They went to his bedroom, where he stripped off all his wet clothing. Sure enough he had a full erection on display.
“This is different from my body,” she said, seeming curious rather than repulsed.
“Men do differ from women. To mate, the man inserts his stiffened member into the woman. At other times it is not stiff, and he urinates through it.”
“Where in her body does he put it?”
“She has a hole called the vagina—cunt in the forbidden vernacular--between where she defecates and where she urinates. He puts it in there. As the poet William Butler Yeats put it, ‘Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement.’”
Now she laughed. “I think that poet knew my language.”
Brom washed with a damp washcloth, and put on dry clothing. “I am decent again. Please do not speak of this elsewhere.”
“I will not. Thank you for showing me. Now when I am ready to mate with you, I will know what to expect.”
“Yes.”
“Please, read to me more. I have many written words yet to learn.”
This time he fetched a paperback novel and read her the first chapter.
“This happened?” she asked.
“Not really. It’s fiction. Pretend narrative. A romance. But it is meant to simulate real life, so that the reader can vicariously experience the story.”
“Vicarious?”
“It gives you the feeling that you are doing it, even though you know you are not. That extends your horizon, at least emotionally.”
“Feeling. I must learn feeling.”
“I’m sure you will get there.”
The day passed. The storm did not abate, the power did not return, and neither did Martha. “I what do to not know.”
He tried to reassure her. “You can stay here tonight. You can use Lucy’s room. I promise not to molest you.”
“Here is the problem,” she said, emulating him. “At my house there is always light, and a person nearby. I am a stranger here. I fear being alone in darkness.”
“You don’t want to sleep alone,” he said.
“May I sleep with you?”
Like a child, she feared the unfamiliar dark. He could not turn her down. “In our idiom, sleeping together often means mating. But we can sleep without mating.”
“Thank you,” she said, relieved.
As night closed in, there was nothing to do by turn in. They went to his bedroom, changed to pajamas in the darkness, and lay down side by side. Brom pulled the covers over them. “Sweet dreams, Aliena.”
“Please. May I hold your hand?”
He found her hand and held it.
She dropped off to sleep almost instantly. Brom lay for a while, holding her hand, pondering. Aliena was a strange woman, and not just because of the brain transplant, but he liked her very well. Tomorrow things would probably return to normal and she would depart. So this was temporary. But it was marvelous.
In the morning they got up at dawn, washed with the damp cloths, and dressed in work clothes. The storm had eased somewhat, but the power had not returned. Neither had Martha. They had breakfast, then went out to check the neighborhood.
Branches were down everywhere. They hauled them to a pile at the edge of Brom’s yard, then knocked on his neighbor’s door. Mrs. Green was old and retired, and surely in need of help.
“Mrs. Green,” he said when she answered the door. “I am your neighbor Brom, and this is my friend. Please let us clean up your yard.”
“You dear boy,” the woman answered, gratified. “I have some cupcakes that will spoil if not eaten soon.”
“This is usual?” Aliena asked as they worked.
“Neighbors take care of neighbors, just as friends take care of friends,” Brom said. “This is usual in a crisis, such as this storm.”
When they had the yard cleared, they joined Mrs. Green inside her house to eat the cupcakes. “I am so glad to see you have a friend, Brom,” she said. “I know you have suffered.” She looked at Aliena. “My dear, you are adorable.”
“Thank you,” Aliena said. Brom was relieved, having feared she might say something inappropriate. But of course thank you was her standard response.
“She is my neighbor on the other side,” Brom said. “She got locked out of her house by the power outage.”
“It’s awful,” Mrs. Green agreed. “I am missing all my programs.”
After that they went on to the next neighbor, the Roberts, a middle aged couple. They had cleaned up their yard but were uncertain what to do about a smashed-in front window. “I have a leftover piece of plywood,” Brom said. He fetched it, and they propped it over the window. They thanked him for his help.
“This is nice,” Aliena said as they returned to his house.
“It’s a nice neighborhood. Very little crime here. That may be why your friends put you in your house.”
“Yes. They want me embedded in a good place so that I seem ordinary. So that I will be accepted.”
“You should have no problem.”
“Brom, please tell me: what is it you do, whe there is no storm?”
“That’s tricky to explain. Do you know what movies are? Television?”
“No.”
“That’s what I thought. A movie is a projection, usually on a big screen, that shows a story, like the one we were reading. Television, or TV as it is abbreviated, is a small screen people watch in their houses, showing similar things.”
“I would like to see this.”
“When the power returns, I will show you. I’m surprised that your friends did not turn on your TV.”
“They said there is so much to learn, I could not take time for entertainment.”
“But entertainment is part of life! We need to play as well as to work.”
“Play?”
“Oh, Aliena, there is a whole world of things I want to show you when I can! Play is something you do for fun, just because you want to.”
“Like holding hands?” she asked, taking his hand in hers.
