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Madison Scott-Clary 2020-04-24 12:15:02 -07:00
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@ -107,8 +107,11 @@ dnd writing/jaroudi/asoub/3.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/asoub/3\twriting/jaro
dnd writing/jaroudi/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/index\twriting/jaroudi/index
drugs writing/rum-and-coke/again.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/again\twriting/rum-and-coke/again
drugs writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself\twriting/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself
epistolary writing/missives.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/missives\twriting/missives
epistolary writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us\twriting/sawtooth/what-defines-us#epistolary
epistolary writing/sawtooth/youre-gone.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/youre-gone\twriting/sawtooth/youre-gone#epistolary
erotica writing/at-his-whim.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/at-his-whim\twriting/at-his-whim
erotica writing/light.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/light\twriting/light
erotica writing/rum-and-coke/again.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/again\twriting/rum-and-coke/again
erotica writing/rum-and-coke/how-many.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/how-many\twriting/rum-and-coke/how-many
erotica writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected\twriting/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected
@ -145,6 +148,7 @@ fantasy writing/jaroudi/asoub/3.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/asoub/3\twriting/
fantasy writing/jaroudi/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/index\twriting/jaroudi/index
fantasy writing/the-second-ridge.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/the-second-ridge\twriting/the-second-ridge
fiction writing/acethetic.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/acethetic\twriting/acethetic
fiction writing/all-of-time-at-once.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/all-of-time-at-once\twriting/all-of-time-at-once
fiction writing/belek.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek
fiction writing/consequences-of-dissonance/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/consequences-of-dissonance/index\twriting/consequences-of-dissonance/index
fiction writing/furrything/001.md 1;" vimwiki:writing/furrything/001\twriting/furrything/001
@ -269,13 +273,17 @@ fiction writing/with-his-arms-outstretched.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/with-his-arms-
flash-fiction writing/sawtooth/fisher.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/fisher\twriting/sawtooth/fisher#flash-fiction
flash-fiction writing/sawtooth/folding-laundry.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/folding-laundry\twriting/sawtooth/folding-laundry
flash-fiction writing/sawtooth/valentimes.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/valentimes\twriting/sawtooth/valentimes
fossils writing/all-of-time-at-once.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/all-of-time-at-once\twriting/all-of-time-at-once
fossils writing/light.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/light\twriting/light
fossils writing/poetry/fossils.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/poetry/fossils\twriting/poetry/fossils
fossils writing/tu-pater-et-mater.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/tu-pater-et-mater\twriting/tu-pater-et-mater
furry writing/at-his-whim.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/at-his-whim\twriting/at-his-whim
furry writing/belek.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek
furry writing/furrything/001.md 1;" vimwiki:writing/furrything/001\twriting/furrything/001
furry writing/furrything/002.md 1;" vimwiki:writing/furrything/002\twriting/furrything/002
furry writing/furrything/003.md 1;" vimwiki:writing/furrything/003\twriting/furrything/003
furry writing/furrything/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/furrything/index\twriting/furrything/index
furry writing/missives.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/missives\twriting/missives
furry writing/on-furry/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/on-furry/index\twriting/on-furry/index
furry writing/paw-to-print.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/paw-to-print\twriting/paw-to-print
furry writing/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment\twriting/sawtooth/a-theory-of-attachment#furry
@ -325,6 +333,7 @@ horror writing/inner-demons/content/c-040.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/inner-demons/co
horror writing/inner-demons/content/epilogue.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/inner-demons/content/epilogue\twriting/inner-demons/content/epilogue
horror writing/inner-demons/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/inner-demons/index\twriting/inner-demons/index
hybrid diary/2020-04-09.md 1;" vimwiki:diary/2020-04-09\tdiary/2020-04-09
hypnosis writing/at-his-whim.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/at-his-whim\twriting/at-his-whim
in-progress writing/sawtooth/happy-lesbians.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/happy-lesbians\twriting/sawtooth/happy-lesbians
incomplete writing/sawtooth/aposematism.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/aposematism\twriting/sawtooth/aposematism
inner-demons writing/inner-demons/content/a-010.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/inner-demons/content/a-010\twriting/inner-demons/content/a-010
@ -598,7 +607,10 @@ qoheleth writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/003.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/post-self/q
qoheleth writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004\twriting/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/004
qoheleth writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005\twriting/post-self/qoheleth/Sasha/005
qoheleth writing/post-self/qoheleth/index.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/post-self/qoheleth/index\twriting/post-self/qoheleth/index#qoheleth
romance writing/all-of-time-at-once.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/all-of-time-at-once\twriting/all-of-time-at-once
romance writing/consequences-of-dissonance/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/consequences-of-dissonance/index\twriting/consequences-of-dissonance/index
romance writing/light.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/light\twriting/light
romance writing/missives.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/missives\twriting/missives
romance writing/rum-and-coke/again.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/again\twriting/rum-and-coke/again
romance writing/rum-and-coke/how-many.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/how-many\twriting/rum-and-coke/how-many
romance writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected\twriting/rum-and-coke/what-i-expected
@ -633,6 +645,7 @@ sawtooth writing/sawtooth/valentimes.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/valentimes\
sawtooth writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/what-defines-us\twriting/sawtooth/what-defines-us#sawtooth
sawtooth writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself\twriting/sawtooth/what-remains-of-yourself
sawtooth writing/sawtooth/youre-gone.md 3;" vimwiki:writing/sawtooth/youre-gone\twriting/sawtooth/youre-gone#sawtooth
scifi writing/all-of-time-at-once.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/all-of-time-at-once\twriting/all-of-time-at-once
scifi writing/harlequin.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/harlequin\twriting/harlequin
scifi writing/no-thoughts-our-own/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/no-thoughts-our-own/index\twriting/no-thoughts-our-own/index
scifi writing/post-self/apres-un-reve.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/post-self/apres-un-reve\twriting/post-self/apres-un-reve
@ -751,6 +764,8 @@ vimwiki tech/md-ext/verse.md 2;" vimwiki:tech/md-ext/verse\ttech/md-ext/verse
vimwiki tech/md-ext/vimwiki.md 2;" vimwiki:tech/md-ext/vimwiki\ttech/md-ext/vimwiki
writing diary/2020-04-09.md 1;" vimwiki:diary/2020-04-09\tdiary/2020-04-09
writing writing/acethetic.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/acethetic\twriting/acethetic
writing writing/all-of-time-at-once.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/all-of-time-at-once\twriting/all-of-time-at-once
writing writing/at-his-whim.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/at-his-whim\twriting/at-his-whim
writing writing/belek.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/belek\twriting/belek
writing writing/consequences-of-dissonance/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/consequences-of-dissonance/index\twriting/consequences-of-dissonance/index
writing writing/eigengrau.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/eigengrau\twriting/eigengrau
@ -775,8 +790,10 @@ writing writing/jaroudi/asoub/1.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/asoub/1\twriting/
writing writing/jaroudi/asoub/2.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/asoub/2\twriting/jaroudi/asoub/2
writing writing/jaroudi/asoub/3.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/asoub/3\twriting/jaroudi/asoub/3
writing writing/jaroudi/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/jaroudi/index\twriting/jaroudi/index
writing writing/light.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/light\twriting/light
writing writing/manifesto.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/manifesto\twriting/manifesto
writing writing/manifesto/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/manifesto/index\twriting/manifesto/index
writing writing/missives.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/missives\twriting/missives
writing writing/new-american-absinthe.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/new-american-absinthe\twriting/new-american-absinthe
writing writing/no-thoughts-our-own/index.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/no-thoughts-our-own/index\twriting/no-thoughts-our-own/index
writing writing/not-all-of-this-is-yours.md 2;" vimwiki:writing/not-all-of-this-is-yours\twriting/not-all-of-this-is-yours

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@ -0,0 +1,110 @@
%title All of Time at Once
:writing:fiction:romance:scifi:fossils:
"A driver after my own heart," I muttered to myself. I'd taken to talking to myself while driving to help keep the more drastic emotions to a minimum. I've been working on reducing the negative comments in favor of more positive ones --- make your drivers happy drivers! --- and with this utterance, I was praising a slightly battered Jeep that was driving at my usual, comfortable two miles above the speed limit: I was neither gaining on him, nor was I lagging behind, so I forgot about him and set about losing myself in the music. I have a love-hate relationship with Prokofiev.
