75 - Glow Power

Watching you silently.

Bright purple eyes under mirrored horns and silver hair. For a long time that's all I know. They look happy and peaceful and patient and nothing moves but the beating of my heart and the tiny dartings that make her eyes look alive. At the edge of my vision light moves in the reflection on her horns and there's sound but I almost don't dare hear it.

Soft peaceful tears well up and roll unsobbingly down my face when I finally let the sound in.

It's Grand Lake lapping quietly at the shore in front of the camp, outside the windows above our heads, where we lie in bed nose to nose. The light is there, patterns made by the dawn on the lake's little waves, dancing in the reflection of the ceiling on her horns. I don't even have to turn away from her to look at it.

Purr at you and look so excited.

[ Vision: zooming along the quiet lake to take off seen from over one float of a float plane but the float plane is your RC plane that you made floats for]

The tears become a waterfall. Don't, don't make that sound unless--

--hefting a long silver brick with fat wires worthy of being calibrated by Geordi sticking out of one end--

--wistfully putting away a box with the label "GLOW POWER" and a doodle of a model airplane engine inside a heart on it--

--dusk, dry leaves rustling on the trees, the faraway chatter of servos twitching as the stabilization program erases the autumn turbulence for me so I can fly like it's a calm day--

Battery tech finally outran internal combustion before we left Earth, and the electric motor that replaced the screaming fury of the little two-stroke engine I learned to fly with was so quiet it was like I was flying a glider...and flight software got so good I could literally turn off the vigilance of compensating for turbulence throwing my plane around with a switch on my transmitter.

It made flying as peaceful as this moment--

--Boobsong's ghostly form in my third eye, wings raised, tiny because she's bound to the nose of my plane like it's a spanking horse, I'm about to launch and show her the interesting ride those raised wings are daring me to--

...which is not to say we always wanted it to be, but right now, that's perfect. Thinking maybe we'll lie here forever and just enjoy this perfect moment for the rest of eternity gently turns into longing to be out there on the dock sending my plane skimming over the glassy water and into the sunrise...with Boobsong strapped in.

Even more loud purr!

--the red cylinder of the glow igniter sticking out the top of the engine, Boobsong looking hot crouched to hold my plane in place as I flipped the propeller and prayed a backfire didn't take my finger off (even if her nectar would put it back again), then Boobsong holding the plane more determinedly as when flip-starting didn't work I brought out the electric starting motor, now she's holding the plane vertical as the engine screams looking like a helicopter is landing on her and tweaking the fuel mixture for vertical ascents at my command--

Starting one of those little engines was a complicated, fiddly, dangerous ritual nothing like pull-starting even a really obstinate lawn mower. With Boobsong's help, it was great. There was a reason I was sad to put the engine away in favor of the simplicity of electricity.

--tiny Boobsong standing inside the nose of my plane where my fingers can't reach, lifting a bottle of glue as big as she is, to fix crash damage--

--a silver streak blurring into the sky from my side to snatch a plummeting fuselage whose wing had torn off, then flapping more calmly to pluck the wing that flipped lazily down out of the air, and the look on the look on the face of the pilot who'd just spent the moment it took her to get there imagining his $500 airplane at the bottom of the harbor that surrounded our flying field as she landed and presented its undamaged halves to him--

--a wheat field, Boobsong pops up grinning triumphantly from among the stalks and lifts my plane high over the wheat and starts toward me, the way that plane's oddly snouty "face" looked head-on seemed extra-cute in her hands--

--three RC planes flying, no, it was Boobsong following my plane around the sky, copying my aerobatics, but following her was, was--

Wait, that was a dream, I was so excited about my first RC plane I dreamed I visited the factory the kit was made in, oh that's backstory, then did we actually--yes! We visited when we were touring! That wheat field was the family farm of the people who owned the company that made all my model airplane kits.

