by Jay Hughes
"You said I could stay here tonight."
I felt my mouth turn dry. If a woman can destroy a door, she could make my backbone the featured attraction at a woodcarvers' convention. Or worse. I remembered those teeth.
I led her into the living room and dispatched myself to the bedroom in search of some clothing. She was dressed, still in that gray uniform. She wasn't wearing shoes, but that's typical with space aliens who come calling at four in the morning. She had ten toes, five on each foot.
Two feet, two arms, two eyes, two jet-black lips and a head of raven-black hair that flowed against the strongest olive-green shoulders I'd ever seen.
Comparing olive-green shoulders is my hobby.
She'd found the couch and was sitting forward on it by the time I'd gathered my bearings.
"This couch is lumpy."
"It's old. I get old couches all the time. Klinger, he's..."
"I saw him earlier. You're a bad dog," she scolded the little fellow, who had come forth again with his rubber rat.
Klinger doesn't worry much about storm doors or the fact that my house guests of late have been green, tall, strong and from out of town.
Way out of town.
I stumbled for conversation. "I ... where do we start? I think I might need to call somebody. Are you dangerous? You aren't gonna kill me, are you?"
She smiled and stretched out her right hand, the same one that had dismantled my door. "Come, sit next to me. Let's share thoughts."
"As long as you don't pull a Vulcan mind-meld on me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Spock."
"Oh ... yes ... that erratic television program. Is that where your dog got his name?"
"Yeah, I ... not from that show. You're thinking of Klingons."
She giggled. "Klinger was in the army show. I've seen all those programs."
At this point, I was stuck between confusion and total manic depression. "You're not from another planet. You're just a strong actress."
"I'm not here to prove anything. You invited me to sleep with you, so here I am."
"Did you ... ah ... have dinner?" I wondered whom she'd eaten. Or what.
"Sycamore bark, from down the street. I have some supplements on the ship until I get acclimated to the food here. That won't take long. Sycamore isn't bad."
I nodded. "Yeah, it's the best. Spicier than oak, not as stringy as elm ... what the hell are you talking about?" I tried to get comfortable in the chair, watching Klinger make out with her hand. The boy has an active tongue.
"I want to try some of the other plants, but I need to run some tests to see if they have any food value. Uygio and Poolian have a few samples."
"Who are they? Oh ... your shipmates? Are they around?"
She shook her head. "They're safe."
"You lock them in?"
She smiled and reached out her hand again. "Come, sit next to me." She grabbed my hand and pulled me to her, almost without effort.
I found myself giving in. I was afraid to say no, anxious about saying yes and hoping she'd swallow me up and turn me into a blithering ball of baby fat.
"Put your hand on my leg," she whispered.
"You don't mind?"
"I want you to have intercourse with me."
I gulped. "Is ... that ... possible?"
Then she leaned over and kissed me on the face and the lips. "Do it now."
Apparently, Cheeliol hadn't caught on. "We're supposed to fondle first, I think."
She sat up and unzipped her suit, exposing her dark green breasts and coal-black nipples. "So, fondle me."
I gingerly put out my hand and touched, then stroked, her left breast. Warm, soft, just like a regular one. Only green. Her nipple was hard to the touch. It seemed normal. Only black.
"It feels good," she said, and she sat back, closed her eyes and let me move in on her. I kissed her in a conventional way in conventional places for the conventional reasons. It worked. I had her breathing hard within a few minutes.
If she was an actress, I was gonna fuck her. If she was a space alien, I was gonna try to fuck her.
The intuitive Klinger hopped off the couch and headed for the bedroom. I made arrangements to have Cheeliol lie back on the couch. Then I undressed her. Then I undressed me.
We left the light on. I wanted to see everything.
Her black bush glistened against the street light that shone through the curtains. She sighed once when I kissed her midsection and jerked once when I kissed her pussy hairs. "Is this what you want?" I whispered.
"If this is human love, then love me like a human."
Well, I am only human and I got hard.
Then we fucked.
She felt warm and wet inside but she didn't perspire. She just lay there, absorbing it, as though she were experiencing something for the first time, admiring it, enduring it, understanding ... an inch at a time.
My strokes were even and slow and I watched her face as I moved in and out, up and down, stroking her breasts, kissing her neck and chin, licking, nibbling, sucking, fucking.
When it came time to come, I worried. In her or not?
"Don't worry," she whispered.
Of course. That made sense.
I lost it. "Are you sure it was all right? Are you sure this should have been done?" I sat up and tried to catch my breath.
She pulled me back. "I wouldn't have if I thought otherwise."
"Maybe we could get ... an illness from each other."
"We won't. Now, you must give me pleasure."
I gave her pleasure, testing her temperament as I went along. I knew what to do with regular women, but ... come on! She's an actress, right?"
"Mooooooooo-paaaaaaaaaaaaa."
I must have hit her sweet spot.
***
Somewhere around daybreak, I awoke to find her asleep beside me, nude and green, breathing easy. Cheeliol, the purported space woman, had a lot of explaining ahead of her, and I stumbled through my encyclopedic mind for questions that would advance the issue.
If she knew about Spock and Klinger, she had to know where she'd been, where she was and why she was here.
I sat up wondering if my next job was to go to the garage, find the pruning saw and head for the corner. She'd need breakfast and the sycamore tree was the nearest food supply.
On the other hand, the elm isn't bad this time of year.
CHAPTER FIVE
A lot of women will tell you they feel fortunate if a guy goes down on them four times a year. The lucky ones get it four times a month. Jill had already gotten it four times in one day ... and we hadn't broken yet for lunch.
In the months I've known her, it's become clear to me that her demands are commands. When she wants something, it happens ... or else. Our chats about the matter have led me to conclude this isn't a personality quirk.
In other words, the women back home wear the pants and make the rules. The men get locked up at night and the women run wild. I have no idea about the night life on Standard Eight, but I have learned that the women who leave there for Earth bring with them a lot of pent-up sexual frustration.
Either that, or girls just want to have fun.
I think back to our first time. I was frightened; she was willing, prepared. It was as though she knew what it ought to feel like. And when it met her expectations, she only wanted it to get better.
Undaunted, I faced the challenge.
And on those occasions when I didn't deliver as Jill expected, I paid for it. I had to do it over again.
I staggered to the living room around eleven-thirty, at last free from the grip of her awesome green legs, wondering whether to fill out forms for the U.S. government, fill out forms for the Bulgarian government or fill out forms for the Standard Eight government. None of them were written in plain English.
The Bulgarian interest in Jill had almost nothing to do with her. The U.S. forms had almost nothing to do with me and ... Jill's planet didn't pay me anything.
"What's money?" she had asked early in our relationship.
And when the phone rang around noon, I was brought back to the reality that lots of it was being spent, either on behalf of Jill or on behalf of the hundreds who had latched onto various jobs that dealt with her.
Jill had become a cottage industry. From the president on down to the guy who sweeps floors at the grain mill in Buckfuck, Ohio, somebody wanted something.
In this case, it was only old Wart-face, the matron who runs a piss-vial lab that sprang up a few weeks ago on the other side of town. Since Jill wasn't going to them, the labs were coming to her.
I flipped the phone to her and she crawled out from under the covers to answer it.
I went for coffee and pretended not to listen in.
"I'm fine," she said into the phone. "I just wanted the day off. Yeah ... so far, it's been good ... did you ever have oral sex? I know ... it's terrific ... I should send Jay over. Yeah? I'll be in tomorrow ... no problem ... oh, you bet ... it just drove me up the wall ... uh, no ... they don't. I can ... do we have a special form for it? Sure, I can give a report ... no problem. OK, bye."
"Send me over?" I slurped the coffee as though my life were about to end.
She turned and smiled. "You don't find her appealing?"
"No. It's Wart-face. I wouldn't eat her with your tongue."
Jill shook her head at that one. "How would that work?"
"It wouldn't. Get up. You've been serviced enough for one day." I decided to take charge of the day. At times, I can get away with it.
Not often.
Jill managed to get dressed, cursing the winter she said never happens back home, and took Klinger for a long, slow walk down to the elm tree and back. It's about forty feet to the elm tree and back.
I filled out forms.
She read a book in an hour, looked around for another one and, failing it, started in on the Bible. "What does 'thou art' mean?"
"It means art that isn't thine," I said.
"Wouldst thou?"
"Already did-est. Four times. The Bible was written by people who couldn't spell."
She spread out on the couch, legs in the air, flipping through the Bible as though it were an introductory course to sex. "I presume this was translated from another language."
I looked up from my pile of papers. "How'd you guess?"
"The topics pre-date the English language. This book was originally written in an old Mesopotamian or Semite script."
I grunted and looked down at my work. It was taking me hours to translate Line Seven and she'd interpreted the works of a dozen scholars in fifteen minutes.
Not bad for a girl from out of town.
At four, I called it a day. Jill had dozed off.
I let the answering machine take over and made some plans for dinner. I pulled her toes and set Klinger on her lap.
The boy tongued her face until she stirred.
"Hungry?" I asked.
"Are you cooking?"
"Going out for a pizza."
"Bring something for me."
I looked at the clock. "Dawson's closes at five today." I scurried around, got dressed, called Popo's for a sausage-and-anchovies mixture and headed out into the brutal winter.
At four-fifty, I chugged into the Dawson's lot, ran in and found Jack. "Cut me a one-by-four."
Thumbs up. Jack puttered off. He knew what to do. Dawson's was a regular stop for me when Jill wanted junk food.
I tossed the bag onto the car seat, puttered around to pick up the pizza and headed home. I tossed the paper bag onto the table. "I had it cut and cleaned."
She looked inside the bag. "Oh, my favorite."
I found some candles, lit them and set them on the coffee table. Romantic. We settled in on the couch and had dinner the old-fashioned way. I opened the pizza box and absorbed the aroma.
In the kitchen, Klinger was chomping down on his daily surprise. I buy it in fifty-pound bags.
Jill crossed her legs under her and dug in. "Want a bite?" she asked, holding out the foot-long redwood board.
"Later, maybe for a snack. Want me to warm it up in the microwave?"
"No, this is fine ... about the best there is," she said.
American lumber yards know how to serve fast food.
CHAPTER SIX
Feeding Cheeliol wasn't that easy in those first days. She insisted on taking everything back to the ship to test it. I couldn't even interest her in Brussels sprouts. Surprise, surprise.
To call her a vegetarian would be generalizing. She ate plant life. Leaves, twigs, bark.
If you are what you eat, Cheeliol was a tree.
"I am, you know," she told me one afternoon when Klinger needed a respite from the lazy life he'd doubtless chosen. We stopped off at the sycamore and she ripped off a few of the brown balls that hang from them, plopped them into her mouth and ... "These are tasty."
I wasn't getting much further than that with her. Her insatiable appetite for sex almost compared to her incredible appetite for wood.
"I should let you try some of my ex-wife's beef stew," I said. "It tasted a lot like wood."
"Beef would make me quite ill," she said. "How can you people eat that?"
"Maybe a corn dog, then?"
"I've been meaning to try some corn," she said. "May we go to a field?"
"What I'd like to do is go to your ship," I said. "You keep talking about it but I have no idea where it's parked."
"Who said it was parked? It's a space vehicle, not a land vehicle."
That told me all I needed to know. I looked up and, seeing nothing, decided she was lying about it. If she was, I saw no point in pursuing the matter.
I did manage to fill her full of sap and stems, coaxed Klinger out of the weeds and herded the two of them back to my place. A thunderstorm was moving in and I worried. Klinger doesn't like storms.
Cheeliol had only been here three days and I guessed she'd never seen one. She jumped at the first clap of thunder, then settled down. "You have noisy rain."
"Let's go back home and discuss the weather," I said. I pulled at Klinger's leash. "Here, walk the dog."
Cheeliol took the leash and Klinger jumped into line.
"He's just doing that to piss me off, isn't he?"
"You have to know how to handle a dog," she said.
"You have dogs on Standard Eight?"
"No."
At the back step, I looked down at the storm door that lay mangled at our feet. "You owe me for that."
"I want intercourse, Jay."
"Is that your way of paying your debt?"
"I have no debt. I want intercourse."
Klinger ran for the bed when the thunder came again, and I could see his tail disappear.
Cheeliol and I ran for the bed when the thunder came again, and I put my hands on her tail, shoved her down, face-first, and plopped on top of her. She flicked me off with no trouble, turned and lay back. "I think the term is, fuck me."
"Where'd you learn that kind of talk?"
"I watched an Al Pacino movie where they said it hundreds of times."
We weren't there to discuss Pacino, so I unzipped her front, grabbed her boobs and started sucking on her big, black nipples. They sprang to attention with each flick of my tongue. Then, I unzipped her more, more, moving down, down, down. "Care for some oral?"
She sighed. "Will I like it?"
"Only one way to find out."
Within a few seconds, she was liking it.
A lot.
I could feel her muscles tighten with each nibble on her pussy. Then she wrapped her incredible green legs around my back and pulled me in.
"Moo-pa," she gasped.
I had heard it put that way before, so I licked her some more. My objective was orgasm. A big one, a good one, one she could tell all the folks back home she'd gotten ... from ... me.
"Mooooooo-pa! Nee-graaaaaaaaaaaaa-panggooooooo-la!"
When she put her hands on my head and
started shaking it, I knew she was either close, or ... yeah, she made it. She pushed me back onto the floor, slamming my body against the wall. She sat up and shook her head. "Again!"
I struggled back to my knees and moved in toward her. She grabbed me by the shoulders and swept me onto her. "Again! Moo-pa, again! Again! Again, again!"
"Give me a few minutes to compose myself. Work on it with your finger, just to keep it warm."
"Moo-pa!"
"Which means?"
"It means, excite me! Fuck me with your mouth! Down deep, moo-pa!"
We did some more moo-pa and she had me climbing the walls by the end of the third session. How many orgasms can a woman have?
I only needed one. On the fourth foray, I got my chance and I fucked her until her moo-pa turned green.
I also left a load of white stuff all over her green middle, just because I could. It was, like ... getting even.
***
In the night, after the storm passed, I awoke and found her side of the bed empty. In her place, the coveted bed partner Klinger snoozed. He had no moo-pa on his mind.
I tossed and turned until about five-fifteen when the sun began to peek over the shrubs. An asshole bird was chirping. And an asshole phone was ringing.
I stumbled around, walking past the bathroom even though I really needed to stop there ... "hello."
"Is this Jay Hughes?"
"Too early for telemarketers."
"This is Sergeant Campbell at police headquarters. There's a strange woman or something here who says she knows you."
"Strange and green? Did she give her name?" What the hell was I talking about? "Is she all right?"
"We'll send a squad car around for you right away."
I gave Campbell my address and got the ride of my life when the patrolman whisked me away. I hadn't even fed Klinger yet. The bathroom? Damn, forgot. "I gotta piss," I said on the way through town.
The patrolman laughed. "I know the feeling."
Sympathy isn't the motto of the Coffee Creek Police Department.
At headquarters, I met four or five armed policemen who looked at me as though I'd planted a bomb at the local kindergarten. "I gotta piss," I said.
