Someone I Trust

Human beings are not machines. They are not standardized. DNA is a template, but the final adult form is determined by millions of other factors. Diet, environment, exercise, accidents. Each person is unique. The anatomy is similar, but never identical. When a brain slug integrates with a human, it follows its instincts, or the guidance of the hive mind. Yet in each case, it is dealing with a unique problem. How can the resulting brain slug host be other than unique? Some find unexpected numbness, having inadvertently severed key nerve receptors. Others find novel erogenous zones. A navel as sensitive as a clitoris, or a particularly astute sense of taste that leads to stronger association with oral sex. You and your brain slug lover must begin on a journey to discover what arouses them.
—Anaïs Nineveh (trans.), Your Brain Slug Lover and You

Dark fingers played with Mel's chest hair. They were in the yellow room, now. He didn't recognize the skyline outside the window. Her face was older now, lined, bits of grey like wire in her unbound hair. On the wall, photos of the three of them at different ages. Lucie, her husband, and Molly. Lucie's head rested against Mel's shoulder. Beneath the sheet, he could feel the hard, taut swell of her stomach.

"You could stay," she whispered. "You don't have to go back. We could be a family together, here. You, me, Molly, and the baby."

"This isn't my home," Mel said. "Jordan, Jenny, Rache—"

"Those sluts don't know what to do with you," the older woman said. Her hand pressed against his chest, his heart thumping against her palm. "They play little games when they should love you, cherish you—"

Her fingernails unraveled. They fanned out across Mel's chest like the taproots of a plant.

"—just think how much I could give you. Keep this belly fat and swollen with your babies."

She rose, then, to straddle him. The sheet fell off, and Mel saw her breasts, the dark stretch marks on the sagging skin, the protuberant belly that settled on his own flat stomach. Things shifted and moved inside of her. Too many. Something warm gripped him, but something else slid out along his rigid length and wrapped around his balls.

"Come on. Give it to me. You know you want it. I'll make you happier than they ever could," the thing that was not Lucie said, and suddenly Mel couldn't see her face above the lips.

"No!" Mel shouted, but even in his own ears his voice was weak, vacillating—

A choked, interrogative noise woke Mel. He blinked and stared up from the bed. Rachel was standing at the foot of it, blinking herself, looking confused. Sleepwalking again, probably. Here to take Mel in his sleep again.

Except Jordan had beaten her to it.

The brain slug host's whole body rose and fell, as if doing push-ups on the bed. Mel saw the whites of her eyes shine in the dark as her lips stretched, sucking hard towards the tip, then engulfing him as she lowered her upper body back down. Mel shook his head to clear the last cobwebs of night from it, and realized what happened.

It was Monday. Jordan's day. She was getting her share of him in early.

Languidly, Jenny rose from the bed and walked over to Rachel. The blonde could barely tear her eyes off of her sister and her boyfriend, but the tall, thin Asian woman laid a hand on Rachel's stomach and slid it down toward Rache's cleft. Jenny's lips found Rache's neck, and for a moment Mel saw the human woman's knees wobble as her girlfriend completed a two-pronged attack.

Mel stiffened, a sudden heat flushing through his cheeks at the sight of his two girlfriends lost in their own moment. The list hadn't said anything about what the three of them could do to each other, and Mel didn't mind that one bit. His hips twitched, buttocks squeezing, not wanting to hurt Jordan by pushing himself too deep, but thrilled at the sensation of the hot, wet suction. The familiar pressure built at the root, and Mel told himself to hang on, to hold out, to give her a really big load, even though he saw her pale arms start to shudder with the effort of the push-ups and her nostrils blew out hot blasts every time she bottomed out.

"Gonna blow!" he whispered in warning, and Jordan pulled up until she held just the tip of him in her mouth, her tongue toying around the sensitive head.

Rache gave a little gasp almost at the same time Mel did. Jenny had her arm up and was licking Rachel's armpit as her fingers rubbed the other woman's little pleasure button. Mel gave little grunts as he throbbed and jumped in Jordan's mouth, sticky wet ropes filling it, coating her tongue, the eyes burning a little brighter.

She licked him clean, and Mel sighed as she shrank back and he sat up.

No walk this morning. Rachel had an early class. Béibhinn emerged, already dressed in a hoodie, sweatpants, and boots.

"When did you get in?" Mel asked. "We missed you yesterday."

"Business," the ghola said, eyeing his drooping dick. "Be in and out at odd hours all week. Don't worry. I'll be here Friday."

"Okay," Mel said and waved.

Three of them, Jordan, Jenny, and Mel, did their stretches and exercises. No push-ups; Mel didn't want Jordan to overdo it. He showed them how to do head rolls, so their necks wouldn't get stuff, and they did so carefully, slowly. Mel wondered if the brain slugs didn't like that.

"Is that okay?" he said and signed. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Okay," Jordan and Jenny signed back.

