Re: A Dolphin Fucking A Woman
Mazie Wingeier
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"They don't need to literally be furry," he said. "It's whatever animal you are on the inside, whatever you identify with the most. Me, I've always felt like a dolphin, because I'm happy and thoughtful and, like, really alert and intuitive."
"That's not the point," he said. "It's about being fucking quiet together and being soft and being fucking close to one another, without all the talking, all the games, all the human bullshit. Do bears fuck all the time? No, they just hold each other for an entire season."
It's been a while since I swam with the Dolphin, since my night in the Cove, but I continue to think about him. I mean, people have forged lives together despite weirder kinks. I'd much rather my husband be squirting water out of his blowhole in the pool than jerking off with a belt around his neck in the garage. My therapist assures me that I'm not a latent furry, but I don't know, if being a furry means cuddling and being fucking quiet together, I can get on board, at least on birthdays and harvest moons. I wouldn't be a dolphin, and I wouldn't be a fox; I would without question be one of those squawking birds that are always freaking out in a tree.
However, it became one of my favorite Sega games, representing a welcome change from the instant button-bashing gratification of fucking up punks and bikers in Streets Of Rage 2. The central character is a dolphin, obviously, called Ecco, again, who is estranged from his pod after a mysterious tornado sucks them out of the ocean. It transpires that they've been abducted by a group of aliens known as the Vortex, who come to Earth to harvest its natural resources, including sucking up a smorgasbord of sea life. Ecco's quest takes him to Atlantis, before he travels back in time through a complex combination of wormholes to confront the Vortex at its hive, the Machine.
Lilly was once a renowned and respected scientist, with a particular interest in marine biology and interspecies communication. In the early 1960s he was given funding by NASA to research whether it was possible to teach dolphins to speak. NASA's logic was that if we could learn to communicate with dolphins, we would have a better understanding of how to converse with extraterrestrials if they were to ever pop down for a visit.
The similarities between Sega's Ecco the Dolphin and Lilly's ketamine fantasies are undeniable. It's almost like the game's story is an amalgamation of his interest in dolphins and the wacky philosophy he spouted when returning to reality from his phenomenal K-hole trips.
Alongside ECCO, Lilly encountered another alien life force, which he called the Solid State Intelligence. Unlike the entities from ECCO, the SSI were spawned by a mechanical solar system, and their main aim was to ravage the earth and destroy mankind. It's not unlike the much-documented cinematic battles between us fleshy creatures and advanced AI turned malevolent, and it's no stretch to compare the SSI with Ecco's Vortex enemies, those evil, dolphin-kidnapping interstellar villains.
I slipped my hand up and down his shaft carefully squeezing it ever so often. This went on for about five minutes and then he started to shudder...as if he was very cold. His mouth remained open wide and every so often I would rub his tongue. (All dolphins love this...I have no idea why.) His eyes remained tightly closed. All the while he was totally silent.
From my earlier observations I had never noticed the folds of the female dolphins slit to be all that distinctive. But when I rolled her on her side her slit was definitely enlarged and had turned a deep pink color. I could only assume that she was waiting for me to mate with her. Now I was really in uncharted waters.
Stop with me here a while and soon
Youll know everyone on this street
The doormen, the cops, the waitress on a break, the driver
Smoking against the fender or asleep in the car, the woman
On a bicycle with her hands in her back pockets, the guys
Too proud for the shelter who think of the economy
As something natural, like waves or the wind, blowing
Hot and cold, guys
whose jobs have gone south, and their women
Who know theyre not coming back. I arc through them
Like a dolphin or a lifeguard who must
Coldly keep his distance until
The drowning are ready to give themselves up
To salvation or the sea.
She is quite naked, stretched out on the bed with her legs akimbo,
her full firm breasts pointing at the ceiling (an exquisite blue
dolphin is jumping over her left nipple), her long hair shining like
a fresh black brushstroke on the white pillow. She has shaved her
pubic hair save for the subtlest filigree black line, which seems to
point to her clitoris, perhaps as a road sign for drunk and fumbling
farang. The opium pipe, a classic of about three feet of bamboo with
the bowl two-thirds of the way down, lies beside her. The Colonel
sniffs and smiles-as with my mother, the sweet aroma of burned poppy
sap holds fond memories for him, though of a radically different
order. (He used to trade it up in Laos in the golden years of the
B-52s.) The room is tiny and hardly big enough for the three of us
when I bring two chairs and set them on opposite sides of the bed.
The sex goddess between us begins to snore while Vikorn dictates her
statement: