The space liner, Tecumseh, was in port at Or, the chief metropolis of the Orion system. The city teemed with millions of people: descendants of the original Earth colonists, native Orians, and mixed breeds of the two races. It hadn't taken the colonists long to learn that they could bed and breed with the natives, and now the city was reknown through the galaxy for its wild nightlife full of gaiety, festivities, and refreshments like none other. This night the taverns were crowded with the passengers and crew of the Tecumseh.
The Star Dust Lounge was a ballroom of prodigious proportions which nightly featured concerts and dance combos. The great hall was far from filled tonight, but still thousands of people were under its roof. At one of the bars, two mechanics from the space liner were enjoying their liberty by drinking. Occasionally, one of them, Swipe, would stuff a plug of narcotic snuff up a nostril, sneeze, then feel the tingle of the drug working through his nervous system.
"Want a plug?" Swipe asked his partner, Pied.
"Na, the liquor works well enough for me." He lifted his drink, finished it, then rattled the ice in the glass to attract the bartender's attention.
"In port for three days; a good lay over on this planet. What d'you think?"
"Sure. The ol' tub needs a rest, too. It's hard work for her to tote those pleasure seekers across the galaxy." Pied paid for his drink, took a swig. "Now what was I saying? Sure, we need the rest, too."
"Look who passed us, Pied!"
"Just another passenger. There are hundreds from the ship in here."
"But only one like him. Don't you know who he is? Rybold Halter, that's who."
"Who's he?" asked Pied over the rim of his glass.
Swipe stared at his friend, then slowly shook his head. "I may be just a greasy mechanic, but I know my entertainers. Why, he and his old lady were the best dancers in the galaxy."
"Were, you say?"
Swipe leaned close to his partner and whispered, "She sucked the void."
Pied took a long drink. "I can think of worse ways to do yourself in. At least her suicide was fast."
"Rumor has it that Rybold over there hasn't danced a step since she kicked off. Never will again, either."
"I'm going to ask him to dance."
As Pied turned, Swipe clutched his shirt sleeve and almost pulled him off the barstool. "You're drunk, Pied. A man like him is respectable."
"He ain't God," said Pied jerking his arm free. "Just you look at the way he's packing those drinks away." He stood up and walked over to Rybold.
"Mister Halter," said Pied as he approached Rybold. "You don't know me, sir, but I'm crew on the Tecumseh. I was wondering, since this combo has a fine beat, if you would like to dance a number."
Rybold swiveled on his stool, turning his back to Pied, then muttered into his drink, "Leave me alone."
"But I'd love to watch you dance."
"I don't dance anymore. Now please, leave me alone."
Pied sauntered back to Swipe, saying, "He won't even hear it. Another drink, bartender! Such a shame; the music's pretty good, too."
"Of course it is; I brought you here. I know my entertainment," said Swipe.
"Maybe he'd consider dancing if a young woman asked him."
"Possibly." Swipe plugged his nose again, sneezed.
"We can offer her a few credits."
"Who?" He sneezed again.
"A native gal. Some are quite lovely, quite a novelty to a tourist, and they'd die for intergalactic credits."
"Well why don't you ask her," and Swipe pointed at a young Orian sitting alone at a nearby table.
As the trill soloist walked on stage, the ballroom grew quiet. For just a moment the performer was silhouetted against the light rays streaming into the crowd, then he lay supinely before the projector and lifted the trill to his mouth. The triple-piped instrument rose vertically from his face and captured a beam of light. A lone, high note sounded, echoing against the curvature of the ballroom's dome, then fell as cascading colors. The trill was in tune, and now the musician let her fly. Streaks of colors accompanied or preceded the piece's melodies. The pipes shot bursts of exploding light, reminiscent of ancient Roman candle flares, against the dome. The music relaxed and soothed; alternately it invigorated and stimulated; the music was whatever one wanted it to be.
The crowd listened and felt and saw. The tinkle of ice against glass was silent; feet didn't tap out rhythms on the floor; the endless chatter diminished. When the piece finally reached a crescendo, the musician arose, flicked off the projector, bowed and left the stage. The ballroom returned to life.
