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Chp. 2

Breakfast was quiet. It usually was. Tallish would read the paper while Menia flicked through her phone. That happened today too, but there was a storm inside of Tallish's head. He hoped his girl missed it, and given how engrossing her phone seemed to be thought he was probably safe.

He could still smell her, a subtle hint of tangy fluid hidden under the morning's food and tea. He considered asking her about school, a nonchalant question about how she was doing, but decided against it. After last night even a question as simple as that, something he'd asked dozens of times before, might clue her into more than he wanted.

She knows she left her phone out here and might even suspect me having looked at it, he thought. He'd peaked at her, between bites, over the top of his paper to try and get a sense of whether or she suspected anything. Too hard to say, she was too reserved. But maybe every human child was that way at her age. Damn fates decided his ex would give birth to a human instead of a lycian. No, he wasn't really upset. She was his daughter and he adored her. Her humanness was little more than a fact. She was guarded and quiet because she was Menia, not because she was human.

When breakfast was finished she got up, grabbed her and her father's dishes, washed up, and grabbed her things for the day. She looked up at the wall clock. Five minutes and the trolley would arrive.

"Want me to pick anything up from the store?" Menia shoved her homework into a simple stiff paper folder and jammed it between a trio of books in her bag.

"We're nearly out of jerky. Would you get another ten pounds?"

"Sure. Spicy?"

"Half. Get something ... ah, see if they have anything tangy."

Menia's lips scrunched up around her nose. "Tangy? Like ... going bad?"

"No," Tallish's teeth flashed. "I don't want bad meat. Just something, I don't know how to describe it. You know that sour beer I got a few times?"

Menia shrugged. "I guess?"

"Just tell Garby I want something like that, but in jerky. If they don't have it, that's fine."

"Ten pounds of spicy if they don't have anything, uh, tangy then?" Menia giggled.

Tallish waved her off, "Trolley just crossed 6th. Yeah. All spicy then."

Menia grabbed her bag, slung it onto her back, wrapped her arms around her dad's neck from behind, kissed him, and headed out the door.

The barge was loaded beyond maximum capacity and the captain was getting an earful from Hossef.

"You risked your life, your crew's life, and all your cargo for another few hundred bucks? What were you thinking?" Hossef's lips were pulled back, his every word was laced with venom and a half barking growl. He stood half a head shorter than Tallish, but what he lacked in height he made up for in mass and old-lycian grit. "I'm amazed you even landed. I'll give you one fucking sentence to tell me why I shouldn't report your ass to the dock master for gross negligence and have your license revoked." His chest was heaving, his eyes narrowed, steam billowed from his snout with every breath.

"I needed the money for my boy," the barge captain said.

With that single phrase Hossef's whole demeanor changed, his face softened, his fur lay back. "What?"

"My boy, back home," the captain nodded toward the eastern mountains. "Come down with ... doctor isn't sure what it is. Thought it was an infection of a sort, but--"

Hossef waved the words aside. "Alright, I'll let it go. I won't report you, but never do something like this again. You risked the lives of your whole crew and your boy today. What would've you done had the barge sunk?"

Tallish stepped up next to his boss. "What're we doing? Unloading it or--"

Hossef waved toward the barge. "Yes, go on, get started."

Menia was headed down the hall toward the exit when Mrs. Cankson stepped out of her classroom door. The two locked eyes and the physical education teacher let the door close behind her.

"Menia."

"Hi?"

"Don't 'hi?' me, Menia. You've skipped class every single day since the semester started and I've let it slide. Don't ask me why, I don't know, but no longer. You need to start coming to class--eh-eh-eh--no excuses. I know you're not ill. You're here, you're going to all your other classes, and doing rather well from what I hear, so today you put ass in seat or I'm calling your dad."

Menia scrunched her nose, her eyes darted this way and that, her mind was a cornered rat. "I have to?"

"Yes. If class wasn't starting now I'd talk to you about this, but we can do that after. Come on." Mrs. Cankson pushed her door open with one hand and adjusted the glasses on her face with the other.

The rest of the students were all in huddled groups, leaning across their desks talking to each other, a few sat alone going over notes or checking their phones. When the door clunked shut the din of conversation fell to half volume. The boys, by-and-large, were the ones to hush up while many of the girls continued to talk. Mrs. Cankson demanded attention, male attention for the most part. She stood five and a half feet tall, had hips and a bust that belonged to someone thirty pounds heavier, and wore outfits that showed everything off and pushed the limits of acceptability. Indeed she'd been reprimanded a pair of times by the school's manager for wearing a skirt so damn short the curve of her butt was visible. That was two years back and the boys still talked about it, even the ones that weren't students at the time--which was most of them. Then six months ago she'd been written up for a button-up shirt made of lace that was effectively sheer. Her nipples were only just covered while the soft pink border surrounding the peaks themselves was perfectly visible. There were pictures of that outfit and they'd been passed from one student to the next in a matter of minutes from the moment Mrs. Cankson set foot on school property.

