The Tugboat Man in King Arthur's Court

by D.T. Iverson

Copyright© 2018 by D.T. Iverson

Action/Adventure Sex Story: Tug and his Atlantean wife are in Camelot, where backstabbing and adultery are the favorite pastime. The mission is to prevent an Athenian super weapon from destroying Anglo-Saxon culture. The problem is that Maria has to seduce King Arthur to get it. Meanwhile, Tug has to joust with one of the knights of the round table while worrying about his wife playing footsie with the King. It isn't Sir Thomas Mallory, or even Mark Twain. But I hope you find my little tale entertaining.

Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual   Fiction   Historical   Time Travel   .

My wife was born 13,000 years ago in a place called “New Atlantis.” Go ahead and say it, “Stop fucking with me!!” But it’s true. Believe me. I’ve met her folks.

Maria’s 335 years old. But, Atlanteans live for thousands of years. So, my wife’s no crone. In fact, she has the freshest face and hardest body of any chiquita on the beach at Ipanema.

She is also the hottest female in two, star-systems. Yes, I said “star systems.” Her people emigrated here from the beta planet of the star we call Rigel.

Maria is telepathic. She can also “cloak” things. And, she can knock people out with a thought. Hence, even though she is heart-stoppingly beautiful; my wife is not a woman to be messed with.

It also turns out that I have Atlantean genetics. Who’d have thought it. My old man owns a hardware store and throughout my teens and twenties I was a stoner with hackish tendencies. It just seems that I inherited enough genes from both parents to make me mostly Atlantean.

That is a good thing. Because, after my visit to the Fountain of Youth I’m more-or-less immortal too. Confused? No problem. This takes a little getting used to. Suffice it to say, we aren’t the Partridges.

Together, we survived the Cuban Air Force, the Templar labyrinth and Jack the Ripper. And that was just the first couple of years of marriage.

Maria and I spent that period of time on my Natick class harbor tug. The tug is where I got my name. People on Bimini used to call me “The Tugboat Man.” That got shortened to just Tug.

The wedding was at Our Lady of Peace on the south coast of the island of San Miguel. That’s near the Atlantean Temple of the Sun; which is a mere two miles away; straight down on the ocean floor. All of Atlantis is down there, except for a few mountain tops, like Bermuda and the Azores.

Most of our adventures have involved me fleeing from the evilest creatures in the universe. I mean that literally. They call themselves “Athenians,” but they don’t run quaint restaurants and serve flaming cheese. They are from the alpha planet of the Rigel system and, the Atlanteans fear and loathe them.

The Athenians originally kept the Atlanteans as slaves. The Atlanteans fled that captivity in the same way the Israelites did in Exodus. They landed here on earth 15,000 years ago.

The fight broke out when the Athenians showed up to claim their lost property. It sank Atlantis to the bottom of the ocean and stranded both Atlanteans and Athenians on earth forever.

We added two new Atlanteans to the gene pool after our adventure in Victorian England. Yes, the Atlanteans can time-travel. I know it sounds incredible. But it really isn’t such a difficult trick, once you have the right technology. Mankind will discover the same thing in the next ninety-five years. I know. I’ve been there. I saw it. So, withhold your judgment until then.

We had twins. They were conceived just before our Ripper adventure. They are named Diana and Apollo and yes, we are talking about THAT pair.

The entire Greek and Roman Pantheon has Atlantean roots. As Arthur C. Clarke once put it, “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” So, when the Greek’s early ancestors stumbled on the Atlanteans they thought they were “gods” and enshrined them as such.

For example, Maria’s dad is a direct descendent of the Greek God Poseidon. Except Poseidon was never a deity. He was just an Atlantean with powers that appeared “god-like” to the primitive proto-Greeks.

Maria herself is the goddess Themis. Themis is the Greek goddess of “wise counsel.” Maria became that goddess when she spent a short time fucking Alexander the Great.

Maria’s job was to “advise” the Great Conqueror to stay away from the Tan Sheng mountains, which is where New Atlantis is located. If Alexander had stumbled onto that city all human history would have changed. And that would have violated the basic laws of time.

