Fingers
flashed in a graceful dance, silent words
that spoke volumes.
Although
I couldn't understand a word that was being
said, the expression on the handsome young
man's face and his clipped, angry movements
left no doubt in my mind as to the topic of
conversation. Hurt and betrayal poured from
him in waves. I could feel his pain as easily
as if it had been my own, even from my seat
on the grass across the wide pathway from
where the two stood. I didn't need to read
his mind to know that it was a lovers'
quarrel, and one that had reached a fevered
pitch if the furious flurry of signs flashed
across the way were any indication.
Their
gestures grew more expansive, more heated.
The young man flipped up a finger in a sign
that's universally understood, and that
doesn't mean you're number one.
Sad to
say, I'd been reduced to a voyeur. Sitting in
the park, watching people and vicariously
tasting life through them. Imagining myself
in their positions, in their lives. Weaving
stories in my mind about their relationships,
always including myself in the mix. A Peeping
Tom who gets his kicks eavesdropping on
conversations instead of peeking in windows.
That I
am also a Judas Iscariot goes without saying.
Oh yes, there is an entire directory of
aliases that I can now claim as my own. Brutus.
Cassius. Benedict Arnold. The list goes
on and on. I've dug my own grave, crawled in
and pulled the dirt in on top of me. But it
was worth it. At least, that's what I kept
telling myself.
Across
the way, the young man whose rapid-fire
fingers had first caught my attention stood
alone, abandoned by his partner. His face had
the sad, wounded look of a puppy dumped on
the side of the road by its owner, unable to
understand what he'd done to deserve being
forsaken. Slender, a few inches shorter than
I, his skin was pale, his hair lighter still.
An ethereal angel, he stood alone on a
gum-splattered, garbage strewn pathway. He
sighed heavily and, shoving his hands into
the pockets of his cargo shorts, he tucked
his chin down and walked away, melting into
the crowd.
Color
me clairvoyant, but I always knew when
trouble was afoot and I could feel it running
full tilt toward the young man with the
expressive hands and the sad eyes.
I grit
my teeth, dug my heels in. I wouldn't do it
this time. I wouldn't. I'd be strong. I'd
stay put. Besides, I'd been feeling a little
peaked lately, and probably could use the
rest.
Right,
sure I would. I was such a sucker for a cute
guy heading for trouble. An unlikely hero,
was I - a reluctant one as well, but a hero
nonetheless.
I
followed him cautiously.
The
pathway that cut through the park was
crowded, as was usual on a warm, late
Saturday afternoon. I wove flawlessly in
between the pedestrians, skirting the joggers
and twisting out of the way of the inline
skaters. No one made eye contact with me.
They walked past me as if I didn't exist,
aside from a few brief, nervous looks tossed
in my direction.
But
that's par for the course when you're a
large, black dog with a mouthful of sharp
teeth and no leash.
The
young man with the elegant fingers had
reached the street and made a left at the
corner by the time I caught up. I padded
along silently, panting, my pink doggie
tongue flopping out over the side of my jaw.
I kept close enough behind him to make it
appear to the casual observer that I was no
more than a well-trained mutt heeling his
master. My features were composed in that
sweet, puppy-eyed look that's completely
unthreatening and totally adorable.
I was
so damn cute it was enough to make you want
to barf.
Let me
make one thing perfectly clear. I haven't
always been a card-carrying member of Canis
lupus familiaris - as if you hadn't
figured that part out already. Most dogs
don't broadcast a running commentary into the
mind of a perfect stranger. But I have my
reasons for that, which you'll come to
understand soon enough. Just bear with me as
I tell you my little story - not that you
have much of a choice in the matter. Think of
me as elevator music. I'm irritating and you
can't dance to me, but you're stuck with me
until you reach your floor.
We
stopped at a crosswalk. I parked myself on my
haunches sitting patiently behind him, my
tail swishing side-to-side brushing along the
pavement. A thin, birdlike woman carrying a
brown paper bag of groceries was also waiting
for the light to change. She took a wary step
to the back and told the young man in no
uncertain terms that he shouldn't walk his
dog without a leash.
"There
are laws," she said in an irritatingly
nasal, haughty voice that got higher and more
strident when he ignored her. She threatened
to report him. Call the police. Have his
mangy dog locked up in the pound.
Mangy?
The woman got on my last nerve. The young man
paid her no mind, obviously not hearing her
or the low growl that rumbled in my chest.
His eyes were focused on the flashing Do
Not Walk sign and he didn't see the very
hostile, predatory look that I shot at her. A
look that said very clearly, don't fuck
with me, bitch. I allowed my eyes to
glow red for a moment, a parlor trick I'd
developed that works wonders for getting rid
of undesirable attention. Very Stephen
King-esque, if I do say so myself. It worked
and she practically fell over herself running
in the opposite direction, leaving a trail of
groceries in her wake.
Sometimes
it was good to be me. Not often, but
sometimes.
While
we waited for the light, I took a moment to
tickle at the young man's mind, just at the
edges, not enough for him to know that I was
listening. Seems that it was exactly as I'd
suspected - he'd broken up with his
boyfriend. I caught a phrase or two - two-timing
bastard, jackass, blue-balled bitch. It
was enough to tell me that while he was
hurting, it had been for the best. Stroking
his memory with a feather-soft touch, I
learned that he was twenty-two, had lost his
hearing three years ago, and had a fondness
for pistachio nuts. I disconnected and was
gone before I realized that I hadn't gotten
his name. But by then the chance to pry a bit
more was gone as well, as the light changed
and we began walking again.
We
crossed the wide, midtown street, walking in
front of a long line of bright yellow taxi
cabs, horse-drawn handsome cabs, one or two
long city buses, and a few dented and bruised
commuter cars. We were just a boy and his
dog; nothing special that might have
attracted the attention of certain parties.
Certain parties who had very long memories
and very short tempers, and who wouldn't have
minded blowing me into teeny, kibble-sized
bits.
They're
the reason that I looked the way I did, the
way I still look most of the time. Why I hide
inside a furry pelt and force myself to go
dumpster diving for breakfast. They're the
ones I betrayed.
