Girlfriends

By repeatedly experiencing climax to the point of sexual exhaustion, the human mind can enter an altered state of consciousness. Crowley called this technique eroto-comotose lucidity. Entering this state when sexually engaged with brain slug hosts opens the human mind to channels of information they are normally unaware of. It is the closest a human being can come to feeling the World Soul without actually becoming integrated by brain slugs, brain bats, or related species.
—Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

"You're a witch? Like, casting spells and stuff?" Mel asked.

A smile flitted across the dark-haired woman's features. She was in a dress that sometimes looked black and sometimes gold, directing where to put things as Rachel and Mel brought the last of the boxes up from the curb where Anastasia's friends had dropped them. Jordan, who had been watching the pile of belongings, followed them up.

502 was now officially moved in. Rachel and Anastasia had both brought cheap, assemble-yourself bookshelves and the books to fill them. Rachel had put up photos of herself and Jordan; Anastasia had put up a photograph of a nude woman, who might have been herself, holding a skull. Mel had noticed that in addition to the table he now thought of as an altar, all of 'stasia's books seemed to be on the occult or witchcraft.

"Striga," Anastasia said. "I study occultism, parapsychology, and the history of witchcraft; my studies are part of my daily practice."

"Okay," Mel said. "I really don't know anything about it. How does a striga deal with extraterrestrials?"

An orphan's exposure to religion was necessarily limited. Priests rarely came to the orphanage, and attendance at services was neither mandatory nor encouraged. Most of what Mel knew about Christianity came from the pamphlets and books left for the kids to read. There had been a picture Bible in the high school library, retelling the religious epic in comic book form. Mel had been more interested in Eve in her fig leaf bikini than the theology, but he remembered a part from the New Testament, with King Saul consulting a witch to summon a ghost.

Anastaisa tilted her head.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Jordan and Rachel turned too, interested in the turn the conversation had taken.

"I read the bible once," Mel said. "Didn't say anything about aliens. So when the Exodus happened, the Christian churches were kind of on the back foot, right? It was something out of their experience. But I know the UFO religions seemed to get a lot of time on the news, even if none of the aliens looked like the ones they'd been talking about. I don't know anything about witchcraft, but how did occult traditions handle the whole we-are-not-alone thing?"

"Oh," Anastasia said. "Yes, a lot of religions struggled with metaphysical questions. Do brain slugs, K'lur'k, Greyans, and the rest have souls? Can they be saved? But a striga isn't concerned with saving souls. We're much more practical. And neither are occult traditions so dogmatic as Christian churches, or even the UFO cults; most are highly individual. So there are almost as many responses to the Exodus as there are occultists. Mostly, we welcomed it. Welcomed the confirmation of visitors from beyond, of the promise of a bigger universe out there, of which Earth and all her peoples are only a small part."

She stepped over to a shelf and touched books with titles like The Satanic Witch, The Witch-Cult in Western Europe, and Aradia, The Gospel of the Witches, most in cheaper, somewhat dog-eared paperback versions.

"You have to understand, a lot of people see science and religion as opposed ideologies. One deals with physical realities, hard math, evidence; the other deals with faith, unprovable conceptions, subjective experiences. But it would be better to think of being a striga as a way of life, an approach to living. I don't reject science, but I don't limit myself to the possibilities that there is more than scientific dogma currently allows."

"So the tea-reading thing?" Mel asked.

"Divination can be a part of it. Not in the sense of actually predicting the future in the remains of wet plant matter, but in the sense that in the right moment, under the right influences, the human mind's pattern recognition abilities can discern things which the conscious mind cannot. There is so much that our brains process that we miss. Part of my practice is trying to unlock some of that. To be more aware."

Mel scratched his nose.

"I'm not sure I get it," he said. "But if it works for you, I'm glad."

Anastasia smiled.

"Oh, it's working for me. How are things working with your girlfriends?"

Mel glanced at Jordan and Rachel. Jordan gave no sign of discomfort, but Rachel looked a little embarrassed.

"She asked what our situation was. I told her we were sort of dating, the four of us," she said. "Mutual, but exclusive."

Mel nodded.

"What she said."

Anastasia's dark eyes fixed on Mel, and they crinkled a little at the corners as she smiled wider.

"Lucky boy."

After lunch, Mel and Rachel took the bus back to Seacouver Community College. Her arm slipped easily into his, and they sat next to each other, still arm-in-arm. Rachel seemed pensive and thoughtful.

"Was it something she said?" Mel asked at last. "Or something I didn't do I should have?"

Rachel smiled at him then.

