The Love and Death of Medusa Gorgon

A lazy heat hung in the air and slowly streamed onto the yellow-white sand that smoothly covered the seashore. The sea also seemed to have quieted and barely stirred, languishing from the heat. The white circle of the exhaustingly eternal golden sun was motionless in the pale blue high sky. It seemed the whole world had fallen silent and was lying in wait, expecting something.

On the hot yellow sand, barely noticeable grooves stretched from the sea and ended near a wet creature lying on the shore: Medusa the Gorgon had just emerged from the sea after a love encounter with Poseidon and was resting on the shore, lying freely on the hot sand and enjoying the midday silence and peace. Her body was

beautiful and perfect, a mysterious half-smile was on her beautiful face, and her eyes, with long lashes, were closed. Carelessly spread long hair lay on the sand, and only occasionally the tips of the hair would open a mouth and lazily show a red maw with a long forked tongue and sharp poisonous teeth.

Medusa still remembered the other body and had not yet cooled from the heat of the love encounter. She smiled, remembering the young and divinely beautiful Poseidon.

The sea god was tall, slender, his body smelled of salty fresh sea, and was firm, mobile, and desirable, like the sea's gentle waves. Long green curly hair, sparkling emerald eyes, thin pale lips adorned his white beautiful face.

In a surge of desire, she began to move, writhe, and press against the god's body, entwining her tender arms around his neck, seizing his long green wet hair, and infusing the kiss with a light moan and passion. She always wanted to play this game with him, and she would thrash about, breaking free from his slippery hands; then, as if by accident, yield forward and press against his chest. She would catch the gaze of his emerald-sparkling eyes and knew she looked devilishly beautiful: a slightly swollen from kisses large scarlet mouth, hardened pink nipples, a dark triangle, and long legs enchanted the sea god.

He pressed her more tightly to himself, and his mad gaze disturbed and burned. Inside her, everything went numb and tightened, as if before a leap into the unknown. His strong and gentle hands, unhurriedly, tenderly stroked her back. Their passionate kiss seemed eternal, and their naked bodies pressed against each other, becoming hot, flexible, and mobile.

Poseidon's lips were already kissing her neck and finding her breast. Her nipples warmed in the caress of his soft tongue and hardened even more, making her body shudder with sweetness and languor. The kisses became abrupt, stinging, and their bodies were already moving, adjusting and fitting to each other, preparing to merge and become one. Her legs wrapped around the god's thighs, and she felt his hard flesh seeking entry. The woman arched, opening even wider, allowing the beautiful and impatient Poseidon to enter her. And when he was deep inside, they froze, feeling the fullness of the union, and their movements became synchronous and familiar. Medusa tensed her thighs and surged against the shore of the god like surf: first slowly, then faster and faster, receding and approaching again.

Their feelings, like the sea, became stormy and turbulent, everything seethed and boiled: there was both pain and pleasure, struggle and love. She felt the tension and tremor of his body. One more moment—and then the moment of release. Poseidon hardens strongly inside her, then becomes soft and spent. Relaxation and languor take hold of them.

The wind and the sound of the sea enter their consciousness.

The sea god tenderly kisses her and disappears, swimming away into the dark black depths, and from her body his fluid slowly flows out, turning into white gelatinous jellyfish, slowly dispersing in all directions and into all seas.

And then comes peace and silence.

The sun is already so high in the sky that its hot rays seem to dry up everything, even the sea. Medusa, like a silver fish thrown out of the water by a storm, lies on the sand, tired, drained by love, and desiring nothing but rest. She stretches slightly and only now notices a youth not far away, patiently watching her. She does not look at him but feels all his movements, and the poisonous snakes rise slightly and hiss.

— Who are you? — she asks.

He approaches a little closer and timidly.

— I am Perseus.

— Perseus… — repeats Medusa.

The snakes on her head rose higher and hissed louder, making her head terrifying.

— Why have you come?

— Athena sent me.

— Athena? — the woman was surprised. The snakes also stopped hissing but did not calm down, only silently opened red maws with white teeth. — What does she want?

— She asked me to give you this, — he took from his shoulder bag some object that glinted in the sun and held it hesitantly in his hand. But it was not a sword or a dagger.

