This story is copyrighted by me, Shon Richards. Please don't post, or place on your website without asking me first. This story has sex, really. Temples shouldn't be attempted without the proper Architects. "She Built a Temple but She Didn't Know the Word" By Shon Richards "I'm tired of being imperfect," she said. She was reading some of my older tomes, books written by philosophers before the Renaissance. They were never cheerful reading material. "You're not imperfect," I said. "There's not an imperfect inch of your body. I should know, I've kissed it all." Lover's flattery had no effect on her that night. "Here," she said, "and here, and here, and here." She continued to point at scar from an ex-husband and at another scar from where she had hurt herself. "I feel like an imperfect building," she said much too seriously. It made sense now. "You've been read Virtitus," I said. "The one who said a Temple was reliant on perfect proportions. He said it wasn't the material, it was the design that had to be perfect." She nodded and I took a deep breath. No one should read dead philosophers at this hour. "Hun, Virtitus was talking about Temples," I said. "With a capitol 'T'. They were anchors of the divine on Earth. He said Temples had to be made by man, and they had to be made in agreement with proportions and the desires of the people. It was a philosopher's treatise on how man can control their world. She thought about it. "I'll start designing it tomorrow," she said as she walked over to me. My questions were drowned by her kisses. ~~~ The next day, she began to draw her designs. I didn't say anything. I was a little jealous; it seemed like a unique project. How many people get to design a temple to themselves? "Love, what kind of designs do you like on domes?" she asked. "Seashells," I answered. "Wait a minute, flower petals look great too. I can't make up my mind." "I'll use both," she said. "There will be two domes. What about a gate?" "A gate, for a Temple?" I asked. "Sounds too Christian for me. A Temple should be open, ready to accept and welcome all who come to it." She tapped her pencil against her lip. "I like the idea of ivy." I was curious now and went to her side. Sprawled all over her drawing table were sketches and plans. The details were intricate and very impressive. One thing became apparent very quickly, she wasn't drawing a building. "It's shaped like a woman," I said. Upon closer examination, I said, "It's shaped like your body." "A Temple must be made with true lines and with love," she said. "The material is unimportant. The lines can just as easily by made with a tattoo as with concrete." She scared me. I went back to my books and looked for the hole in her argument. I can't believe that with over six hundred years of philosophers, alchemists and masons, not one of them didn't foresee a Temple etched in flesh. "Found it," I told her. "The Temple must be made with the 'Word.'" "What is the word?" she asked, never bothering to stop drawing. "It's unknown," I told her, a bit relieved. "It was a special word, one known only to the special people. The Word was the cornerstone and the Temple couldn't be made without it. You would have to dig up one of the alchemists of the Dark Ages to get a good guess." "Then I'll have to find it when I'm done," she said, unperturbed. ~~~ It took her three months to find a tattoo artist who would her designs. She had to rule out the ones who couldn't work at the right times according to her astrological charts, the ones who weren't willing to draw the very important structure lines underneath the finished art and of course, the ones who weren't willing to draw a full blown Temple on a woman. I was with her when her artist began the work. Intricate lines at perfect angles crossed over her arms. It was strange to see a tattoo artist use a protractor and a compass. I held her hand while the artist etched, feeling my love clench in pain as her tender skin was permanently chiseled. After her first session, we made love with a renewed passion. I was making love to the body that I was afraid of losing. She was making love with a body she didn't see as hers. The lines that covered her arms reminded me of seams. When I had my climax, she took it into her mouth. As I lay there groaning, she quickly ran from the bed and into her workroom. When she came back, I asked her where she went. "Just saving some for the Temple," she said. ~~~ Once the lines were done, the artist began on her legs. The ankles were where the stairs began, twin-winding staircases that traveled around her legs. They rose higher and higher until they stopped at her thighs. My love cried when the artist etched her buttocks. The pinpricks were taking their toll but my love refused to stop. I watched helplessly as she flinched under the pain. A trellis adorned her ass, covered in ivy and decorated with flowers. ~~~ "You still haven't found the Word," I told her. "I will," she said. ~~~ A week later, I couldn't bear to watch as her breasts were adorned. True to her word, my love had a pattern of seashells done on her right breast while rose petals adorned her left. The artist and my love joked as the work continued, trying to ease the constant pricking that was being inflicted. I said nothing, realizing perhaps for the first time how important my love considered me. I had chosen seashells and flowers and now they were a part of her forever. A week later, pillars were added to my love's back. The white marble fascinated me with the three Fates engraved onto the pillars. Small braziers hung from her shoulder blades, illuminating the Fates and casting shadows on her pale skin. ~~~ "You never asked me if I was all right with this?" I said one night. My fingers traced a seashell that covered a nipple. "It wasn't your choice," she told me simply. ~~~ Gargoyles adorned her arms. They rested on battlements, many of them screaming or scowling. All of them were female. All of them were colorful. "Gargoyles were protectors," she said. "Who said they had to be made of gray stone? Isn't it happier to think of them as colorful as snakes or lizards?" I didn't say anything. I felt like she was finding protection in gargoyles because she couldn't find it in me. ~~~ When she shaved her sex, I became angry. "You still haven't found the word," I growled. I watched her intimate hair fall away, never to be grown again. I felt grief for the imperfect woman I used to know. "I will," she said. ~~~ Her belly was adorned with a statue of Aphrodite. Instead of a realistic flesh color, my love chose to portray her in smooth jade. The green beauty was striking and very divine. Aphrodite was in a Buddhist pose; legs crossed and laughing. "Womanhood should be introspective," my love said between kisses. "And she shouldn't ever be sad." ~~~ She screamed when the artist worked on her sex. She bit down on her gargoyles, but they gave her no protection from the pain. Another trellis appeared to match the one on her buttocks. While the one on her backside filled the globes of her buttocks, this one was small enough to fit on her mound. "It's done," the artist said, examining her work. "Not yet," my love said. That night, she came to my study. "You're upset," she said, her hands touching my shoulders. I looked at her arms and saw the smiling gargoyles with their heavy breasts. I'm afraid," I admitted. "I don't see the person I love anymore." "You see what I want to be," she said, leaning down to kiss my neck. I could feel her breasts touching my shoulders and I could almost feel the touch of shells and petals. Her mouth went to my neck and one hand moved down my chest. The gargoyles snaked down to my rising manhood. "What do you want to be?" I asked as she manipulated me. Ignoring my own feelings, my member grew and warmed to her touch. "Perfect," she whispered. She turned me around, my chair swiveling to her demands. Her mouth came to mine and as she sat on my lap. She guided me past her trellis and into her Temple. We groaned as we meet, feeling my manhood swell inside her. "I am still yours," she said, lifting her breasts in her hands. In one breast, I tasted the salt of the sea and in the other, the perfume of a lover's garden. Her nipples were hard and delicious in my mouth. My love sighed, moaning and squirming as my mouth lapped at her domes. "I changed, but I never stopped loving you," she said, rocking her hips on me. My manhood was gripped and pulled by her sensuous dance. "I wanted to grow, but never without you," she said. My hands went to her buttocks and I held onto her by grabbing each half of the arch of her trellis. I pulled her to me, sending myself deeper inside her. "I don't know the Word, but I know you are my world," she said, rising and falling with passion on my Temple Offering. Her words fell to the side as she moaned. I looked down and saw Aphrodite sitting on our sex. The winding staircases of her legs writhed and flowed, buckling with our joining. Her seashells and petals changed color as blood rushed to her skin. With her hands on my shoulders, I couldn't ignore the gargoyles that flew around us. The pace quickened and my manhood penetrated deeper into her Temple. Her eyes locked with mine and I realized why she didn't touch her face. Her eyes were the jewels of the Temple, her lips the fountain. My hands went to her head and I pulled her down for another kiss. "Wait," she said, her eyes closing with the approach of orgasm. I felt her sex clench in spasms and then she tilted her head back. She said my name between shudders. As she climaxed, Aphrodite sighed, the gargoyles screamed and the ivy of the trellis snagged my pubic hair. I felt the hard lines of marble on her back. Petals and shells fell from her breast, filling the valley of our joining. The hairs of our bodies were standing on end, charged with electricity we didn't understand. "I found the Word," she said, "and it was you."