The Hearth
Liz Elytra #37.1
The alarm clock starts playing a nostalgic tune from Homeworld1. It’s quiet but gets progressively louder as I roll over in my bed, trying to find the mechanism to turn it off. My curled fingers bump into the button set into the wall near my bed, and I press firmly to let the alarm know I am awake. This action signals the dim lamps to pulse on. It is early, but I need the extra time to get ready for my guest this afternoon. I don’t really know anything about them. The official report mentioned nothing of importance; it simply listed their name, title, and a professional company headshot. Ambassador of Colonial Affairs, Alexander Johnson, will finish their 107-year journey in approximately 4 hours, and the anticipation of their arrival has kept me from getting a full night’s sleep. There is much to prepare for this historic day, our first planetary evaluation since colonization. I jump out of bed and head straight to the food quarters. My bedfellow is already (or maybe still) up working on a new painting, surrounded by three others that sit unfinished.
“You are a delight to feast my eyes on first thing, Cameron.”
She looks up, startled from her concentration, and delivers a smile that creates crinkles in the corners of her eyes.
“I see and warmly welcome your presence, Avery.”
At the sink, I fill two cups with water, place them in a drink carrier, and hook my forearms under the carrier before joining her at the table. I have to use both fists to set a cup in front of her, and Cameron patiently waits for me to finish my task before delivering a kiss. I sit down with my own cup and take a look at her new painting. It strikes me as a surrealist self-portrait; the subject’s body is twig-like in some parts and cloud-like in other parts. The head is an iridescent green/purple pigeon, and the body features resemble Cameron’s own long left leg and short right leg. As I examine her art, Cameron brings the foot of her short leg up to the edge of the heavy, handcrafted wooden table and pushes her rolling chair back in one fluid motion, propelling herself to the counter. I look up in time to see her grab one of my straws from the sanitation rack and scoot back my way to drop it in my cup with a wink. I return an appreciative smile and take several gulps of water, not breaking eye contact. After the last mouthful of my drink, I give a suggestive slow lick up the straw. Feeling for her foot under the table with mine, I softly move up her long leg to her thigh, and begin playing with the hem of her paint apron. Cameron gives me a look I know well.
“Are you starting something you don’t have the time to finish?”
Looking around the room at the unfinished paintings, I let out an involuntary titter. Cameron follows my gaze,
“That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”
She leans over and pulls my face to hers with a gentle force and kisses me for a full minute.
“Let us revisit this thought if you have energy after your big day. Go get dressed, and I’ll check if our first-meal box has been delivered.”
Satiated and dressed in cozy pastel layers, I head to the shuttle landing. The morning is now moderately bright but still brisk with nighttime air. It takes me 8 minutes to get to my destination on foot. I arrive just as the spacecraft is landing, so I take a seat on one of the covered benches. For the third time since leaving my home, I anxiously scanned the contents of my pockets: communications device, digital notepad, and my medical ID card in my jacket pockets. Earplugs, snack, and my coin bag in the pockets of my pale blue cargo pants. In addition to my usual accoutrements, I also brought eye protection for the Ambassador, who may have been as poorly debriefed on this planet’s conditions as I was on the Ambassador’s access needs.
Sure enough, the Ambassador of Colonial Affairs came out of the shuttle squinting and shielding their eyes. As I approached, they held out their hand for a shake, and I gave them a greeting fistbump.
“That’s not a very professional way to address an…”
The Ambassador trailed off as they stared uncomfortably long at my hands that didn’t unclench. I quickly moved on to save them from their faux pas.
“Good morning, Ambassador Alexander Johnson. My name is Avery, and I use they/them pronouns. I have been appointed as your cultural emissary and tour guide for your first day here on Colony-16. How would you like to be addressed?”
I smiled and took a breath, leaving room for the Ambassador to speak, but they stayed silent. I worked the digital notepad out of my pocket and used a combination of my mouth and wrists to flip open the protective case before continuing,
“We typically go by first names here. If you would like to conform to our way, this is what I would suggest.”
