A dandy breeze was blowing, whispering, invisibly eddying. Warm and slightly moist. Muggy, if you will. The endless months of rain and unpredictable weather giving way to this current normalcy. This current comfort.

The red-winged blackbirds, savoring this, bobbed on thin branches, their feathers jet-black. With those ruby-red patches on the wings. With their wet, chiming calls. Seeming to say, ‘We're not crows. Oh, no. We're good and proper blackbirds, harbingers of cheerful weather.' They bobbed on puffy cattails, too, looking appropriately kingly. Daring you to make any ‘pie' references.

And the belted kingfisher, gleaming a jeweled, striped blue, rattled in, rattled out, swooping low. Svelte, fast. Doing its thing, probing and hunting for fishes. And, oh, all the other birds, too, of this day, they sung. In sing-song tones, producing an expected, taken-for-granted chorus. Which gave the air an energy. There were times when you had to wonder if a world without birds would be worth living in. Always, the femme otter listened to the birds. What they had to say. How musically masterful they were. Without sentience, producing such tune. That God-given, instinctual talent. She admired that. And she watched them, too. The colors they showed. Their lightness (and brightness). She watched them defy gravity, and she wondered what that felt like.

Thank you, Lord, for birds. For songs. For feathers and flight.

And, with a deep breath, she stepped forward, into the water. The shallow, cool edge of the Kenapocomoco. And she took a slow, deep breath. It was that thrill. That tingle that raced up her spine, from the tip of her-rudder tail all the way to her whiskers. Stepping into water. And water, always flowing, was always new. You could never step into the same water twice. A deep breath. She wriggled her toes in the sand and mud. The liquid moved at a brisk, slightly-muddy pace, and the sun was hot and climbing, rising above a few, hazy clouds. It was mid-May, a few weeks before the 500. When all the first cuttings of alfalfa were being mowed and baled. And that sweet, green scent was carried to you on the air. And though the threat of tornadoes lurked with every change of the weather, all felt right.

She could not lament.

"Rhine?"

The river otter turned her head, slightly, her roundish ears perked atop her head. Her rich-brown pelt designed for keeping her insulated from the elements. And, on hot days, that was sometimes a problem. It was supposed to be eighty-six degrees today, a Sunday. It was later in the day, a few hours after church and lunch (at Orinoco's parents' house).

"You went off without tellin' me ... " Protective worry in his voice. Orinoco's (her husband's) voice. A care, a tenderness. Her life, to him, was more important than his own. And he would sacrifice whatever he needed to (time, energy) to make sure she was happy. To make sure she was safe. For, after all, love was not love without sacrifice. Love without sacrifice was merely decorated lust. No, you could not receive anything without giving something away. You could not forge a relationship with someone without leaving a part of your old self behind. Such was life's symmetry.

"I know how t'swim," was the soft, smiling reply. She felt him come up behind her. Heard his bare foot-paws squish into the sandy, muddy shallows of the river. Heard the soft ripples of river-water. "I know how t'swim," she repeated, at a breathy, feminine whisper, eyes closing as she felt paws go to her shoulders (which were only covered by the shoulder-straps of her loose, periwinkle dress; and, oh, she looked beautiful in a dress). Felt his bare belly (for he was only dressed in jean shorts) press to her clothed back. And his strong arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her in a hug.

"I know," Orinoco breathed, leaning into the hug. Into her. "I know, my water lily."

She smiled widely. She loved it when he called her that. Water lily. His water lily. And how, in the heated, middle days of summer, he would go out and pick a water lily. And present it to her. How he would speak of her beauty. How she was like a flower, only more beautiful. The romance in that, it made her weak at the knees. And maybe, on the outside, you would've made fun of that. Would've scoffed at such idealism. Would've insisted that devotion was a trap. But, even if that was the case, wasn't it true that you had to be caught before you could be set free? Caught in the warm currents of their love, her soul had been freed from all previous gloominess. True freedom came within the confines of true love. "You think I might sink, though?" she teased, defending, "I'm not all that much heavier."

Orinoco, cool, black nose bumping, rubbing against the nape of her neck, whispered, "Course not. I said no such thing." A gentle nip to her neck. "I think it's wonderful."