Only now did Medusa remember the conversation with Athena:

"Aren't you bored with Poseidon?" — Athena asked once. Then Medusa smiled and remained silent. Can one speak of gods with gods? "I will send you a gift," — the goddess said then and laughed her beautiful laugh, so like silver bells lightly touched by a gentle breeze.

— What is it?

— A mirror.

— A mirror?… — she was surprised in a special way.

The woman fell silent, lost in thought. The snakes also calmed down a bit, closed their mouths, and settled down calmly.

Athena knew what she was doing: sending the woman a handsome young man, significantly younger than her, and giving a mirror. Only a woman, even a goddess, could do such a thing.

"Why did she send me a mirror? — thought Medusa. — So the gods are giving me a sign… What sign?"

— Come closer to me… Just don't look at me, I want to look at you.

He, lowering his head and looking at the yellow sand, slowly approached her.

— I don't wish you harm… — she added, examining him.

He was half-boy—half-youth, with juicy bright red, slightly capricious lips, with shiny, naive and trusting eyes, framed by fluffy lashes that made them even more naive and trusting. His smooth young body with brown shiny shoulders was tender, and near the dark large nipples there were no hairs yet; he had strong sturdy legs covered with golden sun-kissed down, and his firm round buttocks were clad in a white loincloth. Despite his young age, there was strength and masculinity in him.

She examined the youth carefully and felt that, against her will, kindness, purity, and a desire for love were stealthily and forever creeping into her. She did not want his inevitable death, but she also did not want to let him go.

"Why not him? — she thought unexpectedly to herself, looking at Perseus. — I am mortal, and someday this must happen."

He still held Athena's gift hesitantly in his hand.

It was a strange and magical mirror: it had lain with Athena for a long time, unwanted and bored from melancholy and loneliness, covered with a layer of gray and acrid dust, evenly settling on the surface. Nothing but a dim distant room with old objects was reflected in it, and rare dull daylight rays reluctantly indicated the change of day and night. So passed moments, seconds, minutes, hours; hours piled into gray days, and days were packed into identical gray years, compressed by layers of gray dust.

Occasionally, some insect would accidentally fly into the room, which, after buzzing or squeaking, would get caught in the thick and disgustingly sticky-heavy and also gray, like everything here, web of gray old spiders. No one and nothing disturbed, nor wanted to disturb, the gray peace of this world. The mirror awaited the moment when it could fulfill its mistress's errand, like a faithful and devoted servant eagerly awaiting an order. Now it was in the hands of the victim and knew what needed to be done.

— A strange gift, — Medusa glanced into the mirror. A beautiful face looked back from it. The woman examined herself with satisfaction and seemed to have forgotten about the messenger. He, after standing near her for a while, shifting from foot to foot, and seeing that she was busy examining herself in the mirror, slowly moved away from her, stepping on the soft sand. Perseus began to examine the stone statues located not far away.

— Who are these? — he asked.

— These are my guests. They were all living people, and they all remained here, — she smiled.

The youth felt a chill.

— They were all alive? — he asked again.

— All… — the smile did not leave her lips.

He silently approached them.

— Were they all your lovers? — asked Perseus, touching the hard, porous stone of the nearest statue.

The woman remained silent, stirring slightly. She didn't really want to talk about it.

— Did you love them? — he walked further and touched another statue.

— No…

— Do you remember each one? — the next statue was slightly rough.

She looked at the frozen bodies. Some of them were already eroded by the wind and the salty sea air.

— Yes, each one…

They were all different: there were quiet ones, cunning ones, loud ones with strong laughter; bearded and smooth-faced, boys and old men, warriors and peasants; many were young, handsome, thirsting for glory, power, wealth; they came alone, in pairs, in groups. She saw through them all: she saw their beating hearts, their thoughts, their feelings and desires. For them, endowed with fabulous beauty, Medusa, enchanting anyone who looked at her, was terrible and beautiful, merciless and indifferent, desirable and hateful. And she saw the eyes of those who came always in their final moment. Eyes, like people, were different: mostly, they were dark, like ripe Greek olives; rarely were there blue ones, like the spring sky, or blue, like the evening sea; sometimes they came with green eyes, like Poseidon's.

