Mount Olympus at last.

Almost a decade since my first High School Attic Greek class had introduced me to the wonders of the Immortals, or Gods who dwelt there, I was finally going to get to climb it. Well, not just me. There were three of us, all newly minted Computer Science graduates, taking a break before entering the world of work. Our exams had finished in June and we had first taken two weeks just to lie on the Greek sun and recover from the exertions of the previous year. Now we were to take two further weeks exploring the Greece of antiquity before returning home to join the Rodent Derby, AKA the Rat Race. Even in the troubled economic times of the early 1980s, we were confident of getting work in this, then new, field, if not at home, then in the UK, US or Down Under. The tour was my idea: Sean & Anthony, my classmates and travelling companions, lacked the benefit of a classical education but were initially content to accompany me on my tour of the ancient sights. However, only the fact that we had prebooked accommodation got us all to abandon our island of sea, sun, sand and sunbathing beauties and move to the mainland to follow our predetermined itinerary.

There is a difference in planning something on a wet and cold January evening in a Galway pub and implementing that plan after two weeks of debauchery in the heat of a Greek summer. Now we found ourselves in our hotel in Litochoro, in mid-July, not rested as planned, but rather wasted from our recreations and feeling less than enthused about our three day, three thousand metre climb, starting the following day. We were intending to take it easy, going first to the hostel at Spilios Agapitos at around two thousand metres on the first day, summiting Mytikas via Skala and Kaloskala on day two and overnighting again at the hostel before returning to Litochoro the third day. Most walkers tended to do the trek in two days.

The next morning, after our first sober night since we’d arrived in Greece, we left most of our gear in the hotel and set off. Experienced walkers, we were adequately equipped with rucksacks, water, poles, snacks, fleeces, jackets, walking legs and kilts. The latter item was my idea. We had each acquired an Irish kilt. Much lighter (and cheaper!) than their Scottish equivalent, they were worn by pipe bands and generally came in two colours, green or saffron. Mine was saffron, the other two lads were different shades of green. Unlike their Scottish equivalent, they tended not to be woollen and I had suggested that a kilt would be much cooler for walking on the lower parts of our climb in July. I argued that, given that we were visiting a place inextricably linked with Greek culture, it would be “cool” to wear a garment associated with ours. Actually, the kilts had already earned their purchase price as we wore them on our first night out on the Island and found that the holidaying girls were rather attracted to them. Not wanting to disappoint them, and much to our advantage, we had worn them every night since then!

We had a day to climb two thousand metres and walk about seventeen kilometres. It should normally take seven hours, maybe eight with rests. It took us ten. Anthony, who had displayed the greatest talent for dissipation on the Island, was now paying the price and, by the time we arrived at the hostel, it was obvious to us all that he would not be able for the following day’s hike to the peak. I was determined to press on regardless and, eventually, it was agreed that I would go on alone whilst Sean and Anthony did some short local walks. Neither were as invested in the trip as I was and, given the time of year, pressing on alone was not as solitary a pursuit as it sounded; there would be plenty of walkers about. We had dinner at the hostel and turned in in the mixed dorm.

We split up following breakfast the next day and I set off. Quite a few walkers were setting out to summit via a number of possible routes, or to take in some of the easier walks around the three main summits. We all departed early, into the cool morning, wrapped up in our fleeces and jackets until our exertions and the rising sun consigned these heavier garments to our packs. We might need them later depending on the weather at the top. I walked along, keeping just below the speed which would leave me breathless, as I worked to keep my breathing under control. The air gets thinner as the altitude increases and I knew from experience in the US that I didn’t perform very well at higher altitudes. The low hills, not really mountains, in Ireland, though treacherous in winter, did nothing to acclimatise me to higher level walking. I strode along on a track through well-spaced trees and rounded a corner to be greeted by a welcome sight, reminiscent of my last weeks on the Island. A girl was packing something into her rucksack on the ground, bent over leaving a most delectable posterior in the air, facing me.

“Καλημέρα, μιλάς αγγλικά?” (Good morning, do you speak English?)

The girl straightened up, turned to look at me, and beamed a lovely smile. She looked local, dark hair, olive skin, fine features, about three inches smaller than my six foot. Her white dress and, admittedly trekking, sandals did not look appropriate for a mountain walk, otherwise her rucksack seemed to be reasonably well filled. She looked at my kilt.

“Yes, are you Scottish?”

“No, Irish. You Greek?”

“Yes; love your skirt.”

“Thanks: we call it a kilt, like a Greek fustanella. And I love your dress: Will it be a bit cool up top?”