Today she was wearing a floral-patterned polo-style blouse with all but the bottom-most button undone and a pair of white pants that fit so tight they displayed every curve of her butt and, well ... there wasn't much to imagine in front either. Even the nub of her clit could be seen when the lighting was just so.

"Go ahead and turn to page seventy-two. That's chapter seven: Interspecies copulation. Before we continue with where we left off yesterday I want to see a showing of hands. How many of you have same-race parents?" She lifted her head and scanned the room of twenty-six students. "One ... four. Just four? Hannah, I thought your parents were both human."

Hannah, a human girl shook her head, then nodded. "Well, yeah, they are, but my mom remarried when I was a baby."

"Oh, I never knew that. Your father isn't human?"

"Huhuhn, he's--"

"Lycian?" Mrs. Cankson guessed.

"Nope. He's Nesero."

"Really? Did you inherit..." Mrs. Cankson touched the back of her head. "...do you have..."

"No. Well, not really. Technically yes, but it's barely anything. A tiny bump. There's a tendril about six inches long, but I've only felt it when I'm in the ocean and only a handful of times at that."

"Do you hear anything?"

Hannah frowned and shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe? I mean how would I know my thoughts and it? I've never heard, like, a different voice that wasn't the same as my own, if that's what you mean. The closest thing I've ever had to something like I've heard about is my dreams are sometimes super, super weird. Colors and sound and I'm not me at all. They're wild."

Mrs. Cankson pursed her lips. "Thanks for being so open about it. Right, so as you can see, most of you come from interspecies parents. That should be of no surprise to you, but what you might find interesting is that seventy-seven percent of same-race parents are humans. Meaning that only twenty-three percent of the people in our world come from same-race parents that aren't both human. Do any of you know why that is?"

A half dozen hands shot up.

"Menia?" Mrs. Cankson asked. Menia was one of the twenty odd students to not raise their hand.

"Huh?"

"My question. How come there are so few same-race couplings for non-humans?"

"Oh." Menia swallowed. "Uh. Because ... I don't know."

Mrs. Cankson nodded. Seems like most of you don't. Not a worry, that's why we're here. She dimmed the lights.

Tallish was sitting on a bench by himself eating a sandwich of thrice-hardened bread and raw beef. He tore huge bites and mashed them between his powerful jaws, saliva and canines turned the tough meal into mush within seconds and he washed it down with water from the gallon jug he kept with him.

"Oi, Tallish, the fuck're you doing up there by yourself?"

Lonn, a middle aged human built like a brick shithouse hollered up at the lycian sitting on a stack of crates.

"Eating lunch? What's it look like," he said.

Lonn clambered up the side of the crates and plopped down next to Tallish. "You've been awful quiet today, everything alright? Home life good?"

"What? Yeah, of course."

"How's your girl?"

"Great question." The image of her laying in bed, hand between her legs, eyelids fluttering, leapt to mind. That hadn't happened, had it? The eyelids, had he seen that last night, or did he just make it up? "She's growing up."

"Happens fast, huh?"

"Yeah. Wait, you have kids?"

"Nah, nah. None of my own. Brother has a couple though, that's as close as I want to get to parenthood. I'll watch them here and there. Fun for a day or two, but man," he blew a long breath, "I can't imagine having them twenty-four-seven. Fuck that."

"Depends on the child, I think. Menia can be a little challenging, but I love having her around."

"You sure you're good?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, okay. You're usually so much more chatty, talking about some dumb shit you read in the paper. Just checking in." Lonn pushed himself off the edge of the crate and landed with a hand slam on the wood dockside. "Barge is twenty-percent done. Hossef wants it half done before day's end."

"Yeah, alright, I'll be there in a few." When Lonn was gone and Tallish was certain he was alone again he turned his sandwich sideways. Holding it vertical he recalled the image from the night before, sniffed, imaged her scent, and licked the meat between the two slices of bread.

The fuck am I doing? He thought, stowed the leftovers, took a drink of water, then headed off to join Lonn and the others.

The solid white banner pulled down over the chalkboard displayed a male lycian erect phallus and a female lycian vaginal opening. "Due to thousands of years of interspecies mating, the female's vagina of every race, aside from humans, has decreased by an estimated sixty percent. I say estimated because we don't have medical records dating back to when mixed-race mating first began. What we do know is that almost two-thousand years ago mix-race pairings were almost unheard of and today they're the norm, so from that alone we can infer the evolutionary change.

"This is all to say that, well ... to be perfectly blunt and honest, size does matter." A wave of giggles, muttered jokes, blushes, and head shakes that passed through the students. "Uh-huh, okay, okay. Focus. Hey," Mrs. Cankson clapped, her ample breasts shook, and she leaned forward to knock on her desk. In doing so she showed the classroom her cleavage. "Eyes up here, come on. I know, I know, it's funny. I've heard it all before.

