An excerpt from Chapter 14 of The Perilous Past of the Guild of Ornamental Hermits. Babe and Oyster have just gotten married. Here are some of Babe’s first person reactions to the occasion.
Babe: In the Time of the Honeyed Moon
Whenever I look back on last night, I will forever remember what it was like with you on the dance floor after we had the weirdest wedding that ever was. I’ve never seen you so free, so joyous, so unguarded and yet so utterly sure of yourself as you were with me, “spinning me right round,” grabbing my hand and snaking us through clusters of our friends to twist and shout and dance the night away. You and me and Tomma—all outrageous together in an spontaneous Macarena! And you and Septimus—of all people!—in some kind of arm-in-arm, Elven bro-dance celebration of compersion! (Right on!) Then me in an elegant waltz with one of your fathers, handed off to the other father, for a freakin’ fantastic frugalicious, gravity-defying romp on the ceiling! But nothing was more memorable than the look in your eyes as you whipped out your blues harp, never loosing the beat of your hips and feet, holding my gaze while sending notes straight into my body with your betwitching musicianship.
Hot damn, Oyster! You sure know how to flirt!
You just…did it to me! Ramping up your half-Elven glamour, enjoying your own body, responding to my moves, and swirling through the contagious delight of all our friends. And it was so easy for me to enter into that delight while all the time grooving on that secret, super-special feeling that links the two of us! Me, more in love than ever!
Who would have thought that I’d know my keenest delights and deepest feelings of physical intensity and intimacy with someone who will never be what most people think of as a “sexual partner?” Obviously, the categories of what “sexual” is, or “intimacy,” or whatever, are due for a complete overhaul!
I can’t soapbox for long though. I’m still reliving those memories. Us, together at what—four, five in the morning?—gazing again in our room, seated on the bed, facing each other, fingertips not even touching, energies moving in that perfect, magic synergy. I felt stars—did you? Our fireworks were all internal, streaming along subtle energy networks, causing us to shiver and gasp, and the tenderness of your beautiful eyes shown through multi-verses of love.
Our wings, melissë, are sure and strong.
Then at last spooning against your back: one hand of yours was clutching mine against your chest and the other gentled your blues harp along your lips for final sweet goodnight.
We’ve slept and woken together so many times in the past, sometimes with Tomma, sometimes not, and yet this morning waking with you felt like a first time, because we both laughed and giggled before speaking, and then sighed and stayed in each others arms for as long as we possibly could. Your fingers traced the contours of my face while my hands touched your cheeks and flicked a strand of unruly dark hair from your forehead. We were lost in the miracle of us together until tea and hunger called us.
My life, as long as it lasts, is at last so blessed…with you, my dear.
Copyright Amy Marsh 11/20/2020