Siren of Mars

Siren of Mars

    I stand in deep contemplation in the pressurized greenhouse of the Mars Base. I see my golden face afloat in a pool of orange late afternoon light slanting through the crystalline glass. I gaze wistfully at my image reflected in the glass. Waves of my long raven black hair circle my face where my cherubic ruby lips are generous and full. My lash-hooded dark opal eyes glitter in the reddish sparkles of sunset glaze suspended in the glass. My elfin face glows in an ethereal aura. My image, suffused in the luminous orange pool, appears like that of a nymph from some enchanted faerie land. I feel the magic of wonder as I gaze at my image suspended in timeless beauty.
    The aroma of the spice garden dazzles my sense of smell. The rich scents of Turmeric and Coriander stimulate my olfactory and evoke memories of earth.  These smells are tied in with memories of sitting around the table in Singapore tasting the savory dishes mother cooked.   This world of Asian foods and spices is so familiar to me. It feels as though I have spent many lifetimes there and know the smells, colors, and feel of the food intimately, like a woman knows her lover’s body.
    I look through the glass out at the coral pink dunes of the planet I’ve come to call home. The scarlet rock outcrops are on fire with changing colors in the dying embers of sunlight.
    I feel happy to be on Mars. My husband, long ago, could have whisked me back to Singapore. I dread the prospect of living in a place in which conformity to the mainstream is compulsory.
    Often I leave this habitat to ride to the edge of the canyon, Noctis Labyrinthus, in a pressurized rover. Every time I gaze out from the canyon rim at the morning mists I feel deep peace.
    This evening it is near bedtime. I stay at the window a little longer, enjoying the scene through the window, and feel very comfortable on the world I’ve come to call home.
    I have a husband who loves me more than life itself. My husband, Chen, is from China. I was born in Singapore and lived there till I was twenty years old. My mother came from India and my father from China. I never felt accepted by the Indian or Chinese community. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.
    Then I met Chen, a merchant who sold food to the Chinese community in his neighborhood. With him I felt like I belonged. He accepted me with unconditional love. His family took me in as one of their own. Soon after we met he brought me to Mars.
    He lavishes me with affection. I remember sitting with him on the dirt in the garden. It was sunset and the stars were just peeking through the diaphanous blue veil of sky through the glass. The rich aroma of plant scents filled the air as I laid on my side in the plot of soil ready for planting. I gazed at Chen. The sunset light illuminated his soft face giving it a gentle glow.    
    I could see in his eyes that I was all he ever wanted or needed and that he would be by my side when my face grew wrinkled and my memory hazy. Even though my womb was barren and our marriage childless he was devoted to me.
    The light from the window was almost gone and the stars emerged like tiny islands of light in the velvet black sky. I could only see Chen in shadows now. He looked like a ghost as the overhead lights grew dim.  His features looked so calm and peaceful and I traced his face with my fingertips. I could feel the lines in the soft skin of his face.
    He leaned close to me and I could feel his warm sweet breath against the nape of my neck. I felt his warm wet lips kiss me up and down my neck. I surrendered to the beguiling magic of his kisses. I could barely control myself as we headed back to our quarters.
    I gently led him to the bed and undressed him.  I slipped out of my skirt and lingerie and pressed him down with the weight of my body into the bed. I clasped his stalk in my palm coaxing him into readiness.
    When I felt him ready, I mounted him like my prize stallion, grasped his stiffened scepter, and guided him into paradise. He found himself grasped by my velvet mystery, drawn further into my spell. The merciless friction of my honey walls beat upon his helplessly enraptured penis. We writhed together, his skin against mine, and friction ignited sparks which grew into flames. The wet heat built into a smoldering fire, till I could feel him deep
inside me.
    His eyes were glazed with mystical rapture. I slid
my wet heat around him, surrounding him with satiny pleasure. He fell deeper into my web of enchantment. A victorious moan erupted from my center.
    My fevered passage clutched him in moist caress. The prickle of my nipples tickled his broad chest. My sweaty thighs tightened inexorably around his taut hips. The pressure within me built. My sex, like a tiny pulsating star, imploded as pleasure obliterated all thought.
