Centennial Hills 3

Somebody’s still asking for it, so here’s some more.  I’ll continue to post it as long as at least one person indicates they want more in the comments.  Reminder, this is the edgiest story I’ve ever written, so be ready to bail if that gets too ill.

Content Warnings:  Strong Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Alcohol and Chemical Abuse, Ableism, Unpleasant Depiction of an Unhoused Person and Drug Addicts.

Could the buck stop here?  Could this be the one that gets no request for continuation?  I’m interested to see.  Also, it’s time I started stowing these under the cut, so … cut!


by Bébé Mélange

After the excitement of meeting Bumbo had died down a bit – at least for Tmai – they noticed the metal scrap gripped in their palm was vibrating, trying to move.  Tmai held it up gently and watched it lean toward the direction of the tall buildings.  Snar had activated the collection belt!

They still needed to recover, and a way to get around town without being seen as an alien invader.  They gestured like holding a bottle and gulping water.  Bumbo nodded – a sign of understanding, or possibly affirmation? – and Tmai followed them inside the house.

Bumbo led them to a large room with specialized compartments.  Most of the room was a lounge arranged about a large screen, with an elaborate brick column on one side and a set of stairs on the other.  The back part of the room where they stood had smooth tiled floor and counters and compartments aplenty.  What work was done here?

Bumbo brought them to a basin that was inset in a countertop.  They pulled up a plastic set of steps to help theirself lean over the tall countertop, and turned a knob.  Water came out – with no smell of chlorine or sodium chloride.

Tmai twisted around and leaned backward over the basin to drink water straight from the faucet, momentarily unselfconscious in thirst.  Bumbo made their happy noises and reached for a cup.  They hand tapped on Tmai’s chest to get their attention and handed them the receptacle.

Glass, Tmai noticed.  A traditional material not often used in advanced worlds, except in shatter-resistant variants.  Unsafe.  They could tell by the feel of the surface it was the primitive kind.  But they could also tell it was offered in kindness, and used it to gather water for more dignified drinking.

Bumbo stared in amazement while Tmai filled the glass and drank it down ten times.  They smiled.  Tmai finally stepped back and looked down at their new friend.  Bumbo was holding out a strange little item – a food?  They took a bite and extended their hand again.  Tmai smelled it, then handed it back firmly.  Bumbo shrugged and ate the rest, then turned to the various storage compartments.  It was time to find out what an Ainavian can eat.

While they sampled every food item in the house to see what would be the least poisonous, Tmai thought about Snar and felt bad.  But they’d need to heal enough to stop limping if they were going to be able to rescue them.  Time was of the essence.


Snar settled into the ratty couch.  The air was stifling with a miasma of strange funky smells.  They flicked their eyes from one of the aliens to the next, trying to understand them.  They had some variety to their forms.  Perhaps they had biological castes, or multiple sexes with unique morphs, or just a greater range of intraspecific morphology than Ainavians.  They were starting to get used to the look of the tiny heads and nasal protrusions, even if it was still a bit off-putting.  But the creatures were useless, just moving around excitedly and gabbling at each other and at Snar while they suffered.  So thirsty.

They understood now that the dark one was named Rennie, the shirtless pale one named Nate, and the dirtiest one with the cart was named Lita.  Their unpracticed tongue couldn’t nail the “nn” sound, resulting in Remmie, Mate, and Lita.  Futilely, they tried to parse enough of their rapid-fire patter to learn something.  At last, they felt pretty sure about a word used to get attention.  It was the same word Lita had ended her sentences with in an effort to calm them.  If said at the end of a sentence in a rising tone, it was for calm.  If said at the start of a sentence with a descending tone, it was an attempt to get attention in a conversation.  They tried it out.

“Ogay, ogay, ogay!,” Snar said.  Then they mimed drinking from a bottle and swallowing.  Pretend swallowing hurt with how bad their throat was parched.

The locals quieted for a moment, then started up again.

“He wants to get drunk,” said Nate.

“Are you sure he doesn’t just want water?,” Lita asked.

“Yo, the water is filthy,” Rennie said.  “Just get him what’s left of that forty.”

“A’ight, a’ight,” said Nate, hopping up.  He was easily the most energetic of the three.  He came back and handed Snar the bottle.  “Here ya go, Smar.”

Because of their speech impediment, Snar wasn’t able to convey their own name very well either, and now they were “Smar” to the people.  Close enough.  The bottle was mostly empty but still heavy to them, made of glass.  The fluid inside smelled like rot or Vinudian urine and was far from clear.  They sipped it and crumpled their face.  Vile.

“Aww, he never had a forty before, maybe never had no UFO beer neither,” said Rennie.  “Smar, dog, you gotta drink it fast to get over that.  Bottom’s up.”  He gestured to get the point across.

Snar closed their eyes and sighed, then tossed it back, draining the foamy poison completely.  They paused there a moment, not sure what would happen, then they immediately vomited it all back up, ruining their clothing and splattering onto the table.

The locals were alternately amused and disgusted, but always cheerful.  Well, it was better than having guns in your face.  Eventually they got them some warm disgusting water that was significantly less toxic, and they choked down enough to start to think clearly.  Meanwhile, they’d replaced their big black top with a thin white sleeveless torso garment.  It was too big and smelled a bit musty, but it wasn’t soaked in regurgitated forty.

They touched the belt and wondered if it was calling to Captain Tmai – or if the other Ainavian was even alive.  Would it be better to hide with these creatures, or get out where they’d be easier to find?  Was staying in the city a good idea?  Surely if they went out to a less inhabited area it would make finding them safer for their escort.

But danger was an escort’s job.  No, Snar would play it smart and lay low.  If Tmai was worth their wages, they’d show up.


Pep Ambergris and Scuzz shared a doobie in the interrogation room at Nellis Air Force Base.  Scuzz was scared, but Pep couldn’t be intimidated.  Hell, he’d gotten them to let Scuzz hang out, even OKed the pot.  The truly rich were functionally gods in the United States.  His deity was shining brightly upon the impure that day.

Colonel Saunders walked in briskly and stood to the side.  A general came in behind him and took a seat opposite the rich man.  “Mr. Ambergris,” he said, “You may call me General Tweed.”

“No offer of a handshake?  No first name?  I’d let you call me Pep.”

“I’m not going to call a grown man Pep, no matter what it says on his birth certificate.”

Scuzz said, “Aww, but it’s so cute.”

“Thanks, baby.  Alright, General Tweed.  When can I get to work on the UFO?”

The general arched an eyebrow in disbelief and looked at the colonel.

Saunders said, “I didn’t say a word, sir.”

Tweed turned back to Ambergris.  “That’s right.  You’re going to be allowed to work on the UFO.  We can’t know how many UFOs are out there – and in whose hands.  We need to understand any tech on that thing before the other guys do.”

“Understood.  So..?”

“Do me a favor.  Tell me how you were Johnny-on-the-spot with this thing.”

“I’ve done private research enough to know they are real, had my satellites looking for just the right sign.  But really, I wouldn’t have been able to get here in my chopper that fast if I hadn’t been in Death Valley testing drones.  That element was pure serendipity.”

“Fortune favors the bold, I suppose.”  He stood up and straightened his general pants.

“More often, it favors the industrious.  We’ll do good work for you, general.  For America.”

Scuzz said, “God bless her!”  Her beads rattled.

That actually melted the colonel’s patriotic heart a little.

The general said, “I have an attaché that will be reassigned as your oversight for the duration.  He has no rank, but treat him as if he bears the full weight of my authority.  In this case, he will.”

“Will all of my people require individual oversight?”

The general had been turning for the door, but stopped to turn back.  “Your people?  You will be using military personnel.”

“No offense intended sir, but I have been able to assemble the cream of engineers and scientists from across the globe, thoroughly vetted and secured to do what I require.  I can give you my dossiers on them, but I will need my people to do this work.”

“Not so much of a wunderkind on your own, hm?  I’m sure it can be arranged.”  He walked out.

The colonel nodded to them one last time and walked out as well.

Scuzz picked up the roach from the ash tray and sucked it just a little.  “I can’t believe you did it, hon.  You’re, like, so amazing.”

“I know,” said Pep.  “I know.”


Tmai finally found some food rich in collagen, but it was too tough to eat.  Judging by the bag, it was made from the bones of a docile carnivorous animal, softened and twisted in knots at the ends.  They figured out the kitchen technology well enough to put a bone on to boil, soften it up.

