The Lamb and the Shepherdess

Toby draws in a very deep breath of me, and then pulls away. She starts to take her instrument from me, but it nearly slips out of her hands because they are so dampened with perspiration and the guitar is now slick with sweat, as if it too has been aroused, a spectator to our concupiscence. Eventually, Tobia manages to remove the guitar from me, puts it on herself and keep its strap from sliding off her shoulder. It is now my turn to reveal my body and I am very attuned to the fact that my sweater is quite literally stuck to my skin. I prepare to lift its hem, but Toby asks me to stop. I meet her eyes, fierce and lustful, and I watch as she removes her guitar again, and then lay it gently on the kitchen table.

Tobia Lynn comes to me. My heart flutters. She is standing close, her hot breath mingling with my hot breath as her fingers slowly lift my sweater, her fingers grazing my skin, sending a wave of tingling into my core. The wet, saturated sweater does not come off easily, and Toby is trying to be gentle, but she is gentle enough. I don't mind now, her not being exactly gentle because I know she wants to devour me because I know I want to devour her. So we stand together, and we rock against each other as much as we are holding each other very tightly, our slick breasts slapping and smothering each other, our lips swollen and tingling, our mouths wide, our teeth bared, to bite, if provoked, if desired.

We sigh and hum like the deep throaty wind outside, reveling in the animal humanity of each other. We make for each other quiet cries, moans, squeals and growls as we lap the sweat from each others breasts. We laugh, like mad women inside our mouths, concocting notions inside our dirty little minds, will them to our fingers, our palms and our tongues, and then feeling, experiencing the notions become reality.

I am enraptured, drunken and fuddled by Toby's coveting of me, her eyes drinking me in, her mouth taking great gulps of me and her hands finally pushing the bike shorts down my waist and my hips so that, there I am, my secret woman of all secrets in my woman heart, the portal my core, the bitch animal seething, desiring mouth, a tiny cave in an lush jungle, the opening obscured by a curtain of foliage, the way inside, lit at the roof of the opening by a single, pulsing, dew glistening red petaled blossom.

Tobia Lynn kneels before me. I spread my feet, straighten my legs and I stand firm. Ready for her, I run my fingers through Toby's hair. She begins to suck the juices from the inside of my little cave, pushing her face into the soft green leaves and bringing her long tongue to the beacon smoldering just above, circling it and circling it like a moth that has lost her red moon and believes she has found it.

"I have an idea!" I think I hear Toby say, "Let's go up on the roof!"

I say nothing. I am so focused on how I feel. Eventually, I say:

"What?"

I open my eyes and look at Toby. I see her joyous expression and the slick all over her cheeks and chin.

"Let's put something on our feet," she continues, "grab a big blanket, and then go up on the roof!"

"Why?"

"Because it will be beautiful. Sensual lucidity, it'll be great. Come on Charlotte, you know it'll be great."

This, is not an idea I've come up with, though something about it seems familiar. I think about that for a few seconds, but Toby, Toby in all her exciting character and naked slender, makes the thinking stop.

"Okay." I say with a shrug.

We are on the roof and it is, just as Toby says, beautiful. We gathered what we needed, and then left from my back door. Toby's back door is across the small hall. There are umbrellas and extra shoes of mine strewn about. By Toby's door, the stairs go down, and next to my door, there is one flight of stairs that leads up to the roof. Toby took a hair pin from atop the door frame, telling me she'd left it there for herself, and proceeded to jimmy the lock. The door open, she took one of my winter boots and, just in case, set it between the door and the jam.

The breeze has dried our bodies almost immediately. My thighs are still very wet of course. The slick acts as a kind of mirror because it is reflecting the few lights of the apartment buildings around us. I follow Toby. We're smiling like children. We approach an edge, the roof crunching beneath my flip flops and I am glad I don't know what manner of things are causing the sound. We look over the side. I feel assured that no one is awake but us.

I believe that it is at least three in the morning. The breeze blows. Toby twirls in a very bad pirouette. I laugh. She comes to me. We kiss. The kiss turns into another. We break. She looks into my eyes. She wants to know me. She wants to know me deeply, everything about me. I will tell her, in time. I study her. Her green eyes glitter. She turns slightly and now they hold the light like a cat, and it makes my heart flutter again, and it makes more of my love drip from me and trail down my thighs. When the slick is just about to reach my ankles, Toby takes me by the hand and walks me to what she believes is a good place to spread the blanket. I think again about how this is not my idea.