    I was swimming in a warm sea of sensation. I felt the quaking collision of forces, the warm wet pulse of him relinquishing his seed filling my deepest need. I savored the sweet scent of his musk.
    But in recent years I have become restless. Though I still feel drawn to Chen’s gentleness and kindness, I have feelings I’ve never known or recognized before. I am beginning to see the female form in a way I never have before. We are taking in an art exhibit by a young woman visiting the base.
    The model depicted is nude. She looks so
sensual and radiates maternal warmth. Her face looks feminine and soft. I can imagine the feel of her satiny lips against my skin. I feel flushed. I gaze intently at the painting. The girl model poses sitting nude. She primps herself with lipstick. Her thighs are parted revealing her strawberry tussock painted pink in swollen feminist fury.
    Chen stands beside me looking sad. I ask him what is wrong. He says, “Sometimes you seem so far away.”
    I see a tear trickle down his cheeks. I say, “Don’t be sad. Even when I sink into myself, I always return. Don’t worry love. I’ll never drift beyond your reach.”
    My mind drifts back to the present. Here in the herbarium, I gaze up at the night sky at the tiny blue star which I once called home. Lost in memories, I hear the door creak open.  A red headed young woman in sandals and jeans walks in.  She is the very same artist whose celebration of the female form had enchanted me at the exhibition. She prances up to me and her mouth opens as if she is about to speak, but not a sound comes out. She smiles and says, “I’m sorry, I  didn’t
mean to startle you.”
    She looks in her early twenties. I am not that old at 34, but felt self-conscious about my age in the presence of this young beautiful woman. She looks exotic and out of place so far from earth. She looks like a hippie with holes in her jeans and wearing a red t-shirt. I stare at the hole in the knee of her jeans at the creamy skin peeking through. She smiles and says, “Hey, I can come back if you’d like your privacy.”
    I look deep into her eyes and see the same warmth I saw in the woman she painted. I feel at ease with her.
    I reply, “Not at all. I loved your paintings. You clearly have an appreciation for women.”
    She smiles and says, “Well you’re a friendly sort.” She holds out her hand assertively and says, “My names Sarah. What’s yours?”
    I take her hand timidly and say, “Hua...” After a short silence I say, “Sarah is such a beautiful name.”
    Sarah gazes at my face and says, “You have beautiful skin. I’d love to paint you.”
    I feel embarrassed and giggle. I say, “Where
would we do it?”
    Sarah says, “I like how your phrased that. Yes. I’d like to paint you in here.”
    I nod acknowledging her offer. I say, “But I’m not really that beautiful.”
    Sarah looks at me with her opal eyes shining brightly in the lamplight. She says, “Oh I disagree. I’ll show you if you’ll let me.”
    I brush my dark hair from behind my neck. I say, “I would love to be painted by you.”
    Sarah glances out the window. Her eyes return to me. She puts her hand on her hip and says, “Well then come by tomorrow bright and early. I like to paint in the morning. I do my best work then.”
    Sarah steps back and I see her toes are painted light pink. She notices me gazing at her feet and says, “Do you think that’s a good color for my toenail polish? I thought about maybe using a darker pink.”
    I say, “I like that color.”
    She giggles and looks down at her feet. She says, “Well thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, bright and early. Let’s say eight.” She turns to leave. She looks sidelong at me and smirks. She departs through the door and I stand in the doorway watching her form recede into the distance. She turns a corner and vanishes. I feel my heart flutter with excitement. I head home to Chen.
    I enter our family quarters. Chen stands in the foyer watching me. He smiles with the same smile that had endeared me to him long ago in Singapore. I approach Chen. He says, “I’m so glad to see you. I have some important news.”    
    I feel my heart tremble with anticipation. My fears are confirmed when Chen tells me what I dread to hear. He says, “My uncle in Singapore has offered me a partnership. We can go home to earth.”
    I hug him and press my body against his. I say, “But Chen this is home.”
    He looks sullen and looks down at me with downcast eyes as his hands press into my hips with familiar warmth.  I say, “I know Chen. This is your dream.”
