Uncivilized
Page 36
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Then Zach ruffled all the kids’ hair, bending down to accept a necklace from one little girl. He smiled at the women, his eyes lingering on Tukaba for a moment longer, then turned and walked away.
So, I know that Zach has depth of emotion. He showed it to me when he was walking away from all that was dear to his heart. I saw pain and love on his face. I recognized it in the way he held Paraila.
Zach has plenty of feeling; it’s just apparently not something he has for me at this moment. I think at this point… it’s safe to say that maybe my body was nothing more than a vessel by which he could release himself into.
That shouldn’t bother me… not really.
But damn it all to hell… it does.
Chapter 11
Zach
Stepping out of the barbershop, I run my fingers through my newly shorn hair. I did it on a spur of the moment whim, having left the library about a half hour ago and not in any hurry to get back to Moira’s house. It was a nice day outside, and I was feeling the need to distance myself from that flame-haired temptress.
Last night…
No words to describe it. There aren’t enough words in Portuguese or English to describe how unbelievably wrecked I was when I came inside of Moira that first time. I felt something release inside of me. And not just an orgasm that rocketed through me with a force I’ve never felt before. I felt something give way inside of me… an almost breaking apart of my soul.
It scared the f**k out of me, and I immediately searched outward with blind fingers for something to grab ahold of. I thought briefly of the rainforest and of Paraila’s kind eyes. I tried to remember the thrill of the hunt, and of the camaraderie I shared with the other Caraicans. I wracked my mind trying to remember some level of comfort that those memories would normally provide for me, and I came up absolutely empty.
Then I turned my head to the side and looked at Moira lying beside me on the carpet. Her eyes were still on a low simmer of desire, and complete satisfaction was etched across her beautiful face. And that fractured feeling inside of me started to subside, only to be replaced by a burning need to touch her again.
With my tongue.
There was no real thought involved and, within the time it takes for a serpent to strike, my face was between her legs and I tasted her… I tasted me… and I was lost in euphoria again.
Our second coupling was just as frenzied, but it was more intimate… more personal than before. Being able to watch her face and the myriad of emotions that crossed it every time I sunk into her was beyond dazzling. I felt my control slipping again and scrabbled to maintain it, ordering her to touch herself and then torturing myself when I pulled out of her. But she finally capitulated to me, and I was able to f**k her to another divine conclusion.
After… I didn’t know what to do. There was a yearning inside of me to touch her… possibly pull her into my arms, yet I didn’t know if that was appropriate. So many things I still don’t know. So many things yet to learn. While all of my instincts as to what I should do to her body seem absolutely natural, I have not a clue how to deal with Moira when the glow of glorious sex fades away.
Instead, I walked away from her like I would have walked away from Tukaba. Yet, that didn’t feel right because I never would have done those things to Tukaba. Don’t want to do those things with Tukaba.
Only with Moira.
What I can’t figure out is if I’m falling prey to a new culture, or I’m just falling prey to Moira. Neither option seems satisfactory to me.
So when I woke up this morning, I got dressed, grabbed the money that Moira had given me, and left the house. Moira’s bedroom door was still closed, but I didn’t bother to leave her a note. She had told me I was free to come and go as I please, and besides… I didn’t know what to say to her.
My first stop was a little coffee shop that sat a few blocks down from the library. I went in and was immediately overwhelmed by the choices that were available. Mochas, lattes, cappuccinos. I had no clue what any of it meant, so I ordered just a cup of black coffee and paid for my purchase. I sat outside for a while at a small table with an umbrella to shade me, watching the people walking by. I paid careful attention to the women, comparing each of them to Moira. Trying to figure out what was it about her that set her apart… that made her so intriguing to all of my senses.
I didn’t come up with a single answer.
Finally, I finished my coffee and went to the library. I just wandered aimlessly around the stacks of books, taking one off the shelf every now and then to read the back cover. Nothing was appealing to me, so I left.
That’s when I saw the barbershop across the street and, after a break in traffic, trotted over to it.
Peering in the window, I watched a man getting a haircut. I absently fingered my own long hair, thinking of the pride that came with wearing this Caraican hairstyle. What would it mean if I were to cut it all off? Would I be turning my back on my heritage? Except… that wasn’t my heritage. Not truly. At my basic roots, I was an American man. Yet, I’d seen plenty of men since coming to the States with a variety of hairstyles. Some long, some short, some in between. There was nothing about a man’s hair that seemed to identify his nature. It was just… hair.
Maybe it was just hair in Caraica, too.
I sat there for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Ultimately, I thought of Paraila and something he taught me when I was a young boy when one of our tribe’s elders had died.
As is custom, the body was painted with symbols telling of his journey through life. A crown of bamboo leaves was placed upon his head, and a wild orchid was nestled in his hands. He was laid upon a funeral pyre, and then his body was burned until there was nothing left but his bones.
