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I too inhale the scent that still hovers in the air, and gather myself, leaving him under the nehet where he will spill his seeds into the earth with thoughts of me, Raghaba—the goddess of desire.
Looking forward I see the mud brick palace that once belonged to Khnum, the creator of all things, and wonder what will become of all things that shall be. There is a light breeze that is stifled by the searing heat. But, despite its intensity, I am thankful. I am blessed. I lift my head to the sky, and allow its fiery rays to fall upon my honey-golden face as I give praise to Nut, the sky goddess, and Ra, the sun god, for harmony. I smile to Sekhmet, the goddess of war, and thank her for peace and protection. And, then, I spread my arms wide and give glory to Ma’at, goddess of truth, bala
nce and order, for keeping all things aligned.
Through the gardens, I hear the frolicking and chatter of female voices, and silence finds itself before me as I pass by, glaring eyes pierce me. Suddenly whispers move with the wind and I strain to hear. I wonder if it is the same wind that has carried my moans through the air.
“Ssh, Raghaba is coming. She will hear.”
“Let her,” Nephthys says snidely. “She is useless dung.”
How dare she insult me! I fight the urge to summon the gods for her head so that it may be put on display. She is hateful and bitter because she is as dry as the desert, and as ugly as a camel. And because she is not fertile, she is not for the taking in marriage. Yet she hungers for the love and attention of Horus whose eyes do not flicker with desire for her. Ha! Foolish one! Yet, it is I whom she chooses to blame for her despair. Little does she know I do not want him or his affection, just what hangs underneath his garment between his strong, muscular thighs. And when I have tired of him, I shall discard him as I do all the others. A wicked smile forms on my lips as thoughts of what the night will bring dance in my head. I am everything she wishes to be, and all things she will never possess.
Her eyes follow me as she continues, “I will pray and give offering that Ra will scorch her womb and blister her skin.”
“But she is adored by the gods.”
“They are feeble fools,” she snaps, “who know not what she is. She lures them in with her exquisiteness, contaminates their minds with fantasies, then thickens their hearts against love. Beneath her lies the goddess of deceit.”
I stop and turn to face her. Her stare is locked on mine. I throw my head back and laugh at Nephthys and the pettiness of the rest of them, keeping my glare on her. She is taken aback. “Do not hate on my youth and beauty. Nor speak malice with your tongues because your gods turn their necks and massage images of me into their heads. I give your men and the gods what you shall not dare.”
“And it is you,” Nephthys spats, “who poisons them from our beds. Your lair is a scorpion’s nest.”
The ludicrousness of what she speaks tickles me. She is confused and clearly desperate. Sex and sexuality are important parts of life, here and in the afterlife. There is nothing taboo about experiencing the joys of pleasuring oneself or another. And I shall not be left to feel ashamed for indulging one’s heart’s desires, or for feeding my own pleasures. I do not wish to deprive or be deprived.
“And yours,” I snap back, “is a maggot’s delight. Your rancid womb reeks with the stench of death. Even the beetles refuse to touch your flesh. You are the worthless shell of a woman.”
Despite the relentless sun beating down on us, and the sweat upon her face, her eyes turn cold, then become enflamed. “You, Raghaba, goddess of desire, are a man eater, a lecherous, conniving thief of the soul.”
“And this,” I sneer, “is coming from the same tongue of the woman who seduced her own sister’s husband, and took him to her bed so that she might spring forth the fruits of his loins. You deliberately disguised yourself as your own sister and had drunken sex with her husband, and now you have eyes for your nephew. Yet, you part your lips to call me a conniving thief.”
I grin, wickedly. “No, barren one,” I say, taunting her. “You are the treacherous one. Unlike you, Nephthys—goddess of the desert, I entertain men for pleasure, not to steal them from their wives, or to manipulate them into planting seeds into my womb. I amuse their fantasies and allow them to experience the pleasures you and these others so willingly deny them. So, do not ever confuse me with your wickedness.
