I knew what to expect with the mayor, so I decided to revisit his brain some other time. I could watch the secretary get up to her orgasmic stenographic tricks with a range of clients. A repeat performance if you like. I could write it down, but I'd seen it all before. She only had one way of getting on top of things. No twists and turns for that lady. Straight in, up to the hilt, then out again, collect the cash. Everybody wins.
I thought it might get better as the day wore on. Nothing to write home about, it had to be better than sitting through a boring council meeting listening to brain dead politicians pumping their own private agendas and pretending to be public minded.
I sensed that this job offer for my Dad was payment for something Dad had heard through listening at keyholes. He kept it under his belt and used it to gain advantage with the mayor. Good one, Dad.
Mom and Dad didn't talk about our home world, so I don't know where we come from. I only know about this planet. After we arrived in a space ship, I hatched out of my cocoon, immediately shape shifting into human form, screaming my lungs out. They're involuntary processes, the screaming and the shifting. That's all I know.
I spent the first years of my life trying to fit in, but now I don't care. I'm me, and if you don't like who I am, tough luck. I'm bigger than almost everyone I know and way meaner.
My parents called what they did shape shifting, but I called it cool, and weird.
They chose what they changed into, shifting in an instant, no warning given, but only under cover of darkness. A bit scary for me until I learnt to do it, too. I just turned twelve at the time, and it turned my life upside down and inside out. I loved the power it gave me, and after that, I used it every night. During the day, I went to school and tried to act normal. Trouble happened because I didn't much like boring normal stuff. The only problem was I couldn't keep my gift a secret. I had a big mouth, and I had to work really hard to keep it shut. A few times I gave in to temptation and people started to avoid me like the plague. They said I was a fruitcake, without nuts, and that made me mad. When I took my revenge, causing pain and intimidation in sneaky ways, they hated me even more.
Humans aren't ready to be taken over, Dad told me. We would be destroyed if we became visibly active at shape shifting. I believed him then, and I believe him now. Humans can be monsters.
By the time I turned fourteen, people began to respect me, not for what I did but for what I didn't do. I didn't hurt them unless, by their own actions, they forced me to act. I didn't have to shape shift to make people afraid of me. Being a vicious, taunting tyrant came naturally. A human trait, but I felt like a monster in the true sense of the word. I turned the whole thing back on the victims, and they believed whatever happened had to be their own fault. They asked for it and deserved to be put down. That's real power.
My parents were so busy doing their own thing they forgot I needed to crawl before I could walk. That's one of the reasons I got so out of control. Dad should have kept an eye out for my peccadilloes, and Mom kept busy being perfect and visibly acceptable. I crawled over everyone and everything in sight. Being the school bully really turned me on. In line for a human banquet, I always got the first bite.
Mom and Dad could go out on the town at night, be whoever they wanted to be, and remain anonymous. I sometimes went with them. I know what went on because I shape shifted at the same time into my favorite form-a spiny anteater. People totally freaked when I turned up at the local mall covered in ants. My mother always told me to eat a balanced diet and take my lunch with me, so I did.
I'd hide in the men's room when security turned up. Habit I guess, since I'm supposed to be male, although that can change. Making contact with flesh blew me away, but chasing my targets slowed me down. I loved the exhilaration of it all. Hearing people scream, knowing I was the cause of their panic and fear-nothing could top that.
Around that time, I began strolling through neural pathways, a trick I learned from my mother, who always seemed to know what I had done and also what I intended to do. Reading minds like that gave me amazing insight into secret lives. I learnt just by listening to brainwaves and hearing past conversations floating through the atmosphere. Secrets no longer existed in my world. As king of the world, I knew everything, past and present.
Trouble came to bite me because my self-constructed mental throne consisted of hot air. It had no real substance. I couldn't sit on it and rule. I drifted in and out of people's lives, listening and sneaking visuals on private sexual encounters.
I really wanted to join in, to have an encounter of my own, in the flesh. I had to find a girl of my own before I exploded with unfulfilled desires. I decided to grow up and step out of my self-imposed emotional safety zone to find a mate. The future of my species depended on it.
Very few people we encountered, as a family, would say a word about the strange aura that surrounded us. The ones that commented suddenly found themselves talking gibberish or disabled in some way. Messing with people's minds was easy. Dad didn't like to be talked about, so sometimes people would disappear, never to return.
In a game of cat and mouse, we were the cats.
We used psychic manipulation so people would do whatever we wanted them to do. Very much like advertising. We say, “You will buy this product.” Most people nod their heads and say, “Okay” because making a decision involves thinking and a lot of people are too lazy or brain dead. It might take them away from sport or their favorite TV show. It's easier to lie down and be dominated, very much like global conditioning, and very effective. Politicians use it all the time until they screw up publicly and then questions begin. That's called foot-in-mouth disease and it leaves a nasty taste on the tongue. Blaming their next in command is one way out.
Neighbors would confide in me as if I didn't belong to my strange family and was totally innocent. I think it happened because I looked so young and helpless as a kid back then.. I learned early how to disguise my real feelings. Changing shape and playing mind games weren't the only tricks in my repertoire. I excelled at psychic manipulation, even trying it on my parents with great success. I've still got the PlayStation I ordered through e-Bay. It's really cool. They didn't even make a fuss when they got their bank statement and saw how much it cost.
During the day, after I went to school and Dad went to work, Mom became a being with eight arms, able to do all the chores in half an hour. Hanging out the washing was a breeze. She hung it on a wire next to the back fence so the neighbors couldn't see her working. She would cook several dishes all at the same time. We're oversize people, so that's good. We eat a lot. Then she would change back to human form and lie on the couch watching TV for the rest of the day. Her friends would visit, never knowing what they'd missed.
None of Mom's friends, all housewives and mothers and not a shape shifter among them, would understand how she could change. And, if they knew about her gift, they would hate her. Jealousy is a curse. We would be forced to fight back, kill or be killed. No second chances, just the way we like it.
Dad felt different about our talents. He went to work at the sock factory during the day, acting like an upright, prominent citizen, making money and doing deals, and at night he liked to metamorphose into a very large alien with huge feet. He always said size mattered, and he was right.
When he became a super size alien, he could never get shoes to fit, so he went barefoot. Mom called him Big Feet, a term of endearment. I called him Dad. Strangers who met him in the street at night didn't call him anything. In his guise as Big Feet, he grew huge and alien, so they ran. Thank goodness, they didn't recognize him. That could be because, in his favorite alien shape, his skin glowed blue, with flaky scales, not very appealing. Even his underwear didn't fit, so he went naked. A scary sight, even for me.
Sometimes, when people caught Dad with his pants down, he climbed through their neural pathways, convincing them he lived a normal life as a red-blooded man with the right amount of testosterone. Most times they believed him. If t
hey challenged him on it, they became part of the menu. A lot of people disappeared in our part of the country. Police investigated thoroughly, but never found a trace of any of the victims.
Then Dad got his alternative position with the council, helping with surveillance. Who needed wiretapping equipment when my dad could do the job? He worked part time at the sock factory; the rest of the day, he spent doing shifty deals for the mayor. He couldn't lose.
When I turned twenty-five, my parents went home. In other words, they vanished off the face of the earth. They didn't even leave a note. The mayor went ballistic. Dad had left him holding the baby, and he didn't know how to wire tap or walk through brains like he owned them. He career imploded. His bevy of hanger-on women, all he had to work with, didn't bother to stick around if they weren't being paid.
Left to fend for myself, I had the house we lived in and a huge appetite. I had to do housework, cook, go to work, and run the sock factory. I knew the work because Dad had trained me to take over when he retired. He didn't tell me when or how that would happen. I felt so grateful I didn't inherit his night-time appearance. Alien feet and scaly blue skin that glows in the dark are hard to explain, even today.
Mom left a lot of washing for me to do, most of it mine. After I tossed it in the garbage, I tried to explain to her friends about her disappearance, but they still blamed me. I hadn't been helpful enough, they said. If only they knew what went on behind closed doors.
After I became acclimatized to being alone, I found my true calling. I went out each night terrorizing people anywhere I found them. Some fought back, but I managed to convince them, psychic stuff again, that they liked being scared, that being tormented is like seeing a free horror movie in your living room or being part of the show.
I knew what happened to these people because I would call on them the next day in the guise of a sock salesman. I'd make money at the same time as I fed on their insecurities, just like a politician. They let me into their houses and told me all their troubles, a total turn on.
Real paranoia would set in for victims. They would stay home and apply for welfare. Watching horror movies at home is cold comfort when you're too scared to go outside your house and get the mail.
Of course, the day had to come when I succumbed to temptation. A woman came to the factory one day, looking for socks, and I knew right away my life as a single entity had come to a grinding halt. She and I were meant to be. My downfall arrived in a sweet, irresistible package, and I fell desperately in love.
I wanted to give Doris everything-my home, my business, my life. I offered, and she accepted. We bonded in the most basic of ways. The first time we had sex blew my mind and my body-an incredible experience. I had no idea it could be such a turn on when someone actually did it because they wanted to. Previous to this, I had to persuade women to let me into their bodies, using my psychic manipulation techniques. Hearing a woman scream with lust isn't nearly as interesting, if she doesn't really mean it and she falls asleep immediately after the event, not remembering a thing about it.
I demonstrated my athletic abilities in Doris’ bedroom, the bathroom, the front yard of her house, and also in the local park. We even visited the council chambers one night after I subdued the security guard. He thought the bottle of soda I gave him tasted strange. No wonder. The knockout drops I put in gave it extra zing.
The council chambers included bedroom suites, so we used the facilities. The waterbed we lay on nearly bounced us off the ceiling as we groped and clawed our way to the top of the pleasure tree. Too bad one of my claws spiked the bed and we came back down with a crash. Cleaning up the spills from the bed turned out to be an all-nighter. The water had flowed down the hall and trailed into the television room where it got into the power points and shorted out the whole building. We left in a hurry before we were caught reveling in the carnage.
I told Doris about my life as an alien. She wanted me to show her. I demonstrated to the best of my ability, a messy but satisfying process.