— Who is this? — asked Perseus.

She didn't even look. It was so long ago, but she remembered him well: he had a strong body and black burning eyes. His strong and beautiful body was mobile and erotic, it was heavy and muscular. Brown strong hands held and squeezed her body tightly. And his eyes!… They were mad and madly beautiful, oily! Now those beautiful oily eyes had become stone and porous.

— He was a true Greek, a true warrior, and a true man. It's a pity he didn't want to stay…

Perseus wandered among the statues, examining and touching them. He felt uneasy.

— Is there anyone here who did not know your love?

— There is…

This was a mere boy with naive and kind eyes, honest and truthful. He needed money to cure his sick mother and feed his family. He constantly cried and asked for help. So he remained a boy, and will never grow up or grow old…

Some recently frozen bodies were strong and still resisted time: this boy, and that one—an experienced warrior.

Perseus went deep into the statues, examining them.

— And who is this lying so strangely? Do you remember him too?

Did she remember him? — of course, she did.

— This one was a shepherd and came in a goatskin cloak. He brought wine in a beautiful amphora. Here, where you are standing now, there was a table on which lay his bread, his cheese, his olives, his grapes, his food. The shepherd spoke good sincere words and was as simple and pure as the sky, as the sea, as the sand. But he thought he was the cleverest in the world.

She smirked.

— He had poisoned wine. How he suffered, rolling in terrible convulsions from stomach pain on this sand, white foam flowing from his mouth, and he screamed, begging: 'Kill me! Don't torment me!' So he lies there as stone. And next to him his beautiful amphora. The poisonous wine, unfinished by him, has long since dried up.

— And who is this? — the youth approached the next figure.

— This one was so hairy that he resembled those creatures that have a tail and jump through trees. Even now, hair is visible on the stone body. He was fat and old. I don't even want to remember.

— Who is this? — Perseus asked again, approaching the next one.

She thought—she didn't remember him. She tensed a little, frowned. No, she couldn't remember. Shook her head, thought again. Probably, he was one of the early ones. Yes, yes. He was like most. They were all like in a fog now, and it seemed: did it really happen to her? But the statues reminded her of it, looking at her.

Perseus approached a black statue and also touched it.

— Why is this figure black?

— He was black in life, with large lips and white teeth. And he came from a distant ancient country, where there are its own gods and from where a large blue river originates.

— Did he also want your head?

— Yes. They were all warriors and came with hatred… Why do I need their hatred?… I needed their love.

They all wanted one thing—to kill her, and they knew what they were getting into. Many were awaited by families, wives, children, mothers. And they did not wait. Dreams, lives, bodies remained here: they found eternal peace and the end of their life's journey on this shore.

— Could you have spared anyone's life? — Perseus asked again.

— No one has ever left here… — she smiled again.

— Will I become like them too? — fear of death sounded in this question.

What to answer him? She fell silent, then straightened her back, stretched. She was tired of remembering. All that was in the past. And now he—was desirable.

A light breeze, appearing from nowhere—probably the playful Zephyr was blowing on her again, flirting—lightly touched her and interrupted her memories, carrying them away into the distance.

The youth also fell silent, waiting for an answer.

— I don't know… — she said almost inaudibly. — Such is the will of the gods…

The sky was clear, and it seemed the sun was not moving. Lazy tranquility reigned around.

— Why did you come? — Medusa asked unexpectedly.

He sat down on the hot sand and fell silent. His eyes looked down, and his thoughts were mixed in his head.

"To tell or not to tell?" — he thought.

Perseus remembered the divine Athena and her words: "Do this for me," — the goddess smiled beautifully and lightly touched his young lips with her divinely sweet lips.

Perseus was young and did not yet know how to lie.

— I came for your head, — he said softly, embarrassed and blushing. He felt ashamed.

The woman sighed. How many such had come for her head. She saw his inner struggle and knew what he was thinking.

— Why do you need it? — she also asked softly and somewhat indifferently.

— To become famous.

— What can you give in return?

It seemed to him that his confession had brought relief, and now he wanted to do something good and great. He was sincere in his desire.

— Love.

— Is