SoCS and #LoISInDaBl Day 21:”A Helluva Team”

Float down the Stream With Us!

Float down the Stream With Us!

For today, Bee‘s prompt is “you/me.  Linda‘s is “relative/relativity”And, yup – the Vulcan in my head, and the human who loves her, decided to hijack this post, too – rather delightfully, I think. I hope you agree!

Disclaimer: Although I believe T’Pol and Trip have their own ideas about it, Paramount claims ownership.

“Who’s that for?” Jon jabbed a finger at the tea.

“T’Pol.” I knew he wasn’t going to take it well, but the best option seemed to be brazening through. “And, if you’ll excuse me, Cap’n, I want to get it to her while it’s still hot.” I turned, and he barely got out of my way in time. I figured the hot liquids might be all that stopped him from decking me. Did I look and act this stupid, when my testosterone was up?

“From my observations, it seems to be endemic to your species.” But there was teasing acceptance behind her thought-message. “However, your possessiveness troubles me considerably less; perhaps it’s a relative matter, or that I am yours…”

“We talkin’ in our heads, now, pepperpot?”

“Yes. I would appreciate receiving my tea while its still hot.”

“Trip?” Jon was peering at me, now, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be mad or concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, Cap’n. Just an aftereffect of the meld, I guess. Didn’t know she could still talk to me.”

“What did she say?” There was a little too much emphasis on the ‘she’. I hoped like hell he was going to get over this possessive streak when he recovered from those Orion pheremones, because this wasn’t making adjusting to the bond, or that second bombshell she’d dropped, about needing to mate so she wouldn’t die, any easier.

“Said she likes her tea hot, and that I should get a move on.”

“T’Pol said that?”

“I could be paraphrasing.” I smiled. “She’s a helluva lot more formal than I am, after all.”

I got to the door, and Jon pushed the button, then followed me through. Any hope I had that he’d let it drop evaporated when he said, “Trip, what’s going on between you and T’Pol?”

I was at a loss – but then, words and ideas came into my head – a way to reveal just enough, without actually lying – or really answering the question. I surrendered to the master, and let myself be her conduit, lending her my own voice and tone. “Well, Cap’n, she’s too polite to say anything -“

“T’Pol’s not that polite, Trip. And I’ve never known her to hold back when she’s got something to say – any more than you do.”

“You and me, pepperpot – the loudmouths of the ship.” I found that more amusing than she did. To Jon, I said, “You’ve never been seduced by an Orion slave girl before, either, sir. But you have been now – and so have the rest of the men aboard – even, I’ve heard, the ones that don’t usually think of women as potential partners.” I had to admit, I felt sorriest for those guys – bad enough to be overwhelmed, but to be attracted to someone who would never normally turn your head – there was something cruel in that…

“Except you.” That was an accusation, pure and simple. “Why, Trip? T’Pol’s immune. You’re immune. Nobody else.”

“I’m not a doctor. If Phlox doesn’t know, how the hell am I supposed to? Maybe it’s that we work together a lot. Maybe it’s the neuropressure, or the melding – or even the dance lessons – I just don’t know.” We had our suspicions, but it was true that we didn’t know for certain that the bond was the reason. “Anyway – there’s been a lot of sexual frustration around lately, and a lot of fighting. And a lot of excess, angsty emotional energy floating around. She couldn’t hide from it while you weren’t able to do your duty, but she can now that you’re – more or less- functional again.”

“But she can tolerate you? Trip, when she first got here, I was damned near positive you were going to kill her. After I saw her fight a time or two, I was damned near positive she was going to kill you.” Finally, Jon cracked a smile.

“And now look at us. I’m bringin’ her tea, like I’m all civilized.” I felt T’Pol’s awareness sharpening – she could feel the punch line coming, even if she didn’t use those words. And she knew I was getting closer…I could feel her quiver of arousal humming back to life. “Lusty little pepperpot,” I thought to her, and something sinuous and swift passed through my mind, catlike and tempting. “But I’ll tell you a secret, Cap’n, if you promise not to tell her.”