I even showed her how to become like me, a trick I learned from my parents. I could turn people into aliens by sharing a little bit of my DNA. I would insert it into their blood stream. That took just a little bite. I learned that trick by watching vampire movies. Anywhere would do and they changed. Permanently.
When I realized she enjoyed playing games, playing me, I left, terrorizing the neighborhood until I calmed down. I knew she didn't want me; she wanted the power I enjoy over others. That turns her on.
Sure, I'm a monster, but I always try to leave my victims with pleasant memories, implanted though they may be.
Doris turned out to be a monster of a different variety. She likes to be seen as a monster and to leave a permanent impression. It's an ego trip for her.
I knew then I couldn't go on. Doris wanted to have children with me, but I knew they would become monsters like her, an unacceptable circumstance. The monster line had to be pure, so no children-lots of sexual encounters but no results.
Unfortunately, I failed to take account of my alien testosterone and my own weak nature. Doris lured me into any situation she chose. She sucked me right in and I fell, unable to resist. Calling out “Pip, I love what you're doing to me, my sweet monster, give me the whole nine yards” at the moment of completion made my life complete. Being accepted for who and what I am has always been missing from my life. But now I have Doris and size no longer matters because I have it all.
We have kids. Twin boys. Two of the sweetest shape shifting monsters I ever saw. Their birth, another cocoon moment unattended by human doctors but assisted by me, their father, heralded the end of my life as a free thinker and the beginning of torment. I had to teach them how make the most of their abilities, and clean up after the event, a hard task for any parent.
Today, while I look after my two little monsters, showing them the ropes of life as an alien shape shifter and the pleasures of chewing the fat off unsuspecting victims, my wife, Doris, is out doing her own thing. She loves being a monster. It shows in every bite she takes. The mall at night is one her favorite places to shop around. There is so much variety, so many flavors, so many bleeding hearts.
I don't mind being a monster. It beats working at the sock factory. I've put in a manager. And there are perks to being married to Doris. She always brings home the bacon, and it tastes delicious. She also likes my bedroom skills. Every time I shape shift in bed, Doris comes, too. We explore the universe together every night. It's the best goodnight gift an alien can receive.
The End
Azure Masquerade
by
Megan Hussey
The Midnight Merman enjoys nocturnal swims in Port Emerald, captivating swimmers with his mysterious beauty. Yet the merman—also known as Taron Andrews—loves only Lillith, his college sweetheart.
goldenmuse.tripod.com/id1.html
You can find more stories by Megan at www.midnightshowcase.com
Azure Masquerade
by
Megan Hussey
Chapter One
The sight of ruby-hued rose petals, strewn with sensual abandon across sheets of azure satin, always aroused Lillith Munroe.
Yet on this evening, with these sheets bathed in the golden rays of a forlorn, solitary moon, this arousal became tinged with an undeniable sadness. In evenings past, Lillith shared the soft, slick sheets of her Victorian four-poster bed with her husband Gregory. The two tumbled often into the luxurious depths of their bed—prompting Lillith to stare wondrously at the silken pastel canopy that oversaw their nightly trysts.
Although a happily and properly married couple, they never gave up on caressing, flirting, or, if the mood hit, even making love.
During the course of their five-year union, they exchanged their modest college apartment at Port Emerald University for an expansive, two-story, ivory-hued home on nearby Port Emerald Beach. And they traded in their student ID cards for a small business license. Their rec room became a home office for the fastly
growing Munroe Marketing Firm. And the multicolored rock'n'roll poster that once adorned their ceiling was replaced with a luminous, two-tiered chandelier.
Even so, the couple never stopped ‘making out’ or ‘sneaking around'—sometimes even venturing into the velvet-upholstered backseat of Gregory's restored 1945 Rolls Royce.
Although admittedly the site of some interesting marital memories, Lillith now hoped with fervor that she would never see the car again; though she knew in her heart that the Rolls was not responsible for her husband's deadly accident.
Six months ago, the actions of a drunken, reckless driver ended Gregory's life. As a blissfully unaware Lillith lay asleep in the couple's bed, her husband's car was pummeled in a violent collision on a dark, rainy road.
"That was the last night he lived,” thought Lillith. “And the last night I truly slept."
Even so, it helped sometimes to play the old jazz CDs, pour the glass of crystalline champagne, and coat their sheets with a fresh supply of radiant rose petals in bloom.
"Just so something in this house feels alive,” she thought.
* * * *
The decorative French doors that bordered Lillith's master bedroom suffused the next morning with a kaleidoscope of light, rays adorned beautifully by a Florida sun.
She shifted slightly in her bed, finally sitting up to greet the morning with a smile, something she hadn't been wont to do since her husband died many long months ago.
"Despite the great temptation to do so, I can't lie here wrapped up in my sheets like a mummified pasta shell,” she mused. “After all, if Gregory and I are going to work in a morning jog..."
Suddenly, she fell back against the pillows, her chest constricting with the hard, unyielding weight of a certain truth. Her husband never would make another morning jog. And she wasn't altogether sure she would make it through another day.
Again sitting upright in her soft satin sheets, Lillith buried her head in her hands and let loose with a torrent of tears.
Romp Fantasy Digest Page 6
