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The process of honey-making began simply and naturally enough. One of the bees approached her fellow worker, crawling onto her knees to reach her. She held onto the fluid-filled thigh of her friend, gently caressing the basket. She leaned in, pressing her mouth to the thing, gently sucking, letting out a coo.

Their day-to-day work is quite intimate for a species that had so far shunned casual lovemaking. As her leg baskets diminished from her friend's suction, the bee before me tilted her head back, letting out gentle sighs of a mix of pleasure and relief.

Once her friend had found her fill, the bee lay there expectantly, watching, trembling as the taste-tester sat up. She licked her lips, humming and buzzing, and then she patted the forager on the thigh with a soft smile. "Good to go!" she said.

The forager squealed and hopped over to one of the empty cells, where she crossed one leg over the other, squeezing out the delicious product from her with such gripping strength. The nectar sloshed around and fell into the cell, where another worker arrived with some of their newly-made wax and sealed it up.

"Over here, Eshere," said one worker, who directed me to another cell. This one they opened, and the tester scurried to, nodding in approval. "This one will do."

The worker lay upon her belly and dipped her head low into the cell, slurping up the stored nectar with delighted sighs, grasping the edges of the cell and rubbing it with excitement.

"We love to do our work," the tester said. "Ah, another forager comes. Gotta run!" She said this, skittering over to another leggy forager, repeating her tender caressing taste.

Through excited hums, the worker bee called my attention back, and she bounced and shook and danced right in front of me, her cheeks puffy as she swished the material inside her. A fellow worker hopped beside her, joining her in that jittering jig before placing her hands upon her shoulders and leaning in. The new worker tilted her head slightly and parted her lips, pressing them to the former worker's mouth with a sigh.

The first worker took the lead, leaning in, holding the new girl's back as she continued their dance in a dip. And soon enough, she pulled back, letting the nectar slide down into her partner's mouth in an amber stream.

Once she was dry of the fluid, the first worker returned to the cell, slurping up the substance with the same enthusiasm as she had before. Her former kissing partner, meanwhile, had already turned to a new dance partner. They continued the chain, a calling dance followed by a connected tango, the locking of lips, and then the expulsion of liquid. Each time a new bee joined in, and each time, the liquid lost its liquidity and became a thick and delightful substance until finally, they reached the end of the chain.

The final bee ushered me toward her, where she squatted in front of an empty cell. Her cheeks were full, but her twitching feet and flicking antennae directed a worker to arrive and pop off the waxy seal.

She smiled brightly at me, leaned forward, and then opened her mouth.

The thick amber liquid oozed out of her mouth, dropping down in a golden flow that filled the bottommost layers of the container. The honey folded over itself as it piled into the perfect consistency, and I watched in that wonder.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Oh, I only had it processed into candied form."

"Yeah, you can do much with the stuff," the worker agreed. "Never had it other than raw. It's perfect the way it is."

"I wouldn't know."

The worker skittered up to me, opening her mouth, a finger helping to widen the aperture.

"She's offering you a taste," another worker said after having just deposited her honey into the next worker in the line.

"Well, who am I to decline my host?"

I wasn't going to presume an intimacy between myself and any of these bees. So, when I approached her, it was tentative and as respectful as I could muster. The adventure we had been on had used much of my energy, and I was pretty peckish. I wouldn't let my base desires get in the way as I reached a hand out toward the bee and stuck a finger into her mouth.

She hummed with a questioning lilt, but my appendage stretched and probed, pulling at her cheeks, rubbing along her teeth, picking up all the different features within her, rubbing over every surface.

I couldn't control myself.

I grabbed her by her back and held her tight as my arm poured into her. My core thrummed with intensity as I took that dense leftover fluid from her and plundered the enzymes she produced that transformed the nectar.

Her wings twitched, and her eyes twinkled, but there was no real protest. The other bees went about their day, another worker taking her place, even as my arm pumped into her throat, in and out, in and out, thrusting and delving deeper, the fuzz shaking with the intensity of her movements.

She reached up for me but didn't fight against my advancement. She just held onto me, her squeaking hums higher and higher, but as she clung on, I stopped, whipping my arm back out from her.

She collapsed, her wings twitching, her breath quick.

I slunk away from them, and I apologized so many times I cannot be sure how much. I was fascinated and repulsed by two things, even with my repentant nature. First, I could not control myself. Despite my learnedness and attempts at sounding academic, I could not hide my hunger. Secondly, I knew the bee had no sense of self-preservation even as I choked her with my slime tendril. Her thoughts as a conscious song were that she was happy. Any preservation instinct was reserved for the colony; like the others, she was not herself but a part of this greater whole.

And if my posturing about being a cell has any merit, what does it mean for me that I am part of a greater whole? Do I matter in the conglomeration that I might be a part of? Am I cared for by God?