Page 32 of Eat My Moon Dust
Was I overheating because I was tipsy?
Or was it that I planned to give Hunar a pair of my panties?
I held up the neck of a bottle of Bajora’s murky rum and took another swig. He’d printed it for me that afternoon during Christmas planning, and I’d scurried off to sit by the space chicken’s coop and my stone-ringed firepit to think after we were done. It was crude but effective, and I needed all the liquid courage I could muster. I had a feeling he knew what I was going to do.
I groaned, smacking my forehead against the counter like a woodpecker searching for grubs. “Everyone does it,” I told myself in the cringiest pep talk ever. “And shilpakaari are super open about stuff like this. It’s totally fine.”
My cheeks bristled as I imagined handing my used underwear over to Hunar on a platter while the entire hangar watched.
I jumped up straight, ruffling my hair until it stood on end. “Nope! Won’t happen like that. Look how discreet Bajora was! It’ll befine.Even if they do know, everyone there gets it. Theyget it.Us humans are in the minority when it comes to having no mating imperatives, after all…”
I snorted as I marched myself straight past the boxes of ornaments and bags of glitter spray cans.
“I mean, look atvenandi.They straight up vibrate when their frenzy or whatever happens. Super loud. It’s all…” The bedroom’s recessed lights glowed to life as I walked in and swallowed, staring at my bed. “Completely normal.”
Swiping my fingers through my curly bob of hair one more time, I unlatched my pants and pushed them down my ankles. I kneaded them off along with my socks, tossed my shirt to the ground, then hooked my thumbs in my panties.
They were off-white and slightly worn. I nibbled my lip, looking at where the seamless waistband was starting to curl as the material lost elasticity. I was cool with offering Hunar a pair of panties, even if thinking about it made me blush, but I hadsomepride.
So I pushed those down my legs too and pulled out one of my new pairs. I’d printed a whole set of holiday panties for myself, just to test the design software Imani and Naitee were so good at using. The patterns were blobby and amateur, but you could tell which ones were snowmen or gingerbread cookies or twinkle lights. I picked the pair on top, decorated with candy canes and red velvet bows.
“BEO, display a slideshow of my secret folder.”
A holoscreen lit up the wall opposite my bed as I slipped the panties on and propped up my pillows. I wriggled under the covers and bit my lip, looking at my collection of erotic photos. They were all human men posing nude or grabbing their shafts, thick and veiny just like their oiled-up arms. I rubbed my fingers between my legs even as I locked my knees together, letting the heat build and the interest settle in.
This was my normal routine and had been for a long time now. Back in Kingston, Sam had always respected my privacy, but the walls were thin, and I’d been paranoid that if I watched porn with the volume almost all the way down or used a vibrator, he would still hear it. Or worse, if I put in headphones, he’d knock on the door, and I wouldn’t hear him approaching.
So I got used to photos instead. Dreamy guys that would bend me like a pretzel and slip their thumbs over my clit. I let out a shaky breath as the familiar daydreams took hold of my body, spreading heat between my legs like a bellows.
Even if I was warmed up and starting to tingle though, it wasn’t enough. There were too many problems, worries, and plans nesting in the front of my mind and making a mess. I was too tangled up to relax. Maybe I didn’t need to climax to get the job done though.
I slipped my finger beneath the seam of my panties and felt my slit, just to see.
Dry as a burnt cookie.
“Damn…”
I stared at the beautiful man in his shiny blue boxers on my slideshow. His face was chiseled, dark hair cut short with a five o-clock shadow that promised he’d eat breakfast in bed.
And he just wasn’t doing anything for me.
“Next?”
Another tanned stud, this one smiling wickedly with ocean-bleached blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes.
“Next.”
An older guy with salt-and-pepper hair in his flannel pajama pants, reclining on a leather sofa, a spray of cum painting the divots between his abdominal muscles.
I glanced down at the crux of my legs with frustration. “Still?!”
Plopping my head back on my stack of pillows with a sigh, I rubbed my slit absently, just to keep the tingle from dwindling.
“BEO…” I said slowly.
“Yes, Tinsley?”
“Show me snaps of naked shilpakaari men.”