--the shelf at a hobby shop in that future time where electricity replaced the necromantic alchemy the other world called fossil fuel, looking at the only kits in a store full of ready-made planes, made by Sig, the company whose factory we visited--

--Boobsong following my plane around the sky again, and what's following her is a six-rotored camera drone--

--now she's standing on my airplane-building workbench, facing away, tail pointing down to carefully laser the sheet of balsa there into the parts of an airplane we designed--

Are radio control airplanes a weird thing to think about on your first morning in paradise as you lie there gazing into your lover's eyes knowing what that soft rumbly sound she's making means and that she'll have more of a reason for making it than just the guess I'm holding so desperately to that this is it and not just a temporary rest like Isht Visht's cabin? Maybe. Not for us I think--this was really important to us--but either way, it's the perfect antidote to all that other stuff to dwell on the simple relaxation of the smell of balsa dust and the way the water shone as I taxied out to take off those mornings I flew off Grand Lake.

[Vision: portal opening in space like a circular waterfall expanding out of nothing and the sun and all the planets rush into it and it opens completely and there's the True Sea with Earth and the sun shining on it there]

Heart in my throat because I don't know what I want to be true, I pull my eyes away from her and look at the camp just behind her head.

Old grey wood surrounds us. We're on a bed pushed into the big dormer that takes up most of the side of the roof facing the lake, and the sun is shining in giving everything that happy morning feeling.

...but there's no Isht Visht green, no carefully adjusted dimensions or layered nostalgia. This is just the camp, THE camp, plain and simple.

Purring so quietly.

It's the light, that gets me. It's perfect. Sunlight on Grand Lake in The Camp.

I lie there for a long time just listening to the water lap and Boobsong purr, the wind in the trees outside, smelling the camp's old-wood-and-mothballs comfort, refusing to try to understand so I can just enjoy this--

Gasp quietly stop purring to listen!

A high warbling whoop far echoes across the water outside, and I finally start sobbing, then hold my breath, remembering all the times here we would hear a loon's beautiful sad call and stop everything to see if we would catch the next one.

Wait a minute, what's that signal, short words can't get in them, seventy--

In the silence, I can just hear through the window the buzzing-gears burst of an RC plane's servos all snapping to attention as it's powered on, followed by the whirring of a controls-check.

Sanwa PPM protocol! I knew it!

We haven't had sex since the Waifu ride last night. When I move, I'll realize how horny I am and fuck her...but that's perfect.

"Good morning, you. Get up and open the window and stick your head out and get ready to tell the world good morning."

Head up bolt to the window HEAVE pull up stick head out ready! Wings high tail up wave my ass super temptingly.

Hey, that's your electric Kavalier next to sis!

Like I needed more reason to get up there--

--the dizzy smell of hot Monokote, the black of night outside the windows of the family room in Stamford, we're standing in front of the airplane building board we made out of an old door, Boobsong is holding the wing of my Kavalier for me as I carefully stretch the heat-shrink covering material over the rounded wing-tip but instead of a heat-gun I'm coaxing it with IR from my other hand so the crackle of the plastic as I pull at it is the only sound, and the covering is this awesome glitter-pink which can't be because Top Flite didn't make feminine colors any more than Lego did--

--a roll of white Monokote in my hands, unrolled a little way with the backing peeled back so I can touch the heat-activated glue-and-color compound with my bare hand, then the pulsing feeling almost like cumming as I, I, poured color into it and it turned glittery-pink like liquid was soaking through the coloring on the whole roll--

--standing in the front of a shuttle-bus at Disneyworld, Boobsong wearing a silly black-leather-and-silver-fur Santa hat looking cute with a boom mic, I have a handheld mic and I'm saying, "You said Princess Starlight's your favorite, and she's my favorite too. You know why?" and a few of the kids on the bus shake their heads, so I answer "Because I'm the real Princess Starlight." and the bus goes rainbow-glowing as I unfold my wings and stomp my foot make images of beautiful many-petaled flowers explode from everywhere, then whip up a tornado of toonshaded rainbow streamers and make them festoon everything. I can feel the concentration it takes to hold the thin-air holograms together, not much, but some, the applause cuts me right through like any kind of praise does, I try not to cry through my next line, "Thank you! Now, who'd be happy as a fun new color? Here we are, get ready!" and put my hands up and spew a huge splash of liquid color, but make it splash off an imaginary wall right in front of us and slosh away to just make the weirdly big front area of the bus crazy-colored. "Ooops! I forgot the color wall! You'll have to come up past it when the bus stops. I can make it last just about an hour, so don't be scared," I lied, I could actually make it permanent if I wanted--

--Boobsong kneeling, eyes downcast but her mind and body vibrate with excitement, my hand is on her cheek--

--now she's coming over with a plate or tray or something with glasses held high like a waitress it's dark in the breakfast nook but the lights are on in the kitchen. She gets to me and kneels low so I can get my glass, no of course she's handing it to the table, the shining-rainbow-heart sign that was practically my signature shines bright on her cheek--

--climbing the stairs to the Rainbow Cathedral again, but my vision is clear this time, and I can see my mark shining from Boobsong's ass as she climbs--

--a beautiful silver-and-diamonds slave collar, wow that's lots of diamonds. It's sitting on a pillow made of satin rainbow stripes--

--a giant cube of something clear like glass in front of me. The collar hangs inside of it right near the top, and there's a shape cut out of the inside of the block, the shape of her body like she was wearing the collar and kneeling with her hands on her thighs and butt on her feet and legs apart. She's over my shoulder like a giant pastry bag, I stand her on the cube in a wide dish cut out of the top of it and make a gesture and she slowly starts to melt from her feet up so she's pouring through the collar into the mold, sinking slowly down unstoppably--

--now she's in there, herself again but sexier, her neck poured through the collar because it has no way of opening. The mold holds her completely motionless but I can see the life in her eyes. I step down a couple of steps, see hundreds of people in like pews in a huge curving rainbow-shiny cathedral watching us for a moment and then I've turned to face the mold and hold out my hands (which squishes out my breasts a bunch, I was naked for this too) in front of me and something feels warm and ringing at my palms like I'm singing there and the cube starts to glow, orange and white and melting down away from her but she's fine except for a determined happy smile as the molten glass reveals her head and breasts--

--a beautiful ballroom, white plaster with arches by the ceiling covered in shining mosaics, we're sitting at a table beside each other on some kind curving couch thing with fancy poofy silky cushions in white, made so we can either face each other enough to talk or snuggle and make out. Boobsong is covered in diamond jewelry (and nothing else) that almost makes her seem to have snow clinging to her everywhere, with round-pointed-star diamond-covered nipple-clamps, the light in here makes it all shine and sparkle so she shimmers with every move and in her hand she has tied up with shiny rainbow ribbon on the multicolored stems a bundle of plastic toy flowers in all the colors of the rainbow (not fake, they were toy with fun shapes "real" flowers never would bethat was the point, and these were nice, not cheap kids' toys)--

--white gloves on my hands, I'm naked but there are people--

--a HUGE white cake, smooth fondant icing (so our cake would be encased in CANDY and also just MOAR SUGAR!!!) with little curly decorations on the sides and a candy cherry the size of my head on top. Boobsong is cutting a slice for me, has it on the cake-server, there's a top layer of chocolate sponge and then yellow cake and buttercreme frosting full of rainbow sprinkles inside the fondant (SO THICK LAYER YUM that's right, I'm immune to sugar overload! That's why the zillions of donuts in the green room at the StarFox final, I could have theoretically eaten all of them and been perfectly happy! Nectar really does turn you into yourself). There's no plate, no, of course there's not, because the next thing I did was to pick that piece of cake up and mush it all over her and make her stand on the table with the cake while I licked it all off her! She had to kneel on the table for me to get her face and hair (yumm cotton candy it went with the cake so good right the cake was flavored to go with her tastes so licking it out of her pussy when I got there would be awesome) but that just made it more fun. My licking made her so horny, it was the cutest--

--her hand with mine on the handle of the cookie-gun making spritzer cookies, the lined table cloth around the plate, her naked presence so good beside me--

--in our white-tiled kitchen (with the industrial dishwasher and overhead dish-washing-faucet like the kitchen at camp Monomonac because those are COOL and you can play all sorts of fun games with them) working on a heart-shaped gingerbread house (as rounded as you please, Boobsong's baking skills are as epic as her sex skills) with snow icing and sprinkles (if you put something white-iced near me there will be colorful shiny sprinkles on it soon one way or another). I'm standing over it to shake sprinkles on, and Boobsong is low to put tiny ski-slope flags in their places (that's right, she takes any excuse to imply being about to kneel in case I'll make her actually kneel)--

--Boobsong very carefully filling glasses of eggnog with precisely-placed nutmeg so they'll all be the same height of eggnog on her tray, eyes level with the glasses and carton over her head to pour, seen across the prep table in the kitchen from me where I stand watching her, warm with delight at her cute performance of getting them just so--

--Boobsong in the kitchen in Stamford carrying a huge and very perfect stack of pancakes to the table with a pat of butter on top and syrup dripping over them. She's an artist, makes her food look the perfect way it does in cartoons. I'm sitting in my spot and she leans low with her boobs squeezed between her arms to set the pancakes on the table in the middle, looks at me flirtily and wiggles, I watch her like there's nothing else in the universe. My dad comes in and she straightens in a bubble-pop--

--glancing back over my shoulder to see Mama in a cloak with a hood that hangs down so I can only see her sweet-smirking mouth, she has a lantern on a staff--

--I'm on my back on some kind of bed or something looking up at firelight on the vaulted ceiling of what has to be Strawberry Home and it's smelly but it'll be okay Colleen is changing me and she's so big and comforting though it's kind of scary how the light only shines on her mouth for a second as she comes to shuzz-shuzz-shuzz me--

--silver dishes, a pitcher of milk, the table laid in Strawberry Home, the smell of breakfast meaning Grammie was here! She sat next to me and was bright and sunny and hugged me--

--the ancestors and loved ones all standing together in the white of the temple, blessing us, and then disappearing as their ability to show up physically passed--

--sitting on ponyform Boobsong on the corner of the roof of the apartment building that overlooks Boston Common. It's night, and fall, and we're looking at Park Street Church decked out in the black-and-yellow of Openveil, spotlights shining up from it like the pathways between the otherworld and Earth that're most open this of all nights so Boobsong and me are up here being atmospheric which actually did do something however small magically after all spooky numinosity is one of the best dreamwork pumps there is and when I hide my wings and get on my demon batpegasuspony I do really look like the witch I technically speaking am--

--on the living room couch in Stamford with Boobsong watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas with the family and her polyphonic little voice is so cute blaring da-who-do-re along with the Who, she's got my mom singing in seconds after which only the worst person in the world doesn't join in but they didn't show up tonight--

--Boobsong doing up my snowpants in the family room in Stamford, and tying my boots because we're about to go out sledding, the excitement of Heartwarming hangs in the air, she poings up smiling and turns to get the door for me, her silver hair catching the white of the snow through the window--

--the bannister of the few stairs down to get into the Olive Garden, following the waitress to our table, we're using Boobsong's disguise power (which is real, not just in that story about us) so she's dressed in a silly getup of short red croptop and miniskirt with white furry trim, long green gauntlets and stripey green stockings and looks cute walking in front of me as we follow the waitress (though I miss her tail). We get seated at a little table-for-two in a brick nook just inside the door, Boobsong squishes into the barely-big-enough-for-it seat beside me, and gets the menu for me. We're holding hands under the table, and she kicks off her shoe to footsy my calf with her soft little foot as soon as we sit down. It feels awesome, everything is warm and happy and soft and blushy like being drunk except so much better and hornier--

--Boobsong sitting across the table from me in some restaurant or another, intent on a cellphone because we're using it to pass notes, she's wearing some big fleece-lined jacket, it makes her look cute and cozy--

--Boobsong's face reflected in the acrylic of the big aquarium tank at the Maritime Center in Mystic Connecticut, looking up at the fish with me--

--lying on my back on a silky blanket at the beach, got up in my non-sexy Princess Starlight outfit because it's a proper Cold Grey New England Day At the Beach but Boobsong shines where she's kneeling to cook hot dogs on the little tabletop charcoal grill I commandeered from my parents when they got a real grill, the bottom of the cast-iron base I heated to cook with glowed orange through the notches to set the height of the grilles--

--cross-legged with Boobsong in my lap looking up together at the flashes of a Van De Graff generator show at the Boston Science Museum, her presence in my lap as intense as the fun artificial thunderstorm we're watching--