My happy driving, however, was soon interrupted by an emergency signal from the truck in front of me. Looking to its rear window for an explanation, I was rewarded with the shadowy figure of the driver inside gesturing repeatedly for me to pull over. Fearful that the Jeep might be some sort of undercover cop, I complied quickly, and was soon stopped behind the Jeep on the soft shoulder of a fairly empty Highway 93. Admittedly creepy, but I was supposed to be kind, wasn't I? I was supposed to help.
The guy who was in the truck clambered out slowly and walked towards my Pathfinder, his hands facing palms up at his sides in a disarming gesture.
"Hello, friend!" I heard him say as I rolled down the window. "I wasn't as smart as I usually pretend to be, and I'm nearly out of gas. Think you could lend me some? If you follow me to the gas station, I'll fill your tank, too."
I blinked --- there was an interesting request. I looked closely at the man, who introduced himself as Nicholas --- "But you can call me Nick" --- in hopes of finding something of his intentions. His honest face and, I thought, striking resemblance to me assuaged any fears, and I nodded to the request. Boulderites were supposed to be nice. Anyway, I'd just that morning put an extra can of gas in the back of my truck, promising myself never to let my tank get as low as it had the last time.
We set about getting him ready to go. Through polite chatter, I learned that he was just moving back to Boulder after a leave of absence and he learned that my name was Joseph. I mentioned earlier that people from Boulder tend to be friendly (and liberal, and new-age...), but the way Nick was opening up, he must've lived there quite a long time. I didn't exactly mind, but I wasn't quite yet on the same level as him.
By the time we finished emptying my can of gas into his dusty truck, I'd agreed to let Nick pay me for the gas and the quarter tank's worth needed to fill my truck (mostly because I was broke), and, addicts that we both were, we agreed to stop by at a nearby coffee shop afterwards, since neither of us had anything to do afterwards.
Our discussion moved onto current events over two mochas, mine with a shot of peppermint in it (trendy, but tasty). We'd tried talking about ourselves, to be friendly, but we mostly ended up just skirting interesting details and pretending to reveal our secrets. By silent agreement, we decided that neither of us knew each other well enough to continue on such a subject, so we moved onto something more neutral.
"They say that, since he plead insanity, even though he plead guilty to rape, they're going to charge her with prostitution." Nick was saying. "It's like they're taking the 'asking for it' argument to a new extreme: having insane people rape you is your fault or something."
"That's...stupid," I say slowly, feeling fairly stupid myself. "You'd think they'd have some common sense about these things." My mind was moving slow, like it does when you've not had any sleep the night before. I wasn't tired, I was just thinking with all the speed of a bottle of molasses. Of course, that didn't stop my elitist emotions from riling up against the stupidity of a nation.
The conversation continued much along the same lines, through the two mochas we each had, until we decided to go our separate ways. I was thinking that I'd have to stop and give people gas more often, if it would always lead to meeting someone, when Nick called across the top of his car over at me, "See you next week?"
I agreed.
-----
Nick and I have been meeting about once or twice a week for a solid year now. Not much has really changed. Well, sure, many things have changed --- I'm a sophomore in college now, and he found a good job working at a local ISP --- just that between us, not a whole lot has evolved. We've grown more comfortable about sharing more personal things with each other, but current events are still the number one topic at our meetings. He's a good, consistent friend.
Another thing that hasn't changed is the slow feeling I get while around him. It's progressed a bit, perhaps, and it feels a bit like déjà vu now. I've been pondering seeing someone about it, but I'm not sure whom I would see. It's a physical feeling, but the cause, being around Nick, is so specific that it sounds psychological. Nicks says just to ignore it, and that he's felt the same thing about others, and that things turned out fine. He then proceeded to joke that it may be love.
No, things haven't really changed for us, but the world around us has. Our recent conversations have spanned across topics from the news ranging from the sudden resurgence of *a cappella* pop music among college students to recent NASA disasters, from more absurd crimes to new follies of the *res publica*.
One current scandal was over the growth of interest in magic. The physicists said no, the metaphysicists said maybe, and the media happily embraced it while conservative groups around the world denounced it angrily before going on to practice their own brand of mysticism.
Most notable in this movement was a group calling themselves 'The Mentats,' capital M on Misnomer. Seems a guy named Clarke, one of those Doctors that makes you wonder if some university really do just hand out degrees, had a good couple hundred people convinced that the type of magic he professed to be able to really 'do' was real, and that they too could practice it before long. He had been quietly disappeared after a while, though, and had left behind his group to do as they would.
Unfortunately for the world, the Mentats weren't just a cult, and, however subtle, their 'magic' was real (real being a slippery, subjective term in itself; I just use it to mean with visible results, never mind the process). Unfortunate, as I said, because the world just wasn't quite ready for this --- the understatement of the universe --- and soon the Mentats had been laughed down, beaten down, and had willingly gone down into the underground of society, spreading ties as any normal cult would.