Maria disappeared right out of Alexander’s post coital embrace after she had convinced him to go back to Sogdiana. Of course, he just assumed she was a goddess and enshrined her in a big temple. He dedicated it to Themis, meaning Maria.

He didn’t build it out of religious fervor. I know what he was ACTUALLY commemorating. Believe me, a night with my wife would make you want to go out and erect the Taj Mahal. Hmmmm, I wonder if... ????

We visited Maria’s temple in our time. The ruins are indeed impressive. But, the thought of being tunnel buddies with Alexander the Great STILL gives me jealous conniptions. I tell myself that it happened 2,300 years before we met. So, it really doesn’t count.

But it wasn’t like my wife fucked the star quarterback in high school. I mean, seriously!!?? Alexander the Freakin’ Great!!

Maria says that she loves me and that’s why she married me. But I suspect it was my Atlantean pre-disposition that sealed the deal.

Our daughter Diana was born with the usual Atlantean abilities, but she also has the gift of telekinesis. So, she can move things with her mind.

Her twin brother Apollo has the same ability. My gorgeous wife says that precociousness is a sign that the generations are developing toward some sort of ideal. She told me that her parents have none of the cloaking ability that she has.

At present, Diana was rearranging her room - while sitting on her bed plugged into her iPod and perusing a teenybopper magazine.

Her brother was messing with her, by putting the things she’d just moved back to where they came from. The problem was that he was sitting in our kitchen.

We heard, “MAAAAAAA MAKE HIM STOP!!” all the way out on the patio.

I don’t know whether its an advantage that our Key West Mansion is so “open plan.” The kids need line-of-sight to do their tricks.

Space was at a premium when we had the kids. So, we moved out of the tug and bought a place on Sunset Bay. The views are incredible. It cost a fortune. But, compound interest generates lot of wealth. So, what’s money to a 13,000-year-old civilization?

We left our tug moored at the Key West Bight Marina. We still use it for family trips. But the only permanent resident is our ships’ cat Bastet.

Of course, like everything else in my life Bastet isn’t exactly a cat. She’s an Egyptian Mau. Mau’s are the cat-like creatures you see on Egyptian monuments. They preceded the housecat in Egyptian history.

I’m not worried about intruders. Bastet is the Egyptian goddess of war which might actually understate her attitude.

The only person she lets touch her is my wife. Bastet condescends to allow me to feed her and change her litter box. But, Bastet and Maria are perfectly sympatico. It’s like she views Maria as her sister, which is basically an accurate comparison.

Once, we had a nocturnal visitor on the tug. Whether he was there to rip us off remains to be seen. That’s because almost instantly a screaming entity came flying out of the dark claws out.

The dude actually stumbled into the cop shop over on Roosevelt and begged them to lock him up. He claimed that he’d been attacked by a Tasmanian Devil. Now nobody goes near the tug unless its us.

We call Apollo “Champ” - since the only other person we knew named Apollo was the dude in Rocky.

I wasn’t worried about Apollo being harassed about his name. He is god-like handsome and his Atlantean powers make him bully-proof. But the last thing we needed was for him to get in a fight. It might draw too much attention to the special things he can do.

We try to get both of our children into kid society as much as we can. Since, they are going to have to learn to live with humanity. But it is not easy disguising their Atlantean powers among the rest of the sixth graders.

Apollo, or Champ, is different from his sister in that he has a knack for solving complex puzzles. That ability is the one thing that differentiates me from his mother.

Maria has awesome mental powers. But I am the king of reverse engineering. It makes me proud to think that I might have contributed something to the next generation.

Champ is more of a daddy’s-boy. So, I gave Maria an, “I’ve got this,” nod and walked into the kitchen. My son was leaning way over the kitchen island, almost into the built-in sink, watching where his sister was moving things.

As I came up behind him, I said gruffly, “Stop that!” He nearly fell into the sink.

He sat up looking guilty. He should have sensed me coming. But, he is still just a boy, even though he is exceptionally tall like me, and his powers have not yet fully matured.

He whined, “DaaaD, I didn’t do it.”

