Alien Tongues (39 page)

Given the design of Earthlings, maybe it is easier for my readers to understand what I am saying than for me to fully express it.  Fems have sex with croses, not mals.  If we are lucky, then we fems can feel romance with croses, too.  At that moment I was not a virgin.  A few years earlier, on a particularly lonely voyage, I had experienced sex with a cros while stopping over for a few days at a remote fueling station.  I will say more about that later when it's more relevant, but suffice it to say for now that I had known a range of sexual feelings, up to an including orgasm, through the presence and touch of another human.  I understood orgasm well enough because I had given it to myself on countless occasions on long flights.

This is an uncomfortable subject for me to write about, and perhaps for you to read. But it is critical for you to try and understand what was going through my mind at that moment.  It is difficult enough for me to understand, even if I try to trace it all to some rational evolutionary origin.   In the distant history of our species, I knew we had only two sexes just like other animals.   Extreme environmental changes led to the fem-mal-cros structure, though how it actually happened is still hotly debated.  Many scientists believe that, when there were just males and females, the males were much more like mals in physical appearance.

Some time ago I read somewhere that it's impossible to induce your own orgasm without imagining something erotic.  If the reader can do that, well then, this theory is obviously wrong.  But in my case that's true, and I like to think that it's quite normal and healthy.  But I'm afraid I cannot get myself worked up enough thinking about a cros, no matter how hard I try.  That's different from actually having sex with a cros – something I discovered to my relief when I had that one night of passion.  That cros was very skilled – as all croses are taught to be – and the proximity of another human while having my body sexually pampered was enough to get me crying out like some sort of Amazonian warrior.  But I can't even remember how that cros looked, and even if I did it would do nothing to get my libido in top gear.

So the big question is, who or what do I fantasize about when I treat myself?  You may already have guessed that this happens not a few times when I have my pet mal's arms wrapped around me.  If I say that the fantasy lover in my head looks like a mal, you might conclude that Ben and his predecessors were all perfect candidates.   Yet in fact I never thought of them in this way, because – well, they were so pet-like.  I can't get excited if I feel there's nothing relevant going on upstairs.   If I imagined a mal, I would also know there was no emotion, no desire, no thrill of communicating feeling to another human.  So perhaps what I always imagined was some kind of pre-historic male, and perhaps all fems were forced to use this strange device if they wanted erotic fantasy when alone.

That was a long and tedious explanation to try and help you share my feeling when Ben began unzipping the back of my tight-fitting tunic.  The type of dress required no underwear, so I was already naked when I stepped out of it.  I turned to face Ben, feeling I had to know if there was any change in him.  Of course, there wasn't.  But he didn't yet move, sensing I must have some further instruction for him.  I realized my arms were crossed over my breasts, something I had never done before in front of any pet mal. I also felt my cheeks burning, and sensed the flush was running down my neck and across my chest.  I felt guilty as hell, but at the same time I felt more excited than even the time I piloted my first Gold Wing.

"Get yourself ready to wash me," I told him.  It sounded an idiotic instruction, but he obeyed by stripping off his clothes.  He stood in front of me, staring at me like before, always without facial expression.  There is another detail you may be wondering about, so I will tell you that no part of his body indicated excitement.  Though expected, that was a big relief to me – who knew what an excited mal was capable of, and the worst possible temptation had been removed.  I took his hand as if to lead him to the bathroom, then realized that would be a big mistake.  If I let him soap my body, it would push me over the edge.  Yet I couldn't leave the moment just there.  I took his other hand and we just stood together, an inch or two apart, me staring up at him.  Our chests were almost touching, and I was half-hoping they might do by accident, or by him moving forward.

I knew this moment was created by sheer desire on my part, but I told myself that it served an important function.  I was telling Ben he meant much more to me than a pet.  There were no concepts in our society to describe my feelings towards him, so I hoped my gaze back at him would do it.  Ahead we had a perilous journey, and I needed to persuade him that he could trust me at all times.  There was nothing at all unusual about us standing naked together, but I believe my expression conveyed the entirely new world we had entered.

I showered by myself but did not resist when he entered the bathroom and began to dry me.  From the feeling, I knew I had made the right decision about the shower.  I could barely contain myself as we got into bed and he nestled up behind me.  I lay there, wired to the point of almost shaking, while I waited for him to fall asleep.  As soon as he did, I went to work on myself.  Three times.  Even after that I felt I wanted much more, but it was enough.  I took a sleeping pill I had placed beside the bed, and it mercifully did the job.  But before it did, a new thought worried my weary mind, previously hidden by my excitement.  At what point during the death spiral had Ben's mind been liberated?  Was he aware I was taking credit for what he might know he had accomplished himself, but was playing along with the deception?   If so, was he doing so out of loyalty, or for some other reason?  Whatever the reason, would it last?

Chapter 3

I decided to meet Al and Jo by the hotel pool that next day, and I told them to dress appropriately.   I had a few reasons for that decision.  First, though I wanted to get on with my agenda, I still felt the need to unwind and laying on a sunbed with a cocktail was a marvelous excuse.  Second, it meant that I could watch Ben in his swim-shorts, particularly when he exercised in the pool.  Third, a paradox to the second, I wanted to see who of Al and Jo looked least bad in his underwear.   The marriage decision would have to be made very soon – it was part of the plan.

Actually, compared to most croses their ages, both Al and Jo looked OK in swim-shorts.  I had already been leaning towards Jo as a better personality fit, and I was pleased to see that he also had the edge when it came to physique.  A bit taller, a bit rangier, and a smaller pot belly.  Certainly nothing to fantasize about, but I could make something of the love-life.  That would be the final test, and Jo would get the first and hopefully only audition.

Meanwhile, I was showing them what was on offer by wearing a rather skimpy bikini.  I was proud of my shape, which definitely deserved the option "athletic" on a dating profile.  Ben had kept me on a healthy diet in space, and I hoped I could maintain the discipline now I was surrounded by planet temptations.  I took a small sip of my cocktail as Al asked me again about the senators.

"I'm very glad you arranged it, for my education," I told him, "though it was somewhat depressing.  I was hoping that the anti-reform arguments could be exposed as just prejudice and backwardness, but Folio had a clever way of twisting things.   It was quite a seductive argument that the current situation is essentially fair to everyone, given that none of us are born equal in the first place."

"That's the feel-good argument," Jo commented.  "If it's not enough, then they bring in the heavier guns.  Things work well today and everyone knows their place.  If you start upsetting the system, who knows where it will end.  If you can't make people feel good, you make them fear bad."

I nodded.  "Brandt's only answer was that popular opinion was growing on his side.  Fems want to see more equality because that's how they feel.  As you would say, Jo, I already know that because I know how the typical fem thinks."

"And that's exactly the type of thinking which drives about 70% of croses crazy," Jo added.  "They pride themselves in their logical approach to political issues.  Many croses campaign to try and get all voters to take a logic exam."

"What do
you
think of that idea?" I asked cautiously.

"Nonsense," Joe replied without hesitation.  "In the end, these croses are just rationalizing back from their own feelings, but can't recognize it.  Their feeling is fear.  Fear of a world in which mals take control."

"Do you two fear that?"

Al and Jo looked at each other, probably never having discussed the topic.  Al said, "We all fear the unknown, chaos, persecution, and being at a physical disadvantage.  All that could happen.  But I guess my human instinct just makes me uncomfortable with the way we treat mals.  So if this is your crusade, Meg, it's not too much of a stretch to join you." He drew a box with four fingers in the air above him. "I confess that I want my name up there with lights so I can mix with a better set of people.  You offer me liberals?  Sure – there are many top liberals whom I would just love to invite me to their weekend parties."

Jo rolled his eyes. "And Meg said the senators were depressing…"  He turned to her.  "Dear, rest assured that at least my motives are pure.   I just love an intellectual war.  You chose the side we're on.  I'm ready!"

I laughed.  They were with me because of me, and because they could not resist a challenge and its social rewards.  They had not an ounce of passion in the cause itself, though to their credit they were wholly lacking in the kind of cros prejudice which lay behind Folio's slick arguments.  It suited my goals perfectly.   I had chosen my suitors – and business partners – well.

