A story that came to me during my morning trip on the bus. It’s very short and very strange… much like those morning trips I mentioned. I’ve yet to figure out a way to also include the various smells I experience as part of my commute.
Next Story: Maddy McKay and the Elves in Her House >>
Not Even Once
by Regan Wolfrom
The strange and beautiful creature before him was as alluring as any woman Milden Rusch had ever seen, far more desirable than any of the girls Milden had tried so desperately to know in all his twenty-eight years of sexual frustration and heart-crushing loneliness. She was lithe and exotic and alien, but more importantly she was totally naked.
Her skin was soft and a little bluer than the women he’d once longed for, and her long spiny hair was a strong, resplendent pink; it reminded him of Juanessa Parker, whose hair he remembered at about the same color. He’d had no trouble falling in love, writing her emotive letters on affection, devotion and Panic! at the Disco, and then weeping in eighth grade chemistry the day she’d walked over and told him sorry, that he seemed nice and sensitive and relatively well-groomed, but that she had fallen in love with the church. Milden had found out soon enough that she was actually in love with two thirds of the varsity hockey team, as well as her recently paroled stepbrother. He’d discovered this last sad fact from a tastefully-directed vignette on America’s Most Wanted. The church had been a convenient excuse and nothing more.
Milden knew that this lovely and blue-raspberry tinted extraterrestrial would never feed him excuses or run off to assist a non-blood relative in a convoluted and woefully misguided dognap-for-ransom scheme. She wanted Milden and she had made herself abundantly clear earlier that day, right near the Cinnabon kiosk in the mall when she’d sidled up to him and licked his left cheek from chin to ear, marking him with her pungent and slightly sulphuric saliva.
He’d read all about her species, the Ysoynoo, and he had faithfully watched the videos on the German YouTube clone that lets you see boobies. He’d seen every last clip, dozens of them, where the four-breasted and eight-nippled alien from just left of Tau Ceti would choose a mate at the local comic book store or LAN tournament, following her quarry back to his mother or grandmother’s basement and making wild interspecies love until she had taken enough of his genetic material for new life to grow.
Neither the scientific papers nor the videos mentioned it, but he had read on a number of less authoritative websites that the Ysoynoo could smell a man’s virginity. Milden was sure that his personal musk could be detected from ten miles away.
But virginity didn’t matter anymore, not with this vixen hovering over Milden and his Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen bed set, licking him in exotic places far to the south of his barely noticeable six-day beard. They were already further than he’d ever been before.
They were beyond when Shellie Knutsen had shown him the flecks of chewing gum wrapper trapped in her bathing suit, revealing that fleshy and wondrous piece of her that started where her upper thigh ended. And far beyond the time when Kyla Dumont had slid down the Double Drop waterslide but her bikini top hadn’t. Both were memories he’d always cherished, from prehistory, when his sex life consisted only of flashes of unexpectedly exposed girl parts at Raging Rivers Waterpark. But that time was over and he had moved to a new level of sexual intimacy: actual physical contact.
The angelic and slightly reptilian Ysoynoo woman looked at him, her lizard-like eyes staring deeply into his. He moved to kiss her mouth but somehow landed on her sharp yet shallow nose. He wanted her to think it was on purpose, but he knew she would not be deceived.
She smiled with her pointy white teeth, allowing him to suck her right nostril with what quickly transformed into wild abandon.
Maybe she liked it, the unconventional and completely inexperienced way he gave pleasure. Had she been human, he still would not have known.
Milden had always made the effort to learn hands-on, offering himself to practically every woman he’d encountered, trying to get comfortable with the idea that it wasn’t desperation but raw desire that had led him to proposition the women of his grandmother’s bridge club. (Milden was no longer allowed near the living room on Tuesday afternoons.)
Only this strange visitor had found him worthy, and for that he was eternally grateful. He knew he had to tell her so.
“Thank you so much,” he said.
“It is my pleasure,” she said in halting English. “Do you understand what we are doing?”
“I understand,” he said. He wasn’t an idiot. He kissed her other nostril briefly to show the level of his commitment.
She breathed deeply, and he watched the razor-sharp whiskers on her neck rise and stand on end. Her cheeks now seemed more green than blue and he could feel the scales of her slender tail resting against his pasty white thigh.
“I need you to understand”, she said. “For procreation to succeed I must kill and devour you once we have mated.”
“Please,” he said in a breathless whisper, “don’t kill the mood.”
Milden dropped his head down onto his Optimus Prime bed-pillow, readying himself, steeling himself for what was to come.
He had waited fourteen years, half a lifetime as it would now turn out, for the several minutes of ecstasy that would finally make him a man. He wished they could all see him now, Juanessa and Shellie, Kyla and that cute deaf girl down the street who’d never thanked him for learning American Sign Language in an attempt to bring them together.
He wished they could all be in the room to watch as Milden gave himself once and for all to a creature who truly appreciated him, as he became forever-alone no more.
He hoped that the webcam would keep recording to the very end.
He took a deep breath.
“I’m ready,” he said.
At that moment, just before the sex and pain and excruciating death, Milden Rusch finally knew what it was to be happy.