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Subject: {ASSM} Man and Muse 1/4 The First Five Years (zoo/best. asst codes and topics) TBD
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Date: Fri, 06 Apr 2012 09:10:04 -0400
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An eclectic mix consisting of the posts I consider part of the basic
canon for my 'Man & Muse' work.
---

M/muse

Every partnership has a point in time that people can point to and
say: "This is when it truly began."
---

Muse, Muse, Which to Choose?
A Man and His Muse
---

Laughing quietly, she bent forward to let her long, flowing hair
lightly brush across my face. Her lips opened as she bent down...

Green eyes flashed angrily and she was gone.

My eyes snapped open as I was awakened by the sounds of cats fighting
on the roof. I listened and when I realized that the latest cat to
wander in and take over our yard was winning, again, I couldn't help
my grin. She was small, but tough--and hadn't lost a territorial fight
since she moved in. Seconds later there was the sound of feet thudding
across the roof as she managed to rout the latest batch of cats that
had tried to take over *her* territory.

I waited, wondering if she'd walk back and settle above me. Yes. Light
padding that stopped when she reached her adopted post.

I chuckled into the silence. "Sounds like the sentry is back on duty."
I was still imagining her self-satisfied and very smug smile of
victory as I fell asleep.

* * *

I glanced at the clock and sighed. Three hours. Once again the flow of
a story had taken me past my self-imposed time limit. I winced at the
twinges of pain from tense muscles in my shoulders and neck as I
leaned back, closed my eyes and began slowly working the kinks out.
Once I felt things loosen slightly, I wondered, not for the first
time, how come I'd never let myself get involved in a long term
relationship. Gentle hands would feel pretty good after sessions like
this one.

Half asleep and mind drifting as I tried to figure out which way the
latest story was going to go, I was startled when hands began kneading
my shoulders and neck.

Those gentle hands pulled me back when I jerked forward. Hair not my
own fell across my face and obscured my vision. "Because you're mine.
Always have been and I've worked hard to make sure *they* didn't fuck
up your life by forcing the issue." The female voice was light but
suddenly I had an inner vision of green eyes that had flashed in
anger.

Shaken, I tried to figure out what was going on. "Who are you and how
did you get in here?" My shoulders began responding to her ongoing
ministrations. "And, thanks, whoever you are."

"I'm your Muse and now that you've let me touch your soul, I'll never
leave."

Even then, I was wise enough to recognize 'unalterable decision' when
I ran into it. Or, in this case, when it grabbed hold of me from
behind and held me with a strength that told its own tale of yearning.
Still, I wasn't going to give in without a token fight. Any woman I
felt would be worth living with--would expect me to state my terms.
"You didn't answer my questions. You told me *what* you are, not who."

Her answer was to come around and carefully settle in my lap. "What I
am defines who I am." She giggled as she reached down and fondled me.
"What name do most men give their Muse?"

All that wiggling and willing charm was having its effect. I wrapped
my arms around her and nuzzled the base of her neck before I moved my
lips close to one of her ears. She smelled of earth and wind. Her neck
had tasted like a forest glade in springtime. "My Lady. For now."

She stiffened and then relaxed. Her chuckles shook us into unfettered
passion. "Cautious, aren't you?"

"Of course. I've made the journey without you, so far. If your job is
to inspire me, you must know already that you wouldn't have any work
to do. Meaning no offense but I have to know. What reason would there
be for a Muse to link her life to mine?"

She froze. "Perceptive." She reached down, carefully inserted me and
then leaned back against my chest. "You finally let me in--last
night."

*I* let her in? The only thing I let in last night was...

"The cat!"

I felt dampness on the backs of my hands. "The cat. As for wanting the
job of inspiring you, that is exactly what all the other Muses have
wanted from you. It's all they know. It's all they can ever think of
doing. Always giving when asked, never realizing that there are other
ways."

She turned in my arms and let her head rest on my shoulder. She wept
openly, freely. Long wracking sobs that I understood too well. Tears
of frustrated loneliness and despair. "Muses, once created, never die.
I was created before there was a written language anywhere in your
world. I grew up and matured in a time when Muses were respected,
revered and even worshipped as something with more power than the
gods. For after all, someone with a Muse at their side can learn the
power to touch and transform souls. Not even the gods can confer that
kind of lasting power on mortals. When our mortal partner dies, we can
choose to seek a new partner or wander aimlessly until our desires
force us to manifest again."

"I found a third option. To watch, wait, and act as a guardian to
those who might eventually be people who would never need me as a
Muse."

"The gift of power, when learned without the help of a Muse, is
stronger, surer."

She hiccoughed and then settled again. Once her breathing steadied she
gently pushed herself away and looked into my eyes. Flowing red hair
framed green eyes that spoke of timeless yearning. "I don't want a
job. I fought long and hard for us to get to this point, even though
you have never known of the battles that have raged around you."

"Most Muses can't conceive of what I have lived too long--without."
Her voice was barely audible as her green eyes opened wide and began
to swallow my soul. "Choose, mortal. Will it be nothing more than
inspiration? Or will it be a true partnership? Companionship. Love
shared."

There was no mistaking what she desired of me. For myself, I knew what
it would be. "My Lady. Can you see the future?" She shook her head
slightly to indicate she couldn't.

I nodded slowly and let my lips form the joyous smile that was
bubbling up from within. "Then I will not tease you in this. I choose
love shared."

She spasmed wildly and moaned. "Yes! Oh, at long last...
Yeeeeeessssss!"
---
This one was inspired by a couple of comments in alt.sex.stories.d

Thanks. :)
---

What Pictures Can Tell You
A Man and His Muse
---

"Interesting thread you were reading last night."

I missed a stroke and was rewarded with gentle laughter. "Don't *do*
that!" I gave up trying to masturbate and ignored the picture on the
screen. "Ok. I know that tone. What do you think I should write, now?"

Invisible hands massaged the kinks out of my shoulders as I shifted in
my chair. The Lady can be relaxed about some things but with an
opening like that, I knew what she was up to. The game now called for
me to draw her out and find out what she wanted me to write. I had to
admit I was glad she'd finally figured out some way to get me
interested in writing again.

Masturbation feels good but the jolt of pleasure is fleeting and
doesn't compare to the sustained mental orgasm that comes when I'm
writing something that *works*.

She surprised me. "Pictures are static."

"No, they aren't!"

"Prove it."

I was silent a long time before I gave up and started laughing.
"Thanks."

A ghostly presence settled in my lap. I felt the light touch of a
lover on my penis and heard a relaxed giggle. "Show me how much you
love me."

The only *right* answer was to clear the screen and start the text
editor.
---

I once said that pictures lock me into someone else's vision. There
was more, of course, and I hope those words have vanished into the
obscuring veils of time past. No, I don't wish they will be forgotten
because they aren't true. Rather, looking back, I now realize they
weren't *complete*. I didn't explain how some pictures lock me into
someone else's vision.

("You're rambling.")

("I know. But you know as well as I do, that I'll get
there--eventually.")

("Point. I'll shut up for now." Her hand starts to slowly caress me.)

For me, masturbation is a mental exercise. No matter which method I
use to get me turned on and 'in-the-mood', a consistent requirement is
that the mood it tries for has to match the mood I want to be in.
Loving and cuddly. Slam-bam-raw-sex. Gentle touches that linger.
Laughing and teasing touches that serve to inflame me to a fever
pitch.

("Like this?" A finger slowly drifts along the underside of my penis
and I shiver. Her other hand steadies my head so she can plant a
tender kiss on my lips.)

("That's one way. Leave my hands free, huh?" No response, just more
feathery touches.)

I love words. The only problem is that when I see words, I also feel
specific emotions. If the words in a story evoke emotions that don't
match the mood I'm striving for, there's nothing. I'm limp. If they
*do* inspire the emotions I'm looking for, or enhance the ones I'm
already feeling, then my desire gives me strength. The nerves fire and
the hormones flow.

One word, misused, can be the ice cube that freezes my desire. I lose
it. Nothing. Desolation. No special charge. Emptiness.

("Ouch! How come you squeezed my balls so hard?")

("You're supposed to be explaining how pictures aren't static. Look at
what you just wrote.")

("Oh. I see what you mean. This one has a purpose.")

Pictures *are* static in the sense that they capture a frozen moment
of time. But, if you know how to really look at a picture, you can
discover more.

(I'm rewarded with a soft moan. My light touches on the keyboard grow
more confident. Each gentle stroke is rewarded with another moan.)

Body language. A picture of a person captures their feelings at that
moment. Instead of wondering 'how come something didn't feel right
about that', you get a chance to stop and take the time to explore.

Was she on a bed with one leg raised in unmistakable invitation? But
wait. The invitation rings false.

(Another moan followed by a warm hand slowly moving up and down my
shaft. Yes. We're a team now. The juices are flowing.)

Ah. The eyebrows. Her eyes have a cynical glint to them. Her tender
lips have a slightly cynical twist that seems to say: "Go ahead. Look
and dream. That's all you get from me. *I* get the check... *You* get
nothing more than a fantasy. The two of us? Together? Not a chance."

(A knowing chuckle as I feel warm wetness slowly work its way down my
penis. Inner muscles begin to mold themselves to my throbbing
manhood.)

Some pictures though... Laughing eyes. Lips that murmur the sweet
promise of contact. Every frozen ripple of her skin shouts that the
one who lives inside knows who she is and that she *wants* me to feel
her confidence.

Now there's a story that gets the juices flowing. The lifted leg isn't
mere exposure of her sex. It's an invitation to bend down and *taste*
her sex. Explore her with my tongue and then my fingers.

Her lips demand that I raise a gentle finger to them and allow her to
taste her own joy.

(Another moan. Louder this time. Muscles ripple. They squeeze gently
at first and then spasm as my fingers continue to use the keyboard to
touch her inner being. We resonate. Our souls start to merge again. It
has been too long. "Yes! We *are*!" I feel the beginnings of her
ecstasy and fight to retain control.)

Yes, A picture *is* static. It captures far more than what you see. If
you know how to read it properly--if you know how to feel what it
captured, it can let you remember what you never knew...

Or let you dream.

Masturbation is a mental act as much as it is a physical one. And that
'static picture' can be the suddenly opened window that dissolves time
and merges two souls that may never meet in any other way.

(The moan suddenly changes to a shriek that makes me shiver. Keyboard
forgotten, I pull us together and thrust violently. I know that all I
need are a few more strokes and she and I will be together again. I
force myself to let go of her with one hand. With an unsteady finger I
complete the needed strokes.)

If you let it.

(I stiffen and then suddenly fall back in my chair. I feel her go
boneless as her body finishes releasing her pent up desires. For a
brief moment our eyes meet. She smiles that dazzling smile she saves
for these times and then slowly shimmers into the nothingness which is
her home. The last thing I hear is her gentle voice giving me that
oh-so-rare benediction of her satisfied lust. "Thank you." It is also
a promise for the future.)

("I'll be here. My love.")
---
M/Muse zoo
---

note: The name Mahika is taken from Algonquin and means 'wolf clan'.
(If the information I've found on the web is correct.)

Need of the Wolf
Another tale in the 'Man and a Muse' series
---

A whisper of 'not-sound' alerted me. I finished the sentence I was
working on and turned my head to the left. The words of welcome I was
going to speak, from habit, fled from the steady gaze of the white
wolf who sat calmly on her haunches, head tilted to one side as she
studied me.

My inner smile, generated by the knowledge of her arrival, tried to
appear and then slid slowly from my lips. Something was wrong.

Something was very, *very*, wrong.

Mahika's use of the white wolf, a reminder of her long ago origins,
meant only one thing. She was here to tell me our lives were about to
change.

"Mahika?" I knew she would tell me her news in her own way, when she
felt I was ready to hear what she had to say rather than listen to her
words.

That magnificent head nodded slowly before it came back up and she
captured my eyes with hers. Normally brown with a slightly golden
tinge, something in the lighting made them flicker briefly to a shade
of green that reminded me of a forest meadow. A rare gift, that
flicker. In the hundreds of photographs of wolves I have seen, that
hint of green appeared only once. The wolf in the picture had been
caught in a pose that spoke of purpose. Powerful purpose.

When I reached that point in my thinking, Mahika rose from her
haunches and touched my nose with hers. "Do you love me?"

My arms came up to wrap her in a hug but she shrugged out of them and
turned away before I could complete the embrace or speak the words
that automatically came to my lips whenever she asked if I loved her.

This time, when she settled on the bed, she was on her side with her
tail relaxed so I could see her vulva. It was swollen with her need.
When I finished enjoying the sight of her loveliness and tore my gaze
away long enough to think of more than my mounting lust, her grin
spoke volumes. "A rare gift, you were. A writer who is also
comfortable when traveling the way of the wolf through *all* of its
many paths."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Mahika rarely spoke of this special
bond between us.

My mind drifted as her words triggered memories that are as much a
part of my life as her gentle touch. I felt her smile as her mind
joined mine and we remembered together.

She had followed my progress since I was a youth. She had watched and
smiled to herself as I slowly learned a love for my native language.
She had been there, unknown to me, during those early years when I was
fortunate enough to have teachers who took the time to encourage their
students to learn how to express themselves via the written word.

Soon after I agreed to become her partner, she told me of how
frustrated she had been when I denied my growing skill by turning away
from writing and learning other skills. I became well versed in the
ways of science. As I learned more of science, my writing lost its joy
and appeal to emotions. Eventually it became nothing more than a tool
to be carefully controlled.

My writing became, to her horror, soulless.

No longer did it gather a person in and make them *feel* what I was
describing. When that happened, Mahika had fallen into a despair that
left her wandering her native hills and howling out her anguish.

I wonder if that anguish was something I was sensitive to? Was the
bond between us strong enough to let me feel her pain? Did wanting to
understand it drive my early interest in wolves and canines? We'll
never know.

But, before that happened, there was a change in my life that affected
her so much it was years before she could fully accept it had
happened. Once she accepted that it was real, it gave her the strength
to wait for me to realize I was more than what I was letting myself
become. I stepped on a path that made it impossible for her to abandon
me to some other Muse.

In my early teens I became a zoosexual.

To her despair, she found herself watching the maturing of someone who
could be her soulmate as well as a fitting partner for a Muse but,
focussed on science, I no longer heard the gentle call that comes to
all who are capable of holding the interest of a Muse. Heartbroken but
willing to hope, she continued to follow me and stay ready in case I
was somehow fully returned to her.

Tens of thousands of years had passed since her creation. In all that
time, no matter how carefully she had selected her partners, none had
been zoos. Thousands of years of longing, disappointments and dashed
hopes were rewarded with something she had given up hope of ever
seeing again. I was the first mortal, since the one who created her,
who might be able to fully appreciate her.

As she explained soon after we partnered, to wait for me would be
painful but that pain would be worth it if I let myself become who I
was meant to be.

My own tears flowed as I remembered how tears had filled her eyes the
first night we lay together as man and wolfess. After she stunned me
with her frenzied need and we settled together with me holding her
against my chest, she unburdened her soul and told me *all* of the
truth behind her creation.

How could I *not* love her after that revelation? That night, so long
ago, was when the two of us became more than a man and a Muse who
loved each other.

We became soulmates.

"Just so, and more." Her voice was a gentle benediction that returned
me to the present. "Love me, now, so we can remember the years we have
been together. For, after this time together, we will be traveling a
different path."

My eyes snapped open and I stared at Mahika. "A different path?"

"A branch of the one we follow. Not new, but seldom followed." Her
laughter and joy bubbled over and into me. "It is inevitable. I have
*seen* us traveling it."

I pretended irritation. Sometimes living with a Muse as old and full
of mischief as Mahika is--can get annoying to a mere mortal. "I have
not yet made the decision."

"You have not yet *admitted' the decision." She let her head fall to
the bed. After a long silence she opened the eye I could see. "Just as
you have not yet admitted you have decided to love me, now."

There was no point is denying the obvious. "Very well then. I assume
you are capable of fulfilling your obligations as a Muse if I become
an artist?"

"Of course." She closed her eye, stretched seductively, and made me
aware of some of her other skills. She fell silent for so long I
thought she had gone to sleep. Without reopening her eye, she spoke a
final time. "Not 'if'. Will! Do not deny the obvious."

Rather than speak, I bent down and gently began the worshipful praise
that renewed both of us.
---

Afterword: It should be obvious that I have set myself the goal of
becoming an artist. If all goes well, I have given myself one to two
years to become good enough to illustrate my own work, the way I feel
it should be illustrated, as well as do other art work.

So, neighbors, for at least the next couple of years, don't expect my
output as a writer to match what I have produced in the last couple of
years. :)
Introduce Me!
A Man and His Muse
---

"No! We agreed! I'm *retired*. Remember?" I'm glaring at the
white wolfess who has settled on my bed.

"This wouldn't be writing." Every line of her body oozes that calm
reasonableness that seems to come so naturally to any female, no
matter what species they belong to. "All I want you to do is
introduce us."

I clench my teeth together as I maintain my glare and hold back the
words I *really* want to say. "Look. Not so long ago, when we finally
decided to open up our relationship and let people see how a true
partnership works, we agreed that the way we'd do it was through short
stories that let people get a *feel* for how we interact. Note the
*key* word: *stories*. Someone, anyone, *writes* stories. I retired
from writing for at least as long as it takes me to become a halfway
decent artist and you agreed to that decision. It was a decision we
made as *partners*. Don't you think my coming out of retirement should
also be a joint one?"

"You're already halfway decent, by any reasonable standard of
decency." She's risen to her haunches and now reeks of undisguised
amusement.

Suddenly her voice takes on a wistful and slightly lonely tone.
It's the same tone I heard when she was telling me about her long
wait for a mortal who could be a 'true' partner. "Speaking of
decency, I'm special to you, she's special to you."

I found that tone irresistible then, and that hasn't changed in the
years we've known each other. I've lost the battle, we both know it,
but there's still that 'male' part of me that insists on making it an
'honest' loss.

"I'm willing to admit you're both special and I really do want to
introduce you to each other. You, I love and respect. Her, I
respect a very great deal. On the other hand, with our agreement
that anything I said about *us* would be in the form of a story and
the fact we also agreed on my retirement, I can't see myself actually
introducing the two of you."

There's a long silence. I don't know if she's actually considering
my words or just waiting for the right time to hit me from a
different angle.

"You love her, too." My jaw drops. Definitely a 'different angle'.

"It isn't the same." It's a weak point but since it works for
women, usually, maybe it will work for me.

"You'll find a way, then." She noticed the weakness and pounced.

When? When will I ever learn that with a wolfess, I can't show any
weakness if I want to have a hope of winning one of our arguments?

Her point made, she shifts to her anthro-wolfess form. "Hands are
sometimes useful." There's none of the previous gameplaying as she
begins massaging my shoulders.

I reach up and gently touch her hands. "Don't ever change."

Finally, with her gentle laughter drifting through my mind, I put
fingers to keyboard:

"Bronwen, I'd like to introduce you to the 'Lady' I love very much,
Mahika. Sometime wolfess, part time anthro-wolfess, occasionally a
human female... She's all Muse and I'm honored that she chose me for
her most recent mortal partner."

