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A Victorian Denver Home for a New Pairing
Myra and Mick - 3
A Fantasy Series – Part III
Part II - Myra, the Alien Queen Is So Hot, She Melts Mick and a “Chinook” Takes his Wife!
Part I – Myra the Alien Queen and the Denver Cab Driver’s Three Wishes
That same night. The night the Denver Cops told me about my murdered wife and Myra, the Alien Queen, came to my Victorian home, my head was reeling, my heart was pounding and my soul was in a state of unrest.
Sam had left, and Myra was truly enjoying my store of unusually sweet, though pricey Brandy. In view of my complete consternation, I downed a hefty glass, then refilled it in the kitchen and came to my fireplace where Myra was smiling at me like I was a sweet piece of luscious chocolate.
“Before we begin chatting, I want you to understand what we mean when we say you had not been “recovered”.
“Out of about one hundred and fifty pressing questions, that was one of my first.” I tried to hide my look of frustration.
“Extraterrestrial Biological Beings” - EBB’s
“You Saints. You make me sick. You are the topic for tonight because of who you are. That is one of the reasons I want to make love to you.” She smiled happily like she was going to take a loving bite of me.
I coughed. She laughed. She was incredibly beautiful in her robe. Oh, I forgot to mention that she changed into her robe.
“Before we recline in front of your fire, I want to explain some things. What you are going to start calling “Extraterrestrial Biological Beings” are the chief enemies of humanity. What I call the “Trogandorks” is an insult that goes back aeons. Since I pulled you out of the normal populace, you are of particular interest to them. They do not understand the Purposefulness of the Human Queston Earth (“PHQE”). They are dedicated to human slavery and want humans to be degraded. They live below the surface in miles of secret caves and underground cities. They can pop up anywhere because they are everywhere. You will learn about their history later. Right now I need to explain something about you.
“Why are they so interested in me? They killed my wife. Why don’t they just kill me?” My brow was wrinkled, my nostrils flaring.
“Why Don’t We Make Love First?”
She stopped. Took a big sip and breathed in deeply. “Why don’t we make love first?
I stopped, my frown disappeared, my nostrils unflared. I took another jolt of brandy. “I do not mind it when a woman leads the way. I will want to know why later.” I laughed because I thought that was really funny.
Her perfect teeth gleamed as she leaned toward me and let her robe slip from her shoulders. “I want to see how a Saint makes love.” Myra raised her eyebrows like that was a perfectly normal statement.
I know you won’t believe it, but that made me halt. “I am not a Saint. I don’t even have any particular Sunday-go-to-meeting religion.”
“We will talk about that later. Now come over here. When’s the last time you made love to an Alien Queen? I have so many titles it takes an hour to formally address me. And there you are flying your flag like you are already my King.”
“If having an erection before the Queen is a requisite for Sainthood, then “Lay on MacDuff”.
“Oh, Shakespeare. I am related to him.”
As I moved toward her kissing her stomach, then her breasts, I could not stop. “Oh come on!”
“My great great great great great great great great I forgot how many Grandmother wanted to figure out what he was all about too.” She caressed me and peered into my eyes.
I kept kissing and leaned her down gently to the Bear Rug on my floor. “Is it OK, to tell a Queen to shut up?”
“See you just showed your sainthood right there!” Myra was giggling. “A regular guy would just tell me to shut up. You told me to shut up be asking permission first, but you were going to have me regardless of what I said”.
“That’s what I call just knowing how to get laid”. I moved over her, nose to nose, lips to lips.
Within just a few moments, she started making the sweetest noises, that encouraged me all the more. “Don’t shut up”. I whispered that. She heard me into between her moans.
The next morning, I arose and began omelets. She was still sleeping. I don’t know how many times, so don’t ask. I was mainly concerned about quality, pacing, you know slowly-directed elegance. I was always thinking, “What was she expecting?” But she made screams and moans and soft cooing. Don’t know if I was that good, but I knew my knees were still kind of buckling.
I had her breakfast, warm - nuanced with herbs. She arose and started chewing on a special kind of what looked like a fig. “This food is for my earth orientation after travelling, you know, the distance.”
“You Mean Your Astral Trip, or our Hot Sexual Trip?”
I felt buoyant. “You mean your astral trip, or our hot sexual trip?”
She had totally changed. It was as if she was Queen Elizabeth telling me about a “chopping” fate. “Let’s eat. And thank you so much. Let me talk. Please don’t interrupt. This is going to be very hard for me.”
