The Alien and The London Escort

by A. M. Knightley

  I started to fall into a doze, exhausted; in the back of my mind I realized that, somehow—through my own misadventures—I had gone from being the kind of woman who would only have sex if she had to, as rarely as possible, to the kind who would be having sex, probably every day, for the foreseeable future. To my surprise, I was actually excited about that. At least, I thought, if I was going to have daily sex, it would be mind-blowing, and with an incredibly good-looking man. As I fell asleep, I reminded myself to ask about the professors who might still be with the aliens. *

  Eleanor’s Garden of Earthly Delights

  By A. M. Knightley

  Chapter One

  When the clouds began forming in the West Texas sky, Eleanor wasn’t worried. She’d seen enough Septembers to know when to take cover and when to enjoy the shade. Crouched on her knees, weeding the tomatoes in her garden as she had done for nearly twenty summers, Eleanor welcomed the respite from the sun’s glare. Still, she kept the straw Coolie hat on her head as a precaution, though she did remove the long-sleeved shirt she’d worn earlier. Her sweat-stained, gray t-shirt clung to her bare breasts and her nipples responded to the cool breeze.

  Another growing season was winding down. It had been a productive one, and profitable as well. She and her vegetables had been a fixture at the local farmer’s markets for two decades, and she’d earned many loyal customers who trusted the quality of her produce. Over the years, she’d earned a reputation for healthy growing methods, fair prices and conscientious standards of quality.

  She had a connection to the soil that went beyond planting, watering, and sticking her hands in it. It was her life, part of her flesh, her lifeblood. It was the reason she woke every morning, and worked from sunrise to dusk. It gave her pleasure, along with the aches and pains, and pride. Without it, she knew, she was nothing.

  In a way, Eleanor was as rooted in the soil as her plants. Confined to the boundaries of her property, seldom venturing outside it, her garden was her world. She had only her work, and every day she told herself that this was enough. Some days, she even believed it.

  She surveyed the neat rows of raised garden beds leading to the two greenhouses, which were housing her vegetables. Eleanor loved to walk the length of her garden, taking it all in, the cornucopia of shapes, sizes and colors – yellows, purples, bursting reds and glorious greens – of the eggplants, squash, zucchini and assorted melons and beans. It filled her with an almost motherly pride.

  She was going to miss it. The end of growing season always made her feel uneasy as she thought of having to bide her time until spring. Gardening was her life, and without that activity to fill her days, it was as if she had no life at all.

  The winters could be cold and cruel here, she knew. Sometimes she felt as if they were leaving their mark on her. Every year she grew more withdrawn and lonely. She hadn’t planned on things turning out this way, but she accepted it as her lot, the price she paid for being surrounded by so much life and beauty.

  She didn’t bother to look up from her weeding as she heard the tires or a car crunch on the gravel drive. Visitors to her residence were rare, and invited visitors were rarer still. It had to be Pauline.

  “Eleanor, how are you?” a woman’s voice called out, “I just knew I’d find you hard at work in your garden.”

  “It’s what I do, dear,” she said, tugging at a cluster of reluctant weeds, “And it’s why you’re here, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Pauline stopped a few feet from the kneeling woman dressed in baggy denims and a faded, sleeveless blouse, a straw coolie hat shielding her from the September sun, a full sleeve shirt strewn carelessly behind her. She waited for Eleanor to rise, or at least make eye contact, but the woman remained on her knees, digging at the soil.

  Undeterred, Pauline said, “I appreciate you letting me come out here. I just had to have your pie pumpkins. My schedule didn’t allow me to make it to the farmer’s market Thursday.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me where I sell them. I’ve got four pumpkins for you in the bag on the table. Just put the money under the stone so it doesn’t blow away.”

  “Of course,” Pauline said, “I hope a check is alright.”

  “A check is money, too,” Eleanor replied dryly, without looking up, as if conversing with the tomatoes.

  Pauline surveyed the scores of raised garden beds lined in neat rows, each one housing a different vegetable; potatoes, beans, squash and myriad others. “I had no idea this was such a large operation, Eleanor. Who helps you with all of this?”