While they waited for that to work, Bumbo took them up to their bedroom.  It was decorated gaily with streamers and illustrated characters, pinks and turquoise and yellow everywhere.  Tmai wondered why one with such a design sense would leave the rest of the habitation in such a dull state, but perhaps these colors were expensive materials.

Bumbo pointed to the head of their bed, and the abstract characters of their name there, effectively using gestures to explain it was the long version of Bumbo.  They demonstrated the corresponding hand signs.  Tmai just then remembered to adjust their audio receivers.  If the report on the planet was accurate, Bumbo was unusual in their gestural communication.

Bumbo bounced off the bed and peeled off their one piece torso garment, revealing the bare anatomy of the local beings.  It wasn’t so different from Ainavians, save a few odd details.  They paid them no mind as they pulled fresh garments out of a dresser and put them on in layers – undergarments for the pelvis and feet, pink hose for the legs, and a thin torso garment that left most of the arms bare, in yellow with a faux-metallic shiny pink symbol on the chest.

Freshly attired, Bumbo turned their attention to Tmai’s nudity and shook their head.  By then, Tmai had learned that was a mild disapproval or negative gesture.  Bumbo took stock of their own clothes, but they were all too small.  Then they smiled and dragged Tmai down the hall to another room.

This room was clearly inhabited by somebody larger.  A little note of alarm sounded in Tmai’s head.  If Bumbo was a juvenile of the species, would the adult not take their presence quite so well?  Where was the adult?

Bumbo opened a folding door to reveal a selection of hanging garments.  They ran their fingers over the lot, then settled on a white one with exceedingly small silver points woven at regular intervals.  It was cute indeed.  Tmai helped them pull the garment down and then Bumbo helped them put it on.  It required the action of a zipping mechanism in the back.

Bumbo dragged Tmai by the hand in front of a long mirror and gestured at it grandly.  Tmai saw theirself in the mirror.  Ainavian.  The long garment was held at the shoulders with thin straps, hugged the torso for a length, then expanded into a long skirt that was mid-calf.  They pulled up the skirt to look at their wounded leg.  It was still livid with contusion.

Bumbo gestured to the upper reaches of the cove where they’d picked the garment.  There was a selection of hats as well.  Tmai immediately knew none would fit and rubbed their head to say as much.  Bumbo hung their head in a moment’s sadness.

Tmai sat on the edge of the bed to lower to their level and held their hand gently.  Then looked back at the cove.  Could something in there cover their alien appearance?  Bumbo didn’t understand what Tmai was getting at.

Tmai pulled out a heavy garment with woolly fuzz and donned it, pulling the hood over their head.  Bumbo figured it out and got excited, though both realized that the fuzzy garment was too heavy for the weather.  They kept looking, turning up nothing else with a hood.

Bumbo led Tmai to a set of drawers and started opening them.  There was a pink garment inside with long sleeves, and they tried it on.  The hood was a bit of a stretch, but it could just about cover Tmai’s head.  The rest of the garment covered their upper torso and arms, and had pockets they could use to conceal grey hands.  Not bad.

Bumbo led Tmai to a tiled little room of tubs and basins, and from a drawer produced a small box of pigments and appliers in different shapes.  They demonstrated the use of one applier by rubbing it on their own lips to redden them.

Was this also part of the disguise?  It could never work.  Tmai’s Ainavian eyes would be a giveaway regardless of how their lips looked.  Then they figured out that Bumbo was more keen on them looking pretty than on concealment.

It didn’t make sense, but they assented with a nod and let them start painting their face.  Time was tight, but there was no way to know when that hammer would fall, and in the meantime it would be useful to please their only ally from the world.  Plus they needed to kill time until that bone softened enough to eat.

As they sat there being painted by the juvenile native, Tmai had second thoughts.  Should they rush out to pursue the doctor?  It was dangerous.  How well would the disguise hold up?  It would be safer after dark, but how long did this planet take to rotate away from the sun?  So many variables.  For the moment, it was time to look pretty.


Snar drank as much of the dirty fluid as they could stomach, then stood and stumbled through the chamber.

