About Sisterland

by Martina Devlin

  “I know.”

  She took off her skin and knelt on the pop-up, sliding the skin under the pillow to protect it. He followed, kneeling beside her. They began kissing, his tongue against her lips, and she fell back beneath the pressure of his body. He collapsed with her, half-lying on top.

  His hands grappled with her dress. “I can’t open it.” His laughter was low in his throat. “You’ll have to help me.”

  She guided his hand inside the material, and he stroked the curve of her shoulder, then swept his palm down across her belly.

  “Stop, Harper, wait. There’s something I need from you.”

  He bit lightly on her earlobe, still caressing her, and she pushed him away, and sat up.

  “I know you can’t see me through the blindfold. But I want to know you realise this is Constance with you. Constance, who chooses Harper.”

  “Who chooses her.”

  He understood. She was relieved.

  He reached into the waistband of his leggings, and produced a nail. “We can use this.”

  “To do what?”

  “To remove the blindfold. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Harper! You’ll get in trouble!”

  “I found it in the shower. I think another man smuggled it in, but lost his nerve and tried to get rid of it.”

  “He was right to be afraid. I’ll take it with me when I leave, and throw it away.”

  “Cut off my blindfold first.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll be punished.”

  “I want to do this for you.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I know you need me to see you.”

  “If we see one another, it makes us more equal.”

  “So use the nail.”

  “But later, there’ll be trouble.”

  “Now is what matters – we can control now. We can’t control later.”

  He stroked the underside of her breast, but she wriggled out from under his hand. “Stop trying to distract me.”

  “Stop wasting time. Cut off my blindfold.”

  “No.”

  “It’s for me, too, Constance. So I can see you wanting me. And you can see me wanting you.”

  She was persuaded by that, and sliced at the seal, trying not to tear the material beneath so it could be tied back on. The blindfold fell away. She waited – anxiety mounting. How would he react to his first sight of her?

  His eyes were pale grey – almost silver: they flew towards her and locked onto hers, looking at her for the longest time. Finally, she lowered her head.

  “Why won’t you look at me?” he said.

  “Because of the way you’re staring at me. It makes me nervous. See how you cause moes to break through?”

  “You’re nervous of me?”

  She looked up, to see astonishment, followed by hurt, drive out the silver in his eyes.

  “I’m nervous of disappointing you.”

  “Constance, I’m memorising you. Every line, every curve, every nook and cranny of you.”

  Moisture gathered behind her eyelids. They couldn’t be tears because tears were impossible. Nobody wept in Sisterland – not even when they lost their other. Her fingers reached for the corners of her eyes to check if they were damp. Dry. Perhaps it was the ghost of tears which tickled at her lashes.

  He leaned forward and kissed her eyelids, and she forgot about being misty-eyed, or imagining she was. Her breath quickened, and she kissed him back. He ran his hands over her, his touch causing a tingle in her flesh that penetrated from skin to sinew and bone.

  And then they were naked.

  They paused to look at one another, and a shiver of desire crackled between them.

  He entered her.

  She winced, and only just stopped herself from crying out. The surprise of it! It hurt! The Himtime question-and-answer file had only warned her to expect discomfort. He stopped at once, and withdrew. But Constance didn’t want him to pull out.

  Putting a hand on the nape of his neck and another on his hips, she eased him in. At first, his movements were tentative, and he watched for a sign that he was causing her pain. But already her body seemed to be adjusting. The entry pangs were less sore this time. Besides, see how his body fitted into hers. His thrusts gathered in speed. She made herself relax and keep breathing, as Himtime advised. But she did not follow its instructions to remove her thoughts to another place – she wanted to feel this sensation, to watch this man.

  To her surprise, she found herself begin to move beneath him, joining in his rhythm, hooking her limbs around his. Why, it was almost like dancing. But almost at once he stiffened, groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut. Wetness flooded from him. The plunging came to a shuddering halt. She could feel his chest heaving against her breasts, the insistence of his heartbeat. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and smiled into hers.

