I am Amaranth. That is my name. I shan't give you a last name, for it is one that I do not recognize and hardly use anyway. Ironic, that I should be named for an eternal flower when there is nothing but a neverending void in my soul. This trip. . . suggested to me by a friend (one of the few remaining, that refused to go away), to a mysterious place, a "resort" simply called "The Palace".

"The Palace" is legendary for its opulence and luxury, and also for the whispered secrets of what its guests actually find inside. It is a place that is infamous, and yet kept hidden from the world, a place which those who know of it would rather keep private and to themselves; it is a jewel set against the arrid wasteland of the desert. I, as a budding journalist, have had much access to the files and the journals and the articles kept that have what little information there is on "The Palace". I have longed to visit this place; now, at 21, when my trust fund from the rich absentee parents has finally fallen into my hands with complete freedom, I finally have the one million dollars required for the entrance into the one place that could actually heal my soul.

The flight attendant approaches me; she wishes me a good vacation. I am the only passenger on the luxurious private plane. I brush back a stray lock of black hair from my face, thoughts turning once again to the man who has caused me to become what I am today, the man who has forced me to seek the magic elixir of "The Palace".

His name was Timothy, and he was a beautiful intelligent man eight years my senior. I was eighteen when I met him. He was my only lover. He taught me how to pleasure him, to take his erection into my mouth, to get down on my hands and knees while he forced his ugly cock into my anus and made me scream and bleed. He told me I was frigid; He was a bastard. I wish I knew it then, before he totally scarred me for life.

I step from the plane into the mind numbing heat. There is a red carpet rolled before me leading to the impressive marble and crystal palace. The forbidding iron gates creak open, whether by machination or by hidden servants, it is unknown. It was like stepping into an oasis, so magical, I could not believe that it was for real. The air inside the palace was cool and crisp, unbelievable in the middle of the desert. There are lush exotic plants everywhere, classical marble statues of long-limbed greek men, and now the servants come, to take my bags, to lead me to the settee, to sit me down and pat me and soothe me, offer me sweet and refreshing fruits and cold clear water. I take the water in greedy gulps, thirsty beyond belief. I feel as if I am the only one here, but I sense the presence of others. Two more men walk into the room; both are exquisite; I feel like a hag next to their beauty. One has silver hair and lavender eyes, cold and peircing. The other was an exotic and untraceable mix of nationalities, with eyes a magnificent emerald green. I am presented first with an exquisitely carved and laquered box, looked to be made from ivory. Inside, nestled in black velvet, are a multitudinous choice of keys, marked differently by their tassels. So many choices. . . which one to choose. . .

I pick the one marked with a black tassel; black, black to match the festering wound that gapes inside me, black to mark the loss of my sensual being, the beginning of the reign of the ice queen. Black it was, and black it is then. The others choose as well; I look on curiously as the two men choose the red key and the silver key, respectively. "Mistress Amaranth. . . please, follow us. . . " the servants bow politely and motion for me to follow. I admire their smooth grace, their lovely languid movements. Everything in the Palace seemed so timeless, so undisturbed by the outside world, a little slice of untouched paradise buried and hidden amongst the rubbles of corruption and destruction. It is a place with no equal, in which one could surrender to the paganism that is deep in the core of all our hearts.

I follow them down a maze of lovely corridors lined with white and black marble, with statues of gold and jade, ebony tables and rare exquisite plants, the ceiling was a mass of glass and crystal and tainted windows such as those one would find in a church, bathing the halls in magnificent rainbows of colours--it made me feel as if this place, this palace, was not even of this earth, but above it, a slice of heaven come down to soothe those weary of the soul.

I am lead to a room with a massive black door, some secret exotic glyphs understandable only to those who live in the palace marking the surface. My hand shakes as I place the key into the lock; I wonder what lies inside. The lock clicks open, the servants open the door and I find. . . that this. . . IS. . . paradise. . .

I take three steps into the room. . . I am enchanted. . . this was amazing. . . I hardly notice as the door shuts behind me. It wasn't so much a room as a walled garden, my own little Garden of Eden. The walls were high and covered with ivy, with massive fragrant flowers such as pulmerias and frangipanis. . . orchids and roses and carnations everywhere. . . beautiful pools of water and fountains, in intricate layers, interconnected and spilling into each other; the air was scented by the millions of blossoms, and a mist rose from the pools and caressed my hot skin. Lush trees with exotic fruits marked the edges of my little garden room--this, this was my secret garden, timeless and ethereal. I look up to see the desert sun above me, shining down, filling the room with its rays of light; however its scorching heat could not be felt, kept out by the dome of glass that sealed the room shut and kept the harsh conditions of weather from taking their toll on the delicate plants housed inside. My Garden of Eden. . . but where was my Adam?

