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which were disproportionately wide. On them were black, medium-high
heels, oval in shape, practically round; you know, like Daisy Duck's feet.
So what was she riding? It looked like one of those scooters that kids
used to make decades ago out of a wooden crate, a two-by-four, and some
old street skates, except the "box" part was silver, metallic. The cat-girl sat
on top of it, her legs dangling on both sides, not a comfortable-looking
position. Every few seconds the Daisy Duck shoes clicked against the box,
like an equestrian trying to urge a tired horse along. I had no idea how
this made the thing go, but obviously it did.
I was afraid of startling her, but she took my sudden appearance in
stride. "Hello," I said, "going my way?" (Now how's that for being original?
What a schmuck!)
She glanced at me with those wonderful eyes; her lids fell. Slowly,
almost reverently, she tilted her upper body forward in what I had to
assume was the standard greeting of her people. She remained that way,
L-shaped, for a few seconds. The Daisy Duck shoes never missed a beat on
the box.
Snapping up suddenly, she turned those eyes on me again. "The
question is without significance," she said in a deep, purring voice.
"Huh? What question?" I asked.
"You wanted to know if I was going your way. Since we are traveling
next to one another, that answer is obvious."
Her voice, emanating from those lips, was turning me on. "Yeah, well,
it& I was only trying to start a conversation."
She twitched her nose; the whiskers moved up and down. "By speaking
to me, you did start a conversation. It was not a matter of trying. You
either start a conversation or you don't. To say you're trying to do it is
also without significance."
I wasn't exactly sure what she was saying, even though I liked the way
she said it. "So, you think I'm illogical or something." I grinned as I
gestured at her pointy cat ears. "Maybe you're a Vulcan or something."
She didn't do a Mr. Spock-cock of the brow, but she did open her eyes
wider. "A Vulcan? No, but you're close. I'm a Vulvan."
"A& Vulvan?"
"That is correct. I won't presume you've heard of my world, since I
realize that many travel this path. More than likely I've no prior knowledge
of yours."
"I'm from Earth," I told her.
She blinked and nodded. "Yes, I was right; never heard of it."
Trying to ignore the indifference in her words, I held out my right
hand. "My name is Jack; Jack Miller."
She looked at the hand. "What is this for?"
"It's our customary greeting." I shook my right hand with my left.
"See?"
"Oh." She raised her right and and shook it with her left. "For
economy's sake you may call me Hormona."
She was Hormona of Vulvan. That made sense, I guess. I put my hand
down.
"Yeah, well, nice to meet you& Hormona."
Her indigo eyes absorbed the Nishiki. I was almost envious. "What do
you call your go-thing, Jack-Jack Miller?"
I smiled. "For economy's sake you can call me Jack. And the go-thing is
a bicycle."
She nodded. "Interesting."
"So, Hormona, how long have you been riding the Path?"
"Since time is frozen here, that question is "
" without significance, right. Okay. Have you been through some of
the gates?"
Her sleek black hair bounced when she shook her head. "I'm not
interested in exploration, only recreation and solitude, both of which this
provides. Ours is a crowded world, and one is seldom alone." She gestured
toward the right wall, where the iridescent snowmen were appearing
again with more frequency. "The gate to my place and time on Vulvan is
almost here, and I must return."
If those eyes or those lips or that body weren't enough to drive me
crazy, I became aware of this seductive flowery scent emanating from her.
Faint at first, but growing. I tried to shake it off.
"Uh, do you have family on Vulvan?" I asked.
That puzzled her. "Family?"
"You know, parents, brothers, sisters, husband, children& "
Now she got it. "We are all& family on Vulvan. It is unimportant who
our progenitors and siblings are, and we take no permanent mates. As for
small ones, I have personally yielded more than fifty, for that is my task."
"Your& task?"
"Yes, I am a Reproductor."
Hormona of Vulvan was a Reproductor. I guess that made sense too.
The flowery scent was definitely stronger.
Her body suddenly stiffened. The red lips parted, and a pink tongue
moistened them. Those unbelievable indigo eyes-to-die-for grew dreamy,
and something like a smile cracked through her staid demeanor.
Hormona was turning herself on without any outside aid.
The flowery scent was overpowering, like an invisible aphrodisiac. I
suddenly realized how uncomfortable spandex bike pants could be. I
squirted water from my bike bottle down a very dry throat, then into my
face.
Hormona's body shuddered; she made soft mewling sounds. Even with
this going on, the Daisy Duck shoes didn't miss a beat.
The killer aroma wafted past, and was gone. Her body eased, and her
face reassumed its sober facade. She had satisfied herself.
Glad she had. Sorry to be crude, but I would have loved to jump her
feline bones right then and there. Can't stop along the mhuva lun gallee,
right?
She turned those eyes on me again. "The metabolisms of Reproductors
are such that we find the need to be invigorated quite routinely, even
when we're not performing our assigned tasks."
Invigorated. God, I would have loved to invigorate . . .
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