I once met the goddess Aphrodite in a hotel bar in San Diego. She was dressed as a forty year old, mother of three from Mexico City, but it was obviously Aphrodite. It's rare to meet a goddess, especially one drinking Pinot Noir in a downtown Marriott full of business suits eating Mozzarella sticks. But there she was.

At first, her power, strength, and majesty made me wonder if she were Athena. As I watched her drink her wine, though, it became clear that she could only be Aphrodite. The grace, beauty, passion, and allure that emanated from her was palatable. Like a charismatic heatwave of charm and beguilement. Only Aphrodite could so naturally, so unknowingly, do that.

One might think that I would be trepidatious about approaching a goddess. Aphrodite is renowned for being unpredictable, capricious, and temperamental. Tales of foolish men and gods who underestimated her strength and ferocity abound. Nonetheless, I felt emboldened when I saw her from across the room. So, I sat down on a high legged chair next to the goddess at the bar.

I ordered a snifter of Japanese whisky, neat, and sloshed the light amber around the glass, near my nose. I inhaled the aromatic floral and peatiness.

I looked at her in the large mirror that framed the area behind the bartender. I watched as she sat at the bar with the posture of someone who knew she was being watched but didn't particularly care. Five foot, six inches tall, perhaps. Her long black hair fell past her shoulders in waves that caught the dim bar light. Her eyes, dark and soulful, surveyed the room with a kind of amused detachment. As if she were cataloging everyone's small dramas for later consideration. When she lifted her wine glass, I noticed her mouth, full and inviting. When she smiled at something the bartender said, her teeth were lovely and white. Transforming her entire face from merely beautiful to radiant. For just a moment, she made eye contact with me in the mirror and her bewitching gaze beckoned me.

I checked my hair and collar in the mirror. I like to think I'm attractive for an older man. I'm just under six feet tall and about a hundred and fifty-five pounds. I have a swimmer's build from hundred of laps in the pool. I stay healthy by running and practicing yoga. My brown hair is short, partially for ease and style and partially out of necessity as it thins noticeably on top. No gray there yet, though my close-cut beard is becoming more and more gray. My pale blue eyes, tend to give me a look of distant contemplation. A look that former girlfriends have called either "intellectual" or "emotionally unavailable" depending on how the relationship ended.

I looked over at her, unable to help myself. She wore a black sleeveless dress that ended a few inches above her knees. The kind of elegant simplicity that requires confidence to pull off. The neckline revealed just enough cleavage to be intriguing without being obvious. A sophisticated balance that spoke to intentionality. A gold necklace rested against her collarbone, delicate and understated. Paired with matching earrings that caught the light when she turned her head. Her legs, toned and attractive, were crossed at the knee. She wore one strappy black heel dangling from her foot as she swiveled slightly on the bar stool. Everything about her presentation suggested a woman who knew exactly the effect she was having.

I'd kept on my conference attire. A dark suit that had survived the day's panels without too much wrinkling. Paired with a light blue shirt that I'd been told brought out my pale eyes. My gray tie was still knotted. I'd loosened it slightly after the last session ended,though. The only concession to personality were my socks. A bright blue and yellow pattern that no one would see unless I crossed my legs. My black dress shoes were polished but comfortable. The kind a man wore when he knew he'd be standing and walking all day.

"You're not from here," I said, not as a question, but as an observation.

She turned, her dark eyes meeting mine with an amused glint. "Neither are you, I think." Her accent was subtle, refined. "What gave me away?"

"You're the only person in this room who looks like they don't belong here," I replied, peering into her lovely eyes.

A smile played at the corner of her lips. "And you? You don't look like a man who makes a habit of talking to strangers in hotel bars," she ventured teasingly.

"Only the interesting ones." I took a sip of my whisky. "I'm Nick," I pressed, presenting my name as an offering.

"Adriana." She didn't offer her hand, and just let her name hang in the air between us like an invitation.

