Hello boys! I'm Ba-ack!
Well, clueless contacted me the other day and worked so hard to persuade me to continue with my story. Ok, so she didn't have to try too hard. I have always felt guilty at leaving it unfinished and promised myself that I would finish it. But what with one thing and another (and some interesting new shows that I got absorbed in) I kind of kept getting sidetracked.
I'm going to repost this from the beginning, so those of you who started to read can pick it up again and those new to my stories can start afresh.
Without further adiu, I present...
Disclaimer: Characters that appeared in the series, the books are not mine. Belong to Melinda Metz, UPN, etc, etc.
Category: AU. Aliens. M&L CC A little UC to start.
Rating: Mature
Author's note: As always, a big thank you to my Beta team. BelevnDreamsToo and Smac. They give me the confidence to write and more importantly, to post. Thank you girls. I hope fate smiles on me one day and allows me to treat you both to dinner.
Summary: Boy meets girl… and as usual, a total case of miscommunication. How long will it be before they get their ‘Till Death us do Part’?
Prologue
October, 2004
The scene could only be described as chaos. With a capital ‘c’. Any pretensions that this party was ‘organized’ or ‘orderly’ had vanished hours ago, probably around the time someone had spiked the fruit punch, which had already been spiked earlier. It was far from a Bacchanalian orgy, but neither was it at all innocent. There was a heady undercurrent of testosterone… and estrogen. Not to mention the haze of pungent smoke from the herbal cigarettes - at least ‘herbal’ would be what the smokers’ claimed they were – that pervaded the whole lascivious atmosphere.
Everyone had split into distinct collections. A group of girls dressed in hot fashions stood to one side, some holding bottles of alcoholic based ‘pop’ drinks, others holding plastic beakers of ‘fruit’ punch. They giggled, they shrieked, they wavered unsteadily on their feet. And while they wavered, they primped, they preened and they posed as they discussed which member of their audience they wouldn’t mind taking up with – or getting down with.
Across the room, their eyes fixed on the talent, single males stood with bottles or cups of beer while they swapped manly stories of their sporting or sexual prowess. Perhaps they used their stories to try to decide their pecking order; a method of sorting who the alpha male was. They were waiting for some unknown signal. A signal that would send some of them in the direction of the females, eager to carry out their caveman duties and drag his conquest to a quiet and preferably dark corner to perform whatever activities they could, given the amount of alcohol they had consumed.
The remainders, those less desirables who knew that the ‘fashionistas’ across the room would scarcely give them the time of day, unless they were passed out cold, would head for the kitchen to locate another beer. They would wait for the time when one of their quarry had indeed, passed out cold. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. That meant that there would be females who could only be described as less desirable, but who would look much better when the viewer was wasted.
Aside from these two main groups, other communities had formed. Over there, behind the upturned pot plants and discarded beer-kegs, and in front the large, towering black boxes from which a steady and heady rhythmic beat pulsated through the room, bodies writhed in a ritualistic ceremony that raised temperatures and pulse rates. The skin of the participants shone in the pale light, reflecting the gaily colored lights from the sheen of sweat that covered them. If any of them talked, at all, no one could hear them. Some had their eyes closed, others had them half lidded. A few of them were one step away from joining the other group.
This collection of people represented those couples who had already conquered their caveman urges, claimed their booty by the hair and had dragged them to the dark corner of the dwelling place. Having performed that ritual long enough, they were now sprawled across love seats and the sofa, their hand’s vanishing beneath clothing and on the constant move as they explored soft… and hard flesh while their tongues sought ways to invade the other’s throats.
This was the murky, often explored world of a ‘Frat Party’.
“Tell me. What are we doing here again?” the middle member of a new group of three young men who had just arrived, asked his two colleagues.
He was watching the group of girls as one of them seemed to notice him. With what he assumed was to her, a sultry smile, she started to undulate her body. He wondered if she imagined this to appear sexy.
“The alien concept you are searching for,” the friend to his left shouted into his ear, “is ‘to have fun’!”
“We’ve been invited to a Frat Party,” his other friend added. “Forget about your freaking books and just get plain freaky.”
“Freaky?” the man in the center looked doubtful. He nodded at the young woman who was trying hard to attract his attention. “Freaky like that?”
Losing her balance, she tripped over a cushion that was on the floor. She fell backwards, her legs and arms flying akimbo, raising a mighty cheer from the gathered cavemen across the room as the unfortunate woman exposed the fact that she had come to the party commando. The unfortunate woman had no time to feel embarrassed for at that moment, she rolled to her hands and knees and promptly emptied her stomach down the side of a nearby luckless potted palm.
“You could do worse,” the first friend nodded sagely. “At least you know she ain’t gonna say no.”
Evan as he was speaking, a guy appeared to help her up. Supporting her weight, the young man helped her from the room, heading for the stairs with a thumbs up and cheer from the dog pound. The hyenas had acquired their first kill.
“”Missed your chance,” the second friend shook his head.
“Bummer,” the first young man gave a sarcastic roll of his eyes.
