I awoke in the back of HippyChick’s truck. Melpomene was cradling me in her arms. She had healed my physical injuries, but I was still mired in a black pit of despair. “What has happened, Queen?” Melpomene asked. I tried to answer, but again I started sobbing.
Melpomene was puzzled and concerned. Such behavior would have been unthinkable on Shaula. Then she did something that also would have been unthinkable on Shaula.
She made love to me.
On our world, as on yours, love is sometimes for procreation and sometimes it is not. This is true even for those Shaulan warriors who are wed to pricks. Love on Earth is poisoned by your gender and sexual obsessions. We love whom we please, and when we please. Except for the Queen. You let the Queen take the initiative, if you wish to live.
But my royal prerogatives did not interest me at that moment, so I surrendered to her. This is not at all the same as scarfing, what the girlfriend and I tried to do with each other. We have a thousand different manifestations of amorous coupling, as numerous and complex as your combinations here on Earth, but quite different in kind. We surrendered to each other fully, and lost our identities. We became a single cauldron of live steam, burning away material impurities until there remained nothing but our two essences, communing and consoling in a blaze of glory, until post-coital entropy reduced our complexity back to our physical bodies.
It was morning again before we fully recovered. We lay in each others arms, and listened to the twinkies celebrating around us. I touched Melpomene’s cheek, and stood up.
Enough tenderness.
I towered over Melpomene, and simulated outrage and anger. I grew large, as we know how to do, and thundered, “You dare to touch your Queen without permission?”
Before she could respond, I hopped out of the truck and said meekly, “Well, OK, then.” Melpomene laughed, but she had to wonder what my real thoughts were. I have found this to be an effective management technique. It also helped avoid an awkward conversation.