On to the important thing, though: sushi. A once-every-few-months type of deal, Nick and I went to a nice, modern sushi restaurant. The chairs were uncomfortable, the place was noisy and poorly lit, but the sushi was excellent and, as an added bonus, there was a small, flowing stream of water running in a shallow-cut trench in the bar. No fish, though.
"So, what do you think of this whole Mentat thing?" Nick asked. He had caught me right as I had neatly fit a piece of a tempura roll in my mouth. He was an expert at that.
I finished the tasty morsel and leaned back, trying to think of a tactful reply. "I think it was poorly done. I mean, that Clarke guy had the right idea, train a few in case something got him, but distributing the documents on the internet just made the governmentals more edgy. They don't like stuff done for free like that, they're capitalists. Besides, it would've been awful if they'd decided to do the oppression thing," ever ready to expound my opinion as truth, was I.
Nick nodded sagely, but I hazarded a random question, anyway. "Why? Are you a Mentat?"
This got a chuckle out of him, and he said before he went back to eating, "I don't look for signs, they don't prove anything." Great, a non-answer.
Eating seemed like a pretty good idea, so I shrugged and left the subject alone. I'd remember to ask him later that night. In actuality, I asked him the next week, as I'd forgotten. This is what convinced me of the reality of what the Mentats were doing. Never mind what actually happened, the process isn't what's important, only the result, and the result was that I was convinced, for better or for worse.
-----
This time, thins have changed. A whole lot has happened in a year. It's now been about two since the faithful day I stopped to lend a stranger some gas, and that stranger and I have grown closer. I've promised myself not to say the 'R' word, but perhaps I must: I'm beginning to think of Nick as a romantic interest. Eugh. Romance; it makes me feel like I'm high school again, and that's not a good feeling. That dreaded word has haunted me throughout my life. Whenever I had a 'romantic interest' with a girl, it never lasted more than a few months as said girl learned more about me (or I learned more about her), and whenever I had such an 'interest' in a boy, I ended up either having to hide it from people I knew, or he did, making things rather difficult.
I have better things to talk about than my love life, though, and I'm straying from them, so I'll do as Nick and I do, and shift my rambles to current events. The Mentats were in the news again, this time with more surprises. There had been a minor but successful revolution wherein the Mentats, who had grown by a surprising amount had basically just come out as a church and declared themselves that legally. There had been a few short squabbles about it, but, since it became a matter of religion, it was soon left alone except for the standard name-throwing engaged in by other religious groups.
The press had taken this fairly well, and it just got an objective column on the front page, at least in the local paper. A good half of them were Mentats , anyway; they had spread further than some might like to think. Once again, the process wasn't nearly as interesting as the results. Small, subtle acts of the Mentats' magic only made the news for the first few weeks, but after their 'repertoire' was shown to be rather limited, the papers stopped reporting on them. It wasn't so much of a sensation anymore.
I, personally, didn't care all that much. From what I'd seen, the Mentats had taken fairly understandable things and wrapped them in a mythos and collection of ceremonies to make it more palatable. It seemed cheap to me, no matter what they could do.
Perhaps part of the reason for my complacency is that, since I've moved in with Nick (I forgot to mention; I'm a junior now, and was getting tired of living in the student housing), the slowness and déjà vu have gotten progressively worse. Yet I still hold off on seeing anyone, lest I become the object of scrutiny; not everyone has taken to complacency like I was. I'm still doing fine with school and everything, as when I'm working, the feeling pretty much gets pushed to the back of my mind. I'm thinking it'll go away when it's ready.
Anyway, I was studying for midterms and Nick was lounging on the patio when our collective life was change. The knock on the door startled me from my notes, and it was with a disgruntled attitude that I answered the door to a tall man, sharply dressed, who looked like he was prematurely balding. Some sort of high level type Mentat, most likely.
"Hello," said he. "You are Joseph Stringer." It wasn't a question as much as it was a statement of truth (an annoying habit of the more advanced Mentats), so he kept on talking. "Nicholas Jospeh Stroud is out on the porch. I wish to talk with you both."
The man was frightening, so I nodded, swallowed dryly, and led him out to the porch where we took a seat next to Nick. Nick himself hardly acknowledged our presence, he just kept staring out from the porch over into the park next door. It was an eternity before anyone spoke: I was too confused to, and the Mentat was content to sit five years in that one spot if need be, and Nick was clearly reflecting on something. Nevertheless, he was the first one to break the silence, "Hello, Doctor Clarke." I blinked and looked stolidly at the large, balding man. I had a headache. "I've been feeling worse. It's about time, isn't it?"
Then, in the most emotion I think I've ever seen an advanced Mentat exude, Clarke sighed. "You know what will happen. I just wished to let you know how soon, so that you may prepare yourself." If Nick became an advance Mentat, I probably would go insane, having to live with him. "Do you mind if I leave from here." Another statement. He left. I suppose the brevity comes with the lack of emotion.
I don't remember much for a while after that. I think I went to lie down, because that's what I was doing when I started remembering again. Nick crept into my darkened room quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed. Once more, there was an eternity of silence, which, once again, Nick broke.
"Do you know what is happening?"
I shook my head.
"Well, while the Mentats were finding out what they could do, one of them hypothesized time travel. They never tried it until a few days ago, when they sent a mouse back a few minutes. They're going to send something else back soon..." he trailed off.
With my mind moving as slow as cold honey, it took me about five minutes before I figured out what Nick was talking about. When I did finally understand, I could barely speak, and the first few times I tried came out as croaks. Eventually, I eked out, "Me?"
Nick nodded, "You. Are you seeing what's happened? They sent you back, and then you became me..."
I felt my mind clearing slightly as I had this problem to think about. I sat up in bed and eyed myself: Nick. Always a fan of science fiction, I had to ask, "But wouldn't that be a paradox?"
"Not necessarily," said Nick. "You'll see it clearly when they send you back, but I'll try to explain. Time wouldn't let anything bad come of it; if you go back in time, it's as I met you. You've changed because your time flowed forward at a different time as mine, and your experiences have changed you. That bull about the same atoms occupying the same space at the same time has the same possibility of happening as you finding the gaps between the atoms in a wall and walking right through it."