My boy
- I'd begun thinking of him as
"mine" even though I had yet to
learn his name - paused in front of a bar. It
was a seedy little dive, no more than a
hole-in-the-wall. The windows were so dirty
that they looked frosted, and the neon sign
that proclaimed the place to be Bar None
was shorting out, flickering feebly in
electrical death throes. A strong odor of
beer, piss, and sex wafted out of the open
door and I sneezed. No, don't go in
there, kid. I couldn't go in with him
and would have to sit outside cooling my jets
until he came back out. That would pretty
much negate the entire "protection"
thing I had going. Luckily for me, he decided
against drowning his sorrows and continued on
his way.
We
rounded a corner just as the sun sunk behind
the skyline and the streetlights winked on.
He was still completely oblivious to the fact
that he had a canine stalker. I trotted along
behind him, keeping my eyes glued to his rear
end.
He had
a fabulous rear end, by the way. Those tan
cargo shorts he was wearing were baggy, but
not so much so that they completely hid the
luscious curve of his bottom as it
hypnotically hitched to and fro. The
waistband rode low on his lean hips, giving
me a peek at his jockeys. They were black
silk. Yum.
See,
that's the root of my problems in a nutshell.
It's the reason that I'd gotten myself into
deep shit with the higher-ups in the first
place. We were supposed to be discreet. We
were supposed to keep contact to the bare
minimum. We were supposed to blend.
I
blended just a bit too well.
I
discovered, completely by accident, why
humans humped like rabbits when I blended
myself right up to my hips inside of an ass
that was smooth, round, and a tighter squeeze
than Times Square on New Year's Eve.
See, we
knew by the time we entered your solar system
that intercourse between female and male
humans was the prescribed method of
procreation - however barbaric the act seemed
to us. What we didn't know was that
a byproduct of the act was a mind-blowing
climatic supernova that was amazingly
addictive.
Ignorant
of that little fact, we were totally
perplexed by same-sex relationships. Being
solitary creatures with little need for
interpersonal relationships outside of our
work, the concepts of friendship and love
were simply beyond us. Therefore, we couldn't
fathom why humans would expend the energy
involved in having sex when there was no hope
for conception. As a result, the higher-ups
assumed that those humans who sought to
couple with members of their own sex were
simply exhibiting dominant behavior, much as
any lesser member of the Mammalian class
would occasionally indulge.
Just
goes to show you that you can conquer
interplanetary space travel and discover the
secrets of cold fusion; learn how to
transmogrify at a cellular level and
communicate telepathically, and still
be as dumb as a fence post.
Personally,
I'd never found the female of the species to
be all that interesting - too many lumps,
nooks and crannies to hold my attention for
very long. But the male of the species - now
they were another story all together. I'd
always found the human male body to be
endlessly fascinating, which was why I chose
that particular form for myself to begin
with, rather than the female. Hard muscles
moving fluidly under taut skin, rippling
pectorals and washboard stomachs, broad
shoulders, firm asses, sculpted thighs and
calves, every inch efficient biological
machines. I happily threw myself into my
work, studying them.
Researching
them served to pique other parts of my newly
morphed anatomy as well as my curiosity, in
particular the intensely intriguing organ
that lay between my bipedal thighs. It didn't
take long for me to decide that in order to
truly understand the psyche of the male of
the species, I needed to conduct an
experiment. Hands-on training, as it were. I
needed to put myself in their place,
experience the whole enchilada for myself.
And since it was the male physique that had
so captivated my imagination, it was only
logical that I would choose another male for
my experiment.
Good
choice, by the way. Give this alien life form
a cookie.
Luckily,
the body I'd chosen for myself was an
attractive one by human standards, standing
well over six feet tall. I'd given myself
dark hair, bedroom eyes, broad shoulders,
slender hips, and an ass that did everything
but sit up and beg. It didn't take me long at
all to find a willing test subject.
Thus it
was that I became the first of my kind to
discover the human climatic supernova, or H.C.S.,
as I dubbed it. I became convinced that the
Secret - with a capital "S" - of
life in the universe lay in star-imploding
power of this strange but utterly delightful
phenomenon. I suspected that it alone was the
reason why humans jumped one another at every
possible opportunity. The problem was that
the HCS was so fleeting that the experiment
necessitated repetition in order for me to
validate my conclusions before I shared them
with the rest of my community.
And by repetition
I mean repeated as frequently as physically
possible. Orally, anally, mechanically; solo,
in pairs, and in groups. I topped, I
bottomed, and on several memorable occasions,
did both at once. With the single-minded
pursuit of a scientist on the verge of a
breakthrough, I spent every waking hour fully
immersed in my work.
That's
when my troubles started.
More
about that in a minute. On with the story.
My boy
turned down an alleyway. It was a shortcut,
but he should have known better than to walk
through dark alleys in New York at night.
Alleyways tend to be very unhealthy,
especially in this part of town.
There
was a clatter in a cluster of trashcans that
sat to the left side of the alley, near the
backdoor to a Chinese take-out place. I
sniffed the air, picking up a trace of
horrendous body odor mixed in with the aroma
of gone-over Chop Suey and Moo Goo Gai Pan.
Things
were not boding well. The trouble I'd felt
brewing earlier was about to rear its ugly
head, and my muscles tensed in readiness.
I
picked up my pace, my senses at full red
alert.
Sure
enough, a heartbeat after my boy passed the
trashcans a shadowy figure rose up from
behind them. Pausing in my step, I caught a
strong whiff of cheap booze and of breath
that could drop an elephant at ten paces.
"Hey,
fucker! Gimme your wallet!" the man
slurred as he staggered out from behind the
cans into the alley. "Hey! I'm talking
to you!" The man's hand reached into his
pocket, drawing out a weapon. It was a gun -
primitive, but still effective enough to put
a hole through my boy's lovely hide.
I leapt
up; my jaws closed around the hand that held
the gun. I felt my fangs brush past bone and
meet though skin and cartilage. The gun fired
with a loud crack that echoed in the alley,
but his aim has been thrown off by my weight.
The bullet hit the wall of the Chinese
take-out place, punching a small hole in the
brick.
