Brain Slug Cum Sluts

Human hosts for brain slugs are receptive to sex. It is one of their main methods of building social bonds and acceptance. They are noted to be entirely passive, never initiating sexual relations, allowing their partners to use their bodies. The brain slug has no emotional frame of reference for sex, no concept of love or compassion.
—Brain Slug Infestation: Cause and Avoidance, Chapter 6

"Arkwright," Ha-Yoon said. "You awake, redshirt?"

Mel blinked and straightened up. He stared at the screen, where the training program had finished. His hand moved the mouse and clicked to close it.

"Yeah. Sorry. Zoned out for a second there. Stayed up too late last night," he said sheepishly. The last thing he needed was to be fired the second day on the job.

Ha-Yoon's eyes twinkled with amusement. "If you're a night owl, maybe I should move you to the night shift."

He grinned back at her. "Whatever you need, boss. I'm here to work."

She smirked, and then dragged him outside to show him how to change the receipt paper on the hydrogen pumps. Mel was glad for something to focus on. It meant less time trying to think about last night.

Unable to think of anything to say, Mel had gone into the bathroom to finish his business. By the time he'd finished and flushed, Jordan was back in her room, door closed, the top back on the trash can. For an hour or so, Mel had stayed awake, poring through the book to see if it had anything to say about brain slugs and sex. There wasn't much; xenobiologists apparently weren't even sure how the damn things reproduced. What there was said nothing about what had happened last night.

As usual, Mel woke to the sound of the shower. He rolled out of bed to do his exercises. Purposefully waited after Jordan exited the shower, and didn't go out into the main room until he'd heard her door close. When they did finally see each other, Mel couldn't figure out what to say...so he said nothing. Jordan ate her eggs and then they left. Spicy Slug was in the corridor waiting for them. They made a little trio on the way to the Cosmic Fill-Up, with Mel feeling very much like the third wheel. Trying to keep his eyes from roving over their bodies. Trying to come up with a plan.

Okay, I'm off on Saturday. Go to the library, use the computer to access the internet, figure out what's normal behavior for brain slugs. Mel decided.

Ha-Yoon heard Mel's stomach growl and rolled her eyes. She dragged him back inside and showed him the system for employee meals. Fountain drink, burrito, sandwich, salad, cup of soup, or rice bowl. No frills, and probably the closest thing to real nutrition the place offered. Mel would have preferred a slice of pizza, but was grateful for a grilled chicken burrito. Grateful for anything that he didn't have to pay for, really.

The afternoon saw Mel in the back, sorting the trash.

"Expired food gets unpackaged and goes in the compost dumpster, plastic and paper go into recyclable containers," Ha-Yoon said, pointing to boxes stacked in the back. "Tomorrow, I'll show you how to clean the grease traps, but this should take you a few hours. Burn those calories!"

Dumping moldy cupcakes and shredding expired gift cards wasn't Mel's idea of heaven, but it was honest work. At least it was until he opened a box of magazines due for recycle and stared at a two-month-old copy of Slug Fucker Monthly.

The cover showed a naked Black woman from the waist up, from the back. Mel could see the line of bumps that marked her spine. On her neck, he could see the semi-translucent body of the brain slug, which seemed flattened out, the edges of digging into her dark brown skin. Her head was turned in profile, to reveal that familiar slack expression. The photographer had been at pains to capture the woman and slug together. the small, gelatinous lump seemingly dominant. Yet what caught his eye was a line on the bottom of the cover:

Brain slug cum sluts—why they love jizz!

When Mel left the Cosmic Fill-Up, following Jordan and Spicy back toward the apartment building, the magazine was stuffed down the back of his work shirt.

Stupid, Mel told himself. Even if it wasn't technically stealing—they were going to throw the thing away!—he knew he couldn't risk being even suspected of stealing anything. He needed this job. For food, for shelter, for any hope of a future.

Curiosity had gotten the best of him. He knew, intellectually, that it was just a porn mag, and the information within was probably as accurate as the sex positions scribbled on the walls of bathroom stalls in high school. Still, it was something. And if it was bullshit, he could just throw the thing away. Somewhere outside the apartment, since the kitchen trash can was obviously not safe for random disposal anymore.

Mel hid the magazine beneath the mattress of his bed. Dinner went normal. There was a documentary about the Marianas Trench. The jambalaya wasn't very spicy, but hotter than Mel was used to, and washed down with glasses of tap water. Jordan slowly devoured a carton of yogurt.

He didn't talk about last night. A part of him thought he should discuss it. Talk about it. Yet as they took turns brushing their teeth, Mel realized he had no idea how to start. Or even how he would respond. Jordan still hadn't said a word to him. He wasn't sure she—or the brain slug, he guessed—could actually talk, although she/it seemed to understand English well enough.

"I'm gonna turn in," he said, at last, as Jordan settled back on the couch. She turned to look at him when he spoke, the blue eyes blinked, expression blank. "Good night."

The door shut with a soft click. With a heart hammering in his chest, Mel retrieved the slick, glossy magazine from beneath the mattress. It was...well, he'd never actually held a real adult magazine before. Playboy had stopped physical publication years ago. It was a relic media format, yet somehow survived, and as he flipped through the pages, he felt a touch of the lurid appeal. Glassy-eyed women—and, surprisingly, trans-women, or at least very effeminate-looking men. They all stared ahead, utterly indifferent to what other people were doing to them. The passivity in them seemed to radiate off the page, emphasized by breathless text that assured the reader of how they didn't react as a cock plunged balls-deep in their asshole, or held their eyes open as they ejaculated into the whites.

Mel felt his stomach twist at some of the crueler photos. Tears and white cum oozed down one host's face, her lips slack, her eye bloodshot. She wasn't smiling or frowning. As emotionally dead as a statue. Yet that very lack of reaction seemed to drive their sexual partners into greater frenzies and depredations.

"Just fiction," Mel muttered to himself. "Just a fabrication, meant to sell a magazine. It's porn, not real life. Clever photography."

Yet the erection that strained against the top button of his pants was definitely real.

He **** himself to turn past the pictorials to the article "Brain Slug Cum Sluts." Mel frowned. There were no sources cited, no indication that there was anything here that wasn't pure fiction from the fevered brain of some freelance writer—it had that tone, passages that started like:

We've all seen slug girls suck cocks with an enthusiasm that puts adult film stars to shame, and plenty of photo shoots at SFM have ended with the slug-hosts falling over each other to slurp a hot creamy load out of a pussy or ass, even to lick it up off the floor—but have you ever wondered why?

The actual reason given, some paragraphs of lurid description later, was interesting, if true:

Xenobiologists say that brain slugs evolved on a planet similar to Earth's in terms of atmosphere and gravity, and human biochemistry is closer to their own than many extraterrestrial species. Human semen contains biochemical markers similar to the brain slug's own secretions, as well as trace elements that are often absent from the host's diet. Brain slugs are drawn toward consuming cum; and direct their hosts to consume it by whatever means necessary!

Mel chewed that over. He couldn't take the porn mag at face value, but if there was any hint of truth in it, that might explain Jordan's behavior. The only question was what to do with that information. As Mel laid the magazine beneath the bed and turned out the light, his mind was awash with the moral question that his entire life seemed to circulate around right now:

How to be a good roommate?