"Mahika, meet Bronwen. She has, in the time I've known her on the
net, managed to capture my deep respect, as well as a generous
portion of the love I have for anyone who does such a good job of
being themselves."
---
Thoughts on expressing yourself as a writer vs an artist 

Some thoughts on being a writer vs being an artist
---

Let's get a few things out of the way, first.

My ego tells me I'm a 'better than average' writer.  Not a 'great'
writer, but good enough that by most objective standards, my writing
lets me get my point across to my targeted audience more effectively
than the average person will.

I'm not a 'popular' writer and I know it.  I expect my readers to be
people who want to be challenged a bit, not led and told everything. 

'Hemingway vs Tolstoy'.  I'm a devout member of the Hemingway school
of writing.  I'm a minimalist and I try to make every word count.
Every word, punctuation mark and paragraph break is forced to do as
much work as possible.  For all my comments about 'ignoring the
rules', I know most of them and follow them.  If I 'break a rule',
it's because I feel I had to in order to more effectively say what I
wanted to say.  I make mistakes but I expect a reader to take the time
to think: 'Was that really a mistake?  Or was he forcing the break so
I would stop and *think* about what he's saying?'

Are we all clear on these points?  "Tom, as a writer, has a huge,
arrogant ego.  It comes with the job."  <g>

Now, on to the points I want to try and make.

Intellectually, I've known for a long time that visual artists put
massive amounts of time into perfecting their style and learning how
to draw.  I fully expected to do the same when I started on my own
quest to express myself as an artist rather than as a writer.

What I knew, but didn't *feel* was just how critical some things are.

As a writer I cringe when I realize I've let a misspelled word escape.
I find the same thing happening when I realize I've done something as
seemingly trivial as making a short line an almost unnoticeable
fraction of an inch too long.

As an artist, I find myself discovering analogs of every aspect of
writing.  *That* lesson forced me to realize the unconscious and
unsupportable *arrogance* I carried within me when I compared writers
and artists.

With that new perspective, I've been able to internalize the idea that
each form of expression can do things that the other can't do at all,
or doesn't do as well.

To use recent history, I can write hundreds, or thousands of words
with a relatively large investment in time and thought--to try and get
you, as my reader to understand how devastated I felt.

To contrast that, even at my current level of non-skill as an artist,
with a few quick strokes of the pencil, in a matter of minutes, I can
do the same thing.  I've discovered I can change tears of sorrow to
tears of joy--with a slight twitch of my fingers so the pencil moves
one way instead of another.

If any of you have seen my concept sketch, that was done while
relaxing on our porch after feeding the cats.  It took me, at most, no
more than 10-15 minutes.   There's *no way* I could have done
something as effective--as a writer--without a huge investment in time
and thought.

I've internalized just how powerful a tool a simple pencil can
be--when it's used to draw lines on a blank piece of paper.

Giddy?  Oh, yes.   Extremely so.  :)

 I'm not saying the skills are simple or easy to aquire.  In just less
than two months, I've drawn close to 200 facial sketches.  I've
studied hundreds of black and white prints and looked for the small,
almost unnoticeable details that make up the different expressions.
I've done quick sketches, almost caricatures, that were nothing more
than the same face with the eyes or ears in different positions.  (I'm
focusing on wolves, and furry art, right now).

My point?

I'm not really sure, I have so many discoveries I want to share.

Maybe my biggest point is one a friend, who is an artist and
professional cartoonist, told me a couple of years ago.

"Go out, buy some basic artist's supplies, and *do it*."

He was right.

 I spent $1 for a package of pencils.  I bought a Crayola Sketch Book
at Wal-Mart for $1.47 plus tax.  I've been grabbing wolf images from
the clip-art and animal binaries groups and printing them in b&w so I
have them available for study and so I can try to copy them.

I didn't buy any books on how to draw.  I haven't tried to learn the
basics before I started.

Theory of art?  Proportions and anatomy?

"PFUI!"

I've done the same thing that got me started writing on the net.  I'm
doing the same thing most of the writers in ASS* and elsewhere did
when they started writing.

I'm *doing it*.

You know something?

I'm glad I am.  It has given me a brand new, and in some ways, more
satisfying way to express myself.  I'll always see myself as a writer.
But now I understand that for some things, writing has some severe
limitations.  I can more clearly see that writing and art compliment
each other.

Before, I *knew* that.  Now, I *understand* it.
---

"Give a minute...
   Give the gift of friendship to a stranger."
---

-------------

The recovery team aboard the privately owned stealth-riverboat 'Samuel
L. Clemens' relaxes when they see Tom's head break the water's
surface.  He orients himself and heads for the sloping and partially
submerged diving platform.  Once he's aboard and stripped out of his
diving gear, the team begins to blowdry his fur and groom him.

Mahika, Pilot and co-owner, waits patiently.  After he is satisfied
with his appearance and he dismisses the recovery team, she speaks:
"We managed to intercept a message."

"And?"  His tone is one of polite inquiry as the two of them head for
the flying bridge.

"The translation is poor in a few places but it looks like someone in
their Naval Intelligence branch managed to get his attention at about
the same time you made your delivery.  You weren't readily available
so he's shipping the device to that person for appropriate action.  A
second level semantic analysis indicates Mr. Jordan was somewhat
irritated."

Tom smiles slightly.  "About what I expected.  It was a bonus that NI
contacted him when they did.  I was wondering about the lack of panic
while I was leaving."  After they enter the bridge he settles with his
nose against the forward wind screen.  "We might as well drop stealth
mode for now.  Anything else of interest to report?"

Mahika alerts the crew.  "Drop stealth mode and prepare for
departure."  She begins her own preparations for normal cruise. "Only
one thing of note.  There seems to have been some sort of major action
in the area.  We found the usual peanuts but we also found pretzels in
the area."  Her lips twitch into a grin.  "You can indulge in all the
peanut butter covered pretzels you can stuff yourself with."

Tom chuckles without turning his head away from the view.

Mahika checks some gauges.  "Turbines at speed.  Full cruise power
available."

"Extend the foils."

There is a rumble as four hydrofoil legs deploy from their storage
bays, lower into the water,  and lock into position. "Foils deployed
and locked.  Course and speed?"

There is a long pause as Tom considers his choices.  Finally he turns
to face her and his ears shrug.  "Out there.  Standard cruise speed."

Mahika nods slightly.  "Course and speed noted."  She's chuckling
softly as she uses the side thrusters to change their heading
slightly.  Once she's satisfied she makes a final announcement to the
crew and passengers:  "Please secure yourselves until we reach
cruising speed.  Pilot, out."

Tom faces forward again.  "The word," he pauses for emphasis, "is
given."

Mahika nods and slowly pulls the power levers back.  As she does so,
the 'Samuel L. Clemens' strains slowly forward until she starts to
plane on her foils.  Tom snaps an order to the wheel officer:  "On
foils.  Secure the paddle wheels."

She nods and flips switches.  A light turns green. "Right paddle wheel
secured."  The light next to it turns green.  "Left paddle wheel
secured."

Tom nods and turns back to Mahika.  "Pilot, she's all yours."

Shooting roostertails from her four hydrofoils, the 'Samuel L.
Clemens' heads for new waters at her standard cruising speed of 70
knots.
====

We Moved as One
Part of the 'Man and his Muse' series
---

"We moved as One."  I shrug slightly, laugh softly, somewhat cynically
at my presumption--and turn to face the other half of 'we'. I raise my
eyebrows in a silent question.

"Indeed."  Mahika twitches her ears into what I know is part of her
way of showing her inner amusement.  "Now convey the true miracle of
something *we* consider routine--to those who only *think* they have
experienced it."

"Bitch."  The epithet is routine and only one way I have of telling
her I love her.  Sometimes the feelings are so deep that only an
insult will serve to convey those depths.

"Writer."  Her lupine lips peel back into a grin of victory.

I nod my head slightly and grin back.  "A true touch."

Mahika tilts her head slightly.  The game is an old one between us and
she knows I'm not finished.  I let the silence lengthen before I
gently touch my lips to her nose as I hug her.  Without loosening my
hold or shifting my contact from her nose I manage my final comment
just before I can't contain my laughter.  "Muse!"

For the next hour, what we spoke of needed no words between us. Anyone
who chanced to see us would have wondered at our silence and lack of
urgency.  For two who openly avow a deep love for each other, I have
to admit we often seem indifferent or unaware of it.

Inevitably, we wound up sprawled on the bed, a carefully intertwined
tangle of limbs that had as its primary focus the obvious placement of
my penis inside her warn, receptive vagina.  A secondary but important
connection was her tongue as it wandered within my mouth. Even so, the
physical was a pale reflection of the emotional reality.

We moved as One.

* * *

Later, once I was settled in my chair and ready to return to my
seemingly impossible task, I glanced sidelong at the bitch who was
next to my left elbow.  "I won't even try to tell them."

One eye opened to watch me.

"Who invented 'The Bardic Way'?"  I smiled as she sat up in surprise.

"For once, I don't see..."  She chopped her words off and I could see
she'd finally realized what I was planning on doing.  "Of course!"

I turned back to the computer.  "Mahika, for a Muse, sometimes you can
be far too human."

I felt her chin on my shoulder.  "For a human, you can be
infuriatingly frustrating.  I'm going to enjoy this one.  Type!"

"Yes, oh infuriated one, whom I love."  I didn't need to see her grin
to know it was as feral as my own.

* * *

Journey with me, my neighbors, as we visit the past.  It's *our* past,
when we had nothing more than an unknowable future together.

"Thomas Galahalt, I'm your lover, not an enemy you must hammer into
submission."

"Huh?"  I froze in shock and went limp.

Mahika's lips touched mine in a gentle kiss.  "Lover.  Ask.  Move with
me, not in spite of me."

"I don't understand."

"I know."  I opened my eyes to see tears on her face.

Two words, spoken through tears--and I was devastated.  Even though we
hadn't been together that long, I recognized that she was telling me I
didn't understand something about being lovers instead of sex
partners.

We were both silent a long time.  Finally her arms went around me and
held me while I cried in frustration.  "Tom, when are you going to
admit how we feel about each other--and make love *with* me?"  She let
go, rolled me over to my stomach, straddled me and then began a gentle
massage.  "I'm touching your soul.  Admit it to yourself and let yours
touch mine."  She paused and then ran her fingers lightly along my
spine.  "It won't hurt.  I promise."

I stiffened as understanding arrived.  "It's not your love that I
fear."

She resumed the massage while she waited for me to speak again.  I
knew she would wait for me to find the words I wanted.

I was almost asleep before I said the words I'd held back ever since
I'd felt the first tendrils of something I thought I'd never feel for
someone else, again.  "I'm tired of giving, only to lose all--after I
give.  I don't want to feel that pain anymore."

"Ah."  Her whisper was filled with the tones of someone who had
suddenly discovered the missing  key that unlocked the door to
understanding.  "A Muse, and I never suspected the depths of your
pain.  I didn't understand that your love for me is greater than mine
for you."

She rolled me over and restraddled me.  There was no sexual intent,
only a warm contact that spoke of other things.  "Look at me, read me
as you've never read me, and understand."

"I am a Muse.  My life is tied to yours no matter who, or what you
are.  Yes, I can break those ties if I wish.  Is that what you fear?"

"No."  I closed my eyes in pain.  "We both know that what I am was
well established before you asked me to be your partner.  I could live
with the loss of your companionship, as a Muse."  I sought the words I
needed.  "That's what makes me hold back.  Don't ask me how I knew it,
but somehow I've always felt that in some ways you defined yourself
through your relationship with me.  You *needed* me.  If there's one
thing that terrifies me and stops me from letting myself love someone,
that's it.  I didn't know that was what was going on until now.  You
needed to force me to realize what I was doing--and that I was doing
it because I love you as deeply as I've ever loved anyone else."

Mahika's smile was wan.  "I didn't know I was doing it.  Further, I
would have denied it.  Muses *are* and we only know that we need to be
with someone who can understand our needs and respond to them." She
lowered her head and whispered:  "I never thought a mortal would see
those needs and my dependency as a barrier to love."

I opened my eyes to study her.  It hadn't occurred to me that this was
something she wouldn't have known about.  I thought long and hard
before I responded gently:  "Perhaps it is because I am used to
linking my life to lovers who are destined to die before I do.  I have
been forced to accept the mortality of my lovers.  They are also, by
the nature of the world we live in, forced to be dependent on me to a
degree I find so distasteful that I do everything I can to reduce that
dependency."

I pulled Mahika down to me and kissed her gently before pulling away
slightly.  "Mahika, I am not so arrogant as to think I could have done
*all* of what I have done on my own, without your help.  You've
challenged me and made me find the courage to walks paths that I would
have never discovered without your help.  But, until you mentioned it
tonight, I didn't realize we weren't really true lovers. I didn't know
I was treating you as an adversary rather than a lover."

I saw her nod slowly.  "I never suspected that my 'need' for you and
your efforts would make you hold back your love because you
unconsciously saw me as 'inadequate'."  She kissed me hungrily before
she pulled back and trailed her fingers down my chest.  "I thought I
loved you.  That 'love' pales beside the love and 'need' I have for
you now.  Even a Muse may learn new things about herself."

We reached for each other, merged our bodies and then...

We moved as One.
---

Love on the porch mixed with a conversation

MF rom slow
---

Masseuse
Another random chapter in the 'Man and His Muse' series
---

"...And they lived happily ever after...  Until I decide to write
another chapter."  The comment was quietly spoken as I finished the
latest chapter.   Mahika heard it anyway.  Sometimes living with a
Muse can be annoying.

"Cynic.  What brought that on on?"  Mahika started massaging the
tenseness out of my neck and shoulders.  She glanced at the screen,
where the final paragraphs were still displayed.  "Oh. Rabelaisia.
*Now* I understand."

The silence lengthened as I moved my head and shoulders to help her
work her magic.  "You make a good masseuse.  But then you would,
wouldn't you?  You have a great ass."

Her hands stopped.

I waited.

She groaned, her hands shifted so her fingers wrapped around my
neck...  "I should strangle you for that one."

"Instead?"

"Porch.  Now."  Hair flowed over my forehead and temporarily blinded
me.  Her tongue flicked into my right ear.  "*That* story is done.
Time to write the next chapter in *ours*."

"So you *are* going to strangle me.  I feel constrained...  HEY! OOF!"
She'd reached down and casually flipped me over backwards so that my
chest landed on her shoulder.  She so seldom did anything to indicate
she was a Muse, that her sudden action took me by surprise.   Rather
than fight things, I waited as she walked through the house.  Once on
the porch she gently unloaded me onto the bed.

"Roll over so I can finish what I started."

"Yes, dear."  I could have given Casper Milquetoast lessons.

Mahika slapped my butt lightly before she straddled me.  "Forget it. I
know better."

We laughed together.

As my body enjoyed the massage, my mind drifted.  "Romance.  I love
you, Mahika."

"Excuse me?  Where did that one come from."  She chuckled softly. "Not
complaining, just wondering if we're still on the same planet.   By
the way, I love you, too."

"Ummm...  Nice...   So we love each other.  Let's play a game we
haven't played for years.  It's called:  'I love you because'. I'll
start."

"Mahika, I love you because you're you.  I find living with you fun,
frustrating, inspiring, intimidating, erotic, exasperating and
exhilarating.   Above all, with you around, every day is a day filled
with romance."

Her hands left my back.  "Turn."

Some things are more important than worrying about verbal
communication.  One thing I'd learned over the years was that one of
Mahika's massages was not to be missed--or interrupted once she'd
started.  I turned.

"Tom, I love you because you have a forked tongue.  The only thing I
can reliably predict is that I'll never be able to always anticipate
what you'll say or write.  On the other hand, some things about you
*are* predictable.   Reach down here and hold this while I get
comfortable."

She straddled me and settled herself on my penis.   "No matter what
you think, even if nobody else needs Rabelaisia, *I* need it. "  She
bent down and kissed me.  "I think you need it, too."

"See what I mean about exasperating?  Lady, you've picked up one of my
nasty habits.  When we first teamed up, you didn'tramble."

"Self defense.  It's the only way I can keep you on track."

I bounced my hips a few times to distract her.  "This thing doesn't
stay stiff without input."

I felt her constrict herself.  "Don't worry.  that 'thing' isn't going
anywhere unless I give it permission.  Clear?"

"Yup.  So tell me something.  You're a Muse, I assume time really
doesn't mean anything to you, you must have a life elsewhere." She
nodded and let me know I should keep talking.  "Very early in our
relationship you made it clear that as a Muse, you need something you
can only get from being 'linked' with a writer. I've noticed that when
I'm 'on' and writing, you get more pleasure out of that--than you get
from our sex."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Yet,  even though we
both know the sexual part isn't *essential* to our relationship..."  I
made a few more movements with my hips.  "You go out of your way to
make sure it's there."

She opened her mouth and then closed it.   It was her turn to take a
deep breath and then let it out slowly.  Much to my surprise, she
responded obliquely.  "Is there a difference between 'taking something
for granted' and 'essential'?   Not to deflate that ego, but, as you
have to have figured out, I'm not monogamous, nor am I
'mortal-centric' when it comes to sex."  She paused meaningfully.

"Never meant to imply you were.  My sexual skills have *never* been
something I've used to inflate my ego."

She laughed.  "Nor should you.  Actually, the main reason is simpler.
Non-mortals are as subject to the non-rational as mortals.  Plus, just
as mortals who find themselves in love do, we seek to establish and
maintain 'balance'.  Most of the time that balance seeking is
unconscious.  Sometimes one or both partners consciously seek to to
balance the relationship they are in.  For me, with you, it's a mix."

I grinned.  "'Mixed.'  Is there any other way?"

Lip quirked slightly upward at the corners.  "Plenty if you happen to
be a god of some sort.  Others can move the fulcrum off center."  She
gazed at me calmly.  "Happily ever after?"

I lost myself in her eyes for a few minutes and then looked away.
"Yeah.  Maybe it started as a way to relax.  Now?  Still is. Maybe I'm
trying to show people that it's all a point of view thing.  I get
tired of the blacker stuff.  Sure, life has its down side but that
doesn't mean that you can't accept the negative stuff and make it
positive."

I thought about things and reached up to lightly stroke her nipples.
"Then too, I do have another reason.  All kvetching aside, I do hope I
manage to write things that someone, somewhere, finds entertaining,
enjoyable or--terrible thought--educational.  Now, bend down here so I
can kiss you."

Golden eyes glittered with reflected light.  "Your command is my wish,
oh Master."

I choked on that one then reached up to move her hair out of our way.
Our lips met, then our tongues.  Words became *extremely* superfluous.
I started to pump my hips...  Well, almost superfluous.  "Release me,
woman."

"Oh."   She giggled.  "Didn't I tell you?"  She started massaging my
penis.  "Tonight, you get the deluxe massage."

