“Thelamein, are you a-wake?”
My eyes shot open. The first thing I saw was the early dawn sky, clear of the rain, storm clouds, and a gas giant. Daratrine was the second whose blond hair stood out brilliantly in the dark. All I could think was how the lights were turned off in our sleep before she started to slide on top of me, straddling my waist under the sheets.
“Hmmm… good morning to you too.”
Leaning down, she started kissing, first soft then firm, and my hands found her waist. “You… couldn’t wait?” I asked, noticing her shake with either excitement or nervousness.
Another kiss before she answered, “Nou.”
That early morning feeling was quickly dispelled, horniness replacing it as the taste and smell of cinnamon invaded me. The makeout became heated, and with my dick hard the bedsheets were tossed aside, like unwanted tissue. We propped ourselves so her riding me felt natural, for Dara slowly lowered herself almost to hilt.
Looking at my rod and her parted, lower lips, there was an absurdity with how thick my girth was. If this were any other woman back home, they would either be bleeding profusely or in the ICU, and this was ignoring how deep the penetration is. It might have been an exaggeration, but it would be far from comfortable for them.
Maybe if they did horse cock?
I thought of it some more. … Nah, not touching that.
“How…,” I groaned with her, “How is it that you’re still fine? Weren’t you a… virgin?”
She huffed before asking, “Ver-gen?”
“You… damn… You never had… sex before?”
“I… I had sex… be-fore…”
Jealousy of the likes I’ve never felt before welled inside, only to be annihilated as I realized how stupid an emotion it is. Of course she had sex before… I wonder if it was with someone like me?
Come to think of it, where are the other–oh fuck!
My line of thinking was interrupted as Dara bent in a way that sent shivers through me. I almost lost it.
We climbed, climbed, and climbed, reaching closer to a peak as our heat merged. We rippled and undulated like the rise and fall of tides, the pace slow from aching muscles, Dara’s excitement expressed in her shake, hitching breaths, and the expletives in Vinlis (which is crazy for a Christian).
“I… I… I louve you, Thelamein.”
I gave her a perplexed look, not answering, distracted by her shifting boobs.
“Naame fotr! Gie rayxiy die… rayxiy oc… orlir Fsaxiyir’x hpsaien… sarl mury! I waant you… with… us…”
Is this foreplay?
“Oh yeah, what do you love?” I asked.
“I louve your… smile… your mo-ve-ments… your… your-self… your child wan-der and… curi-os-ity.”
Isn’t that called being a pedophile?
“What… else?”
There was another groan before she added, “Your sex… your… bod-ey… your… touch-ing… and kiss-ing… how you make… me feel.”
I kinda suck at kissing, though. Of what had been shared, of what had been done, I was far from a perfect lover, for imperfect rhythms and tense muscles were of the many issues. There is nothing from memory which had made me in the likes of Marilyn Monroe or Leonardo DiCaprio, and I was far from a natural.
Dara bent herself forward, careful in adjusting herself, leaning in for another hard, bruising kiss as her breasts pressed into mine. It was this that broke me.
One pump to another, my hips rocked, my mind going static. Our bases became soaked in fluids, and our kiss remained firm.
Breaking away, Dara huffed and asked, “Do you louve me?”
Is she being serious?
Even in the dim light, the look she bore a look of both conviction and nervousness, that the heart she poured out was now at my mercy, mine to accept or to rip to pieces.
Shit, she is being serious. Part of me thought I should have taken last night as a warning sign for how insistent she was for me to leave with her. Is this what fucking someone’s brains out does to them?
Tell her no.
Tell her yes.
I wracked my head for an appropriate response, deciding not to answer her directly.
With my hand to the back of her head, I forced her close for a brief kiss. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?”
She blinked in confusion. “Whaat is… que-te?”
The morning progressed with the sun eking over the horizon, basking the lands in in an ethereal blue to orange hue just beyond the windows.
After a shower and getting dressed, rather than fuck like rabbits, and since we were hungry, I had thought of something more productive. I was too drained otherwise.
“Mix… nou, do this.” Dara took the whisking bowl from me, mixing the combination of strange, orange-red egg yolks with the fattiest milk I’ve seen, making a creamy substance under a practiced motion. “Try tha-at.”
I repeated the motion, albeit more stiffly.
Cooking had been more of a pastime than a necessity. When ramen cups, precooked chicken, peanut butter, and premade salads were readily available, you tend not to focus too much on making your own meals. Perhaps being bored, or having grown tired of easy food, combined with the fact that takeout and restaurants simply weren’t part of the budget, I had started down this hobby.
Scrambled eggs seemed like an easy enough recipe to repeat, but given the strange ingredients, a lesson was needed.
Eggs as large as tennis balls, with shells grey as granite, seemed like something an ostrich would lay. Combined with a diced mushroom-thing, the fatty-milk, and unsalted butter (or something that looked and tasted like it), the idea was to make something creamy rather than too runny or dry. In other words, the perfect scrambled eggs.
“Loose ha-ands! Spin fas-ter!”
But here, it was called ‘Lariffricu Fmoenc.’
Soon enough, the combined mixture met a warm pan coated with butter (or not-butter). Dara slowly guided the wooden spatula into circles, letting the moisture evaporate for a silkier substance, allowing me to handle most of the effort. At the right doneness, our meal had been split between separate, ceramic plates, each with toasted buttered bread–almost as similar to the brown not-sourdough from days prior–and sliced fruit.
“Where did you learn how to cook?”
In borrowed clothes, Daratrine looked far more casual than in the dress she arrived in, wearing a loose shirt and slim cotton jeans that were almost too long for her. It was the look of a girl wearing an overly large shirt in the morning.
She looked up from sprinkling some kind seeds, the same seasoning which Nushala had used for her, comparably, lackluster eggs. “Mo-ther… aunts, and sis-ters.”
“What about your dad?”
“Da-ad?”
“Your father.”
“… Thee Father?”
“Yeah your… oh… No, not God.”
“Then… watt is a father?”
“... You don’t know what a father is?”
She shrinked, her cheeks flushing red. “Nooou.”
My eyes wanted to bulge outward. Is this bitch for real? “But… you call God ‘Father.’ You know what a male is.”
“...”
“A male parent?”
“... Oh.”
“Sooo?”
“There are no… males… no men… I say-id this before.”
“... Oh,” fuck, I forgot.
But really, are there no dudes? It was becoming difficult to ignore the weird notion that there really were no men. I could accept the fact that this ‘borough’ is a women’s only colony, and that maybe her home was also only of nuns and church girls. The idea that no one of my former sex had survived wasn’t something I would just accept, yet Nabe and Dara treated it as though we were as mythical as Big Foot.
I mentally slapped myself. Idiot, you have male parts, how do you know you aren’t one?
… Good point.
“What about the… Loy-da?”
“Loyieda?”
“Would they… would we be fathers?”
“Nou… mo-thers too.”
Hell, what did I know?
I waved dismissively, growing uncomfortable, grabbing some seeds to sprinkle on my dish. “Your parents, you mentioned they’re professionals?” It was a call back to yesterday, when she mentioned learning from her ‘sk-ill-ed’ mother during her tour.
“My birth mo-ther, yes. She learn from… hm… Xiyie Csamied Satsaliede uf Tomayryloe Ylosc.” She continued to season her eggs, spreading a dollop of butter on top, then grabbing a salt shaker between us.
“A school?”
“Laric.” Translation: yes. I was finally starting to catch on.
“But you never went?”
“I am to… go to… when I re-turn.”
“Won’t having a kid screw that up?” The words tumbled out before I could stop myself.
“Nooou?”
“Why not? You’d have to split your attention between them and education.”
Her hand went to brush her stomach “Why wo-uld… chi-eld be a pro-blem?”
I was taken aback, almost uncertain in a response. Then, the memory of one of our conversations came to mind. “Ah… your family helps you.”
“A-long with my… o-ther, yes.”
“Other?”
“Chi-eld.”
“You’re already a mother!?” My brows shot to their fullest height.
A smirk formed on her. “Eaara dsarie die aaras su gie cu uml, Thelamein.”
“What’s their name?”
“Taenaran.” She beamed with delight as she lifted her plate, finished with whatever seasoning she had been doing. “She is my… great joy.”
Finishing my own food decorating, I joined her at the table, taking a chair right next to her. “And who’s the fa–… the… Loy-da?”
“Vaeri.”
Taking a bite of my meal, the eggs almost melted in my mouth. By our Lord, Gordon Ramsey, this is heavenly.
I had to know more, for my own sake, of what my strange, off-shoot male gender was like, and Dara just became the perfect source. “What is she like?”
She finished her own bite before answering, “Beau-ti-ful… hair as is water… blue as… Gmoie… and eyes… pur-ple. Very louv-ing and… smart? Loyie aur rayli uryp wir ienrzapoarac uf maybsa… Long lived… she knows much.”