"My bulging belly?" Rhine was halfway through her pregnancy (otters having eight-month gestations).

"Mm-hmm ... mm-hmm." Another neck-nip, the sun shining, smiling down on both of them. Like a too-sugary lemon tart. Oh, sun, you've lost all your sour. Don't think that you're going to burn us today (for our fur is blocking you; no, you can only steam us silly and soak us with sweat).

"I guess it makes me look all fertile and fruitful, huh? I guess that appeals to the male instinct. All wantin' fertileness ... all wantin' the sweetness of what's ripe."

"It appeals to me," he whispered, "because it's our love, growing ... creating. Our love, life ... and hope. It's our love," he said again, breathing deeply of his wife's scent. Nose in her neck-fur. Breathe. Deeply. And sigh. "Because you wanted it so badly." Another breath, inward. Held. And released. "As did I." He'd been afraid of not being able to give it to her. They'd had so much trouble conceiving, and when they'd finally gone for medical help, it had been revealed that the problem was entirely on Orinoco's end (low sperm count). And, for any male, the prospect of being infertile yourself, unable to do your biological part, was a huge, crippling blow to the self-esteem. What that did to his identity. Was that not a vital part of male purpose, male being? Male drive? Having seed. Successfully sowing it. That it could grow. The ability to create a new life. And if you couldn't do that ...

" ... I don't mean t'be teasin' you," she whispered to him. "I know how much our baby means t'you, too. I was just ... "

" ... nothin' to apologize for. I can handle teasin'." Yet another nip to her neck. "It all worked out," was the breath. And it had. God had blessed them. Had gifted them with a child. At long last, after well over a year of trying.

"I must be," Rhine observed, her head lolling lazily to the side, "extra-tasty today, I suppose. The way you're goin' on with my neck."

"I guess I'm just silly."

"Silly ... maybe."

"But you are," he added, "tasty. There's never been a time when you haven't been, I don't think."

"Well, I guess I ... shall take that," she replied, "as a compliment." She was beaming, and her whiskers gave a singular, little twitch. And her black nose gave a deep sniff. "Oh ... darling ... "

" ... yes? Mm?" He pressed to her. From behind. His thick, sturdy rudder-tail swaying lightly behind him. Such a rudder, indeed. Such a balance. And Rhine's own tail, currently held in a position where it curved low until it touched the ground, rested between her husband's legs, touching his thighs.

"I'm just ... I'm sorry for keeping you up last night ... with my, uh ... well, all that babbling ... "



Last night, bedroom-dim, and a dozy, dreamy air descending.

And her voice. The familiar sound of her voice.

"I was at the grocery, y'know ... this mornin'," the otter whispered, shifting a bit. The navy-blue bed-sheets, cool and thin, rustled. The blankets wrinkling as her foot-paws kicked them up, trying to billow them. They were too snug. "Darling?" She turned her head, her rounded otter-ears perking.

"Mm?" was Orinoco's eventual, sleepy response.

"I hope that wasn't a grunt."

A yawn. A pause. And then another yawn. "Rhine," was all the bare male otter said, wrapped in sheets and blankets. Sharing his body heat with her. And enveloped, overall, by the deep, rural darkness.

"I don't like bein' grunted at."

A delayed chuckle from him.

"What? What was ... "

A muffled, "Grunted at? Don't like grunts? You do ... yes, you do ... "

" ... I don't. I never ... "

"No? Well, I seem to recall that ... "

" ... sex doesn't count," Rhine whispered, trying not to smile. Saying it with an extra-quiet caution. She knew God could hear every word they said.

"Doesn't, huh? Cause I seem to recall," Orinoco said, continuing his interrupted thought, "that you did more gruntin' than me this ... "

" ... did no such thing. I never," was the insistence.

"You did so. Y'always do. I bark, an' you grunt. Nothin' to be ashamed of," was the grin.

"I do not," she kept insisting, "grunt ... "

Orinoco chuckled, licking his lips. "Y'do ... y'know you do. I like it. It's ... erotic," he whispered. "I don't have a problem with it. I'm just sayin' ... "

" ... what? What are you sayin'?" she asked, blue eyes sparkling. She grinned, giving him a playful nudge. "Mm?"

