Page 79 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“Desirable. A person who…” She seems to struggle to find the right words. “Who makes me feel things I usually don’t.”

“Can you explain?”

“Sure. I’m turning that off first, though. They’ll be doing it soon.”

“And you don’t want to watch that?”

“It’s distracting. So, to answer your question, normally I don’t think about having someone touch me. I’ve had crushes before, always on aliens, but it was just…romantic feelings, I guess? Damn, this is embarrassing to talk about.”

“Why?”

“Actually, that’s a good point. It shouldn’t be.” She takes a breath and faces me, gazing at me fully for the first time since the show became sexually specific. “I’m gray ace. That’s someone who doesn’t think about sex that much. I do have a libido, but I take care of myself and move on. The idea of needing a partner for that is weird to me. That also means I rarely experience sexual attraction. I say rarely now, because before meeting you, it was never.”

I process her words and it’s impossible not to feel as if I have received an enormous gift. This precious person desires me? What a treasure I have unexpectedly received from the universe.

“Thank you for telling me. I have information to share as well, if you would hear it?”

“I would love to.”

“My people only experience yearning for those with whom they have formed emotional bonds. And once we permit the relationship to be consummated, it creates a unique neural pathway. That being holds the keys to our pleasure center. We do not imprint lightly or casually. Though we can survive the loss of a partner, it’s akin to…” What metaphor will she understand? Jen waits while I sort my thoughts and decide the proper way to describe it. “Losing the ability to smell sweetness or see a particular color.”

“Whoa. Now I get your hesitation when I touched you before. I guess there are no breakups on your world.”

“It is rare. And when relationships change, they usually expand. If you loved your first, you love them still, but we are allowed to love others too. There is less focus on ‘mine’ and ‘yours.’ We are a creator culture, not one that consumes.”

“I wish I could see your home,” she says in a wistful tone. “Just once.”

“There might be a way. But I’m unsure whether a memory walk would work with a human partner.”

“Memory walk?” Her expression becomes intent.

Others remain an enigma to me, but Jen has become a mystery I must solve. I want to collect the facts that create the unique wonder of her dazzling, inquisitive soul.

“It allows me to reproduce a moment mentally. I return to that moment in time with all associated sights, sounds, and smells. If we were connected, it would carry you with me as well. You could see my home and family through my eyes.”

“A mind link that only works with your chosen partner?”

“Similar.”

I shift my visual spectrum and notice that once again, she’s glowing warm in regions devoted to sexual excitement. If she felt shy to discuss such things, perhaps I should simply offer to provide gratification? My desire to please her hasn’t changed. If anything, that need has grown more intense, especially given her revelations.

“I would like to touch you,” I say then. “With your permission, of course. But I wish to learn what brings you pleasure.”

Her breath catches. “Before, I couldn’t believe you just asked. Now I’m grateful. I want you so badly, it’s ridiculous.”

“Disrobe and we can begin.”

The air charges with expectancy as she removes layers of fabric, not too many today. Her body is pale and soft, gently curved. Some human bodies do display color shifts, though not in familiar spectrums. Jen flushes beneath my scrutiny, going rosy as I glide an exploratory touch down her limbs, barely skimming her sides. The texture of her skin changes, little bumps appearing in the wake of my caress.

I have read about a language that allows humans with limited visual perception to read through touch. Perhaps that is what these bumps are for as well, inviting me to learn her body through this means. I close my eyes, allowing my other senses to take over. She smells delicious, sweet and salty at the same time. Her skin is smooth, and I savor the skips of her pulse. She shivers beneath each curious tracery, her body sharing responses wordlessly.

I use that point of contact to decipher the nuances of her pleasure, the slight arch of her back becoming my guide. Carefully, I shape the contours of her, then venture to the swell of her breasts. Soft, so very soft. To my surprise, Jen doesn’t react. The information I’ve encountered indicates that this is an erogenous zone.

“I haven’t done this a lot,” Jen whispers. “But that doesn’t work for me.”

I pause, pleased she’s communicated her preferences. “What will you enjoy most?”

“My stomach. My thighs. My throat. Even my back. Those places feel good to me.”