Eros soared through the dark sky, powerful wings thrusting into the night air. She pulled her wings in, tight to her back and flew straight up, gaining altitude and losing speed. She loved flying. Even though this was was the early 80's, making her a few millennia old, she loved the feel of air caressing her face, soft, and warm, like a lover's hand. She let her momentum bleed away as, eyes closed, she caressed her neck with a delicately sure hand. What would real hands feel like, she wondered, the ache flaring again, as it always did when the hunt was upon her? Her wings gracefully opened as she neared the apex of her climb and she brushed a finger across lips that yearned to be kissed. To be held tightly, pressed body to body, secure and safe and loved, his kisses landing on her neck, his teeth nibbling at her ears, her lips parted for him and she would look up into his eyes and find true --
She opened her eyes and stared at the cold white light of the moon as it peaked out from a scattering of clouds. The ache inside her gave birth to anger, rage, and the door to the cage she kept deep inside creaked open a little, enticing the beast inside. Her lover was as cold as the moon, her destiny as solitary. She screamed and bent towards the earth, her mighty wings opening fully, stretching to their limits and then thrust powerfully down. Born from an egg -- a fucking egg! -- laid by Aphrodite, she was not the cute little chubby cherub the world thought they knew. Some even called her Cupid, a revolting name.
Eros closed her eyes, wings finally tucking tight to her body as she raced towards the ground, the night air now turned to a harsh lover's slap as it buffeted her tear-stained cheeks. She was a virulent woman, the essence of love and lust and desire, kept young and wanting by her singular destiny -- to seek out unrequited love and pierce the hearts of two who would become one. She felt the earth racing closer, a perception so basic and as natural as feeling the sun on your face yet she still plummeted at a frightening speed.
Invisible to all, a ghost to the senses of the living, a giver to all and a receiver of none. She, herself, was immune to the very magic she wove to send lovers into each other's arms. The final hundred feet between her and the ground was ripped away and just feet before a crushing impact, Eros sighed and unfurled her wings, and without thought, arched her back, averting the imminent crash and glided along, skimming the ground, the tips of her wings sending up little plumes of dirt.
The ache subsided and she shut the door of the cage, locking the beast back in. She would never feel the caress of a lover's hands as it explored her body, never feel the tender lips that sought hers, never press her ear to the soft beat of another's heart through his chest -- it was not, nor ever would be, for her. But, like a moth was damned to seek light, she would find the souls who needed her, she the love huntress.
She sniffed the wind as a night cat might during the hunt. It was Valentine's Day and love was in the air. As she flew long the lit streets, invisibly weaving in and out of lovers, many with arms linked and strolling the boardwalk, she absently wiped away her tears. The scent of love and happiness was thick this night and while she could also smell the stench of humanity's darker elements, she instead focused on finding the essence of yearning, a soft delicate smell that laid low, almost in fear of being found out.
And there. There it was. Like the sliver of light that peeks around a mostly shut door, Eros smelled the smoky tail of yearning, muted amongst the essences of Valentine candy and rose bouquets and sexy lingerie and even leather. Eyes still closed, she effortlessly glided through the bustling city and then out into the sprawling suburbs, her nose filling with more and more of the smell as she got closer. This was a strong yearning, she could taste it. It was innocent, this desire, like a creamy sweet pastry. But there were intricacies. Like a tangy young wine, only years from the vine, it whispered a brazen need that was very much like her caged beast. And depth, like the peaceful surface of a lake that harbored dark and lonely rifts and caves and places that never saw the lightness of day. Eros moaned -- so alike her own ache, and yet so new, so young, so fragile.
She flew through the dark trees illuminated only by the barest slivers of moonlight as she flew higher into the dark and quiet hills around the metropolis, following the scent. What would she find when the trail led her to the two would-be lovers? Would she find her job mostly done, a couple who teetered on finding the love between them, needing only a gentle nudge from the tips of her arrows to send them into each other's arms? Or would she find shy cautiousness, the beginnings of something that neither wanted to push too fast, too soon, but were already feeling the moment slip away -- in that case, her arrows would pierce each heart with authority and pull each together to see the glowing aura that would be.
For that was all her arrows did -- once Eros loosed each arrow from her bow, both at the same exact moment so as to not favor one over the other, love or lust, the shiny tip would pierce the yearning in the tender heart it sought and ignite the glowing aura, shining the bright light on all that was good, all that was beautiful, all that could be loved, for the other to see. Both bathed in the light of their true selves. But the aura would last only as long as the love each felt for the other. If it was meant to be, then her arrows were only the helping hands. And if it were not to be, if love faded and died like a flower on the vine, her arrows were for naught.
The house was full, full of noise, full of sound, full of scent. It was a party, as the number of cars in the long and winding drive attested. Eros found an open window and silently slipped inside, tucking her wings close to her back. It was an old house, bricked and designed like a castle, though scaled down for the domestic role required. Couples laughed and drank in loose groups, dressed in gaudy costumes. Much lace and leather and pink and fishnets and even a few prancing around in diapers with wings taped to their backs, shooting foam arrows. Eros snorted, quietly, and a scantily dressed girl done up as a Playboy bunny looked in her direction. Seeing nothing, the girl went back to her conversation with an Adonis-themed man, though she nervously glanced back to where Eros had been from time to time.
