Sex, Lies and Lotusland 2: Sibyl

Fiction by Anonymous of The Vancouver Observer

Sibyl felt curious hearing her name with so much heat. Sibuhhhl, she whispered in her ear. It landed inside her. “...she’s calling me. Like a doorbell rung on my soul’s home. I ran to answer her. Open. Hi. Yes.” She entered with her eyes intent on rousing instinct and desire.

Sibyl heard herself say, “There is nothing in me to hide, no vast walls of protection or signs for enemies. This is love, please come in. My space is a landscape of rises and peaks, beauty and valleys and jungles and shadows. Move in your own way. I will hold you.

She inhaled courage and met Sibyl’s eyes, touching her own fire. Feirce. It’s all happening.


Sibyl woke in her room, her wide bed bathed in white morning sunshine. Monday morning. Dreams. More dreams about another woman she’d never met. Blinking, a small hangover remained. The long hot afternoon on the patio yesterday and her own double fire had dehydrated her. The dreams were obvious energy unwinding, expressing itself after the Car Free day crowds with Niya.

Ulf was sleeping, as he does: religiously, on the end of the bed. Large, soft, snoring. A cat in an English sheepdog’s body. “Who books therapy for Monday morning?” she thought as she peeled back the blankets and sat up.
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