Alis, Please Don't Go (Star-Crossed

Series Book 1) C. Aiaria Lucas

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Alis, Please Don’t Go
Star-Crossed Series; Book One

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022-24 by C. Aiaria Lucas

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the author or publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN 979-8-9888371-0-7
Cover Design by C. Aiaria Lucas

Images by Deposit Photos and Pexels

www.interdimensionspress.com
 For the one in the stars…
you will always have my heart.
~c
 Recommended Reading List

Nobody Like You (Sun Soaked Mix) by Kaskade

Cosmic Love by Florence + the Machine
On Your Mind by Kaskade
Nada Valgo Sin Tu Amor (Instrumental Class Guitar Cover) by Juanma Natal (YouTube)
 Content/Trigger Warnings

Intended for adult audience. It is an open door romance, which means there will be explicit sexual content between the two
main characters. The following content warnings are meant to aid in the prevention of triggers while reading and as such, may
contain spoilers.
Bad language: mild, infrequent, mostly an exclamation during sex
Alcohol: mild- first scene- other people at the bar are drunk. Neither the MC's or their friends get drunk or abuse alcohol- only
scenes where there is a beer in someone’s hand and a scene where alcohol has been served
Sexual content: lots of fully described sex scenes including oral sex
Dematerialization: FMC's cloned body becomes particles and disappears
Grief and loss: for MMC on page when FMC dematerializes
Religious extremism: extreme ideas about love and evolution
Surprise pregnancy and birth: pregnancy, nursing, as well as otherworldly birth described in considerable detail, though not
graphicly (no blood or fluids discussed)
Erotic lactation: arousal and sex around drinking FMC's light-milk (super-charged breast milk)
Alis, Please Don't Go

C. Aiaria Lucas
 Contents

1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine
10. Ten
11. Eleven
12. Twelve
13. Thirteen
14. Fourteen
15. Fifteen
16. Sixteen
17. Seventeen
18. Eighteen
19. Nineteen
20. Twenty
21. Twenty-one
22. Twenty-two
23. Twenty-three
24. Twenty-four
25. Twenty-five
26. Twenty-six
27. Twenty-seven
28. Twenty-eight
Acknowledgements
 One

Alisterria

N oIf one in my society has desires. Not a single soul. They have already released themselves from the grasp of want and need.
I’m to advance, I must do that as well. Now that I am here on Earth I need to find him, the one from my visions. I have
watched him move about the city where he lives, but he always ends up at the same bar. I know instinctively that’s where he
will be. I have one chance to do this. I don’t even know him. How hard could it be?
I have everything I need for my brief Earthly escapade. The Sky Gods cloned a perfect human specimen living near him. She
is someone in her twenties, close to his age. She has long dark hair, green eyes, and red lips—just his type. I have access to her
knowledge and language files and can communicate and understand the customs here. Even her clothing has been replicated so
that I blend in.
I materialized just in front of the cloned human’s home. It is dark out, like my planet’s nightfall. By my internal navigation, I
know she lives about a mile from the bar. Navigating this newly cloned body is definitely not intuitive. My arms swing out of
sync with my legs. It feels wrong somehow. I wonder if, at any moment, I will topple and fall. Then there’s the density of this
body, its breathing system. It is odd to adapt to. How my feet are secured to the ground here makes me feel even heavier. On my
home planet of Iliam-isq my body floats freely, in spite of gravity.
Despite my crude beginnings, I’m getting the hang of walking. All I can think about is getting there, seeing him. I’ve planned
it all out, what I will say. I feel confident, although slightly nervous. I feel out of sorts. Everything is so different from home.
People pass by, laughing and talking. Smoke erupts from someone’s lips. I glance down as a furry creature brushes against my
leg. Startled, I spin around just as a human on a two-wheeled cycle rushes by me. On Iliam-isq there are trees and mountains. It
is simple. Nothing like this at all.
Up ahead, I see the familiar Diamond Sky Pub sign. Just like in my visions, the sign flashes with red neon lights. As I
approach, I hear the thrum of music playing. When I walk through the door, sound vibrates right to my core. My hands fly up to
protect my auricular sensors from the loud and obtrusive cacophony. Never have I heard such sounds. At home, we use
telepathy instead of speaking, and we certainly do not have harsh sounds like this. I adjust my hearing, taking it to a more
tolerable level.
Just as that is settled, my olfactory organ is accosted by a combination of—translating—alcohol-infused sweat, perfume and
cologne. The effect is nausea. I’m overwhelmed in every way. It all makes me wonder if this is even worth it. I’m swirling in
indecision when my eyes find him across the room.
Everything else around me falls away.
Music and unpleasant smells fade into the background. Pulsing lights flicker on undulating bodies as they sway in slow
motion. Everything, that is, except him. Dark, wavy hair, piercing blue eyes. I’d never forget those eyes.
I steady myself against the wall. Being this close to him feels unreal. My body reacts to the mere sight of him. My skin
flushes. My pulse races. My heart pounds. I feel unwell and I also feel the best I ever have. Such a strange combination. A
multitude of dimensions away, the feelings of desire were manageable. But now, with only a dance floor between us, I’m
quaking inside.
My eyes only see him as if in a bubble, cut off from the rest of the bar. Unsteady yet exhilarated, I take a deep breath and
begin my journey across the dance floor. My eyes take in the sight of him as I move. His body is perched at the bar, one butt
cheek on the stool, his leg taking the weight of him. Every little thing about him thrills me: the way he tilts his head sideways
when he laughs, the idiosyncratic way his hand grips his beer, pinky finger wrapped around the back. All I can see, all I can
breathe, is him.
Sparkling energy envelops my body in an aura of magical possibility. I maneuver swiftly around chaotic, inebriated dancers
who are too drunk to know they are drunk and too drunk to care. None of that bothers me. My mind is elsewhere. The gap
between us, this exquisite creature and I, is closing. The rush is intoxicating. It hits me hard how I envisioned this moment a
hundred million times before, and now it is really happening.
What an odd feeling, that my need to connect with him nearly outweighs my need for air. I wonder if it is always like this for
humans. If everyone feels this way or if it is just me.
All I know is that I can’t turn around now. I must meet him. I can’t live another moment not knowing who he is and why he
occupies my visions. My feelings go beyond desire; they are nearly obsession.
I’m captivated, infatuated, and mesmerized by this man, even though I have never spoken with him. His name is still
unknown. His body is like a magnet, pulling me towards him, and I put up little resistance.
A few steps away and there’s no one between us now. I quiver. I've been staring at him intently since I got to the bar. That
little crooked smile. His straight white teeth. The way his dark jeans meld to his body. His muscular physique is highlighted by
the fitted shirt he’s wearing. I’m overcome with emotion, being so close.
This whole time, he seemed oblivious to me, to my presence. As I approach, he seems to catch a glimpse of me out of the
corner of his eye, suddenly turning and staring right at me. Intense prickly heat erupts across my chest. His piercing blue eyes,
encased in dark lashes, are wide and full of flickering lights. My knees nearly buckle.
He’s looking right into me.
Standing in front of him now, my senses are invigorated. My body is awakening in his presence. His yummy, clean-shaven
face and luscious lips. I breathe his musky scent in on my inhalation. I exhale audibly, rolling in his energy, every part of me on
fire. I can’t look away. I can’t imagine not having these desirous, lusty feelings. All of which is unfortunate because that is the
goal of my trip.
He flashes one of his signature half-smiles. “Hey.”
My breath catches; my body tenses. Time stands still. The sound of his deep, clear voice makes me tremble. I feel weak.
What a revelation. In my visions, I never heard him speak. So much anticipation. I want to say something, anything, but I can’t.
His sparkly blue eyes melt me as he speaks again. “I’m Jon.”
Despite all the times I imagined what I’d say, I open my mouth and garbage emerges. “You… I… now… when…” My
communication program is faltering. I’m dying inside.
He chuckles, then glances away. He swallows hard, setting down his beer. Something seems to come over him. He leans in;
his eyes searching mine. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter, maybe somewhere we can talk?”
My whole body responds with a resounding yes and I nod vigorously.
Jon stands for the first time in his dark jeans and white t-shirt. My eyes follow him and I tilt my head upwards. I am now
staring up at his towering six-foot-tall figure. He’s nearly half a foot taller than me. I grin, imagining that if I stand on my toes, I
could reach his lips. My fingers unconsciously graze my lips, which tingle at the thought. My heart races.
Jon takes my hand in his, causing an electric current to zap my fingertips. I’m towed behind him as he effortlessly leads me
through the sea of sweaty, drunk dancers and out into the night air. It is cool and crisp, and my thin pleather jacket isn’t keeping
me warm. My cloned body shivers. I’m unaccustomed to atmospheric temperature changes. Despite all the barriers, I’ve gone
through so much effort to get where I am right now, with Jon by my side. I will not let a chill stand in my way.
Standing out in front of the bar, I feel Jon eyeing me carefully. In a jarring shift, prickly heat runs up the sides of my neck and
pools under my arms; my face is feverish, my palms sweat, and my pulse races in response. My hand is in his; there’s a
whirlwind of emotions.
His charming smile disarms me. “Now that we can hear one another, what’s your name?”
My emotions stirring, I look into his deep blue eyes. “Alisterria,” I reply softly. Speaking aloud still feels funny.
He knits his brow. “That is an unusual name… beautiful… but unusual, nonetheless.” He glances up toward the sky and says
my name aloud again. “Alisterria…” A hot wave of energy rushes through my body in response. “Alisterria…” The sound of
my name from his lips makes my heart skip a beat. “Alisterria…” He seems oblivious to the effect he is having on me.
Say it again and again and again!
Somebody opens the door of the nearby bar, and the sudden burst of loud music breaks the spell. The door closes and we
look at each other. Jon mimes ‘do you wanna?’ and points down the sidewalk. I nod. Our fingers are still intertwined, my body
by his side as we walk. I would follow him anywhere. Not that I should. This planet is foreign to me; he is technically a
stranger. Perhaps it is wrong to follow so blindly without asking questions. But there is something about him. There is a natural
connection between us. I trust him with my life. In his presence, I can breathe. It feels like we aren’t just meeting; we are
reuniting.
He breaks the silence as we walk. “So, Alisterria, am I going to know anything about you before the night is through?”
For a moment I forget that I have so many secrets and whisper, “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. I was in the bar with my friends, then you walked over and, really, I don’t know why, but I felt something in
you. I wanted to know more.”
“Yeah, I felt something, too.”
 He glances over at me. “So, you felt something and just walked up to me, is that it?”
My skin flushes. “Yes. I mean, I didn’t know why, but…”
Jon squeezes my hand gently. “I’ve never felt this way before.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. He’s so close. I wish he would—translating—I wish he would kiss me. Instead, his eyes
gaze down at me. These soft, swirling feelings rush over the surface of my skin. Then, as suddenly as they came, they retreat. I
feel him pull away.
His tone is whimsical as he looks towards the sky. “So, we were pulled together by some sort of destiny or divine
intervention.”
It is not truly that way. Everything in my world tried to keep us apart, but I play along anyway. “Yes, and we couldn’t help it.
We were magnetically drawn together by the cosmos.”
His eyes gleam. “The course of their lives changed in an instant,” Jon artistically narrates our storyline, “Once their eyes
met, their souls newly inspired by the enlightening of the moment, of their connection… a stormy sea of cosmic fate pushed
them together, never to be alone again!”
I must hold my stomach; I’m laughing so hard. I really appreciate his dedication to the role.
“M’lady, what has you laughing so hysterically?” he says in his over-the-top narration voice. “Do you find me ridiculous?
Just say so. Just say so if it be true.”
Barely able to speak through my giggles, I say, “I don’t find you ridiculous at all. I find you delicious.” My hand pops over
my mouth in instant regret. My face and neck flush.
Jon stops walking and I look up into his radiant blue eyes. He shifts my dark hair away from my face with his hand and
caresses the side of my alabaster cheek. “You do?” he asks softly.
I nod, my breath catching.
Then, he does this thing. The thing. His hand slides around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His warm energy swirls
around me, stirring my insides. Instinctually, I close my eyes. I know it is about to happen, yet when his soft lips touch mine I’m
surprised. I inhale sharply as electric currents run through me. Never have my lips felt such pleasure. My whole body tingles.
My lips say yes. My body cries for more.
When I open my eyes, his face is close enough that our noses touch. “Alisterria, I don’t know who you are, don’t know
anything about you, and yet I feel I know everything. You know what I mean?”
“I do.” I want to say more than that, something interesting, tell him how I really feel. But the intensity of our close connection
incapacitates me.
“Alisterria…” he says at last. “I…”
“I know…” I reply, somehow feeling every bit of his meaning. “Me too.”
It feels like forever, standing on the side of the street by the closed shops, backlit by neon lights. Forever, and yet no time has
passed. He is here. I am here. The moment lingers. The intensity persists.
He releases me from his gaze, and I tip slightly, unsteady in his presence. Gently, he pulls me along. “Come on. I want to
show you something.”
Jon escorts me down the curving sidewalk, down narrow alleyways, through a parking lot, and into a thick wooded area. The
area is barely lit, and I can hardly see where I am going, where he is taking me. Yet he guides me through with ease. I’m
beginning to wish I had a warmer jacket. I feel a shiver trying to overtake me, but I resist. Everything about this moment is so
beautiful and perfect; I don’t want to ruin it. I know my time is limited. The Sky Gods have granted me two weeks. I want to
savor every moment here with Jon.
I’m not exactly sure what two weeks are in terms of time, but that is how long the original human is gone. I know that if she
comes back early, I will be forced out of this reality and away from him. My cloned form and her real form cannot exist in the
same location at the same time. Even the thought of leaving makes me wince. I am finally here. The last thing I want is to leave.
The idea of losing him tears at my insides, shredding them apart.
He leads me carefully around a large rock. “Watch your step right here.” —then— “Duck down,” —and— “These bushes
are prickly, come around this way instead.”
The light of the moon, which was hidden in the thick, dense forest, is now shining down on a grassy knoll next to a small
flowing river. The river sparkles with the dancing moon. This place looks like a slice of heaven.
The air near the river is even colder, and I shiver violently. Jon responds by throwing his arms around me, squeezing me
tight. I’m immediately taken in by his scent. His touch makes me dizzy. But as I lean into him, I settle into his warm body. I wish
I had known that would be his response. I would have shivered much sooner.
The sound of the river flowing over rocks in his sweet forest sanctuary is tranquil. Being with him, having his body so close,
is like nothing I’ve ever known. He squeezes me tighter. “Mmm…” His pleasure is audible, and I melt further into his embrace.
I’m floating on air.
“This is one of my favorite spots in the city. Earlier, when I was looking into your eyes, I thought to bring you here.”
My head rests against his chest. “I’m glad that you did. It’s magical.”
 Wistfully, Jon reflects aloud, “No matter what is going on in my life, I can come here, and all the rest of the noise melts
away. Being here with you is so special. It makes me feel… I don’t know. I’m just glad you are here.” His heart is pounding
loudly in my ear.
I smile but don’t say anything. My heart feels full, full of Jon.
He shifts his hands under my jacket. “Alisterria, I haven’t seen you at the bar before. Do you live around here?”
“No.”
“So, are you here for business or pleasure?”
I swoon, feeling his electric energy surround me. “Pleasure…” I reply dreamily. Then, filled with dread and heat sweats, I
say, “I mean, business… definitely business. I came here to do something very important.”
“How long will you be in town?” he asks casually.
“Two weeks.”
Jon rubs my back and heat waves rush across my skin. “Tell me something about you.”
I don’t know what I can say. Everything that I could possibly share would reveal who I am. I don’t want to ruin this moment
with him. I scan my consciousness, looking for things that are the same between Earth and Iliam-isq, between our lives.
It comes to me. One little morsel. “I love the forest. I spend my free time walking through the trees, brushing my hand against
their bark.”
He kisses my hair. “That’s beautiful. I can definitely relate. There’s this mountain that I go to. I could spend all day in the
company of trees.”
“Do they glow?”
He snickers and pulls back to look at me. “You say the funniest things.” Then he pulls me into him again. “Well, I’d say yes
and no, then. When I’m quiet, I feel them, their energy. So I suppose they could be glowing, on the inside. That’s what I’d
imagine anyway.”
I feel his words, like a melody touching my insides. I forget to speak.
His hand tousles the ends of my hair. “So, do you have glowing trees?”
Heat sweats erupt under my arms. I mentioned the trees on Iliam-isq but my knowledge files reveal that trees on Earth do not
glow. I stumble. “Um… maybe… I don’t know.”
He glances down at me, his bottom lip sticking out slightly. “When you get flustered, it makes me want to kiss you,” he
confesses.
Jon’s eyes are on mine, and I pray that he will. I desperately want his lips on mine. Instead, he rubs my back and says, “I
could spend all day sitting by the river, the sun beating down on me, a slight breeze in the air. Getting lost in the beauty of it
all.”
I grin happily. “Me too.”
We find a spot on the grass and sit side by side, watching the flowing river. I lean my head against his shoulder, my arms
wrap around his chest naturally. My body responds like I’ve known him forever.
The exact moment I turn to look at him, he turns too, and our lips meet in an awkward kiss. I rub my forehead where we
bumped into each other and chuckle. When I glance up, Jon has that look in his eyes. He does the thing that I love, when he
wraps his hand around the back of my neck and kisses me sweetly. Oh, the way that he touches me. I’m swooning.
Feeling me shiver again, he pulls me closer to his warm body. The thermal effect of Jon; it feels like his palms are burning a
sweaty hole through my top. He glances down at me, forehead crinkling. “Are you getting cold?” He runs his hand over my
back. “Should I take you home?” Then, seeming to realize his verbal misstep, he fumbles, “I mean… what I meant was…
should we go?”
I nod, wanting to say more, but unable to speak. All my words tangle up inside me. My emotions are wrapped around and
twisted, strangling me. Too many feelings. This body doesn’t know how to react. The truth is, I want to go home with him. I
want to go anywhere with him. I want more time to be near him; to feel his energy, the warmth of his body, the touch of his skin,
and his tender kisses. My heart aches. All I can think of is being with him.
But we’ve only just met. I can’t expect to stay with him. My emotions run chaotically. I have no way to sort or settle them.
Soon, they make a move. They bubble up to the surface and spurt out of me without care. “I don’t want to leave. I want to go
home with you!” I look away in embarrassment.
Jon exhales audibly, standing up. He takes my hand in his and pulls me up by his side. “Alisterria.” He tilts my chin up to
meet his gaze. The moonlight dances in his eyes. “You can come home with me.” His warm breath is on my skin. “I want you
to.”
 Two