  “Oh just I, me and myself! I’m completely self-sufficient, thank you,” Eleanor said.

  A long pause followed, the silence broken only by the sound of Eleanor scraping in the soil. Long pauses made Pauline uncomfortable.

  “I have a bit of a green thumb myself,” she volunteered, “Flowers are my passion. This summer my geraniums….”

  “I’ve no use for flowers,” Eleanor interrupted. She squinted at Pauline, sizing her up in light of this scrap of information, taking in Pauline’s fashionably tight jeans, the silky, white blouse, and sweater sleeves stylishly knotted around her waist. Her skin was pale and her hands were smooth, with polished, manicured nails. “Flowers won’t feed you, will they? Pretty to look at, but not very practical.”

  Pauline felt herself blush with embarrassment. Eleanor could be prickly some days; most days, in fact. She instinctively thought to defend herself and argue against Eleanor’s assertion, but chose to change the subject instead.

  “Did you see the big meteor shower last night, Eleanor?”

  Eleanor grunted, “Nope.”

  “Oh, it was really something! One after another, sometimes in clusters, sparks trailing across the sky. We went outside to watch some of it, even though it was after midnight.”

  “I’d have been long asleep,” Eleanor replied, immune to Pauline’s enthusiasm, “Early to bed, early to rise; that’s me.”

  Pauline admired Eleanor’s strong, weathered arms. She couldn’t be much older than herself. Late forties, early fifties? Yet she seemed ancient, like the rocks, cacti and the West Texas dirt. “Well, what do you do for fun, Eleanor? I know you live alone, but is there anyone… a special guy who calls on you occasionally?”

  Eleanor sighed and stabbed the weed puller tines into the dirt. This woman was going to buzz around her head like a fly all day long unless she was shooed away. Eleanor hoisted herself up, removed her gloves and slapped at the dirt on her knees.

  “No, Pauline, I don’t have a steady guy, or a gal, in case that was your next question. I enjoy my life, but I wouldn’t call it fun. I enjoy growing vegetables and keeping a roof over my head, and I manage to do it all without a man. Like I said, I’m self-sufficient. Now, let me show you where the pie pumpkins are. I’ve got work to do before the sun sets.”

  She guided Pauline to the table and removed the small, sweet pumpkins from the sack, lining them up for inspection. “Will these do?”

  “Those are perfect!” Pauline said, a little too enthusiastically. It was clear to her that Eleanor didn’t want company but, despite the risk of being rebuffed again, Pauline gave it another try. “You know, my husband and I enjoy socializing, Eleanor, and you’d be welcome to visit us anytime. No pressure, just whenever you’re in the mood.”

  “Okay. I’ll remember that.”

  Pauline winced at the lack of commitment in her reply, but didn’t let that stop her. “Chuck Lawson stops by regularly. You know Chuck… the Regal manager? I seem to recall Chuck having some nice things to say about you, Eleanor. Do you like movies, Eleanor?”

  Eleanor laughed, “Not particularly. Movies, TV, computers: nothing but distractions and full of useless information. I prefer to think my own thoughts, not someone else’s.” She put the pumpkins back in the bag and began rolling it closed, but stopped midway.

  “You know, I did have a “special guy” a long time ago. It started out okay, but before long, not only was he telling me what to do, but
how to do it and when. I finally got my fill of that…for a lifetime. We get one chance at this life, and I’ll live mine the way I see fit. If people can’t understand or respect that… well, that’s on them, not me.”

  Pauline couldn’t believe that Eleanor had opened up this much to her. It made sense, in a way, but it was also sad. Pauline had heard that Eleanor had moved here long ago from Fort Worth, and that she’d been married and divorced. They’d had no children, but other than that, the rumor mill had been fed precious few details. Tight-lipped Eleanor was not one to bare her soul to casual acquaintances.

  We’ve all been hurt, Pauline reflected. Some people dust themselves off and get back on the horse that threw them, but others choose to curse the horse, resolving to never ride again. Eleanor’s lonely existence went beyond circumstances – her work, her age, the rural isolation – it was reinforced and calcified by principle.