Blinking,
the drunk looked confused. He tried to raise
his arm, but found that a very large,
snarling black furball attached to at the
wrist was weighing it down. His liquor-soaked
brain took a moment to process the
information, but when it did his mouth opened
and omitted a scream that could have
shattered glass.
I
released my hold as soon as he dropped the
gun and loped past him to catch up with my
boy, who had no clue as to what had just
happened. The action took place behind him
and, hearing-impaired, he had no idea that I
even existed, let alone had probably just
saved his life.
Trotting
along, I rubbed my tongue over my teeth and
swiped at it with a paw. If dogs could spit,
I'd have been hocking loogies all over the
alley. The drunk had tasted like absolute
shit.
Saving
humans was a habit I formed as a direct
result of my experimentation, and the final
straw that broke the higher-ups' collective
hump. The problem, as the high-ups saw it,
was that in addition to saving humans from
the odd mugger or runaway cab, I had also
decided to save them from us.
I
really couldn't help it. An unfortunate
consequence of having sex with humans was
that I found myself becoming intrigued by
their personalities, by their idiosyncrasies.
I became attached to them, and not
just by the cock.
Spending
so much time in the company of humans gave
birth to inexplicable, slightly threatening,
utterly wonderful feelings within me. I began
to share in their joys, in their hopes, in
their dreams. I felt their happiness and
their sorrows and, most startling of all, I
felt love.
Not
that my people don't feel love. We do. We
love science. We love travel. We love
exterminating life and raping planets for
their fossil fuels. In essence, we love our
jobs. But that is the extent of our warm
fuzzies.
The
love I felt for humans was different. It was
self-sacrificing. It was forgiving. It was
blind. And it frightened the higher-ups
enough to pee their spacesuits. The problem
was that they couldn't see love or touch it.
They couldn't dissect it. They couldn't understand
it. But mostly, they feared it because it
pushed me do something that no other of my
kind had ever done before.
It
pushed me to rebel. And rebellion
was a four letter word in our language. Well,
it would have been had our language actually had
words. But I think you get the point.
My boy
finally exited the alley and emerged onto
another street, this one lined with rundown,
graffiti-sprayed apartment buildings. There
were rough-looking men lounging on the stoops
and there were iron bars across the windows,
even on those several stories up. We were
entering the bargain basement of the real
estate world. But he kept walking and I kept
trailing behind him. I wasn't sure why I kept
following him, other than a vague idea I had
that I might find with him a warm place to
spend the night.
We'd
been walking for over an hour and my paws
were starting to ache. Morphing into another
form only affects one's appearance; my
stamina remained that of my true form. For my
kind living on a gravity-plagued planet
wasn't easy. We simply weren't built for it,
and being a dog didn't change that. Which
brings me back to the reason that I'd
sprouted fangs and a tail in the first place.
The
plan was simple. We land. We blend. We kill.
We take what we want and we leave. The key
was to keep it simple, stupid. We'd
learned through trial and error that most
planetary invasions failed because they were
far too complex and grandiose. The more parts
to the war machine, the more sentient beings
involved, the better the chance of a fuck-up.
We had found that it worked best to do it in
small groups, one city at a time. It had
worked countless times before in other
galaxies, on other planets with carbon-based
life forms. There was no reason to suspect
that it wouldn't work on this one.
Of
course, that was before I'd given myself a
cock and had found out what it could do. That
was before I'd fallen hopelessly in love with
the human race.
Hey...sometimes
shit happens.
Unfortunately,
the higher-ups weren't quite so blasé about
it, especially after what I did next. Just as
our squad had been readying to dump a highly
toxic airborne virus into the sky above the
city, I used an atom displacement device on
them. I effectively rendered their viral
cocktail harmless, and blew my comrades into
a drifting cloud of alien flotsam.
The
higher-ups had not been pleased.
They'd immediately put a price on my head,
and those few who'd been on the mission and
had managed to escape being neutralized were
out hunting for me.
Hence
the four paws and the doggy breath. They were
searching for me in my human form, not as a
butt-sniffing canine. They wouldn't be likely
to recognize my ass if said ass has a fluffy,
happily-wagging tail attached to it. So I
kept to my doggy disguise, but couldn't
resist interacting with humans anyway. I
became a sort of canine crusader - sans
tights and cape - continually sticking my wet
nose where it didn't belong. This
hearing-impaired stud muffin in cargo shorts
was only the latest human I'd taken it into
my furry head to follow.
Just as
I began to think we'd be walking around the
city all night long, my boy climbed the
stairs of an aged, weather-beaten,
can't-believe-its-not-condemned building.
Long, thin cracks spider-webbed through the
concrete of the stoop, continuing up along
the jamb of the door. The door itself was a
sun-bleached green, its paint cracked and
peeling in long, curling strips. My boy
opened the door and stepped into the cool,
piss-scented foyer.
Now
came the time I'd been waiting for. I rushed
past him, turned around and sat down in front
of him, whining, wagging my tail, and raising
a paw pathetically in his direction. Ouch.
Ouch. I'm just a poor dumb dog and oh, I have
such a boo-boo on my widdle paw. Please,
please help me. He was startled, but
when I blinked my big, chocolate brown eyes
up at him, he melted like butter on a hot
toast. He hesitated a moment, but then patted
me on the head, flashed those long, elegant
fingers in a complex pattern in front of my
eyes, and tapped his thigh for me to follow
him.
I was
in.
He led
me up three flights of stairs into his studio
apartment. It was cramped and the walls were
patch-worked with cracks. The linoleum was
scarred and pitted, the pattern nearly worn
off in places, and the whole place smelled
like old, wet socks.
It was
also very warm inside and my boy stripped off
his shirt as soon as he walked through the
door. If dogs could whistle, I'd have been
sounding off like a teakettle. My boy had a
nicely muscled back, solid pecs, and a
treasure trail that my tongue was itching to
follow. I was willing to bet that there'd be
a pot of gold at the end of that trail that
would make the trip worthwhile.
Bustling
around the small kitchenette, he served up
water and a leftover cheeseburger for me,
placing the bowls on the floor. I inhaled the
cheeseburger and sampled the water. I'd
rather have had an ice-cold beer, but we
can't have everything, can we?
