"Invasive Species"

[LitWriter2013]

THIS IS TEMPORARILY ON HOLD. YOU'RE FREE TO READ IT, BUT THE ROLE PLAY ISN'T GOING FORWARD UNTIL I HAVE SOME MORE TIME. THANKS, AND SORRY.

"Invasive Species"​

(OOC: For info on the role play, see the bottom.)


"Quiet down, please," the speaker at the podium repeated for the umpteenth time that evening. "Quiet! Please, let's have some order!"

Henry Thomas was tired of the mayhem that had persisted throughout the three hour long City Council meeting. He stood from his seat in the corner, picked up the cordless Guest microphone that had been passed about the two hundred attendees all evening, and held it up close to one of the PA speakers. The screeching feedback reverberated through the room, causing many to slap their hands over their ears and all to shut up and take notice of him.

"Listen, folks," the custodian began. His voice was powerful enough, the room was now quiet enough, and his reputation as one of the town's most loyal and hard working employees made use of the microphone unnecessary.

"Ten years ago, when the Knobbies arrived--"

Henry looked toward the podium and took notice of the Mayor's sharp glare at the use of the commonly used slur for the Rettue species. He also ignored the look without missing a beat.

"--and the Federal Government went looking for places to set up relocation camps, y'all were up in arms. 'Not in my backyard!' y'all acreamed and hollered. You marched and protested ... and y'all even helped vote out a Congressman who for thirty years brought money and jobs to Lane County ... far more than any County this size deserved deserved, and you did it because he just suggested that we consider letting the Knobbies put down roots here."

All about the room, expressions of guilt began filling faces. And it wasn't just for what the citizenry had done in the past, but for what they were trying to do in the present and near future, as well.

"And now, when you start hearing stories about how good'a laborers the Knobbies are ...about how they work for peanuts, about how they can do just about anything without hardly any training, about how they expect little more that a hole in the ground out back to lay their head down at night ...now all of a sudden y'all want one, like their some kind'a pet or something."

The Mayor leaned into his own microohone, saying politely, "Thank you, Mister Thomas--"

"I ain't through yet ...and don't tell me I don't have the floor, 'cause I'm the one that cleans these floors for y'all, and I'm probably gonna be the first one the City replaces with one of those slave-wages Knobbies."

The Mayor stepped back with a resigned expression.

Henry looked back to the crowd, which by now was listening intently, whether in agreement or not. "Listen. I know what y'all want. Y'all want to sit back in your lazy asses and watch one of these aliens do your work for ya ...cheaper, faster, better. Believe me! I want one, too. But I'm gonna tell you right now ...you may think that one of those bumpy headed aliens is the answer to all of your menial labor problems, but there ain't nothing that a Knobbie can do that I can't do better."



A hundred miles away in Carlton -- the first town to approve and build a Federally subsidized Rettue Reservation -- Della Woodbridge was splayed out upon her bed naked, eyes fixed dazedly on the ceiling. Her lightly trembling body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her breathing was still shallow and erratic, despite the fact that it had been twenty minutes since her lover had ceased the physical stimulation that had led to her seventh orgasm of the night.

The Rettue crouched in the corner -- a normal idle position for the aliens -- and watched her with great interest. Della was his first human sex partner, eventhough he'd been in training for such acts for almost four months. His Trainer had told him to expect almost explosive reactions from her to his skillful touch, but he truly hadn't expected this!

He stood and stuck his head out the window. The stars told him that it was almost midnight. Her husband would be home soon. He crossed to Della's bed and in his broken, second-language English, he asked, "You enjoyed self much?"

It took a moment for her brain -- still under the euphoric influence -- to comprehend the words. She laughed loudly. "Oh, GOD, yes! It was everything Helen said it would be."

The Rettue bid her farewell and crawled out the window, the same way he'd arrived. He hurried across three different crop fields before arriving at the vehicle parked under the limbs of a huge Maple. His Trainer asked in their own tongue, [[[ Is it done? ]]]

[[[ Yes, ]]] the Rettue said. [[[ She has been impregnated. ]]]

The Trainer smiled. [[[ Good work. You have completed your mission with honor and skill. You will join your ancestors as a hero to your people. ]]]

The Rettue smiled, pleased at his Trainer's praised. The Trainer fired up the very Human mode of transportation and shot it into the dark. Twenty minutes later, after negotiating some back roads to avoid exposure to the occasional human, the car arrived at the reservation gates. The Trainer confirmed his identity -- "Trusted Courier" -- with the Human Guards at the outer gate, then repeated the step, simply a formality, with the Rettue Guards at the inner gate. He drove deeper into the Reservation and stopped before what had once been a Baptist Church but now served a different religion. Two Rettue in intricate robes and hats emerged to meet him.

