Of course Aeolus knew how to give fantastic head. With a mouth like that, always blowing so hard for so long, it was no wonder he had brought most women along the coast of Greece to their knees. But it was one woman in particular that was less amenable to having him over that drove him crazy. Made him blow his top both literally and figuratively as he would stare at her pleasuring her husband from outside the window. He hated that man. Hristiyan. Even the name was intolerable. And he found himself loathing him for never bothering to service her. That goddess among humans called Cassandra. With her long blonde hair and unblemished olive skin, she stood out among the dark-haired women of the island. Symi. A more far-flung patch of land closer to Turkey than Greece. But where Aeolus had drifted in his frequent wanderings from Aeolia, happening upon this woman that would be his undoing.
He was delicate in how he chose to approach her that first day when she finally broke away from her husband, a fisherman who was constantly at sea. It was clear to Aeolus that Cassandra was a lonely soul who didn’t really love Hristiyan, but rather, felt obliged to ally herself with him for the same reason most women did: she needed someone to take care of her after a certain age that wasn’t her father. And as for her father, Cyril, well it was clear where Cassandra had gotten her ideas of how she should be treated by men. He was gruff and monosyllabic; during the few instances when they still encountered one another on the island, it was as though he barely recognized her as his own loin fruit. As far as he was concerned, he had done more than enough in fulfilling his only real duty as a patriarch: passing her off to someone else. A task he found surprisingly herculean considering her beauty. But she was shy and independent. Not great at playing the coquette that men needed to see in the courtship process in order to relish the thrill of the hunt. She played no games, and so she was saddled with the simple man that was Hristiyan. He was uneducated but made a decent enough living. He was not what Cyril had initially had in mind for someone of his daughter’s aesthetic caliber, but he would have to do. For soon, no one would want to marry Cassandra at all because of her age. Then where would Cyril be? Ruing the day he had turned his nose up at Hristiyan the way Cassandra ought to have. Instead, she obeyed the wishes of her father, soon after yielding to the wishes of her husband with the same docility. This included her daily obligation to pleasure him while she herself went unattended.
Aeolus was livid over this realization as he studied her day to day existence, finally gathering the courage to come near her on a clear, sun-filled day when she was washing her garments in the sea. He was cautious at first, not wanting to startle her with his inherent force. The undeniably overpowering essence of his presence. Naturally, that’s just what he did as she jumped in astonishment first at the feel of him enveloping her, then at the sight of his lips–forever positioned in an “whooosh” formation. Whoooshed away indeed was she by his emboldened seduction, giving herself to him right then and there on the rock, only to take her incomparable μουνί away from him just when it was starting to get really good. She was alerted to the vision of her husband’s unmistakable boat–a rickety blue and white number that could be heard a half-mile away thanks to its embarrassingly loud engine. One that Cassandra had offered time and time again to repair herself if Hristiyan would give her the chance to. She had experience in such matters from watching her own father fix things for other men for an occasional windfall (no pun intended). Yet Hristiyan insisted she would only make it worse in her feeble-minded capacity as a woman. She didn’t press the issue, now instead secretly enjoying the humiliation he suffered from the preposterous look and sound of his primary means of income.
Still, the boat wasn’t so inadequate that it managed to mitigate the sight of his wife cuckolding him on a rock with the smoke that blew out of the engine with almost as much force as Aeolus’ wind power. No, he saw all he needed to comprehend that some foul play was afoot. And even though Aeolus could quickly render himself as invisible as the winds he controlled, Hristiyan still suspected there was a traitorous reason for that look of ecstasy on his wife’s face. One he had never been able to extract from her himself in their five years of marriage. He didn’t like it. Not just how she looked with such joy in her eyes, but that he wasn’t the one controlling or supplying it. He preferred her in staid suffering. Resigned misery. It made her nobler to him. But this–this countenance of a woman of sin–was repellent. Abhorrent, unconscionable. How could she suddenly seem so entitled to pleasure? It was a portent of nothing good and Hristiyan told Cassandra as much as he grabbed her from the rock and shoved her into the boat with about as much delicacy as one of his fish.
She explained to him that the wind had merely hit her skin in a certain way to make her appear as though she was in a transcendent state. “The wind,” “skin.” “Sure,” he balked. He knew better. Something–or rather, someone–was responsible for her sudden happiness. And if he saw her act like that again, he was going to find out who, he warned her. With this threat in mind, Cassandra knew she could not let Aeolus into her heart or μουνί again, or it would put him at risk. She loved him too much to do that, and felt that, at the very least, other women deserved to experience the magic of his mouth.
Aeolus was not in agreement with Cassandra’s logic, tapping at her window every day when Hristiyan was away, begging to be let inside. Alas, Cassandra was adept at tautly locking the windows and doors so they could not be blown open as Aeolus might have done with less willful women along his travels. It drove him insane that she would not let him back in…
As the years passed and Aeolus continued to try forcing his way into her house–and therefore vagina–the climate of the surrounding islands changed. Without the winds, plant life suffered vastly, for there was no wind unleashed for the natural dispersal of seeds. Without the plants, food shortages began to occur. Aeolus was unmoved. Would not budge until Cassandra opened one of the goddamn windows. When she heard of what was happening to her fellow Greek brethren and sistren, subject to the whims of the wind, she confessed the truth once and for all to Hristiyan. He was furious. Not only that she had waited this long to tell him, but that her one-off philandering folly had resulted in this catastrophe. He called her a whore and not even a good one at that. He wanted her out of his life but he also wanted to punish her. And the best way to do so would be to keep her captive. He just had to change the location to something more equidistant between all the islands so that the Greeks could resuscitate the former clout of their plants with some gusts of wind.
He placed her inside of a windmill on an atoll in the middle of the Aegean, somewhere between Patmos and Hydra. Ithaca was still too far to benefit much from Cassandra’s placement, but no one gave much of a shit about it after Odysseus painted himself as such a golden boy to the point that people were still talking about it. His plan worked, and Aeolus migrated his devotion to this new point in the sea where Cassandra was relegated. What he might have wanted to account for, however, is that Cassandra’s eventual death from starvation would allow Aeolus the chance to finally and definitively give her head. Head so good, in fact, that it brought her back to life. Surrendering at last to the pleasure she had denied herself for so long, Cassandra conceded to running away with Aeolus, who decided that in retaliation for Hristiyan’s behavior, he would flee Greece forever with her, leaving it a desiccated wasteland where the sun still shined, but a refreshing sea breeze never blew. Those lips responsible for such flow finding focus…elsewhere.