Alisterria

A scooking
I step through the doorway into Jon’s condo, I get a rush of sensory information. His musky scent, mixed with incense and
spices, is a strange and powerful aphrodisiac. Jon’s hand in mine, we walk slowly through the hallway of his
framed mementos. Almost to the ceiling and down to my waist, photographs cover every surface. The vibrant colors and unique
frames draw me in, and I stop to look at them. Moving closer, I see Jon is in most of the photos. His brilliant smile eclipses
even the most stunning natural setting.
There are many photos where Jon is alone, but there are equal amounts where he is with others. If this wall is any indication,
he must have a hundred friends. Women and men in vibrant and exquisite clothing. Some wear very little, often just enough to
cover their bottom half. I’m intrigued and want to know the story behind every image. How did he meet them? Where in Jon’s
world are they?
“Can you tell me about this one?” I ask, pointing to a photo with a wooden frame. He’s with two men on some type of
watercraft.
Jon looks more closely. I inhale his scent. “Ah. That was when I went sailing near the Amalfi coast in Italy. I didn’t know
much about sailing at the time, but I had help from these two fishermen, Carlo and… what was his name… Tommaso.”
He looks so handsome in this image. He’s smiling, his skin kissed by the sun. With my consciousness, I imprint these images
for later, knowing that, at some point, I’ll be back home, wanting to remember every little thing about Jon.
Jon leans over me, pointing to an image of him with a huge pack on his back, his dark, wavy hair blowing in the wind. I feel
his warm breath on my skin. “This trip to Peru was amazing, but the Inca Trail was one of the hardest climbs I’ve made. It took
four days of uphill trekking just to get to the Machu Picchu ruins. You can see a bit of them in the background. Have you ever
been?”
I shake my head no. I’m in awe of how strong he is.
He motions to two small metal frames with white glossy inlay. “These are from my trip to India.” Then he points to an image
of him sitting on the ground, eating food off a huge green—translating—banana leaf. “Here I was in Kerala, at an ashram near
Kochi. I was there for about a month in 2015. That’s where I began my meditation practice.”
Jon glances over at me. His hand on my shoulder. “Alisterria, do you meditate?”
Meditation—translating—it is a form of connecting deeper with your own consciousness and the expanded consciousness of
the Universe. I do that.
“Yes, I do. I like to sit and breathe, absorbed in the inner world.”
He grins, squeezing my shoulder. Pointing to the second frame where he sits, hands pressed together at his heart. “This is one
of my favorite experiences. I was visiting the Birla Mandir Temple in Jaipur. Not sure if you are familiar.”
I like this side of him. “Not really.” I point to the temple photo. “What are you doing?”
“I’m praying. I don’t really subscribe to any particular ideas, but I felt so inspired by the beauty of that place. I couldn’t help
but feel grateful.”
My eyes fill with all the new flavors of him, things I didn’t know but am now intrigued by. Every photo is part of a greater
narrative, the story of Jon. On Iliam-isq, we do not have such interesting places. Mountains, trees, and some natural pools.
Most everything is one color, gold. Even though we can create beautiful things, Jon’s life feels far more interesting. It is
exciting to imagine all the places that he’s been. So many new places, so many smiling faces.
At first, my feelings for Jon were superficial. His beautiful face, his naturally tan, muscular body; that was all easy to see
and appreciate. But I’m now exploring the deeper aspects of him. Understanding what inspires him, what brings him joy. He
seems to love traveling and having new experiences. Although Earth is the only other place I’ve been, I can easily see myself
traveling around Jon’s world with him.
My heart wants to share everything with him. Nothing held back, raw and honest. Naked and exposed. I want to share all of
me. The fiercely passionate being that I am. How I always feel everything so utterly and completely that I’m overwhelmed.
How I love the intensity and am driven to feel and experience more. How intense it is now that I have a human body, and how
vivid my experience is since meeting him. How I feel like a small creature in his presence. Helpless against his soft eyes and
disarming smile. Powerless to the effects of his touch.
Jon’s sparkly blue eyes are on me now. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks, pulling me from my silence.
“Sure.”
He touches my cheek with his hand, and I lean into him. “Maybe something warm? It was pretty cold out there.”
I nod. “Yes. I think my insides are frozen.”
He laughs, pulling me into him. The moment he touches me, he groans. His warm arms wrap around my back, just under my
jacket. The smell of him is intoxicating. The feeling of his body so close, with no space between us, makes my knees weak. A
powerful potion of serotonin and dopamine, his touch thrills every part of me. My cheek on his chest, I hear his heart pounding.
He presses a kiss on the top of my head.
My whole body tingles as if all my cells are dancing. I want to cry out with joy.
Jon leans back, scanning my eyes. “There, is that better?”
“Almost.”
Don’t stop. Don’t stop. A few more minutes of him holding me so very close. A few more hours.
Jon rubs his hands up and down my back, warding off the cold. “Are you warmer now?” he asks, breaking through my inner
bliss.
“Yes.” But secretly, I want more. It will never be enough.
“Okay, be right back,” he says, letting me go and entering the kitchen.
Standing in the center of the living room, still dizzy from his touch, I try to recover. I can’t think. I’m barely breathing. Jon’s
presence, his touch, elevates me, takes me to another dimension of time and space. I feel whole in his arms. Alive, free. My
heart opens wide, ready for love, for connection.
Jon returns, handing me a cup of tea. “Please, have a seat.” He motions to the long cream-colored couch. As my butt hits the
cushion, I notice that he chose a nearby matching armchair. There is certainly room for two on the couch. It feels odd that he’s
so far away.
“So, is this your first time in Washington?” he asks, sipping his tea.
“Yes, this is my first time,” I stutter, not fully recovered from the distance I now feel between us.
Jon is sitting upright in the chair with a pleasant smile. I stare at him, trying to figure out what I’m feeling, what is happening.
“Have you done any hiking or are you just working?”
“Um… I just arrived,” I mumble.
There is an uneasiness about me now. My mind stirs around new, uncomfortable thoughts. Did he invite me over, or did I
intrude upon him? Maybe he is just too polite to really say all the things that he wants to.
Maybe I’m not good at reading human interactions at all. To him, I may be just another friend.
It is breaking my heart. The inner conflict of wanting him to feel the way I do, yet also knowing I’m supposed to be letting go
of my desire for him. The contradiction is making me sweat, panic reeling in my gut. Human emotions are demanding and
taxing. They whip around quickly, making me feel ill.
Everything feels intense, and I want to run away. I fooled myself into believing there is something real between us. I made a
mistake. I had intended to rid myself of desire, but I got caught up in the feelings, the magic. I saw something that wasn’t there.
Maybe this is part of desire’s hold on you. It tricks you into believing you want and need it. I thought I needed Jon.
Jon is asking me something, but I can hardly hear the words. I’m swirling in a pit of my insecurities, mixing them into a stew
of self-pity. I smile, but behind my cool exterior, I’m emotionally devastated. I push back tears and get up to leave. “Thank you
so much for the tea and your hospitality, Jon. I really do appreciate it, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” I make a
beeline for the front door.
He gets up suddenly, a bewildered look in his eyes. “Alisterria, did I say something wrong?” he inquires. “Of course, go if
you want to leave, but I thought we were having a nice time, and it feels like you’re upset.”
He looks at me tenderly, and it makes me want to cry. I can’t bear it any longer. I want the intensity between us to continue. I
like it when he shares things about himself, but I only want more. He seems happy to sit silently in the living room, sipping tea.
I want to touch, connect, and talk while looking deep into his eyes as he peers into my soul. I want it all.
Standing in front of the door, I fidget. “I… I guess I’m kind of upset.”
Jon gets up and comes to me, taking my hand in his. His eyes are soft, his voice tender. “What happened? I would like to
understand.”
“I just can’t tell what’s happening. I don’t know if you like me or not. I mean, I thought we were close earlier. But when you
sat down on the chair instead of the couch… you became distant.”
 Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes downcast. He is quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “Alisterria, perhaps
I haven’t been as forthright as I ought to have been. I really like you, and I’m enjoying your company. Tonight has been a bit of a
whirlwind… but there were definitely moments where I felt really close to you.” He rubs the top of my hand with his thumb.
“Me too.”
He spreads his feet further apart. He’s no longer towering over me. “Being near you made me feel so many things. I guess I
wasn’t sure how to handle it all.”
My heart flutters. “What did you feel?”
He averts his gaze momentarily and swallows hard. There’s a crinkle forming between his eyebrows. “You made my whole
body shake, Alisterria. My heart was racing.” He touches my cheekbone with his thumb. “And when you looked at me with
your penetrating green eyes… I nearly lost it.”
I feel flushed, heat bubbling up in my chest.
He rubs my knuckles as he says, “I’m sorry if I upset you or made you feel uncomfortable.”
I look up through my lashes at him. “It’s okay.”
He glances away, his breathing erratic. “Alisterria, the truth is I want you here and I like being close to you. I just don’t know
how to handle the intensity of it all. Is any of this making sense?”
“Yes, it makes perfect sense,” I respond, my heart feeling lighter. “I don’t know how to navigate the intensity or the
awkwardness or…”
“Or the thoughts about how beautiful you are,” he adds, softly touching my dark hair.
“Or how amazing you smell,” I say, breathing him in.
“Or how I want to touch you.” He pulls me closer.
“Or the intense aching inside,” I say, inhaling deeply.
“Or how I want to kiss you.” I feel his warm breath.
“Or how much I want you to kiss me.” I swallow hard.
His eyes are tender as he gazes at me, whispering, “You want me to kiss you?”
I moan affirmatively.
“I want to kiss you… right here.” He plants a warm, wet kiss on the side of my neck. I inhale sharply. “And here.” He kisses
my collarbone. My insides tingle as I feel his warm breath on my skin. He sucks his teeth slightly. This cloned body reacts in
such delicious ways to his touch, to his lips. It tickles and makes me forget to breathe.
I’m dizzy with desire. “Kiss me everywhere,” I say softly.
He sucks his teeth. “How about here…” His fingers graze my belly over the top of my shirt.
I nod enthusiastically.
He kneels on one knee and lifts the corner of my shirt, kissing me oh so softly. A shiver of pure ecstasy runs through me.
“And here?” His hand brushes against my thigh.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I moan as he kisses my thigh over my jeans. “More.”
“You want me to…?”
“Yes,” I say, somehow knowing what he means. I feel it deep inside.
He pauses, eyeing me carefully. “I don’t want to move too fast.”
My body tenses, so ready. “Jon, please…”
Slowly, he unbuttons my jeans and slips them down past my hips, revealing my pale, soft skin and black panties. Jon groans
as his forehead crinkles. He grabs me, pulling me closer, his lips on my thigh.
“You are so beautiful, like an angel,” he says, rising and kissing my lips, his fingers now entangled with mine. “But I want to
take it slow. I don’t want to ruin this beautiful moment. I want it all to feel special. I want you to feel special. Is that okay?”
I sigh, but I understand. “Of course it is.”
Jon carefully pulls my jeans up over my hips. His fingertips linger just inside the waistband. “Do you want to curl up with
me?” he asks, scanning my eyes to see how I’m feeling.
“Yes, that sounds lovely.”
Jon pulls out a blue sleeping bag, unzips it fully, and lays it on the floor in front of the couch. “I don’t trust myself to take you
into my bedroom,” he says with a smirk. “Is it okay if we curl up here instead?”
I grin and nod.
Lying side by side, propped up on pillows, I drape my leg over the top of his. We stare into each other’s eyes as he runs his
hands through my hair. It is such an intimate feeling: lying so close, touching, and allowing our hearts to grow fonder. My
feelings continue to deepen, and my heart opens as I listen to his story about camping in the middle of the forest.
Jon shares how amazing it was to be alone in the woods. “So, I was sitting on the edge of this really high cliff, my feet
dangling over the edge. I felt so attuned to everything around me. Then there was a sudden shift, and I felt this swirling energy. I
don’t know how to describe it, but it was like the energy of life. Does that sound weird?”
My heart jumps. “No, not at all. That is how I feel when I’m in the trees. I feel so fully and completely connected to every
aspect of the forest. Everything comes alive.”
He rubs his hand over my hip. “I’m glad you can relate.”
“I can. Trees are my friends. I don’t always feel so connected to the others in my society, but trees… I feel like they are
guiding me.”
He gives me that crooked smile that I love. “Me too.” Jon leans over, and with his hand tilting my chin up, he kisses my lips.
“I like that we share a connection to nature, Alisterria.”
Throughout my life, I’ve always been tuned-in to and guided, directed, and embraced by the natural world. In fact, being here
with Jon, speaking this way, I feel the oneness with it right now.
While I felt desperate for him earlier in the evening, I’m glad for what we have right now. Him sharing his life, telling me
about his travels and childhood.
“I had every child’s dream; an only child with two loving parents, a white house with a picket fence. My mom was a
schoolteacher, and my dad did humanitarian work. They taught me to love and respect everyone. Through their actions, I
understood how to have compassion for others. I couldn’t have asked for better role models.”
“Where are they now?”
“In Ecuador. My dad has a job helping poor people in the Amazon region. It’s hard not seeing them, but I understand. It has
always been his calling to help others,” Jon explains.
I rub his arm, feeling how hard that must be on him.
“What about you, your parents?”
Suddenly, my mind freezes. I should be used to this question-and-answer thing by now. I keep getting myself into trouble. But
I scan with the translator for anything similar, something I can say honestly. “I was taught by my whole village,” I say, heat
pooling under my arms.
His eyebrows raise. “That’s fascinating. Like a commune or something?”
I feel like I’m on fire. How do I answer this question? Commune—translating— “Yes, very much like a commune. We all
live together and grow our own food.” The stress bullets melt away.
“Where are you from, anyway?”
There’s no way to wiggle out of this one. “Would it be alright if I don’t talk about that yet?” I ask shyly.
“Of course, Alisterria.” He kisses me tenderly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
Despite how uncomfortable I am at times, this conversation is liberating me somehow. I no longer feel so much pressure
inside from all my secrets. In fact, this way of connecting deeper is yummy. My insides are warm. My heart feels like it is
overflowing with goodness. Getting to know him is stimulating. Jon is everything that I imagined him to be and more. Knowing
him makes me want him, every part of him.
I’m in danger of falling asleep. Glancing at Jon’s clock, it is nearly 4 a.m. Somehow, we spent the whole night talking. As
much as I’m resisting it, my eyelids bat away, blinking extra-long. I can see Jon struggling, too.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I reply, yawning. “If I drift off, just nudge me.”
“I will, and if I start snoring, hit me.”
I giggle. “Okay, you can count on it.”
His thumb gently brushes my cheek. “I don’t want to miss a minute with you.”
“Me too. I want this to last forever.”
Jon kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re so beautiful.”
Smiling, I touch my lips with my pointer finger.
“Oh, your lips are jealous,” he says, kissing them gently. I love feeling his soft lips press against mine. I want more moments,
more kisses, more everything. “How’s that?”
“Don’t stop.”
He runs his nose down the side of mine. “Alisterria, if you keep drawing me in… how will I be able to resist you?”
Jon plants a thousand more kisses all over my face, including my eyelids. I’m giggling, giddy like a child. I can’t help but
think of how many other places he could plant kisses. My thoughts are erotic, heightened by my growing passion. How can I be
grateful for every kiss and yet still desire so much more?
I love that he is kind and courteous, even respectful, but I also want him to take me. Take me and have his way with me. I
want to wake up and search for my underwear and my shirt, hoping they are still in one piece, just like I’ve seen in the inner
memories and experiences of the cloned human. Feeling these memories as my own, I want to know how far his passion will
go, how much I would feel. I want to feel all of Jon.
Everything between us is so deliciously perfect that I hardly remember my impending departure. The awareness that it could
end at any moment makes me want to jump right to the finish line and eat dessert before dinner. I want Jon. For now, these
sweet, tender kisses will have to do. I fall asleep, damming up the ocean of my desires. When the timing is right, I will let them
loose. I only hope he is ready and that he likes me when I’m good and set free.
 Three

