I Wouldn't Say No

Think about how you hold a hammer. A fork. A pen or stylus. Humans have four fingers and an opposable thumb, and two forward-facing eyes. How would you feel if you only had two fingers? Or if your fingers had a sense of taste? If your eyes were on the sides of your head, sacrificing depth perception for a broader field of vision? Biomechanics informs not just what a hammer looks like, but how it's used. They shape cultures and peoples. Extraterrestrials aren't better or worse than humans, but they are differently abled, and understanding how they move and function is key to accommodating their needs.
—Mallory Giger, Xenobiomechanics, Introduction

"It's okay to impregnate ma mère," Molly said, once the doors were closed and they were buckled up. Mel felt a sudden urge to open his door again and escape the car and the conversation. The knot in his gut tightened.

"I'm just saying," Molly continued, before Mel could get a word in edgewise. "If you want to. Your body, your choice, right? I mean, you're not—she's not your biological mother. I mean, you're both adults, you're sexually active, and if you're both consenting—"

She sucked in her lips and chewed on them for a second. Mel tried to find the words. When she spoke next, her voice was nearly a whisper.

"I mean, I wouldn't say no to another little brother."

Mel found his voice at last.

"I don't plan to have sex with your mother," he said. It felt like the kind of sentence that would never need to be said in real life.

"Why not!?" Molly said, eyes firmly on the road, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. "Isn't she pretty?"

"Uh . . . yes?" Mel said. "But it's not about that. I have girlfriends—"

"So get permission! You've gotten permission to have sex with other women before!" Molly said.

"I've never gotten permission to impregnate anyone yet!" Mel said. "I've been trying very hard not to get anyone pregnant. I had to buy Rachel a morning-after pill yesterday because I accidentally came in her—"

Molly slammed on the brakes. Mel tensed, expecting a sudden crunch, the blare of a horn. But no, Molly was letting another car cut into their lane. Behind them, Lucie followed in her rental car, utterly unaware of the conversation happening between her daughter and her daughter's half-brother.

"How do you accidentally ejaculate into a young woman!?" Molly said.

"Rachel's been sleepwalking. To my apartment. And having sex with me," Mel said. "Honestly, it's been a major concern the last few days. We've been working on solutions. I'm actually wearing a chastity cage right now."

He wondered if that was too much information. Mel glanced at his sister and was once again struck by how he couldn't tell when she was blushing, but he could tell her palms were sweaty as she gripped the wheel.

"Well, if you can have unprotected sex with one of your girlfriends, I don't see why you can't give ma mère un bébé," Molly said, as the Protoss lurched into motion again.

They drove for a block as Mel tried to figure out how to answer that one. Then he looked at Molly again. The tremble of her lower lip. The tenseness of her face, her shoulders. This was important to her, he realized.

"Why do you want me to get your mother pregnant?" Mel asked, and his voice was quiet, curious, not snarky or judgmental.

"It . . . would mean so much to her," Molly said. "To all of us. It would make her happy . . ."

Mel frowned. The tone wasn't convincing. Molly was groping blindly for the words. Not willing to say what she really meant.

"The reason I don't want to get any of my girlfriends pregnant is that I'm not in a position where I could properly take care of and raise a kid," Mel said. "I spent my entire life in an orphanage. I've seen people who had kids for all the right and wrong reasons, and when they couldn't take care of them, they ended up there. It wasn't abusive, but it wasn't loving, either. If I ever have kids, I want them to have a stable home, a family. And if I can't do that . . . I'd rather not have kids at all. I don't want my failures to be somebody else's shitty childhood."

His voice was tired as he said it. Mel had to put those feelings into words too many times lately. Less than three months since leaving the orphanage, and he somehow had three girlfriends, a bevy of sex friends, a half-sister and a surrogate not-quite-a-mother. Two sex videos online, one pregnancy scare, and a partridge in a pear tree, Mel sang to himself.

"It wouldn't be like that," Molly said as they pulled onto the street of his apartment building. "My childhood wasn't like that. My parents loved me . . ."

She went silent, realizing what she'd said.

