"It's a pleasure being with you," she said, responding to his thought as she rode his stained but standing member.
"You're not jaded the way Glamor men are. Your feelings are open and honest, and your delight in sex becomes mine.
You are realistic about my nature. You make a nice plaything."
"Appreciation," he said wryly, though he knew what she meant.
"Clarification: when I said I might take you, I did not mean by force. I would not do that to my sister even if I could. It would have to be your choice."
"But this is merely a month long affair with a natural end scheduled. You have no obligation to continue the game beyond that."
"It is not a game to me any more."
He paused, still deep within her. She was not playing a game with Havoc. Now she was not playing a game with Fifth. "Question?"
"I would accept you, if you chose me. You would never be the first man in my fancy but you could be my husband and father of three of my children. You would never lack for attention or support. Or sex. I do not use the word love now, but it would come if I let it. And I would. You understand the constraints."
"Wonder," he said. She was serious.
"I have spoken my piece. There is no deadline, no coercion. I will not expire in grief if you choose Flame, though I would like to think we could still have no fault trysts. I will know when you decide, and accept it, either way." She looked down, and changed the subject. "But no more dead stick. Perform." Her vagina squeezed his member like a hungry mouth, rousing it after its prior performance in the juice.
He tried to tease her, at least in this manner, by remaining passive, but her hot flesh massaged his penis as she lifted and descended, letting it almost escape, then plunging down again to measure the full depth, repeatedly, forcing his repeat orgasm. Then she lay on him and kissed him.
"I will consider," he said. Had he had to decide at this moment, he would have committed to her. But he knew she wanted him to weigh his options carefully, just as Flame had, so that he could decide what he truly wanted.
"Nu-uh," she said, frowning prettily. "You can't marry us both."
He laughed, but his secret wish remained. How could he choose between them?
Next day was the dance. Fifth and Weft were given a place on the schedule before the couples paired off. They had a presentation to make.
He was a Black Chroma man, an easy role. Weft was a White Chroma woman, her hair and skin becoming completely white along with her clothing. That did not conceal her beauty, which was outstanding; Weft was actually one of the loveliest women on the planet. She did the narration.
"It was the interChroma dance. Every couple had to be two Chroma. They could change partners, but only among the other Chroma, whether they danced, snacked, conversed, or walked. So it happened that a sixteen year old White Chroma girl danced with a seventeen year old Black Chroma boy."
She moved to Fifth, and they danced together, while the village musicians played their instruments, black and white. They made a handsome mixed Chroma couple, Black and White. Fifth was an excellent dancer, and so was Weft; they did a marvelously sophisticated number that had the villagers, black and white, applauding.
"It was the last dance before a break," Weft continued. "So by custom those partners remained together; only when the dancing resumed could they change partners again. They were stuck with each other." She made a face, and there was laughter. Many forced temporary couples were reluctant, but this pair was obviously compatible.
"So they took a walk between the Chroma zones, holding hands, a pretty girl and a handsome man. Naturally once they were out of sight of others, they let go; neither was participating by preference.
"Then something happened. They did not know they were passing a newly-sprung bed of passion flowers. All they knew was that suddenly they had passion for each other that would not be denied."
Fifth and Weft embraced and kissed, evincing that passion. They remained close for long enough to signal to the audience that more than a kiss was occurring. Such subtle signals became important when Moral Villagers were watching.
"Then they separated. 'This can't be,' the girl said. 'We are of different Chroma.'
"'InterChroma marriage is known,' he said.
"'Then perhaps there is hope. But best that this be secret, for now.'
"'Best,' he agreed.
"They agreed to meet at the same place two days thence. The girl longed for the tryst, for she had fallen in love with Carl. She consoled herself in the interim by singing a song."
Now Weft brought out her hammer dulcimer and donned the finger hammers. She played her own accompaniment as she sang the old Earth folk song "To the Woodland".
Fifth saw the villagers abruptly mesmerized. Weft was one of the most beautiful women of the planet, but she was the best singer. Every nuance was apt and compelling. The simple melody became heart-warmingly evocative in her rendition.
She repeated the refrain, and Fifth, prompted by her thought to him, stepped into a bright patch of sunlight. At that moment he was illuminated, a handsome Black Chroma man being serenaded by a breathtakingly beautiful woman.
There was something about the inflections as she played and sang that was utterly charming. Fifth had known she was expert, but not how moving her song could be. He saw the villagers responding, sharing her sheer joy of anticipation.
"But when she went there, he did not appear." Weft paused. "She did not know that he had gone to his father, to ask permission to marry her. Instead his father had forbidden him to see the girl again. The boy dared not disobey. So he had come, but remained out of her sight, suffering. He heard her song of anguish."
Now she sang again, playing her dulcimer, while Fifth stood a little apart, facing away from her. He was being out of sight. It was the song "Waly Waly," familiar to the villagers, but not when sung as passionately as this.
And of course that would be never. Weft hung her head, evincing grief, while Fifth stood shaking with mirrored grief. It was heart-rending lost love, made more poignant by the stunning loveliness of the mourner.