A shy reference librarian, and a college student who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, meet in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over. What ensues between the...
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Mud squishes under our shoes as we walk along the path that overlooks the river gorge. It's not exactly a narrow path, but wet fallen leaves and slippery rocks make careless walking treacherous, and there is a steep slide downhill that, at best, would end in a close encounter with jabbing underbrush, at worst, in an involuntary bath in rapids that have been swollen with autumn rain; so we're taking this section of trail at a slow and careful pace. The earlier part of the trail was gently sloped, even paved in parts, and led to a rather nice overlook from where we could see the waterfall, or, if we preferred to walk just a little farther, a wide cave mouth; it's a popular part of the park to visit, though, even on wet, chilly days in late fall, so we're pushing on. I'm glad this is a day we both have off, because it means we can take our time. There are rocks and trees in this park that have graffiti carved into them from the nineteenth and even the eighteenth centuries, left by wandering trappers, soldiers, and settlers; looking for their carved signatures and initials is half the fun of walking this trail.
After a particularly rugged section that has me wishing for a walking stick, he looks around, sees something on his right, and veers off onto what I would be tempted to call a goat track, except I'm pretty sure, given the crushed beer can that I can see in the scrub brush, it was made by teenagers, not goats.
He looks over his shoulder and beckons. "This way," he says, and I do my best to tiptoe in mud and wet leaves without stumbling. He's more sure-footed than I am; he has to stop every few minutes to wait for me to catch up to him.
Eventually, we are perched side by side on a large, moss-covered log, overlooking a gully that leads down to the river.
It's a long way down.
"Excellent. We have a good view of the river, and we're just exposed enough to the mist that we'll stay in touch with the dampness. A little further on is a cave passage that would also have worked well for my purposes, but it's on the path, and while it's unlikely anybody will be coming this way, given the weather, I didn't want to risk a chance of being interrupted. This is better. I thought we'd work on channeling the elements. Sit facing me, please."
I rotate gingerly until I am straddling the log. It seems a stable enough position. More or less. He's in the same position himself, and he seems comfortable enough.
"You'll probably find this particular lesson rather enjoyable," he says, and smiles. "It involves a lot of kissing."
He's right. I like the sound of it already.
"Attend. I am sure you have noticed, by now, that quite aside from any questions of technique or style, there is a qualitative difference between certain of my kisses. It's because I sometimes channel different types of elemental energy for different desired effects. When working with Air, for instance, I've generally done so to take a very small amount of yours away from you. I do that to intensify certain physical reactions you have while we're making love, also because I happen to greatly enjoy it when you start swooning in my arms. You look cute when you do that. I'm not going to demonstrate it right now, because we're perched on a log over a steeply inclining slope and a ravine. Earth, on the other hand? Earth is another matter. This is Earth when channeled through a kiss."