So, I know that Zach has depth of emotion. He showed it to me when he was walking away from all that was dear to his heart. I saw pain and love on his face. I recognized it in the way he held Paraila.
Zach has plenty of feeling; it’s just apparently not something he has for me at this moment. I think at this point… it’s safe to say that maybe my body was nothing more than a vessel by which he could release himself into.
That shouldn’t bother me… not really.
But damn it all to hell… it does.
Chapter 11
Zach
Stepping out of the barbershop, I run my fingers through my newly shorn hair. I did it on a spur of the moment whim, having left the library about a half hour ago and not in any hurry to get back to Moira’s house. It was a nice day outside, and I was feeling the need to distance myself from that flame-haired temptress.
Last night…
No words to describe it. There aren’t enough words in Portuguese or English to describe how unbelievably wrecked I was when I came inside of Moira that first time. I felt something release inside of me. And not just an orgasm that rocketed through me with a force I’ve never felt before. I felt something give way inside of me… an almost breaking apart of my soul.
It scared the f**k out of me, and I immediately searched outward with blind fingers for something to grab ahold of. I thought briefly of the rainforest and of Paraila’s kind eyes. I tried to remember the thrill of the hunt, and of the camaraderie I shared with the other Caraicans. I wracked my mind trying to remember some level of comfort that those memories would normally provide for me, and I came up absolutely empty.
Then I turned my head to the side and looked at Moira lying beside me on the carpet. Her eyes were still on a low simmer of desire, and complete satisfaction was etched across her beautiful face. And that fractured feeling inside of me started to subside, only to be replaced by a burning need to touch her again.
With my tongue.
There was no real thought involved and, within the time it takes for a serpent to strike, my face was between her legs and I tasted her… I tasted me… and I was lost in euphoria again.
Our second coupling was just as frenzied, but it was more intimate… more personal than before. Being able to watch her face and the myriad of emotions that crossed it every time I sunk into her was beyond dazzling. I felt my control slipping again and scrabbled to maintain it, ordering her to touch herself and then torturing myself when I pulled out of her. But she finally capitulated to me, and I was able to f**k her to another divine conclusion.
After… I didn’t know what to do. There was a yearning inside of me to touch her… possibly pull her into my arms, yet I didn’t know if that was appropriate. So many things I still don’t know. So many things yet to learn. While all of my instincts as to what I should do to her body seem absolutely natural, I have not a clue how to deal with Moira when the glow of glorious sex fades away.
Instead, I walked away from her like I would have walked away from Tukaba. Yet, that didn’t feel right because I never would have done those things to Tukaba. Don’t want to do those things with Tukaba.
Only with Moira.
What I can’t figure out is if I’m falling prey to a new culture, or I’m just falling prey to Moira. Neither option seems satisfactory to me.
So when I woke up this morning, I got dressed, grabbed the money that Moira had given me, and left the house. Moira’s bedroom door was still closed, but I didn’t bother to leave her a note. She had told me I was free to come and go as I please, and besides… I didn’t know what to say to her.
My first stop was a little coffee shop that sat a few blocks down from the library. I went in and was immediately overwhelmed by the choices that were available. Mochas, lattes, cappuccinos. I had no clue what any of it meant, so I ordered just a cup of black coffee and paid for my purchase. I sat outside for a while at a small table with an umbrella to shade me, watching the people walking by. I paid careful attention to the women, comparing each of them to Moira. Trying to figure out what was it about her that set her apart… that made her so intriguing to all of my senses.
I didn’t come up with a single answer.
Finally, I finished my coffee and went to the library. I just wandered aimlessly around the stacks of books, taking one off the shelf every now and then to read the back cover. Nothing was appealing to me, so I left.
That’s when I saw the barbershop across the street and, after a break in traffic, trotted over to it.
Peering in the window, I watched a man getting a haircut. I absently fingered my own long hair, thinking of the pride that came with wearing this Caraican hairstyle. What would it mean if I were to cut it all off? Would I be turning my back on my heritage? Except… that wasn’t my heritage. Not truly. At my basic roots, I was an American man. Yet, I’d seen plenty of men since coming to the States with a variety of hairstyles. Some long, some short, some in between. There was nothing about a man’s hair that seemed to identify his nature. It was just… hair.
Maybe it was just hair in Caraica, too.
I sat there for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. Ultimately, I thought of Paraila and something he taught me when I was a young boy when one of our tribe’s elders had died.
As is custom, the body was painted with symbols telling of his journey through life. A crown of bamboo leaves was placed upon his head, and a wild orchid was nestled in his hands. He was laid upon a funeral pyre, and then his body was burned until there was nothing left but his bones.