I laughed as I pictured someone sliding back and forth along a wall to find the gaps. I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling as the laughter faded. My perception of reality was falling apart. I closed my eyes and remembered the past two years. My brain had tricked me. It had seen the truth behind Nick from the beginning, but it refused to acknowledge that such a thing was true until it was confirmed. Now that it had been confirmed, I felt like I was merging with myself --- Nick --- who stretched out beside me. I thought of how I felt about him/me, and blurted out that I loved him/myself, even if he/I already knew.
"I know." He laughed, which made me blush, and continued, "It's the ultimate in narcissism, isn't it? When the Mentats ran through their records in search of someone to send back, they were searching for someone who was just a bit naïve and had good self-esteem. If they hadn't done that, there would've been a good chance that, even though the two had met up, they might hate each others' guts."
I nodded and gave me a hug, since it seemed like I needed it. I'm going to let me have my pen now so I can finish writing my story, as I don't think I can keep going. I'm rather tired, even if I'm not, and I think I should let me sleep, as I have a big event ahead of me. I think I'll have myself sleep with me tonight, though, as I need to be alone with my thoughts.
-----
Joseph gave me his pen, turned over, and fell asleep immediately. Reading what he'd written brought back many, many memories, several of which he'd recorded. I won't add any more, he covered enough.
I don't think he'll want to write any more in the morning than he did just now, so I'll explain what will happen to him.
His slowness and déjà vu feelings will increase right up until they send him back, when he'll feel that his head is about to explode. Then, when he's being sent, the feelings will abruptly stop.
Beinng sent is the most relaxing thing that you could ever have happened to you after those feelings. Like Steven King's *The Jaunt*, "It's forever in there," but the end result isn't nearly the same (i.e: you don't go insane, nor do you grow any older). You have an eternity to spend examining time laid out before you.
All of time at once is a beautiful thing. Words can't describe it, because none of the five senses experience it. You can sense your own track, your own destiny through time, and everyone else's independently. You're spread out across all of eternity as you fall toward the infinitely small point of your destination in time.
As he takes forever to instantaneously snap back into reality, he will understand who Time is: Time is kind, but strict. Time will bend the rules to let him back in, but Time will give him the headaches. I still have mine. I suspect they will go away when Joseph does. I also suspect that Time will pretend Joseph never was, but that Time will let my memories of the past two years stay; it's not the process that matters, so much as the result.
As for what happens to Joseph after, you already know that. Me, I think I'll become a writer; the Mentats will take care of me for my 'service to humanity,' and I suspect Time will be kind enough to let me live quite a bit longer. I've always wanted to be a writer. I'll use a pseudonym, though. I'm rather fond of Nicholas.

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%title At His Whim
:writing:furry:hypnosis:erotica:
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.
How the fuck did I wind up here?
Okay, cat, come on, you can do this. Mind's all sorts of hazy, but just need to keep track of things, try and remember back to where things got started.
Oh god, so full...how does...oh god...
-----
I reasoned that a date was probably a good excuse to get all prettied up. After all, this was one of those first impressions things, right? You get to meet someone, and they'll always have this picture of you in their head from when they first met you.
Hell, I could still picture so many people in the outfits I first met them in. "Oh, yeah, they were in a white button-up shirt," or "yeah, he was definitely wearing a silly shirt grabbed off some site online".
So, okay. Yeah. Lets do this.
This date's unspoken theme --- at least on my end --- was Business Goth: I had a satiny black blouse with barest hint of silky shimmer; long fingerless gloves that reach up to the elbows, also in black; a black box-pleated skirt, just above the knees, with the only concession to color being navy blue piping along the waist and hem. Oh, and underthings of course: black panties and...well, actually a light gray bra, since I didn't have a black one. Padded out slightly because why not.
Dang, see? You can dress up nice! I looked halfway like I was gonna go take over a company, halfway like I was going to some industrial show.
Business Goth.
That was enough to get us started. There's this wolf I'd been dying to meet, and now that was *actually happening*. After the date had been arranged, we sent a few goofy texts back and forth deciding on what we would each wear. Not to specifics, of course, otherwise I wouldn't have had the chance to explore much. We just agreed on smart, snappy dressing, and that I would be in the darker clothes.
Ought to be fun, right?
-----
I'm stuck bracing myself against the wall, claws digging at the paint and finding little purchase. Nothing seems able to give me any respite. I'm so full, so full...he just keeps cumming and cumming, and so do I, and how the fuck did I even get here?
Those headphones are still in, but it's all I can do to keep myself propped up against the wall, with the way he's leaning into me like that. If I move my paws, I'm pretty sure I'd just slam into it nose first.
Those headphones...
Think, cat, come on.
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god so full...I can feel the way my lower belly is starting to bulge, feel the fur bristling beneath the newly-taut skin.
How can one cum so much?
Those headphones...that beat, that off-rhythm beat that's different in each ear...and his murmuring words beneath it, tangled coils of repetition hidden beneath sibilant esses and susurrating syllables that tug at me this way and that with tangled coils of repetition beneath murmured words and commands and half sentences that double back on each other in tangled coils of repetition reinforcing small instructions that have me letting go and...
Oh god...
How...
-----
Thus gussied, the both of us settled in at the painfully pomo 'bistro' he'd picked out. It was something more than a bar and less than a restaurant, which I supposed was what a bistro is supposed to be. Still, it had few concessions to the French (or was it Italian?) style that I'd associated with that word. All black wood and brushed aluminum and chopsticks. We ordered "tapas" of "Asian bruschetta" - a rice cracker bearing a sheet of nori, a few paper-thin slices of mozzarella, and half a cherry tomato, drizzled with a reduction of black vinegar and soy---
I lost track halfway through the description. The food was good. *Very* good. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how good this is," I joked, and the wolf laughed.
Handsome guy. Very handsome. He had dressed just as smart as I, his dark fur set off by a linen jacket and trousers, and a pressed shirt. No tie, and lemme tell you, ties are for chumps. Jacket and shirt without a tie is top notch.
The food was good, the company was good, the wine was good. Plum wine, natch, which went weirdly well with the temaki made of a curled, fried Parmesan crisp, stuffed with arborio and lightly seared ahi dredged through a balsamic---
Anyway, it was all too good.
He paid over my strident protests, and laughed when I pouted at him. He admitted that, yes, it was expensive, that yes, I'm getting the next one, and that yes, if we go out for dessert --- "which we totally should" --- then I can get that one, too.
Luckily, I knew this area of town, and I could guide us to a good dessert place. There's this dinky hole-in-the-wall place that does crepes on one end of the counter and scraped ice cream on the other. You could get a few of those rolls of ice cream tucked neatly into a crepe with sauce and such, but if you're me (or the owner, who told me about the trick), you can have them fill the crepe and then press it down on the ice cream surface, then roll it up into a cone with alternating layers of crepe and ice cream and, once again, I couldn't hear him over how good the food was.
