Unnatural Instinct: Abduction

12.

Sensing my wakefulness, the bright lights of my quarters switch on.

I can see you clearly now as I stand across the room. You stare at me and I stare at you, my feet rooted to the floor, uncertain whether you're real or just a lingering figment of the dream I was having. And yes, I was having a dream about you. A dream, which, surprisingly, started very much like this: with you in my room, though with our roles reversed. You were the one naked, not me.

If you're real, what are you doing here? Your eyes are thick with sleep and seem so bright in the light of my quarters. Your hair is all mussed up. Your lips are soft and pink. My heart skips a beat; you've never looked so lovely.

Lovely. I swallow. I can't be thinking like this about someone like you. It's ... it's ...

Unnatural.

I look down at myself, my mind a haze. I should get dressed. I should shout at you to leave. But the last thing I want to do is scare you. And the very last thing I want to do is have you stop staring at me the way you are right now.

My breathing rate increases. My heart pounds. My skin tingles like it did before when I felt sick. I look down at myself, hopeful that it won't happen again, not in front of you. But to my horror my penis has already grown double in size. It's not as big as before but I know it won't take long before it will be. I can't stop it. I can't move. And all you do is watch as it grows thicker and longer and rises higher and higher.

I feel dizzy. My stomach clenches down hard on a swirl of nausea. Sweat beads my skin. I clutch for the wall with a gasp, and that's when you rush over.

You say something in your language but I can't understand you. I grip hold of you as I stagger. It seems you're not frightened of me at all now, as you drape my arm over your shoulders and help me back to bed.

You say something again, your forehead all crinkled up, but again I can't understand you. I nod towards my suit still lying in a puddle on the floor. You rush over and find my intercom. Quickly, you hand it to me and I switch on the translator.

'Are you all right?' you say.

Taking long, deep breaths, I nod. You try not to look but fail. I don't blame you; I can't help looking either. In my lap, I've grown even bigger than I had in the shower. You're not helping, standing before me like you are, so close I can feel your warmth.

I go to cover it with my sheet but you seize my wrist. 'No,' you say. 'You saw me. It's only fair I get to see you.'

We stare at each other. You seem surprised by yourself. Releasing me, you quickly step back, your hands limp by your sides. I don't cover myself, though I feel myself grow more. I wince at a sudden pain that seems to rush from my testicles to the tip of my penis. The attire you're wearing is loose on you but your breasts still press against the fabric too much. It stirs things inside me. It makes me remember you in the lab, so helpless, with your thighs spread wide.

Clenching my fists in the sheets, I take a deep breath, trying to control myself with little luck. I wince at another had throb. 'You've infected me with something.'

You raise your eyebrows. 'Infected you? With what?'

'With some kind of bug. My species has little immunity against your diseases.'

You frown. 'Are you sick?'

I gesture at my lap.

Your frown deepens. Lines crease around your nose. 'I'm not to blame for that!' You suddenly realise what you've said and bite your lip. 'You're not sick. You're just ... aroused.'

I grunt, annoyed. As if I don't know! 'I understand that, but it shouldn't happen. My species no longer makes use of its sexual organs like your kind does. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a bath and fix this.'

Sliding off the bed, I make my way to the steam bath.

'I don't understand. How do you do it, then?' you say.

I don't answer.

Like before, I brace my hands against the wall as I let the shower take effect. I stand there a long time, much longer than before, but nothing seems to happen. If anything, it's getting worse. My penis is flushed red now, the throbbing is getting more painful and it's thicker and longer than ever. And there's more—there's an ache throughout my body that I've never experienced before and I begin to notice that I'm having difficulty concentrating.

Despite my dire situation, all I'm thinking about is you: your heaving breasts, the feel of the pressometer sliding inside you, the way you panted and sweated as you orgasmed. Shaking my head, I almost cry.

Finally, I'm forced to give up and stagger back into my quarters.

You stand, prepared to help me, but I wave you away as I march over to my work table and press a button on the side of my desk. A drawer slides open. Inside is the vaccine. I always keep one close by—just in case.

At a squeeze of its trigger, the needle pops out and I lift it to my arm.

'That's not going to work,' you say.

I inject, then place the now empty syringe back in its drawer. Sitting down in my chair, panting, I wait for it to take effect. You sit back down on the couch and watch me. Minutes tick by and my penis is still as hard as a rock. It should be working now.

'I told you. It's not a disease,' you say.

I don't respond.

'You have to fix it the normal way.'

'What would you know!' I snap.

'More than you, obviously,' you grumble, leaning back into the couch, folding your arms across your breasts.

Fifteen minutes tick by and nothing's happened. I drop my head into my hands.

'Here,' you say as you rise from the couch. 'Let me help. I can fix it.'

You approach me. My heart is pounding as I look up at you. 'What are you going to do?'

'Don't worry. It's not going to hurt.'

You kneel in front of me, between my outspread thighs. 'What are you going to do?' I repeat, this time breathlessly. Having you so close is making everything worse. I grimace at another hard throb.

'This.'

You grip onto my penis.