Deep Inside (11 page)

“I told you never to show your face here again,” Kyle's assured voice says over the intercom.

“I did you a favor,” I say. “Now do me one.”

There's a pause, then the gates open, and the guard waves me through.

The magnificent entrance to his villa is lit up…there are expensive cars all around…. So Kyle is having one of his famous Serzan orgies. My tongue licks my lips. He helicopters VIPs in from around the world so they can indulge.

I find him alone in his living room. Kyle is handsomer than the last time I saw him. Nothing like raking in billions from alien sex trafficking to make a man look good. His ear sports a new diamond stud, and he's tan and fit. Time was he wanted me. I didn't resist. And we had a deal about the street that benefited the city.

But now he looks at me with contempt. “Put me on the planet where the Serzan come from,” I beg. “Let me be at peace.”

“You know I can't do that,” Kyle says.

“But I killed your rival that night. And that's when I got turned out. You can put me anywhere in space you want….”

He finishes my sentence for me. “As long as there's Serzan, right?” He walks over to an ornate dark wood desk, takes a cigar from a holder, clips off the end of it, lights it up. “We can't afford to take chances with losers like you,” he says. “Not with your new tough police chief.”

“C'mon, man,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I do appreciate that you got rid of the competition,” he says. “So there's something I'm going to do for you.”

He leads me outside his mansion. We pass armies of bodyguards. Purple and red bougainvillea trail off the walls. There's an expanse of grass. In the ocean-scented air I sense the excitement.

There it is. In the rainbow lights of Kyle's enormous pool. There are dozens of Serzan in it. In the water men and women are having sex with the aliens. Poolside, other humans wait for their turn.

The people are some of Miami's most beautiful.

Why not give human sex one last try?

I walk up to a twentysomething woman. I recognize her straight features and voluptuous body from the fashion magazines: she's a famous model. Her long legs, her beautiful breasts, her taut stomach with a ruby belly jewel. She's wearing only a black thong, her neck and waist adorned with chains.

We approach each other doing a slow dance. It's something we both knew in our past lives, that seductive move you make towards another woman, that promise you give her with your body's every move that you know how to fuck another woman.

When we are close I put my hands behind her, pull her into a kiss. We are entwined, clawing at each other. Is it going to work? I look up and see Kyle, smoking his cigar, watching me.

I take her to a chaise longue, put her beneath me. Now she pushes me down and starts to undo my cop uniform.

“I always wanted to fuck you, Rachel,” she says. “I wanted to do it with the best cop in Miami.”

Accent on past tense. Wanted. Not “want.” She can't help it, and neither can I.

Because I would have wanted her at one time. And I see in her eyes the confused look of someone who would also have once wanted me. But we both know it's not gonna work between us now.

I lead her up off the chaise. She takes off the rest of my clothes. Together we hold hands and jump into the pool.

But then I see Kyle running down the lawn.

“Get out!” he says to me. “They're on their way.”

“Oh no, man, I need this,” I say.

But his guards have their guns trained on me.

“Just let me have one for the road,” I moan.

Kyle thinks for a moment, then nods. I gather up a Serzan, my clothes, and head off into the moonless night.

 

I stand
on a bridge over the freeway. I clutch both my Extraterrestrial Exploder 379 and one of the Serzan I took from Kyle's place.

I look out at the early morning lights of my beloved Miami.

I let myself be caressed by the beast. I know I should jump and take the alien with me, but it feels too good to die just yet.

Images flash through my mind as the tentacles wind their way through my pleasure zones: I see myself back when…winning Junior Miss…the day I graduated from cop school…the day I first met Zac…my first heroin bust…getting my first medal. This has been my city since I was born.

But now it's no longer Miami. It's Serzan City.

The pavement below calls me.

Then blinding lights hit me in the eyes. There's a rustle of uniforms. The sound of metal clamping.

“Let me go!” I scream.

I am thrown into a cop car.

 

I am
being pushed through the corridors of headquarters.

All eyes are down. Doors slam. No one will look at me.

“The new boss wants to see you,” I am told.

I walk towards my doom. And then I see Alexi, the Serzan smuggler, striding cockily out of the chief 's office. He gives me a wink as he strides by.

Now I am roughly pushed into an office. They leave me there. I'm alone with the chief, who sits in a chair with his back to me.

I prepare for my fate, inhaling deeply. I don't know which is worse: that I have failed in my mission to wipe out the Serzan sex aliens—or that I will go to jail and never again taste the cosmic heaven the aliens offer.

