Allan Wargon's David

When the summons was delivered Bathsheba was equally exhilarated. Her ruse – it now seemed more like inevitable fate – was elevating her to the place she desired! And the king was handsome. She had often seen him ride by when she was among other onlookers. She flung on a spotless robe, one she had been saving, and hastened to comply.

They met, barefoot, in the royal bedchamber, and were soon bare skinned. Bathsheba would have yielded to the king if he had been icy and autocratic. She would have done anything to rise to that regal level. But she found to her surprise, and delight, that he was utterly charming.

David was as thrilled as he had been as a boy. It was as if he was touching his first female skin. It seemed incredibly silky. Every thing in him yearned to be close to her. Her kisses, her tongue, were springs of sweetness. Her breasts were rounds of goodness. And her inviting crevice was a moist vale that he had been waiting to enter. All his poetic inspiration arose.

Bathsheba felt his fondling was a paean to her body. His whispered words were thrilling caresses. Her whole being seemed to be softly rising, as if she were enveloped in a song. David was the ideal love she had sometimes, in her innermost thought, imagined.

All her scheming was forgotten in that swirl of poetry and passion. In that damp, loving, luscious night. Neither of them slept; every minute was too precious to lose. As dawn neared she had to return home. She left with an overwhelming love in her heart and the tiny stirring of a seed in her womb.