“I see, in that case, I am Alex… I use he/him pronouns?”
I give him an affirmative nod and take a quick note using my own personalized Morse code by tapping on the screen with the knuckle of my pinky finger.
“I brought you eye protection; the sun on C-16 is brighter than on Homeworld1. Please feel comfortable to take them from my jacket collar if you would like them.”
I gesture to where I have sunglasses hooked. He looks uncomfortably at my neckline and politely declines.
“No, thank you, I’m fine. I’m sure I will acclimate.”
“I respect your decision. On this planet, very few people go without any eye protection, and those who do usually experience vision loss within a couple of years. I do not condemn your choice; I simply wish to ensure you are making an informed choice. ”
Alex hesitates for a moment, then reaches out for the sunglasses and puts them on. He visibly relaxes, looks around, and for the first time, he meets my eyes, seeming to really take me in. Feeling a sudden wave of self-awareness that I had not experienced since puberty, I fumbled with my words,
“How… did you experience your travels?”
It’s a nonsensical question; we both knew full well that he would not have remembered any of it, and the flush from my neck reached the top of my ears. He surprises me by answering my question candidly,
“Well, even though I have light-traveled a dozen times, it still scares me every time. I go into stasis full of anxiety and wake up panting as if I have just run a marathon.”
I stare, reassessing what I perceived previously as curt behavior.
“That sounds challenging. You are courageous for continuing to do this work. This gives me an idea for where I would like to start our tour.”
I lead Alex to the closest transportation bay, which is easily distinguished from other buildings by its transparent walls and the large “T” transportation logo displayed on its sides.
“What good fortune!”
I exclaimed as we entered the large open bay doors,
“There are multiple models to choose from at this bay; the cabdrivers must have recently restocked. Would you prefer a sitting or standing model?”
When he did not immediately answer, I looked around to see Alex walking between rows of motor vehicles, taking notes on a tablet he produced from his satchel. Each scooter is uniquely decorated and distinct.
“Which one is yours?”
He asked.
“None of them, we use them and then park them at one of the many transportation bays around the city.”
He continues to walk through the long aisles of transportation units, stops at one, and, with a look of surprise, he points,
“This one has a penis on it.”
I come around to stand next to him, and sure enough, taking up the entire door, a nude pin-up of a hairy guy who has dropped his prosthetic leg, is bent over at the waist with a classic wide-eyed “oops” face. I recognize it as Cameron’s art and smile.
“What if a young child sees this? How do you explain seeing a penis or a person without their leg?”
I consider their question,
“We have archives of art from Homeworld1 that depict nudity as homogeneous bodies. Our planet’s art depicts bodies more like those we are likely to encounter, and they are an essential part of our experience. Additionally, at every school level, we are taught bodily autonomy, anatomy, and sexuality. Since everyone on this planet has diverse needs, these conversations are an expected part of getting to know someone. I suppose what I am saying is that bodies are celebrated, yet at the same time, they are just bodies.”
I press a quick-release touch sensor with the back of my hand, which opens the passenger door for Alex, who cautiously steps into the two-person standing vehicle. I go around to the other side and let myself in. Once comfortably situated inside, I call the computer’s attention, request the self-driving function, and direct the GPS to “The Hearth.” Upon confirmation of the route, the unit silently starts up, and we exit the bay.
“What is the fuel source for the scooters?”
“We have improved on the source material from Homeworld1 to be an almost entirely solar-powered society. We are committed to environmentally harmonious practices.”
Scooting through the city, we make several short stops as Alex takes notes dictating to his tablet. He talks about the slowness of vehicles, the narrow streets, and the wide, well-maintained walkways. He touches on quickly identifiable buildings with markings indicating bathrooms, restaurants, shops, and libraries. He talks at great length about the greenery that is everywhere — native plants in hanging baskets, under windows, inside buildings —but never obstructing footpaths. Most distinctly, he observes that people are everywhere. Children are playing, people are sitting on covered benches, enjoying a late breakfast, and kissing over first-meal.
