The Lamb And The Shepherdess:
An Harmonic Convergence
"Human beings are "arrows shot out in time and space to catch the impossible."
- Peri Rossi
"Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it."
- Hebrews 13:2
Chapter One: The Hostess Body
1
An Excerpt From The Super Private Journal Of Charlotte Louise Hazelgrove:
I'm in an a session of achievement centered therapy and I've taken off my shoes and socks so I can suck my toes while I stare into the beautifully light catching big black eyes of my therapist, who happens to be the insectoid variety of extraterrestrial I'd really like to make, you know, contact with. Generally, as a closet exophiliac, I like to fantasize about the grays, the reptilians or the little greens, but it's the Mantodeans that really get my noonchie the juiciest. I mean, it's not that I have a problem getting wet because I can get really wet, very wet, very very very wet, like I need a dam of sandbags outside my bedroom door wet. So, actually, my excessive wetness is a problem, just one of my list of problems. Are you still reading?
Anyway, The Mantodeans are a race of insectoid beings that have evolved from simple mantid roots to become a prominent culture in the universe. Imagine a humanoid praying mantis. Sexy, huh? Yeah, you know it. They stand as tall as twelve feet, but I prefer mine at like eight. They have long, thin torsos. Their necks, arms and hands have two more sets of joints then we do. Their heads remain very much mantid in structure and appearance, triangular with large, slanted eyes of deep brown to black. The exo-skins of most Mantodeans are green, but they can also be dark brown and black. What I refer to as an exo-skin I guess can more accurately be described as a segmented exo-skeleton. It's just that I imagine that the Mantodeans's bone plating feels, of course, very smooth, and conforms snugly to their muscles and is just slightly giving like the clear form fit plastic wrapping around a brand-new toy.
As for my dream Mantodean's exo-skin, it is more a satiny lustered olive black. Stars, he's so hot. I mean, I think it's a he. I'm not sure yet. The Mantodeans don't present distinctly gendered and, honestly, I don't know how lucid this dream is going to be. Anyway, some abductees have reported that Mantodean exo-skin has an oily like coating, which I feel just a little OCD about, so I hope I can lucidly remove any ikkiness from the dream. Or maybe I'm already lucid dreaming because most abductees have seen Mantodeans wearing these like long flowing robes varying in color, which some suggest representing rank or something, and mine, well he or she is just naked. Personally, I don't buy it. I think the wearing of garments is more representative of a holy order or religious cult thing. That doesn't sound very progressive, I know, but I just don't think of any Mantodean as a political or military official.
So my great big sexy praying mantis, is sitting behind An enormous Black-stained solid oak desk. Obscured by only a few stainless steel items, a desk lamp with a half chrome bulb, two drink coasters, a USB hub, a universal charging station and a gleaming MacBook Pro. The desk compliments my mantid's magnitude in its pristine satin luster,
The Mantodean shines with its own subtle sheen, it's exo-skin forming tightly to it's miraculous and mysterious inner systems. He or she presides over the room, reclined comfortably in a great leather chair like a judge, it's implacable polished onyx eyes betraying nothing. The Mantodean's eminence is intoxicating. I'm hoping he or she (Yes, I'm getting tired of not knowing which too.) is enjoying my little self-indulgent foot fetish show.
I gaze at my lovely creature as I imagine that we are in his private chamber aboard his ship, the good ship, Achievement Centered Therapy. The ship happens to be at the very much protected center of the fleet. My Mandolean is not only a much sought after professional in the field of human psychology, but he is also the CEO of an intergalactic corporation, a being of great power, an ambassador, an emissary between worlds, a groundbreaker who exerts great influence and possesses great wealth because of it. It is then in the dream, as he or she watches me, motionless and in total silence, I feel shamed for tongue lapping my feet with such naked brazenness. So, I take my foot out of my mouth and reach to the opposite end of my therapy couch to my purse and withdraw a few wipes to remove the slick from my mouth and my toes.
I'm laying back on my couch now and I don't look at the mantid as I nervously ball up my wipes. Instead, I fix my gaze on my drying toes and proceed to twist up the wipes in knots. I remind myself of how the Mantodeans are the most mysterious and unsettling of all extraterrestrial species. They are from so beautifully far away, twenty million light years from Earth, from the Sombrero galaxy, which is a really stupid name, but it's how we on Earth refer to it because of the galaxy's general shape. Otherwise, the cluster of stars an planetary bodies that surround their very own black hole is referred to as Messier 104, Messier being the name of the first earther to see it.
The Mantodean race evolved hundreds of millions of years ago on a planet inhabited only by varieties of insect species. The first creatures in the cosmos to become self-aware, the mantids ultimately dominated the sub-species on their world, ending slavery and their credit economy in less than a century, though still subjugated the more grub or maggot like members of their planet because, after all, even the most technologically advanced and self-actualized among the universe's life forms have to eat something. Ultimately, through their very advanced unanimity of consciousness, they became collectively tuned to sound and light and their reflection in color, which was how they'd advanced so quickly in the science of interstellar travel.