Jon

M orning light shining in through the window, I look at her in awe. Alisterria. Her delicate lips and soft skin. Her thick, dark
hair cascading over her shoulder as she rests peacefully. I’ve been awake for an hour already, watching her sleep. There’s
something so special about her. I’ve never felt like this with anyone.
I felt electric heat rushing through my veins when she walked up to me at the bar. I want her far more than I care to think
about. We’ve only just met, but I’ve already imagined every way I’d like to devour her. This isn’t like me, and it is causing me
angst. I want to be respectful and patient, yet there is this animal instinct to take her into my bedroom and have my way with
her.
Her eyelids flicker and she opens her eyes. Those bright emerald eyes, encased in long dark lashes, stare up at me. Reveling
in those ruby lips that I just can’t wait to kiss, I brush my hand against her incredibly soft cheek. My body reacts to the intensity
of touching her skin. “Mmm… good morning.”
She smiles, her eyes dreamy. “Good morning.”
“How did you sleep?”
She stretches. “Really well. I think that was my best sleep ever.”
“I’m glad you are still here.” I kiss her, feeling a jolt of electricity zap through my lips. My eyes widen from the effects. It
should be a deterrent, yet I want more. More kisses, more Alisterria. I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. I remind
myself to slow down and not rush this.
“I’m glad you’re still here too,” she replies.
I chuckle, pulling her into me. “I live here… where was I going to go?”
Her face and neck flushes. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re here.”
The way she’s gazing deeply into my eyes makes me shiver. Minutes could turn into hours when we are together. She turns
me on more than anyone I’ve ever been with.
Glancing at the clock, it is nearly 10 a.m., and we haven’t eaten anything. I’m starving. She’s hungry, too, if the loud rumbling
I just heard is any indication.
I snicker, brushing away the hair that has fallen over her face. “Would you like to go grab breakfast or, rather, brunch?”
She nods.
I kiss her lips quickly. It is taking everything that I have not to bring her to my bedroom. Instead, I hop up and use the
bathroom. When I return, I help her up, pulling her into me in an embrace. She feels so good. Her body is so warm. She smells
heavenly.
“Would you like to take a shower?”
She nods. “Yes.”
She leaves my arms and steps into the bathroom, closing the door. Once she’s inside, I realize that I didn’t tell her where
anything is. I lightly knock and speak into the door. “Alisterria, there are extra toothbrushes in the top left drawer, underneath
the sink.”
She returns a thank you through the door. I head back to my room to pick out my clothes when I suddenly remember I haven’t
given her a towel. I grab a fluffy white towel from the hallway linen closet and return to the bathroom. I knock again. She opens
the door, green eyes peering at me through the crack. Her hair is pulled up into a bun, and a few loose strands frame her face.
And that mouth, I just want to kiss her. I stutter, hardly able to get my words out. “H-here is a clean towel.”
That isn’t how I imagined that going. I have no control over my feelings when she is near. She’s showering, and all I’m
thinking about is how she’s naked in my bathroom, in my shower. I readjust my burgeoning cock. She makes it tough to resist
her. I imagine bursting through the door, pressing her up against the shower wall, and taking her. I’ve never wanted anyone
more than I want her. I’m under her spell.
When she walks out ten minutes later, she is in nothing but her jeans and a little black bra. “Can I borrow a shirt?” she asks.
I’m standing in the middle of the living room, my heart pounding. My eyes are taking in every inch of her skin, which is so
perfectly alabaster that she almost glows. I almost forget to speak. “Of course, let me grab one.”
Immediately I go to my bedroom and grab my favorite Aerosmith t-shirt. The thought of my shirt touching her skin, covering
that taut body, is driving me wild. I swallow hard, growing in my jeans again. What is she doing to me?
When I hand her the shirt, she slips it on over her bra. The moment she does, her eyes widen and she gasps.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, concerned.
She shakes her head and says no.
Still wanting to know more, I ask, “What happened?”
She blinks and her eyelashes flutter. “It feels like you,” she whispers.
Her reaction, this new revelation, is almost more than I can take. I turn and quickly depart for the shower. The door shut
behind me, I lean my back against it to catch my breath. All I want is to tear this sweet, beautiful creature apart.
I’m not going to tame my wild beast by jerking off while she’s waiting for me. I turn the faucet to the coldest setting, trying to
drown my desire. The cold water manages to squelch those intense feelings. After washing my body and hair, I get out. Dried,
towel now around my waist, I lather up and run my razor over my face and neck. With every ounce of willpower, I focus on my
respect for her, reminding myself she is a person with feelings and thoughts. I shouldn’t be so enthralled by her body. That
ridiculously hot body.
Slipping into my blue jeans, I comb my unruly waves back and out of the way. They cooperate, except for that one
disobedient forehead curl; it never does what I want. I play with it for a minute, then give up. Deodorant on, I tug my black
fitted tee over my head. One quick check in the mirror, a deep breath, and I open the door, reentering the living room. Alisterria
is sitting on the arm of the couch.
She smiles at me, her red lips so juicy. I want to kiss her again. But if I start, I might not be able to stop. Instead, I put on my
sneakers. Phone in my back pocket now, I grab my wallet and keys.
Now, standing in front of her. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Hungry?”
She bites her lower lip ever so slightly. “Famished.”
Heat flashes through my body, starting in my groin and taking over the rest of me. I wonder silently if her innuendo was
intentional. She's making me melt. Once again I’m forced to refocus my thoughts. Taking her small hand in mine, energy zaps my
fingers. It almost makes me let go. But I play it off, not wanting her to know the effect she has on me. “Come on. I know a nice
little place down the block from here.”
It is a little easier to manage all my feelings out on the street. I’m not so overwhelmed anymore. I glance over at her. “Do you
know what you want to eat?”
“Everything,” she replies.
I chuckle. “Yeah, me too. I’m starving.”
Walking down the street with Alisterria, her hand in mine, feels like heaven. Even when she’s quiet, she fills the space with
sweetness. I’m already starting to fall for her. It’s too soon. I don’t want to rush this. But everything inside me knows how I
feel. I want her. Only her. I have the odd feeling that I’ve been waiting for her my whole life. Now that she’s here, everything is
just beginning.
Once we’re in front of Libby’s Café, I let go of her hand and hold open the glass front door. The bell above the door jingles,
and Alisterria steps through. Gwen, a waitress-now-friend, waves from behind the counter. “Hey Jon, good to see you again.”
She opens the Dutch door, grabs a couple of menus, and invites us to follow her to a booth in the middle of the café.
I allow Alisterria to sit first, then slide in next to her. Gwen’s blonde hair is tucked up under her trucker hat. She fills our
glasses with ice water.
“How’s Peanut?” I ask.
“He’s doing better. Thanks for asking. His stitches come out on Thursday,” she answers with a smile.
I whisper to Alisterria that Peanut is Gwen’s golden retriever. Then I wrap my arm around Alisterria’s shoulder. “Gwen, this
is Alisterria. Alisterria, Gwen.”
“Good to meet you, hon,” Gwen says warmly.
She smiles back. “You as well.”
“Coffee, Jon?”
“You know me.”
“Anything to drink for you, Alisterria?”
She shakes her head and glances down at the menu. Once Gwen departs, I look to Alisterria. Her eyes are wide; she seems
overwhelmed.
“See anything you like?”
“There are so many things to choose from,” she responds.
“Well, if this helps, they make the best blueberry pancakes. I always get mine with bananas on top.”
“Pancakes,” she replies. “I guess I’ll try pancakes.” She continues to look at the considerable menu. “Or maybe this,” she
says pointing to an omelet platter, served with hashbrowns, French toast and fresh fruit. She looks at me sheepishly. “I don’t
know what to order.”
I rub her leg gently. “Alisterria, order whatever you like. I’ll even let you have some of my pancakes,” I say with a smirk.
“Thank you.” She scoots in closer to me. “I’m just so hungry.”
“No worries. I wouldn’t want m’lady to starve, not on my watch.”
She rests her head on my shoulder and wraps her hand around my arm. She smells amazing. Sitting here with her is surreal.
I’ve dreamt of meeting someone for so long and now here she is. I don’t want it to end.

Alisterria

When breakfast comes, I release his arm and dive into my plate. My next few comments are mmm and ohhh, complete with
lip-smacking. Jon feeds me a syrupy bite of his banana blueberry pancake, his eyes on me as I take it into my mouth. The sweet
liquid drips down my chin and Jon groans, wiping it away with his thumb. The thumb that he immediately sticks in his mouth,
sucking off the syrupy remains. He kisses me lightly. I think I found the perfect pairing: food and Jon. I imagine licking drippy
syrup off Jon’s naked body. “Mmm…”
Jon stares at my lips for an indeterminate amount of time, then sits back against the booth. He eyes his phone, picks it up, then
leans towards me, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. He snaps a photo of us eating pancakes. I smile at the thought that I
might go on the wall of framed mementos.
He looks at his phone, tapping away. “Here, I’ll send it to you. What is your number?”
My number? Translating—I have no phone or number or way for Jon to send me the photo. I don’t know what to say. I feel
flushed.
“Alisterria, is something wrong?”
I stutter. “Um… I… I have no phone.” That’s all I can say.
He sets his phone down. “No phone, that’s unusual. Everyone I know has one. Any reason why?”
I still don’t know what to say. My mind races, trying to figure out an answer so that he doesn’t think I’m weird. “I never
needed one before.”
The crinkle between Jon’s eyes appears again. “Don’t you need it for work?”
I sigh and chuckle. “No. I just communicate to others with my mind.”
He laughs. “Okay, Alisterria. I get it… I’ll leave you alone.”
We go back to eating, thankfully. Once again, I made it through another difficult conversation without revealing too much. But
I have a feeling that evasive responses aren’t going to cut it for long. It takes me a few minutes to settle my nerves, but then I
finish the last few bites of omelet.
This food is so different from anything I’ve ever had, but it is equally delicious. I only wish I hadn’t eaten so much. This
dense meal is pressing against my stomach lining.
As we walk back to Jon’s condo, my hand in his, I’m lost in thoughts of him, in the feeling of him. As usual, Jon unknowingly
pulls me out of my inner dialogue.
Jon squeezes my hand, rubbing it gently with his thumb. “So, I’d really like to hang out with you today, but I don’t know if
you have anything else to do. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings. So, let me be clear. I want you to stay. I’m inviting
you to stay. I just don’t want to presume anything.”
Jon doesn’t know that I’m only here for him, that he is my sole reason for coming to this city. That I would follow him
anywhere and stay in his arms forever. “I don’t have anything else to do. I’m all yours.”
He looks down at me, eyes smiling. “Perfect. I know this great hiking trail. I’d love to go there with you.”
“Would you mind if I rest for a while first? I don’t think I can move.” I pat my belly.
 He laughs. “Of course.” Then he nudges me playfully. “Anyways, someone kept me up all night, so I wouldn’t mind lying
down for a while.” He kisses my shoulder.
The feeling of him is more than I can take in moments, and yet I want more. His kisses feel like electricity. I feel his heart
beating, almost as if it is thumping inside of me too. On Iliam-isq all beings are connected, but I’ve never felt anything like this.
The more time I spend with him, the stronger my feelings get.
Back at Jon’s, I take off my shoes, go to the sleeping bag, and practically fall onto it. Jon lays down on his back, pulling me
to his side. Listening to his heart, I drift off to sleep. Even in dreams, he is with me. I feel him in everything I do, in every
thought. Jon feels like home. Somehow, in this short amount of time, I have adapted to him. He is balancing me, making
everything better.
When I wake, Jon is scrolling on his phone. I stretch and rub my eyes.
He puts his phone down, and squeezes me into him, kissing me. “Hey, you.”
“Hey.”
He rubs the top of my hand. “Do you want to go for that hike?”
I nod. “That sounds really nice.”
The truth is, I can’t wait to get out in nature again. Jon’s city is filled with buildings. There are loud noises, bustling people,
and busy streets. I can’t wait to spend time in the quietude of the forest. We leave his condo and head down an alleyway,
through side streets, until we reach a trailhead. Jon takes my hand in his as we meander along the hiking trail. Even when the
pathway is narrow, he leads me through. It is one of the things I love about him. He likes to remain connected. He is so gentle
and attentive to my needs.
I stop by a tree that has white bark with dark-hued markings. “Did you know that the birch tree is said to signify new
beginnings?” he asks.
“No, I didn’t know that.” I run my fingers along the soft bark. The tree's energy has a slight charge, not unlike the trees on
Iliam-isq. Although, on my planet, the cym-yon tree glows with vibrant golden energy. It makes me happy to feel the connection
between our two worlds. My two favorite things: trees and Jon. Well, trees and Jon and now pancakes. With my free hand, I
gently touch the bark of each tree we pass out of reverence.
I’m attuned to the mountain. Attuned to the trees. Attuned to Jon. His energy expands as we hike. He feels different than he
does in the city. There, he is kind, gentle, and sweet, but it is difficult to feel him fully. He drifts out and feels distant. Now he
feels freer.
Although we aren’t talking, we are bonding. Our connection is so pure and direct. I love feeling at one with our bodies. I
wonder if he feels it, too, if he is enjoying the beautiful energy between us. I hope so. I love sharing this feeling with him.
As I walk by his side, Jon glances down at me. “Alisterria, we are nearing my favorite spot in the forest. Can you hear it
yet?”
I listen intently. It is water. Water, but not a river or stream. I can’t place the sound. “I hear it. It sounds like water dancing.”
Jon smiles his beautiful crooked smile. “That is a perfect description. I’ve never thought of it that way.”
He leads me down a pathway to the right of where we have been walking. The air quality changes. The air is moist, and
moss covers the ground. As we get closer, the dancing water sound gets louder. I’m still unsure what it is, but it now sounds
like drumming, if drums were rocks, being patted by water.
Jon stops. “Isn’t this waterfall stunning?”
There’s a wide stream of crystal clear water cascading down a rocky cliff and into a pool. I close my eyes and listen to the
thumping of the waterfall. It makes my heart sing. Immediately, I want to join the water, dip into its energy, and recharge my
body and soul, like I do at home. The sound is almost as remarkable as the sight of it.
“It is. It’s beautiful to see and hear, like a forest melody.”
Jon cocks his head slightly. “Yes. I like that… forest melody.” His body is so close to mine now. I’m staring up at him, his
arms wrapped around my back. “Alisterria…” His voice is soft. His blue eyes are intense and smoldering. His right hand
slides up behind my neck. I feel it happening. His face moves closer to mine, warm breath on my skin. “I’m so glad I can share
it with you.” My eyes close instinctively, and his soft lips press hard into mine. My heart races in my chest. The feeling of his
body and lips in this magical place while being serenaded by the waterfall sends a bolt of electricity through me.
This place, the waterfall, makes me feel more awake and connected to everything. It feels like the perfect place to
consummate our relationship. I want Jon to touch me, take me, make love to me as the water drums beat around us. The melody
uniting us with all of nature until I feel the pulsing, rushing energy in every cell of my body, until it cracks me open and I let go.
The water is calling me. “Won’t we go in?” I ask innocently.
He runs his hand through his thick mane. “Oh, do you want to? I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“Yes.”
Forget about a swimsuit. I want to strip my clothes off and jump into the pool. I want the waterfall pounding against my body.
I want Jon’s warm, wet kisses igniting passions, my energy erupting like a volcano. I feel Jon hesitating. What is he afraid of?
This place, its power… me? My feelings are swirling inside me like a tornado.
 Something comes over me. I release myself from his embrace. I take off my sneakers and socks. Jon’s eyes widen as I slowly
unzip my jeans. When I slide my pants over my hips, he exhales audibly. They lay crumpled on the ground. I reach out and take
Jon’s hand, guiding him towards the pool.
There’s that little half-smile. “What are you doing, Alisterria?”
I don’t say anything, keeping the suspense going. When I get to the water’s edge, I let go of his hand and enter the pool,
wading in until I’m up to my knees. I hold out my hand to him. “Come in with me.”
Jon’s squirming, shifting his body from his left to right foot. His forehead crinkles. “I don’t know.”
I dip down under the water. When I come back up, I tilt my head back so that my hair falls over my back. I step to the edge of
the water. My borrowed Aerosmith t-shirt is clinging to my body. His eyes scan me intently, looking me up and down.
He groans.
Suddenly, Jon leans down and pulls off his shoes and socks, tearing his shirt over the top of his head. The impact of seeing
his bare chest makes me quake inside. He has rippling muscles; I want to run my fingers over his sculpted stomach. He’s
moving towards me with such ferocity that I back up into the water again, biting my lower lip. Water splashes high as he walks
through the water toward me.
My skin is on fire, tingly energy bubbles up inside me. He takes me in his strong arms, kissing me ferociously. No longer
held back. No longer sweet or tender. Jon is touching me how I’ve wanted him to since we met. It is almost rough but in the
best possible way. His body is so close I feel the hardening in his groin, pressing up against my belly. I’m swirling in ecstasy
as his tongue slides into my mouth, taking me captive. “Yes,” I moan. Jon’s hands run down my back, grabbing my butt
unceremoniously.
Just when I think he’s going to take things further, he leans back making space between our bodies; his eyes are still full of
fire. “Now, will you please stop teasing me before I tear you apart right here.”
I nod vigorously in response.
He smirks, pulling my bottom lip down slightly with his thumb. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”
Jon dips under the water, swimming over to the waterfall. He pulls himself out of the pool and onto the rock slab under the
waterfall, water pouring off his muscular body. He now stands under it, sprays of water flying off his skin. Jon growls, yelling
out, then jumps, pulling his knees into his chest, his body hitting the water’s surface hard. Water splashes everywhere. He gets
out and does it a few more times. I’m in awe of him. I’ve never seen him like this. It is like he finally feels free. Really free.
He doesn’t come up right away the final time he jumps in. I look around wondering where he went. Suddenly, he pops out of
the water in front of me. He grabs me, holding me tight. His cool, wet lips press hard into mine. “Alisterria, I’m so glad I can
share this with you. Come on.” He takes my hand, and we move towards the rock ledge. He hops up effortlessly then helps me
up. Standing under the water with him, I feel alive. The energy of this waterfall is unbelievable. It is right up there with the
sacred Pools of Atingua on Iliam-isq. Jon glances over at me, his eyes smiling and excited. “Are you ready?” Without thinking,
we jump off the ledge and into the pool together.
By the time we are walking back through the forest, I’m on a beautiful high. This tall, broad-shouldered creature is leading
me, his hand reaching behind to hold mine. This ever-connected way of moving along the trail makes me smile ear to ear. He
really is so tantalizing. Everything about him. The way he walks and moves. His jeans are so tight. I stare right at his beautiful
round ass. I’m happy, unreservedly so.

Though we were so close in the forest, as soon as we walk through his condo door, Jon pulls away. I shower alone while he
goes straight to his desk. Now he’s working on his laptop, immersed in his own world. I’m sitting, knees up on the couch,
feeling alone and cast aside. Not because he is working, but because I can’t feel him anymore. He is distant and a little cold.
There isn’t an explanation that makes any sense to me. There are obviously things I don’t know or understand; there is a
complexity about Jon that I haven’t realized. I wonder where the electricity between us has gone. It seems to have disappeared.
My heart is breaking. It is too much.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t see Jon standing in front of me. “Alisterria, are you okay?”
The eruptions inside make it hard to speak. I want to feel him the way I did when he kissed me in the water, held me in his
arms, and led me through the forest. I want to share my energy with him, share all of me.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I reply solemnly. The crinkle between Jon’s eyes is evident, but he walks away, returning to his computer.
What began as a roaring and passionate fire between us now feels like embers. Maybe that’s all there is to experience with
Jon. Maybe we were meant to meet and that was it. I’ll have to accept it if that is true. Not everything is meant to last forever.
Our love was fleeting. The once-burning desire, now gone. That is what I came here to do, free myself of desire. I guess I’m
done. I knew I had to let him go eventually. It is probably better this way.
I sigh. Who am I trying to kid? I’m not done. My heart is shattering. I want him just as much, if not more than I did when I
arrived. Maybe he doesn’t want me. Maybe he doesn’t feel all the deep emotions that I do. But I’m still madly in love with Jon.
The desire that I came to release hasn’t gone anywhere. The desire feels like fire burning inside me. I’m not sure that’s a good
thing. Yet for some reason, I am relieved; I still want him.
But now I face reality. I’m aware that the weekend is ending. Jon is going back to work. Though I’d been given permission to
stay for two weeks, it feels prudent to go home now. I’m not sure if I can go early. I was given the exact time and date that my
cloned body would dematerialize. My stomach knots up inside.
It is growing dark outside, and Jon is standing before me, forehead crinkle on full display, interrupting my inner monologue.
“Are you hungry?”
I’m still full of pancakes and eggs. Besides, I feel like the time has come to share my decision with Jon. He never expected
me to stay. The last thing he asked me was to go for a hike. Even he probably wants me to go.
“Not really.” I’m holding my breath. “But can we talk?”
Jon sits down in the armchair. “Sure, Alisterria. What is it?”
There he is in the armchair again, distant. I’m more resolved than ever. “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you and spending time
with you,” I begin matter-of-factly. “But it’s time for me to leave.” I only say it so abruptly to get it over with. This is the
hardest thing I've ever done.
Jon gets really quiet. He’s staring at his hands. Yes, he can be distant and quiet sometimes, but the silence is deafening right
now.
I try to engage him. “Jon?”
Slowly, I feel something brewing under the surface. His usual calm exterior is now overtaken by emotional upheaval. I reach
over and lay my hand gently on his arm. “I’m here if you want to talk.”
Jon reaches for my hand, placing it in his tenderly. He plays with my fingers. His eyes are full of anguish. “Well, what if I
don’t want you to go?” His voice is soft and tender with an undertone of pain. “What if I’m not ready for this to end? I mean,
will I ever see you again? Your words sound so final. You are leaving and that’s that?” He pauses briefly before continuing.
“But Alisterria, I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never even felt the things I’ve felt since I’ve known you. You are breaking
me open, and me… I’m letting you in. I don’t do that. I never do.”
It is hard to get Jon to talk, but once you do, there is clearly more under the surface. Every emotion and word he speaks stirs
something inside me.
Jon gets up from the chair and steps towards me. My hand still in his, he pulls me up from the couch and into his arms. His
eyes are tender. “Alisterria, I want you.” He takes a breath. “I want you, with all your beautiful ideas, magnetizing energy,
striking green eyes, and your wonderfully soft skin.” He lifts my chin and kisses me tenderly. “Your alluring mouth.”
Energy waves are coursing through my body. His clear blue eyes are concentrating intently on mine. “Please don’t go, not
yet. Stay with me, at least for tonight. I wouldn’t ask, but I… I’m trying to be real with you. I want you… I want you right now.”
Somehow, I still feel unsure. I want to give in to him, to this moment. Feeling the intensity of his gaze has me enraptured. His
body is so close. I feel his heart pounding, his warm breath on my skin. “I don’t want you to go. Alisterria, please don’t leave.”
I exhale audibly, finally hearing what I’ve been waiting to hear. “Okay, Jon.”
He eyes me carefully, rubbing my arm. “Okay?”
I’m melting into him. “I will stay.”
He leans in and whispers, “Do you want me?”
My heart aches hearing his question. It is all I’ve ever wanted. “Always.”
 Four

