Our planet, Folly, is not like Earth. I don't know what Earth is like now, but I know what it was like when the original eight set out on their interstellar voyage. When, after twenty years of exploration, they discovered that they could never return to Earth, they had no choice but to convert their temporary camp into a permanent human colony. The new rule became: be fruitful and multiply.
Our declining technology base has affected our way of life. The Originals all had proper coolsuit uniforms, had prefabricated habitats with air conditioning and all the electronic conveniences Earth's advanced technology could provide. However, power packs don't last forever, and humanity on Folly soon slipped into an almost neolithic lifestyle, not for lack of knowledge, but for lack of resources. My father is our blacksmith, but iron is scarce and hard to get, requiring a lot of charcoal to smelt.
Now, none of the early settlers is alive, and, because of a high death rate, there are only 59 of my generation, 31 of us girls. We are all interrelated, descended from the original eight, and our parents have ruled that we cannot marry as we may wish; we must mate with those boys who are least related to us. There being an excess of girls, it will have to be decided by community vote who will marry a man of her parents' generation, become a second wife. Well, as you can see, it's not much like Earth anymore.
Sometimes, I wish we observed the old ways, as on Earth. At about age ten, the boys go to the men's house, where they are schooled separately and have very little contact with females. We girls stay at home with our mothers, almost a necessity, as we have to help with the younger children and the housework, and tend the gardens. We have only minimal contact with our fathers, and that under formal rules and in the presence of our mother, or our father's current wife. We are not, of course, allowed near boys our own age. I got a real whipping for being caught talking to Nagem Douglas, and he was whipped, too.
I am thirteen, and almost ready to marry. As soon as my breasts are big enough to hold up a twig placed in the crease at the bottom, I will have to become some man's wife. I will have no choice who I marry, and won't even have spoken to him before the wedding ceremony. Marital fidelity is very important, and so is the virginity of the bride. Before the wedding, some older woman, not my mother, will examine me and certify, or not, that I am a virgin. You can understand my problem.
Five years ago, when I was younger and more foolish, I found a blot egg. The Originals were pleased that they had made contact with a sentient alien life form, and were pleased to have blots around the camp. The blots were a big help. Now, it is forbidden to have anything to do with blots, but, at age eight, I was foolish enough to ignore the rules.
The egg was small and round and iridescent, and I carried it with me, under the waist of my skirt, until it hatched and imprinted on me, as if it thought I was its mother. I called him/her Malcolm, after a character in a "book," and we were great friends. Of course, I couldn't keep him at home, but, at night, when blots are active, we would meet in the forest and play together. Since it is lethal to work during the hottest part of the day, we do a lot of work at night. Even at age eight, particularly then, since I was not old enough to require supervision, I could sneak away and play with Malcolm.
I suppose you know about blots. They are invertebrates, basically twelve armed bags which can grow to perhaps ten meters across, but they never lose their ability to deflate and squeeze into the smallest cracks. They can mimic most sounds and, in the days when there still was music, they would imitate a full symphony orchestra perfectly, after hearing a piece just once. Of course, there is no way to play the recordings anymore, and blots are forbidden, so I will never know what Beethoven and Verdi and Sousa sounded like.
I don't know how intelligent blots are, by human standards. They are very clever and learn fast, much like the Earthly dolphins I have read about, I suppose. They can imitate speech, like a recorder, but they don't seem to think in grammatical paradigms, so they never learn to talk like a human. They may be able to say simple one-word things, but they're not inclined to talk. However, sometimes they understand very well, which is, I think, one of the reasons they were banished from our human settlement. They understand, now, that they are not welcome and are subject to attack, if they come near.
As we grew up together, Malcolm and I had good times together. He would help me weed the garden, or gather firewood, and I could ride him to places, like the swamps, where I would never be allowed to go, if the adults knew. Malcolm never asked what I wanted. He always seemed to know.
When I was whipped for talking to Nagem Douglas, I was very resentful. The first chance I could, I slipped into the forest and waited for Malcolm. He seemed to know I wanted him, and he deflated so I could climb on his back. Then he raised up on his tentacles and raced through the forest and the swamps. When the mud was too soft to support our weight on "tiptoe", he would writhe his tentacles like an Earthly sidewinder snake, and we could scoot across mud or water at an undiminished speed. With no command from me, he took me to "our" little island in the swamp.
There is a spot that I think of as my nest, a little bowl in the midst of the trees, where the ferns and grasses are soft and I can stretch out. That's what I did, for I had a lot to think about. I took off my sweat-wet dress, and I lay on my stomach, because the whipping had really bruised my backside. I thought about the whipping, and, to my surprise, I felt Malcolm's tentacles gently tracing out the welts on my back and legs. I wondered what the future holds for me, who I will be married to and what it is like being married. I know about the cooking and cleaning and gardening and weaving clothes and things like that, but I was very uncertain about what it is that husbands and wives do together when they are alone. I know there were books about that, but not since the rules changed.
