by Alana Khan
Bioluminescence. I had a file on my computer about it so someday when I had enough money I could travel to places known for it. My research told me organisms from algae to fungi to vertebrates can produce their own light.
Although it’s now obvious I’ll never travel to those fascinating places on Earth, here I am with my own private show.
The water isn’t stagnant, it’s moving swiftly. As I follow the glowing algae flowing with the current, I realize I’m looking at an underground stream, perhaps a river. Right here, though, the underground riverbed is wider, creating a fairly calm pool.
The smell is rich in here, like fertile soil. As barren as it is on the surface of the planet, it’s teeming with life down here. I hear the sound of what might be birds calling to each other in the far reaches of the cave system.
Now that my eyes have adjusted, I see that it’s not just yellows, but greens and pinks and shades of blue that dot the walls and the banks along the water.
I have no weapon. I don’t know how I could possibly defend myself if a predator rushed me. I wonder if the air or water or stone might be irradiated like the mine.
Although this place could be magical, it could also be fraught with danger.
The wall just a few feet from me is covered in vines. It reminds me of the kudzu I saw on a trip to Georgia. My hosts told me how invasive the species was and that it was said to grow a foot each night.
The walls of this cavern are covered with the large-leaved foliage. The vines themselves are thick, some are as big around as my wrist, most are the width of two or three fingers.
“Slag,” I whisper into the night. Just this soft noise causes a chain reaction of silence as every bird and insect quiets for a moment, then resumes its mating call.
I debate for long moments about taking a drink from the river. It’s running, not stagnant, which is good, but it could be deadly. I already know the walls of the mines carry radiation, could it be in the stream? And who knows what animals might lurk in the water’s murky depths.
But the fact of the matter is that if I don’t drink soon I’m going to die.
I walk to the edge of the pool, kneel, and scoop water into my hands. After sniffing it, I dip the tip of my tongue in. It tastes good, better than the tinny water of the mine. Then I drink. Just a sip.
I stand, waiting for it to kill me, but when nothing happens, I squat and drink more, enjoying the fresh taste.
Now I get to work. I’m going to pull enough of these vines to make a rope to pull Slag out of the mine.
These things are tough. The really thick ones are impossible to yank away from the cavern walls, the leaves have stickers that cling to the rock. I pull the ones that aren’t stuck so tightly to the rock.
I pull vines for hours, then make several trips back to the little cave I originally bedded down in.
I allow myself a quick nap even though I feel guilty. Every minute I waste is a minute Slag is sitting in the cavern believing he’ll never make it out alive. But I’m too tired to think and can’t do him any good in this state.
The pale sun wakes me a few hours later, and I start braiding immediately. The vines are inherently sturdy, but now that they’re braided I don’t doubt they’ll be strong enough to hoist him. The only question is—will I be?
I loop the heavy braids over my shoulders and begin the trek back to him. I tried to be mindful of the direction I traveled, realizing the barren landscape has few landmarks and fearing I’d never find my way back to Slag.
Miraculously, I finally see the little cairn of rocks I made to mark my way.
“Slag!” I yell, wanting to give him hope. “Slag! I’m back!”
I don’t know what he sees when I stick my head over the hole we made in the mine’s ceiling. I’m probably just a dark blob backlit by the sun. But I see his face clear enough. At first, he’s shocked, then the relief is written all over him as his shoulders relax. And then I see the corners of his mouth tip up in the tiniest smile.
“Yep. I know. You wondered if I stopped for some McDonald’s and a latte. I took the time for a mani-pedi, too. But here I am,” I tell him knowing he doesn’t understand a word, but wanting him to hear the happy sound of my voice.
From the pile of rocks that is not far from the hole, I select a boulder that I hope will be large enough to hold Slag’s weight but that I can roll in my weakened state. I haven’t slept more than two hours in two days, the relentless heat means I’m thirsty, and I still have bouts of the swirlies from the radiation sickness. But I don’t stop for a minute because I’m so full of purpose, wanting to finally see Slag when I pull him out of the hole.
I thought I might have wasted my time braiding too many vines, but by the time I secure the braid around the boulder, there’s barely enough to hang half-way down the hole.
Slag ties the axe to the rope, which I pull up first. The effort of widening the hold for my huge friend leaves me sweating and panting, but I’m filled with purpose. It’s certainly easier to use the axe standing on the ground than it was reaching over my head. I’m going to get Slag out of there.
After securing his flute to his loincloth, he grabs the rope as soon as I lower it to him. With a grunt and all his upper body strength, he climbs out.
Now it’s not a little smile tipping the corners of his mouth—he’s beaming. And so am I.
As tired as he is, he lifts me under my armpits and whirls me in a circle, then clutches me to him so hard it leaves me breathless. I can only imagine his fear that I’d never come back for him. My chest clenches in happiness at seeing him. We’ve only known each other a few days and he hasn’t said a word, but I feel connected to him.