I searched the room for him. . . as open as the garden was, he was nowhere to be found. I hear a sudden splash and there he was:

So beautiful, my boy, as his body broke the water, his back arched, his head flying back to throw the water and wet hair from his face, his lovely golden hair, his exquisite dark gold skin, the water trickling down that luscious body. . . his graceful arms raised to push his hair back as he laughed, a melodious sound. I gasped. . . I felt a twinge, a spark in my secret core, that I had never, ever, in my whole "frigid" life, felt before. He was so beautiful. . .

I toyed with the buttons on my blouse. . . the lime green silk blouse suddenly felt constricting over my breasts; I rubbed the back of my neck as I watched him play in the water; I licked my lips as he laughed and shook his head, droplets of water flying in the air.

He sees me. . . I stand perfectly still as he steps from the pool, his body covered in drops of sparkling water. . . my little water sprite. He walks closer and closer; I feel my throat tighten. I am scared of him, and yet I utterly want him. I know that my nipples are hard and visible through the thin silk. He comes to me, his eyes are golden and slanted, lovely almond eyes, he is a creature, like his home, not of this earth. He takes my hand in his and kisses it gently. My lips part; I sigh.

"Mistress. . . I live to serve your every need. I am xaffythe." His voice is music, gentle, his accent untraceable yet utterly adorable. I want him, I so want him, and yet I am paralyzed and I fear my lust. I have absolutely no idea what to do. I close my eyes and feel his lips against my skin. I feel his hand caress my arm through the silk. . . his wet hand moves to the front of my blouse. . . the wetness spreads through the material. . . he circles my nipples with the palm of his hand, making lazy lazy circles that feel so, so good. . .

My head drops back, he licks the skin of my neck, he nuzzles the sensitive pulse there. "Mistress. . . " he whispers, his breath warm against my skin, ". . . may I ask what is your name?" I say my name, so softly, I am not sure if he heard, but he did, and his lips move to mine, breathing my name into my mouth: "Amaranth. . . it truly suits you mistress. . . your eyes so green. . . "

Behind my closed eyes I see nothing but red, red from the sun, red from the fire that begins to burn inside of me, red from the core of my being, the core of my lust. This is truly what I sought, all my life, something that I have never felt before. . . my entire being is consumed by heat. . . I want to take off all my clothes and fall on top of him. . . make love to him on top of the wet lush fragrant grass. Yet something inside me holds me back. I want him, and yet I am scared. . . scared that even this overwhelming lust will not serve me to the final end that I seek. What if I _am_ truly frigid?

I stiffen and he pulls back, xaffythe, my beautiful sensual boy, to fix me with that seductive sloe-eyed gaze. He pulls me to a lovely swing, the ropes interlaced with flower covered vines, and he sits me down; he goes to a curious tree, one that I have never seen before. He plucks a branch laden with fruits and returns; I cannot keep my eyes off his luscious golden body, his sex nestled like a jewel between his firm thighs. There is a twinge between my own legs as I watch him; one that I have never felt with my first and only lover, the bastard. His hands move to the buttons of my now wet blouse, undoing them, pulling the sides apart to reveal my lace chemise. His head tilted to the side, he looks with wonder at the delicate lace, his fingers roaming along the rim of the bodice, gently skimming against my skin; I feel my breath come quicker. I press my thighs together and gasp. He looks up at me and smiles. "Mistress. . . please. . . eat. . . "

He plucks a fruit from the branch he has brought me. I glance at it curiously. It looks like a peach, only much smaller, the size of a blueberry. I am hesitant to try, but his thumb caresses my lower lip, and he smiles. "It would please my mistress much to eat the fruit; xaffythe would never do anything to harm his Mistress." The tip of my tongue comes out to lick his thumb, almost of its own volition. He smiles and I open my mouth, just enough for him to place the berry inside. Instead of using his hands, he places the berry in his mouth and he kisses me, his tongue entering me, dancing in my mouth, pushing the fruit inside. My hands tighten on the ropes of the swing; he tasted so good, so. . . *right*.

