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“And that means bone handling?”
The other bull nodded. “Some of my new coworkers have only ever worked in gallery settings, so they tend to only see the logistics of organizing the space and not the actual implications of the collection. It’s a lot of moving parts, and . . . well, emotions can run high with these things. You never know what the fate of your curated work will be.”
“How so?” Rourke asked, cocking his head in genuine interest. He had loved going to the dinosaur museum as a child and had read that one of the museums in the area that would soon be opening an exhibit on the origins of the original brides of the Minoan Prince, the first minotaur from whom the rest of them were all descended. His interest had been piqued, but not enough to take a day off work to visit the gallery alone.This is the point Lurielle would be lecturing you about being closed off and hiding behind your job.
His ivory neighbor shifted, shrugging with one shoulder.
“Whenever remains are involved, it’s always a bit of a fraught situation. The educational benefits are without equal, obviously. We wouldn’t know what we do about various ancient cultures without meaningful archaeological research, and that includes studying remains. That’s where I got my start, on dig sites. It doesn’t matter what your exhibit plans are; at the end of the day, remember that those bones were once a living, breathing being, no different than one of your neighbors . . . There’s a great deal of care that must be taken to ensure things are being handled respectfully. As I said, some of my colleagues have never worked outside of an air-conditioned gallery. And that’s not their fault, but there can be a lack of perspective. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve worked on a collection narrative; if there’s a repatriation request, well, that’s it. Your work is done. And that’s the way itshouldbe. But it’s a delicate dance, and trying to explain that to someone who’s used to ordering collections from catalogs . . .”
“There’s a Minoan exhibit at one of the museums around here,” Rourke interjected, wondering if there were minotaur bones on display. “Or, there will be soon; I don’t know if it’s open yet. So you’re saying if they had the skull of one of our ancestors, then —“
“Then I would personally be leading the charge to ensure those remains were returned to our people and given the dignity they might have been denied in life,” the ivory bull said decisively. “And I’m the one who curated that particular collection, so that’s saying something.”
The door pulled open as another minotaur entered the space. Rourke glanced at the display on his phone, noting that his appointment was likely running behind schedule.Maybe she’s not even here. You put in a request like a fool, and you’re going to get stuck with that tech who doesn’t understand your foreskin is attached to your dick. They’re going to treat it like a candy wrapper, and you went through the embarrassment of asking about requests for nothing.
“So, you and your wife have lived here a while?” the ivory bull asked earnestly, leaning forward. “And you’re happy with the neighborhood?”
Rourke blinked. It took him several beats to catch back up with the conversation, an embarrassed heat moving up his throat. It wasn’t the first time the assumption had been made, and as long as the ring remained in his nose, he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“No wife, actually. Divorced. Two years now. Just . . . just haven’t had the ring removed yet. But the neighborhoods here are great.” He noticed for the first time that the other minotaur wasn’t that much younger-looking than him. “Asking for a reason, I’m assuming? I’m Rourke, by the way.”
He tried not to notice the shocked look on the other minotaur’s face as he extended his hand across the low table, the ivory bull leaning forward to meet it with his own after a moment.
“Madoc. Uh, yeah, I guess so. My fiancée and I are in a rental place right now; she just moved in. We’re looking to buy, eventually . . . that’s why I’m here in the first place.”
He grimaced, and Rourke chuckled. Minotaurean wives knew the score, particularly if they themselves had grown up in the community. It could only be a secret for so long, after all — a passive second income is hard to hide for long. This place, however . . . this was nothing like any other milking joint he’d ever been to.
“Is she bullish? Does she know what they do here?”
Madoc nodded. “She does. And yeah, she is. But neither of us was on board at first. She got a job in Bridgeton, so I’ve been to that place a few times. Plus, I heard there’s one in the next town over.”
“There is, in Starling Heights. And yet you’re here.”