There was a parking garage a block away from the apartment. Molly turned the Protoss down into it; Lucie's rental car followed obediently.

Mel sighed.

"I'll ask. I can't promise more than that," he said. "You get that this is a lot for me, right?"

"I know," she said.

"Why do you really want your mom to get pregnant?" Mel asked, as she slid into a parking space.

Molly didn't answer. She chewed her lower lip, hunched over the steering wheel. When she looked at him, her expression was like nothing Mel had seen on his sister's face before—no, that wasn't quite true. That first time she had addressed him as "mon frère." Excitement.

"It would be so hot," she whispered.

The knot in Mel's gut tightened another notch.

They took the elevator. Not because Mel didn't need the exercise, but because Lucie and Molly were guests and it felt like the thing you did. During the walk to the apartment building, Molly's hand in his, Mel tried to think of everything that could go wrong when Lucie met his roommates. It helped to distract him from the memory of how intense Molly had been in that one moment.

Mel paused in front of the door. He disengaged from Molly and gave an embarrassed smile to Lucie.

"So, I've got three roommates. They're all women. Jordan and Jenny are brain slug hosts and communicate through sign language, and Béibhinn is a ghola. Um. All three of them are fairly clothing-optional. I'm just going to poke my head in and make sure they're clothed," he said.

Lucie's eyes went a little wide, lips pursed, but she nodded. Mel turned to the access plate just as Anastasia and Rachel came up at the end of the hallway, having taken the stairs.

"Hey, babe!" Rache said as she approached them. "Molly."

"Rachel," Molly nodded at the taller woman.

"Ah, right. These are Rachel Carmichael and Anastasia Massimi, my next-door neighbors," Mel said. "Rache, 'stasia, this is Lucie Maguire, Molly's mother. Uh, actually I don't know if you've met . . . 'stasia, this is my half-sister Molly."

Rachel stuck out her hand: "Girlfriend number three."

Lucie shook the hand. She frowned slightly. "Number three?"

"Jordan and Jenny are one and two," Rache said. "Has Mel not told you?"

"Not yet, no," Lucie said. She turned to 'stasia, who extended her own hand. "And you?"

"Fuck buddy. I'm still on the outskirts of their whole polycule," the dark-haired woman said with a smile.

Well, that band-aid is half-off, Mel thought to himself, as he opened the door. The bag with the Xenobiomechanics book felt heavy in his left hand.

Béibhinn, bless all of her alien hearts and her human one, was wearing some sort of martial arts pants and a t-shirt that declared DYSLEXIA: EVERY GOLE'S A HOAL. He hadn't seen that one before, but at least it covered all of her bits. Jordan and Jenny were, he was surprised to see, dressed in casual exercise clothes, sheets and dirty clothes bundled together for a trip to the laundry.

Mel led the small procession inside, Molly and Anastasia bringing up the rear.

"Hey, everyone," Mel said, and then remembered to sign, at least as much as he could. He needed the practice. "Lucie, these are my roommates: Béibhinn O'Malley, and my girlfriends Jordan Carmichael and Jenny Soong. Everyone, this is Lucie Maguire, Molly's mom."

"Hello," Lucie said. She didn't sign, but she smiled and stepped forward to shake everyone's hand in turn. Jordan and Jenny regarded her with their blank, placid expressions, the brain slugs peeking out from behind their necks with sensory tentacles extended, probably to smell her better.

The older woman's eyes encompassed the entire apartment in one sweeping glance. The almost military organization of Béibhinn's room, the little security features, the queen-sized bed in what was clearly Mel, Jordan, and Jenny's room, the reclaimed chest of drawers with its small pile of books on top held up by the bricks. She took in the lack of decorations, the sparse furniture, the embedded utilities. Everything that spoke of being young and poor and not having accumulated much yet. However, when her eyes came back to Jordan and Jenny, it was clear her priorities led elsewhere.

"And from what Rachel tells me, you're all together? Romantically, I mean."

Jordan and Jenny nodded, once, together.

