She’s Gay
By Xena’s Dialectic (June 2008)
Disclaimer: Xena and Gabrielle belong to each other. Universal and Renaissance just fancy them.
Please email any feedback to xenasdialectic@yahoo.co.uk Thank you.
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The campfire glowed.
‘Why are you breathless Gabrielle?’
‘Xena pay attention. I had to reach deep down inside myself to research this story.’
Xena lay back on her bare elbows rolling her eyes. Gabrielle held up her scroll.
‘I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. A young woman warrior tormented by sins of the past. ‘I travel alone’ she said. She saved my village and plundered my heart.
She buried her armour and weapons. She wore a shift and a simple dark plait pinned across her smooth forehead. She lay back. Her name was Xena and her eyes dyed the sky blue.
She thought of the plucky young bard of Potadeia. She touched herself. The responsive skin was dry at first. Xena explored the hills and valleys. She circled a rock. And circled it again. Suddenly a river flowed in the ravine. The young woman breathed naturally. She didn’t look around sheepishly. After all this had never been done before. She savoured the experience, opening herself entirely to it.
Aphrodite sat up and reached for the blank annals of history. How long had she been on standby? For the body to do what the mind didn’t have the hands for?
Xena said Gabrielle’s name. She said it again. She played in her petalled firepit. Her nectar flowed into the earth. Her back undulated in the grass. Her hand mounted her mound. She saw Gabrielle in the clouds. Her fingers moved faster on her new weapon. Her voice lifted in time to the pioneering rubbing. Her feet pressed into the soil. Her arching breasts discovered attention. Xena penetrated herself imagining teaching Gabrielle everything she knew. She didn’t stop. She hunted herself. She offered her loot to the sky. Aphrodite invented shorthand on the spot.
And from that day on warrior women have quested for self – knowledge.’
‘Well if I’d known you were such a quick study’ moaned Xena, running the script. Her pupils dilated and dyed the sky blacker: ‘You’re my source Gabrielle.’
‘And you’re mine’ scribed Gabrielle, blowing the wet ink.