The night is cool and the city, off in the near distance, is teeming with glowing streetlights. There no cars. Above us, there are no stars, and this saddens me just a little, to be here with beautiful, wonderful Tobia Lynn and have no stars to gaze upon as we lie here together. She unfurls the blanket and spreads it flat. My sad feeling passes, and I can feel my juices trickling down the sides of my heels and puddling in the tiny space between them and my flip flops.

Toby extends and inviting hand, gesturing toward the blanket. I step up to it, slip my feet out of the flip flops, and then lie myself down. Toby does the same and she is lying beside me, leaning on her elbow and resting her head in the crook of her shoulder. She stares. I stare. I feel the starless night sky above us, and I start to think that it seems very, very heavy. It is as if the world is having trouble holding back the universe. Toby kisses me. I give my mouth to her. I revel. She touches me. She gives me kisses all around my face, ending with a single, sweet kiss on my chin. Toby then begins to kiss her way along my neck, and she licks the hollow of my clavicle and I shiver. I look up at the heavy sky and I think that maybe, there is something in the way of the night, something big, something very big. Then Toby brings her breasts over me, swing them so that they pat against my cheeks. She laughs inside her throat. I laugh inside my throat and, when a nipple gets close to my mouth, I suck it in and I relish its divinity, lingering my tongue in lazy circles. Toby Is now on top of me and she is gently pushing my knees apart. The night is heavy. The breeze blows gently against my body and I am so, so happy being with Toby. I close my eyes.

I feel Toby wrapping me tight in the chrysalis of herself. I did not think I needed to open my eyes to see that she had turned so that her glorious ass was in my face. I smelled its musk lusciousness and I brought my mouth immediately to it. Together, we writhed against the skin of each other, her body slick with the boiling enzymes that flowed from me.

Ferociously, I drank from her sex and the sweet diminutive pink hole above it. Strings of her juices and my saliva were stretched and snapped apart by my vigorous, insatiable tongue. I began to feel Toby's pelvis shiver and shake in my hungry mouth. I was dreaming a living dream. Toby had me captivated in a moment in which I could either live to love her exactly like this again or die that very instant.

I dawdled inside my reverie as I became increasingly conscious of the saturated twists and folds of the fabric membrane against my smooth skin. Somehow, I understood it to be some fusion of the heavy, weighty night and my Toby. The night said:

"I am naked."

"Who made me?" I whispered to it.

"Be silence. Say nothing more."

Toby slid along the length of me, her skin wet with my slick. She felt like an amphibious thing, its four feet sucking to find purchase, its tongue tasting my skin. With her skilled, her courteous mouth, the night used her to part my legs more widely. A new thought occurred to me. Where was Charlotte in all of this? Where, was Molly. Molly loved to watch this stuff.

"She's here." I think I hear Toby say, "They are all here."

I am suddenly, unsure, unsure of everything. I open my eyes. There is Toby, above me, but beneath the heavy, heavy sky. She is barely visible inside the darkness and the shadows. I feel that I cannot move, but it is not because of Toby. It is because of the night. The question occurs to me then.

"Which, which of us, let you in?"

Toby seems to have become, strangely, larger, her shoulders broader, her head a little wider, her neck a little longer. Then I remember. She is different now. Like she had asked me to change, she, herself has changed. She has become more. The jar of her has been shattered. She has gathered her shards and she has given them to the artist, and the artist has melted her into a whole new, beautiful thing, without me. I look for her green eyes and they are there. Her eyes answer me.

"All of you. You have integrated. You, Charlotte, you let me in."

I felt her fingers probing inside me.

"Maybe, you should stop." I say.

"I can't stop without you." Says Toby's eyes.

I try to reach my hand to my sex, to feel Toby's fingers, to feel the love pouring from my inside, drenching the blanket beneath us, but I can't move.

"Are you ready?" Toby's eyes ask me.

There is something I know I'm not taking into consideration. I know, there is something I am forgetting, but the answer comes from the silence between thoughts, the place where omniscience whiles away in its exclusive, elusive, fluid lucidity.