When the two stepped into the shower, Mel remembered MacElroy's device. He retrieved it from the hoodie pocket and held it the way the ergonomics suggested, the little tube sticking out between his first two fingers, thumb resting on the big button. He gave it an experimental click. No light, just the softest of sounds.

In five minutes, he had moved around the apartment and clicked it several times in each room, even Béibhinn's. When the shower turned off, Mel grabbed a clean fundoshi and wrapped the device in it, carrying it with him into the bathroom. Before he took his own shower, he used the device three more times.

When he emerged, the device tucked into his underwear, Mel dressed carefully. Neither Jordan nor Jenny watched as he slipped the device back into his hoodie pocket. Just as Mel was considering what to do for the day, there was a knock at the door.

He opened it to find Molly there, in a sleeveless brown sweater beneath her black jacket, over a skirt. Mel thought she looked tired; at least her eyes looked puffy, as though from lack of sleep or too much crying.

"Hey," she said. "Mom's going to the airport to drop off her rental car, and we were going to have breakfast there before she goes. Do you want to come with?"

Something about the way she said it made Mel feel like it was Molly who wanted him to come. Maybe she wanted to talk in the car on the way there or back. Process everything that had happened. Mel understood that. Rache had been great for giving him someone to talk to about his own feelings.

"Sure," he said, and turned to his still-naked girlfriends. "You two be all right while I'm gone?"

Jordan tapped the list, and Mel grinned.

"I know. Don't worry, I won't do anything except with you today. Promise," he said.

The two brain slug hosts kissed him goodbye, and Mel stepped out into the hallway with Molly. His half-sister headed towards the elevator.

"Doesn't it get distracting?" she asked. "The way they don't wear clothes?"

"You get used to it," Mel said. Then, thinking about what he said. "I mean, I got used to it. They're usually not putting on little shows for me or anything, and when someone isn't trying to act sexy around you, it's just . . . skin. Like I won't say thinking of them naked isn't arousing, and sometimes they hit some angle or position where they just look . . ."

He bit his lips. Molly looked at him curiously, and her mouth curled into a smile.

"Go on," she said.

". . . well yeah, sometimes it is very arousing," he said. "And if they're in the mood, sometimes they take that as an invitation to do things. But I don't think they find being naked inherently sexy. I think the brain slugs understand the whole clothing thing conceptually but have to get used to it in practice."

"I don't know if I'd ever get used to it," Molly said.

"You were doing fairly well the other night," Mel pointed out.

"That was a special circumstance," Molly said.

"Yes," Mel agreed. "But you were a trooper. I don't think a lot of other people would have managed to sit still and watch all that."

Molly sucked in her lips, like she wanted to say something. She didn't speak until they'd gotten to the parking garage and into the Protoss. Mel was quickly getting used to "My life for Aiur!" whenever she unlocked the car.

"I wasn't prepared for that," she whispered. "At all. That's part of the reason I wanted you to come with me. I don't know how to talk to ma mère. How to look her in the eye after seeing her vagin rempli de ta semence."

The last words came out almost as a whisper. Mel's French, two semesters in high school, didn't cover that specific vocabulary. Molly's eyes stayed on the road as she pulled out, yet Mel felt that he had to say something.

"She's still your mother, Molly," he said. "I think you really helped her. She was uncomfortable with the whole group sex arrangement, the loss of control. I could tell. I've . . . felt the same way, sometimes. I know I go with the flow on a lot of things, but I can still feel embarrassed, or lack confidence. Not sure I'll measure up to what's expected of me."

Molly snorted.

"You were . . . impressive," she said. "Didn't look unconfident to me."

"Trust me, I was concerned I wouldn't measure up," he said. "Especially after that first comment, about how I wasn't exactly like my father. Wasn't sure how to take that."

"On the screen," Molly said, as she shifted lanes. "You look bigger than average. I don't know if it's the angle, or because you're so thin. Not that I've seen a lot, but up close . . . actually, you're the first man I've seen undressed in real life."

Mel rubbed his neck, obscurely embarrassed.

"So, you don't have anything to really measure me up against. That's okay. I'm told it's not the size, but how you use it," he said. "Not that . . . well. I try to make sure my partners have a good time."

"I saw it," Molly said, sitting forward in her seat. Speeding up as they hit the highway, just for an exit or two, until they hit the turn-off for the airport. "Each of them. I thought maybe you would do it together, but that never really happened."

"Rarely if ever does," Mel said.

"But all of them, they had that moment when everything just . . . stopped. Like they dropped the mask, the self-control. Exposed as a raw nerve ending. I saw ma mère, and for a moment she was just a woman getting . . . oh, sugar, I can't say it!" Molly said, and she hit the steering wheel.

The airport was a confusing series of nested loops. Molly engaged the autopilot and announced, "Short-term parking, departures." She let go of the steering wheel, which moved on its own as the car synced with the other vehicles. Within six minutes, the car parked itself in a spot.

"She was a woman getting fucked," Mel finished for her as they exited the car.

"Oui," Molly said. "It's one thing to know your parents had sex, and another thing to see them as sexual beings, you know?"

