update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/idumea/004.html

@@ -117,6 +117,16 @@
 <p>She shook her head. &ldquo;Well, yes, but also, I have had some thoughts about joy and how to find it. I experienced it for a week or so, but it faded. I experienced it almost on accident, though, yes? And I wanted to be deliberate.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; Her Lover sighed, slouching back in her seat with a smile on her face that was very nearly a silly grin. Not quite, but very nearly. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s been a <em>long</em> time since someone has said something that flattering to me.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>The Woman preened — and we all know that is quite cute! — which earned her a kiss to the cheek in return. She marveled at how easy it was to fall back into such lovely habits and, yes, there was joy to be had, there, and to that she clung tightly. It seemed not the time for her to bring up the task of finding joy specifically in touch, in sensuality and sexuality, though she knew Her Lover felt that such were joys as well. It was a matter of enjoying <em>this</em> joy, first.</p>
+<p>And enjoy she did! Friends, I have had precious few lovers in my life as I am now, but certainly none like this. I am not unhappy, of course; I like who and what I am and how I engage with the world. Still, if ever there were anything to make me jealous of particular friendship, it would be something like this. It would be the friendship that is particular to The Woman and Her Lover. There is touch that I like and touch that is distracting, but if I could hold the hand or paw of someone as tenderly as these two held hands and paws now, if I could share a moment of quiet conversation such as this, I would in a heartbeat. I am gripped by my own rituals and demands, though, and have not the strength to fight them.</p>
+<p>So it was that The Woman and Her Lover rested their hand and paw with palms together, fingers only slightly curled, on The Woman&rsquo;s knee and spoke of joy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m a little surprised that you came to me for touch,&rdquo; Her Lover said, half-smile on her face. &ldquo;Not in a bad way, not at all. You know me, I love that, but that wasn&rsquo;t something you ever sought out from me <em>this</em> directly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Woman shook her head. &ldquo;I know, and it has taken me energy to even get to this point, but if there is pleasure to be had, and if pleasure is a part of joy, then I ought to look, yes? If joy is my goal?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Her Lover laughed, voice musical. &ldquo;I see you&rsquo;re still very much yourself, love. Never change.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With that, she leaned over to give The Woman another kiss to the cheek, and then another, this time at the hinge of her jaw, and then another and another, a meteor-shower down The Woman&rsquo;s neck, and there was joy in this, too, and purring to be heard.</p>
+<p>They laughed together at their touches and their brazenness and their shared joy. They shared their nuzzles and their giggles and they, as the poet says, shared their oranges and gave their kisses like waves exchanging foam.</p>
+<p>My lovely readers, there is more that happened, and I am going to tell you! I really will, because it is important to the story, of course, and because it is important to our life sys-side and to us as a clade and it was important to The Woman and Her Lover. But, dear ones, if you would like to skip ahead, to cover your eyes and curate your experience or to simply let them have their moment together, know that our life sys-side and our clade are complicated and that The Woman and Her Lover were complicated, too, and so was the joy they found. Know that they also, as the poet says, shared their limes and gave their kisses like clouds exchanging foam.</p>
+<p>They leaned on each other as they stepped lightly from the train to the station, and, although the station was a loveliness in its own right, their conversation had spurred within them both a desire to explore and gladly, rather than their feet hitting the cement of the platform, they landed instead on the cool, hardwood floor of Her Lover&rsquo;s home where The Woman brushed her fingertips featherlight against the still-familiar jamb.</p>
+<p>There was no rush to their movements, for both The Woman and Her Lover had always been methodical in their sensuality. Perhaps it fit the mold of one of The Woman&rsquo;s rituals — she must touch here, first, and then she would kiss there, and only then would she brush her fingers there, across the cheek —</p>
 <p>(talk, hold hands, kiss, open about plans/always honest)</p>
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