Not That Kind of Girl

Folks who visit this planet say ruins are ugly. To me, it was always just part of the landscape.

A century ago, they terraformed this planet, and that went just fine, but just when they were building all the infrastructure, the economy crashed, the main investors pulled out and everything just plain went haywire. Now this planet had empty office buildings, never-occupied shops, factories that were silent, dams that did nothing and even fenced-off city limits for a city that never got built. A hundred years later, there was no one on left on this planet except for farmers, the tradespeople who served them and the bandits who preyed on both. The folks who'd first colonized this planet had expected it to be the next New York City, and instead they got Kansas. Life's funny like that.

The bandits tended to like ruined buildings like the one in front of me, so I kept my ten-shooter handy as I stalked into a dusty old office park. Being the only girl in the family, I was always the one who got sent out to go scavenging. On this planet, women who get caught by bandits might get roughed up and robbed, but nothing more. A man, on the other hand, could be taken advantage of in a way that was much more insidious, because he could be injected with a chastity serum.

The way those serums worked, any man injected with it would 'imprint' on the woman who did the injecting, and—this isn't polite to talk about, but it's true—he wouldn't be able to get an erection for any other woman, no matter how hard she tried. If you were a man, and some woman injected you with the serum, you had two choices: marry her or spend the rest of your life sexless. If you were fool enough to send your son out into the wilderness, it was likely he'd disappear and wind up being used as a breeder by some bandit woman. It was a life I wouldn't wish on an enemy.

I wasn't looking for much in this building—just a few lightbulbs because mama's homestead was running low on them, keyboards if they were handy, a nice chair for me and whatever other knickknacks were lying around that I thought someone from the family might like. Closer to home, all the ruins had been stripped by peddlers, and the valuables were hoarded for resale, but this building was so far out in the sticks that maybe it was still untapped.

It didn't look so good when I first went in. The lights and computers had been taken, and even the windows were either broken or gone. No chairs either, I was disappointed to see.

"Someone there?" said a worried male voice.

Instantly, I was on guard. I had been about to switch on my flashlight so I could see finer details, but now I decided that stealth would be better as I crept down the aisle toward the voice.

"I thought I heard someone," said the voice. "I'm not armed, I promise." Whoever it was, he was shot through with fear.

When I rounded the corner and found the source of the voice, I wasn't sure what I expected to see, but what I was shocked anyway.

It was a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, which made him about my age, sitting on a crate, his arms stuck straight up in the air as if he was surrendering. And he wasn't wearing a stitch.

A still-active light in the ceiling shone on him like a spotlight. I could see he had a thin but solidly built chest with a flat but muscular stomach that made me think this man did a lot of work but didn't get a lot of food. His long, thin arms were limp above him, and as I approached, I could see his wrists tied together by a rope fixed to the ceiling. He pressed his legs together, tight.

He saw me before I could say anything. He fixed his eyes on me, and I saw a delicate-featured face looking at me from under slightly wavy hair that came down to his chin. His skin was pale—I guessed he didn't spend a lot of time in broad daylight—but his hair was jet-black, so dark that even under the harsh glow of the one light, it didn't reflect anything.

His jaw worked for a moment, then he mastered himself. "My hands are tied," he said. "Let me out, please!"

"Don't worry, friend," I told him, "I'm not gonna hurt you. How'd you get in this fix?"

"My friends, they thought I was stealing from them—I wasn't, I swear—and they left me like this."

He didn't bother to mention what his companions expected would happen to him, but he didn't have to.

"It's lucky you're safe," I said, as I holstered my gun and started picking at the knot that held his wrists. At the same time, I looked over both shoulders just to make sure we weren't being watched. I saw a slick black gun barrel poking out of the shadows.

I drew my pistol as fast as I could.

"Relax," said a new, harder male voice. The gun barrel lowered to point at the ground, and out of the shadows stepped another man. Like the prisoner, he was thin and topped with black hair, but this man was stoop-shouldered and a little ruddy in the face. His right hand held his shotgun, while his left held up a little white cloth. "I'm not going to shoot you."

"That's a pretty big gun for a guy who doesn't want to shoot me." I glanced at the tied-up man. "And you've got a lot to answer for, leaving this guy like this!"

"I didn't leave him. The story he told you was a lie we made up. This is my cousin, and I've been watching him since the moment I saw you coming."