“I promise.”

I grinned at him as we neared her door. “I’m just waiting till her back’s turned. I was the fastest short-sheeter in summer camp, and I’ll just bet Vulcan kids don’t pull pranks – hell, maybe they don’t even have summer camp – I mean, it’s a desert world, and all that…what would the counselors say -‘OK, kids, go jump in the sand dunes?'”

“Trip, I order you not to short-sheet Commander T’Pol’s bed.” Jon chuckled. We were at her door, now, and he pressed the button. He peered in; thankfully, T’Pol was sitting facing us, eyes open, but still in meditative pose. “Watch him, T’Pol – he’s got designs on your bedding. Dinner, nineteen hundred. Both of you. Enjoy your tea.”

T’Pol sighed deeply as she accepted her mug, her fingers lingering on mine, seductive in a way I’d never known, before her. “You handled that well, Trip.”

Me? Not all by myself. It was you and me, pepperpot.” It was tempting fate, but I couldn’t resist. I took those fingers, very carefully, and brushed my lips over the backs of her fingers. She moaned softly, trembling.

Like you said, Trip, we make a helluva team.”

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

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#LoISInDaBl Day 20:”T’Pol Visits T’Mir”

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!


For today, Bee‘s  prompt is “grandparents”. I had an essay in mind, but I live with this Vulcan woman in my head, and she had other ideas – and so, you get a vignette from T’Pol’s childhood…

Disclaimer: Although I believe T’Pol is a law unto herself, Paramount claims ownership.

Here, we have TMir, as a young woman on 1950s Earth…

“You will comport yourself appropriately at your first foremother’s home.” Mother was calm; I wondered at what age I would be able to control my responses to that degree. Or, perhaps, Mother had no emotional responses to control. It was logical to assume that the possibility existed. I wondered if it would be possible to devise an algorithm by which I might calculate the possibility. Certainly, that was a more interesting and useful pursuit than listening to her say the same things, in the same tone, in precisely the same order as she had ever other time I had come to stay with T’Mir.

I allowed my mind to sink into the puzzle as the groundcar angled up the final hills to the home of my oldest living ancestress…better that than reveal my ‘unseemly anticipation’.

“T’Pol, you are not attending to your mother’s directives with sufficient focus.” I blinked – when had we stopped?

“Yes, Father. Mother, I will do my best.” I gathered my bags and passed them to Father before disembarking.

“See that you do.”

That was all the parting I had from her. Father leaned in close to me, and something quick and alive flashed in his eyes. “May you find your time agreeable, daughter.”

Mother was already turning toward the groundcraft, and wouldn’t see. Had she planned this, to allow us this moment together? I didn’t know, but I pressed my fingers against Father’s in a filial ouz’hesta, attempting to memorize his bioeletric signature, so that I could hold it in my mind, during the time we would be apart.

And then he was turning to join Mother, and I was alone at the entrance to my first foremother’s sand garden. I opened the gate and passed within. It was too near zenith for T’Mir to be comfortable coming to greet me; she was very aged, and had grown frail.

“My T’Pol. Come, child, and let me relearn your face.”

It was pleasingly cool and dim inside; the candlelight made flickering shadows on the walls – and the shrunken woman seated before the bank of candles. My emotions became intense, and I hurried to her, eager for her touch, for her stories – for her acceptance of me, precisely as I was, always. For the learning she offered, of a people far away, a people most Vulcans found primitive, lacking the discipline of a mature culture, chaotic and dangerous.


I went to her, settled on my knees beside her.

“Will you allow me to touch you, T’Pol? My eyes no longer adjust well, after I’ve watched the flames.”

I had to focus on each word; here, when we were alone, we spoke only in English, the dominant language on Earth. She waited, blinking as she watched me. “Yes, T’Mir,” I said, when I was certain I understood her intent.