The chair swivels around.

I gasp—it's a giant Serzan. The largest, most tentacled, most delicious looking one I've ever seen.

I feel sick with illicit desire.

“Don't think you'll be stamping us out,” the police chief says, in a deep, gravelly, metallic voice.

Can this be a Serzan talking to me?

“Yes,” it answers, my body thumping with every word it speaks. “We've evolved just as you have evolved in your relationship to us. You see—you've actually been working for me for the last six months.”

“And those guys out there?” I ask.

“They're grateful for the job,” it says. “And those who're still holding out—Marni, Robert—they won't be holding out much longer. In fact, I think I'll let you turn them out yourself.”

“But I thought you Serzan were being brought to earth against your will by humans,” I say. “Kyle…Alexi…”

“Those smugglers and dealers were just doing the dirty work for us Serzan so we could take over, Rachel.” Then it adds, “Don't you recognize me?”

I shake my head.

The new chief waves some of its superlong and thick tentacles at me and I do recognize this Serzan as one that gave me infinite pleasure that night I was turned out.

“I have such good memories,” it says. “I've dreamt of you since.”

And now the chief of police, this ultimate Serzan, is reading my mind perfectly. It tears off my clothes, and slithers a tentacle around my stomach, my ankles, my neck, my arms. I stand in front of the window, manacled by the alien.

Tentacles plunge into me, first tenderly, then brutally.

For a moment I am utterly satisfied, completely at peace. I look over at the Serzan hoping it won't lose energy after our fuck.

To my amazement, this giant Serzan looks stronger afterwards.

“I just get bigger and more powerful with every human fuck,” it says.

My satisfied feeling doesn't last. My addiction returns, fiercer than ever. I must have more of the police chief. And I know I can never have enough.

The police chief waves a tentacle at me. He must have been hiding this one: it's the longest and thickest of all. I can't imagine how he could put it up me, but I'm desperate to give it a try.

The tentacle slides along the floor, teasing me by winding its way around my feet before sliding up me, soft like a giant tongue that wraps itself completely around my legs and as it approaches my cunt it turns hard. When it enters me I feel the rush.

As it pumps me, another tentacle slides onto my clit. I am beyond remorse for my Serzan addiction. Yet as I look outside the window I see Alexi load a Serzan crate into a truck. He roars off. I am coming, my mind is going…but I know the sight of him driving off with Serzan can't be good for the human race.

“We've found a way through the cordon,” the police chief whispers. “Next place we're going to is New York.”

I hear
the Normal guys talk about her.

“Naomi is so fucking hot,” one says. “I'd like to bring her to the gym pool at night the way I do other girls.”

Another says, “I'd bone her, too. But I just don't want to die.”

The Normals know what happens if they have sex with us.

“Yeah,” the first guy says. “She'd rip us apart. Viagra babies. I heard one of her kind tore off a man's cock.”

 

I can
see that Naomi is beautiful even though I don't know what it would be like to feel horny for her.

Naomi and I are together here every day in the waiting room of the school nurse, Ms. Kohler. Like me, Naomi is a Viagra baby. We're seniors, almost eighteen. We don't have much longer to live.

Younger Viagras sit in the waiting room, too. We all keep our heads down. We do homework, read books, even if we're not really reading. We don't talk to one another. We don't want to know one another. We're waiting for our pills.

Normals are also in the waiting room with the usual Normal complaints: girls with cramps, guys with gym injuries.

Two long blue pills, one red-and-yellow capsule, a white hexagon, three green caplets. If we aren't punctual the school says they'll notify the police.

Usually, Viagras report for medication at the beginning of lunch period. Today, things are backed up at the nurse's station. The town's benefactor, Sam Jason, made his annual visit, and he talked about the foundation he's created to search for a cure for Viagra babies.

On the walls of the infirmary are posters that say:

“Do Not Have Sex With a Viagra Baby.”

“Touch a Viagra Baby's Genitals…And You Will Die.”

I've never heard a Normal use the word “genitals.” Guys talk about cocks and pricks and cunts and pussies instead. In the locker room the Normal guys look at me.

“Hey, Granger,” Clayton would say. “Must be nice to have such a large dick. Too bad you can't do anything with it.” I don't answer. I never do.

Nurse Kohler tries to educate the Normals. She explains how people started freebasing Viagra twenty-five years ago and became sex addicts. It was apparently a high like no other. The taste for it raced around before word got out that it was a medical disaster.

