Purpose [Reported by Her Eminence Tara del D’myn, Matriarch of Skarsia]:
I decided to avoid the yawning morass of emotional confusion that the correspondence table had opened by sticking with Tommy. Everyone knew that Tommy was my closest friend, and it made sense to spend some time catching up with him. Gossiping, drinking and fucking, mostly.
And yet Tommy didn’t have a gold card. It just wasn’t fair.
Then one morning, I returned from the bath to find Ash hovering before me, his enormous form filling the room almost to the ceiling. It was rare that I got to see him like that. For a long time, he tried to accomplish his transformations out of my sight although of late he seemed to be getting more comfortable with my presence as he metamorphosed. Even so, he usually appeared as a mothman for only a few seconds before taking flight or reifying into one of his emanations.
“Ash?” I asked. He seemed to want something, but I didn’t know what it was. After a moment, he held out his hand.
I stepped forward, grasping it with my own. My fingers were tiny against his palm.
I stood there for a moment, transfixed. I’d touched him in this form before – it had a strange solidity, even though it was made of energy. I’d never touched him for such a protracted period, though. I moved closer, resting my hand upon the musculature of his naked torso. “Musculature” is perhaps not the correct word, seeing that he has no skeleton, no need for a muscular structure. It was a visual feature mimicking human male anatomy.
I could feel the energy flux beneath my fingers, a cyan humming like nothing else in this universe. It was both terrifying and disconcertingly erotic. I slid my hand from his chest up as far as I could reach, to the base of his neck. Tentatively, he moved his other hand until it was touching the side of my face, his enormous hand, its palm almost the size of my head.
I gazed up into his face, a blank, featureless space. It was so very alien. I felt awkward, uncomfortable. It occurred to me that this was the reason Ash never appeared for long in this form; he preferred to interact with me through his plethora of human emanations because he didn’t want me to think too deeply about how alien he really was. After all these years, he was still afraid of my reaction.
And then I realized that I had touched only the human parts of him. The mothlike abdomen was well in reach, but I just couldn’t. The “wings” were an illusion, only an aureole of energy. Then I had an idea. I stepped up onto a chair. It boosted me enough that the tips of my fingers could touch the base of his antennae.
The energy beneath the skin that was not skin shimmered and shook, pulsing with a blue white lightless glow. I drew my hand back quickly. Did he like it, or had I inadvertently hurt him?
His hand grasped my wrist, guiding it back. His floating form descended a little, so that the bottom of the abdomen almost touched the floor. Now I could touch it more easily. The stalk had a solid center, but emitted faint wisps of energy which looked very much like the fine hairs on a moth’s antenna. It felt like stroking feathers made of light.
I couldn’t resist. I bent forward and licked, from the base up as far as my tongue could reach.
His body radiated cyan-black. There was a faint sound, a buzz made of wind-chimes. The antenna twitched.
And then he folded himself up until Malachi was on the floor before me, arms crossed, kneeling. He looked up at me, towering over him on the chair. His eyes were hungry; his lips were swollen. I hopped down, and he rose, taking me into his arms.
Malachi is quite passionate, but generally a bit shy at the offset. It was unusual for him to seem so desperate. That was fine with me; the encounter with Ash had involved an enormous amount of sexual tension, and it was a relief to be with a creature which possessed erogenous zones – lips, nipples, testicles, a cock – that I had some small conception of how to manipulate.
He pulled me down on the bed. We fucked on and off for over an hour. Afterwards, he lay in my arms, and I could see that there were tears in his eyes. “The Mover wants you so much,” he said. “He just doesn’t know how.”
I thought of how gently, how cautiously that enormously powerful being had extended his hand to me earlier. I realized that lately I had been wrapped up in the personalities of the emanations, losing sight of the most essential fact. “Ash,” I said, stroking Malachi’s face, “you just did.” Malachi’s wide eyes met mine, kyanophyll blue, shining like opals. “Whatever form you take, you’re still my Ash,” I told him. “I love you so much.”
He drew me closer. “This is why it doesn’t matter which emanation you choose. It isn’t just about politics, and it isn’t just about sexual success. It’s the joy of the Mover, the feeling of well-being that descends upon all of us when you say something like that. There’s not a single one of us who would want to supplant me right now when we’re feeling this way, not even the so-called jealous gods.” He kissed my hair. “Unfortunately, you’re wanted inside for a focus group.”
