Last year, this theme worked well with Valentine’s Day as the month’s centerpiece, so we’ll revisit the topic of romance. And again, romance means sex; after all, without physical intimacy, the relationship is just “best friends.” Sure, you can be asexual and deeply in love, but I’m once again looking for an excuse to tell you that this month’s column is ADULTS ONLY. If you’re underage, then your parents should be monitoring your online activity more than they are anyway.

“Hell Hath No Fury”
Science fiction
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Janna met Krysteen at summer camp when they were eleven. Janna was too young to understand that she was attracted to females; she only knew she was enamored with Krysteen. Krysteen’s cascading hair seemed spun of gold; her sparkling blue eyes lit up the room as much as her laugh did, her heart-shaped face punctuated by a cute button nose. Janna was entranced.

During a group hike one day, they met a bear. The android counselor rushed the screaming girls away, but Krysteen tripped and fell. Janna ran back to her as the bear lumbered through the woods. She helped her up, relishing the feel of the girl’s hand in hers as the android returned to them, and they all scampered off.

Krysteen would be terrified of wild animals forever after, but she was thankful to Janna, and they became friends. Krysteen was from North California and Janna lived in Boston Province, but Janna talked her parents into sending her to Krysteen’s private school. It was a long flight from New Baltimore every day (and back again at night), but it was worth it to be near Krysteen. At first, Krysteen seemed a weak friend, but she got better—always recounting the bear story and calling Janna her “bear rescuer.”

Janna became Krysteen’s ever-present shadow, and she lived like one. Krysteen dated all the boys; Janna was the quiet girl who never dated, for she was always pining for the oblivious Krysteen. Over the years, Krysteen told Janna all about her relationships: the kisses, the touching, the sex. Janna was terribly jealous, but she couldn’t dare to admit her feelings to Krysteen—until one night in college.

They were at a popular bar in Earth orbit, Krysteen getting drunk and Janna the invisible friend as always. Men hit on Krysteen constantly; a few made passes at Janna, but she always politely refused. Of course, she wasn’t into men; she’d only ever been with a few women—unsatisfying encounters borne of sexual frustration when she’d listened to Krysteen going at it with a man in the next room.

So when it appeared Krysteen was about to succumb to another such man, Janna finally snapped. In the midst of Krysteen telling the man how Janna was her “bear rescuer” from way back, Janna whispered to Krysteen to come to the ladies’ room with her.

“Can’t you see I’m about to score?” Krysteen said when they were alone.

“I know, but… please don’t,” Janna said. “I’ve watched you with too many men. I can’t take not telling you how I feel about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you noticed I’ve never dated?” Janna said, crying. “I’m attracted to women—but I only have feelings for one woman. I’m in love with you. I have been since we first met.”

Krysteen looked stunned for several long moments. Then she said, “You know I’m attracted to men, right?”

“I know.” Janna suddenly felt silly.

“If you were a man, things might be different,” Krysteen said. “But you’re not, so we have to remain friends.”

Krysteen staggered out of the ladies’ room, leaving Janna to cry alone. When she composed herself and came out, Krysteen was nowhere to be found; she’d taken the first shuttle back to Earth.

But Janna already had an idea.

* * *

The next day, Janna visited Gengineer, the finest genetic-engineering company on the planet. And when she finished that day, she headed to Krysteen’s dorm. When Krysteen opened the door, she beheld a handsome, muscular man standing there.

“It’s me—Janna,” Janna said. “I had a total body transformation done. I’m a man now—for you.”

Krysteen stared, wide-eyed and stunned. “What?”

“Yes,” Janna said, stepping forward, reaching out, clasping Krysteen’s shoulders in his hands, looking deep into her beautiful blue eyes. “I love you more than anything. I’ve done this so we can be together.”

Krysteen looked back into Janna’s eyes... and then broke out laughing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she cried, wriggling free of Janna’s grip and staggering backward. “Are you crazy?”

Janna stared back, confused. “I don’t understand...”

“Of course not—you’ve never understood!” Krysteen howled. “It’s like you think I’ve owed you ever since that damn bear! You know, I’m pretty sure I could have stood up on my own, and I’m completely sure the android counselor would have blasted the bear before it could ever have hurt me, but you’ve always thought you were some kind of hero. I figured I’d never see you again—but you followed me to school and college like some little puppy dog. I’ve humored you all these years, and last night I told you things might be different if you were a man to make you feel better. Well, no more doing or saying anything just to make you feel better.”

Janna staggered back out the door. She couldn’t breathe. It couldn’t be true.

“You’re an idiot,” Krysteen said, shaking her head. “You actually had a total body transformation in the wild hope I’d forget who you really are and fall in love with me? That will never happen. I’d rather get eaten by that damn bear.”

Janna stood in the hallway as the door slammed shut in her face.

* * *

“So are you going back to your old self, or are you interested in a new female look?” asked the Gengineer technician.

