SECRETS OF AN ODALISQUE - Violante

Dr. Violante Scaravaggi had somehow made it to the Rialto today, in spite of the crowds that thronged Venice for the Regatta Storica.

They watched the annual gondoliers' race, the Historic Regatta, together. The Grand Canal was decorated with silken banners, damask hangings, and colored drapes, to welcome the dramatic flotilla that formed a procession down the waterway, in honor of the 700 year old custom that was taking place.

The procession was led by a ceremonial bissona with a gilded statue of Neptune clutching a garland of gladioli, rowed by 18 renaissance-clad men. A flotilla of additional bissone and caorline followed -- dramatic, breathtaking, gondole with their prows of golden goddesses, silver horses, heraldic crests and allegorical figures trailing colorful silk in scarlet and purple; the entire city was festooned with flowers, the Venetians decked out in 15th century costumes, a pair having been specially chosen as the Queen of Cyprus and the Doge to reenact the ancient ritual of throwing a special ring in the water.

All summer long, teams had been competing for the final rowing races between the different districts, and each crew had strong support of a faction of the local populace, Violante told Cupp. The special racing barques, she said, were used only once a year, always rowed by crews in 15th century attire. It was an exciting, splendid event, as much a part of Venetian tradition as the Palio was to Siena.

Now they were relaxing over a fine dinner at Madonna. Cupp had ordered squid, shrimp and lobster salad with lemon dressing, a house specialty, followed by vitello al limone with a 1971 Bollinger Brut champagne and an additional bottle of 1964 Barolo Grand Prix de l'Opéra.

The professoressa spoke of the Islamic studies in which she was deeply involved, and Cupp was learning a lot of fascinating things he never would have come across otherwise. At present, Violante's conversation was centering around giraffes, ostriches and ostrich eggs. She told him that Egyptian sovereigns from as early as the 15th century BC had sought giraffes as imaginative gifts, that it was in this same 15th century that a certain Queen Hatshepsut of the 18th Dynasty sent a naval expedition to the Land of Punt – possibly the Somali coast – to return with ostriches, ostrich eggs, ostrich feathers, and a live giraffe.

It had been noted, the professoressa said, by Mamluk historian al-Maqrizi that in the year 1292 a giraffe was born in captivity in Cairo. Then she started telling him all about a special expedition that brought a prized live giraffe to Tamerlane -- from Cairo to Samarkand. The poor giraffe had to walk the whole distance, 3000 miles. This event had been recorded, Violante said, by a Persian historian named Sharaf al-Din Ali Yazdi, as well as by a dude named Clavijo, a Spaniard who went along on the trip with the Egyptian delegation.

Supposedly the guy who presented the giraffe, together with a whole bunch of ostriches, ostrich eggs and feathers to Tamerlane was a Mamluk ambassador named Manglay Bugay. The route of this trip, said Violante, went around the southern flank of the Caspian Sea through Khorasan, Soviet Turkmenistan, northern Afghanistan, crossing the Oxus River (now the Amu Darya), until they arrived, 34 months after starting out, in Kesh, Tamerlane's birthplace.

It must have been quite an event. Cupp only wished he could have brought his tape recorder to get the whole fascinating story down as she told it; he was sure it could somehow be worked into his book on the 20th century as an interesting juxtaposition of how times had changed, or something.

Cupp had invited the professoressa to dinner with one object in mind – she knew Gaia Blumenthal well. It could be that she was in the know regarding the hush hush world of this secret organization, the Odalisques, about which his curiosity was so thoroughly aroused. Furthermore, as a native and a scholar, she would be able to direct him to sources, would understand the library system in Italy, which would be Greek to him. She would have shortcuts, allowing him to obtain intelligence as quickly as possible, giving him ammunition to work from. He couldn't simply go to Gaia Blumenthal himself and start referring to Odalisques when he didn't even know what in hell he was talking about. Once he had a firm base to start from, then and only then could he raise the subject.

Cupp questioned Violante on her relationship to Gaia Blumenthal. The answer was as he guessed; they had known each other well for years, they had a great deal in common. Gaia was a phenomenon, Violante said, a superwoman – many-faceted, knowledgeable, knowing.

"I am so fortunate," Violante said, "to have such a wonderful relationship with her. It is a very meaningful friendship."

