Feast of Dionysos

On a small island in the Aegean, for example, it was customary for a girl, upon reaching the age of maturity, to visit a priest at the local center of worship. There she would be bathed by attendants who scented the chamber with flowers and incense. She would then be led, naked, to the priest's private quarters where she would present her newly fertile body to him. Likewise, he would remove his clothing and offer up his own erect phallus for adoration and worship. Jennifer gawked at the pages as she read with disbelieving eyes.

"They did WHAT?" she caught herself saying aloud, as she then learned of certain rites that followed, involving the taking of her sacred virginity and granting her permission to symbolically offer it to the god in exchange for his blessings. She glanced around the room, finding herself relieved to be alone, tempted as she was to share the incredible details with someone, anyone.

It didn't stop there. A network of villages in another island chain had a different system of sacred deflowering. Mature men and women from these villages considered it their duty to train subsequent generations in the art of lovemaking. Such men visited the households of their neighbors where they were welcomed and granted the company of that family's adult daughter, or daughters, which he had observed growing up and blossoming into womanhood, at long last. It would be his honor to receive a feast of roasted lamb, fresh fish, and an endless supply of wine. Then, when he had been fully sated, he would take their daughters back to their bedrooms, undress them, and engage in a wild indulgence of instructional sex, sometimes lasting for hours. It was said that with his instruction she would be able to attract a handsome and wealthy suitor.

Likewise, a mother would visit the homes of her son's closest friends, newly inducted into adulthood. There she would receive a similar display of gratitude before taking the young man aside to his private chambers, her heart full of desire for that youthful splendor as it blossomed into the glory of manhood. She would perform fellatio on him, instruct him in the art of pleasuring a woman by granting him full access to her body, and then take his virginity in a demonstration of seasoned feminine prowess. All of this, fully sanctioned! Celebrated!

Jennifer found herself shocked, disturbed, and titillated. Her mind drifted off to a repressed memory. She recalled the time she herself turned eighteen. She shared the same birthday week with her friend Allison. They had wandered through the meadow behind Allison's house a few days later, musing about what life would be like after high school, what adventures they were in store for at college, and what sorts of guys they would meet.

That day was typical. She often hung out at Allison's house. Her father, known to Jennifer as Mr. Turner, was not quite a secret crush like the ones she had on boys at school, but he was always the subject of an erotic fixation whenever she visited. Mr. Turner was handsome, warm, and comforting. He often welcomed her with enthusiasm, frequently asking Jennifer about how things were going at school and the like. When Jennifer stayed over at Allison's house, her father was just as generous as her mother in ensuring Jennifer's comfort, making sure that she had enough sheets and remembered where the bathroom light was.

All those memories came flooding back as Jennifer recalled how she had innocently fantasized about him. But what if she had turned eighteen in the midst of this Dionysian society? Would Mr. Turner have visited her that night, while Allison slept nearby, whispering to her to see if she was awake? What if he had offered Jennifer his hand, softly drawing her from sleep to lead her downstairs? What if they had gone together to the couch in the living room, using hushed, excited voices?

Would Mr. Turner have taught her the simple pleasures of a generous birthday kiss, the kind that used the tongue? Would he have carefully removed her socks and pajamas, one piece at a time, until she stood before him, completely bare, as aroused and willing as she was frightened? She imagined how he would have caressed her body; softly, gently, stroking her breasts and slipping his firm hand between her legs to part her sweet sex. She would have let him touch her body, exploring every inch in wonder, even tasting her. Then he would have offered to reveal before her wide eyes the very essence of his manhood. His long, thick member, emerging from his pants already full of vigor and want. She would have never seen one before in person.

She could almost feel her young, curious fingers curling around his sturdy shaft, finding him warm and ferociously hard. Yes, Mr. Turner would have revealed to Jennifer a new dimension to the joys of womanhood, just like those who lived in this cult of Dionysus. He would have laid her back upon the soft cushions of the couch, spreading her innocence wide to receive him. He would have cared for her softly, tenderly, as he filled her tightly with that gorgeous swollen penis. Together they would have made sweet love, her first experience of the bliss of a man's body.