"You can be ... voracious."

"I'm too ladylike to be voracious," was Rhine's insistence. "Maybe I ... get a bit too ... "

" ... feral?"

" ... carried away by instinct. I'm all hormonal right now, you know that."

"Blamin' it on that, huh? Nah, this is nothin' new, darling ... anyway, it's well known that us otters are very playful, yeah? Very playful, and ... a bit rough once we get at it. Just the way we are."

A giggle, and a shake of the head. And more giggling, trying to find her voice. " ... you're changin' ... you're changin' the subject. You are. Don't deny it." A paw pointing at him. And then a sigh, and she retracted her paw. Clearing her throat, maintaining her serious, thoughtful tone, she continued, "Look, I'm talkin' ‘bout conversation, though, okay? I'm tryin' to have a conversation with you, and ... just want words for words, is all. Wanna know that you're listein' ... "

"I am," was the assurance. A sigh. "I am listenin'. It's ... look, I don't even know what time," he said, "it is ... " A third yawn. "I'm listenin'."

Rhine swallowed, breathing through the nose. And nodded, her head-fur rubbing against her pillowcase. "Well, I was at the grocery, and the cashier saw that I was pregnant ... "

"Yeah?"

" ... yeah, and she said somethin' like ‘‘gratulations,' and ‘good luck on bein' a parent' ... "

" ... yeah?" was the repeated response. Orinoco's eyes were closed. He took a deep breath through his flat, black nose, and then let it out. In a soft, slow way. A way befitting of nighttime. The water-frogs and cicadas could be heard. The cicadas starting to emerge. Or something like them. Sometimes, all the sounds blended together to create one, unifying sound. A late-spring, early-summer sound. And, true, summer didn't officially begin until later-June. But, whatever the case, the night air was full of May-ness. May-ness. Yes, that was the word. The meaning was implied. Was felt. You couldn't find that in a dictionary.

Rhine's eyes were open, staring into the dark. Staring at the old, worn ceiling, at the unmoving ceiling fan. At the beams of moonlight streaking in from the slightly-dusty windows. "Yeah," she whispered, and then she sighed through the nose. "And it just ... it upset me," she continued, biting her lip. Her eyes narrowed. "It really did."

"Why?" Orinoco asked, shifting positions. Scooting closer to her, facing her. His eyes slightly opened, now. His big, long, sturdy rudder-tail extended beyond the mattress, but he moved it back onto the bed.

"Well, luck? Orinoco, what's luck?"

"It's ... "

" ... blind, random chance, right? It's ... come-what-may, isn't it?" A pause. A breath. "It's empty. It's ... as a Christian, I know that there's no such thing as luck. The concept of ‘luck' is ... contrary to our faith, you know? I mean, things don't happen by chance. It wasn't luck that rolled away that stone from the tomb. An' it wasn't luck, either, that conquered death or that knit us all together, or ... designed everything so perfectly. That made all the universe's measurements just right. No, we don't ‘luck' into things. We're ‘nudged' into them. Guided. By God. He orchestrates ... all," she emphasized, "of this. Of life, I mean. There are no coincidences. Nothing is errant," she said, "and ... "

"So, uh ... "

" ... so, instead of every stranger-fur I meet bidding me ‘good luck,' I wish they'd bid me ‘God bless you.' I don't need luck, Ori. I don't want luck. It doesn't exist. I want to be blessed. I'd rather have furs tell me ... that they wish for God to bless me. That means so much more. It has so much more behind it. I want that. I don't want them wishin' for me to be the ‘recipient' of blind, random chance. You know? I mean, that's ... why say that? There's no purpose behind it. You know what ... " She was getting frustrated, and starting to huff. Blowing out air in big, sighing breaths.

" ... you're saying. I know what you're saying," the male otter assured, his paws reaching, fishing out. Beneath the sheets. His fingertips traced through the short, rich-brown fur of her rudder-tail. His paw-pads eventually pressing, paws massaging. Taking hold of her tail. "Mm ... darling ... "

"You've ... "

" ... been listenin'," he assured again, sighing. "I'm just tired. It's ... almost midnight, I'm sure, if not past midnight, and you're tryin' to have a lively theological debate, and ... I just don't have the energy right now," Orinoco admitted.

"I'm sorry," Rhine whispered, nodding a bit. "I just ... it's on my mind, you know? I needed to tell you. I needed you to ... well," she whispered, trailing. "I needed you to agree with me." A pause. "You do, don't you?"

"Course I do," was the returned whisper.

"You're not just ... "

" ... sayin' that? No ... darling, I wouldn't lie to you. And you know me well enough."

Another nod. "I know. I'm sorry," she said again.

"No need to apologize. I wish you'd stop doin' that ... that's a mouse habit. You're an otter, not a mouse. Where's your confidence?"

"I still have it," she assured, softly. "I still have my confidence. I just ... I want everything to go smoothly, you know?"

"So do I ... we all do."

"I know, but ... I'm carryin' another life inside me. That's ... that's too much for me to fully comprehend. It's such a responsibility. I feel ... y'know, you can make buildings, paintings, music, whatever. But no act of creation, no work of art is more beautiful, more meaningful than making new life." A pause. "We've created new life," was her reverent whisper. "You and I. And ... with God's help, of course." A breath. "We just tried for so long, and now that it's happenin', I'm, like ... y'know, in a daze. I don't know. I just ... I haven't lost my confidence. I just don't want anything to go wrong. I just don't wanna mess up. I have to hold myself to a higher standard, now, don't I? I have to put myself under more pressure if I wanna ... "

" ... be a good parent? Darling, listen ... " His paws in her fur. He swallowed, tenderly stroking her fur. "Listen, you're gonna do fine. You'll be a great mother. Alright? I shouldn't even have to tell you that. You don't have to change your personality or ... y'know, you're ready. An' I'm here to help you. To give you whatever you need. The responsibility of this isn't on your shoulders alone. I planted those seeds, y'know ... I'll be there with you, bearin' whatever burdens come our way. I know raisin' a child won't be easy, but ... the pressure is ours. And it'll be worth it. You know it'll be worth it," he whispered.

A smile, and a soft inhale. "I know." An exhale, a sigh. "I know ... just so much t‘think about. Until it's born. So much t'wonder about, so many scenarios to play over an' over in my head. It's like this big waitin' game ... your mother told me that I should enjoy the feeling of just bein' pregnant. Savor the fullness, the experience. Cause I'll have plenty to worry about later on."

"Sounds like good enough advice ... "

"But, uh ... the luck thing, Ori? Furs sayin' ‘good luck'," she continued, returning to her lamentation. "I just think it's a problem. The culture ... it's like a disease. It infects us. Makes us say ‘good luck,' and makes us ... you know, if it's influenced us like that, on such mere, subtle levels, then what about the BIG things? It's just ... it's just scary," she decided. "And I didn't truly realize it until today ... "

" ... at the grocery."

"At the grocery," she echoed. "Yes ... " A breath, and then a sigh. "I just think about these things a lot. Things like lust. No one blinks, y'know, at carnal innuendo anymore. No one shies away from pure lust. Cause they've all slept with it ... use it for mere pleasure. And where's the meaning in there? They've just ... desensitized themselves to the casual, spiritual brutality of it. And ... those signals. Those habits. Our baby. I don't want our baby to be fed those things, and ... "

" ... he won't. He, or she ... our baby won't. She'll be born into faith. We'll give it to her. She won't fall prey to those things, okay?" was the assurance.

A nod. And, then, "She? You think we're gonna have a ‘she'?"

"I dunno. Darling, I ... " A smile. "I have no idea."

"Well, no, but ... I mean, what's your instinct tellin' you?"

A slight chuckle. "Uh ... well, I don't know that it's tellin' me anything. At least not ‘bout that." A pause. "Why? Is your instinct telling YOU somethin'?"