“My old self,” Janna said. “But I’d like to become something else first.”

“Name it.”

Janna said, “Make me a bear.”

“Alien Connection”
Science Fiction
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Jack Martin had heard plenty of stories as he’d flown about the galaxy in his transport vessel, but the one that always stuck in his head was the story the group of guys from the Star Service who told him, in a bar on Antares 12, about the Vilurian women. The Vilurian men lived in the water all the time and only mated with the females once per year; the women split their time on land, and apparently desired sex more often. And they had no problem engaging in it with humanoids from other worlds.

Viluria was a beautiful world from space, like a glistening, copper-red ball. It was even better on the surface: Under a sky of lavender, a wet world of blue, green, and yellow vegetation carpeted the planet; there were no oceans, but the world was replete with endless lakes and streams.

Jake had no sooner stepped off his vessel, by the shore of a sparkling pond, when he saw a Vilurian woman. She was in the water, watching him with wide-eyed curiosity, just her head and shoulders visible. She looked amphibian, with smooth skin striped in shades of teal and mint green. Her head was cocked to the side, oversized yellow eyes with cat-like pupils regarding him. Big ears like webbed sails moved on the sides of her head, and bulbous lips pursed as she watched him. He moved to the shore, waved, and smiled.

“I don’t speak your language,” he said, “but I’d like to get to know you.”

She moved forward towards the shore, and as her slim body rose from the water, he became aroused. She was thin and girlish, with four breasts—two high on her chest and two closer to her belly. She kept moving, and the pond revealed slim hips that swayed like a human woman’s.

And then he saw it. The Star Service guys had told him that Vilurians’ genitals weren’t quite as low as humans’ were, and he saw the tantalizing slit in her lower abdomen, beneath where a human’s navel would be. She emerged from the water on lithe legs and flippered feet, and he noticed the webbing of her hands.

He moved to her, extended his hands. She looked at them, curious, and then looked at him.

“I’d like to make love to you,” he said, even though he knew she couldn’t understand him. He figured he just had to try it, and see how she responded.

He clasped her tiny shoulders, and she looked up at him with a curious smile. He smiled back, and then drew her tiny form toward him. He cupped her face with one hand, stroking her rubbery skin, and let his other hand drift down to fondle her breasts. She let him do that, too, so he kept going until he found her genitals. It was like a tight rubber seal, but he managed to work a finger inside her. Her big eyes widened a bit, the unmistakable sign of a woman enjoying a touch. He was in—so to speak.

He leaned in and kissed her, and held her close. She mimicked him, kissing him back, encircling him with her dainty hands. Then he scooped her up in his arms, carried her to a bed of soft grasses, and laid her down.

She watched as he removed his clothing, and she visibly reacted when she saw his penis. Her part-time men, he figured, had much smaller organs. Her reaction made him feel more masculine.

He straddled her and fed his erection through her rubbery slit. She sucked in her breath as it opened to admit him. She was incredibly tight, but he felt her expand to accommodate him.

In that moment, he felt more than sexual attraction. He felt a real connection to this lovely being, and like any man he wanted to show her how much she meant to him: He began to screw her, hard and fast. He held himself up on his hands, and he could watch the erotic scene beneath him: Her eyes, wide; her mouth, puffy lips forming an “O”; her hands gripping his arms; her four firm breasts jiggling with his movements.

She was so tight! He picked up his pace as he felt his orgasm build—and then, suddenly, she came, calling out with a wailing hooting sound like nothing he’d ever heard. She shook beneath him, hooting away, her eyes closed and head thrown back, and it sent him over the edge. He exploded inside her and collapsed, trying not to crush her.

Finally, he withdrew and rolled aside. It had been incredible. He waited to catch his breath, so he could cuddle with her, feel her, and maybe screw her again.

But suddenly she got up, moved to the pond, and dived in. She surfaced once, then went under, swimming away. Gone.

Jack watched for a few moments, feeling a sense of loneliness, of longing… of loss. He’d never be with her again…

* * *

That evening, after the children were asleep, Enuri gathered the women around the fire and related the tale. They’d seen the spaceship, and were astonished to learn what had happened.

“While he was doing that, it became uncomfortable, so I prayed to Gishya,” Enuri said. “I closed my eyes and wailed the prayer, and it seemed to energize the humanoid.”

“And then what happened?” one woman asked.

“It was very strange,” Enuri said. “He was very unlike our men, but I think the body part he pushed inside me must have been his nose.”

“Why do you think that?” another asked.

“Because he stuck it up inside my nose—and then he sneezed!” Enuri said. “I’m going to be cleaning his snot out of there all day.”

“Eye of the Beholder”
Fantasy
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Major Graumug peered through the thick trees at the clearing ahead. His dark-green goblin skin helped conceal him, but goblins were naturally adept at ambushing their prey. And he was just an infantry officer; his stealthy wood scouts were like ghosts in the forest, damn near able to hide in plain sight. But he was good enough for the elf he was ambushing.

