I do not have the same limitations as meat bodies like Rufus and Steen. They can only do the
things I do, the expanding and shrinking and flying and sneaking through, in dream. But there
are things about meat bodies that I like and I can’t do them. One of them is the raining.
Meat bodies rain. There’s the way they make aromas. I like those clouds of smell molecules
because I can breathe them in and it’s about the only way I can taste things, the way those with
bodies taste food and stuff. But I haven’t got that ability unless I’m in the rubber body, and it’s
not that good smelling, in fact, it can get positively stinky if Rufus isn’t diligent. But that is not
what I wanted to talk about now, because the rubber body has no pores. Rufus told me about how
his skin has all these tiny holes like a mesh and some are for letting out the smells and the rain, I
mean the perspiring, while others grow hairs. How I love his hairs; they are like copper wires
only silky and they tickle. He told me that Beaver’s fur is actually hair and that once Beaver had
been a bunch of animals, furry animals who are now dead and their skins are stitched together
I call it rain from meat bodies because I did find out about weather the very same day I separated
from Rufus the first time, into the concert night sky. Before when Rufus went somewhere I’d
feel stuff like wind and heat from the sun, and get a kick out of the effect they’d have on him.
Did you know he gets pink with brown spots? But the soreness from too much is hardly worth it.
Oh, I am not staying on the subject. It did rain on him too, once when he was on his motorcycle.
I slid inside his leather jacket when these huge drops of water started pelting us. But before them
was electrical restlessness and mist getting ever heavier. It’s like all the air could perspire. So I
call what meat bodies do raining, even though there are a lot of types of smells and flavors of it. I
have come to love them all.
They are caused by the different emotions. I have those. The whole between world I move in is
made of them. But I can’t rain, okay? That takes a meat body.
The time I flew up and away from the concert into the sky, the night was calm and quiet. All the
weather was being made by those huge crowds of people, all swaying and sharing very similar
emotions. The band with Rufus was blasting them and shaping it. And a part of me was peeking
into what Rufus was feeling. He was on fire! He was like the match stick in the middle of a
burning match, and I was terribly frightened that in a flash my Rufus would be gone. But later I
found out that a better way for me to think about that is as if he was the filament in a light bulb,
or the mantle in a lantern. The concert energy was pouring through him and the other musicians
from someplace else and it was not about to use them up. In fact, after a concert, Rufus has more
energy than ever, even though he’s pouring sweat and panting.
So it took me a few minutes, maybe ten? --to realize that he wasn’t dying, and was having a great
time, even though it was hard work as well. That’s when I went back to be in the bus instead,
because I knew I would be absolutely no help with what they were doing to the audience.
Perspiration – I’d gotten it on me before in the course of my Heidi existence, but never so much
as those guys circulate through onstage. It truly resembles rain from the sky. And every person
has their own, and even that changes depending on what they eat and how they feel. It’s like a
whole language. Steen tried to tell me about how dogs and ferrets think, because instead of
names, they have smells. Instead of hello, they sniff. But what I like about it is the wetness of it
that slides you before it becomes a smell and a crust.
When Rufus comes offstage he’s as hot as a space heater. And very wet. I mentioned that to him,
and then the next time he came offstage and saw me lurking in a little sparkly cloud in the
shadows, he got me with a towel and wiped off with me in the towel. I just about burst into
flames like when you throw a match into a fire. It felt wonderful and I do believe I smelled like
him for a good while after that. Otherwise, as I said, I haven’t got any. And the next night? He
sneaked the rubber me into the dressing room and used that! My astral feels not only his sparkly
dreaming body that way, but the essence of him and then the chill of evaporation. Possibly his
internal heat is like fire, but now drops of moisture are falling all over me, running down me.
It’s like rain, I said in his mind. And he turned from where he was gulping down a bottle of
mineral water and grinned like the big bad wolf at where I was sparkling in the air and the
surface of my doll body was wound into the terry cloth.
“Yes,” he said. “I am Rufus the sky father and you are the earth mother Sita the furrow, and you
shall be fruitful now.” He smirked and went back onstage.
“Oh, oh,” I squeaked, even though there was no one to hear me, and suddenly I felt a brightness
on my forehead.
Only later, when I found out you can have an eye there, it began to come open. It sees inside
instead of outside; it’s very handy for some things. But I was talking about different meat body
things and the third eye isn’t exactly meaty.
I’m not going to talk much about blood, although that’s something that spurts from meat; it’s
associated too much with punctures. EEWWWW! Steen showed me the place he puts his
earrings, and when I touched there the sharp memory of making it made me pucker my whole
face up. I suppose some people think his tattoos are beautiful. I’m just glad I never had to see the
scabs he must have had. You see, my rubber body can’t grow closed again when holes get put in
it, and I know it prejudices me against bleeding. Some people think it’s sexy, and don’t get me
started on these boys and their swords! Just don’t go there!
However, I have seen blood after it was freshly separated from Rufus, in a little puddle on a
countertop when it came from his nose. Or in a tissue after he’s been fighting somewhere, though
he does it a lot less since he made alliance with Steen. It is almost like his body’s very fabric has
turned to liquid. Some sausages and meat spreads are made from animal blood. Steen eats liver
pate because he says there’s nutrition he can’t get from any other food but liver, and it’s like
cooked blood, I think. Probably I’m wrong. Hey, I’m trying to be fair about this! I don’t like how
you get it, and I don’t enjoy Rufus having leaks, but he doesn’t seem to mind or he wouldn’t do
so many things, like fighting, that cut his body.