When my
boy went into the bathroom, I spotted a stack
of magazines in a corner and padded over to
investigate. The name on the subscription
label was Mr. Bob Wheaton. Bob. I
liked it. It was simple, unassuming, and easy
to spell. I grinned a doggy smile and trotted
into the bathroom to see what Bobby-boy had
gotten up to while I'd been eating and
snooping.
If I
had had hands, I'd have smacked myself upside
the head. Bob was already in the shower and
I'd missed seeing him slip out of those black
silk jockeys. They were laying the on floor
along with his socks, tennis shoes, and cargo
shorts. I silently cursed my luck in half a
dozen languages, none of them human.
Huffing,
I flopped down on the bathroom floor, resting
my head on my front paws, my eyes trained on
the shower curtain, patiently waiting. After
a few minutes my patience paid off when the
water dripped to a stop and Bob's hand slid
the curtain open on its rattling plastic
rings, stepping out of the shower in a cloud
of steam.
Jackpot.
I knew
- just knew - that Bob had been
hoarding gold at the end of his treasure
trail, and I'd just been proven correct.
Between a pair of rock hard thighs that
looked strong enough to crack walnuts hung
the most beautiful cock I'd ever seen. That
big boy was perfect, and I mean that
in a gold-medal, blue ribbon, 1st place, Guinness
World Book sort of way.
As an
unexpected, added bonus I saw that Bob's
nether regions were as clean-shaven as a
newborn babe's. Slick that boy up with some
Crisco and he could have swum the Channel.
His sweet happy trail led down to an oasis of
smooth, sleek, totally lickable skin. He
picked up a fluffy towel and when he lifted
his leg onto the toilet seat to dry it off, I
got a peek at the pink puckered Heaven that
lay between his ivory cheeks.
I was
now lying in a pool of doggy drool, and
panting so hard that I was in danger of
hyperventilating.
Smiling
at me, Bob reached down and stroked my head.
Not exactly the part of me that I would have
liked him to stroke, but when you're a dog,
you take what you can get.
Following
him back out into the living room, I sat at
his feet when he plopped down naked onto the
couch. Worming myself in between his knees, I
took a good long sniff at his privates.
Hey - I
was a dog. Membership had its privileges.
Bob
snorted and pushed me away, flashing a sign
that I understood to mean "knock it
off, but I would so do you if you were
humanoid."
Okay,
I'm making that last part up. So sue me.
I just
couldn't take it anymore. Bob smelled good
enough to eat. He had a terrific body and a
prize-winning pecker. He was sweet, he was
kind, and his fingers were incredibly
dexterous. I wanted him.
Jumping
up on the couch, I laid my head on his lap.
Oh God. I was so close and yet so far... His
musky scent flooded my senses and my head
spun. I was tempted to throw caution to the
wind and change forms right then and there.
I'd
never changed in front of anyone before; had
never told any human I'd slept with the truth
and I shocked myself by wanting to tell Bob
everything, starting with the fact that I
wasn't really a dog. I realized, however,
that it would have been a bad idea to shift
forms without giving him any advance warning
that the pup currently within tongue-lashing
distance of his cock was more than just your
average canine. Humans tended to be a bit
skittish about having shapeshifting aliens
lying across their laps.
I
closed my eyes and reached out for him
telepathically.
"Hi,"
I said in his head.
Bob
stiffened, blinking. He gave his head a small
shake, as if to clear it.
I tried
again. "Hello? Anyone home?"
He put
a hand to his forehead, as if he expected to
find himself burning with fever. Slowly he
lowered his hand and laid it atop my head, a
befuddled, slightly worried look on his face.
"Hey!
It's me, Bob, down here. The dog," I
said, licking his hand for good measure.
His
head snapped down, his eyes wide as they met
mine. I cocked my shaggy head and gave him a
little yip. "Yup, it's me.
Surprised?"
Bob
exploded off the couch as if he'd had a
rocket booster strapped to his ass and
skittered a few steps back, banging his leg
into the cocktail table. He brought his right
thumb, index, and middle fingers together
while shaking his head fiercely. Since I was
in his head, his meaning was crystal clear. No,
no, no!
"Yes,
yes, yes, Bob. Come on, I've been following
you all afternoon. Saved your cute butt from
a mugger in that alleyway, by the by. I'm not
going to hurt you," I said, rolling over
onto my back and exposing my belly to him. I
let my tongue flop back out of my mouth. A
rubber ducky would've looked more threatening
than I did at the moment.
"This
is impossible!" Bob thought,
automatically signing it at the same time.
"Dogs can't talk, and even if they could
I wouldn't be able to hear them. I'm just
stressed out, that's all."
"Well,
you're half right. Most dogs can't talk, but
I'm not most dogs," I said.
He
started again, then narrowed his eyes at me.
"Sit up," he thought, keeping his
hands motionless.
Ah, a
pop quiz. Fair enough.
I
rolled back over and sat up.
Covering
his mouth with both hands, he spun on his
heel and walked away, pacing stiffly across
the floor. "Oh God, I've lost my
mind!" he thought.
"You
haven't lost a mind - you've gained a dog.
Well, not exactly a dog in the purest
sense of the word... " I said, hopping
off the couch and pacing with him.
"Actually, I'm not from this planet. I
don't really look like this. If you want to
know the truth, I don't look like anything
you'd recognize. But I'm going to shift forms
to one that's more comfortable for me and I
didn't want you to shit your pants when I
did."
"I'm
insane. A stroke. An aneurism, that's the
only possible explanation," Bob rambled,
still pacing.
I
sighed, rolled my eyes, and shifted.
Transmogrifying is virtually painless, once
you get the hang of it. The trick is to
clearly picture the form you wish to become
in your mind. Problems come in when you
picture a human, for example, and an image of
an octopus superimposes itself while you're
changing. You end up with an eight-armed
human who can squirt ink of his ass. Not
pretty. That hadn't happened to me in years
though, and it didn't happen that time. I
morphed into my chosen human form at roughly
the same speed as light.
Poof!
One second Bob was pacing next to a hairy
dog, and the next he had a six-foot four,
hunky naked guy in his living room.
I know
what you're thinking. Stop staring at Fido.