Judging by his expression, he liked it enough to have given himself an ice cream headache.
From dessert, we went for a walk around town. We talked about...I can't remember now. So much of that is fading away... We talked about this and that. We talked about music, I remember that much.
We talked about music, and his voice kept getting quieter, and yet no less distinct. And I...but that's fading, too... We started wandering away from the park area and toward an apartment building.
-----
Knot's...too big. I have to brace myself against the wall, but my hips are canted at such an angle that I don't really have any leverage to make myself comfortable, to deal with that far-too-full feeling.
I'm a mess, I can tell. I can feel the way the lube and cum stick to my fur, cooling in the air of the room, despite it being so warm. So warm. So warm I'm panting, I can feel the cooler air drawn raggedly over my tongue and teeth, but nothing seems to help cool me down.
Too full, too full, can't think straight...
Oh god, how...
How does he keep going? How do we both keep going?
All I can hear is the soft beats from the headphones and the soft words and commands, and I'm struggling to think of anything else but that knot, keeping everything in place, locking him to me...that knot and the stretching of my belly, so much cum I can feel the way my lower belly is distending, feel so much of his cum sloshing inside with my every twitch and shudder...
Oh god oh god.
Think. Words...
-----
I remember him saying, "I'm really into binaural beats." For some reason that really stuck out to me at the time, because the only time I'd heard of them being used was during a course in school to explain stereo perception or something.
We'd made it to the door of his apartment complex and he'd invited me up for music, but --- and I mostly remember this --- right there, in the lobby, he perked up and told me to wait as he fished in his jacket for some headphones, clicked them into his phone, and then handed them to me.
He was sweet and kind about the whole thing, and even if he wasn't, he was totally my type, so I just kinda went along with it. It was fun, right?
The music was a sort of house beat, but with a third rhythm knocking around inside my head. My paws darted up to tug one of the headphones free, and the beat disappeared. My face must've shown something, because he laughed and tugged me over to the elevator by my free paw, letting me tuck the other earbud back in place.
There's something about that...that binaural beat, that third drum line kicking inside me that was almost hypnotic. Was hypnotic. It was --- is --- hard to concentrate on anything but it, following it around in some internal space.
-----
It's still there, too. It's getting louder, and his words are rising with it, and I can't do anything but moan and hold on and try to remember.
But I can't. Words are failing, and memories are slipping away, and I'm unable to quite pull up how...
How this...
How this happened...
How this is happening...
-----
I think I made it to his apartment still of my own volition, but I can't be sure. I had that music going, and he was tugging me along and talking to me smoothly. I could see his lips moving when the music was loud, and hear his soft, murmured words when it wasn't. He was encouraging me and telling me I was pretty and enticing me and telling me I was good, and it was all so comforting, and so easy to not think about anything else.
I think I made it out of my clothes all by myself, and I know I helped him out of his, or maybe just pawed and fawned ineffectually at him as he undressed himself. I can't be sure, though. Through the whole process, he never ceased his soft explanations of how good I was and how good I was going to be, and he made sure those headphones stayed in my ears the whole time.
I remember him being big. Like real big. That bit I remember. I can't forget that, not with where I am now, not with how full I am.
And...words and memories are sifting away through some as yet unseen grate, and I can barely pick up after that. Words...
He was big, bigger than I thought.
He seemed to keep getting bigger.
He was hard and seemed to keep getting harder.
He was gentle, and I don't quite know why, but that was surprising to me.
He was steady. He moved sensually, but never sped up nor slowed down.
He kept talking, kept cajoling and convincing and enticing and praising and the songs trailed from one to another and all I could think about for a while was that beat. That beat and how good I felt. That beat and how pretty I was. That beat and how nice I was. That beat and how I was his. I...his words...remember...
And when he tied with me, I started to lose it.
And when I came, and so did I, I started to unravel.
And when I started to unravel, I was lifted up and pressed to the wall.
And when I was only able to hold myself up and not move otherwise, he tucked his muzzle over my shoulder.
And as his murmuring grew more and more insistent
I became less and less
And less real
I don't know
How this is happening. I don't know
I don't know how
I can't
I can barely
Keep up
And it
It all feels
So good
So full
So good
So good
So good

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%title Light
:writing:romance:erotica:fossils:
A kiss. Light, and only to the cheek. Yes, that's how it would start, I suppose. I'd settle in behind him, and crane my neck over his shoulder to give him a kiss on the cheek. Light. A touch. I wouldn't hold him tight, either. Not squeezing, at least not now. Just slide my arms loosely around him, above the paunch, below the breasts, the place where the arms just rest, adding to him lightly instead of pressing.
"What are you doing?"
"Enjoying you. Is that okay?"
Ask. Always ask. It's always about permission, because permission is always about trust, and where is love without trust? What happens to love if I trust everyone completely? Do I love everyone? I might.
"No...ah...yes, I mean. I don't mind."
"Mmmh..."
Another kiss, still light, this time to the back of the neck. That place on people who actually have substance where the skin is pressed out in a gentle rise. Yes, just above there. I suppose my forehead would brush through hair. Shiver. The neck is sensitive there.
Maybe now a squeeze. A light one, at that place where the arms rest nicely, before moving, brushing fingertips along the jaw line on the side nearest, brushing fingernails back down along the side of the neck. Another shiver.
"Hnn..."
"Can I touch you?"
Always ask. Permission by nod. Fingers continue down from neck, down over the chest, avoiding the spots that are too sensitive, skirting gentle rises before moving back up. Go underneath the over-shirt, like that, go ahead and nudge it aside, maybe even over the shoulder. Now maybe even use some more of the hand instead of just fingertips; not the palm, really, just more of the fingers. (What about the other hand? Maybe a little, just shift it down the side, trace a curve, but not too far.)
Another kiss, the third, to the base of the neck, but the side, where the shoulder meets it. Longer this time, too, linger a little, enjoy it some. It's okay to go slow, don't worry if he gets a little bored, have fun. I suppose now would be a good time to shift a little, too, and, shifting, shift off his over-shirt. Two shirts is seeming like a little too much right now.
"Ah...where is this going?"
"Only as far as you want."
