Alices True Adventures Prologue
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Alice's FarewellChapter 2 free porn video
Richard looked up from Alice’s journal. “You don’t believe any of this really happened, do you?” Lyman remarked. “This isn’t history -- it’s a fantasy!”
“Keep reading, Richard,” Mona said.
He turned the page and began reading the next entry.
-- Monday 8 April ‘02
I was finishing up my Sunday journal entry when my visitor approached me and asked me what I was doing. I explained I’ve kept a journal since I learned to write. He congratulated me on my discipline and asked to look at what I had written.
“I can’t read this,” he said. “I don’t know your writing.”
“Would you like me to teach you?” I asked.
“I would.”
We sat, cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. I leaned toward him until our foreheads touched. He wrapped his antennae around my head and again I fell into a trance -- an out-of-body, floating experience. I don’t think I was under his thrall for very long -- maybe now that he knows my language, learning my writing is easier for him. Or, maybe his telepathy is better tuned into my thoughts.
I snapped out of it, stood and showed him what I had written. He scanned it, smiling and chuckling. “Your writing is very detailed and vivid,” he said as he handed back my journal. “You have a talent for it.”
“I need to write while my thoughts are fresh,” I explained. “I have an almost photographic short-term memory, but I have to write it down right away. Otherwise they slip from me.”
“Understood.”
“I know you don’t have a name ... that you tell me you don’t need a name. I need you to have a name, even if it’s one only I know. Will you let me call you a name I give you?”
“If it fills a need,” he replied.
“I’ve been looking on the Internet for a good one for you. How about if I call you Nebo? Nebo was the Babylonian god of wisdom and writing.”
“You may call me Nebo, Alice.”
“And, now, Nebo -- it’s getting late. I think I’m going to go to bed.”
“Alice -- would you sleep with me again tonight?”
I was stunned. “Sleep with you?”
“Yes. Our people dislike sleeping alone. We prefer sleeping with a friend. We like the companionship -- of sensing another near us ... of sharing dreams. I consider you my friend, Alice. I enjoy your presence.”
“I’m honored, Nebo. I’m not sure...”
“It is nothing physical if that what concerns you. We simply crave the companionship.”
“All right. I’ll sleep with you. Let me get ready.”
I went into my room, undressed, slipped into a sleep tee and brushed my hair. Then I headed to the guest room. The door was open and I stepped in. Nebo was standing, nude, with his back to the door. “Ohmigosh!” I exclaimed. “Nebo -- you’re naked.”
“My people sleep in the nude,” he replied. “We’re casual about nudity. He turned to face me and I scanned his green body up, down and up again; and I was more confused than ever.
Richard cleared his throat. He scanned ahead and resumed reading aloud.
I had seen Lyman nude and I knew what a male looks like. Nebo looked more like a woman, with a long, smooth mound covered with light, short, blond hair and divided with a slit. “Tell me,” I said, “are you male or female?”
“I am male,” he replied.
“Then -- where are your...”
“My what?
“Your ... your...” My cheeks were burning. “Your testicles.”
“My testicles?” He broke into a broad grin. “They’re inside me -- like your ovaries are inside you.”
“And your...”
“My penis? It is protected by these structures.” He pointed to a pair of what looked like overly long and full pussy lips. “Male external genitalia was something we felt we could improve upon.”
“What the fuck!” Lyman exclaimed.
“Lyman,” his father admonished, “Even though you’re an adult -- I won’t remind you again to watch your mouth.”
Lyman let out an exasperated gasp. “Mom! Dad! She’s fantasizing over a green-skinned, androgynous, dickless, ball-less ... shemale! Sorry, Dad -- I don’t know how else to express it. I take it back -- my sister isn’t a lesbian. I don’t know what it is she is ... other than twisted.”
“I don’t know,” Mona interjected. “I never remember Alice making stuff up ... not like you did, Lyman with your invisible friends.”
“Imaginary friends. I grew out of that phase by the time I was in kindergarten,” Lyman protested.
“What about those stories you wrote in seventh grade?”
Lyman blushed. “They weren’t anything like this -- you gotta admit that! You can’t tell me seriously that you think this happened.”
“I didn’t say I believed it. Richard -- keep reading.”
He returned to the journal.
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