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Thanks,  Cobalt Jade

The Gorgon's Kiss [F/f, cons, hist.]

"The Gorgon's Kiss" is a work of erotic fiction intended to be 
taken as entertainment ONLY. If you are under the age of 18, you 
have no business reading this, and if you are, be aware you 
breaking the law in some states.

This work is (c) 1997 by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com) 
Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted for the 
following people *only*, who I know to be nice guys: Ole Joe, Eli 
the Bearded, Mykkhal, and the Nifty Archivist. If you are any 
other collector or archiver who would like to archive or repost 
this story, *please* ask my permission first. Chances are I will 
say yes. This story may be archived on non-commercial sites 
only. Note that charging a fee for access to this story, or 
publishing it without my approval, this preface, or my author 
credit, violates my copyright.

If you like this story, more fine erotic fiction, as well as some 
clipart, humor, and an extensive list of Japanese sex slang, is 
available at my website: (http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade) 




The Gorgon's Kiss

by Cobalt Jade      (2/9/98)

I saw the house as I rode into town: a stately marble villa that 
flashed white fire from the sun. I halted my horse and stared. A 
fresh breeze from the sea stirred my long hair under my helmet. 
Though I was an Amazon I had not cut it. Nor did I cut off my 
breast. Those are only stories, told by jealous men discomfited by 
our skill as warriors.

A peasant with a donkey-cart passed me on the road, taking a load 
of grain to market. "Greetings, friend," I said. "Who lives in that 
house at the top of the hill?"

The peasant was as brown and gnarled as an ancient root, and he 
spat. "They call her the Gorgon," he said. "She turns men into 
stone!"

"Oh?" I said, amused. I had traveled the length of Hellas while this 
man had probably never been more than a day's journey from 
home, and I knew that Homer's tales of nymphs and chimaerae 
were patently false...though once I had seen a monster's bones 
preserved in layers of rock. "If that is so, why don't the people of 
the town rise up against her and drive her away, hiding their 
faces as Perseus did with his shield?"

He had no answer; just spat again and moved on.

I glanced up at the villa again. It was odd to find such a large 
dwelling here, as we were many miles from Corinth. There was 
nothing special about this area to attract the wealthy: no great 
natural beauty, no cave-dwelling oracles, no mineral springs. 
Perhaps the house belonged to an ancestral family of this land. I 
touched my heels to my horse and rode into town.

The town was called Agrinon, and it was a bustling place. I 
bought a meal from a vendor and looked over the goods, as I 
needed certain items: new leather sandals, metal pins, a sack to 
replaced the patched one that carried my belongings. The 
vendors had never seen an Amazon before and they were eager 
to serve me. I am tall and well muscled, free of scars for the most 
part, and my face still looked youthful. Lovers remarked on the 
sensual curve of my mouth, the lean lines of my hips and belly. 
My breasts were still as large and firm as two wineskins, visible 
even under the worn mail armor I wore. As I took care of my 
business, I asked the townspeople about the house on the hill. 

"A gorgon? Ridiculous!" a tall wine merchant said. "A young girl 
lives there, cousin to a great family in Corinth. A fair maiden, 
cultured, demure; yet sharp with her business dealings. Her name 
is Medusina. I had dinner with her only last week, and I assure 
you she is no monster."

"She manages alone?"

"Her parents left her their olive groves and their vineyards, and 
they turn her a profit. She could marry, I suppose; but none of 
the young men about here have caught her fancy. I've heard she 
pines secretly for a youth in the city."

"I've come from Corinth," I said.

"Then she will be pleased to see you and exchange gossip. I would 
pay her a visit if I were you. The comforts of her house are far 
better than any you'd find in town."

I thanked the man and, having made my purchases, set off for 
the villa. The road snaked up into the hills through the vineyards 
the man had spoken of. The vines dangled grapes of dark 
amethyst that would make a rich wine. A crumbling wall of 
plastered brick, much mended, surrounded the house. I passed 
through the gate and two slaves paused to look up at me, caught 
in their chores. "I've come from Corinth," I said. "My name is 
Hippolyte, and I am an Amazon mercenary. I hear your mistress 
is anxious for news of the city."