“It is late in the morning, why are there so many people….”
Alex struggles to find the words.
“We have found that we can balance work and life enjoyment much more when we can set our own schedules, communicate our projected capabilities, and leave room for rest.”
Alex looked at me skeptically, but again stayed silent.
“I understand where your suspicions come from, Alex. My research on Homeworld1 indicates that work is the means for capital. We earn coin, but we don’t rely on it for our survival, and the work we do is meaningful to us. It has immediate benefits to our and others’ lives, which makes a big difference in the way we feel about work.”
He nods slowly.
“We will be approaching our destination shortly. Let’s take a break there so you can catch up on notes and ask any questions.”
The vehicle pulls up to a tall building with decorative eaves that cast curvy, provocative shadows. Surrounding the building is lush greenery that provides shade, along with several tables and chairs. A large, hand-carved sign in front of the building reads: Honeysuckle Hearth. Alex looks stunned for a moment before exclaiming,
“This building looks like it could be an incredibly wealthy person’s mansion. What is this place?”
“I have two things to address from your question, Alex. First, we do not value hoarding wealth as great wealth comes from exploitation, not personal effort. Housing accommodations are based solely on an individual’s needs and desires for their dwelling; anyone can live in such a place. Second…”
I say, taking a step back with pride on my face,
“This is Honeysuckle Hearth, pleasure house and spa.”
There is a brief pause, then Alex bursts out in laughter.
“That was not the reaction I was expecting, Alex, but I am so pleased to witness your joy. The Hearth is a sensory-friendly space. I thought it would be a good place to regulate your nervous system after your experience with light-travel.”
Alex’s deep belly laugh turned into a labored chuckle as he briefly removed his sunglasses to wipe moisture from his eyes.
“Joy? Wait, you are not serious, are you?”
I watch as his face sobers up. I open my mouth to speak, but before I could reply, he asks several more rapid-fire questions.
“Your society actually condones sex work? Why? For disability justice? Or do you exploit your women? Catering to this demand inevitably leads to trafficking! I thought you said everyone finds value in their work. How can that be so when you have women selling their bodies?”
There is a silence as he impatiently stares at my face. I stand bewildered as several thoughts all fight for first place to be expressed. Clearing the dryness from my throat, I say,
“I desire to answer your questions, but I need a moment to make myself absent. I will return in 6 minutes. The seats are available if you wish to get out of the direct light.”
I nod my head towards the furnishings arranged on the lawn and then turn abruptly to walk to the establishment, leaving Alex to decide for himself what he wishes to do for the next six minutes.
Inside, the foyer is spacious, featuring a floral floor runner that invites guests to explore the house further. The large bay windows filter the natural sunlight so my eyes take a moment to adjust to the slightly dimmed interior. Everything about this space is lush, extravagant, maximalist, and divine in a way that I love visiting, but would never want to live in due to the amount of upkeep required. I barely take two steps in before seeing my most frequented provider carrying a basket of neatly arranged barriers and a menu to a guest sitting in the living room. Their conversation is slow as the guest has an enlarged lower jaw, making enunciation languid. I wait for him to finish this interaction, checking the ornate grandfather clock, before getting his attention.
“Desirable company, Willow!”
“Warmly received, Avery.”
He took a moment to look me over.
“You appear flushed. Would you appreciate an embrace?”
“I would find your caress deeply soothing, and I welcome the invitation.”
Willow moves towards me and swoops me up in one fluid motion, invoking a squeal of delight out of me. We linger in each other’s embrace for several deep, synchronized breaths.
“I am appreciative of your care, Willow.”
I pull away to look him in the face.
“Are you available for another request?”
“Yes, friend, would you like your usual?”