"Yes," I say, my voice weak, my breaths thick with ecstasy, "I am ready."

There is a long pause. Toby's eyes slowly narrow to a pair of green slits, and then they close completely. Then I see nothing. I only feel the weight of her on me and the weight of the night above us. I can't move. I try, but I can't. I could hear Toby, I think it's Toby, I want to believe it's Toby, hummed with delight. Then the hum became a grunt, then another grunt, and then another. I suddenly felt something swell inside my sex, swell and squirm, and then get fatter until not feeling my slick come out was like drowning on the inside.

"It's just, so much!" I cried, "Please, finish! It, it hurts me!"

"It will be over soon."

"It's, not the same."

"It is the same. It is only, different."

"Why, is it different?"

"It is different because I am giving you a gift. You said, yes. You said, that you would take it."

"I did. I did say I would take it! How much longer?"

"It will not be much longer."

I suddenly felt what I understood as an ignition. This, ignition started a chain reaction and it began to make me shiver with a pleasure I'd never known. My mouth wide and shuddering, I arched my back and craned my neck. Then, as my ecstasy reached its peak, my liquid essence filled me to the skin and rose up from my pores, soaking me and puddling between my breasts, in the valleys of my belly and in the hollows of my hips.

I felt the flood of me rise higher, lapping against my neck, filling the open air around my breasts, and then getting ever closer to my chin, my ears filled with the stuff, making the sound of a world beneath an ocean. I wanted to reach for Toby, but I was too weak to move. I knew that I could move, if I had the will, if I had the strength, because I knew that the night wasn't as heavy as it was before. And, when I opened my eyes again, I could see a multitude of stars.

I remembered that I wanted Toby to see them with me, so I reached for her. She wasn't there. She wasn't, there. There were my flip flops, but not hers. She, left. She put on her flip flops and, left, just like that. I swung my head around. The dark was everywhere, spotted with tiny jewels of light looming above and below, and then there was, my video monitor. I grabbed it, and then looked into the screen.

6

A Second Excerpt From The Super Private Journal Of Charlotte Louise Hazelgrove:

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Sean's fine. He's perfectly fine. I am perfectly, not. I don't remember what I saw on the monitor screen and I don't know how I found myself in the shower this morning.

Okay, maybe I do. I think I went to sleep or whiled away the rest of the night as Dirty Little Slut and, when she went to take a shower this morning, the blackout was washed away. I got out of the shower, my chest heaving, my body shaking, and I wiped the steam in the mirror over the vanity to see, me. I wasn't sure I recognized her, exactly, but she was me. She had to be me, right? Because it's me I'm looking at in one of my closet mirrors, you know the ones where Slut wrote that she loved me, which I've since cleaned off, and that the me I see is the me that is writing this down right now.

I am currently, by no means, not the vapid little slut that wrote the prior record. So, directly after showering, dressing, changing and dressing Sean and doing the rest of my morning rituals and procedures, I knocked on Toby's door. She didn't answer. Then I realized that my noonchie felt a little funny. I then knocked on the door of C4 more furiously. Still, no answer. I let a few seconds pass. I shouted Toby's name, and then banged the door with both fists. I started to pant a little. Then I started getting more anxious and any of my neighbors who were home and awake could tell I was because I simultaneously stomped on the floor and shouted the word fuck six times in rapid successions. I turned around to look at Sean. He was smiling and drooling. I wiped his mouth and told him I was sorry for being so unmommy like.

Anyway, so if what DLS did wasn't enough, guess what? I have a gyno appointment this morning. Yep, absolutely, my annual check-up, getting smeared and everything, hurray! Sure I could have cancelled. Well, no, I couldn't cancel. I'd get charged, but you know what? It's okay. I feel funny down there anyway.

So down the stairs and out the door we go. Sean's bus is there in three minutes. I give him my customary four kisses, from forehead, right cheek, chin and left cheek. I tell him I love him more than anything and I stroll him over to the bus driver. Believe me, I would drive him myself if only I wasn't so afraid to. After I make sure Sean's on the bus and strapped in, I head over to my car.

