Moonstar by David Gerrold Page B

have kept apart from the others on their island with instinctive knowledge that this was one more aspect of their difference that would not be understood by those prone to ignorance and hasty judgments.
    Imagine them now, walking hand in hand along paths still new on rocky cliffs, pausing to watch the seabirds flashing just above the waves; their brown arms brush against each other causing skin to tingle, and they glance into each other’s eyes and share a smile. Imagine them resting on the tufted moss rug of the slopes; Lono rests her head in Rurik’s lap, Rurik’s soft hands are stroking Lono’s hair—her finger traces the line of her friend’s cheek and when it crosses near the petals of her lips, suddenly they pucker to kiss the reassuring touch. They share a smile half hidden under shyly lowered lashes.
    Imagine them in wind and sea, sometimes naked in the surf and sometimes wrapped in veils of gauze, running deft among the rocks, then pausing, laughing, tumbling into each other’s arms to share a kiss or just a hug, sometimes friends and sometimes lovers. When Rurik’s breast begin to swell, the nipples tingle with the budding; Lono’s fingers explore them with curious caress and wonder when her own will flush with joy.
    â€œThey tickle, Lono—they’re tender. Sometimes they hurt,” Rurik might have said and Lono might have kissed the nipples, brushing her lips across them lightly, to show her care—and Rurik, suddenly surprised with new delight, might insist on showing Lono why and might have kissed her back.
    Together they must have wondered why they were so different from the other children on the isle; together they must have explored themselves with clinical detachment, as if to find the answers in the empty clefts where so many others had young organs—albeit immature, but organs nonetheless.
    When Rurik’s penile bud appeared (or was Lono’s the first?) they must have watched its growth with speculation and a sense of uncertainty. Did they touch them? And wonder at the feeling? And discover the father of sensation there? “It hurts sometimes, but sometimes it tickles.”
    â€œAnd what if I rub it with oil like this?”
    â€œThat’s better . . . that’s good.”
    â€œAnd what if I kiss you like this?”
    â€œThat’s . . . nice . . . Let me kiss you there and show you . . .”
    Such was how they must have explored their growing maleness, their femaleness as well—
    â€œLook how my lips are turning rosy, Rurik—”
    â€œI can touch you there—”
    And shyly, “Put your fingers into me. (I have done it myself at night, but it feels better when you do it.)”
    And finally there must have been a moment when: “I am long enough. Let me go inside you.”
    â€œI want you to.”
    And later, perhaps another time—
    â€œI want to feel what you felt, you looked so happy. You come into me this time.”
    â€œYes. I want to try that too.”
    And then, at last, this must have happened too:
    â€œYou are so sweet. You are so special. Do you know I love you?”
    â€œYes. I love you too.”
    â€œShall we be lovers now?”
    â€œNow and forever.”
    â€œAnd shall we tell everyone?”
    â€œThey probably already know.”
    They must have grown into each other’s souls as surely as their bodies grew into each other. They fit together. There were no air spaces between them. The flat muscles of Rurik’s belly touched the softer muscles of Lono’s and they moved together. Their thighs touched. Their arms wrapped, their cheeks brushed; the gentle swelling bud of one pressed against the hardening of the other, and it didn’t matter of the moment which of them found a warm home in the other—when everything is new, everything is wonder. They brushed their bodies one against the other and swelled into the fullness of their blush.
    Where