"They can't speak, verbally," Mel said apologetically. "But yeah, it started off . . . informal. Human sperm is a nutritional supplement for brain slugs. That developed into a relationship. When Jenny came to stay with us, she was hurt and needed to be fed . . ."

"I'm Jordan's sister," Rache broke in. "Jenny was originally living next door as his neighbor, but her roommate attacked her. Mel rescued her."

"The roommate who attacked her was actually my brother," 'stasia added, "But I'd been in touch with Jenny before that. I'm doing research on brain slug spirituality, and when the apartment became available I moved in. I wasn't part of the formal agreement, but lately the polycule voted that they could have protected sex with certain trusted members outside their little group . . ."

"It was mostly because there are some other brain slugs that occasionally ask to be fed," Mel said, his face suddenly hot. He turned and set the book on the chest of drawers. "I wasn't looking outside the group, you understand, and I never do anything with anyone without consulting Jordan, Jenny, and Rache first. Communication is critical."

"I agree," Lucie said, who was absorbing all this information while maintaining either a perfect poker face or a cool nonchalance Mel couldn't fathom. "Well, as you all may or may not know, I'm Molly's mother. She is Melville's half-sister; his father and I had a relationship to conceive a child because my husband is sterile."

"She also served as Mel's mother's surrogate," Molly chimed in.

Jordan, Jenny, and Béibhinn's eyes snapped to the younger woman, who had her arms crossed over her chest.

"Yes," Lucie agreed. "I was curious how you decide who gets to be a—I believe Anastasia called herself a 'fuck buddy,' but I suppose I'd prefer the term 'sex friend' or 'aromantic partner.'"

"Ma mère!" Molly said. "Ta langue!"

"I strive for technical accuracy," Lucie said, with a kindly smile toward her offspring.

"We talked it out," Rachel said, and she stepped around Lucie to slip her hand into Mel's. His fingers interlaced with hers automatically. "Based on the women that Mel had already been with, and who would probably need ongoing access. Mostly other brain slug hosts who would need more of what he has to give them."

"Like me!" Béibhinn said, waving a hand. "No romantic feelings here, I just like the taste."

Lucie nodded. She turned to 'stasia. "And you, dear? How did you end up on the list?"

"I asked," Anastasia said, her dark eyes meeting Lucie's. "As much for an occasional bit of sex with Rachel as with Mel. But I'd been seeing so much, and felt left out of the fun. The group voted, and now I have . . . access. Protected sex, of course. Everyone is keeping it exclusive at the moment. Nobody wants to catch a disease; nobody wants to get pregnant."

"Ma mère wants to get pregnant!" Molly blurted. This time, all eyes went to her. Lucie turned back towards Mel, whose ears had started to burn.

"I told her in the car. Wasn't going to volunteer it, but she asked. I promised I wouldn't lie to her," Mel explained. He felt all the eyes in the room swivel back to him. "Lucie said that she and my dad had an agreement that he'd father another child with her, but he died before it happened. Earlier today, she said she's—not getting any younger. Didn't outright ask me, so I haven't given her an answer yet. But I guess that's where this line of questioning is going?"

With this many bodies in the room, the apartment felt cramped and warm. Mel felt the sweat trickle down his ribs.

Lucie nodded, mouth drawn into a tight line. She drew herself up to her full height, which was still shorter than Rachel, Jordan, and Jenny, and looked each of the three women in the eye in turn.

"Yes. I wasn't going to get straight into it—I had no idea about Mel's domestic situation, and had no desire to disrupt any of his existing relationships—but since we are here and discussing it, I had hoped that we might discuss the possibility of conceiving a child," Lucie said.

Silence reigned for a moment. Eyes flickered back and forth. Mel swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had seen on television families gathered around a big roast turkey at holidays, and he felt a pang of sympathy with the bird who was about to be split so many different ways. There were a thousand ways this could go wrong, a thousand objections and hurt feelings. Mel had just been trying to reassure Jordan and Jenny he cared for them, and now this—

"Like, right now?" Béibhinn said.

Rachel broke into laughter first. She clutched onto Mel's arm and buried her face into his shoulder. Anastasia was second, snorting and wheezing a little. Mel felt the laughter bubble up from deep inside, and soon he was shaking and holding on to Rachel. Even Molly gave a nervous, high-pitched titter. Only Jordan and Jenny remained apparently unmoved, though their brain slugs shifted through two different shades of green, from clear emerald to an almost opaque lima bean color.

"Well, I suppose I could buy you all dinner first," Lucie said, pulling out her smartphone. "Does everyone like pizza?"

Brain slugs, it turned out, don't like pepperoni or sausage. Most of them could digest it if they had to, but the herbs and spices triggered chemical sensors as dangerous plants. Béibhinn and 'stasia liked sardines. Molly and Lucie liked pineapple, which totaled out to four large pizzas, with Mel, Rachel, and the brain slugs enjoying extra cheese with nothing else on it.

Seating was wherever anyone could find it. Mel and Rachel gave up the couch and the chair to Molly and Lucie; Béibhinn had a collapsible field stool, and 'stasia was content to sit on the arm of the couch next to Jenny. Between bites, more bits of personal history came out. Jordan getting Mel the job at the Cosmic Fill-Up. 'stasia emailing Jenny about her porn career as part of her dissertation. Béibhinn's official job being a contractor attached to the local military base, mostly working from home to answer certain questions about extraterrestrials, only occasionally going in to sort out personnel issues.

Lucie described her own job as a technical writer, often handling translation of English-language manuals and other materials into Canadian French. Molly volunteered her studies in Xenotechnology and described the museum exhibit. Rachel talked about how she had lost Jordan, and then found her, and Mel, and how they had all come together.

By the time the pizza was mostly gone and everyone had used the bathroom, it was getting late. The laundry still needed to be done. Yet Jordan and Jenny signaled to Rachel and Mel to join them in the bedroom, Jordan's hands moving through the signs.

"She says we need to talk," Mel said apologetically as he closed the door. "Um. Please excuse us."

They were alone, and for a moment, Mel felt himself relax. He was prepared to apologize—none of this situation was strictly his fault, but if it would keep his girlfriends from feeling hurt at someone else trying to insert themselves into his sex life, Mel would happily eat whatever crow—or pussy—was required to assure them he was happy with them.

"Do you want to sex with Lucie?" Rachel asked, bluntly, short-circuiting what Mel was going to say. Jordan and Jenny stared at Mel expectantly. They had Rache's smartphone in their hands and were typing together while holding hands. "I mean, you must have some resentment towards her for not adopting you. This might be a way for you to work things out."

Mel's shoulders sagged. He had to put his own emotions into words. He hated that.

"The whole thing with Lucie has me confused," he said. "She's not my mom. She is very explicitly, technically, not my mom. So legally there's nothing there, no relationship. But she gave birth to me, and that feels weird. She wants me to get her pregnant, and that makes me feel weirder. I'm not looking to expand our circle. I've got all the women I want to have sex with here in this room, and our friends-with-benefits list is . . . intimidating."

He sighed and crossed his arms, then realized he was crossing his arms and uncrossed them.

"Molly said she wants me to do it, which is like the extra cheese on top of weirdness. But you know I'm not looking to have kids yet; I can't . . . I can't be a parent right now. Maybe later, after Rache graduates and maybe we're in a better place financially . . ." he reached for Rache's hand, and she held hers out and accepted it. She smiled.

"It's not the same with her, though," Rache said. "She's married, financially stable, and from the sound of it, her husband is okay with it. Everyone would be consenting; you'd just be the . . . sperm donor. Did Molly say why she wanted you to do it?"

Mel's eyes looked older at the moment.

"She said it would be hot," he said, and for a moment he thought of Lucie, her stomach ballooned out, breasts resting on top, and the chastity cage holding him in suddenly felt smaller. Jordan glanced away from the phone, nostrils flared, and Mel felt the flush creep down his neck as he realized she smelled his sudden hard-on.

Rache smiled, and her thumb rubbed the back of his hand.

"Well, it would be," she said with a smile. "And, you know. Practice might not be a bad thing. But it is a big step. What do you think, Jordie, Jenny?"

The brain slug hosts turned the phone around so their boyfriend and girlfriend could read the screen:

We respect Mel's right to inseminate his not-mother, and we can extend the sex friends list for this purpose, if you both agree. Given the circumstances, it should be unanimous. Also, there will be conditions due to the unusual nature of this request and concerns for the sexual safety of the group.

Rache nodded along. Then she looked up and, remembering her sign language for a moment, made the sign for "Why?"

Mel passed the phone back so they could type out an answer.

"How are you feeling?" Rache asked. "You've got that look on your face like a slightly stunned chihuahua."

He gave a shaky smile. "Is it weird that I'm surprised everyone is being so cool and adult about this? I mean, here we are, in a relationship, talking through a really strange situation together, and nobody's throwing a fit, or crying, or accusing people of cheating or . . . I guess I expected something more dysfunctional."

"Babe. This isn't like television. Nobody's cheating on anybody. This is a very strange situation, but you didn't try to hide it, and it isn't your fault," she smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm personally okay with letting you have sex with other women, because I know you aren't just going to stick your dick in anything that walks. You're basically in a cold sweat right now, afraid we're going to say yes and feel peer pressured to dick down not-your-mom. Probably going to have nightmares tonight about the terrible consequences of a baby crazy MILF wanting your bun in her oven."

Mel couldn't not smile at that. She was being facetious, and they both knew it. He could feel how sweaty her palm was against his. Yet at the same time, he thought there was something else going on.

"You think this is hot too, don't you?" he accused.

Rache scrunched up her nose and lips, her eyes scrunching down into slits. Yet she didn't say no. Jordan handed the phone back.

We think this will be good practice for Mel. Ejaculating unexpectedly in Rache has made you uncomfortable with sex. That is unacceptable. While we understand and respect your desire not to impregnate any of us yet, you need to be comfortable with the concept that sex and reproduction are closely interlinked, and that is not a bad thing.

In addition, we want to see it.

Weirdly, Mel felt a little better reading that. If he was insane, it was a shared insanity. Jordan and Jenny had their motives, and Rache and Molly had their kinks, and Mel . . .

What the fuck do I want? He thought to himself. My girlfriends have basically given me tacit permission. I could still say no, but at this point I almost feel like I'd be disappointing them.

He looked at each of them in turn. The brain slug hosts weren't giving any hint of emotion, and Rache was playing it cool, but her grip was crushing his hand.

"Okay," he said. "If you're okay with it. But if anybody is uncomfortable and wants to say no, it stops. I don't want to risk losing what we have."

Jordan and Jenny nodded. From a pants pocket, Jenny took out a small metal key and pressed it into the palm of Mel's free hand. He nodded, and the knot in his stomach became butterflies. Not less tension, but a different kind of stress. Less apprehension and more anticipation.

The four of them exited into the living room.

Mel's saw Amelia's face on the television. Her hands squeezing her brown breasts around a familiar-looking glans. Milk squirting over the length of him as she moved her chest up and down, staring into the camera with those big brown eyes. There was no sound, which was a bit of a blessing, but the whole group turned to look at Mel and his girlfriends as they filed out into the living room.

"I thought Lucie should see what she's getting into," Anastasia said. "And Molly hadn't seen it yet . . . we watched the first one, too. She was very impressed."

"Ah," Mel said. "Well, we talked about the situation, and . . . Lucie, if you want to get pregnant . . . I'm willing to . . . be your sperm donor."

The older woman's smile was wide and genuine. Molly held both hands up to her mouth, eyes wide. Yet before anyone could say anything, Jordan snapped her fingers three times, drawing all eyes to her, and spelled out a word in sign language. Mel and Rachel turned to face her fully to read the letters.

"Conditions," Mel translated, and the knot, which had slowly faded away over pizza and conversation as the threat of imminent relationship collapse had seemed to grow distant, then transmuted into twitchy excitement at the thought of potential insemination, returned with a vengeance.

"Yes?" Lucie said, and the room seemed to hold its breath.