“You were the only one who looked that way on television
and in real life.”

It stroked my vanity. I was every bit as ‘buff’ in RL as I
appeared on the Tube. There was no need for makeup
or weaves to thicken my hair, or padding to….

What difference did it make?
I am an unemployed actor no one wants.

I am here on this wacked out planet because this
flake believed I was as Macho as the character
I played.

I could go into a reverie but then I would not
hear Jane’s description of her first victim;

“I said to him:
“Would you like to go to a planet
where all the women looked like me?”

“And he said;
“When do we leave?”

“I said, “Now, get dressed.”
“He said, “You’re joking.”
“I said, “No, come with me.”

“He thought I was joking, but came anyway, and we went
to the van. He was frozen in spot when he saw me go in,
as the van is invisible. Then he came in. And he kept
saying, “I don’t believe this!”

She smiled, tipped her head to the side.

“Then we went to the ship, and I told him I was taking
off, opened the robot, told him to go inside for a minute.
He was a little afraid, but went in. The box closed, he
was put to sleep.  I took the ship out and up, then went,
opened the box, took him out.  He was still asleep. I put
him on the bed, lay down beside him.  He woke up, looked
around, got panicky, I had to give him oxygen.”

“What was his name?” I asked.

She paused, trying to recall, “Jerry”, she said finally.

“And when you got here?”

“When I brought him here, he was marvelling, and then
when the appointments started he was really happy.”

She paused.

“I figured since he liked doing it so much…I asked
Shutona, she is the Transporter. She knew everything.
She called a friend.  We would gather a great deal of
value selling time to other women, off the grid.”

“And Jerry?”

“He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay. But he
had to go back.”

That is what I would assume. Take a straight man,
he’d think it was heaven.

And for no particular reason; “Will you remember my
name when I’m gone?”

“I will always remember you, Simon.” she said with
too much intensity.

I changed the topic;

“How many of your people have infiltrated Earth?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she said with a very human shrug, “why
do you think I know anything?  I’m just an average…
Broskor. Do you know how many people are on Earth?”

“Hmmm about six billion…okay, I get your point.”
I reflect on a previous conversation.

Sure, to push the plot along the alien always knows
everything about the alien technology. But that’s
called science fiction. This wasn’t fiction.
This was happening.

Since I’d gotten her to a lucid communicative point
I referred to her ‘cute’ little action of tossing me
across a the room as if I were a bean bag.

“Jane’, I say in my most dulcet and clearest tone;
“I never want you to throw me, or push me, or grab
me, or anything like you did today, do you understand?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said earnestly.

“No, Jane, you didn’t hurt me. That was not the point.
I wasn’t hurt. It was the disrespect. It was the fact
I don’t want to be treated like that.”

I had wasted so much time babbling to her, digging out
my deepest feelings, explaining, giving examples, looking
into her face, thinking we were connecting; I might as
well have poured out my soul to Barker.

Jane memorised everything I said, but didn’t internalise.
She hadn’t understood a word. I doubt she even knew what
I had been saying.

I continued in the trend, repeating, emphasising;

“It’s not just sex. It’s the way people put their
hands on me. I don’t like it.”

“Show me how to touch you…”

“When you bathe me, the way you touched me…that way.”

She was staring in my eyes. She had to understand. There
was nothing to interpret here.

Then she asked; “You don’t…play?  You know…play?”

“Not like that.” I retort.

She looked into her empty coffee cup, while I relived
the unpleasant moment of being thrown ten feet to land
safely, yes, on a bed, yes, but the emphasis here was
on the being thrown. Ten feet. Or more. Play?

“You play like that?” I ask.

“When I was young and with dolphins, we play like that,
we don’t hurt each other, but we, I guess…never mind.
I understand. I won’t do it again. Don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” I say, trying to plumb the depths of her
 character, “when I’m angry at you, it doesn’t mean I hate
you. It means I don’t like what you’ve done,” and warming
to my topic, “especially when I specifically told you I don’t
 like to be pulled around like that.”

She got up, began to move.

“Stop! Don’t run away from me.” I order.

“I have to run away, you make me feel…” she waved her
hands, “like the ocean on earth when there’s a storm.”

We all have our boundaries, I was beginning to see her’s.

“Let’s go back to the gym,” I say, ending the scene
of intense dialog.

In Sci-Fi, the characters always understands the motivations
of all the other ‘alien’ races. They can have discussions
about more than Hungry/Eat.

She might speak English in that ‘guy on the corner’
manner, but she didn’t understand it.  Eat, Sex, Bathe,
Sleep; that’s all she knew.

Maybe she was stupid, I don’t know, it didn’t matter.

I began my usual routine. Out of my eye corner I watched
Jane. She leaped at the high bar, caught it, began to swing,
doing a routine last seen at the Olympics. She seemed to
be going for a dismount, I didn’t see where she expected
to land.

With the velocity she was building, she’d slam into the
horse or the treadmill. I was about to call when she let
go, sailed through the air, flew, actually flew, across
the room, caught the rings.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I watched her go through a
series on the rings, then turn, swing, and sail back
across the room to catch the bar.

She did it four times, flying across the room, maybe thirty
feet, then flying back, exactly the same way, all four times.
Not a miss, not an adjustment…

I turned back to what I was doing, my brain in first gear.
If she lives under twice this pressure, then it is like
being on the moon…no that is one sixth.

I always imagined people who lived under greater pressure
would be short and squat. Or excessively muscular.  No, she
lives in the sea. She said she was born in the sea but
lives on land…oh why bother, I’d never figure it out.

I forced myself near my limits, then worked down, and
was ready for bed.

She came to me, not sweating not winded, bright and ready.
I forced a smile. We went to my room, I used the bathroom,
a quick shower, brushed my teeth, then went to the bed.
I took off my bodysuit, lay down, she put her arm
around me and ridiculously, I felt right.