"As interspecies mating continued two things happened: males' penises grew in size, length and girth; and women's vaginas grew to accommodate the males' increasing size. The latter being an evolutionary change happening almost exclusively in human females. I say almost because there are various clans of non-humans where the percentages are flipped. Meaning that it's the non-human female vaginas that have changed, but those are small groups that keep to themselves for the most part. I will say that those ladies that venture out from said enclaves are highly desired brides and tend to find themselves marrying some of the most affluent males in the world. So, again, size indeed matters.

"Right. Today's homework is for you to write a single page essay on one of those clans I mentioned. You can either write about the clan and why they keep to themselves and, as they tend to say, continue to adhere to mating practices dating back hundreds of years; or you can write about someone--male or female--that left. Both will need to be backed up by sources. This isn't a creative writing class." As she finished her sentence, the bell rang, and class was dismissed.

Menia was typing away when Tallish came up behind her, lay a paw on her head, and gave the top of her right ear a flick of his tongue. His girl startled and pulled the laptop closed.

"Gah!"

Tallish laughed. "Spooked you?"

"Yes."

"Did you see that message?" Tallish stepped around the table and pulled his shirt off. His smell wafted off it and was especially strong, not in a bad way, but in a musky way, the way he always smelled after a long day of work. There was a hint of salt and ocean mixed in there too.

"What message?" Menia asked. What the fuck was that? Her throat swelled, there was a sudden gush between her legs. Her father's thick chest had caught her eyes and then she'd followed the path of blue-gray hair that began mid-chest down to where it vanished beyond the beltline of his pants. No, don't, do not think--but it was too late. The images from Mrs. Cankson's class and her father melded and she was imagining the erect cock she'd seen on the display on her dad.

Tallish's nose twitched.

The two said nothing.

Menia mushed her legs together with every muscle she could manage. There's no way he smelled that, she told herself. No way at all. Nope. Huhuhn, nonono. Yes he did. He one-thousand percent did. "Message? Dad?"

"Huh?" He scratched the back of his head. "The ... oh, it ... that post. Your dog walking thing. Someone asked to come by tomorrow for you to meet their pup. My logo can't have been that bad, it got someone."

"It's still dull," Menia said.

"Did you get jerky?"

"Yeah, it's in the fridge."

Tallish went into the kitchen and was glad for a reason to have his back to her, there was no way he'd be able to hide the bulge pressing into his jeans.

Menia was human, yes, that's what her birth certificate said. She had no fur or fangs or claws, her face was human, her ears too, nose: she looked human for all the world and thus was called such. And yet like all children of mixed-race parentage there were parts less human than others. Menia's senses were better than a pure human's, her sight was more keen, and her hearing was a touch better than a typical, but of all her senses it was smell that shined brightest.

The moment her dad opened the fridge she caught a whiff of the two meats she'd purchased on her way home from school. There was the five pounds of spiced jerky (why her dad liked it kept in the fridge, she had no idea) with its smell of peppers, garlic, and salt, then there was the other one. When she'd asked Garby, the butcher, for something "tangy" he'd said he had just the thing. Told her it was a mix of almond, vinegar, and sauce blend with a few ingredients from the ocean. At the time she'd thought nothing of it, even if the scent did seem somewhat familiar. But now, with her dad opening the butcher paper, a connection was made and she wasn't sure what to think. She recognized the smell of the jerky as being surprisingly similar to what her fingers smell like after she played with herself.

"I'm going to finish my homework in my room," she said.

"Uh-huh," Tallish pulled a strip of meat from the heap and swung it up into his mouth. He closed his eyes and took a couple sniffs. She's dripping, he thought and a grin pulled at his lips.

The moment she was in her room she pushed on the door with all her strength and closed it, then threw the lock, wiggled out of her pants, and ran the middle two fingers of her right hand between her lips. She was so wet her panties were soaked through, some of the fluid had leaked beyond and onto her legs.

Once again the image from Mrs. Cankson's class popped into her head. While she touched herself with one hand she browsed her phone for images of lycian porn. Solo males, middle-aged, with raging hard cocks, hands wrapped around the base, just below their engorged knots.

Tallish tapped on his girl's door. "Check that message when you get a chance, huh?"

Message? What ... Oh, right. The dog walking thing. "Yeah," Menia called back. She closed the porn and pulled up an image of her dad from their most recent weekend beach trip. It'd been a few months back, but she liked it because he'd been wearing those small swim trunks and there was one picture in particular ... yeah, that one, where it looked like he was semi-hard. She zoomed in, then out a little, cropping the image to show his face and groin, her hand working a pattern between her legs, her eyes rolled back, and she came. She covered her mouth, breathing hard, and lay there with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips.