They had rolled so that Mary was on top now, and she maneuvered until she was sitting up, straddling Ponter’s chest. She reached for the top button on her blouse. It came free easily, and Mary looked down. She could see her little gold crucifix—the one she’d bought recently to replace the one she’d given Ponter on his first visit—sitting against the inverted triangle of white flesh the opening in her shirt exposed.

She undid a second button, and the shirt fell open wider, revealing parts of her plain white bra.

Mary looked down at Ponter, trying to read his expression, but he was looking at her chest, such as it was, and the overhang of his browridge made it impossible for her to see his eyes. Was he looking at her with pleasure, or with dismay? She had no idea how buxom Neanderthal women usually were, but judging by Ambassador Prat, they had a lot of body hair, and Mary’s chest was hairless.

And then, in the half darkness, she heard Ponter speak, in his own voice, “You are beautiful.”

Mary felt the concern, the inhibition, draining from her. She undid the remaining buttons and then reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. She let it slide off her breasts, and Ponter’s hands moved up her stomach, reaching them, cupping them, weighing them in his hands. And then he pulled her down, shimmying her down his torso, and his wide mouth found her left breast, and Mary gasped, and he sucked its entirety into his mouth and teased and caressed it with his tongue.

And then his mouth shifted to her right breast, his tongue tracing a wet path across the flatness between the two of them, and he found her other nipple and drew it between his lips and sucked gently on it, and Mary felt electricity running up and down her spine.

Although Ponter was still fully clothed, Mary could feel his erection pressing against her thigh. She was suddenly desperate to see it; she’d seen him naked before, when they were quarantined together at Reuben’s house, but never when he was aroused. She pushed herself up with her arms, her nipple slipping from between Ponter’s lips, and shifted herself down his frame so that her hands were free to work upon his waist. But she was flummoxed about how to undo his pants; he’d shed his medical belt as soon as he arrived in the room, but his pants lacked a clasp—although the bulge of his penis was certainly obvious.

Ponter laughed, reached down, and did something to the garment, and suddenly it was loose about his waist. He arched his back and pulled it down over his hips, and—

And apparently Neanderthals didn’t wear underwear.

Ponter was massive—thick and long. He was uncircumcised although his purpling glans was sticking well past the foreskin just now. Mary ran the flat of her hand slowly down the length of his penis, feeling it move with each beat of his heart.

She then shifted off of him, and helped pull his pants the rest of the way down. His feet were enclosed in pouches attached to the pant legs, belted tight in two places, but he quickly dealt with those. Now, he was naked from the waist down—and Mary was naked from the waist up. She slipped her legs off the bed, and stood up, quickly kicking off her shoes and unfastening her skirt, which she let drop to the floor. Ponter’s eyes were locked on her body, and she saw them go wide. Mary looked down and laughed; she was wearing simple beige panties and in the dim light it looked as though she was completely smooth and featureless down there. She hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband, and pulled the panties down, revealing—

She’d heard that it was fashionable these days for women to trim away much of their pubic hair; she’d once heard Howard Stern refer to what was left as a “landing strip.” But Mary did nothing but neaten up the edges when she shaved her legs, and for the first time, she realized, Ponter was seeing thick body hair on a Gliksin female. He smiled, clearly delighted by the discovery, and rolled off the bed, standing as well. He touched the shoulders of his upper garment in a certain way, and they split open like Bruce Banner’s shirt, falling apart, and dropping to the carpeted floor.

And now they were standing, with a meter between them, both completely naked, except for Ponter’s Companion and the bandage on Ponter’s shoulder, where he’d been shot. Ponter closed the distance between them, taking Mary again in his arms, and they tumbled sideways onto the bed.

Mary wanted him inside her—but not yet, not so soon. They had lots of time, and whatever tiredness had originally prompted Mary to call it a night had completely evaporated. But, still, how did Neanderthals make love? What, if anything was taboo, or considered disgusting? She decided to let Ponter lead, but he, too, was hesitating, presumably concerned by the same question, and finally Mary found herself doing something she’d never initiated before, working her tongue down Ponter’s muscular, hairy torso, across the washboard contours of his stomach. After a moment’s hesitation, giving Ponter a chance to stop her should he wish, she opened her mouth wide and slid it over his penis.

Ponter let out a contented sigh. Mary had performed fellatio before on Colm, but always halfheartedly, doing it because she knew he enjoyed it but deriving no pleasure from the process herself. This time, though, she devoured Ponter eagerly, passionately, enjoying the rhythmic bobbing of his massive organ and the salt taste of his skin. But she didn’t want to finish him this way, and, if he were half as excited as she was, he would doubtless come soon if she continued. Mary let his penis exit her mouth in one long, slow, final slurp, and she looked up at him and smiled. He rolled her over and reciprocated, his tongue finding her clitoris at once and flicking against it. She gasped a little—only because she made a conscious effort not to gasp a lot. Ponter alternated between rapidly moving his tongue up and down and nibbling at her labia.

Mary was enjoying every second of it, but she didn’t want to come this way, not her first time with him. She wanted him inside her. Ponter seemed to be thinking exactly the same thing, as he lifted his face from her and looked up, his beard glistening in the darkness with her moisture.

She’d expected him to simply shimmy up toward her, pushing his penis within as he did so, but he suddenly rolled her on her front. Mary gasped again, but this time just in surprise. She’d never had anal sex before and wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to. But suddenly Ponter’s hands were sliding over her bottom, reaching around front, and pulling her up so that she was squatting on all fours, and his long penis pushed into her vagina from behind. Mary found herself grunting as she took his girth, but she was also relieved that they hadn’t moved into new sexual territory. His hands reached from behind, cupping her breasts as he pumped in and out of her. Mary and Colm had occasionally tried it doggy style, but Colm’s penis hadn’t been long enough to really please her when they did it like that. But Ponter—

Wonderful, wonderful Ponter!

In her fantasies of this moment—fantasies she’d tried to dismiss from her mind each time they’d occurred—she’d always pictured them doing it in the missionary position, his mouth smothering hers as he jack hammered into her, but—

But it was called the missionary position for a reason; it wasn’t the favored sexual posture even everywhere on this Earth.

Ponter must have been wondering about the same thing. He spoke softly, and Hak translated just as softly. Still, the realization that Ponter’s Companion was conscious of everything they were doing caused Mary’s back to stiffen for a moment. She’d never done it with anyone watching before, and she’d successfully dissuaded Colm the two times he’d broached the topic of videotaping their lovemaking.

“Is this,” Hak’s voice had said, on Ponter’s behalf, “how you do it?”