ADULTS ONLY
The work that follows contains material only suitable for adults.
THE GARDEN OF IDIN
1
ABDUCTION
The
bards would agree that it all began with a dream. But where the dream began and
who the Dreamer was is unresolved... and the whole mess was completely lost to
Donald Talbot as he pushed open the front door of the two-story cabin deep in
the snow-covered hills known as Caribou, twenty miles west of Seward Alaska.
The area where the cabin squatted was remote and could only be reached by
snow-machines in the wintertime, or snow-mobiles as they were commonly referred
to by those living in the “Lower 48”, and by all terrain vehicles in the
summertime. Donald fumbled with the flashlight.
He smiled a happy smile, thoughts turned to the party they would be
having that night, a small rave, with music provided by him. His deejay's
equipment was hooked to the back of his El Tigre', and once he got the
generator going he could begin to set up and have things ready by the time the
rest of the gang arrived.
Talbot wasn't a True Believer, one
who believes in a higher power, except maybe in the Marvel-Comic-Stan-Lee sense
of believing in heroes and what they do. He was thirty-two, single, and had
been all over the states living as a pariah, being homeless. But he did meet a
lot of interesting people along the way, some he would just as soon not to have
met. He had listened to The Old Rugged Cross about 64 times, and Amazing
Grace about a hundred. And he slept in shelters that smelled of rotten feet
and sweaty bodies. And he heard sermons from preachers belaboring that their
life was just like that of the homeless people in the room, but that they
turned theirs lives over to the Almighty, and now their life was peaches and
cream with a stamp of salvation.
And that is why the homeless are
homeless. Because they don't have their fiddles tuned with the Almighty...
( And that is why the rain falls on
the just and unjust. And why a CEO isn't much happier than a day laborer...)
Talbot laughed as he headed
toward the storage area to gather wood for the wood-stove
(It was funny. Ahh-come on, you
know it was funny.)
Talbot moved wood from the
storage to the wood-stove, and set it ablaze. It was currently 16-degrees
inside the cabin, Donald had planned to have it considerably warmer by the time
the party arrived.
Talbot was a good-looking man of 194 pounds that wore his hair short, crew-cut
short. His eyes were green, and his fingers long—“artist's fingers” he was
told; he had the voice, he had the personality, he didn't believe in hostility,
and he had the smile, and he had all of his teeth.
I think if it rained on the unjust
just a little more, they might get the picture.
Before the streets Donald had
been a partaker in a seven-year Pentecostal experiment gone bad. And then,
subsequently, so did Talbot.
He had become a radio-personality
merely by chance. A radio station was taking auditions, and Donald just decided
to show up and see what was what. And the next thing is he's getting
phone-calls, and fan-mail, and if he had somehow touched the flame of
success, he knew he didn't want to let go. Because being a
radio-personality took him places he otherwise wouldn't be able to go. Cool and
classy parties, sometimes in parking-lots where contests were held, He got
back-stage passes to concerts, and he met more young ladies than he thought he
would have a chance to. A lot of roses were given and reciprocated. And Talbot
was finally happy again.
(Is that so?) A small still
voice chided in Talbot's ears.(Then how come in almost thirty years you have
only been laid five times…?
“Shut up.” Donald said aloud.
“I'm very particular who I make love to.”
( You mean dream about
fucking.)
Donald Talbot wasn't even aware that
he was an undiagnosed bipolar with schizoaffective tendencies. He started
hearing voices when he was about ten. They scared the hell out of him. There
were no occupants of these voices he heard. And he didn't hear them in his mind,
rather he heard them as audio hallucinations. His father had beaten him when he
claimed to hear voices, apparently Donald was just trying to get attention by
scaring people. But he wasn't. And the beatings that he got from hearing voices
didn't make the voices stop or go away, Donald just learned not to talk about
them. After a time he grew used to them so that they didn't scare him anymore.
He chalked it up as an overactive imagination and that was that. Besides he
only heard voices when he was on a downward spiral of depression, that is save
one, which he heard more often than not. It sounded like himself talking to
him, and it spoke like a half-assed guardian angel. Maybe it was his Id or his
ego, he didn't know.
With the fire going, he could start up
the generator and get his deejay's equipment outside from the trailer that he
pulled behind the El Tigre', and start setting up. Maybe he would be finished
by the time the rest of the gang arrived. He had a computer and a sound-system,
and he had lights that flashed and danced sequentially.
He started with the lights first.
(What? Is it the cup-size that's
been the problem? Not every woman can have a rack that you can see coming
around the corner. Pussy is pussy.)
No, It's not.
(What? Are you a connoisseur now?)
Donald said nothing. He simply
went back to the storage and started the generator. Then he began setting up
his equipment.
(So what do you think?)
What?
(I said, what do you think?)
About what?
(Not about what, about whom.)
Alright, whom then?
(Dude, are you thick? No wonder you
don't get laid. What the fuck do you think about Melisa?)
What?
(What do you think her cup-size
is, 38 double d?)
I'm not thinking about her cup size.
Would you just shut up?
(Prude boy. Hey you're not going to
blow your wad before you make her moan, are ya'? Not like you did with that
last smokin' fox. Babes sort of tend to frown on that sort of thing.)
Could I help it? I was pent for
fucksake! Damn. Would you please just shut up?!
(Prudeboy. Maybe if you whacked it a
little, you wouldn't be so pent.)
I whack it.
(Once a month, maybe. Prudeboy.)
Drop dead.
(After you...)
The sound of thunder shook the
two-story cabin and Donald surmised that the rest of the gang had arrived. The
fire was blazing in the hot-stove, and the place was heating up nicely. Talbot
set a speaker down on the table, and got up and went to the door. He expected to hear the voices of
young men and women outside, speaking excitedly, the girls remarking on how
pretty the cabin looked under the light of the moon. He anticipated
someone--probably Jameson, stepping heavily onto the porch and pushing open the
door before Donald could even reach it.
(And
what is it about Jameson?)
What?
(Oh,
I know. Not only is he good-looking and got a bod to boot, but he's also
charming AND intelligent. He's got money. And his dick is probably bigger than
yours.)
“Sonofabitch, shut the fuck up!”
(Careful
microscopic puny dick, they may hear you outside.)
To his surprise, when Donald
opened the front door, he discovered the outside to be just as it was before he
entered the cabin.
“That’s strange, I could have
sworn I heard….” Trailing off, Donald listened to the quiet crisp night air.
Surely he should be able to hear the sound of snow-machines by now. Straining,
Donald cocked his head and scrutinized the acute silence. Not even an echo or a
hint that the crew was approaching. Maybe someone had engine trouble. After a
couple of moments of weighing the possibility, Donald decided to retrieve his helmet
and climb back onto his Tigre’.
A
faint drone caught his attention before he could turn around and head back
inside. Donald spied movement out of the corner of his eye, and something
flashed briefly in the darkness of the surrounding woods. The form stepped out
of the compilation of trees, it was, It looked like a human in high-tech
state-of-the-art armor.
And yet…this visitor somehow seemed…alien. He couldn’t tell if it was a
man or a woman, as the head was covered by a helmet, with a face-shield that
made the individual look like an insect.
Don almost wet
himself, and thoughts of running back inside the cabin-slamming the door shut,
and getting the shotgun, hammered in admonition just beyond his skull. It was
then that he remembered that the shotgun was still with his Tigre’. The
form moved forward in
motions as fluid as they were animated.
Who the hell is that?!
(Not
WHO. What…? I think-)
And then Don had a strange
thought that would not let him go.
Alien…?
“Oh shit, it's an invasion!”
In
a voice as mechanical as the mechanoid’s appearance the figure spoke. “Aaros Rantori, I have
need…a need for…your seed.”
Donald promptly fell on his butt
in the snow. Then in an outbreak of panic, the young man struggled frenetically
to get back on his feet. He wasn’t exactly certain what it was that the mechanoid
had said, but he was sure that he didn’t like the sound of it. Donald lost
his footing, and slipped in the snow. Once. Twice. Don scrabbled up the wooden
porch. He thought that the mechanoid almost had him as he dived through the doorway of the cabin. He
slammed the door shut immediately behind him. “Shit, there’s no lock!”
Experience in Alaska had taught those that periodically resided in the woods
that there was no reason to put locks on your cabins, it just gave the bears
one more thing to break during the warm months that were the summertime when
the furry free-loaders busted into your cabin looking for food. Donald felt
relatively screwed.
Wait.
The wood-stove.
(What
are you going to do? Set the cabin on fire?)
Fuck,
not now. I need to reach the poker. It could serve as a weapon.
(Oh, right. And while you’re at it you might
try some harsh language as well.)