"Calling us your girlfriends," she noted. "Caught me unaware. I don't think it's really appropriate for the kind of relationship we have. But I can see where she's coming from."

Mel smiled back, though not without a hint of sadness.

"I do feel lucky to have met you all, to have a relationship. To be able to—be with you. But it's not like I was trying for this, exactly. You all made the decision. And you can change your mind. If you meet somebody else, somebody you want to be with more—it's not like we're married or anything," he said.

"This is the point where in the anime I'd elbow you in the ribs and ask if that was supposed to be a proposal," Rachel said. Her hand found his, the small fingers curling into his palm.

"Not a lot of anime at the orphanage," Mel said. "But this—being right here, sitting next to you, holding your hand—it's nice. I like this."

"But that's not all you want," Rachel accused.

Mel nodded. Then he gathered his courage. He'd been thinking about something since the four of them had made their agreement yesterday. A way to be more proactive in the relationship. "I was thinking later, if you're in the mood—I still need practice with oral sex. If you wouldn't mind."

It came out meeker than Mel had intended. Yet Rachel turned her face away, cheeks suddenly burning hotly.

"Yeah, okay," she said, and squeezed his hand. "You can practice eating my pussy. Just don't—don't compare it to Jordan's, okay? That would be weird."

Mel nodded. "Right."

They spent the rest of the bus ride like that, hand in hand. Not talking about it, but both of them focused with anticipation about what would happen when they got home. Anticipation built between them, those strange and terrible personal fears—what if he wasn't very good? What if her pussy was somehow smelly, or she couldn't climax?—yet in both minds, a twin sense of nervous excitement. As he shifted, Rachel's eyes went to Mel's crotch, and she saw, because she was looking for it, the tell-tale bulge as he adjusted himself so that his erection sat more comfortably.

Her cheeks burned a little hotter.

The Seacouver Community College Bookstore lived in a basement, all harsh grey concrete and some sort of institutional green paint. Most of the books for courses were digital these days, and the few courses that required actual physical paper books got stocked down here, away from the Seacouver Community College Gift Shop & Cafe that now occupied the entire ground floor of the squat glass-walled building. The young woman with green hair behind the counter was staring into space, eyes twitching behind the frames of her smartglasses, lips moving as she subvocalized to somebody or something unseen.

Mel had seen that look before, at school, sometimes when people came into the Cosmic Fill-Up. People used the smart glasses as screens to browse the internet, read, talk to people, or whatever. He had heard that there were implants for all that now, no accessories or peripherals needed, but the dollar cost of such a figure was in the low thousands, equivalent to a used car. He thought about how much that probably looked like witchcraft a hundred years ago, and how 'stasia had described her practice.

Rachel found the books they needed for their ASL class, which was actually a shrink-wrapped package including an ASL dictionary, sign cards, charts, and a thumb drive with video lessons and supplementary materials. The cost hit Mel with a queasy feeling that made his palm itch. It was more than two weeks' worth of groceries. Maybe three weeks. Once purchased, it would easily be the most expensive single object he owned.

He thought of Jordan and Soong. Of being able to talk to them without magnetic letters and a borrowed phone.

"Investment in the future," he said, right before he tapped his palm against the charge plate. The young woman bagged his purchase without meeting his gaze, lost in whatever was playing out before her eyes.

That was one of the things about being a grown-up, Mel decided. Nobody questioned how you spent your money, what choices you made. Most people saw that you did something and just accepted it. They didn't question or second-guess, and if they judged, it was mostly silently. Mel could have bought a book on the history of human sexuality instead, and nobody would have questioned him, except maybe Rachel.

The freedom of such choice, Mel decided, was both immense and somewhat lonely.

Stepping off the bus, Mel noticed a pair of red bricks set out by a trash can. They were old, with a glassy sheen on one side. Mel picked them up and tested the heft. They were solid, not crumbly, and showed no sign of mortar. Just two random bricks, probably leftover from some home improvement project that never got off the ground. He looked around. Rachel simply watched him, brow furrowed but not saying anything as he tucked them under his free arm, the one that held the bag with the book, not the one she liked to thread her arm through.

Rachel followed Mel up the stairs, down the hall, and into 501. She watched as he set the bricks on top of the chest of drawers. Then placed the new book, still in its shrink wrap, between them. The light dawned in her eyes as Mel fetched the Slug Sutra, How To Talk To Brain Slugs, and 1,001 Ways to Cook Ramen, and set them all in a row.

"Bookends," Mel said, absurdly proud at the cost-effective solution.

"That works," Rachel said. She'd set her own bag and book on the kitchen counter nearest the door. Her thumbs went to the waistband of her pants. "So . . . um. Practice time. How do you want me?"