"I think it's a boy," she whispered. "I just ... I feel like it might be." A beaming smile. "I kinda want a boy," she confessed. "I just ... but if it's a girl, I want that, too. It doesn't matter, really. I just ... " She descended into little, dreamy sighs. "Oh ... "

"Well, we'll find out, won't we? Eventually?" He slipped one of his paws around one of hers, and gave a paw-squeeze.

She nodded, tenderly squeezing back. Savoring that kind of contact. Paw-holding. Fingers meshed. She kept squeezing. Not wanting to let go. The innocent intimacy of such a gesture. "Ori ... "

" ... yeah?" His free paw on her belly, feeling it rise and fall. Feeling the bulge. Her belly wasn't huge. But it was noticeably larger than it had been in the winter. He kept his paw there. Rise and fall, her belly went, and her supple, beautiful breasts. His paws roved, roved, and went to those. He thumbed one of her nipples. Slowly, running his furred, blunt-clawed thumb over the pink, fleshy nub, feeling it harden just a bit. And just a bit more. "Yeah?" he whispered.

A heavy sigh from Rhine. "I love you," was the breath. Without hesitation. Without calculation. Just breathed, pure and true.

To which he responded, "I love you, too ... I love you, too ... " A gentle kiss to her cheek. And his nose nuzzling against her chin.

Her head rustled on her pillowcase. "I, uh ... I know you were tryin' to get to sleep. I didn't mean t'keep you awake so long ... "

"No bother at all," he whispered.

A sheepish smile from her. "Well ... "

"It's alright," he assured, with his genuine good nature. "Really, I ... I'd rather be slightly-dozy with you, in the middle of the night, than asleep ... I'm not THAT tired. Sleep can wait. Of all things, I think it can wait just a little bit longer ... "

"It's just that I'm not tired," Rhine tried to explain. "To tell the truth, I'm not tired."

"I'd noticed. Darling, you can ... "

"It's like I've got all this energy. This ... this excitement. I'm halfway through, y'know. In August or September, it'll ... our baby," she whispered. "We'll be parents. I wonder what color its eyes will be, and I ... "

" ... don't need to worry about it, darling. We just went over this."

"I'm not worried. No," she insisted. "I'm not worried. I'm just ... anxious. Not in a worryin' way. But, like, an excited way. I'm ... "

" ... excited. Yes. You mentioned that." Orinoco's eyes were fully open. He looked to her, in the dark, and smiled. "You're like a star. Have I ever told you that? Like a bright, morning star, so promising, so full of light ... so beautiful," the male otter whispered, "to me."

"I thought I was like a water lily," she whispered, flushing.

"Y'are ... a water lily, a star. Most everything good and pure, that's what you're like."

Rhine flushed harder, hotter beneath her rich-brown fur. "Well, I ... thank you," she finally whispered, swallowing. "I don't know how I can match that compliment. Other than to say that ... you're the most handsome fur I ever laid eyes on. You're a fine specimen of an otter." A giggle-mew. "I don't know that you're like a water lily," she said, giggle-mewing even more. "But, uh ... cause, uh, I think flowers are more pretty than they are handsome."

"Understandable." A grin, and a slight nod. "You don't need to match my compliments, though. I'm not askin' for ... to be lavished with praise."

"But you lavish me with it," she whispered.

"Because I can't help but do so," he whispered back. "You compel me to. You stir such things in me ... "

" ... I just," she stammered, getting emotional. Her eyes watered. "I just ... I gotta ... I wanna give you somethin' back, y'know, for you love and your kindness ... "

" ... you do," he assured, so softly. As to barely be heard. His muzzle resting close to hers. Lips touching (but not yet kissing). "You do. You give me your love. Your purity, your brightness. You're the most faithful individual, and ... you've saved my soul. You've built up my own faith, and you keep me accountable, and you ... you're patient, and ... lovely, and you let me into your heart. Darlin', you owe me nothing ... you give me just as much as I give you."

A swallow, and a slight sniffle. And a little nod. "Okay," she mouthed. "Okay ... " Her lips quivering as they moved forward. An inch, and then another. And then pressing to his own. A light, moist lip-lock, tongues staying in muzzles (this time). Just lips, just little sucks and little smack-smacks. Oh, the heat, and the taste of each other. And, oh, the velvety, blood-pumping feel. And, oh, they could both melt.