"I really don't," Mel said, not wanting to think about his recent dreams. "But I get it, philosophically. That's who your mom always was. You just didn't know it. I think . . . I think I felt something like that, the first time after I had sex. I was the same person; I didn't feel different for having done the deed. Yet other people saw me differently, treated me differently. Relationships shifted. Sex is weird like that. I don't know why."

Molly nodded. "I wonder if it'll be that way when I . . . well, I'll find out. One day."

He followed her toward the departure gates. Mel had never been inside an airport before, at least not that he could remember, and he was surprised to find it airy and open, milling with people on foot and the occasional small, low-speed motorized transport. There were restaurants, gift shops, what looked like small bodegas, even a bookstore.

Lucie, dressed in a loose, ankle-length brown dress and followed by an automatic carry-on suitcase, found them and waved them towards a breakfast bar called Promiscuous Ovum. It seemed to Mel that Molly was stiff as Lucie kissed her daughter's cheeks. The table and chairs were chromed steel, and the menus were laminated paper. It wasn't a big menu. He asked for three eggs, scrambled, and a glass of apple juice; Molly and Lucie went in for omelets, coffee, and a mimosa for Lucie.

Once they were alone again, Lucie gave Mel a smile. Yet there was no footsie at this meal.

"I wanted to thank you again," the older woman said. "I know that was an experience for all of us. I haven't done anything like that before. I was . . . surprised at how strongly I felt in that moment. I wanted to tell you—I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be who you wanted me to be. I feel like I've failed you both."

Her smile was sad, and Mel saw Lucie holding Molly's hand.

"I could have looked for you. Could have adopted you. Raised the two of you together. We could have been, maybe not a traditional family, but a family," she said with a sigh, her shoulders stooped. "But I can't undo the past. Nor can I see what would have happened if I had done that. All we can do in this life is keep moving. The past is past. It's the future we have to look forward to." She laid her left hand on her abdomen. "It will be weeks before we know if I 'took,' and even then a pregnancy at my age isn't guaranteed to result in a live birth. Yet I want to keep you in the loop. I don't want to lose track of you again."

Her hand slid down into a pocket of her skirt, and when it rose, there was a slim black phone in her grasp. She slid it across the table and set it before Mel.

The label was a stylized R.

"Retrotech Basic," she said. "Calls and text, no internet, but there's no limit on minutes. Paid for an entire year. I've already programmed Molly and my numbers into it. You should keep it on you, at least for emergencies. And . . . I'd like to call, on occasion. To see how you're doing."

Mel took up the phone. It was extraordinarily basic, though as far as he was concerned, that wasn't a bad thing. He had seen kids wired to their phones to exclusion of the world, and had never really felt the desire to be like them. Still, this was a substantial gift.

"Thank you," Mel said, as he slipped it into a jeans pocket. "I appreciate that. Really."

The food arrived, and they ate in silence for a while. Then Mel asked how Molly's classes were going, which prompted Lucie into some maternal probing about Molly's social life—still no boyfriends or girlfriends, though Mel could have told her that. Eventually the meal was done, they emerged from the restaurant, and it was time to say goodbyes.

Molly and Lucie hugged. There was no hesitation, no stiffness in it. Mel's heart ached as he saw the two of them together. To be hugged like that, even once, had to feel different. He wasn't sure why that should be, yet a part of him thought it must. When they separated, Lucie faced Mel and, a little nervous, held out her hand.

Mel looked at it. Then with a sheepish grin, he held his arms out from his sides a little, face burning. Lucie chuckled gratefully as she gathered him into her arms, and he could feel her smile on his burning cheek.

"If it doesn't take," she whispered, too softly for Molly to hear. "Maybe next time, non?"

Mel had nothing to say to that, and they waved goodbye as she headed into the security line.

Back in the Protoss, Molly sat for a moment behind the wheel. Then she turned to Mel.

"Who did you lose your virginity to?" she asked. "Was it a friend?"

"Jordan," he said, remembering the time in the bathroom of the Cosmic Fill Up. It had seemed crazy at the time, and in hindsight seemed crazier. There had been nothing romantic about it, nothing planned. Just a spontaneous moment of shared passion and need.

"You care for her, don't you?" Molly pressed.

"Yes," Mel said. "A lot. I don't know when I started caring for her. Not long after I moved in. Yet I care for her very deeply."

"I have often thought about ma virginité, lately," Molly said. "It is frustrating, being always on the sidelines. Watching other people have their fun, their little dramas, their love affairs, partaking in nothing. Watching ma mère that night, I resolved that I would like to be rid of it. Yet not to some random person. I want it to matter. To be with someone I care about. Someone I trust."

She looked at him with those dark eyes and bit her lip. Mel's voice caught in his throat.

"Melvillé," his half-sister said, giving that odd accent to the last syllable. "You do not have to answer now. I know you must discuss it with your girlfriends. I just want you to know that I . . . I want you to be the one to do it. I want you to take ma virginité. Faites de moi une femme."