  It seemed to be over.

  She was puzzled. Himtime hadn’t taken long. He had seemed to feel pleasure, yet she had only begun to share it towards the end. But she had wanted him inside her, she couldn’t deny it. Her hands had taken hold of his body, and guided him into hers.

  She became conscious that he was still inside her, and it pleased her to realise they hadn’t yet separated. To accommodate his weight, she shifted slightly. But she must have made a sound, because he rolled off. A sense of loss fluttered but, before it took hold, he curled towards her. She felt his breath on her cheek, his fingers in her hair.

  They lay there, at peace. A stirring beneath her breast-bone, and she was aware of some element quitting her body and hovering overhead. She watched the two of them beneath her: she was on her back, he was on his side, an arm across her waist, one leg crooked over hers. How interdependent they looked. Already, they seemed to be growing round one another – tethered, each to each. A pull of the invisible string attached to her breastbone, a falling sensation, and the overview was gone.

  He lifted his head.

  “Still memorising me?” she asked.

  “Just checking you haven’t changed, Constance.”

  “Could you really see nothing through the blindfold?”

  “Outlines – not details, or colours. I’d never have known you have one green eye, and one blue.”

  “My eyes are strange.” She was apologetic.

  “They’re extraordinary. In a good way.”

  “Harper, what will they do to you when they find the seal broken?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “They’ll punish you, won’t they?”

  “Maybe I’ll be denied exercise. Don’t worry about me.”

  “But I do worry.”

  “Then stop.” One by one, he kissed her fingers.

  It’s his gift to me, she thought. He understands why I needed it.

  She lay back, looking at the ceiling. She could feel him against her, and knew he was almost ready to couple again. So some of the stories about men were true. She longed for more time with him. To watch him walk, sleep, eat, bathe, laugh, think, work. To become familiar with his voice, his body, his likes, his dislikes. His life. To let him take her by the hand through his forest, and point out the rabbit holes, the animal tracks, the places where male deer rubbed their antlers to mark out territory.

  Time lost all meaning.

  Until the bell.

  They clung to one another.

  “They’ll unlock the door and find us like this,” he whispered when the automated voice intoned, as usual.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be like this?”

  Their smiles were complicit. His gaze was loving on her face.

  His eyes! He wasn’t supposed to see her. Constance uncoiled herself from Harper. “Your blindfold!” She lifted the strip of material, working at speed to retie it. It passed muster – at a distance.

  The key turned in the lock.

  She threw the pillow on the floor, snatching up her skin, and jammed it on her face.
>
  The door swung open.

  But where was the nail? She was sure she’d set it under the pillow after removing his blindfold. It was nowhere to be seen. She had to take it with her – she couldn’t leave Harper to deal with the repercussions.

  Charity loomed in the doorway.

  “I’m not dressed,” said Constance. “I fell asleep while I was resting afterwards.” She pulled on her clothes beneath Charity’s glare.

  The nail! Where was the nail?

  “Almost ready, sister. I’m still dozy.”

  “You sound agitated.” Charity’s suspicions were aroused.

  “It’s because I fell asleep with a meet watching me.” Out of the corner of her eye, Constance saw Harper had one of his hands behind his back. She stood with her back to Charity. ‘Give it to me,’ she mouthed. He blanked her.

  “Let’s go,” said Charity.

  Constance looked from Charity to Harper. Deliberately, she stood on tiptoe, put her left hand on the back of his head, and pulled his lips down to hers.

  “Stop that!” bawled Charity.

  Constance’s right arm slid round Harper’s waist towards his back, her hand burrowing into his.

  “Break it up! Now!”

  Constance’s questing fingers found the nail, and she snatched it off Harper.

  Trying to stop her, he jumped backwards. “No!”

