Lying in the dark, alone on my bed, I dream about him/her.
I know that it shouldn't be love, it couldn't be love, but here I
am, waiting for him/her to knock on my window, waiting for him/her
to enter the room, enter me.
My body is hot as I toss off the sheets, the silk pajamas more
irritable than the roughest of sandpaper against my sensitive skin.
I unbutton the top and and pull off the bottom, exposing yet more
flesh and silk. The itch is unbearable.
I close my eyes, but they dart back to the first time.
* * *
I told no one about the time in the darkness.
We got split apart, me and my sister and our bodyguard, and I walked
in the cave-like darkness, wondering where they were, when I saw
him/her standing on an outcropping, staring at me, the wind whipping
his/her hair in the wind. He looked strangely epic, wearing ninja
garb, with a cloth covering the bottom part of his/her face. I was
absorbed immediately by his/her eyes.
At first, I thought he/she was one of those monsters.
He/she leapt down and asked me, "What are you searching for here?"
pointing at me.
I felt that he/she was already upon me, although he/she was clearly
three paces away. I could barely stutter, "Um, well... my little
sister, and..."
It was then he/she grabbed me by the arm and kissed me on the lips.
It was the strangest sensation: soft lips under harsh cloth. He/she
pulled me closer, then pressed his/her body against mine, my back to
a stalagtite - I couldn't stop the hands from ripping, pulling,
fondling... touching, probing...
My mind was overwhelmed from the events, and something inside me,
something base and lonely, seized the opportunity, seized him, and
he/she lay beneath me. My nerves were on fire - everything was sharp,
the tastes, the smells, the sounds, and the completeness that his/her
body was - and here being shared with me.
I could feel the confidence in his voice when he told me who he was,
who it was that owned me, and would own me forever. I knew, even then,
that I couldn't have agreed more.
Then, he/she said my sister's name.
How angry he/she was when he/she found out that I was not my sister.
"I've been wasting my time!"
"Wait!" I was angry, too - angry and hurt. "All the love-making you
did to me was a lie?"
"I thought you knew the arts. What are you implying? 'Love'...?!"
He/she turned to me, fists at his/her sides. "Ridiculous!"
But with another turn, the hardness in his/her voice dropped. "Don't
think badly of me. Best if you just forgot it."
And he/she joined the shadows once more.
* * *
I followed, as best I could, but only after the longest time. He/she
found her, my sister, and they had fiery, passionate, angry, warlike
sex. It was political, a fight of control, and of self-control.
It was impersonal and brutal, honest in the way that two opponents on
death ground knew each other and danced in vicious circles. I could
see his/her blue eyes flashing victory at every step - except the last.
And when he/she lay down, spent, my sister's umbrage grew, and I knew
that life and death would rely on my words.
"Let him go, please..."
* * *
I told no one about the night after that.
I woke to the breeze, knowing well that I had shut the window, as the
events still shook me badly, and my tears were still plentiful. It
was dark and I was scared.
I saw him, standing just outside the shadow, hair in the breeze and
yet still, as though a fixture in the room. All that told me that it
was him/mer were the eyes, piercing.
I sat up, not bothering to cover my semi-nudity, awash with relief and
insult. "How - ?"
With one step, I saw that he/she was naked. I stared at the ample
breasts, and the wideness of the hips, and the way that he/she shook.
It was fear. Fear of my sister, in a small part, but mostly a fear...
of me.
He/she lay beside me, uncomfortable on the sheets, and I lay upon her.
* * *
"I."
I brought a hand to her face, but he/she grabbed it. "Don't."
He/she did not stop me when I reasserted myself, and I touched the
scar that crossed his/her cheek. "Don't," she said again, and this
time, I complied.
"I," he/she repeated, "I will never return."
"I know," I said, and I did know - knew that this was not the way,
and the exclusivity of clans and blood and anger. "I know."
"You... you are not like your sister." He shook his head. "You...
you should have no part of this madness."
I kissed his lips, held her breasts, stopped the flood of tears in
our embrace.
I don't know of his/her and my sister's world, and I know only that
I am included and excluded by blood. I could never remove him/her
from that world, nor could I remove that world from him/her.
"There is," he finally said, when I had allowed it, "no love in the
ninja arts." But his eyes told of the pain, the sacrifice.
"Then there is only remembrance." I touched his manhood, and touched
my abdomen.
* * *
And so, tonight, I am not waiting for his/her return. He/she will
never return to my arms, to accost and to assail me. In his stead, I
have his seed, the potent juice of his loins - and the musk of her
vulva, dancing around the lips of my own.
The sexual crafts imbued upon my body, the dweomer, marks me indelibly
as his/hers. The blood that was spilled would never be cleaned, and I
never cried, not even as his/her lifeless body spilled onto mine.
I knew, even then, that it was only escape available to a ninja.
Tonight, I offer my juices as my hands take his/her place on my body,
I convulse as his/her spirit takes me, in my room, in my shrine to our
eternal love, a shrine to Ranmaru, ninja of the Suzuka clan.
* * *
Hmmmm... that didn't quite go the way that I wanted it to. He wasn't
supposed to die on me, dammit. It just seems fitting that he does, in
my warped version of the medieval sense of the ninja. I really, really
just wanted to figure out how some thing happen, even in hentai anime.
Just strange that a hermaphrodite in La Blue Girl would be named Ranmaru.
Switch
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