Cupp registered the distinct possibility that Violante herself could know something about the Odalisques. He would be cool about it, but he would find out.

Here was quite a fascinating lady, exuding charm, able to talk on just about any topic. As a rule he never would have been caught dead in public with a woman of her age – for sure she was 45 plus, although still attractive; however, 32 was the invisible mark at which he generally drew the line – and yet, a strange thing was happening – he was beginning to be beguiled by her.

She was telling him now about her interest in horses. As a dressage and show jumping enthusiast, she was one of the 200 members of Milan's exclusive Centro Ippico di Castellazzo.

"The Italians, you know, have had a profound influence on horse riding," she said, "first with our cavalry tradition, and then the great Federico Caprilli practically singlehandedly invented the entire modern equestrian system with the forward seat. Caprilli is considered the father of show jumping, you know. Now only the British still ride the old way."

Violante illustrated what she meant by sitting back in her chair, placing her legs forward, "as in the old park seat style. For me," she said, "this is an awkward, unaesthetic way to go over fences. And almost everyone else in the horse world rides Caprilli's Italian style ... così... " Again she moved, this time backward, leaning only slightly toward the table, to demonstrate the seat made famous as to give Caprilli the undisputed title of progenitor of modern equestrian sport. Cupp could not help letting his imagination run wild as the professoressa's movements became provocative.

"In Italy equestrian clubs have mushroomed, and show jumping now is the second most televised sport in all of Europe -- after calcio, or soccer, which we also call football," she said.

She told him all about this guy Caprilli's principles of natural equitation, which had been adopted by all the rest of the world except Great Britain. "Balance and firmness in the saddle are the sine qua non," she said. "The rider must accompany with the weight of his body, with his hands especially, every movement the horse makes, offering no interference."

She spoke also about what Caprilli said about maintaining a constant light tension with the movement of the hands during the jump. "Just as soon as the horse has sprung," Violante explained, "the rider should let his trunk follow the displacement forward of the center of gravity without lifting his seat too far out of the saddle -- at the same instant he must move his hands forward -- così -- allowing the horse to stretch his neck and shoulders -- giving the horse full rein --"

Cupp could not help thinking, as she illustrated, what the professoressa would be like in the kip. He had not foreseen this keen interest in bedding her, or even being this attracted, and he had to wonder about the power she was beginning to evince over him -- could it be possible, he asked himself, that Violante might even be an Odalisque? It was logical, since she was such a good friend of Gaia Blumenthal's. As the evening wore on, Cupp found himself more firmly convinced that his speculation could indeed be the case.

He found an opening in which to broach the subject of research assistance. He said, "I was wondering, Violante, if you might be able to direct me -- in a very important piece of scholarship I'm laboring over."

The dottoressa looked up from her pernicotte. Mellowed by wine, she smiled. "Of course, if it is at all possible, I would be glad to. What is the field?"

To say the Odalisque would be too obvious, too gauche. Instead Cupp answered, "The sacred harlot." That should be hint enough.

Making a point to study her face for signs of recognition, Cupp found none. If Violante knew what he meant, she did not betray it. Probably Odalisques were trained not to let on. Cupp continued, "Do you know anything about such women? What they might be called?"

"The hetaerae," she replied, without hesitation. "In the time of Pericles, the hetaera was renowned, given an honored place in society. But you know, this was also true in Venice, which many people do not know. Yes, Venetian women were esteemed in this way as well."

Aha! Now maybe they were getting to something. Hadn't Gaia Blumenthal, an American, chosen Venice to live, many decades ago? She was a member of this Odalisque bunch; Venetian women were famous for this type of activity ... Cupp was sure there was a tie.

Violante continued, "Venetians were accustomed to paying dearly for amorous dalliance, you know, and Venetian women always enjoyed secret influence from their special position as courtesans. Many women of `citizen descent' made their mark in society as high class harlots, composed Latin orations, and presided over literary salons of Venezia. As these women were distinguished for their intellect, one paid for pleasures with them accordingly. A few of them were even made `Daughters of the Republic,' a very high honor."

"Where would it be possible for me to find information on this subject here in Venice? As soon as possible?" Cupp asked. "Do you think I might be able to find someone to be my research assistant?"

"I'm sure this could be arranged. It sounds like an interesting project."

"Yes, indeed. Would you be able to suggest someone to help me, by any chance?"

