Аннали Ньюиц - The Future of Another Timeline

“Today we’re going to learn about a gift given to us by angels, because its sole purpose is to bring joy. It’s called the clitoris.”

“Praise be!” one woman cried. Then everyone giggled, including me.

I’d wondered whether Soph’s rituals had an erotic component to them, but I had no idea it would be this overt. She was basically throwing a masturbation party, like something out of the 2000s sex positivity movement. After traveling through millennia, I’d seen a lot of sex parties. I wasn’t completely taken by surprise. Still, none were quite like this.

Soph spoke again, a laugh lingering in her voice. “Let’s begin by calling the directions. I call the Goddess of the East, who teaches us the mysteries of yoga and the importance of contemplation. I humbly ask the East to allow us the use of her teachings, and have patience if we bungle them. We seek her guidance, but sometimes we get it wrong. I ask her to grant us peace, despite trying encounters with annoying bosses and rogues and moll buzzers.” There were a few titters at that.

“Now who wants to call the North?”

A woman I recognized from the Algerian Village volunteered, then a pink-cheeked lady with an expensive hairdo called the West. Each invocation was an alloy of irony and sanctity. As I settled into a pile of pillows next to Aseel, I saw a few more faces from the villages alongside the rich wives who made up most of Soph’s paying clientele.

Soph completed the opening ritual on a more earnest note. “Now I call the Plural Goddesses, who encompass all lands and times, who bring new hope and new beginnings. They bring us pleasure and delight without shame, and they remind us that we find sanctity through the fusion of friendship. They love all bodies because they have been every shape and size. The goddesses are now with us, to bless us and give us permission to quicken the plush where life begins.

“And now, we witness the miracle of angels. Everyone take a deep breath.”

The room filled with sighs. Some of the women began to hum quietly to themselves. I got the feeling that most of them had done this before, especially the ones who reached under their gowns and looked expectantly at Soph.

“Cup one hand over your mons Venus, ladies, and slowly move your fingers in a circle. Keep breathing.”

A few of the women had pulled their gowns up, but most seemed more comfortable with the modesty of exploring themselves under the cover of soft cloth. There were a few muted “ohhs” and hums as Soph continued to issue gentle instructions on where to move next, and what kinds of motions to try. The longer I listened, the less it felt like a sex party and more like one of those consciousness-raising groups from the 1970s where women used mirrors to see their vaginas for the first time. Soph’s goal was simply to teach these women where to find the clitoris, and how to use it. As the breathing slowly blurred into moans, she quietly checked in with each woman, guiding her if she needed it, making sure everyone’s fingers found a spot that gave them pleasure.

Soph spoke again, her voice low. “Now I want you to think about something that makes you feel good. It could be a flower, or a nice breeze. It could be a man…” She was interrupted by a few breathless giggles. “Or a goddess, or a songbird. It could be how warm water feels on your feet, or silk against your neck. It could be the taste of sweets on your lips.”

And then she was next to me, the pressure of her hips on the pillows causing me to roll slightly toward her. “Everything okay?”

I nodded and she winked before turning to Aseel, whose back was arched and breaths shallow. “Remember to take it slow. Draw it out for as long as possible.” She rubbed Aseel’s belly sensuously, which didn’t exactly seem like it would make it easier for her to hold out. “Breathe, breathe.”

Then, her voice raised, Soph switched tactics and urged us to take it faster. “The goddess is coming. I feel her. Do you feel her?”

There were sighs and moans and a few scattered cries of “Yes!” All around me were women with their heads thrown back, eyes closed, their bodies thrumming with desire. I felt it too. More than I’d realized. Cursing the lack of commercial vibrators in this period, I followed Soph’s instructions as she guided us closer and closer to the palace of angels. “The goddesses want you to come meet them. Have no fear. Give yourself to them. Come to them.”

One woman cried out, and then another. “I feel them! Yes!”

“Praise her!”

Aseel turned toward me, her eyelids heavy in the dim light and her lips parted. I watched a shiver possess her. As her breath caught, I felt an answering throb in my own body. My voice joined the others as muscles beneath my fingers took over, contracting and releasing, a flush washing across the surface of my skin.

I gave my faith to science long ago, but I’ll take cosmic female power when it’s offered. If any spiritual force could help us defeat Comstock, I’m pretty sure this would be it.

Quiet breathing settled over the group, and Soph told us to sit up when we were ready. There were spurts of laughter, and four women arranged themselves into a backrub chain as others handed out cups of fragrant tea. Someone lit candles and the room brightened. I felt damp and warm and unself-conscious. I was so used to keeping my sexuality under guard that it was like the relief of a constant pain I’d forgotten was there. Soon enough I’d be back on the streets of a hostile timeline, fighting a war that nobody would remember. But tonight I would tarry in a better world for a little while longer.

“Thanks for inviting me to this, Soph.”

“You are welcome, Tess. We have always been on this path together.”

I lay back on the cushions and watched our shadows merge on the ceiling, thirteen bodies wavering in and out of becoming one. There were more of us beyond this room, all along the timeline. Some were organized subversives, and others were only half-aware that something was wrong in the world. We were fighting for liberation, or revenge, or maybe for a simple night of pleasure without shame. We were fighting to save each other, though we didn’t know each other. I thought about everyone else out there, walking this path with us, and wondered what they were doing right now.

Excerpted from the memoir of Enid Song, placed in the Subalterns’ Archive Cave, Raqmu (2029 C.E.)

They stole my memories of the woman I loved, leaving behind an absence with no originating presence. It was hell. For weeks I’d been overwhelmed by the feeling that I’d lost something. I kept searching for my phone, thinking I’d misplaced it. Then I was sure I’d deleted a database before backing it up. A part of me was missing, but I couldn’t identify it. And that’s why I wasn’t surprised when Tess told me about Berenice at the last Daughters meeting. It hurt less to know, but it also hurt more. Immediately, I wanted to do everything in my power to revert that edit and remember Berenice.

The problem is that geoscientists aren’t trained to rescue people from certain death at the hands of late-twentieth-century queer-bashing assholes. Luckily I knew someone who could help. I texted her after the meeting, and she agreed to meet me for coffee.

Delilah and I had known each other since undergrad at Duke, where we met in a cultural geology class and did a presentation together about a poorly understood travel ailment called “nostalgia for the present.” I had continued my studies in grad school, while Delilah went into industry. Thanks to her background in the geosciences, she became one of the most valuable agents at Pacific Life. She’d saved the company millions of dollars by traveling to prevent accidental deaths. The more people she rescued, the less the company had to pay out. I knew she’d have some good advice.