--doing the hold-hands-and-spin thing with Boobsong, there's music and a crowd around us and the world flashes light and dark as we spin. She's laughing and grinning as we spin dizzy fast, I pull her in and we whirl on my heel like ice-skaters and just stare at her until we stop--

--Disneyworld! Riding the Pirates of the Caribbean ride with Boobsong snuggling next to me and having lots of fun being scared and excited, grabbing and jumping adorably--

--playing some stupid racing game on one of the game machines at McDonald's in Maine on the way to the lake, Boobsong beside me thrilling to my near-misses and bouncing encouragement when I take first place--

--standing in the front of a very swank tour bus with Boobsong naked on my arm ah there's the silkiness of my own bareness and we're waving to everyone as we pull out of the parking lot--

--the sound of engine and brakes as the bus rolls into parking lot in Bangor, that thrill of Maine in the air like we've come home just a bit, she's on the stairs just inside the door completely bareassed and looking so pretty from behind waving to everyone out the window with her tail lashing in full demon-mode. Even here we drew a gaggle of fans and hopeful heartformers, that one catgirl even with beautiful fake paws I could only imagine she hoped would be real soon, leaning out from the crowd to wave, the smell of burgers already in my nose as I anticipate the fancy cookout we're about to set up (spared no expense!) and all my plans to fuck people's minds with Boobsong's fireproof flesh and ability to replicate the fast-food burger of your choice, without using a spatula--

--Boobsong sitting cross-legged on the cushions while I lie on my side behind her in my sexy Starlight Princess outfit, watching as she reads cards and pulls visions for our current client. It's twilight and citronella torches make our pavilion nice and numinous, and there's a nice long line of querents: we're giving farseeing readings from the Boobsong and the real Starlight Princess...but as usual we've set the whole thing up as a dreamskin you can come right up and ogle, too, and people are, and pictures of us will be everywhere soon--

--snuggled together in a seat, booting up a game of StarFox CD on the bus' PlayStation, Boobsong grabs a controller so we can play co-op (Nintendo didn't need to ask where Boobsong and I would be if they failed to include a real co-op mode) and as we start loading up the bridge that marks the end of 95 shoots past outside the window, we're almost to Presque Isle now--

--now we're in our room at at Geddy's Motor Lodge in Presque Isle, perched excited on the edge of the bed like little kids because Starlight Princess is on and we loved to watch it on the air--

--Boobsong so sexy even in her handmaiden-disguise human drag, the naughty expression on her face as we walked down the hall to the pool and she started to run, the flapping of the flipflops that were the only thing she was wearing--

--sprawled on my stomach on the bed with rainbow-holographic silky sheets playing a board game with rainbow-colored spaces with Boobsong who's snuggled beside me, also on her tummy, there's an electronic thingy like Simon Says that zooms rainbow-colored lights around its outer edge to show what space is next. Boobsong zips her finger along the strip where the lights show, and they start spinning--

--lying on my back with Boobsong riding me, she's holding a camera out to the left and taking a picture of us so the flash will make a fun shadow on the windowshade for anyone who happens to be watching at the right moment--

--snuggled in bed together watching TNG on a MacBook, Data is saying something--

--the familiar fuzzy brown Geddy's hotel blanket, a peep of blazing sunlight in the not-quite-closed curtain, Boobsong sliding down me with a smile on her face to put my morning wood to good use--

--standing at the foot of the bed and she's adjusting my Starlight Princess outfit, it's a skimpy two-piece party outfit like we're off to perform for Sugarfeast, not the kid-stuff one, and I feel thrillingly bare--

--on ponyform-Boobsong, flowers all around us but I'm looking up, I can feel the portal with my mind, the satisfaction of having a good grip on it--

--screaming with the effort of pulling it open wider than ever before, millions of streaks of light surround it of all the people pulling with us so it looks like an eye with a pupil that's dilating and will be full of stars any moment--

--the center seems just black, then suddenly something gives and the doorway is open and I can feel the Dreams greet me face to face as they push into the opening and make it the size of the solar system so it looks like those streaks of light of everyone pulling become the whole world going to warp and then it all rushes around us in a rainbow ring--