"Please take our honored friend to the Temple and prepare him for Service."

The robed men took the now expired Rettue gently into their arms and carried his corpse inside, a hero to his species.

(OOC: There is an ISO Writers posting in the Sexual Role Play "Seeking" thread about this Role Play.)

 

[LitWriter2013]

"Meet The Press" hadn't tackled a subject this sexually graphic since the previous President revealed shortly after winning reelection that she was bi-sexual.

"You're telling me that this is a civil liberties issue...?"

"Of course it is. Just as with women's suffrage, the Civil Rights movement for blacks, Gay Marriage--"

"But they aren't American Citizens! How can they expect to--"

"They aren't human! Forget whether they are American Citizens or should have rights under the Constitution of the United--"

"But they do live in the US, and Tyler versus United States states that even non-citizens--"

"They're from outer space--"

"That even non-citizens have the same right under the Constitution--"

"For crying out loud--"

"--as US citizens. You're going to deny them these rights just because where they came from is a little bit farther away than Mexico, or Pakistan, or--"

"Outer space!"

Victor entered the trailer house and was bombarded by the debate blaring out of the huge speakers that were far too large for his family's little, metal home on wheels. "What the hell are you watching?"

"Sunday news shows," his brother said. "They're talking about--"

"'Meet The Press'? Victor laughed. "What the hell are you doing watching 'Meet The Press'?"

He snatched a cold pop from the little ice box and started to head back out into the hot, Arizona sun again.

"They're talking about the Knobbies," his brother said.

"Who cares?" Victor called back, hitting the ground and kicking up the brown dust.

"They're talking about the Knobbies fucking human women!"

The younger teen waited a moment, a smirk filling his face.

Victor's face came into the doorway, an expression of dismay upon it. "Ex-cuse me?"

His brother laughed and pointed back to the television as the exchange continued.

"...to prevent acts of intimacy between the the Rettue and Humans harks back to the days when laws prevented acts of intimacy between the human races."

"It's not the same thing to--"

"But it is the same thing! Blacks and whites were not allowed to copulate, let alone marry, until the antiquated laws were overturned! Same sex couples were not--"

"They're aliens! They're not even human! How can you compare an African-American and--"

The debate went back and forth, on and on. Victor just stared through the trailer's open door, his mouth wide open. Politicians and pundits were actually debating whether is was or was not appropriate for a Knobbie to fuck a human? Are you kidding me?

Then, his stomach turned over with a horrifying thought. "Where is Rachel?"

His younger brother turned to him and smiled. He turned more, looking out the trailer's front window and pointing to the building that was once a Medium Security Penitentiary before budget cuts caused its closure. These days, with the guard towers removed and the barred doors and gates replaced by regular doors, it was a Rettue Reservation.

"Volunteering with the Knobbies, like she does every Thursday.

Victor pulled out of the trailer house and took several steps in the direction of the Reservation. His sister was just a few weeks from her 19th birthday and yet had had five lovers that Victor knew about. If she knew about this Rettue-Human sex story, would she be crazy enough to do such a thing?

"Yes," he murmured to himself. If anyone in town was going to part her thighs for a Martian, it was going to be Rachel. "Fuck!"

 

[LitWriter2013]

The Medical Examiner had only been told he had a Hit and Run victim. It was a almost sunrise on a Saturday morning, so he assumed it was some drunk who'd stepped out in front of a car or -- even more tragic -- a sober person who'd stepped out in front of a drunk. He pulled back the sheet and grimaced, reeling back in shock. "What the fuck?"

The two Deputies erupted in laughter, high fiving and fist bumping as they congratulated one another on another fine prank.

"Not funny!" the Doctor snapped, looking down at the alien corpse. When the Deputies still didn't give him the response he wanted, he pickup up a chunk of biological matter from atop a scale and tossed it at one of the law officers.