  “Don’t you dare say no, meet!” The stifstat was in Charity’s hand.

  Constance had the nail, and he could not give her away. She tucked it up her sleeve, and walked past Charity.

  Charity forged towards Harper, stifstat extended. “What makes you think you can say no, meet? Were you saying no to me?”

  “He was saying no to me,” said Constance. “No to the kiss. Weren’t you?”

  Harper’s head turned to track her voice.

  “Answer her,” commanded Charity.

  “You were saying no to the kiss,” repeated Constance. “You knew it was wrong. Didn’t you?”

  “Yes.” The word was pushed out between his teeth.

  “He didn’t like being kissed, Charity. You saw that. He tried to step away.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. Although it’s not up to him to like or dislike anything. I’m reporting that disgusting mouth-sucking to the Mating Mother.”

  “As you like. I want to leave, now. This room stinks of man.”

  A few minutes after Constance was back in the respite room, the Mating Mother marched up. “I understand you behaved inappropriately after mating.” Behind her was Sincerity, one of Charity’s helpers, who had escorted Constance away from the mating floor, and then reported her.

  “What counts as inappropriate?”

  “You kissed the meet.”

  “I wasn’t aware kissing was forbidden.”

  “We didn’t realise it had to be banned. Any right-minded Sisterlander would understand it’s unnecessary. Unhygienic, degrading, vile!”

  Constance knew she had to defuse the situation. Benevolence was proof of the Mating Mother’s far-reaching powers. She assumed a horrified expression.

  “Of course it’s horrible. All that drool! I found it revolting. My stomach turns somersaults just thinking about it. But someone told me babyfusion was guaranteed if you kissed. We hadn’t kissed once, over the five nights. As I was leaving, it occurred to me to give it a try. I did it for Sisterland.”

  “That’s a lie about kissing. Who told you?”

  “Benevolence 101.” Since Benevolence was already in Safe Space, the betrayal couldn’t hurt her. “The meet was unwilling,” she added. “I caught him by surprise.”

  The Mating Mother beckoned to Sincerity who was listening unashamedly. “Fetch Charity.”

  “She was doing a check on the mating cube. She said she’d be with you as soon as she was through.”

  “Very well, tell her to come the instant she’s satisfied with her inspection.”

  “I’m sorry Charity had to witness such a nauseating act,” said Constance. “But I believed Benevolence. She’s mated many times before.”

  “Although with no success,” the Mating Mother snapped. “It seems strange you should regard her as an authority on the subject.”

  Constance swallowed. “True, but I heard it from another sister, too. That’s why I believed it.”

  “Who else?”

  The Mating Mother was shaken by the kiss. It was clear, from the way she was conducting the interrogation in full view of everyone in the respite room.

  “From my other. Silence 1999.”

  The name shivered through the room.

  Constance pressed home her advantage. “And Silence achieved babyfusion.”

  Charity pushed her way through the huddle of women, planting herself in front of Constance. “We got a problem, mother,” said Charity.

  “Indeed we do. Charity, did you observe this deplorable kiss?”

  “Yes. Obnoxious. But there’s worse to come. The meet’s blindfold –”

  Constance jumped in ahead of her. “I might have damaged it when I kissed him. He was alarmed, and broke away. I think maybe the seal might have snapped under my fingers.”

  “No maybes about it,” said Charity.

  The Mating Mother let out a gasp. “So he saw her face?”

  Constance looked the Mating Mother straight in the eye. “No. The blindfold didn’t fall off. He didn’t see me.”

  “Charity?” The Mating Mother turned to her.

  “The seal was broken. That’s what I came here to report. The meet was wearing his blindfold when I unlocked the door. But it looked tampered with to me. I don’t believe this woman. It’s in her interests to lie.”

  “This is intolerable, Constance 500!” cried the Mating Mother.

  “I did it for Sisterland – that’s why I kissed him,” Constance stammered. “I only wanted to achieve babyfusion. But I didn’t take off his bindfold. I’d never do that!”