Alisterria

on scoops me up into his arms like I’m a princess, and he is the white knight here to rescue me from an eternity of being
J alone. Just like the images from the original human. Her consciousness is full of stories I relate to as I’m in Jon’s strong
arms. Take me away. Take me away. Through the doorway and into his bedroom, we go.
“Yes,” I whisper in his ear, running my tongue around the sensitive edges of his earlobe. His breathing grows heavy as he
kisses me. The power of his body is staggering as he keeps contact with my lips and sets me down on his bed. I am open. I may
be unfamiliar with whatever happens in the next moments, but I’m ready for it.
Our lips press together. Our tongues intertwine. He holds himself up firmly, a few inches from my body. I run my fingers
lightly over his back, feeling his muscles flexing. Slowly, his lips leave mine. He pulls his shirt off over his head, tossing it on
the floor. His gaze never leaves mine as he drops his jeans. His statuesque figure makes my heart pound in my chest. I bite my
lip, admiring his muscular arms, strong legs, and well-developed pecs.
Just when I think there can’t possibly be more to enjoy, he slips out of his boxers. Out pops his—translating—penis. I gasp,
never having seen anything like this before. Beings on Iliam-isq do not have sexual organs. Jon’s is hard, upright, and, for some
reason, incredibly alluring.
His eyes are full of desire. He leans down, lifts the gray shirt I borrowed earlier, and kisses my bare stomach with his soft
lips. I shiver. My hips wriggle, sliding the shirt up further, revealing my bra. He gently grabs my breasts with his hands,
moaning and sucking his teeth. “Alisterria...” His kisses fall over my clothed breasts. With one sudden movement he lifts the
shirt over my head and unclasps my bra. He groans, “Damn…” as he takes me in.
I quake inside, my heart racing as I feel his warm breath on my skin. My naked breasts are exposed to his lustful eyes. His
lips and tongue graze the tops of my nipples and circle them. His fingers run down my sides. My whole body is stirring,
squirming from the intensity of his touch.
“Yes.” I exhale, “Yes…”
He bites playfully at my hip. His attention turns to my jeans, his eyes still looking straight into mine. He runs his fingers along
the inside of the waistband. My breathing is erratic and I’m suddenly hot. His hands shake as he unzips my pants and slides
them down my legs till they drop to the floor. Then he makes quick work of my panties, exhaling loudly.
Finally, after freeing me of my clothes, he sits up to admire his work. His chest is heaving. “You are so beautiful, so fucking
beautiful.” His eyes are taking in every inch of my skin. “I need to touch you…” Leaning down, Jon runs his fingers over the
tops of my nipples, making me shudder. “Taste you…” His lips sweep my breasts, and his tongue slides out, running across my
skin. Warm and wet. Every move he makes tantalizes me. “I don’t know how the fuck I resisted you for so long.”
I grab his back, pulling him closer. He is so strong, so beautiful to my eyes. His naked body pressed against mine. Little
moans erupt from my mouth. Jon kisses me harder. His lovemaking is so much better than I imagined.
“I want you,” I whisper.
His fingers run down my thigh. “I want you too.” Kisses fall over my hip, down my leg.
“Yes,” I moan.
His hand rubs between my legs. “Fuck…”
I want it. I want him so badly. “Please…” I beg, my hips wiggling under his touch.
The way he’s staring into my eyes dismantles me. He’s rubbing his hardness against me. “You want this?” he asks playfully.
He touches my cheek with the back of his right hand, then kisses me passionately.
I moan, “Yes, please.”
Jon kneels and grabs a— translating—condom from the drawer. I understand from the original human’s knowledge that this is
used to protect against disease and prevent pregnancy. If only he knew that my cloned body can’t conceive a life-form. But how
would I tell him without revealing that I am not human? I keep it to myself.
He rips the package open with his teeth and rolls the condom onto his long, hard member. I gulp. Seeing it so close up is
almost more than I can take. My inner thighs quiver, anticipating his touch. “Oh my god…” I blurt out.
Jon smirks. He leans down and kisses my neck all the way up to my ear, then whispers, “See something you like?”
I nod, biting my lip. Electric heat rushes over my skin.
“Why are you so fucking adorable…” Jon kisses my lips. I am on the edge; my dreams are about to come true. But Jon is still
teasing me. His lips now graze my neck and shoulders, making me shiver. He is so close, too close. I want him so badly.
For a moment, it feels like he’s about to slide into me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he toys with me. I feel the tip of his penis; all I
want is for him to put it in. Just put it in. He slides in, but just a tad and then it’s out again.
Staring into my eyes, he puts his right hand on my hip. “Are you sure you’re ready?” he asks.
I moan. This game of cat and mouse is driving me wild. Will he, won’t he. When or if. His lips on mine. His warm breath on
my face. Finally, the moment I’ve been waiting for. He slides inside, all of him. I feel a rush of energy, of power. My insides
are ready to explode. Jon lets out a guttural groan.
Sounds I’ve never heard leave my throat as he slides in and out in a beautiful rhythmic dance. I imagined a million times
what it would be like to be with Jon. This goes way beyond my wildest dreams. The tingly pressure of him inside me makes me
dizzy. My visions, which have been nonexistent since my arrival to Earth, flood my consciousness. A scene of the two of us
inside a bubble of purple and blue lights flashes in my mind’s eye. It feels like we are dancing. Our bodies move to their own
music, knowing the way. Not only is his body close to mine but our hearts feel connected. His sweet kisses are replaced with a
passionate music orchestrated by our lips and tongues. They, too, have their own dance, complementing our body rhythm
perfectly.
With each thrust, our sounds of ecstasy create a symphony. His skin glows with soft moisture. I run my fingers down his back,
scratching him on the way up. His breathing changes. Instinctively, I know he is close. The way he holds his breath. The way
his exhales are now deep moans. Everything he does brings me closer too. It’s like being in a pleasure-filled funhouse, where
everything tastes like pancakes. Creamy, sweet, syrupy. Delicious.
My heart is about to burst. I’m so happy. I’ve let Jon into a place that belongs only to him. My heart decided it the second he
touched me. I’ve never loved anyone how I love him in these moments. Never. My love for him deepened the moment his body
entered mine. Our breathing is more rapid as we both rise to climax. The intensity of my pleasure increases as I hear his
groans, all the feelings of Jon’s heart. His taste, his touch, his body.
“Oh, Alis,” he whispers, rolling his hips. “You feel so good.” Hearing those words brings another level of bliss to my body.
A huge wave of ecstasy builds inside me and suddenly explodes. Beyond moaning, I’m shrieking with joy. The visions
continue, and bursts of rainbow-hued lights erupt around me. It feels like our bodies have merged into one. Seeing us connected
on the inside and feeling him equally with my body sends new waves of bliss through me.
“I’m about to cum,” he moans. His lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, his body filling me fully. This realization inspires a
new level of enjoyment. My insides wrap around him, pulling him into me like my body has its own mind. His thrusts are more
potent now. I’m about to explode again. I feel his heat, the energy of his orgasm. Jon is groaning as he makes a few short
thrusts. “Fuck…” My back arches as pleasure waves continue to pulse through my entire body. My eyes are flickering with
lights. I can hardly see Jon or his room. My breath catches, and I do not remember to exhale fully. My body is still shaking. I
scream, biting his shoulder, my hands on his back, pulling him into me. Slowly, I come back to reality, seeing Jon’s eyes on
mine. “Alisterria, that was amazing…” He kisses me gently, one hand around my lower back, the other holding himself up. “It
felt like fireworks were exploding inside me… every one of my senses was on fire.”
I’m surprised. “You felt that too?”
He nods. “It was the most insane thing I’ve ever experienced.” Jon pulls out of me and gets up, hand cupping the end of his
penis. “Be right back,” he says, leaving the room. When he returns, the condom is gone, and he climbs back into bed next to me.
Jon wraps his arms around my naked body, pulling the top sheet over us. “To get back to what I was saying, I’ve never felt
anything like it. That was beyond sex. It was pure ecstasy.”
I’m beaming, glad that he felt it too. Lying here together, our bodies now spent and motionless, Jon buries his head in my
chest. I pull him close, still feeling his heart beating. He squeezes me tighter, kissing my chest. It feels like I’m melting into him,
him into me. There is peace in the silence between us. It is like all my cells relaxed, and I feel calm. Everything feels right. My
heart and soul have never known such happiness.
Jon looks up at me. “I hope all the waiting wasn’t too much. I just wanted it to feel right.”
I sigh. “It did. It felt right.”
Jon kisses me again.
I rub his back tenderly. “You called me Alis.”
He smiles, fingers tracing my belly button. “I did.”
My hands run through his thick, wavy hair. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
 He sits up, propped on his elbow. “Oh, sorry. Did you not like it?”
“No, I liked it. You can say it more if you want.”
“Okay, Alis,” he says, kissing my hand.
I melt.
“Do you want more lovemaking, Alis?” he asks, tickling my sides. “Shall I place my longsword inside your special treasure
chest?”
Laughing, I reply, “Yes please, kind sir. I shall not rest without it.”
He grins and kisses me between my breasts. “I won’t let you feel alone, m’lady,” he teases, kissing me all over. I can’t help
giggling.
Then, Jon gets more serious. “I’m catching feelings for you, Alis,” he says quietly. “I know we only just met, and maybe it
isn’t right to fall for you so quickly, but that has happened. You’ve wiggled your way into my heart.”
He kisses my lips softly. I love everything that he is doing, everything he is saying. It’s like I’ve been waiting my whole life
for him. I wrap my arms around his back and pull him closer.
“Jon, I’m so glad I waited to do this until I met you,” I say as I hold him in my arms. “You are forever my one and only.”
He lifts his head and cocks it to the side. “You don’t mean the one and only, right? This wasn’t your first time?”
The way he’s looking at me has me confused. “Yes. It was,” I reply shyly.
“What… how is that even possible?” he stammers.
“Is that unusual?” I ask, feeling self-conscious. “It is normal where I’m from. Things are different there.” The truth is, sex
isn’t even a part of our reality. We evolved past the need for it eons ago. Except me, apparently.
His forehead crinkles and he looks deeply into my eyes. “Oh, Alis,” he says, kissing my lips. “I’m sorry, I just assumed. I
would have been more careful, less rambunctious. Are you… okay?”
I’m grinning from ear to ear. “I’m more than okay. This is the best moment of my life.”
“Aw, baby.” He squeezes me tighter and kisses me.
He called me baby. My heart melts without even knowing why. When I reference the original human’s knowledge, I
understand this to be a term used between lovers. My heart got it right. He is also my baby. Somehow, this makes me feel
incredibly satisfied. His large, warm body behind me, he wraps his arm around me, and I nestle in to go to sleep.