“Now?”
“Now,” he sighed. “The Mover wills it, rather insistently.”
“A focus group,” I muttered. “Not even an orgy, which would make a lot more sense under the circumstances.”
“The Mover works in mysterious ways,” said Malachi. “It will all come clear.”
Participants: Driscoll Garrett, Lorcan Fearghus, Dermot McRath
Materials: Experimental subjects.
Hypothesis: Good design for better living.
Procedure:
The focus group was to be held in Driscoll’s flat. I had been there once before, the time I shared the dream with Hurley. The furniture, floors and rugs were all impeccable: almost in perfect taste, but with just enough individual flare, enough edge to keep the space from seeming a bit insipid. There were sculptures and paintings, most certainly done by Driscoll himself, and the fabrics were intensely saturated with color, occasionally with pattern laid against contrasting pattern, in the way that only an artist with a perfect eye could manage without resulting in visual chaos. But the most outstanding feature of the room was that the exterior walls were completely made of glass. It was possible to see everything in the mental world of the pleroma, from Ashvattha’s palatial island, positioned a distance into the seemingly endless ocean, to the surrealistic caricature of the seafaring town of Merenis Port-of-Call, up the slope from the condominium complex that represented Atlas, Goliath and Yggdrasil.
Driscoll and Dermot were waiting for me, sitting in overstuffed chairs of ecru leather. Lorcan was sprawled on the couch, an expression of complete contentment on his face.
« You’ll have to excuse him, » said Driscoll. « He’s only been allowed to fully participate in the pleroma since that incident at Nightside. He’s still not used to the descending cloud of bliss. »
« That sucks, » I said, positioning myself on the couch next to him. « Especially considering how much I love him. » I nestled my head against his shoulder.
He snorted sharply with laughter. « Yeah, » he said quietly, « I’ve got a gold card. How about that? »
I closed my eyes, resting against him, drifting in the moment. But it wasn’t too long before I felt a certain discomfiture beneath the happiness, a prodding insistence that something was to be done.
« You feel it too, don’t you? » asked Dermot. « I and I wants us to get to work. »
I sat up. « Ah, this is annoying. I wish Ash would learn about timing. But then again, he always seems to know what he’s doing, even if it makes zero sense at the outset. So what kind of focus group does he want? »
« He wants your input on the redesign project, » said Driscoll, handing me a mixture of vodka and vermouth, with the slightest touch of chocumber bitters – a cumbertini, the trendiest drink at the casino.
« Redesign of what? » I asked.
« The mothman, » said Dermot.
I nearly choked on the candied Seville orange garnish.
« The current design of the Cu’endhari is somewhat haphazard, » he continued, « a combination of practicality and circumstance. The Cu’endhari are imitative as a species. When they first came to interact symbiotically with the trees, they picked up an archetypal image from the Father Tree. It was the pairing of peaches and bats found in ancient Chinese tradition. »
« If you’ve ever seen that pattern, » said Driscoll, « you’ll note that the bats can get quite stylized. They look very much like moths. This archetype blended with the idea of a creature which emerges from a cocoon. »
« The other factor was the presence of humans, which caused a further leap in Cu’endhari evolution, » said Dermot. « All the Cu’endhari adopted humanoid characteristics to some extent. The Cu’enashti synthesized them with the moth-image. »
« But there’s no real reason for that particular form, » said Driscoll. « I and I is a creature of pure energy. He doesn’t need lungs or a brain or a spleen, like I do. »
« There are only two essential organs incorporated into the mothman form, » said Dermot. « Ironically, both are insubstantial. The “wings,” which are actually an aureole of energy used in navigation, and the filaments extending from the antennae, which are used to gather sensory data. Those organs have to exist, but they could take an infinite number of forms – for example, the antennae could be redesigned into a halo. »
« The other important thing is the hands, » said Driscoll. « While not essential to function, they are exceedingly useful to interact with and manipulate the environment. But the rest of the solid form of the mothman is just a container for his energy, defined as much by what is not necessary as by what is. »
« The creepy stuff, » said Lorcan, speaking finally, with his eyes still closed. « He doesn’t have legs because gravity has minimal impact on Him. He doesn’t need solid parts for locomotion, only the wings to steer. Because you’re human, it looks disturbing for Him to have a moth’s abdominal section, but you might as well say that He doesn’t have fins. And He doesn’t have facial features because He doesn’t need them for anything – His senses are different, and He doesn’t need to eat to absorb energy. »
« It would help if He could speak, though, » said Dermot. « Verbal communication has always taken great effort for Him, leading to a number of complicated situations. »
« The point is, » said Driscoll, « His form is mostly arbitrary, and could be redesigned into something both more practical and pleasing. »
« Why doesn’t he take a human form? »
« Ixnay, » said Lorcan. « That was one of our first considerations, but we got a very strong sense that He objected dramatically. »
« It’s partly because He already has human forms – us, said Dermot. »
« Yeah, but it’s partly because he wants to look alien, » said Lorcan. « After so many years under the Great Silence, He’s making a statement. He doesn’t want to disguise what He is. »
« Then why not just stay the way he is? »
All of them stared at me incredulously, including Lorcan, who bothered to sit up and raise an eyebrow.