“I’ve more clothes in the bag, like you I expect?”

“Yes; a kilt is not ideal in a cool breeze.”

“Depends on where you’re looking from!”

I loved her playful humour; I think I’d fallen in love, or at least in lust, with her already. I wondered was she going my way.

“I’m walking Skala, Kaloskala to Mytikas and back. You?”

“Much the same, though I’m not going to summit. I’ll go as far as I feel comfortable. Can I walk with you?”

It was just too good to be true.

“Yes; I’d like that.”

We strode off together. It was obvious that she was much fitter than me as she had no problem matching my pace with an effortless grace. She chatted as she walked, naming flowers that scrabbled for existence in the increasingly open and gravelly terrain, pointing out locations as the fabulous views revealed themselves, describing the Pantheon of Immortals who dwelt on the mountain.

“You know this place very well; have you climbed it often?”

“Yes; I’m local. I know all this area like my garden.”

“I’m lucky that I’ve met you so. If the fog comes down, you can be my guide.”

“There’ll be no fog today; I’ve had a word with Aeolus.”

“Ah, the God of Winds and Air.”

“The very same”

We stopped at a small outcrop almost at the summit of Skala. She looked around and, seeing nobody near, beckoned me to follow her.

“There’s a place here where I like to stop and rest for a while.”

I followed her over the ridge and down a scary precipitous path, around a large rock, and into a small cave-like enclosure formed by an overhanging rock over a smooth, almost level slab. She slipped off her pack and turned to me.

“I often stop here for a while, just to admire the view.”

The view was magnificent, facing East towards the gulf in the Aegean leading to Thessalonica. I took off my pack and sat down on the rock, smoothing my kilt under me. She sat down beside me, right beside me, and leaned in close.

“What’s that Dire Straits said? You and me babe, how about it?”

It’s quite different to be propositioned by a beautiful woman in the middle of the day more than half-way up a mountain than to pick up, or be picked up by, a tipsy tourist in a resort bar. I turned towards her, put my arm around her and kissed her, gently.

In about two seconds I was on my back on the rock and she was on top of me, kissing me, and making a very good job of opening my kilt and spreading it out under both my ass and her knees. She paused and pulled her dress over her head: She wasn’t wearing any bra or underwear; either she never did or had started the day intending to pick up a lover! She helped me to remove my t-shirt and pulled it under my back before draping her boobs against my chest, nipple to nipple, and rubbing herself against me. Either the thin air at altitude had an unusual effect, or this was the best sex I’d ever had, as I felt that I had grown to a size considerably in excess of my standard. Eventually, she inserted the gladius in its vāgīna (mixing my classics, some Latin inserted into a Greek story) and we got involved in some vigorous exercise. Again, it must be the air: Things went on for quite a while before we both summitted together. She sat on me until the flag came down and, before getting up, pulled on her dress. She leaned down and kissed me.

“I’m going back down now; wait here until I’m gone.”

“Will I see you again? At the hostel?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe in Litochoro.”

She lifted herself off me, gracefully, picked up her pack, walked around the rock and disappeared.

I took a few minutes to get my head together: This had been every red-blooded young man’s dream. They say that if it feels too good to be true, then it’s not true. But this had happened; I was neither asleep nor high. I started to get ready to move when I realised that my underwear was missing; ach well, some lads collect girls’ knickers as mementos too. And they say that the Scotsmen never wear them so I headed off. I considered changing into my leggings but the wind was, unusually for this location, quite calm, so I decided to proceed as I was. I checked my watch; I still had time to make Mytikas and be back for dinner in the hostel if I got a move on. I was quickly on Skala and moved on to Mytikas across the natural steps known as Kaloskala. This area was not to be trifled with as the margin of safety appeared to me to be very narrow. I made the summit and, as always, it was much more difficult coming down.

Once off Kaloskala, the track down was fairly straightforward. I had to pass the outcrop where I had dallied with – what’s her name? I never asked, nor did she ask me for mine. Ach, never mind, I’d probably never see her again. I decided to visit the cave again, more whimsical than logical, and made my way down the narrow path, around the rock and onto the flat rock. I looked around, remembering. I hadn’t jumped her here; she had definitely jumped me, and I had rather enjoyed the experience with a (very) dominant female. Would I tell the lads? They’d never believe me anyway so why bother? I backed out, reluctant to relinquish my last view of this place.