He's unsure, and submissive. It might go farther than he'd like. Is it taking advantage of him? I can egg him on about that, but I know what he'll say; I can stop, but must I? At least it's slow, giving him time to think about what's happening, time to object, time to accept, time to relax, time to get nervous, time to enjoy. Close your eyes, go on, don't mind the hands, they'll just search out skin. (His neck. Brush the fingers back up the other side, let more of the hand in, run fingers through hair. You know, entwine, but it doesn't need to be firm, still light.) It's okay to move, tilt your head, mine will be there to rest it against, cheek to cheek, though I'll have to stretch a little for that. (And back down, but give the under-shirt a miss, slip beneath the radar, under the collar, find the real one, the collar-bones. Yeah, just explore along those for a bit.)
"Hey..." (Pause. Okay, maybe a little movement, with the fingers,)
"Do you want me to stop?"
May have to ask this at every step (but that makes it sound like I have plans. I might). Slight nod's enough, keep going along the collar-bone until it slips up on the shoulder, but slip off the path there. Fingers down over the chest, over the upper part of the breast, then between the two, but gently, it'll make him squirm. Hand's in his shirt, now; any farther and it'll be an arm instead of just a hand. That's okay, got two hands: send the other down, cross the belly to his hip, find the hem, slip up beneath, go back the way I came beneath the shirt, it'll follow. He'll squirm, so will I.
A kiss. Light, and only to the cheek. Yes, then reposition. That seems like a good place for hands, so send the other down over the front to join the other up beneath the shirt. It gets complicated, trail fingernails down along the upper edge of his tummy (I don't understand how people can't like that. The word, and the weight. Skinny people are just scary). Down over his sides, along the lower boundary of the ribcage, not too low or he'll jump. Shirt's all tugged up on his front; lean back, slip hands to skin, slide it up further, make as if to take it off.
"May I?"
"Um."
Wish he'd answer, but he lifts his arms. It's yes enough, so go ahead and slide hands up and over his back, take the shirt with, hands beneath the collar. Up it goes, over the head, with hands, then in front, let him deposit the shirt. Why not trail hands along arms and shoulders while I'm at it...
"And mine? Is it alright if I take mine off, too?"
"Uh."
He's tense, and shifty-eyed; he's shaking, but so am I. It's okay, just go back to the beginning. Slide arms around him, rest between chest and midsection. Lightly. Light squeeze. A kiss. Light, and only to the cheek. Yes. That's how it began.
"I can't...I don't know. I, ah..."
"Shh."
Another squeeze, why not, and tighter this time. Longer, hold it. Hold him. Hold myself. The light's there. It flows, in through the head, out through the heart. Skin to skin, but who's keeping track. He's shaking, and tense, he's crying, but so am I. The light burns both, full and empty...
Shift! No, crawl around in front, face my fears, face him, face light, face to face. Cheeks are wet though tears have stopped. He won't meet my eyes, grabs his shirt. But first...
A kiss. Light, and only to the cheek. Yes. And another, to the forehead, and one more, right where it counts. Lightly, to the lips, share a little of the light, so he knows it's pure. Okay, now let him put on his shirt if he wants. Or giggle, whichever comes first.
"It's...it's alright...like this."
"What?"
He makes a move, reciprocates, returns, even leans in. My turn to be surprised. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. A kiss. Light and only to my cheek. Yes, and a hug. Hugs and kisses. Hugs are awkward when on the ground. I could try not supporting myself, see what happens. Wrap my arms around his middle, relax my back and hips. Back to him, with the surprise. Over we go. Lands half on me, half on the ground, self-conscious about his weight, squirms, I'll let go, mustn't push. Rolls onto his back, back to kneeling for me, over him, rest a hand on his chest, if it'll do ya, odd folds in his pants, mustn't hope (but he's blushing. Maybe a little hope).
"I don't know what to do..."
"Relax..."
I'll take off my shirt. Didn't ask. Hope it's okay. Looks, averts his eyes, looks again. Smile, get a smile back. Trace invisible lines with fingers, maybe meridians, middle of the chest makes him tense, eyes half closed (both). Over his front, sides, belly, try and feel if those folds mean anything without him noticing, though he blushes more.
Lean down. A kiss. Light, and to the lips. Apologize silently for being brash, then do the deed. Gently now, mustn't startle, just with the fingers, and light, always light. Belt buckle. Button. Zipper. Tented. He squirms, and blushes furiously, he's hard, but so am I.
"Ah...! I...ergh." (Lift hand, quick, but let it hover.)
"Did I go too far? Should I stop?"
Now's a good time to panic. Think about what you've done, my life, his life, the light, always the light, think with my head, think with my crotch, balance the two and weigh the options. He's squirming, mostly his hips. He looks pained, but so do I. Grabs my hand, wavers, holds, shakes all over, holds, puts it back down on his crotch. Sigh, smile, kiss him on the cheek, but always ask.
"Are you sure?"
"No...but go ahead."
Slow, then. He's hard, but so am I. It's pointed up in the air, and up towards his head, angled, fingertips move down to the base, hand wraps gently around it through cloth and squeezes, light. Other hand kneads at hips through shorts, down over thigh, other hand down from erection to between legs, spread slightly, along inner thigh, hem of shorts, elation. Skin. Hand up along skin, inside of shorts, other hand back up along thigh, elation. Skin, up through shorts. Boxers. Always wanted to. Up through shorts, fingers between legs, skin pulled tight, wrinkled with nervousness, just a touch.
Back down, out. Back up over shorts, another squeeze to the erection, and I can look again. His eyes are closed, his brow is furrowed, his face is red, and light is shining. A kiss. Light, and only to the cheek. Yes. It's time.
"I...want to see."
"Okay..."
Zipper. Don't need to take them off. Zip. Touch, he shivers, search, he tenses, opening in boxers, there. Skin touches skin and he whimpers (but so do I), lightly, ever lightly, wrap fingers around and disentangle from clothes. Out in the open. Cut. Curved upwards, slightly to the left. Can he get any more red? Can I? Skin silky, tip slick, be brave, do it. Deed is done, his eyes open, he leans up.
"Are you going to...you know...s-suck?"
"If you'd like..."
Savor the taste of the one lick, get another non-answer. Make up my mind. The light burns more than ever, in through the head, out through the heart, overflowing, need to share, need to give, need to take, need to have, to hold, to know, to be. Adjust self, stretch out, get comfortable, he's still on his elbows. Just the head, now, go slow, first time for both. Vaguely salty, vaguely metallic, definitely warm. Press tongue to the underside, suckle warmly on it, like I'm gonna get something out of it. No teeth. He bucks, surprise, that's okay, take some more, warmth. Mouth. Wet. Not sure what to do with hands, he touches face, hair, ears, shoulders, head. Leans back again, arches, get more in my mouth. Suckle firmly, rub with tongue, move some, bob along it, use a hand around the base, since it doesn't quite fit. Pick up speed, he's tense, but so am I. He may be close, know I am. A tug on my hair.