Malcolm, I'm sure, sensed my unease. He wrapped me in his tentacles, as a mother might cuddle a crying child. A blot's tentacles are marvelous structures, covered with sense organs and as clever as the fingers of a human craftsman. As I noted, a blot is a big bag of air, actually many, many interconnected bags, and, just as one can emulate an organ, playing chords through its various openings, it can also inhale though any of hundreds of openings. Something small and flat, which I would have difficulty picking up with my fingers, a huge blot can pick up easily, by suction.
I was not alarmed when Malcolm, who I had known from his egghood and often trusted with my life, caressed me with his tentacles. I was not alarmed when he touched my breasts, even sucked gently on them. It felt rather pleasant, as he sucked both nipples into one of his tentacles and simultaneously blew in my ears, stroked my legs, held my arms firmly, warmed me with his breath. I found myself getting sort of dreamy, almost as if my mind was wandering, almost, though I cannot see how that could be, as if my mind was joined with Malcolm's. I felt very strongly that he loved me and wanted me to feel loved and comforted.
I do not know how long that went on, as I luxuriated in the loving comfort of Malcolm. He lifted me onto his bag-like body, soft, warm, full of air, and enfolded me in his tentacles. I remember wondering if that is what it would be like to be a baby in the womb, warm and comfortable and loved. All the soreness of my body was gone, all my apprehension just faded away. I lost track of time, as if it didn't matter. It may be I even slept.
I remember becoming aware of my breasts, very much so. Malcolm's gentle suction was sending little thrills through my body. I felt him stroking my legs, my thighs, and I liked it. And then I felt his touch right up at the top of my thighs, where, the last year or so, short, curly hairs have been growing. Mother says I must never touch myself there, except during the ritual purification of my menses. Had anyone, even my mother, touched me there, I would have been alarmed, embarrassed, but Malcolm isn't anyone; he's a blot, and we have been soul mates for five years.
I had never before realized how tender, how sensitive I was down there. As he stroked between my legs, I felt changes. The lips, through which I bleed, seemed to swell and became much more sensitive than I could remember. It seemed as if they became wet, also, though I did not connect the wetness with my own body. I just assumed that Malcolm was secreting something. It didn't concern me at all, and I felt a warmth, there between my legs, which seemed to spread though my lower body, while at the same time, the tingles in my breasts seemed to spread also, as if my nipples and my insides down there were sending messages back and forth. I had heard women, nursing their babies, mention something like that, and I wondered if I was learning what it's like to be a woman.
As my lower lips became loose and slippery, Malcolm's tentacle slid between them, and it felt good. It particularly felt nice when he pressed or sucked or whatever he did right there, just below the bone, where I pee. I felt warm, excited, suddenly aware of my breathing, and I think I started squirming, moving my hips, though I was so wrapped up in Malcolm, literally wrapped in his body, that I'm not sure who was moving what. His tentacles moved over my body, stroking, sucking, tickling, but in a very nice, unique way, and all the time I felt this tremendous sense of love, as if Malcolm could plant that feeling deep in my brain without ever uttering a word.
He spread my lower lips further, and I felt the very slender tip of a tentacle sliding between them, not up and down, but inward, probing into my body. Had anyone suggested pushing something into me down there, I would have screamed, "No!." Instead, I think I whispered,"Yes," or, at least, I thought it, I was so under Malcolm's spell. I did not know how far his tiny tentacle insinuated itself, for I only felt it as it slipped slowly past my slippery, wet lips.
Suddenly Malcom's tentacle inflated, and I felt a twinge of pain, of stretching, but then a very pleasant feeling of fullness. His tentacle seemed to pulsate within me, while the same or another one sucked on the most sensitive place, sending waves of sensation through me. I felt my insides wanting to pulsate with Malcolm, and soon we were synchronized, as waves of pleasant sensation surged through me, as muscles I didn't know I had contracted, and his tentacle moved inside me, causing thrills to radiate through me. It was very strange, very pleasant.
The effects grew stronger and stronger, until I was oblivious to everything except the fact that my body was doing the strangest, craziest, most pleasant things. I gasped, I'm sure, as shudders racked me, as if my heart was beating somewhere inside, below my navel, and Malcolm was beating too, and my brain was just out of control, and I don't know what I thought. I think I was incapable of thought.
And suddenly it was over. I felt a profound sense of relaxation, of pleasant fuzziness, like the effect of ganda smoke, before it was forbidden to possess the herb.
I stayed there, enfolded by Malcolm, feeling supremely content. And then he started again, caressing me. I had a strong feeling, almost like a telepathic message, that this is what it's supposed to be like between husband and wife, and it settled into my mental model of the world that I would look forward to my wedding. Pretty soon that thought was completely overwhelmed by the excitement of what was going on in my body, and this time I knew what to expect. The next little explosion was even better than the first, and then there was another, and another, until Malcolm sensed I was worn out and let me fall asleep on him, in him.
So I don't think I am a virgin any more. The sun is coming up. They will miss me at home. I will get another whipping, on top of the bruises of the first, and maybe worse. And what will happen when the older woman examines me to certify my virginity? I am very apprehensive. If only I could figure out a way to not go home, to stay with Malcolm. After all, what can a husband offer me that would be better than I have experienced already?