Falling softly

One of the first things I learned about those damned flesh suits is that they give away what you’re thinking even when you think you’re keeping a straight face. – Serek II

When Yvette finally woke up she moaned, “What happened? Where are we?” It was two hours past check-out and the body was long gone. She looked at me pretending to be bored as I scrolled through my phone while waiting for her and cracked a tired smile. “Oh. Sorry. So last night was my turn to shine?”

I pretended to notice that she was awake for the first time. “Don’t worry about it,” I cooed. “Everyone had a great night. You don’t remember?”

The smile bloomed slowly across Yvette’s face. She lifted a shoulder. “Hmm. Did we grab dinner somewhere?”

I let out the breath I shouldn’t have been holding and smiled back. Outside the snow was falling again.

Suffice to say

Everyone has his soulmate, everyone his soul. – Serek II

Suffice to say that it was a lot of fun until we realized that Kanadaga had slipped something into our drinks after dinner. For a few hours Yvette looked like she might be dead. Kanadaga is dead for sure. Too bad he didn’t know that I’m not affected by Earth’s drugs. Even worse that he didn’t know that when people resist it really makes me nervous.

Yvette

To be a xenographer is to give up on the idea of atheism. You will know god, or gods, in the faith and trust of creatures with very short lives. – Serek II

I met Yvette about four months ago in a 2001 Dodge Neon parked near a Wendy’s in Poughkeepsie, New York.

In those circumstances it’s hard to get your hopes up but I’d swear to the face of the Great Serek Himself that she’s the most interesting person in all this touchy, standoffish land. She wears no protection. Or, more accurately, unless sparkled drunk she usually insists on dental dams but she certainly wears no armor when it comes to her conversations with me.

Yvette felt bad that I’d thrown up in the van again. She promised she’d pick me up at the Metro North station in Poughkeepsie. Then onwards we’d go together, hunting adventure in the Catskill Mountains.

Clean and jerk

Patience, child of Gor. Someday they’ll all get their comeuppance. – Serek II

My building has a little gym. Hardly anyone ever goes there, but someone thoughtfully installed a glass wall so that you can still experience the joy of being judged while curling those five-pound weights.

I felt better for real today. Well enough to work. So I put on some tight yoga pants, let myself into the gym, and pretended to do some hip abductions while I waited. Sure enough, before long the beefcake who had been loudly heaving dumbbells over his head paused to chat me up.

I learned nothing interesting, to be honest. The man – named Kanadaga, because life’s like that sometimes – was a native Neakitan accountant who had been sentenced to New York for a year for his sins. He hated almost everything about it and hadn’t made many friends here yet. Kanadaga definitely didn’t have a girlfriend, a point he stressed quite a few times. I almost rolled my eyes when he invited me to “dinner sometime.” Beards and tattoos aren’t really my thing and this guy was boring to an accountant degree. But then I remembered that beards and tattoos are definitely Yvette’s thing, and Yvette is the most interesting human being I know.

With a chubby old guy with brown paper bag to his chest on the other side of the glass looking on, I stupidly asked Kanadaga if he’d like to join Yvette and me for dinner tomorrow.

VIP

No one remembers the farts of important men. – Serek II

The Great Serek is usually a man this time of the year.

He was born lucky. Born third from the third to the third kesim of my hometown, they say Serek’s face was so beautiful that the local priests contemplated kidnapping him and selling him off to the seraglio of some distant planet’s prince. When he signed up to train as a xenographer in Gor, fifteen of his lovers went mad and were locked up by the proper authorities.

Xenography wasn’t a high-status occupation in those days. If Serek hadn’t been only sixth in line for the kesimship I’m sure his parents would’ve discouraged him. But they thought it might be entertaining, much like people in this city who smirk and elbow each other when they talk about Cousin Rob who moved to New Zealand to inspire his career as a painter.

I mention this last point because for a long time now xenographers have been honored far above kesims. My own parents were born over 300 years into Serek’s reign. I competed against 30,000 other people for my spot in the academy, and against 14,000 other xenographers for the honor of undertaking this mission.

This morning I thought I was finally getting over my virus and left my apartment to do some work. I threw up so suddenly and so much, and it smelled so much like Peking Surprise, that I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a new van.

Honesty is the best

Why do these people dwell in the snow? – Serek II

I met a man today who didn’t wish to die. But I think he’s going to let his girlfriend take him on a ski vacation anyway.

The man was standing in front of me waiting to order his coffee. He gave off that Big Dick Energy. He smelled clean, of high-end body wash, which for my money is almost always a better bet than cologne. He told me about his girlfriend, Danielle, and the place where he expected to spend his last days, the Colonial Motel in Grand Gorge. A year ago he thought nothing could possibly go wrong when he added skiing and snowboarding to his Match.com profile.

Ticking

Dust will eat the days. – Serek II

Yesterday I caught a virus. A nasty little thing. The Great Serek is of course silent on that subject, as she luckily and very famously visited over fifty planets without ever getting sick.

The worst is the wait. Drenched in sweat, I had no choice but to lie on my sofa bundled in layers of pajamas and blankets waiting for the virus to run its course. My tired and aching brain refused to give me the small gift of even a daydream to keep me company. I was left alone with the clobbering knowledge of my misery.

I suddenly awoke in the middle night feeling like sex. I needed to come more than I’ve ever needed it. With desperation I worked my wet pussy with my fingers but whenever I started breathing faster my headache surged and brought me back to the start. Something more efficient, then. Fumbling in the dark I remember cursing myself for not recharging K’s batteries when I had the time.

The conceit

In all the lands the sun will rise, and also the massive boners. – Serek II

This is a writing exercise. I’m twelve years deep into a sci fi novel and am starting to lose touch with the hopeful, sexual alien narrator who I thought could tie its disjointed bits together. That, at least, is the conceit.

The truth is that I’m just passing through. They call me Tenica, and I’m here to take some important notes.