Pagan Passions | Page 9

kisses. Forrester's hands began to rove.
So did Maya's.
She began to unbutton his shirt.
Not to be outdone, his own fingers got busy with buttons, zippers, hooks and the other temporary fastenings with which female clothing is encumbered. He was swimming in a red sea of passion and the Egyptians were nowhere in sight. Absently, he got an arm out of his shirt, and at the same time somehow managed to undo the final button of a series. Maya's blouse fell free.
Forrester felt like stout Cortez.
He pulled the girl to him, feeling the surprisingly cool touch of her flesh against his. Under the blouse and skirt, he was discovering, she wore very little, and that was just as well; nagging thoughts about the doubtful privacy of his office were beginning to assail him.
Nevertheless, he persevered. Maya was as eager as he had ever dreamed of being, and their embrace reached a height of passion and began to climb and climb to hitherto unknown peaks of sensation.
Forrester was busy for some time discovering things he had never known, and a lot of things he had known before, but never so well. Every motion was met with a reaction that was more than equal and opposite, every sensation unlocked the doors to whole galleries of new sensations. Higher and higher went his emotional thermometer, higher and higher and higher and higher and ...
Very suddenly, he discovered how to breathe again, and it was over.
"My goodness," Maya said after a brief resting spell. "I suppose I must love you for sure. My goodness!"
"Sure," Forrester said. "And now--if you'll pardon the indelicacy and hand me my pants--" he found he was still puffing a little and paused until he could go on--"I've got an appointment I simply can't afford to miss."
"Oh, all right," Maya said. "But Mr. Forrester--"
He rolled over and looked at her while he began dressing. "I suppose it would be all right if you called me Bill," he said carefully.
"In class, too?"
Forrester shook his head. "No," he said. "Not in class."
"But what I wanted to ask--"
"Yes?" Forrester said.
"Mr.--Bill--do you think I'll pass Introductory World History?"
Forrester considered that question. There was certainly a wide variety of answers he could construct. When he had finished buttoning his shirt he had decided on one.
"I don't see why not," he said, "so long as you complete your assignments regularly."
* * * * *
Nearly two hours later, feeling somewhat light-headed but otherwise in perfectly magnificent fettle, Forrester found himself on the downtown subway. He'd showered and changed and he was whistling a gay little tune as he checked his watch.
The time was five minutes to five. He had just over an hour before he was due to appear at the Tower of Zeus All-Father, but it was better to be a few minutes early than even a single second late.
The train ride was a little bumpy, but Forrester didn't really mind. He was pretty well past being irritated by anything. Nevertheless, he was speculating with just a faint unease as to what the Pontifex Maximus wanted with him. What was in store for him at the strange appointment?
And why all the secrecy?
His brooding was interrupted right away. At 100th Street, a bearded old man got on and sat down next to him. He nudged Forrester in the ribs and muttered: "Look at that now, Daddy-O. Look at that."
"What?" Forrester said, constrained into conversation.
"Damn subways, that's what," the old man said. "Worse every year. Bumpier and slower and worse. Just look around, Daddy-O. Look around."
"I wouldn't quite say--" Forrester began, but the old man gave him another dig in the ribs and cut in:
"Wouldn't say, wouldn't say," he muttered. "Listen, man, there ain't been an improvement in years. You realize that?"
"Well, I--"
"No progress, man, not in more than half a century. Listen, when I was a teen king--War Councilor for the Boppers, I was, and let me tell you that was big time, Daddy-O--when I was a teen king, we were going places. Going places for real. Mars. Venus. We were going to have spaceships, man."
Forrester smiled spasmically at the old man. "I'm sure you--"
"But what happened?" the old man interrupted. "Tell you what happened, man. We never got to Mars and Venus. Mars and Venus came to us instead. Right along with Jupiter and Neptune and Pluto and all the rest of the Gods. And we had no progress ever since that day, Daddy-O, no progress at all and you can believe it."
He dug Forrester in the ribs one final time and sat back with melancholy satisfaction.
"Well," Forrester said mildly, "what good is progress?" The old man, he assured himself after a moment's reflection, wasn't actually saying anything blasphemous. After all, the Gods didn't expect their worshippers to be mindless slaves.
Somehow the notion made him feel happier. He'd