Emissary From Another World

Can’t sleep. C. only just fallen asleep now. We had a false alarm. I am terrified, both of something going wrong, and of everything going right. We’re going to have a baby, and very soon, by the look of it. I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Writing this by lamp out the front and I can just see the sun coming up. It makes me feel better, though I’m not sure why.

Alright, Gaius. Time for a serious talk with yourself. You are going to be somebody’s father. You’re not going to be like your father was. There’s no rule, and there’s nothing that says you have to be. Besides, if you’re frightened, imagine how she must feel. She’s the one that has to push it out. You’ll be fine. You just have to be a man.

What’s amazing is when she sucks my fingers. She’ll just start at night when we’re in bed, sucking them, licking them, until she can feel how hard I am and then she sucks my cock. It all happens in total darkness, so I can feel it all, but I can’t see.

There’s no need to write a novel, really. There’s no point writing it all down when I can just talk about it with her. I forget that, really, all the time. It’s all been so mixed up and confused and complex and, of course, there was a war. And she came to me because of that war. But, oh, my, we used to frak like rabbits. Once in a limousine. We were slightly drunk, or at least I was, and she kissed me like I had never been kissed before and I couldn’t let it rest there. I pulled her leg over my shoulder and gave it to her. The best part was, she didn’t seem at all surprised. That was incredible. On the one hand, I was frakking her fully dressed – I just opened my fly, and she wasn’t wearing any panties – almost violently, certainly aggressively, in my own kind of furious pervert heaven, but at the same time, she regarded me with total understanding, unwavering power even, and a little smile, so I was thinking “who the frak are you?” She looked as if she had me right where she wanted me, which, I suppose, she did. I think I’ll always wonder when she fell in love with me for real, and how long it was all for show.

I don’t think she was, now, actually. Drunk. She never drank very much. Just enough to be in the party. And once, when I came in to my house with another woman, and she was there, she was drinking already. But just one, I think. The point is, though, that I shouldn’t forget. My wife was – is – a seriously dirty girl.

We should stop, actually. Cottle said making her come too much in the last month can be a bit dangerous.

I’m trying to think HOW to write about sex. Looking back over this diary to see how I have written about it so far, and I haven’t much, or at least not as much as I’ve thought about it.

Last night, for example, I made love to my wife, or rather, we made love to each other. Often, when I write about it or even think about it, I tend to think of sex as an action I do upon another, rather than as a mutual experience. But I don’t think that’s how I think of it when I’m there, doing it. It’s what she does to me as much as it’s what I do to her. Her nipples are quite a lot harder, and a bit bigger than they usually are, and very sensitive, so I have to be gentle. Sometimes she leaks a tiny bit, just the tiniest bit. I’ve licked it off once or twice. She thought it was gross at first.

Her breasts get sore, too, so everything has to be done softly. I can’t pull on her or paw her, it has to be smooth little strokes, cupping and not grabbing. I actually have to remind myself about this, because I do like a bold handful of tit. If I grab her too tightly, it makes her wince. I can’t push too hard on her stomach, either, because of where the baby is sitting. If I hold her too firmly around the waist it makes her want to go to the bathroom.

But what I like the most is watching her face. She looks so many different ways while we’re doing it. Often she will look up at me, in this curious sort of way, before biting me, or licking my stomach, or cupping my balls with her palm and stroking the edge of my ass. Sometimes she’ll put her finger in, just a little bit, and that really is excellent. Her face changes when she gets closer to coming, too. By degrees. I have spent a lot of time watching her. Sometimes, I’ll bring her close by eating her out, and then finish her off with my hand just so I can lie next to her and watch her face.

The other thing that’s changed is that it’s a little hard on her to get on top of me now, and also, for me to get on top of her (she’d have to tilt back quite far, of course, and that’s a bit of effort.) Sometimes we’ll do that and I’ll hold up her legs, and we can still do it easily from behind, of course, but last night, to save her knees, we did it on our sides. I don’t think it was as deep for her, but I took care to compensate her with my fingers. It was great for me. Because her legs were together, it was quite tight, and there are few things that are more pleasant than having a beautiful woman’s ass slapping against one’s thighs.

She still worries about that, by the way, her ass. She’s got quite curvy all over, and she did used to be very thin. Still, I say now as I said when she first brought it up: there is absolutely nothing wrong with a nice soft ass.

C. brought up the child’s name again. She put my hand on her stomach and told me it was Felix either way. I wonder if she has any names. I suppose if she does we’ll just have to have more. Goodness knows where we’d put them all.

Notes for porno novel:

The time Tori cried.

That lady on Caprica before the fall who did martial arts.

Those three students from my first year info-tech paper. They were awkward as anything, but that was what made it so touching. One was a blonde and two had dark hair. They were all only eighteen (they’re lovely at that age) and, of course, I gave them all As.

Bit tired tonight. Started rotating the vegetables and it’s quite the job, as always.

C. has just said something very dirty. Sometimes I forget how kinky she is. She’s smiling sweetly at me right now. I assume this is because she has no idea what I’m about to do to her.

C. has loudly vetoed threesome. She says that even if she wasn’t almost eight months pregnant, she’d still be too old for that sort of complicated nonsense. Fair point, really. I doubt she remembers it as fondly as I do.

She has the most endearing waddle these days. Obviously, she’s carrying a lot more weight than she’s used to, so she has to sort of tilt backwards to walk or get up. It’s adorable.