As the meat -- something the Deputy assumed was part of a human being's body -- hit and stuck to his uniform, he slapped it away, asking in panic, "Jesus, Doc, what the fuck was that?"

"Pastrami, you idiot." The ME picked up another slice off the scale and stuffed it into his mouth, causing the second Deputy to again erupt in laughter.

The County's only Medical Examiner -- the man the locals called The Doctor of Death for his recent and very graphic book about how people die -- looked down to the body laid out on the stretcher and asked, "What the hell happened?"

The pastrami-assaulted Deputy answered, "A group of Knobbie-haters found him outside the--"

"Back up!" the ME said with a harsh tone. When the Deputy literally took a step backwards, the doctor rolled his eyes and clarified, "I meant don't use that term in here. You're supposed to be a professional. I suppose you call Blacks niggers and Mexicans spics, too?"

When the Deputy hesitated, the ME ordered him out of the morgue. He said to the other cop, "What about you?"

"Weren't me who said it, Doc," the Deputy answered quickly, putting his hands up in a surrender gesture. "But you have to admit. Compared to the previous immigration issues the United States has faced and the discrimination that came with it--"

"Shut up," the ME said softly, not wanting to hear more about whether or not the Federal Government should have begun distributing the aliens around the country instead of keeping them all bound up in that hell hole of an Internment Camp in Central Montana. "Tell me what happened."

The Deputy pulled out his pocket notebook but was explaining off the top of his head right away. "Well, the Ret-too was in town--"

"Ret-t'yew," the ME interrupted. When the Deputy looked confused the ME explained, "Ret, like pet ... tea, like the drink ... and yew, like the tree. Or if you prefer, you, as in ... you were about to tell me what the hell happened to this Ret-t'yew."

"Ret-t-yew," the Deputy tried, pronouncing three syllables.

"But as two syllables," the ME said, already hovering over the corpse. "Ret-t'yew."

The Deputy tried the name a couple of times, then -- seeing the Doc look up impatiently -- went back to his notebook and said, "He got caught outside the Reservation, and four or five guys jumped him. Witnesses said they were using slurs and accusing him of having sex with human females. They said that--"

"They...?"

"The witnesses. They said the guys started a fight, and when the ... Ret-t'yew ran, one of them hopped in a car and ran him down."

"Not much damage for a hit and run," the Doc said, looking the body over closely.

"Well, they didn't exactly run over him. The guys had been drinking, and I guess the guy behind the wheel actually hit a mail box, which hit the Rettue ... killing him."

"Hmm..." the ME murmured. "Fragile creatures, I guess."

"Are you going to do an autopsy?"

The ME laughed. "And go to Federal Prison? Not a chance. The Feds said no one touches a Rettue body for any reason ... so ... he lies here just as he is until they come to pick him up."

A couple of minutes passed, during which the Doc examined the body -- lifting his appendages and turning his head this way and that -- and during which the Deputy stood there in silence with an anxious expression on his face.

When the ME finally looked up at the Deputy, he asked, "Is there something else, Deputy."

The cop hesitated, smirking excitedly, before finally asking, "Don't you want to look at it?"

"Look at what?"

"It's ... you know." The Deputy's gaze shifted to the alien's groin area before returning to the Doc. He said quietly, as if he was afraid someone was listening in, "His dick."

"His dick?" the ME repeated, chuckling. "You want to look at the alien corpse's penis?"

The deputy looked hesitant to respond, but finally couldn't hold it in any more. "Women ... human woman are jumping up and down to have sex with these guys. They say it's ... Anyway, aren't you kind of curious...?"

"About...?"

This time, the Deputy pointed directly to the groin of the Rettue. "That!"

"You're asking me if I'm curious about ... what? What an alien's penis looks like?"

"Yes!" The Deputy sounded like a kid at Christmas, waiting to open his first present. "What the hell are all of these women going goo-goo ga-ga over?"

The ME shook his head in dismay and pointed to the exit. "Go ... away."

The Deputy hesitated, but after a moment -- realizing that the Doc wasn't going to satisfy his curiosity -- he left.

The Doc pulled the sheet back up over the body, grabbed the rest of his pastrami, and began to head for the door. But he stopped, looking back at the corpse. He looked to the door, then actually walked to and locked it. He set the plate of meat aside and returned to pull the sheet off the Rettue's body. He hesitated, looking the alien over.

