Ravishing the Monk

The monk toiled diligently in his cell, only occasionally glancing out his tiny window into the outside world. When she appeared in the courtyard, he didn’t notice her at first, so engrossed was he in his work. She brushed at his window, entreating him silently from beyond the glass to come away with her, dancing right up to the pane, then flitting away, dancing merrily about the yard, playing for his attention. Only slowly did he become aware of her, turning hesitantly from his ritual tasks, and began to focus on her. As if in a spell, he beheld her beauty, her effervescent white gossamer veils billowing to and fro, waxing and waning between solid and dream…

He had known her and of her from his youth, admired her from afar and quickened in her proximity from time to time. But never, in his early days, had he felt so deeply drawn to her– her otherness making her too alien to consider as anything more than an occasional curiosity, despite her obvious and inescapable beauty. Finally, as a young man serving in the King’s armies, they had shared an intermittent dalliance in the frigid mountains of a far away land. She had come to him then on clear crisp nights when the air was so chilled it pained one to breathe. She would have her way with him then, leaving him gasping, exhausted and confused, shivering naked in the thin mountain air as she disappeared into the rustling forests, leaving no sign of her passing, and no hint of whether she might some day return. So long ago…

Now she was back, suddenly, unbeckoned. But just as in those days so far past, he felt almost helpless against her spell. He tried, repeatedly, to ignore her enchantments, her silent entreaties beyond the glass. “Come away with me.” He could read her lips, almost smell the sweet crisp tang of her perfumed tresses. He would not. Could not. He had work to do, a new life now with meaning and responsibility and others relying on him. And he knew that no good could come of his falling back into her spell. He had, after more than two score years, managed to banish those sweet but too brief memories from his tortured mind. He had erected walls and gates and bars, dug deep moats, donned new armor and the accoutrements of his calling, found a certain if somewhat confining safety. And here she was, back again, threatening it all…

“Master, I must go,” he pleaded. “If I do not, I will surely go insane right here at my work table.” The Master, of course, didn’t understand. “We have work that must be done, and you are the one who must do it,” he replied sternly. And so the monk made his strongest effort to ignore her and the rest of the world outside his cell, and settle back into the routine that had become his refuge. But it was no use. She continued her silent torment, begging and pleading soundlessly for him to come back into the embrace he’d not shared in so many years. Finally, in desperation, he pleaded one last time. “Master, please release me. Only for the day. If I don’t go I will kill myself and be of no use to you or anyone else. Just a single day and night, and I will be past this madness and back to my old self. Otherwise, I will surely kill myself before the sun goes down.” The Master relented, shaking his head with a sardonic grin as he followed his acolyte’s fevered gaze to the tiny window, through which he saw absolutely nothing but swirling snow…

The monk had scarce stepped through the gate when she grasped his hand and whisked him away in that magical fashion he’d forgotten, with images and colors and castles and towns merely blurs, until suddenly, they were alone. They jostled back and forth only briefly, reacquainting themselves like the old lovers they were, and then she took him into her wholly and completely, gripping him like a vice and coaxing him onward – ever onward. He exerted himself until he was spent, the sweat running down his brow and back, slowly cooling in the chilled air, only to turn to steam again as she demanded more and more. He took her into his mouth, savored her sweet juices trickling down his fevered throat. She smiled in pleasure as he savored every inch of her, gurgled with delight as he coaxed her stream into a raging flood. For hours they went on, giving and taking, sparing nary a moment to rest. And then dusk approached, and she wrapped him fully in her embrace, gave him a firm and final squeeze, and as he gasped in rapture, she was gone…

He came to, as years ago, in darkness, with bright stars dancing tauntingly overhead. He lay on his back, naked in the snow, shriveled and shivering, but at a strange peace he’d not felt since those days long ago. He slowly got up, gathered his garments together, shook the powdered snow from them and eased them onto his body now ice crusted in frozen rivulets of sweat. He beat and rubbed himself and jumped up and down until the blood, which had too nearly ceased to flow, regained its current and sent needles of fire into his fingers and toes. Slowly he gathered his bearings, and began the long trek back to the abbey, where he’d promised to be by morning. And in the bleary corners of his mind, he recalled the day’s events, blending seamlessly with those from so long ago, and felt both exhilaration and exhaustion as his feet crunched through the trackless snow. He knew that sometime before he died, she would be back for him again. And he knew the next time she would kill him. And he longed for her return…