I poured her tomato juice. Then I sat. I sipped coffee as she began. It appeared that my eggs were going to be turning cold.
“You are a Saint. And here’s why. From their point of view, they were astounded at what you did for me. But also they know your pedigree. You are the kind they don’t harass, except maybe tripping you up with silly alien night noises. They think we are harvesting the best of humankind. They want to examine you. They don’t understand that we don’t harvest you. Soul Development is the process of the First Cause. They believe this is a bloody, mud-throwing violent, astral competition. We are handcuffed by letting Humans develop - their Purposefulness of the Human Quest on Earth (“PHQE”). We don’t come here to destroy the enemy. We come here to defend, block, get in the way, kick butt – as you say, but to let the experiment continue.”
“Their point is to defeat human progress. They know our goal is to preserve humanity and increase their character, their behavior and their holy outlook. They know that we teach “DESTINY” – “Designed Effort Synergistically Tuned to Inherently Natural Yearnings”; and their goal is to debase you and your kind so that you become jaded, negativistic citizens of hate who just believe they are subject to “FATE” – “Forces Acting Through Existence”.
“OK. This is new stuff for me. Why are you telling me this now, on Saturday morning, with a grave look on your face?” There was no patience in my voice.
Her voice went down an octave with gravity. “They want you so that they can examine you. They know that if they try to steal you on their own, we would cause horrible casualties and mess with their infrastructure and kill 100 of their Generals that we have captured.”
“Let me tell you to shut up.” I was mashing my molars. “You are going to turn me over to them!” Are they going to, let me see if I can remember Sam’s statements:
“High functioning, soul-less reptilian shits that will torture you, suck you dry, disembowel you, haunt your brain, fry your emotions, completely injure your psyche and turn you into a non-speaking idiot; unable to push pudding into your helpless lips. Or, they just take you away, play with your sex organs, and make you forget the whole thing, after they drop you on your front lawn. And yet still you walk around with a deep longing for another experience.”
Myra was crying. “It’s because you are a Saint. You are what humanity is supposed to become and you don’t even know it. That’s part of the Naturalness of Sainthood. They are experts on us, and they know, now that we have played you like a special card, that you are one of our great examples of “PHQE – Purposefulness of the Human Quest on Earth”.
“Why?” I was impatient and irritable. This was the woman who had made love to me all night.
“How Do You Reverse Engineer a Saint?”
“They want to see if they can REVERSE ENGINEER YOU!”
Space ships, Jeeps, coffee makers, specialized robots that talk, high-powered robotic contraptions that do that and that – that’s what you “reverse engineer” -------- not human beings.
“They probably have some new technology, new apps, new ways of wiring you up and watching your thoughts. They have promised not to hurt you. I have 3 guys that are related to their higher up royalty that we would torture and drop down one of their favorite holds for years….Oh well, I’ll shut up. You’re a saint. Or at least they THINK you are a saint. Here is why we are doing this.”
I didn’t say a thing. I was so mad, I could spit.
Let’s say they conclude with their own demented minds that they discover special qualities about you. If they do, they won’t be able to duplicate you, or “REVERSE ENGINEER” you. They don’t understand character and quality and holiness. They only think: PROGRAMMING. They think the inner nature of things is fixed and automatic. They do not see that the spirit in man is changing all the time. So, what are they going to discover in you, that they can duplicate?
“What if I don’t look like anything to them but an ordinary squishy human with hope and hunger and sleep and distraction on his mind. What if I look like an ordinary person?”
“All the better. They will think we are silly hopeful high technology humanoids trying to preserve their children sent here long ago. They will look at us like they do, and examining you will only help.”
“Reverse Engineering is what they do. It’s their religion. They are locked into permanent states of frustrated anger and they despise you all. They are only elevated by the possibility of your demise.”
“You Are a Hot Sexy Saint!”
“OK, let’s go.” I stood and stuck my hands in my pockets.
“See! Damn. We are going to do our OWN examination of you when you get back. We’ve got new apps and such. It was invented just for you guys!! You are a Hot Sexy Saint!”
“And you mean that literally. Let me sum this up. “An astral queen who is unbelievably sexual uses me like a ever-loving fool, is turning me over as a prisoner to be examined by high functioning soul-less lizard shits that are going to prick me and drain me and electrocute me so that they can see why you guys used me up like some Lithuanian CIA asset in the Cold War”.
“A smart Saint too.”