I said amused, “Didn’t do what?”

He said glibly, “Whatever that little brat is accusing me of.”

His sister takes after her mother, which is fortunate. She is small and exquisite and almost cat-like in her self-containment. I said, “So you weren’t moving things around in her room?”

He gave me a look of sheer innocence and said, “Oh that; well she shouldn’t have moved them in the first place. Mother always tells us to not use our powers unless there’s a good reason.”

Clever little varmint!! He had me in that classic kid fork. If I agreed that Diana shouldn’t be moving things. Then, I would be telling him that it was okay to mess with her. And if I told him he shouldn’t be doing it. I would be de-facto telling him that his mom’s advice was wrong.

I settled for the standard response, “GO ASK YOUR MOM!!”

He scooted out on the terrace yelling, “Mooom!!” I followed.

Maria said, “You heard your father! Stop messing with your sister, or else...” She might be an Atlantean Princess. But in that particular moment, she sounded like any other harried mom.

What “or else” would have been, was interrupted by both of us catching sight of the Poseidon pulling into the Key West Bight.

That ship is Maria’s family’s gleaming white 200-footer. It was making its way past the breakwater headed toward its normal dockage space by the Jefferson Island Ferry.

The appearance of the Poseidon is always an ominous sign. They are traveling from 13,000 years in the past, so they have to materialize in the remotest part of the Atlantic.

Otherwise the flash-bang of their arrival would be noticed.

Even so, it wasn’t like the in-laws were dropping in for dinner. In order for Maria to be relieved of her priestly vows, agreed to do side-jobs for the Atlantean Royal Council. The Poseidon has their Atlantean time-travel gear on board. So, every time the Poseidon makes an appearance Maria and I end up getting dropped neck-deep into the kimchi.

I could see both parents getting on the launch. Poseidon’s launch was a classic 1930s Chris Craft, all mahogany and chrome. Both of them were seated regally in the back as it pulled up to our dock.

The liveried coxswain tied it up and helped Maria’s parents ashore. Carlos is usually smiling when he arrives. But he strode up the dock with a grim look on his face. That was a very bad sign.

Carlos is an exceptionally fine-looking man, middle height, perhaps five-ten. He has a handsome Castilian face, very cool and controlled. There is just a hint of grey at the temples of his thick, black, perfectly groomed hair.

His immaculateness seems god-like; which I suppose is true, since he’s essentially an Olympian God.

Maria’s mom was gliding along behind her husband. She had on a light linen dress that showed off her lushly voluptuous body. The front of the dress was unbuttoned three buttons and it was straining under the bounty of those huge tits.

My mother-in-law is the High Priestess of Cleito, who is the Atlantean Goddess of fertility, and she looks the part. I could see where Maria got her bounty.

There was the usual hugging and back slapping. They both kissed their daughter. Carla managed to mash her monster jugs into my chest as she hugged me hello. The woman simply can’t be anything but sensuous.

Then Carlos said with a somber voice, “We need to talk. This is a very urgent matter and we have to resolve it immediately.”

Uh-Oh!!! The last time he uttered those words we ended up back in Victorian England tracking down Jack the Ripper.


There was no way we could exclude Champ and Diana, since they are telepathic. Hence, the entire family sat around the table on the veranda.

There was a lot of conversation. Of course, none of the servants could hear it because it was all in our heads. It must have seemed like the entire family was staring off into space stoned.

I don’t have anything like the other’s telepathic abilities. So, I have to talk to contribute. They finally stopped the silent family chit-chat and turned to me. Carlos and Carla were obviously there to recruit us for another adventure. We just needed to know where, and when.

Every time Carlos drops me in the crapper, he uses the same gambit. I don’t believe he’s trying to be cagey, since he can read my mind, and it isn’t a matter of convincing me to do it. He knows I’d do anything for Maria and my kids. It’s more a matter of shaping my approach. I think he just tries to get me in the right frame of mind.

He took a sip of cool sangria from his double Old-Fashioned glass and said mildly, “How much do you know about the Arthurian legend?”

