You know much about sex work?

Humans have dreamed of first contact for over a century. Yet when it happened, there were so many who were scared. They saw refugees as threats, or worse, strategic advantages over their enemies in their own petty, bullshit conflicts. Politicians can be imaginative in all the wrong ways. The Greyans took the immediate lead in the negotiations; they were the only mammal-analogues, the closest to humans anatomically. It's ridiculous to say that an ambassador with six breasts flopping down the gangway of a spacecraft put the people of Earth at ease, yet it did. Imagine what would have happened if the brain slugs had been first.
—Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 1

Jordan moved over Mel. The key dangled on a chain about Jordan's neck, but something was different. The face squarer, the chest flatter, and the shoulders broader. Mel watched as Jordan took the key and chain off their neck and touched the key to Mel's chin. The whites of the blue eyes glowed in the darkness.

The key traced a path down Mel's chin, over the sternum between—Mel gaped at the soft swell of breasts on either side of the chest, the nipples pink and puffy. Nor did Jordan stop; the key went down the flat valley of the abdomen, over the tiny bump of the navel, down to the crotch—to clink against the flat metal of the chastity belt.

Mel tried to find their voice, but strong hands gripped their shoulders. Another blonde face, with a smooth, boob-less chest, stared down at Mel.

"Please," Rache's voice, oddly deeper, but with the same Ottawa Valley brogue. "I want to watch."

Mel raised their head as the key slipped in the lock and turned. The metal belt unfolded. Mel saw his—her—own slit, hairless. Wet. Waiting. Between their legs, Jordan was already hard, the purple head swollen, quivering as it rubbed up and down the soft, hairless lips—

Mel awoke to feel Jordan's fingers playing with his trapped genitals, her fingertips poking through the holes in the cage to touch the flesh that strained against the stainless steel. Her breasts were soft and warm against his body, the nipples stiff. He blinked rapidly in the darkness, chasing the details of the dream. Then he stared at Jordan, who was staring at him. One finger found the little hole he peed through.

"The chastity cage," Mel said, his voice thick with sleep. "Was it to keep me from masturbating, or was it to keep the two of you from playing with me?"

Jordan didn't smile. She never smiled. Yet she leaned forward and kissed his mouth. Mel kissed her back, their tongues touching for just a moment. Then she rolled out of bed. Jenny came in.

Stretch. Exercise. Shower. Dressed. Jenny handed Mel an egg that had been boiled and peeled. Rachel and Anastasia were heading out just as Mel and Jordan were, and everyone waved their good mornings and headed in different directions.

It wasn't quite as cold this morning, and Mel was glad of it. Jenny still had his hoodie. He wondered if he would ever get it back. Jordan's hand wasn't idle today. Normally, when they intertwined their fingers, they kept their hands clasped all the way, sometimes swinging them a bit, but mostly just sharing the warmth and contact. Today, her index finger moved on its own, stroking his own index finger; her thumb rubbed the inside of his wrist. Mel wasn't sure how to respond, especially when her index finger curled over his and trapped it. She had begun to slide her finger, still curled, up and down the digit when they walked into the Cosmic Fill-Up.

"Hey, Mel," Amelia said, as soon as he opened the door. The Black woman smiled, dark bags under her eyes, and Li'l Mel was riding in a kind of chest harness, a blue beanie on his tiny head.

"Hey," Mel waved with his free hand. Jordan pulled him toward the check-in station. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," she said, following him, eyes weirdly hungry. "Breastfeeding, changing diapers. Union does have maternity leave, which is good because I need to give the pussy a rest, but I miss the social aspect of it."

Mel turned, checked in, and saw that he needed to run the swifter over the floors. Jordan shot him a glance he couldn't read before she headed to Ha-Yoon's office. Blair was already at the cashier, and he had seen Bobbie outside doing something with a hydrogen pump.

"Social aspect?" Mel asked, as she followed him to the supply closet.

"You know much about sex work?" Amelia asked.

"Nothing, really," Mel admitted. "I mean, I know some girls in high school would get paid for dates, said there was an app for that. A couple of the gay guys, too. I never had a smartphone or much in the way of money, so I didn't really learn about any of that. Just what you'd see on television."