"I'm...ah...shit..."
"Mmnrgl."
The taste! Almost pull off, but I need to share, the light, the taste, oh god, Jesus...The light comes in through the head and out through the heart, and the seed is made inside and comes out the shaft, coats my tongue, fills my mouth. Bitter. Salty. Swallow. Writhes. Hold it. God...Warm. Squirms...
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, aw jeez, I'm sorry...ow..."
"Nngh...I'm sorry..."
Sensitive, pulls me off, hurriedly hides himself with clothes, blushing furiously, turns away from me, curls up. I'll curl around him, snug an arm around his chest, just above his belly, press close against him, form fitting. He's crying, I'm still hard, don't notice. Hold him tight and bask in the light, flows in through the head and out through the heart, wash around us.
A kiss. Light, and only to the cheek. Yes. The cheek, twice salted with tears, hides his face from me but nestles back to my front. The light is blinding, bury my face against his neck, hold him tight, laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"The light. Love is all light."

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%title Missives
:writing:romance:furry:epistolary:
Sir,
If it please you, I write concerning our last meeting one week and six days ago at Mister G-'s manor, wherein we spent a happy hour discussing the finer points of his garden. You requested that I write back upon returning home and I find myself with unanswered questions.<!--more-->
You asked about the maiden's hair and I replied, out of haste, that I found it beautiful, but perhaps too much to occupy the entirety of one's garden. On further consideration, I have decided that there is a thing of beauty involved in the simple maiden's hair fern. The stem, I have decided, traces a most delicate arc, and the leaves describe a softness that I find lacking in many other such plants.
In addition, you asked about the gardenias, and I found them to be quite splendid, though I was initially taken aback by their appearance. I found them to be strikingly vivid, and I was taken aback by its hue and intensity. I know you've an eye for the bright, but I worry a touch that it was out of place.
May I instead draw your attention to the gloxinia? I found it to be decidedly beautiful, though it be crouched lower than the rest. Knowing the keenness of your gaze, I trust that you saw it as well, though I hadn't the chance to point it out at the time.
Please do write me back with your thoughts, I remain curious.
Yours,
*V. V., Jr.*
-----
My dear fox,
I was surprised and delighted to be greeted with your letter today, for I had feared that I was too forward in asking to continue our conversation in such a setting. The hour had grown late, however, by the time we were free of our duties, and I had much travel before me, and my hasty parting was in no way a reflection on you.
I find your observations astute and in line with my estimation of you as a person. Knowing that, I say:
'''
Tho' the flow'r may bloom ere long
and night recede unto the dawn,
so yet may love's embrace grow fond
and yet be spoilt upon the wan.
'''
For, as I'm sure you well know, too much water on the gardenia flower causes the soft white of the blossom to turn brown and discolor. Even such a perfection of God's creation as the flower be spoiled by too much of what is good for it!
Thus it was that I had to depart in haste, though I found our time together so enjoyable. For that, a thousand apologies are in order.
Though you declined to quote any of your favorite verse during our stroll through the garden, I hope that you do not mind the wandering mind of your companion. A coyote finds much on his mind, surrounded by by books. Books! And yet there I was, enjoying a walk above all else.
I've distracted myself, though. You mention the gloxinia, and I too think that such are quite the sight to behold. I don't believe that it was the type of blossom to be seen by any who had passed by, so a fox's gaze must be singularly acute. I will not hesitate to say that I think such flowers beautiful.
How telling it is the things that we find pleasing to the eye!
Alas, I must draw the line across the page here, but I do hope that you write back.
'''
Although our words be brief, so too will they sustain us.
'''
Yours in confidence,
*A coyote.*
-----
Coyote,
You speak of confidence, and although I cannot guarantee the security of my own words, I shall write to you in the same spirit.
To walk with you in the garden that day was a rare joy. Though I spend my life in a comfortable home, I do indeed spend it. I feel the coinage of my Self slipping away by the hour, entertained only by my father's attendants and the scant few visitors who pay us note. I could scarcely hope to escape the stifling manner of it all by a stroll through G-'s lovely garden.
And yet there I was greeted by a most curious sight: a coyote had laid down his affected cane and knelt to inspect the flowers. I approached slowly and noisily to make my presence known, then squatted most ungracefully beside him to see the blossom at hand. I had no idea that the time that I would nearly cause my father embarrassment by dallying so long in the garden rather than being at hand.
That coyote -- that delightful companion -- rescued me from the drudgery for not one, I'm told, but nearly two and a half hours! Oh, the way my father's tail bristled when he confronted me. Chastened, I could not laugh, though I do now.
I think that we had both wound up there in that garden for similar reason. Neither of us wanted to be at that party. I was bored of the routine, while you were repulsed. There were, I think, not enough books there to keep your mind active, no pens to keep your paws busy.
And yet we talked. We talked of flowers, we talked of the day, we talked of the news. This all provided a pleasant afternoon, my friend, but do not think that I did not pick up on your words at the time. Your talk of maiden's hair, that flowing fern, the plant of a secret bond. Your words of gardenias with their hints of secret affections and attractions. For I, too, know the language of flowers.
I know also of the language of motion and of movement, for do not imagine that one of my station not be schooled in such. Our steps steadily began to move in time with each other, and those casual brushes of elbow to elbow, paw to paw, fingers to fur were not missed. I must admit that I didn't so much as "catch you out" as gleefully reciprocate in this newfound closeness.
Ah, it makes my ears light up to admit it, but I miss that, dear coyote!
It has been two weeks, and I've been taught that this is an appropriate amount of time to have passed before requesting the presence of a visitor once more. Would you, dear coyote, be so kind as to bless us with your presence four days hence, on Friday the fifth?
Sincerely,
*Fox*
-----
Fox,
My goodness! Who knew that the fox had so many words within him! A pen and paper and a promise of confidence is all it took!
You know, of course, that I jest. Walking with you in the garden that day was truly a delight, but I could tell that your tongue would be a long time in loosening. Don't think that I am unschooled in the language of interaction simply because of my low station.
Your words shall always stay safe with me, dear fox, the confidence is absolute.
Let us speak further on the garden walk of some weeks past, then. You divine my intentions correctly when I bring up the maiden's hair and gardenias, of course. I find it fascinating that one might such as yourself might even know to pick up on such allusions, never mind be able to bandy them back in turn. Gloxinia indeed! Could it be that you do truly feel this love at first sight that so many talk about? I'm sure I do not know.
