All the Waves of the Ocean: Simoun Ficet
Long before I went to the Spring I knew that I would be a man. As a Simoun Sibylla what I loved the most was the speed and thrill of flight. That and fighting, fighting and winning.
I knew I would be a man.
I must admit I was surprised that you became one as well.
I could never imagine you as anything other than the beautiful, blushing girl I fell in love with. When you flew, you were priestess first then solider. Your flights were prayers. To me you personified all that was sacred and mysterious about the Simoun. To me, you were the essence of femininity.
When we were women, I would go down on you for hours. I could comb the dark curling hair between your legs back with my fingers; part the folds of you, work my way deeper and deeper inside. In the most hidden recesses of you I would whisper my secrets for hours while your body moved around me, mounting and easing, mounting and easing. I remember your sighs and the rhythm of your breath mounting and easing, mounting and easing. How many times would you come in an hour? For how many hours would I make you come? You said the orgasms felt like waves cresting over you, like all the waves of the ocean.
Do you miss that ocean now?
It seemed so much what you were, just as I imagined I was in my essence akin to the violent outburst of the male orgasm. And yet sometimes even I feel empty and sad after the explosion of climax.
You seem to accept your masculinity with the same quiet dignity you had as a maiden. As a man, you are serene and mysterious as you were as a girl. And I think you must know a way to be-not to be male, not to be female, but just to be-that is very different than my way of being, but infinitely beautiful.