Heloise turned to see nothing-but what was there before; the dappled sun on marble, mosses and lichens here and there , soft breezes sighing through the collonade in the warmth of midday.
Framed in the entrance; the grinning Satyr and the laughing Maenad, anticipating imminent pagan joy.
They disgusted her- they had to go; that was it, upon her return to La Couvent de la Sang Precieux, she would draft a petition; a petition to post in the Marche du village... a petition to have that ungodly idol to (wanton lust), in bestial form), removed,destroyed,shipped out and pulverized to plaster dust if need be. Thence to have another more Christian piece take its place on the Parian plinth. "Our Lady du Quatre Vents de Vaude", perhaps- "Christ in Majesty" or better still , "Saint Francois d'Assisi des Oiseaux", infinitely more fitting , she felt, to this ornithological oasis.
However, she thought, 'it could take time, there could be opposition', she would have to plan her attack with care. In the meantime, while she remained lost in pensive cogitation, the sun, the lemonade, the packed lunch had an eventual effect; she had to soon answer a "call of nature".
Heloise gathered herself and made her way to the copsewood, entered it and ten yards in came upon a small sunlit clearing, quite cut off from the belvedere itself , and overhung with weeping Birch, - whose whisps of pendulous pannicles swayed gently back and forth in the dulcet breeze.
She had found the perfect outdoor room in which to relieve herself of the 'ungraceful load'. Defecation and urination were two bodily functions that both irked and embarassed her greatly, they had to be gotten through with the utmost care, planning and decorum.
Not a soul was about, but having to be certain, she looked about furtively nevertheless, before beginning to disrobe.Her wrappings were voluminous, the wimpled and winged cap, the peplum , the habit, the cambric slip beneath ,down to the final culottes and camisole , (she left on), this last item , which covered her ample breasts but left her midriff and lower extremities free to the air.
This left her ready for the 'filthy' and 'disagreeable' task at hand. Straddling a log, and holding onto a convenient overhanging tree branch to steady herself, she squatted , to relieve herself. The scent of her own earth, disgusted her sensibilities further, the hissing whirr of her steaming urine glistened in the hot sun... and she prayed to be done with this quickly; crossing herself as she proceeded, Flies , she knew, would not be long from appearing to gather for their disgusting feasting and egg laying on her waste material. Still evacuating and emptying her bladder, she whispered under her breath to the almighty, " Would you had made us otherwise oh great creator....! Why this disgusting affliction?" Finally she had finished, and crossing herself yet again, began to clean herself with some linens brought specifically for the purpose, and then began to root around for leaves, mosses and twigs to cover the deposited, unlovely mess.
Feeling much improved she busied herself to gather her garments, (humming her favourite hymn as she did; 'Panis Angelicus'). She knelt to pick up her habit, and then, suddenly, ... looking up took a short gasp of breath, to see a sight so unexpected , so initially terrifying, that it almost knocked her off her feet.
It was the Ithyphallic Pan of the Temple!, incarnate, standing in the glorious sunlight only ten feet away from her. He lived!, he breathed!, he stood before her full of the ruddy rosiness and tanned tautness of living human/animal flesh. The hair of his head hung in sandy golden ringlets of tight little curls down to his shoulders. The torso was a bronze delineation of gently expansive sinew...and hairless but for a thin line of golden down that ran between his breasts ending below at the forested region of his turgid tumescence; couched and nestled in a rufous golden bush of tightly knitted pubic hair.
Heloise, gave a short feeble yelp, falling to her knees crossing herself repeatedly and blinking at the sight before her. Was it some mirage?, some trick of the afternoon sunlight?... she prayed to sweet Jesus , and God The Almighty, but to no avail... the beast stood before her in a kind of sunbeam of radiance. "Who, Whooo er a are you....??" , she stammered imploringly. The Satyr made no move, but only smiled a calm, warm and friendly smile...showing perfectly formed pearly white teeth.
He seemed younger and more handsome than his prototype in the temple, his eyes glowed warm and green and kindly....not at all the beastly savage he seemed im marble.
Heloise knelt transfixed, and found herself gazing rapt , almost hypnotized, as if by a Cobra and snake charmer, ( the kind she had heard of in the Orient), and had seen in books.
Still she stared and found her eyes magnetically fixated on his throbbing Phallus,....this ; she had never seen the like of before... it was perfectly formed; a golden rigid shaft standing upright from its' nest, and replete with the elegant lacing of a voluminous prepuce; the owner slid leisurely up and down the root with one hand. Heloise felt a rising drum in her head and temples.... rising hotly up into her skull in a rhythmic pounding cadence that matched her pounding heartbeat... and in tune with the throbbing ,bobbing thrum and pulse of the fleshy animal member before her , that hit the belly of the beast at regular intervals.
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