Jill

by Jay Hughes

  I was about to put the mayo on thick when Jill ripped open the front door. "Your air force is lucky our ship isn't armed."

  "You're lucky our air force can't find your ship," I said, "which reminds me ... where is it?"

  She sighed in her usual disgust when I asked that question. "Out there."

  I looked up. "Can I see it at night?"

  "No."

  "So, what does it do ... just hyper-ventilate around and around in space?"

  "It's in orbit."

  "Let's fuck."

  "I'm hungry."

  "If you fuck me, I'll feed you." A guy has his standards.

  She looked at me in a strange way. Not familiar with the concept of a male being rewarded for being nice to a female, she just grinned. "I can go find some food without having to have sex with you."

  "You make it sound like you don't like it."

  "I do, but my chemistry is changing. It's almost that time."

  "I'm also hot, but the weather is awful."

  She sat on the edge of the couch and stretched her legs. "You wouldn't understand."

  "I suppose not. Even Earth women befuddle me when they go through that every month."

  "This is a lot different. My periods are terrible."

  "You have them, too?"

  She gave me that men-are-stupid-all-over-the-galaxy look.

  "The president called."

  "I heard."

  "Tuesday."

  "Where is Indianapolis?"

  I slid my ham and mayo off to the side. I wasn't hungry, after all. "Well ... you get in your space ship, hyper-vine out to Saturn, hang a left at the ammonia belt and take the first exit."

  Then she put her arms around me and gave me a plutonium-grade kiss. I guess the fuck-me-and-feed-me line paid off.

  My dinner hit the floor. I looked down and watched Klinger have his way with it.

  Then I fucked Jill on the kitchen table.

  "Again!"

  Wait, this is not the way I meant it. I fuck you and you feed me. Nibble, nibble, lick, lick ... it was all the dinner I deserved. I tripped her trigger, lit her up like a Christmas tree and sent her backward into a lump.

  "Again!"

  "I thought you said you were hungry." I groped around on my knees, trying to get into position again.

  She pulled my face in. "Moo-pa! Heeeeeeee-moo-pannnnnnnn-ya!"

  Then she kicked me backward onto my ass and sat up. "Good. Now, do it again!"

  How many orgasms can one woman have in thirty minutes?

  ***

  We went across the street to meet Betty and Herb, who were gracious in offering us milk and cookies. Jill nibbled a few leaves off Betty's rubber plant and grimaced.

  "Do you have an illness?" Jill asked Betty.

  "Arthritis."

  Jill wrinkled her brow. "May I bring you some relief?"

  Herb cackled. "I've spent thousands on relief. Pills, treatments, girl ... nothing helps." Herb was too old to be in awe of Jill but I could tell he was getting a wet spot in his pants. Jill was showing cleavage. Nice sweet green cleavage. Herb had also turned up the air conditioner and it made Jill's nipples a bit taut.

  No, those puppies were standing tall.

  Jill shivered and smiled. "Tomorrow, I'll bring you some relief."

  Betty rolled around the living room with a grin on her face. When you have arthritis, almost anything is worth a try.

  Even if it has to come express-freight from Standard Eight.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A sudden thaw had left the streets a mess. Jill expressed some concern about ruining her borrowed shoes. I worried about what would happen to her if she got falling-down drunk on wine and spiked punch.

  The Coffee Creek Country Club.

  Where all the hip folks meet.

  Vicki and Tom Pervison were celebrating twenty years of marital bliss, also known as twenty years of martial law.

  But they seemed happy.

  Vicki was, of course, more than just the highlight. The fact that she even knew Jill was enough. Having Jill attend the party was even better than having the president drop by.

  That happened once.

  I parked near the slosh puddle.

  "Move the car!"

  "Suffer, you wimp!" I moved the car. As much as I wanted to torture her just this once, I did realize that slosh and silver-gray dresses don't mix. Not for two hundred bucks, less the incredible twenty percent discount.

  Vicki knows everybody, and all of them brought a relative to the big gala.

  I made a big entrance. Jill just entered. Enough said.

  As the party roared on, Vicki got closer to drunk than she might have wanted. I half-guessed Jill had stolen her thunder. Hey, you invited us.

  Jill was also getting blasted.

  I hurried to her rescue by taking a meat cleaver out back. I hacked off a chunk of sycamore and fed it to her, right in front of the throng of thousands.

  "Wow! Is that what you always eat?"

  "I need to keep my teeth sharp," Jill said, "so when the day comes, I can eat my boyfriend."

  Gulp.

  Then we danced.

  Jill got sluggish and a bit ill.

  No, a lot ill.

  Ill Jill is no thrill.

  Anyway, somewhere between the time I danced "The Last Waltz" with Vicki and the euphoric moment when Becky White's big-chested daughter tried to put a move on me...

  "JAY! TAKE ME HOME!"

  And, at a little before midnight, my space traveler reached the speed of hyper-flux.

  "Are you sure you don't want to get naked and dance on the table?" I asked her.

  She slapped me.

  No, that was a doubled-up fist, right in the jaw.

  I stumbled backward, knocked over the punch, got up to throw my own punch and ... her eyes were glazed over. She wasn't drunk; she was going into a coma. She gasped for air. Her hands tightened into fists and she rolled her eyes. She began to shiver.

  Now what?

  "Take me home," she said in a half-stutter. "Back ... to ... ship ... soon ... now ... go ... home ... take me."

  "Hospital?"

  "Ship."

  ***

  I slid around some corners that had re-frozen, banged into a mailbox or two, almost collided with the Seventh Street bridge abutment and out-chickened a freight train.

  At midnight, I had her in the house, covered in a blanket and ... I was past the point of being scared.

  Klinger found her dangling finger as she lay in a semi-stupor on the couch. She wiggled it when he licked it.

  "Help me out. I have to ... go ... to ... the ship."

  "Jill, honey ... where is the ship? Can I take you there?"

  She shook her head and then she ... just shook.

  I didn't know if taking her outside was a good idea but I had no reason to believe the ship would come to her. "Where do I take you?"

  She pointed with a weak finger. "Alley. I can ... go ... to ship."

  The alley was always where she went. Where in the alley?

  I uprighted her, took her into the bedroom and slid her out of her dress, sat her back on the bed and helped her into her uniform. She felt cold. Jill was never cold. "Is this your time?"

  She nodded. "Maybe."

  The word "maybe" always carries two edges. It either was or it wasn't. If it wasn't, what was it?

  "I don't ... feel ... right ... this ... time."

  "What can I do?"

  "Take me out."

  I got her up, found her parka and boots, and we trudged off into the frost, toward the alley, toward her ship, wherever that might be.

  At the sycamore tree, we stopped. "You must go back."

  "I want to stay."

  "Go!"

  This was where it was, the ship, or a route to it. A doorway, a lift, a tunnel, a bridge. I paused.

  "Go!"

  I turned and walked back toward the house, glancing over my shoulder.

  Then she was gone.


  Just like she came in.

  That summer day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Why Coffee Creek?

  "I had to use the bathroom."

  Simple questions, simple answers. Jill was either being coy about her origins and motives or she was just plain ignorant of them. That stood to reason. Perhaps her role aboard the vessel was just ... bimbo. The way she acted and talked, she fit the role.

  I could envision our great military leaders, sitting around a table, asking point-blank, "Where do you come from and what is your objective?"

  "I just blew in, baby, because I had to use the bathroom."

  I knew the president wouldn't get too sophisticated in his questions, so she could kid around with him all she wanted. No, you can't go watch her pee-pee, prez.

  Jill's personal escorts to and from the piss-vial labs that had begun to spring up gave me reason to sit around the house ... answer the phone.

  "I don't know, Coach Lewis, if she has any eligibility left or not. Yeah, she's strong ... could play power forward. I bet she could. No, I never saw her dunk a basketball."

  A full ride to Potter Stevens College.

  And, of course, I answered the door.

  "Hi, I'm Pastor Ezekial Jackson, First Pentecostal Baptist, just down the street."

  "Hi, Zeke."

  "I'm just curious, Jay ... has she spoken of the Lord?"

  "Only in special moments when she refers to me as god."

  "She's blinded, then?"

  "She tends to close her eyes when she reaches that point, yes."

  "You know, Jay ... the Lord works in mysterious ways. He may have sent Cheeliol to us. In fact, I'm sure He did. Has she spoken of this miracle to you?"

  "Zeke, my bro, she is a miraculous woman. But, no ... she hasn't discussed her faith with me. I presume she recognizes a deity of sorts. I'll be sure to ask her."

  "Praise God!"

  "Zeke ... she has no money."

  "The Lord will provide."

  I closed the door and left the dark-haired man with the gray suit standing on my porch, praying. Zeke had brought up an interesting question.

  Maybe plants don't worship a god.

  I chuckled at the thought of having had incredible sex with a tall, green vegetable. If Jill were indeed a plant, what would she be? Passion fruit.

  I also steeled myself from what Zeke had said. Had she been sent here? Who else might believe that? What I didn't need was a band of followers camping out by the elm tree, waiting for their omen to appear.

  Security!

  ***

  "No security!"

  "Jill, this could get risky."

  "Then I'll leave."

  "You've been on Earth less than a week. These people haven't had time to gather yet. We have kooks, con men, idol worshippers, thieves, rapists, assholes and Republicans ... all right here in Coffee Creek."

  "I'm aware of that." She sat on the edge of the couch, put her long legs up on the arm and stretched. "It's getting cold out."

  "It's the most oppressive time of the year."

  "Then I must be coming into heat."

  I looked down at Klinger, whose tongue was hanging out of his head. "Don't even think about it, dog."

  "What did that mean?"

  "Klinger might be up for a dry hump. Has he done that to you yet?"

  "Once."

  "I suppose you told him to stop."

  She shrugged. "He's a dog."

  "There was a reverend here today. He asked about your god."

  "Rain. Rain is god."

  "Good enough for me. Let's keep that to ourselves."

  "I plan to. Next question."

  "Do you want me to buy you some clothes? Shoes."

  "I need a coat soon. It's cold." She sat up and looked out the window. "I like those shiny things women wear on their hands." She wiggled her ring-less fingers.

  "We need to go to the county fair to get those. You put a quarter in a slot and slide this little steam shovel around until you capture one. I'm pretty good at it. Can I ask one more question?"

  "You can ask."

  "How old are you?"

  She put her hands out and counted on her fingers. "I came about on 006734, and on, let's see ... 006739, I was ... then we hyper-ed, that went backward ... 005185 ... subspace in 1999, Earth-time ... I have no idea."

  "Then, would you be considered young or old?"

  "Young. Maybe old. Stable."

  She didn't fuckin' know how old she was.

  "Take me to the county fair!"

  "It was last month."

  "Find another one!"

  "I'll look around. There's a festival this weekend over in Water Falls. They might have something."

  She sat up. "I'm hungry. I have to go." She got up, walked through the kitchen, out the back door and disappeared.

  "Don't forget the arthritis..."

  ***

  At ten, the door banged open.

  "I'm back."

  I was dozing off to the CNN report that had paid homage to Jill's arrival and the president's upcoming visit.

  She held up a leaf. "Here it is."

  "Celfa bark?"

  "Choochinawa. It's for Betty."

  "She won't eat that."

  She lay the leaf on the kitchen table, slithered up to me and unzipped her uniform. "Fondle me!"

  I try not to take advantage of women who were born in 006734, but sometimes the urge is more powerful than I can endure.

  Fondling leads to fucking and, in Jill's case, it means ... you guessed it ... the Lavender lesbians' spruce tree. The lickin' lovers were asleep by now, I hoped, so make as much noise as you want.

  "Maaaaaaaa-greeeeeeeeeee-nayaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

  That was a little too loud.

  Maud Perkins turned on her back porch light. "Jay, are you and that hideous green thing makin' bacon under that spruce tree again? I seen ya'ns last time."

  When the Lavender light lit up, Jill and I were in for a big surprise.

  "That is so damned erotic," Lucy said over the back fence.

  I sat up. Jill sat up. "Again!"

  "Right in front of Lucy?"

  "Again!"

  Duck your head, Lucy. Then I ducked mine, right between Jill's legs. Let me know, Lucy, if I'm doin' this right.

  "Jay, I'm gonna call the cops!"

  "Shut the fuck up, Maud."

  "Ma ... ma ... moo-pa ... nah-nee-paya ... moooo-pan-ya!" Jill quivered and sat backward. She took a deep breath and looked over at Lucy. "Good."

  "I bet."

  "Lucy," I said, dragging myself to my knees, "moo-pa is what she says when I hit her sweet spot."

  "It's not what Laddie says," Lucy said, yawning.

  Lucky Lucy gets Laddie to lick her lightly, and Lucy laments a lack of loquacity.

  "What's she say, Lucy?"

  "She does not say, "again!"

  "Again!" Jill said, and pulled me back on top of her.

  "Jay, I'm callin' the cops!"

  "Maud, they won't come!"

  "Get that green thing off the grass, now!"

  "I'm gettin' her off now, Maud. Later, Lucy." Then I dove in.

  ***

  Lucy, Jill and I shared an iced tea on the back porch. Laddie loosened her laces and joined us. The police car drove with intent down the alley. The cicadas sang. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

  "Jill, why don't you go get Klinger?"

  Jill got up, stretched and rubbed her pussy. "I'll be back in a sec."

  A sec? In Jill years, that's ... what?

  Jill disappeared into the night.

  "That's the most incredible woman I have ever met," Laddie Lavender opined.

  "I'll say," Lucy concurred. "Do you suppose they have ... uh ... women like us ... up there?"

  I shook my tea glass, wondering if ice cubes were gay. "As far as I can tell," I said, "most forms of life there just co-exist." I was making that up as I went along. I had no idea about life forms on S8, giv
en one exception.

  "We should all be that way," Laddie said, with a melancholy approach, betraying her sixty or so years.

  "You don't hold it against us, do you, Jay?" Lucy gave me that peculiar smile.

  I didn't know Lucy and Laddie well, except to know they'd concocted a marriage of some form. Lucy was half Laddie's age, not pretty and not ugly. They'd never bothered me but Klinger hated their guts.

  Then came Jill with Klinger. I knew what was up.

  Klinger hit the porch, stopped and growled at Lucy.

  "Sit, Klinger!" Jill pointed a finger at my dog.

  He sat.

  I sat there, dumfounded. "He never does that for me."

  Jill reached down and petted him, gave him a scoot toward Lucy, and Klinger edged forward. Within seconds, he was licking Lucy's long ... finger. You imagined something else?

  "Jay," Jill said, "I want it again!"

  Laddie laughed. Lucy leered. Klinger wagged ... his tail.

  Jill stood and moved over to me. She unzipped her front. "Fondle me!"

  I looked at Laddie, then Lucy. "We're not much into foreplay," I chortled.

  "Lucky girl," Lucy looned.

  "I'll say," Laddie ladled.

  "I'm gonna call the cops again," Maud said from the darkness next door.

  Laddie and Lucy retired, Jill and I headed for the spruce tree and Klinger went back to the house.

  I gotta get that boy a woman!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I cursed the winter.

  "How in hell do they do that?" I turned and stared into the space where Jill had once stood. The barren sycamore yawned back at me, intent on keeping her secret.

  I wandered around in the cold, kicking at the frozen globs of snow that the plows had left behind to die on their own. I sensed an end to it all ... as though Jill had somehow run her course. Maybe the others on the ship would simply whisk her out to space, perform some form of last rites and ... then what?

  I walked back to the house, gave Klinger his evening constitutional and let him back in. Mostly, he moped.

  "Yeah, I'm worried too."

  He whimpered.

  Lassie always did that during sad times.

  I took the phone off the hook. I had no information for Vicki or any of the hundred or so guests who had seen Jill lose control, smack me and ease back into a state of shock.