The Rettue were a very humanoid-looking creature. Two legs, two arms, head, torso: just like humans. They had a prehensile tail, which was so long that when the Rettue was standing, as much as two feet of it could touch the ground. The aliens typically didn't allow it to do so, and some Humans thought it was very interesting -- even cute -- that their tail always seemed to be moving about, like that of a cat stalking a mouse in the grass.

While they had five toes on their feet and five fingers on their hands, they had no opposable thumbs. Evolutionary biologists pointed to the prehensile tail and non-opposable thumbs as evidence that the aliens had evolved from a primate species more similar to Earth's New World monkeys than from the Old World ape-like creatures humans were thought to have evolved from. But the Rettue refused to discuss their evolutionary origins, and the topic only raised the hackles of Creationists.

The aliens' skin was grayish in color, just a shade lighter than an African elephant, and it was covered by lighter gray hair that had been described by one Nightly News commentator as the "Miami Vice stubble" that made Don Johnson such a heartthrob in the 1980s.

As the ME looked over the body, it appeared that the only places where the hair wasn't present was on the palms. If he'd been able to remove the alien's clothes -- which were simply Human clothes with a hole designed or cut out for the tail -- he would have found the bottoms of the feet, the arm pits, and the groin area free of hair as well, very similar to humans.

What he couldn't see because of the clothes but knew from the Medical and Government reports was that the physiology of the Rettue body was considerably different from that of humans. Externally, if you had stood a Human and Rettue of the same height side by side, you would have found the latter wider at the shoulders by about a third but narrower at the waist by a very dramatic half. This severe thinning at the waist -- where the spine and digestive systems were crammed so close together -- was protected by a rib cage system that was flexible yet strong and extended almost all the way to the groin.

This long rib cage severely restricted the alien's ability to twist its body. The Rettue could only twist their shoulders about 30 degrees, whereas a human in even poor shape could attain a difference between the direction their lower body was facing and their shoulders were facing by about 90 degrees. However, as with an Earth owl, the Rettue had additional vertebrae in their neck: standing face one direction, the aliens could attain a total twist of 270 degrees, thereby turning to their left to look at something that was actually to their right.

The Doc found that incredible. But, as with the Deputy and so many jealous human males these days, what the ME was really curious about was the Knobbie's dick. He was a medical professional, a man who -- when still a General Practitioner -- had examined many a man's penis and many a woman's vaginas. Looking at an alien's penis should have been just a medical curiosity, not a sexual one.

The old joke Size doesn't matter had taken on a whole new meaning. Was it size? Or was it technique? Maybe it was something hormonal or mystical or ... whatever! No one knew, and the ME certainly had no clue.

But the fact was, Rettue males were satisfying human females in ways that no human male or even the most advanced electronic and mechanical toy couldn't.

The Doc took another look at the Morgue door, worried that someone would suddenly enter, despite the fact that he'd just locked it a moment ago. The Feds had threatened life in prison for anyone who performed any kind of unauthorized medical treatment or test on a Rettue, alive or dead. That wasn't stopping anyone, though. The news was full of stories about what was being learned about the aliens by professionals through unauthorized examinations; as well as of the horrific stories about mutilations of the Rettue by non-professionals.

One of the most stomach retching stories had been of a man who had killed two Rettue and then used a filet knife to cut away the skin on the aliens' skulls that contained the small horn like bumps that had given the Rettue their nickname of Knobbies. A news release later claimed that the man had been "collecting scalps".

The ME looked to the alien's head. The four little horns located above the Rettue's eyes were about the size of half of a golf ball. Some people thought they were simply vestigial, with no functioning purpose. Others thought they might have sensory uses, like the antenna of an insect.

At this very moment, the Doc didn't really care. Like the Deputy, he was interested in the alien's penis. Why did these creatures from outer space seem to have the ability to drive women so absolutely crazy in bed?

He drew and released a deep breath, trying to get up his nerve. Finally, he unbuckled the alien's very human belt, unbuttoned and unzipped the alien's very human pants, and -- hesitating -- pulled down the alien's very human boxer shorts...