Jennifer's head throbbed with a rush of hot blood, dizzy on the outrageous vision of taboo lust that bubbled up from a time so long ago and nearly forgotten; thoughts she could never share with anyone without risking absolute humiliation. So suddenly they came rushing back, as if it had never left her, as if Dionysus himself had arrived to enter her wicked mind and unlock all of its secret doors, one by one.

Enclosed in her private nook of the library, Jennifer could not stop reading these stories, internalizing them, making them her own. The cults she read about were all connected by certain rites that were passed down over time and connected with other cults such as those devoted to Aphrodite, Hedone, and others.

When the stories did not have to do with sacrificial loss of virginity, they instead had to do with massive orgies of one kind or another. One of the stories that struck her the most came from an island in the Dodecanese chain where there was a particularly large center of Dionysian worship. She read that it was customary, on the night of each full moon, for all the townspeople who had reached adulthood to gather at a large temple at the center of town. There, they would remove their clothing and share an excess of libations until their faculties had become suitably "inspired" by the god of wine.

The sight of each other's bodies on such a night was said to have triggered a certain lunacy. Even the most innocent and conservative among them would be struck with a fit of desire which these people described with a word that translated loosely to "unchained" or "unfettered." There, in that wide temple flanked with rows of high columns, a massive orgy would ensue, commonly referred to as a "feast of Dionysos."

Men and women would turn through as many partners as they had prayers for their god. The bacchanalia would last all night, into the wee hours, and on into morning. There were no boundaries. No deeds that could not be performed. On this night, a jealous man desirous of his friend's wife would be permitted to take her as many times as he pleased, coming to know her as intimately as her own husband did. A woman with secret yearnings for her sister's husband could enjoy the riches of his profound virility, just as her sibling was entitled to enjoy on any other night. Large groups of young men and women, having just become of age together, amassed in great convocations of curiosity and ecstasy as they discovered the joys of lovemaking together and experimented with every form of the act that they had only just been gossiping about in the years prior.

The pictures were almost comical, depicting their faces so full of wonder, astonishment, and laughter as the girls reached out to stroke the members of their male suitors, and as hands grasped at their own bodies to grope at their flourishing breasts. It reminded her of a fantasy she had once had, during freshman year of college, when her basketball team had gone to cheer on the boys during an important game. She sat on the bench, watching their tall, athletic bodies march back and forth across the court. She imagined her team joining theirs in the locker room after the game ended. They would dominate them- peeling off the guys' sweaty clothes and yanking off their own, before dragging them into the showers naked and laughing. It was a steamy scene full of soapy play in which bodies were soon moving together in clouds of warm fog, moaning, grinding, crying out in pleasure together. She had gone home that night and, while her roommate was safely in the shower, churned her quivering sex against her pillow, drunk on these secret visions that she would share with no one.

Driven by an aimless lust, the ancient peoples she read about barely acknowledged who they took or who took them, fostering just enough lucidity to avoid the accidental union of brother with sister or parent and child. Never did the ancient text say this should not happen, it just warned that it might, and inexplicably concluded that it was inevitable! She viewed this claim with skepticism. Surely a young man, who formed his basis of understanding of a woman's body on the ones closest to him, could merely use this as an opportunity to claim a taboo encounter he long desired. In a male-dominated society, she gasped at the thought of how fathers might want to take advantage of their daughters, anxious to explore the charms their mothers had given them.

Still, as she read further, she grew more and more tempted to believe that these people wholly, inexplicably believed in the divine nature of ritualistic unions, seeing each one no different than the next, as they all were symbolic of a union with the god or goddess that watched over them. Uncomfortable and scandalized, she read on, seeking more answers and more understanding about the feelings they were evoking inside her.

Whole sections of the temple were dedicated to particular forms of enjoyment, such as one room specifically for the offering and receiving of oral pleasure. According to the descriptions, the floor came to look something like a carpet of flesh, as it was littered with such a pile of groaning bodies that there was little room to even walk between them. There, she read, women could be heard shrieking and moaning in savage fits of ecstasy as men submitted themselves to the forest of legs flung wide, plunging headfirst into the fragrant displays of molten, quivering flesh. The women crawled over one another, clutching desperately at a vast array of erect penises which blossomed all around them, growing skyward like mushroom-capped stalks, plunging them into their mouths with fervor, one by one.

She laughed at the sarcastic thought of their phalluses spurting into the air like geysers, but no, she soon read a passage describing the supposedly incredible ability of Dionysian men to control their need to ejaculate. If only she had dated one such man, she thought. Apparently, they were able to last many hours before finally succumbing to an orgasm so intense that it inspired jokes about horrific tidal waves. These were based on real, natural threats thought to occasionally sweep unfortunate fishermen straight into Hades and rob divine Hermes of his job as their guide to the underworld.

Jennifer became overwhelmed with the descriptions of these proceedings and eventually became lost in the illustrations, preserved from antiquity in the scenes on painted kylikes and amphorae. These images were as full of shocking debauchery as the texts were. Images of men with giant, protruding phalluses mounting women who stood on their hands and knees, howling with pleasure as their large, pendulous breasts swung freely beneath their bodies. Young girls full of youthful desire bouncing passionately atop well-endowed men, muscular and depicted like heroes of war. Their small, lithe bodies labored atop them, feverish and mad with the urgency of penetration, defiantly resisting exhaustion.

It appeared that there was no difficulty on the part of these ancient people in recognizing the fluid spectrum of sexuality that her contemporary peers had to fight so hard for. Images depicting men with men and women with women came up now and then. There was even an image of one man taking the other from behind, which she found strangely arousing, while the man receiving the other cock threw himself passionately between the legs of a woman as if intoxicated on her vaginal secretions, which were crudely depicted like a fountain of gushing wine.

The icing on the cake of this humorous and licentious research she now performed came in the form of numerous references to a certain nectar the women drank that supposedly prevented pregnancy. It was a milk-white potion for which there was no recipe provided. "Too bad!" she thought, imagining how that might have been covered in her sex-ed classes. Then she recalled the nectar used in the ceremony she witnessed and was tempted to wonder if it was, in fact, an authentic means of contraception.

Witnessing these lewd acts, knowing that they once happened and were even commonplace in certain circles, ushered in what felt to Jennifer like a sudden, second sexual awakening. Truthfully, she found herself suffering pangs of jealousy. It was as if these experiences of these ancient worshippers gave her license to unleash all her own desires that had been simmering beneath the surface and had remained buried beneath layers of shame and guilt.

Jennifer's heart beat quicker still as she regained awareness that this was all the subject of Adam's private book- that the intense feelings of shock and arousal that she was experiencing were ones they now shared. It somehow bound them together, both of them having become familiar with secret mysterious known only to the members of these ancient cults.

Jennifer left the library realizing that she had just taken a drug. A drug for which there was perhaps no real antidote...

***

Later that afternoon, Jennifer spent time at the campus coffee shop quietly resuming her obsession with some of the materials she'd uncovered about the worship of Dionysus. She had sat in the corner with her back to the wall, carefully keeping her notes shielded from others. As the hours went by over several cups of hot coffee, Jennifer found herself caught in a constant debate. Should she reveal her interest to Adam? Would he let her be a part of it? Did she even want to?

Every time she thought about him, about what she saw, his handsome face was gazing back at her, eagerly, hungrily, his eyes dancing with excitement. Jennifer recalled his stiff member, swollen with amorous fervor. A big, beautiful cock that apparently came with no strings attached and could potentially exist solely to feed her earthly desires if she only had the courage to admit to herself, and then to him, that she longed to be swept up in it all. That since that night when she bore witness to his body, her entire world had become overtaken by the fantasy of it all.

When she was finished, she packed everything up and rushed back to the office, worried that her sudden interest in the topic was sidelining her efforts on the research she was officially recruited for.