Her hands felt like desert breezes against my skin, and I breathed in the warmth of the touch, so different than Mother’s. “How can it be that a mother and daughter are so unlike one another?” I hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, but there was nothing to be done, once it was said.

T’Mir’s breath released in some way I’d never heard from anyone else – was it something she had acquired, when she lived amongst the humans? “Are you thinking of the differences between me and my daughter, T’Pol – or yourself and your mother?”

“T’Les seems unlike both of us,” I replied.

“Humans have an expression: ‘Some things skip a generation’. Perhaps it is true, and there are things in my nature that I passed, through genetic inheritance, not to her, but instead, through her, to you.”

“Do you think it is so, T’Mir?” Her fingers trembled slightly; I was reminded again that she was very old, and couldn’t be expected to live much longer.

“Perhaps, child, and perhaps not. But it’s most agreeable to have you here with me, and know that you’re of like mind.”

“Tell me how I may serve you.” I wanted to do something for her; something that would, however illogically, allow me to forget her mortality, even if only for only a short time.

That strange breathing sound again. ” Simply be as you are, T’Pol. I live alone, most of the time, and I’m well capable of meeting my needs.”

“I -” I paused for a moment, attempting to choose the most precise human term to express my emotions. Terrans had a great diversity in such terms; it was something I wondered at. “I wish to serve you.”

“Ah, T’Pol. Such a serious child – do you know that children on Earth are seldom so? That play is often considered their main occupation?” Gentle fingers stroked my hair. “You will serve me best by being as you are, and doing what pleases you.”

“I will prepare tea,” I decided. But, as I went to her kitchen and tended to it, her words remained in my mind.

‘You will serve me best by being as you are, and doing what pleases you.’

As I watched the water carefully, so that no drop would be wasted, I wondered at the alien concept. Neither Mother nor Father, nor anyone but her, had ever asked me to consider what pleased me. Suddenly, with T’Mir’s statement, there seemed something amiss in that, that my life would be orchestrated without any consideration of my – my wishes.

But was that not the way of a Vulcan life?

Looking for more Love Is In Da Blog? Find it right here! 

 And the blooper fun as T’Pol entertains the humans who asked for a story- two hundred years later.

WIPpet Wednesday: Storms and Snares

Come WIPpet with us! =D

Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date. It’s hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel, maven of bad boys, stock dogs, and flying monkeys!

I’m returning to Chameleon’s Dish (which may or may not become Never Doubt I Love) – to reconnect with Henry, Tisira, and Nockatee…

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk the Bard’s words and Hunt her lost identity.

This month I’m sharing the opening lines from each character’s Inciting Incident, as they’re currently written in revised first draft scenes. We’ll be on vacation when this posts, so I may be slow making visits and returning comments – but I’ll get to as many as I’m able to.

Today I offer you Henry’s opening. He’s a boy on the cusp of manhood, who’s been fending for himself far longer than a child should need to. He’s currently occupied with assuring he can survive the winter…a winter that’s not going to be anything like what he expected…

Note: I’m still struggling a bit with Henry’s specific voice and language. I need to do more research; that will come before Draft 3. For now, any suggestions appreciated! He’s also likely going to be a little older by the final draft – fourteen or so.

WIPpet Math:

  • Today is February 18, 2015.
  • Math: Adding the digits of the year: 2+0+1+5 =8. Subtract that from the date: 18-8 =10. for a total of 10 longer paragraphs.

The rutting musk of a fallow buck, blended with the sweat of his labors, were rank and unpleasant in Henry’s nose. He hastened as much as he dared, wanting to have done with this snare line. He wanted to be home before full dark, and he was thinking that he would heat a bucket from the creek over the fire, and have a good washing later, to cleanse the noisome scent, and warm his chilled bones.

Seven rabbits filled half of his hempen carrysack, their bodies stiffening with death and cold alike. It was meat for himself, and for Goody Cooper and her brood of hungry young, and their furs, so close to the coming of snow, were rich with winter growth. Spring would find him with need of the coin they would bring, to replace the supplies he used over the winter.

