Babylon

Chapter 01

"Have you ever fucked a temple whore?"

"No. You see, we don't have that... in our time."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Why? I mean, what's that like, with a temple whore?"

"Well, you do have – what are they called? – Christians, do you?"

"Oh, yes."

"So you know this religious side of women, their zeal, their fanaticism? Now imagine a religion where fucking is praying. The spiritual passion and the carnal passion become one. And while you fuck them, you become their god. You are Jesus, you are Hercules, you are Osiris, you are Marduk, and you fuck this whore."

So, there I was in this bar in Reno (where I was living at the time), listening to the crazy stories this guy was telling. He looked almost like a kid, but with eyes that could stare down a tiger in the jungle, and he was drinking whiskey like it was water. Now, you can meet all kind of people in bars, and certainly in Reno, but how many of them will tell you that they are thousands of years old, and reminisce about nights with Lucrezia Borgia? Well, there was this guy in Vegas, a couple of years ago. Right. But they are not many. All I'm saying is, you got to be careful with lunatics, so I just thought I better play along with it. And anyway, he was a hell of a talker.

"You should try it one day."

"I told you we don't have temple whores in our time."

"You should try a different time, then."

"You can't travel through time, can you?"

"Of course you can."

"Einstein says you can't." I'm sure he did.

"What does he know."

"Well, he came up with this relativity thing. Nature of time and space."

"See, that's his problem."

"What do you mean?"

"You shouldn't read Einstein, you should read Hesiod."

"Read what?"

He gave me a look that made me feel three inches smaller. It obviously took him some time to overcome his contempt for the intellectual shallowness of this creature he found himself talking to.

"He understood that Eros, like time and space, is a fundamental force of the universe. If you bring the three together, you can master them."

"And how do you do that?"

"Oh, it's all about rhythm and resonance, like Pythagoras, the old bastard, has said. The relations between your sexual rhythm, your heartbeat, and your breathing, must be natural numbers. This will build up resonance in the fibers of your soul, which, when strong enough, will open the gates of time."

"That's really interesting. I didn't know that."

I just couldn't think of anything else to say.

"But if you travel back in time, doesn't that lead to paradoxical situations?"

"No."

He ordered one more round of drinks.

"But what if I go back in time and kill my grandfather?"

"Why would you want to kill your grandfather?"

"I don't. The point is, well, if I do, accidentally, that would mean that my father will never be born, and that I will never be born, and then I can never travel back in time to kill my grandfather, which means I will be born, and can kill my grandfather –"

"I get it. Don't worry. You don't travel back in time physically, only your soul is moving. You can observe and experience, not influence the events."

"And that's how you had sex with a temple whore?"

"No. I told you I was born 5000 years ago."

"Yes, you said that. But you don't look like you are 5000 years old."

"I know what you mean. I have seen Ramses in this museum." He was giggling in his glass, in an odd kind of way. "The last time I had seen him, he looked rather more impressive."

"You look like you are 20 or so."

"Oh, thank you. You see, if you master time, and Eros, on a far deeper level, of course, you no longer age. You win eternal youth, and eternal pleasures. That is your reward."

"And how do you do that?" I asked.

"You wouldn't understand", he said, slowly shaking his head. "Like Gilgamesh, the poor fellow."

Chapter 02

That night, when I came home, my wife Judy was still up. She was watching Oprah on video.

"Hey, Darling! Daddy is home."

"Yes, there you are."

I tried to think that her voice was loving and caring, but clearly it wasn't. If you need some advice from me on how to handle women: Drinking and coming home late will most likely piss them off.

I shut the door behind me and started moving in her direction. The alcohol level in my blood was falling, but still high.

"Darling! – Honey", I said, taking her hand, as if I was going to apologize.

"Please, stand up."

Irritated, she did so.

"Come here."

I lead her by the hand around the sofa.

"Turn around."

By now she had probably become suspicious, but I didn't give her time to think about it.

"Bend over."

I helped her to follow my instructions by gently pushing down her shoulders.

"You are crazy", she said, laughing. But she stayed in position.

I unbuttoned her jeans, reaching with my arms around her waist. On the TV, Oprah was talking with a psychologist about pregnant teenagers. I pulled down her jeans, and then her white panties. My hands felt the familiar flesh of her ass. Judy was 34. Her ass had grown in size, but not lost shape. I spread her cheeks apart and looked at her asshole.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Just wait, Honey."

I managed to get out my cock, which felt like it desperately wanted to grow beyond it's size. I brought it closer to my wife's pussy, this warm and trusted hole, which now seemed to be waiting for me quite eagerly.

Slowly I let my cock slide in. And at that moment, my mind began to drift away. I saw Oprah's face on the TV, but I no longer heard her voice. Instead I heard this guy from the bar:

"It's the rhythm... your heartbeat..."

I could actually feel my own heart beating, and without even wanting to, or knowing how to do it, I adjusted the rhythm in which I was breathing, and then the rhythm in which I fucked my wife.

Strange things happened. The subconscious functions of my body all seemed to well up in my brain like bubbles in a pond. I could feel my cock going wild in that wet pussy, almost ready to explode, but it seemed distant somehow. It could have been someone else fucking my wife.

The next thing I remember is that I no longer saw Oprah, but footage of a motorcade. It was this old film that showed Kennedy driving through the streets of Dallas. Yes, there was Kennedy, smiling at the crowd.

At that moment everything changed, again. I was no longer in my living room, I was lying on a bed, naked, in a really luxurious hotel room. Judy was nowhere to be seen, but my cock was still standing tall. I turned my head to the side. Oh my God. Marilyn Monroe came through the door, wearing a pair of black stockings, and nothing else.

She looked at me, with one eyebrow raised, lowering herself down on my cock, just like that, and beginning to ride it.

"Is this good, Mr. President?" she asked with her lascivious voice.

"Turn around", I heard myself say, with a voice that sounded deep, and smart, and very confident. She gave me a warm look, as if I had said something wonderful that really touched her heart, and obeyed.

"Yes, Mr. President."

It was quite a sight, watching Marilyn Monroe's ass dance on my cock, but it didn't feel right. It felt more like a memory, not like something that was happening right now.

While I was thinking this, I was suddenly struck by an outburst of pain in my head. It lasted just for one second, then it was gone, and I was back.

"Did you see that?" I asked my wife. "They shot Kennedy!"

"What?!"

Her voice sounded strangely surpressed, but this time it was not because of something going on in my brain. I realized that she was in the middle of a really hard orgasm. Her pussy muscles squeezed on my cock.

I looked at the TV. There was still Oprah, talking with that psychologist, and I thought a psychologist might be just what I needed now.