"She is," one said cautiously. "Wait here. I will fetch her for you." 
I dismounted and let the other slave lead off my horse. The villa 
looked smaller than it had from the road, and though its edifice 
was still grand, it was in need of repair. Weeds grew between the 
paving stones of the courtyard, and the marble columns had been 
cracked and whitewashed. Butterflies flitted about the flowering 
vines, and the scent of sage and verbena hung heavy in the air.

The slave reappeared at the door. "I've told my mistress you are 
here. Come with me to the bath, where you may refresh 
yourself."

I followed him inside. The cool stone walls gave a delicious shelter 
from the sun. The bath was a small room cordoned off by 
curtains. A design of nereids and porpoises had been worked into 
the tiles of the floor. I shrugged off my mail, leg greaves, and 
chiton and settled into the pool. After I had soaked and scrubbed 
to my heart's content I put on the clean robe the slave had left 
me, then brushed and bound my hair. I then left the bath for the 
parlor of the house.

The mistress of the place, Medusina, was already there, fingers 
idly plucking at a cithera. I caught my breath. She was fair, and 
young; as fresh as the blooms in the courtyard garden. She raised 
her eyes to look at me as I came in, her long, thick lashes darting 
up. They were as black and heavy as soot, and her hair, too, was 
black...a full head of lush, coiled ringlets the beribboned 
elegance of her chignon could barely contain. Her dewy lips 
parted like the petals of a rose. Indeed, she was no monster. Quite 
the opposite. 

I bowed before her to show my respect. "My name is Hippolyte. 
I've brought you news from Corinth, my lady, as I was told you 
would want to hear it."

"I do," she said, her voice firm but girlish and high. She looked 
about seventeen, but I could have been wrong. She set aside her 
musical instrument, her lithe white arms tracing a graceful 
motion. Underneath her chiton, her body looked slim and pliant. 
I smiled. I had fine appreciation of a woman's body, from the 
years I had spent on the isle of Lesbos. "Phaedrus, fetch the 
Amazon a chair."

One of the slaves brought back a chair and I sat, arranging my 
long robes. I was not used to woman's clothing. The other slaves 
brought us cool wine from the cellar. We talked. Her manner was 
self-assured yet elusive. I found myself becoming more and more 
attracted...as if she was a small, wild animal, shy yet strong, that I 
might capture in my hands and caress in its fierceness. 

It had been afternoon when I arrived, and now the sun touched 
the hills in the west. Soon it would be dusk. Smells of cooking 
came to me--meat, cinnamon, bread. "We shall dine in the 
garden," Medusina said, rising from her chair. "I would like to 
continue this conversation into tomorrow. You may stay the 
night if you wish."

Through an arch we came out into a walled garden with a 
balcony that overlooked the sea. Dates and palms grew there, and 
citrus trees with yellow fruit. Flowering shrubs sent their 
perfume into the air. But what really drew the eye were the 
statues. There were dozens of them, all nude, and of a superb 
comeliness. All seemed to be caught in some sort of erotic bliss. 
Here was a wide-eyed young woman, her head thrown back; there 
a handsome man, his organ raised, his arms outstretched as if 
clutching an invisible lover. All details had been rendered with 
exquisite care: the wrinkled buds of the nipples, the curls of the 
loins, the parted lips with the hint of teeth and tongues. 

"You must be wealthy indeed, to afford many fine statues," I said, 
choosing to overlook their prurient nature for the time being.

Medusina only smiled. "It was my mother who made them. She 
became a libertine after my father's death. Every time she left a 
lover, she would hire an artisan to carve them in stone. I had a 
strange childhood, growing up at the feet of these silent giants."

Strange indeed, and even stranger yet to eat dinner surrounded 
by them. Torches were lit as the twilight deepened, and the 
flickering shadows made the statues seem to move in the corners 
of my vision. I would turn my head, expecting to catch them in 
motion, but they remained as still and silent as before. No wonder 
the townspeople called her the Gorgon. How could they not, on 
seeing these frozen figures?

"Do you go into town much?" I asked.

"Rarely." She took a sip of wine, the quiver of her long lashes 
betraying her agitation. The torchlight made sketches of warmth 
across her flawless skin. "The people don't understand me, that I 
prefer to be alone, with my servants and slaves."

"They tell stories about you."

She smiled without amusement. "I know. That I am a witch, that I 
am deformed. As if the veil I wear is anything other than the veil 
a noble lady wears to protect her skin. That and my name, which 
can only mean *Medusa* to them..."