My gift is eidetic memory. I may not read minds as well as the rest of them, but I retain everything that I see. It might even be just an “earth” thing. Since, none of the Atlanteans have my kind of photographic memory.

I knew plenty about Arthur. I said, “It depends on who’s telling the story. If you read anything prior to the twelfth Century, Arthur’s the overall protector of England. If you read anything after 1100 AD, you get the Geoffrey of Monmouth, chivalry story; Knights of the Round Table, Lancelot and Guinevere.” He invented all that.

Carlos nodded. He was trying to get me to elaborate, just to see what my feelings were. So, I said, “Personally, I think it’s all bullshit since everybody agrees that Arthur was operating in the period a few years after Rome fell and the Dark Ages began. That was six hundred years PRIOR to Geoffrey, who made up the whole fanciful story about Knights Errant. It’s just a fairy tale.”

Carlos looked interested. He said, “Well who do YOU think Arthur is?”

I said, “He is probably a composite of fifth century Romano-British warlords, who were trying to hold off the flood of Germanic people invading Europe in the 400s. Nobody would have even heard of Arthur, if the British hadn’t won a major victory over the Saxons in 483.”

Carlos said, “So where does Merlin fit into the story?”

I immediately saw where this was headed. There is a lot of “magic” involved in the Arthurian legends, and where there’s magic there’re Atlanteans.

I said, “Roman influence was steadily eliminated after Rome pulled the legions out of England. Of course, the Romano-Britons didn’t know their era was over. That’s because, all the Roman technology and government apparatus was still there, just as it had been for over 400 years.”

I added, “Vortigern, was the king of the Romano-British. He started out as an advisor to the last Roman governor. He then got to the throne through a dedicated program of murder, betrayal and all-around skullduggery. He was the one who invited the Saxons over to Britain from Germany. That act spelled the end of Roman civilization on that island.”

I told Carlos, “The problem was that the governor had a son, Ambrosius Aurelianus. He was a little kid when Vortigern murdered his old man and so Ambrosius fled across the Channel to Brittany. Northern France was still part of the Empire. So, when Ambrosius returned to England he had what amounted to the Roman military backing him.

I continued with, “These were real Roman soldiers. Remember, the legions didn’t just disappear when Rome fell in 476. So, even though it was a relatively small force, Ambrosius quickly cornered Vortigern and killed him. That made Ambrosius the de-facto King of the Britains.

I added, “Ambrosius turned his attention to the Saxons after becoming king. The Saxons were Germans. Vortigern had initially invited them into Britain to help repel Scottish and Irish invaders. But that set the fox loose in the henhouse and the Saxons quickly overran most of southeastern England.

It is said that Ambrosius fought twelve battles and never lost one of them. That was supposedly proof of his mystical powers. However, having a Roman army at his back probably had more to do with it than magic.”

I said, “The culminating battle was fought at a place called Badon Hill, near present day Bath. Most of the description of that battle is fanciful. But it’s clear that the Saxon presence was largely eliminated, and the result was years of peace and prosperity.”

Carlos nodded again. I wished he would stop doing that. If he knew the story, then why ask me? I finished with, “We all know that the Saxons came back. But that was historically a long period of time afterward. So naturally Ambrosius, or as his name was anglicized “Arthur” was a national icon and hero.”

Carlos said, “So where does Merlin fit into this?”

I knew Carlos was trolling me again. But I dutifully answered, “Ambrosius Merlinus. Or Merlin, was probably Romano-British like Ambrosius Aurelianus. Merlin was Ambrosius’s “magician.” Since they had the same surname, they might have even been related. Merlin protected Ambrosius by countering other magicians. The legend is that Arthur was successful because he was served by a better wizard.”

I said, “I know what you are about to tell me. The other magicians were Athenians and Merlin was Atlantean, right?” Carlos nodded smiling. I continued with, “And for whatever reason there is a problem back in that era now, and you want us to sort it out.”

Carlos said, “Merlin is indeed an Atlantean and he specifically asked the High Council for our help. He wouldn’t request it if there wasn’t a potential civilization altering event. You and Maria are our best team. So, we are sending you two back.”

