by Jay Hughes
"The song is over."
"I can play it again."
"Take me home and intercourse me."
Vicki overheard. "What!"
I smiled at Vicki. "Ah ... her language skills are a bit rough."
"It means to fuck," Jill said.
Vicki laughed. "I knew that, I think."
Somewhere, in the midst of the Paul Anka, the clicking of billiard balls, two cold beers and a discussion about the proper terminology of what men and women do in bed, Vicki and Jill planted the seeds of a friendship.
Jill's problem was, she was hungry.
When she bit the fat end off the skinny guy's pool cue, chewed it up and swallowed it, she also established a pecking order.
After all, luck doesn't have anything to do with it.
And don't call her Cheeliol.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Line seven: If your application transcends this or any other previous application filed with this agency, please refer to Page 21A. If the answer on Line B, Page 21A is no, go to Section IV.
"Which agency is this?"
Klinger had to go out. I opened the door; he took a look and turned back.
"Don't even think about pissing against the couch!"
The stack of hate mail was beginning to pile up and I was beginning to worry. Jill's insistence on not needing protection was, at best, foolhardy. Warped people are out there, and some of them work for various federal agencies.
Line eight: If you know of a degenerate on your block, turn to Page 33B.
Some of the stuff was neatly typed; some of it was written by a person whose hand was in a cast and some of it was ... how clever! Cut-out letters pasted to a piece of yellow legal paper. Like, we can't trace you. It's in your drool, fool!
I was told to take the threats with some degree of sincerity, but having been served the reality that almost everybody on the planet had an opinion about Jill, I found myself dumfounded by it all. The ones who wanted her to bear offspring numbered in the millions. The ones who wanted her to burn up in the next solar eruption numbered in the dozens. Guess which ones I feared the most?
The concept of offspring did weigh on my subconscious. Jill said she'd come into ... as she put it ... heat ... around the first of February. That had no particular impact on me, but it did on the two geeks who she said managed the ship. I had no idea if she'd mate with either of them, both of them or neither of them. If she didn't have any celfa bark around, she'd need a six-pack.
Hey, I'm not gonna contribute to my girlfriend's party.
If the two of us needed to talk about anything, this was it. If Jill had planned to reproduce, I needed to know what it meant to me ... and all of us.
Does she, for example, have a litter of them ... or just one, like regular people?
Regular people. She'd become one of us in more ways than anybody could have imagined. We still weren't up to the final stage of maturity yet ... the driver's license ... but she'd asked about the credit card.
"You have sixty grand in the bank. Why do you need a credit card?"
"In case I need to rent a car."
"You don't have a driver's license."
"I should get one. It's good identification."
There, the conversation took an abrupt turn. "Jill, as far as I can tell, there is only one green woman on Earth. That's you. Tell 'em you left it at home."
When she spit the walnut shells at me, I knew I'd struck a nerve.
I answered "no" to line seven and went on. At line ten, I gave up and brewed a pot of coffee, called Lundquist to report the latest rash of threats and decided to go to Soapy's for lunch.
Lundquist hasn't been my buddy since the day I told him to intercourse himself, but he does attach some significance to the threats. His department benefits from Jill's presence, even though it means he has more paperwork from the Feds.
Federal funds, Federal bullshit.
***
The noontime crowd at Soapy's is a raucous lot, mostly construction workers and a few blue-collar secretaries, many of whom are named Marge.
I slid up to the bar next to Marge and cleared off a space for the burger and fries that Esmeralda cooked special, just for me. She's sweet.
Marge wasn't talking and might have been the only woman in town who didn't recognize me. Either that, or she was pissed because I was balling Jill and not her. I'm not into women who have "Joey" tattooed on their arms.
"Burger me, Vick."
Vicki brought the burger, the beer and a barstool. How she planned to carry on chat with me and serve the bar was her obstacle, not mine. She's good.
A beer, a shot, a bag of chips and "she said she screwed up with the Ukrainian" ... a beer, make change for a ten ... "hold the fries" ... a beer ... "because most people there speak Russian."
I nodded. Who knew?
"And..." plus, the pause... "hold on a sec ... sure, Jack ... Friday ... you have to buy her a dress."
"I do?" I looked at Marge. Maybe Marge can buy Jill a dress. Or one for herself.
"Tom and I have a wedding anniversary Sunday and you two are coming."
"We are?" I looked at Marge. Handle the bar, Marge. Vicki and I have to talk.
"DelMonico's." A beer, a shot ... change ... "four-eighty ... thanks ... Marge, you OK? ... six o'clock."
"I can't take Jill to DelMonico's. It's a seafood restaurant."
"Let her eat lobsters."
I looked at Marge, who looked at me. Yeah? So, she doesn't like seafood. "She'll eat the shell, Vicki."
"Maybe it's good." Vicki turned and walked the length of the bar, brought back a magazine and tossed it to the old guy next to Marge. "Tom says it's rare."
What's rare? Oh, the gun catalog. "Vicki, Jill never mentioned this to me."
"Don't wanna come?"
"Um ... will there be drinking?"
Vicki laughed. "I heard about that."
I looked at Marge. "Did you hear about that, Marge?"
She nodded.
I finished my burger, popped down another beer, put ten bucks on the Super Bowl board and decided to retreat to a safe haven. I went to the public library. There, I could read about astronomy.
The new stuff all had my name on it.
Well, Jill's.
If I was going to learn about Standard Eight, I'd have to read about it. Jill sure wasn't telling me anything. My hunch was that she didn't believe I could grasp it. In truth, I couldn't, but in some private moments, I felt offended.
Jill needed a dress and expected me to know she needed it. If Vicki hadn't told me, then what?
Women piss me off.
Even green ones.
I sat there, looking at the astronomy magazines, my eyes blurry because of line seven and line ten and the three beers. What kind of a dress do you want, Mistress?
I suppose that means she needs shoes, too.
She didn't need shoes when I met her. Or a bra or nylons or perfume.
Once she's seen Coffee Creek, she can't go back to the farm.
***
I stopped off at Sugar Lump Mall, cleverly named because it somehow fit with the image of Coffee Creek. My personal opinion of the mall is that it's a lump, all right. A lump of...
I hit Sears first, wandering the aisles for clothing that fit big and tall women. They didn't have much that matched olive-green and the sales clerk, who said she'd gotten Jill's autograph ... wow, was that awesome! ... just shrugged her shoulders. "White, maybe."
"It's winter."
"Black, maybe."
"Something with sequins."
"Nah, too whore-y."
"A feather boa?"
"She'd look like a stripper."
"How about something in a see-through plastic?"
"I bet Jill has incredible boobs."
I smiled at the young slender woman, who had a fair set of her own. "You like boobs?"
"Sure, doesn't everybody?"
I could see the conversation was taking a peculiar turn and meandered o
ff to the shoe department. Here's where I excel as a rule. I'd have excelled this time ... if I knew what size she wore.
I trudged into the mall, stopped off at the Penney store, saw pretty much the same thing ... overpriced dresses that only a woman can appreciate. I had no clue about Jill's taste in fashion or if she'd even developed one. She only wore jumpsuits, standard fare for the modern space traveler. Easy on and easy off.
I liked the easy-off part. Unzipping her is the second-most exciting moment of our lovemaking sessions. Once I get her stripped ... hit don' git no butter'n at.
"May I help you, sir? Oh, hi, Mister Hughes."
I turned. I didn't know the woman, but she knew me.
"Emelda Perkins. I'm Maud's granddaughter, the mayor's sister."
I studied the woman, who looked forty, maybe younger. "I need a dress." The mayor has a sister?
"I didn't realize..." She flushed.
"Yeah, my Adam and Eve catalog got swiped from the mail. Anyhow, what's good for a green woman?"
"Formal?"
"Drunken orgy at DelMonico's."
"Vicki and Tom's anniversary party. I see." She scratched her chin and led me along the row of dresses. She pulled out a dark gray one that looked long enough to cover the USS Theodore Roosevelt.
I held it up and looked it over. "Yep, that's a dress. Two hundred bucks!"
"We have twenty percent off."
"Well ... with that going for me ... suppose it will fit?"
Emelda looked at the label. "What's her bust size?"
I held my hands out. "Gee ... I dunno ... out ... here ... she ain't huge. Big enough for certain things."
"I won't explore that."
I waved the dress around in front of me, pretending Jill was inside it, wagging her tongue around, begging me to go down on her, right here in the JC Penney store. "My problem is, if she doesn't like it or it doesn't fit, there isn't time to exchange it." Then I remembered ... we had all day Thursday. "I'll take it."
Emelda studied my face and the expression it had apparently taken on. "This sort of intrigue is exciting, isn't it?"
"My turn not to explore a comment." It sounded dull anyhow.
She grabbed three or four other dresses, all similar in style and in a variety of color options that seemed to match olive-green and black ... "here, take all of them and bring back the ones she can't use."
I left the store eight hundred dollars lighter and I still hadn't bought the shoes. I did grab a packet of skimpy purple panties that I wanted Jill to try on for comfort. One size fits all, the packet told me. Well, if they don't fit, that's no handicap. Trying them on is every girl's dream.
On the way out, I stopped at the Music Bar and found, quite by luck, a CD of Paul Anka's greatest hits. Put your head on my shoulder. After that, I put my head between your boobs.
Music Bar has much more than music, I learned. An entire section was devoted to Jill posters. I got a weird sensation when I realized she'd become such a cult figure in such a short time. I also wanted to head-butt the photographer. You don't have to make her look that sexy, do you? And what's with the smoke?
The posters sold for about eight bucks and I wondered how much of it went to Jill and how much of it went to Music Bar. I know I wasn't getting any of it, not that I cared. Money for nothing, Jill for free.
Not counting the eight hundred and twenty-nine dollars I left at Sugar Lump Mall.
To Jill, everything is free, except her time.
Only Klinger gets a better deal than that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I tried not to laugh but the look on her face was more than I could bear. I could tell I'd hit a nerve. "Pool cues are expensive, sweetheart."
"Your use of the word makes me believe you're fond of me. Please turn that cold machine off!"
I flipped the air conditioner off and rolled down the window. "It's ninety degrees today."
"Our research says it isn't always this warm in this area."
I stopped at the light and tried to get a picture of the type of world she called home. "I take it you come from a rather tropical environment."
"I'm a plant."
"Cannibal."
"I don't find that amusing."
"I'd still rather call you Cheeliol. I think it's sexy?"
"You think I'm sexy? How can that be?"
I pulled into the driveway, checked to make sure the bluejays were on the other side of the street ... it never works ... they shit on it anyway ... and led her into the house. "I suppose I have to suffer in the heat."
She sat on the couch. "Here, Klinger."
Klinger emerged.
"Why don't you take him for a walk?"
I grabbed Klinger's leash and handed it to Jill, who seemed adroit at fastening it to the little guy's collar.
The two of them took off and I turned on the answering machine.
"You planning to come to work?"
I called back. "Barney, I need a few days off. I have a crisis here."
"Does she eat trees?"
Word spread fast at AdManagers, the little shop where I toiled day in, day out, in quest of a few hundred dollars a week. I design ads for magazines. The pay sucks and so does the work. Sometimes, I get to fool around with babes in sexy undies. Photos, that is.
Cheeliol, the space invader, was about to change all that.
I gave myself time for a shower, knowing Klinger's habits and his new companion's propensity for eating anything covered in bark.
***
There I was, in the shower, drying myself off when the racket started. Klinger was barking. Jill was just standing there. Maud was pounding on the door with her cane.
I wrapped the towel around me and tried to make the best of it.
"I'm gonna call the cops!" Maud shrieked into the screen door. "This creature ... horrible thing! ... what are you! ... Jay, call the cops ... get her taken away!"
"Maud, go home."