Ms. Kohler shows the Normal kids anatomical drawings and explains how we children of these addicts were born sex-addicted and with supercharged genitals. That's why we've always been kept on medication. Otherwise we'd be insatiable. And ever since we've been living out our sad legacy.

In the waiting room, the younger Viagras go in for their medication before us, one by one.

Naomi and I are alone. Keeping my eyes down, I watch her. I try to figure out why she seems different today. Her jeans skirt is short, her bare legs are wrapped around each other. Her long-sleeved T falls slightly off her shoulders. Her blond hair falls over her pale face.

“Still playing the Hidden Man, Granger?” It's Naomi, talking to me. “Like that's ever done you any good?”

I look at her and she smiles. When a Viagra smiles, they don't really smile, they're just trying to make peace. But Naomi's smile is like sunlight breaking through rain.

Naomi and I have known each other since we were in day care. I know her foster parents and she knows Alice, my foster mother. I feel sorry for people who care for Viagra babies. Naomi's foster parents have taken in several. They're religious. They used to adopt crack babies. Alice only has me. Still she often says, “I didn't know how much I was taking on when I got you.”

Alice cries a lot. I try to be even quieter than the medication makes me. I help around the house. I take out the garbage, I cook dinner, I mow the lawn. In the last month Alice has been crying even more. I find her head down on a cookbook open to cake recipes. The page is wet with her tears.

“For your eighteenth birthday I'm going to make you your favorite chocolate layer!” she says. “Eighteen. It's all happened too fast, don't you think?”

I say yes although I can't wait for my life to be over.

“Granger,” Naomi says, “do you realize you've been staring at me for three whole minutes? Why don't you just come over here?”

But we're interrupted.

“Naomi, it's time for your pills,” Nurse Kohler says, appearing in her high-buttoned blue uniform.

In a minute, Naomi walks out of the nurse's office. She gives me a look before going through the door.

“Your turn, Granger,” Nurse Kohler says.

I follow Nurse Kohler into her small treatment room, sit down, and she hands me my meds. She picks up a clipboard, pushes back her glasses.

“Forgive my questions, but it's the first of the month so I have to ask them. Have you had any violent outbursts?”

“No.”

“Trouble concentrating?”

“No.”

“Wet dreams?”

“I wouldn't know what one is.”

“Fantasies of a criminally sexual nature?”

“No.”

“Have you been approached by any blood-drinkers?”

“No,” I lie.

She finishes scribbling on the official report and has me sign it. “You turn eighteen in a week. Naomi turns eighteen a few weeks after that. Did you know that?”

“Don't feel bad,” I say. “Mr. Jason was just telling us how he's funding the best specialists to find a cure. You heard him. Maybe I'll be okay.”

None of us Viagras has ever made it longer than six months past our eighteenth birthdays. I've heard that over fifteen hundred Viagra babies have died in our area. But I don't know the actual number for sure. It's not like other disasters where a shrine is built for the unlucky dead. Everyone's embarassed by our existence, so they want to forget about us once we're gone.

Nurse Kohler gives me an emotional look. “Sam Jason is your hero, isn't he?” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I would like to meet him. I've never been closer to him than forty rows away in the auditorium.”

 

It's between
classes and the school corridor is crowded with Normals.

“Fuckin' Viagra babies,” one girl says.

“Yeah,” a guy says. “Round 'em up and nuke 'em all!” He high-fives a buddy.

I let them pass, then move along and turn left. Halfway down, Naomi opens her locker and drops her books. The Normals jump aside. I go over and pick her books up.

“Follow me,” she whispers. She gives me a very direct look and walks off down the hall.

I let a few seconds pass and follow.

A girl steps right in front of me and stops. Her midriff is bare, her breasts move behind her light blue top, her lips sparkle pink. It's Kristie, the most popular girl in school. Behind her, Naomi disappears around a corner.

“Hey, Granger, I was thinking,” Kristie says. “You're gonna die soon, right?”

“I am.”

She looks around, then says breathily, “I thought I could do something really nice for you first. I'll let you see me naked. Of course, you'd have to take your clothes off, too. I want to see what a Viagra baby looks like. I hear it's really something to see.”

Viagras know not to get involved with a Normal, especially one as popular as Kristie.

“I'm sure you're very attractive. But I don't think so.”

Kristie frowns and her face starts to turn red. “What did you just say?”

“You're really nice, but—”

“Listen to me,” she whispers harshly. “Nobody rejects me. Especially not some freak.”

Her boyfriend, Clayton, is suddenly beside her.

“Listen, you mutant. I told you not to talk to my girlfriend.”