However, I must admit myself flattered, all the same, that a pious and gentle critter such as yourself would stoop to spend a carefree afternoon with a poor poet and flower fancier such as myself! What is it, then, that you saw in me that was worth your time?
It is only fair that I tease out your answer by providing something in return:
'''
Though ev'ry climax approach a denouement
And ev'ry dawn a night,
Ev'ry moment worth sharing
May be worth stealing.
Were it with you,
Delay, then, the morn.
'''
In you, I saw that last cold breath of night before the morning, the promise of something spectacular. I catch myself wondering if it was something that is integral and permanent for you -- will you always provide a glimpse of a bright day to come, or will you forever hover on the edge of darkness?
There is no small part of me which is eager to see, but the most of me would enjoy the wait. Will there be some day to break within you, or will our affections be strictly something of dreams? Longings and pining that will never cease and yet cause the fire in the hearth to flag and yet keep the room all the warmer?
Do tell.
*C-*
-----
Dear coyote,
What say you to my invitation? Your words are more than pretty, they make a poor fox's very being yearn for a time when he may once again hear them with his own ears. However, they certainly do not address the issue at hand! Will you bless us with your presence? It is too late for the fifth, I fear, but perhaps you may join us for dinner on the twelfth?
On that day that we spent together in the garden, I cannot help but remember most clearly as we were called away to our places for the evening's festivities, when you laid your hand atop mine and said simply, "Come". Perhaps it is something weak within my heart, but it is that touch, that smile, and that simple word after so many that touched me so deeply. That is what I long for again.
So once more, "come". It is I who am asking this time, and do not dodge the question again!
*Fox*
-----
My delightful fox,
Ahhh, is that then the dawn I spy approaching? Perhaps our dear fox does has some day within him yet!
I find it singularly amazing that a book so quiet as this may lay itself open wide and be read by those with even the poorest eyes. If it were open the wider, if it were more plain, I do not think that I would be so pleased. And were it shut, were it hidden away, I think I should feel left out of the whole experience.
As with the dawn, however, you approach slowly, carefully at first, and then with a surprising suddenness you breach the darkness and begin casting shadows. There is no hiding from a dawn such as this.
'''
Tho' the heart may quicken --
Tho' the tongue may lap --
I shall sup no greater meal
Than thy gift entrancing
'''
You know as well as I that touch is not casual, but calculated. And that word, lonesome after so many had been spilled in that garden, was naught to be ignored. I say this not out of boast, though I know that I did well in making my intentions clear, but out of the fact that I, too, am left without a paw in mine. Desire is a tumultuous thing, and many an hour of sleep was lost to the remembered closeness. Ah, would that there had been more...
You've answered my question, then. Now to yours. A dinner, you say? I humbly accept, and shall "come" at your bidding. The twelfth it is, please do expect me before tea, that we may spend some time recounting the virtues of flowers together.
With the utmost fondness,
*C-*
-----
My dearest coyote,
I write hastily, as you have just left and I am to be going to bed and not up writing letters to you, if I am to keep from arousing suspicions. This must
take the guise of a thank-you note, and it is -- I want nothing more than to thank you right now. Thank you, thank you, and again thank you!
To spend such an evening -- to consider spending many such more -- I do not hesitate to call myself smitten! I trust that you found the food palatable, for you certainly ate more than me or my father, and I fear the servants may even feel shorted tonight. I am happy to see someone enjoying with such gusto, however, and to walk the grounds with you both before and after the meal was a singular delight.
You have such an eye for softness. Things that might miss the normal gaze, a hidden globe of clover here, the shy peeking of a late blossom of witch hazel there. It was such a delight to share both your company and your mind, to share a touch of paws or a kiss upon the whiskers.
The kiss! You were so shy to move, so bashful after, I felt my heart breaking in two! And so was I: my stammering response must've given a poor showing, and no bravery in my heart let me return the gesture. The next we see each other, I shall make it up to you double and treble over! Tens of kisses, hundreds!
I do hope that we will have the chance to spend further time with each other. As the primrose, I cannot truly live without you. As motherwort says, perhaps one fox's love for a coyote ought best be concealed. I care not.
*A fox who would consider himself yours.*
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To a fox whose beauty is surpassed by none,
You have done such an eloquent job of thanking me for the evening together that I, for once, find myself nearly at a loss for words. The food was indeed wonderful, but paled in comparison to the delightful company. I found you and your father both well read, and keen with words. The walk within your own garden, around your splendid grounds, was not a thing that I will soon forget.
'''
You find me at a disadvantage --
Panting and aswish --
Would that distance be traversed as easily
As hearts t'wards yearning hearts
'''
I must address that kiss. I confess myself a shyer person than I perhaps present, and I found myself self-flagellating within my mind after the act, worried that I had perhaps misread, that I might have overstepped my bounds. To know that we could both blush so much...ah, well that is what will stick most firmly in my memory. To know that one such as yourself may dream of kisses to come, that is what will sustain me for the future.
I shall scarcely be able to write a line of verse for the longing that night engendered in me. Or, perhaps I shall be overrun with a graphomania, unable to cease scribbling my poor lines for the desire of yet another small kiss. I fear it shall be the latter, that I am doomed to be forgotten among the countless smitten poets littering the streets with their oversweet verse.
In evidence of my restraint, I leave you with only one more word: "again".
*A coyote who would call you his own.*
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Dear sir,
I write at the behest of my father. It has come to my attention that a discussion of plants in a garden and a subsequent dinner has led to impropriety. The boundaries that are firmly in place by society and God's law have been overstepped, and we toy with the sin put in place on this earth by Satan himself. It would be best if we were not to be seen together again.
May this final gift of both motherwort and primrose cuttings from our own garden sate your desires, and may that be the last we be seen together as my family wills it.
*V. V., Jr.*
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Reply to the esteemed fox of the household,
I must offer my immediate and unconditional apology for any slight or dissatisfaction. It was my intent only to build a relationship of trust and kindness between equals, lovers of the word and of life. That my actions have caused pain and discomfort by encroaching too closely on your person causes me great pain in turn and is chief among my regrets.
I will expect no reply in return, but let my poor words stand in place of any further deed that I may do to you and your family. But by your request, you shall not hear from this repentant soul again.
'''
A rose, single, now blooming
may indeed bless the stem,
yet are not roses clipp'd and shown?
Undoubted 'tis a blessing to them
who receive such a gift!
Yet now unmade is the flow'r
which adorns thy mantle with its grace,
and withers, however slowly, by the hour
until 'tis faded to nothing and dust,
though some scent remain forever amidst the must.
I take well the meaning of your letter and the final gift of flowers within.
With the sincerest apologies,
*C. L.*