A Place To Bloom

The Scout

Miyani gave me a severed human ear as a gift.

I knew there would be cultural differences, so... yeah.

No, that's not it.

Miyani was Na'uhui, which gave her exceptionally dark green skin, bright yellow eyes, and straight white hair that gave off a slight yellow sheen when the light hit it just right.

But her skin looked smooth and soft, pulled taut over sleek muscles bearing a faint sheen all over, and she smelled of honey and coconut blossom. Her eyes were set wide apart in her circular face and had a way of darting about as you were with her. She would look off to the left, to the right, every which way, then come back to you only to erupt in a warm smile and lock your attention to her, only to dart off once more. Her hair she kept short, cut about her ears and left to fall where it willed.

She was short. Ahmi was short, but Miyani was shorter by an inch or two. The top of her head scarcely came up to my chest, and I loved the way she would crane her neck all the way and lift her chin to look at me directly with that magical smile.

She wore next to nothing. Everyone at Carthia did; men, women, children and elders, all of them wore nothing but a strap for a belt with some flap of cloth in front and another in the back. But Miyani wore it so much better than everyone else. Her tiny yet firm breasts, taut black nipples pointing directly at me, her hard, chiseled body, round hips that promised things my body craved to explore, and when she turned around, I couldn't decide where to look.

So what if there were cultural differences?

The only thing that conflicted me about her was the matter of whether I should hurry up with a bath so as to maximize my time with her, or to be extra thorough so as to minimize the risk of putting her off.

When I came out, Miyani sat cross-legged on my bed, leafing through that book I'd borrowed from the library. She looked up and smiled, then looked up and down my body several times and smiled wider.

"You?" she said, pointing at a page in the book.

I shifted my voice into feigned snobbery, "yes, I am reading that! I find the author's treatise on art and philosophy rather enlightening."

She lowered her eyes and looked about as though searching her mind for something, before shrugging and shaking her head with a nervous smile. Oh, her lips looked delicious.

I walked up to her and sat down, tried to ignore her breasts out in the open like it was nothing, turned to the cover where bold gold glyphs ran in a column on green felt, and pointed to them as I spoke, "ge-ha-'u shɪ-za."

Her eyes popped and she smiled at me. Then she pointed to the second glyph down. "xa."

"ha?" I said.

She lifted her chin, pointed to the back of her neck, and made a sound like a hiss. "xa."

I tried to raise my tongue. "x... x... xa."

"tixede!" she smiled.

"ti-x-ede," I said back.

She shook her head, "vʌ, vʌ, tixede," she rested her hand on her chest, then moved her hand to mine, "tixe-se."

The sensation of her fingers on me sent my skin in a frenzy, begging for more. I craved her skin in my fingertips, yet caution called me to sobriety; I didn't want to risk offending her. So instead I pointed, "de," then to myself, "se."

She moved my hand back to my own chest, "de," and then to hers, "se."

"I, you?"

"Ti! I, you. De, se." Then quickly back and forth between us with both hands at the same time, "di."