He laughed. “That, too. But it’s more like the reading. You may be doing it to learn the words, but ideally it should be because you enjoy it.”
“I enjoy it with you.”
He let that pass. “At any rate, I work in the entertainment industry. A significant part of it is cartoons, which are funny caricatures of people and animals who do funny things to make people laugh.”
“Why?”
“Because laughing is generally fun. It makes people feel good.”
“I want to laugh.”
Brom realized that he had never heard her laugh. “That happens when a person is pleasantly surprised, or amused, or relieved. I laughed when you translated ‘Honey I shrank the kids,’ because it was funny.”
“I remember.”
“This is like an emotion. You are not yet tracked into it. But maybe by chance we’ll find something that makes you laugh. It has to come naturally.”
“Naturally,” she agreed.
“Anyway, although cartoons are not intended to be taken seriously, it helps if they are realistic enough to help a viewer forget that, to get into their mood. So I take existing cartoons and modify them slightly, not enough for the average viewer to notice, to make them more realistic. To subtly encourage belief. It’s one of those generally unknown specialties; I work under the radar.” Then, before she could ask, he clarified it. “Radar is a form of radio wave that detects airplanes in flight. To be under it is to be beneath notice. That’s important, for me: to have the viewer not realize that that he’s being managed, so he doesn’t react against it. I’m good at it, and have regular work. But I can’t work while the power is off. I do get an incidental benefit from my work: reading people. I pick up on nuances, on whether folk are happy or sad, excited or bored, telling the truth or lying. You intrigue me because your reactions are not normal.” Again he forestalled her question. “That is not bad. It’s just that you don’t react the way I would expect. As if,
if I tickled you, you would not laugh.”
“Tickle?”
“That’s a very light touch in a sensitive spot that incites a reaction that is not pain, not unpleasant. Some folk love tickling; some don’t.”
“Tickle me.”
“Okay. Stand before me.”
She did. He reached out and touched her ribs on either side, stroking to evoke ticklishness. She suddenly stepped forward and kissed him. Surprised, he put his arms around her, savoring it.
“Is that normal?” she asked after a moment.
“No. That was your reaction to being tickled?”
“Yes. I had an urge to kiss.”
“You said your connections are imperfect. That must be an example. Unless the clothing somehow changed it.”
Aliena pulled off her heavy shirt and stood in her bra. “Do it again.”
He tickled her bare ribs. She virtually leaped into him with another kiss.
“I love this,” he said. “But it’s definitely a misconnection. Tickling make you amorous. I wonder.”
“Wonder?”
“How you would react to a love stroke.”
“Do that.”
“It was just a passing notion. I don’t think that would be proper to actually do.”
“Please. I want to know.”
“Well, I could kiss your bare breasts. But this is something that should not--”
He broke off, because she was unsnapping her bra, exposing her beautiful breasts.
“All right, Aliena. But tell me to stop the moment you feel at all uncomfortable. Sit on the couch.”
She sat, and he kneeled before her. He kissed the evocative fullness of her left breast. His passion soared, but he battened it down. This was science, not sex.
“Oh!” she cried, flinching away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”
“I was surprised, not pained. Do it again.”
“You’re sure?”
“I felt something different. Odd. I want to define it. I will not retreat again.”
So he approached her and kissed her breast again. She remained still until he reached the nipple and licked it. Then she burst out laughing. She grabbed his head and mashed his face against the breast.
Then they both paused. “You laughed!” he said as she released his head.
“I laughed,” she agreed. “It was ticklish.”
“I think we have proved the case. Your tickle and love stroke reflexes are reversed.”
She nodded. “You would want to mate, and I would laugh.”
“That would be awkward, yes.” He stood.
She put her shirt back on. “I must change that.”
“You forgot your bra.”
“I did not forget. I want to try another time, soon, the tickle and the kiss, to get them straight. I think there was a little tickle in the tickle, and mating in the kiss. Not enough.”
“Aliena, it may not be safe to try it again. Your bare breasts are one hell of a turn on.”
“But your tickle turns me on. That is not safe either.”
Brom pondered it. Probably it would be better for her to react sexually only to sexual stimuli, not to others. She did need to zero in her reflexes, if she could. He should have the self control to help her without molesting her. “We can try it.”
“Thank you.”
He changed the subject. “Maybe we should shop for supplies. This seems to be a prolonged siege.”
“Shop?”
And she had never been shopping? “I’ll show you. We’ll take the car. There should be somewhere with its own power generator.”
Riding in a car was evidently another new experience for Aliena. Had they drugged her to bring her to the house? He preferred not to inquire. He instructed her about using the seat belt, and explained what he was doing as he put it in Drive and slowly pulled out onto the street.
They had to go some distance before he spied an active supermarket. He parked in the lot, and they walked to the store. It was quite busy; many other people, stranded without power, had the same idea.
Alien’s amazement was plain as they entered the store and walked along its aisles. At last that connection was correct. “I have not seen a place like this.”
