Zawmb’yee Becomes High Priestess 97, About Chapter 8

Zawmb’yee continues the blog

ENTRY 97

     So the painting wasn’t done — just an idea teased out, a glimpse of something to come. ‘The calm before the storm’ as they say, or is that ‘the calm before the orgasm.’ No, the storm before the … Never mind. It was play; it was a play for drama, for time and moves, a game, a passion flowering as we stood nude in the hallway.
     After Doug had stood up and removed his condom, I had walked over to the scattered painting paraphernalia to dip one of the little buckets into the giant bucket of rinse water, and walked back to splash Doug’s new exposure and splash I did.
     Doug said, “Yow. Is that for the painting?”
     “No,” I said, “um, every cannon must be cleaned so it can fire again.”
     “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” he said as he casually kissed each of my nipples and made his way over to the buckets. He dipped two buckets into the water and brought them back. He gave me one and said, “I demand a duel at 30 paces.”
     I said, “Huh?”
     He put my face in his hands and he kissed me. He said, “We stand behind-to-behind, walk thirty paces, turn and fire our buckets of water.”
     “You mean, we stand with your little cute butt pushed against my voluptuous derrièré, and then we each walk forward thirty paces and turn to throw water at each other?”
     “Yes,” he said and turned.
     I stroked his hairy cheeks, and then I turned and bumped him. We each walked forward carrying our buckets of water. Doug had walked only 15 of his 30 paces when I turned and watched his cute hairy butt and cute hairy back move down the hallway. I stopped, raised and aimed my bucket to wait for him to turn around. As soon as he turned, I threw it as hard as I could, but it didn’t reach him. He threw his and the water hit me between the breasts and dripped down. We raced to the big bucket to get more water. I took Doug’s hands, and we sat down and laughed.
     Doug said, “You are a joy.”
     “We are,” I said. But then I frowned.
     “What’s wrong?”
     “It’s an Utd’mbts word…”
     “What?”
     “Uayi! It’s Apacevj.”
     “What’s Uayi?
     “Well, it’s very formal. It means, ‘If I may have your permission to fuse and join into the node of your beingness, I would wish to impart to you, with deference and respect, the essence of my cognizance that I fervently believe is an element of truth which I believe will be to your benefit and which I offer with benign intention.’ ”
     “What?”
     “Um, it means that he says ‘hi’, can I speak to you telepathically for a moment please.”
     “Oh. At least, a lot more polite than what happened in the park.”
     “Yes. Um, give me a moment. I’m not used to this. This is very uncomfortable.” I lay down on the carpet and meditated. After ten minutes, I sat up.
     Doug said, “What does he want?”
     “He wants me to come back to the Kmpamew so he can properly teach me upper Utd’mbts. He says I’m awkward and not very fluent and it’s vital in these crisis times that I learn more.”
     “He’s that blunt or…”
     “No, I’m just summarizing it for you. He said it in a kind way. But…”
     “But there’s serious things happening…”
     “Yes.”

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