The Invasion

There's a clear difference between the Visitors and us: 

They don't mind waiting.

The massive alien craft has hovered visable above earth for 13 months now, unresponsive to communications sent from the ground, it's shields fully charged. Who would try to attack it? It is clear their technology is beyond anything we have fathomed. The questions on everyone's lips are the same:

Why are they here?
Do they mean us harm?
What is happening?

Especially since a month ago. When everyone started changing. Well — not everyone. . . 

Only the men.

You see them everywhere, most easy to spot with their shortly-cropped hair. Sitting in cafes. Standing in unemployment lines — especially those who formerly worked more heavy labor jobs. Sunbathing in the park. And sitting at home, like me.

I am no different from them. Bright light washed over me in a wave one night and I sprouted these. I breathed fitfully, trying to catch my breath. And when I breathed out they grew just a bit more.

I thought they'd never stop. They hang on my chest now, and I wait along with everyone for some sign of what it means. My hair is short, my face not much different from what it was, and yet my friend's couldn't recognize me — and in a week, I couldn't recognize them.

I've been trying on bras today. I cashed in some crypto and bought them from a smuggler. They are strewn about my bed. My tits look incredible in every one of them. My tits look incredible in everything.

I saw my friend Peter yesterday — recognizable only from his haircut and usual sarcastic expression.

More Petra, than Peter. His body was slight but curvy. I thought of the pain he must have endured feeling his skeletal structure shrink from over 6 feet tall to this much smaller form.

"What have you been doing?"

"The construction site shut down last week. So the same thing you've been doing. Waiting. Watching the news."

"Where did you get that?"

"Oh this? My girlfriend lent it to me. It's comfortable. I like the lace actually, it's comfortable. She left it before she moved out. I don't think she could take it. She said she could only date a man, that she needed someone taller than her, someone she could take to her corporate cocktail parties."

"But there are no men left."

"I know. Her loss."

I didn't have the courage to ask him about his ears. He had pierced them. And he had plucked his eyebrows. Painted his nails. He curled his toes and moved like he had always been a female. He did not look panicked in the least.

"Is that lipstick?"

"Yes."

"Where did you find it? All the stores are out?"

"My girlfriend left some of her cosmetics."

"Can I borrow some?"

"Sure. Just don't use Rebel Red. That's my favorite."

I nodded. Lipstick was in short supply. It took me all day yesterday to find my favorite foundation. "I found some eye shadow. I'll share it with you."

Peter invited me to spend the night. 

So I did.

We fucked the only way we can now. Peter has a sweet pussy. Feeling it slip against mine was like a revelation. 

I moved, sliding, forgetting it was my friend, slowly accepting Peter as a lover. Someone close to me. Someone sharing the same confusion and experience. Someone I could talk to — and play with. 

My eyebrows arched and we moaned together. I could hear through the walls we weren't alone. 

The world is positively abuzz with experimentation right now. 

We fucked until Peter's sheets were positively dripping.

I suppose we all cope in different ways. 

Lately, I've wanted silent reflection. I've wanted to find islands in the ocean of the maddening sprawl of humanity, which is now dialed up to 11 in this crisis. I stroll through the park, which is quiet except for the occasional feminine moan coming from a hidden corner.

The din of media reports, expert analysis, and everyone desperate to have an opinion has become too much for me lately. Years back, I would turn on the news, blind to the incentives of ad revenue and financial interests, adding my attention to a machine, a machine fueled by attention alone; accepting the architecture and ecology in which I was an "informed" node in a public sphere mediated by a network of large media corporations. And now?

Did all the expert predictions forsee this? The pundits on TV talk as if they saw their pussies coming a mile away. It's all a joke. So I go outside. And not in some zen kind of way or to snap a photo to share on social media. I go in silence and let the breeze surprise me. 

Out there in the silence, I ask myself what I really want to do. Do I want to flood my being with news reports and binge watch shows that amount to long chains of "setup and payoff" with a little product placement thrown in? I think I'm done. 

That's my simple sort of existance. And I like it. 

Everyone handles things in their own way, I suppose.

Have you've heard about The Colony?

They've taken to the woods to await "The Landing". They say it will come in three days. They've all taken the name Eve. Some say they have seen visions of a planet-wide orgy.

Of course they are in line with what most of the scientists are saying. All evidence suggests this is a colonization mission. They have made us compatable for the introduction of their species. It could take hundereds of thousands of years for our lineage to evolve into a new race. Some evidence suggests this is how we as humans dawned millennia ago — a crossbreading of alien DNA. Perhaps the same aliens.

If they have returned, and this is round two, it's clear the aliens don't mind waiting. Our wombs are ground zero. We are mitochondrial eves, ready for invasion. Even our cycles have synced.

The sign in Times Square has the countdown and the news tickers.

STOCKS CONTINUE TO PLUMMET · UNITED STATES' FIRST FEMALE PRESIDENT DECLARES TAX HOLIDAY· SEX TOY SCARCITY CONTINUES · CUCUMBER SHORTAGE CONTINUES · 3 DAYS UNTIL WORLDWIDE OVULATION

I’m honestly surprised anyone is running the ticker at all. Shops are surprisingly vacant. Restaurants on ever block have Help Wanted signs. The streets are largely empty. And yet every block radiates with sex, as if a battery is charging with every fitful full-body feminine orgasm taking place just behind the walls.

To add support to the colonization theory, the breast size on average of those who have changed surpasses that of most of the females who were born women. And our ovaries seems to be packed with more eggs than normal. Mine have been sore since my balls pulled into my expanding womb and converted into egg-makers. I feel them pulsing astride my uterus. And it makes me wet. I feel my first ovulation coming and it's making me absolutely horny. Like I'm in heat. The crotch of my panties is positively soaked.

I can hear the guy who lived next door begin to play with herself and I smile in knowing. 

I saw her in the hallway coming home this morning. Her tits are absolutely massive. I want to press my tits into hers. I want to fuck her with my pussy.

Instead I chutch my massive tits and slide my fingers into my panties m to join her refrain.

And so we wait.

We settle in to our new forms.

We join the ecstatic chorus of moans coming from the surrounding apartments.

The moans of our fellow sisters.

All of us know something is coming.

I can't believe men are gone.

I watch the cock on the screen.

It makes me jealous of her. 

I would be sitting on it so fast.

.

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Thanks for reading! This one derived from an interesting thougth experiment. I think there's a seed of an larger idea here. The Christmas Gift, Pt. 5 is underway and we will also post "Just a Taste". That one had a nice start but I want another crack at the next part of it. - BL