How wrong it was for the townspeople to shun her. She was a 
strong personality, independent of spirit. I could see why she 
would not be forced into taking a husband she did not want 
merely to give herself respectability. Men make the laws that 
give them charge of women, and they are enraged when a 
woman defies their expectations. Women, too, are just as cruel. 
They see another woman's freedom and wish to destroy it, because 
it only demonstrates to them their own chains. 

"I too, have fought that battle," I said quietly. "I left Themiscyra 
at the same age as you. When I started on my career of war, 
rarely did I see another Amazon. Rarely did I make a friend 
amongst the men I fought with. They respected my sword, but 
they saw only my breasts. The closest companions I've had are 
the fey youths in the pleasure-houses. We are of little use to each 
other, so no rivalries or resentments can develop."

Medusina smiled at that, a true smile. My heart warmed to see it. 
"Perhaps you've made another friend," she said.

We retired inside, where a slave played the cithera with a 
plekton, striking melodious chords. The night was warm and lazy 
outside, the full moon a crouching beast, tawny as a lioness. A 
faint smell of salt came from the sea, and one of old stone that had 
stood for a century. It had the taste of earth, the tang of minerals. 
Medusina read from a scroll of poetry, one of the many she 
owned. How virginal she looked, how finely made.

"You die, O thrice desired,
And my desire has flown like a dream.
Gone with you is the girdle of my beauty,
But I myself must live..."

"Are you lonely, Medusina?" I said.

She stopped her recitation, looking up at me. The dim light of the 
torch was behind her and I saw the outline of her waist and legs 
through the thin linen chiton she wore. Her nipples formed two 
dark flowers under the pleated fabric. She opened her mouth, but 
no sound came out. "I--" she began, then swallowed. Her eyes 
were very dark, as dark as the sky with its glimmering of stars 
that could have been tears. "I am content."

I touched her cheek, brushing a stray tendril of hair away. 
Mesmerized, she did nothing to stop me; the heavy gold necklace 
she wore rose and fell against her chest. "You are beautiful, 
Medusina." I lightly traced the lines of her creamy shoulders, 
savoring the softness, the delicate tracery of bones beneath their 
surface. She was tense, coiled as a gazelle about to leap. But she 
did not. It betrayed her passion to me, her unspoken need. "I 
would lie in love with you tonight, if you would have me."

She flushed. We had both drunk much wine; that, and the 
intoxicating nature of the night, were working on us. "You don't 
know what you're asking," she said, her voice high and whispery 
with fear.

So my young Medusina was a virgin, or inexperienced. Well, I 
would soon have a remedy for that. I unclasped her heavy 
necklace and slid it off, baring her neck to me, and moved my lips 
closer to her ear, the warmth of my mouth tickling her, teasing 
her, as I knew it would. "I am very skilled." I planted a kiss, a 
small one, at the corner of her jaw. "Did I tell you I spend two 
years on the isle of Lesbos, with Sappho and Alcaeus? The things 
they taught me, my dear. You would blush just to hear the most 
anecdotal of them." I took her chin in my hand, and turned her 
head around to face me. "Kiss me, Medusina, and you will not be 
alone tonight."

Her lashes fluttered, dropped. Her mouth moved towards mine as 
if she was hypnotized. Her lips parted, closed on mine.

Kissing her was like partaking of a spring day: fresh and new 
and wild. Her tongue was a delicate snake, slow to rouse, but 
pliant and yielding to mine. I brought my hands up to feel her 
young breasts, kneading them through the linen. The contrast of 
warm flesh and the harshly pleated yet flexible fabric made me 
excited. I felt my sex grow moist. Her nipples were like burning 
coals. I felt them harden beneath my palms, and longed to 
quench them in my mouth. 

She pressed her firm belly into mine, her mouth growing more 
demanding. She tasted delicious, and I was having a hard time 
keeping myself from pouncing. This young girl was almost half 
my age. 

"Do you think," I said softly, "That we should retire into a more 
appropriate room?"

"Yes," she whispered, the tiny word hiding a universe of 
unexplored feelings, feelings she did not recognize even herself.

