Date: Sun, 8 May 2016 20:46:20 +0200
From: Julian Obedient <julian.obedient@gmail.com>
Subject: How We Touch

How We Touch 3


*Virtually Touching *



     When demons come to plague our happiness, it is a sign of its
solidity. Otherwise they would not mobilize against us in such frenzy.
Often they force their way into our dreams, hoping to subvert our
happiness, and turn the vehicle for wishes into a conveyance of dread.

    Do they sometimes succeed in dislodging from place what had been firmly
set by throwing us off balance? Yes. Can they fail? Yes, if the force that
is the foundation of our balance can prevail and we keep our feet, like
passengers with wobbly knees, descending from a ship, who find the earth
still grounds them because of its incorruptible gravity.

     Demons! How else explain the ache that cut through the fabric of
Julian's sleep? Even as he was cradled in his lover's tender arms, after a
blissful day, in his sleep he battled a blizzard of beating snow that kept
him, suspended, as night fell threateningly, stranded on a hillside and
unable to move his legs, struggling to regain his footing. He shuddered and
stumbled and woke to a gray morning, still preserved in his beloved's
embrace. They lay in an unkind draft coming from a window they had left
open, when oblivious to anything but their mutual rapture, they drifted
last night, vanquished by happiness, into sleep.

     Julian slid from the bed and in only panties, hugging himself, as if
he were a shy girl hiding her breasts from eyes she wanted to screen them
from, but not for that reason, but to keep warm, he went and closed the
window. In his sleep, Chris was snuggled in Julian's body warmth. Now that
Julian had left the bed, involuntarily Chris raised his knees almost to be
touching his chest, as if he had found the succor of womb warmth against
the annoyance of the breeze.

      Julian knelt at the bedside watching Chris in sleep extend his limbs
the length of the bed once the disturbance of wind had stopped. Julian
gazed on Chris and felt rise in him such tenderness, contemplating his
delicate eyelids and the long lashes that fringed them, and gently kissed
them without waking him. He slipped back into bed and took his place
spooning him.

     It rained all morning and, although it was the second of May, there
was nothing inappropriate about making a fire, late that Sunday morning, in
the grand fireplace in the library where Chrissie and Julia, looking and
feeling very feminine in silk blouses, panties, stocking with garters, and
satin ankle strap high heels, sat on a couch having coffee and turning over
the leaves of a large sketchpad, looking at some of the drawings that
Chrissie had done over the last half year.

     "I'll be sixteen in August, and there's no reason for me to stay in
school," Chrissie said, "no reason, except one."

      Julia looked at her, with a questioning glance.

     "You, silly, you're the only reason I have for staying in school.
Otherwise, what has school got to offer me? A nasty lot of
testosterone-bloated boys who have no idea what a real man is but think
that sex is in their cock, and preen themselves on making life awful for
people like you and me."

    "What would you do if you quit school?"

     "I'd go to New York."

     "How? Why? What?" Julia sputtered.

     Chrissie moved closer to Julia and put her arm around her.

     "Promise me that what I tell you will be our secret. Nobody knows it,
yet."

     "I promise," Julia said.

     "I sent my portfolio," Chrissie said, "to Julie Taymor."

     "To Julie Taymor? And?"

     "And she wrote back! Saying that if I wanted to come to New York! She
would take me on as her apprentice!"

     Julia just stared at her wide-eyed."

     "She liked my work that much."

      "Oh, Chrissie, I'm so happy for you."

     "I was too, but now..."

     Julia understood without Chrissie needing to say another word. "I'd
die if I stood in your way."

     "But I don't want to be without you," Chrissie said and slipped her
palm under Julia's blouse and felt the warmth of her breast. She tucked the
other between her thighs and brought her lips to Julia's mouth. Her tongue
forced its way in, although Julia offered no resistance but extended hers
into the cave of Chrissie's mouth and explored the great concavity of its
roof.

     "Will you come with me? You can complete high school in New York. If
that's what you want to do," Chrissie said impulsively, although it was
obviously something that she had been thinking about.

     "Do your parents know?" Julia asked instead of answering directly.

     "They know that I want to go to New York and that I want to do theater
and film design. They said that if I could arrange something, they're not
against it, and maybe they'd even help out, depending. Now, I have arranged
something. What about your mother?"

     "The sooner she is done with me, the happier my mother will be."

     Chrissie pursed her lips and looked doubtful.

     "Really," Julia insisted.

     "That must hurt," Chrissie said, taking her hand in hers.

     "Not much, not now; once maybe, but I'm a big girl," Julia said,
almost tearing, but overcoming it with the mild self-mockery.

      "Then you will come with me?"

     "Yes."

     Chrissie kissed her eyes, kissed them again, kissed them more with
intense kisses, placed her palms upon her cheeks and kissed her mouth and
did not stop. Julia returning swallowed her with kisses. They danced upon
each other as sea waves break upon the shore until they were each fondling
the other's cock with lips that parted and tongue that bathed it in
devotion.