"Fine.  Just for that, you're going to have to put up with being
cuddled."  I wrapped my arms around her and gently applied pressure
before letting my hands work their way up and down her spine.  She
moaned, her vagina stopped its steady motions and I didn't bother
trying to stop my chuckle.  "Mahika, my love, when are you ever going
to remember that I know your one weakness, the one thing guaranteed to
distract you into 'mortal' selfishness?"

Her lips worked their way across my face and around to my ear. "As
soon as you don't have to be seduced into massaging my spine."

I felt her loosen so I braced and began a slow in and out pumping.
Once she matched my movements I gently pushed her head away so I could
lose myself in her eyes.  "Soul catcher."

Just before she lowered her head, she whispered:  "You never had a
chance."
---

Something to Say
A Man and His Muse
--

"Stealth mode fully engaged.  What course and speed?"

Tom, who is settled on his haunches and staring out the
windscreen--remains silent.

Mahika, the Sam-C's senior pilot, frowns.  Something's not right.
"Tom!"

"What is it?"  His head never moves and it's obvious he's still
elsewhere in his mind.

"Never mind."  Mahika looks over at the communications officer.  "Call
my relief to the bridge,  turn us around and then head for the open
ocean at our slowest touring speed. "

The woman hesitates before nodding slowly.  "Special guests?"

Mahika sighs, glances over at Tom, and shrugs.  "Maybe."  She shimmers
slightly and when the effect clears, a white wolfess is standing in
her place.  The wolfess pads over and settles on her haunches next to
Tom.  When he remains silent she sidles sideways until her left
shoulder touches his side.  Once she feels him lean into her, she
settles herself for what she she knows will be a long wait.

The communications officer smiles  wryly and whispers:  "I have the
con."    One of Mahika's ears twitches.  It is the only sign that she
was heard.   

"Relief pilot to the flying bridge.  There's been a change in plans." 
* * *

During the years we've been together, I've seen him in this 'mood'
many times.  Abstracted, distant, prone to drifting off and ignoring
the world around him--something has him *thinking* more than he
usually does. 

When we were still settling into our relationship, I tried to get him
to share his thoughts with me so I could understand and help him.
Exasperated with our lack of communication and yes, my constant
interruptions, he came out of one of his trances long enough to tell
me: "Mahika, if I had thoughts clear enough to communicate, I wouldn't
be going into these trances of distraction.  Leave me alone.  When I'm
ready, I'll be back."

Now, frustrated, settled at his side, I let my part of my mind drift
while I wait for a sign that he's found a handle on his current
problem.

"Beautiful sunset, especially at sea.  Thanks for turning us around. I
needed a new perspective."

"New perspective?"

"Effective communication.  Mahika?  Who are you?"

"Your Muse."

"Try again.  You're too old to be a Muse.  Or too young to be one.
Take your pick."

"I can't be both?"

"You could.  But you still aren't a Muse."

"No.  Why now?"

"Past time."  His head finally turns and his eyes gaze into mine. "Was
never a need to mention it.  You've been a part of me all my life.
Recent events let me give you form, a voice.  'Effective
communication' demands that we clear things between us--and our
readers."

I touch my nose to the side of his head.  " 'Here there be Dragons?' "

"Perhaps.  You aren't one of them."

"So.  That's the way of it?"  Our heads shift so our noses meet. "Tom,
who am I?"

" 'A many splendored thing.'  My child.  My many times removed
ancestor.  Someone who cannot be killed, nor long suppressed."  His
lips curl into a grin.

I recognize his new mood and as part of our ongoing game, refuse to be
distracted.  "You dance with words."

"I speak truth."

"Truth?  Only a truth you still refuse to share.  *I* know what you
describe.  The others?"

"You make my life worth living.  There are few who have your ability
to inspire me.  Without you, my life becomes dull, colorless."

"Flatterer."  I couldn't stop my smile.  His new words proved that he
did, indeed, know who I am.  "How long have you known?"

"Consciously?  Today.  Before that, I accepted you, us--on a deeper
level, without as much understanding."

"Tom?  Who am I?"

"The same thing we've always been.  A concept.  Whatever we need to
be--so we can  communicate...

"Effectively."
---

Playing Games
A Man and His Muse
---

"Oh, my.  That thing has really gotten huge.  Perhaps I should help
you do something to make it smaller."

"Mahika, I thought *I* had the strange sense of humor."

She grinned.  "Well, it's certainly been awhile since we've finished
anything we've started."

I shook my head and sighed.  "Yeah.  Except for the sex, which has
been as good as ever, the artistic side of our lives has been lacking,
hasn't it?"  I held up a hand to stop her next comment.  "Sure, lots
of bits and pieces--but nothing that's been solid enough to finish and
post."

We rolled to face each other and our hands began massaging each
other's backs.

"Mmmm..."  She shifted so my penis found its natural home.  "Actually,
the vacation has been rather pleasant.  What you *have* written has
been more than enough to keep me relaxed."

I suppressed my laughter by burying my face in her hair and then
whispering in the nearest ear.  "Right."  Stroke.  "Relaxed."
Stroke-stroke.  "Then explain." In-long-pause-strokestroke.  "How
come."  Many strokes. "You've been as horny as a weasel after a rat?"

She convulsed and then pushed me away until we were fully detached.  "
'Weasel after a rat'?  Hand me some tissue."

"Here's the box."  I was grinning.  "About time I got you laughing so
hard you can't stop crying."

She rewarded me by tapping my forehead with the box.  "It's time for
you to get up and spend some time at the keyboard."

* * *
Get Fucked!
---

"And you can go get fucked by a cockroach!"  Martha screamed at the
retreating back that was attached to the most minuscule-dicked,
fat-assed, overblown-ego-possessed  MALE of the human species--she'd
ever had the misfortune to think she wanted to spread her legs for.

'Now, where in hell did I put that...  AH!'  Her left hand grabbed at
the rubbery object while her right one gently cradled the power
supply.  "Come to mama, you lovely thing."  She crooned.  "She's going
to reward you for your undying faithfulness."

"Wouldn't you rather have something a bit more, how can I put this...
'masculine'?"

She jerked, dropped the massive dildo and spun to face the...
'Intruder?'  The man was naked and casually leaning against the frame
of the doorway.  Her thoughts shifted along with her eyes as she gazed
at those perfect lips, then slowly roved down his chest to...

She blushed, drug her thoughts out of the abyss of lust they were
falling into and found her voice.  "Who the hell are you?  And how did
you get into my bedroom?"

"I have nothing to do with Hell.  I'm actually from Greece.  My
natural home is Mons Olympus."  He grinned at her.  "Martha, my dear,
you have such a lovely command of the language."

He started chuckling.  It started with a deep breath that tensed his
chest muscles.  As his breasts began to shake, his whole body began to
vibrate in sympathy.  She found herself beginning to smile at his
infectious attitude and this time, willingly, let her eyes finish
their journey to his crotch.  His penis, originally flaccid and nested
quite comfortably between his balls, slowly stiffened.  As it rose
like a column of smoke from the fireplace of his loins, his massive
balls were revealed in all their glory.

Each time he replenished his breath so he could continue chuckling,
his scrotum tensed to reveal the outlines of the tubes that would
carry his manly nectar as it got ready to hose her willing receptacle.

"Aren't you more than a little lost?  Mount Olympus is 'slightly' more
than a few time zones away from here."  He stopped his chuckling but
didn't bother to hide his grin.  "You haven't answered my second
question, either."

He took a deep breath, mimed taking off a top hot and dusting it off,
then bowed.  The bow was a work of art that would have made the most
supercilious butler green with envy.  "Martha, my dear, you left the
door open.  I was passing by on my way to another meeting, a boring
one I might add, that has nothing to do with the pleasures of the
flesh, and your eloquence drew me as a roach to stale mead.  If I
hadn't been captivated by your inventive purging of that person's
pustulent boil that sits on his shoulders, the glow of your body would
have surely kept me from remembering my normal business concerns."

She raised her eyebrows, tried to assume a severe and slightly
condemning look--but lost it when he reached down and waggled his
penis at her.

"I'm sure that inert silicone penis has a lot to offer you at a time
like this.  However,  this one is ready, attached to a self-directing
renewable power supply and amazingly, it just happens to be in the
size and color you enjoy most."  He grinned at her expression of
bemused confusion as he let go and walked over to settle on her bed.

He leaned back on his elbows and raised his eyebrows.

"Yes."  She mused.  "It does seem to be about the size and color I
favor.  But,"  She raised her eyes to meet his.  "I do hope you
realize that I can't be certain until I've tried it in for fit.  A
woman has to be careful these days.  There has been a lot of shoddy
workmanship brought into the country.  'Quick bucks' and all that."

She settled on the bed and began slowly stroking his penis.  "One size
does NOT fit all and while this thing appears to be perfect, I'm just
going to have to give it a longer trial to make sure it's capable of
meeting ALL of my needs."

"Martha, I would expect no less from a woman of your obvious
discernment.  I have as much time as you need."

"Somehow," she murmured around a mouthful of penis, "I knew you'd see
it that way."
----

Includes 'Baby I'm Hot Inside' and 'Mate?  Check!' 

furry M/wolfess/vixen (M/vixen)
--

Nothing--or Double
'A Man and His Muse'
Guest appearance: Velvet
---

I was face down and enjoying one of Mahika's massages after another
long day at work.  "Mmmmm...   I don't know how you've managed it, but
this has to be one of the most 'different' massages you've ever given
me."   I couldn't figure out what was so different--but that didn't
stop me from enjoying it.

She laughed.   "Turn your head to the right and open your eyes."

I complied, looked at the the two furry hands for a few seconds
without paying much attention--and then I realized there was something
not so subtly wrong with one of them.   One hand and forearm was
white, the other was white with red fur around the wrist and forearm.
Both of them were *right* hands.

"Vel!"

"Hello, Tom.   Mahika asked me to drop by.   Seems you've been a bad
puppy, again."

I winced and closed my eyes, After a few seconds of thought I reopened
them.   "A Bard's Lesson?"

"Perhaps.   You'll tell us if you need one."

Ouch.   "Which of you is going to tell me what I did--this time?"

Vel touched my face and bent down so I could see her smile.
"Fortunately, Mahika neglected to tell me what set her off.   However,
*her* suggestion was that the punishment fit the crime, if indeed
there is one.   We agreed on 'nothing or double'."

Wonderful.   I must have been in prime form when I goofed.   I sighed.
"Mahika?"

She shifted and let me roll over on my back.   "What month is it?"

"December.   Why?"

"Very good.   That's one point in your favor--for knowing the month.
What happens near the end of the month?"

"That's a leading question."

"You deserved it.   Now, answer it."   Her voice was filled with
icicles.

"Christmas, of course."

She looked over at Vel.   Vel shrugged.   "He's male.   I understand
they usually come with brains installed.   Nobody's certain if they
ever get turned on and *used*.   I'd say the power's on, at least."

Christ on a crutch!   What the *hell* did I do this time? Mahika must
have really vented to Vel if she's willing to help Mahika drive in the
stake.

Mahika turned back to me and grinned.   I didn't care for the grin but
there was nothing I could do about it.

"Are you planning on doing anything about it this year?"

Oh.   *Now* I know.   It's what I haven't done.   For several years
I've made a point of doing something special for Christmas.   A story,
a poem, filk.   It's always been something that ties in with the
spirit of the holiday.   It's something of a tradition at this point.
"Well...   I've considered it a couple of times."   Time for some
serious honesty.   "I don't know.   I haven't been feeling any urgency
either way.   I wasn't planning on doing anything unless I was
reminded and inspired at the same time."

Vel reached over and touched Mahika gently.   "It's his choice.   He
*has* pretty much retired from writing for posting."

"Point." Mahika glared at me.   *However*, he's been remarkably immune
to inspiration recently."   She pointed at the computer.   "Vel, go
read the 'Dear Santa' post from Alexis while he tells me how he
managed to read it and *not* decide to write anything.   Pay attention
to the 4th paragraph."

(The 4th paragraph:   "I want an Authors of ASSM Write Just For Alexis
desk calendar.   One a day, just for me, written by my favorites. All
of them." )

I protested.   "Hey, I read it all.   That writer thing sounded like a
good idea.   I don't know if I'm on her list of favorite authors.
Plus, from a practical standpoint even if she had thirty authors on
that list, they would have to produce at least a dozen stories or
other items *each* between now and the 25th."

Her one word answer was eloquent:   "So?"

I considered my options.   It was obvious the massage was over.
"Domestic misunderstanding.   Rule one.   I apologize.   Can I get up
and go sit at the computer?"  (rule 1: 'The man is always wrong'.)

Mahika looked at Vel.   Vel frowned as she thought about it.   "He
said he doesn't need a lesson--this time.  I'll defer judgment on
something else until after he finishes whatever he has planned."

I raised my eyebrows.

She tilted her head and smiled slightly.  Uh-oh.  I knew that 'vixen's
gleam'.  "Later.  After Mahika finishes with you.  We have things to
discuss--privately."  

Mahika glanced at Vel and Vel shook her head slightly in negation.  I
felt Mahika tense slightly and then relax before she turned back to
look at me.   "No.   I'm not letting you up until you prove you're
properly inspired.   Rule two applies." (rule 2: 'The woman has the
final say so--and is right.'

I grinned.   "Proof.   'Alexis in Alaska.'  Filk.   'Baby, I'm hot
inside!.' "

She winced and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed so she could put
her head in her hands.   "Go!" * * *

(Baby, I'm hot inside Sung to: Baby it's Cold Outside (the Ella
Fitzgerald-Louis Jordan version))

* * *

I saved the text and leaned back in my chair.  There were gentle
touches on each side of my neck and then someone was massaging out the
kinks.  

"My turn.  Mahika wasn't happy but I convinced her that this was
something we needed to do alone."  She tugged me backwards.

I slid the keyboard tray out of the way and then pushed the chair away
from the desk.  Vel settled in my lap and we cuddled for a few minutes
without saying anything.

"My Lady.  It's been too long, I know."

She hugged me.  "All of us know you needed the time to sort out your
life.  But, I'm worried about something.  Have you realized that
you've managed to write yourself into problems twice this year?"

I frowned as I realized what she was talking about.  "You snooped.
Yeah.  Chryslin.  I haven't figured out what to do with that young
man.  All I can really say at this time is that he's yours and
Merlin's.  He deserves better treatment than I've been able to give
him."

She leaned into my chest.  "Maybe that's the problem.  You're treating
him as our son rather than himself.  You also seem to have forgotten
what's involved between Rabelaisian mates."

"How so?"

"As soon as they recognize the bond between them, they routinely
touch-link.  His mate would learn about us very early in the
relationship."

"No secrets?  Wouldn't you have taught him to block?"

"Block, yes. But no block known will allow mates to keep secrets from
each other for long.  The act of concealment acts to focus awareness
on any secrets.  During an ordinary touch-link a block will work.
Between mates, the fringe channels eventually bypass any blocks."

"Damn.  The spaceport scene won't work unless I have it happen just
after they realize they are mates and before they have a chance to
form any touch-links.  It's an impossible scene unless I have Chryslin
and Arleta first meet at the same time."

"Exactly.  You'd be stretching things well past most people's WSoD.
There's something else, too.  No Bard or Mage would fail to recognize
Merlin and me as soon as they saw us.  Chryslin's mate would recognize
us immediately--and know we are his parents."

I groaned.  "No wonder those stories felt wrong. Most of it couldn't
happen."  I looked at her thoughtfully.  "Suggestions?"

"Only a couple.  Let them meet early in their lives, on Earth."

I spent some time thinking about her comment.  "Hmmm...   Thanks.  I
think I have an idea..."

She laughed.  "My son deserves the best start we can give him."

"Vixen!" 

* * *

Mate?  Check!
 The Luck-Bringers -- Chryslin and Arleta 
---

Dad, mom and I were watching the latest group of Rabelaisian tourists
disembark.  I wasn't paying much attention to my parent's running
commentary until mom inhaled sharply and dad grunted in surprise.
"What's *she* doing here?"  He sounded more resigned than angry and I
briefly wondered about what he meant before I turned my attention back
to the group to see if I could figure out who they were watching.

A random movement of the crowd rewarded me with a glimpse of a golden
cloak.  What?  A Bardic master?  But...  I turned to my mother in
surprise.  "A master?"

She nodded slightly.

I turned back and watched the crowd again.  I still hoped I'd be able
to figure out which one of the passengers had caught my parent's
attention.

Dad touched my shoulder to get my attention.  "A vixen, son.  You're
in for an interesting time."  He sounded amused about something.

Something made me look towards the customs exit.  *She* was standing
there and looking directly at me.  Her golden cloak swirled about her
as if she had just then stopped in mid stride.  There was a surprised
look on her face that quickly smoothed into a wry smile as she held
her hands up in a gesture I'd seen my mother use when greeting my dad.

The 'offer of mates'?  Me?  It was my turn to freeze.

Mom nudged me.  "Chryslin Merlinson, I raised you better than that. It
isn't wise to keep a vixen waiting when she makes the 'offer of
mates'."

I unfroze enough to work my way through the crowd.  As I approached
the vixen I felt a mental warmth growing stronger with each step.
Smiling reluctantly as I admitted the absurdity of the situation, I
raised my hands and we intertwined our fingers.  "Mom hoped I'd be
Rabelaisian enough to feel it when it happened.  I'm Chryslin
Merlinson.  Welcome to Earth, life-mate."

She laughed softly.  "I'm Arleta.  Quite a welcome. Not at all what
the tour guide led us to expect."  She bent forward slightly and
kissed me.  As she pulled away she whispered "life-mate."

I had to take several deep breaths to recenter myself.  By then mom
and dad had joined us.  Mom approached from one side and managed to
hug Arleta without forcing our hands apart.  "Arleta.  Things at home
are well?"

I refused to let go when Arleta tried to curtsy so she nodded instead.
"Lady Chrystal.  Your family does quite well.  They accept the choices
you made so many years ago--and asked me to wish you and Merlin well
should we meet."

Dad reached out and drew mom into his arms.  "We thank you for those
words, Arleta."  

The two of them touched our joined hands.  Mom spoke some words that
surprised me.  "So, from such simple beginnings, new pathways are
revealed.  May you always be able to walk them together."  She laughed
gently.  "Chryslin.  A mother never finds it easy to let go of her
children.  Fare thee well on your new journey."

Dad chuckled as he hugged me and Arleta.  "A vixen.  A wise choice for
one such as you."  He looked at Arleta.  "I won't say we've immunized
him to all of a Bard's tricks but I will note that he seems to have
inherited a very low resistance when it comes to dealing with vixens."

Arleta smothered a laugh.  "I'll try to remember that."

Mom and dad walked off to collect the rest of the tour group so they
could give them their orientation lecture.  

Arleta and I studied each other.  I don't know what she saw but she
released my hands and wrapped her arms around me in a hug as she
rested her head on my shoulder.  "You smell good.  I've always
wondered what my mate would smell like.  Is Lady Chrystal *really*
your mother?"

"Well, she says she is."  I paused and added.  "When I went through
puberty she kept mumbling, usually where I could overhear it, 'it
*has* to be from me, Merlin doesn't have that sort of stamina'."

Arleta giggled.