She turned away, but it was only to dismiss her slave, who, 
ensconced behind a curtain, had not seen what his mistress was 
doing. We went to her sleeping chamber. Bowls of dried herbs 
gave off a spicy scent like that of a woman's body. Her bed had 
four posts that draped curtains of gauze, which a breeze from the 
windows stirred into motion. In one corner of the room stood a 
long mirror, an unimaginable luxury. I wondered what from land 
it had come. I noted the position of the bed, the angle of the 
mirror, and smiled. This night would be very enjoyable. As 
Medusina turned her back to light a few candles, I undid the pins 
of my robe to let it fall around my ankles. 

She gasped when she saw me nude. I was well aware of the effect 
I had on lovers. My body is athletic and powerful, a weapon of 
war, but I am a woman too--my hips and buttocks and breasts 
attest to that--and the warm glow of the candlelight traced these 
feminine contours, giving them coronas bright as the flash of 
shields and polished swords. Yet my muscles and sinews were 
prominent as well, standing out with sculpted hardness. I was no 
soft, coddled beauty like the one who awaited me. Yet I longed for 
her, she that was all I was not, because she would make me 
complete.

Medusina blushed. I pressed my palms against her shoulders and 
gently guided her to the soft embroidered coverlet of the bed. We 
sat side by side, I nude, she dressed, and her hands gripped the 
hard wooden edges of the frame. I touched her chin to raise it in 
two fingers. "Don't be afraid," I said. "I am gentle."

"I know," she said in a quiet strangled voice. "I sense goodness in 
you. Oh I cannot--"

"Hush, Medusina." I kissed her soft mouth, probing it gently. "Put 
your arms around me." I felt her hands move behind my 
shoulders, wrists crossed, defenseless. I brought up my own 
hands behind her and deftly removed the two jeweled pins at her 
shoulders that held the front and back of her chiton together. 
The garment fell open, slithered down to her waist.

"Oh--" Medusina said, making a weak start to snatch it up. I stayed 
her wrists.

"No. Let me see you." I held her wrists at bay in one hand, 
assessing her like a slave-trader. Her muscles trembled, but she 
was no match for my strength. Her breasts were small and high, 
her nipples contracting like buds about to open. Beneath them, a 
faint ripple of ribs shuddered with her struggles. I drew her 
down so we both lay on the bed, facing each other, and ran my 
hand down her flank. My tanned skin was a vivid contrast 
against her ivory flesh. My fingers paused at her waist, then 
swiftly pulled down the rest of her chiton.

She was lovely, slim yet strong, her skin as pale and creamy 
as the flowers outside. How I longed to see that naked body 
walking in front of me, prancing, running, leaping, exposing to 
me all its variations of movement and attitude, but that would 
come later. Still holding her captive, I untied the silk ribbons 
that held her chignon together. Her thick black curls burst free, 
coiling like serpents over her shoulders, a lush purple-black like 
the ripening grapes of the vineyard. At her loins was a second 
mound of hair which hid a greater treasure. 

Her breasts swung gently as I laid her on her back. I ran my 
fingertips across her coral-colored nipples, and they puckered 
still more under my experienced pressure. "You want me to touch 
you, don't you Medusina?" I whispered.  

"Yes..." she said in a strangled voice. Her eyes stared at me, 
yearning, but no longer afraid.

I began to explore her. I squeezed those young breasts, holding 
them like two frightened doves that beat against her ribcage. I 
tasted her face and neck, skimmed my callused hand over her 
belly. I gently parted her thighs, fingers playing with her pubic 
curls. I felt like a child with a doll, but no doll had ever given 
such sharp gasps of pleasure, such warm sighs of bliss. I bade her 
be still; I wanted her to be passive yet. I slipped my hand beneath 
her, caressing the silky mounds of her buttocks, parting them, 
my fingertips skimming, but not touching, the pursed bud of her 
anus.

Her skin grew hot, feverish. She jerked as I touched her sex, her 
sleeping clit brought suddenly to life, hissing like a snake...the 
Medusa...her almost-namesake.

I drew her hands toward my body, holding them against my 
breast. "Touch me now, darling. Take my nipple between your 
fingers; squeeze it softly, pull it towards you. Yes, that's it..."

Her slender hands kneaded my breasts like sweet-bread dough. 
They were much larger than her own, without the buoyancy of 
youth; but the contrast they made with the hard flesh of my torso 
seemed to fascinate her. She pinched my nipples between her 
thumb and forefinger, rotating the nubs between her fingertips. 
The treatment made them harden almost painfully, pointing like 
the tips of two spears.  