     "I want to show you something," Chris said later that evening. They
had changed to teenage boy drag. He took Julian's hand and led him to the
back staircase at the end of the long hallway and took him up to the third
floor. It was a spacious loft fitted out like a sumptuous bordello; it was
furnished with antique sofas, velvet-covered divans, leather chairs,
Persian carpets, long tables, low tables, side tables with crystal vases.
Chrissie threw a master switch. Deep tinted damask curtains decorated the
windows; pendant from the ceiling crystal chandeliers were glistering. The
standing lamps and table lamps had bases of wrought brass and globes of
blown and colored glass fitted within a spider's web of leading. They
gleamed like stained glass windows.

     "What is this?" Julian gasped in amazement. "It looks like a
whorehouse you'd see in a movie."

     "It's my parents' workroom," Chris said, pointing to a bank of
computers in an alcove. "Don't you like it?" It wasn't a real question. The
answer was a foregone conclusion. How couldn't you like it? Before an
awestruck Julian could say anything, Chris kissed him and then turned away
and threw open the doors of a vast oak armoire. Julian gasped and gaped.
Within was a collection of the most erotic costumes Julian might ever
imagine.

     "We may look, but we may not touch," Chris said, waving his index
finger.

     "Where are we?"

     "You've heard of Rod Ranger and Laura Rope?"

     "Who hasn't?"

     "My Mom and Dad!"

     "What!"

     "I told you my folks were software developers?"

     "Yeah,"

     "Well, the software they develop is `Rod Ranger and Laura Rope.' They
make up the plots, and they create the costumes, and dress up in them and
act it all out here. It's their studio. There are cameras in the ceiling
that automatically track and shoot from several angles, so everything they
do is on video and then they use that as a model to generate the computer
images that you see.'"

     "You mean those characters are images of your parents?"

     "And of me, sometimes."

     "You?"

     "In one of the stories, a beautiful sorceress turns a boy into a slave
girl. First she seduces the boy and makes him surrender himself to her when
she has him in the throes of passion. He begs her to transform him into
whatever shape would please her most."

     "Your mother seduced you?"

     "She nurtured me and she taught me the art of being erotic. I'll show
you."

     "The art of being erotic?"

     "Everybody has sex," Chris began to explain, "most people without much
pleasure or satisfaction. There's a lot of wanting and not much getting, a
lot of desire, or pretense of desire, without much gratification. That's
what sex is about. And generally sex is defined from a male point of view,
centered in and on the cock. My mother's idea of real sex is not that. It
is eroticism. The ideal of eroticism is surrendering and receiving – in
other words true femininity. It doesn't matter what biology you have.
Femininity is an attitude of being. You have to learn it – through sexual
touching."

     "The way you touch me."

     "The way we touch each other, without fear or hesitation, surrendering
to each other in submission to the power of our love."

     "And still, I think there are depths in you that I have not yet
touched," Julian said.

     "I will take you all the way to the deepest depths, but," Chris
smiled, "beware: there is no bottom. You will always be on dizzying
heights."

     Julian said nothing but brought his open mouth to Chris' and pulled
kisses by the roots from the depths of his throat.

     Chrissie connected several cables that hooked up two computers to each
other and the familiar image of the fiercely feminine Laura Rope appeared.
Her hair flamed in its Irish red, her eyes, jade green, shone imperious.
She stood, a frozen image, legs akimbo in her signature metallic black bra,
bikini, open-work stockings, and stiletto boots, with a ruby colored garter
circling her left thigh. Her gaze penetrated the viewer's. Her lips were
full, luscious, painted with ruby lipstick, the same color as her garter.
Her eyes were heavy with desire, and fringed with violet lashes. Her
eyelids glittered with violet sparkles.

     Chrissie touched a computer key and the figure came to life. The
camera backed away and showed a beautiful naked boy – it was Chrissie –
with a chain around his waist and circling round the base of his ballsac --
reclining like an odalisque upon a sofa with a fur under him. His eyes were
open wide and blank. The avatar Laura stood before him, haughty. The avatar
Chrissie rose and handed her one end of his chain leash. She gently pulled
on it and his genitals stretched slightly away from his body. She cupped
them in her palm and kissed him maddeningly on his open mouth. He knelt
before her, his forehead touching the tips of her boots, his hands crossed,
open palms, behind his back.

     With his tongue he kissed the way up her boots and reached her thighs.
With each hand he held her legs, beautiful columns to support him and
buried his face in her thighs and kissed his way up to her woman's cunt, to
his mother's cunt and worshiped it with devout kisses until, inflamed by
his devotion, the avatar Laura grabbed him by the hair and pulled his mouth
to hers and like a mother bird rewarding her young with what she had
foraged, rewarded him with endless kisses.

     Julian could not watch without his desire flaring for Chrissie. He
pulled him nearer and pulled down his jeans. Underneath his boy drag, he
was wearing only a frilly pair of skimpy fuchsia panties. Julian rubbed
Chrissie's stiffening clit and brushed his lips over Chrissie's, and blew
his breath inside his mouth. Chrissie moaned and swallowed each draught,
and grew more desperate in lust. He burst, and the spreading stain of love
fulfilled soaked his panties.

     "Julian, my exquisite beloved. I love you. My life belongs to you," he
whispered. "Be mine, forever."

     Julian kissed him softly, lingering on his lips. "I am," he said.