  “Spare me your excuses. The Shaper Mother will be hearing about this. Your friends in high places won’t be so indulgent towards you when they read my report.” She clapped her hands, and a page scurried up. “Bring this woman’s clothes to her. And the mating-urge decompressant drink.” She glared at Constance. “As soon as you’ve taken it, you’re to leave. Charity, can you spare someone to stay by her side until she’s safely off the premises?”

  “I’ll do it myself,” said Charity.

  The Mating Mother turned back to Constance, whipping her train out from under her feet with a crack that cut through the air. “You’re barred from the Tower. I won’t have you under my roof ever again. You should never have been licensed to mate. You, Constance 500, are a wicked, corrupt, depraved young woman!”

  Chapter 13

  Constance followed the river home through the moonless night, the salty taste of the decompressant drink on her tongue. She had considered refusing to swallow it, but Charity had stood so close that she could smell garlic on her breath and threatened force-feeding if she didn’t take it voluntarily. Constance had decided it wasn’t worth arguing.

  As she walked, Constance was aware of her body in a new way. She was tender, still, but her flesh hummed from being with Harper. She was glad there had been no time to wash because she wanted his scent to cling to her for as long as possible. Even now, she could feel the pressure of his mouth against hers, the imprint of his fingers on her flesh. She imagined light and warmth must radiate from her. Surely, if she met someone, they would see the glow she imparted?

  It couldn’t be like this for everyone, because her source shuddered at the memory of mating. But some other women must feel this way, too. Silence hadn’t been repulsed – she had said nothing negative about her time in matingplace. Indeed, she had smiled more than usual afterwards. Constance had thought it was because of babyfusion. But perhaps her other had experienced this mating pleasure-pain, too.

  Remembering Harper’s nail, she transferred it from her sleeve to a pocket. At least she had spirited
that away. But would they punish him for the broken seal on the blindfold? Probably. No, definitely. She cringed for him, in the Mating Mother’s power. Charity’s, too. But she couldn’t help him. Next time, she’d make sure to –

  What next time? She was banned from ever seeing him again. Aftershock juddered through her. How could she bear it? A crushing sense of desolation was bearing down on her – an eddy so powerful that her breath came in tearing gulps. A vein popped up on her temple and throbbed there.

  All at once, it occurred to Constance that she was in the grip of a barrage of full-scale moes. Primal, insistent ones. Mating seemed to have released them in her. Mid-step, she froze. Harper had taken a risk to give her the kind of Himtime experience she wanted. He had been willing to accept punishment so that she could have what she desired. Nobody had ever cared for her so deeply. Not even Silence. She grappled with the implications. At girlplace, Constance had been taught that self-sacrifice was a female characteristic. Not common, but the potential was present in all of them. Yet here was a man demonstrating it for her benefit.

  Amid the turmoil, recognition sank in. Love was meant to be something only sisters could feel for their others, and even then it was not guaranteed.

  Yet Constance knew she was in love with a man.

  Before Harper, love was a safe harbour. But this love was the storm itself. An excess of moes – ones no Sisterlander could supposedly access without chemical assistance – jostled for position: among them, exhilaration at having mated with him, along with delight at loving him. He must love her back! Even if he hadn’t used the words. This moe bombardment released in her by Harper was awe-inspiring. Wonderful, too.

  But it marked her out from her sisters. Trepidation tiptoed in.

  Constance rounded the corner, and saw the outline of the unit where she lived. If the mating was successful, she’d have to leave it. All babyfused women were moved into communityplace to allow Sisterland to care for them during the danger period, when babydefusion was most likely. The babydefusion rate was running at fifty per cent during the first three weeks. And even women whose babies survived that critical phase had only a one in two chance of carrying their precious cargo to term. But at that moment, she didn’t care if mating would lead to babyfusion or not. All she cared about was Harper.