So he came to my Dream tonight, wearing the pale mask of the God. His skin white and pale and soft, his strong body defined by soft muscles delined under his skin, stars dancing in the dark sky of his cape. He came to me and I was there, in my bed, naked, open, white, soft and tender. But I didn’t wanted the God, I wanted the man behind the mask of the God. So, gently, slowly, I touched his face and took it off, revealing the tender face of the storyteller. Human, beautiful, sad, sweet. He looked to me with melancholic eyes but before he could say a word I pressed tenderly my finger against his lips. No. I knew the wonderful stories that would come from him, that could make me stay delighted for nights and nights without end. He was The storyteller. But tonight, he was a man, like any man in the world. And this was his beauty. Slightly surprised, he took the hand I offered him and came to my bed. I seated his body and striped his few clothing, leaving his naked skin to my hands to caress and feel each tiny detail of his muscles under my fingers, caressing, pressing, touching, ignoring my own desire, my desperate need to give myself into his embrace. No. Time. My hands and fingers slowly undid the weight of his responsibilities and his fears and pains. I could feel the man inside the man coming from inside, making his way to the surface. And surprised, I saw tears into his divine eyes. I made myself even more softer to him and he reached my body to his with his strong arms, touching my lips with his lips. I opened my mouth to receive all his mixed emotions and feel the essence of masculinity on that body against mine, now carefully giving myself to his desires and needs, forgetting who I was and what I meant to become only the female under his hands, the girl under his lips, the woman whose body he possessed like an oblivion to his own pain. Passion. Instinct. The man behind the mask of the God becoming a greater God to the Goddess inside me. The passion growing, increasing, rhythmically. The night dancing around our bed, stars falling and ascending, the whole earth rounding, I felt the tiny green leaves and the dark calm waters touched by the moonlight dancing, I felt the wind that crosses the cold edges of solitary mountains, I felt the warmth of the cave where forest animals slept quietly. Whirling, grounding. I felt the earth, I was the mother and the sister and the daughter and the lover. Growing, increasing. I opened my eyes and his face was enlightened and radiating with strong masculinity, his sensuality increasing the intensity of my own lust, like an motto-continuum, making me want even more him hard inside me, his eyes shining with compassion and desire, his beautiful hair falling against his face. Over him the sky mixed colors and clouds run, competing with the moon and the stars, sometimes bringing lightning to clear the night. The man inside the man became the God inside the man and made me the Goddess to him. Our bodies united, dancing with lust, celebrated the most antique of the rites. Finally, I lost myself to the light when his seed found it’s way inside of my body. We screamed together, overwhelmed by our passion. And the earth slowly stopped her dance, and every thing with her, so suddenly there was nothing more than a man and a woman and a bed, embraced still, feeling the electricity of the union still running in both veins. He opened his eyes and smiled to me tenderly, satisfied. This time, it was his fingers that pressed my lips. There was nothing to be said. He got up on his feet and it was my time to feel my body aching with the absence of his warm body. Never my bed felt so strange, lonely, cold. So he smiled to me again, but it wasn’t the storyteller that laughed, it was the familiar face of the dream-god, his pale face and dark eyes with stars dancing inside them. So I wake, and I was alone.