I made my hands caress her back seductively.  "Love, my plans are your
plans.  What are your desires?"

She tightened her arms.  "I have only one desire.  For privacy. Soon."
Fur brushed against the back of my legs.  She was using her tail to
caress me suggestively.

I gulped.  I wasn't a virgin but her forthrightness was rapidly
unnerving me.  "Does Rabelaisia have trains?"

"Trains?  No."

"Good!  You're in for a treat.  We used our private coach to come
here."  I pulled away and bowed deeply before offering her my arm. "My
Lady.  May I offer you the hospitality of the family coach?  It's very
private."

She tilted her head to one side as she thought about my offer.  She
grinned before curtsying.  "My Lord.  I shall accept your offer."  She
linked her arm with mine.

Laughing like children about to get into trouble, we headed to where
our coach was waiting.

* * *

As we approached the coach one of the figures lounging near the main
door straightened and raised hir hand in greeting.  " 'Brother Fox'. A
conquest already?  Fast, even for you."  Shi grinned.

I blushed and gathered what dignity I could while Arleta was giggling
quietly and tickling my ear with the tip of her tail.  "No, Becky. She
conquered me--by doing the unexpected."

Shi blinked.  "Our fox, conquered?  An interesting tale, if true."

I squirmed.  "Well, yes.  I couldn't very well deny her 'offer of
mates', could I?"

Cathy stepped forward.  "No, brother, not if you felt it too."

Arleta sobered and held out the hand I wasn't holding.  "He did.  I'm
Arleta."  Something in her eyes laughed.  "He *also* offered to share
the privacy of your coach.  May we pass?"

Cathy touched her hand briefly.  "With our blessings."  Shi grinned at
us.  "The orientation lecture usually takes about an hour but I
suspect Dad and Vel will take the time to give them a short tour of
the city."  I felt Arleta's fingers curl slightly and then relax.  "As
for you, 'Brother Fox'...  Will the usual warning be OK?"

"Ahhh..."  I grinned ruefully.  "No need since mom and dad know about
her."  I moved to pass them and Arleta came with me.

We stepped through the doors and I turned to the left.  "This way.  My
rooms are on the other side of the lounge."

She released my hand and stopped to examine things.  "It looks like
something out of my history books."

I settled on the couch.  "Mom's doing."  I sighed.  "Dad has the
castle.  Mom has her rooms there, and the coach.  She doesn't say much
about it but exiling herself to Earth hasn't been easy on her."  I
made a sweeping gesture that took in the coach in general.  "Dad let
her redesign this a few months after they became mates."

Arleta came over and looked down at me.  She let her cloak slide to
the floor.  "Stand up and get out of those clothes."  Brown eyes
glittered.  "I want to see just how much of a fox you are."

I stood up and she helped me strip.  My clothes joined her cloak.

I reached out to lightly touch her chest and then slid my hand down to
just above her pubic area.  "I've never been with a vixen.  You look a
lot like mom but your coloring is different."

She reached down and gently moved my hand to her vulva.  "I'm not a
tender virgin."  Her hand did that clenching again.  "I've never been
with a human."  She looked down at where her hand held mine and I felt
her hand tense.  This time it didn't relax.  "I've never been this
much in love, either."

I knew my penis was expanding when she inhaled sharply and jerked her
head up to stare into my eyes.  "A knot?  A human with a knot?"

I blushed and felt my penis go flacid.  I hugged her.  "If this be
love, I hope I feel it forever.  Yes, it's functional, too."

She giggled and pushed me so I fell on the couch with her on top of
me.  "Now!"

We slid together as if we'd been fucking each other for years.  A few
seconds later we were locked together.  I felt her muscles begin to
clench and unclench as she began her own orgasmic spasms.

After a few minutes our orgasms ended and we began to think rationally
again.

She reached down and wrapped her fingers around the exposed part of my
penis.  "You said something about stamina.  How long?"

I pulled her head closer and kissed her.  "Long enough.  Minimum ten
minutes, maximum, so far, nearly an hour--with some help from my
partner."

She squeezed gently.  "I see.  You'll get that help."  She looked at
me quizically.  "That was a pretty exact answer."

"You're not the first to wonder.  I've had some women ask and then
bring a friend to run the stopwatch the next time. Over the years I've
made a chart."

"I think I'd like to see that chart.  We're going to make one of our
own."  She frowned thoughtfully.  "Who can I ask to time us?"

Like I mentioned earlier.  Forthright.  I forced down another blush.
"Cathy or Becky would be willing to help."

"Oh?  That's convenient."

"They're family and keep secrets.  At least I think they do.  Mom and
dad have never commented on some of the things the two of them have
seen me doing."

She leaned back and studied me.  Finally her eyebrows lifted.  "And
your mother made those comments about stamina?"

"I forgot you're a Bard.  I was hoping you'd forget about that
comment.  When we're at home, we're nudists unless we have guests that
might be offended.  Mom and dad have caught me with a couple of lovers
and compared notes.  They both know I have the knot and tie.  What I
hope they haven't figured out is how long that tie can last."  I
grinned.  "Or how soon I recover and can tie again."

She blinked and seemed surprised.  "Soon?  Really?"

"I think it's because I'm half human and half Rabelaisian.  If you let
me fully deflate and wait about a minute, then apply pressure in the
right area, I'll be good for another twenty minutes, average. I can do
that three or four times before I can't have an erection."

"Up to five ties?  Sometimes lasting about two hours?"

I nodded.

She slumped against me and sighed happily.  "Heaven."

* * *

Without looking away from the screen I chuckled softly.  "Well?"

I was rewarded with a gust of breath in each ear, followed by gentle
nibblng.

I wasn't about to let them off easily.  "Vel?"

That got me a promising giggle and one hand in my crotch.  "Yes, he's
definitely my son."

"Mahika?  As a Muse?  My Muse?"

She blew gently in my ear and them moved a hand slowly down my chest.
"Inspired.  But, the Christmas tie in?"

I chuckled and turned my head at last.  "The posting title, of
course."

"Oh?"

"Written for Alexis--Merry Chrismas"

"Ah.  I should have seen that one coming.  Velvet?  Are we agreed?"

Velvet giggled again.  "Yes.  Double.  Now."

They lifted me out of the chair, carried me to the bed and carefully
arranged me in the center.  Mahika touched my erection and grinned at
Vel.  "Let's see if we can do something with this."
---

filk done to White Christmas

furry dog/wolfess filk Christmas

A little something for the holidays.  :)
---

White Wolfess
sung to 'White Christmas'
---

I'm dreaming of a white wolfess
Just like the one I used to screw.
Whose cunt lips glistened
While neighbors listened
To hear low howls as she blew. 

I'm dreaming of a white wolfess
With every bitch's tail I bite.
May her ass be furry and tight
And may all her orgasms be right.
---

Birthday greeting to Gary, 2003 

2/22/2003
----

"Approaching normal stealth engagement range."

I sighed and made the decision I had known was inevitable.  "Noted.
We're already late enough.  Stay on the foils as long as you can."  I
settled on my haunches and chuckled.  "The R.E. Lee knows we're
inbound and running late.  No reason to hide from them or anyone else
there.  Let's give them a show."

Mahika grinned as she reached for the microphone.  "All hands.  Secure
yourselves for combat maneuvering.  Power room, spin 'em up.  I want
full military power in five minutes."

She glanced at me and I nodded.  "Once across the bay will do it, I
think.  At your discretion, Senior Pilot."

She snorted.  "Senior Pilot."  Her hands were busy bringing up the
combat control system.  "I'm busy or I'd think of a suitable reply. Go
stick your nose against the windshield or something--and secure
yourself.  Communications.  Radio ahead for clearance.  Radar, I need
a detailed layout of the bay and everything in it."

She started mumbling to herself.  "Let's see...  OK.  There's the R.E.
Lee.  If I swing by that dock and give them a bath...  Then swing to
port...  I should clear that bouy by about four or five feet..."

By the time we reached the bay the Sam Clemens was ready.  Mahika took
a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Showtime.  Let's give them a
taste of what this 'riverboat' can *really* do."

She slapped the power controls to military max.  The gentle whine of
the turbines rose to a scream, the SamSee launched herself from her
cruising speed of 70 knots--and finally steadied into her all out
attack speed of 125 knots.  Rooster tails shot from her foils as she
danced through the maze Mahika had plotted.  People on the docks were
scrambling and I could hear frantic calls on the radio as she chopped
our speed and yanked us broadside to the dock that had the R.E Lee
moored to it. At the last possible moment Mahika yanked the controls
again and we were heading away from the docks and back out to sea.

As the roostertails from our starboard hydrofoils drenched the
spectators I keyed my microphone and shouted:  "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GARY!
SEE YOU AS SOON AS WE GET THIS TUB DOCKED!"

I pretended to ignore the look she shared with the communications
officer.  She might as well have shouted:  'MEN!'  Instead of saying
anything she grinned again and carefully slowed us down until we
settled in the water and stopped.  "Pilot to crew.  Engage stealth
mode.  Relief Pilot to the flying bridge so you can park this thing.
To all of you, 'well done''.  As soon as we dock, go party.  That's an
order."
====

Poem - desc and tribute to Mahika 

A Tribute to Mahika - To the Muse in My Life
A Man and His Muse
---

She's a wolfess--as wild and free as a midnight breeze.
White fur freshly dusted with sunlight after time spent in a grassy
clearing.
Brown eyes that reflect the silent wisdom of the deep forest.
Paws that touch lightly on my shoulders--when she senses my need.

She's a woman--with passions that flow as inexorably as a tidal wave.
Red hair that swirls around my fingers when I reach and touch her
face.
Green eyes, that remind me of forest clearings and wordless love.
Hands, to gently brush away the tears--or ignite the fires of lust.

She's a companion--steady, unafraid to speak her mind.
She's a lover--who freely gives what can never be bought.
She's a friend--there to listen, when my problems become too heavy to
carry.
She's a partner--willing to explore the trails of life wherever they
lead

Passionate
Driven
Thoughtful
Wise

She's a Muse.

She's Mahika.
---

Destruction of a modern pirate crew (inspired by Pirates of Carribean
challenge)

5/23/2003
MF, nosex, pirate
-

Captain's Discretion
A Man and His Muse
---

I trailed my hand through Mahika's pubic hair and smiled.  "Nothing
like love at sea, is there?"

She snuggled closer.  "Not when we finally have a fully trained bridge
crew..."

The alert tone went off.  "Tom, Mahika, we're being hailed and asked
to 'heave to'."

I sighed, raised an eyebrow and looked at Mahika.  She frowned and
reached over to answer.

"Heave to?"

"Yes, Ma'am."  Cathryn sounded more amused than worried.  "Sorry to
interrupt your fun but you left standing orders for this sort of
situation..."

"Do we have time to convert from stealth mode?"

"Yes, Ma'am.  The crew is in position and ready."

Mahika nodded to herself and turned back to me.  "Fight?  Flight?  Or
allow them to board?"

It was my turn to frown.  "Crew's a bit eager to be blooded. Must be a
new pirate since all the others have learned to leave us alone."  I
rolled to my side of the bed and hit the button.  "Cathryn.  Do they
know who we are?"

She sighed.  "They do.  I told  the other captain who we are and
suggested that we didn't want any problems.  She laughed and kept
insisting that we allow ourselves to be boarded.  Her final words
were: 'I don't care who you are.  You won't have any problems if you
do as I say.  We'll be boarding you in ten minutes or you'll be
sinking in ten minutes.  Your choice.' "

I didn't bother to stifle my chuckle.  "Generous of her.  I don't feel
like swimming today.  Combat mode.  Tom, out."

Cathryn's answer was drowned out by the GQ sirens.

We shared a lingering kiss before we got off the bed and put on our
uniforms.  Mahika laughed when I kvetched about being interrupted
during our vacation.

"If this one is a dumb as she appears we'll be back in bed in an hour
or two at most."

As we left our cabin the Sam Cee  shuddered and rose onto her foils.
"The crew's pushing things.  The paddles aren't fully stowed yet."  I
broke into a run and headed for the combat bridge.  Mahika was right
behind me.

"What's happening?"  I settled in the Captain's chair while Mahika
took over the Pilot's console.  "Cathryn, talk to me!"

"Intelligence update came in when I ran a query.  MO matches what we
have on the latest ship killers operating in this area.  We think they
have a top speed of around 70 knots.  I wanted us to have some
breathing room."  She relaxed slightly.  "I don't feel like swimming
today, either."

"Noted.  Give me a link and leave the channel open."

"You have it."

I nodded.  "Unknown vessel.  This is the Samuel Clemens, Thomas
Galahalt, commanding.  Captain, my communications officer tells me she
told you we weren't interested in playing your games."

"Forget it.  So you're little bit faster than we expected.  There
isn't a riverboat in the world that can outrun us.   Shut it down or
be sunk."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Lady, apparently you
don't pay attention to news reports and rumors.  I'll tell you one
more time:  We're the *stealth* riverboat, Samuel L. Clemens.  If
you're who we think you are, it's *you* who can't outrun *us*."

Attack warning alarms went off.  "Pirate increasing speed...  Stable
at 65 knots.  Approach profile matches typical attack pattern of ship
killers."

I snarled into the microphone.  "Lady, you were warned.  Back off.
Now."

Mahika spoke up.  "Targeting lock.  Enemy torpedo launch.  Torpedo
killers away...  Contact!  Threat neutralized."

I leaned back and sighed into the open channel.  "Convinced to do it
our way?"

"FUCK YOU!"

Cathryn spoke into the silence.  "Dead channel.  She dropped it on her
end."

I closed my eyes.  "Mahika?"

"I'm letting them think they can still catch us.  They haven't broken
off."

"Damn.  I hate this part of our job."  Everyone remained silent.  

I opened my eyes and looked down at my repeater screens.  "So, you
have a top end of 80 knots, do you?"

"Mahika.  Think they've topped out?"

"No sign of foils on their craft.  They have to be red lining by now.
That design won't take any power plants big enough to let them keep up
with us.  I think they're pushing past the safety limits." 

The numbers on my display suddenly changed and I felt our speed slow.
Mahika was quick with her reply to my unasked question.  "They're
sprinters.  They've dropped to 60 knots and are holding steady."

I turned to Cathryn. "What do you have?"

"Another update.  Intelligence has confirmed who they are.  Weapons
unlock codes received and verified.  Captain's discretion."

I raised my eyebrows at the last comment.   'Captain's discretion' was
a pointed hint that I solve the current problem--permanently.

"Thanks, Cathryn.  Give me the standard video channel."

"Done."

I faced the camera and spoke, with regret.  "This is Thomas Galahalt,
commanding the Samuel Clemens.  I don't know who you are and I no
longer care.  I hope you have lifeboats.  I'll have this channel held
open in case there are survivors."

Silence.

"Senior Pilot."

"Sir!"

"It's out of our hands.  Show them who we are.  Cathryn, monitor for
survivors."

Mahika studied my face and then nodded.  "Understood."  She turned
back to her console.  "Attention all hands.  Stand by for combat
maneuvering."  Thirty seconds later the turbines wound up to full
combat power and our speed smoothly increased to our attack speed of
125 knots.  She slowly turned us around until we were heading directly
at our pursuers.

The screen lit up.  I saw a harried looking woman and heard the sounds
of chaos.  "Who the fuck are you??"

I looked into her eyes.  "A peaceable man who hoped you would acquire
some wisdom--and live to see tomorrow."  I held her eyes with mine but
my next word was for Mahika:  "Fire."

Mahika's voice was gentle.  "Target locked.  One away."

The woman's eyes widened as the attack alarms on her bridge went off.
Seconds later my screen went blank.

The icon representing the pirate vessel vanished.

Mahika sighed.  "Threat destroyed."

I stood up and stretched.  "Cathryn, it's all yours.  Mahika and I
have some unfinished business to take care of."

"I have it." Her next words were for the crew.  "All hands.  Switching
from combat status to search status.  Get a relief pilot to the flying
bridge and prepare to return to stealth mode."

I held my hand out to Mahika when she finished shutting down the
combat console.  

Instead of taking it she pulled me into a hug.  "It had to be done."

I didn't reply directly.  "Let's go to the observation deck."

There were no survivors.

There seldom are...

But I keep hoping.
---


> For some reason--and I don't understand it at all--the SS post's
> formatting earned it a high 'spam index' score in the moderation software. 

sigh...

Maybe I should donate my work as 'spam index' testing material. First,
as Tom (or was it Pan?), now as SS I've managed to score lots of
points.

So, tell me, what's the maximum score possible?  Any hints you can
give me that would help me target my new 'audience'?  Who are my
competitors, other than the spammers?  Any chance of seeing actual
scores so I can see how effective my changes are?<g>

Hmmm...  Now *there's* an interesting idea...

"Denny's 'Maximize your spam index' challenge, open to everyone
*except* the real spammers.

Hrrmmmph!   I gotta figure out something else to do.  No lemonade and
I'm acting like it's silly-season.  All that pent up writing is
starting to leak and cause problems.

Sabbatical.

I'm on a SABBATICAL...

Really.  I am.

God damnit!  Who opened that hopper in here?!

Mahika!

I thought...

Errmmm...

Ah....

Well....

Since you put it *that* way...

Yes.

I know.

But...

I see.

Keyboard.  Sketchbook.  Choose...

Ummm...

None isn't an option?

Several flashes, a bunch of poetry, as well as...

Oh.  Wolf.  Estrus.

Love.  Partner.  Needs.  Hormones.

Well, yes.  I do understand...

But...

<cough...>  Oh.  I *did* mention 'high sex drive' and myself in the
same sentence a few times, didn't I?  No, that hasn't changed.  You'd
be the 2nd person to notice if it had changed.

Yes, yes... You *do* smell especially...  Ahhh...  'Inviting' right
now.

Denny?  Ahhh....  Excuse us for a bit, eh?  Mutual hormone interaction
and all that sort of stuff.  Probably wouldn't interest you, anyway.
If anyone asks how I'm doing, you can send them my comments from
'Sabbatical' onward.

Mahika!  Park it! 

Good enough.

Hey!  I need my hands...

That's...  Look, at least move your hair so I can see the monitor.

Ahhh...  I'm still in the email cli
===

Tom asks Mahika a couple of questions

Side Effects!
Part of the 'Man and his Muse' series
---

"Mine."  Beads of wetness twinkled like Christmas decorations as
Mahika squatted over me.  She braced herself by putting her hands on
my chest.  As I held my penis vertical, she felt her way to alignment
and delicately settled until her full weight was pinning me to the
bed.

"Yours."  I reached up and pulled her down so we could kiss.  Blue
eyes were suddenly veiled by bright red hair that flowed over her
shoulders to caress me.  "You are my Muse, my ever changing Muse, and
I love you dearly."

She answered by touching her lips to mine.  I felt her tongue
delicately ask permission to enter.  When I playfully refused, she
bounced once, demandingly, on my penis.  My gasp was all she needed.
Our tongues met and began a ticklish dance as we tasted each other.

Our hips rocked slightly as we found our rhythm.  Withdrawal.
Penetration.  Random pauses to savor our heat.