“Wait ‘till you see the room I rented us. Spacious and colorful. It doesn’t have cable, but it has running water and a light show.”
Grabbing his hand, I pull him toward our new digs. I hadn’t allowed myself to think beyond this moment, but now I have all the time in the world to wonder how we’re going to survive on this hostile planet and how we’re going to get off it.
Slag
Mine.
KJ
The walk to the cave was grueling in the heat of the day, made even harder by the fact that Slag hasn’t had a drop to drink in two days. As soon as we were through the mouth of the outer cave, I pulled him toward the tiny opening to the magical inner cave.
It was a tight fit getting Slag through the opening to the water hole. We’ll have to make it bigger later, but it won’t be a problem again, because I don’t think he’ll want to ever leave.
I have no idea what his childhood was like or how long he spent in the mine, but I don’t think he had the opportunity to investigate bioluminescence on the Internet like I did. His mouth gapes open and a laugh bubbles up out of his throat when he sees our private light show.
It’s fun watching my huge giant act like an excited kid. He wants to touch every glowing thing and seems to have no innate fear of anything. He scrapes his hand against the lichen on the walls, reaches out to grab this planet’s equivalent of a firefly, and touches the kudzu as if he’s never seen a living plant.
He tears off his loincloth and wades into the water before I can pull him back to shore.
“Slag! No!” I doubt he can understand explanations of all my fears of leviathans surfacing from the deep or scary alien piranha or microscopic bacteria that could harm him. And now he can’t hear me either, because he’s dog-paddling to the other side of the cavern.
“Slag!” He’s like a very strong, very green toddler.
I have no idea how he knows how to stay afloat, but the current isn’t carrying him away and he is laughing out loud.
I don’t know if there’s winter on this planet, somehow I doubt it. I imagine being wet and relatively cool must feel like heaven to a male who’s toiled in the mine for years with only a trickle of water running down the wall to wash himself, so I just back off and enjoy his joy.
He drinks his fill, as do I at the water’s edge, but t
hen motions for me to join him. I watch with envy, but I was never that girl who could shuck her clothes and go skinny dipping in high school, so I just hang on the sidelines and wait.
Slag gives me a few more minutes to decide on my own to join him, then swims to the shore, walks his naked dripping self over to me, and picks me up.
“No!” I say as he pretends to throw me in.
“Okay,” I slide down his body until my feet hit the ground and pull off my clothes. It’s not like we haven’t explored each other’s bodies already.
I make a shallow dive into the water and revel in the experience. It’s bathwater warm—the most comfortable I’ve been since I arrived on this planet. All the caked sand that has been glued to my skin with sweat is carried off by the water as I swim.
Slag flounders a bit as he dog-paddles, then he swims like he’s done it for years. It makes me wonder again what his life was like pre-Rhoid. He wasn’t born here. Did he have a home? Parents? People who loved him?
He approaches me and squirts me with water. Just like my dad used to do, and every boy I ever dated. What is it about bodies of water that turns people with testosterone into bullies?
I give as good as I get, though. You couldn’t grow up in my family without learning how to defend yourself. Once my dad showed me how to do that two-handed water squirty thing, I got quite accomplished at it. So, I squirt Slag right in the face from the other side of the pool.
Before he swims over, bent on retribution, I wade up on shore. My last nutrition bar was two days ago. I pull on my clothes after deciding it’s time to investigate the cave to see what’s edible.
When I wander off, I hear Slag emerge onto shore, and soon he’s at my side drip-drying as he accompanies me. Deeper into the cave, we see different species of plants and low and behold there’s a thick vine with dark red somethings hanging from every branch.
How did cavemen learn what plants were edible, I wonder. Then I realized they probably used trial and error—and the errors cost someone their life.
But damn, those round, red whatevers look good.
Slag reaches up, grabs a couple, hands me one, and bites into his. His eyes pop wide, then slam shut as he makes a sound that's scandalously close to the noise he makes when he comes.
He moves his chin in an ‘eat-up’ motion as he grabs a second fruit and takes a juicy bite. I snatch his fruit away from him, scolding, “This could kill you. Danger! We should wait to see if it makes you sick.”
I think he gets my meaning because he stops eating. He picks a few more of the fruits I’ve decided to call ‘reds’ and we mosey back to the flat bank where we originally waded in.
I start yanking kudzu vines off the cave walls, and although Slag has no idea what I’m doing, he pitches in. When we have enough, we carry them back to the bank and lay them in a criss-cross pattern to make a beach blanket.
Then we lie down and relax. It’s the first time I’ve relaxed, like really breathed a full and complete tranquil breath, since my abduction. There’s something about Slag’s presence that calms me.