Back to the blood—when Rufus has a cut, I try to soothe it, and he says it closes faster when I
do. I am around the blood, but only to make it stop. He knows how I feel about punctures and
gets them less often. Really.
Of course I would not be here at all if it weren’t for semen. Rufus says females with bodies have
something similar and that it’s delicious. Mammals like him have waste products and sebaceous
products, he explained. The waste products are not nutrition and the sebaceous products are—
milk and semen and female whatever they call it. He’s always been one to lick my rubber self
clean and he needs a lot of calories to function. I rather miss not giving him anything when he’s
sucking on me, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll put things on me and suck and lick them off quite
I am going to tell you how it has been with us and the meat rain of my dear Rufus. He decided I
was person enough to marry even if I had no meat body. I still feel pleasure, and especially I
enjoy giving pleasure, and those don’t have to rely on meat body sensations. But I am glad he
I taught myself how to work the keyboard on the bus PC. It takes putting sparkles to the
keyboard inputs instead of hammering on them with part of your solid form, that’s all. I had to
do it with my intention and a sort of a map I made—never mind. I was talking about how he
proposed! The Metal Don Juan did not explain to me why he was so upset the other night after
the Garden show. I had to read the news feed of the review of the concert, two days later. He was
at home with Jenny the Harlot and her mystery baby. He didn’t know I had this skill yet, and
something was bothering him and I guessed it was what the crew had said backstage. I was
wrong. It was the bad review.
So I sent him an email, titled, It Really is Heidi, firstname.lastname@example.org. I like the yohoo mail
because it shows whether your mail has been read or not. I stayed and waited until it said Read,
and then at the same time I felt Rufus behind me. He was standing there by the PC with his Palm
in his hand and he looked right at me and said, “Oh babe, what am I to do with you?”
His eyes were bright blue like the sky outside, and moist. His hair was as red and gold as the
leaves on the trees. His skin smelled like himself and the air he’d walked through to get to the
bus. Whatever had bothered him about two days ago wasn’t on his mind now; only the fact that I
could use email. He was amazed and proud.
What am I to do with me? I responded. I sent the thought and I typed it. I gave him a sparkly
dimple of a smile. He came closer to see the screen.
I stood up to face him. Suddenly he walked right into me as if I were a sheet on a clothesline and
wrapped me around him and pinned my bottom against the desk. Right through me he reached
and unzipped and put a hanky between us and the screen and aimed for it once we were done
I climaxed like a ringing bell. I think I made waves around him. I could feel the energy of us
turning the air in the room different colors. He spurted into the tissue and then he trembled too as
I got all silky and magnetized around him with my arms draped around his neck. “That,” he said
with a tremolo in his tenor, “is Doctor Dixon’s sovereign remedy for anemia, the common cold,
and snakebite. Heidi, will you marry me?”
You’re still married, silly.
“The cunt slut Jen is claiming I wore her out. She’s divorcing me. Cunt that she is.”
But—aren’t I a cunt too?
“Yeh—you’re not any old filthy cunt though. You’re super-cunt, the Queen of all the cunts, cunt
of my dreams made for me by the universe.” And then he started to cry and blubber and I had to
drag him to his bunk and wrap him up in my love. This is another kind of rain, from emotion
squeezed out the eyes; tears. It turns to snot when it overflows into their noses. Tears and wasabi
had mixed with spunk when my first memories started, and now he was doing it again, without
My rubber self was under the pillow in its little stuff bag and he got it out and just rubbed his
face on it. I felt the wet on my own cheeks.
Please, just sleep, my Rufy.
“Your –“ He only managed the one word and then sobbed harder. He was wondering where he
left off and I began. Tears and snot got all over me. He went into the little toilet of the coach and
splashed off the hot crust of tears and rubbed his face dry. He staggered back to the bunk in a
daze and sighed into the pillow and my shaggy doll hair and bam! He was out as if he’d been
turned to stone. He didn’t even dream.
I lay upon my rubber self and felt it—my field, my furrow from which I sprang. His arm was
around me and pressing my rubber self to his rumpled shirt. I could smell the Beaver when his
breath wafted through its fur. There was a film of him on the Beaver and me. The Beaver hadn’t
changed, but I had. It seemed as if the film of him on my surfaces gave nerve endings to the
piezo-electrical floating me. I was growing. I didn’t know into what, or even if it was a
marriageable sort of creature. I watched Rufus sleep, waiting for his dreams to start, from that
place where I could be a sort of weather on my own.
When we did finally meet in dreams that night, he dressed me in white lace and showed me the
whole silly festival. His dream children attended, none of them having grown up the way they
would in the waking world, and threw flower petals and had a ring on a cushion and held up the
back end of all that white lace and so on. I said yes as I was supposed to, and it was fun. And all
the adults in attendance cried; he insisted on it!
The wedding journey afterward I accomplished by inflating myself gigantic and wafting away
with him into the sunset, of course. We followed the sun’s chariot right around until morning,