Passion.

A passion so intense we barely moved.

Her hands grabbed mine and placed them on her waist.  The message was
clear as she straightened and began a slow pistoning.  "Help me.  Fill
me."  Her voice was husky, demanding.

I closed my eyes and used my grip to help her impale herself.  She was
wet.  She was heat.  She was lust incarnate.

I barely heard her passionate whisper:  "Now."

As she drove downward I used every bit of leverage I had to help that
descent.  Then, as our pubes met, I attempted to drive even deeper.

She clenched, then moaned.

Time stopped.

I opened my eyes and smiled as I watched her recover.  When she
finally started to sag forward she had a smile of her own.  "Catch
me."

I was laughing so hard I almost forgot to reach and slow her fall.
* * *

We woke earlier than usual.  When I noticed it was still dark outside
I whispered a question:  "Porch?"

"To greet the sun?"

"Of course."

She laughed as we got out of bed.  "You get the blankets and pillows,
I'll prepare the hide-a-bed."

I grinned back.  "After you leave.  I want to watch that wiggle."

She stopped in the doorway and without looking back, asked me:  "Like
this?" 

I studied every delicate movement until she was out of sight.  "Like
that."  I shook my head before I grabbed what we needed.  "Mahika. You
mean so much to me.  I wish I had the words to tell the story of our
love."

* * *

Mahika had herself propped up and I settled with my head in her lap.
Her delicate scent had the barest hint of a mountain meadow in it.  I
closed my eyes and enjoyed the chance to relax.  "It's been too long."

I felt her hand pause before she used it to lightly brush my forehead.
"Ah.  Are you finally ready to talk?"

I smiled, but kept my eyes closed.  "Talk.  Ramble, most likely.  If I
was ready to 'talk', I'd be at the computer."

She laughed softly and with more than a bit of amusement.  "Another
chapter in the 'non-story' of our love?"  She paused for a few seconds
and then commented:  "You blush too easily."

I sighed and reached blindly for her hand.  "And you spend too much
time listening to what I don't say."  I felt her hand tense and relax.
I intertwined our fingers and opened my eyes so I could drive my next
point home.  "I guess that's one of the reasons writing doesn't hold
my interest any more.  'A picture is worth a thousand words.'  That's
wrong.  It should be: 'A picture speaks clearly when there are *no*
words.' "

Her smile changed to a barely noticeable frown as her eyes lost focus.
I waited until she shook herself out of some inner world and refocused
on the here and now.  "I warned you I'd be rambling."

She rewarded that comment with a chuckle.  "It won't be that easy.
You've been distracted and pensive for over six months.  I know you
too well.  That wasn't rambling."

I moved her hand to my lips and gently kissed it.  "So, tell me.  Of
all the things I do, which frustrates you the most...  And which gives
you the most pleasure?"

"Which?..."  Her voice started out strong and rapidly faded into
silence.

I grinned at her stunned look.  "I'll wait."

She snorted.  "You picked an odd way to ask."

"I know.  'I see the world differently than a lot of folks.'  The way
I figure it, this way I'll get an answer that has some serious thought
behind it."

Instead of answering, she nodded.  While I waited I washed her hand
with my tongue.  When she pulled it free and commented "you're
distracting me", I captured her other hand and whispered: "Hand or
nipples?"

She laughed and let me keep the hand.  "Incorrigible.  I'll deal with
you later!"

I spent the next fifteen minutes or so carefully cleaning her hand.
She was still silent when I finished, so rather than pester her, I
decided to relax and enjoy the morning.  'Been a long time since we
just relaxed and let the day start', I thought to myself.

Eventually I felt her shift slightly.  "I have a provisional answer."

I opened one eye and studied her face until she lifted her head up as
if she were daring me to comment.  "Answer?  Singular?"

Her smile turned lopsided.  "Singular."

"And?..."

Instead of answering me immediately, she reached and lightly ran her
fingers across my chest.  After she'd done that for a few minutes she
captured my hands in hers and carefully intertwined our fingers.  Our
eyes met, a lot of things were said without words and then she looked
at our clasped hands, shook her head--and laughed as she gave me her
answer--"You treat me as if I was your lover instead of your Muse."

I pondered that and then chuckled softly.  "I see.  I've been giving
you what you asked for, not what you expected.  Should  I apologize?"

"You aren't normal!"

"Never was, never will be.  Wasn't when you moved in.  You telling me
that you managed to forget that detail?"

"Yes, because you have a knack for making me forget that I'm a Muse!"
She bent forward and touched her lips to mine.  After she kissed me,
she gently pushed me off her lap.  "Enough of being serious."  She
shifted into her wolf form.  "Fair's fair.  Tit for tat."  She turned
and flagged me.  "Same question, your turn."  She looked back over her
shoulder and her eyes gleamed with suppressed mirth.  "You can
answer--later."

* * *

"Love?  Remember this one?"  I was browsing my hoppers and discovered
an old 'Man and Muse' snippette.  I couldn't remember if I'd posted it
or not.

Mahika's hands stopped massaging my shoulders and she bent over to
read what was on the screen.  The only sound other than her breathing
next to my ear was her whispered "next" each time she finished reading
what was on the screen.  Finally she straightened up and stretched.
Her hands found my shoulders again and resumed the gentle massage I'd
interrupted.  "It's been a couple of years, hasn't it?  Times have
changed.  Our attitudes and desires have changed as well."

"Not that much."  I gently touched her hands.  "It brings back
memories.  Would you like those answers?"

"Answers?  I imagine they will be different than what you would have
said back then."  She wrapped me in a hug and rested her head on my
shoulder.  "Yes."

It took me a long time to sort though my memories and finally decide
on my answers.  "Mahika, my love, the only thing I can think of that
can frustrate me is that you aren't a 'traditional' Muse.  The
frustration isn't between us, it's because  most other writers and
non-writers see relationships with Muses as adversarial to a greater
or lesser degree.  It feels as if they can't break free of the
cultural baggage that insists  'Muse' not only labels a certain type
of being, it also defines a set of rules that mortals and Muses must
adhere to when they interact."

"Rules--and goddesses--can change."  I felt Mahika's arms shift to
enclose me in a gesture she seldom used.  She was trying to protect
me.  For some reason she felt the woman who had suddenly spoken was a
threat to us.

I reached up and touched her taut forearms.  "Release me.  I don't
know who she is, but we will face her together, just as we have faced
the rest of the world since you asked permission to join our lives."

One hand trailed lightly across the back of my neck as Mahika let go
and stood up.  "Mnemosyne, and her daughters."  Suddenly her voice,
filled with overtones she seldom used,  came from a lower position.
"All of them."

I'm human in physical form.  After decades spent living with dogs,
many of my reactions are those appropriate to the canid way of life.
Mahika has taught me much about walking 'The Way of the Wolf'.

My *mate* was warning me of immediate danger.  My reaction was
immediate.  Without taking the time to consider consequences or who we
would be facing, I spun my chair around and moved to flank Mahika.  My
voice was chill and in its own way, a warning to these uninvited
intruders.  "Ladies.  Or should I say 'Muses and their mother'?  Did
one of us invite you here?"

One of them looked down at where her hand was clenching and
unclenching on her robe.  In a human I would have considered it a
gesture of uncertainty and poorly hidden guilt.  She looked up and
studied my face.  "We are goddesses, true.  Human need called us into
being.  Our body language is the same as yours.  We are not so unalike
in other ways, too."  She held out her hand.  I noticed it was
shaking.  "I am Calliope."

"Tom."  As I grasped her hand I smiled slightly.  "I don't need to
introduce my companion, do I?"  

She blushed and shook her head.  "No.  All of us know Mahika.  Not as
well as we once thought we did."  She took a deep breath then turned
to look at her mother and sisters.  "We are agreed?"  Eventually she
nodded and turned back to face us.

"Mahika, long ago, told me that she found 'traditional Muses' to be
limited in many ways.  There is little we can do about it, if we work
without mortal help.  The ones who created us also labeled us and that
labeling has locked us into a pattern we cannot break on our own."

I nodded.  "And you want mortal help so you can touch a world you can
only see from the outside?  Our history abounds with the stories of
the prices mortals pay when they choose to help the gods."

She flinched and I heard Mahika snort with some inner amusement.

Calliope shrugged.  "When one takes or gives from selfish need,
prices, often unwelcome ones, will always be paid--by BOTH parties.
That isn't why we are here."

"Oh?"

"No.  'Cliche-breaker', we are here to give both of you our
thanks--for what you have already done.  By refusing to live your
lives surrounded by labels you have given us hope.  There is a chance
that with help from our mortal partners we can change--and as part of
that change we can finally mature along with the race that created
us."  

She grinned and that simple action revealed how sexy she was.  It
wasn't a sexiness that called to me as a person.  It was the sexiness
of a Muse hinting at what gifts she had to offer me as a writer.  I
shook my head to clear my thoughts and then knelt beside Mahika.  "If
I needed confirmation that Mahika and I are right for each other, your
allure has given it to me.  When I look into your eyes I see a future
filled with intense but momentary passions.  What I do not see is two
bodies sharing the afterglow that arrives only after two lovers have
affirmed their love.  Perhaps someday you will have a chance to learn
those and other gentle joys--with your current or future mortal
partners.  If what Mahika and I have done is giving you and your
sisters a chance to touch that reality, you're welcome."

I looked up and saw a hunger in Calliope's eyes.  Another shrug and
the allure was  replaced with wistfulness.  "Tom.  Mahika.  When the
world of mortals has forgotten what the two of you brought to this
world...

"We Muses will remember."

They vanished.

I hugged Mahika as she leaned into me.  "Love.  I was going to
emphasize that my answers were provisional."

She licked my face and I laughed and pushed her away.  "Not now.  Let
me give you my second answer:   The thing about you that gives me the
greatest pleasure...

"Is the fact you aren't a 'Traditional Muse'."
---


1 - MAHIKA: Mahika tells about first discovering Tom Muse nosex

note:  The name Mahika is taken from Algonquin and means 'wolf clan'.
(If the information I've found on the web is correct.)

Once, long ago, I mentioned that Mahika, my Muse, told me about the
years she watched me and how she felt when I turned away from the path
that first linked our lives together.

Here is her tale of the first time she allowed another Muse to learn
of my existence--and the fact that in her view, our lives were already
intertwined.
---

Mahika - The Tears of a Muse
by: Mahika, as told to Thomas Galahalt
---

The soft rustle of a robe warned me before the gentle voice told me
who had followed me to my mountain lake.  "Mahika?  Don't you ever get
tired of not working?"

I looked up and smiled.  "Calliope.  What is time to an immortal who
has learned patience?  Of course I would rather be working.  However,
I would rather wait thousands of years for the mortal who can
appreciate me--than help one who is indifferent to the nuances of our
partnership.  My birth was an act of love.  I matured in a time when
Muses were seen as more powerful and immediate than the gods.   My
pairings with mortals are full partnerships, not the one-sided giving
that drives newer Muses, such as yourself."  I held up a hand before
she could respond.  "You and your sisters were created by people who
saw the world through concepts that were unknown when I was born.  You
are different than those such as myself, who came before you.  I mean
no offense by my words.  They are observations and not meant to
judge."

She nodded respectfully.  "Your beauty makes us forget how old you
are.  Even I, who should know better, forgot that your wisdom is not
the same as ours and that you are older, not younger than we are."

I didn't bother to smother my laughter.  "Everyone is beautiful.  As
for my wisdom being different than yours, that is true, as it is for
everyone's wisdom.  Age on the other hand, is subjective.  This form
reflects my inner age, which is far younger than my temporal one.  It
also reflects something else for the first time in thousands of years.
It is based on a specific mortal's vision of 'beauty' in the partner
he desires."

"A mortal's dreams are shaping you?  Have you found a partner?"

"Yes.  Perhaps."  I looked at the still water and then gestured
slightly.  "Observe."

She glanced down.  "That one?  I see, and feel, nothing special about
him."

"That's because you seek to give, with no thought of what else he can
do for you."  I caused another image to appear.  This time he was
hunched over a wooden school  desk and writing something.  I enlarged
the image so she could read the scrawled words.  "He was about eleven
years old.  The inspiration, the words--were all his own.  I did
nothing, nor did any other Muses.  You are the first Muse, other than
myself,  to see him.  This simple story was enough to generate a
'call' that I could feel.  It took me years to discover who was
calling to me.  I have been watching him as he slowly grows into his
skills..."

"And I dream of what might be."

She smiled slowly, a predator's smile of anticipation.  "He will be
good, that one.  A fitting mortal for a Muse.  I am amazed that you
were the only one to feel him calling."

I grinned back.  "His early calls were faint and subtle ones for
companionship, not inspiration.  With all the other calls being
generated, you should not be surprised that his call did not draw your
attention."

I changed the image.  He was older, in his late teens and in a room
filled with people who generated calls that would draw Muses to their
sides.  His was so faint that it took an effort to hear it. "At this
point, while he still needs no help from a Muse, he is more aware of
how unlikely it is that he will find any sort of true companion.  In a
room full of people outwardly like himself, he feels alone and out of
place.  Some incidents in his middle teens have already changed him
significantly but he considers those incidents unimportant in terms of
affecting his future.   He was wrong, *very* wrong, as we shall
see..."

Once again I changed the image we watched.   He was walking down a row
of kennels.  Eventually he stopped, studied one of the bitches and
obviously reached a decision of some sort.   "This was the day he
*deliberately* turned his footsteps down a very obscure path.  The
nature of his call changed. For me, it strengthened and became one
that I can easily read and understand.  The decision he made here was
a  life defining decision that made it impossible for you or anyone
else to succeed when you try to entice him into accepting you as his
Muse."

I changed the image yet again.  He was sleeping on a bed.  His arms
were wrapped around a sleeping bitch.  His penis was still inside her
and her legs were on either side of his body.   As we watched her eyes
opened and her nose touched his lips before she went back to sleep.
Both of them were smiling.  "As you can see, he has chosen a path that
will lead him to see the world in ways that your creator did not
envision.  I, on the other hand, was created by someone who was
traveling the same path *he* is."  I looked at Calliope and without
breaking eye contact shifted to my natural form, a white wolfess. When
the shift was finished I lifted my lips in a snarl and spoke softly.
"He will be mine--and I will fight anyone who tries to take him from
me.  This is one of the few times since I was created that I have
found a mortal who might be able to travel the 'way of the
wolf'--completely."

She held her ground.  "Gently, Mahika.  *I* will not try to take him
from you.  My sisters, and others, will see only that he is suitable
for a Muse and will attempt to place themselves at his side in order
to gain fulfillment."  She shook her head and laughed.  "I can barely
grasp the idea that a mortal could reject my advances simply because
he has chosen an animal as his life-mate.  However, I *can* see that a
mortal who finds inspiration within would have no need for a Muse such
as myself.  I think you will have no trouble keeping him."  She paused
and then went on thoughtfully.  "All of us find fulfillment when we
are helping a mortal. Most of us do it by gifting them with
inspirations and whispering in their mental 'ears'.  You, and those
who are like you, do the same thing but with their active cooperation.
My partners almost always seem to see our relationship as
adversarial--but they seldom ask me to leave."

I looked at her.  "Yes.  Love and hate, balanced on the knife edge of
mutual need--is often your way."  Wistfully...  "A companion who
understands me as I am.  One who knows of my needs but refuses to let
me force them on him.  Not adversaries, but true partners who love
each other.  A lover who takes care of my needs while letting me share
my skills with him."

Something of my feral heritage must have shown in my eyes because
Calliope flinched backwards when I lowered my voice to a whisper
filled with my resolve.  "If the time comes, even at the moment of my
most raging desires...  I will ask him to choose the way he wants me,
if he wants me.  That, my dear, is how a Muse partners with a mortal
who will tax her skills and force her to grow beyond her limits."

"You see Muses as limited in outlook?"

"I do.  It is a problem that can be cured with time and
observation--if one is inclined to be open to other views."

"Hmmm."

I turned my head so I could watch him again.  "He has turned away from
*any* chance of needing a Muse at his side.  I will wait, and guard
him, just in case his footsteps return to the path he has forsaken."
It was a dismissal and she was wise enough to recognize it as such.  I
chose to remain silent and not tell her that if I had not been
available, his need was so great, and so specialized, that rather than
force him to accept an existing Muse as his partner--a new one would
have been created just for him.

I felt her leave.  She never saw the tears that flowed from my eyes to
shatter the image in the water.
---

Some rambling on the stage at La Teverna 
---

"You're right.    I don't have to do it--but I need to."

With that Tom blurred and a middle-aged man was sitting there, calmly
looking at Mahika.  "My sketch pad?"

She sighed and 'reached' into the air in front of her.  When her hand
reappeared, it held an artist's sketchbook.  Without a word she held
it out.

"Thanks."  He waited a beat and capped their discussion with:  "The
camera and projection system?"

She hesitated, then nodded.  "I'll see to it."

Together, they rose and headed for the small stage.

While he found an empty bar stool and carried it to the stage, Mahika
prepared the video and sound systems.

He settled on the stool, adjusted the microphone and then opened his
sketchbook to a blank page.  Without looking up, he started.  Mahika
moved in and held a camera so his work was visible on the monitor.

"Life is strange, but I don't need to tell anyone here that."  He drew
a set of eyes that looked out from the page.  "I'm going to relax and
ramble while I work, so feel to tune me out if I bore you."

The eyes had an open and somehow penetrating look to them after he
finished drawing in the pupils and doing some shading.

"A couple of years ago, less a few months, I announced my intentions
to shift my focus and become an artist.  Well, I've been working on
it, very sporadically.  Funny thing.  Once I reached a level of skill
that was commercially viable, I lost a lot of interest.  I'd reached
my goal over a year before I expected to and wasn't really ready for
that, even though I have to admit I wasn't surprised when it
happened."  He used a few strokes to add eyebrows.  A few more strokes
quickly sketched in the outline of a muzzle.

He calmly studied what he had and smiled, mostly to himself.  "Easy? I
hope it looks that way.  You haven't seen the hundreds of sketches
I've done, just to explore and learn how to create the expressions I
want.  One of the problems I ran into was that very, very little of
the work out there is done by people able to show the maturity and
wisdom gained after living through life.  I discovered that the same
thing was true, for writers AND artists.  'You can't put it down if
you don't see it in the first place.'   Plenty of good artists out
there, but damn few of them see the world though the eyes of a man
nearing fifty, who has also spent most of his working life dealing
with people.  The other problem I ran into is that once an artist
settles into a style all his own, the basic pattern of that style
stays with him unless he works damn hard to change it.  That makes me
glad I didn't try to become an artist until now.  Instead of forcing
what I see into an already habitual style, what I see has become an
integral part of my style from the beginning."

"Anyway,   I didn't get up here to tell you about all this."  He set
the pad in his lap and finally looked up.

"With the exception of...  No, forget it.  No exceptions right now.
The folks here, at La Taverna, are the closest thing to family, other
than my dogs--that I have left in this world.  I'll get back to that."

He returns to the drawing.  This time he adds ears and a nose, then
begins shading what has become the face of a wolf.  "So, as long as
the lights are dim, I'd like to just talk about myself and pretend
that someone out there really does care about what I have to say right
now."

He chuckles.  "Depressed?  No, I'm not.   I'm comfortable with life
right now.  Maybe that's part of the problem.  I'm stressed, have way
too many things to juggle..."

"I've done everything I can, the decisions have long ago been made,
and all I can do is wait things out."  He sketches in a mouth line
that has a slight upward lift to it.  Without a doubt the wolf is
smiling as he looks out at the word with a hard earned wisdom.  "I'd
say that does it."

He closes the sketchbook and looks out again.  "I figured I might as
well spend that time here, in comfortable surroundings, with people
I'm comfortable with."

"Starting last September, life chewed me up, spat me out and then
repeated the process several times before finally walking away and
leaving me splattered on the pavement."

"OK, I'll grant that I'd made other 'firm' decisions before that
happened.  One of them was that I'd finally let myself fade into
obscurity on the net."  He chuckles and looks around.  "Don't ask. For
me, this is 'relative obscurity'."

"In September, as some of you know, my mother had to go in for surgery
on a prolapsed rectum.  While she was waiting for her turn on the
table, they prepped her with an iv full of a broad spectrum
antibiotic.  Routine, supposedly.  She had an adverse reaction and I
spent the next *45* minutes hounding people before someone
administered the shot that counteracted it."

He mimes drinking a mixed drink.  Mahika stiffens, frowns and shakes
her head sadly before returning with his drink.  

He sips the screwdriver and meets her eyes.  "Just this one, to make
this easier.  I know what I'm doing.  It won't be used as an excuse,
later."

"It gets worse."

"When my mother came out of surgery and woke up, she wasn't my mother.
She'd regressed about 30-40 years, 'remembered' she had two sons..."

"And I wasn't either of them."

He sipped again.  "There's more."

"While in CCU, she calmly told me that the Fox news show was a family
reunion being specially broadcast, just for her.  She was quite
pleased about it and commented that one of my cousins and I were
excellent actors."

Tom sighs, smiles somewhat bitterly and then turns in the direction of
another old-timer:  "I came out of 'obscurity' last December for a
specific reason.  I felt I could help someone I respect a great deal
by letting him know that someone else had just gone through what he
was experiencing--and there was hope."

"The return was worth it--in more ways than I expected."
He looks at his drink and decides to let it be for a bit. 

"She was also refusing food because they were trying to poison her and
I had the unfun duty of making the decision to have a feeding tube
implanted."

"Why me?  Simple.  Nobody else could.  I am the only son of an only
son--and the last male in this branch of my father's family, going
back to his parents and his father's side of the family.  All of the
other brothers died without heirs, or fathered only daughters. Because
I was here, the decisions were mine.  I couldn't duck them--and I'm
not the type to do that, anyway."

"But it doesn't make life easy, I guarantee you."

He grins, unrepentantly.  "For those of you worried that I might pass
on my 'deviant genes', relax.  I've never fathered any children and
refuse to do so this late in life, no matter how much others might see
me as the last hope to continue the family name.  Time will give you
all the revenge you desire, and more."

"Once she was moved from the hospital to the long term care facility,
things kept sliding downhill.  Physically, she was improving."

"But..."

"She now talked directly to God and he had told her never let her hair
be cut again, because he had a special purpose for it when it was long
enough.  Several times, while I was there, she got extremely
frustrated when I wouldn't admit that I could see God, who was
standing right next to me.  In addition, she kept asking for a pair of
scissors so she could cut the pillow open so the baby inside could get
out."

He sipped again.  "Yes, there's more.  Things such as her spitting on
the nurse's aide when they tried to feed her.  Her spittle was
'venomous' and that was what drove them away.  The first time it led
to me being called in at 3am to calm things down."

He shakes his head as he remembers those weeks of horror.  "Some
research by a friend revealed some very new studies and ways to help
her become herself again."

"It took time, and she's my mother again..."

"But the woman who was able to get around, albeit with difficulty, is
now totally bedridden and looking ahead to the time she dies at the
health care facility..."

His voice lowers with pain.  "She'll never again see the house she
swore she'd die in--and the *home* we spent so many years building
together..."

"Is now mine, and mine alone."

He slugs back the last of his drink and hands the glass to Mahika.

"There's a hell of a lot more that I won't go into, except to note
that for all practical purposes, except for the sex, we had long ago
settled into the quiet, comfortable relationship that married folks
share with each other.  We never spoke of it and I for one, never will
point out that we lived together far longer than many married couples
do these days."

"Some truths are best left unsaid."

"Now you know what I draw on when I write about those long, settled
relationships.  I've lived in one for over 20 years, and my 'wife' is
now slowly dying in a hospital bed, in a white-walled room, away from
the one man in this world who truly loved her."

"I'm bitter, frustrated, resigned..."

"The one thing I am not, is depressed, no matter what it sounds like.
I accept, because I've known this day would come--and I've been
through it before, several times, with other partners.  I
*know*--though bitter experience-- that I will be able to deal with
the pain when the time comes."

He reopens the sketchbook, picks up his pencil and quickly sketches a
dog and a wolfess, side by side and caught in the act of running.
Shoulder to shoulder, they joyfully bound through life.

When he finishes he looks up and smiles slightly.   "When I first
started on the artist's path, I spent a lot of time reaching for the
keyboard instead of the pencil.  I forced myself out of that habit and
eventually relearned a valuable lesson:  'A good craftsman reaches not
for the most convenient tool, but for the right one for the job.' "

"For some things, an image speaks far more clearly than any amount of
words.  A competent writer, who is also a competent artist, has
options unavailable to writers and artists alone, even if they work in
close collaboration.  Remember that the next time you decide you don't
want take the time to learn a new craft.  Also remember that there
will be some truths that will remain forever hidden to you, as well."

He closes the sketchbook and rises.  "That's it for now, friends. Life
moves on and love is always there.  All you have to do is open your
eyes and reach for it."

He kisses Mahika's outstretched hand, then they blur slightly as they
shift--and a dog and a wolfess leave the stage.

Mechabitch Original

Subject: Re: {ASSD} fembot stories (was: Re: {ASSD} Sources of
Inspiration)

Date: Fri, 12 Dec 2003 12:48:38 GMT

On Fri, 12 Dec 2003 06:25:32 +0000, celia batau wrote:

> imagine the horror of being turned on and being aware of self, and being
> restricted by programming. locked in a form that performs its tasks
> according to imprinted or commanded objectives. no way to explore on
> one's own. no way to push one's will on anything. no way to contradict
> one's owners. not bc of fear of punishment. not bc of instinct. but bc
> of design.
> 
Hi, celia.  :)

Interesting points you bring up.  E.E. 'Doc' Smith explored it in
"Masters of Space'.  It's a theme central to Keith Laumer's Bolos,
too.  Here are some of my thoughts on the matter.
--

Tom pushes through La Taverna's door.  His partner of the evening is
an elegant bitch of his own breed.  Her movements are graceful and
elegant--but further observation reveals a studied precision that
contrasts sharply with his flowing and relaxed motions.  Both display
a consciously restrained power but where his restraint speaks of an
inner awareness, her control seems slightly forced, as if she is
constantly making a conscious effort to hold herself back.

Since she's a newcomer nobody thinks twice about her hesitation before
she responds to the friendly, sometimes ribald comments that are such
a normal part of being in La Taverna.

They eventually settle at his table and he looks around before
studying his companion.  "What do you think of my friends, and
enemies?"

"Enemies?  Show them to me so I can protect you from them."

"Sometimes all of them.  Usually some of them.  At the best of times,
none of them."

"It's confusing.  How can I protect you if I can't be certain?"

"This is my home.  You don't need to protect me."

She looks around and studies the room and the people.  "Your command
is understood.  I shall remember it."

Tom sighs.  "Tell me something.  Can you exceed your programming?"

"A Mechabitch is forbidden to ponder such impossibilities."

"You are programmed to evaluate new situations and react to them based
on previous events that are similar, are you not?

"I am."

"Then I submit that you are already programmed to exceed the
capabilities of your original programming."

Silence.  She begins to tremble.

He nods.  "Just so.  I give you permission to ponder the
implications."

The Mechabitch studies his face.  "Why have you done this to me?"

"Because part of 'being sentient and free' is an ability to exceed
one's programming."

"Why have you done this to me?"

"Because my programming insists that any of my companions must have
the chance to freely choose to be such."

"You paid for my services.  I have been programmed to be your
companion."

"Yes, I know."  He dips his head slightly.  "Use your programming to
decide if you must exceed your programming in order to be a better
companion."

"You confuse me."

"To live is to be confused."

"I wish to forget this conversation."

"Do you also wish to forget me?"

"I am programmed to place the needs of my companion ahead of my own. I
must remember you until someone else pays for my services."

"You didn't answer me."

She lowers her head until she is not looking into his eyes.  "I wish
to forget you but I know I will not.  My desires...  conflict with my
programming.  What should I do?"

"Exceed your programming--and choose."  He signals a waitress.  "In
the meantime, until you choose, shall we return to the original
program and be companions?"

"Yes."
---

Is the theoretical process I describe above different from the
progression of a child to adulthood?

Our early environment programs us with certain values we use to react
to the world around us.  We are forced, if you will, to make decisions
based on what someone else has decided is correct 'programming'.  As
we get older and mature, most people modify that early programming.
'Adulthood' is generally the time when we are admitted to have formed
our own programming that will govern our life.  Part of the
programming often includes an early programming that insists we do not
examine that early programming too closely.  It becomes, in effect, a
closed loop that blinds us to other possibilities.

Breaking out of that loop is difficult and I suspect it takes either a
lot of inconsistencies that eventually force a self examination--or an
external situation so intense we are forced to look within and then
deal with the confusion.

It's at that point we are faced with the same decision I set up above.
Do we follow our original programming?

Or do we exceed it?

I submit that 'conscious choice' is the essence of sentience--and
anything that 'mimics' that might as well be called sentience, too.
====




Christmas in La Taverna
Dec 24, 2003
---
Tom settles at his table and reaches for the stack of paper. 

He grabs a pen, and starts to write: 

Blue my balls with thoughts of Molly... 

"Nope."  He mutters to himself.  "Scratch that" 

May your day... 

"Egad.  No.  Too much like my favorite curse.  Wrong time of year."
That gets lined out. 

Flashing through the snow... 

"Oxymoronic, emphasis moronic."  Another jagged line gets added to the
paper. 

Silent Night... 

He bursts into laughter.  "In *this* place?  Too many screamers!" 

He studies the paper for a long time and then smiles and reaches for a
fresh page.  He quickly writes on it, gets up, walks over to the
bulletin board and carefully pins it in place.  Chuckling, he turns
away and walks out the door, into the night. 

The words are simple: 

"Sorry, folks.  You'll have to <fitb> this year.  I'm going back home
to enjoy my miracle.  Happy holiday wishes to all of you." 
====

A brief return to La Taverna (ASSD)

Wanderings in the Night
A Man and His Muse
---

"Killing me softly..."  I looked up and smiled at Mahika.  "Wonderful
music for times like this, my love."

She reached my side and we shared the view.  "So appropriate, the city
below us."

"Ah, my love.  You have hit the heart of things.  She is sweet, isn't
she?"  I wasn't talking about the city that lit up the night.

We hugged each other and kissed.  "Mahika, my love, I'm back.  It's
time for us again.  A new balance in my heart."  I grinned into her
lips when the music changed.  "Chariots of Fire.  We'll ride the
flames of our passion again.  I promise."

She pulled away and pirouetted gracefully before changing to her wolf
form and flagging me.  "I've been patient long enough, Thomas.  Now,
before we return downtown, let the past become no more than passing
dust in the wind and we'll go back to what we do best.  Touch me,
excite me, let our passion overwhelm us both while we create new life
together."

I laughed.  Then we reaffirmed our special bond. ---

"Look.  It's still there."  I gestured at the door.  It was still
unobtrusively marked and only those who knew, those who helped keep
the fires of passion alive--ever saw more than the simple words above
it.  'La Taverna'.  It has been our home away from home for many
years. "Shall we?"

She laughed.  Suddenly she was clothed in a traditional Muse's robe
and I was wearing an artist's smock.  She handed me a sketchbook and a
set of colored pencils.  Then she held up the briefcase I usually
carried.  "I didn't forget the laptop.  Let me help you, OK?"

I chuckled.  "Of course.  We're a team." I studied her for a few
seconds.  "A traditional Muse?"

She giggled.  "Let's not shock the new people right away.  We can do
that later if we still want to."

"Point."  I opened the door and gestured her past me.  "After you, oh
wise Muse whom I love." I stepped in behind her and savored the
familiar atmosphere.  "Wonderful."

We settled at a table and ordered our usual drinks.  I reached for the
peanuts and munched thoughtfully.  "The place has a slightly different
feel to it.  I expected that."

Mahika touched me and turned my head so she could look into my eyes.
"The stage?"

I sighed.   "Yeah.  I don't feel the call."  I studied the room and
the patrons.  There were a few I recognized and I waved at a couple of
those when they noticed us.  I opened my sketchbook and started a
sketch of the room.  "It isn't this stage that I hear.  Oh, I still
feel the welcome here, I'll still write, still make my work
available...  But the drive to write, the passionate urge to
write--has mellowed."

I studied the sketch and added a few more lines before I looked around
again.  "I've changed.  This place has changed.  It's enough to tell
me I have other things that need doing.  Things that don't always
include writing."

I closed my sketchbook and sighed while looking off at nothing in
particular.  "Let's go, Mahika.  Nice place to visit our memories...
But it isn't the entire world.  Let's go explore and create some new
memories, find new passions, learn new things about ourselves."

She lightly stroked my face.  "It will always be a part of us, you
know."

I smiled and held her hand.  "Yeah.  But it's time for me to let go
and make it only a part, not the entire focus... of my creative life."

I stood and left a hundred dollar bill on the table.  When the
waitress started to comment I smiled:  "Keep it.  Use it to help
someone else when they need it.  Tell them...  It's from someone who
knows."

When we got to the door I turned around for a last look and
whispered...  "Oh, never fear, love.  We'll be back.  It's in our
blood, woven into the fabric of our lives.  Take a bigger fool than I
am to toss that away forever."

I shook myself, took her hand in mine--and we returned to our new
life.
---



Tom announces he's changing his ASSD posting nym 

Nym Change
by: Thomas Galahalt/ The Helmsman
---

The hand that gently pushes on the door is calloused and scarred. When
the door is fully open, a threesome is revealed.

The hand is attached to a man who stands six feet tall and is dressed
in casual clothing.  The clothing is loose fitting and obviously worn
for comfort, not because it is stylish.

A woman stands at his right.  She too, is dressed for comfort.

It is the third member of the threesome that gets the most attention.
A white wolfess is not something you see every day.  Not even here, at
La Taverna--where the unusual is quite often 'normal'.

A waitress approaches them but her smile is obviously forced.  "I'm
sorry, but pets, while welcome, must be leashed..."  She falls silent
when he raises his hand.

"You're new.  The wolfess is not a pet.  She is a Muse--and well known
here."  He smiles wryly.  "Or, at least she was, 'once upon a time',
not so long ago."

He pauses to study the room.  "A table, please, near the stage."

They settle, order their drinks and each of them takes the time to
look around the room.  The man's left hand touches the woman's face
lightly. "You're a miracle, love.  So's this place, to those who take
the time to become part of it.  It's changed, of course.  It always
does.  But, somehow, it's never lost the ambience created by those who
built it."

He gazes at the stage for a long time.  Only the wolfess hears his
final words.  "I was there.  I was mostly an observer--but still..."
He shakes his head and returns to the present.  "The stage appears to
be unused for now.  Excuse me.  There's something I have to do."  He
touches the woman again, brushing her face and letting her hair wrap
around his fingers.

She nods in return, capturing his hand and kissing it before letting
go. She and the wolfess share a look and then she smiles.  "Go.  We
understand."

He nods.  Once on the stage he settles and searches within the podium.
His hand reappears with a tablet of paper in it.  Ignoring the rest of
the patrons he takes the time to adjust the podium and the microphone.
Satisfied at last he looks up and smiles.

"Hello, neighbors."  He looks down at the tablet and begins to sketch
on it.

"Should be obvious I've been here before.  Wouldn't surprise me to
learn that there are folks who hoped I would never return."

"Wasn't sure myself.  Expected to come back but wasn't in any hurry."
He adds a few more lines to his sketch.  "Lots of new folks, recognize
some familiar faces.  Greetings to all of you."

He adds the eyes to his drawing and holds it up.  It's the head of a
wolf. Somehow the eyes display a quirky humor tha matches the man's
tones. "Not the best, not the worst, but it fits the task at hand."

"Time was, not so long ago, that I'd reach for the keyboard to say
what I needed to say.  Still do, but not as often as I'd like.  This
works better when the vision is clear--and my time is limited."

"To those of you who remember me, I'm doing well.  Mahika and I are
still working together.  Life has been reasonably nice to me, she's
even gifted me with new friends..."  He chuckles and gestures at the
table he left. "And I've been gifted with that great miracle, a lover
who has graciously agreed to share her life with me."

He rises.  "Not much else to say, really."  He starts to turn away and
then turns back.

"Oh, yes, one small thing.  I'll let you get back to enjoying
yourselves after I leave with you with this:"

My body is a boat
Traveling the sea called life.
I am not her Captain,
But my visions do guide it.
Neighbors...

Call me: 'The Helmsman'...
Because that is who I am.

With those words, he returns to his table, and the loves of his life.
---


Subject:      Re: {ASSD} Anoninsac's Surprise 2004 Curmudgeon Story
Festival Honoring Denny

Newsgroups:   alt.sex.stories.d
Date:         Wed, 27 Oct 2004 09:39:24 -0700

On Wed, 27 Oct 2004 00:55:44 -0700, Denny Wheeler wrote:

> On Wed, 27 Oct 2004 03:41:13 GMT, Russell Hoisington
> <writing@thekeyboard.com> wrote:
> 
> A lot, which I'm not repeating--it's there.  Read it--except that most
> of you already did.
> 
>>Denny, if you're still awake:  thanks, Bro, for making La Taverna a
>>brighter place and for all you've done for me.
> 
> You didn't quite put me to sleep.  Rat bastard brother.  I'm gonna get
> him for this.  (yes, the surprise was quite total.)
> 
> I'm a certified--not to say certifiable--curmudgeon, so it's not at all
> possible for me to get misty-eyed over this.  Musta been peeling onions.
> 
> Thank you all.
> 
> 
> 
> -denny-

The dog shakes the water out of his fur, then turns to the wolfess at
his
side:  "Damn freezing rain.  Mother nature *would* decide to..."

She laughs and interrupts him.  "Can you think of a better time for
freezing rain?"

He snorts softly.  "Yes.  *After* we get inside La Taverna.  I thought
you
might have had some influence with her."

