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“Yes, there are three sicors that I know of that are able to do this. Two of them are very young, with little experience. The third, a person by the name of Melistor, is my best bet as a successor. He is currently stationed at a temple in the southern sector of the planet and has been sicor for six sun rotations. Ideally, he requires a little more time and experience before he is ready to attain my position. However, there is an important matter that I have been asked to focus my attention on, so I plan to contact him about taking on some of my duties for a while. We shall see how well he fares.”
“What kind of important matter?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
I ponder this. “So, one day in the not too distant future, you will stop being sicortar. Will you then be allowed to mate?”
His arms around me tighten imperceptibly. “Yes, then I shall be free to mate. But who will want a tired old man?”
“Stop fishing, Kirimor. You know very well you are nowhere near a tired old man.”
“I am nearly fifty sun rotations old, my lovely.”
My fingers trace the solid wall of muscle on his chest. “That still leaves you with many good years ahead.”
He chuckles, “We shall see.”
The sun above us has begun to set when Kirimor rouses. “Are you hungry, my love?”
“I could eat.”
“Then let me prepare you a light evening repast.”
With athletic grace belying his fifty-something years, he gets to his feet in one go, holding out his hands to me. I take them, letting him pull me to standing. I follow him into the kitchen area and watch as he opens another hidden compartment in the wall, revealing a type of refrigerating unit. He pulls out a covered dish, which on closer inspection looks to be some kind of salad. A jug of sauce—presumably a dressing—comes out next. Kirimor pours it on the salad, then uses a two-pronged fork to mix it up. He looks up to find me watching him and smiles.
“These are fresh leaves and roots, shredded finely and garnished with slices of ripe fruit, all of it grown on my land. Try it. I think you will find it most refreshing.”
He brings the dish to the dining table along with an implement that resembles a pair of large tweezers, and motions for me to sit. He take a seat beside me and with the tweezer-like implement, collects a mouthful of the salad, bringing it to my lips. “Open.”
Obediently, I open up and let him feed me. The salad tastes fresh, vibrant and zingy. I savor it, just as he prepares the next mouthful for me. When I’m able to speak, I say, “We seem to have had this conversation before, Kirimor. You know I’m well capable of feeding myself.”
The tip of his tail comes up to stroke my hands, reminding me of the last time I protested his attempts to feed me. “Melinda do not argue with me on this. You will eat from my hands.”
“Or else?”
He smiles evilly. “Or else, my lovely, I will be obliged to take appropriate action.” With this, his tail wraps itself loosely around my wrists, not yet imprisoning me, but giving me due warning. He brings another mouthful of food to my lips, and I take it unprotestingly. Together, we finish up the salad, with him alternating between feeding me and himself.
I swallow my last bite and sigh happily. “Thanks, Kirimor. That was delicious.”
With a pleased look, he stands, taking the empty dish back to the kitchen and quickly rinsing it out.
“Is there a bathroom I can use?”
“Of course, just through there,” he says, pointing to the door at the far end.
I walk over to the door in question and open it. I find a spacious bathing area with a massive sunken bath and a Krovatian-style toilet bowl low down on the floor, together with a metal bar to hold on to while I crouch down. I know enough by now to take off my dress and panties before getting into the required position. These facilities are designed with Krovatians, wearing only loin cloths, in mind. I learned that the hard way in my first week on this planet. Once my business is concluded, I press the button on the side of the metal bar, and jets of warm water gush all over my private parts, cleaning me thoroughly. This is followed by a gust of hot hair to get me dry—no toilet paper required. I pull myself up to standing once more and go to place my hands in a recessed part of the wall. Warm soapy water flows over them, followed by the obligatory drying.
I get dressed and return to the main room, where I find Kirimor sitting on the bench and softly strumming the instrument that was leaning against the wall. He looks up at my approach but doesn’t stop playing. I take a seat beside him and stretch my legs, crossing them at the ankle. The instrument sounds like a cross between a guitar and a harp, high-pitched and melodic. Kirimor continues to play for several more minutes, his face set in concentration. I watch him, admiring the hard planes of his jaw, the powerful straight nose and those expressive black eyes, always glittering with some emotion, be it passion, fury, lust or amusement. He’s beautiful, the pale gray of his skin almost silvery in the moonlight.
The song comes to an end, and Kirimor puts the instrument away.
“That was beautiful. What is this instrument called?”
“It is a lanjo. I am proficient but not a master at playing it. I only do so for my enjoyment, up here on my own.”
“Thank you for allowing me listen to you.”
He smiles. “My pleasure, darling one. Come here.”