Thoughts of a washing, and the venison stew, cheese, and bread awaiting him, roused his spirits, and his feet, needing no trail, were lighter upon the ground beneath his snare line, despite his burden -almost too much for his body, still small for his twelve years. He smiled at the call of a winterbird, and gave back an answering whistle, pausing a few beats, head tipped, to listen for a return call. That it did not come told him that he hadn’t quite the mastery of the call.

He’d have ample time to practice, soon enough. Henry lifted his eyes to the heavens; the clouds were growing heavy and full; the air held the tang of growing chill and coming snow. He was of a mind to remain within doors, on the morrow. He could skin the rabbits, and begin his stew, and some meat for drying -he might even have one for spitting and roasting.

Best I tend to these snares, then, while I still have the ease to walk on solid ground, and so do the rabbits.” He liked his lips, and ran a hand through his tangled curls to press them back away from his eyes.

It was an odd habit, this way he had of talking to himself, and he hoped none of Verity’s children were lurking about, ready to tell their mother all they saw and heard. Mayhap, she would think him ensorceled, or mad, to speak so where none were near enough to answer. In the foundling’s home, he had scarce spoke; to speak wrongly might gain a slap, hard labor on his knees, and, oftentimes, even worse. It were best, there, to be small, silent, and willing to do as he was bidden.

Now, he lived as he chose, and spake as he would, and wondered if that made him a madman. He sang, softly, as he walked his snare line, gauging his pace by the number of snares unchecked, and the lowering of the sun through branches and gathering clouds. Aye, there would be time enough, if he did not tarry about the tending.

Only a dozen snares between him and the pleasures of his home, now, and Henry’s mood was fine, when he came upon a sprung and empty loop of leather cord. It had not been escaped – there were broken branches, and bits of fur clinging to them that bespoke struggle, and the scent of death clung like a shadow.

The snare was unbroken; something had slipped the carcass from the loop, leaving him the cord, but no meat. And so it was with full half of the next six – the rabbit gone, unbroken snare left behind.

Ah, a mystery – and less meat than Henry expected. What or who is robbing his snares? Will he survive the winter? Catch the thief?


C’mon, you really didn’t expect me to answer, didja?

See you next week – and, hey, while you’re here, here’s the link to more delightful WIPpet Snippets; assorted genres and styles to choose from! =D


#LoIsInDaBl Day 17: Fathers and Feelings

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

For today, Bee  prompts us to focus onFathers. After yesterday’s rather emotionally laden post, I decided to share an excerpt from my WIP novel, The Earth Doth Move, instead of delving deep terrain.

As you read this, we’re preparing to see my Accomplice’s father. It’s been years since he’s seen his dad, and this is rather a big deal. So, in honor of fathers, real and fictional, I offer this…

Disclaimer: Spock, Sarek, and Amanda are not mine. I’m not in the habit of owning people, even fictional ones. Paramount claims ownership…

“How long?” he asked, now, as his body seemed almost to sink into the chair. There was a deep relief in being supported and tended, after the frightening and solitary nature of the effort to return home. His eyes drifted closed…

“It will take .972 hours, approximately.” The words circled his awareness, finally connecting with the question he had asked.

“Nearly an hour,” he said, and sighed. Mother had been asleep, and Father was dressed in the light robe he wore for sleep. “I -regret the disturbance my carelessness caused, Father.”

“Accidents will sometimes occur, Spock. As your parents, it is our duty to tend you when you have need. It is also my privilege to do so. I do not consider this privilege to be dependent upon such matters as time or routine.”

Spock frowned. He had been focused on the conflict he knew would come, when he stated his choice, and his determination to fulfill it, even if that placed him in direct opposition to Father and his expectations. Even if it must mean rejecting generations beyond count of tradition. He had been preparing for what he knew would be a heated debate that was likely to challenge him to maintain logic and emotional control.