“Long lived?” Guess she’s into older people too.
“I know nout good… words for that.”
“How did you two meet?”
“I was… choos-ed… by her…” There was a pause as she corrected herself. “Nou, we meet once by Salem’s… Hpadar Msarie, with… o-ther sis-ters.”
“And she managed to seduce you and your friends?” It was a teasing question, and I didn't think I’d get a serious answer.
There was a pause before she answered. “Even be-fore we met… yes. Not as you… though.”
“Careful now,” I poked her shoulder. “I rather not encourage jealousy.”
She leaned closer and whispered, “Ay fadam cu motre su wsary eaara ayr de mayfie.”
“Hmm hm… You know I still can’t understand?”
“I… feel… luc-key to have you.”
“But… Vea-ri, she’s your daughter’s parent, won't she have an issue with you seeing me?”
“Nooou,” she cupped my chin, leaning in for a quick kiss. “She… We would louve you as… you.”
This is getting weird again.
Backing away, I gave her a careful gaze. “What are you saying?”
“This place… You are loust, and you say as much–”
“I still haven’t made my mind,” I quickly defended, feeling that chill run up my spine.
Two delicate hands reached out for mine, and I only allowed one for one, bringing it to my lap as Dara leaned closer. “We can help… Here you can-nout… Here they im-pri-son you.”
To be fair, it’s more like temporary house arrest, I wanted to say but couldn’t.
“They would nout louve you as we do… as I do,” she pressed, those green eyes growing firm.
For what felt like the longest moment, I kept staring at her, thinking. “... I should finish my meal.”
I probably shouldn’t have allowed us to cuddle on the couch. Neither of us said much, my head a whirlwind of thoughts and strange emotions as she became more touchy and lovey dovey.
Dara is manipulating me, and last night should have been a warning of that. That first profession of ‘louve’ was so sudden and out of the blue that I knew I was being gamed. For her to attempt the same again churned this resentment. It didn’t feel like entrapment, or at least not in the ‘normal’ way, and I hated how I knew jack on what needed to be done, much less on what her goal is.
Sure, the pick up artists had their advice and techniques, and I had second-hand experience from Adam’s crazy girlfriends, yet none of it I could recall, not while she molested me.
Kick her out.
Keep her around.
The sincerity of her pleas struck several cords, and they had me rethinking my place in the ‘borough,’ or ‘Hpadar P'afr.’ I have no real attachment to this place, at least not personally, perhaps not as Thelamein had. Would it be so wrong to leave? A change of scenery wouldn’t be so disruptive, not while still reeling from having left Earth, so what was one more scene change? Her offer would let me see more of ‘Kessithi.’
And I could be with her.
I don’t need her.
But I want her.
I subtly shook my head, trying to banish the waring thoughts.
It felt like she and I grew close. Out of all those I met, she is the only one who (literally) understands me, and it did everything to help that lying, spitefulness, pettiness, and things which tend to make a girl a bitch were lost concepts to her (except for sassiness I suppose). Gorgeous only begins to describe her, the perfect golden, etheric hair always stealing my eyes, her forest green ones boring through mine to make my heart flutter, and her body toned and curving in all the right ways. The sex was amazing, her affection captivating, and it is both which I crave.
God damn me, do I have oneitis?
Dara snaked her arm around my neck and started pecking the side of my cheek, shifting herself so that she knelt up to me. “Eaara hol cu gciaaefom… gciaaefom, gciaaefom, gciaaefom, sarl lije.”
How quick this all moved had gotten to me, for no one professes love after less than a day (or maybe it’s normal here?). She was only the third girl, and here I am already falling head over heels. Is she the exception, or are there many more like her? I knew the latter to be true, yet my heart would not listen. I was starting to know how wonderful of a feeling this is, yet my mind screamed at me otherwise.
She’s entrapping you.
She adores me.
There is a tug of war, and one side is winning.
Legs began to straddle mine, hands snaking around the waist band of my pants and began tugging down. The semi-flaccid cock did nothing to discourage her as she pulled it out, awkwardly rubbing it dry. Instead of stopping her, I leaned back, arms extending over the head of the couch.
May as well let her.
Moving close to me, she started to whisper, “I need–“
The sound of the twin doors opening couldn’t be ignored. Dara’s eyes grew wide, her face becoming flush as stared past me. Twisting myself about, careful to keep her on my lap, I too met our guest’s eyes.
Or rather our host’s.