Sum Tactonics (Part 3)

All my hair was gone. At one point I just noticed it. My lover remained smooth and scaly but for me, where the mammalian façade was such a remarkable quality to my naked body the change required adjustment. She never mentioned it but on occasion I would catch her looking at me oddly as if I were new and unfamiliar. And then I’d see one, a dark black hair on the pillow. Without discussion I would, or she would, brush it away and sooner than later it would be swept up and gone.

We mostly attended to the bump and I became protective of her breasts, touching and teasing them more and wrapping them at night and cupping them when we made love as if they were the very source of it. I would wake and cup them for fear they would freeze and I would love her and the bump made me love her more and the change excited a change in me. She loved me, except for that glance of confusion I would catch at my own shifting body and the changes in scent which were stilled with the cold, she loved me. This pleased her (the love), I knew, because she slept deeply and more soundly than before. Since I wanted to be close and it was required of us due to the lack of heat I began gardening around the home. The plants required heat lamps and the lamps were all together pleasant to work with except when they scarred the scales which subsequently flaked off revealing a type of soft membrane, hypersensitive to any stimuli. Society too would notice the membrane and some would visibly revile in expression to accommodate the feeling. What was expected was proper bandaging and masking of the wound as to keep any anxiety of infection at bay. Not that there was any infection more dangerous now that we were changed. Collectively, I think, we had reached a limit or the limit had reached us. Enough was unpleasant through the change so why call attention to anything more? Plus seclusion was becoming more difficult given the rapid decline of heat so it made practical sense to be aware of illness and infection given our close quarters and frequent interactions. Still, I loved the gardening despite the charred scales and continued. When the vines had grown to encompass the north wall and the African violets blossomed we had entered into each other so thoroughly that, if it wasn’t for raw practicality, I would swear we could have survived the outdoors as if our blood was still warm and pumping through a four chambered heart.