... only to find a seemingly very human looking penis. He stared at it for a moment, then -- with gloved hands -- gently lifted it away from the Rettue's body and examined it closely. It wasn't much different than a human male's sex organ: fleshy and hairless, a little over 7 inches long, a bit narrower in circumference than the ME would have expected for its length. It had a head that was similar to that of a man who had been circumcised, but the doctor could see that this was just its normal appearance and not the result of any medical procedure, religious or otherwise.

The ME shrugged, again recalling the old philosophical debate: Size matters. Apparently, he realized, it doesn't. He laughed, then put the alien's clothes back together and covered the corpse. What ever it was that the Rettue were doing to women, it certain wasn't being caused by their dick alone.

(OOC -- There is a "Part Two" to this post, but I don't have time to write it right now. Coming later tonight.)

(Another OOC -- Now that I have established a bit of the story, I am ready to have people begin posting. I already have 2 accepted characters and three more that I am reviewing. Please, do not post to the RP unless you have been told it is okay to do so. One writer sent his first post to me via PM because he wanted me to look at it, and it was so radically off topic that it could have been in a totally different RP. I just want to ensure that we are all on the same page. Thanks.)

 

[LitWriter2013]

The atmospheres inside and outside the hotel couldn't have been more polarized from one another.

Inside, a select group of local celebrities, politicians, activists, civil rights leaders, and more were having a Meet and Greet with the Elders of the Greelee clan that had recently taken up resident. The event was festive and lively, with hopeful speeches about the present and future by members of both species following an elegant dinner that featured the favorite dishes from both species as well.

Outside, however, the liveliness came in the form of loud, angry chants from anti-Rettue protestors who occasionally clashed with police and were hauled away with their wrists and ankles in plastic restraints.

Standing on a balcony outside a fourth floor suite, Trett looked down upon the protestors and marveled at the irony. Below him, he saw people of every color, or at least the "colors" within the human races were classified: white, black, red, yellow, brown; they were all down there. Over the years, decades, and centuries, these "colors" of people fought one another for a variety of reasons, and yet here they were now, unified in their hatred for the Rettue alone.

[[[ "It is time, Trett," ]]] a female spoke to him in his native tongue.

He turned, a solemn expression on his face. [[[ "I am ready. ]]]

He crossed the room, took the shorter Rettue's head in her hand, and lean forward, touching the two middle bumps on his head to her own. They maintained this position for almost a minute, then turned their heads -- to his left and her right -- to touch the bumps on that side. They twisted their heads the other direction, touched bumps on that side, moved back to the center, and again held that position for almost a minute.

It was the Rettue's belief that the bumps on their heads were portals through which they could share the life force of their souls. Touching in this way was as spiritual an act as the species could imagine. It was an important event for Trett, particularly since he was likely seeing his Life Partner for the last time. They had been meant to spend eternity together, but the Great Mother -- their God -- had made other plans, not just for Trett and his Life Partner but for the entire Rettue race.

And, it seemed, for the Human Race as well.

They separated and, without a word, Trett left the suite and proceeded to the lobby. His Trainer was there, talking to a pair of Clan Elders. Trett waited patiently to receive his Trainer's final instructions, but as the minutes passed, he began to notice the eyes of a particular woman in the crowd coming back to him often. Trett was used to Humans staring at him. The Rettue were still a novelty in most areas, even in those cities where they had nearby Reservations.

But this woman's gaze returned again and again, and Trett soon found himself compelled to approach her. He looked to his Trainer and saw the man roll his eyes: the conversation the Trainer was engaged in wasn't going to end soon.

He crossed toward the woman, looking her over well as he neared. She wore a hotel service uniform and a name tag that said "Tia". If Trett had been a human male from this part of Earth, he would undoubtedly have called he woman attractive, possibly beautiful. He would have been right, yet simply didn't know.

Part of Trett's training had been in recognizing what the Rettue didn't have but in which the humans placed a great deal of importance: race and nationality. Although Trett couldn't know her nationality, he had little doubt that she was what the people here in the United States called Hispanic.

She was looking at him during his last dozen or steps up to her, and he smiled to her as he stopped directly before her. As was tradition here, he stuck his hand out to her, and -- hoping she spoke English, as he hadn't been trained in Spanish -- said to her, "Greetings. My name is Trett of the Greelee Clan."