Graumug was armed with sword and dagger and wore steel-studded hide armor and spiked gauntlets. He waited, yellow eyes staring out from beneath his thick brow ridge at the clearing. With his Goblin Empire and the opposition Elf Alliance at war for three centuries, it was difficult to secure a solo patrol. He’d given several of his soldiers the day off, and even reassigned Captain Brogg elsewhere to ensure he didn’t catch on. He wanted this elf all to himself.

And then she entered the clearing, and his eyes widened. She was thin and agile, with pale skin, long yellow hair, and tall pointed ears—which any goblin found ugly. She wore an archer’s sleeveless tunic and loose trousers—the elves actually allowed their women to be warriors, much less leave their kingdoms wearing clothing—and carried a bow in one hand. A quiver of arrows was on her back.

She reached the center of the clearing and turned away from him, searching. He smiled, his brow furrowing. This would be easy, even if he wasn’t a ghost-like wood scout. He crept quietly through the brush toward the clearing, without a single cracked twig or crunched leaf.

He stepped into the grassy clearing. The elf woman was back-to him, still looking at the trees before her. He moved slowly toward her… fifteen feet, ten, five… He’d make it there. He stopped behind her, reached to the pouch on his belt, and pulled out what he’d brought.

And suddenly, she spun about—and screamed in surprise.

He roared with laughter and she laughed with him.

“You frightened me, Graumug!” she said.

“You must pay attention, Fessra—I’m not even a wood scout, and I’ve surprised you.” He held up the flower he’d brought. It was a white rose. “For you.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, plucking it from his fingers and smelling it.

Graumug had never seen beauty in flowers until he’d fallen in love with her. She had shown him beauty in so many things—in flowers, in sunrises and sunsets, in the stars at night, in birds flying above. He saw beauty in everything—even her. Elves were considered horrid by goblin standards, but she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever known.

She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. It was intoxicating. Goblins never kissed or hugged or held hands or anything like that; they just took what they wanted of their women, who were considered little more than sex slaves and reproduction machines. Fessra had shown him so much that his people would never understand.

“I love you,” she said to him, breathless. Her green eyes, so close to his, gleamed along with her bright smile.

“I love you,” he said.

“But it’s a matter of time before we’re discovered,” she said, suddenly serious. “My clan will banish me, and the goblins will kill you.”

“Yes—I’m running out of excuses to meet you. Captain Brogg is annoyed that I keep reassigning him. But I’ve arranged for a week off in a few days; I’ll leave him in charge, which should boost his ego for a while. By the time they realize I’ve deserted, we’ll have left the Empire and the Alliance far behind us.”

Before she could respond, there was a rustling from all around. Graumug spun about in time to see a dozen goblins emerging from the clearing’s perimeter, daggers drawn.

Wood scouts. Silent as ghosts, watching them. They were surrounded.

And then Lieutenant Brogg stepped into the clearing, a sad look on his green face. Graumug felt his blood freeze.

“Major Graumug,” Brogg said, his voice solemn. “General Korff suspected you were up to something, but we could never have guessed this—a romance with an elf.”

Fessra moved shoulder to shoulder with Graumug. He was proud that she wasn’t trembling. She was braver than any goblin could ever imagine a woman could be.

“I’ve always admired you, Major,” Brogg said. “But, in the event of treason, General Korff has ordered your execution.”

He barked the order to attack, and the wood scouts charged.

It was like a choreographed dance. Graumug drew his sword and dagger in one motion even as Fessra went back-to-back with him and nocked her first arrow. Graumug seemed to enjoy every moment in slow motion: every slice of his blade, every thrust of his dagger; every twang of her bow, every impact of her arrows. Green blood sprayed everywhere. When it was over, he and Fessra stood together amidst the bodies.

Brogg stared, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed. “So now you kill me,” he said. “I die for the Empire.”

Fessra nocked another arrow, drew her bow back—but Graumug stopped her.

“No,” he said. “You’ll live. Report if you must. But I hope you’ll spend some time contemplating what you think is insanity on my part. Think about how I could love a goblin woman. Think about what you’re missing—what all goblins are missing. There’s beauty in so many things.”

He sheathed his blades, and she quivered her arrow. They clasped hands and headed off. Then Fessra turned and locked eyed with Brogg—and tossed something at him.

* * *

Brogg watched them go. Surely, Graumug was crazy.

And—what was it to ‘love’ a woman? Something powerful—something that made the famed Major Graumug betray everything he knew as an officer, as a soldier, as a goblin.

He walked through the dead goblins and picked up what the elf had tossed. He held it up in the sun and studied it. It was a flower, white and… intriguing. He’d never considered a flower as anything to regard before. Was this the beauty Graumug has spoke of?

He stood there for a long time, thinking.

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.