On the eve of the ceremony, the women-to-be were led around the central camp area by the watching women, so as to surround and 'capture' each and every man they desired for their First Rites. Of course, the men who had been requested and had agreed to participate were expected to be close by and be captured easily.
There were cries of dismay when it became obvious that this flock of women was two men short. Latie cried bitter tears when Jondalar was nowhere in sight, but aquiesced when Tulie indicated for her to return to the enclosure. There was, after all, the option that one of the men might open her after tending to the girl who had invited him in the first place. But it so hurt to see several of the girls pointing at her, then patting their heads as if to flatten them with one hand and rubbing the other hand on their stomachs as if to comfort an unborn baby, and laughing derisively. Latie would not let her family down.
Dusk was approaching, and the women-to-be, with their watching women and the captured men, were about to return to the enclosure for the preparations and cleansing rituals, when a lone male figure staggered into view, wildly waving his long, matted, greasy hair and gesticulating with a nearly empty bouza skin.
His clothes were tattered and a stench of old sweat preceded him, but the young girl from his camp hopped with joy, screamed „Chaleg!" and hugged him as if he were the lead drummer at the midsummer dance. Well, maybe he was, in years they found the all Mamutoi meeting place too far away from their camp to join.
Tulie made sure none of the men already captured could sneak away now that Chaleg had entered their ranks. She knew she should have collected more soaproot, but with a whole summer meeting in demand, the stuff was getting scarce.
Latie was in tears when Tulie swept up her hair and fastened the headband of freshly woven horsehair. Each and every other woman had a man for them in attendance, except for her. „Just leave me be", she sobbed, „this won't help. He did not come. HE DID NOT COME! He doesn't care!" she wailed miserably.
The other girl-women were shooting odd glances, some pityful, some full of spite. From the back of the tent, Tulie seemed to hear faint whispers of guarded conversation: „Too bad ..." „Yeah, woulda liked that traveller myself ..." „...never known the difference in the dark if you'd held her down so long, them watch-harridans are all deaf anyway ..."
Well, Tulie was certainly not deaf, but investigating into a failed plot was quite pointless, even if they ever had been serious about it, she thought. She would certainly remember the names and faces of those involved in the whispered discussion.
With all her headwoman authority, Tulie convinced Latie to hold still anyway and have the magic salve applied. Other watching women were rubbing it on the breasts and nether parts of their respective charges.
Thankfully, Vincavec had delivered the stuff at the last moment, and was now in attendance for his part in the ceremony, waiting in the corner of the tent Tulie had indicated, but she just couldn't tell Latie now, could she? Judging from his dilated pupils, Vincavec had been affected by the salve himself, even though it was reserved for women only. The headwoman shrugged: He was Mamut and should know what he was doing; he had certainly proven his virility to her earlier.
The instructions to the girls of what to expect had so far gone well, Tulie thought, although that girl from Chaleg's camp, Dollie, had been asking many questions one would not expect from somebody new to pleasures.
Whatever that wondrous stuff was that Tulie had rubbed on her breasts and between her legs, Latie was sure the Mother's own power was within it, and she wanted it every day from now. All her anxiety had dissipated. Her body tingled all over with desire previously unknown. She felt like flying, or riding Whinney at top speed, and vaguely recalled visions otherwise stacked away, such as Ayla raising her hips to meet Ranec, or Tulie with Barzec deeply imbedded to her, holding Wymez' member in her hand to keep him ready for his turn.
Only dimly did she register being shoved at some man in the pitch-black tent, who embraced her firmly, then trailed one hand up her back to her head, where he could feel her headband and was apparently assured of her identity.
Other couples had less subtle methods. Close by, someone staggering around belched loudly, and Latie smelled bouza on his breath. One of the girls squealed and threw herself at him, tumbling down with him right beside Latie and her lover, who had just begun lowering her carefully to a pile of furs.
Other couples in the tent were emitting all kinds of noises. From the equally surprised, curious and delighted gasp of a virgin girl touched in one of her places of pleasure through the throaty moans of men holding back, to the ... to the agonized outcry of one young woman on the other side of the tent whose man had been too rough and eager. Latie stiffened.
She heard the shuffling of watching women hurrying over there, at least one of them stumbling over some non-involved couple in between, which lead to ouches and mumbled apologies. Some angrily whispered words drifted over from the far side of the tent loud enough to be understood: „Gentle ... rip off ... Mother's own wrath ... take care myself ...".
Somehow, her excitement dissipated. But she wanted that wonderful, carefree flying sensation again. She focused on sensations closer to her.
The man on top of her was taller than she, Latie noticed, but not as broad in the shoulders as Jondalar, and his male scent was not the one she had hoped for, sadly. Frebec? No, that didn't fit either, and Frebec had grown a beard recently; this man was clean-shaven.
She buried her face in his long hair. He must have bathed not too long ago, she noticed, and rinsed himself with a herbal infusion that smelled rather nice, of southernwood, sage and bog myrtle. There was some hair on his chest, and when she laid an arm around his back to draw him closer, and he shifted position to bend down to her neck and give her a love bite - and oh that was wonderful! - there were hard muscles working under his skin.
She felt his erect manhood against her thigh but was still afraid to spread her legs for him as instructed. What if it hurt so much she'd cry out, as at least one of the other girls in the tent had done?
Her peers already ridiculed her as the flathead-sister; it would not do to be seen as wimpy also. Her man seemed to sense she wasn't ready yet and did not urge her, but caressed her gently. The weight alone of having one fully-grown male on top of her was wonderfully arousing, and he touched her in places that sent jolts of pleasure through her, but the background noise from the tent was too disconcerting.
No matter how hard Latie focused or tried to drift away, there was no escaping from the ruckus on the sleeping place beside them.
„Oh - oh - oh yes, yes, yes, harder! Harder! Give it to me, my headman! Oh, oh, yes, my headman, oh, harder!"
Tulie's voice interceded, loud and commanding: „Pipe it down or I'll throw you out!"
Wet, smacking noises, and a male voice slurred: „Dollieee, my Dollieeee. Bouza doethn't madder do a reall man. My Dollie izz in heat ..."
„Stuff it or I'll throw you into the river. I mean it!"
Latie's man stifled a giggling fit into her shoulder. She had the distinct impression that those two beside her were not at it for the first time. Still, this did not relieve her tension. To the contrary, she was more self-conscious now, the only girl in a tent of men and women enjoying each other; not to forget: rejected by the wonderful Jondalar, who was likely sharing pleasures with some redfoot somewhere at this very moment, while she herself would remain a child if she didn't muster the courage soon ...