“Not at this moment. Today, I am escorting the Ambassador of Colonial Affairs. I believe he would benefit from a conversation with an erotic touch specialist such as yourself. Would you be amenable to speaking to him? His position on erotic touch work is very different from ours.”
“I am ecstatic that you would ask me. I will brew tea and join you.”
I return to my companion, who is seated under a broad, drooping tree, writing on his tablet. He looks up as I approach.
“Greetings, Alex, may I sit with you?”
He nods, and I continue,
“Anger can be an all-encompassing emotion, and I did not feel I was capable of communicating clearly in that state. We have many cultural differences, and I felt activated by your words. You raised several points that I would like to address, and with your permission, I would like to bring my friend Willow into the conversation. He works here, and I believe he will be better equipped to answer your questions. He’s bringing us tea momentarily.”
With a hint of concern in his voice, Alex asks,
“And if I don’t grant my permission?”
“Simple enough, Alex. In that instance, we will request that Willow allow you and me to speak privately. As an alternative, we can speak in another location if this one is not to your liking.”
Alex glances over to see a muscular and slightly heavyset man wearing a long green silk bathrobe heading our way with a tray of tea and cookies, and quickly says,
“No. That will not be necessary. I think I would like to hear what your friend has to say.”
Willow greets us, sets the tray down in the center of the table, and places a teacup in front of each of us. My teacup has a built-in straw, while the other two cups have prominent handles. Alex starts up right away, looking pointedly at Willow,
“I have just been informed that your society permits sex work. Is this a means for providing disability justice, given the people of this world seem to exhibit a high prevalence of mutagenic anomalies?”
“I see you like to skip the preamble. I will start by answering broadly and then get to the core of your question. Our society is built around the recognition of our individual differences. As such, disability justice, as I understand it, is not something we need to fight for. I have read that on Homeworld1, people with non-normative bodies, as defined by the dominant sociopolitical class, have used sex work as a means to accommodate themselves against a world that does not include them. People with disabilities, as you call them, are not considered for sexual partners, are not seen as adequate for employment, are not provided bodily autonomy, and are dismissed by society, so by engaging in sex work, they are able to reclaim economic sovereignty, bodily autonomy, and the narrative of disabled bodies as desirable. I see why it is such a political topic. These are not problems we experience. Difference is revered, erotic is celebrated, work is abundant, and bodily limits are accommodated for.”
“So if people don’t need to partake in sex work out of survival, work is abundant, and people with…. difference don’t struggle to find romantic partners, why does a place like this exist?”
“I will answer your question with a question of my own. Do you like eating at home?”
Alex nods.
“What do you like about eating at home?”
“Well, for starters, there is nothing quite like a delicious home-cooked meal, and I always have my favorite ingredients.”
“Ok. Do you like eating at restaurants?”
Alex nods again.
“What do you like about eating at restaurants?”
“I guess it’s nice to try new things from chefs that are far more skilled at cooking than I am, it tends to be social, and I don’t have to do the dishes.”
Willow pauses, grabs a cookie from the platter, and lets Alex’s answers sink in as he takes his time nibbling the edge of his sweet treat. I take the opportunity to chime in.
“Touch is an essential form of healthcare and vital to our physical and mental wellbeing. My intention in bringing you here stems from a desire to give you a space to reduce your stress, promote rest, regulate your nervous system after your unpleasant trip, and provide a positive impression at the start of your visit.”
Alex relaxes back into his chair and folds his arms across his chest.
“That is all well and good, but I still have questions. How do you contend with exploitation, sexual safety, or gender disparity?”
Willow and I begin speaking at the same time, then pause to let the other talk. I let out a titter, smiling, I say,
“I value your expertise, Willow. Please speak.”