I looked around me. The Key West breezes were rippling the palms. The sun was bright, the waves were blue, and my father-in-law wanted me to journey back to the Dark Ages. The things I do for family!!


We weren’t about to expose our children to the chaos of the Fifth Century. So, we did the Atlantean equivalent of dumping the kids at the grandparents.

The kids didn’t mind. Carlos and Carla might be deities in their day job. But when they’re watching them they let their grandchildren run riot; which I believe is the natural state of things with grandparents.

Maria told me that her parents never spoiled her like that. But, now that she’d produced them she was basically irrelevant. Plus, Apollo and Diana’s Atlantean peers were all back in New Atlantis. So, they finally had a real set of friends to hang out with.

I’m not Atlantean. So, I’ve never been to New Atlantis. Thus, I can’t say whether there are shopping malls there. But Diana’s two BFFs Aphrodite and Persephone are there, as well as Apollo’s buddies Ares and Hermes. I can’t imagine what the school cafeterias are like.

Prior to being sent back, Maria and I did the usual preparatory work. When you think of the Dark Ages, you visualize “dark.” But the era that we were going into was closer to the classical period than the anarchy of the true Dark Ages, which came 300 years later.

So, we went the full Roman route. That didn’t mean togas, but I packed one anyhow. The basic outfit for Roman citizens was a pair of fine wool breeches that came down to just below the knee a heavy tunic and a voluminous fur trimmed wool cloak, with a hood.

I had on a substantial pair of their military boots, with the hobnails, and all the jewelry and leather accessories of a member of the Equestrian class. I couldn’t pull off noble in my wildest dreams.

Maria was wearing the classic stola and palla combination that you see on every picture of Roman women. Her cloak was hooded and made from Atlantean material that looked like seal skin but was weather proof and served as a form of body armor. All the materials were of excellent quality denoting Patrician rank.

Since she’s Atlantean aristocracy, my wife can do noble with the best of them. She was also wearing enough gold to stock a small temple. That reinforced her status.

We needed to transport a lot of gear, which was packed in a huge brass bound leather chest. It was the same arrangement that we used the last time. The chest was initially mounted on a set of bicycle wheels that would make it easier to pull to some place where we could hire help to move it. Then we could discard the wheels.

We limited the changes of outfit, since we knew we could live off the land. It was still extremely civilized in the areas under Roman control. We had been inoculated against anything that we might conceivably catch, and we brought along a few modern conveniences like an emergency medical kit and drugs and some solar powered devices like flashlights and Maria’s time compression pods. We’d need those to communicate with New Atlantis.

I also brought along a Glock and a dozen of their 15 round magazines. I hadn’t brought a gun back to Victorian times because they would recognize it. But, nobody in that time would know what a gun was, and it might come in handy.

Maria was perfectly capable of protecting both of us. But there might be times when we were separated, and I am the sort of fellow who ALWAYS brings a gun to a knife fight.

I’m usually a little nervous before we get dropped into another time. My first trip was to Victorian London, which was close enough to our own era that the general sense of things was recognizable. But this was Fifth Century Roman Britain, and I knew the culture shock would be devastating.

I could understand the situation intellectually. But, I found out the first time I visited another time that you can’t really envisage the environment; the alien noises, smells and even the natural things, like the sounds of a time almost two thousand years removed from your experience.

Maria was used to all that. She had lived for eight months in Third Century BC Greece and she had made some other forays into the past that she said she was willing to tell me about, since we have no secrets.

Still, I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around her dalliance with Alexander. So, I really didn’t want to know about any of her other adventures.

Maria is stunning, and her extreme beauty is something that the Atlanteans regularly employed to manipulate great men.

She is the most vibrant, interesting, and steadfast companion a guy could ever ask for. So, she didn’t have to fuck all of them to get her point across, for instance, Maria was the one who convinced Pope Gregory XI to move back to Rome, ending the Avignon Papacy.

Nonetheless, most guys would rather NOT go over the details of their wife’s dating history. Especially if those dates were with titans of history. It just raises too much self-doubt.

