update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/idumea/004.md

@@ -105,3 +105,39 @@ No, because her limits were reinforced. For every victory, there was a reminder
 She, too, understands dialectics, do not get me wrong. She, too, knows that these reassurances of boundaries also come with the discoveries that she made, all of the green papaya salads and savory Artemisian treats that Warmth In Fire and its ilk had set on the market that she fell in love with. But always before her was the goal of joy, and while she would count her successes, she would also count her failures — no, no, do not contradict her, she saw them as failures and there is now no changing of her mind, not these many years later, not as she is now — and cluck her tongue and shake her head and go home and lay down in her bed and take one of those naps that she was so good at.
 
 There was joy, yes, but it was not a complete joy. Her hedonism with food was a lovely hedonism and she cherished it, but it was not the hedonism she needed for this task.
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+There was no simple way to approach this next form of joy for The Woman.
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+There had been times within her life where she struggled with touch, for when one is too much oneself, every touch is all that much more intense. When one is full to overflowing, each touch runs the risk of oversaturating sensation, pushing a gentle caress into the grating drag of sand over skin.
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+And yet touch remained important to her. It remains important to all of us! Even I who surrounds myself in words, constructs blankets of ink to wrap myself up in, even I relish my time spent with my cocladists and with my friends. I relish the time I spend with My Friend and how, on occasion, we will go for a walk and she will take my paw in her hand in companionship. Touch remained important to her and, to her, those moments when she was able to accept a hug from her friend shined bright in her memories when she hunted for this next form of joy.
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+"If," she reasoned to Her Friend over their mochas, "if so many have found joy in touch and sensuality and sexuality, might not I?"
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+"You may very well, yes," ey said, smiling. "What do you think you will do?"
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+"I am not sure where to start. Perhaps I shall work my way up from simple to complex, yes?"
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+Her Friend brightened, nodded. "If you are feeling like a skunk that day, I have an aesthetician I can recommend."
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+My hastier readers may be wondering: why does The Woman not simply fork herself groomed? Or perhaps: why does The Woman not get a massage or some similar form of touch that does not involve dragging a comb through fur?
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+The answer to this, at least from your humble narrator's limited point of view, is that there is loveliness in the touch, yes, but there is loveliness also in the way that one might ensure that another is well groomed. It is a way of coming closer. It is a way of sharing, and understanding that one is not alone. That is what I feel, at least, and I like that I can feel not alone at times, even if at other times I all but demand it.
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+And so it was that The Woman began simply, waiting until she was quite firmly a skunk before going to visit this contact Her Friend had given her.
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+The Aesthetician who greeted her at the door looked to be more than a hundred years old — more than a thousand! — and yet they moved with a sprightliness that surprised The Woman. They all but pranced around her as they guided her to a comfortably padded table, something that could just as easily be molded down into a seat or some more complicated contraption.
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+"A skunk! An Odist!" they chirped. "You were sent by No Hesitation?"
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+The Woman tamped down the burgeoning sense of overstimulation and bowed. "Yes. End Of Endings of the Ode clade."
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+"Lovely lovely lovely. Please, please come in and lay down. I do love grooming you and yours."
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+And so The Woman went inside and lay down and let The Aesthetician work through her mane and over her tail and through all the little nooks and crannies around her neck and limbs. All the while, they chatted quietly — for an aesthetician such as this reads their clients well and knew how to modulate their attitude that they not overwhelm someone such as The Woman. The brushing was calm and peaceful and felt lovely and delightful in all those ways that she appreciated when she was able to do it herself, and yet it came with a sense of companionship and camaraderie that left her feeling fulfilled and, yes, joyful. Joyful! The Woman and The Aesthetician talked and talked, and The Woman spoke more freely to her than she ever did to Her Therapist and, without being able to explain just how, she knew that the words she spoke would be kept in as close a confidence.
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+The Woman left refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated, and with this eye she set to looking into the escalation that she promised Her Friend.
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+We have seen such success already, have we not? We have seen the ways in which The Woman — she who does not have many friends —