I like watching her sew. Partly this is because I taught her – sewing fabric is not that different from sewing skin – but partly it’s just the pleasure in seeing a job well done. She is making clothes for the child out of one of my shirts. She is also wearing one of my shirts (it’s a bit short on her arms.) The clothes are very little. Touchingly little, actually. It gives me a nice feeling. I am, it seems, becoming something of a sentimental fool where my child is concerned. From time to time, it pays to remind myself that I am extraordinarily lucky.

Can’t seem to give up writing. I’ve gotten used to it. I think maybe I’ll write a pornographic novel. Not for any particular reason, but just because I can. There wouldn’t even be anybody to read it, except for C. and possibly Lee (although, I doubt he would read it, he’s far too pure) but I think I’d like to write it anyway. For my own amusement, I suppose. It occurred to me to write a history or a memoir or something like that, but I’d rather not. I’d much rather write about sex. It is one of my favourite things, and I have a lot of experience to draw on. I’m not about to say it was all healthy, but it was certainly varied.

The sex C. and I are having at the moment is inventive, so perhaps that’s what brought this on. She thinks a porn novel is a great idea. It’s quite nice of her too, I think, that she wouldn’t mind my writing about other girls. The thing is, I do actually like writing. I wouldn’t mind writing about the menage à trois she and I had with D’anna. I know that everything that was going on around them was complex and horrible, and as I recall I was pretty caddish in my treatment of both women, but my oh my, that was some excellent sex. There is no sex like sex with two Cylons. They were both considerably stronger than me, of course. And they were licking each other.

It occurs to me that we might have another threesome with someone from the village, possibly another six.

Thinking about Felix, still. It’s not so much with personal horror any more. Just sadness. He told me that he had wanted to be an architect, once. He would have been very good at that. He had that kind of mind, dreaming and methodical at the same time. I wish he was here, now, so we could talk. He wouldn’t even let me apologise on that last night. I don’t know whether he had forgiven me, or whether he just didn’t care any more. I suppose it doesn’t really matter either way.

Rest well, Felix Gaeta. You were my friend and I love you. I didn’t then, but that’s only because I didn’t know how.

Drinks with Lee, yesterday. I’m trying very much not to be a drunk asshole when drinking and I find that Lee is a good influence on me. Still, after a couple I got bold and talked about Felix. Lee was very quiet and listened, and then he said that he had suspected that our relationship had affected me that way. He asked me if we’d been lovers, because he said he’d always wondered after Felix lied at the trial. It wasn’t really a lie. It was, perhaps, about that specific incident, but it was true enough over all.

He also wanted to know what it was like speaking to Felix before he died, and that’s something I remember often. I remember Felix looking at me, saying he wanted people to know who he was. It felt good to talk about him, it felt good to tell Lee who he was. I remember his face, all the time. He was a very attractive man, Felix, actually really beautiful. And I did know who he was, he was an idealist and he was so clever, and everything that happened to him after New Caprica was my fault. Felix’s only fault was being naive. He trusted me, and I let him down very badly. Lee didn’t exactly disagree, but he said, also, that Felix made his own choices. That was nice of him to say.

Lee’s like a monk or a priest sometimes (he’s so calm!) but still, it’s funny being so emotional with another man. I thought, for a moment, that all this confession would make him think differently about me. It didn’t – and I suppose I shouldn’t have wondered, because he’s already some fairly appalling behaviour on my part, and still, here he is. I said – and this is something I find truly remarkable – that I was glad he was my friend (it’s remarkable because I don’t do that. I’m terrible at that. I always have been. It’s one thing with women, but it’s quite another thing with a man.) He said he was too. He said, I will write again for emphasis, that he was glad he was my friend too.  He also said, and I had forgotten this, that he was there when Felix was executed. He was! I hadn’t remembered. I think we even spoke afterwards, but my mind is a total blank. I’m trying to remember now, but all I can see is Felix, and all I can hear is the last thing he said – “it’s stopped”, referring to his phantom pain from his missing leg, I assume, but also, perhaps, to the pain of such a confusing existence. I had forgotten – and this, really, is pretty poor of me – that Tom Zarek had also been executed then. Tom was a good man, in some ways. He was certainly more honourable than I, and I respected him. He was a pretty pure soul, I think, even if his purity was essentially destructive.  Lee agreed on that front. He said that Tom had taught him a lot, and that many times he had found him to be extremely honourable. Tom had been his friend, actually. He had never been mine, really, even though I knew him pretty well, but some of that is because I’ve never known how to have friends.

One thing Lee said was that at the time, the worst thing for him was knowing it was the only possible choice, the only possible outcome. Felix had to be shot. I think I knew that too, but god I wish I

Without it, I’ve got no place to put my excess thoughts.

Went hunting with Lee again today. It works considerably better with two – C. used to come, and will again, I hope, because she and I had a good rhythm, not to mention the fact that she is by far faster and tougher than I am. But it was good with Lee too. He has a good eye and he doesn’t mind waiting. There’s a lot of waiting, of course, but then one has to get in close and kill something with a knife. I dislike having blood on my hands, but I do like eating fresh meat (we’ve been living on smoked for the last few months.) I wonder that something else has to die so I can live. As if any life was always a series of deaths.

Lee wonders about this himself, or, rather, he does now. He’s gone back to the village tonight, but he says he’ll come up for drinks in a few days. This happened while I wasn’t paying attention, but it seems that he is my actual friend. He seems to be putting things aside to talk to me about. I only hope I don’t frak this up like I did with Felix.

Not sure I need to keep keeping this any more. C. and I looked at the stars tonight – really warm outside, even at night, and it’s too hot for her to sleep indoors. She must be past six months now. We sat out until she was tired enough, but we may as well bring out something to sleep on over the next little while.