It only works if your dog happens to be an
alien and as far as I know, I'm the only one
currently hiding out in dog-form.
"See?"
I said, holding my arms out and spinning
slowly in a circle. "Nothing up my
sleeves. If I had sleeves," I
chuckled.
Bob
still had one hand plastered over his mouth,
his eyes as wide as saucers. He reached out
and poked me in the chest with one finger,
jumping back as if he expected me to explode
all over his living room.
I don't
of course. That also hadn't happened
to me in years, and good thing too because
it's quite a messy ordeal. But in any case, I
stayed in one piece and smiled reassuringly
at Bob. "Told ya so."
"Get
out of my head!" Bob ordered, his
fingers flashing furiously at me, backing
away until he'd flattened himself against the
wall.
"Can
you read lips?" I asked.
"GET
OUT OF MY HEAD!"
"Look,
the problem is that while you can read lips,
I can't understand sign language. If I'm not
in your head, I won't be able to understand
what you're saying," I said, speaking
out loud.
It
seemed to come together in Bob's brain all at
once. I could practically hear the
pieces sliding into place as he realized two
things. First, I was for real and not a
figment of his imagination. Second, we were
both naked.
I'd
always thought that "blushing from head
to toe" was just an expression, but Bob
proved me wrong. His entire body flushed
crimson as his hands fell to cup his privates
and his eyes darted around the room, looking
for something to cover himself with.
"Bob?
It's no big deal. We've both got the same
equipment," I say, gently taking him by
the elbow and steering him back to the couch.
"Let's sit down and talk this over,
okay?"
Surprisingly,
he allowed himself to be led to the couch,
sinking down onto the stained, worn cushions.
"I can speak, I just can't hear,"
he said aloud. "Sometimes my speech can
be a little slurred though, so if you really
need to read my thoughts to understand me, go
ahead. But I have to tell you it's a little
unnerving to have somebody in your head. No,
I take that back. It's a lot
unnerving."
I
smiled. "You sound fine to me." He
did, too. His voice was like velvet, smooth
and soft, an audible caress. I could have
listened to him speak for hours.
"Why
me?" he asked, looking over at me,
frowning. "Why me?"
"I
saw you in the park. You looked like you
needed a friend."
"What
I need is a bottle of 151 and a straw."
I
chuckled, shaking my head. "Nah, what
you needed was...is somebody who can keep his
dick in his pants without needing to weld the
zipper shut."
A look
of surprise crossed Bob's features, then he
blushed again and bit his lower lip,
realizing that I'd witnessed his break-up.
"Yeah, but I was thinking more along the
lines of my need to stop hallucinating naked
alien-dog-men in my living room."
"I'm
not a hallucination."
"You're
either a hallucination or you're the real
deal and, quite frankly, I'd rather you be an
illusion. Because if I'm sitting here on my
couch in the nude with an equally naked,
gorgeous alien then I'm in big, big
trouble."
"You
think I'm gorgeous?" I asked, preening.
"This old skin? It's just something I
threw on."
Bob
laughed, despite himself. "Okay,
assuming that you're real, what is it that
you want? Why pick me to talk to?
I'm nobody. Shouldn't you be talking to the
President or something?"
"Nah.
He's not my type," I grinned.
"Seriously, I'm here because you looked
so sad, you nearly broke my heart. What did
that bastard do to you, anyway?"
"You're
not going to zap me with a ray gun are
you?"
"Nah.
Ray guns are so fifties."
He
laughed again, a warm, wonderful laugh that
tickled me deep in my belly and stirred
things that were better left unstirred for
the time being. Then he quieted, and sighed.
"He stole three years of my life, that's
what he did. Convinced me that I was the only
one, when all along he'd been screwing
everything that would hold still for
him."
I
winced. "Ouch. This is going to sound
really cliché - even for an alien - but
you're better off without him."
Bob
nodded. "I know. I knew for a long time
that he wasn't the One. It just took a while
for my brain to get the message through to my
heart. Not to change the subject, but why are
you here? On Earth, not just in my
apartment."
It was
my turn to sigh. "Well, we came- "
"We?
As in more than one?"
I
nodded. "Lots more than one. At least,
there were a lot more before I blew them
up."
"You
blew up your own people?" Bob asked,
horror widening his eyes.
"It
was either them or you, and I picked
you," I hastened to explain. "We,
me included, came here to exterminate you. We
wanted your planet's resources. But that was
before I got to know humans. I
couldn't let my people kill your people off.
I just couldn't." I hoped the sincerity
in my voice would be enough to convince him
that I was telling the truth.
There
was a long, pregnant pause as Bob studied my
face, looking for some twitch, some insidious
flash in my eyes that would tell him I was
lying, pulling his proverbial leg.
"Wow.
Um...thank you?" he said after a few
moments, obviously convinced but not knowing
quite what to say.
"You're
welcome."
"What
are you, anyway? A Martian?"
"Puh-lease.
My people took out the Martians a full eon
before your people ever crawled out of the
primordial ooze."
"Then
what are you?"
"Suffice
it to say that I'm not from any planet in
your solar system. There's certainly no word
for it in any of your languages."
Bob
huffed. "How about a name? Do I at least
get one of those?"
"Unfortunately,
my name isn't actually a word - it's
more of a slurpy-snorty-gurgly sound, and
every time I've tried to reproduce it with
the human larynx has ended badly. It might be
easier and less mucousy for both of us if you
just pick a name for me."
Bob
fell silent, as if giving the thought serious
consideration, then brightened. "How
about Roger? When I was a kid I had a dog
named Roger - short for Jolly Roger. Seems
kind of appropriate. You are sort of a space
pirate and a dog...on
occasion."
I
smiled. "Roger it is."
"What
happens to you now?" he asked. "Are
you stuck here?"
"I
suppose I am. Actually, I'm a wanted man, so
to speak. A traitor, because of that whole
blowing up my own people thing I was telling
you about. That's why I've been posing as a
dog."
Bob
crossed his arms over his chest and settled
back against the couch. "Tell me
everything."
I did,
and by the time I finished he was running
around his apartment locking the windows,
pulling down the shades, and retrieving a
wooden baseball bat from under his bed. He
propped it up next to the couch, within easy
reach.
Reading
his thoughts, I found that he planned on
defending me with it, if necessary. I almost
laughed, picturing him playing Whack-An-Alien
with his Louisville Slugger, but I held
myself in check. He was being sweet and
sincere and I didn't want to hurt his
feelings.
He
really wanted to keep me safe - me,
a total stranger. And let's face it, they
didn't come any stranger than me. Something
burned at the corners of my eyes, and when I
brushed at them my fingertips came away wet.
Staring at my hands, I couldn't understand
why my form had sprung a leak.
Smiling
at me, Bob gently touched my face, wiping a
droplet away with his thumb. "They're
called tears. Humans have a habit of
shedding them when they feel strongly about
something."
"I
know," I answered softly, feeling
completely astonished as the relevance of my
leakage hit me. "I know what they are.
But when my people change forms, when we
transmogrify, it's like a human being putting
on a Halloween costume. It's a shell, a
façade. I'm still me on the inside.
Tears are a human secretion, like
saliva and semen. My people can't cry - we
don't have tear ducts. Technically speaking,
we don't even have eyes."
"But
then how...?"
"I
think...I'm mutating. I can feel
it," I said, finally giving a name to
that peaked feeling I'd been having for days
now. "I'm changing on a
cellular level. It feels like my innards are
soaked in soda pop." I jumped up, pacing
with my hands clasped behind my back, trying
to solve the puzzle. It came to me like an
explosion in my brain and I sat down hard on
the couch as my knees gave way. "Sex! I
had sex with humans. That's the explanation!
My body must have absorbed human DNA during
the HCS!"
"During
the what?" Bob asked, raising a
brow at me.
"HCS,"
I answered absently, my mind still reeling
with the implications. "Human Climatic
Supernova." If I'd indeed absorbed human
DNA, then the changes I'd experienced - the
feelings of compassion and love, now the
tears - might be only precursors to even
greater changes yet to come.
Bob
snorted, then slapped a hand over his mouth
when I narrowed my eyes at him irritably. He
tried hard to compose himself.
"You
mean to tell me that you bottomed for some
guy, he gave you a shot of joy juice and now
you're becoming human?" Bob
asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"That's impossible."
"Up
until five minutes ago you thought telepathic
dogs and shapeshifting aliens were
impossibilities, too," I reminded him, a
bit condescendingly. "Humans don't know
everything, you know. Besides, I doubt if I'm
becoming human. A human-alien hybrid is
probably closer to the truth."
"Didn't
he use a condom?"
"For
what?"
Bob's
jaw dropped. "You don't know what a
condom is for?"
"Of
course I do. We monitored your television
commercials. But what do they have to do with
me absorbing human DNA?"
Bob
looked at me as if I'd grown another head.
Not quite certain of what changes were being
wrought in my system at the moment, I reached
up and felt along my shoulders, just in case.
Nope, I only had one - so far.
"You're
supposed to put one on your partner's dick to
prevent disease," he said, "or in
your case, mutation into another life form.
Guess aliens don't know everything either,
huh?"
Touché.
"The
commercials weren't exactly informative. They
usually just showed a couple of people
running along a beach or holding hands, and
then pictured a box of condoms at the
end," I admitted, sheepishly. "We
thought they were some kind of primitive
human sex fetish."
Rolling
his eyes, Bob rose from the couch and trotted
into the bathroom, returning with his cargo
shorts. He fished a brightly colored, small
square of plastic from one of the pockets.
Tearing the package open, he handed me a
circular piece of thin latex.
I
looked at it, rubbed it between my fingers,
smelled it, and was about to taste it when he
yanked it out of my hand, looking plainly
exasperated.
"No,
no. What did I say a minute ago? It goes on
your partner's penis," he said.
"Show
me."
"No!"
"Please?"
"I
can't. You're too soft," he said,
shaking his head. "You need to be erect
for it to work."
There
went that blush again. It was becoming quite
an endearing trait of his.
I
stared down at my flaccid cock, concentrating
on it until my face began to turn red, trying
to will it into obedience. I thought about
everything that had previously made it
instantly jump up at attention - naked men,
sex with naked men... Well, you get the
picture. My penis twitched, but that was
about it. It remained resting against my
thigh, as limp as a gummy worm. It was just
my luck that I'd walked around all day with a
doggy boner but when I needed it to
perform it just lay there, a useless lump.
"What
are you doing?" Bob asked, raising a
brow at the intense look of concentration on
my face.
"Trying
to get it to perk up. It's not
cooperating," I grumbled, flicking at it
with my fingers. "And it's very
important that I learn about these
things," I continued, taking the circle
of latex from Bob's hand, looking it over.
"I can't chance absorbing any more human
DNA. If I become too human I may lose my
ability to shift shapes. I'll be a sitting
duck for the assassins. Worse, what if I get
stuck in my dog form? I don't want to spend
the rest of my life peeing on fire
hydrants."
"You
could always become celibate," Bob
offered, shrugging his shoulders.
"Let's
think about this," I said sarcastically.
"On one hand, you could show me how to
use this latex mini bio-suit, which will
probably take all of two minutes. On the
other hand, I could abstain from sex for the
rest of my life. Hmm... Decisions,
decisions."
"Look,"
Bob said, "If I had a banana I could
demonstrate, but it's really not necessary.
It's easy. You just roll it down over your
willie, or over your partner's."
"You
named my penis 'Willy'?" I
asked, distracted for a moment by a sudden,
interesting daydream involving Bob and
phallic-shaped fruit. I made a mental note to
get my hands on some bananas at the first
available opportunity.
"No,
I didn't name it! It's just a euphemism. And
I can't show you how to use it on your dick
because, as I mentioned before, it's taken up
residence in Flop City."
"Oh."
I fell back against the cushions, the air
rushing out of me like a deflating balloon.
It wasn't just the fact that Bob seemed less
than willing to give me a private lesson on
condom-use. Let's face it - I was from
another planet whose technology surpassed
that of Earth's by a few eons. I think I
could have figured out how to use a rubber
all by my little lonesome.
