The Perfect Situation

By D.X. Machina

He had been watching her for well over three hours. Not that he was the only one; she had drawn the eyes of every straight man and gay woman in the bar when she entered -- not to mention an appreciable number of eyes belonging to gay men and straight women. To say she was beautiful was to cheapen the word; she was beyond mere words, the most perfect female being he, or anyone else in the room, had ever seen.

Most people probably would have found watching a woman shooting down suitors to be boring, or a waste of time. But Paul had nowhere to go tonight, and being alone in his apartment just reminded him too much of the passage of time. No, it was better sipping a drink and watching the world spin on, as it always had, as it always would. It kept him grounded and hopeful.

So he'd watched from afar, as she mercilessly cut down potential suitor after potential suitor, gunning down the pretty boys without pity. He passed by her once on the way to the restroom, basking in her aura as he walked by. She was dissuading another suitor, one wearing an Armani suit and the surprised look of someone who had never been turned down before.

"Come on, I'm rich, I'm told I'm good-looking, I work out. And I'll do anything you want. Anything. Why not a date?" the rejectee was pleading. The woman looked up at him with big brown eyes, and laughed.

"You're not my type, Glenn."

"Then what is your type?" asked Glenn.

"Oh," she said, "I'll know him when I see him. Now go home. Your wife is waiting for you."

Paul washed his hands and headed back to his table; he had a few drinks and continued to watch the show. He liked the woman, and not just because she was the most stunningly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. No, she was bright and confident. It radiated all the way to him, that confidence. He had a feeling that he could talk to her forever, and not feel cheated; that he needn't even touch her to be satisfied.

He laughed to himself; he'd never get the chance, of course. She was shooting down men far more handsome and successful than he, and with far more of a shelf life. He had, by any reasonable measure, no more than six months left. He'd given up on chemo, and while the cancer left him looking a bit haggard, he would at least not feel dead before he died. Thirty-two was too young to go. He would've liked a wife, a family...but he'd grieved that already. He was realistic; he wanted to enjoy the last bit of time he had, not spend it seeking a cure that wouldn't come.

He downed his last vodka gimlet, and got up. He started toward the door by way of the woman, hoping to see her one last time. As he approached, he decided, spur-of-the-moment, to do something unexpected.

"Hey," he said to the woman, "I'm on my way out, but...I enjoyed watching you at work tonight. I'd like to buy you a drink."

"Oh, thank you, but I think you've seen that I'm not interested."

"Oh? No, that's...I'm not trying to pick you up," Paul stammered. "Seriously. I've seen the massacre here, I'm not looking to add to it. I just...you're a very interesting person. And not just because you're beautiful -- I just...well, I think you deserve one drink from someone not trying to pick you up."

The woman laughed, and replied, "But you're looking to wow me now, no? Trying to use not hitting on me as your line?"

Paul smiled, and shook his head. "No. I'll be honest, I'd be the luckiest guy in the world if you'd give me five minutes of your time. But I know you're out of my league. Hell, you're out of everyone's league. I just...I wanted to talk for a second, and buy you a drink...and I've got the former, and if you want the latter, fine, and if not, that's fine too. Have a good night," he said, and started to turn.

"Wait," the woman said. "Sit down."

Paul sat down.

They were quiet for a minute. The woman closed her eyes, and when they opened, they gazed into Paul's with such intensity that he felt like he should turn away lest he burst into flame.

"My name," the woman said, "is Aphrodite Praxis. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Aphrodite, like the goddess of love?" Paul asked.

"And lust and beauty," Aphrodite added. "Yes, like that."

Paul marveled at the musical quality of her voice, the slight accent that seemed to dance at the edge of definition. "I...I'm not sure what I said or did to be lucky enough to talk to you, but thank you."

"You wanted to talk to me," said Aphrodite. "Not that you wouldn't like to bed me, but you seem to recognize that I am more than my appearance."

"You...I think you could weigh eight hundred pounds and be covered in scabs, and you'd still be beautiful."

Aphrodite dimpled at that. "Well said, Paul. Physical beauty is transient for mortals, but the inner light...that is eternal. Even after the body dies, the spirit lives on."

Paul looked down, feeling suddenly the effects of the alcohol. "I...I think I need to go," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Aphrodite responded. "I didn't mean to remind you of that. Not tonight." Then, suddenly, she brightened. "Come with me, Paul. I have a test for you, and possibly a reward."

Paul rose and walked unsteadily after her, watching her behind sway hypnotically in her denim dress. It wasn't that he was drunk, it was that what she'd said had hit him in the solar plexus. "Where are we going?"

"Just to my place, Paul. I have to confirm my suspicions about you."

Paul followed her. He would follow her anywhere. Especially to her place.

It never even occurred to him, as she placed her hand in his and led him on the short walk to a nice, if nondescript apartment building, that he had never told her his name.

* * *

Two hours later, he lay against her, bare skin touching bare skin. "I would do more," he said, "but...I just...."

"Shhh," Aphrodite said, stroking his hair as one might a favored pet. "You have done as I expected. You are clumsy and inexperienced, but willing, and considerate. You listened to me. So many men do not listen, or are angered by a woman who gives instruction."

"I'm not perfect at it, but I try my best."

