Time For Some Practice

The first hate crime against a Rhizomat was a cause for celebration in their community. The Rhizomat was a scrounger: old, bloated, in constant pain, and dying. The sudden, violent assault by a pair of young, bigoted human men armed with baseball bats released a toxic cloud of spores that consumed the attackers and dissolved all organic matter in the alley where the assault took place. By the time the police arrived, the bodies were already beyond recovery, and the alley had to be sealed off until the new Rhizomat colony stabilized. The other ET communities were at pains to explain that this was one of the reasons direct physical conflict with the Rhizomats was avoided. Violence was the release that heralded regeneration.
—Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 6

Mel had rarely been in the building's elevator. The stairs had become a default, and a fifth-floor walkup was probably part of the reason he was still relatively skinny despite living primarily off burritos and ramen. They had found a spare sheet to wrap around Other Mel, just in case any neighbors saw them on the short trip, and Jenny left a written note on the fridge for the roommate.

The lift was spacious enough to hold the four of them, including the chair. The walls were screens, lit with various animated advertisements. Mel noted, in passing, that the building had no 13th floor, the buttons jumping from 12 to 14. He felt that, and the entire mechanism whose vibration he could feel through the soles of his sneakers, somehow quaint and Victorian. He wondered what would happen if an earthquake trapped them there.

Yet the doors jogged open without incident. Nor did anyone else show themselves on their brief trek.

Other Mel was alert, the brainslug on her neck a deep transparent emerald through which Mel could almost watch new little tendrils extend from its body. At the orphanage, Mel had seen kids who had been homeschooled, or just kept at home when they should have been in school. There was a hungry quality whenever they were processed in, their developing brains hungry and curious despite themselves. Even the ones who were scared of new places were always painfully aware that they were somewhere new. Mapping rooms, textures.

Jordan went ahead and opened doors. Inside their apartment, Mel parked the brain slug host by the couch, and Jenny immediately sat on the couch beside her, hands on neck and fingertips, the two brain slugs synchronizing.

He wondered what that must be like. The two brain slugs had once been part of the same being. Was the new brain slug like a clone or a child? Were they comparing memories and experiences? When they broke apart, would Jenny be the same person he thought he knew? Mel knew he didn't have the answers for the big continuity-of-self questions. Somehow, he was less bothered by it than some other, more immediate ones.

"So, I've been calling you Other Mel," he said, apologetically. "And, um. Using female pronouns. Is that right? What should I be calling you?"

Jordan placed her left hand on the seated brain slug host's other shoulder. For a moment, she was still. Then she faced Mel, brought her right hand up to her nose, and made a straight-fingered claw hand. Mel had to page through his ASL books to find that phrase.

"Don't care," he said, filing it away. "Well, we have to call you something. We'll think about it, okay?"

Jordan grabbed Mel's hand and led him over to the fridge. Magnetic letters clicked softly.

GENDER COMPLICATED

NOT DECIDED YET

SHE HER FINE FOR NOW

He nodded.

"Okay. Just let me know if that changes."

The cans on the door rattled. Rachel popped her head in, holding a boxed chicken salad.

"Hi!" she said with a smile, then saw their guest. "Who is this?"

"Other Mel. From downstairs," Mel said. "Jordan and Jenny asked me to help feed her, and she was all alone down there, so we brought her upstairs for dinner. We're trying to think of a better name for her."

"Okay," Rache said. "Hi! I'm Rachel. We didn't really meet properly."

She waved, then dropped her hand when she realized the brain slug host in the wheelchair couldn't move back.

"Mel, Mel, other Mel," she muttered, studying the woman's face. "What about Cara?"

Mel almost followed that logic. Jenny, whose right hand rested on the seated woman's shoulder, spelled out O K with her left hand.

"Cara it is, then," Mel said. "But if you change your mind, let us know."

Jordan made food for three brain slugs; Mel made ramen with kielbasa and spinach; Rache brought her chair in to sit next to Mel and held her salad in her lap. Their newly-named guest was given control of the remote control; despite her arms being broken, her fingers were nimble, and there was nothing wrong with her neck or eyes.

ORAL SEX: INTERMEDIATE LESSONS

"Okay," Rache said, taking a breath. "I guess it's going to be that kind of dinner."

It was the same instructor as the first video, an older blonde woman in lingerie and gloves, her nipples just visible, popping out the top of a purple bodice trimmed with black lace. Once again, there was a surgical chair, this time filled by a skinny pale girl that was all freckles and pigtails. This time, however, the action was interrupted by 3D video showing the inner anatomy of the vagina, the way the clitoris extended into the mons. With exceeding care, the instructor showed how to use fingers to help stimulate the vagina in combination with lips and tongue.

Mel was pointedly aware that there were long segments of a woman moaning as another woman carefully stretched her pussy with her fingers and sucked on her clit. His fundoshi stirred and pushed up against his belt buckle, and a little heat rose to his cheeks. Not so much from watching this, but from watching this with four women who would now all have expectations the next time he went down on them.

By the time the instructor and her assistant were demonstrating squirting and the actual components involved, the bottom of Mel's pot was lukewarm by the time he finished, eyes more focused on the screen than his meal. Jenny had spent half of her time spooning baby food into Cara's mouth. Rache had long ago finished her salad, and didn't even look up when Jordan took her empty box and fork away, just murmuring a soft thanks.

A gentle knock at the door caused Cara to pause the video. Mel arose stiffly as Jordan opened the door, and Mel recognized Cara's roommate. The brain slug host wasn't wearing the Immortals jacket or ball cap, but a wife-beater and ankle-length skirt. Heavy-lidded eyes, close-cropped dark hair. The bare shoulders and upper arms were dense with geometric tattoos; their left arm from the elbow down was obviously artificial, a semi-transparent covering like a glove showing the moving mechanical parts beneath. They held out their flesh-and-blood hand, and Jordan took it, guided them over to where Jenny and Cara were.

While the brain slugs communed, Rache and Mel brushed their teeth. Mel hadn't noticed when Rachel's toothbrush had arrived. It was a small white traveling toothbrush, obviously a spare. There was a cup in beside the sink where they kept the toothbrushes, and Mel didn't begrudge Rache using his toothpaste.

Their eyes met in the mirror as they scrubbed their chompers, a little twinkle in her eye. After the spit-and-rinse, she flashed her teeth at him.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" she said. "How you're going to try that on us."

Mel finished his own rinse and nodded.

"I hope," he said. "To continue to meet expectations."

Rache snorted and hugged him from behind, nudging his ear with her chin.

"Well, there's still the rest of the video," she said quietly. "That'll have the oral sex techniques to use on men. Maybe you should have higher expectations for us."

Mel smiled shyly. He hadn't thought about that yet. In the mirror, Rache's blue eyes grew distant; the set of her jaw changed.

"When you feed Cara—will that make her arms and legs heal faster?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I know it's supposed to help integration, building new neural connections. How or if it heals broken bones or torn muscles, I have no idea."

Rache sighed. "She looks more like you than your sister. Molly texted me, by the way."

"Molly?" Mel blinked. "What did she want?"

"I'll show you the texts," Rache said. She dug her smartphone out of a front pocket, one hand still clutching Mel across the chest as she brought the phone around in front so that he could see.

Please tell Mel I got his email and NO but now I have QUESTIONS.

Mel frowned. "Uh oh."

"So you know what that's about?" Rachel asked.

"She emailed me; I read it at the library. She'd looked up my parents online, so I looked up hers, and I found this photo of her mom, and she looked pregnant, but the dates weren't adding up right," Mel said.

There was a tap on the shoulder. Mel looked up to see the brain slug hosts reflected in the mirror.

Mel and Rachel introduced themselves, speaking and signing. The brain slug host with the cyberhand introduced themselves as Pat, just sign language and spelling out the three letters. Jordan and Jenny gave a little wave, and Mel and Rache mimicked the gesture. Pat wheeled Cara out the door. Hello and goodbye. That simple.

"So . . ." Mel said. "I know you have to get up early tomorrow, but do you think we have enough time for some practice?"

"Sign language?" Rache asked.

Mel gave a shy grin.

"Ah . . . I mean, I was thinking about eating you out," he admitted.

Rache snorted again. "Okay. Smooth. But wash your hands first."

That made too much sense for Mel to argue with.

By the time he was done, his girlfriends were naked, lined up on the couch, legs spread, knee touching knee. Their fingers moving in slow circles on their clits. Mel noticed that all three of their hands were in eerie synchronization.

"Come on, babe," Rache said. "Show us what you've learned. Start with Jordan."

Jordan did not smile. Yet her slit glistened a little, and her ears burned. Mel's heart beat against his breastbone as, on his knees, he gently pressed his thumbs against the sides of her mons to spread her labia.

"I'm still new at this," Mel said, trying to visualize the shape of the extended clitoris beneath the skin. One freshly-washed finger slid down, away from the exposed clit. Jordan seemed to hold her breath as his face drew closer. The instructor had been bold and confident, but didn't just jam her fingers in deep. Mel tried to emulate her movement as he slid the finger down to the opening to Jordan's channel, collecting some of her juices along the way. The tip of his tongue tickled her clit as he gently stretched her little hole, listening for any sound of pain, any sharp intake of breath that might indicate he was hurting or discomforting her.

"More," Rache said. "Fuck, you should see her, Mel. She wants it so bad. There's this flush all over her face, nipples taut as ripe berries. Her lips are parted. Eyes closed. She can feel what you're doing. Stretching her. Tasting her. Beautiful. She wants more . . . do it, Mel. Push her as far as she'll go."

No pressure, Mel said, his grin hidden by Jordan's pussy. He slid a second finger inside. Already, Jordan was tight. She tensed against him. His tongue teased her sensitive nub as he waited for her to relax. Let his lips close on her for a long, slow kiss as he slowly pulled his fingers apart. With his free hand, Mel gently rubbed outside the labia and, with soft but steady pressure, squeezed.

"Oh, she likes that," Rache said.

Jordan didn't moan. Her knees pressed against Mel's shoulders. He could feel her shake. Imagined her ass clenching, her spine arching, breasts towards the ceiling, mouth open in a silent gape of exultation. Beside them both, he could hear Jenny and Rache's breath quicken, their fingers never stopping.

There was no scream. No squirt. Nothing to tell Mel how well or badly he was doing, so he kept at it, slowly working his fingers not deeper, but around, massaging the sides as he licked and sucked, squeezing the outside, which increased the pressure. Trying to imagine the shape of that buried clit, his own prick hard and aching now . . .

Until finally Jordan herself leaned forward and pulled his face away from her crotch. Her nostrils were flaring, eyes wide, the white aglow, panting. A whole shudder went through her body as she sucked in air . . . and then gently, but firmly, Jordan pushed Mel to her left, toward Jenny.

He shifted over. Jordan stood up on wobbly legs. As Mel caught his breath and rubbed his thighs up and down her thighs, he saw Jordan lean over Jenny, her hands reaching down to play with her nipples. Jenny was wetter than Jordan. Mel wondered if the anticipation had been building inside of her.

It began with gently squeezing her labia. Mel felt a little more confident now, maybe a little more bold. A soft kiss. Relaxing the labia and sliding in the first finger, then squeezing it again as his tongue played over her stiff little clit. He tried to find a rhythm, not too fast, not pushing her too far, too hard, but in his chest, Mel's heart boomed in excitement. As his second finger slid inside, Mel trembled. He wanted so badly to go further, faster, his shaft like a steel bar.

Maybe Jenny had felt an echo of what Jordan did. Or maybe it was because Jordan was behind her, teasing those stiff little nipples as Mel licked and sucked, fingered and squeezed. When Jenny's legs wrapped around Mel's neck, he wasn't surprised.

"Faster," Rache said, her accent as thick as Mel had ever heard it. "She needs it, she needs it so bad, and you need to give it to her . . ."

Jenny was louder than Jordan. Not moaning, but a sort of back-of-the-throat gasp and heavy breathing, audibly panting, her legs were clammy with sweat, and she was wetter than Jordan too, the tangy flavor filling his mouth, dripping down his chin. He actually had to swallow, some of the warm juice dribbling down his throat as he tried to flick his tongue faster and harder without pushing his fingers too much, to stretch her too far. Anything to avoid hurting her.

There was a kind of choking gasp. Jenny's heels drummed against Mel's back. He felt weirdly light-headed, straining against his pants. It was impossible, he knew; he couldn't be bringing these women to climax this fast, this certainly. It had to be because they were brain slugs, because they were connected, sharing sensations, one being with two clits, two pussies, four nipples.

Rachel reached over and grabbed a fistful of Mel's hair.

"Please. Please, please, please. I can, I can feel it, I can feel it, I want it, tongue, cock, anything, now—!" Rache's voice rose in pitch until she gave a gasp.

Jenny released him. Mel gulped for air. He saw that Rachel had slid down, so that her ass hung over the edge of the couch. Her legs were already shaking, but what sent a chill down Mel's spine was the pale blue aura he could see through the very edges of her neck. The blue pearl was brighter than he had ever seen it. With a terrible moment of clarity, Mel realized he could do anything to Rachel right now. She was so into it, so excited; he could have slipped inside her, and neither Jenny nor Jordan would stop him.

Instead, Mel bowed his head, as he had seen people do when praying. His jaw was sore, yet he pressed his tongue against her slit, just to taste her. To taste the difference from Jordan and Jenny; warmer, saltier, maybe a little thicker. Two fingers, just the tips, pressed into the opening of her channel, tugging downward, opening her up just a little as he suckled against her little nub. He could feel the shift of the couch as Jordan and Jenny moved on her breasts, her mouth. Rachel's moans became muffled groans and grunts.

Time lost meaning. Mel knew he felt the growing ache in his jaw, the numbness of his tongue. The tiredness that grew behind his eyes. The need inside of him was familiar, like when he was caged and unable to touch himself. Nor could he touch himself now; his hands were preoccupied, Rachel squeezing his fingers, her labia squelching with every gentle squeeze, so responsive, so hot . . . and when he moaned inside of her, Mel heard her muffled echo.

She was still twitching in his mouth when Jordan and Jenny gently took his shoulders and pulled him back.

Rache sat there limp and boneless. Her blue eyes half-lidded, her head resting on the back of the couch cushion.

"Think I'll . . . sleep well . . . tonight," she said, and her lips twitched in and out of a smile. "You know, I didn't think . . . I could . . . do that. Just one, sliding into another. I thought I'd be done and you'd just keep going and I'd keep . . . coming . . ."

The three of them had to help her across the hall. Her legs didn't want to work right, and she was almost asleep before she hit the bed. As Jordan pulled the sheet up over her sister, she bent down and kissed her on the lips. When she rose, Jenny knelt down to give her own kiss; Rachel's eyes were already closed, the pearl was no longer glowing, and when Mel bent over her, he was sure that Rache was already the sleeping beauty.

His lips pressed against hers. Very softly. Afraid to wake her.

"Mel . . ." she moaned. Yet she was already asleep. His name was on her tongue as she slipped down the steps to deeper dreaming.