A Princess of Mars

Excerpt From: A Princess of Mars

She was as destitute of clothes as the green Martians who accompanied her. Indeed, save for her highly wrought ornaments she was entirely naked, nor could any apparel have enhanced the beauty of her perfect and symmetrical figure. I was filled with both delight and surprise to see that her bodily form was identical to that of a human woman—she had a pair of softly rounded breasts, a delicate hourglass figure, and lithe, slender legs. I use the term ‘identical’, and yet that is far from accurate. Only in the sense that a Waterford crystal goblet is identical to a mean pewter mug was the woman I viewed the equal of any other. As a fine goblet and a dented cup can both contain a beverage, yet one is far superior in every conceivable way, this woman’s form made Sandro Botticelli’s Venus appear to be a grub-faced, toothless tavern wench. Certainly, another female might contain the same parts as the goddess before me, yet could never hope to attain that level of lush perfection.

I confess that in those precious, fleeting moments, when first my eyes descended on her, the pages of my memory fell open first to one lustful encounter, then another, then another, that I had had prior to that fateful sighting. I was no stranger to the charms of the female form. Indeed, I considered myself an accomplished lover—albeit one whose amorous engagements were short-lived flares of transient passion as opposed to long-burning torches of true love—and yet I realised instantly that every intimate touch I had enjoyed before that moment had but served as preparation for the rapturous encounter that I felt destined to share with this woman. Perhaps it seems rash, and yet I am hopeful that every man, whether his lineage is of Earth or Barsoom, may one day experience the depth of ardour that swept over me when first I viewed my princess of Mars.

As surely as if I had already held her body in mine, I knew exactly how her tender curves would shape themselves to my hands and how scintillating her breath would feel in my ear. I knew that her uplifted face would reach just to my chin, and that her raven-black hair would slide like the currents of a cool, pure river between my fingers. I almost envied the green Martians at her side for their apparent immunity to her charms. They seemed as unaware of her sensuality as I was transfixed by it. In response to my lust-filled imaginings, my exposed organ swelled and pointed to her with the brazen intent of a ship’s prow hell-bent on ramming its target. I’d have her, I decided then, and every part of my being, from the tenderest yearnings of my heart to the lascivious aim of my cock, was in accordance.

As her gaze rested on me her eyes opened wide in astonishment, and I saw the red-brown peaks of her breasts tighten into points. I took one step toward her, encouraged that she appeared to be as drawn to me as I was drawn to her, and my heart lurched against the cage of my chest. She made a little sign with her free hand, a sign which I did not, of course, understand. Just a moment we gazed upon each other, then the look of hope and renewed courage which had glorified her face as she discovered me faded into one of utter dejection, mingled with loathing and contempt. I realised I had not answered her signal, and ignorant as I was of Martian customs, I intuitively felt that she had made an appeal for succour and protection which my unfortunate ignorance had prevented me from answering. Then she was dragged out of my sight into the depths of the deserted edifice.