The
problem was that nothing was working
out the way I'd intended, and the business
with the condom just drove the point home. As
I sat on the couch, a useless piece of latex
in my hand, the reality hit me with the force
of a mallet upside my head. From the moment
I'd pointed the atom displacement device at
my fellow space invaders and pressed the big
red button, things had been going from bad to
worse. I was a fugitive, homeless, penniless,
forced to wear a thick fur coat in July, and
was evolving into some bizarre alien/human
mixed breed with a stubborn penis. I had no
friends, no allies, and no options.
What I
did have was a loose jumble of maybes
and perhaps, sprinkled with a
healthy dose of what ifs. Maybe,
since I'd saved this world, I'd be welcomed
here. Perhaps the higher-ups would
decide that this little blue planet wasn't
worth the trouble and move on to greener
pastures. What if the assassins who
hunted me were all flattened by city buses?
It
could happen.
It
wasn't likely, but it was all I had and
that's what was so freaking depressing. You
could say that I was flying by the seat of my
pants, had I been wearing any. I had no plan
at all.
The
expression on my face must have been quite
pathetic, because Bob patted my shoulder
sympathetically. "Hey, it happens to all
of us from time to time. It's no big
deal."
"What
happens all the time? Becoming a fugitive on
another planet in the guise of a flea-bitten
mutt? Because this is my first time," I
answered irritably.
"Noo..."
Bob said slowly. He darted his eyes toward my
lap. "I meant not getting it up. It
happens."
Oh. He
was talking about my cock. Wow, Junior,
I thought. Way to not to see the forest
for the trees. I immediately shook the
unkind thought from my head. My predicament
certainly wasn't Bob's fault. I had been the
one who dragged him into this. The drunk in
the alley might not have hurt him - the
bullet might have missed Bob. Would probably
have missed him. After all, the drunk could
barely stand up, never mind aim. Or, I could
have stopped the mugger then turned my fluffy
tail right around and gone back to the park.
Bob would have gone on his merry way none the
worse for the wear, remaining blissfully
ignorant of my existence.
"I'm
sorry," I said ruefully. "None of
this is your fault. I shouldn't be snapping
at you."
Bob
gave me a quick, forgiving smile and a tiny
shrug of his shoulders. "It's okay. I
guess I'd be a little edgy too, if I were in
your space booties."
"I
have to go. I shouldn't have followed you
home in the first place," I said,
wearily rubbing my hands over my face.
"The ones who are following me are out
for blood, and they won't think twice about
killing anyone who's with me when they find
me."
"No,
please don't go," Bob said. He sounded
earnest, even a bit desperate. "Yours is
the first voice I've heard in three years,
even if it is only in my head. Besides,
you're an alien! I'm the only one on my block
to have one." He giggled and gave me a
playful shove with his shoulder. "Come
on. You know you want to stay. I'll buy you
some squeaky toys..." he grinned.
"You're
not understanding, Bob. This isn't a game. If
they find you with me, they will
kill you," I answered sternly,
determined that I wouldn't continue to
jeopardize his safety.
"If
being the operative word. How are they
looking for you? Do you have some sort of
global positioning microchip shoved up your
ass?"
I
couldn't help smiling a bit. "No, we're
not hardwired with any tracking device. My
people don't have a history of turning
traitor and blowing their colleagues up into
organic confetti. I believe I'm the first
one."
"So
when you say that these people are looking
for you, you mean just that. They're
literally searching door-to-door?"
"I
doubt that they're ringing doorbells or
plastering the city with Have You Seen
This Alien? flyers, but yes, that's
about the size of it."
Bob
grinned again, patting my leg with his hand.
"Do you know how big this city is? This
country? This planet? Do you know
what the odds are of finding someone who not
only wants to stay lost but who can change
his appearance at will?"
"The
odds of them finding me are higher than if
humans were looking for me, I answered,
shaking my head sadly. "They can read
minds, remember? They're out there right now,
scanning every human they come across,
looking for anything out of the ordinary that
might mean that person's come in contact with
me."
"There
are roughly eight and a half million people
in this city! What are the chances of them
finding even one who saw you as anything but
a dog?"
"Even
a slim chance is still a chance, Bob, and I
won't take that gamble with your
safety."
"I'm
a big boy. I make my own decisions. I've
fended for myself everyday for years on a
block that's more like a battle zone than a
neighborhood. I haven't managed to get dead
yet."
"You
never had an alien goon squad after you
before."
Bob
sighed and placed his hand on my knee. He
leaned forward, his body language all but
shouting his sincerity. "Don't go,
Roger. Please. Stay."
I felt
a flutter in my gut. He'd called me by name -
at least by the name he'd given me. His hand
was burning a hole through the skin of my
knee, the warmth radiating up my thigh to my
groin. He looked so sweet, so earnest, so accepting
that I just couldn't help myself. I leaned
over and kissed him, touching my lips to his
gently. In my mind, I was kissing him
goodbye.
Bob had
other ideas.
His
lips were petal soft under mine, warm and
yielding. The same hand that had scalded my
knee slid up my leg, his fingers slowly
trailing over my inner thigh. I gasped as his
hand skimmed my balls, brushed over my cock,
and flattened its palm across my belly. Bob's
tongue took full advantage when my lips
parted involuntarily, slipping past them into
my mouth. I felt his other hand pressing
gently on the back of my neck, pulling me in
deeper as his tongue swirled over mine.
Whoa.
Who was kissing whom, here? My thoughts
feebly struggled to register in my brain -
totally unsuccessfully, I might add. I was
too busy riding the crest of the wave of lust
that was sweeping through me at the moment to
worry about anything as trivial as dominance,
or saying goodbye for that matter. Every
thought that I'd just had about leaving him
was swept away as he kissed me thoroughly,
possessively.
The
graceful, elegant fingers of his left hand
kept firm to the back of my neck, while his
right burned a torturously slow path up over
my stomach, lightly brushing across my chest
until it reached my nipple. There it
lingered, gently rubbing the tiny nub into
tingly awareness. Bob's fingers wreaked havoc
with the sensitive peak, until my cock grew
jealous and began to demand equal time.
Back
from Flop City, it took up residence in Bob's
hand.