"Then what the-" I almost cursed but stopped myself. "What were you doing tying him up this way?"

With his left hand, he pocketed the cloth, reached up and undid the knot. "Call it a secret test of character," he said. "If you'd tried anything, I would've shot you. But instead, you did the right thing. Now that we know we can trust you, I want to offer you a deal."

"You strung him up as bait!" To be raped, or worse! The sheer ruthlessness of it took my breath away.

"Hey, we didn't have much of a choice," said the younger-looking man, as his wrists came free. "We need something, and we have to make sure it's from someone who..." he shrugged. "...you know, someone with a conscience. I'm Mick, by the way. My cousin over there is named Terrance." He flexed his wrists, then arched his back and stretched his arms, giving me a good look at him from the waist up. As soon as he finished stretching and saw me staring, his arms closed defensively around his body.

"Sorry," I muttered, looking at the ground. "I'm, uh, Veronica."

"Now," said Terrance, putting away his shotgun, "About that deal."

"This deal you want must be pretty urgent," I said, "for you to try something like this. This is crazy, do you guys know that?"

"Yeah, I know," said Mick sadly. "I have Tereshkova's."

Tereshkova's. A disease unique to this planet. It was said that more drifters died to Tereshkova's than to gunshot wounds, and that's saying a lot.

"It's still in phase one," said Terrance. "That means that if we get him to a medical bay within the next two months, he'll be fine. But it will mean putting him under."

Now it started to make sense. In a world with no public hospitals, if you didn't have a medical bay yourself, there was nothing to do but find someone who did and ask nicely. In a demented sort of way, his little test made sense too. As depressing as it was, there were very few women out here in the ruins who would've helped him without also taking the opportunity to inject him. With a chill, I wondered how many would-be rapists had gotten themselves shot trying to get their hands on him.

"I promise we'll make it worth your while," Mick volunteered.

"Of course," said Terrance. "We can barter for it, work it off, pay you... we're not asking for charity."

By the look in his eyes, I could tell he was worried I'd demand to give one of them a chastity serum, but he didn't have to worry about that. I wasn't about to take advantage of someone's terminal illness. It almost offended me that he thought I would. I shook my head, wondering what awful, awful kind of people they were used to dealing with.

"Hear us out," said Terrance quickly. "You'll make a big profit, and you'll be safe. There's ways we can guarantee-"

"Oh no! That's not what I meant!" I put up my hands. "Yes, I'll do it. Mama has a medical bay, and she'll let you use it."

Terrance's shoulders perked up a little. Mick beamed.

"Cousin," said Terrance, "I think we finally got our break. Let's get you dressed." He looked at me. "You won't regret this. We can discuss payment with your mother when we arrive."

The idea of payment still made me uncomfortable, but I said nothing. I just holstered my gun.

We spent the whole day walking, or driving the bouncy truck across the wilderness, watching for a good path but also watching for bandits. Eventually, we got onto a ferry to get across the big lake, and we had a moment to rest.

It was a cold, clear, moonless night, and the temperature was nice, so we sat up on the deck of the ferry as it eased its way across the water. I sat with my legs tucked into a sleeping bag, my back propped up against my truck, staring up at the stars. Mick sat beside me. He looked up too, although he seemed distracted. He kept looking over at Terrance, who leaned over the guardrails, scanning the dark horizon.

"Hey," I told Mick, "You've got nothing to worry about now. I take this ferry all the time, and I can tell you security is pretty tight."

"Oh," Mick looked embarrassed. "I know we're safe here. These days, bandits don't go after barges anymore. They prey on people who travel in ones and twos."

I finished his thought for him. "Like you did."

"Yeah."

"It must have been so hard."

Mick drew up his knees and folded his arms over them. He sighed deeply. "You know..." He paused for so long that I thought he had dropped it. Then he went on, "Some of the time, I was more afraid of Terrance than of what some woman might do to me." His voice caught. "I mean, Terrance didn't abuse me or anything like that. He would've done anything for me, and I knew it. But I was worried I'd become like him. Do you know he's killed people?"

"People?" The plural struck me.

"I only saw it the one time, but... yeah." Another sigh. "Something went out of him. He used to be a nicer, friendlier guy. Now he's less like that."

I knew it was improper to touch him, but I couldn't restrain myself. As gently as I could, I put a hand on his. To my delight, he didn't flinch.