He pulls away, and I chew the fruit in my mouth. It tastes tart, and sweet, and it is surprisingly juicy. I swallow, and I open my mouth for more. He feeds me, his fingers entering my mouth, tasting almost as good as the berries; I suck his fingers, I tongue them, each time he puts another berry in my mouth. This is the first time I have ever felt sensual, in my entire life. I ask him what kind of berries they are; "lotus" is his only reply. My eyes widen; Certainly not lotus. . . my mind goes back to my college days. . . the poem. . . "the mild eyed melancholy lotos eaters came."

This fruit, surely if it was the legendary lotus, would be a hallucinogenic, would drug my senses, would turn my world upside down. For a moment, I worried; but then I felt xaffythe's lush lips against my neck and I decided to live, live for now. Forget the consequences, forget everything. This was what I needed, I needed to learn that being wild, releasing myself, baring my soul, these things weren't going to mean the collapse of my world.

He pushed the straps of my chemise past my shoulders. My nipples harden as their tips are grazed by the lace; my breasts are bared to his gaze. All of a sudden I feel so hot, even though the mist from the air settles itself on my skin. I look up to the sky, to see that the sun was setting, and the sky was a fiery red. The setting sun was a ball of fire that seemed to wax and wane in the sky, pulsating. . . dancing. . . for me. . . I close my eyes. . .

I feel him take off my shoes and massage my calves, his strong, elegant hands moving up my leg to my thighs, to undo the snaps which held my stockings to my garter. I laughed, intoxicated by the smell of the flowers, by his electric touch, by the sheer magic of my surroundings, and of course by the lotus.

My skirt comes off. . . I have no idea how. . . I think that I haven't moved, I feel as if this moment in time has become frozen. . . I know nothing, I am nothing but the fire that curls in my belly, that moves through my loins. . . I plant my feet on the ground and push myself backwards, giggling, swinging lightly through the air. Xaffythe is there to catch the swing, to pull me off and onto him, so we fall to the ground together, laughing.

My lips follow the path of his cheekbone as his hands go under my panties to pull them down over my hips, over my legs, until they too fall to the ground. I am naked; naked flesh, naked soul; I am no longer Amaranth, I am simply a woman. I laugh and I step into one of the nearby pools wading in the crystal clear waters until I feel it reach my hips, the water wetting the curls between my thighs. My head thrown back, I can see the moon, the large yellow moon, an ethereal crystal ball that seems to be so large as to fill the whole sky. . . I call to xaffythe, I hold my arms open to him, and he comes to me, to pick me up, to pull my legs around his waist. I feel my breasts crushed against his chest and I laugh, utterly care-free. . .

What time has passed, I know not. . . the sky is no longer that fiery red, the moon has become a small round ball in a tapestry of twinkling stars. . . I lie in the water, my hair floating around me, and I pretend that I am the lady of shalott; xaffythe comes to me, my beautiful lancelot, and he kisses me once, gently, and pulls me up. I close my eyes. . .

I open them again and there is music in the air. I know not what the source of the music is, knowing only that it fills the air with its sensual beats, and I sway. . . I feel the world spinning, I sit back on the swing. . . I close my eyes. . .

I open them again to find that he dances for me, to the erotic music, the song one that I had heard before and yet had never truly known, until this moment. His movements are hypnotic, his lithe hips swaying to the beat. I shut my eyes; they flutter open and closed; the world around me is a haze, a psychedelic swirl of exotic flowers and twinkling night skies. I watch his hands flutter gracefully, each movement precise yet languid, telling a story of lust reciprocated, of desires burning, of lovers entwined in ecstacy. The music flows over me in my intoxicated state, his hands. . . his hips. . . smooth skin. . . I close my eyes. . .

"I don't want to be on top of your list, never been properly kissed. . . we overcome in sixty seconds the strength we have together. . . but for now, emotional ties they stay severed, when there's trust, there'll be treats, when we fuck, we'll hear beats. . . "

. . . my eyes open languidly. . . he is before me, his hands parting my thighs, palms smoothing the sensitive skin, rubbing it. . . through half closed lids and drug induced lucidity I feel his sweet body rub against me. . . I writhe against him. . . we find the beat of the music. . . in sync. . . I am lost. . .

"You're a couple old. . . especially when you're body's doubled. . . duplicate and then we wait, for the next Kuwait. . . karmakoma. . . " . . . he pulls me from the chair; I am pressed against him tightly; he supports my weight, our bellies together, his hard cock nudging my thigh. . . I sigh, the warmth and sweat and salty skin like a tidal wave over my senses. . .

". . . karmakoma. . . "

. . . his hands trace patterns against my feverish skin. . . his beautiful graceful hands. . . I sigh against his mouth. . . I feel my breast cupped in his hand. . .