Nate pointed to things and asked, “You want this?  You want this Smar?  What do you want now Smar?”  In a tiled alcove Nate opened a white box with a soft snap of its seal breaking.  A thin cold air rushed out to greet them and Nate pointed to the refrigerated items.

One looked like a fluid, though its orange opacity told them it might be as vile as the forty.  The metallic cylinders were hard to understand.  Fuel canisters for the cooling device?  Batteries for something else?

“You want these?”  Nat cracked one open using the tab on top.  He handed it to Smar.

They smelled it.  It was clearly a cousin to the forty, but simultaneously more funky and less toxic smelling.  They steeled theirself to possibly vomit again and took a deep draught.

The fluid didn’t sit well in their stomach, but it did stay there.  The cold diminished the funk of the flavor somewhat, and they appreciated it.

Nate made a thumbs up sign, which Snar took to be asking if it was good.  They returned the gesture and Nate beamed his bone comb, smiling grandly.

Back in the lounge, Nate said, “I told you he wanted to get drunk.”

Lita lit into him.  “OK, OK, OK, listen.  I came here for a reason.  You’re smart guys.  What do we do with him to make money?  I can’t keep living like this.  We can’t.”

Rennie said, “I’m good.”

Nate said, “Naw dogg, she’s right.  Alright, lemme think lemme think lemme think, um, OK… A’ight I hate to do it but I think we gotta go blow some peeps up.  Ask around, a’ight?”

Rennie said, “Oh yeah, like hit the fences.  See who’s buyin’ or whatever.”

Lita was a bit horrified by the prospect of selling Smar, but if the price was right, she knew she would do it.  God damn me.  “Well do it quick, please.”

Nate said, “Chill girl.  You know we smart.  It’s why you came.”

She closed her eyes and nodded.

Snar looked around, not understanding the energy in the room.  Something else was beginning to cloud their understanding.  They had a feeling the atmosphere was oxygen poor and it was diminishing their capacity, but couldn’t be sure.  But soon, Nate and Rennie were throwing on some extra torso garments and leaving the room.

Lita sat across from Smar, looking at them with anguish on her face.  Even the alien could see there was an intensity of emotion there.  They stood up unevenly and walked over to her.  They sat on the coffee table and took up her filthy hands in their own.  “Lita,” they said.

Snar saw the person was having a problem and didn’t like that.  It wouldn’t do to have the first person to protect them from gun guys to break down.  They thought of how to calm them – OK with a rising sound at the end of a sentence, and gave it a try.

“Lita lita lita, ogay?  Lita lita lita, ogay?”

“No,” she said.  “I’m not OK.  Don’t you understand?  You beautiful little man…  You’re like an angel.  And that makes me … the devil!”

The dirty person started emitting salty-smelling water from their face and making bubbling gasping sounds, pulling their hands back to hide the shame of it, presumably.  Clearly an uncontrolled emotional outburst.  How could they calm them?

As one might do – perhaps unwisely – to an injured animal, they gently stroked their arms.  It seemed to work as the gasping stopped, but their tiny eyes were still soaked with the biogenic saline, strangely irritating to the very body it came from, causing their eyes to become red.

“Smar,” they gasped softly.

“Lita,” they replied, trying to return the tone and inflection.

“Make love to me, you beautiful space angel.”

“Mague lubb, ogay?” they replied.

Lita pushed forward and sealed their lips over Snar’s.  This was clearly a ritual of physical intimacy, and they’d let theirself get suckered right into it.

The native person began to remove clothing, just like in the videos from clothed cultures.  Vinudians were clothed, and Snar had watched some of their cinema in cultural courses to supplement their medical knowledge.  The removal of clothing before spawning was always a big production.

They didn’t want to do it.  But the person clearly needed some kind of emotional comfort, and to them this was the best solution.  Snar had only spawned in a few orgies with Ainavians before, never any weird interspecies action.  Could they make this work?  Could they pleasure the alien being?

When she leaned back to take off her pants, Smar started to help her remove them.  He wanted it too!  She trembled with excitement.  Maybe this was how she could make money off of him without selling him down the river!  Have a half-alien baby and go on Oprah, or just write a tell-all book about what it’s like to…

She looked shocked as Smar pulled off his own pants.  He had a very simple opening, like a pussy without the details.  He?  Was Smar a space man?  She didn’t see tits, just skinny pants and a hoodie…  Oh no, those skinny pants did go over the feet before they got frayed up – they were space leggings!  He was a space lady!

