Sharon was taken aback by the sight within; the chest contained an assortment of ritual tools, neatly organized and clean. Julie had incense burners, offering plates, cloths (presumably to cover the foot locker as a makeshift altar), and a very phallic-looking wand. Within was a long-necked bottle, stoppered by a penis-shaped cork.
“Surprise,” Julie exclaimed. “I’m pagan!”
Sharon wasn’t sure what to say. She’d had pagan friends before, but never had any interest in practicing herself. Then again, her friends weren’t nymphos with cock-shaped wands. “Cool…but what’s with…the…um…” She waved a finger in the general direction of the wand and bottle.
“Huh? Oh, those,” Julie laughed. “I worship Pan. Y’know, from Greek mythology? The god of pleasure and revelry, played the pipes, had the satyrs as followers?”
Sharon nodded in understanding. “Explains a lot. So, did one cause the other? The nymphomania, I mean.”
Julie shrugged. “Don’t know. I started worshipping him about the time my urges started. I find letting them out in a controlled way helps.”
She extracted the bottle from the chest, and gripped the penis-cork. “Wine. I make my own as an offering.” She brought the bottle to Sharon’s nose, and invited her to inhale its fragrant, musky scent. She felt momentarily intoxicated, even a bit aroused herself.
“I’m doing a ritual tonight,” Julie said softly, waving the mouth of the bottle beneath Sharon’s nostrils. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to…join me.” Her voice turned seductive and alluring on a dime.
Slowly, Sharon came out of her daze. “No! I mean…I consider religion…private, you know? I wouldn’t want to…”
Julie looked away for a moment, almost pouting. “Okay. But the invite’s always there.”
Sharon left Julie to her ritual preparations (which involved readying wine, preparing her ritual space, and taking a long shower).
Once nightfall arrived, Sharon settled into the living room with a Dean Koontz novel, Toad the Wet Sprocket’s “Dulcinea” in the CD player, and a glass of chocolate milk by her side.
She had been reading for an hour, when the sounds of moaning and stomping and grunting from upstairs became too great to ignore. She crept up the stairs, quiet as a whisper, and peered into Julie’s ajar door to see her…
Wed Aug 14 16:46:33 2002