Uncivilized (Uncivilized 1)

After Zach came down off his orgasmic high, he pulled out of my body slowly and stared at me a moment. Reaching a hand out, he rubbed his fingers lightly over my lower stomach, and then said, "I'm going to go take a shower."

He stood up without another word and walked down the hallway to the guest bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

I roll over and pull my knees up underneath me, pushing my way off the floor. I groan from the stiffness in my neck and hips, testament to the not-so-gentle pummeling Zach just gave my body. I bend over and grab my panties, then head into my own bathroom as his semen trickles down my legs.

Another keen difference in our cultures. I observed the way Zach had fucked Tukaba. It was impersonal... devoid of emotion and feeling. It was a convenient way for him to seek release, all while flexing his superior man muscles in front of his tribe mates. When he was finished with her, he pulled out of her and walked away, leaving her lying prostrate in the dirt below him. Given that cold barrier that seems to exist between Caraican women and men, it's no wonder that Zach just pulled out of me and walked away. I can't imagine a man like him being into after-sex cuddling.

And that makes me sad. Because while every bit of the dominance that Zach has asserted over me pushes all of my buttons in just the right way, as a woman... as a modern woman who embraces the emotional side to the act of sex... a warm embrace of care and tenderness is something that I'm keenly missing right now.

Turning on the shower, I wait until the water gets hot and step under the spray, wetting my hair thoroughly. I go through the motions of shampooing and conditioning my hair, then give myself a thorough scrubbing with some gardenia-scented body wash and a loofah sponge.

There was a time that Zach looked at me a bit ago, and I swear I thought I saw something in his gaze that looked like fondness. It was such a contradiction to the arrogant face he normally shows me, and it gave me hope that maybe this was more than just a one-time only thing.

And it was more than once--three times by my count.

But the way that Zach just abruptly stood up and walked away? So cold... so uncaring of the intimacy we had just shared. Now I'm not so sure what he feels, and unease courses through me.

I hastily soap down the rest of my body, wincing slightly at the tenderness between my legs, but then shuddering in remembrance of Zach's time well spent there.

With a confused sigh, I rinse off and step out of the shower. I give my teeth a good brushing and quickly dry my hair to where it's only slightly damp. Back in my bedroom, I put on a cotton cami top and a pair of loose pajama pants and crawl into bed.

As I start to get drowsy, I remember just before we left the Caraican village, as Zach made his goodbyes. He had done nothing but glare at me every time we made eye contact. Yet, there was a world of warmth in his eyes as he grasped each of the men's arms, and then finally wrapped Paraila in an embrace. He tucked the old man's face into his chest and hugged him tight. Tears sprang to my eyes, as I knew how very bittersweet that moment was for Paraila.

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 fuck 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 fuck 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 herit

age? 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.

When the embers had cooled to the touch, the women would sift through the ashes and collect the burned bones. They were then crushed with a mortar and pestle to a fine dust. Banana milk was added, and the funeral ritual was completed by every person in the tribe taking a drink until nothing was left.

"Why are we drinking Capa's bones?" I asked Paraila when the gourd was passed to me.

Placing his hand gently on my shoulders, he said, "You know that life is created when a man and a woman lay together, right, Cor'dairo?"

I nodded my head that I understood that. It was one of the first things that Paraila ever taught me... after I first saw a man coupling with a woman.

"Well, we are doing nothing more than returning Capa to life. We ingest his bones and make him part of us. Then, when new life is created, part of Capa will be reborn, and his spirit will live on within the tribe. To us, life is never ending. You will always come back in some way or another. Everything comes back in the end."

As I watched the barber inside take a brush and clean off the man's neck, I thought about Paraila's teachings. Everything always comes back in the end.

I didn't hesitate a second longer. Walking in, I asked how much for a haircut, and then had the barber take it off.