I was hit in the back and propelled into the cave. The force of the blow suggested a large bull, or possibly a small elephant or rhinoceros. The latter two not being native to these parts, it must have been a bull. I landed, sprawling, on the rock, rolled over and turned around. My kilt had ridden up so I pulled it back in place, not desiring to display my wares to the statuesque woman who now stood in the cave entrance, looking down rather haughtily at me. She was probably about thirty five; quite old for me as my experience to date had been with girls in their late teens or early twenties. Good looking, rather than drop-dead-gorgeous like what’s-her-name, and wearing a mid-calf length white dress, she stared at me as I gathered myself together and sat on the rock looking at her.

“Pleased to meet you too, Ma’am.”

She stared for a moment before deigning to reply.

“I am Hera.”

Oh, great! Not only is this bitch prone to attacking strangers on the side of the mountain, she fancies that she’s the wife of Zeus, the chief of the Immortals, the Greek pantheon.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Hera.”

I started to stand up. She held up her hand and I was immediately knocked back down on the rock. WTF? She’s at least ten feet away.

“You are disrespectful, even though you recognise my name. I am not a female dog.”

I hadn’t said anything; could she read my thoughts?

“Yes, I can, as if you were speaking to me.”

How do I control my mind? How can she read it?

“I’m sorry. I thought that you were a somewhat mad mortal.”

“But you’re still not sure; you have heard of me, but you don’t fully believe.”

“How can I believe? This is not a usual experience for me.”

“But you are aware that you are in my home?”

I nodded; try to keep the mind blank.

“And that you have shagged my husband in my own home?”

“I’m sorry, your Godliness. I’ve never “shagged” a male.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Your Godliness. The most senior priest amongst us mortals is addressed as “Your Holiness”, so I guessed that I needed to devise a title more important than that for you.”

“I accept your title. Did you not engage in sexual intercourse with what you thought of as a beautiful young woman here, in this very spot?”

“Yes, your Godliness.”

“And did she not meet you on the path and guide you to here?”

I nodded.

“And did she not, I believe the term you thought was “jump you”, as you sat together?”

Oh, shit. She really can read my mind. I nodded.

“Yes, I can: Now you’re beginning to really believe. Is it not also true that you were surprised how well you, how do I put this, pleased her? You needn’t answer; I believe that in your pride, you thought that you had achieved all that on your own.”

I was just staring open-mouthed. Eventually I managed to speak.

“But, your Godliness, you have yourself said that she was a woman. I am not interested in men, not that way anyway, and your Husband is always depicted as a well built man with curly hair and a beard.”

“He is an Immortal, and can take any form he wishes.”

“I have heard that, but why would he be interested in me? He is your husband and surely not interested in young men?”

“Don’t trifle with me; you know that that’s not true. Yes, he is my Husband, but has been known to be unfaithful on a regular basis, with men, women, nymphs, you name it, as you well know!”

I nodded. I was well aware of the proclivities of Zeus. I was also well aware of Hera’s vengeful reputation in relation to her husband’s lovers!

“But why me, and why appear as a girl?”

“You wouldn’t have shagged him if he appeared as a man. He saw you on the Island and, noticing your enthusiasm for “Tourist Totty” as I recall you and your friends describing them, decided he would have to deceive you into seeing him as a girl. Anyway, he’s going through a bit of a phase at the moment, enjoying the much greater pleasure that the female form experiences.”

“So, your Godliness, do you and he have Sapphic moments when he’s in this phase?”

Dumb question! A look of thunder crosses her face as a punch in the chest, from what I don’t know, knocks me back on the rock.

“Don’t be impertinent, or my wrath will become a multiple of what it is already.”

“I’m sorry, Your Godliness. I did not mean to be impertinent. May I still ask, why me?”

“Just a new experience I suppose. Long golden hair, pale skin, wearing a skirt. I believe he finds the practice of most males, and indeed many females, to wear bifurcated garments to be rather unattractive, and an impediment.”

I hadn’t cut my hair since leaving high school and normally wore it in a ponytail at the nape of my neck. Girls tended to want to dress it for me the morning after…

“Your Godliness, as you know everything, you know that I did not set out to seduce your husband, and, had I known, would have resisted his advances?”

“You could not have resisted; you’d just suffered an eclipse!”

My blank, questioning, look elicited an elaboration.

“Where the carnal desire overrides or eclipse the logical mind, or to put in into your crude language, where the balls eclipse the brain!”

Pithy, and accurate. Wild horses could not have dragged me away from what’s-her-name on the way up here.

“Please, your Godliness. Will you allow me to leave this place and never return? I do not wish to get between you and your Husband.”

“And you think that he won’t find you, wherever you go? You’re an easy lay. You’ll shag any willing girl as long as she’s a looker and you’ll never know which of them is my Husband. Unless…..”