"I know. If you had more time, perhaps you would have found your wife, and the two of you could have practiced for years until you moved as one. I suspect that would have been your destiny...but your mortal body will unfortunately not survive the night, as I'm sure you realize."

Paul shuddered, but he knew she was right; he could feel himself growing lighter, almost as if parts of him were already turning off in preparation. If he died, though, he had enjoyed a night unlike any he'd hoped for. Her olive skin tasted of honey, her hair smelled of rosemary; he drank her in, knowing that only one thing would have made the night better, and that, of course, was impossible.

"I wish I could save you, but my powers are not what they once were. Still, I have put in word with Hades, and he has consented to me making some arrangements for you, if you're interested."

Paul lay quietly, not even trying to understand what she had just said. It seemed too odd, probably just delusions in his closing hours.

"I know your fantasies, Paul. I know how you put women on a pedestal, beyond you utterly, so that you would be but an insect in their presence. I know how that makes you feel, to imagine being with a woman who did not know of your existence."

"How...."

"I told you earlier, I am Aphrodite Praxis, Aphrodite Pandemos, Aphrodite Kallipygos. I am the Goddess of Love, Beauty, and Lust. I know of your secret fantasy, Paul, and as a woman and a god, I find the idea amusing. And so before you pass into Hades' realm, I have decided that I will reward your fumbling, but honest and not unsuccessful efforts at pleasing me. I would keep you for myself, but I have other men and women to visit, and it would not be fair to me or you. But I know of a situation that I think would be perfect for you. You will wake tomorrow into a new world. One I think you will enjoy."

Paul listened to her soothing words, barely comprehending. She couldn't really be Aphrodite, not the Aphrodite. That was a myth, a story. There wasn't really a Goddess of Lust, was there?

And yet, as he lay next to her, he felt that if this woman was anything, she was a goddess.

"Open your eyes, Paul."

He opened his eyes, and she was there, enormous, larger than a house. Her right hip stood in front of him. He rose, despite his weariness, and walked up to hit and touched it.

It felt real.

She bent her leg upward, granting him passage to the space between her thighs. He walked into the space as if in a dream. Just after he passed under her legs, the leg slid back down, and he was in the colossal stadium of her thighs, with her vagina, still dewy with her arousal, drawing him closer.

He walked toward it, not daring to believe it was real. It was his brain, he thought, giving him one last fantasy before it shut off for good. But he didn't question; he instead decided that if he had one last fantasy in him, that he'd enjoy it. And so he reached it, and pressed his four-inch tall frame into the chasm, letting it envelope him on all sides. He slid himself up and down, feeling the slippery shudder all about him. He reached up, and as he pushed himself against it, he reached out and touched her clitoris, feeling it grow and pulse with his actions. And he massaged it while he made love to the canyon, as large as he. And he came as she came, with a sudden shiver and a splash of honey-sweet, vinegar-tart ardor that covered him suddenly from head to toe.

He said, quietly, "Thank you, Aphrodite," and kissed her still-quivering quim, and snuggled up against it, letting her heartbeat surround him, and her scent pierce right through him.

He sighed contentedly, and he died.

* * *

Paul awoke.

That was surprising to him. He didn't really expect to awaken; he had been an atheist in life, and while he had accepted that death meant the end of him, he had come to accept that. But now he was awake, and somewhere dark and cool, that smelled of lilac with a slightly chemical undertone.

He was still naked, he realized, but that was the least of his concerns. He felt fine, better than he'd felt since he'd been diagnosed, actually. The pain was gone, as was the weakness. He was healed. At first he started to cry out in joy, but it was then he realized something was missing. He stopped, and touched his carotid artery, and felt...nothing. No pulse. His heart did not beat. Come to think of it, he wasn't hungry, didn't feel the need to go to the bathroom.

He was dead. That was for sure.

But where was he? The darkness was complete. He wondered if perhaps he was in his grave, buried alive, but he realized quickly that there was too much space for that. He wasn't buried alive. He wasn't buried at all.

He thought back to his last sweet memories of Aphrodite. Had she brought him here? She had known so much about him. How? Could she really be the Aphrodite? Impossible. Even if there was a God, the Greek pantheon was a myth, a legend. Everyone knew that, even the Greeks.

"You will wake tomorrow into a new world. One I think you will enjoy."

Her words came back to him. What new world? Where was he?

As if in answer to his question, there was a sudden noise from somewhere outside his location, a series of soft thuds, growing steadily louder until they stopped, and the earthquake hit.

Paul was knocked to his knees as the world slid sideways, and then stopped. He bounced back up, and almost instantly regretted it.

She was beautiful, with long, brown hair and brown eyes, and a youngish face that still was clearly adult. She was probably just the north side of twenty, he thought. Though it was hard to tell, because she was easily a thousand feet tall.

She reached down, and he stumbled backward, terrified that she saw him. But instead, she simply lifted the world up. He was pulled along with it, and he was dazed by the rise. He saw her naked left breast suddenly approaching, and he hollered out in shock as suddenly, the bra which he was standing on was brought in for docking.

He bounced to a rest on her nipple. The rest was short-lived, though, as the woman bounced to and fro, getting herself dressed, and giving Paul the ride of his afterlife.

Finally, the world stabilized, and then there was just a slow, steady bounce as his hostess strode out into the world. He sat atop her nipple, and pondered his fate. It could be worse, he thought. It could be worse.