"Once we get me fixed up," he said, "we can focus on getting back on our feet. We weren't always scavengers, don't you know. I made him promise me that once this blows over, we can start over. Just... leave all the bad stuff behind."

I wanted to say something to encourage him, but there was something beautiful about the silence between us, and I didn't want to break it. I just squeezed his hand, a silent promise that everything would turn out alright.

* * *

That was half a year ago. The operation had gone just fine, and now Mick was as good as new. For payment—I still didn't like that word!—Mama had told the boys that they had to work here at the farm for a year. By the looks on their faces, it was clear they'd been expecting a much higher price. Even then, the deal was better than they knew. I didn't tell them so; I decided I'd let them find out by themselves.

Soon, they picked up that they weren't indentured servants. Mama's 'demand' that they work off their debt had really been an invitation to join the family. And without saying so, they had accepted. After their time was up, they'd stay with us. No one had brought this up, but we all could feel it. It was a silent understanding.

Working on a farm entailed a bit of culture shock for the boys. At first, they seemed downright apologetic about eating food someone else made for him. It made me wonder how long it had been since they'd had a real home. But eventually we drilled into them that it was alright, that they were welcome to partake like the rest of us. Mom put it best: "You're two more mouths to feed, but you're four more hands. It's a good trade."

Late afternoon one day, while I was at the weather computer and Mick was painting the walls, he stopped and said something he had never said before.

"You know, I've got to say, I really feel comfortable here. Time was, I was worried that we wouldn't fit in somehow, but it's not really that complicated. If anything, this is simpler than being homeless." He looked suddenly concerned. "Uh, no offense."

I smiled. "None taken. I keep saying you could take more liberties if you wanted. We don't mind."

He looked to his side the way he always did when he was thinking. He said nothing, but I could see a light coming on in his head.

A couple of hours later, after we finished up dinner, I found out what exactly had been on his mind. I felt a touch on my shoulder, turned and saw him.

"Hey, Ronica..." that was his nickname for me that he used whenever he wanted to say something personal. "We've been living together for a while now, and... I think we're ready to do something more."

He looked oddly nervous. I took his hands. "What is it? You can tell me."

"I want us to sleep together tonight. What do you say?"

"Oh!" Ever since we met, with him in such a vulnerable position, thinking of him in an intimate way had seemed wrong somehow. But now that I thought of it, I couldn't remember why. In fact, the more I thought of it, the more I liked it.

"It's okay if the answer is no," he said gently. "I just want you to know, I'm ready."

I kissed him on the lips. I did it quick, before he could worry any more. When I pulled away, he looked shocked.

"Yes," I said. "the answer is yes." In my mind, I ran through the day's to-do list. "I promised Mama I'd check the batteries in the garage and make sure the power's not leaking, but after that, I'm turning in. Come meet me." I made my voice as sultry as I could. "I'll be waiting."

He didn't make me wait long. I had just gotten back into my room and gotten ready for my shower when I heard a knock at the door. I walked to the door, swaying my hips as I went. I knew he couldn't see me, and I probably looked like a fool doing it. I did it just to feel sexy.

He looked good. I could tell he had already showered, and his brushed-back hair made him look older, but in a good way. He had on clothes I had only seen him wear once before, a rich earth-tone button-down shirt of velvety material and dress pants. Dress pants! Our boy we had scavenged out of the rubble was now a fine, handsome man. My man. I let him in.

"You really know how to make an entrance," I told him.

"I hope I'm not overdressed," he said.

"Overdressed? You?" I laughed, then realized how that sounded, so I added, "trust me, I'll never complain about you looking too good." I stopped and thought ahead. "I still have to take my shower," I said. "It would be such a bummer to leave you waiting here while I did that."

"I can wait. Mick and I used to wait for hours for-"

"Or," I cut in, "you can come with me."

He tipped his head down, but he failed to hide the daring smile on his face.

"Nervous?" I asked.

He composed himself. "You're on."

We got into the bathroom together, and I set the mood by sliding my shirt up to take it off, leaving only my bra to cover me. His jaw dropped again, and it occurred to me that already he was seeing more of me than he'd ever seen. I reached up to his chin and closed his mouth. "Don't act so shocked," I told him, "I saw your bare chest the minute we first met. From one point of view, I owe you a look. But come to think of it..." I put my hands on his chest, feeling my fingers sink into the pleasant, fuzzy-soft material of his shirt. "I haven't gotten a good look since then either."