--sliding sideways off Boobsong's back, too weak to hold on--

--the softness of a bed, Boobsong snuggling--

I lie there blinking a moment, looking at up Boobsong's butt waving good morning to me, letting reality come back, shaking myself out of the weird dream about forgetting everything--

[ Vision: ghost-me bound to the nose of your Ultramicro Ultrix plane with the shelter at the park by your house in Oregon in the background ]

Right, but how can they both--

--writing that drive across Limbo, typing hard, but this time I'm using a custom mechanical keyboard instead of an old laptop, and I'm rewriting--

[ Vision: flurry of images from the book / glass-cutter cutting a circle in glass coffin ]

Losing magic killed me, and the "weird dream" of a book was how Boobsong and our seed-ghost and Mama and Isht Visht and the Dreams brought me back to life. The rest happened after that, except that's impossible, beloved old Geddy's my family stayed in on so many vacations to Maine closed, and we were playing StarFox CD, not 64, not Zero or Assault or anything else, on a Nintendo Playstation on our bus--

--the back of a Starfleet shuttlecraft, it's opening to reveal Isht Visht grinning proudly with her hand on a huge stack of presents that fills the shuttle completely--

--watching from the parking lot as Isht Visht transforms into long lost Geddy's by being millions of Legos that march into place--

Oh my god you guys I love you so much. Erasing history doesn't stick when there's Earth otaku like Mama and Isht Visht out there in the otherworld where your cosmic degausser doesn't reach! All they needed was a way to project and do a little reverse piracy--

--lying on the floor of my living room with Boobsong straddling me, she throws her arms out and there's a blurring of the world and she gasps as I grab her breasts with glowing hands--

...which was no problem with the way the combination of Boobsong and that special heartstone pried open the gaps that closed to take magic away.

--still lying there with Boobsong holding my phone up like she's going to take a selfie, she hits record, and suddenly we're journeying, at the center of a billion paths that lead a billion ways, following all of them--

--charging down a rainbow tunnel on ponyform-Boobsong's back, it reminds me so strongly of the charging-down-the-cable-TV-cable memory but this isn't just cable TV--

--swinging her hammer-form with all my might at the screens I always fucked her against for Sugarfeast as the rainbow tunnel streams away like a cloud we're flying out of--

--conflation jump like Sugarfeast of desks and living rooms and bars and churches and all the millions of places a glowing rectangle looked into other worlds is broken open and the magic it's always been our joy to bring is pouring out so the world bursts alive with color as ghostly companions become physical--

--with Boobsong in the crowd at a huge rock show and the stage shimmers with illusion of a fifties diner. Cherry's singing with her silly grin wearing an apron and waitress hat, and it warms my heart to see her and the Twins having so much fun--

--flapping to hover in smoke, it clears and I feel pretty in rainbow-glitter pasties and g-string--

--inside Canterbury Cathedral looking up at the rose window, Boobsong walking ahead of me with red roses from the rose garden outside in her hair, she turns to face me smiling and throws her arms out like making dreamskins in the Rainbow Cathedral but it's dark in here and already smashed, not by us, though they did leave us the eternal flame and pulpit for old times' sake. Photographers, camera flashes, aaah we are making dreamskins right! There was something, though, it wasn't just ruined church porn, no because now we're looking down from up high riding Boobsong at swirly rainbow patterns projected on the roof and everything looking alive and active, not post-apocalyptic--

--throwing my gloves as hard as I can into a huge crowd with a projector bright at the back, holding a mic, where is Boobsong oh taking off my dress that's where so I can throw it too into the crowd and then there are speech cards WHEE performing naked always felt like riding a roller-coaster--

--my leg up on a chair with my rainbow stocking shining and the silvery garter Boobsong's slowly working off to be hurled into the crowd--

--enjoying Boobsong walking down the stairs into the Olive Garden again, but this time I notice the rainbow-colored string-lights on everything, and a bright shiny Sugarfeast basket on the hostess' desk-thing, the knowing look I give human-drag Boobsong--

--demon-mode Boobsong bouncing cutely down the musical stairs in the big hall of the Boston Science Museum with her wings up and tail keeping time to the notes her footsteps play, hands up like a girly-girl playing hopscotch, boings into my arms at the bottom, wrapped all around me and we start to make out but are interrupted by an obnoxious voice making the same old tired reference to Revelation, just because you could say Boobsong turns into a white horse if you squint kinda--