Ben had been busy sketching under a nearby umbrella.  I saw him put down his pad and stand up, magnificent in his swimming briefs.  He stepped to the pool and dove in with barely a splash.  Then he started a muscular crawl up and down the pool, something we had practiced daily on the Gold Wing which had a single-body pool for workouts.  It was a beautiful sight on this sunny morning, resting by the glittering water among leafy palm trees.  Something that many more fems should be able to enjoy.

"I think you'll both be happy to hear that I am going to avoid any political angle," I remarked.  "Life extension for mals, giving them education, jobs, more rights – I'm going to stay silent on it all.  My message is going to be fashion."

I noted with amusement that I had surprised my suitors.  But they waited patiently for the word to be decoded.

"Those chants at my press conference, "I continued.  "Fem Choice and Fam Values.  Are they really such opposites?  I'm personally tired of single fems being seen as threats to social stability, but we're not going to make progress by launching into endless political debates.  I am simply going to set a radical example that everyone can relate at least partly to."

I turned to Jo.  "Gentle Cros, your offer of matrimony is accepted.  But don't think I'm going to give up Ben.  You and I might be making babies and having wild sex together.  But each night it's Ben I'm going to be cuddled by as I fall asleep.  You'll be sleeping in a separate room.  Sorry, but it's the only way I can maintain my sweet dreams."

Jo nodded as if appreciating the astute politics of my approach.  It seemed the effect upon him personally was irrelevant as he commented, "I assume you're applying your usual shrewd judgment about fem opinion instead of wishful thinking.  In that case, it could well be a stroke of genius."

"Is there a precedent for such threesomes?" Al asked.

Jo smirked at him.  "Only your type, if you had managed to persuade Meg and brought her back to your current wife."  He laughed as he seemed to think the matter through.  "I mean, who can criticize you?  Even Folio has two wives.  You're not breaking any laws or even bending any rules.  Wow, if this really does become fashionable, the Banks are going to be empty!"

"So you're OK with it, Jo?" I asked, to be sure.

He shrugged.  "No strategy is riskless, but I think this one is inspired."

"She means are you personally fine with the living arrangements, when you can climb down from your ivory tower?" Al interjected.

A flash of understanding showed on Jo's face. "Ah.  Oh, no problem.  Better I sleep in a separate room anyway – I tend to wake up and read odd hours of the night."

How long will my amazing luck last, I asked myself?  We chatted on about the arrangements for the wedding, Al offering suggestions as now the official Best Man.  As I had suspected, Al was now trying to hide a sense of relief that Jo had been chosen.  His offer of marriage had never been driven by more than the image of us as a sought-after party couple, and our new opportunities made that irrelevant.  If all went well, he would be socializing beyond his wildest dreams of a week ago.

I kept Ben in the corner of my eye, following his graceful crawl through the water which I knew he could do for hours without tiring.  The thought of him going to bed with me that night filled me with a confused excitement, or an excited confusion, or perhaps both and everything in between.  Voyages into Deep Space were supposed to be the ultimate in discovery, but somehow they didn't compare to my developing relationship with this extraordinary mal.  What distant, unmapped territories lay within him?  How would my mind and body respond to them?  Could we keep this between ourselves, or must the world inevitably find out?  If it did find out, would I have had the chance to parlay my fame into social acceptance and perhaps fashionability (a new word I just made up)?  Would I avoid committing a crime, which some croses saw as the ultimate betrayal of our social order?

A couple of young croses bounded up to the pool, talking and laughing.  They were admittedly a few percent of their lifespan short of adulthood,  but I noticed something striking about them.  Around their age, my brother and his friends had already grown a significant belly, but these crosins (as a pre-adults are called formally) had stomachs like Ben – flat and muscular.   They stopped at the pool's edge and watched Ben swim, at first in silence, then what appeared to be quiet joking to each other.  They went to sit down on a couple of sun-beds, suitably adapted for their permanently pristine, white skin.  I remarked on their stomachs to Al and Jo.

"You've been in space a long time, Baby," Al replied.  "You haven't seen this new generation of young crosins?  They've removed the double-stomach mutation.  These kids can only eat what you eat."

