11. Yvonne

11

YVONNE

Irecover from the flushed, pleasant sensation of his attention faster than I anticipated. I dress in the corner of the cavern, not wanting to further tempt him with my nakedness, then return to the fire. The clothing is musty and old and hangs off my body like a tent. But the material is warm and comforting.

My hair feels somewhat soft for the first time in ages. Gone are the coal fragments from the mine and the dried flecks of dead skin left by years of neglect. The heat of the hot spring was rejuvenating.

I muse as to whether or not the tranquility of the bathing is having an influence over my attraction to this strange sea creature… But then I remember how he kissed me, and the theory is dashed.

I have never wanted sex of my own volition before. I was taught to be a vessel meant to house the seedlings and spills of a man’s desire. It was a punishment, a chore, a necessity for survival. But the way Oarus touched me, not by force or cruelty but sincere intrigue, summoned something mystical and magnificent.

It was intoxicating and difficult to deny. Like being stuck in a hypnotic gaze you were rueful to wake from.

I wanted his hands, his mouth, and his mysterious appendages to comb over my form, but haunting memories took the helm once the intensity grew. I no longer would accept my body being used as a mere vessel. I wanted to be captain of my ship, once and for all.

I step back into the light and sit on the bed. Oarus remains unmoving.

His eyes are glued to me in a way that would have made me feel intimidated in the past. But now, I feel a confidence surging through me driven by a sprouting sexual appetite.

Patience settles over him as I get comfortable on the bed, crossing my legs over the other in the oversized selection of attire.

My voice is infused with an aplomb that feels distant and surreal.

“Have you ever heard about the concept of dating?"

Oarus shakes his head. Beyond us, at the mouth of the cave, rain begins to pelt against stone. He turns his head briefly towards the sound, squinting as if to scan the enormity of the approaching gale.

He responds, musing toward the sharpening whips of wind.

“I have not. I assume this is connected to the idea of courtship."

“It is,” I say, pulling my legs up onto the bed and tucking my knees beneath my chin. “It is a kind of ritual. Two people share an experience that fosters a growing bond. Then they do it again. Usually a few times in a row.”

I wasn’t going to expose the fact that it wasn’t a law of human nature to go on a pre-ordained amount of dates before humans engage in sexual indulgence. There were many who didn’t court one another at all, seeking sexual satisfaction as a means of quick and easy pleasure.

I hadn’t participated myself, but I read about it in the fantasy books I’d snuck out of the dark elves’ library. Sometimes I heard stories shared by more seasoned slaves.

Oarus receives the information well but still sports a befuddled scowl. I go in with much more detail.

"Two people spend time together. They have a meal, they dance.” I pause, venturing into the locked paradise of my mind. “They talk. They walk, they swim.”

Oarus perks up. He returns his gaze to me as gusts begin to blow against the cavern.

“Swim. That I can do," he says, his reassurance in himself growing.

I nod along as I continue. “Yes, swimming is sometimes involved. The whole point of it is to get to know each other before sex comes. True appreciation of one another exists beyond the physical. It transcends it."

I try to reframe my narrative to suit Oarus as a lesson. His curiosity has yet to waiver. It eases me as the wind whistles through the labyrinth of tunnels.

“So, you want me to take you out on a date, as you say?” he asks, appearing uncertain about the verbiage.

I feel brighter. My attraction to his solid, marble-like, exotic form swarms me from the bottom of my feet, heating like a forest fire along my inner thighs.

The way he touched me in the hot spring was like I was something sacred.

I blink out of my trance, hoping that he didn’t notice the way I had disappeared. I then feel nervous again, afraid to lay such a weight of expectation upon a creature I knew nothing about.

But my mouth opens, and I am determined.

“Yes, Oarus. I would like that. Is that something you feel like you could do? To truly connect and understand me the way I seek to connect and understand you?”

For a fleeting moment, there is a flash of lightning, a pink streak threading across the dead sky. Rumbling thunder roars over the great sea as waves crash cataclysmically against the rocky sands beyond.

I start to think that Oarus is toying with me. His little human plaything. But then I remind myself of a savage truth. If he had wanted my body against my will, he would have taken it. If I was a nuisance, he’d have tossed me into the raging black waters.

He looks at me now pensively, and grins. It is gorgeous and disarming.

“I will do just that, Yvonne. I will adopt your customs, and I will take you out on what you humans refer to as a date."

I am floored. He rises to his feet, towering over me still balled up on the bed, and motions with his chin toward the storm.

“However, this date must wait for more suitable weather. We should rest for the night and start tomorrow anew.”

His usually clipped tone is elevated slightly with theatrical flair.

“That’s a good idea,” I reply, looking out in the direction of the rain. “I would like that very much.”

“Then it is settled. Would you like more bigrul soup before we sleep?”

“There’s still some left?” I inquire, still aghast from his quick acceptance.

He nods, a spark in his eyes akin to the excitement he expressed when we were lost in the fever of our lust.

“I make sure to cook a lot for these circumstances. This seaside is accustomed to downpours.”

I accept his offering, and he retreats to another part of the cavern where the soup is stored. When he returns, the soup is not in the bowls like it had been the day before.

“I will cook for you,” he says with quiet jubilance. “Is that okay?"

“Yes, it really is,” I respond, unable to contain my glee.

Oarus proceeds to prepare and cook the bigrul soup over the fire set before us. I relax on the bed as he captivates me with the story of the recipe’s retrieval.

“I have lived many centuries,” he expresses, leaning over the fire. “And during that time I have learned from humans. One of my favorites is the ability to cook on land. That saves me many hardships.”

I listen, my own curiosity piquing. I am struck by the solemnity in which he speaks, especially when it refers to his kind and the solidarity that comes with it.

“Did you steal this recipe from someone in the village?”I ask.

Oarus gazes up at me, then flicks some of the damp seaweed locks out of his face.

“Steal?”

“No, I mean, acquire," I say, feeling my cheeks blush. “I didn’t mean offense."

His indifferent stare blossoms into a smirk.

“I understand your meaning,” he says, scattering fresh and fragrant herbs into the soup. “I watched a human catch and cook for weeks. A fisherman, I suppose. The scent reached my cavern, and I became quizzical.”

Oarus speaks like a man born in another time. Which he is, of course, with the scattering of more modern phrases that throw me off. He is utterly fascinating.

Oarus finishes the soup, and we devour it in blissful silence. Once my belly is full and warm, I begin to feel sleepy.

He takes the bowl from my hand and places it in the dark. He washes as the fire dims, then motions at the bed.

“Hmm?” I say.

“Get some rest, Yvonne. You have a date tomorrow.”

I smile at him. It feels strange. How quickly he accepted what I had asked of him seems a little suspicious. But I am far too plump and satiated to stay awake with rumination.

I crawl under the covers that Oarus had provided. He remains next to the fire, waiting for the flames to diminish. I watch as I lay my head on the pillow as it dies away.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. There is always a chance that my life will be threatened. But this creature had evolved, even after a few days of interactions. I fall into a slumber, allowing my mind to slip back to the sensation of his strong and tender hands exploring the hillsides of my form, skirting the boundaries of my most treasured seam.

It lulls me as the fire descends into throbbing embers. I feel Oarus come to the bed in some distant stupor and lay on his side, keeping his hands away from me just the way I had requested.

The rain kisses the stone while the storm drifts away, as does my consciousness as I imagine Oarus’ arms shielding me in their inevitable warmth. The thought lulls me into a gentle sleep.