I can see in her heart that Maria adores me. That is one of the benefits of our psychic bond, But, seriously??!!! How can a former nerd compete with historical figures like Charlemagne, or Ben Franklin, both of whom Maria “dated?”

So, my wife was totally relaxed standing there. It was like we were going for a walk. I was weak in the knees with dread. But I didn’t want to let her down. So, I just stood there in the bowels of the Poseidon, with my OWN bowels in an uproar, waiting for Carlos to pull the trigger.

Just before he did, I heard a loving voice say in my head, “I hope you know that I love you even more, because you are so brave and loyal.” It almost made the trip worthwhile.

Then there was that well-remembered moment of disorientation and I was standing in the sand of a coliseum outside the walls of the Roman Fortress of Isca Silurum.

The coliseum was a perfect place to land. Your arrival resembles falling into that time, and a roof would interrupt your fall. There is also an inevitable flash-bang on arrival. So, the Atlanteans wanted to mask that by dropping us into a place with high walls.

I had seen pictures of the amphitheater in the Twenty First Century. It is imposing as a ruin. Fully operational, in the year 483, it was an unbelievable sight. There was seating for thousands.

It was well after dark, which was the point of the drop. We didn’t want to arrive at a time when people would be around to witness our arrival. Of course, any witnesses in those more superstitious times would have probably attributed our sudden appearance to a divine event, not time-travel. It was just that we didn’t want the publicity.

I had one of our little solar flashlights in a hidden pocket of my cloak. Maria lit the way as I struggled to wheel the huge trunk across the sand to the exit on the town side.

It was backbreaking. We had not anticipated that we would be pulling it through deep sand. We should have thought of that since, the amphitheater was the place where the gladiatorial events took place and the sand was there to soak up the blood.

I finally made it to the exit, with my tongue dragging across the ground, only to encounter the steps that led up and out of the stadium. I said with all the sarcasm I could muster, “Great!”

With Maria pulling and me pushing we finally wrestled the trunk out of the coliseum and onto the surrounding flagstones. The Fortress walls were dark and intimidating in the distance.

Merchants and the people who had formerly served in the Legion had created a substantial village around the Fortress.

I had expected narrow medieval lanes between half-timbered buildings. But what I saw was a wide cobblestone street fronted by tidy rows of stone buildings.

In many respects, the village looked like a modern town in that part of England. It included the occasional street light, which was unexpected. I learned later that the wealthy kept the lights burning in front of their houses to scare away the riff-raff.

They were just big oil lamps tended by slaves. But the effect wasn’t much different than it was in Victorian times with the gas lights. In fact, the area we were walking into seemed cleaner and more modern than the parts of London we had walked through thirteen centuries later.

It was puzzling. Rome had fallen to the Visigoths ten years earlier. But it seemed like Roman civilization was still alive and well here in Isca Silurum.

Legio II Augusta had been based at that fortress. They had been there since Claudius invaded the place in 76 AD. So, at that point in time, the area around Isca Silurum had been under continuous Roman control for over 400 years. Just for the sake of perspective, that is almost 150 years LONGER than the US has existed as a Nation. So, everybody in the surrounding town was pretty-well settled into the Roman way of life.

In fact, this might be early-times of what historians would come to call the “Dark Ages.” But it seemed that nobody had informed the residents that they were living in a time of chaos and ignorance.

The walls of the fortress were substantial, the coliseum was impressive and the town itself seemed like a thriving Roman city. The atmosphere was like you’ve seen in all those Hollywood toga and sandal epics. In fact, the place even had a substantial public bath house. So, it was easy to see why the natives still considered themselves Roman.

I checked my watch. It was Atlantean. It told the correct local time no matter WHEN you were. I wasn’t worried about what the natives would think. I knew that they would see something on my wrist as a bauble.

The watch said it was just past midnight. Most of the locals were in bed, which was part of our plan. But, there were still raucous voices emanating from a building at the end of the street. That was obviously the town tavern.

I turned and looked in the direction of the river. A collection of huge buildings blocked my vie. Those were probably warehouses.

