Chapter 3 #2
Even with my pride attempting to be flippant about his compliments, warmth still blossomed in my heart.
I felt seen. I loved creating fabrics and crafting them into clothing.
I loved wire wrapping rocks and weaving them into jewelry.
Creating beautiful things for myself to wear was a core part of my life.
I just wished I could do it for a living, but competing with online stores that mass-produced cheap goods and had the money to pay for advertisements to get themselves higher in the rankings just wasn't something I could do.
I had my individual commissions, one of which paid for this trip, in fact, but on the whole, my art was just a hobby.
A hobby that made an alien obsessed with learning about me.
Wait, how much had he seen?
"You didn't see my blog, did you?" I said. "Don't tell me you found the blog I wrote as a teenager."
Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it. Now he could go look for it.
That blog was a masterclass in angst. I was never able to bring myself to delete it.
It held hours and hours of me talking about my inner thoughts, my self-doubt, my anxieties about the world I lived in.
I made it private when my brain finally developed more, and I had the ability to look back on those words and feel embarrassed about them, but if there was other stuff about me visible online, maybe what I thought was private wasn't that safe.
"I did," he confessed, and it felt like my skin was going to burn up. "I read all of it."
"That's embarrassing," I said. "You know I'm a different person now. I've grown up since then."
My blog was full of my thoughts about my early dating life.
How I would fall for a guy, and immediately he was the one for me, only for me to be crushed when it didn't work out.
I was so eager to find someone to love that I would ignore warning signs and red flags and just go for it.
Then the guy would pull away, and my anxiety would raise its head and lash out, and the whole thing would fall apart.
Even if I did manage to keep my reactions hidden, those relationships still were unable to last. I put every sordid detail online, waxing on and on.
When I looked back at it, all I could think about was even though I had grown in maturity, there was a part of me that was that same woman, wanting to give everything in an instant, but not being able to find someone who was ready to take it.
"I thought it was fascinating," he confessed.
"Having a log of your psychological development through a period of youth is a beautiful thing.
It isn't anything to be ashamed of. If anyone should be ashamed, it is me, for having dove into your past thoughts without thought to ask if you wanted me to read them. "
The fact that he even wanted to talk to me after reading that blog meant only one thing - he was into me.
How could he be into me after all of that cringe?
"You know, when humans do something like that, we call it a crush," I said.
"An immediate infatuation based on some aspect of a person that either deepens with learning more about them or goes away when you encounter a red flag.
It can be a friend-crush, like thinking the person is cool, or a more romantic crush, like wanting to bang their brains out.
Are you telling me that you're friend-crushing on me? "
"No, I'm not friend-crushing on you," he said.
"I'm sorry, I should probably speak to the Courtship Mediation Office before continuing this conversation.
I don't want to cause you any distress or discomfort, and I recognize that the inappropriateness of my attention on you has the risk of doing that. "
Not friend crushing, but I had to speak to the... he wanted to fuck me.
Wait, no, I was jumping to conclusions. Alien. He was an alien.
I couldn't make assumptions based on what I wanted.
"Why would you need to talk to the Courtship Mediation Office?" I asked. "I'm not uncomfortable or in distress. I also don't think your attention is inappropriate. I'm greatly enjoying it and would like to continue talking to you directly. If it isn't a friend-crush, what is it?"
If he was trying to turn me down politely, I wasn't having any of that. I needed directness, or I needed to be done. I knew myself well enough that I knew that my heart would take vague answers and turn them into full-on love or horror stories in my mind.
"You're so direct," he said. "I'm not used to this kind of conversation."
"It's something I learned from one of my friends," I said.
"Being blunt can be hard because it puts you at risk of rejection or people lashing out at you because of you smacking on their triggers, but at the same time, it clears away misunderstandings.
This is the most interesting conversation I've ever had in my entire life.
The fact that a sentient spaceship exists, is excited to talk to me, and is interested in me touching it, is absolutely amazing.
I don't want anyone else to get in the way of us.
Unless, of course, you need it. I realize I've been a bit inappropriate myself, and I want you to know that I don't want you to feel awkward about communicating if you want me to stop. "
It was so much easier for me to channel bluntness in a one-on-one like this, in the privacy of my rooms. The idea of acting like this around a bunch of other people was incomprehensible, but here, where I felt safe and secure, where I could talk to the voice of the man I was interested in rather than see him face to face, I felt powerful.
"There is nothing you could do right now that I would consider inappropriate," he said.
"Nothing?" I said. "That sounds like a challenge."
"Now it is," he replied, curiosity infusing his tone.
I leaned forward and planted a kiss on one of the filament strands.
"Is that inappropriate?" I asked.
"No," he said, his voice low and energized, like all his attention was fixed on me. "That was delightful."
"Then tell me what about your interest in me makes you feel like you should talk to the Courtship Mediation Office?
" I asked. I already knew. I had read the information on the whole thing.
If he wanted to talk to that office, it was because he was interested in me in a very particular way, the way I was interested in him.
When I came on this cruise, I didn't come here intending to play gotta bang 'em all.
Being with an alien who wanted to fight me or break into my room wasn't my cup of tea in the slightest.
But a guy who noticed me, who saw my art, who thought that my creations were lovely? A guy who had so many different ways to touch me? A guy who knew every detail of my cringe, and it made him want to talk to me more?
Oh, I was ready to go.
"I'm interested in you sexually," he admitted.
My heart leapt in my chest. Apparently, he was also ready to go.
"Which is why I should remove my audio and optic sensors and go file a report immediately," he continued.
My heart sank. I liked this being between just the two of us.
"Why?" I asked. "Why can't we just continue talking between just the two of us?"
"There is a severe power imbalance in our dynamic," he said.
Marek wasn't trying to walk away.
He couldn't walk away from me; I was in him.
That was the power imbalance. I was willing to bet he could do whatever he wanted to me, and no one would be the wiser.
With those filaments able to modify and move things around inside of him, he could grab me and take me where no one could get to me.
Instead, he was acknowledging the power differential between us.
He was showing concern for me, for my happiness, by being willing to put this on pause to make sure that he wasn't taking advantage of me.
That made me want to know him even more.
So I did something I knew I shouldn't.
Any time a guy got distant with me, making some lame excuse about why he couldn't hang out or talk to me, I'd learn the hard way that it was already over.
Men who wanted to walk away once always wanted to walk away.
Clinging to them, begging them to stay, only dragged out the inevitable and put me in a position to be used.
Being actually wanted, being desired, wasn't something that would come from begging.
It wasn't something that could be demanded.
I wrapped my hand around the thickest filament I could feel and grabbed it like my yoni depended on it.
"Don't you dare run away from me," I said, feeling that rising feeling of need within me, the terror that this was about to end before it even began.
My emotions didn't care about what he was saying; they only cared about what I needed in the moment, and the fear that clenched at my heart wasn't something that ever responded to reason.
"I don't need some alien lawyer to tell you what I want. "
"I can't run," he laughed, the sound pleasant, the way the vibrations from it tickled me, as if there were subtones to his voice I couldn't quite hear but could feel through my body. "I'm shell locked."
My anxiety ebbed at the sound of his delight, and the fact that the filament I'd grabbed onto was thick, my finger and thumb just managing to touch as they curled around it.
There were smaller ones, but this one felt just right, and the way it curled back around my hand felt like he was holding onto me, like he was gripping me.
The physical contact made the tension in me ebb.
"What does that mean?" I asked as I slowly slid my hand along it in a way that a human would immediately take as aggressive flirtation. He wasn't human, though, so he might not take it the same way.
Maybe I should see if any of these neurofilaments had an end that I could suck on.