Bob
shifted his hips so that his groin lay flush
against my thigh. His own shaft, the
award-winning cock that I'd drooled over in
its flaccid state after his shower, dug into
my flesh like a steel girder fresh from the
smelting plant. Red hot, it pushed against my
skin as Bob rocked his hips, as if trying to
burn its way inside to my very core.
Luckily,
there were a couple of easier, much more
enjoyable ways to get inside my core, and Bob
and I spent the next hour exploring both of
them.
Followed
by another hour of exploring his.
The use
of the condoms - plural - had proven
surprisingly easy, just as he'd said. I got
it right on the first shot. Give the guy from
outer space another cookie.
The
culmination of our explorations was loud,
messy, sweaty, and the most intensely
gratifying, humbling, and exquisitely
intimate experience of my life on either my
world or this one.
Somehow,
in my bumbling, not-quite-hatched plans I'd
stumbled across the true meaning of all life
in the universe, and I'd found it totally by
chance, in Bob.
I'd
been wrong all along, I realized. My research
had been flawed. It wasn't the HCS that
pushed humans to have sex. Oh, sometimes I
suppose it was, maybe more often than
sometimes. But the real reason, whether
humans admitted it to themselves or not, was
because they sought this feeling of
connection with another living being. This
sensational, all-encompassing feeling of
Oneness, where for a heartbeat or two you
cease being an individual alone in the
universe, and become something more.
Something unique. Something powerful.
It was
amazing. I lay back against the soaked
cushions of the couch unwilling and unable to
move. Bob lay sprawled on top of me, his
weight not uncomfortable, but soothing
instead. When he stirred, I locked my arms
around his back. I didn't want him to get up.
Not ever.
"Roger?"
Bob asked as he lay face down on my chest.
"Yes?"
"I
can't breathe. That would be a bad thing for
humans, in case you didn't know it."
Reluctantly,
I allowed him to sit up. He again trotted
into the bathroom, this time returning with a
damp towel. His touch was tender as he
cleaned us off, not allowing me to move a
muscle to help. When he was finished he
kissed me again. This time his kiss was soft,
a kiss filled with hope, with wonder, and
with warmth. His way of telling me that he'd
discovered the secret too, I suppose.
Afterward,
we sat side by side on the sofa, our
shoulders and thighs touching as if our
bodies sought to keep alive a small fragment
of the connection we'd felt.
"What
do I do now? What will I do after you
leave?" Bob asked softly, looking down
at his dexterous, graceful hands that lay
still over his lap. "I don't want you to
leave."
He
didn't sign any of his words. He didn't even
speak out loud, and while I wasn't trying
to read his thoughts, I heard every word as
clearly as if he'd yelled them into my ear.
They were unmistakable in his body language
and in the sad, worried expression on his
face.
"If
I stay with you, you'll be in constant
danger. We'd have to move around a lot. No
money. No friends. No home," I said
softly, looking over at him.
His
eyes met mine in a level gaze. "I can
deal with that."
"My
people won't stop. They won't stop hunting
me. Worse yet, they won't stop trying to
exterminate the human race. They'll try
again, in another city, in another country. I
don't know when or where. I only know that
they'll be back, and that I'll have to try to
stop them."
"I
can deal with that, too."
I shook
my head sadly. "I can't let you do that.
I can't put you in danger. I have to leave,
Bob. Alone."
"That's
what I can't deal with, Roger. What
happened between us just now was not
something that happens to people every day of
the week. It was special...miraculous,
almost. I'm not going to let you walk out of
my life now. I'll follow you like you
followed me. I'll hound your every step, be
your shadow." His voice was composed and
even, but his fingers flew and flashed his
words in a blur, belying the calmness in his
voice. "I won't lose you."
I felt
my chest hitch, and the unfamiliar burn of
tears in my eyes. This leakage problem with
the human form was going to take me a little
time to get used to. Now my nose was dripping
too. This body had more leaks in it than a
macramé rowboat. "Are you sure?" I
asked, tasting salt on my lips as the tears
escaped and tracked down my cheeks.
"I'm
positive," he answered, a brilliant
smile creasing his cheeks. He reached for me,
and we sat there cocooned in one another's
arms for a long while without speaking.
"I have the feeling," he finally
whispered, his breath cool against my wet
cheek, "that we're going to be together
for a long time."
As it
turned out, he was right. We've been together
for five years now and although life hasn't
been easy, the time I've spent with him has
been sweeter and more precious than I can
say. He's been my strength, badgering me into
moving when I want to lie down and give up.
He's been my voice of reason, calming me when
my nerves have frayed thin, ready to snap.
He's kept alive the small, fragile hope that
someday this might all be over and we'd be
able to stop running.
He says
I've done the same for him. We move around
constantly, traveling from one end of the
country to the other, keeping to big cities
where it's easy to get lost in the crowds. I
keep to my dog form most of the time, wearing
a harness that proudly declares me to be
Bob's service dog. It's a neat little
disguise that allows me to accompany Bob
everywhere, from public libraries to
department stores, on trains and
cross-country buses. I call him my
"service human," to which he
usually rolls his eyes and signs something
obscene.
Anyway,
that's the story of how I came to be here,
wandering your planet with Bob.
So why
am I still in your head? Because it ain't
over yet, that's why. Oh, I eliminated the
first wave with my nifty little atom
displacement trick, and I can handle dodging
the assassins that are here hunting for me,
especially now that I have Bob to help me.
But the
higher-ups want this little blue planet.
They'll be sending another team in soon, and
I have no idea what city they'll target the
next time. While this planet may be small in
the cosmic scheme of things, it's still
pretty damn big to cover on foot.
I need
help.
It
won't be easy to recognize them. They'll look
just like you. They'll blend. But
when they walk close by you might feel a
tingle along your skin, a rising of the short
hairs, gooseflesh.
Trust
your instincts. If you feel them, yell. Not
out loud, obviously. Yelling out loud that
aliens have landed will only serve to have
the nice men in white coats hit you up with a
double shot of Thorazine and a Prozac chaser.
Yell it
in your head, as loudly as you can. Really
scream it. I'll hear you, and Bob and I will
come running. Look for us.
I'll be
the short, hairy one.