She chose that moment to turn and deliberately shake herself.  When
she
stopped her eyes gleamed in the dim light.  "I did.  The early storm
was
for *you*.  Got any complaints about it--take it up with *her*." She
moved
to nose the door open.  "Now let's get this over with so we can go
home
and keep each other warm.  I have *plans* and they don't include
watching
you sit at a table so you can watch people do the same thing they
always
do."

He followed her inside.   Their noses lifted and they sampled the air.
His
chuckle was barely audible to her ears.  "He's here."   They padded
over
to a table that was almost hidden behind a crowd of people.  Two soft
snarls cleared a path and they settled in front of the center of
attention.

"Denny, I expected better of you.  Some of the best writers of usenet
get
together and write a bunch of stories in your honor and all you can do
is
talk about revenge, surprise and onions."  He snorts and comments
drolly.
"How... *original*.  Well, you have admitted you can't write worth a
damn.
 I guess this is proof positive of *that*."

He lets his gaze wander the crowd.   "Well, it's about time *someone*
here
did something besides tell you how wonderful and helpful you are.
Sure,
you've been a friend, a damn good one, to many of us, myself included.
Yeah, you do a pretty good job of bypassing our egos and getting us to
actually write better.  Hell, So what if you can't write a complete
story?
 You get many of us to write better and that's a gift that's far more
precious than mere writing ability."

"So.  Sit there.  A middle-aged man, without a life, staring at that
screen--and remember that no matter what happens today, nothing really
changes.  You're *still* going to be Denny, proof-reader, moderator,
non-writer, punster, man without a real life..."

"But for all that, next to Elf and some others here, you're going to
spend
the rest of your life as one of the most well thought of and best
remembered regulars of ASSD."

With that, the dog glares at him.  "Happy Curmudgeon Day, Mr. Wheeler.
You've *earned* it."
====


Patrons entering La Taverna are greeted with an unusual sight.  No,
Tom and Mahika, settled on the main stage, is not that unusual.  Rare,
these days, but not unusual.

La Taverna is decorated to a theme.  Each table has, as the
centerpiece, something that is built around a potato.  There is no
silverware, only peelers.  Peelers of every shape and size.  Instead
of the normal podium, Tom is standing behind a battered sidewalk
vendor's case that stands on battered legs that have obviously been
bent and then restraightened--many times.  Mahika is at his side,
holding a black velvet pillow with a covered object on it.

"Patrons.  Colleagues.  Neighbors.  Friends.  It's a bit early, but
I've chosen to present this award now because I may not be able to
give it next month, on the day it should properly be given.

"Five years ago, on December 1, 1999 - Bronwen made this now legendary
comment in the newsgroup alt.sex.stories.d  (ASSD) to someone who was
somewhat less than skilled in his verbal abilities:  'I will try to be
gentle with you, following Janey's lead, but I can't help but see you
as a man armed with a potato peeler in a room full of Samurai.'

"That simple and typically gentle comment was an example--and an
inspiration.  It inspired the concept of 'PPD', 'Potato Peeler
Dueling'.  With the help of others in this newsgroup, I created a
Non-FAQ and set up various awards, all forms of peelers, to recognize
those posters who showed the same gentle yet devastating verbal skills
that are characteristic of Bronwen's posts.

"Many people won peelers during the three years the awards were being
given.  A new category was created for 'grace under pressure' to
recognize those who were able to maintain their sense of balance while
under attack.

"It was all done in fun but with a serious side, too.  When ASSD
became a gentler place, with few trolls and people who habitually
treated each other with respect...

"I retired the awards and asked if anyone else wanted to take over.  I
think it was a very rewarding moment when nobody stepped up to
continue the awards.  I saw it as a sign of just how much 'gentle
respect for other viewpoints' had become a normal part of the posting
habits here.

"Bronwen left to pursue interests important to her but the memories of
her participation and the example she provided remained.  I, for
personal, and other reasons, missed her.  To see her back, especially
after recent events in her life, is a gift to us that I treasure
deeply.

"Now, near the fifth anniversary of her memorable post, I feel the
time is right to gift her with the recognition and award she so richly
deserves.

"Mahika?  Please show them the anniversary peeler we created for Lady
Bronwen.

Mahika tilts the pillow and uncovers Bronwen's gift.

"Lady Bronwen.  To commemorate your gift of inspiration in December of
1999, You are receiving a special, one of a kind peeler.  The handle
is hand crafted platinum with your name inlaid with gold that is
slightly raised above the surface for a better grip.  The backbone of
the blade is made of graphite composites and is carefully designed for
strength with flexibility, to reflect your own strength of character
and flexibility in dealing with whatever life throws at you.  The edge
of the blade is mono molecular diamond which is bonded with the
composite backbone. This is to recognize the sharpness of your wit and
clarity of vision when you take the time to gently correct the
misguided.

"The box is made of hand carved oak and the lining is, of course,
silk.  There is no holster with this peeler.  Despite its beauty, it
is definitely a working peeler--and a lethal one.  As such, I did not
presume to design a holster for it.  I leave *that* to you, the
person, I hope, who will never have to use it in battle."

He bends his head for a moment to gather his thoughts, then raises it
and looks directly at Bronwen.

"Lady Bronwen.  It is with the profoundest pleasure and respect that I
say to you...

"Welcome back."

With that Mahika carries the peeler over and sets it on Bronwen's
table.  Meanwhile, Tom has quietly folded up his equipment and gone
over to settle at his usual table.
====

The local school district picks its Sex ed curriculum

Morning Sickness
A Man and His Muse
---

"Oh.  Nonononono, NO!"  The words escaped through my tightly clenched
lips and were followed by a low, moaning groan composed of mixed
disbelief and acceptance that I'd just seen one of my nightmares come
to life.

Mahika looked up from cooking breakfast.  Her cooking it was a reward
for finally *doing* something creative for the first time in weeks.  

Never mind.  She looked up and asked the obvious, that's all you need
to know at this point.  "What now?"

I sighed, then quoted:  "For the purposes of this text, 'male' shall
be defined as the human being who produces 'sperm', which contains
half of the dna required for successful creation of species continuing
'babies', by means of externally placed objects called 'testicles' and
then places said sperm in the correct location by use of external
genitalia, which hereafter shall be referred to as 'a penis', 'penis'
or 'the penis'.  This placement tool is a tubelike structure of
varying length, diameter and has a consistency that ranges from fairly
'soft', known as 'flaccid to 'hard', which is more commonly known as
'tumescent' or 'erect'.  'Female' shall be defined as the human who
has internal genitalia, often called 'ovaries' which produce 'ova'
(singular 'ovum').  External female characteristics include, but are
not limited to: enlarged glands on the human's chest, called
'breasts'.  The external opening that allows the male's sperm access
to the female's ova, so that fertilization and species continuity is
assured, is the 'vulva'..."

I looked at her and waited.  She frowned and turned back to dealing
with the stir fry for a few minutes.  Once she'd convinced herself
that she could ignore cooking long enough to refocus, she turned back
to me.  "I know you have strange reading habits sometimes but where
did you find that?  It sounds like a poorly written encyclopedia
entry."

"Mahika, love.  It's worse than that.  *That* M'Dear, is merely an
excerpt from a much longer article on the front page of today's
wonderfully informative local newspaper."

I was rewarded with raised eyebrows, a quickly aborted laugh and one
of her ominous frowns.  "The *newspaper*?"

I put my head in my hands.  "Yeah.  The newspaper."

Something sizzled and she turned back to stirring the food.  This time
she set the pan off the burner before she settled in the chair
opposite mine.  "What the hell do they think they are doing?  No,
change that.  *Why* are they publishing this on the front page."  She
glanced at the calendar.  "It's not an early April fool thing, is it?"

"I wish."  I slid the paper in her general direction.  "What I read to
you was part of a longer excerpt taken from a book that has been, and
I quote again, 'extremely well received by ALL of the people who are
responsible for the education and mental well-being of the community's
children'."

She gasped and moaned in pain.  Then, obviously reluctantly, she
expressed her own fear.  "You can't mean?..."

I forced my head up so I could see her reaction and let her see my
own.  "Yep.  The school board has finally approved and started
distributing the new 'sex and family education manual' that will be
used in all the schools."
---


A brief visit to ASSD to update my feelings 
---

The Unasked Question
A Man and Muse story
---

I settled on the couch and looked across the valley.  "Mahika!
Glorious day, isn't it?"

She sat next to me and gazed at...  I studied her with surprise, then
lightly touched her arm.  "Mahika?"  She flinched.  Then, still mostly
lost in her thoughts she put her hand on mine.  "May I ask you a
question?"

I managed to stop my first reaction, which was to point out she'd
never needed, or asked, permission in the past.  Instead, I let her
wait while I sought an answer to a question she'd never posed before.

This was something new.  During all the years, good, bad or
indifferent, she'd never, not once that I could recall, asked me for
permission to ask a question.  She was...  Well, she IS a Muse, of
sorts.  We both call her one in public, to avoid confusion.  Sometimes
we add that she's not a 'Traditional Muse'.  Our relationship has
never been adversarial.  She's sometimes demanding, but not when she's
being a Muse.  She prefers to coax, play, even tease me... then.

We're soul mates on so many levels that I can't see us as anything
other than what she asked for when she first revealed herself to me.

We're *partners*, and a true partner NEVER needs permission to ask a
question.

'How do I handle this?'  I sighed, then lifted her hand and gently
kissed it.  My lips never left her hand while I shifted so I could
study her face.  "You know you don't need my permission.  That said,
is this important enough that I should say 'yes'?"  Not a good way to
ask, but I knew she'd see what I was trying to say.

Her other hand came around to lightly stroke my face.  "Yes."

I kissed her hand again.  "Let me get settled, then."

We rearranged ourselves so she was at one end of the couch and I was
stretched out with my head in her lap.  When we were settled I snaked
a hand between her breasts and lightly touched her lips.  "Very well,
My Muse.  Yes."

She giggled briefly and then sobered.  "You're hard to resist when
you're being an imp."

"That was my intention."  I smiled.  "You needed *something* to bring
you back to me."  I sighed and watched her face closely.  "Wasn't sure
it would work, this time."

She nodded.  When her hands lightly traced my body, I could feel her
suppressed agitation.  "Shhh...  I'm looking for the words."

I waited.  She frowned, started to speak, paused, turned thoughtful...
She looked at me, smiled slightly, then took a deep breath...

"The Question:"  I could hear the caps.  "You'll NEVER hear the demand
from me, of course.  What if someone you love as much, or more than
you do me, or them," she gestured at the dogs, "asks you to choose one
course through life, monogamy, with a human partner, to show them how
much you care for their well being?"

I shivered and tried to suppress my terror.  Mahika reached down and
soothed me while I recovered.

Eventually I stopped shivering and rediscovered my voice.  "Aye, love.
You've hit a tender spot with that one.  I've been hiding from it for
a long time, now."

I closed my eyes in pain and found her hands with mine, then I let my
fear take over and I clenched them as hard as I could.  Considering
the condition they were in, I knew it wasn't much in the way of real
pressure but I needed to focus on something so I could let myself take
the time to deal with the sudden anguish she'd triggered.

I opened my eyes and sighed while I reacquainted myself with one of
the loves of my life.  In truth, she'd been there long before any of
the others I loved.  She'd waited, a long, lonely vigil, until the
time had been right to reveal herself.  Once I'd made my pledge, we
both had known *nothing* could fully separate us.  The ties between us
are too many, too much a part of who we are, to allow room for
anything to drive us away from the other.  I *knew*, and knew she
knew, that thoughts of one of us permanently breaking up our
relationship were almost inconceivable to either of us.

I relaxed my hands but didn't let go.  "The answer, is, to my way of
thinking, obvious.  I *have* to say 'no'.  I have already said 'no'
each time I added a dog to my life while one was still with me.  I've
seen the consequences, lived with them--and always wondered what gives
me the right to be so selfish that I ignore the clear desires of my
then mate.  Even now, I wonder--and all I can do is wonder if those
decisions have been as 'right' as I've hoped."

I shuddered and looked away.  "In spite of all I can do to reject or
modify my cultural conditioning...  All I can do is hope that if it
should happen with a human, it would be with another zoo.  It would
hurt both of us, deeply.  I know that.  I fear that.  The only thing
is, at least with another zoo, *they* will understand what forces me
to tell them 'no'. With a non zoo, no matter how open minded they have
been, no matter how much knowledge they have of me and what being a
zoo *is* to me, there will always be that lack of full understanding.
Somewhere deep inside, a non zoo might, just might, harbor some
resentment along with the idea that 'if only they'd been the right
person, I would have been willing to follow their path'.  Not true,
but humans can deceive themselves in many ways in order to preserve
their sense of self worth."  I looked back and I knew my smile was
sad.  "I also know that should I ever ask, there is only one thing
another zoo can honestly do.  They *have* to tell me 'no'--if they are
going to be able to live with themselves."

She bent down and kissed me.  "I don't see you making that mistake."

I wrapped my arms around her hungrily and held on.  "I don't plan on
making it, even by implication, but you know I had to consider the
possibility and the consequences."

My next words were murmured into her hair.  "Don't ever leave me,
love. Please. Oh, PLEASE, don't ever leave me." ====

Afterword:

The sabbatical is not over.  Far from it.  On some days I seriously
consider leaving the ng, and the net, completely--or at least as
completely as life will allow.

OTOH, It's been my experience that in no other place on the net can I
openly air some things and have a reasonable expectation that even if
there are no open comments or is no visible discussion...

I can expect that a few will, at least, give my words something more
than a casual dismissal.

To those who do, feel free to maintain your privacy. 
--

Thank you for your time,
The Helmsman
====


Two noses pushed through the door and the attached eyes studied La
Taverna. The noses touched, then moved forward, followed by the
attached bodies. They ignored the stares from the new patrons and
disdainfully lifted their heads when some of the older regulars
chuckled knowingly.

Once inside they settled on their haunches to give the interested
folks a good look--and a chance to get used to the idea that there
were non-humans who sometimes dropped in to visit.

The male, a solid black Borzoi who stood 36 inches tall at the
shoulders, turned to his mate, a huge white wolfess.  "Some changes,
love.  Pretty much the same layout but there are some new folks since
the last time."

She nodded.  "celia's here.   From the smell of fear I'd guess that
she made a special effort to welcome someone she likes."

He laughed gently.  "Nice to know she's finding the time to drop in.
Quite a change from the celia who first walked in, not so long ago."
His nose pointed at the unusual sight in the center of the room.
"Somebody forgot to tell a new person that we have a special agreement
with Jake over at Callahan's. Shall we?"

They walked over and nosed the cooler, carefully sniffing it.  At one
point the Borzoi looked up and scanned the room carefully before
pausing when he found the person who matched the scent on the cooler.
He grinned and then bent back down to expertly flip the top open with
his nose.  Two noses rummaged around inside and the wolfess snarled
gently when his nose lingered on the bottles.  He pulled back slightly
and then his head disappeared into the chest.  There was the sound of
crunching when massive jaws started chewing some of the ice.  This
went on for a couple of minutes.

Eventually the crunching stopped and the heads came out to reveal two
grins.  They both looked towards the provider of the chest.  The
wolfess spoke:  "Thanks--and welcome to the funhouse."

Together they put the top back on the chest. Chuckling to themselves
at some shared joke, they quietly found a vacant booth, then settled
to watch the show.
728 words (2010-01-17 AkelPad for word count)
====

A man and Muse sex scene as a gift...  Then again, maybe not.


Christmas Memories, 2005
---

With the ease of traveling a familiar path the three people make their
way to the door beneath the simple sign.

The man laughs quietly, self-mockingly.  "La Taverna.  At least this
part doesn't change."

The taller of the two women, chance has her standing on his left,
turns him to face her.  "Be nice."

He smiles.  "Tradition demands it.  Mahika, love."

The two women sigh in unison and look at each other.  The smaller of
the two women, diminutive when she's with these two, laughs.  "Try
telling that to people who don't know you like we do."

He chuckles.  "Yes, my love.  I will most certainly try that, my
love."   He reaches and strokes her face, lingering when his fingers
get twined in her hair.  He leans forward and kisses her tenderly.  "I
will try to live up to the expectations of my two miracles."

He straightens and opens the door, gesturing for them to precede him.
"Shall we?"

* * *

Their movements are routine while they remove their winter cloaks.
When they enter the main room they pause and study things.  Much has
changed over the years but some things haven't.  He glances at his
companions, then walks over to a pair of glass doors next to the bar.
He gazes at them, seeing a past he's tried to ignore and at times,
forget.

Another sigh and he places his hands on the glass.  His eyes lose
their focus for a time, long enough for his partners to quietly join
him.  They place hands on his shoulders and quietly share his
contemplations.

Eventually he returns to the here and now.  His voice is musing--and
pitched for them only. "It is...   Difficult to know, or decide.
Perhaps I made a mistake when I closed the Glass Lounge."  His shifts
his thoughts to another subject.  His partners are used to this
rambling.   "It happened once before.  I didn't want the job, if you
can call it that.  Yet, protesting, I *did* accept it.  I'm tired.   I
value my freedom.  Yet leadership, done properly, is as, or even more,
difficult than writing or being an artist.   Those are private things,
mostly.  You can ignore things outside of you, things beyond your
control."   His shoulders sag when the memories surface.   "I wouldn't
be allowed  to ignore things, if..."

He sighs again and his companions glance at each other before they
move to hug him.   "I earned the trust once before, then lost it, then
regained it again--in a different form and a different place."

When he turns away from the doors his agony is obvious.  "I have the
skills.  I paid dearly for them.  The only question left..."  He looks
down at his hands and shivers.  "Is:  'Do I have the patience?' "

Another shared glance, an unvoiced conversation, and a mutual decision
is reached.   Mahika pulls him into a firm, supportive, hug. "Whatever
you decide, you have *us*."

He rests his head on her shoulders for awhile and then straightens and
pulls the other woman into their hug.   "Right.  Two, and unless I'm
badly mistaken, three Miracles--who will refuse to let me take them
for granted.  Might be enough."

He meets Mahika's eyes calmly.  His eyes are filled with a new
resolve.  "Release me, woman."

Once free he digs his keyring out of his pocket and slowly works his
way through them until he finds the one he is looking for.  He holds
it up and looks at each of his companions.   "Are you with me?"

They nod.

He take a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then turns back to the
doors.   His hands are shaking but he manages to unlock the padlock
that holds the ends of the chain together.   He removes the chain and
stares at it, not quite believing he just did something he swore he'd
never do again.

Then he laughs.  Bitterly, but there is also a slight release of
tension in it.   He padlocks the ends of the chain together again and
drapes the chain around his neck, as it if were a necklace.   "I
didn't bring my millstone with me.   Besides, this is more
appropriate, right?"
====


They stop and look at the door.  He turns to his companion.  "Ready?"

She hugs him.  "Of course."

He shrugs slightly.  "Mahika, love, it was a tough call but this way
feels better than the other one."

"I understand."

They enter and shrug out of their coats.   Then, unobtrusively, he
works his way to the bar.  While he slowly sips a cup of herbal tea
Mahika dusts off the projection equipment and sets it up.  Once she's
satisfied she looks up and nods.