Her eyes drifted down briefly, taking in my suit. The kind of dark, well-fitted corporate armor that could blend into any professional setting. But then she noticed my socks. Visible as I crossed one leg over the other, and a smile played at her lips. "Colorful," she said, gesturing with her wine glass. "I wouldn't have expected that from someone so," she paused, searching for the word, "composed."

I shrugged while smiling. "Everyone needs a small rebellion."

"What brings you to San Diego, Adriana?" I pushed, pressing further. My sharp eyes peering into her.

"Family. My aunt is in the hospital after surgery recovery," she replied. She swirled her wine, and I saw a flicker of worry cross her face. "She's doing well, but someone needs to be here, and I'm the only one who could get away."

"I'm sorry. That must be difficult. You're a good niece, I know she appreciates you being here," I affirmed, feeling my face go soft with care.

As she spoke about her aunt, Adriana's entire demeanor shifted. Those dark, soulful eyes, almost black in the bar's low light, filled with genuine warmth. She had the kind of face that couldn't hide emotion even if she wanted to. Every feeling flickered across those expressive features. Her long black hair fell forward as she leaned in, and she absently tucked it behind one ear. When she smiled it was transformative. Her mouth, already inviting, became irresistible. Her lovely teeth flashed white against her radiant skin.

"It is. But also," she paused, "it's good to feel needed. To have a purpose beyond the everyday, she added, looking at me. "What about you?," she quizzed, seemingly interested.

"A conference, actually. Academic historians descending on San Diego to argue about footnotes and methodology." I smiled. "Not as noble as taking care of family," I continued to grin, making fun of myself.

"A historian?," she inquired, her interest seemingly genuine. "What period?," she played with her dark hair revealing a slight amount of nervousness.

"Nineteenth and twentieth century. Mostly American and European history. Social and cultural history, transition, transformation, the world wars. I teach at a university," I lectured a little too much, a bit too happy to talk about myself.

"So, why did you start a conversation with me, professor?," she simultaneously challenged and flirted. Playing with her hair and glancing at my mouth.

"I thought you might be the Greek goddess Aphrodite and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to find out for certain," I replied, soulfully, seriously, and invitingly.

"Ah." She took a sip of wine. "So you would know about the real Aphrodite, then. Not just the romantic version."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit outside my wheelhouse, actually. Though I did my undergraduate work in classics before I discovered I was more interested in modern history," I explained. Becoming even more beguiled as I looked into her eyes.

"You think I'm Aphrodite because I'm beautiful?" She said it matter-of-factly. Without false modesty or arrogance, referencing my earlier comparison.

"Because you have presence. The ancient Greeks understood that Aphrodite wasn't just about beauty, she was about power, magnetism. The forces that draw things together." I paused, looking at her, really taking her in. "Also, yes, because you're beautiful." I grinned widely, attempting to access all of my charm.

She laughed, a genuine, musical sound that made the businessman two seats down glance over. "A historian who admits to being attracted to someone. How refreshingly honest."

When she shifted on the stool to face me more directly, the black fabric of her dress moved with her, the sleeveless cut showing off her arms, the hem riding up slightly on her thighs. The gold at her throat and ears caught the bar light, warm against her skin. She recrossed her legs, and I heard the soft whisper of her strappy heels against the bar stool's footrest. Everything about the way she dressed suggested intention. Not the desperate need to be noticed, but the quiet confidence of someone who knew she would be.

"I find that academic detachment has its limits. I like to press for what I want. And take what I need," I stated strongly, watching her face intently for change in her demeanor.

"Sometimes things and people need to be taken," she offered with a small knowing smile. The hairs on my arm immediately stood up.

"And what would a professor of modern history tell me about Aphrodite? With your classical training?," she inquired, enjoying the underlying intensity of the interaction. Starting to relish what was developing

"That she was dangerous. That she caused the Trojan War. That she punished those who offended her and rewarded those who honored her." I swirled my whisky. "Though honestly, I'm more comfortable talking about how the myth was used in Victorian England or how the Romantics reinterpreted classical imagery," I offered, retreating to comfortable territory.

