Ishtar Goes Hollywood

Ishtar Goes Hollywood                    
                            
     Ishtar arrives at a house that is renowned as the gateway to the world of the dead.  She knocks on the door which cracks open,  and Irkalla, Queen of the Dead, greets her with, “It is time to put our rivalry aside.”                
     Ishtar says, “The last time we met on earth in the chamber of the Babylonian oracle which seemed neutral enough. But you introduced me to the wonderful world of bondage just before the Priestess intervened in your sexual diplomacy.”    
     Irkalla, “She portended that for each button I undid on your blouse she would use her magic to shorten my Big-Os by a moment.”    
     Ishtar replied, “And if you got so far as to undo my skirt those moments would be like the song of a sparrow which starts off loud but ends after a few seconds on a muffled trill. If you are a bad girl I will report you to her.”    
     “Please, let’s not involve your protectress. I’ve had a taste of that close but no cigar from her.”          
     “You need something shaped like that smoker’s delight so you can quit playing with girls like me who straddle the fence but tend to stay on the guy side.”      
    Irkalla says, “That sounds like a left-handed protestation. If you are a fence sitter that means that you at least contemplate your own gender in more than a casual way.”    
     “Here I am. Please go gently with me.”    
     “In order to enter into the underworld, you must remove an item of clothing upon entrance through each of the seven portals of the palace of the great beyond.”      
     Irkalla continues, “I will take the first step to show you how easy it really will be. She undoes Ishtar’s barrette to let her hair cascade down her shoulders.      
     Ishtar unbuttons her blouse only to let it fall onto the floor.      
     Irkalla says, “Like with the modern game monopoly you may proceed to the next room. But you are timid. Take my hand and I will lead you there.”    
     She pokes Ishtar’s belly button with her talon. She pulls her thrusts like an expert sparring partner. “You deem me timid? Thou dost presume too much.” Ishtar unwraps her skirt with a bravery she never knew she had.    
     Irkalla replies, “You have more grit than I thought. Once more you have earned your passage into the next room.”    
     Ishtar says, “Between your hair job and my undressing I count four more to discover what you have in store for me.”    
     Irkalla replies, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t trust me. So take a giant boundary leap with me.” Ishtar undoes her garters and slips daintily out of her pantyhose. Irkalla leads Ishtar by the hand through the door to who knows where. The floor is strewn with apparel that grows more intimate.    
     Irkalla tugs upward on the waistband of Ishtar’s panties where her delta of Venus slopes into a sibylline mystery, dark and prophetic. She skivvies out of them into a vulnerability she hadn’t known in many an eon. Irkalla says, “What a mighty feat of naked sisterhood we have made happen. Your trust in me grows like that mink of arms no more protection than the cotton you have abandoned for the freedom you find.”    
     Ishtar replies, “These modern bras are so sexist, that men need not wear them but we women are compelled. No wonder women burn them. So here I will bare my breasts before heaven and earth.”    
     Irkalla says, “Well you have earned your passage through the penultimate portal. But alas you have no more attire to doff and we have one more room to go. However, though you have no more manmade clothing to dispense with you have the coat of arms at the crux of your thighs. A bikini wax will complete your baring before the Lords of this realm.”    
     “Let the waxing work its wonder.”    
     “Ishtar, your body needs nurturing before you join the choir invisible. Lie across the table here on your stomach and soak in my touch.” Her imperative is not a command but not a request.    
     She explores Ishtar’s bottom in Mandalas of ecstasy. With slow determination, she circles her cheeks like a woman on a mission to please another female. Irkalla’s fingers cup Ishtar’s bare buttocks in a cocoon of silken womanhood. Irkalla kneads her posterior with each stroke a blood-red rose which penetrates to her Oval of Life − deep sigh. The ache of lilies dying to flower blossoms in Ishtar’s buns. Ishtar’s body becomes an ocean, fathomless and ancient. At the end, Irkalla’s hands spoon Ishtar’s moons like warm eggs.      
     “There you look fresh and ready for your treatment. Here he is ahead of schedule. Gilgamesh, you have arrived not a moment too soon for she has been properly massaged by me to relax her for your encounter. Here I present to you the Heavenly Mistress Ishtar.”    
     Here at the last gate when she is naked she is helpless in the arms of fate but neither does she resist what is to come which she welcomes with the utmost joy. Death doesn’t wait for her but rather lovemaking with the Lord of the manor.      
     Ishtar is the projectionist in the underworld Saturday Night movies and DJ for the adjoining dance hall where even women can be whirling dervishes and Sufi dancing is for couples. From there she hopes to be reborn as a tour guide for the great Ziggurat at Ur who makes cuneiform a first date topic.