She thought a moment. "Yes, I have someone I could recommend highly," she said. "I will speak to him tomorrow. His name is Guido Cavalcante -- like the poet of the Duecento who was Dante's elder friend and influence on the dolce stil nuovo. He would be able to find anything you would need right here in Venice."

There was one further question he had to ask. He had not for the life of him been able to discover what the word Arthur had used on the tape, cicisbeo, meant. Looking around to make sure no one was listening, Cupp lowered his voice to ask, "Violante, can you tell me this -- what is a cicisbeo?"

She burst out laughing. "Maybe you are looking for a good job?" she asked, "you wish to apply for a position as my cicisbeo?" She couldn't stop laughing. "What a good idea! Maybe we will try -- "

"At least let me in on the secret," Cupp fretted, but Violante only chuckled all the more.

"We shall see," she said, "a suggestion of intimacy to her tone, "what kind of cicisbeo you will make. We do an audition, no?"

Again he felt it, that mysterious invisible power she held, a force that could not be described in words. He tried to figure what it could be – perhaps her perfume? He had heard many European women used their vaginal secretions as bases for special formulae scents that were irresistible to men. Could that be it? He had to admit in spite of her age, Violante had a certain magnetism one didn't ordinarily encounter. How was it that a woman of this age could so appeal to him, he wanted to know? He wanted to fuck her, by golly. And just imagine, if she were an Odalisque, besides, and that were thrown into the bargain -- yes, he was sure that any woman with this kind of allure had to have something very special going for her, so it stood to reason Violante was an Odalisque. Everything fit in place: the magnetism, her friendship with Mrs. Blumenthal, knowing about the hetaerae but not wanting to reveal the truth about the Odalisques. Yes, he had her number.

He was curious to know what she'd be like in the saddle and he didn't have to wait long to find out.

They crossed the Rialto bridge with its 12,000 poles on the way back to the hotel. Shortly after, he watched Violante disrobe. For a woman of her age, she had an excellent body – weight evenly distributed, no bulges, rolls of fat or cellulite; nothing flabby or droopy. Remarkably well-preserved, all in all, while obviously not in the prime of youth. He was dying to see her rear view, in order to find out about those dimples, but she had already climbed under the sheets and it would sound peculiar if he asked her to turn over, suddenly, with no bridge leading to the request. She might think he was a sodomy freak and get turned off.

Darts of desire rose, as Cupp's breath quickened and his cock grew big. With swift flicks of his tongue he investigated her inviting, sensuous, and petulant Bardotesque bouche. He was immediately pleased to see there were no turnoff signals; she did not smell bad, like so many woman past their late 30's did; her breath passed inspection (they had both eaten garlic), thus far she displayed no negative habits, her breasts were not pendulous; fortunately her pubic hair was still coarse and profuse, not having thinned out or faded in color as with so many women of a certain age it was prone to do -- no, there was nothing at all disgusting about her bush, in fact, as he stuck his finger up her cunt right now, he was really pleasantly surprised -- she was moist and secreted a copious amount of lubrication. Could be taking hormones. Her kisses were succulent, her rising passion pleasing, exciting.

Why was it that over the past decade or more he had developed such an antipathy toward older women? Well, this one would be different, because she was, he was now certain, a genuine Odalisque. She had to be. How else could she be arousing him to this degree? But he must have positive confirmation.

Choosing a comfortable pause in their erotic play to turn the professoressa on her stomach, Cupp sought to inspect for indentations, to make absolutely sure she did indeed have the dimples of the Odalisque. The light streaming in through he shutters shone squarely on her generously proportioned, inviting buttocks.

No dimples.

Cupp's erection went down with a quick flop, just shrank like a pricked balloon. Christ. He had looked forward to this with such anticipation, only now he felt as emotionally deflated as his peter. When he was thinking about balling a real odalisque, even just over dinner he'd felt his rod almost busting through his britches. Now he felt like he'd been hit in the balls. What a cruel letdown.

He should have known better. It was probably her age after all, plus also the dottoressa might just be too cultured, too much of an intellectual threat. He didn't need a woman to challenge him to supremacy on that score. This he hadn't ever realized during their nice discussions at dinner, but it must be the case, because now, as his dick lay limp and her kisses and tactile probings grew more urgent, he was sure he'd made a serious mistake. Except now it was too late.

