I backed out of the holster, six inches away so I wasn’t poking her in the back. But she still hugged my arms in front of her, long and skinny like the neck of the wet bird outside who’d given up. She wanted me close. And so the hardness wasn’t going away. The only way for me to be close enough to comfort her was to put it back in the holster. I did so, squeezing her whole arms and shoulders, and when she cooed it was inviting but still sad as she returned the hug and when it faded out, Alana allowed it to rest there, in the holster, and I lay still, trying not to cough or itch or pulsate.

But in that still quiet, my tension was building as I rested softly in the holster; that triangle of negative space where the rear end meets the legs. I lay in it like a wax dummy, picturing holsters I’d seen, or seen through, while walking down the street behind some girl in painted pants. It’s wonderful, but women with strong, filled out legs don’t have that space. Only girls and bulimics.

At that thought, I started to slide out, but Alana flexed her leg muscles around it for an instant, bringing it back to almost painful life. I’m sure she was thinking about all of the mess with the swans, not concentrating on the dynamics of my arousal; the pressure was accidental, but I couldn’t stand it. I kissed her shoulder one more time but she hugged my arms like swan necks, whispering, "I sleep now." And as she reached back over her shoulder to pat my cheek, I obeyed her wishes, but felt like an impotent old man.

I understood though, or I thought I did, her non-desire, the sadness; as I lay stupid silent, her back six inches away, I even thought I heard Juliet moaning outside in the light rain, but I didn’t mention it. Alana was worried enough.

I began to settle and soften again, safe in the knowledge that she loved me despite her temporary anguish. And I was almost ready to sleep when she reached over her shoulder for my face again, running the sides of her fingers across my lips, a last goodnight.

My body woke up again, feeling taunted, and my teeth bit her fingers, hard. She laughed, so they bit harder, an atavistic message sent from my groin, which had risen again. But she loved even that, and she laughed, with honesty, for the first time in the night, the first time since she’d returned home, and so I finally felt good. She yelled, "Ooooow!" with the same incapacitating, ambivalent laughter that comes from tickling, and that sound had my had heart about to burst. And just as I thought we were going to end the night on a grand memorable note, maybe even without sex, and just as I began to laugh along, which freed her hand from my teeth, she slapped me in the head, still laughing.

I cried out, "God damnit! DON’T!" and stood up in anger, naked for three seconds before I had my shorts on and, though I hadn’t planned to leave, the shorts propelled me to the shirt, which I always wear, even inside, at night, when I’m alone in my cabina reading, until I turn the lights out and go to sleep. I was still raging hard and my swim-trunks stuck up like a tent and the pressure of that had me even angrier, I admitted to myself; too much momentum, and much of it coming from my dick. In an instant, I was embarrassed of my outburst, and though I was still locked on hard, and still couldn’t lay down, I did anyway, on my side, six inches from her back.

"You have to stop hitting me Alana." I said.

She said, "I’m sorry baby. I thought you liked it."

I didn’t know what to say to that. And when she reached back and pulled my arm over in front of her again, I couldn’t do it, and I took my arm back. She did not protest.

But when I wasn’t touching her at all, I thought I might never sleep. My head was pounding with sex the way it has sometimes when I’ve been really drunk and lecherous and alone in bars, so wound up that I do anything to wind down. And say anything. I was in a similar state as this and Alana’s thin shoulderblades were like perfectly baked little chicken wings and I was starving and wanted at least their aroma under my nose, so I brought myself against them, and my hips came forward, slipping it back into the holster, and I asked the back of her head: "You can’t even just help me out?"

At that I was scared of myself, scared of my dick, but I still heard more coming from my mouth: "I waited all this time here for you and didn’t do anything with anyone else."

She didn’t touch me or sigh. I think she was asleep when she rolled onto her stomach, removing me from the holster. I tried to feel every good thing there was to feel on the way out. Then I was alone on my side. She slept well, but I was desperate, sweating semen, and even went so far as to shake Alana’s shoulder and say her name in a whisper followed by, "Hey? Did you hear me?" I asked her.

She moaned softly into her pillow, "No."

I snatched my pillow off Alana’s small bed and went across to the other bed on the other side of the room, and I lay down on my stomach, ramming myself into the mattress. In the sheets I thought I sniffed signs of her sisters, some sweet shampoo which didn’t help to ease my pressure.

When I rolled onto my back I saw, across the room, the silhouettes of Alana’s childish arms stretched to the ceiling against the light gray tin wall beyond her bed. The arms with a teary, sniffling moan from over there: "No, baby, come here."

I felt good that she had woken up but I said, "I can’t Alana, I can’t be in the bed with you naked without bothering you for sex."

"I’m sorry, baby." She was fully crying again.

"I can’t sleep…I’m gonna go check on Juliet for you." I said, slipping on my rainbow sandals, thinking my offer would illicit some positive response, but there was only her pretty snore, continuing as I made a lot of noise with the one-sided doorknob on my way out.

It wasn’t raining at all now as I climbed the incline, out of the yard. As my head came over the top, I saw the sun also, just a touch peaking over the mountains, as if we had been climbing up opposite sides of the same Earth, and were now peaking at each other over our respective horizons. I stopped and watched it, watching me. When it rose a little more (it goes up and comes down very fast here) I took a corresponding step, determined to keep the slow pattern until the sun and I were parallel, facing each other, standing at full height, the same. By that time, I figured, my erection will have subsided. If not, I would simply go down to the water and let it out, which, I’m finding out, is my favorite way to do it by myself.

But half way through the game with the sun, when it and I were but two steps from our goal, I remembered that I’d told Alana I’d check on her swan, but then walked right past Juliet without even thinking about her. I turned and looked over my shoulder across the yard at the bird, and stood for a half-second, wondering what to do? From where I stood, she looked the same, though most of my leintu had blown away, and I assumed she was pretty wet. I wondered how long it would be before she could dry off and warm up, and when I turned back around to check the sun, it had already beaten me up, over the line.

So, I slid fast down the incline as if I’d chosen Juliet. But when I was a couple feet away, she let out that sad sound that I hadn’t told Alana I’d heard earlier. It grew louder as I approached. When I stopped, she opened an eye at me, then honked another sad call, this one surely loud enough to wake Alana. Then the eye closed again.