“I cherish your trust, Avery. Many providers work here; this is a very popular profession for people across the gender and racial spectrum. Though, to be candid, these concepts are social constructs, and this is not the language I would typically use to discuss them. That being said, I believe there are disparities in every civilization. We are committed to listening and implementing change. As for safety, every individual provider is in control of the services they offer. The menus detail each provider, their offerings, and specialties. During the intake process, we test for infections or viruses and take as much time as needed to discuss safety, comfort, and aftercare. Lastly, regarding exploitation, our society does not depend on financial currency for survival. In fact, it is currently being debated whether or not we will move entirely away from coin. So the primary conditions necessary for exploitation don’t present themselves.”
“Interesting, are you saying that if I wished to see a provider but had none of your coins…”
“Your needs would not be turned away for lack of coin. Would you like to see a provider today?”
Alex unfolds his arms and leans on the edge of the table, considering for long moments before answering.
“It is true, we have much different viewpoints, but I am here to experience your society. I feel as though I would be remiss if I did not at least tour the building. And to your point, Avery, it does sound like a relaxing opportunity. For my assessment, of course.”
His eyes dart a little nervously between Willow and me. I give him an encouraging smile.
“If you would like, we can finish our tea and then head inside.”
We approach the building, and I press the automatic door opener with my fist, then let my companions enter first. The gentle smells of fresh flowers and brewed tea hit us. Willow guides us to the living room, where three others are already seated, eagerly chatting. He hands Alex a menu before disappearing upstairs. The menu is a laminated booklet with a dry-erase marker attached to the spine. The first page has columns for accommodations, allergies, preferences, and emergency protocols. It takes him a full twenty minutes to fill it out. A mature woman with long, black-and-grey hair and an incredible presence approaches us. I stand to greet her and then sit back down upon discovering she is approximately half my height.
“Favorable meeting, I am Dionne, I use she/her pronouns. Who will I be working with today?”
She looks patiently between Alex and me before Alex speaks up,
“That would be me, I am Ambassad—- ahem, I am Alex, I use he/him pronouns.”
“Welcome, Alex. I am gratified to be a new encounter.”
Dionne picks up the menu from the table and begins looking it over. Without looking up, she asks,
“Have you experienced bondage previously?”
Alex looks around, a slight pink hue creeping up his face before answering,
“Yes, many times.”
I look on as the two of them negotiate titles, roles, activities, injuries, protection, protocols, and take their health tests. Within thirty minutes, the two of them are heading upstairs to one of the dungeon rooms, Dionne’s commanding presence and the mesmerizing sway of her hips leading the way. I start to stretch out comfortably on the loveseat when I see Willow returning to the living room.
“Hail, Avery, I have just finished cleaning my private space and have no further appointments. I would like to offer again, are you interested in receiving my services?”
“I am honored, Willow. Allow me to think for a moment.”
I pause to sort my thoughts. Alex has booked a three-hour activity, knows how to contact me, and I am caught up on my work. I look up to meet Willow’s eyes.
“Yes, I would be thankful to receive your services.”
“Right this way for your foot rub and fingering special.”
I follow the familiar path with Willow in the lead as we head to his private room. There is a bed in the center of the room and several pieces of smaller furniture along the edges of the room, including two viewing chairs in the corners of the room, a massage table, a chase lounge at the foot of the bed, a table filled with safety supplies, a ceiling-mounted transfer sling, and many firm sex pillows. I sit on the chaise lounge, kick off my shoes, and tuck them neatly under the seat. Willow comes to me and kneels in front of me, taking one of my feet in his hand. He looks up into my eyes, and I give him a nod before he undresses my foot. We have gone through this sequence many times, and verbal consent is rarely required between us; however, check-ins are frequent. Willow gathers his custom nitrile gloves, a warm cloth, and my favorite oil and takes his time washing my feet and ankles. He always manages to make this experience feel ceremonial before he begins rubbing me with the unscented oil. The way his index and middle finger, as well as his ring and pinkie finger, are fused makes his knuckles perfect for the task of digging into the soft flesh of my sole.
“Fuck, that hurts so good.”
“I always knew you had a masochism streak in you.”
I groan in response, more to his touch than to his words. Not wanting to get lost in the enjoyment of this activity, I say,
“I am thoroughly enjoying myself and I feel ready to move on.”
Willow makes a show of expertly peeling off his gloves to avoid contaminating his hands, then tosses them into the trash chute.
“How would you like me this time?”
Without hesitation, I reply,
“I would like to feel you naked against my back. I want to lean into you and feel your breath on me.”
Willow strips down where I can watch him, allowing me to savor the view.
“Would you like help taking these off?”
Running his pinkie/ring finger along the waist of my cargo pants, I feel a shiver of excitement run through my body and nod yes. He deftly unfastens and takes his time pulling them down, running his hands around my thighs, squeezing my hips appreciatively. Willow slips behind me on the lounge, his warm skin sending anticipatory pulses through my body. He stretches forward and glides his freshly re-gloved hand from my ribs to my tummy to my vulva. I press my hips forward into his thick fingers, and I let out a vocal breath as he presses firmer into my eager body. Willow whispers in a deep voice he knows I enjoy,
“Would you like me to bring you to orgasm?”
I enjoy his fingers gliding in languid circles for several moments before answering.
“Mmmph, I am luxuriating in arousal, and that is where I wish to stay.”
I am already waiting in the lobby, casually chatting with a few workers just starting their evening shift, when I spot Alex walking down the hall towards me. His skin flushed, his gait slow and relaxed. I watch as he drifts in my direction and sits next to me.
“I think I owe you an apology. This was precisely what I needed. I just didn’t think it was appropriate for me to enjoy myself when I have work to do. Dionne helped me reframe my thinking. Instead of did I work enough to relax, she wants me to consider if I have relaxed enough to do my best work.”
“I am pleased for you. Do you need anything?”
“No, Dionne took care of me after our session. I am ready to leave when you are.”
The early evening drive and the subsequent walk back to my bungalow were silent, which I was grateful for, as the day had taken a lot out of me. When we arrive, I show him to the mother-in-law cottage and let him know that he is welcome to join my spouse and me for third-meal if he wants.
“Thank you, but I have quite a bit of writing to do while it is fresh in my mind. I will stay in. It was very considerate of you to take me to such an enchanting space. I will sleep very well tonight.”
I lift the latch to my bungalow and let out a heaving sigh as I enter my comfort space and slump on the couch. Cameron walks over and sits beside me, takes off her prosthetic leg extension, and lays her head in my lap.
“I talked more today than I have in the entire solar cycle. Do you mind if we don’t talk for the rest of the night?”
Cameron kisses my tummy in response.
“You fill my heart. Let’s plan to recap in the morning.”
After a while, a tap on the door indicates that third-meal has been delivered. I lean over to kiss Cameron’s shoulder and stand up to make sure Alex gets his meal delivered as well. I open my door just as Alex is closing his door, meal box in hand. I grab ours and immediately smell the warm food. Setting the food on the table, I sample the seasoned root and realize I am more tired than hungry. Cameron grabs her rolling chair and joins me. I sit with her as she eats, listening to music and transcribing my notes from the day for tomorrow’s emissary to take over. When she finishes, I stand to help with clean-up, but she takes my wrist, sits me on her lap, and wheels me to my bedroom. I grab my nightshirt and get undressed, but before I can put it on, I feel Cameron’s hands sliding from my lower back around to the front of my body to my chest. She turns me to face her and sits me down on the edge of the bed.
“Just enjoy yourself.”
I smile and let myself fall back on the bed as I feel her hot breath between my legs. She knows my body, she is practiced at bringing me to orgasm. I tense my legs around her head and let out a slight sound halfway between a giggle and a moan. She climbs up on the bed beside me and rests my head on her bosom. I fall asleep to the heavy breathing of her stroking herself.
Art by Robin Bailey