"I'm gonna call the cops!"
"The cops already know. Klinger, shut up! Jill, go sit down. Maud, go home!"
"Horrible creature! Where did you get this green thing?"
Jill's back tightened.
"Jill, she's old!"
I closed the door and let Maud rave at the screen door. Jill had met the neighbor.
I threw on a shirt and some shorts.
The police cars came around a few minutes later and Jill and I spent the next hour explaining why I lived there and why she didn't. Captain Lundquist had a pipeline to the top but the guys under him had no clue. All they knew was that Jill had taken a few of their pals to task with a tree branch.
Jill paced around the front yard like a space woman in heat. Klinger marked tires and I marked time. No matter what Pendrigrass had suggested, I wanted to intercourse Jill again.
When it's hot, she's sexy.
Through it all, she was staying cool. The woman does not perspire.
Me? I sweat.
In the tree overhead, the squirrel chattered down at his arch-enemy. Klinger looked up and panted. Arf you, too ... tree rat.
The small crowd of neighbors who had gathered on the fringes of the yard ebbed larger and smaller. None them had ever seen a green woman. My hunch was they were either planning a Welcome Wagon dinner or a lynching party.
Maud was carrying on with reckless abandon. I didn't hear what the rest of them were saying. It had been a day pretty much like all days. First, you meet the Air Force and the CIA, eat the butt end off a pool cue, come home for a pleasant session of intercourse and, before you realize it, everything goes to hell.
I ushered Jill back up the steps, managed to corral Klinger and started toward the house.
"Ah ... Jay ... it'll be all right."
I turned. "Hi, Betty." Betty Fawthorp lived across the street. Sometimes, she used a wheelchair. Today, she was on her walker. "There's a lot going on here."
"We know. We'll try to be gentle."
"You're in no danger," I reassured her.
&
nbsp; Betty gave me a little grin. "Danger? We could use a little excitement around here. Maybe your friend can come over one of these days and chat."
"She'd like that, I'm sure."
"We could bake cookies."
I nodded and headed up the steps. "I think she likes the crunchy kind."
Betty smiled and nodded. "So does Herb."
Herb Fawthorp eats wood? Hey, you live next to people all this time and you never know.
The insanity absorbed, Jill and I went about the task before us. I washed the afternoon off her feet and found the adventure so damned compelling that I started sucking on her toes. First, the little toe on the left foot ... then the next toe and all the way up to the big one ... then, I did the other foot. I licked every inch of them. I'd never been excited about feet before but Jill's were driving me crazy. Her feet didn't even taste like feet. They tasted like ... Jill's feet.
She seemed to like it and stretched out her legs in front of me, nudging me up along her ankles. I made the executive-level decision to lick her right leg, because I knew I wouldn't have time to do both of them before she got into moo-pa mode.
Then, right there on the lumpy couch, I ate her pussy. Yep, the whole damned thing.
Well, you get the idea.
The moment lasted a few minutes ... I wasn't watching the clock ... but I got her off.
"Again!"
"Don't you ever get satisfied?"
"Again! Moo-pa again!"
We adjourned to the bedroom, where I moo-pah-ed all over her boobs. Every girl needs to have a good tit-fucking, just to keep her skin soft.
"With your mouth!"
I sucked her tits till her nipples got hard, then I went down on her again, an inch at a time, sucking on her belly button in much the same way I'd described it to the amorous Tammy at the piss-vial porn studio.
If Jill is a plant, she has some tasty sap.
If she's not a plant, she's a peach, which would make her a fruit ... and none of that makes any sense, so skip it.
Just close your eyes and imagine her getting more moo-pa than she bargained for.
Three times.
***
We showered together for the first time and I don't recall anything in my life being more exotic, romantic and rewarding. I washed her with a sponge, lathering her from top to bottom, soaking her hair, running my fingers through it, rinsing, stroking. I even took the spray nozzle to her pussy, letting the warm water seep in and down her long, strong legs. In the mist, she looked like a princess from my fantasy.