“Look, dude,” he was pulled by his shoulders to look directly at his first friend. “Get your head out of your books and just get some head. Got it?”
“Whatever,” he shrugged.
“Now, there’s a hot babe over there with my name on her ass. Or rather, it will be, in about an hour.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” he called at their retreating backs.
“Get yourself laid!” one of them called back, taking a sealed can of beer from a passing stranger and tossing it across the room to his friend.
The two friends vanished among the crowds, each one seeking a beer, a babe or both. And not necessarily in that order. Alone, he suddenly felt exposed. Popping the tab of the can, spraying himself with beer foam in the process, he took a couple of large gulps. He looked around for the last of the groups normally associated with these parties, the one to which no one really wanted to belong; but was often heavily populated, the parietis corollarium. More commonly known as the wall-flower.
* * *
“Did we really have to come here?” the young woman turned to her friend, her face twisted with doubt. “You know I don’t feel comfortable in places like this.”
“Ah come on,” her friend waved her objection away. “We’re at college now. We’re adults. And that means no more of those lame-o high school parties. We’re at a bona fide Frat house party with bona fide Frat house members, some of whom are bona fide hunks. I say we just… go for it.”
“I didn’t even attend those lame-o High School parties,” the first girl looked away from the woman who had just fallen over, exposing herself to the hordes of leering, drunk Frat members across the room.
Self consciously, she pulled at the hem of the dress that she felt was way too short, happy that unlike that drunken woman, she had not come commando.
“That’s ‘cause I didn’t go to your High School,” her friend chuckled. “So look. Just look at all those guys who are all looking at us. I say you cut loose your inhibitions and prepare yourself for the ride of your life. You’re my best friend now, and college is going to be such a blast. Starting right here, right now. So, while I go see about getting some drinks, you go see if you can find us a couple of hunks for later.”
“You’re kidding, right?” her eyes flared wide with fright as her friend moved into the party.
“Relax,” she smirked. “What’s the worst that could happen? Some hot jock might even hit on you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” the girl pouted, moving to find a quieter part of the house.
* * *
It had been a trying experience. She was not used to guys constantly hitting on her. But, fortunately her friend had abandoned her. Finding a quiet room, she took a clean plastic beaker filled it with some punch and sat in the corner, among a group of people who were not party animals. It was good to get away from the drunken slobs.
“Hey,” a tall handsome young man who was definitely not drunk and most assuredly not a slob hovered over her.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he indicated the seat on the sofa next to her.
“Sure,” she nodded. “I mean, no. I don’t mind.”
“This not your scene, either?” he asked.
“Not really,” she shook her head. “It’s way too wild for me.”
“Me too,” he agreed. “My roomies dragged me here. They wanted me to cut loose. Not my style, though.”
“Same,” she stared at her cup, drained it and nodded.
“Look,” he sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. It’s just… you seem a nice person, you’re definitely not drunk and unlike some of those others out there, I really doubt you’re going to throw yourself at me. And I’m not trying to make some play for you and I was kind of hoping that while we’re both waiting for our friends to finish up…” he looked back into the room. “I thought maybe we could just… you know. Talk.”
She stared at her empty cup again.
“You promise that’s all you want?”
“Well,” he smiled. “You’re certainly pretty enough to want more from, but no. I… I like to get to know people first… you know? I’m not really a…”
“Neither am I,” she shook her head.
“Can I get you a refill?” he nodded at her empty cup.
“Sure,” she smiled. “It’s the fruit punch.”
“Is it good?” he looked from the cup he had just accepted and into the kitchen.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “It’s really good.”
“I’ll grab some for myself, as well then,” he shrugged his shoulder. “Won’t be a moment.”
* * *
As the young man woke up the following morning, three sensations hit him in rapid succession. The first was that his throat was feeling like a riverbed that had been dry for the past century, complete with cactus, a weather worn steer skull and the obligatory vulture perched on a aging sign. The second, which was totally expected given the first sensation, was that of the pneumatic drill going off inside his head, making his eyeballs ache, his teeth ache and even his aches ache. Having never suffered a hangover in his life, he now knew what one felt like. Sure, he had heard of the symptoms and so recognized them for what they were, but no one had ever described this third sensation when they told him how they felt on a morning after. A very warm, snugly weight on his left shoulder and something equally warm and soft pressing against the whole of his left side.
Risking a severe increase in pain, he opened his eyes to look at the cause of this sensation and, upon discovery, closed them tight again.
“Shit,” he swore at himself. “This is not good. What the hell have you done?”
He opened his eyes again to make sure that his brain was not playing some trick on him as a means of getting some revenge for the previous night’s excesses. Nope. She was still there. He collapsed back onto the pillow.
“This can’t be happening,” he cursed.
For a third time, he risked opening his eyes, this time taking a good look at his… ‘partner’. Small, petite even, with long lustrous hair the color of molasses. Who the hell was this?
And then it came back to him.
He had been talking to her, small things of no consequence, really. It was a fun conversation without actually delving too deep into one another’s ‘space’. Amidst the chaos of party that was going on somewhere over there, it was a veritable oasis of peace and normalcy.
Apart from that first beer he had drunk earlier, the only thing they had touched all night was the fruit punch? Why then, would he have a hangover? Spiked, he groaned, reaching his right hand to his eyes. Which would explain why their conversation had grown funnier and funnier. And which would also explain the current situation because not only was he not the sort of person who would bring a random girl home for random sex, he rather suspected that neither was the girl.
“Oh, god,” he rubbed his forehead. “I hope she’s on the pill because I know for a fact I didn’t have any protection.”
But, what a night it had been. He may have been wasted, but he could clearly remember the passionate night of unbridled lust in which they had participated; how she had screamed with her climaxes too many times to count. Whatever else it was, it was great. How he had seen things, thing he had no right to see. It was momentous. Totally amazing. Especially since this was his first time. He wondered if it had been hers, too. Probably, he decided, given that like him, she was in the wallflower room. And a more beautiful wallflower he had yet to see.
“Shit!” his eyes flew open. “What’s the etiquette in a situation like this? Think. Think. What would my mother do? Duh!” he knocked the side of his head with his fist and regretted the action in an instant. “Your mother would never find herself in this situation. Breakfast. Yes. You have to offer her breakfast. Right. Except that you barely have enough coffee in the jar for one, let alone any food.”
He looked at her, the sheet molded to her form and felt his stomach rumble. It wasn’t from hunger.
“The store,” he shook away thoughts he felt that he should not be having. “I can zip out quick, grab some rolls and coffee and butter and jam… and milk. Five minutes, tops.”
His companion gave a soft whimper of complaint when he started to ease his body out from under her. He knew what she meant. The loss of contact was something he didn’t like, either. He hoped that he would feel that particular sensation again, soon. She rolled over, taking the sheet with her. It was a struggle to pull his eyes away from her.
He stepped into his jeans and pulled on a T-shirt that had been left on the floor. He grabbed his keys, his wallet and wedged his feet into his sneakers. Pausing at the door, he scribbled a hasty note and perched it on the bedside table, close to her head. With a final smile, he slipped through the door and ran hell for leather, ignoring his pounding headache, to the nearby convenience store. Get some Advil, too, he mentally noted.
* * *
The sound of a closing door roused her. As soon as she was able to process any thought, she found that she was actually unable to process any thoughts because her brain was complaining about the hammering going on inside her skull. Just as she started to get to grips with that problem, another came up. Her throat felt like it had been on fire and was full of ashes and soot. Each one of those quintessential hangover symptoms vanished in a flash when she realized that she was not in her own bed. Her eyes flying open in panic, she noticed at once that she was not even in her own room. Not only that, she was naked, covered only by a thin sheet. And then the real worry hit her. Muscles that she had never known existed started to complain. Her hand dipped along her abdomen and she parted her thighs a little.
“Oh my God!” she swore at herself as she felt the evidence that she was no longer a virgin. “Oh no! What have you done?”
Her mind raced. Last night had been her first unsupervised party. When her friend… Friend? Hell, no! What kind of dreind drags you to a party like that? When she had been left alone, she had found a room where there were people just sitting and talking. A quiet room. The guy, the really hot guy had joined her. They had only been drinking punch, so how did she get the hangover? How did she end up in this bed? Had he spiked her drink? Had he slipped a date rape drug into her punch? Then she remembered that the two of them had become more and more giggly as they talked. She remembered him slurring his words so badly, it made her laugh until her drink bubbled back through her nose.
“Someone spiked the punch,” she groaned. “Both of us were wasted.”
She turned slightly to see if her partner was still asleep. When she found the bed empty, she struggled to an upright position and frowned. That was when she remembered that the sound of a door closing was what had awoken her.
“Oh, god,” she buried her face in her hands. “He couldn’t even bring himself to wait for me to leave. He left me to let myself out. What a bastard!”
Not that she was experienced… how could a virgin have experience? – but she had known that what they had shared last night had been so absolutely wonderful. She had remembered how he had made her feel, even as inebriated as they had both been. She could clearly remember him crying out as they came together, as loudly as she had. And the prick couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Dressing quickly, she didn’t even bother to put her shoes on. She slammed the door behind her and ran just as fast as she could, hardly even noticing where she was.
Inside the empty room, the draft caused by the slamming door sucked the unseen note from the table and it floated to the floor, to stand between the bed and the door.
“Gone to get breakfast. Please wait. I’d like to talk to you. I’m sorry about the circumstances, but I’d really like to get to know you. I think you are wonderful. Please wait for me. XXX”
* * *
BTW - for those of you that remember, my eldest is now almost finished year 3 of her 6 year Vetrinary Medicine course. Both my girls will be away from home. But what the heck. I am so proud of the young ladies they have become.
Regarding the German, someone suggested that I do what I did with Parisienne and put anything in a foreign language in italics so the english readers know what is being said. Thanks, though.