Amelia nodded. "It's a business, like any other. Licensed in Seacouver, with regular health inspections, minimum rates, and union dues. Most folks start casually—as you said, paid dates, webcam stuff—because that's easy to get into and easy to get out of; you're basically a one-person business, and your body is the product. The next step up from that are escort services, brothels, and pornography. That involves contracts, tax forms, and more government oversight. Scares a lot of folk away."

L'il Mel's dark eyes were half-open, watching Mel push the swifter down an aisle with long, even strokes.

"But not you?" Mel asked.

Amelia smiled. "Not me. I'm not ashamed of my body, and I like being my own boss. Hell, I like sex. I know a lot of people think sex workers are just sluts and nymphomaniacs, but the truth is it's steady, physically demanding work, a service that some people desperately need, and I can provide. And I don't have any parents or family, so no family drama."

Something about the way she said that twigged Mel. A hint of recognition.

"Nothing wrong with that," Mel agreed. Something struck him then. He paused, leaning on the swifter, and stared at Amelia. "I was at the 54th St. orphanage. Were you in the system?"

Amelia's eyes widened. A flicker of recognition.

"Pine Street," she said, referring to the orphanage over in East Seacouver, just across the river, which was technically a different city, though close enough that orphans were traded back and forth according to bed availability, gender ratios, etc. "Oh, wow. I knew a lot of girls from the 54th."

"So you started doing this when you hit eighteen?" Mel asked aloud. He frowned, not sure if that was a rude question. "I mean, sorry, I don't want to pry."

"No, it's okay," Amelia said as she sat down and sipped her coffee. "Yeah, we were in the same boat, weren't we? I scoped it out before I hit the magic number. Knew where there were some modeling jobs, a brothel. They couldn't sign anything official until I hit 18, but they could lay it out for me. I was able to graduate high school and basically step into a new life. Couple years of steady work and now I've got an apartment, a car, savings . . . and little Melville, of course."

The baby cooed. Mel wondered how many other orphans hit eighteen and ended up doing sex work to keep off the streets. Wondered, too, how many had ended up doing it successfully. He didn't think any less of Amelia for that. There were stories of orphans who ended up on the streets, running drugs, and going to jail. Hooking—sex work without a license—was one of those dark secrets, the kind horny teenagers like to whisper about after lights out, but which the caretakers didn't talk about at all when the kids were present.

"I'm glad you're doing well," Mel said. "Did you always want kids?"

Li'l Mel's finger found one of Amelia's. She smiled down at the bundle, who looked much bigger than he had when coming out of his mother's pussy. Mel could hardly believe he had managed to fit in there.

"Yeah. I know a lot of us come out of the system not wanting to go back, but I always wanted a family of my own. I was so excited when I planned for a baby—I don't have a boyfriend or anything, but it's easy enough to arrange things when you're in my line of work; just go off the pill for a few weeks, track your ovulation, arrange a few bareback dates—and I knew it would be tough, being a single mom, especially in my line of work. But I just—I wanted to be with someone, you know?" she said.

Mel thought of Jordan, Jenny, and Rachel. He nodded. "I know what you mean. I got lucky, with getting an apartment, a job, friends. I didn't have a plan like you did. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn't taken the apartment with Jordan. What would my life be like, then. What it might still be like, if I screw up. But you said you missed the social aspect of it."

Amelia smiled. She sipped her coffee again.

"Some clients want the girlfriend experience. We might go on dates, or talk about their favorite book or movie, and sometimes I cook dinner. A couple of the older men and women just want companionship for a few hours, and if I blow them or eat their pussy, that's just like the punctuation to a long and rewarding conversation. Even when I'm doing webcam work, there's a level of interaction. In the brothels, of course, there are other people to talk to, downtime, talk shop. But I don't have a lot of friends, especially not friends who aren't in the business themselves. That tends to color things," she said.

Mel ran his swifter under the coffee machine. He wanted it to be clear to anyone watching that he was still working.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"Because of the nature of people in the business," Amelia said, with a frown. "Willingly engaging in sex work professionally, especially for a prolonged period, indicates a certain ambition and focus on money. Unfortunately, that also means it attracts the whole small-business-owner mentality. Folks who want to commercialize everything, are willing to cut corners or not pay taxes just to get an edge, and some of them are always on the make. It can be exhausting being friends with a woman who doesn't pay her taxes and always wants to do a girl-girl scene for their streaming service when you just want to hang out and watch a horror movie. Then there are the people who just want to be my 'business manager,' control 'my career.' Pimptastic boyfriends and girlfriends."

L'il Mel's eyes followed Mel as he ran the swifter around the table. He could understand the idea, but not the motivation. Telling Jordan or Rachel what to do with their job or life made his skin crawl.

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "You deserve somebody who likes you for you, and doesn't try to use you."

Amelia smiled in a way that reminded Mel of Rachel when he said the right thing. For a moment, he thought she might kiss him.

Then L'il Mel screwed up his face and cried. The smell hit them a moment later, and Amelia was up and in the family restroom, changing a diaper. Jordan left the register to tug at the collar of his shirt. Mel got the idea and bent his neck. The brain slug host fixed her mouth on his neck and sucked hard. Marking her territory.

"It's okay. We were just talking," Mel said quietly. "She was an orphan like me. Not a lot of friends. Single parenthood has made her lonely. But I'm with you, Jenny, and Rachel. No one else."

His neck hurt by the time Jordan pulled away. She kissed him lightly on the lips before stepping back to the register. Amelia came out, L'il Mel now smelling much better and no longer screaming.

"You know," Amelia said. "The tile in your bathrooms is an exact match for this video going around of a guy getting sucked off by an alien bug-woman?"

"A K'lur'k," Mel said, without thinking. Amelia's eyes went wide. "Um, their name is Two-Clicks. She asked really nicely, and my girlfriends gave permission . . ."

The explanation lasted until lunch, at which time Amelia really did have to go—doctor's appointment for L'il Mel, to make sure everything was okay. Mel waved as they left. Jordan, Blair, and Bobbie took their seats around a table for lunch.

He barely saw Ha-Yoon that day, though he checked in and was glad to see that there was no evidence of alcohol. She smiled and tapped her chip.

"Thanks for the thought. Just need to get the schedule sorted out since you and Jordan are going to be out Saturday," she said.

Mel blinked, then realized: the newly-budded brain slug, the ceremony, right.

"You don't have any leave built up yet," Ha-Yoon said. "But Jordan said you might need a day off next week. Blair and Tomie both said they're willing to cover. Let me know, okay? We can call it a bonus for exemplary work. Also, and I realize I'm being a hypocrite about this, but try not to star in any more viral videos with aliens in the bathroom, okay? We've been getting a lot more K'lur'k coming through lately, just to use the waste kiosk, and they've been leaving some graffiti on the tile."

There was nothing for Mel to say to that except nod and say: "Got it, thanks, boss."

Jordan clung to his arm on the way home. They stopped by the co-op for groceries, and Dawn was there, stocking shelves. She smiled, waved, and then awkwardly signed H-I. Mel and Jordan signed back. There was probably a better sign for it, but it was something.

Home. Jordan and Jenny joined hands as Mel put the groceries away. Clothes came off. The brain slug was fed. Dinner, and a documentary about a massive fungal entity in Malheur National Forest in Oregon. Mel found himself amazed, once again, at the diversity of life on Earth. Somehow, six-limbed manatee-people with boobs from the stars didn't seem so strange.

Rachel arrived after they'd brushed their teeth. Brown skirt and tall grey socks that seemed to conspire to hide and reveal her knees as she walked; a black-and-white sweater that came off to reveal a white wifebeater, through which he could see a black bra. Her jaw was set.

"How was your day?" Mel asked.

Someone had stolen a dozen books from the library. They'd discovered the magnetic strips that had been torn out of the spines in the bathroom. Police had come by, and there was video of a suspect who had picked up the books, taken them into the bathroom, then left. Yet Rachel wasn't hopeful.

"They're just going to sell them online," she said, bitterly, and covered her eyes with her palms. Anger and hurt in her voice. "Fuck."

Jordan and Jenny moved as one. The Asian woman pinned Rachel's arms behind her back, as her sister went to undo the front clip on her bra.

"No!" Rachel said, shocked, staring at her sister.

The two brain slug hosts froze.

Mel stepped forward. He put a hand on Rachel's bare shoulder.

"They can tell you're upset," Mel said. "I think they want to help. For that matter, I want to help, too. What's wrong?"

"It's just . . ." Rachel bit her lip. "It's my sister. I shouldn't . . . I shouldn't be doing these kinds of things with her."

"We won't do anything you don't want to do," Mel said, and looked Jordan and then Jenny in the eye. "But you've held Jordan's hand while getting eaten out before. Is there anything you are comfortable with doing?"

Rachel blushed.

"She can . . . she can take off my bra," Rachel said, accent suddenly thick. "I'm just . . . one step at a time, okay?"

Mel nodded. Jordan stepped forward again. Her fingers undid the clasp, faster and with more confidence than Mel had with Ganymede, but then she had much more practice. Rachel's nipples were already swollen and hard as the bra came off, and Jenny released her arms to slip the bra off Rachel's shoulders.

"What about the skirt?" Mel asked.

"Just . . . you take off my panties," Rachel said.

He complied, bending down on one knee. Rachel hiked up her brown skirt to her waist, to show off the Hello Cthulhu panties she wore, the little green tentacles covering her crotch. Mel pulled them down to her knees as Jenny and Jordan drew in on either side and began to kiss Rachel's shoulders.

Rachel stepped out of the panties. She bit her lip. Eyes locked on Jordan, who stared back at her. The two brain slugs were pulsing slightly, bodies expanding and contracting in rhythm, emerald green.

"Your nipples are sensitive," Mel whispered, as he gently clutched the blonde woman's knees, his thumbs rubbing gently on Rachel's inner thighs. "Maybe they could kiss them while I eat you out?"

The human woman's jaw worked. The brain slug hosts didn't move. Calm. Patient. But their nipples were erect too. Their bodies warm against her. Whites of their eyes glowing faintly.

"Yeah, okay," Rachel allowed guardedly.

Mel kissed her inner thigh. Jordan and Jenny laid a trail of kisses down the soft swell of Rachel's breasts to the aching nipples. Busy as he slowly licked Rachel's slit with the wide part of his tongue, letting the tip linger and tease the very bottom of her vagina, he heard that soft moan that was almost a sigh, with a note of excitement. As Mel focused on licking and kissing, slowly coaxing her clit to stiffness, he was aware of movement above, Jordan and Jenny's hands touching and massaging Rachel's back, her stomach, her thighs.

Rachel moaned louder now, and Mel felt his own excitement, the straining of meat within its cage, balls that had been quietly aching all down swelling with a need for release that wouldn't come, not tonight, not until the time was right. As the brain slug hosts sucked on her nipples, something eroded in Rachel's body, a stiffness, a reluctance, maybe just a curiosity . . . and Mel saw out of his peripheral vision as Rachel's hands squeezed onto a buttock from each woman, pale fingers digging into soft pale flesh, trembling as they sucked and licked.

The gasp became a groan. A shivering, body-wide, knee-wobbling sound Rachel momentarily leaned on them all for balance, her legs unsure.

Mel kept sucking at her clit until Rachel said:

"Okay, enough! Enough . . . I . . . hoo."

The three of them let Rachel disentangle herself. She leaned against the door, panties around one ankle, pussy dripping, teeth marks around her nipples. Mel felt a long, sticky drop ooze out of his cage. If he didn't have it on—but that was a dangerous thought.

"Thank you," Rache said, as she got ahold of herself. "I'll . . . I'll make it up to you . . ."

"Rache," Mel said as he stood up. "It's not about keeping score. You don't owe us. We just want you to feel good."

Jordan came forward then. She raised one hand to let a finger run down the side Rachel's face. This time, when she leaned in for a kiss, her sister did not back away. It wasn't exactly a sisterly kiss; Mel could see their lips open, tongues touch, and Rachel had her eyes closed. Yet neither was it rough or rapacious, Jordan forcing herself on an unwilling victim; for Jordan kept her hands to herself, and was soft and gentle; nor did either sister push the matter any further.

Not that night.