Jon

My beautiful goddess is still sleeping. Waking up and seeing Alisterria lying in my arms was the best feeling in the world. In
life, it is rare to find that special someone. I feel like I’ve met my match in her.
I’ve already been up for an hour checking in with work on my laptop. As I’m waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, I scroll
through all the texts that I missed while I was wrapped up in Alisterria. She distracts me and makes me forget everything I have
to do. But I need to maintain some amount of focus.
With a mug of freshly brewed Nepali roast coffee in my hand, I return to my bedroom. Alisterria is just waking up. It’s so
cute how she stretches herself awake, arms over her head, body twisting. “Good morning, baby. Do you want coffee?” I sit
down on the edge of the bed.
She sits up, takes the cup in her tiny hands and takes a sip. “Mmm…”
I scoot in behind her, and she leans back against me. “Alis, can we talk about today?” I ask, running my fingers down her
arm.
“Yes,” she replies in between sips.
“I don’t want to assume anything. I know you came to town for business, but I want to spend more time with you. Do you
have time to hang out today?” I squeeze her and kiss her hair.
“I have time.”
I’m still so unsure. There are things she doesn’t talk about. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“In trouble?” She sounds surprised.
A little alarm in my gut goes off. “With your employer.”
“Oh, right… I… um… my schedule is flexible.”
 “You’re lucky. What do you do?” I ask, trying to find out more.
“I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom,” she replies, suddenly handing me the mug and getting up. My eyes take in her
backside with a great deal of satisfaction. That little ass of hers, so tight and round, is perfect for biting. No matter what I do,
she avoids any questions about her work or where she lives. I won’t push her, but I hope she will begin to trust me at some
point. It is a little odd. Yet for some reason I ignore my gut instincts. Maybe I don’t really want to know or maybe I’m
completely under her spell.
When she returns, I pull her down into bed with me, kissing her lips. Her naked body is so tempting, but I try to stay on task.
“By the way, I called in sick to work this morning. I couldn’t even think of leaving you yet.” I kiss her neck and squeeze her
tight. My hand drifts lower over her butt. “So, besides the fact that you are naked right now, I noticed you don’t have any
clothes with you. Do we need to stop by your hotel?” I put my earlier worries on the back burner.
“No, I like wearing your clothes… if that is okay,” she says shyly.
I lose myself in her, my hand in her hair. “Of course, it’s more than okay. If you are sure.”
“I am.”
I pull her into me with my leg. Her lips are so close I feel her warm breath on my skin. “Maybe we’ll just stay in bed all day.
That way you won’t need clothes. You look so delicious in the morning.”
She tries to hide her face. “I feel like trash.”
“You look like an angel.”
“Maybe I should shower,” she replies, trying to get up.
“Maybe you should lie right here,” I say, licking her neck. “Maybe you should make love with me again. If you aren’t too
sore.”
“I’m not sore. But wouldn’t you rather have a clean Alisterria?”
I suck my teeth and pull her body in close to mine, so close there are no gaps between us. “No, I like you dirty.”
“Please…”
“Okay, let’s go shower you off, dirty girl,” I say, swatting her sweet tush.
I lead her into the bathroom and turn on the water, waiting till it gets warm. I hold her steady as we move into the cascade. I
wet her hair, squeeze shampoo into my hand, and lather up her long, dark locks. After I rinse her hair I say, “Here, let me wash
you.” I squirt body wash into my hand, then slowly cleanse her body with my soapy hands. From her neck down to her cute
little toes, I touch every part of her body, even the places only I know intimately. Clean or dirty. Being so close, feeling her
warm, wet skin, I’m harder than a rock.
Instinctively, I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my back. I kiss her lips gently. “Do you want to make love, Alis?”
She nods.
My hands are holding up her butt. “Tell me.”
She bites her bottom lip. “I want to.”
I lean her against the shower wall. One hand supporting her, the other moving a dark lock stuck to her face. “I’m afraid I’m
going to hurt you.” I kiss her cheek.
“You won’t. I want to… I promise.”
I set her down, getting a condom from the top drawer of the vanity. I roll it on, adding a little lubricant. I’m going to do
everything in my power not to hurt her. But everything in me wants to tear her apart, fuck her so hard she’ll cry my name, even
in her sleep. I tamp down my desire and return to the shower. Her legs wrap around me again, and I slide inside her. She gasps.
“Are you okay?”
She nods. “It just feels… so good.”
“Oh, baby…” Moving inside her feels so natural, so right. The connection we share is mind-blowing. The feel of her, so
tight, wrapped around me, pulls me right to the edge. “I need to slow down,” I whisper in her ear. “You’re doing me in.” I
breathe deeply in an attempt to calm down. She shifts her weight and nearly unmans me. “Don’t move… please,” I groan.
“Sorry,” she says with a small voice.
“No baby, I’m sorry.” I brush her cheek with my thumb. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh… if you need to move, just tell me… I
want you to be comfortable.” I kiss her lips tenderly.
Her eyes are soft and luminous. “I’m okay now.”
Being inside her, there are tingly sparks of energy zapping every inch of me. Even when I’m perfectly still, I feel like I will
explode. Half a minute passes and I have myself under control. Kissing her again. She feels so good. As I thrust into her, a
rhythm develops between us. Her right breast in my mouth. My tongue teasing her nipple.
I suck my teeth. “Shit, Alis… being inside you, it feels electric.”
She looks concerned. “Is that bad?”
Breathing heavily, I thrust into her, my face in her hair. “No… I like it… too much…” I groan.
I’m rotating my hips, filling every inch of her as I do. Every time I do she moans, which only sets me off. My mouth on hers,
our tongues intertwine, I’m so close. Her breath catches at the top; she’s making these little shrieking sounds. “Oh, baby… I’m
about to cum,” I moan, licking her neck. I move in rapid motion, each time only going in halfway, then finally, a long, deep
thrust. Her body arches, and her eyes roll up in her head. I feel her sexual energy wrapped tightly around me. I’m flooded with
white fire like I’m burning, but in the best possible way. I’m in and out of my body all at once. Waves of pleasure surge through
me. Alisterria seems to be going through her own experience; her eyes are closed, she’s panting, moaning.
It takes several minutes before both of us come down from our high, and when she finally opens her emerald eyes, tears are
streaming down her cheeks. Concerned, I wipe her face. “Baby, are you okay… what’s wrong?”
She sniffles. “I’m okay. It was just… so beautiful.”
“Aw, Alis, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I really wanted you to know how much I want you.” I kiss her soft, wet lips, our
bodies still close, not wanting to part.
“I feel it,” she says, water dripping down her face. “I feel you.”
I caress her cheek. “Aw, baby… I feel you, too.” I kiss her lips. “I’m going to set you down, okay?”
She nods.
I pull out and dispose of the used condom, then return to rinse off. Turning off the water, we get out of the shower, and I dry
her off with her fluffy white towel. With coconut oil in my hands, I massage her skin. Soft shoulders, kissable belly, breasts I’d
like to tease with my tongue. Down her back, curving into her sweet ass. Those thighs, whose impression is still on my hips.
“Come on, you. Let’s go eat,” I say, swatting her butt.
After we get dressed, Alis in one of my t-shirts and me in gray sweats, we go to the kitchen to make breakfast. I lean down
and kiss her. Then in one motion I lift her up, setting her on the counter, legs hanging over the edge. “Hang out here, okay?” A
chaste kiss and I go back to making food. Getting out the cutting board and a knife, I start chopping bell peppers, mushrooms,
and an onion. When they are sauteing in oil, I move in between her legs. My hands run up her thighs, squeezing them gently as
my tongue gets in her mouth. She tastes so good.
Electric sensations run through my hands and arms every time I touch her. “Alis, you are full of electricity… did you know
that?”
“I am?” She wraps her arms around my neck. Passionate stirrings linger from her touch.
“Yeah… I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something about you,” I reply, kissing her again. “You are different from
anyone I’ve ever met.”
She grins wholeheartedly.
Then, remembering that I’m meant to be cooking, I break away. After whisking eggs in the metal mixing bowl, I add them to a
clean pan, then scoop in the sauteed veggies. Her foot slides up my leg. “Are you trying to distract me?” I ask teasingly.
She flashes a smile. “Maybe… is it working?”
I wedge myself between her thighs again, our tongues intertwined. “Yes… always.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you though?”
She shakes her head no.
“I didn’t think so.”
Not wanting to leave her warm thighs, I lean over to add cheese to the omelet. With some effort, I flip the top of the omelet
over, sealing the cheese inside. Our lips find each other again. She runs her fingers through my hair, pulling it slightly. It feels
amazing. She feels amazing. “Alis, I’ve been looking for you my whole life. Where did you come from?” I ask with a sexy
smirk.
“Me? I dropped down from another Universe,” she answers mischievously.
My chuckle is deep and throaty. “I believe you,” I say, kissing her neck. “Ready to eat?”
Her fingertips graze just inside the waistband of my pants. “I’m starving.”
Heat swells inside me but I pull away and plate the omelet with buttered toast. I’m back to my rightful place between her
thighs. My lips graze her fingers as she feeds me. Intense, warm sensations fill me as I take her hand and put her whole finger in
my mouth, licking off the remains. Our touch is seductive, warm, and sensual. I’m so captivated, so wrapped up in our
connection, that nothing else matters.
I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I’m thoroughly smitten. Everything she does feels like magic. If I’m not careful, I’m
going to fall for her completely, and I don’t even know where she lives. There's hardly anything about her I know. Still, the way
she draws me in, in moments I don’t care about any of that. It feels so good just to be near her. I hope my heart can handle this
potentially wild ride. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life.
 Five

Alisterria

W ith morning kisses in bed, Jon’s tongue slides over to my breast. I savor every kiss, unsure how many moments I have left.
It is a strange line to walk, having an open heart and keeping secrets. It isn’t what I want. There are so many things he
doesn’t know. So many details about myself that I’m withholding, unable to share openly about who I am.
In my heart, I know this relationship won’t last forever, but the thought of ruining our time together is too much to bear. The
last thing I want to say is, ‘I may leave forever, and we may never see each other again.’ Looking at him, my heart is so full of
love and appreciation. Sharing my body and my heart with him, he is now a part of me. I could no more leave him willingly
than I could require my body to stop breathing air. It is an impossibility. He is in every cell in my body. No matter where I am, I
am his. We are bonded for eternity.
Not only am I very aware of my impending departure, but I’m also fearful that the original human will come back early, and I
will be ripped from Jon’s arms before I can explain everything. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to say goodbye. I’m full of
anguish and despair. My mind replays the possibility of my sudden departure on repeat. As much as I try to push that aside, it
creeps back in.
Although I don’t say the words, Jon seems to react to my inner thoughts. He leans into me, propped on his elbow, the other
hand draped over my belly. “Alis?”
“Yes?” I respond, already missing his warm breath on my naked skin.
“I don’t know what it is, but I can’t bear to leave your side.” He kisses my cheek. “Are you feeling it too?”
I nod.
“I know I can’t do it forever, but I called into work today too.” His free hand lightly brushes down my middle. I inhale
sharply, my breath caught at the top. “I just want to stay here in bed with you all day.”
I feel relieved. “Me too. I have no desire to leave.”
He looks up, piercing blue eyes on mine. “But can you? I know you aren’t in town just to see me.” He returns to my nipple,
sucking it gently. It is everything I can do to maintain my composure. I’m already so turned on.
“How do you know that?” I flash a wide grin. “That is exactly what I’m here for… you and only you.” I pull him into me and
try to flip us over to distract him. I manage, but barely and I’m now on top of him.
He eyes me like I’m lunch. “Oh, Alis,” he growls. “What is this fair game?” Jon tries to reach his arms around me, but I stop
him. With my hands, I press his forearms against the bed. My lips make their way down his neck and back to his mouth. I
momentarily seize his bottom lip with my teeth. My tongue takes advantage of his warm, naked skin. I lavish kisses and little
bites all over his neck, then his chest.
He smirks, breathing heavier. “So you want to play, do you?”
I nod, continuing my kissing spree.
He seems calm, perhaps too calm. “Okay, I hope you won’t regret your decision.”
“I won’t regret a thing,” I respond, teasing his nipple with my teeth.
His head tilts down, eyes honed in on mine. “Are you sure about that?”
I move up and press my lips into his. “I’m sure.” I kiss my way over to his ear, licking and sucking on his earlobe.
Without warning, he flips us back over, my body underneath his, wrists pinned to the bed. He’s breathing hard, eyes wild.
I try to free myself, wriggling my body, my arms pushing against his hands. But unlike him, I can’t move. “Jon, let me go,” I
feign upset.
His voice is husky. “I gave you fair warning, Alisterria.” He captures my mouth, tongues intertwined. “Now, you are mine.”
The hunger in his eyes, that crooked smile, I can see that he has me right where he wants me. Secretly, I like this game. Only
because I trust him so completely can I surrender this fully.
I wiggle under him like I’m trying to get away. “All you have to do is admit my victory,” he says, kissing my cheek.
My chest is heaving. “And then what?”
He licks the edges of my ear. “And I’ll let you go.”
That isn’t what I want. I’m definitely not doing that. I try to wriggle free. The intensity increases as he runs his tongue over
my nipple. I pant. He continues teasing me, licking ever so lightly over my bare breasts.
“Jon…” I whine.
His voice is authoritative. “Say it, Alis…”
“Never,” I push back, smiling coyly.
He presses his groin into my thighs. “If you admit I won, you can have what I know you are desperate for,” he breathes into
my ear, sending shivers all over my body.
I’m not sure how to respond. If this is a game, I want to win, but then again, I want him inside me so bad my head is aching.
All this teasing has my system on overload.
“Okay,” I reluctantly concede.
He licks my neck up to my ear. Shivers overtake my body. “So, does that mean I can do whatever I want?” His voice is deep
and full of need.
I nod vigorously.
“Say it…” he commands, pressing his hardness into my leg.
“You…” He continues licking my neck, my chest, teasing my nipples. “You can… do what you want…” I love feeling his
warm kisses on my skin. I feel like I’m on fire.
“Don’t move…” he commands and I obey.
He releases my wrists and grabs a condom from the bedside table. Once the condom is on, he wedges himself in between my
thighs. My wrists once again pinned to the bed. I gasp. So ready, so needy.
“Mmm… I like you like this…” he growls. “I’m not even inside you yet, and you are ready to blow.”
His mouth moves further south, letting go of my wrists. He spreads my legs further apart with his hands. “Fuck, you’re
beautiful…” His fingers graze my tender edges. I inhale suddenly. Jon’s tongue touches me ever so lightly. I can’t breathe. I
swallow hard. His mouth captures me, and I almost black out. These sensations are beyond anything I’ve ever experienced
before. My legs are quivering. The feeling of his wet tongue is almost too much. My breaths are moans. He slips a finger inside
me and groans, “Jesus, you’re so wet…” He sucks his teeth. “I can’t wait.” In one smooth movement, he is now on top of me,
resting on his elbows. He kisses my lips, eyes full of desire. “I need to be inside you.” Every part of me is shaking, so close to
oblivion.
Jon slips inside me. I cry out from the intense pleasure. His thrusts are deep and slow, taking his time to achieve the right
level of pleasure. He’s groaning and rolling his hips. His body starts to shake. His skin glistens with moisture. Indescribable
sensations overtake my body. I’m flooded with a light energy that seems to confuse the cloned body’s signals.
Without any warning, he stops moving. His body is so still, all I want is for him to press into me. Already, I’m close to what
is probably something beyond orgasm. I’m panting and grabbing at the sheets, writhing underneath him, desperately wanting
him to finish.
My back arches, and I cry, “Don’t stop…”
His warm breath on my skin as he kisses the tender spot under my ear. “Don’t stop what, Alisterria?”
I moan in response, my head shaking back and forth, my toes curling.
His face is so close to mine, withholding even his kisses. “What do you want?”
I swallow hard, licking my lips. “Please…” I beg.
He breathes in my ear, “Tell me…”
“Your cock…” I yelp, hips lifting, pressing against him.
“Oh, you want more of this?” Jon’s mouth envelops mine, our tongues dancing. He rolls his hips. In, out, and around. Slow,
methodical thrusts.
I’m flooding and pulsing around him when he stops moving once again. I try to pull him into me, and he presses my wrists
down into the bed again. I can no longer see straight. Even if he doesn’t move again, I’m likely to cum. “Fuck me… please…” I
yelp.
“Okay… I’m nothing if not amenable to my lady’s wishes.” He kisses me, tongue in full force. When he moves again, I’m lost
in the pleasure; my mouth is watering. I’m delirious, and erotic energy pulses through me. As I get to the edge, this time he lets
me go. He kisses me and thrusts deep within me. I feel it as we climax together. A wave of bliss rushes throughout my body. My
orgasm is everywhere, all over. Even in my light body. Every particle of mine is flooded with ecstasy.
Still feeling the full effects, my heart is in an open, expanded state. It feels like Jon and I are one, somehow. I drift as a
sensual vision appears before me. I see our two naked bodies floating in a golden light energy cloud. It is the most beautiful
thing I have ever seen. Jon’s body is emanating light to the point where he’s glowing. I’m in awe of him. A golden sinewy cord
Another random document with
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 “That’ll have to do,” he thought. “It doesn’t really matter it being a
bit short.”
He poured himself out a cupful of hot water for shaving. It was
one of the advantages of living alone that he could shave in the
kitchen if he liked.
Curiously enough he paused after pouring out the water.
“Shall I or shall I not?” he pondered. He examined his chin in the
mirror. “I suppose I’ll do,” he decided, “it won’t be noticed in the gas-
light.”
Then he saw the water he had poured out.
“Oh, well,” he thought, “perhaps I will, after all....”
He took out his razor, one of the old-fashioned kind, stropped it
carefully and lathered himself.
While he was shaving he thought: “I wish I hadn’t told that boy
Jones I’d send him to Clotters on Monday morning. Clotters won’t
like it much....”
Suddenly, and seemingly without any premeditation, he thrust the
soapy razor into his throat, just above the windpipe....