"The professor stays in his century," Adriana said, amused.

"Guilty. I fell in love with the modern period because it felt more real to me. We have photographs, recordings, and letters that survived. The people feel closer somehow," I replied honestly. Giving her a glimpse into my passions.

She considered this. "In Mexico, we have La Virgen de Guadalupe. Very different from Aphrodite, obviously. But there's still this sense of, female power that men don't quite know how to handle." She smiled, playfully but intently at once.

"Do you pray to her," I pried. Wanting to see her completely. To know the real Adriana. Even the parts she hides from others.

"Sometimes. When I need strength more than answers." She looked into her wine glass. "I prayed in the hospital chapel this afternoon, actually. Just sat there in the quiet."

"How is your aunt doing?," I asked, wanting to know how it was bothering Adriana. Wanting to understand her.

"Better. The surgery went well. She'll need physical therapy, but the doctors are optimistic." She paused. "She told me this morning that I look tired. That I'm carrying too much. She's recovering from surgery and she's worried about me."

"Are you? Carrying too much?," I asked, feeling the weight that she was shouldering. Wanting to lighten her load.

Adriana was quiet for a moment. "I have three children. All of them young. I take care of everyone who needs taking care of." She met my eyes. "So yes, I suppose I am. But that's life, isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to be. Not all the time," I proposed. Looking deeply into her eyes. Enjoying her presence.

"What would you suggest, Professor? A vacation? A sabbatical?," she retorted, stressing the farcical nature of my statement. Making me feel like a tourist playing in her life.

"Maybe just an evening where someone else carries the conversation. Where you don't have to manage anything," I answered, wanting to be clear what I could give her. How I could take care of a goddess. "A place where you could relinquish control. Where you could be free to be the unencumbered you."

She studied me. "Is that what you're offering?," she inquired, gazing into my eyes. Trying to ascertain who I was and if I was serious. If I could be trusted. If I was worth it.

"Among other things, perhaps," I volleyed. Managing to sound more needy than I meant.

The bartender came by, and Adriana ordered another glass of wine. I asked for another whisky. The bar was beginning to empty, the business travelers heading to their rooms, the convention attendees finally exhausted from networking.

"Tell me about teaching," she said. "Do you enjoy it?," her eyes dark and mesmerizing. I tried not to look too often at her lovely smile, inviting cleavage, and alluring legs.

"Most days. There's something satisfying about watching students discover that history isn't just dusty facts. That these were real people with real passions, real needs." I swirled my whisky. "Though I'll admit the research is what drives me. I love exploring social and cultural relationships. How we control and are controlled. How we are made to conform and submit," I offered as I concentrated on her face, attempting to know what she was thinking.

"Is that so?," she questioned: seemingly taken aback, unsure what to say. Showing signs of needing more than she wanted to admit.

"It is," I pushed, enjoying the newfound sense of desire. "I like to understand power and control and how it drives us. I enjoy exploring what we share with those around us and what we hide," I stated intensely. Never moving my eyes from hers.

"You're a complicated person, Professor," she ventured, noticeably losing control of her thoughts and desires. Her demeanor had visibly changed. She was fidgeting in her chair. Her hands playing with the wine glass and her necklace

"Aren't we all?," I mirrored, gazing at the need in her eyes. "Don't we all want to be really seen and truly understood? Allowed to share our true selves with someone?," I pressed, feeling a rare and overwhelming connection with her. Not able to explain why I felt so intertwined with a near stranger.

"I feel that," she said softly. "I am busy and content most of the time, but sometimes..." She trailed off.

"Sometimes you want someone to talk to in a hotel bar and help you to finally feel seen," I asserted. Drawn to her, finding myself connecting in ways I didn't think possible.

