FRENCHY by Olney George

Author:Olney, George [Olney, George]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

Next to her, Grae was also thinking. By now, he knew Frenchy's attitude towards bondage. He could have kicked himself. He'd unconsciously been treating her like she was Tribal, but she certainly was not and he wasn't realizing that little fact until lately. He'd created a number of problems with that boneheaded lack of vision, too. Something he had to fix. She needed to be honorably unbound as soon as possible, something he had to find a way to do soon. Bondage was a wrongness for this particular woman. Maybe he could find a way to follow Custom and still let him follow his own path. His mind shied away from examining the end to that path. It was preordained and something he didn't want to examine too closely. Better to enjoy the moment. The future had little enough pleasure in it.

#####

Seated on a night stool Frenchy applied a dab of make-up, made one last check in the mirror above the elaborately carved dresser, and she was ready to face the crowd at Seventhnight. Her new family, Frenchy thought, making a wry face at herself. Another thought caused her to sigh briefly.

"Why the sigh?" Grae was lying on the bed, sitting up against the headboard, hands behind his head and the picture of complete relaxation. He was watching her get ready and from the natural way he did it, Frenchy briefly wondered if it was a common male pastime. In the past, she was never with one man long enough to know.

"Oh... wishing I could really dress up and show off for your people. Back home there was this little frock..."

He snorted. "Which would be wasted. Nobody cares about dressing up. It's considered a Galactic affectation.

"Besides," he grinned, "you're already wearing your best outfit. Some of Nature's finest handiwork."

She heard a laugh from the now open doorway. "That line is as old as the hills, daughter. His father has oft used it to woo me these many years."

From behind her, Frenchy heard Grae's calm voice. "Hello, Mother. Just because Father uses it doesn't mean it's still not true. In both cases, I might add."

Frenchy turned to greet the woman she still had a problem thinking of as her adopted mother and stopped dead, her mouth slightly agape. Grete was as nude as she was.

Grete breezed into the room and plopped to a seat at the edge of the bed. She rested her hands primly on her clasped knees and regarded her new daughter with a twinkle in her eye. "Here, lass, such a shocked expression? Wouldst think you'd never seen the female form undraped. Or is't my advanced age renders such exposure unseemly?"

Frenchy was fast on the recovery. "Considering what I've done in my life, I've seen more than my share of nude women. No, by the way, you certainly are perfectly suited to what you aren't wearing. I just didn't think anyone would do it if they didn't have to."

Grete, literally in the flesh, was in as excellent shape, as spectacularly Junoesque as Frenchy, and completely unconcerned at her lack of clothing.

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