Meeting the Muse

If you enjoy slow-paced stories with a light-fantasy motive, long foreplay with a lot of touching, this might be the story for you; otherwise you might find it boring. Having said that, I hope that you’ll enjoy my story.

Any kind of feedback is welcome and appreciated.

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Jake had a severe case of writer’s block, the worst one in his career as a writer. His backlog was piling up and would soon be as tall as Mount Olympus. Nothing seemed to help, although he did not go as far as to try cocaine.

Jake went for another walk to one of the nearby parks; he had chosen the location of his house specifically because of the vicinity of a few parks. This one, nicknamed Acropolis, was his favourite because of its unique atmosphere. It did not have as many trees as the other parks, thus offering less shade, but had a large, gorgeous fountain in its centre, which created a refreshing mist in its vicinity and could offset the heat. Beyond the fountain was a marble alcove made entirely of Doric columns and an elaborately carved roof. Park’s paths were paved with stone, lined with benches and even decorated with several marble statues carved in classical style. The weather was balmy, but not too hot, one could enjoy the sunlight, without needing to cool down in the shade. In normal circumstances even a short walk would be enough to recharge Jake’s creative energy. In better times he almost felt as if Athena herself was sharing her wisdom with him through her statue. But today was not normal and neither was yesterday, nor a month ago. Yet the frustrated writer hoped against hope that this would be the day when the muses finally smiled upon him again.

Then he saw Her. She was standing near the fountain by one of the statues. These were human sized, each was placed on a pedestal roughly half a metre tall; She matched its height. True, her own height was greatly enhanced by a pair of golden, strappy sandals on incredibly tall stiletto heels, which shone brightly, as if they were made of actual gold; but she must have been well over two metres tall nonetheless. The woman looked unreal. She might have actually been unreal. If she has been real other people should have been staring at her as intently as Jake was; and they were not, they simply ignored her presence. The writer kept his eyes on the woman, as his legs carried him towards her.

Her outfit was as impressive as her size. She was wearing a long, white toga; it had a high slit on the right side which reached her hip and exposed her entire, long leg. The fabric was incredibly thin, though not fully translucent, and tight enough that Jake could see the outline of her huge breasts and the fact that she was not wearing a bra. She had fabulously feminine curves, perfectly proportional despite her towering height. Her skin was creamy and smooth, her hair - long, thick and dark; the gentle wind rustled it lightly. A golden wreath rested on her head, she had a golden bracelet on her left shoulder and another, smaller one on her right ankle.

When Jack reached the woman he had to lift his head high to be able to look at her gorgeous face, even though he was not a short man. The face he saw was classically beautiful and ideally symmetrical, with large, round, hazel eyes, full lips and high cheek bones.

“Hello,” Jake said, gathering the courage, “who are you?”

She smiled at him, it was warmer than the sunlight.

“You know my name, Jake.”

“Calliope,” the writer replied with confidence that astonished himself.

She nodded her head, maintaining the warm smile.

People around them paid no attention to the pair; no-one looked weirdly from the corner of their eye at the odd guy who was talking to himself. But nobody collided with them either, they avoided the pair like small fish swimming around a big one.

“How are you real?” Jake asked a silly question, being unable to come up with anything smarter.

“Have you ever doubted my existence?”

“No,” he answered immediately, once again astonishing himself with his own confidence.

“Splendid,” she replied, smiling even wider.