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Having witnessed Melinda’s work over the years, I know most of the focus of diplomatic efforts is on trade, security and exchange of technology. Those are important things for us to focus on in our dialogue with different races, but if it were up to me, I would put the arts at the forefront of everything. What is the best way to build greater understanding with a new alien race? Let them experience our arts in all their varied forms. If, as I expect, they witness feelings and emotions that they recognize in themselves, then they will begin to feel a greater sense of connection with us as humans. We will no longer be aliens to them, but people with emotions just like them. And from that sense of connection, so many profitable new avenues could spring up.
As I stand here in a crowded bar during the intermission between each acts of the ballet, a prickle of excitement travels up my spine. A glimmer of an idea forms in my mind. Dwight had asked me a question.
Is there anything you could do out there on Krovatia that would bring you self-actualization?
I think I may well have an answer.
Chapter 19
Melinda
I can’t sleep, thinking about the banquet and about him, the devil priest. What kind of fucked up person ties up a total stranger with his tail and force feeds her, all the while his wife is sitting nearby? I feel a sick jolt of disgust at myself for having gotten aroused by the whole thing. For still being aroused.
I reach a hand down and slide it through my wet, sticky folds. With a lubricated finger, I begin to stroke my clit, nudging the piercing and sending quivers through my body. I think of him biting my ear, his breath on my face, his overpoweringly masculine scent, his tail wrapped around my hands. I feel my core throb and rub the sensitized pierced hood frantically, aching for my release. With a cry, I come, my core pulsing repeatedly.
I let my hand fall away and catch my breath. I may have achieved physical relief, but I’m horrified to be getting off on memories of that bastard of a man. I close my eyes, and try to get some sleep.
I’m groggy the following morning as my alarm wakes me up just after sunrise. I stagger into the bathroom for a quick shower, then, knotting a robe around me, head over to the large eat-in kitchen and take out my precious supply of Colombian roast—I’ve brought enough coffee with me to last six months—and make myself my first cup of the day. This is one of my favorite spaces in the house. The work surfaces are made from a dark, beautifully crafted wood, giving a warm and inviting feel to the room. In the center, there’s a large, rustic wooden table, thankfully at full height, so I don’t have to crouch down on a floor cushion first thing in the morning. I realize the Krovatians must have done their homework about our lifestyle and created a space which we would feel comfortable in.
I’m sipping the hot brew when Troy walks in, sporting yet another loin cloth, as if he was born and bred on this planet and not on Earth.
He sniffs the air. “That smells good. Enough for a second cup?”
I point to the coffee maker. “Help yourself.”
He pours himself a cup and comes to sit opposite me. “Sleep well?” he asks.
“What do you think?”
He smirks. “I’m guessing you tossed and turned thinking about that gorgeous man’s tail wrapped around you.”
I laugh a little. “Something like that. It feels all kinds of wrong what he did last night.”
Troy takes a sip of his coffee and sighs in pleasure. “That’s good.” Then he looks at me seriously and says, “You know Mel, if you wanted to explore this thing further with the hot priest, there’s no reason not to. You’re free and single. Go for it and enjoy yourself.”
“No reason? What about the fact he’s married and seems to be a cheater?”
Troy looks at me oddly. “No, he’s not married.”
“So, who was that woman with him, the mother of his son?”
“She’s his drasha, not his wife.”
“What’s the difference?”
He laughs. “A pretty big one. A drasha is a form of concubine, Mel. He has several of them to, erm, service his needs.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Kiristen is a fountain of knowledge.”
“So he has a harem of women living with him to service his sexual needs?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“And you think that makes him an attractive proposition for me?”
“I’m not suggesting you start a relationship, just have some fun. He seems like he knows how to give a girl a good time and he’s packing a hell of a lot under that loin cloth.”