“Sure,” I say.

“He's always coming on to me,” Kristie says.

Clayton puts a fist in my face.

“Hit him!” Kristie says. “Hit him now!”

Clayton draws his arm back.

“Do you really want to risk touching me?” I say calmly.

“Nurse Kohler says we have to have sex with you to die,” Clayton says.

“But you never know, do you?”

Clayton and Kristie look at each other, then he looks at me with a sneer. “Get the hell out of here, weirdo.”

I turn
down the next hallway, look for Naomi, turn right, left, then left, right. Finally I see Naomi leaning against the wall in an empty corridor.

“Did that Kristie slut come on to you?” she says. She takes my arm and leads me to a door that says “Janitorial Supply Room,” pulls me inside, and swings the door shut.

It's dark—there's only one of those red emergency bulbs on. Naomi's face is near mine. “I can see why she does. You're awfully cute,” she says. I shrug. It means nothing to me.

“Look at this,” she says, digging something out of her pocket and holding it up under the red bulb. Her palm is full of dark and light pills of many different shapes.

I'm stunned. “Where'd you get them?” I feel terror for her sake.

“I haven't taken my pills for two days. I put them under my tongue and only pretend to swallow.”

“Two days? But aren't you—”

“Dangerously oversexed?” she says. “You bet!”

She moves towards me. I feel her breath on my lips as she kisses me. I feel her hand on my crotch.

“Wow,” she says. “There's some real potential there.”

“You know this doesn't do anything for me.”

“But it's doing something for me,” she says.

She backs away from me and slowly lifts up her skirt. She isn't wearing panties. “I want you to feel it,” she says. “I don't care what it's like for you. I just want you to feel it.” She takes my right hand and presses it against her soft pubic fur, and then my fingers sink into her wetness. It's slithery and hot.

“What are you doing? That's your vagina.”

“I want you to call it my cunt. Repeat after me, Granger: ‘cunt.' Feel it, taste it, smell it.”

I shake my head. “It's disgusting.”

“That's your medication talking. I want you to stop taking those pills,” she says.

“That's crazy.”

“Think about it, Granger. Do you really want to live your life as a medicated eunuch? Touch me again and say it. Say it!”

I slither my fingers through her hair and flesh and fluids. “Cunt,” I say.

Naomi places her lips on mine. It's as if she wants to breathe my breath. She puts her hand over mine on her cunt and rubs faster and faster. She's writhing and moving her hips.

Then she gasps. “Oh, I knew you'd make me come really good. I'm only sorry you couldn't share the feeling. But you will if you do as I say. Remember: the pills go under your tongue, not down your throat.”

“They'll kill us.”

“We're going to die anyway!” Naomi says. “Face it, Granger, we're being punished for the sins of our parents, whoever they were! So let's go out in style. You and me, Granger. Let's fuck our way to the gates of Hell.”

“What about your foster parents?” I say. “Don't you care about hurting them?”

She rolls up her sleeve, and I gasp at the sight of slash marks.

“This is what they've done to me,” she bitterly says. “I have to hide my arms all the time. Yet a couple of people have spotted my scars. I've made up a pretty good story about cutting myself because I'm so depressed. But you know as well as I do that these are wounds from blood-drinkers.”

She bites her lip in anger. “Yeah, Granger, you think of my foster parents as nice people. But they've been bleeding me and drinking my blood ever since I can remember. Why do you think they kept adopting Viagra baby after Viagra baby? So they could swing.”

“Your parents? They must be forty-five.”

“Of course they're too old! But they can't give it up. The Viagra addiction hasn't gone away, Granger, it's only gone underground. My foster parents hide it behind their religious devotion. That altar you've seen in our living room? It's where they conduct their orgies. And they use my blood to supercharge their sex drive.”

“That's horrifying.”

“They take just enough of my blood to make them turned on like they were teenagers. They stop bleeding me when I pass out. They're timing it to make sure I have enough left so I die from natural Viagra-baby causes.”

“You should report them.”

“I'd be the one blamed for it. Now, you tell me about your experiences with blood-drinkers.”

I shake my head.

“I don't believe you, Granger.” I give in as she pulls up my shirtsleeves, yanks up my T-shirt, then searches under my pants leg. Her eyes glitter as she finds the long scars on my calf.

“Tell me about the people who did it,” she says, running her fingers along the scars.

“You know how tourist blood-drinkers are always coming to town?” I say.

Naomi nods.

“The police say they discourage it, but somehow the drinkers get past them.”