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Gara once tried to snatch away the food of our pet, no more than childish teasing, but the normally docile animal gave her such a vicious bite on the arm that Gara was left with a scar, and we had to convince our mother considered not to put the skrint to sleep. I relate this memory because it’s the only way I can describe the way the men in the bar look at me… exactly the way the skrint would look at its meal. Of course I’ve heard often about masculine sex drive, and that this urge is the way most of the universe reproduces, but experiencing the reality for the first time, I feel a swell of sympathy for these creatures hypnotized by their longing. Gods, what we’re taught is exactly right. This is how they are – males - slave to their desperate compulsion to mate with me. For some of them it’s so overwhelming their jaws hang open as though they’re about to drool. Almost every last man has his eyes on me, scanning up and down the curves of my body. The poor things are probably too drugged to realize what they’re doing, but I can’t feel sympathy when they’re making me so self-conscious. Stop staring, guys! They’re just my breasts, just my hips. I’ve never given my organs much thought before, but these male eyes are locking on my chest as though my tits define me. It wouldn’t be so bad if this treatment was shared evenly among the females, but adding to my discomfort is the fact that far more men are focusing on me than any of the other females present. Yes, I have often been told I’m exceptionally beautiful, and Gara and I both inherited group sex our mother’s long legs and full protruding front. But Hoola is next to me, and even better endowed than I am. So what is it about me in particular that seems to cast a spell on these men? I follow Hoola forward, instinct keeping me close to her. Although the men all continue to watch, no one approaches us while we buy drinks. According to my briefing the men were expected to instigate the courting. Perhaps the information was incorrect. The bar is meant for a place for social meeting and interaction, but the groups seem to be keeping largely to themselves – ship crews each spreading to fill one of the circular tables. There’s nowhere to sit with them unless strangers make a place for us. The other Gaianesian women here are drinking separately, standing in small gaggles, although I can hear them giggling loudly and the more brazen are glancing towards the humans with open speculation. Perhaps we should ask our own species about courtship behavior. A woman crossing the floor jostles me, a human female in the brown overalls of a ship crew. I look after indian her and instead of apologizing she scowls at me before making her way to her busy table. I begin to think our plan will not be successful and the males will only watch, and not request to mate with me. “What now?” I ask Hoola anxiously, having to talk loudly over the music. “We wait for someone to make a move,” she shouts back. “But no one wants to talk to us,” I worry. “I’m sure it won’t be long. We’ve only been here a couple of minutes.” She has more confidence than I do about our attractiveness as sexual partners, but it turns out she’s right, for she’s barely finished this exchange when the first contender – a giant blue alien, looms over us. “Are you ladies looking for something unusual?” he asks. “His voice is raspy, as though he has laryngitis. “My penis is eighteen inches long and three inches thick.” Given we have no other takers I’m already pondering whether my vagina could tolerate penetration by something of that girth, but Hoola says firmly “I don’t think so”. And the blue alien seems to expect this rejection, for he is already moving away towards a circle of Gaianesian women who seem half hysterical with laughter that he’s chosen them to approach. Uncertainly I watch after him, hoping Hoola hasn’t just blown our only chance. But I’ve been worrying for no reason. Any suspicions Lucilla might’ve had about my identity were squashed with the master stroke of social ineptitude. … The room was spinning a bit and Julie knew that she had drunk just a little bit too much. “Pig. James feared that Lilith was truly done with group sex him, that there was no going back. Oh, God. They walked up two more flights of stairs and made it to Julianne's room. She’d only left a note, she hadn’t faced me. “Sorry babe, I’m outta here, gotta move on,” was all it said. What would be worse, telling him I indian wanted him to ass fuck his sister, hurt her, the way he had done me, or admitting I wanted to suck him off again? This is what you get with Catholics. Judging from the color and styles, I noted that it was one of the more feminine garments. Not as firm.