“I was worried for me too,” I reply, which was no lie. I was very hungry then.

“You can always eat, Wife,” he whispers again. “Females’ bodies aren’t meant to be so lean.”

I don’t know if he knows about my love for the chocolate and strawberry dessert or if I just look like a hungry woman, but what he says is a turn-on for me. I don’t say anything but grind my hips back against his penises. He makes a sound of appreciation, and I’m glad we both feel this equally.

My Commander’s hands move down to stroke me across my folds, and he soaps up my pubic hair but then stops. I wonder what’s going on, so I turn my head, “Commander?”

“Husband,” he corrects me with a playful swat on my butt cheek, which echoes in the bathroom.

“Husband,” I say obediently.

“I assume your vagina is a self-cleaning organ, but I don’t know much about Water women’s biology. This is why we both need a lesson later. I don’t want to ruin anything by adding soap.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised that he would know or care about this. “You’re right; no soap inside.”

“Good, I love how you smell and wouldn’t want to clean it away with this poor substitute for the real thing.”

I miss some of his words, and I realize that I’ve never learned sexual words in my language program. I know the name for my body parts and his, clinically speaking, but that’s it. If he uses any slang or sexual positions, I won’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. But knowing my Commander, he’d like that.

My Commander lathers up my thighs, legs, and feet. He takes his time just as he did before and although the orgasm feeling has passed, I’m still very much aroused. When he finishes, he rises and washes my long hair. It’s never been this long before, and I don’t know the fashion on the Home Planet, whether this is seen as beautiful to have long hair or if it’s like back home that it can be very clearly a sign that you are too poor to cut it. He doesn’t say one way or the other but just sensually washes it as if I am a mermaid who has seduced him into these menial tasks.

By the time the dryer kicks on, which feels like glorious, heated waves raining down on us, I turn and put both hands on either one of his cheeks, and I want to say, ‘Kiss me,’ but I realize I don’t know this word either, so I just look up at him and try to bring his face toward mine.

I’m surprised that he resists. Then he puts his hands on mine and disengages himself. “We will have a biology lesson,” he says, kissing my forehead chastely and holding me close against his naked body.

When we finish the bathroom, we dress one another in the wardrobe. He is wearing his uniform, but he has bought me a beautiful navy-blue dress with long flowing sleeves and a simple silver belt. It was sent up with other clothes from the Home Planet while we slept. I look at myself in the mirror and think it makes me look like I’m going to a Renaissance Fair; however, I trust him to choose correctly for me. What do I know about Silver females’ fashions besides what my friend has told me about what the rich and famous wear?