And so quick to be willing to do lesbo stuff.  Weird.  She had lost track of herself, leaning back in the chair stripped to her socks, filthy fingers on her face in a frozen expression of surprise.

Snar stopped short and did their best to understand this change of expression.  Were they supposed to do something here?  Failing to keep up their part of the ritual?  They asked, “Ogay?”

She thought about it, blinking.  Then she decided.  “OK.”  She raised her legs, pushed her pussy forth, balanced her toes on the edge of the coffee table.

Snar had to resist pulling an expression of their own.  This alien genital was a puzzle box.  There were specialized openings, unlike the Ainavian cloaca.  Which was the place to touch?  Indeed, what type of touch was preferred?  Rubbing?  Pulsing?  Scratching?  Tickling?  They remembered specialized orifices were more common in sexually dimorphic species like Vinudians, and often one sex had a pene and one a sexual orifice to receive it.  In those cases, said orifice would have an organ homologous to the pene, but smaller.  The whole area on this alien was obscured in dark pelage, fortunately shorter than the crest on their tiny head.

The folds of the front orifice seemed suspended from an area of stiffening – perhaps the pene homologue was concealed there.  They reached out, pausing to look at the alien’s face for approval, and they nodded.  Snar placed tentative fingers there.

Lita placed her own grubby paw over Snar’s fingers and guided them.  She started out like she was masturbating herself, then let her hand fall away while Snar continued the work.   But their hand was too weak, and Lita had to press it into place again.

Well, most peoples only enjoy spawning when it’s mutual, and it might be easier to apply adequate pressure with my body weight, Snar thought through the haze.  They climbed up onto the chair and lowered their erogenous patch onto Lita’s orifice.

“Oh god,” she said.  “Are we really doing this?  Fuck.  Fuck, mm, I’m bumping beavers with a space angel.  God damn what is wrong with me?”  She rubbed herself against them, felt her clit slip by the alien’s pussy, and went a little insane.

Snar did their best to be adequate with the pressure and motion.  It was just difficult and creepy enough of a scene that they were definitely not going to achieve orgasm theirself, but the friction was not altogether unpleasing.  The hairy alien erogenous area was probably going to give their Ainavian skin a rash, but it felt good enough in the moment.

Snar lost track of time somehow, and was startled by the alien’s orgasm.  They came very close to having one of their own in that shuddering moment, but an ounce of reservation still lurked in their mind and held them back.  Just as well.  What would the alien think of Ainavian sexual emissions?  Apparently, they didn’t have very visible emissions of their own, beyond a lubricatory substance.

Lita pulled Snar down onto her and held them close.  Snar noticed for the first time that the alien had some kind of fleshy pads on the upper torso, with firm protruding bits – one each.  They had been mostly concealed by their long tangled crest pelage.  It was creepy, but the person needed this, so they kept playing the part.  She pulled their head up and kissed deeply, plunging her tongue into their toothless mouth and slapping it around in there.

She let Snar breathe and embraced them again.  Snar was just relieved to not be tasked with such exertion any longer, and almost passed out in the afterglow of the moment – such as it was.

Maybe they did pass out, because they found theirself in another room a moment later, laid out on a bed beside Lita, propped up on big pillows.  Lita was inhaling smoke from a burning length of paper-wrapped organic material and offered them some.  Snar took a drag and felt the horrible smoke devouring their breath, replacing valuable oxygen with something worse.  But they didn’t choke, somehow, and felt an allure there.  Death was calling and it was peaceful.

No!  Resist.  Oxygen deprivation can cause a sensation something like euphoria.  That must be messing with you.  Snap out of it!  They began to choke and she took the cigarette away from them.

“I’m sorry, buddy.  Hey, I’ll get you a cold one.  You just sit tight.”  She patted them on the tummy and rolled out of bed.

The Edgelordry has Commenced.


  1. Alan G. Humphrey says

    Life has been described as, “… nasty, brutish, and short.”*, but technological means have also provided many entertaining distractions from same, so bring on the entertainments, please. Even if they contain some, “… nasty, brutish, and short.”, elements.

    * Hobbes was an edgelord of his day.

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