"Suckle me, Medusina. Use your mouth..."

She attacked my nipples like a hungry lion cub would its mother. 
The firm wet suction of her mouth made them stiffen further, 
strain towards the very teeth and tongue that tormented them. 

"Easy, young one," I said, with a warning tap on her head.

But she only moved rapidly from one to the other, her hands 
attending to the unmouthed breast, squeezing its bounty, 
tormenting its protuberant single eye. Her head bobbed between 
my breasts as she suckled, the soft skin of her cheeks caressing 
their sides, her hair tickling my chest. Now it was my turn to 
gasp helplessly.

She grew rougher and I squirmed on the coverlet, my hips rising 
up. I thrust my hand between my legs, pumping myself on my 
own fingers. Medusina's eager tongue continued to swirl around 
my nipples, striking them back and forth, then beginning the 
sweet suckling anew. I was her captive now. My breathing grew 
rapid, and hers grew hoarse. I was going to come. I did not often 
come from breast stimulation alone, but Medusina was 
very beautiful.

Then she stopped. Lost in her own passion, she was fingering 
herself, squeezing her own nipples.

Oh, the innocent thing, thinking two women together each 
played a solo and not a duet. I quickly clamped my lips over hers, 
kissing her deeply.

She moaned deep in her throat as my tongue explored her mouth. 
Her nipples were the prisoners of my fingers now, and like any 
good interrogator, I made them give up all they knew. Her belly 
undulated against mine, and we moved as one again, sometimes 
face to face, sometimes belly to back, our hands moving, 
exploring, always on the prowl. 

But as our lovemaking progressed, Medusina broke off again and 
again. Indeed, she seemed actually averse to stimulating me. Her 
passions would drive her to feast on me, then, as I was about to 
reach orgasm, she would leave off that part of my body to attack 
another or stimulate herself. I put it down to her inexperience. I 
did not mind that much, as I got just as much joy out of watching 
her young body writhe, impaled on her slim steeple of her 
fingers, as I would from it straining and yearning against my 
own, so the frustration of my own abated pleasure could be borne; 
but still, I found it disturbing. I would only gently guide her 
attention back to me, letting my own fingers take the place of her 
own. 

Our passion mounted, and the frustration of that passion, and 
finally sweet Medusina was on her back, her slim legs high in 
the air as I devoured her dripping sex. I ran my tongue down one 
fold, then the other, then thrust it deep inside her. She 
whimpered as if tortured, her clit as hard and pointed as a 
pomegranate seed. I sucked it harder, my nose buried in her 
abundant pubic hair, and her cries became louder, a rising 
ululation that threatened to wake the servants of the house. Her 
feet arched, toes pointed, her raised legs as graceful as the necks 
of two swans...and between them a tawny pantheress crouched 
lapping at a stream, long brown hair tumbled about its prey, 
talons scraping its straining thighs. 

Medusina's body heaved. I held her hips, grounding her. Her 
head flew back and forth on the pillow, eyes wanton slits; her 
own fingers plucked at her swollen nipples. A long wordless keen 
rose from her throat: "Oh....oh....oh...ah...AHHH!" 

She shrieked, her head rising off the pillow, her legs trembling. 
Her nether regions contracted hard against my tongue. Then she 
shrank down, silent, breathing very hard.

I rose from my crouch and curled up against her. Her eyelids 
flickered as she acknowledged me. "Oh, 'Lyte..." she gasped. "I did 
not think..."

"Your first time, my darling, is always overwhelming," I said in 
my wisdom. I poured her and myself another glass of wine. "Let's 
rest a bit, then you shall do to me what I have done to you."

I felt her muscles tense, even though we did not touch. Why was 
this girl so averse to giving me an orgasm? Perhaps she was 
afraid she was not skilled enough. I drew close and kissed each 
nipple, which pouted at me, pinkish-red and sleepy, from the 
snowy cones of her breasts. "I could have twenty orgasms just 
watching you, Medusina. Drink your wine quickly. Let's not 
delay."