I'm in the examination room and I take out my two bags, one for my shoes and the other for the rest of my clothes. I undress, put everything in their respective bags, and then put on my paper gown. I look around the little room. Its walls are painted in a nice tope, the cabinets and counter are laminated with a darker shade. There is a burnished steel sink and a paper towel dispenser mounted on the wall above it, a gleaming scale that stands front and center along the east wall, a rolling stool to its left, a blood pressure gauge hanging above it and behind me the examination bed with its gleaming stirrups.

I sigh as I take it all in. Hospitals and hospital rooms like this one have been Sean's and my home away from moving from home to home. I certainly identify with the antiseptic aesthetic, all the shiny metallic surfaces, the tools, machinery, snaking tubing and art on the walls that look like it belongs in an airport. After a while though, our appointments became less frequent because Sean stabilized. Still, the sights and sounds had come to fuel my imagination, where I create images in my head of human abductee friendly lounges and care centers on the science vessels of one or another intergalactic investigation envoy.

Now I'm waiting. I think about how I'd gotten this far and how Sean had survived his very rough start. I think about Toby and how the memories I have of whatever happened last night are not mine. They are memories of my slut alter. I grit my teeth in anger as I walk up to the paper towel dispenser and try to see myself in it. I am there, but I am obscured. It is a visual approximation to how I feel almost every day. How am I going to face my neighbor in C4? What? You think we're lovers, fuck buddies? Oh yeah, well, I thought it was great too, but I wasn't actually there. So, I lied. It wasn't great. In fact, let's just agree that it never happened, okay? I feel tears start, but I fight them back.

I took a deep breath and turned on my heel. I wanted to know, to understand, who really was doctoring my universe's spin? Who was in control of me, of everything: planets, stars, comely strangers with guitars, doctors, lawyers, drip drip drop little April showers, blossoming flowers and the lives of beautiful little children? I go into my bag and pull out my journal.

I read and re-read. I can't believe the nerve of her! Imagine if she was running the show all the time. I'd be one of the one in every six people who has herpes.

And, she writes better than me, that bitch! I feel the ache in my noonchie. I think about it. I guess I've felt it before. I can really jam on that big dildo of mine. I read more. I shiver. I wonder, if I have an alter who is bisexual, does that make me bisexual by association, by default, by proxy or by mistake?

I grunt an angry expletive and I put the journal back into my bag. I feel for the bed behind me and I have to make an effort to lift myself onto its papered cushion. I try not to think about Tobia Lynn Peckingham, the one I respect and admire, and the one Dirty Little Slut seduced and made passionate love to. What the hell am I going to do?

I didn't hear the clipboard being pulled from its pocket on the door nor did I hear the knocking that followed. Jumping a little, I managed to face the smiling woman as she pushes the door open, and then briskly shut it again. Patty Glenn's smile fades though. Boy, I can't hide much, as long as I don't let anyone read my journal anyway. She sees my sheer dismay and concern colors her face.

"Hey there Charlotte." says Glenn, extending her hand.

"Hi Dr. Glenn." I answer, giving her a sad smile and a gloved hand.

Releasing her grip, Patty continues to appraise me as she steps back to the counter. Leaning a hip along the edge of the counter, the doctor rests her back against the wall between it and the light switch by the door. She places the clipboard on the counter and begins to skim the pages trapped there. Dr. Patty is an attractive, energetic woman with short chestnut hair, hazel eyes, her complexion a glowing creamy bronze.

It had been my belief that the woman was the kind of doctor that practiced what they preached, proper diet, plenty of exercise and all that. So it was like two visits ago that I finally worked up the nerve to ask her how old she was. She smiled and said she was fifty-two. I was totally surprised and told her she looked to me like twenty-six or so. I suggested to Patty that she had been taking her own doctorly advice and she laughed. The truth was, she told me, that she ate fast food no less than three days a week, always smoked when she drank, drank hard when she wasn't obligated to be sober and had just gotten divorced for a third time. Her appetite for drink was from her father and her skin, Patty thanked God, was from her mother.

"So how's Sean?" asks Patty.

"Oh he's great!" I answer smiling, "He's started calling his special Ed teacher Uhba or something! He's worked out the creation of a name for someone new! Isn't that awesome?"

"Absolutely. So what does he call you?"

"Uhm. He calls me Uhm."

I beam with pride. Glenn laughed mildly before returning her gaze to my record. I do my own appraisal of Glenn as I watch her read. I imagine what's she's reading and how she might be feeling about what she has committed to memory about my history.