He had not considered this Sarek, who tended to his hurt with gentleness and honor.

He pondered this – Mother’s outburst, and his own. Was it possible that she understood the impulse that had driven him, even when he did not? That she accepted even those interactions that could, in truth, only be termed “attacks”? That she forgave instinctively?

And what of Sarek? Once Mother had brought a tray and connected it over the arms of the chair, Spock watched his father, as he ate, as Mother spoke soothingly about random topics, without needing any reply from him, in the way she was prone to do in the aftermath of trouble. It seemed to soothe her, and her voice was a pleasant counterpoint to his thoughts.

What of Father? Would he experience an emotional response to Spock’s rejection of the path he had chosen with logical consideration? Would there be pain in it?

It was not a thing he would have considered this dawning, when he first knew that he must go, no matter the cost. He had been concerned with his own feelings, and Mother’s, but not Sarek’s. He had often thought that Sarek had none to consider.

But now the evidence pointed strongly to their existence, and Spock’s resolve wavered. He did not wish to cause his father pain or concern; but he was still certain that he could not remain on Vulcan, that, if he was to learn to manage his human half, he must have a more diverse sampling that Mother and Trip, the human katra which had resided for a time within him.

In order to do what he must, to learn all of who and what he was, and to begin the process of finding T’Lys, Spock would have to risk not only Sarek’s approbation, but also hurting him.

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SoCS and #LoIsInDaBl Day 13: A Couple of Three

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Happy Valentine’s Day (if you celebrate that kind of thing). Otherwise, happy Saturday to you! Today, Bee prompts us to write about a single/bi/threesome relationship. Over at SoCS, Linda‘s prompt is “attach/attachment.”

I’m offering up an excerpt from The Earth Doth Move, the Star Trek: TOS and Enterprise crossover fan fiction novel which was my NaNoWriMo 2014 project. My characters surprised me by becoming a threesome (that wasn’t in the story plan at all!). I’ve edited a few typos, but it’s otherwise exactly as written – in true NaNo-frenzied stream of consciousness style!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Spock (despite what Paramount claims, I’m not sure they do either!)

**Warning: Sexually graphic scenes depicting group and extraterrestrial acts. You must be of legal age to proceed past this point. Those offended by erotica or explicit material might best click away now.**

There had been no hands on his back, then, stroking down to his buttocks, urging his plunging, hungry surges. No, nor breasts and lips to suckle, or to be suckled by, as he came, and came again, the bodies always shifting, giving new pleasure, and now their was a stavril, open to him like a lovely petal, stamen inflamed, and he dared to taste its sweet nectars, and then, transfixed by its beauty, by its pulsing, glistening beauty, he could not stop tasting, exploring, his mind held open to feel the way to give the precise pleasures she craved – and his stavrit – his stavrit was claimed it turn by hungry lips, playful teeth, and then, as he thrust tongue and stavrit, deeply, together, there was another mouth upon another stavril, making a harmonic wave, and then – and then there was Attunement – and T’Lys, stalking amongst them, stroking them, binding them into one Huntthread, so that they could feel together, touch one another, need not be close to be dancing.

“It is like to arytana, when the nectars are concentrated into a syrup,” she said. “Let this be your arytana, my fierce one.”

And so they drank another dose, and then another, and a third, and were the tide and the dancing together….

Spock reclined against the bed, with Mara on one side, and Thistle on the other, and there was the touching that was pleasant when all had found Completion – akin to the washings of the Pride, that bound them once Matehunt released them…

“What the hell is it with you, man?” Thomas was in the doorway of Spock’s quarters, watching them, smiling. “How the hell do you do it?”

“Essentially, the same way as you do, Thomas.” Spock lifted a brow. “Are you seeking more – pointers?”