She was reluctant, or perhaps just coy. But soon we were wickedly 
entangled again, Medusina with an even greater abandonment 
than before. This time, I made her give to me, and I gave back in 
even greater measure. We struggled like two beasts, though 
whether we mated or fought, I do not know. She was as wild as a 
Maenad, one of the fierce girls of Bacchus. I imagined her running 
through the forest in animal skins, tearing the creatures she met 
apart with her teeth. I sorely wished for one of the double-headed 
phalluses the Bacchantae use in their rites, but tongues would 
have to do. Mouth to loin we lay sealed together, she riding me, 
her sex split over my face as I licked her hot, tart folds. In return 
she hooked my clit with her tongue, and my hips use and fell in 
shallow motions. This time, I decided, she would give me my 
climax.

She squealed in surprise as I quickly scooped her up, upside-
down, and placed her on her knees on the goat's hair rug before 
the mirror. I grabbed the wineskin and poured the remaining 
contents over my belly. The rich, red wine swiftly ran down into 
my crotch. "This time," I said, half-playfully, half-warningly, 
"You will scoop up every drop of that wine with your tongue, 
young one, until I scream in pleasure."

Medusina quickly snapped her head up. I expected her to say no, 
so I quickly pressed her face between my legs before she could 
refuse.

She did not refuse, for now she was as drunk on passion as I was. 
She began to lick, and this time, she did not stop. Her tongue 
teased me up and down, vibrating as rapidly as the wing-beasts of 
a bird. My fingers wound in her thick, curly hair, holding her 
sealed to me, the dress-mirror our silent witness. In its surface I 
saw myself triumphant, the delicate beauty kneeling before me 
subjugated, obedient, yet I was also subjugated to her, and I 
trembled on the spike of her tongue, at once victor and 
vanquished. I moaned in helpless pleasure, rubbing my crotch 
against her face. She spread her hands over my buttocks, 
steadying me, pressing me firmly against her mouth. My skin 
tingled, my limbs trembled. I was on fire and drowning at the 
same time. I brought up my hands to squeeze my breasts, molding 
them like clay, twirling the erect nipples between my fingers. I 
pressed my legs against Medusina's shoulders, pinning the slim 
lyre of her body between my thighs. Both of us were trapped in 
time, in space, and all the known world was a witness...from the 
furnishings of the room to the marble statues, now striped by 
moonlight, that stood in silent watch in the garden outside.

I was going to come. My breath quickened in tiny gasps as 
Medusina sucked and licked. I felt my muscles slacken, 
tense...slacken, tense...then the pent-up tension burst forward, 
curling over me like a great wave. Shock after shock of pleasure 
ran through me. My mouth opened silently as I spasmed. The 
contractions seemed to come from the earth itself, surging up 
through the soles of my feet to exit through my head, paralyzing 
me, freezing me solid...

...as solid as the statues that waited outside.

I opened my eyes. Medusina thrust herself away from me, 
sobbing against the tiles of the floor. A strange sensation began 
to suffuse the soles of my feet. Looking in the mirror, I saw the 
tanned skin of my toes was graying and darkening, like fabric 
dipped in dye, and changing textureÑto the roughness of granite, 
dark gray stone speckled with minute flecks of white. I was 
turning to stone.

Sweet Artemis, no, this wasn't happening to me! I tried to move, 
but could not; I was frozen in the same awkward position the 
orgasm had left me. The grayness washed over my feet and lapped 
around my ankles, then slowly licked up the length of my legs. 
Above it, my skin felt the cool motion of air, and I registered each 
anxious breath I took, every heartbeat. But below the grayness, I 
felt nothing.

There was no pain. No pain at all...only a numbness.

A thin film of sweat broke out on my brow. It was the precursor 
of worse terror. 

The gray shadow whispered up my calves, transmuting them, 
making me into a stony goddess such as I had seen in the temples 
of Athens and Thebes. My feet were already immobile, planted on 
the tiles of Medusina's bedchamber as if only the most arduous of 
labors would budge them. I saw my thighs solidify into two 
mottled columns of stone. I would have screamed if I was able, but 
I could force only the faintest of whimpers from between my lips. 
My hard, sculpted flesh would be forever hard now.

The gray numbness cupped my buttocks like a lover, lapping 
lasciviously between my legs. It then swirled lazily over my hips 
to my front, the soft flesh there receiving the undulations of 
stone. With horror I saw it extend a questing tendril towards my 
loins and enter my body. The sensation shot through me like a 
second orgasm, equal parts pleasure and pain, as my insides were 
petrified. It was a full, heavy sensation, rather like pregnancy, 
but there would be no child.

