*****

I have been lost in her room for two full nights, two and one-half days. Lost in a rolling fog of pleasure and exhaustion.

Being Human she is far more exhausted than I, and after the third time we climaxed this morning, she disappeared into a deep sleep. She is still there now, her ice-colored eyes closed, delicate breath on a mass of pillows and blankets. And I lie waking. Lying in a heap of bed coverings, a singular waste of time. I wish for a padd, to engage my mind in anything but a continual consideration of the logic of duty, love, what I have done by dipping into both and mastering neither. I consider the concepts of information, exploration, of farflung space, of her body. I explore her body with my eyes, follow the lean curve of her hip until it disappears into soft sheets. Imagine the silken sex that even in sleep awaits me. I could wake her again, as I did once already this morning, slide in behind her and rouse her with my insistent hard penis. I consider logic itself. My vacillating thoughts, how this exercise consumes me when all is quiet. A dull paper to read would be welcome, but my things are all stuck somewhere in this morass of a room.

I am reclining with her head on my abdomen. Her hair is so much longer than when we met, it nearly reaches her waist. Has so much time passed? Have its watery blonde waves passed through my hands so often I no longer see change? I consider my hand plunged in her hair now, my thumb on her temple. How I could hurt her with just this hand. How I must not, ever, hurt her. I let my eyes take in her entire body, her long limbs reaching for me even in sleep, this most coveted person. I burned for this very moment to arrive. My thumb moves over her temple in circles and I fill with terrifying love. It takes all my will to keep from crying, an impulse I have not had to curb since childhood, and which I note now as odd and misplaced. I literally sigh. I no longer understand anything.

I extricate myself and walk to the bathroom.

And I catch myself in the mirror. I want to smile and retch in equal measure. My hair is visibly longer and in severe disarray, my ears contrasting ridiculously with the mass of ragged black ends. My face is covered with hair, dark stubble on my cheeks, chin, throat. I am a disgrace. I close my eyes and see my lover in a cloud of sheets, a mist of beauty and scent rising to meet me. I allow myself this image behind my eyes for a moment, before I open them to the startling sight of me. The bathroom is cold and white, and my eyes are deep with something I cannot name. I look thoroughly into them, something I have not done in too long. I cock my head and wonder, have I ever done it?

I have never been adept at recognizing emotions. Now that inability is turned on myself, my own unreadable face.

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Yes, the end, but I have taken to heart some suggestions for a sequel in which the schoolgirl returns in Nyota-time. It's in the works. Thank you so much for reading and commenting! ETC