She was, of course, invisible, just a passing cool breeze to those of the mortal kind. Even if someone managed to bump into her, Eros would leave nothing but an odd sensation and a thought that the house was maybe haunted. She was a ghost, in so many ways, a spirit whose purpose was so narrow and defined as to be forever damning. And as Eros picked her way stealthily through the party, following the scent that had brought her here, the mortal life with all its joyous trappings was not lost on her. To be free of any burden, able to choose her destiny, choose her mate, her lover ... Eros fought the stirrings of the ache as she followed the scent up a staircase to the second floor.
Doors flanked either side of the hallway, a few closed, a few open. Behind most came the sounds that whispered in Eros mind, would come to her in the dead of night when her own yearning was the only feeling that claimed her. Soft moans of pleasure, sighs of contentment, whimpers of need, the music of two bodies coming together, touching, probing, feeling, loving.
The scent ended at a room at the darkened end of the hallway. The door was partially open, the light soft. Inside, music was playing from a portable boombox. Silently, Eros eased the door open and slipped inside.
The girl was a brunette, dressed as a baby doll with primrose print halter and pixie print knickers, white socks and girlish shoes. Pigtails and red ribbon in her hair and an oversized lollypop in one hand -- the guy's crotch in the other. She was a foot shorter than the guy and she tried to make up for it by bouncing up and down against him, rubbing her large breasts against his chest.
He was dressed in a black tuxedo, with crisp white shirt, top hat, cane and tails. Imitation diamond cufflinks as well. They stood in the center of the bedroom, at the foot of the bed, and as Eros walked slowly around them, it became obvious Baby Doll wanted to pursue activities from the bedside, but Handsomely Dapper was resisting. An odd scene, Eros thought circling. It was usually the guy that wanted to get horizontal first. Another odd thing ... the scent of yearning was only coming from him.
Eros walked closer, her face only inches from his, just to the side, not interfering with Baby Doll's erotic bouncing and rubbing. His scent was strong, needy, but pure, chivalrous -- he was telling Baby Doll that he was ok just making out, but sex, making love, was for someone you loved. Someone who loved you.
Eros smiled, gazing up into his face. Beautiful blue eyes, piercing yet gentle, strong nose and mouth, high cheekbones. Wisps of blonde hair poking out from under the top hat. The ghost of a five-o'clock shadow on his chin. The ache inside her swelled and she felt it surge through her as she stood staring at him. His lips on hers, stubble scraping her cheeks, his tongue probing her mouth, claiming her, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close ...
She moaned and stepped back. Instantly his head turned in her direction. "What was that?"
"What, hon? What are you looking at, a ghostie?" Baby Doll turned his head back to hers. "No one here but little old me." She squeezed his crotch tighter, drawing a gasp from Handsomely Dapper. Eros slipped back into the shadows of the room. "Shoot that poison arrow through my heart," sang the boombox. Dapper was looking her way again, with eyes that couldn't see the single tear streak down her cheek. Then his attention was pulled away as the silly lollypop tapped the side of his head, almost dislodging the top hat.
Eros closed her eyes, stilling her heart. She knew the heat inside her made her feel crazy things -- it was that heat that fueled her arrows, after all. But ... his eyes, his mouth, his voice that was music to her ears ... She had to push it away -- push him away - had to calm the beast that was rattling the cage deep inside her. She blocked everything out, sound, sight and most of all smell and went dark, feeling herself contract into a tiny glimmer, deep inside her, finding silence, definition, purpose. Then slowly, she allowed the glimmer to expand, allowing light to come back to her, sound, and smell. She opened her eyes and unslung her bow.
The rest would be mechanical, automatic, done millions of times. Eros would string two arrows to her bow, point them at the two who would become one, and fire. The arrows would seek the heart of their target and both would strike at exactly the same moment. The aura of true desire would bloom in both lovers and Eros' job would be done. Love would grow or die. But it was Eros who had given love a chance.
She knocked each arrow, one above the other, and pulled the bowstring taught. Once loosed, the arrows couldn't be retrieved, and Dapper would be caught in the aura of love. He would look into Baby Doll's face with the intent stare that would melt the girl's heart. And kiss her.
Eros froze. The seconds stretched into moments and her arm began to tremble. The beast rattled its cage. His lips, his eyes, His breath on her neck, the strength of his embrace, feeling she was his and he was hers ... Eros closed her eyes. "Fuck me," she whispered and loosed her arrows.
The tightly twined gossamer string sent the bolts of shiny gold into the air, each arrow immediately separating on its own trajectory to find the beating heart of its target -- one the heart of a woman in lust, the other the heart of a man in love. Eros waited for the sound that only she could hear, the tip of each arrow finding its mark and the soft, almost angelic hum of the lover's true aura blooming. But there was no sound, only the rising voice of Baby Doll.
"Well, if you don't want to fuck me, I'm sure I'll find someone who will."
"Susie, it's like I said. Sex isn't love and I need love with the sex. I want to love the girl I'm with, the girl I make love to. I want to feel her sigh my name into my neck as she caresses me. I want her to cry out my name as we come together. I want to be the only one for her and she the only one for me."
