Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [55]
“Does it suit me?” she asked, smiling up at me.
“Yes,” I said, because a more detailed answer was beyond me.
Her face fell. I think I was meant to praise her appearance, but I had missed another cue. In all honesty, I did not find her beautiful. Her skin was too smooth, her eyes sunken in her skull instead of proudly outthrust. A monstrous animal lurked in the shape of her lips against her teeth, but something shifted in me that day.
“You don’t think I’m pretty.” Her gaze dropped. “You probably prefer pale women with their delicate figures. Is that why you’ve never kissed me?”
No. That certainly was not true. Dark or fair, lean or large, I wanted no human female with dying skin and spongy flesh. But it mattered more to make her happy than be truthful. So I bought the cloth with my credit spike and gave it to her. I shaped my mouth into a semblance of a smile, and said, “You are lovely even without this, but I would like you to have it if you will accept such a gift from me.”
Her dark eyes sparkled, and it was she who first kissed me. At first I thought it was an attack, and I braced myself for worse, but her mouth merely moved against mine. It was not repugnant; I felt nothing but the pressure against my mandible. Like most human customs, it was easy enough to learn, and she seemed pleased when she pulled back.
After that she touched me more, which meant I had to take care that the camouflage was fresh. I used one night every two weeks to regenerate, which she found mysterious, as I would not tell her what I was doing. In retrospect, I should simply have lied.
This was my first relationship of any length. I marvel now that she did not guess my strangeness from the first, as Trapper had, but she claimed to find my differences adorable. After a time, I realized I liked making her happy—enough to put up with whatever strangeness our association demanded.
Which brings me to our first mating. I knew she wanted it; such was the normal progression. It bothered me that she might one day expect me to sire her young, but I had come to rely upon her presence by that time. I no longer enjoyed being alone; I no longer enjoyed the silence. I tried to put sexual congress off, knowing it would be awkward. I watched vids to give me some idea what to expect, but it was hard to know which ones represented the median experience, and I had no one to advise me.
Regardless, the moment arrived unexpectedly, as did most events with Adele. It was nothing she planned, I am sure, but we had dined at her dwelling and were sitting close, as she liked, sharing warmth. For a while we spoke of nothing in particular, but then her mood turned from words to kisses and from kisses to deeper things.
In the end, it was not as complex as I feared. I think on some level she sensed my inexperience and talked me through it, whispering what I should do—and what she wanted most. Of that night I can say, I did not mind it. Even in this, I am an adroit mimic. Her pleasure pleased me. I also liked the human way, for it did not leave me vulnerable and fearing madness might overtake my mate. There was no release in it, but it was another sort of gratification—that of making Adele happy, which had become important to me.
We went on this way for two more turns. Smitty passed, and he left to me his shop. Now I had a place of my own. I need not hunt the dregs of the galaxy if I chose otherwise. I could pretend to age and stay with Adele until she died. Then I would have to “die” myself and start all over again. The prospect left me feeling so bleak that I withdrew from her.
At this point, you probably believe you can guess what happened next. But I think it will surprise you.
Yes, she came to me one night when I had no human skin to hide behind. She knew the codes