He gets up, locates his discarded loincloth, rinses it, and puts it on wet. After sitting back down cross-legged, he urges my head onto his thigh. I let my thoughts drift, then assume I’m sleeping and dreaming of beautiful ethereal music.
But I’m not sleeping.
I open my eyes to see him playing his flute.
Calm happiness sweeps through me as I realize my friend might not be able to speak, but he thinks just fine. You don’t figure out how to make an instrument, or how to play it if you can’t think properly. Whatever the brain fog is that plagued both of us, maybe his is going away too.
I must have dozed off, but I awaken famished. I sit up and grab one of the three reds sitting on the mat we made.
“You feel okay big guy?” I ask before I take a bite.
He nods. I think he understands me! The red is juicy and sweet and tastes like watermelon and kiwi fruit rolled into one. It’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. I wipe the liquid dripping down my chin with the back of my hand. I sure hope this fruit doesn’t kill me, because if it doesn’t I’m going to have another as soon as I finish this one.
Slag’s music is made even more beautiful by the acoustics in here. The room produces echoes upon echoes. It’s sublime.
As I’m munching my second red, it’s hard not to notice Slag’s raging hard-on. My mind throws me little snapshots of our first night together when he pleasured himself not a foot away from me. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
A flare of lust slices through me. It’s so powerful I can feel the wave of energy swirl, then pool in my pelvis. One wave after another pulses through me, hot and compelling.
Slag sets his flute down and looks at me with interest, his nostrils flaring.
There is nothing normal going on here. Nothing. Not being on this planet in outer fucking space. Not sharing reds with a male who outweighs me by a hundred pounds and whose skin is green and pebbled. Not the fact that he’s never spoken a single word and yet I’m certain he’s the kindest male I’ve ever known. And definitely not the fact that my core aches to be filled by the giant green cock staring at me from where it pushed past the folds of his tattered loincloth.
He reaches out and feathers his fingers through my hair, the concert a distant memory as all I can think about is the fact that my lips are lonely and my pussy’s empty and I want to have sex with Slag more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. What could be the harm? I have a contraceptive implant.
He’s signaling his interest, but waiting for me just as he did before. If I had any misgivings, they certainly vanish when raging desire slashes through me again. It’s a wave so powerful I can’t ignore or stop it.
Just as I did the other day, I take a note from his playbook and start where he likes to start.
Sitting across from him, I match his posture, sitting cross-legged, my knees bumping his. Leaning forward, I gently grab him above the knees and slide my fingers half-way up his thighs.
Although his skin is tough—perfect for surviving in the mines all those years—it’s soft to the touch.
“You feel good, Slag,” I say as I spear him with my gaze.
He places his hands on mine and nudges them higher. A shudder vibrates through me when I remember he’s been underground a long time. After what happened the other night, I’m sure he’s a virgin. Why this ratchets up my desire a thousandfold I have no idea. But the drumbeat of my arousal gets louder, more insistent.
He unwraps his loincloth, then reaches to pick me up by the waist and sets me on his lap, my feet on the ground, my center open to him, then snugs me as close as two people can be—almost.
When his huge calloused hands cup my cheeks, I let out a little moan. There’s something about the absolute tenderness of his movements juxtaposed with my flaming need, that touches me to my very core.
The way his lips explore mine, tentative, almost surprised, I’m certain this is his first kiss. When I groan in pleasure his tongue sneaks into my mouth.
Circling his waist with my legs, I force our pelvises even closer together.
“You’re ahead of me, Slag. Make me naked,” I say breathlessly.
He easily pulls my t-shirt over my head, then seems stymied by my bra and jeans. I stand to rip off all the rest of my clothes and realize how much I want him now. It’s not want, it’s unquenchable, relentless need.
Maybe later we’ll make love, but right now I want to get animal with him. I put my feet flat on the ground and sit back on his lap with the intention to slide onto him without any further preliminaries. Then realize my folly. This big boy might die a virgin because I’m not certain I can accommodate him.
I’m painfully horny. Nothing in my experience prepared me for this level of intense desire.
Grabbing his hand from where it’s lodged on the small of my back, I try to press it between us. I move away from him, giving him access to touch my folds. I want penetra
tion. No, I need penetration. Although I don’t think that huge weapon of his can breach me without tearing me in two, there’s more than one way for both of us to reach fulfillment.
Luckily, he doesn’t need a YouTube tutorial. He slides a thick finger inside my slick channel.
“Yes. Slag.” I tip my pelvis to inch him deeper inside.
I pump on him and a moment later he takes over the heavy lifting as he leans me back on the vine mat we constructed earlier.
“That’s right. Like that.”
He watches as I rub my little button. He rearranges himself and uses his cheek to bat my hand out of the way, replacing my fingers with his mouth without missing a beat.