--sitting on Boobsong in ponyform perched on a church spire, it's night, below on the walk in front of it the guy from the Science Museum is looking up at us. Now on the ground with him, hopping off Boobsong who turns back to girl-form, then watching him sitting on a stool playing guitar, clapping for his song with Boobsong by my side when he finishes. Now he's sitting against the corner of a coffee-shop window, phone held up against the glass to get me and Boobsong sitting across from him in the frame with him. Now sitting in a back pew of some white Evangelical church watching him kneel in front of the altar. We're the only ones in there, and it's night. In my third eye I can see the ghostly white blur of the perfekti that has him, trailed out behind him floating like nightmare legalese seaweed. It's the size of a car. It glitches and tenses, tentacles pop free of his head one at a time (there are so many) until finally he's free. The perfekti starts to drift off up and back from him, and then there's a terrible blaring recognizable trumpet sound and my guardian appears and shatters it character-by-character all at once, shoulders its Weapon, and disappears. Back in the coffee shop, he puts his phone away and sits forward like he's actually interested in what we have to say, asks where we start, and I tell him the first thing he needs is privacy and did my brother explain about his thoughts being his own sometimes--

--squeezing inspiring candy shapes out of the tip of Boobsong's tail like a pastry bag onto silicone baking sheets to make nectar candy to put in the Sugarfeast baskets--

--Boobsong perched precariously (but that's so obviously the idea) on the top of a huge candy-stretching machine, turning the crank, one false move away from being snared in what must be 300 pounds of hot candy there to be stuck until it cools enough that I can eat her...out...bwahahaha--

--looking down at a beautiful red flower in a square vase in my hand, then up at windows that shine with sunlight but inside them a huge flower garden overrun with blazing color overgrows the entire side of the room--

--lights playing on the rainbow-hologram-silvery curved wall of the house and porch from the luminous plants in the terraced back garden, gently moving almost like water as the wind stirs them--

--standing in a garden of black-stemmed, pale blue flowers near a curving little building in Isht Visht green with an almost nautical way--

--another beautiful garden with many-colored flowers and a little square except it's rounded building made of rainbow-iridescent rock with little dark spots like Boobsong and and curly-stemmed creeping purple flowers like the monoliths but real climbing it, water, a bigger house of the same kind of in the background--

--the living room I saw the family relaxing in after the housewarming parties except now anything but the screen is visible and I can see a space made of the same iridescent-silver-rainbow stuff with comfy couches and a big central thing that's also the pillar the screen is on and there's a wavy fun bouncycastle waterslide down from the upstairs and the rainbow-shiny stuff isn't rock it's bouncy--

--the entry table on the way into the living room with its heart-shaped picture of Boobsong and gemstone old-timey phone made so the speaker looks like a dark purply gemstone rose in a vase--

--being picked up by forcefields, warm and bubbly like Isht Visht's tractor beam, and all my clothes taken off--

--Boobsong (naked) and me (also bareassed) seen through my third-person view in a hot air balloon bwahahah it's not hot air it's literally a giant party balloon with the bottom tied off and everything, iridescent like I'm super fast remembering to be my favorite "color" after "Boobsong", trussed up with shining ropes and a diamond-looking gondola, floating off on the winds of the True Sea to who even knows where which is so obviously the point--

--shiny-domed heartstone rocks and spiky-soft purple grass with a stream lined with Johnny Jump-ups in the foreground, Boobsong and me lying naked on round rainbow-hologram-black pillows on a shiny-dark blanket, I'm sprawled and she's half on top of me feeding me something, we're out picnicking--

--an iridescent stone hanging on its chain in a frame with a black satin background--

--watching voidships come and go dramatically at some anime spaceport (indoors in a giant space station also in the void), Boobsong snuggled in front of me as we look through a telescope worthy of Studio Ghibli--

--some incredibly epic rocket with literally twelve engines like something out of anime doing it's ignition sequence, engine after engine roaring to life and then I can feel the acceleration, the sheer awesomeness gives me chills--

