I squatted and looked in the dust."What's there?" An Odontomachus -- I didn't know there were any around here. Lots further north, some further south....Are you allergic to bites? Bee stings?" Allergic?" Weena looked at me."Folks can die from ant bites. I don't want to lose you ... yet." She punched me in the arm, not very hard. We looked at the map, worked out where the hotel we'd booked into was, got back into the Rover, and I drove there. While we were registering, Weena noticed a tallish. Her hands caress as do mine, at once gentle and firm. Offering and taking, on a cloud of mist, we join together, coupling, fusing, entering. We dance as one. Our sleepy breathing increases. Chests heave softly in sleep, bodies move in unison, soft moans of pleasure escape unknown. Our dancing hastens, mist swirls around us, hiding, exposing, in perfect harmony, neither dominant, neither submissive, arching, bending, accepting. Bodies writhe in the mist. Her moans of pleasure match mine. Mine. More

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