  Pauline found it ironic: Eleanor devoted herself to nurturing and cultivating life, yet allowed her dreams and emotions to slowly wither and die on the vine.

  “There’s supposed to be another meteor shower tonight,” Pauline said as they walked toward her car, “but we won’t see it once the clouds come in. They’re predicting rain all day tomorrow.”

  “That sounds about right,” Eleanor said, “I felt it coming days ago. Thanks for stopping by. See you at the market.”

  Eleanor turned, and Pauline watched her climb the creaky porch steps. Pauline thought she might turn to wave, but Eleanor never looked back before she disappeared, the screen door slamming shut behind her.

  Chapter Two

  Before calling it a day, Eleanor made the rounds of the garden beds, plucking some vegetables for a soup the next day. There was nothing like homemade soup on a rainy day, after all. The clouds were already hovering, their thick mass muting the sunset. As she passed one of the cucumber beds, she decided to pick a couple for a snack, maybe whipping up a dip to go with them. She picked the ripest and was surprised by its warmth. Despite the cloud cover, the sun’s rays must have still been beaming on it. She placed it in the basket with the other veggies and walked to the house, sniffing at the scent of the coming rain.

  After dinner, she showered, and when she turned off the water, she heard rain clattering on the metal roof. Wrapping herself in a robe, she lowered the open windows, but didn’t close them, allowing the cool, damp air to circulate through the rooms.

  She sat at her vanity, brushing her shoulder-length hair. Ordinarily, Eleanor wasn’t one for self-appraisal, but tonight she leaned in towards the mirror, noting the gray streaks in her hair and the longitudinal lines running along her cheeks. Overall, she didn’t look bad. Some looked better and others no doubt looked worse, but Eleanor reckoned she looked her age, and that seemed fair enough.

  She parted her robe, pulling it back on one side to expose her breast. It was a perfectly good breast, she decided. Should an impartial observer ever be privy to view it, they would likely be impressed with its full shape and firmness. She squeezed it gently, as she might a melon or a squash.

  Ripe was how it felt to her.

  Why was she having these thoughts? She pulled her robe together tightly. That foolish Pauline and her talk of “fun” and having a “special man.” Like a careless child stirring up a hornet’s nest, unmindful of the consequences, Pauline might find contentment being led around by the nose by a husband, but Eleanor would have none of it.

  The rain still tapped on the roof as she lay in bed. Tomorrow she’d clean the house, or perhaps do some canning if the rain kept up. Maybe she’d sleep in a little later. That was the nice thing about being your own boss. The rain’s rhythm calmed her and lulled her toward unconsciousness. Before she dozed, she envisioned a meteor shower blazing across the night sky, above the clouds, unobservable by human eyes, but no less real.

  She awoke an hour later, aware of a pulsing light infiltrating her eyelids. A greenish glow flickered from the kitchen. Had the power gone out and reset the oven and microwave displays? The light irritated her enough to leave her warm bed and investigate.

  Unsure of where she’d laid her robe, she crept naked through the house. Reaching the kitchen, Eleanor saw the green light reflected on the wall beneath the cupboards, appearing to originate somewhere on the counter. It was coming from the basket of vegetables she’d picked earlier.

  Her mouth fell open as she realized it was the cucumbers, of all things, a green glow pulsing from within!

  She reached out, and when her fingertip touched it, the blinking ceased.

  I must still be dreaming, she thought. Oddly, the cucumber was still warm to the touch. How odd. She’d rinsed everything in cold water and they sat by an open window. A cool breeze licked over her naked flesh. The temperature had dropped, a cold front accompanying the rain. She darted through the house, closing windows, and then returned to the kitchen. She picked up the cucumber, warming her hands with it. That gave her an idea.

  You’re coming to bed with me, little guy. But don’t get any ideas!

  Eleanor crawled back under the covers, grateful for the heat radiating from her cucumber companion. She didn’t understand it, maybe it was her imagination, but if the little rascal was able to warm her bed, he was welcome to stay.

  She soon fell asleep, but was again awakened. She found the cucumber wedged between her breasts, still very warm, and now vibrating ever so slightly. For some reason this didn’t alarm her. The purring sensation was odd, but comforting. Eleanor guessed that at some point she’d instinctively nuzzled against the veggie, seeking its heat. She smiled at how this might appear to an onlooker, the large, green phallus-like object cradled in her breasts. How scandalous!

  She felt a warm, slippery coating on its skin. It wasn’t greasy or messy but, as a precaution, she held her fingers to her nose. No scent of spoilage or rot; just the opposite, in fact. The substance smelled fresh and clean, like a hand lotion.

  Her breasts shifted with her movements, and the lubed cuke slid down her cleavage. She caught it with both hands, delighting at the way the warm, slippery object tickled her breasts. She couldn’t resist guiding it over them. The subtle tremors it emitted awakened her soft flesh, her nipples responding to its touch. She grazed her nipples with the warm, veggie wand, almost squealing out loud from the contact.

  This is the damndest thing! But if I’m still dreaming, please don’t wake me!

  She loosened her grip, letting the cuke glide along the contours of her body. As if holding a divining rod, her hands trembled as it moved down her belly, seeking her moistness. Eleanor spread her legs in welcome.

  The veggie purred through her pubic hair, caressing the curls. Her clitoris stiffened in anticipation. The cuke crept closer, hovering over her tiny nerve center. Without even making direct contact, her body tightened and quivered. She hadn’t experienced foreplay like this in years.

  Decades!

  As it lit lightly on her clit, its gentle hum both soothed and aroused Eleanor. When she pressed harder, it was like an electrical current, not shocking, but powerful. Eleanor ran the tip along her lower lips. Her pussy was so wet that she couldn’t tell if it stemmed from the cucumber’s secretions or her own, but it slid effortlessly inside.

  It felt so good, so filling, so warm! Eleanor spread her legs farther apart to take in as much as she could. She opened and closed her legs as the veggie moved in and out, relishing how it felt when it withdrew, combing against one side of her nerve endings, and then sweeping back over the other side as it reentered. Back and forth the cucumber sailed, evenly and easily, ready to do her bidding for as long as she liked. Eleanor felt tears of joyous release trickling down her cheeks as she drifted into a sexual satori.

  She discovered that she could prop the cuke between her ankles, freeing up her fingers to play with her breasts. She moved her hips wantonly, screwing the vegetable as if it were a cock rising up from the mattress. She squeezed her breasts and nipples as she moved, and then slipped one hand down to
rub her clit while she humped the cuke.

  Her body had come alive again! It had been sleeping for too long. She could count the times on one hand that she’d masturbated in the last fifteen years. She’d always achieved an orgasm, but the soaring highs were inevitably accompanied by crushing lows, and she loathed herself for her weakness, for giving in to her body’s demands.

  When her first orgasm arrived, she knew that she would be immune from any regrets. It was powerful, causing her body to shudder and shiver, nearly dropping the cucumber cock. It was one of the strongest orgasm she could remember ever having, but she knew there was more to come. The second orgasm was seismic! Her body thrashed and flailed so violently, she feared ending up on the floor! She managed to hang in there for one more big one, and then collapsed, unable to continue. Tremors continued to ripple through her afterwards but, finally, she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Three

  When Eleanor awoke, she felt like she was in another world. A tranquil place, where time moved slowly, and bodies were rested and spoiled by lots of sleep and good sex. A tropical place where misty rains tapped gently and the fresh scent of vegetation wafted in the moist air.

  She opened one eye. It was noon! A sense of panic inflamed her body, but only for a second. Something calmed her, making her realize that she didn’t have to submit to her self-imposed slavery. That something was firmly planted between her legs.

  “How did you get there?” she asked, accusingly. She reached back to remove the obstruction, and felt only half the length of it in her hand. “I don’t think I want to be that close to you, Mr. Q.” But even as she chided the brazen veggie, her hand pushed and pulled gently on the stump. She felt all squishy inside, and damned if the green erection didn’t feel good.