Tears of fear began to flow from my eyes as the grayness rose up 
my torso. My breasts became two pears of stone, their soft 
buoyancy forever fossilized, rendered hard and immobile. The 
process stilled my lungs, forever silenced my heart. It petrified 
my nipples, then ran down my arms. My hands became gesturing 
sculptures, never to lift or sword or caress a lover again. I felt my 
hair become a solid mass of stone and fuse against my back, and 
understood at last here would be no escape for me. The process 
was irreversible. I had braved mighty warriors, sorcerers, lions 
and other fierce beasts. Now I, Hippolyte the Amazon, had been 
brought down by a mere girl.

The gray film lapped my chin like the rising tide. *Why did you 
do this to me?* I wanted to cry. But the dark figure of Medusina 
only sobbed and said nothing.

The grayness swiftly flowed over my face. My nostrils were 
plugged, my eyes sealed. My mouth was frozen open on the silent 
scream I gave. Mute and helpless, I felt the numbness reach the 
top of my skull. The transformation was complete. 

Through a dim, grayish haze I saw Medusina stand. She wiped the 
tears from her face. She came over to me and extended a 
trembling hand to cup with her palms the solid globes of my 
breasts. She touched with her fingertip the tips of the nipples 
which had given her such delight. She ran her finger around 
and around the blunt little nubs, as if not believing what she had 
done. They were still erect, in the midst of arousal. But no coming 
orgasm would quake and then soften them.

She ran her hands down my belly. I heard the slick sound of her 
wet palms on the stone. She traced the curly arabesques of hair at 
the juncture of my thighs, perhaps grieving for the soft fleece 
that had grown there, and inserted her fingers between my legs. 
They found no entrance. The stone had sealed me down there, as I 
knew it had.

She went around to my rear to explore me further, and though I 
could not feel her, I could tell from her motions in the mirror 
that she was running her hands over my buttocks. I saw her rest 
her cheek briefly against the rounded stone, and she might have 
kissed me there.

Finally she stood and came around to face me. Infinite sadness 
was in her eyes, and infinite regret. In the old tales the Gorgon is 
supposed to be die when her face is reflected back at her. But in 
the mirror now I saw only a sorrowful girl, and the statue of an 
Amazon caught forever in sexual climax.

"I am sorry for doing this to you," she said. "It is a curse, you see, 
and one that I regret with every fiber of my being. Whoever 
loves me, turns to stone. I tried to tell you that, tried to leave you 
unsatisfied. It is the final spasms of lust, you see, that start the 
process. But I could not stop in time.

"For years I have lived with this curse. I do not wish to inflict it 
on others, so I have devised ways of satisfying myself. Usually 
they work. But every once in a while, the desire for a lover grows 
so strong I must have satisfaction, no matter what the cost. I try 
to exercise caution, as you have seen, but..." her eyes darted 
toward her garden, "I fail often."

I wondered what it was like for her, to live in such isolation, 
bringing such a cruel fate to the ones she loved.

"I am sorry," she said again. "But you will never age, and never 
sicken or die. There may be compensation in that." She clapped 
her hands for her servants. Two men entered with a wheeled cart 
as if they expected this. My vision turned perpendicular as they 
grasped me, then placed me on my back in the bed of the cart, 
grunting because of my increased weight. I realized with awful 
despair I was yet aliveÑand trapped in the stone. A situation that 
would likely exist for eternity....or until the rain and moss and 
scouring wind reduced me to dust. 

They wheeled me out of the bedchamber. My last sight was of 
Medusina as she stood naked in the darkness, a tragic figure with 
her head bowed, her hands pressed against her face. 

#

The next day, Medusina had me mounted on a  marble plinth and 
set me in her garden. Now I knew the origin of the other statues. 
And I knew that they, too, were alive, and as helpless to 
communicate with each other as I was. Day after day, night after 
night, we wait here, our only stimulation the changing seasons 
of the garden, the play of light and shadow, and the doings of our 
mistress.

From time to time she entertains a guest in the garden, a wine 
merchant from the town, perhaps, or a passing dignitary. And 
every once in a while, I observe the special brightness in her 
eyes, and the answering response of the other, that tells me the 
guest will spend the evening in her bed, and perhaps join us in 
the morning.

I want to cry out and warn them, but my cold, stone tongue 
cannot.


END

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