Moira’s eyes turn sad, and it’s with shame that she looks at me. “I’m sorry for taking you away, Zach. I know it’s been hard.”

I stare at her a moment, absorbing the truth in her tone. I sense the regret over her actions, and it causes my anger toward her for her role in this to lessen marginally. Of course, some of that anger seeped away too when I had my mouth between her legs this afternoon. Something like that will tend to put a man in a forgiving mood.

Our meals arrive and the spaghetti is just as delicious as I remembered it, and I’m thankful to myself that I’ve broken down and started using utensils. It would have been an absolute mess trying to eat the pasta with my fingers. Moira lets me try a little bit of her lasagna, and I about groan in ecstasy when I taste it. I’m definitely going to have that the next time we eat out at an Italian restaurant.

The conversation stays light the rest of our dinner, and she tells me more about her friends that we are meeting tonight. Lexi is a nurse at the local hospital, and Kelly is also a professor at Northwestern, except she teaches English Literature. She assured me that they were both very nice and were looking forward to meeting me, which wasn’t needed to ease some perceived anxiety on my part. I was very much looking forward to going out tonight to this “nightclub” that Moira told me about. She said people go there to have fun and to drink and dance, but she solemnly warned me that we wouldn’t be drinking. I had never had alcohol in my life, and she said that she wasn’t about to have me try it out of a controlled circumstance.

I don’t really have any concept of what alcohol is or what it does, but if it was like the powerful hallucinogenic plants our tribe’s shaman used to snort up his nose that would make him see giant, flying mosquitos the size of a longhouse, then I wasn’t interested in trying it anyway. I didn’t like the concept of losing control.

After dinner, Moira drives over to the nightclub and it seems the awkwardness at the beginning of the evening has melted away, and after Moira’s heartfelt apology to me not long ago, I feel something of a connection with her now. As if, maybe I might even enjoy her company, which is not something I had planned on.

I know I certainly enjoy looking at her, and I certainly enjoyed f**king her with my mouth today, and I know without a doubt my c**k will love every inch of her pu**y, but I think I’m actually starting to enjoy the things we talk about.

When we arrive at the club, I’m assaulted by the noise and light. Loud music blares, making a thumping sensation in the middle of my chest. The inside of the building she leads me into is dark, but there are streams of light everywhere, crisscrossing the open space, periodically hitting me in the eye and inducing near blindness. I am immediately unsure as to why coming here is so much fun.

Throngs of people crowd in one area of the building, moving and gyrating their bodies. The concept of dancing isn’t unfamiliar to me, as our tribe had many dances and songs we would perform. We would often celebrate a successful hunt or the birth of a child. Even a girl receiving her menses and becoming a woman was cause for celebration. Of course, she was first sequestered away behind a palm-frond screen where she remained the entire time she bled. When she emerged, the women would dress her in a headband of black feathers, signifying her transition and her availability for marriage. There was always singing and dancing after that to celebrate her becoming a woman.

Moira and I talked about that tonight. That in the Caraican tribe, a woman was eligible for marriage as soon as she menstruated. Our tribe practiced polygamy, which was a term Moira introduced me to when I told her that the men of the tribe often had more than one wife. She had told me that this practice was illegal in the United States and it was also illegal for an adult to have sex with a woman until she reached the age of consent at eighteen.

I understood this, because although a young woman in our tribe could be married far younger than that, she drank a tea ground up from the bark of the yarrasa tree, which prevented pregnancy until she was older. Apparently, that was something our societies had in common… ingesting something that could prevent a woman from getting pregnant.

I asked Moira if she took such a remedy, and she admitted she did. She called it The Pill, and then proceeded to describe to me other forms of birth control that are available here. It was an interesting conversation, and I was happy to learn that when I finally f**ked Moira, I wouldn’t have to worry about her conceiving, especially since I had no desire to produce anything here in this strange world that could possibly tie me to it.

No, if I were to get a woman pregnant, it would be Tukaba, who I had planned to stake a marriage claim to before I was whisked away from my home. Tukaba had only been with our tribe for less than a month before Moira arrived, and I had felt the time was about right for me to take my first wife. She was a good, subservient woman, even though she had been raised with the Paourno tribe, which lived directly off the Amazon River. The Paourno were more modernized than the Caraica, sustaining their people by opening trade relations with travelers. Some of their members even worked for wages at the big logging companies that were moving in on the rainforest.

“I see Lexi and Kelly,” Moira says, and she grabs my hand to lead me through the crowd of people.

It’s nice… my hand in hers. Her skin is soft, but her grip is firm. I very much enjoyed the way she held onto my head when I was feasting between her legs, even pushing my face in closer to her body when she started to cl**ax. I could never imagine a Caraican woman doing something so bold, but it was a difference I somehow appreciated about Moira.