The blush was back. It really emphasized her cheeks, the way she bit her lip when nervous or excited. They had both been thinking about this, but now that the time had come, Mel was more nervous than he'd been about anything in his life.

"Um. Well, I only did it the once. Did you want to sit on the couch?" Mel asked.

She pulled off her jeans. Then her panties. Mel sat down on his knees in front of the spot he usually thought of as his seat. Rachel couldn't keep a smile off her face as she sat down. He saw her creamy pale thighs, the little triangle of blonde pubes, and buried in there the outline of her labia.

Gently, he touched the inside of her knees to urge her to spread wider. Rachel swallowed and slunk down, her hips shifting forward until her buttocks hung on the edge of the seat cushion.

"I really haven't done this before except that one time," Mel said. "So please don't be shy. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Start by kissing my thighs," Rachel said. "Just a soft line of kisses. Right to my pussy. Don't just dive in. Take your time."

Mel's lips pressed against the soft flesh just beside the knee. It was warm. And it grew warmer as he moved, not too quickly, he hoped, down the length of her right thigh. He was glad, as his cheek brushed the soft skin, that he'd shaved this morning after his shower. The pubes pressed against his lips and chin, and for the first time, Mel could really appreciate how the hair held her scent. Not unpleasant, just a kind of familiar musk, and underneath that a wet smell—

His nose was buried in her bush as his tongue left his lips. Through the soft tangle of forest, he found the hot, wet crease of her slit. Rachel's breathing shifted, faster but deeper. Hands on his knees, unsure how or whether to touch her, Mel leaned forward and ran his tongue up and down, up and down, trying to find a rhythm, to explore her secrets.

"Deeper," she said, and her voice was husky, the word from deep in the back of her throat.

Mel pressed forward. His tongue traced the inside of those lips. The taste was not unlike her sister's, but less fishy, more sour, like running his tongue over a fresh-cut grapefruit. Wet too, he could feel the dampness on his cheeks. The tip of his tongue found a little divot that had to be her urethra, so he moved down and—

"Aah!" Rachel's thighs briefly clamped on Mel's ears as his tongue found the entrance to his channel. Slowly, he let his tongue trace that rough circle or ovoid. After he completed the first circuit, he did it again. This time, he pressed the tongue against the wall of that hot, tight tunnel, scraped the sides, and Rachel's thighs quivered.

"Keep doing that—you can do that as much as you fucking want, fucking fuck—"

Mel took his time. He ignored the little hairs that got on his tongue and in his mouth. Unable to see anything except her pubes and crotch, Mel was excited by the little sounds Rachel was making. His pants stirred, the excitement of making Rachel feel good building inside of him, building with each long, slow minute.

Until Rachel's grabbed his head and pulled, gently. He did his best not to fight it. Tongue pulled away from the pussy and up toward the top of the cleft. To a stiff little nub there.

Mel had found the clitoris. With a little help.

Rachel huffed now. Mel's tongue ran over the point of resistance, and her hips began to move in response. He felt her lift her legs up and over his shoulders, her heels drumming on his back as she drew him in, the finger from her fingers on the back of Mel's head as she kept him in position, and in between her little moans, she told him:

"Right there, right there, not too hard, a little faster, now swirl—good, good, just like that, keep it just like that, fuck, fuck FUCK, FUCK, FUCK . . ."

The last words became a mantra in increasing volume and intensity. Her hips moved as Rachel humped his face, grinding herself against him, and he strove to keep up the same swift swirl around and around the super-sensitive clit.

Until the words gave out, and she clutched his head to her with **** intensity, her whole being wrapped around Mel's face in that moment, his tongue the center of her universe.

Mel kept licking, even as the silence gave way to little soft noises like hiccups of pure pleasure. Then she tapped his head.

He looked up and opened his eyes. Not sure when he had closed them. Jordan and Soong stood behind the couch, staring at the proceedings. Rachel's head lolled on the back seat cushion.

"Mel wanted pussy-licking practice," she said.

As if by mutual agreement, Jordan and Soong rounded the couch. Neither was wearing clothes. They sat down in their respective spots on the far and middle cushions, in much the position that Rachel occupied: legs splayed, knees-to-knees, pussies exposed on the edge of the couch.

Waiting. Expectant.

Rachel laughed.

"Go on, Mel," she said, and **** herself to relax her thighs. Her fingers immediately went to her pussy. "Show them what you've learned."

Still on his hands and knees, Mel crawled over. His jaw worked for a moment in the open air, stretching sore muscles. Strangely proud of his performance. Hoping he could repeat it. Willing to make it up to them if he couldn't. Somehow.