A beautiful woman sat on the stool next to Rybold. She was neatly dressed, but the material of her clothing was indigenous to Orion and inferior to imported Earth textiles. She looked at the bartender to catch his attention, but he was busy. She turned to Rybold.
"Hi, my name is Gineta."
"Hello," said Rybold. He glanced at her but didn't smile.
"Don't you think that trill player was excellent? But you know, I hope he doesn't play again because I'm too sensitive to his music. My insides want to flow out when he plays."
"I know what you mean. We humans call it crying, and he nearly brought me to tears. Do you Orians cry?"
"We are very alike, you humans and us. Different in some subtle ways, but we do cry, too." She swiveled her stool toward the passing bartender and called out: "Can I get a Kubourna, bartender?"
"Put it on my tab" said Rybold, "and get me another Scotch."
"Thank you, kind sir," said Gineta, "but I don't even know your name."
"I'm Rybold, but just call me Ry."
The combo resumed playing, and the dance floor filled. Laughter and loud voices rose above the music; the crackle of splashing glass sounded close to the bar, and someone mourned for his lost drink.
"Thank you," said Gineta as the bartender brought their drinks. "But Ry, you don't need to buy me this."
Rybold quickly looked her over noting her ample bosom beneath the coarse homespun peasant blouse she wore. Ry had heard snickered stories about the Orians' breasts, and he quickly broke his stare. "No, I have more credits than I can spend. I insist this is my treat." Many of the cruise passengers were formally attired, and for a second a sorrowful look creased Ry's face.
Gineta noticed his look, knew that the natives were often looked down on. "I don't want your charity, Ry, I can't accept your drink, especially since we haven't even danced yet." Now the hook was set.
Rybold lifted his drink and let the alcohol wash down the bile which had arisen in his throat. When he said nothing, Gineta continued, "Will you dance the next number with me? I won't mind you buying my drink then."
"No, I… I don't dance."
"You're kidding? You don't know how," she assumed, "Let me show you, it's really easy." She stirred the mixer in her drink, then sipped the milky liquid.
"Is that drink good?" asked Ry, trying to change the subject. "I've noticed several people ordering Kubournas, but I have never tasted one."
"Take a sip from mine," she said handing him her glass. And when he had it against his lower lip, said, "Are you sure you won't dance with me?
He gulped the liquor. "Certain. Now please, don't ask me again." Rybold set the glass before her.
"Did you like the drink?"
"Very much. As a matter of fact, that's going to be my next drink."
Rybold looked at her closely, noting the velvet texture to her skin which was so unlike human skin, much more like a close shorn fur. Her features were classic human, though, and it was easy to forget for a second that she was of an alien race. "Are you from the city of Or?" he asked.
"Yes," Gineta replied softly, lowering her eyes and chin.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. It's just that I don't like people asking about me, not really caring, feeling sorry for me. Humans can be so condescending without even knowing it. If I tell someone about myself, it comes from here," she touched her breast, "and I give a lot. It hurts to lose my respect futilely." She finished her drink and set it down with a thud. "But you can't understand that, can you?"
Ry was still staring at her breasts which were heaving more and more as Gineta grew excited and spoke faster. Finally, Ry gazed into her eyes and was shocked to notice they were moist, mirroring his own eyes. "But I do understand. I was very close to someone once; she was that way too: sensitive. Actually, a Sensual."
"Please…" Gineta touched his forearm, looked at his face closely, noticing for the first time his moist eyes.
"Okay, I got carried away." Rybold managed a weak smile. "Barkeep, I'd like two Kubournas."
When the drinks came, they enjoyed them while they sat and watched each other. The activity of the crowd, the music, the dancing; it all seemed so far away, so apart from them. In their own comfort zone, magic flowed between them; the magic which only flows when two people feel strongly about each other.
Gineta spoke in a languid tone, "I'd like to dance with you; feel your body pressed against mine; bury my head in your shoulder; smell you smell; follow your lead."
Ry's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as if he were stunned by the realization, "you're a Sensual! I'm sorry I've been so blind! I didn't mean to…"
"That's all right; no harm. Most people can't tell about me and never know how I experience emotions, how I feed off of them for good or for bad."