"Oh ... " She panted, breaking the kiss to breathe more fully.

"Mm," was his throaty sound, nose flaring, whiskers brushing hers. His gentle paws went from her rudder-tail to her belly (again). How it gently curved, bearing the fruit of their love.

"I, uh ... somethin' else is botherin' me. I've been worryin' about it all day."

"What?" Orinoco breathed, feeling that the slow, simmering sensuality that was building between them was, indeed, meant to continue on a steady, incremental pace. For he could almost feel her sudden distraction.

"I saw this thing on Channel Twenty, right, an' ... it was all ‘bout how engineers are destroyin' the Mississippi River Delta."

"Darling ... can we, uh ... " His lips sucking on her cheek-fur, matting it with his saliva and his heated exhales. "Can we, uh ... talk about this later ... "

"I just wanna get it off my mind. I just ... no, cause it said how the natural flow of the Mississippi makes it wanna change course an' merge with the Atchafalaya, but ...

Orinoco kept his naked, furry body pressed to hers. Kept his lips on her cheek. And breathed, listening, stroking her belly.

" ... well, the furs an' engineers an' all them, they changed the course of the river. With levees and barriers. Cause they wanna keep it goin' through New Orleans, but ... by doin' that," Rhine said, remembering what the program had said, "they're destroying the entire Louisiana Coast, starvin' the marshes an' wetlands, makin' the whole region more vulnerable to hurricanes, and ... if they let the river go where it wants to," she whispered, "things would right themselves. But they think they own the river. It's all about money. And isn't ... you know, that thing they say about love? It's non-possessive. If you truly love something, you don't have the desire to own it. So, I figure if they truly loved their land down there, they'd let the river go where it wanted to ... "

Orinoco just listened. "I, uh ... hadn't thought about that," was his slightly-distracted admittance. "I, uh ... um ... "

" ... I'm just sayin' ... " She turned her head, breathing, whispering (with a strong sense of play, this time), "You're thinkin' with your penis, aren't ya ... "

An exhale. A sheepish chuckle, blushing beneath his rich-brown fur. "Darling ... you don't have to put it that way." He bit his lip, exhaling heavily.

"Well, y'are ... "

"Well, uh ... what do you want me to say? Louisiana? That's a ways away. We're in Indiana. Our river's not bein' messed with. Our soil's fine. Just ... don't worry ‘bout it," was his advice. Hips pressing to her body. Slightly bumping. Just to feel some friction. His paws clutching her fur. "Just ... "

"Yeah, but it's ... we're river otters, you know. River otters. I just don't like to see that happen. Cause, like, our baby ... I want our baby to grow up where there are rivers she or he ... you know, can play in, fish in, bathe in. I mean, what if our baby grows up in a world where all the rivers are polluted and ... "

" ... hey ... hey," Orinoco soothed, stopping her before she could go further. "I don't want you worryin', okay? You can't solve all the world's problems. And certainly not by worryin' ... "

"I know. I know ... I just .. I wonder how wise it is to bring a child into a fallen world like this. The risk o' that."

"The hope," Orinoco whispered wisely, calming himself down (enough to concentrate, enough to be serious), "outweighs the risk. And our love ... darling, this baby was made with our love. And by God's paw." A deep, hot breath. "Like you always say," he whispered, "it's about trust. Whether we trust God enough to ... follow His path. Whether we trust Him to provide. Our willingness to submit to Him. I mean, you wither trust Him, or ... you don't. There's no in-between, and I know," he assured, passionately, "that you trust Him. And so do I. Doesn't mean we're not gonna feel worry, and doesn't mean bad things won't happen to us, but ... that trust, that sense of love, and ... "

" ... I understand," she whispered, closing her eyes. Breathing deeply. And nodding. "I know. I just ... I just need to be reminded, sometimes." Her eyes opened, and she looked to her husband. From this close. "I just ... I know," she assured, smiling brightly. Full of hope. Full of life. "I don't think I thank you enough, Ori, for ... allowing me to lean on you. For how you hold me up."

