It’s Dolly’s Birthday - Part 2

They would shower together whenever they could. Drummond especially had seen firsthand the holding back that began with the death of the intimacy of new love. It was heartbreaking when lovers went from the absolute in--each--others'--pockets, always--together couple--ness, to being strangers of a nodding acquaintance passing in a cold apartment hallway. He knew that he did not ever want that to happen between him and the doll, and he clung to every moment of their time together with a ferocious possessiveness.

So they vowed they would never sleep apart. They made every effort to be together every day: to bathe together, to take their meals together, to engage in some form of physical exertion every day, and in regular -- even frequent -- sex. They would forgo almost anything else, but these they would shoehorn into the busiest schedules.

"Be wary of the impulse that makes you want to say, 'I need my own space'," he'd warned her early on in their relationship. "I'm not saying that you should resist it or deny it, just that you should examine it closely for signs you might come to regret it. I want very much for us to try to avoid the loss of intimacy that comes from two people pulling apart, each into his own separate space."

At the time, Dolly had said nothing in response, only nodded somberly, her emerald eyes wide. He knew that he could be somewhat intense in his ardor and might overwhelm the object of his affections, so he did not press the issue.

But word came back to him later at second and third hand of her spirited defense of some of their more private customs, which sometimes took away from their associations with other people. She had taken the advice to heart and followed it to the utmost.

It hurt sometimes. The heart can be rubbed raw from constant exposure, and it is so tempting to run away and hide, like a wounded animal, to lick the wounds. But in each pulling away, there is a loss. Tiny, almost infinitesimal, but real nevertheless. And the loss is cumulative. Each separation adds to the previous one or ones until one day there is a yawning gulf between two people who thought themselves a bonded pair.

Of course, neither of them was inclined to be a sober and serious communicant, sipping daintily from life's chalice. Rather, they were bawdy, lusty participants, taking joy when and where they found it. Rather than speaking with the still small voice, they were of a mind to make a joyful noise. And not necessarily unto The Lord, either.

In aid of which, they had had grab bars installed in strategic locations around their ceramic--tiled shower stall, and a non--skid texture etched into the floor of their porphyry tub. These additions allowed them to engage in touch love and sex play under the warm water of the shower. Love and play that, with some small care for caution, allowed them to take rather more fun than might otherwise be found in the prosaic process of getting clean.

So it was that, on the morning of the first anniversary of her birth, Dolly was standing spraddle--legged in the bottom of the tub, bent at the hips, hanging on to the bar below the shower head, her head swinging between her arms, yowling her arousal and release like a wildcat as her lover bent over her from behind, his arms wrapped lovingly around her small body, his lips covering her back and neck with kisses and they moved together with an ages-old urgent insistence.

After a most pleasurable roller-coaster ride, they shuddered together in mutual release, then clung together in the hot spray, hearts pounding, breath coming short and fast, senses twitching from over-stimulated nerve endings. Drummond stood behind her, leaning against the tiled wall, still holding her in his arms, encouraging her to lean back against him. He gently moved his hands across her body in loving caresses and kissed and nibbled on her neck.

They could float forever like this, neither one of them knowing or caring that time was passing. Only outside urgencies could hurry them along, and those were not present today. Terry, the Director of the Center for X Studies at East College, their employer, had given them the day off in recognition of Dolly's birthday.

Finally, they had caught their breath and Dolly had a nagging thought... "Is it just me, or is the house cold today?"

"You're right. The furnace went out sometime this morning. No major biggy, considering it was in the sixties over the weekend, but still..."

"So what do we do about it?"

"I call a repair service and they come fix it. Or put a new one in. Furnaces aren't very expensive, although this one could turn out to be if we decided to get rid of the steam heat and go for something else. That boiler is about sixty years old and the pipes aren't any newer."

"Whatever," Dolly said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she shut the water off."

"Well, I have to get the heat back as quick as I can. It's not too bad for us here in the middle of the house, but poor old Cally in the maid's quarters over the garage..."

Callisto Dolly, Gabrielle's younger sister--dolly, was staying with them while she gave her bruised and battered heart some time to heal. They had put her in the guest room, but, as she put it, the spare bedroom was "too close to that sexual volcano down the hall" -- meaning Drummond and Dolly's shared bedroom. She mucked out the old maid's quarters over the former carriage house and moved in within a week of coming to the big old house. Whereas the bulk of the house was well-insulated and huddled together in a large mass and could thereby keep warm with minimal input of energy, the tiny rooms over the garage were exposed on three side and the roof. Insulated or not, it was always several degrees cooler than the main house. Drummond had procured Callisto a space heater, but it only served to take the edge off the chill in the place. As a matter of self preservation, the blonde could be seen drinking flagons of hot tea wrapped to the neck in sweaters and warm leggings.

"... she let me know in no uncertain terms that she'd be back in the guest room toot sweet if I didn't get somebody here right away. And since I don't want to have two women on my case -- no matter how beautiful -- I figured I'd better call somebody right away. Which I did while I was cooking your breakfast."

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Apocrypha Table of Contents

Ordinarily, authors don't publish their "trunk" stories — those stories they cannot or will not sell. But these stories of the Dolly Apocrypha were effectively written in public. They were composed in 1500-word chunks, as posts on a mailing list. They have been on the Web almost since they were first written. Withholding them now would be kind of churlish. And... I hope that they can bring a few people some joy.

Recent developments in the publishing arena make it feasible for me to publish these stories without having to face the gatekeepers of the publishing industry in New York. Leaving aside the question of whether this is wise, I am pleased to let it be known that I am preparing to publish a heavily revised version of the Apocrypha — call it Apocrypha 2.0 — in ebook formats (Kindle, Nook, et al) sometime before the end of 2012. Thus it is then that one may come to think of the stories as they have been published on the Web these last 12 years as the first draft of what someday will be the final version of the Dolly Apocrypha. Sometime also in 2012, I hope to have paper edition(s) available as well. Watch this space and at BabyTrollBlog

Also sometime in the future (I hope in the NEAR future), Dolly and I will seek professional publication of The Dolly Canon — stories purpose-written for publication, at (one hopes) a higher level of quality and professionalism. Friends have read the stories as they stand: Geppetto's Log, Genesis, Armed Citizen, The Omega Trilogy (Deicide in Irian Jaya, You Could Spend Years, The Next Story). All have much work to be done on them to bring them to an acceptable level of quality. I offer this here in the hopes that these will expand beyond the mere 15 pastiches here into an admirable body of work. Additionally, all of the thought I have put into this whole ball of wax has persuaded me that there may be yet a THIRD story arc — call it the Continuing Adventures of Gabrielle Dolly — and a FOURTH — call those The Adventures of Gabrielle Godslayer. As I say, watch this space and the blog.

Content: Being as this is created by and for fans of a violent television show that had a notorious following of people who are interested in sex, (as if there is anybody who is not interested in sex), it's a pretty safe bet that, even though this story is not about the characters in the show, there's plenty of both. There is also some language that some may find offensive and will tut-tut about. Too bad. That's what the off-button is for. Nobody is forcing you to read this. Exercise your freedom of choice. Everybody else: enjoy!

All original works, articles, and images are the property of their creators. Reuse is not permitted. Reproduction of original works, likenesses, or trademarks without permission is a violation of Federal law and international treaties and is subject to prosecution, and to civil and criminal penalties.

There is none of that wishy-washy open-source crap here. This stuff is mine. I made it. I intend to defend it vigorously. Infringe on my copyrights at your own moral peril.

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