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Summary
Fives times Odysseus stares and lusts after his wife, thinking about wanting to sleep with her, and the one time he actually gets to do so.
There were other goddesses that his mind conjured when it came to Penelope, particularly with the warmth of wine flooding his body (it was simply the wine). Fair Artemis with her piercing stare, glowing and radiant Aphrodite…
He did not allow himself to linger on the comparisons — such things were dangerous — but he thought it difficult to be blamed for having them. Who could think otherwise, with the way her bright eyes shimmered like precious gems, lit from happiness and drink? How could he not notice how her curls glinted against the torchlight, woven with pearls that shone within her hair like stars in the night? How could he look away, when her gaze met his and her full lips curved upward, as if she had been hoping to find his eyes upon her?
How could he respond with anything less than a smile of his own?