"Let's dance," said Ry
Later, they lay on the floor of a small and intimate room of the Solarium, an immense structure whose domed ceiling seemingly unfolded to the infinite space of the universe. They were naked…
Rybold felt the soft touch on Gineta as her fingertips caressed the base of his penis, her nails scratching his bristling pubic hairs. An intensity, a wave of feelings pressed from deep within his gonads. Martha, my wife, why? How come? I loved you so, didn't you know?
Gineta's fingertips travelled along his shaft, touching lightly, a pleasing yet teasing feel… stopping before the ridge collar on the head of his shaft. The pressure of her fingers brought the pulse of pressure, a throb which rhythmically pounded a beat of feeling flowing from his gonads. It wasn't a cumming for Rybold, yet it was so much more. I didn't know how to love you, I did love you, just couldn't say it or express it. Why was I so foolish, Martha? How could I let you and your love slip from me, to hurt you so, to forsake all you gave me?
Rybold's body tensed. Every movement, even if ever so slight, brought intense waves of emotional pleasure. Her hand hardly moved along his shaft. She felt him with a feather tipped touch, yet the tingles travelled deep. The energies flowed from her to him, arousing his emotions which entered her deeply. She greedily sucked it in. I'm sorry, Martha, so sorry. If I could take back your pain, I would. Didn't mean to cause it, didn't want you to hurt so much.
Rybold stared into the universe, the starry night sky above. The throbbing pressure in his penis, the tingling pleasure whenever a part of his body stretched or even moved was so intense… yet a tear formed to moisten the rim of his eyelid. Gineta's face blocked his view of the universe. She seemingly hovered a foot away as she slowly moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, a tongue which slowly left the cave of it's mouth behind and expanded as it reach down — not quite snake like, but close — and licked the salty tear on his eyelid, smothering it in saliva. Two normally indiscernible pulses joined as one, his from an eyelid, hers from a tongue. Her slithering brought a flow of his tears. Martha why, why, why? I didn't mean it! You could tell I loved you, couldn't you? You felt it all, you were sensitive, a Sensual. How could you leave me like that?
Overcoming tears and pleasure, Rybold shifted from his back, rolled on top of the naked Gineta. His hands cupped a breast as his mouth sought her tit. Her nipple wasn't like a human's nipple… where an areola should have been was a ring of small nipples, eight in all, which his tongue eagerly licked. Rybold's lips parted to take the entire studded ring of nips into his mouth and sucked hard, feeling her arching forward thrust. Her breast seemingly swelled into his mouth, filling it all, tickling his throat with cilia of nipples.
The soft touch of her fingertips on his penis now became of grasp, a clutch, a throttle. Her entire hand pressed then eased, then pressed again as her breast thrust deeply into his mouth. Tears now freely flowed down his cheek, wetting her breast. Gineta released her hold on his shaft, pushed on his shoulders, freed her breast from Rybold's mouth.
"Do you want me?" she asked.
"I do, I do," he replied.
"You know I bring pain. I can't stop that, it will come."
"I don't care anymore," he said, "I want to feel again."
And then she kissed him, lip to lip, moistening their touch with her ample tongue. He took it all as she pressed, probing snake like into his mouth with all six inches of tongue. She licked the roof of his mouth, tickled the back of his throat. He nearly gagged, but tried to lick her tongue's underside with his tongue. The entwinement was fun. She retracted most from his mouth, leaving only the tip to touch his tip, a playful gesture. Martha you were the best I ever had. We did dance so well, didn't we? And we carried our dance into the bedroom, too. How could I ever have sought another? Why couldn't I commit to you only and show you how I felt?
Gineta rolled Rybold onto his back, took the lead and his shaft in hand, then mounted him. It was a bit rough. Even though Rybold wasn't very big, just normal sized, Gineta was none to yielding. Entry was difficult, a tad painful for both. Then, with a cry, Gineta dropped her weight on him, cowgirl style, and pelvis to pelvis they joined. A few strokes and it was over; the waves of pressure and throbbing all exploded into a release. Rybold lay drained as Gineta leaned into him and softly kissed his lips.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said. "Feel better now."
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/supernatural/to-dance-and-to-feel.aspx">To Dance and To Feel</a>