§7
At the Duke Street Methodist Schoolroom a select audience of
eleven waited until half-past eight for Mr. Weston to deliver his paper
on “Shakespeare.”
“Perhaps he’s ill,” suggested Miss Picksley.
“No, he’s not, because he was at school this afternoon. My
brother’s in his class,” said one of the Gunter girls.
“Where does he live?”
“Kitchener Road ... 24 or 25 ... I forget which.”
“Well, it’s not far away. Somebody might go round and see. He
may have forgotten all about it.”
 “I’ll go,” said Mr. Sly, the treasurer.
“I’ll come too,” said Miss Picksley, who had designs on Mr. Sly.
“We’ll all come,” chorused the Gunter girls.
“No, don’t,” said Miss Picksley. “We don’t want a crowd. It doesn’t
look nice.”
Through the refuse of a Friday evening’s marketing Mr. Sly and
Miss Picksley walked to Kitchener Road. They did not mind the walk
They did not even go the quickest way.
At No. 26 old father Jopson was standing at the front gate with
his monstrous goitre hanging down.
“It must be 24,” said Mr. Sly, “because this is 26.”
“Yes,” agreed Miss Picksley. She walked up to the porch of No.
24 and knocked.
“Does Mr. Weston live here?” enquired Mr. Sly.
Jopson nodded profoundly.
“He must be out,” said Miss Picksley.
“Do you know if he’s out?” enquired Mr. Sly.
Jopson raised his eyes sagaciously.
“’E’s in, ’cos I seed ’im come in couple ’v ars ago, an’ I bin ’ere or
in the fron’-rum ever since.”
“Perhaps he’s in the garden.”
“’E don’t go in the gawden nardays.”
“Lives by himself, doesn’t he?”
“Yus, lives by ’imself.”
“I’m sure he must be out,” said Miss Picksley. As unostentatiously
as possible she peeped through the letter-box. (She was not quite
certain whether this was really a ladylike proceeding.)
“’E ain’t aout, ’relse I should ’a seen ’im go aout.”
 “His hat and coat are on the hall-stand, too.... Perhaps he’s ill.”
“Try again. Maybe he was in the garden and didn’t hear the first
knocks.”
They tried again, but to no purpose. Eventually they went away in
the direction of Cubitt Lane.
“Nine o’clock,” said Miss Picksley. “Surely nobody’ll be waiting in
the schoolroom. I don’t think it’s much good going back.”
“Nor do I,” said Mr. Sly. “In fact, we might go for a walk....”
Miss Picksley did not object, so they strolled past the King’s Arms
into the Forest and forgot all about Mr. Weston and his promised
paper on William Shakespeare....

§8
On Saturday morning at half-past nine the rent-man came to No.
24, Kitchener Road to collect his weekly seven-and-sixpence. His
customary treble knock begat no reply. Simultaneously he noticed
the milk-can on the step. It was full, and the conclusion was that Mr.
Weston was still in bed.
Never as long as the rent-man could remember (and that was a
very long time) had the household at No. 24 been asleep at 9.30 on
a Saturday morning.
He went his rounds and returned to No. 24 on his way home
about ten past one. The milk-can was still there on the step. Its
solitude was now shared by a loaf of bread which the baker had left.
Receiving no answer to his knocks, the rent-man went to No. 26.
There the garrulous Mrs. Jopson recounted the visit of the two
callers on the previous evening.
“They knocked an’ knocked an’ knocked, but couldn’t git no anser
... an’ my ’usband swears ’e ’adn’t seen ’im go aout.”
Eventually it was decided that the rent-man should climb over the
fence in Jopson’s back garden and effect an entrance into No. 24 by
the back way. Jopson, morbidly curious, was to go with him.
You picture this strange couple standing in the tiny back scullery
of No. 24, Jopson with his huge face-monstrosity all mottled and pink
and shining with sweat, and the rent-man sleek and dapper,
fountain-pen behind his ear, receipt-book stuffed in his side pocket.
“Gow on strite through,” said Jopson thickly, “it leads inter the
kitchin.”
Slowly and almost apprehensively the rent-man turned the
handle....
 CHAPTER VIII
POST-MORTEM
§1
IT seemed to Catherine the most curious thing in the world that she
should be sitting with George Trant inside a taxi. There was no light
inside, and only the distant glimmer of London came in through the
window. All was dim and dark and shadowy. Yet somewhere
amongst these shadows sat George Trant. Perhaps he was thinking
that somewhere amongst those shadows sat she, Catherine Weston.
A voice said out of the shadows: “We shan’t be long now.”
Catherine said: “How far are we going?”
“You’re going home ... to your lodgings, that is.... You fainted, I
suppose you know....”
“Did I?” And she thought: “He killed himself out of loneliness. He
couldn’t live without me. I am the cause, I am the reason.”
“Feeling all right now?”
“Oh yes ... must have been the excitement.”
“Probably.” His voice was cold, unsympathetic. She felt that he
was deliberately looking away from where he thought she was.
“You needn’t take me all the way, you know. I can walk from the
Ridgeway corner.”
“I shall take you all the way,” he said crisply.
With strange instinct she sensed his antagonism.
“I believe you’re angry with me,” she said. Yet all the while she
was thinking: “I suppose there’ll be an inquest and a big fuss and all
that. And the furniture and stuff will have to be sold.”
No answer.
“You are,” she repeated, and was surprised by her own
persistence. After all, she didn’t care twopence whether he was
angry with her or not. Only she would have been gratified if he were
angry with her. It was something to come into a man’s life enough to
make him angry. And it was rather an amusing pastime, this flirting
with George Trant.
“Perhaps I am,” he said coldly.
“Why?” It would interest her to know why. At any rate she might
as well know why.
“You’ve disappointed me.”
That was all. It satisfied her. He had evidently been building
ideals around her. He had dreamed dreams in which she had been
epic and splendid and magnificent. He had thought of her sufficiently
for her to have the power of disappointing him. She was gratified.
After all, she did not like him, so there was no reason why she
should mind disappointing him. And he had paid her the subtle
compliment of being disappointed with her.
She did not particularly want to know how she had disappointed
him. Yet the conversation seemed incomplete without the question:
“In what way?”
She could feel him turning round to face her.
“Various ways,” he said vaguely, but his tone seemed to invite her
to pursue the subject. For that very reason she kept silent. It was not
a matter of sufficient importance for her to ask the same question
twice over. And if he did want her to repeat her question, that was all
the more reason for her not doing so.
After a moment’s silence he said: “You’ve changed a good deal
since I last knew you.”
“Yes, haven’t I?” There was an almost triumphant jauntiness in
her voice.
 “And you haven’t changed for the better, either,” he went on.
“That’s what you say.”
“Precisely. That’s what I say.” He was trying to be sarcastic, yet
she knew that he was feeling acutely miserable. There was
something in his voice that told her he was feeling acutely miserable.
And she had no pity. She was even exhilarated. He was miserable
about her. In some way she was invested with the power of making
him miserable.
“Oh, I can’t tell you——” he began bitterly, and stopped.
A queer thrill went down her spine. For the first time in her life
she was conscious of the presence of passion in another person. It
was quite a novel experience, yet it called to mind that scene in the
Duke Street Methodist Schoolroom when she and Freddie McKellar
had come to blows.... A flash of realization swept over her. He was in
love with her. He was really in love with her. She had so often
wondered and thought and speculated, and now she knew. His voice
had become transfigured, so to speak, out of passion for her. What a
pity he could not see her hair! She did not care for him one little bit.
She knew that now. She had not been quite certain before, but now,
in the very moment of realizing his love of her, she thought: “How
funny, I believe I really dislike him.... I don’t even want to flirt with him
again.”
Yet she was immensely gratified that he had paid her the terrific
compliment of falling in love with her.
A sort of instinct warned her that she should deflect the
conversation into other channels. She was immensely interested in
this curious phenomenon, yet she feared anti-climax. He might try to
kiss her and grope round in the dark searching for her. That would
be anti-climax. And also (this came as a sudden shaft of realization)
she did not want him to kiss her. Many a time of late she had
thought: “What shall I do if he kisses me?” She had resigned herself
to the possibility that one day he might kiss her. She had been
annoyed at his dalliance. “I wish to goodness he’d do it, if he’s going
to,” had been her frequent thought, and she had provoked him
subtly, cunningly, deliberately.... Now it came to her as an
unwelcome possibility. She did not in the least desire him to kiss her.
She knew she would actively dislike it if he did.
“Getting chilly,” she remarked nonchalantly, and she knew how
such an observation would grate upon him. She was fascinated by
this new miraculous power of hers to help or to hurt or to torture.
Every word she said was full of meaning to him: talking to him was
infinitely more subtle than ordinary conversation. It was this subtlety
that partly fascinated her. For instance, when she said, “Getting
chilly,” she meant, “We’ll change the subject. I know what you’re
driving at, and I don’t like it. It doesn’t please me a bit.” And what
was more, she knew that he would interpret it like that, and that he
would feel all those feelings which the expansion of her remark
would have aroused.
“I’ll shut the window,” he said, and did so.
It was so subtle, this business, that his remarks, too, could be
interpreted. For instance, his words, “I’ll shut the window,” meant
really, “Is that so? Well, I guessed as much. You’re utterly heartless. I
shall have to resign myself to it, anyway. So, as you suggest, we’ll
change the subject.”
The taxi turned into the Bockley High Street.
Catherine was like a child with a new toy. And this toy was the
most intricate, complicated, and absorbingly interesting toy that had
ever brought ecstasy to its possessor. How strange that he should
be in love with her! How marvellous that there should be something
strange and indefinable in her that had attracted something strange
and indefinable in him!
And she thought, in spasms amidst her exhilaration: “Probably
Ransomes will sell the furniture for me.... He killed himself for me.
I’m the reason....”
It tickled her egoism that he should have done so. He must have
done so. It could only have been that.
Here was George Trant, head over heels in love with her. And
here was her father, stupid, narrow-minded, uncompromising bigot,
yet committing suicide because she had run away from home. She
preferred to regard herself as a runaway rather than as a castaway.
Truly she was developing into a very marvellous and remarkable
personage!...

§2
As she entered the side door of No. 14, Gifford Road at the
improper hour of three a.m., the thin voice of Mrs. Carbass called
down the stairs: “That you, Miss Weston?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a telegraph for you on the table....”
“Righto!” How jaunty! How delightfully nonchalant! As if one were
used to receiving telegrams! As if one were even used to arriving
home at three a.m.!
Catherine turned the tap of the gas, which had been left burning
at a pin-point in the basement sitting-room. Her hand must have
been unsteady, for she turned it out. That necessitated fumbling for
matches....
The telegram was addressed to the Upton Rising Cinema, and
had been handed in at Bockley Post Office some twelve hours
before. It ran:
Father had accident. Come at once.—may.
Now who was May?
After much cogitation Catherine remembered an Aunt May, her
mother’s sister, who lived at Muswell Hill. Catherine had seen her but
once, and that was on the occasion of her mother’s funeral. She had
a vague recollection of a prim little woman about fifty, with a high-
necked blouse and hair done up in a knob at the back.
Catherine decided to go as soon as possible the following day.
She went quietly to bed, but found it impossible to sleep. She was
strangely exhilarated. She felt like a public-school boy on the eve of
the breaking-up morning. New emotions were in store for her, and
she, the epicure, delighted in new and subtle emotions. Yet even
with her exhilaration there was a feeling of doubt, of misgiving, of
uneasiness as to the nature of her own soul. Was she really
heartless? How was it she had never grieved at her mother’s death?
Try as she would, she could not detect in her feelings for her father
anything much more than excitement, curiosity, amazement, even in
a kind of way admiration, at what he had done. She felt he had done
something infinitely bigger than himself. For the first time in her life
she felt towards him impersonally, as she might have done towards
any stranger: “I should like to have known that man.”
The exact significance of her attitude towards George Trant came
upon her. She was playing with him. She knew that. It was not so
much in revenge for what had happened long before; it was from
sheer uncontrollable ecstasy at wielding a new and
incomprehensible power. She would have played ruthlessly with any
man who had been so weak and misguided as to fall in love with her.
She knew that perfectly well. Therefore it was a good thing the man
was George Trant, for at least in his case she might conceivably
justify herself. And yet she knew that justifying herself had really
nothing at all to do with the matter; she knew that there was in her
some mysterious impulse that prompted her to do and to say things
quite apart from any considerations of justice or justification. Cruel?
Yes, possibly.
She pondered.
No. She was not cruel. If she heard a cat mewing in the street
she would scarcely ever pass it by. A child crying filled her with
vague depression. She was not cruel. But she was immensely,
voraciously curious, a frantic explorer of her own and other people’s
emotions, a ruthless exploiter of dramatic possibilities. She had not
developed these traits by reading novels or seeing plays or any such
exterior means. They were inherent in herself.
Suddenly she remembered the note that had been given her that
evening. By the light of a candle she sat up in bed and tore open the
thin, purple-lined envelope.
 She read:
dear madam,
Will you come and see me to-morrow (Sunday) at three p.m.,
“Claremont,” the Ridgeway, Upton Rising?—Yrs., etc.,
emil razounov.
Razounov!
She actually laughed, a little silver ripple which she immediately
stifled on reflecting that Mrs. Carbass slept in the room below.
Razounov!
Truly she was developing into a very marvellous and remarkable
personage! ...