“Why you arrogant – hell, I can’t even say it, with the three of you glowing like that, and you looking anything but arrogant – hell, you just look natural. Keep your pointers, Spock – I don’t think they’d do me a damned bit of good. You’ve got something I’ll never have – maybe it’s the points on your ears, even when you cover them up…I don’t know what it is, but you’ve been back less than a day, and you’re – you’re what?”

“We’re a couple.” Thistle giggled at that. “Aren’t we, our Dragon, our Mara?”

“Yes.” Spock and Mara answered together.

“What? No discussion of the illogic of calling three people a ‘couple’?”

“No, Thomas. It is – most logical to do so, for that is what we are. It is what we have chosen, to spare pain, and to find delight. It is – “

“Time to get ready for the party, is what. Which you’d know, Mara, if you’d been back to your room. I’ve got us starting at 7, and that’s only an hour away.”

“I was not finished speaking, Thomas.”

“Hey, Spock?”


“Anyone ever tell you that you talk way too much when you’re drunk and horny?”

Spock considered this for a moment. “No. No one ever has.” Before he could say anything else, Mara claimed his lips, Thistle his stavrit, and, the next time he looked, the door was closed, and Thomas, if he had even been here, was gone.

“I fear that we are quite late for my party.”

The touching had spiraled, once again, carrying them into the tide, into sharing- of absinthe, and cannabis, and one another.

“It’s called being fashionably late,” Mara said.

“Making an entrance,” Thistle added.

“We are already inside,” Spock said, most logically.

But they only laughed, and dressed him, together, with nothing beneath the robe, and nothing over but a light cloak, edged in passion-green. Each of them selected one of the long Vulcan tunics for each other; as he prepared another dose – Sybok had brought a case of absinthe, this time, and they had more than enough to share, so, once the women were dressed only in the tunics that brushed the middle of Thistle’s thigh, and slightly lower on Mara’s, with light cloaks tossed over them, they arranged the bottles, and Thistle made a little sign in a lovely script, that read, BOYG – Bring Your Own Glass. Sybok had seen that there was sugar, as well – if they ran low, Mara said, someone could go to the Mess Hall and get more.

And then, they were ready – still bound together by what T’Lys had woven with them, within them, still dancing, at a level not far beneath Attunement, so that there was a strong sense of one another, and of oneness…

“There are – a great many people outside this door,” he said, and they could hear with him – well enough, at least, not to ask the seemingly perpetual human question – “Are you sure?”

Float down the Stream With Us!

Float down the Stream With Us!

Float down the stream with more SoCS posts!

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#LoIsInDaBl Day 12: Throwing It All Away

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Today, Bee‘s prompt is to write a short story about a love affair.  Since I’m working on developing the characters of Barry, Corinne, Exuberance, and Terrance for a novella project I’ll begin later in the year, I decided to write an exploratory story for them, based on a pivotal moment in Terry and Barry’s marriage.

**Warning: Potential emotional triggers and sporadic cursing.**

“You look sad, today, sweetie. Need someone to talk to?”

I nodded, and didn’t spend the effort it would take to turn around. We’d talked here, before, Exuberance and I, and she’d told me that, despite the cancer that seemed to crop up again each time she thought she’d beaten it back, she saved her energy for “the party, sweetie. Cause life’s always a party if you let it be, know what I mean?”

I’d told her that I could remember a time when I had, but that had been long ago.

I looked again at the cleft in the dunes where they had disappeared. It had been nearly half an hour, now, according to the Rolex Barry had given me so long ago, on our very first anniversary. When he disappeared into the cliffs with his sweet young treat, he’d been wearing a ridiculous Mexican shirt, and cutoff jeans that, despite being sixty-two, he managed to look natural in . Sweet young Corinne had given him a pookah-shell necklace, and he’d had that on, too, the long waves of his silver hair blowing back in the breeze in a way that made my heart hurt – and had nothing at all to do with the disease that was slowly choking the life out of it, and me.

“You’re looking for him – for them.”

I didn’t deny it.