That sight reminded me that Isca Silurum was one of three permanent Legionary forts in Roman Britain. It was built where it was, to project Roman power into what we now call Wales. The other two fortresses were at Chester and York, basically forming a semi-circle frontier of protection around the heart of Roman occupied lands to the south and east.

From the early 600s on, the natives started calling Isca Silurum “Caerleon.” That means, “Camp of the Legions.” But Caerleon has another pronunciation, “Camelot.”

Yes folks, we were in the legendary city of King Arthur.

Maria took one of her time dilation pods, scribbled something and then held it aloft. The pod disappeared with a melodramatic flash. That always leads the locals to think “supernatural.”

The pods travel through time like an old fashioned pneumatic tube. Maria says that all the energy necessary to do that is sucked into the wormhole, so she doesn’t feel the flash. She had just sent the news that we had arrived safe and were awaiting Merlin’s contact.

We had been told to spend the night at the Three Vines. That was the tavern at the end of the street. We wheeled our big trunk down the cobblestones to that destination and walked inside.

The thing that stuck me about the place was that it was brightly lit and there was no stink. It was full of all types of people; talking, laughing and drinking. If you could ignore the oil smell from the lamps, it was no different than a bar on Duvall street.

We had spent almost two months in Victorian England and I came away with a strong impression of how unsanitary Victorian life was; at least for people who couldn’t afford servants.

But, in fifth Century Britain, a lot of Roman life was based around the “baths.” That was probably the reason why the tavern was so exceptionally clean, as were the clientele.

I have Maria’s psychic gift of language. So, Maria and I can communicate with anybody. Their language is automatically translated into colloquial American speech in my mind and vice-versa for Maria; while, in fact, her real language is so melodious it almost sounds like she is singing and I can’t understand a word.

Of course, my mental powers are nowhere near as powerful as hers. So, although I can speak any language, I sound foreign when I’m doing it. Maria’s psychic ability is so prodigious, that she sounds like she was born local. Hence, she is the one who does the negotiating in strange situations.

I watched her talking to the landlord. We had a huge bag of authentic Roman gold coins in our trunk. It’s easy to gather real currency when you can travel to the time that it was used in.

So, we could have bought the tavern if we had wanted to. But, we didn’t know how long we were going to stay, and we didn’t want to attract attention. Thus, Maria was being extra flirtatious, just to get the landlord into the right frame of mind.

She was wearing an authentic stola and palla combination that was basically a long tunic draped over her fabulous body and then covered by ten feet of woolen cloth, which she had wrapped around her like a shawl.

The shawl was there for modesty. But Roman women could arrange it in ways that would let any male know that the goods were first class.

In Maria’s case those goods were not something often seen by mere mortals. Having the twins had expanded her already large perfectly formed boobs into mountains and her lithe, supple body was as slim, shapely and solid as ever.

In many respects though, Maria’s finest assets were peeping out of the slits on the side of her stola. She was showing the manager her perfectly formed legs. Her thighs are a little longer than average. So, it looks like they belong to a Greek goddess, which, in fact, she actually is.

The manager appeared to have been a former soldier; big, burly and dangerous looking. Maria had him mesmerized. I knew that she had the mental power to actually knock the guy out. But she was playing the damsel in distress and he was eating it up. Finally, she turned and motioned me over.

She said smiling prettily at the landlord and flirtatiously placing one hand on his arm, “Titus has agreed to let us use the rooms that the Legate stayed in when he was at the Fort.

We need to pay him in advance and perhaps we can give him something for being such a lamb.” She gave him another kittenish glance and the big galoot simpered like a teenager. Bribery with a lot of sex appeal works in any century.

I pulled out the leather purse with the gold Aureus’s in it and counted out four, and then I counted out four more. The landlord decided that he liked us a lot. He said, “Thanks mate! Where are you from? Your accent isn’t Roman?”

I said, “America.” Thank God he didn’t ask me where THAT was. He probably thought I’d said Armorica, which was just across the channel in Brittany.

He got a couple of his slaves to carry the trunk up to our room. Yes, slavery was still alive and well in the Fifth Century.

I’m from blue-collar origins. So, I had a hard time being waited on by actual slaves. Maria, being nobility, had no problem ordering the bought help around. So, I left all the arranging of our luggage to her.

