Chapter 6

	They had stopped to get a pizza, then went to Frama's home.  It was a well-maintained single story house nearly an hour away from the university, near the edge of the city.  When they had first started dating, he had asked her if she was worried her neighbors would guess he was a student of hers.  She was a bit confused, why would any of her neighbors know her profession?  Nemesians had different ideas about small talk, and usually avoided talking about their jobs outside of work.  The only concern she had was that he would do something to draw attention to them while at the university.  He did have a bad habit of staring at her in class.
	It was a stupid thing for her to do, and would cost her career if exposed.  She never thought she would do something like this, but she never expected a human man to be interested in a woman three times his age either.  Aliens, they didn't think in ways you would consider logical, but they had their own ideas about logic.  It has the biggest hurdle in being in a relationship with a human, you had to realize it wasn't just a nemesian man in a funny costume.  They weren't just different physically, they were different mentally.  Her name had been pulled off of the potential breeding lists decades ago.  She had past the point where she might have possibly won the love of a nemesian man and had him for life, and she had resigned herself to a life alone.
	Then this confusing human had stopped by her office after the third day of class to proclaim his love for her.  It was unexpected, usually the humans tried this shit at the end of the year to try and bribe her for a better grade.  She never took the offers, and more or less threatened to inform administration that they had tried to influence their grades.  Always put a stop to that non-sense.  But he seemed more interested in bedding her than getting some benefit out of it.  She figured he was probably a bit warped in the head.  Rather than the usual threat, she let him down gently, letting him know she couldn't sleep with students.  She thought letting him know just how old she was would cool his desire, but he didn't react in the least when she told him.  He just told her he was in love with her again.
	He didn't push the issue, at least not directly.  He didn't hound her at all hours, he didn't stalk her, he wasn't in her office at every chance.  Instead, she always saw him staring at her in class with a faint smile.  Always.  Even when half the class was falling asleep due to the dry material, he was fully focused on her.  After decades of the occasional sexual encounter with another woman, it was flattering to get that sort of attention from a man.  Even if it was an alien.  Her first mistake was letting herself fantasize about him while masturbating.  After that, feeling his eyes on her made her feel awkward, like he knew what she did.  She knew full well he didn't, but the way he stared at her with that slight smile made her feel like he did.  It didn't take long before he was a regular fixture in her fantasies.  Her job only got more awkward, she could feel herself blush when she met his eyes during class.
	It was a paltry three weeks into the class when she discretely passed him a message with some returned homework.  It was a simple preposition.  If he could keep his mouth shut about it, and avoid doing anything to arouse suspicion while at school, she was open to the idea.  She didn't think he would try to take advantage of her for better grades, he was already at the top of the class.  That weekend he came over to her house, and she found out exactly how passionate he was about her.  For the first time ever, she had to ask a male to stop.  She was greatly enjoying herself, but she was starting to worry about having a heart attack after he had been showing her how he felt about her for nearly three hours.  They spent the rest of the night and most of the weekend together in bed talking.
	The differences, so many differences.  They both learned what was acceptable and not for each other.  He wanted to compliment her on her silver and white fur, she hated the reminder that she was old.  She wanted to compliment his penis, but learned quickly there were very few "accepted" compliments a human man would take about the subject.  Discussing what went on in their bedroom in public was weird for him, pulling out of her after she finally relaxed her muscles was considered rude to her.  Every time they found common ground, they found a small quirk where they would never find agreement.  Mistakes were made.  She nearly cried after playfully headbutting him in the chest and accidentally drawing blood with her antler nubs.  He got kicked with her sharp hooves after accidentally discovering that she was very ticklish and REALLY hated being tickled.  He needed a bandage after that.  They had learned about each other.  They had been together for months, but they were still learning.
	After eating dinner, she sat in his lap with his arms around her on the couch, watching yet another generic romantic comedy show that made up the majority of nemesian television.  Occasionally, he asked her to "translate" a joke.  Physical comedy, sight gags, those things seemed to be universal.  But he often looked confused as to why the audience was laughing.  Some nemesian humor just didn't translate, even after she explained the joke.  Why in the hell was it so funny to everyone that someone was thinking about suicide?  "It's not even being played for a joke!" he protested.  Sometimes the explanations got complex, since they involved the way nemesians looked at things as well as some old philosophy references.  Sometimes she had no idea how to explain the joke.  How do you explain to an alien that a blue rock is funny?  They understood why a pratfall was funny, why not this?  It was like trying to explain differences in color to someone who sees an entirely different range of light.  Which was a good comparison, since humans couldn't see detail at a distance worth a damn.
	Later on, she took a shower while he worked on some of his homework from another class.  After drying herself off, she exited to her bedroom to find him sitting on the bed, with a set of handcuffs attached to each corner of the frame.  She liked where this was headed.
	"So...no point in me putting on clothes?"
	He smiled and patted the bed.
	"Not yet at least."
	She let the towel drop to the floor, and climbed onto the center of the bed, rolling onto her back and shifting into a comfortable position, stretching out her arms and legs.  He kissed her for a little bit, then reached over and cuffed her left arm to the bed.  She wondered what he had planned.  He did have a tendency to grab her by the ass, lift her hips off of the bed, and lick her between the legs for ages when he had her restrained.  She was hesitant the first time he suggested it, what if something were to happen to him while she was tied up?  But she relented, and soon had a new fetish.  It fit quite well with her biggest fetish, so it worked quite well for her.  As much as he loved her, he still laughed about how large her porn collection was, and what it's main focus was.  Frama had a fetish for getting pheromone bombed.  She owned a nearly complete collection of every professionally produced human/nemesian porno that involved the breathing mask coming off.  Even a number of rarer titles that had been pulled from the market for various reasons.  She was a bit obsessed.
	With a final click of a cuff locking around her ankle, she was fully restrained to her bed.  Her arms and legs were held far enough apart that she couldn't offer any meaningful resistance, but not tightly tied since he was always concerned about hurting her.  He brought himself up to her face, kissing her again.  He broke away, and started kissing his way down her body.  She tilted her head back, arching her back up at him.  She knew what was coming, and once again thanked whatever gods may exist that he was so very willing to lick her so very often.  Soon enough she felt him kiss her groin, some slow, some rapid followed by licking, then he started moving down her legs.  It seemed he wanted to go for a slow boil.  Or maybe he was interested in edging her as part of her payment for what she owed him.
	It was a game they played to keep a sense of balance.  As it was, they originally had issues deciding on what to do since both of them wanted to do what the other wanted.  So they came to a compromise of sorts.  She would specify some sexual encounter she wanted, they would do that, then he would specify one he wanted, and they would do that.  Occasionally they would trade a "debt" for some other favor, like when she asked him to sleep with her niece.  "You do this for me, and I'll do whatever you want later" was the deal.  She would have never agreed to have sex with him at school if she didn't owe him for that.  She was a bit tired and not really in the mood to be denied orgasm for any length of time, but she really wanted him to understand how much she appreciated what he did.
	After a quick kiss of her hooves, he suddenly ducked out of sight, coming up with a small brown paper bag.  She shifted around a little, wondering what sort of toy he had brought with him this time.  She really hoped he wasn't going to edge her with toys in addition to the normal things he did.  He turned the bag over, dumping it's contents on the bed between her legs.  The sight of the two objects in the bag threw cold water on her libido, and made her spasm like she had just touched high voltage.  Human style hair brushes.  The ones with those damned plastic beads on every bristle.  Nemesian hair brushes used firm bristles, harsh enough to scratch the skin of humans.  The humans used brushes with small plastic beads on the tips of the bristles to avoid aggravating their skin.  They were insanely ticklish to nemesians.  She knew full well why he had kept them hidden, she would have thrown them out immediately if she had found them.
	"WAIT!  W-what, no, STOP!  DON'T DO THIS TO ME!"
	She thrashed around, despite knowing she couldn't break either the cuffs or the metal frame of the bed.  He just looked somewhat sad.
	"I WOULDN'T DO THIS TO YOU!" she screamed, practically in tears.  He still hadn't made a move towards the brushes.  Was this a part of the torture?  She lay there looking between the brushes and his face, breathing hard and fast.  She had to think of some way to talk him out of this.  Why would he do this to her?  He knew how much she hated being tickled.  She thought he loved her.  Finally he sighed, and started talking.
	"Frama."
	She looked expectantly at him.
	"We need to talk."
	"This isn't needed to talk!  Why would you even think this is needed?"
	He didn't reply to that, instead asking a question.
	"Do you remember last week?"
	She went over last week in her head.  Had she done something to offend him?  He saw she didn't know what he was talking about, so he clarified.
	"Remember when you tied me up?"
	THAT'S what this was about?  "But you ASKED me to!  You said you would enjoy it, you said you DID enjoy it!  Is that what you are angry about?"
	"I'm not angry about that Frama.  I did enjoy that, and I'm grateful you were willing to do it, since I know you didn't like the idea any."
	She didn't understand.  If he wasn't angry about that, then what was this about?  He continued speaking.
	"You forgot a piece of your outfit."
	Her fear was replaced with a sense of anger.  That's it?  THAT'S what he was about to tickle the hells out of her for?  Because she fucked up the fantasy?
	"Are you fucking serious?  You're pissed off at me because I forgot a part of the outfit?!"
	"I'm NOT angry about what happened Frama, I'm angry that you lied."
	She paused.  Lied?  What had she lied about?  She reviewed the incident in her mind, she didn't recall lying to him about anything.  He seemed pretty serious about it though.  She figured it was better to ask.
	"Lied about what?"
	He walked around from the foot of the bed, away from the damned brushes, and leaned over close to her face.
	"I said you forgot a piece of your outfit." he said, tapping at her breathing mask.
	She thought that over.  That couldn't be true, could it?  Having a mask on at all times, it was just second nature.  Mothers always taught their daughters before they even could be effected by male response pheromones to wear one at all times.  It was something you did every day without fail.  Had she really?
	"At first I thought it was an added part of the game.  You were going to pheromone bomb yourself while I was tied up, and 'have fun' with me.  I was looking forward to seeing what you had planned."
	He looked her directly in the eyes.
	"Imagine how surprised I was that you never once acted like there were any pheromones in the air."
	Oh shit.  Now she knew what he was talking about.  He continued talking.
	"I kept expecting it, kept being amazed at the self-control you were showing.  You sat next to me, whispering in my ear, gentle at all times.  No overwhelming lust, no erratic behavior, you weren't even breathing heavy."
	He stuck his face close to hers.
	"Frama, is there something you want to tell me?"
	She thought about it.  Was there any point in pretending?  No, even then she didn't want to.  She was tired of keeping a secret from someone she cared about.
	"Yes.  But not like this." she said, moving her limbs to make the cuffs clink.  "I'll tell you about everything, but not like this."
	He didn't immediately un-cuff her.
	"Please."
	He sighed and relented, undoing the cuffs.  She was immensely glad he wasn't going to tickle her with the brushes, but now she had a bigger problem.  How was she going to explain everything?  Would he even believe her, given how bizarre and strange it would sound to a human?  Would he still feel the same way about her after she talked?  She cursed herself for forgetting her breathing mask once.  Once was all it took for him to notice.  Once was all that was needed to ruin her happy little life.
	After he finished un-cuffing her, she motioned for him to come closer to her.  He stood there, so she added "Please."  He climbed in bed with her, still fully clothed, and she pulled herself close to him, wrapping her arms around him.  She shuddered into his chest, and took a deep breath.
	"Before I get started, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone what I tell you."
	"You know I don't kiss and te..."
	"No, this is serious." she said, slightly digging her small claws into his back enough to emphasize.  "I mean it.  You can't tell anyone.  Not friends, not family, I don't want you even talking about it with me unless we are at home and alone with the windows shut."
	He saw the seriousness in her eyes.
	"Why not?"
	"Because if the government finds out they will kill you."
	The concerned look on his face turned dark, and he forcibly shoved her off of him, turning to get off of the bed.
	"Frama, if you can't take this serious..."
	"I AM being serious!"
	He looked at her, and she could tell he thought she was lying.
	"Frama..."  Exasperated, he was losing patience.
	"I'm serious.  You can believe me or not, but I'm telling you the truth."
	"Damnit Frama, why in the hell do you think I'll believe the government gives a shit about your sex life?"
	"They don't.  You asked about the effect pheromones have on me."
	"So?  I get it, you're immune or something.  Why is this a big deal?"
	She almost responded immediately.  He had given her a way out.  A lifeline to escape this conversation.  She wanted to take it, and almost did.  But, she was tired of lying to him.  She didn't want to do it again.  Instead she weighed her next words carefully, and hoped he would forgive her once she was done explaining.
	"I'm not immune, not more so than any other nemesian woman."