15

So, thought Deeter, that was what the fuss was about.

The drug had worn off by now. He felt light-headed and tired and somewhat foolish. He had had sex before, but not with a girl close to his own age. For once he was thankful for the strange teachings he had absorbed from his "physical education" mistress. It was part of life, even for the peasants where he grew up, to have an older man or woman deal with sixteen-year-olds for a summer. There was absolutely no romance to it, nothing like the stuttering dances and balls that came after. "Coming of age" indeed.

Timbella was bathing. Or "showering". Indoor plumbing continued to fascinate him. Not that he'd never had a shower before, but only during the trips of long hunting parties. After a week in the wilderness, you were glad to be sprayed down by the shower bags that had been warming in the sun. But servants squeezed the bags to rinse you off. He almost wanted to join her, but she had given him a frosty look before marching off. Unwarranted, he felt, considering the circumstances.

He supposed it would be best for him to shower as well, but part of the reason he didn't want to go it along was his ignorance. He almost went in to sneak a peek at the water, but she'd locked the door. He sighed and sat back on the sofa. "Futon," she'd called it. It folded out into a more bedlike shape, and they hadn't yet replaced it. He hadn't seen how she'd done that anyway.

It had been drilled into his head that one did not do what he just did, except with someone you planned to marry. The accidental pregnancy was the main reason. Any woman who conceived had a claim to you, no matter what. But they had used "protection" so he wasn't overly concerned. It was hard to shake off all that programming, anyway. Or he thought it would be. But with someone not brought up that way, in a culture where "protection" made sure any encounter ended without issue... She had made the first move. Or had he? It was impossible to be sure, even without the drug oddity.

Timbella came out, dressed, her curls weighed down by water. "You're beautiful," he said.

"Oh please, don't get started on that shit." She handed him a towel. "Go ahead."

He marched firmly to the bathroom and locked the door. Shower stall. Not a bath at all. The wetness gave him an indication of where to go. He closed the door behind him, and made the brilliant deduction to turn the knobs with "H" and "C" on them. He yelped as unbearably hot water sprayed him from high above. After a moment of fiddling, the water felt fine. Better than fine. He had not had a warm bath in a month, merely sponging himself down when he had the chance. "Shower gel" was squeezed into his hands, and worked into a lather all around his body and into his hair. Weeks of accumulated dirt came off. Before this he had thought he had been keeping clean enough, but clearly this was not the case. He felt slightly embarrassed and hoped Timbella hadn't minded too much.

The water began to get a bit cooler, so he shut it off. Luxuriating in an apparently endless supply - apparently it was not quite so endless. He used the towel to dry off, then wrapped it around himself and went back out. Timbella had replaced the futon and was drinking something.

"Tea?"

"In a moment," he said, fiddling in his bag for the other set of clothes he carried with him. He dressed himself in front of her, trying to ignore her gaze. Finally he was dressed and sat next to her. She gave him a cup and he sipped it. Warm and grassy tasting. But pleasant, like everything had been since he came to her place.

"OK, Deeter, I think I need to know some more about you."

He put the cup down and sighed.