“Nothing, really. It’s mostly your voice, sort of, telling me what to do.”
“Do I tell you to touch yourself?”
At that, my dick twitched. Definitely interested.
“Yeah.”
“Are you a willing participant in these fantasies?”
“One hundred percent.”
“That seems promising,” you said, and I laughed, high-pitched and giddy.
“I guess, but whenever I try to recreate it while I’m awake, I can’t. It’s just… nothing.”
“Would you like me to try? I could… instruct you.”
My head shot up. Your gaze was so intense. You never did anything halfway. My throat was suddenly dry—so thirsty. I nodded.
You smiled and gestured to my cream puffs, all but forgotten. “Why don’t you finish up here and we’ll go back to my islands for a spell. I haven’t shown you my gardens yet.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My islands, my sirens, my gardens…” I teased. “Does everything around here belong to you?”
You smiled slowly, meaningfully. “Yes.”
You tookme on a tour of the island we’d not yet explored. We strolled along a winding path as you pointed out the various fruits and flowers you’d cultivated, asking me to smell a crushed twig of rosemary or inhale a flower’s perfume. The ocean breeze tickled my skin and eased the summer heat.
“I made this for Lior,” you said softly, gazing out at the lush gardens and decorative sculptures that dotted the pathways. “We built it together. He was a farm boy by trade and not well-suited for the battlefield. Whenever we had leave, we’d come here and work in the garden. It felt good to give life to things instead of always taking.”
You rarely spoke of your first love, but I imagined the two of you desperate to escape the horrors of war, retreating to your private sanctuary where you could let your guard down and be free with each other. I thought about you as a father—so nurturing and patient—what a wonderful parent you’d make.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“I wanted to bring you here in your last life but…” You drifted off and grew a little despondent. I laid a hand on your arm.
“I’m here now.” I wanted to steer us toward lighter topics. “Everything is so tidy. Do you have a gardener who maintains it?”
“I’ve had a groundskeeper in the past but not recently. I spruced it up a bit before you arrived. I wanted it to look nice for you.”
“It does look nice. Thank you.”
We passed by several statues of Greek and Roman figures—Medusa with her crown of snakes, a winged woman who looked like the goddess Nike, a gladiator in a loin cloth fighting a wild boar, and several nudes in every pose imaginable. The men all had toned abs and perfect proportions, except in one aspect.
“Something I’ve always wondered,” I said. “Why are their dicks so tiny?” Your smile was contagious, and I found myself grinning as well.
“Small genitals were considered the ideal for male beauty at the time.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“The prevailing theory was, the smaller the penis, the more civilized and enlightened the man. Only the depraved were depicted with a large, erect phallus—satyrs, lechers, and the bestial.”
“They must have had a hard time sculpting you.”
You laughed with your whole body shaking. “That explains why I was never asked to pose.” You winked at me. “But Lucian was.”
“What would Lucian have to say about what you’re implying?”
You laughed again. God, how I’d missed that sound.