« If Davy were here, he would say it’s obvious, » said Driscoll, « and for once he would be right. »
« There are certain ways in which He is lacking, » said Lorcan. « As you noted this morning. »
« He wants to have sex, » said Driscoll. « It’s our task to figure out how to manage it. »
« We can’t just slap a cock on, » said Lorcan. « For one, the question of scale. For two, where to put it, exactly? And how would you feel with your legs wrapped around a moth’s abdomen? »
I didn’t answer, opting instead to take a large swallow of my drink, followed by another. I handed the empty glass back to Driscoll.
« So we came up with a few ideas to run past you, » said Driscoll, mixing another cocktail. « How do you feel about tentacle porn? »
« Ew, » I said. « Ew ew ew. »
« We figured that you might respond that way, but we’re exploring all the possibilities, » said Lorcan. « How about a prehensile tongue? »
« A proboscis, like moths use to suck nectar, » said Driscoll.
« Hand me that drink. I have a feeling I’m going to need it, and about twenty more. »
« This isn’t easy, » said Driscoll. « We have to come up with something that falls into the perfect range. »
« Kinky but not gross, » added Lorcan.
« Couldn’t we just maybe touch palms and exchange energy? »
« That’s almost puritanical, » said Lorcan. « We wanted to retain the idea of penetration. »
« When you think about it, » said Driscoll, « penetration is a pretty disturbing concept. »
« But it’s also a beautiful concept, » said Dermot. « A union. »
« A violation, » said Lorcan. « Much of human culture is devoted to a careful navigation of that boundary. »
« Legs, » I said. « Give him legs. »
« You like horses, » said Driscoll. « What if we made him into a centaur? »
« A centaur? Hmmm. That’s intriguing, but it just doesn’t fit with Ash’s idiom. It’s like you’re being weird for the sake of weirdness. »
« That’s an excellent point, » said Driscoll. « We have to consider aesthetics. How about this? »
He produced a design sketch. In it, the mothman had legs, but instead of being covered with human skin, they had an iridescent sheath of feathery scales, the texture of moth-wings.
« That’s gorgeous, » I replied. « And exotic, and a little frightening. »
« Perfect, » said Dermot. « That’s exactly the response He wants. »
« An ordinary penis seems like such a let-down, » said Driscoll.
« Give Him two, » suggested Lorcan. « For simultaneous vaginal and anal penetration. »
« Drink, » I said, holding out my empty glass.
« But you did like that idea, » said Lorcan, « even if you won’t admit it. »
« I haven’t given up on the proboscis, » said Driscoll. « Not completely. »
« And a tiny tentacle, » said Lorcan. « Just a wee one, normally concealed under the testicles. For clitoral stimulation. »
« It’s actually quite ridiculous that human males don’t have one of those, » said Dermot.
« But he doesn’t really need testicles, » said Driscoll. « And they destroy the aesthetics – oozing bags which disrupt the line of the torso. How about this? »
He produced a new design sketch – two cocks, no balls.
« The tentacle, » Lorcan insisted.
« It’s hidden in the vagina, » said Driscoll.
« Drink, » I said.
Data:
Malachi was waiting when I returned. Annoyingly, the effects of the alcohol I had consumed while in the pleroma didn’t seem to apply to my physically emanated body.