". . . karmakoma. . . "

. . . he is behind me. . . his hands on my breasts. . . I look up to the night sky and I imagine that the stars are pulsing to the music. . . I raise my hands to pluck those stars from the sky, my body moving as if caught in the timeless tradition of an ancient pagan dance to appease the gods. . . I feel his nipples against my back, his warm breath on my neck. . . our hips sway together to the strong hypnotizing beat of the music. . .

". . . karmakoma. . . jamaica and roma. . . "

. . . his cock is nestled between my cheeks. . . his hand tangles amongst the curls between my thighs. . . I am wet. . . I am floating. . . the music takes me to another world, the lotus makes me another person. . . I feel disjointed from my hot feverish body. . .

". . . karmakoma. . . "

. . . I moan. . . I press myself backwards against him. . . I follow his rhythm. . . the music ends but our dance continues, needing no sounds but those of our quickened breaths and the breezes of the night whistling through the trees; with his finger, he enters me gently; my head comes back, and he licks my neck. I am so . . . lost. . .

His finger moves inside of me. . . finding its own pace, moving in and out through my gates. . . I thrust my hips forward. . . I am getting wetter. . . I lean against him, the focal point of my entire body that slick channel that is filled by his finger. . . I lose moments in time. . .

I am seated on the swing again. Xaffythe is before me, kneeling between my parted thighs, his gentle fingers tracing my delicate wet petals, making them shudder, and me shudder, with pleasure. In his hand are six marbles, two silver, two gold, and two bronze. He puts these marbles inside of me, and I gasp at the feeling of having them inside me. My eyelids flutter rapidly. . . my gaze alternates between sharp and hazy. . .

He pushes the swing so that I am high in the air. . . the marbles move inside of my channel. . . I gasp at the sensation of having them roll and rub inside me as I fly through the air. . . it feels so good. . . I can feel the pressure building inside me as I swing to and fro. . .

I don't know how long it's been . . . I know only that those beautiful marbles bring me to ecstacy over and over again. . . my body has become on teeming orgasm. . . I want to feel his cock inside me.

He pulls the marbles from out of my incredibly wet sex. . . he leans over and kisses me there, his lips meeting mine. He traces the petals with his tongue; I cup his head to push him further. . . his tongue enters me. . . his tongue finds my clitoris, that little pearl of pleasure which is harder, harder than it has ever been before; he nibbles it, he sucks it. . . and I come again. . .

I push him down on the wet grass. . . I straddle him, my tongue dipping into his belly button. His skin tastes like the smooth golden honey its shade professes to be. I lick at his nipples and he gasps underneath me. They taste like cinnamon candy. I suck them, rolling them on my tongue. . .

. . . my sex wants to join with his; I want to become one with him under the velvet hum of the sky. . . my passion unfurls like a flower inside me. . . I want to make him come as much as he's made me. . . I take his sex into my mouth; I stab the hole with my tongue, tasting the essence of him, sweeter than any lotus, sweeter than any ambrosia. I suck him hard, I take his whole cock into my mouth. . . I graze his length with my teeth; I nip at his foreskin. He comes into my mouth, blessing me with his seed, washing away the blackness in my heart.

. . . I suck him until he is hard again. I crawl up his body until I am astride him; I impale myself on his arousal, feel him deep within me, entering my body, entering my soul. As I ride him, I throw my head back and look at the stars; they dance for us, in movements as ritual as our love. . .

I am on my hands and knees; he is behind me. His sex butts against my anus. . . hesitant. I press my lips to the grass and cross my arms behind my head; I thrust my hips backwards, until he is deep within me, pressing against my intestines, soothing and erasing memories from my mind. . .

. . . We lie on the grass, limbs entwined, he is behind me, my leg raised, he enters my sex from behind, and we rock against each other; he presses a gentle kiss on my shoulder. His hands caresses my hot feverish skin. I close my eyes. . .

. . . when I open them again it is morning. . . the sun rises above the dome in all its majestic splendor, marking the second coming, the rebirth of my sexuality, the rebirth of my soul. Xaffythe places his lips against my forehead, his hands pushing the hair away from my face. I feel the drugs begin to wear off, my body weary from last night's non stop wildness.

Xaffythe carries me gently to a shallow marble pool, littered with rose petals. He lies me down in the water, and he bathes me, pouring water on my tender skin, his fingers soothing my sore sex. I sigh. . . he is my salvation. I pull him down on top of me, I kiss him long and hard. We fall asleep right there, in the little pool. For once, in my existence, I feel whole.

End. . . for now.