by M. L. Janes
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."
Al laughed. "Who told you that rubbish?"
"Gentle Cros," said the other youth, "Please don't disrespect us. This is core doctrine now at the Crosin League meetings we attend." He paused. "You're from the Light or the Cloud, right? Mainly liberal intellectual stuff, I'm thinking, like Senator Brandt? Here in the Dry Zone that's sort of minority thinking. If I mentioned Human Rights at a League meeting, I'd get shouted down."
"If not worse," his friend added. They both gave short, knowing laughs.
"But don't they appreciate mals' contribution to our society?" I asked. "Without their gene reservoir, your adult life would be halved."
"Yes, and we owe a similar debt to the monkeys in our labs who test our drugs," came the response. "But we're always going to need monkeys. They're close to transmitting mal genes directly through the mother now. They think it might even happen with our generation. Then we can close the Banks and mals can be assigned, along with our other prehistoric ancestors, to the history books."
"Not that Mik and I would personally advocate putting down any existing mal," his companion ad
ded. "We're not like those crosins from the countryside who want to have them all put to sleep as soon as possible. They like to think that mals aren't really human, but that's just ignorance of biology."
Though fearful of these comments, I believe I kept an outward appearance of calm. I nodded and looked past the youths to Ben, busily sketching. My fear suddenly turned to anger, which I found more difficult to conceal. I sensed Al noticed it, and he tried to steer the conversation.
"I'm sure you're also aware that there are many crosin in the Light and Cloud who actually favor greater longevity and more rights for mals," he told the youths. "If you listened to their arguments, you might conclude that your fears are an overreaction."
"We've listened," one of them said, "but how do you measure these chances? Suppose I said there's a one percent chance of mals killing us all. Is getting rid of mals then an "overreaction"? I don't think you can actually argue that one out. In the end, you go with your gut."
"The average crosin here will tell you that your guys are pressured," the other added. "They want to be seen to be appeasing fem sentiment. Some because they're looking for wives. Others because they're afraid of their wives."
I tried to keep my voice normal. "Why afraid?"
He looked down at me, then up at Al and Jo. "Ma'am, you're big enough to put these two croses in the hospital, if you wanted to. A blow to their stomachs would potentially rupture them. And I can see you're angry now. Frankly, you're a bit scary yourself, and with your pet mal you're like a small army. You know how many fems are in prison for violence?"
In all my life I had never seen myself as a physical threat to anyone. The fact that I was bigger and stronger than Al and Jo was not something I had any control over. And my view of the quantity of fems in prison was one of social injustice against our gender. So what right did this crosin have to see me as a physical threat? I felt more angry, and turned to Al and Jo. They looked at me blankly.
"Thank you for your honest opinions," Jo was telling the youths. "We'll head inside now, and leave you to the pool."
Maybe this point, after this confrontation and also my acceptance of Jo's proposal, with its ménage a trois caveats, is the appropriate place in the story to describe how I lost my virginity. The story is probably a very common one in my society, though it's not easy to be sure because most fems don't tell and you can never trust the ones who do. I have a strong sense that it is quite different from the Earthling experience, and I believe that difference is instructive about our social structure, which in turn determined your fate.
The first thing to appreciate is that human sex in my world is never about making children. To most croses and fems, the idea of deliberately leaving to chance the most important work of your life would be laughable. It would make more sense to choose your career by drawing a card from a deck. Married couples are judged by the quality of their offspring. It's the single purpose of marriage – we have no such thing as a childless, married couple. If you want companionship, it can be supplied by your spouse or someone else. You might say, making a child is a serious business, and you choose that business partner accordingly.
I'm going to tell you a lot more later about the making of children and why mals are so important for it, so now I will confine myself to the act of sex itself. What makes human sex so different from all other animals? The fact that it provides the fem with the most incredible experience of her life. Again, in your society, the quality of that experience may well be at least partly left to chance. In our society, like quality children, it is almost guaranteed. If there is one thing that is central to the education of a cros, it is how to satisfy a fem sexually. It's a cros's first duty to his wife or wives. For those of us who don't want to commit to marriage before the experience, a gentle cros is not supposed to refuse us. He can try putting us off a bit but, if we're insistent, then turning down a fem is the height of rudeness.
For all I know, there may be some croses who really enjoying sex with fems but, no matter how attractive you are, you are never going to get an offer from him – save that for your fantasy dreams. You, Girl, are the one who's going to put yourself on the line and ask him, perhaps with other people within earshot. You are going to risk hearing the reluctance in his voice, the excuse of a pressing meeting, the fact that he got no sleep the previous night, etc. That's why many fems are still virgins when they get married. But I hated the idea of being so wussy. If I wanted it badly enough, I was going to go out and get some. Within reason, I wasn't going to take no for an answer.
I had just had the loneliest haul of my life. I hadn't yet replaced my last mal, and I hadn't felt the physical presence of a human for about half a percent of my lifespan. I left the GW in the fueling station and headed for the bars. I found one with several croses and, although the fems greatly outnumbered them, I was pleased to note that I was the prettiest one in the room. Some of the sisters were into each other but I knew I couldn't stomach that – downy hair, breasts, huge nipples, fem scent – I don't know why, but the thought repulsed me.
I sat at the bar and drank for a while, watching the others, getting relaxed. I started smiling at one or two of the better-looking croses, even though they each had a fem talking to them. The smiles were returned and, when one of them walked to the bar from his table for a refill, he made a point of standing next to me. It was now or never. I steeled myself and hoped my voice would come out right.
"This is no place to look for a wife, Mister," I told him.
He shrugged. "I'm here with a Goldie repair team for the next two orbits. Plans for marriage are on hold while I work my way out of debt with hell-based assignments like this one."
I had lucked out – here was a cros I could talk shop with about Gold Wings, not to mention follow up on his leading remark about being in debt. I held out a hand.
"Pilot Moon, First Class, Nebula Goldie." He had to shake, which he did. "You can call me Meg."
"Wow, it's a privilege, Meg. I'm Ax. It's my ambition to go to pilot school. You know, there are better bars in this place for someone of your seniority."
I grinned. "This one suits just fine if I can find decent company. I'm willing to buy the drinks for a debt-ridden engineer who can help me to relax and enjoy my stop-over."
Ax glanced back at his table, where two overweight and older fems looked the worse for alcohol, then he slipped into the chair beside me. "Yours is the G-11 we saw coming in a couple of hours ago?" he asked.
The talk and beer flowed freely for something over an hour. It was pleasant, but it wasn't why I was there. The more I drank, the better-looking Ax became. I decided to take a small gamble, and secretly slipped a love-pill into my drink. For best effect, they needed to be taken at least an hour before orgasm. The problem was, if you didn't have one, you'd be wired like a lab-monkey for the rest of the night. I was now committed to score.
I gradually moved my stool and sitting position until our knees were touching. After a few hand-gestures, it didn't seem awkward to rest my palm on his leg briefly, then again for a longer time. He didn't resist, and soon I was finding excuses to touch him in various places. When he finally said something funny enough, I laughed loudly and rested my forehead against his shoulder. He smelled great and my hunger for him suddenly leapt. He could tell I was a bit drunk so I felt I had an excuse to take a chance. I pushed my nose against his neck and breathed in his cologne. Intoxicating. I turned my face up to his, our lips very close. He didn't pull away. I gave an apologetic grin.
"Galax, I'm horny!" I said softly. "These long hauls can drive me crazy. You're a real nice boy, you know? Can we go somewhere private so I can refuel with a little human touch?"
"It sounds fun, but my next shift starts in an hour," he replied.
I didn't believe it, but I would call his bluff. I pulled out a thousand and held it up to him. "So you're going to be very late, and this is to cover the pay they dock from you."
He hesitated, then took the note. "A cros in debt has no dignity," h
e sighed.
I threw cash on the bar, stood up and took his arm. "I don't need your dignity. Quite the opposite."
Short-time rooms were available next door and I bought a couple of hours. The bed was equipped with stirrups, but I'm not the type of fem who likes to just hang there. When I was undressed I pulled him to me, and he didn't lose any time. I had made sure to keep hold of the remote so that, once I had him where I wanted him, I shut down all the lights and the darkness was complete. That way, I was able to imagine anyone servicing me. I know some fems like to watch movies where their fantasy lovers are brought to life, but for me that would be second-best to my own creative thoughts. The character I used in my self-satisfying routines was now working on me, even though I had to tell myself his head had been shaved as some kind of punishment. Once I had suspended disbelief for that one, I could caress his scalp and – best of all – feel his ears lightly between my thumb and first finger.
I had nothing to compare him with, but the experience was many times better than doing it alone. I now understood why so many sisters would brag about their adventures. Apart from being the most amazing sensation in the world, you had this sense of passing through the final gate of full adulthood, of independence and personal power. This cros was part my slave, part my master, and I was part his master and part his slave. It was a lesson in extreme intimacy combined with casual acquaintance, making an erotic mockery of social convention. In that deep black, soundproof room, it was natural to do and scream the craziest things. My screaming filled the room in place of light. Perhaps this indebted, low-level mechanic was the only human who would ever know Meg Moon this way. The fact that I was slumming it with him in this hourly love-hotel only added to my sense of abandon. I became so loud that I finally decided it would be considerate to cover his ears with my thighs. But the sudden tension I applied to the inner muscles sent such a delicious wave through me that the poor guy must have felt his head being crushed.