Violante, observing his problem, pulled away. "Don't leave," she cautioned, finger to her lips, and pranced out of the sack to the john. In seconds she had returned with his collapsible travel cup, which she had opened and filled with warm tap water.

"Up, su, su," she commanded, as if urging a horse over a hurdle, motioning him to raise his buttocks. Then she placed the cup of water just under his balls. The sensation of his testicles floating in water was pleasurable, and Cupp lay back and sighed.

The dottoressa applied herself to subtle licks, flicks, tongue stroking and the art of giving him a royal blow job the likes of which he had never in his life experienced. Odalisque or not, she was a thoroughgoing expert at the subtleties of fellatio, of that there was no doubt. This gimmick with the cup -- he wondered how he'd missed that one -- was a great secret to know, a terrific turn-on -- man, getting head this way was the way to go, it beat anything he'd tried in the eating department -- look at his rod, for Christ's sake, it just kept on swelling until it got so enormous he thought it would burst wide open, at which point Violante pulled the cup out and straddled him.

Her motions were hard, twisting, grasping, and her eyes seemed transfixed, afire, her pouty mouth almost cruel; there was something definitely perverse about her, Cupp had known it on the spot when he first met her at Gaia's, when he'd noted she had the look of a genuine vicieuse -- right then and there he'd known here was a signora who'd die from wanting to get his prick shoved between her legs, and he'd been right, yeah, right about her perversity --

He loved to look at this bitch in heat, watch her getting his cock. You could tell she was a class A horsewoman by the way she fucked. She did a lot of sensuous smiling between clenched teeth, and there was something about the way she rode him where you knew she'd shine in the show ring-- now astride her mount in the proper British style, yes, that was it, assuming the old park seat in the manner of the English, feet forward -- he liked the way she slid back that way on his cock -- man, it felt good, like she was competing on her steed in the World Cup at the White City, emerging the winner of the round.

It caused slight pain to his prick but it was a good pain, he wanted more, more pain like this, like this, more more more more more pain, yes, that was good ... and now Violante had become the challenging Italian rider, assuming the forward seat pioneered by that fellow what's his face, pivoting now from the cavalry seat and taking control in the manner made famous by – what were their names, all those Olympic riders she had talked about? Christ, it was incredible, what she was doing to his prick.

As he watched her fucking, he could see the skilled and consummate sportswoman at work. A person knowledgeable about horsemanship would say she had good hands ... yes, those hands, he could tell from the way she held them over his chest ... he was fascinated by her technique, but the way she used those hands ... supple-wristed, enthusiastic, inspired, the action seeming independent of the shoulders and the rest of the body ... moving so adroitly now, his cock in her ... Christ ...

"Quanto mi piace," she was sighing, "si, si, che bello! Ah, dai, dai!"

But as always there came that moment to Cupp where he could watch no longer, and now, as he felt himself sliding thorough the joy juices of her pussy to that point of no return, he gripped her buttocks in hunger, a satyr, and catapulted into a passion mounting like a volcano, relishing the sense of crime it all aroused in him, the thought of the peak that would send him over the top. And then he became violent, now approaching dissolution, as he heard himself groan into the beginnings of an excruciating ejaculation, the exquisite emission he had been seeking as his reward, and as the ecstatic moment came, he felt himself spurt a load of come into her wet canal, filling her with the moisture of attainment and triumph.

Afterward, eating figs in bed together, he bummed one of her Nazionale Italian nonfiltertip cigarettes. Smoking together with somebody you've just banged the shit out of was one of the most truly sensuous activities Cupp could imagine.

Re the figs, Violante told him there were a lot of jokes in Italian involving double entendres with the word fig: in Italian figga meant fig, whereas ficca, which sounded almost identical to the non-Italian ear, meant vagina or cunt. The words were so similar you couldn't resist all kinds of off-color remarks. Cupp filed this away as useful information for the future, in case he should ever ball another Italian lady, which was a likely possibility.

In the meantime he turned to Violante. She looked satiated, happy, fig in petulant mouth that only 20 minutes ago had contained his cock and sucked it to such perfection. He'd have to remember that trick with the cup of water. Wild stuff, man, wild. So she didn't know from Odalisques.

Plain old getting laid or not, she was the best damned fuck he'd had in a long time -- at least in the past two days.