    A hesitant smile forms on his face. He says, “If it is not your dream I understand. I will stay here if you need to. You are my life. I want you to be
happy.”
    I press my silky hair into the nape of his neck. I say, “Chen, my Chen.”
   The next morning I awaken next to Chen with gilded morning light pouring across my naked skin. My violin curves are entangled in the white linen sheets. The soft golden skin of my rounded hip peeks through the parted sheets.
    I quietly get up, careful not to wake Chen. I step into the shower and feel the hot beads of water pulse into my skin, course through my crevices, and bathe me with sensations of pleasure. My whole body is exhilarated and alive with sensual yearning.
    I put on my best silk dress and leave Chen sleeping. I walk down the corridor to the greenhouse. Outside the windows feathery cirrus clouds with silvery edges hover in the cold blue Martian sky. Out there I would die quickly in the thin icy air. I feel the vulnerability of my life like a dove so fragile. The prospect of encountering her invigorates me.
    I come to the tiny blue room with luxuriant ferns hanging from the walls.  There is a feeling of promise in my heart. I feel as if there is hope that
the indefinable yearning I feel in my heart will be
satisfied at last.
    I open the door and Sarah stands before me with a smile warm as sunlight on the morning of creation.  She wears a white dress, which clings to her symphony of curves. I know she has worn it for me. I can see the glow in her eyes which speaks of the yearning she feels for me. My prayers have been answered. She craves me as much as I do her.  
    However, I feel awkward. I don’t know how to proceed. I fear that perhaps I am misreading her. Perhaps this is a dream from which I will awaken to find only disappointment and my deepest needs yet unmet.
    I am reassured as she grasps my hand leading me to a couch in the corner.  The touch of her silky skin on my shoulder as she seats me on the couch sends shivers of pleasure through my body. She sits opposite me on a patio chair with her lily skin bathed in the glow of light pouring from the window which overlooks our space under heaven. I watch her cherubic lips part as her melodious voice bubbles forth.
    She says, “I’ve never been this excited about
painting anyone. Your beauty is so inspiring. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever painted. Here, let me lock the door.” She steps up and secures the door latch. Then she sits back down opposite me.
    I fold my hands in my lap with my legs crossed. Her eyes wander up and down my form admiring me.  Sarah still wears her sandals. I look down at her pink toe nailed feet once more. She looks at me with a smirk of mischief written on her cherubic lips.  
    She asks, “Where are you from Hua?”
    I say, “Singapore.”
    Sarah says, “Yea, I’ve heard a lot about Singapore. That’s where you get the death penalty for having a few ounces of pot.”
    I look up at the ceiling fan as it turns slowly and feel the light breeze. I say, “I couldn’t stand it there. I felt stifled.”            
    Sarah puts her hands in her lap as her legs fall open. She says, “I know how you feel. My father and mother are Orthodox Jews. They have really old-fashioned religious beliefs. They’re even more conservative than most Orthodox Jews. They act like they’re living in nineteenth century Krakow. My father even arranged my marriage. I was forced to marry and make love to a man I never loved. I can’t tell you how humiliating it was. This man was a Yeshiva Rabbinical student who made me feel ashamed for what he called my unnatural urges.  When I wanted to try new things he would chastise me. He even forbade me to leave the house when he was really angry.   I felt degraded. I love my heritage and my people, but I couldn’t tolerate this.”
    We are silent for a moment. Sarah speaks softly, “Hua, are you married?”
    I feel crestfallen. I don’t want to be reminded of Chen right now. I want the magic of the moment to last. However, I know it is unavoidable. I say, “Yes. I am married to a man who loves me dearly.”
    Sarah says, “Well do you love him?”
    I whisper, “Yes.”
    She asks, “Then why are you here?” She smiles and quips, “Is he playing around on you? I’ve known quite a few like that. Most men think with their penis!”
    I reply, “Oh my no. His penis belongs to me.”
    She refrains, “Then why are you here today?”
   I say, “I’m fascinated by you. Your femininity  
enchants me.”
    Sarah asks, “Do you have children?”
    I look down at my feet. I say, “No children. My womb is a barren desert.”
    Sarah sits up and leans closer to me. She says, “I can see how much you love your husband. The look in your eyes is telling.”
    Sarah looks serious. She asks, “Does he know you’re here?”
    I say, “No.”
    Sarah says, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
    I look at Sarah’s strawberry-blonde hair falling across her creamy shoulders. I say, “Oh yes. I want to very much.”
    Sarah smiles and says, “Well I know I want to paint you. Why don’t we get started?”
    Sarah places her hand feather soft on the small of my back and guides me. She has me sit on the edge of the small fountain.  The sound of splashing water soothes me. I watch as crystal streams of water arc in sparkles of sunlight. Vines entwined like lovers creep up the orange walls of the hot
house.
    Sarah stands in front of her easel and looks down at me as I sit across the edge of the fountain. She asks, “Hua would you take off your dress? I want to paint you nude.”
    I feel butterflies in my stomach. This feels unreal, as though in a dream when you know it’s a dream. I turn, stand up, and turn my back toward Sarah. She unzips my dress and slips it up my hips and over my shoulders. I stand in my bra and panties, feeling the bright sun on my exposed body. I slide my panties off and step out of them. Then I unclasp my bra and pull it off. My breasts bounce free. The feel of sunlight on my bare breasts is something altogether new, though a good feeling. I have never felt the sun on my bare sex and breasts.
    I am bathed in brilliant sunlight. I lie feeling joy in the deep reverence this woman has for my beauty and me. I feel beatified by this holy woman. She venerates me through her art. Deep in my heart a bud, which had lain dormant for years, is blooming. I step off onto a new path.
    The morning eases into afternoon, as she puts
the finishing touches on my portrait. The angle of
the sunlight through the glass casts me in shadows. When she shows me the painting, I gaze in astonishment. The image is more divine than human. My skin glows golden.  My supple bronze breasts are tipped with bright crimson nipples. I have been transformed through her vision into a Hindu Goddess, an image that could have adorned a Vedic palace in ancient Varanasi. My luscious curves are accentuated with seductive grace. My smoldering sensuality is laid bare.
    Sarah and I sit next to each other on the couch. She turns on the music and a Chopin nocturne, melodiously tumbles forth in tones of sensuous sound. My body aches for Sarah. I yearn to feel our feminine bodies merge in ecstatic communion.  
    I embrace Sarah, tenderly and rub the small of her back through her dress. My hands roll up her spine, caress each part, and arrive at her shoulder blades. She presses her body full against mine as her hands squeeze my shoulder blades and send tingles of pleasure through my aching muscles.
    She wraps her arm around my waist orchestrating me into symphonic reverie. Finally, she gently lays me on the soft dirt and holds me as I sink into the soil.  She sits between my legs, her fingers press into the soles of my feet, into the nerve nexuses, and hypnotize me with her gentle touch. Her fingers run up and down the length of my feet and tug each toe gently. She wraps her hands around my feet and gently caresses them all around. My sighs coax her onward.
    Her fingers float up, brush my ankle, and press into my calves. I squirm a little from the pleasure. She cups the round part of my calves and gently kneads the flesh with delicate pressure. She places her palms on the soft underside of my knees and lifts them gently. She stretches my knees while holding my ankle with the other hand. Her gentle rocking makes me squirm more.
    My eyes fall shut, as I lie, luxuriating in her caresses. She gently lays my leg down and runs her fingertips in slow sensuous circles around my knees. She runs her fingers up and down my thighs. The sensation of her soft fingertips grazing my sensitive skin is hypnotic. I feel tingles all the way to my pubic bone. My sex buzzes with the electric current of arousal.
    Her hands flow upward in a path of smoke
across my thighs. She molds her palms around my curves. She cups my hips with her palms and rocks me slowly. I feel a pleasant friction in the cusp of my thighs from the rocking. At that moment I feel completely at ease in her hands. I am ready to surrender myself completely to her loving care.