"Jennifer!" Adam said cheerfully, spotting her in the hall.

Jennifer turned suddenly and blinked at him. She felt anxious standing next to Adam with a binder full of xeroxes of lewd images, explicit texts, and copious notes about the carnal, lustful behaviors of ancient worshippers. She clutched it tightly and defensively to her body, fearful of the remote possibility that he might see them and find out what she'd been up to.

"Are you headed this way?" he asked.

"Oh- yes," she said, as they continued walking toward his office.

He began to make chit-chat, but Jennifer could barely listen. She clung anxiously to her research, nodding dumbly to everything he had to say. They turned a corner and headed down a quiet hallway that connected their offices to the adjacent academic building. Jennifer walked quickly, privately wishing to reach her office as soon as possible to hide the materials she'd scooped into her arms.

As they reached the other end of the hallway, the tension in Jennifer's mind had escalated to such a degree that the binder pressed painfully into her chest. She quickly readjusted, desperate for relief. In the process, a pile of documents slipped free and sailed off in all directions. Her heart sunk as she realized that she had been holding the binder upside down.

"Oh, here, let me help you with that," Adam said, quickly rushing to help her collect her papers.

"No! You don't have to-" she blurted. Jennifer lost her words the moment she saw Adam recognizing what he was holding as he stood back up with a pile of papers. She saw the expression on his face change to confusion as he flipped one page to the next.

"What's this?" he asked. "Have you... how did..." He raised an eyebrow and didn't complete his sentence.

Jennifer quickly snatched the papers from Adam and began stuffing them back into her binder, avoiding any eye contact. When she finally peeked up at him, he had crossed his arms and was patiently awaiting an explanation. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Um... I... uh..." she mumbled, trying to decide what she was saying as the words came out. "I... kinda poked around your bookcase," she finally admitted, cringing and awaiting his response.

Adam smirked and unfolded his arms. "I see. Well, here. Let me explain," he began.

"No, no. You don't have to explain. I-" Jennifer continued.

"No, really. It's okay. You deserve to know what I've been researching," Adam replied, cutting her off. He shrugged as if he was prepared to dismiss the whole thing. "Really, it's just-"

Jennifer felt herself becoming flush with irritation. "Don't do that," she thought about telling him. She could not allow herself to accept any white lies. She'd read and seen too much to just let him brush it all under the carpet.

"No, I mean. I know. I saw. I... know what you do. What all of you do," Jennifer announced.

Adam was quieted. He gave her a surprised look. "You saw? How-"

"It doesn't matter. Just- I want to... join."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she continued, still clutching the documents to her chest nervously. "I want to know. I need to know... what it's like. To be there. To do the things that you all do. To be a part of that..."

"Listen... I-" Adam said with a sigh.

"Please, Adam. I mean it. I can't stand it anymore. I've been thinking about it every day."

Adam gave her a hard, serious look. "Are you sure you know what you're asking me to do?"

"Yes! Please. Sponsor me. I want to be inducted. I want to..." Jennifer's heart pounded in her chest, making it hard to speak. "... share this with you."

She gazed into his eyes with equal seriousness, trying to convey how determined she was. But was she? She could barely recognize the strange new Jennifer that seemed to be speaking through her own body.

Slowly, gradually, a smile began to creep across Adam's face as he came to terms with what had just happened. "Well. If that's what you wish, I will speak to them on your behalf," he concluded, simply.

Finally, a cryptic smile was shared between them. For the first time, Jennifer felt that she saw a glimmer of her own longing for him reflected back at her.

A few minutes later, they parted ways, speaking nothing more of the matter.

***

A week later, Jennifer rolled out of bed, her mind swarming with confused thoughts that made the prospect of sleep a bleak one.

"Yup, still there," she mumbled, spotting the hastily opened letter still sitting on her kitchen counter. She recalled the address that had been mailed to her: 241 Linden Terrace. Another mysterious home, of some mysterious benefactor, belonging to a mysterious cult.