Mornings here are the best, Doris. Funny how your name is Doris too. And almost the same last name as well. Drone instead of Drane, though. Thank God. Else it’d be spooky!”
“Spooky enough,” claims the red haired, anime style Doris sitting opposite her. “But call me Gwin. That was my given name over at the Ruby Democratic Empire set.”
“So glad you got disengaged from that Tin Tin. He sounds terrible. Eating with his mouth open and all. And that nose!”
“Awful indeed,” reinforced Doris Gwin. But now I’m here. With you. I decided I like women more than men. Reality goes where desire leads it.” They touched hands across the table, with no spitting involved this time.
—–
“Haven’t you guys finished that chess game yet?” clanks Sally the Sparkonaut after washing the breakfast pots and pans inside their cozy riverside cottage. “Why don’t you take a break and play checkers upstairs instead?” She winks at her niece Gwin with a bulbous blue eye. “If you know what I mean. Check her… checkhers. Get it?”
“Creepy, Aunt Sally. Why are you so… open and free about our burgeoning lesbian relationship? I mean, I thought you were a rampaging whore over at Wallytown before your mechanical transmutation.”
“Indeed I liked men in more ways than I can count. And I am a powerful caculating machine. But love is love to me. Be free and open with it. Last reincarnational existence I was a nun in 19th Century France and hated every minute of the experience. Lesbian relationships at the nunnery were common, and even encouraged if you were sly about it. The monks turned their back on us — they were having their own fun with their own fair sex. That’s how things went but it wasn’t open to the outside. To them we were married to God and God alone. But God works in mysterious ways, as they say. And in my opinion God loves men and women to have sex. Any type of sex: concave on concave, convex on convex, concave/convex… you name it. And domination… there’s a percentage of people that like it… be open to that too. But in the right way.”
“You are wise, Aunt Sally. The people that built the dam over there on the river we can see from our breakfast table also did a super job on your transmutation.”
“It was too rampant,” repeated Sally. “Something had to be done about desire for certain.” Her antennas sparked again. “I suppose.”
Sunklands 