    She accents my pleasure with tender brush strokes of her fingers on the soft sensitive places where I am most vulnerable. Her hands travel my curves, delve into crevices, and probe insistently. With strokes delicate as a calligrapher, she writes exquisite patterns of sensation on my skin with subtle hints of deeper intimacy. With her tongue she explores my hidden places which  are normally concealed by clothing to the world.  She tastes my nectar. I inhale her musky aroma. Her scent whets my appetite.
    Chopin resonates lyrically through me, as our bodies begin the slow sensual dance.  I follow her movements and then she follows mine in counter point.  Together we create poetry in motion in a language of intimacy, each sigh accents a touch, every moan is a beat of meter in our composition as I fall madly in love.
    I know Chen will be worried about me. I feel disoriented like a ship lost at sea. I know Chen loves me more than life itself and that I love him. Yet we have different dreams. I can’t deny the feelings I have for Sarah. Though I wonder if what I feel isn’t infatuation which will pass with time. I have discovered a new facet of my erotic being through this woman which I can’t satisfy with any man not even Chen.
    Even if my attraction to Sarah is temporary, I can’t turn back on the path I have set out on. Sarah has awakened emotions in me I never knew I had. How can I deny these feelings which are at the core of my being?
   Yet how can I hurt so deeply this man who has sacrificed his dreams for me? I know in my heart he will find love. With his kind soul there will be a woman for him who will love him. I can never love him with my whole being like he deserves.
    I feel torn apart. I begin weeping and Sarah holds me rocking me gently.  The curve of her hips is outlined in the sepia glow of sunlight pouring through the window. The cusp of her thighs is blanketed in shadow. Her angelic face is enrap-
tured. Her milky skin radiates warmth.
    I cup her soft peaks in my hands. Her rosebud tips swell like grapes in spring. Her crimson tresses are illuminated by the sunlight. My every touch on her body is a humble act of worship. I am an open book, for her to decipher my secrets. She has found the keys which unlock my private self and delicately removed the last undergarments covering my soul. She has pierced my inhibitions. She beckons me with gentle determination, to open the innermost chamber of my heart to her compassionate touch.
    Each undulation of her body pulls me further into her warm sea. My mouth follows the trail of body dew down her stomach. I dip my tongue into source of her pleasure and delve deep into the mysterious folds of her orchid. I taste the sensual brew of her cappuccino and its rich aroma wafts across me.
    Deep shudders rock her corporeal form. Her body quakes in spasms of delight. My head rests in valley of her lap.  She says, “We’re starting a colony near the Tharsis Bulge. You’d be welcome there. You’d really blossom among us. Don’t let your fears rule your life. Join us.”
    I beg, “Take me to America on earth.”  
    She says, “They found an atomic bomb on a ship berthed in New York. It isn’t safe there anymore. Earth is overpopulated and poisoned with toxic waste. Trust me little darling. You’re better off here.”
    I plead, “I want to be free.”
    She answers me, “My woman’s intuition tells me you aren’t ready. It was really great. I hope we meet again.”
    I implore  her, “So this is it? We just say goodbye?”
    She replies, “I’m not rushing you off. Would you like some coffee? We can go back to my room. I can can brew some for you.”
    I look up from her warm lap. I say, “Your kiss is sweeter than chocolate.”
    She winks at me. She says, “You don’t give up easy. I love that in a woman.”
    I look up into her eyes. I say, “I can cook the best vegetarian lasagna you’ve ever tasted.”
    She looks down at me with misty eyes. She says,
“I’m an old fashioned girl. Let’s get hitched.”
    I nestle my head against her warm crux. I say,
“I’m tickled pink by your proposal. This sure has been a whirlwind romance.”
    Sarah shifts her legs. She says, “Will you be my wedded wife till death do us part?”
    I reply, “My darling, let’s not concern ourselves
with the future for now. Let’s stay in the moment, for the present is all we have.”
     I know I have to stay with Sarah. I am just beginning to understand this strange riddle which is my heart. I am growing in ways I cannot understand at the moment. Golden dreams unfold like rose petals in my heart. Dreams of love roll like a river so mighty that even death cannot stop its flow. I will walk, hand in hand, with her on this shore of woman.