§3
The door of No. 24, Kitchener Road was opened by Mrs. Jopson.
“Do come in,” she began effusively. “I’ve jest bin clearin’ up a
bit....” Then she added mysteriously: “Of course, they’ve took ’im
away....”
Nothing had seemingly changed in the interior aspect of the
house. Her father’s overcoat and bowler hat hung sedately as ever
upon the bamboo hall-stand. The Collard and Collard piano
presented its usual yellow grin as she looked in through the parlour
door. Catherine could not explain this yellow grin: there had been
something in the instrument’s fretwork front with the faded yellow silk
behind that had always suggested to her a demoniac leer. Now it
seemed to be leering worse than ever.... The morning sunlight struck
in through the drawn Venetian blinds and threw oblique shadows
over the grin. Every article in that room Catherine knew almost
personally. Even the unhorticultural flowers on the carpet were
something more to her than a mere pattern: they were geographical,
they held memories, they marked the topography of her earliest
days. And the mantelpiece was full of memories of seaside holidays.
A present from Southend, from Margate, from Felixstowe, a
photograph of Blackpool Tower framed in red plush, an ash-tray with
the Folkestone coat-of-arms upon it....
Mrs. Jopson related the story of the tragedy in careful detail. She
revelled in it as a boy may revel in a blood-and-thunder story. She
emphasized the mystery that surrounded the motives of the tragedy.
He had been getting livelier again. Everybody was noticing that. He
had been seen smoking his pipe in the Forest on a Sunday morning
with the complacency of one to whom life is an everlasting richness.
He had started taking out library books from the Carnegie library. He
had even had friends in his house—presumably colleagues from the
Downsland Road Council School. And he had bought a
gramophone. That was the strangest thing of all, perhaps. What on
earth did he want with a gramophone? At one time the gramophone
had been his pet aversion. All music bored him, but the sound of a
gramophone used to call forth diatribes against the degeneracy of
the modern world.... And yet it was there, in the tiny front parlour,
with its absurdly painted tin horn sticking up in the air and a record
lying flat on the circular platform. The record was one of a recent and
not particularly brilliant ragtime. Catherine, accustomed
professionally to such things, knew it well. And Mrs. Jopson said
they had heard that ragtime night after night since he had bought the
gramophone. Sometimes it was played over and over again. Really,
Mr. Jopson had thought of complaining, only he did not wish to
interfere with Mr. Weston’s efforts to liven himself up....
When Mrs. Jopson departed and left Catherine alone in the
familiar house, the atmosphere changed. The very furniture seemed
charged with secrets—secrets concerning the manner in which Mr.
Weston had spent his evenings. Whether he had gone out much, or
read books or merely moped about. Only the gramophone seemed
anxious to betray its information, and the tin horn, cocked up at an
absurdly self-confident angle, had the appearance of declaring:
“Judge from me what sort of a man he was. I was nearly the last
thing he troubled about. I am the answer to one at least of his
cravings.” From the gramophone Catherine turned to the writing-
desk. That at any rate guarded what it knew with some show of
modesty. It was full of papers belonging to Mr. Weston, but they all
seemed to emphasize the perfect normality of his life. Algebra
papers marked and unmarked, catalogues of educational book
publishers, odd cuttings from newspapers, notes from parents asking
that children should be allowed to go home early, printed lists of
scholarship candidates, and so forth. Everything to show that Mr.
Weston had gone on living pretty much as he had been accustomed.
Everything to make it more mysterious than ever why he should
suddenly cut his throat while shaving. Catherine was puzzled. She
had been constructing a grand tragedy round this pitifully
insignificant man; under the stimulating influence of her own
imagination she had already begun to sympathize; doubtless if her
imagination had discovered anything substantial to feed on she
might have ended by passionate affection for her own dead father.
Several times recently she had been on the verge of tears, not for
him personally, but out of vague sympathy with the victim of a
poignant tragedy. For to her it did indeed seem a poignant tragedy
that a man so weak, so fatuous as he was should be left entirely
alone at a time when he most needed the companionship of
someone stronger. She did not in the least regret leaving him. That
was inevitable. He wanted to boss the show. He was so pitifully
weak, so conscious of weakness that he manufactured a crisis rather
than yield on what he regarded as a crucial point. Afterwards, no
doubt, he had regretted his hastiness. Yet that strange interview on
the train to Liverpool Street seemed incapable of being fitted in....
Catherine had often thought of him sorrowing, regretting, mourning.
She had regarded his suicide as a tragic confirmation of his misery.
And now the interior of his writing-desk seemed to say: “Oh, he was
much the same—you’d scarcely have noticed any difference in him.”
And the gramophone chuckled and declared: “As a matter of fact the
old chap was beginning to have rather a good time....”
In a drawer beneath the desk she discovered his pocket diaries.
Every night before retiring it had been his custom to fill a space an
inch deep and two inches across with a closely written pencilled
commentary on the day’s events. For ten, twelve, fifteen—perhaps
twenty years he had done this. Catherine turned over the pages of
one of them at random. They contained such items as: “Sweet peas
coming up well. Shall buy some more wire-netting for them....
Clotters away at a funeral. Did his registers for him.... Gave paper on
‘Tennyson’ to Mutual Impr. Soc. Have been asked to speak at Annual
Temperance Social....” Nearly all the entries were domestic, or
connected with Mr. Weston’s labours in the school, the chapel or the
garden. Catherine searched anxiously for any mention of herself.
There were not many. Sometimes a chance remark such as: “C.
came with me to chapel ...” or “C. out to tea.” And once the strange
entry: “C. been misbehaving. But I think L. knows the right way to
manage her.” (L. was, of course, Laura, his wife.) ...
Catherine looked up the entry for November 17th, the day on
which she had left Kitchener Road. It ran: “Clotters away again this
morning. Had to take IVa in mensuration. Feel very tired. Cold wind.
Did not go to night-school.”
That was all! No mention of her!
And on the day he met her in the train to Liverpool Street he
wrote: “Warm spring sort of day. Went to Ealing to see Rogers.
Rogers got a job under the L.C.C. Two boys and a girl. Mrs. R. rather
theatrical....” And in the corner, all cramped up, as if he had stuck it
in as a doubtful after-thought: “Met C. in train to L’pool St. Seems
well enough.”
Grudging, diffident, self-reproachful, sardonic, that remark
—“Seems well enough.” With the emphasis no doubt on the
“seems.”
Lately the entries had been getting more sprightly.
“Met Miss Picksley to-day. Promised her a paper on W.
Shakespeare for the Mut. Impr. Soc....” “Walked to High Wood after
chapel. Beautiful moonlight. Saw motor-bus collision in B. High St.
coming back....” “Bought gramophone sec. hand off Clayton. £2 10.
Like a bit of music. No piano now, of course....”
“Of course.”
Catherine was immensely puzzled by that entry. She realized its
pathos, its tragic reticence, its wealth of innuendo, yet she could not
conceive his feelings when setting it down. For he had never taken
any pleasure in her “strumming,” as he called it. He had accused her
of interrupting his work. He had said: “Not quite so much noise,
please. Shut both doors....” And sometimes he had hinted darkly: “I
don’t know whether it’s you or the piano, but——” And yet he had
missed those piano noises. Vaguely, perhaps almost unconsciously,
yet sufficiently to make him conquer a carefully nurtured hatred of
the gramophone. The gramophone, viewed in the light of this new
discovery, was the tangible, incontrovertible evidence of his sense of
loss. He had missed her. He had been lonely. He had wanted her to
come back. And because of that he had bought a gramophone.
Catherine felt the presence of tragedy. Yet the ingredients were
all wrong. Gramophone buying, even in the most extravagant
circumstances, does not lend itself to sophistication. And yet, that
gramophone—absurd, insignificant, farcical though its presence was
—was the evidence of tragedy. Once more Catherine’s melodramatic
ideals crumbled. Her artistic sense was hurt by the deep significance
of that gramophone. She felt a gramophone had no right to be the
only clue she had to the tragedy of her own father. She felt
humiliated. And then for a swift moment a passion swept over her.
The false ideals collapsed into ruins, the sham sentiment, no less a
sham because it was not the sham sentiment of other people, the
morbid seeking after emotional effect, the glittering pursuit of
dramatic situations, tumbled into dust and were no longer worth
while. Nothing was left in her save a sympathy that was different
from anything she had previously called sympathy, something that
overwhelmed her like a flood. It was a pleasurable sensation, this
sympathy, and afterwards she tried to analyse the sweet agony it
had wrought in her. But at the time she did not realize either its
pleasure or its pain, and that is the truest testimony that it was
something more real and sincere than she had felt before. Tears
welled up in her eyes—tears that she did not strive either to summon
or to repress, tears that were the natural, spontaneous outpouring of
something in her that she knew nothing about. She did not think in
her egoistical, self-analysing way: “What a strange emotion I am
experiencing!” She thought kaleidoscopically of her childhood and
girlhood, and of one particular evening when her father had crept
into her room at night and asked her to kiss him. It was terrible to
remember that she had replied: “Oh, go away! ...” Terrible! All her life
it seemed to her that her attitude towards him had been—“Oh, go
away! ...” And now he had gone away out of her reach for ever. She
sat down in front of the writing-desk with the diary in front of her and
cried. She cried passionately, as a child who is crying because by his
own irrevocable act something has been denied him. She bowed her
head in her hands and gave herself up to an orgy of remorse. She
was truly heartbroken.
For a little while.
The transience of her brokenheartedness may be gauged by the
fact that on her way home she was strangely elated by a single
thought. That thought—occurring to her some half-way down the
Ridgeway—was begotten of her old ruthless habit of self-analysis.
“I’m not heartless,” she told herself. “I can’t be. Nobody could have
acted as I did who hadn’t got a heart. I believe I’ve got as much heart
as anybody, really....”
She was rather proud of the tears she had shed.... Delicious to
have such proof that she was a human being! Reassuring to find in
herself the essential humanities she had at times doubted.
Comforting to think that tragedy could move her to sympathy that
was more than merely æsthetic.... Splendid to know that deep down
in her somewhere there was a fount of feeling which she could not
turn off and on at will like a water-main....
 CHAPTER IX
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH
§1
“CLAREMONT,” the Ridgeway, was a corner detached house well
set back from the road. A high evergreen hedge impeded the view
from the footpath, and a curving carriage drive overhung with
rhododendron bushes hid all suggestion of a house until the last
possible moment. Then all that you saw was a tiny porch and a
panorama of low-hanging eaves, diamond window-panes and
russet-brown roofs of immense steepness. A telephone bracket
affixed to one of the rafters and an electric bell in the porch
convinced you that all this parade of antiquarianism was really the
most aggressive modernity. A motor-garage, suitably disguised,
stood at one side of the house. Behind was a vista of tennis-courts,
conservatories, and an Italian pergola.
Beneath the tiny porch in the middle of a hot Sunday afternoon
Catherine paused and pressed the button of the bell. She was
excited. Her visit savoured of the miraculous. This was the house of
the famous Emil Razounov The famous Emil Razounov had
arranged this appointment to meet her. She was actually ringing the
bell of Emil Razounov’s house. In another minute she and Emil
Razounov would be face to face.
A maid opened the door. “What name, please?” she asked pertly,
and Catherine replied.
Catherine passed into a wide hall, furnished with all sorts of
queer furniture that she contrasted mentally with the bamboo hall-
stand and the circular barometer that had graced the hall of No. 24,
Kitchener Road. At one side a door was half open, and through this
Catherine was ushered into what was apparently the front room of
the house.
It was a long, low-roofed apartment, with dark panelling along the
walls and rafters across the ceiling. The furniture was sparse, but
bore signs of opulence: there were several huge leather armchairs
and a couple of settees. Apart from these there was nothing in the
room save a small table littered with music in manuscript, and a full-
size grand piano. At first Catherine thought the room was
unoccupied, but two winding coils of smoke rising upwards from two
of the armchairs—the backs of which were towards her—seemed to
proclaim the presence of men.
“Miss Weston,” announced the maid, and closed the door behind
her.
One of the coils of smoke gyrated from the perpendicular. This
was the preliminary to a slow creaking of one of the armchairs. A
figure rose from the depths, and its back view was the first that
Catherine saw of it. It was tall, attired in a light tweed jacket, grey
flannel trousers, and carpet slippers of a self-congratulatory hue.
Altogether, it was most disreputable for a Sabbath afternoon. It was
difficult to recognize in this the spruce, well-groomed man of the
world who had pushed his way into the Forest Hotel on the previous
night. Yet Catherine did recognize him, and was rather astonished at
her own perception in so doing. He faced her with the graceless
langour of one who has just got out of bed at an early hour. Yet in his
extreme ungainliness perhaps there was a certain charm. And as for
his face—Catherine decided that it was not only lacking in positive
good looks, but was also well endowed with extremely negative
characteristics. To begin with, the lie of his features was not
symmetrical. His hair was black and wiry, lustreless and devoid of
interest. The whole plan and elevation of his face was so
unconventional that he would probably have passed for being
intellectual....
He bowed to her slightly. There was no doubt of his ability to bow.
Whether he were ungainly or not, his bowing was so elegant as to
savour of the professional. It was consciously a performance of
exquisite artistry, as if he were thinking: “I know I’m ugly, but I’ve
mastered the art of bowing, anyway. Put me in evening clothes, and
I’ll pass for an ambassador or a head-waiter.”
He did not offer his hand.
“Ah,” he said, “M’sieur Razounov will be ready in a moment.
Please take a seat.”
Catherine sat down in one of the easy chairs. From this position
she could see that another chair contained the recumbent form of
Emil Razounov. He was reading a Sunday paper and taking
occasional puffs at a large cigar. Catherine had heard much gossip
about Razounov’s eccentricities, yet compared with his companion
he seemed to her to be disappointingly ordinary. For several
moments the two men sat in silence, while Catherine made ruthless
mental criticisms. She was piqued at the lack of enthusiasm
accorded her.
Suddenly Emil Razounov spoke. The voice came from the depths
of the chair like a female voice out of a gramophone horn. It was
almost uncanny.
“I say, Verreker, hass not the young lady come?”
The man addressed as Verreker replied somewhat curtly: “Oh
yes, she’s here.”
“Zhen perhaps she weel go to the piano and play.”
Catherine left her chair and went to the instrument. Before sitting
down she took off her hat—which was a species of tam-o’-shanter—
and placed it on the table beside the piano. She did this from two
reasons: first, she did not feel comfortable with it on; and second,
she was proud of her hair, and conscious that it was the most
impressive thing about her.
“What shall I play?” she asked nonchalantly. She could not help
betraying her annoyance at her unceremonious reception.
There was a pause. It seemed almost as if both men were struck
dumb with astonishment at her amazing question. Then Verreker
said carelessly, as if it were a matter of no consequence at all: “Oh,
whatever you like.” She took several moments to adjust the music-
stool to her final satisfaction and prepare for playing. The time was
useful to decide what she should play. Strange that she should not
have decided before! She had decided before, as a matter of fact:
she had decided to play some Debussy. But since entering the room
she had changed her mind. She would play Chopin.
She played “Poland is Lost.” She played it well, because she was
feeling defiant. She played with the same complete disrespect for
her audience as had won her the first prize at the musical eisteddfod.
Where she wanted to bang, she banged. She did not care that she
was in a low-roofed dining-room and not a concert hall. She did not
care if she pleased or displeased them. They were contemptuous of
her: she would be contemptuous of them. The result was that she
was not in the least nervous. Yet when she had struck the last note
she could not help remarking to herself: “I did play that well. They
must have been rather impressed.”
An awkward pause ensued. Then Verreker said very weakly:
“Thank you.” His “thank you” was almost ruder than if he had said
nothing at all.
“Well?” said Razounov.
Catherine thought he was speaking to her. She was meditating
something in reply when Verreker spoke, showing that the word had
been addressed to him. A feeling of exquisite relief that she had not
spoken came over her.
“She oughtn’t to play Chopin,” remarked Verreker.
“No,” agreed Razounov.
Catherine’s face reddened. It was the subtle innuendo of their
remarks that hurt her. Also, by all the standards she had learnt at the
Bockley High School for Girls there was something impolite in their
criticizing her coolly in the third person as if she were not present.
She resented it. She was not a stickler for etiquette, but she would
not be insulted. “I don’t care who they are,” she thought rebelliously,
“they’ve no right to treat me like that. I’m as good as they are, every
bit!”