“And though I am capable of satisfying the appetite of a thousand gods, tonight I seek only one. The rest of your gods are safe—tonight. So sleep well with them. But come the awakening of dawn, when the sun rises and falls, I will make no such promise. And for you, Nephthys,” I say, pointing in her direction, matching her slit-drawn glare, “you had better pray to the gods that I find favor in you and not allow vengeance to flow through my veins. For if I do not, your vagina—the wasteland that it is—shall be pulled out and tossed into the wilderness so that the vultures may peck it apart, and then I shall have your tongue removed.”
The young goddesses cast their eyes downward, flush with embarrassment. Nephthys glowers, but holds her tongue in fear she will awaken and find it cut out and fed to the dogs that lie at her feet. I smile in victory, her eyes burning into my back, as I saunter my way toward the temple of Amun, where the gods offer food to the ancestors, and gather in recreation.
There is a sprinkle of goddesses donned in stylish wigs and flowing gowns—perched up on stools—vying for the attention of Horus. He is acutely aware of this. He sheepishly flirts with them with his eyes, but there is no twinkle that holds any promise. I toss my head up and leisurely stroll past them, catching their glares from the corners of my eyes.
“Why has she come?” I overhear Uadjet, goddess of justice, time, heaven and hell, ask. Her tongue, sharp with indignation, hisses and cracks as she holds the neck of a cobra in her right hand, its body wrapped around her arm. “Has she not spoiled enough fruits of our gods with her clever and cunning ways?” She squeezes the asp’s neck in my direction and its jaws pop open, displaying long, sharp fangs, dripping with venom.
I come to take that which you tremble to have in your bed tonight, I think, rolling my eyes and dismissing her meager attempt to intimidate me. I am admired by few, envied by most, but hated by many. I am a threat. Knowingly, I smile and take a seat across the room so that I might enjoy the view.
“Raghaba,” Khonsu, the moon god, says, briskly walking over and greeting me with a wide smile. “Most desirous and gracious one, you are lovelier than ever. My heart has longed for your presence.” He leans in to kiss me.
I catch the snarling glares of the other goddesses across the room. Jealousy and hate swim around in their pathetic eyes. Lucky for them, I am not in the mood to entertain them. Had I not already had my way with Khonsu, I would have given them an eyeful. But, Khonsu holds no purpose for me.
“Your lips”—I put the palm of my hand up in his face to stop him—“shall never rest upon mine again, nor shall you ever enjoy the pleasures that flow between my thighs.”
“Nefer, my heart bleeds. Have I done something to offend you?”
“Don’t nefer me,” I say, feigning a pout. “My beauty has nothing to do with this. Why have you not called upon me?” I ask this, but it is of no real concern to me. I only inquire to see if his tongue will flap truth or lies.
“I have been to Elephantine and Hermopolis since the last season. But I have kept you close in my thoughts and, even now as I cast my eyes upon you, you have kept me deeply aroused.”
I glance down at his short and very thick penis, pressing up and straining against his loincloth. And in a flash, I see his testicles—tiny bite-size radishes—clinging tightly up against his body, and instantly I remember being shocked at how such little things could produce a heavy load of cream that shot out of the tip of his dwarf-like phallus like rushing, curdled milk. I remember how he lay there on his back, after the illicit act, with the slippery thickness of his seeds on his stomach and thighs, breathing heavily, then falling into a deep, heavy snore as if he had slain the wombs of a hundred goddesses.
Traveling along these memories, remembering how the several nights with him had been such a waste, disgusts me. What a waste, I think, rolling my eyes. Being with him was like going to a feast of the gods with very little meat to fill you. He always left me hungry for something more. However, I shall admit that his only saving grace is his tongue. Other than that, it is no wonder I bored with him so quickly. But I dare not tell him these things. To bash his manhood would be most unbecoming. Yet, I will not lead him to believe he was a great lover, either. Or that he was a master of pleasure. To do so would be a calamity. Still in all, I accept the reality that fulfilling the sexual desires of one’s heart will never guarantee the fulfillment of my own, all the time.