She sat down beside me, uninvited, and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, the slim kind Barry used to smoke; cloves, not tobacco. I could almost taste them, taste those early, heady kisses.

He’d never cheated. Not once -

But I had. Oh, yes. There had been men, and women, too. Every time I got depressed. No matter how hard Barry tried to be enough, to be everything I needed to hold against the hurt and the downward spiraling, the pressure that crushed me as though I were trapped under the slabs of heavy metals in my studio – the only thing that helped was to be with someone else, to throw myself into the first bed I came across, with anyone who would fuck me, any way they wanted to do it – just the way it had been, back when I was a kid, and didn’t know it could be different…

“You’re not garbage,” Barry whispered, every time I dragged my sorry ass home. Sometimes, I was bloody, or covered in the vomit of a debauch, and – nothing but human refuse, the way I always had been. And still he whispered, “You matter. To me, you are the treasure of a lifetime.” And he always washed me tenderly, even if I was still so wasted he had to do it on the floor, and put me to bed, crawling in with me, holding me while I cried and apologized, but inside I was laughing with joy that he had passed the test, again…

I’d orchestrated him and Corinne, because I was sure it would stay platonic – at least, until I died, and Barry sought comfort in his grief. He’d passed every test, after all…

Until now.

Down on the beach, they emerged – bare to the world they seemed to have forgotten. My throat clutched; and I gasped, my heart squeezed so tight I thought this might be it.

“Oh, Terrance. I’m so sorry.” Exuberance laid a hand on mine, her dark fingers against my pale skin, nails the same vibrant purple as her glittering cocktail gown – a rather ridiculous thing to be wearing in early afternoon, anywhere but here.

I looked away from the window, focusing only on Exuberance. I didn’t want to see the beauty of the two flushed bodies I knew so well juxtaposed upon one another- male and female, aging and ripening, my lover and my portrait model….

“Don’t know why I’m pulling these out; I only smoke them after, anymore.” Those long fingers began to stroke, their message clear, echoing her words with action. Her thigh brushed mine.

Unsure, still, I turned back to watch Barry and Corrine; they ran together into the surf, seeming like dolphins.

I was dying, and Barry was playing in the waves with a girl scarcely a woman, and young enough to be his granddaughter.

He’s abandoned me.”

“You can have all of this, Terrance, if you want it.” She was leaning in, making sure I could get a look down her low-cut neckline.

The old thrill raced through me, and I didn’t care, right now, about my ruined heart, or whether it might kill me to have sex. I was dying anyway, and Barry had found someone new to treasure.

Her hand drew mine slowly to the edge of the table, then past, to her thigh.

I hesitated. “No, not here. Will you come home with me, right now?”

“Lover, I’ve been hoping you’d ask since the day I first saw you!”

We left, her arm wrapped around my waist. I was ready to throw myself away again – and this time, Barry wasn’t going to be there to clean up my messes.

And I planned to create a disaster. Maybe, if I was lucky, one that would kill me.

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#LoIsInDaBl Day 6: At the End of Vaara’s Rainbow

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Put a Little Love in Yours!

Hello there, and welcome to Day 6 of Love Is In Da Blog!

Today, Bee  prompts us to explore the Rainbow of Love – a celebration of all colors, flavors, and textures of consensual love. Since I wrote an essay on this subject  on Wednesday, today I’d like to share a bit of fiction – my first lesbian love scene,from my rough draft novel, Sima Garo Provides. This is the first coming-together of Vaara and Nisyn, two women of different cultures. My intent was to show the mutual interest and respect between them, and to make their attraction physical, but tender – something that will evolve into a far deeper connection. I hope you enjoy my form of celebration!

Author’s Note:

This scene is rated PG-13. If nudity and mild eroticism are offensive to your sensibilities, this may not be the post for you.

“Do you not play at Matehunt, then, Huntleader?” It was a soft question, almost spoken to oneself, a musing, of sorts.