He didn't shrink. Instead, he puffed up his chest and waited patiently while I undid the top button of his shirt, then worked down.

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. He was in better shape than he had been when I had first seen him. He was clean, his skin smooth, and the physical work of the last six months had kept his muscles hard and lean. I played my fingers over his chest and his sides, feeling the hardness and softness under my fingertips.

He chuckled. "Is this what you wanted to do when we first met?"

"Trust me, this is way better."

The strange thing is, I barely paid attention to his cock as he undid his belt and slid his pants down. Instead, I looked at his face, at the sheer, naughty excitement I had never seen on him before. Then, before I knew it, we were both naked and stepping into the shower.

Under the flowing water, I felt warmer, looser and more willing to try things. So before he could do anything, I took the body soap, rubbed it in my hands and put them on his arms. He allowed me to rub up and down his upper arms, with his biceps under my palms, then run down his forearms, his wrists, his hands.

Washing his hands was pointless, I knew. That was the one part that we washed all the time anyway. But to feel his fingers in my hands, strong but loose and compliant, was too good to pass up.

Then it was time for his legs. I did not mean to spend any special time on his legs because I was having too much fun looking at his face and watching him cycle between anticipation and nervousness and pleasure. But I must have been more interested than I realized because I slipped on the shower floor and fell.

But I didn't fall all the way. An iron-strong grip seized my shoulder, and a second later, an arm wrapped around my chest. I felt weightless as he lifted me back up.

"Are you okay?" he asked me.

"I'm fine." I laughed. "You were ready for that, weren't you?" I wriggled a little in his grip, enjoying his hands on me. "In fact, I think it's time for you to do me."

No one in my adult life had ever bathed me. I had imagined it would be mostly a visual thing, watching him move his hands all over my body and get comfortable with me. How wrong I was! From the moment his soapy hands ran up the small of my back, the thrill of contact ran like electricity through me. I closed my eyes, tipped my head up and basked in the feeling of his hands on me, around me, over me.

He transitioned from my back to my stomach, then my shoulders and arms, then it was time for my breasts, but he ignored them.

I opened my eyes. "Hey," I said, "It's okay."

"What is?" he asked.

I took his wrists, and he let me take them off my arms and put his hands on my chest. "Feel me gently. I like it."

I didn't have to tell him twice. He moved his palms in little circles, cupping them, tracing my shape, rubbing my nipples. I moaned my appreciation.

Something touched my thigh, and I looked down and saw his cock standing straight out. I laughed.

"Oh," he said, and he looked like he was on the cusp of apologizing but thought better of it. Instead, he grinned. "You're doing that to me."

I reached back and shut off the water. "You're ready," I told him. "And so am I. Now it's time for you to 'do that to me.'"

He took me to the bed. I don't mean that he walked me over there, but he put his hands behind my back and legs, and I leaned back into him as he picked me up and carried me like an old-fashioned bride into the bedroom, onto the bed, and laid me weightlessly onto the mattress.

"You're strong," I said. I reached up and pinched his arms. "Who knew these arms could lift me up so easy?"

"I'm full of surprises," he said brightly.

"Want to spring another one on me?"

"Oh yeah?" He hesitated, clearly not sure what I wanted.

"What's the most you've ever done with a girl?"

"You... really want to hear about that?" A little of the brightness drained from his face.

I tried to backpedal. "Hey, I don't mean to pry. But answer me this: have you ever seen a woman before?"

"Oh, yeah, I have."

"And you know what to do, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do."

I stretched myself on the bed, showing him as much as possible. "Then do something unexpected. Come on, boy, surprise me!"

Bless him, he didn't hesitate. He kissed me on the mouth—a great place to start—and then brought his face a little lower and licked the sensitive skin around my neck. Warm streaks on my skin cooled in the air as he drew new ones lower, down my chest, with a one quick, quiet little kiss on each of my nipples.

He went down my body faster than I expected, and when he got below my stomach, I realized what he was going to do. I looked at him, shocked, but he only smiled back at me. "Are you ready?" he asked.

I went limp and closed my eyes. "Oh, yes," I moaned out.

He touched me around the edge of my folds, He made me tingle, then burn. His palms traced around my sex, his fingers teased me, and when I was ready, I felt his lips again, a little off target, until he got closer, and closer.