"Yes. Or someone to remind you that you're more than just a mother, a daughter, a businesswoman. That you're still you," she exclaimed, opening up more than she had in quite a long time.

"You are," I said. "And all the multitudes that you contain," I smiled.

"Sometimes, I want to give up control," she said honestly. "To be free. To not worry or stress. To put down the weight on my shoulders. To only exist in the moment, she continued. I knew what she meant.

"There is freedom in giving up control," I offered. "To serve is to be free."

She looked at me. Deeply. Peering into me. And nodded. Silently agreeing.

We talked for another hour. About her aunt's stories of growing up in Mexico. About my work and hers. About her children and mine.

I told her about teaching during the pandemic. About a student who had written a brilliant paper comparing 1930s propaganda to modern social media.

"So, why did you come to the bar this evening?," she asked. Smiling as she fished.

"Because the conference dinner was unendurably dull and I needed decent whisky," I replied with a smile.

She smiled. "And you found a goddess instead."

"I did," I responded with more passion than I meant to. The moment stretched between us, charged with possibility.

"I should probably go," she said eventually, though she made no move to leave. "Visiting hours start early tomorrow."

"Probably," I agreed, but not wanting her to leave.

She looked at me for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us. "This has been quite unexpected."

"The best things usually are," I opined, lost in the moment; lost in her.

"Nick," She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "I don't usually do this. I don't know what you're expecting, but."

"I'm not expecting anything," I said truthfully. Looking seriously at her.

"I'm just enjoying talking to you," she exhaled with complete seriousness.

"Are you?," I asked. Wanting her to say more. Needing her to say more.

There was challenge in her voice again, but softer now. "Because I can feel something else happening here. Between us."

"So can I," I asserted honestly. Feeling it so deeply, as if we were spooling together.

"And what is it you want?," she asked. Offering one last weak display of resistance to the wave that was crashing around us.

I considered my answer carefully. "I want to keep talking to you. I want to know more about you. And yes, I want more than that."

She studied my face, searching for something. "What are you suggesting?"

"That we could continue this somewhere quieter. Your room or mine," I pressed. Wanting her more than anything.

The air thickened between us. She finished her wine slowly, deliberately.

"847," she finally said. "Come up in fifteen minutes. Not before."

"Why fifteen?," I inquired. Wondering she picked such a number.

A slight smile. "Because I need to decide if this is a good idea. And because anticipation is half the pleasure, isn't it, Professor?"

"It is," I nearly whispered. Already lost in her.

She stood, touched my shoulder lightly, the first physical contact between us, and I felt electricity run through that simple gesture.

As she rose, I noticed again how the black dress moved with her body. How her heels gave her stride a certain deliberate grace. The gold necklace settled back into place against her collarbone. I straightened my tie reflexively, suddenly conscious of my rumpled suit after a long day. My light blue shirt felt a bit too corporate for this moment. But her eyes met mine, and I realized she wasn't evaluating my clothing anymore. She was looking at me.

"Knock softly. If I don't answer right away, be patient."

"I can do that."

"Can you?" Her eyes held mine. "We'll see."

She walked away, and I sat there, whisky in hand, watching the seconds tick by on the clock above the bar. Motionlessly thinking about goddesses and mortals and the space between wanting and having.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I nursed my whiskey, willing myself to be calm. Focusing on the bar, feeling the air conditioned breeze on my skin. I forced myself to smell the aroma of liquor and highly caloric food that lingered in the air. I watched the bartender work. Impressed with her stealthiness and agility and her ability to flirt just enough to garner large tips.

After 12 minutes had passed, I paid the tab and exited the dimly-lit space. Walking with purpose to the nearby elevator. I adjusted my clothing and smoothed my hair. A little more concerned about my appearance than I would have admitted.

Momentarily, I reached the eighth floor and nearly effortlessly located Adriana's room. After knocking softly, I waited; staring at the closed wooden door. Not checking my phone, not fidgeting, not moving at all. Only patiently waiting.