The other bull blew out an aggrieved breath. “Yeah, I’m here. We talked about it, and . . . we’re getting married soon, and we both have big families and a ton of colleagues. It’s going to be a big party, and we don’t want to start cutting people. It just seems silly not to pay off the wedding as soon as possible. That way, we’re still banking for a downpayment on a house now, and thenthisplace can help with saving for the house after the wedding is taken care of. I don’t know why I thought moving out of the city would be less expensive.”
“Everything is expensive here,“ the spotted bull who’d joined them interjected. “It’s a good town with good schools, but you’re going to pay a premium for everything, brother.”
The minotaur, Madoc, nodded vigorously. “Yeah, we’re finding that out. This place pays better than any other in the area, so it is what it is. This is only my second appointment.”
Rouke heated again.His second appointment!Orientation had been months ago.This is only his second time, and you’ve already built and quit an addiction.At that moment, his number was called, and his stomach tightened with nerves.Speak of dirty deeds, and Daedelus will appear. This is it.
“You ought to join the Minoan Society since you’re new in town if you’re not a member already,” he said, pushing up from the sofa and fishing one of his business cards from his wallet. “The chapter here meets monthly. It’s for professional networking as much as it is a social group . . . Here’s my card. Shoot me a text, and I’ll send you the info.”
There, he told himself.There’s your good deed for the day. That makes up for whatever happens next. After his last appointment, he had spent the next several days distracted and horny, annoyed with himself for the horniness, and even more distracted as a result. He stopped at morning glory milking farm on Wednesday morning, completely outside of any appointment time he had made at the farm since that very first orientation.Maybe it’s a completely different staff, and they won’t even recognize you. Maybe they don’t even recognize you in the first place because they see minotaurs coming and going all day long, and you’re all blurring together.
He’d forced himself to march through the doors to the reception desk that day, haltingly asking if it was possible to make a request for a specific technician. He tripped over his words, attempting to attribute his question to his busy schedule and the efficiency of the last appointment he’d had. He walked out shamefaced a few minutes later, his tail practically curling between his legs as he ducked his head and hurried through the parking lot.
All he had to do, the receptionist told him with a beaming smile, was to tap the advanced options as he was making his appointment on the app. From there, he would find the additional questions he was seeking.
Rourke had done exactly that as soon as he got back to his office that afternoon, burning with mortification at how easy it was. He could request any technician from his last three appointments, or, by contrast, he could go back to his last three appointments and add an X beside the technician number. He had a mind to do that for the candy wrapper milking assistant but worried they might be notified he had done so and decided it was not worth the aggravation. In addition to having the ability to request his last technician, Rourke saw that he could also request that she wear specific scrubs. What the fuck difference does that make? You only see them for like two seconds!
Now the moment of truth arrived, and he felt as if he were walking to the hangman’s noose instead of a glory hole. She was not in the room when he arrived. Good. He could take a few moments to control his breathing and get himself in check.
The girl had small, petite hands, short fingers, and he had the panic thought that she might be little more than a teenager. You don’t know where they’re recruiting for this job. Might be going right onto the University campus; offering them a $25 gift card to the coffee shop is a sign-on bonus. The thought made him squirm.It’s no different than a blood draw. You wouldn’t care who handed you the cup for a urine sample, would you?He wouldn’t, but this was different, Rourke decided.
He didn’t want to know that someone barely starting their adult life was the one making him come so hard that he went cross-eyed, as he’d done the previous week.You wouldn’t want to know someone who had barely sat for their qualifying exams was performing surgery, either.He didn’t care how old the candy wrapper was. Didn’t care about the age or background of the technician who had excitedly told him that she would be leaving this facility to open a new one in another town. They were adults, verified by their employer, this was a rote stop on his schedule, and that was good enough for him.Thismilking technician, however . . .
He wanted to see if the previous appointment was a one-off fluke. If it was, he would never need to go through the steps of making a special request again. But, in the event she did the same thing – stroking his cock as if she had received special instructions, squeezing his balls, and slipping one of her tiny fingers into his foreskin — well, he wanted to know that it wasn’t a teenager making his eyes roll back in such a way.