She looked thoughtful; I dared to feel hopeful. That single word, “Unless”, held the promise of release or relief from her wrath. She moved onto the rock, standing over me, very close. Surely she wasn’t going to…?

“Do you seriously think that I, the Wife of Zeus, would do such a thing with a mere mortal? Stand up!”

She reached down and caught me by my ponytail and arm and yanked me effortlessly to my feet. She turned me around to face the inside of the cave and stood behind me. She was clearly much stronger so I didn’t dare resist, and maybe she really was one of the Immortals and would zap me again? She pulled out the go-go holding my ponytail and rubbed her hands through my hair; the feeling was surprisingly pleasant. She then started to rub her hands over my face, neck, shoulders, arms, waist, then up under my t-shirt onto my chest. She held her hands there for quite a while, and I slowly became aware that my chest was changing shape, swelling under her hands as she played with my nipples. Eventually she lifted what was by now two undeniable breasts, grunted as if satisfied, and moved her hands down to my groin, up under my kilt and repeated the procedure. She had now moved in to hold me close against her, Sapphic style, and I eventually became aware that the pleasant feeling was coming from inside, rather then at the pinnacle, of my groin area. It grew in intensity, unbelievably strong, deep inside me, until I could hardly breath, taking short sharp breaths as I tried to stifle a moan. Eventually I failed, heard myself groan loudly, repeatedly, until I felt myself shudder with pleasure and excitement as she continued to tease me. She grunted again, as if satisfied with her work, rubbed her hands down my legs and feet, straightened up, turned me around and looked at me.

“Not bad; that’ll do.”

I felt my body, nice largish, rounded boobs, soft ass, wide hips. No doubt that I was now a girl. I couldn’t see my face but hoped that it was OK.

“Yes, it is. Now you’ll have to deal with the parade of males, knowing that most of them are just wondering how to get to shag you!”

“But why?”

“Don’t tell me that you object!”

“No, I don’t. And I’m sure you knew that before you did it. But why?”

“Well, if my Husband is still inclined to shag you in your new form he’ll have to appear as a male, so at least he won’t get to experience the pleasure inherent in the female form.”

“Please, your Godliness, I won’t shag your Husband if I know it’s him. But how do I know?”

“Not before you won’t. But if you feel afterwards that it was just too good to be true, that was him, randy bastard!”

She stepped backwards, and suddenly she wasn’t there.

For the second time today, I stood in this cave and tried to collect myself. It had to be a bad dream, well maybe not that bad! I did have mushrooms in my meat sauce last might; maybe? I looked at my watch; time to get a move on. I went to round the rock just outside the cave and managed to hit my boobs off it; they feel real enough. I negotiated the narrow path up to the main trail and started down to the Hostel. Downhill the trail was fast enough and I made good progress although I did have to fold my left arm under my new boobs to stop them bouncing around. I made the Hostel with about thirty minutes to go before they stopped serving dinner and found Anthony and Sean in the dormitory about to head to the dining room: They had waited for me but were about to give up. I dropped my pack on my bunk, grabbed the small, attached bag with my wallet and documents.

“Let’s go eat!”

We got our food and sat down. They both looked at me, open-mouthed. Eventually Sean spoke;

“OK; good gag! You’re Jim’s sister? How long have you been planning this?”

“It’s a long story. Let’s eat first; I’m starved.”

We finished our food and sat in a kind of common room where other walkers were hanging out. I showed them my wrist; there was a rope burn there from our last night on the Island. An over enthusiastic tourist girl had managed to inflict that when tying me to her bed although, due to a combination of alcohol and sexual frenzy, neither of us had noticed it at the time.

“You’ve just done that now.”

“Get the polaroid, the one you took the next morning.”

Anthony went to the dorm and returned with the picture.

“See, it’s not the same!”

“Of course not, this one has had nearly a week to heal. On that point, how could I have made the mark just now, when it’s plainly healing. Just look at where it is.”

“C’mon, those tits look real, and your ass is different too.”

“Well Sean, I never knew that you were noticing my ass. And yes, everything’s real. Ask me anything.”

They quizzed me for over half an hour, on things that had happened in the Island and in college. Naturally I knew all the answers. Eventually they gave up and reverted to the basic argument of simple assertion.

“C’mon, who are you? How do you know so much about Jim, and us?”

“No, I really am Jim.”

“Bullshit! Not with those tits and ass, not unless the great Olympic Gods that you were rabbiting on about did a job on you up there!”

“Not them all, only Hera. I suppose Zeus had a hand, or whatever, in it as well. How the f*** am I going to get through passport control looking like this and what am I going to tell my family?”