I think about how beautifully and utterly incomprehensible that all is and I get goose bumps all over me. In my head, something occurs to me and, in my vaginal vault, I want even more for my mantid to fuck the shit out of me. This is where in the dream that I arrive at the understanding that just because the Mantodean is all super advanced and powerful doesn't mean it can't desire anything. It eats. It consumes flesh. That means it has to stop and take a shit just like every other carbon-based life form in the universe. I realized that power and extraterrestriality are just other versions of perfectly normal. I mean, one can't be extraterrestrial if one hasn't traveled to another's planet, right?
Then I wonder, did this Mantodean have a wife or a husband somewhere else on ship or somewhere on the home world. I thought, I could entice this creature, this exotically attractive intergalactic traveler. If we all consume, then we all feel desire. So, since this was my dream and the mantid was in it, I knew that it wanted me.
I raised my gaze back to the Mantodean. I felt the simple magnitude of my new understanding in my eyes and, even though it still didn't move or speak or anything at all, I knew that something knew was suddenly stirring in the creature's heart. I smiled seductively, noticed the waste basket along the left side of the big black desk, casually laid myself down on the couch I'd been sitting on , and then deftly tossed my warm damp wod of towelettes the twelve or so feet it took to land them in the basket.
Finally, the mantid moved. Reaching very fluidly toward the desk's center drawer, it pulled it open and withdrew a pen, which looked fairly small in its great hand. The Mantodean pressed the pen's tip to the desktop, and then proceeded to slide its fingers slowly down the pen's shaft, then flipped it from end to end to start the process again. I watched as the mantid repeated the pattern, twice, three times, four times, its big beautiful black eyes studying me, assessing me.
My smile gets broader and I think that I made my great big Mantodean nervous. I wonder if it's gotten a hard on or some other genital engorgement happening behind the desk. If anything, it was curious now. Now, it wanted me. Slowly I got to my feet, and then made my approach to the right side of the desk. Laughing with feigned coyness, I stop beside the desk, run a seductive finger along its side, fix my gaze on the mantid and say:
"You look like you know me, like very clinically. I don't recall being, probed by you. Have you abducted other Earth women?"
The Mantodean tilts his head slightly. I see my reflection in its eyes. I'm not wearing my official 1969 Apollo 11 astronaut gear, which I happen to look really sexy in. Instead, I was in my comfiest pair of jeans and my favorite burgundy sweater. I look at my face, which I happen to like alright. It is almond in shape. Draped along either side are long wavy tresses of thick dark brown hair. My eyes, dark, round and alert, betray the little girl I left behind, although she does appear now and again in one or another mirror. That's an allusion to problem number two by the way. Moving on, as for my physique, I look pretty hot for a woman who eats pet food and various other strange things that don't offend my nose or palette. I do pet food tasting for a living. No, the job isn't one of my problems. The pay's actually pretty good. You're still reading, right?
Anyway, I'm pretty thin, the shallows beneath my sternum and my hips are a little deep, but I'm still a bit plump in the parts of a self-respecting body conscious woman wants to keep plump. I look good. I feel good. I feel strong. I feel strong enough, in fact, that I just effortlessly push the great big oak desk aside so I can get a better look at my big bad Mantodean stud or... Wait, what do you call a girl stud? Ah, I just Googled it. Apparently, women can also be referred to as studs.
"Oh I see." This is your first time attempting to study the human female." I say while taking my mantis in from its divinely triangular head to its razor tipped toes.
The Mantodean puts its pen down, and then swivels his chair so that he is facing me. Its legs are open. I glance at its crotch. It's bulging alright, but I still can't tell if it's a boy or a girl.
"So then, you don't know what a human female's noonchie looks like." I state rather than ask.
The Mantodean eases back into its chair, and then leans the side of its head against its right palm. The change in posture, though disarmingly human, makes me suddenly nervous again because I realize the mantid is staring at my noonchie area. In the next instant, the Mac Book abruptly comes to life and, after Surry clears her throat, she says:
"Noonchie? Curious. Why not house, case, tie-corner-"
"What? No!" I exclaim, "Tie-corner? How? What-"
Tie-corner," the Mantodean explained with Surry's voice, "during the time of William Shakespeare, was a reputed corner in London for prostitution. Other euphemistic references to the human female genitals include Porridge, coffer, altar of Venus, Netherlands, placket-lace, nature's treasury, contra punctum, privy-counsel, lady's low, toupee, Petticoat Lane, venerable monosyllable, Mrs. Fubbs' parlor-"
