skins. Somewhere there was a shuttle port. That was about all I knew about Icarus. I knew more about the myths of old Earth. The only future I had at that time was perhaps to get a farm of my own further out along the rim. Then find a woman and settle down. Settle down! Settle down from what?
Then one day, unforeseen, my life changed.
It was early afternoon and I was running through one of the link tubes, working up a sweat, when I saw ahead of me someone who waved. I waved back and then the figure crossed into the tall plants of sweetcorn which occupied a thick strip down the center of the dome tunnel. I paid no special heed, but when I reached the place where the figure had been I heard my name called. I stopped and pushed my way through the stiff upright stalks of corn and there, reclining in the middle, was a woman. I knew her, had known her since I was a boy. We’d shared lessons and played together. Now she was different. I knew all about sex (our lessons were thorough) but sex had never meant much to me. It had seemed silly and my father and mother were no advertisement for married ecstasy. But now, suddenly, here was a woman, and she was lying back and her skirt was up above her knees and there was darkness there between her legs and her arms were lifted to me. I stood stupid as an ox, knowing and yet not knowing. I stood above her and she pulled my shorts down, hurting me, for my cock was standing out like a bottle. I know my throat went dry. I know I went down on my knees. I know she took my ears in her hands. I know I smelled her, a smell of earth and sweetcorn and sweet skin. I know I wanted to lick and tear and . . . and she was so hot, so smooth and fluid, that only her heat told me I was in her and then I came as though I had been stabbed, as though there was blood flowing from me. And she came moments later and made the kind of noises that made me think I had hurt her except that she kissed me and smiled and threw her arms back. Moments later she relaxed and I had a vision. I was lying on my face in a lake of water and the waves were washing over me and I wanted to stop breathing and loll and slip under the surface. But she eased me off her and said, “Thank you.”
This was the first of many visions. Many deceptions. How can there be other than deception when we who live know so little? Hope is God’s mockery.
Later, I do not know how much later, some five or six times later I think, I donned my shorts and took to the road again but there was no run in me. I managed to make a hundred yards or so back toward our farm but then I went down on my knees, my forehead on the earth. It was lovely to be on the earth and I squirmed around and looked back down the tube tunnel and she was walking away from me. I loved her then in my mind and I doubt if I have ever felt such clarity of love, such a pure mingling of desire and effort in my life since. I fell asleep in the road. As simple as that. Her name was April.
I tell you this only because I think that the first time a man or a woman joins in sex they define themselves. You wouldn’t know of course because you are an autoscribe and perhaps you are fortunate because I do not believe that my human passions have brought me or anyone else happiness. But in my life that first encounter with the otherworldly reality of sex was a moment of definition. It was a long time ago and memory is a great liar, but I think I believed that when I was making love I would live forever. There was something eternal and unchanging about it. Lying in the road, knees buckled and body stunned so that my will was as empty as a bucket at evening, I felt a golden something rise in my veins and flow through my body like honey. Oh, blessed. Can you now understand why I am where I am and what I am?
We made love many times after that, April and I, and we were careless who heard us. But later I became curious about other women. Slow in some ways, quick in others, I was growing up. I reached
Then one day, unforeseen, my life changed.
It was early afternoon and I was running through one of the link tubes, working up a sweat, when I saw ahead of me someone who waved. I waved back and then the figure crossed into the tall plants of sweetcorn which occupied a thick strip down the center of the dome tunnel. I paid no special heed, but when I reached the place where the figure had been I heard my name called. I stopped and pushed my way through the stiff upright stalks of corn and there, reclining in the middle, was a woman. I knew her, had known her since I was a boy. We’d shared lessons and played together. Now she was different. I knew all about sex (our lessons were thorough) but sex had never meant much to me. It had seemed silly and my father and mother were no advertisement for married ecstasy. But now, suddenly, here was a woman, and she was lying back and her skirt was up above her knees and there was darkness there between her legs and her arms were lifted to me. I stood stupid as an ox, knowing and yet not knowing. I stood above her and she pulled my shorts down, hurting me, for my cock was standing out like a bottle. I know my throat went dry. I know I went down on my knees. I know she took my ears in her hands. I know I smelled her, a smell of earth and sweetcorn and sweet skin. I know I wanted to lick and tear and . . . and she was so hot, so smooth and fluid, that only her heat told me I was in her and then I came as though I had been stabbed, as though there was blood flowing from me. And she came moments later and made the kind of noises that made me think I had hurt her except that she kissed me and smiled and threw her arms back. Moments later she relaxed and I had a vision. I was lying on my face in a lake of water and the waves were washing over me and I wanted to stop breathing and loll and slip under the surface. But she eased me off her and said, “Thank you.”
This was the first of many visions. Many deceptions. How can there be other than deception when we who live know so little? Hope is God’s mockery.
Later, I do not know how much later, some five or six times later I think, I donned my shorts and took to the road again but there was no run in me. I managed to make a hundred yards or so back toward our farm but then I went down on my knees, my forehead on the earth. It was lovely to be on the earth and I squirmed around and looked back down the tube tunnel and she was walking away from me. I loved her then in my mind and I doubt if I have ever felt such clarity of love, such a pure mingling of desire and effort in my life since. I fell asleep in the road. As simple as that. Her name was April.
I tell you this only because I think that the first time a man or a woman joins in sex they define themselves. You wouldn’t know of course because you are an autoscribe and perhaps you are fortunate because I do not believe that my human passions have brought me or anyone else happiness. But in my life that first encounter with the otherworldly reality of sex was a moment of definition. It was a long time ago and memory is a great liar, but I think I believed that when I was making love I would live forever. There was something eternal and unchanging about it. Lying in the road, knees buckled and body stunned so that my will was as empty as a bucket at evening, I felt a golden something rise in my veins and flow through my body like honey. Oh, blessed. Can you now understand why I am where I am and what I am?
We made love many times after that, April and I, and we were careless who heard us. But later I became curious about other women. Slow in some ways, quick in others, I was growing up. I reached
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