The door eventually slid open and Adriana appeared in the now illuminated space. Wearing a billowy, white bathrobe that glowed against her spellbinding skin. She smiled softly as she invited me inside while closing the door.

Adriana looked at the clock on the nightstand next to the bed, "15 minutes exactly, punctuality is appreciated," she offered breathlessly, a light grin forming on her lips.

"It would be unconscionable to keep a goddess waiting," I countered, walking further into the room and telling her to come closer to me with my eyes.

She quickly obeyed my silent command and was standing near me in what seemed like an instant. And as I looked into her dark, mysterious eyes, I silently willed her to drop the bathrobe from her lithe body and step away from it; which he did in an instant.

Her body was an undiscovered land of smooth, delicate, cinnamon skin. A country that contained impossibly inviting mountains and valleys. Alongside beckoning pristine territories that demanded to be explored and conquered.

She stood before me in only her well- appointed bra covering her bountiful breasts and a much skimpier thong that nearly hypnotized me. Both the bra and thong were patterned with an inviting cherry print. Her body begged to be taken, opened, explored.

"I'll have to pop your cherry, tonight," I grinned, drawn to her beauty and grace.

"It has been a while," she laughed, breaking the sensual tension for a moment.

I leaned in and kissed her, holding her face in my hands. Deeply, passionately, soulfully kissing. Feeling our bodies, our minds, and our souls intertwine. As my tongue explored her mouth and my hands roamed her hair, I allowed my need and desire to overtake me. Enjoying her warm, sensual, and fullness. Wanting more and more of her and ready to take it. She tasted like honey on a warm summer's day and smelled of lilac and jasmine and I could not get enough of her.

While I kissed her soft, full lips and her delicate neck and ears, my fingers found her bra's clasp and soon the sweet fruit- covered garment was abandoned on the floor.

As I kissed and softly bit the back of her incredibly soft neck, my hands roamed and cupped her full breasts; stroking and pinching her stony nipples. Loving the feel of her; adoring all of her. Entranced by the heightened exclaim of her breaths and her low, throaty moans.

I explored her for what seemed like both an instant and an eternity. Her goddess-like sensuality unleashing something in me. Something primal, something visceral, something unmoored from social niceties. It propelled me forward. Pushing me to have more.

I broke our kiss and placed her chin in my hands, looking down into her dark eyes. Never speaking a word, I peered into her; into all of her need and desire. And slowly she sank to the floor; finally looking up at me from her knees with her face covered in lust and desire.

I nodded softly, watching as she carefully unbuckled and opened my pants; never breaking eye contact. Her small, delicate hands soon released my excited cock. Softly, teasingly rubbed the already abundant precum over the swollen head, looking into my pale blue eyes with an intoxicating mix of defiance and submission.

Stroking my cock slowly; carefully, as she dared me to stop her. Knowing that to submit is to control; and to control is to submit. Her and I both breathing excitedly and moaning in unison.

As our eyes never broke contact, she slowly guided my ready cock into her willing mouth. Looking to me for approval as my cock soon filled her mouth; a note of pride on her face as she accommodated my length and girth.

Her hands cupped my balls, as she went to work; licking and sucking and tonguing. Continually looking to me for guidance and approval; needing to know she was doing a good job.

"Mmmm, such a good girl," I throatily bellowed. "You like being my little slut, don't you?"

Adriana moaned on my cock and nodded her agreement as she redoubled her efforts. My hands found her long, silken, dark hair and my long, thin fingers explored.

"Such a needy little whore, so ready for my big cock," I growled; giving Adriana the encouragement she craved. "You love submitting to me, don't you?"

I pulled my cock out of her heavenly mouth; leaving her feeling empty and untethered. Alone and without a purpose.

"Yes, Daddy," she begged. "I love being your Mexican slut," her dark eyes lost in a world of wanton desires.

"You want me to fuck my goddess-slut?," I pressed. Needing her to say the words; wanting to hear them more than anything.