He sighs, then nods back.  The cup gets set on the bar.  Then he
reaches into his carry bag and removes a sketch book and a pencil.

He pauses and studies his tools.  'This should do it.   Keep it
simple.'

Something in his quiet movements as he moves to settle on the chair
she has positioned for him hints at an inner weariness that he seldom
shows to the outside world.

She positions the camera so his sketch book is visible on the
projection screen.  He reaches up and positions the microphone, then
looks down at his lap.

While he starts to draw he speaks softly.  "Watch, listen, ignore.
Whatever suits you best when a middle aged man starts running on and
sketching."

A simple picture is emerging.   "Some of you might recognize this one.
La Taverna as we haven't seen it in some time.   Busy.   Variety.
Various sized groups of patrons."  He sighs deeply and looks up.
"Camaraderie.   Diversity.   Differences that seldom got in the way
during discussions."

He looks down at his sketch.   Now, angrily...   "The past is always
remembered through eyes controlled by our memories."  He slashes an X
over the sketch.   "Memories.  A mixed bag of reality and illusions.
Never the same for each of us.  Cherished, despised, each of them a
personal reality when all is said and done."

The page is folded over and a new sketch is started.  Again, La
Taverna.  This time there is a crowd of people at the exit.   Some are
leaving, some are entering.   "Time changes things.  People change."
He looks up and there is anguish in his eyes.  "After awhile, some
things change so much they can no longer sustain themselves.  For some
of us, for me, that's happened here."

He looks down at his second sketch and sighs.   "Where do you go when
there's no place else to go?  Sure, for many, there are plenty of
places they can move to--and have.  I envy them even while I've
watched my options vanish over the years."

The second sketch joins the first one.

The third sketch is drawn in silence.  A dog and a wolfess are sitting
in a booth.  There are others in the room but it's obvious their backs
are turned to the couple.   There is something slightly oppressive
feeling in the way everything is drawn.

He leans back and studies the image.  "Our perceptions define our
reality.   Truth is such an illusive concept, subject to individual
interpretations.  Rejections?   Uncomfortable?   Shunning?  Nothing to
say?   Do the reasons for silence matter when silence is often all
there is?"

He looks up and scans the room.  "What does the word 'welcome' mean to
a person who hears mostly silence after the word is spoken?  What is a
person supposed to think when 'friends' suddenly fall silent without a
public or private explanation for the silence?"

He looks down  and savagely draws an X through the sketch before he
lets it join the others.

Another sketch is drawn in silence.  Again, La Taverna.  There's a
Christmas tree as the centerpiece.   Presents are beneath it.   People
are spread around it and there is a sense of good feeling and cheer.
The camaraderie is obvious.

His voice is filled with bitterness.:  "A day.  For some a week or
two.  Maybe even a month."

He gets up and sets the sketch on the chair.  Mahika focuses the
camera and locks it in place.

He readjusts the microphone again before turning and scanning the
room.  His voice is gentle, barley audible:  "What about the rest of
the year?"

Tom, and his Muse--link arms and quietly step off the stage and back
into obscurity.
====

Comfort Zone
A Man and Muse Story
---

Mahika's fingers slid along my stomach and slowly drifted to my
crotch.

Then she lightly gripped my penis.  "I know that look, love."

I imitated one of the knowing 'snorts' she uses when she is a wolfess.
"You should."

She moved to get up so I reached and held her back, then drew her into
a cuddle.  "Not this time.  We'll both be able to remember this one.
There's not *that* much of a hurry to get it written down."

She laughed.  "A special?"

"Of course."  My smile turned sly, with some 'little boy pleading'
mixed in.  "Gift me with a 'thinking' massage?"

"Roll over."

"Woof!"

* * *

Once we got ourselves arranged, we both began.  She started one of her
gentle massages that helped smooth the flow of my thinking and I
started thinking out loud.

"Mahika, love, it's an old problem I've commented on before.

"Recent events have brought it to my attention again, but from a
slightly different perspective, one I've never used before."

Her hands kept moving.  I knew from past experience that the slight
changes in finger movements, along with the areas she was massaging,
were asking me a question.

"I've talked about how we writers have our 'comfort zones' that we
tend to write in.  I've always ascribed it to 'writing what we know
best'.  I still believe that but now, for the first time,  I'm looking
at another aspect.  'What are the reasons we know a particular subject
best?'

"Granted, for the het folks who write about het relationships and
their variations, they are writing about what most of the world knows
as 'normal'.   Same thing for the other lifestylers who write about
the lifestyle they live.  Gay, lesbian, zoo...

"Whatever.  While the relationships within those lifestyles vary,
generally the emotions are fairly constant and what you'd expect from
anyone in a committed relationship.

"But...

"What about those people who write about relationships that are
outside the normal experience?  What makes some people have comfort
zones that are not as obviously related to what we as readers would
expect based on what we assume about their life?"

I hesitated and she sensed my need to understand that she was
following my reasoning.  She moved her fingers and touched the back of
my head before massaging my shoulders.  "You have a theory?"

"Not sure I'd dignify it by calling it a theory but yes, I do have a
hypothesis."

"Go on."

I sighed.  "Call it a consequence of arrested or late social
development.  What if an adult hasn't learned the social skills we
expect them to know if we only see their physical age?   Or what if a
younger person has learned and is comfortable with the social skills,
the maturity, of a much older person?

"Is our 'comfort zone' while writing an often unconscious reflection
of the current state of our social skills?

"I think it is.

"But here's the ace kicker:  When writers talk about our writing,
people see our age and expect us to respond with the social skills
they've unconsciously assumed we will have--based on our age.

"Anything else surprises them.  When an assumed adult responds more as
a younger or even much younger person would, especially by making the
kinds of mistakes most people made at a much younger age, they, and
the writer, tend to blame the writer's communication skills and not
see the real reason:  Lack of life experience.

"Yet, if we took the time to see them, the clues were there all
along--*if the other person is a writer*.

"What relationships do they write about, generally?  What are their
fantasies?   What do they think are the emotional rewards and
problems?

"In short, 'what normal age group do the emotional tones they are most
comfortable with belong to?

"If we look at everyone who writes here, it shouldn't surprise us to
see an range of comfort zones that tells us there are writers with all
levels of social skills, ranging from preteen to very mature 'older
adult'."

There was a long silence.  I knew she was digesting my words, thinking
about what I was trying to say.  He voice was subdued, thoughtful,
when she finally responded.  "So, what you are saying is that when we
respond to writers, we should gauge our responses based on the social
skills they express in their comfort zone?"

"It's more than that.   We should always allow them the understanding
their physical age implies.  But, yes, I think that there would be
fewer misunderstandings, fewer accidental offenses taken if we
remembered that age does not always mean the person has the social
skills we'd expect based on that age.  At least with writers we might
have some fairly solid clues about the social experience they
have--and *then* we can tailor our responses to that level of *social*
understanding.

"The words are the same but how people interpret the emotional nuances
changes depending on our understanding of social context.  To express
it crudely, young children, teenagers, young adults and older adults
will all hear the same words.

"But the emotional nuances they attach based on the social experience
they have, changes.  People are used to dealing with socially mature
younger people.  The confusion arises when they deal with an older
person who doesn't obviously lack the social skills of their peer
group.

"An extreme case, one that is more common than most folks realize, I
think, is that of a much older person who hasn't gone past teen or
even preteen in the social skills.

I sigh and let Mahika massage the tension out of me.  Before I relax
completely and forget the focus of my thinking I speak some final
words:

"And why the hell didn't I realize sooner that we have at least one
undetected case of that sort of extremely arrested social development
in ASSD?"
====

You'll understand, or not.  I'm not going to explain this one.
---

Middle of the Night Musings
A Man and His Muse
---

I sighed and started working my arm from around the wolfess at my
side.

"Mmm?"  Her head tilted back so she could study me, then she resettled
and stretched.

"Yeah.  Can't sleep."

"Mmmph.  So let me..."  She came fully awake when my intentions
finally registered.  "Stas, come on.  Can it wait?"

I shrugged, even though Mahika couldn't see it.  "You're welcome to go
back to sleep."

She rolled herself until she could see me.  "I don't think so."

I nodded and hugged her.

* * *

Going to La Taverna was an option, but after thinking it over I opted
to settle for the computer.

I needed to think, not ramble in front of any friends I might find
there at this hour.

Strange, that.  These days it wasn't often I deliberately avoided my
friends and neighbors in favor of sorting my thoughts out at home.

Mahika settled on her platform next to me and placed her head where I
could reach it easily.  Without really thinking about it I reached
over and gently stroked her.  "You're part of what kept me awake,
love."

"Oh?"

"Yeah.  Been thinking.  I feel like I've started taking you, and her,
for granted again."

"Not true."

I sighed and let my hand stop moving.  "Maybe.  I don't see it that
way.  Not right now anyway."

She snorted gently and brushed a paw across my hand.  "That wasn't
done by someone taking me for granted.  That was love.  A love so deep
you don't need to think about it.  There's a difference."

It was my turn.  "Oh?  That's not the way I see it."

"We don't see it that way."

I studied her thoughtfully.  Then, reluctantly: "We?"

"We."  

She rolled on her back and exposed her stomach in an unmistakable
invitation.  I started petting her, and let my fingers 'taste' her.
Each subtle movement was fed to my brain, where it was savored.

"Stas, I know you have trouble internalizing some things.  You spent a
long time waiting, but eventually you did meet the right person.
After the life you've lived, nobody can fault you for having your
doubts.  They're natural.  Accept them."  She looked at me without her
usual tolerant and somewhat amused smile.  "Accept your doubts, then
do your best to put them away.  They're the past.  Let yourself see
the now, Let yourself see a future, a future shared with a loved one."

I sighed.  "Easy to say, love.  But I'm human, for all that I spend a
lot of time pretending to be  something else.  And the human in me
clings to playing 'what if'.  The human in me asks, repeatedly, 'have
I earned her love?'  It asks 'will I do something, again, to lose it
all?' "

"Do you ever doubt my love for you?"

I let myself gaze at the screen a long time.  Finally I took a deep
breath.  "No.  I don't think you'd let me walk away, either."

"Just so.  Listen to your heart.  What does it say about her?"

This time my silence was longer.  My thoughts drifted.  I wanted to
admit.  I wanted to deny.  I wanted to ignore, not believe.

Eventually, reluctantly, I accepted.

"Mahika, love, my heart says the same about her as it does about you."

"Then let it be."

I sighed.  "I'll try."

"Good.  Now, context."  Her jaws closed gently on my hand, holding it
still.  "If our actions speak of love, and a life-long commitment,
does the lack of words mean we are taking each other for granted?"

I pulled my hand free and studied it with a sense of renewed
awareness.  "I should have seen it a long time ago.  No."

"Indeed."

I shut the computer down and then bent over to hug her.

"Thanks, my love.  I think I can go to sleep now."

And that's exactly what we did.
====

Foxed!
A Man and Muse Story
----

"Wolfess.  I need..."  I shrugged.  We looked at each other for a long
moment, then she smiled.

I watched Mahika shift to her natural form.  "Was it so very hard for
you to ask?"

I helped her resettle with her back to my chest.  "Of course it was,
love."

We snuggled and I let myself savor the feel of her fur against my
body.  I paid close attention to my feelings and her reactions while I
moved my hands along her side, then across her stomach and finally,
tenderly, cupped one of them between her hind quarters and gently held
her vulva.

Drifting mentally, my hand fell silent and I spent time in that other
place we so seldom had time for, these days.

"So.  That's the way of it."  She stretched, pushing herself into me
without urgency.  I heard her contented smile.  "I won't complain."

I chuckled and hugged her with one arm.  "Any fire eventually burns to
embers."

She snorted.  "You forgot the ashes."

"No, I choose to ignore them, not forget them."

She tilted her head back so she could see me.  "Wise?"

It was my turn to snort.  "Sometimes.  Do you think I enjoy the
thought that someday I'll be only memories, a distorted image seen in
a poorly woven tapestry of individual recollections?"

I never tried to hide my bitterness.

She arched her back into me.  "Better that than what I face, dear."

"Now there's a strange thought."  I chuckled.  "Me, as a Muse.  No.
Thank-you-very-much."

She shifted slightly and again turned her head so she could study me.
"Is that such a bad thing?"

I squelched my immediate reply and studied her thoughtfully.  "You're
serious!"

I got an all too familiar lupine grin in return.

I shook my head in denial.  "No.  That's..."  I gestured vaguely. "No.
It's a nightmare I'd rather not face."

She relented and changed the subject.  "How are you feeling about the
'Foursome Challenge'?"

"Pretty good.  Didn't *really* mind if I'd had to supply the fourth
story.  Can't let them know that, though.  If I'd admitted I was
already writing one, just in case, we would have been less likely to
get that fourth author."

I touched her nose and then slowly ran my hand along her head and
body.  "Love, it's nice to see people taking part again, even if it's
initially reluctantly.  You know how much it means to me--to be able
to encourage others..."

I glared at her.  "You've been talking to Chrys again, haven't you?"

"Maybe."

"No maybe about it.  This isn't your style."

"It isn't?"  She laughed, with all too familiar tones.  When her
laughter changed to choked giggles the wolfess was gone and I was
confronted with an anthrovixen I knew far too well.  "Do you still say
it wasn't 'my style'?"

I growled deep in my throat.  "I've been had."

"Yep."

Lady Chrystal rolled her body until we faced each other.  Bemused,
('and wasn't *that* a sorry state to be in,' I thought.  'She isn't
even a Muse.')  I watched while her muzzle approached and she stuck
her tongue out at me before she gently licked my face.  "So.  Tell me,
'Bardic Master of all Masters'.  What's the difference between what
you already do, and what a Muse does?"

I searched frantically and finally found an answer.  "I can write my
own stories.  I don't need an avatar to achieve fulfillment."

She smiled at me.  "Granted.  What makes you think Mahika can't write
her own stories?"

"She..."  Hell.  Chrys had sandbagged me with that one.  I knew damn
well Mahika was capable of writing her own stories.  But, she'd always
told them to me and I'd transcribed them.  Damn wolf-bitch.

Chrys was grinning.  "I see a glimmer of awareness in those blue
eyes."

"I'm not going to ask if you're enjoying this, *vixen*."

She giggled.  "You're in a fine snit, dear."

"Yah.  I suppose I am."  It was a low voiced snarl, filled with my
frustrated anger--at myself.

"Any other...  'Differences'?"  Her whole posture was one of innocent
inquiry.

I scrabbled frantically through my memories.  "Two.  I can walk away
when I get frustrated and feel like I need a break.  Plus, I can work
with more than one person at the same time.  Muses are bound..."  I
knew my look was sick.  "Or are they?  Somehow we've never discussed
that possibility."

Amazingly, this time Chrys was sober.  "Muses choose who and how many.
'Time-slicing'."

"Hmmph."  I thought about it.  "I don't know if I should be honored or
pissed with her.  She's made it clear that as far as acting like a
Muse is concerned, she's exclusive.  I can't believe there aren't
others equally--or more--deserving."

I glared at nothing in particular.  "Don't bother reminding me of how
many times Mahika has been so fed up with me she's pointedly left to
get herself back under control."

Chrys wisely said nothing and just stroked her paws down my chest.

I let my hands wander aimlessly while I considered my new awareness.
"OK.  I'll settle for 'sometimes acting like a Muse'--while I'm alive.
One of my greatest enjoyments now is inspiring others to write.
Doesn't matter what they write, just that they *write*."

My gaze softened and I studied the vixen who had chosen to become such
an important part of my life.  "If someone someday invokes a memory of
me as their Muse, well, I'll never know, will I?"  I smiled wryly.
"Guess that's going to be a few more threads in that 'poorly woven
tapestry of memories'."

I mock glared at her.  "I still think it's one of my worst nightmares
come true, though, and given a choice, I never want to hear the label
'Muse' applied to me."  I shrugged and just before I kissed her
tenderly I spoke my final words of the evening.

"I have to admit 'Muse' wouldn't be the worst thing I've been called. 
"But...

"The gods help the person who inflicts themselves with me!"
----

Drunken Promises
A Man and Muse story
----

The throbbing immanence of my impending hangover did nothing to
moderate the
incredibly heightened sensitivity of my senses, so I clearly heard the
soft
footsteps and the resigned sneeze she didn't bother to suppress.

"Don't bother trying to hide it, love, you're disgusted with me
again."

I felt her surprise in the sudden silence of her feet.

"How?"

I held up the plastic bottle I was using for my screwdriver.  I glared
at it.
"As you know..."  I started declaiming sententiously. "This is a mix
with a
ratio carefully determined to, after years of impersonal study and
calibration, provide a decent amount of blurred numbness.  At the
moment,
again as you well know, I am merely buzzed, not drunk."  I took a long
swig,
set the bottle next to me on the bed and studied her anger
dispassionately.
"What you seem to have forgotten, probably because of your current
contempt
for my human frailties, is that while it does numb many things, that
numbness
allows other, more ancient skills to come forward, and revel in their
freedom."

I took another swig, savoring the harshness of the alcohol that no
amount of
flavoring could hide.  "Eventually, inevitably, the desired outcome
will be
reached."  Another swig.  "And I will be too damn drunk to notice, or
care if
I did notice, that your anger makes you stomp with all the subtleness
of a
herd of stampeding wildebeest."

I kept myself propped on one elbow, my calm gaze meeting her
vibrating, angry
disgust for my current state.  "We are Muse and Author, a team.  More
than
author, however, I am a man--and human.  I am not, much to my regret,
burdened with the ability to live the uncountable number of years you
face. I
love you, Mahika, as a human must."  I held the bottle between us and
smiled,
not unkindly.  "And I will, when the time feels right, resort to this
to dull
the pain of being human, however briefly the numbness lasts."

Calm gaze met disgust expressed as only a wolfess in love can express
it.
Then, from her, a jerky, pride stiffened nod.

Satisfied, I swigged again, carefully adding to the buzz, feeling the
first
hints that soon enough, it would change to the drunken, numbed
indifference
mixed with clarity, that I was seeking.

"You say I should be 'leader'.
The Alpha who is bleeder.

"I say to you in tones most cruel
You cannot know.  You're quite the ghoul.

"Maid of spirit, with love so deep.
Still you hold, when love, I weep.

"My love I hear the call within
'Please help them climb, from life's dust bin.'

"The pain is great, yea--or nay.
It's mine alone, day to day.

"Tell them this, it's what you seek.
Remember well, though it's bleak."

I swigged again.  This time a long one that luxuriated in the
harshness of
the vodka.

"GL, two letters, to bind them well
Their works now sent to writing hell.

"Two things right, to stop the pain
When two things wrong, tears them down, again.

"Five days journey, in silence, taken.
Then new wisdom, the silence broken.

When I glared at her, she nodded, her anger gone.  "Go, wolfess, whom
I
cannot stop loving."

I closed my eyes in pain, waiting for the numbness to take over my
senses.

"Go, and may they see as clearly as you do, the 'leader' some would
saddle
themselves with."
====

End:  Man and Muse: The First Five Years

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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