Have you got any
better ideas?
(Put your head between
your legs and kiss your ass--)
The door came open and fell to the
side heavily as Don reached for the poker.
The giant wasn’t as large as it had first appeared, and even though its mechanical frame filled the doorway there was no need for it to duck its…(head?), as it stepped into the cabin. Still its presence suggested menace and foreboding, a formidable opponent without question. Donald held onto the poker in the same manner that he had seen many actors in movies do when left with no other choice.
“Aaros
Rantori, I have need of your seed.”
(Open up and say ahh, it’s anal-probe time.)
Not
if I have anything to say about it.
Suddenly the mechanoid lifted an appendage that resembled an arm. There
followed a brilliant flash of blue-green light. The last thing that Donald
remembered as he fell toward the darkness of swelling unconsciousness, was that
his balls were tingling.
2
MARITISEIS
The wave that Donald’s naked back rested on was like satin, rolling in
a manner that suggested he was gently undulating on waves of some congruous
substance that melded with his body, sensations faint and stimulating gently rippled up and down the length of the
man’s body. It was almost as if he rested on something alive. He was too weak
to care. And yet another part of him moved with the motion, and
delighted in the sensation…
He
couldn’t move his hands or his feet, though he tried, he could barely feel
them. It was almost like they were asleep, without the pins and needles. He was
spread-eagle in the semi-darkness. His eyes fluttered open momentarily and Donald caught a glimpse of more
forms…alien, mechanoid that had accosted him
in the cabin-there were three. Donald found that he wasn’t surprised. Neither was he taken aback when
they left the futuristic bed-chamber that he resided in and allowed for the initial visitor to enter. The door hissed closed behind the
presence.
(Time for your anal-probe.)
Yeah?’ Donald mused abstractedly. And how is that gonna’
happen when I’m lying on my back, spread-eagle?
(Do you really want to
know?)
NO.
The mechanoid seem to regard the man silently for a moment before
two appendages reached up and under and to either side of the
alien’s helmet. Donald
shuddered in spite of himself, shivered from a cold that was not there in the
semi-darkness of the foreign environment. A noise similar to the door sliding closed ensued, followed
by tiny jets of air escaping confinement. The helmet wavered for a moment and then vanished, the
countenance beyond made Donald forget all about Melissa.
Looking
at the face before him, Donald believed that it was quite possible that he
would never look at another woman again, without seeing her as anything but
ordinary. This creature was indescribably breathtaking! Her features were as
exotic as they suggested eroticism. Her skin was like moonlight reflecting a
rainbow, her eyes were pools of scintillating and fiery emeralds, her lips were
full and enticing, as blue as her hair was currently, however the flowing
tresses that fell past her
shoulders changed colors like a mood-ring; from shades of blue to shades of
purple…to shades of pink…to white…and then a slow flowing combination of all
colors. Donald felt his breath catch in his throat. The alien woman smiled
slightly then began removing the other pieces of her environment suit, setting
the garments in a sophisticated wall locker.
The
room, what Donald could see of it, wasn't as alien as he imagined it might have
been; it actually seem well-suited for the beauty held within it. In an
atmosphere that was exotic as well as erotic,
lush pictures of an otherworldly landscape hung with vibrant color upon the walls;
sculptures, mostly busts of women
interacting seductively with one another, rested on tables or mounts placed
strategically about the ballroom sized area. And the women had tails!
“Aaros Rantori, I have need of your seed.” The woman’s voice was a
silken purr of sensuality.
Have need of my…what? My…seed…?
(I
guess now wouldn’t be the time to tell her that you’re not this Aros
Ran-whatsa-whozitz.)
The sound of a zipper being pulled down provoked a slight stirring in
Donald’s loins.
(Holy cripes! Look at the size of those tits!)
Donald did so and his pulse quickened, even as he found it suddenly
difficult to swallow.
(Those are Special K easily!)
Special K is what the voice
considered triple-k cup-size. The female alien’s breast were not quite that
big. But they were larger than anything Talbot had ever encountered up close.
The female alien stepped free from her jumpsuit and stood naked before
the widening eyes of the man on the undulating bed. Except for the obvious she
looked every bit like a statuesque goddess of voluptuous proportions. The
nipples of her firm, round, and voluminous breasts were slightly lighter in
color than those of her lips, they stood erect, whispering alluringly, while
stark white hair accentuated her path to paradise. Donald was all at once
aroused.