--like twelve years old, Boobsong and I on the living room floor in Stamford working on some kind of Lego ship, we had a big blue baseplate for water, my dad's there standing to watch a few moments of whatever the kids had on the TV, which is of course Starlight Princess--

--my birthday, the cake is a brightly-colored bundt done up as a rainbow circle so each slice would have pie-slices of color over it with sliced strawberries in the frosting. Twelve candles in a circle on top, on the other side of it Boobsong is up on the table with her chin on her hands looking so excited, in full silver-demon form with the colors shining in her hair and horns, she's twelve too but my memory translates her as incredibly hot, it was right before we headed for the lake--

--seven years old and drawing pictures of the dock at Grand Lake with the moon over the water in MacPaint but now Heartsong is sitting there because I can see her, sitting on the floor with her back to me to model looking up at the moon so I can carefully click the right pixels on to capture her shape--

--Saturday morning cartoons with Heartsong, she's feeding me cereal as we watch, but it's happy like when the PBS Chronicles of Narnia showed, this is special and important somehow--

--playing with SkyCommanders with their ribbons and strings, there she is smiling through the maze of them, this is so fun!--

--another me in my pretty rainbow getup from season one or two of Starlight Princess, no wait, that's a squishie poofy doll in silky fabric I demanded Disney make--

--Heartsong in little-pony form in my lap to watch (G1!) My Little Pony with Grammie in the theatre without buying her a seat, I was hugging her to me so tightly, with all my little strength--

--kid-Heartsong being heartbreakingly adorable jumping excitedly on the bottom bunk at campwe're ecstatic to spend the summer with other kids and their luxhi'khora seedlings (I like the big word) who will understand what it feels like and not be offended that Heartsong is the most important person in the world to me by a million billion miles, and just understand why her and heartforming her are mostly what I want to talk about--

--playing Pararena with Boobsong on our old Mac Plus in the family room of Stamford, snuggled at the keyboard with her, she's smiley and excited-raah being a Good Opponent--

--now the same, but it's color, and we're holding wireless controllers with an iPad on our pressed-together knees to play--

--a tiny black mirror in a fold-over case like a wallet in my hand. I hold it high for cameras to see and a crowd in front of me stares up and there's an Apple logo on the back of it!?--

--the this-doesn't-make-sense-to-me pique of time-travel journeying, standing in a scufty and very sixties apartment with red walls. Boobsong is kneeling on display already and I'm bursting my wings out and cranking up a bunch of trippy rainbow light because I'm pretty sure that's what'll get Steve to look up from his bong enough to implant--

Holy fuck I gave a seed to Steve Jobs. I can't believe I forgot about that.

--Boobsong holding our family cat Cotton, standing by the wall behind my spot at the table in Stamford as I unbox our new PowerBook but of course she's totally upstaging the unboxing with her cuteness with Cotton so I keep looking over my shoulder at her nuzzling Cotton and looking thrilled, cats make her happy this is adorable she's chanting some silly little song at Cotton who looks like she might possibly even like this which would be the first thing Cotton's liked that year at least--

--my Earth-mom making breakfast, Boobsong carrying the huge model Arwing she and Isht Visht made me for my birthday--

--Boobsong crawls to tweak my StarFox jacket's arrangement on the floor, then faces me and I look into her eyes, and the world whites out and then is two purple-white holes into the end of all worlds staring back at me and her thoughts sound like it. Smoke is curling up from around us (there I go fusing air again) when we finish, and we're both panting, and Boobsong has an awesome HAH grin on. She turns around and picks up my jacket and holds it out to me, and I reach out to feel the inside--

--a flash of turbofan blades gets me to see that we're on and airplane but this is the cabin of a private jet of some kind and she's straddling me so we can join the Mile High Club--

--the fancy flying-angel hood ornament of our vintage-limo wedding getaway car, red carpet, the world glitters with camera flashes all around us but all that feels far away because my eyes are glued to Boobsong as she crawls beside me on a leash attached to the collar I just poured her into, climbs into the back seat in front of me--

...and that is a sexy enough memory that I'm leaping up to get behind Boobsong and grab her enticing hips by the folds where they become her thighs--