A Recipe for Romance

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The Wraith whom the humans had named Greg viewed his Worshipper with exasperation.  "You will sit down and answer to me, Worshipper" he said sternly.

The human female sighed, seated herself in front of the Wraith and waited.

"You have been assigned to me for three days now and yet we still have not mated."  Greg's tone was rough and he glared at her accusingly.

"I have done everything you asked of me," she replied quietly.

"Yes, you have cleaned my quarters and run my errands.  But you are well aware that a Worshipper's duties extend to the more personal kind.  Each time I attempt to initiate mating, you rebuff me.  I will not tolerate this for much longer."

The Worshipper remained silent, eyes downcast.  The Wraith became impatient and raised his voice. "It is my right to mate with you and it is my full intention to do so, even if I have to force you!"

She raised her head and glared at him in defiance.  "And you WILL have to force me!" she spat.  "I would never willingly mate with a brute like you!"

"A brute, am I?" Greg thundered and moved forward threateningly.  But then he hesitated and became thoughtful.  He regarded his Worshipper for a while before he spoke again, in cool measured tones.

"Perhaps you speak some truth.  I have been alone for many years, devoid even of the company of my own kind.  It has been hard for me to adjust to communal life back on a Hive.  I am told that my manner is-" he hesitated a moment before continuing "- abrasive.  You are my first Worshipper.  I know nothing of human ways, your likes, your mating habits.  You will enlighten me."

The Worshipper stared at him in amazement.  "You want me to tell you how to mate?"

The Wraith hissed at her in annoyance, then caught himself before speaking.  "That I know how to do.  What I do not know is how to make you want to do it."

The Worshipper gave a small laugh.  "Human females generally do not mate on command.  Women usually need to feel attraction to a man before they will bed him.  They need to be in the mood."

"And how do you get 'in the mood'?" Greg asked.

"In many ways.  Sometimes, the attraction is instant and mutual.  Sometimes, attraction builds over time as you get to know each other."

"I think we can rule out the former and I do not have the time or patience for the latter," Greg said wryly.  "Is there no way that a man can entice an unwilling female?"

The Worshipper smiled slightly.  "A man will usually try to woo his woman."  At the Wraith's look of puzzlement, she elaborated.  "He will try to court her.  He might ask her out to dinner- a meal- something nice, with a good bottle of wine."  She sighed with a hint of fond remembrance.  "He will make sure that he looks nice and dresses well.  He will invite her to a special place, his home perhaps, and arrange the right atmosphere for romance.  Music, soft lighting, candles.  He may give her a gift, something personal to make her feel special.  Perhaps flowers, chocolates or a book of poetry?  And sexy lingerie always helps."

Greg stared at her in amazement.  "A man does all this just to mate with a woman?"

She roused herself from her memories and nodded.

"Does it usually work?" the Wraith demanded.

"It depends," the Worshipper replied.

Greg squared his shoulders and rose to his whole height.  "I have survived for thousands of years in a hostile environment that defeated many lesser Wraith!  I alone from all my crew!  I will woo you and you will mate with me and you will do so willingly and with much enthusiasm."

And with that he stroke purposefully out of his quarters.

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The Worshipper returned to the Wraith's quarters later that night with a measure of trepidation.  She had only glimpsed Greg briefly throughout the day and they had not spoken since their earlier conversation.  The thought of what might lie ahead made her uncomfortable, as she knew that Greg was nothing if not determined and resourceful.

She opened the door slowly and peeked into the interior.  It was as she had feared!  The lights of the quarters were dimmed, its interior lit by many small candles placed strategically around the room.  Music played softly in the background- Debussy, she thought- and she detected the faint trace of perfume in the air.  Something gentle, with a hint of woodland green.

The table that usually held Greg's many weapons had been cleared, cleaned and covered with a tablecloth of the finest lace.  A tall vase held some fresh flowers and sat in the middle of the table next to several plates heaped high with all manner of human foods.  Fruits, breads, cheeses and sweetmeats jostled for place alongside a wine cooler- a wine cooler of all things!- containing what proved on examination to be a bottle of the finest Chablis.  Crystal glasses, small plates and damask napkins completed the table setting.

Her eyes roamed around the room in amazement and alighted on two small parcels.  Gift wrapped parcels, no less!  Where on a hive ship would you keep wrapping paper and ribbons, she wondered as she ripped them off and examined their contents.  Well, he certainly was sticking to the formula, she muttered to herself wryly.  Belgian chocolates and a book of what looked to be Persian poetry.  Pity she couldn't read it.

The Worshipper took one more look around the room before venturing nervously into the sleeping niche.  This area too was lit by several small scented candles.  In their soft light she saw that the sleeping pallet- usually quite utilitarian in nature- was now covered with freshly laundered linens of the best quality and was surrounded by a tent of opaque gauze netting suspended from the ceiling.

She separated the hanging curtains slowly, knowing what she would find.  There was only one thing left on her list, one thing that Greg had not yet provided.  Lingerie.  

Lingerie, and he would consider her 'wooing' complete.

And she was not wrong.

Greg lay supine upon the pallet, resting on his right side facing her.  His right hand supported his head and his left stretched out invitingly towards her, a look of coy anticipation on his face.  The bodice of the exquisite negligee fitted him tightly, the intricately worked décolletage falling away softly to sheer silken drapes, a daring side split apparent, to skim enticingly to just above his thighs……

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