"Yes, Daddy, she squealed, unable to contain herself. "Please, fuck me, Daddy. Please, fuck your little slut's pussy."

She looked at me with overwhelming desire. Knowing she was egging me on; enrapturing me. Again taking control in her submission. Making my submit to her need to be taken.

I reached down and cupped her large, sensual, beautiful breasts. Needing to explore them and determined to make her wait for what she needed. I pinched her hard nipples, feeling their visceral sensuality between my fingers and thumbs. Loving how she felt, engulfed in her; learning how to worship a goddess.

I leaned down and sucked on her erect nipple, running the tip of my tongue across its divinity. Losing myself in the feeling of her hard softness. Gently, taking her sensitive nipple between my sharp teeth and carefully holding it in place, I licked feverishly. Her moans filled the room as her body shuddered. I applied a little more pressure with my teeth, biting harder, while I continued to pinch the other nipple; determined to send her into a frenzy. Knowing the soreness would be a reminder of tonight for her tomorrow.

"Mmmm, Daddy, please," the goddess expelled. "Please, fuck me. I need it so much." Her face a mask of ethereal yearning. Her voice a quivering mass of primal callings. A deity undone.

As any believer would, I heeded the goddess's call and went to worship at her altar. Lifting her and carrying her to the bed; Aphrodite in my arms.

She looked up at me, her eyes pools of deep need; of pressing desire. I slowly slid off her sodden thong; it soaked with need. "That's a juicy cherry," I offered, grinning.

She half-smiled back, too lost in the present to offer more. Her body went prone, her back against the hotel mattress, as I opened her legs, spreading them easily. Adriana offered no resistance.

My hand found her sex, rubbing her warm, smooth, slippery labia. My fingers caressing her wetness before I ground the palm of my hand into her, creating sensual friction. I rubbed and teased, opening her as I pushed two fingers inside, feeling how ready she was.

I thrust my fingers deep into her and curved them while pressing against the sponginess of her walls, making a "come here" motion. Finding her g-spot and stroking it in long slow repetitions. Her body thrashing as I lowered my head and delicately began to lick and suck her engorged clitoris. Possessed by her taste and scent, giving the goddess the worship she deserved.

"Fuck me! Fuck me, now! Fuck me hard, Daddy!," she cursed, unable to contain herself. Her body and mind completely animalistic.

"Whose good slut are you, Adriana?," I asked, raising my head from between her legs. Looking at her; her nectar coating my lips and mouth. Really looking at her. Seeing all of her; inside and out.

"I'm yours, professor," she moaned. "All yours." Her alluring, caramel body open and ready to be taken.

"Good girl," I responded. Lowering myself to her, pressing Adriana under my weight as took her as mine. My cockhead opening her and pressing inside her wetness. Stretching her to accommodate, while filling her, molding her pussy to the shape of my cock.

I wish I could say I was gentle, but I wasn't, neither of us wanted that in the moment. We both needed to fuck like animals and we did. I took her again and again. Exploring every inch of her. Fucking her hard and deep. Pulling her hair. Spanking her until I left handprints and bruises. Gripping her by the throat as I looked deeply into her dark, goddess eyes and pounded her. Leaving us both exhausted and satiated and asleep in each other's arms.

I woke her during the night to have her again. I couldn't get enough of her. I was consumed. Nearly addicted. The goddess had overtaken me. I was undeniably her worshipper.

I left in the morning, satisfied, exhausted, and a little shaken. One does not spend a night with a goddess and leave unchanged. I gave her my phone number but I have never heard from her again.

Mortals should never interfere with the gods, it never ends well. I was lucky that Adriana only took a piece of my soul. Usually, goddesses demand much more. I dream about her less than I used to. Sometimes, on a cool, calm night, I can still smell her enchanting scent in the air and taste her nectar on my tongue, though. And I never walk passed a hotel without looking inside to see if she might be there.