The room itself was large and solid, much nicer than the one that we had stayed in 1,300 years later, in Victorian England.

It had been the Legate’s room and it had all the luxuries; aromatic cedar beams, smooth wood floor with expensive rugs, there was even glass in the windows. The plaster walls were richly decorated with murals and frescos of satyrs, maidens and leaping fawns. The symbolism was a little over the top.

It was a perfect illustration of Rome’s power and extensive reach. The beams had come from the Middle East and the rugs from even further east.

It was a shame to think that this sophisticated, cosmopolitan civilization would soon, disappear; and not reappear for another twelve centuries. All that would be left in the time in-between would be the desolation of the Dark Ages and then Medieval England.

We quickly settled in. We had brought a vast fortune in coinage, just in case. Having that much cash on hand would normally be a problem. But Maria wrapped the money in one of her invisibility cloaks.

She had to be careful doing that, because the people back then would have called it a “spell” and we all knew what happened to women who got caught casting those things. With her mental powers, Maria could have held an entire Legion at-bay. But it would have spoiled our mission.

We were both tired. So, Maria began to undress. Watching that happen was like watching a particularly spectacular sunset, it’s a sight that you’ll never get tired of seeing. Maria has none of the body-issues that plague most women. That’s partly because she has a stunning body. But, it’s mainly because the Atlanteans glorify the human form.

Alright, technically my wife isn’t human. But there is no way to tell the difference. Both Atlanteans and their arch enemy, the Athenians, have the ideal human physique.

It begs the question, “Where did we get our ideas about physical perfection from?” Atlanteans were demi-gods to early humans. So, we might not be directly related. But, we probably got our attitudes from them.

My wife removed all of her period clothing and began to wander around the room stowing things; her nude body was a study in sculptural detail.

Maria’s body hasn’t changed one iota in the eleven years that have passed since I met her. Her legs are exceptionally long and well-shaped; full and muscled rather than thin.

But, it is her hip structure that is so special. The right word to describe her hips is, “tight.” She has birthed twins. But her hips are still perfectly shaped: taut, and powerful. The muscle rippling underneath that soft skin is like spring steel; and her buns are a couple of little cannonballs.

Her waist is narrow, and rock hard, as is her belly. Then there are those big meaty boobs, which are mounted high on her chest. They used to be nice and round. But with two kids they have become massive.

I gazed at them with the rapt awe of the first white man who encountered the Himalayas. They are THAT impressive.

Maria turned toward me with one eyebrow cocked and a challenging look and said, “Should we celebrate our arrival like the last time?”

Our first trip was into Victorian England, in pursuit of Jack the Ripper. We had arrived just like we did this time, next to a remote coaching inn where we could get our feet under us for the coming journey. There is nothing like being dropped into an alien culture to make you want reassurance. So, we made passionate love.

Maria is very vocal and she got wild enough that night that the residents of the inn thought I was killing her. Given that the Ripper was loose in the area, that almost led to an embarrassing exposure. Thank God I’d locked the door.

Maria was clearly hinting that round two was in the offing.

I whipped my tunic over my head without hesitation and dropped the thonglike undergarment that all Roman-men wore. In the meantime, my wife had reclined languorously on the bed, one hip jutting and her big glorious tits draped across her arm. She was panting with anticipation.

I lay down next to her and took her in my arms. Her upper body is a paradox. She has really big tits, which leaves you with the impression that she is larger on top then she is from the waist down. But even though she is a strong and well-built woman, her upper body is almost fragile relative to her powerful hips and legs.

We have always had an intense physical attraction. I honestly don’t know why. I am reasonably good-looking guy. But I’m no movie star, whereas Maria could be.

I suppose our passionate sex has more to do with the fact that Maria is a very erotic female, while still being a one-man woman. Monogamy is the bedrock of her personal belief system and since I’m the lucky guy, I am the recipient of her boundless enthusiasm.

I know that we’ll slow down when we get older, Perhaps 500 years from now. But, we love each other a lot; and that’s one more thing that makes my life wonderful.

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