Then came his tongue. A long, slow lick on my most sensitive skin. It was exciting and relaxing at the same time. Then another, warm and loving. He started a rhythm, a slow, deliberate pace of pleasure. But then he stopped, wiggled his tongue in just the right place and sent me into a paroxysm. Then back into his rhythm, then a kiss, a soft sucking feeling on my skin, then my clit.

He was unpredictable. Every move was slow and careful, but he threw me through a loop each time. I kept my eyes shut and lost myself in it. I knew I didn't have long before I came.

He built up the energy in me, letting it peak and fall, and then peak again, higher. My breathing got high, and then loud, but he didn't stop. He gave one long, slow lick, as if he knew I was right on the edge, and I cried out with my first orgasm.

I felt pressure on the mattress and knew he was crawling up the bed. Pure pride showed on his face when I opened my eyes.

"That was amazing," I told him. "But I didn't make you cum yet."

"It's okay. Like I said, I know how to wait for what's good."

"You don't have to wait! A girl can cum more than once, you know."

He laughed. "Of course I know that! Didn't I tell you I know what I'm doing?"

"You didn't just tell me. You showed me."

He rubbed my cheek, and I pressed my hand into his palm to encourage him. He brought his face low, whispered, "We're going to need some kind of protection. Where do I find it?"

I pointed weakly at the nightstand. "Bottom drawer."

He got up off the bed, and as strange as it is to say, I missed him for the fifteen seconds it took him to pick out the condom packet, tear it free, and then place it on the tip of his cock and roll it over the shaft. He stood sideways to me so I could watch the show as his rod became enveloped in clean, shiny, transparent rubber.

I spread my legs invitingly as he got back in the bed and straddled my hips. "Are you ready?" he asked me.

"Do it!" I gasped. No girl likes it when a guy rushes and pushes into her before she's wet and ready, but I was very wet and very ready.

He didn't rush. I felt his tip, and I squealed with delight as it slowly pushed on me, into me, and I felt friction all the way inside me.

"Yes!"

He pulled out with equal slowness, then in again.

"Yes!"

His hands massaged my hips, then stopped and gripped me. I stretched my back and pressed myself into the bed. He settled his knees in a good spot on the mattress, and his third thrust was even slower and smoother than the last.

A little too slow. "Faster," I told him. "More, come on, more!" I sounded like a maniac, but I didn't care.

And he gave me more, faster. Soon, I lost control, and all I could feel was him, pushing himself inside me, making me twist and gasp and moan.

He didn't make a sound. He kept up laser-tight concentration on me, my face, and my pussy as he pushed me closer and closer to the edge. There was a tightening in his cock, in his grip on my hips, and I could tell he was close. He slowed down, but I could tell he was still close, trying not to finish before I did.

I decided to help him a little bit. I reached down, played with my pussy and stoked myself even hotter. He thrust when I didn't expect, and soon I was yowling with my second orgasm.

His cock strained. I could feel the underside pumping, and the condom filled up.

For a long moment, we did nothing but look at each other, tired and happy. I barely had any strength left in me, but I used it all to reach up and pull him down on the bed, down next to me.

We both needed to get ourselves cleaned up, but we didn't want to end the moment, so we just stayed there, enjoying the touch, the holding-together.

"I really kept you waiting," he teased me. "You've wanted that for a while." This time, it wasn't a question.

"Didn't even know what I was missing," I said. I squeezed his rear, pulled him closer to me. "And now that I know it, I'm not letting you go."

He laughed. "Of all the women to imprint on me, I'm so glad it's going to be you."

"Imprint?" I looked at him, shocked. "Oh, Mick, you know me better than that! We don't have serums here. We've got nothing to do with them."

"You mean, you don't want to? It might be smart. If you inject me, that'll immunize me, so no other woman will ever be able to do it."

"I have four brothers," I told him, "and we all have guns. I wouldn't worry about kidnappers if I were you."

"Are you sure? I know some women want to do it anyway."

"Some women worry too much. But I'm not that kind of girl."

He relaxed in my hands, and arms coiled tighter around me. "What we just did could become a habit," he said. "We might just be meeting like this more often."

I said something without thinking. "Soon this is going to be our bed, not mine."

He looked at me, surprised. "You think so?" His voice was frail, hopeful.

"Oh, I do think so." I snuggled closer to him. "It's not just the sex. I want you, all of you, with me no matter what."