There is a lot I haven't explained yet about croses.  But what you need to know about all adult croses at that time, and for as long as we had historical records, is that they had multiple-chamber stomachs – the explanation for their pot belly.  Like a sheep or other ruminant animal, the mutation allowed them to digest certain grasses, leaves and bark that are indigestible to fems and mals.  For the moment, I will save an explanation of how this double-stomach (as it is commonly but misleadingly known) evolved until it fits into the rest of my story.  Please accept for now that, for a fem who had no occasion to see crosins for most of her adult life, the sight of their flat bellies was quite a shock.

"Why?" I asked simply.

"Their parents' vanity," Jo commented.  "The endless search for the perfect offspring, so you can one-up the neighbors.  It became scientifically possible a long time ago, but parents were nervous about their kids looking different.  Then a few big shots set an example and, rather like your plans for married life, it started to become fashionable.  Now all the crosins of rich families – the only ones who can afford the adaptation at this time – look that way.  Since they all go to the same rich schools, no worry about looking different."

I had to admit that it looked a lot better.  These crosins also looked taller and more athletic.  But, though I could admire their young cros bodies, they had no appeal to me like Ben's.  In fact I felt there was something sinister about them, like they had been manufactured.  The idea of one cuddling me made me shudder.  Maybe it was prejudice, I didn't know.  But then, isn't all attraction and repulsion a form of prejudice?

"Now these kids can't take part in your grass-eating rituals," I replied.  "Isn't that a problem for croses?"

"Older ones, undoubtedly," Al told me.  "But if you go to a lot of those Thanksgiving Feasts, you'll find a lot of green stuff you'd enjoy as a single-tummied fem.   And the "grass" is actually sliced lettuce.  It's becoming increasingly symbolic.  I mean, even if we can digest leaves, who wants to?  Can you imagine the gas it gives you?"

I noticed the crosins walking over to us.  They greeted us politely, then one of them said, "Is that your mal in the pool?"  I said it was mine.  "We'd like to play in there.  Would you mind calling him out?"

Joe jumped into the conversation.  "What's wrong with bathing next to a mal?" he asked.

The crosin shrugged.  "We just don't feel comfortable about it."  He paused, then added, "You folks are not from this State, are you?   I don't mean to be disrespectful, but the law here requires you to call him out if we request it."

Not wanting any trouble, I called out to Ben.  He immediately left the pool and started to dry himself on the far side.  The crosins thanked me.

"Didn't know they followed instructions that well," one commented.  "I thought you'd have to go there and sort of beckon him with your arms."

"How much do you know about mals?" I asked.

"Oh, they teach us plenty in school." He paused.  "And at the Crosin League."

"So what did they tell you that makes you so uncomfortable?" I continued.

The youths glanced at each other, then one said.  "Ma'am, they used to cook and eat croses.  Didn't you know that?"

"Hey now," Jo said quickly.  "There's no proof of that, it's just a theory.  And anyway, even if it happened, it was thousands of lifetimes ago, when there was literally no other food available for mals to eat."

The crosin looked him in the eye.  "The evidence was pretty compelling to me.  But don't get me wrong, I'm not blaming them.   I wouldn't get in a pool with a supposedly tame tiger or lion, either."

Despite their size in the cros world, the youths together would not have weighed much more than Ben.  You could see a rational basis for caution, at least.  I could not dismiss these youths as ignorant.  As the offspring of richer families, their education would have been well above average.  I felt it worth testing a little more public opinion.

"I know you're being polite, and I appreciate that," I told them.  "But I'm interested to know if you approve of me having a mal outside a Bank.  Do you think they should all be kept in the Banks?"

The crosins glanced at Al and Jo, clearly wondering if they should speak their minds freely.  They noticed slight nods from my suitors, and looked reassured.

"To be honest, I'm sure you have your reasons, Ma'am, but we find it a bit on an affront," said one.  "I mean, look at him – he looks like some sort of lethal weapon, programed to kill and eat croses.  They haven't done anything yet because we outnumber them.  But there are many reports about these radical leftist fems building whole armies of mals on distant planets.  They've found a way of keeping them alive indefinitely, like sort of zombies.  Who knows when some Gold Wing lands here supposedly with water supply and instead disgorges a million murderous mals?  Free mals like this one will have accumulated all the knowledge needed to destroy us, which they'll communicate to the alien mals by their hidden radar language."