“They want you to have a look at the prototype,” he said, raising his arms.
Ash appeared before me, floating slightly above the ground. It was recognizably Ash – the same patterns of energy in the wings and antennae, the same faceless face. But he was considerably smaller than before – about the size of a large human male, and he had those feathery legs and two penises. And…a tail. A gorgeous sweeping horse tail, constructed from filaments of energy, silky and solid. For a moment, I was confounded, and then I figured it out. They had to do something with the extra volume if they wanted to make him compatible with my size.
“If you’re going to appear in public like that, you’d really better wear a loincloth,” I suggested.
He hovered for a second, regarding me. I got the sense that he was waiting for me to make the first move.
I stroked his tail. It was lovely, soft and electric. I linked my other hand through his hair. It was of the same texture as the tail. Then, remembering his reaction this morning, I ran the tip of my finger down the length of his left antenna.
He shuddered, then grabbed me, twirling me around and bending me over the bed. His arms were wrapped around me, the left beneath my sternum, the right hand grabbing my breast.
They had put some thought into position and size because it happened so easily. It was like being impaled on stakes of light. For a moment, he didn’t even move, the warmth of him spreading through my insides. I thought I would come, just like that. But then, I found myself lifted off the bed.
Literally. We were floating. My legs were dangling in mid-air, which gave him amazing access. He started thrusting like a wormhole evocation drive. They weren’t kidding about the tentacle, either. Holy crap.
Results:
“I’m here for the debriefing,” Dermot said. “What were your feelings about that?”
“Oh God,” I muttered. “Gotta sleep.”
“It’s important to record the data while the impression is still fresh.”
“Is fine,” I said. “My legs are too shaky to walk. Was it good for him?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Dermot. “All the branches became both pollen-producing and receptive at the same time. We were pollinating everything – including ourselves. Who knows what kind of apples that will produce?”
“That wasn’t what I meant. Did he enjoy it? It was his first time.”
“Oh yes, but He didn’t really know when to stop. We’re considering the idea of an orgasm followed by a refractory period. It seems that it’s a practical idea which has served as a biological limiter on the enthusiasm of human males.”
“Good luck with that,” I said, pulling the pillow over my head. “Any possibility of lips? Lips make things more intimate.”
“We really tried for eyes and a mouth, but it just didn’t work out. We felt a real resistance to settling on a set of facial features. Maybe in a future design. This was only a first attempt.”
“It must be part of a no-graven-images policy,” I muttered. “Driscoll has enough to do with the emanations. Did you see the portrait of Thomas in stained glass?”
“Archbishop Venesti had it installed in the Dem’zt Cathedral,” said Dermot as I drifted off to sleep. “He wanted to commission a matching series, but Driscoll refused, saying he didn’t see the point in repeating himself. Anyway, don’t worry about the loincloth. I and I will use the standard form to appear in public. Can you imagine what the Cantor would say if she knew?”
“She’d be scandalized. Two cocks really is gilding the lily. But then again, Elma doesn’t like penises – and I do.”
Debriefing:
Tara: Zzzzzzz.
Dermot: I’m worried that the tentacle is rather tacky.
Driscoll: The tentacle makes the entire design! The true danger here is falling into the pitfall of being overly sentimental. Case in point: the Cu’enmerengi. They have pointed ears. They call themselves Dryads. They radiate green. That is so hashed-over from the worst kind of holome! To be honest, I’m little hesitant about the tail. The mothman has an innate dignity; He does not engage in ponyplay. But we have to do something with the extra nul-energy, that much is true. If we’re going to have a ponytail, then it has to be balanced by something a little unexpected, a little edgy, even a little macabre…a tentacle.
Lorcan: I’ve seen a lot of tentacles in a worser kind of holome than Driscoll is talking about. And the mothman has exactly that kind of tentacle. I approve.
Conclusion [Reported by Her Eminence Tara del D’myn, Matriarch of Skarsia]:
If I want foreplay, I shouldn’t start by feeling up the antennae.
Future Investigation:
I didn’t really get a chance to closely examine all of Ash’s new equipment. Dermot assures me that he really is a hermaphrodite. Really, that seems a bit over-the-top to me, but then again, when did Ash ever do anything in moderation?