"I've leaned on you enough times ... we lean on each other. That's what spouses are for." A gentle kiss to her cheek, with a tiny smacking sound. A delectable sound. "Us Christian soldiers, we march onward in our faith, and we watch each other's tails ... we each make sure that the other doesn't stray."

A nod, a satisfied breath, and her nose bumping into his own. Black, cool, nostrils flaring. "Oh, darling ... "

" ... mm ... yeah ... " His paws all over her, moving again. Body bumping, pressing again. Not in any harsh way. But lightly, gently. The rough otter-like playfulness would soon emerge. The way this was going, it would soon burst forth. But, for now, it was all sweetness and light. And his fingers raked through her fur, and a paw went down, down, over her belly. He caressed her belly, and a paw went to her thighs, slipping between the furnace-like heat. Slipping into such petal-like delicacy. Such want and need. Surely, there nothing of higher art than what was held between a femme's legs. And hers, especially. For he loved her with all his heart.

"The way you're ... uh," she breathed, "touchin' me," she whispered, so lightly. Trailing, not finishing the sentence.

He gently scratched at her belly, in a soft, tender way. "What about it?" A grin. And, turning the tables on her, teased, "Thinkin' with your clitoris, are ya?For his fingers were gently toying with that miniature, hooded shaft. Rub-press. Ease up. Fingers errantly brushing across it.

"Uh ... um, uh. Yeah. Alright," she admitted. "We're even."

A chuckle. "Glad to hear it ... "

"I just ... I don't want you to stop."

A slight nod from him. "I won't," he promised, at a whisper. "Just calm down, okay? Slow down your thoughts. Just ... take a deep, deep breath, and let it out, and calm," he whispered, "down."

Rhine nodded, taking slow breaths through her nose. She swallowed. "I can't. I'm too excited."

"Just try," was the continued, whispered plea. A gentle plea. "Just try ... "

And she did, and she slowly relaxed, and ...

... he pressed to her, kissing, sucking.

And her arms went out. Wrapped around him. She cradled the back of his head as he began to suckle on one of her breasts. "Ori ... "

A soft, suckling sound. He switched to the other nipple.

"Oh ... " A happy smile melting onto her lips. And a deep, pleasured breath. As, like the natural flow of water, the two otters flowed against and into each other, streaming toward that ultimate, desired outcome: that of becoming one flesh, one fur. The brushing of souls. Sexual, physical, emotional union. Baring all. Vulnerable and raw.

Intimacy.

Oh ...



" ... wasn't a problem, Rhine," Orinoco breathed, back in the present. Remembering all of it. Every simmering, succulent moment. Every cry of passion. Every breath of relief. Every taste. "Really, it ... it wasn't."

She shifted a bit, turning around. Her paws sloshing in the shallows. And, turning to face him, leaning into him, she whispered, "It's hot, isn't it?"

"I would say it is."

"I think ... " Her blue eyes slightly darted, as she met his gaze from up close. As her slightly-bulging belly pressed (through the fabric of her dress) to his own bare, furry belly. "I think that ... I should like to become hotter."

Orinoco swallowed, nodding. A small hesitation (not from uncertainty, but because he was so lost in her eyes). And his paws went to the straps of her dress, and he slipped them off. One by one. Off her shoulders. Letting the dress fall a bit. And his paws went behind her back, where he played with her bra. Just a bit. Just a second. And it came loose, too, and he peeled it away. And tossed it behind him, into the wild-growing grass.

Rhine pressed forward, lips to his. A kiss. Sweet, needy, hiding nothing. Honest and committed, faithful and devoted. Forever his. As he was forever hers. They did not intend to take any easy ways out. They did not intend to break these vows at the first signs of trouble. They intended to stick together, no matter what. And her lips pressed, slid, her tongue-tip touching his own. Not parting, not even to breathe. Letting their noses handle the air. Letting their arms wrap around, around, as her dress fell down, down, into the water. She kicked the soaking wet clothing away. Hearing it slosh to a stop somewhere (on the land). And, shifting, shuffling backwards, the pregnant femme otter pulled her husband deeper into the river.

Where they went with the flow.

Where they went where their hearts carried them.

Where they made love in the hot, mid-May sun.