“It’s a standard supermarket. Next time ask Martha to take you along when she shops for groceries.”
“I will do this.”
He bought bread, cheese, milk, and crackers: things that needed neither cooking nor refrigeration. He paid for them with cash. He saw Aliena looking, and knew there was more explaining to do, about the monetary system.
They returned to the car, and he put his bag in back.
“I can do this,” Aliena said.
“Do what?”
“Drive the car.”
He remembered when a quick study she had been on reading words. He made a spot and probably foolish decision. “Do it. But be very careful; a car is dangerous when mishandled.”
She got into the driver’s seat and buckled up. He gave her the key, and she used it correctly. “The car will go forward, but the way is not clear,” she said.
He explained how to get Reverse. She did it, and eased the car out of the parking slot. Then she put it in Drive and drove forward. Sure enough, she had gotten it just from observing him on the way here. She obeyed the lights and signs.
In due course they pulled up before his house and parked. She had performed perfectly.
“Aliena, I am amazed and gratified. Let me kiss you.”
She opened her shirt. “Kiss me here.”
He didn’t argue. He leaned across and down and kissed her breast.
Her quick intake of breath pushed the breast against his face. “Oh, it tickles! But not so much.”
He drew back. “Cover yourself so we can go to the house.”
She did, and they did. He set the staples on the table, ready for the next meal. “Tickle me,” she said, removing her shirt.
He tickled her ribs. She leaned toward him, but this time did not kiss him. She was slowly getting it right.
She fetched the novel. This time she read it to him, pausing only on words she had not encountered before, which he happily provided. Her learning ability was simply fantastic.
Then she paused. “Oh.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I feel wet.”
“Wet?”
She stood and drew down her skirt. “Here. Am I sick?”
There was blood on her panties. “No, Aliena,” he reassured her. “It is your period. Don’t you remember? It comes every month.”
“One month ago I was transplanted,” she said. “Three weeks ago I obtained awareness in the new body. They taught me to walk and eat and urina—to pee. One week ago they brought me to the house. Sometimes my head bleeds, from the healing incision, but not my body. This is new.”
“Aliena, a normal human woman has a period about every month. Her—her uterus bleeds, slowly. It lasts for several days and then passes. The body’s last period must have been while you were unconscious. There is nothing wrong with you.”
“But what should I do? This is staining my clothing, and it is uncomfortable.”
“Cramps, probably. They will pass.” He considered. “Lucy surely left sanitary equipment.” He went to her room and rummaged until he found a box of tampons. “Take off your pants, wash the area with the cloth, and put one of these in your vagina. That will soak up the blood. In a few hours you can change it.” Seeing her expression, he held up a hand in a stop signal. “No, I can’t do it for you. Martha could, but not me. There are instructions in the box. Read them. Follow them. You will be all right.”
She took the box and went to the bathroom. “And put on new panties!” he called after her.
Before long she returned, looking entirely normal. “I have done it. Thank you.”
“Oh, you are welcome, Aliena. You are learning what you need to. Maybe we should celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Do something fun. Maybe drive somewhere interesting. Where would you like to go?”
She considered. “Do you have a sea?”
Surprised, he answered bluntly. “The nearest shore is about two hours’ drive away. We could go there. But swimming is not recommended for a woman during her period. Well, maybe it’s okay, I’m not really knowledgeable about such personal details, but--”
“You have a sea,” she said.
“Yes. When your period is finished, we can go there, if the power has not yet returned. We can swim. You do know how to swim?”
“No. Not in this host. But you will teach me.”
She loved the sea, but could not swim? “I will teach you,” he agreed.
She opened her shirt again. “Kiss me.”
He was becoming accustomed to her single-mindedness. He kissed her breast and licked the nipple. “Oh, I am starting to feel the mating urge,” she said.
“Then maybe we have done enough of this.”
“No. There is farther to go. But I am learning.”
“You are learning,” he agreed.
At night they slept together again, holding hands. Brom did not say so, but he knew that he was falling in love with this strange, smart woman. Who would surely leave him once her associates returned. He cursed his own folly, to no avail.
They continued their routine of running in the early morning, shopping and reading and talking in the day, and helping the neighbors, who seemed quite taken with Aliena. There was no power, no running water, no proper sewage, but it was actually a rather pleasant time. Because they liked each other’s company.
It seemed like only an instant before Aliena announced that she was free of the period and ready to see the sea. In the interim she had learned to use his credit card, and had bought several books to read. She had also finally zeroed in her tickle and love stroke reflexes. He had taught her about as much as he could; she was taking over her own training. She really didn’t need him any more. He braced himself yet again for her departure, once the power returned, and with it, her people, Martha and Sam. He was pretty sure they would not approve his association with Aliena. She was destined to be an important foreign envoy, not a common local girl.
“Tomorrow early we will drive there,” he agreed. “I’ll pack the swimsuits and towels.”