Gideon Davies, there is no other way to put it, when it came to women, was a loser. Almost painfully shy, he was almost incapable of carrying on a conversation comprised of small talk beyond what was playing at the Cineplex or the weather forecast for tomorrow. On the other hand, ask him to describe the social structure in Egypt three thousand years ago, and he could almost wax poetic.
Gideon, Deon to his few close friends, was a junior at the University, which he attended on a combination of scholarships and grants. His part time job, which he had held since he was a freshman, was as a junior assistant to the curator at the history museum maintained by the Middle Eastern Studies Department, where he was a student.
He was on his way to work, admiring the rising full moon this August evening, the last full moon before the autumnal equinox. As it cleared the horizon, it was magnificent, filling the summer sky. As he turned into the drive at the museum, he thought it looked like the moon was shining directly into the Egyptian Room, but as he drove around the building to the rear parking area, the orb cleared the tree line and appeared to shrink and dim.
As he entered the museum, he shouted his usual hello to the security guard, "Hey, Jim! Beautiful night out there. How'd the Sox do today?"
"Evenin', Gidjiin. Have to tell you later; they're tied at 2 in the bottom of the eleventh. Dr Thomas said you should meet him in the Egyptian storeroom."
"What's going on? Any idea?"
"Some new piece came in today; some minor goddess, but he was quite excited. Acted like he was about to pee hisself."
Deon laughed. Dr. Thomas often seemed like he was about to 'pee hisself,' Deon thought, but tonight he probably had cause. The good doctor had been negotiating with the Metropolitan Museum of Art to trade for a 3500 year old statue of the Egyptian goddess Astarte. He had received word last week that they had accepted his last offer of some money and some pieces to fill holes in their collection of Etruscan erotic pottery; pieces Dr. Thomas had been trying to quietly dispose of since he had become the chief curator. Acquisition of the Astarte statue was a similarly longstanding ambition.
Deon hastened down the corridor to the storeroom where Dr. Thomas and the latest addition to the museum's Egyptian collection awaited him. "Evening, Dr. T. I hear Astarte has arrived. How does she look?"
"Evening, Gideon. She looks fine. A bit feminine for a goddess of war. She looks more appropriate for a fertility symbol. She's in good shape, just needs some gentle washing and buffing. See what you can do, will you? Transfer paperwork and provenance documentation is on the desk. Check it out and prepare it for verification, then leave it in my mailbox. If anything looks amiss, make a note of it for me." He was silent for a long moment, gazing at the statue.
"Damn, I would love to have known the artist and his model. She was certainly beautiful. Thirty-five hundred years later and she still exudes sensuality, and restrained passion. Don't mind telling you, kid, looking at her makes me want to go home and jump the wife. Think I will, in fact. See you tomorrow." The chief curator turned and walked out of the room, giving Deon a wave. He turned in the doorway.
"The Met sent along cleaning instructions and a piece of lamb's fleece they said should be used to clean her. They said it had been recovered from the tomb where they found her, tied around her neck with a piece of sinew. Just dampen the fleece with a little water and wipe her down."
"Got it. I'll start on the paperwork first, to see if there are any other tips to taking care of the statue. Go on and enjoy your evening," Deon laughed. His supervisor just grinned and walked away.
Deon picked up the folder containing the paper work and groaned. It would take most of the night to check it out. He was taking an abbreviated summer session Advanced Art History course. The first of five weekly exams was scheduled tomorrow, and he had planned on studying some tonight.
Four hours later, almost midnight, Deon straightened up from his desk, stretching his back. The paperwork all appeared to be in order. From the time the statue had been discovered in Akhenaten's tomb, it had never been out of the care of professional artifact handlers. Her travels since then were better documented than the President's. Hell, the Royal Museum and the Louvre, along with the Met, had even documented when they had moved it simply to change her place in on-going displays.
He looked at the new acquisition. He had to agree with Dr. T. She was remarkably beautiful, the kind of woman who usually left him tongue-tied just by saying hello to him. "No problem of that here," he thought to himself, with a wry grin.
"Ahhh, Astarte," he said aloud. "If you were alive, I'd be shaking in my boots just being in the same room, never mind alone with you. You are so beautiful I'll probably be dreaming of you for a month of Sundays. I wish I could find a real girl like you to be with." He found the fleece on the table near her and went to the sink near the doorway to dampen it. When he turned to return, he stopped and caught his breath.
The statue was positioned directly below a skylight, and directly above it, the moon was shining brightly, illuminating the goddess like an arc light. Almost unconsciously, Deon's hand went out to turn off the store room lights. The effect was magical. Without knowing he was moving, Deon walked to the stone effigy and began to clean it.
As he washed the piece of stone, his free arm crept around her, as if in embrace. Initially, it had felt cold, like any other piece of statuary, but as he held it and caressed it with the damp fleece, the female figure began to take on warmth. When he moved the cleaning cloth across the statue's bosom, he could have sworn the nipples took on definition and its hips had pushed into his. Impulsively, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the statue's.
Almost immediately he pulled back, thinking, "Christ, what am I doing? Trying to make out with a 3500 year old statue! What the fuck kind of loser am I?" He turned and walked back to his desk.
"If you are a loser, then your winners and heroes must be legendary," said a small feminine voice.
Deon spun around. Before him stood a living exemplar of the statue, dressed in the white mid-thigh length skirt Egyptian women seemed to prefer, according to the many drawings and temple depictions he had seen. Like many of those women, the one before him was bare breasted. She was small, about five feet two; her skin was the color of a coffee latte, with dark, nearly chocolate brown, eyes and blue black hair. Her breasts were conical, crested by puffy, dark nipples; her hips were generously voluptuous.
He opened his mouth to speak, and squeaked instead. A tired, knowing smile appeared on the woman's face; a smile that said she was familiar with the effect she had on men. She walked to the young man and gently caressed his cheek. "You have nothing to fear, Gideon. In freeing me from my prison, you have indebted me to you." She looked around the room and spied a daybed against the wall. "Come," she said, taking his hand and leading him to the daybed.
She pushed him to sit down. In doing so, he became aware that his clothes were gone, as well as her skirt. She pulled his head to her left breast, pushing it into his mouth. Although he was still a virgin, he had seen and read enough about this situation that he knew what he was supposed to do, and he began to kiss and suck on the lovely mammaries presented to him. Rewarded with a soft moan, he let his hands begin to explore the body now straddling his knees.
This resulted in more moans, and in a few minutes, he was aware of a change in the atmosphere. The room was getting noticeably warmer, and there was a scent in the air-one with which he was familiar only by reputation. It was a musky, sweet, spicy smell; an odor which spoke directly to his maleness. He felt his manhood raise up. The woman pressed him back on the daybed, and in an instant he felt his member engulfed in the most pleasurable warmth and moistness man can know. She began to move on his staff.
From somewhere, a long ways away, Jim was calling him, "Gidjiin, wake up, son! C'mon, Gidjiin! You gots to wake up! The bosses will be plumb angry if they catch you asleep here in the storeroom. C'mon, Gidjin!" He felt Jim shake him by the shoulder.
In his head, much quieter than Jim, came a small feminine voice. "Come, Gideon, it is time to awaken. Don't mention me to Jim; he can't see me. Only you can see or hear me. Wake up now, and let us go get you some breakfast, and we will talk."
