The first thing I did was strip naked, relishing in the feel of the cool air against my skin. I haven’t been walking around na**d as much as I originally thought I would, and not because of some concern about offending Moira. That does not concern me whatsoever.

No, I’ve simply been wearing clothes more often than not because I’m getting used to them. Moira has indeed dragged me around to various places every day, immersing me in her culture. That, of course, requires clothing and the more that I wear them, the more they don’t seem quite the burden.

She’s taken me to so many places that my head spins with the sensory overload at times. She took me to downtown Chicago, and I hate the place. Filled with steel, concrete, and too many people to comprehend. It’s noisy… not like the beautiful noise of the creature-filled jungle, but of honking cars and talking people. It scrapes at my ears until they feel like they bleed at times.

Other places weren’t so bad. We went out to see a movie in the theater, and she took me over to Northwestern where she works and explained what people learn at a university. We went out to eat at restaurants, and I actually gave in and used the utensils, only because after observing her eat with them, I had to admit it was easier and cleaner on the hands. She took me to the local library in Evanston and showed me how to look up and check out books. It’s within walking distance to her house, and she’s even encouraged me to venture there on my own any time I want to. I will… one day, but during our first visit, I left with ten books and haven’t read through them all yet.

And yes… one of the books she suggested was entitled How To Teach Your Child About Sex. I flipped through it but gave up after the first three pages. Ridiculous really, if she thinks she can get away with pawning that type of book off on me as a means of fulfilling her obligation to teach me.

What she has been willing to teach me, though, has been enlightening to the extent that she won’t refuse to answer a legitimate question from me. Every day, I try to come up with something new to ask her, just so I can see the way her breathing gets disrupted and her face goes red.

“Moria… what do you call it when my seed erupts from the end of my penis?”

Although she blushed and practically choked on the bowl of cereal she was eating, she cleared her throat and said, “That’s called an orgasm.”

“And that’s the technical term?”

“Yes, although some people say it’s called ‘coming’ or ‘climaxing’.”

“Climaxing I understand. But coming?”

“Yes, coming,” she said with another deep blush.

“Do women orgasm? Is that what you did that night in the jungle when you touched yourself?”

“Yes, Zach. Women can orgasm too.”

“But you don’t have a penis. What were you touching to make yourself orgasm?”

“Women have what’s called a clitoris… or some call it a clit. I imagine it feels the same way as it feels when you touch your penis.”

“Where is this cl*t located?”

“Okay, Zach… that’s enough sex talk for the day,” Moira grumbled and stood from her chair.

I smiled inside because I knew I was getting to her.

Moira doesn’t have to be teaching me about sex for me to be thinking about it. It’s all I seem to think about when I’m around her. While in my world, sex is when a man dominates a woman, and it’s a matter of just mounting her from behind with a quick thrust. I find myself insanely curious if there are other ways of coupling.

I think, more than I care to admit, about kissing Moira. That movie she showed me… when those two people were kissing, has me wondering what it would be like to feel her tongue against mine.

And speaking of tongues, I have to think that if my tongue can go in her mouth, it can go other places as well. Her br**sts, which I haven’t seen but would like to, for instance. Or that secret thing she called a “clit”? Clearly, fingers against it work just fine, but I wonder if a man can put his tongue there. I wonder what she would taste like and then I wonder… what her tongue would feel like against my penis.

Are these things even possible? I’ll have to add it to my list of questions for her.

Moira has a doctor’s appointment today, and then she said she was meeting a friend for lunch. I told her that I would like to go out to lunch with her because I was finding pleasure in trying new and interesting foods at these places she called restaurants.

“Not today, Zach,” she said. “I’m actually going on a date.”

“A date?” I asked in confusion. “What does that mean?”

She actually blushed, and that was my first indication that this had something to do with sex, because Moira always blushed when we talked about sex and never at any other time.

“It’s when two people who like each other go out somewhere for the pleasure of enjoying each other’s company.”

“To have sex you mean?” I asked, not liking the thought of her ha**ng s*x with another man.

“Not always,” she said curtly. “Sometimes, it’s just to talk.”

“Are you going to have sex on this ‘date’ today?” My anger started boiling, and I had no clue why. Most days, I still barely tolerated Moira because I was sexually frustrated around her, and I was still very angry over her role in pulling me from my home.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no… I’m not having sex. We’re just going out to eat a meal together.”