She was jolted quickly awake; she must have dozed off. Vaara knew the scent, and the voice, but there was an odd note in it now, a type of expectancy she did not understand. She opened her eyes to study Nisyn. “Are you well? There was much travel today, and you walked more than you have, since your collapse.”

“Shinjao grows stronger as her Solemating and pregnancy grow.” It was newly dark, and the firstmoon was beginning to show, off to the southeast. Nisyn’s ice-blue eyes silvered and threw glints as she smiled and stretched toward the flames, and Vaara noticed how lovely was the line of her breasts as they fell forward. Deep within her, there was a stirring she had never felt, in such a moment.

“Then – you do not desire Matehunt, Nisyn? I thought everyone had gone to a nest, and would not emerge for many monslengths, yet.”

Nisyn looked at her sidelong, her expression a mystery, her scent amused and holding other things Vaara could not understand or interpret. “You keep asking questions, Huntleader Vaara, but you haven’t yet answered mine….don’t you play at Matehunt?”

“I have not played at Matehunt with any other,” she said, and wondered why it sounded something like a defense. Her own breasts tingled into tautness, her tongue flicking out of its own, to moisten dry lips. She was breathing more rapidly, watching Nisyn’s body as she moved through the poses of her stretching, holding each with the certainty of a statue.

“But do you enjoy it, as a solitary Hunt, Vaara? And, have you ever desired to share it with another?”

“I enjoy it,” she said, softly. “Now, tell me about your own pleasurings, if you will, Nisyn. Surely you have played at Matehunt with many?”

“I have had Matehunt with many. I’m Tacivaarii; it’s our nature. But I haven’t played, because, for that, I need to feel something deeper…and, until now, I haven’t.”

Vaara waited until she had her breathing somewhat under control. More was impossible. “Until now?”

“Until now.” She came no closer, but Vaara could feel the welcome in her mind as it turned toward her, the expectancy sharpening to eagerness. “And what of you, Huntleader Vaara? What do you feel?”

“I have not wanted to admit to it – there has been so much to tend to.”

“But there is not, now. There are others to do the tending, and help awaits us at Osiiraan. You’re free to feel and be as you please, at least so long as we shelter here.”

“I have been longing for someone with whom to share myself wholly. I have never had that, in my life.”

“I will play at Matehunt with you, if you’ll have me, Vaara.”

Vaara had not meant to come around the small fire. Yet suddenly she was standing before Nisyn, and the scent of the her wanting surrounded her, inflamed her bloodpulse with a strange new promise. She dared to reach out, to touch that fire-warmed skin, and sucked in her breath as her center pulsed with new awareness.

“Nisyn, I would learn how to pursue Matehunt with you, so long as it pleases us both…but I cannot play until I understand.”

“No, Huntleader. That’s not the way of it.” The other woman smiled, and lifted Vaara’s hand to kiss each fingertip softly. “We learn Matehunt by playing at it, the same way that a kit or pup learns Huntskills.” She brushed fingers along Vaara’s shoulder, with a slowness that brought a hungry shudder.

Does all such play feel – as this?” Breath whispered through her voice, leaving her lungs empty, so that she must gasp to draw more. She yearned to press herself against the lushness of Nisyn’s body, as it was warmed by the fire, and painted by the dancing shadows.

“Come to my nest, Vaara, and explore with me. It is in the low branches, where you can easily climb.”

“I will play at Matehunt with you, Nisyn.” There were other things Vaara wanted to say, but she did not have words for them.

Nisyn smiled gently and took Vaara’s hand gently, and led her to the base of a cataan tree, and the nest that waited in its budding foliage.

If you enjoyed that, I’d love to share two fellow writers who do a brilliant job with gay and lesbian fiction. They’ve entertained and inspired me with their realistic characters living realistic lives that include, but aren’t limited to, romance that can get delightfully steamy.

And find a rainbow of other #LoIsInDaBl posts here – and join in, if you’re so inspired!

Yellowstone Rainbow. Lone Star Geyser.