Penelope rising to her feet, Ulysses selected another arrow, gave Vatlor a contemptuous glance, and sent the arrow speeding to nestle close to the first one.
Only now did Ulysses turn to Penelope as he removed his hood.
“Oh, my Ulysses, my lord, my love,” Penelope gasped. “The Gods brought you back.”
Ulysses leapt onto the dais and swept her into his arms, kissing her wildly and it seemed that the time that had separated them had never existed.
With equal adoration Penelope returned his kiss before stepping back and saying, “But, my lover, you smell like long-dead offal.” She laughed and took his arm, “To the bathhouse.”
Cheering crowds gave them passage to the palace doors. But nobody followed them into the bathhouse, where Ulysses immediately discarded his disguise and plunged into the warm water. Penelope’s gown was left behind as she descended the steps, reaching for the balms, and fragrant oils, and of course, Ulysses.
Lovingly, she cleansed him, and his hands explored what had been so long lost to him. They left the bath and lay together, not rushing, stroking, tasting, until finally he entered her. His heart swelled with the euphoria of being home with Penelope, his only true love, forever.
