“How do aliens make love in your science fiction stories”? somebody asked me. Good question. All kinds of ways. How do I know? Well, they confide in me. They tell me all.
Out on the limb she was. Broad bare limb high above the forest floor. Clinging with her claws. A gentle breeze, ruffling her feathers wrapped around her like a cloak, making her invisible against the dark brown bark. Except for her eyes--two large round yellow jewels, slitted pupils. Watching for the approach of her prey.
Here he comes. Tall, he must duck beneath limbs. Wide, he pushes aside small trees, breaking them heedlessly. Trudging noisily through the brush, no stealth, making the racket of one without fear of predators.
Except she was one. As he passed beneath she could smell his reek. Bits of smell of everything he had walked through and broken, or hunted down and eaten.
She leapt. Spread her wings, her feathered fingers, and soared, plummeted soundlessly toward him from behind. He oblivious. Whump! Sank her talons into his head and immediately whipped her barbed tail around and stung him in the fat hump on the back of his neck. Then leapt free to the ground. Now let the poison find its way through the neck hump!
“Uuwwrrghhhh!” Roaring, he turned on her, grabbing for her. Very fast for a huge lumbering beast. Hope the poison does its work quickly!
But not quickly enough. He lunges for her. Even though she pirouettes away, he backhands her, sends her flying. Some broken feathers.
She almost runs up the tree trunk, aided by her flapping wings. He grabs a wingtip, pulling loose two lead feathers. Shooting pain! She’s above him, taunting him, gauging her next move. He jumps, and as fast as she feints away, even so he wraps one huge hand around her middle, squeezing the breath from her, pulling her down.
Poison, do your work! With his other hand, he grabs her tail, preventing her from stinging him again.
Right now, holding her with two hands, he could just pull her apart, limb from limb. But instead, he wobbles, tilts, and falls. The poison finally! But falls on top of her. Her breath is utterly squeezed from her body. She, so tiny, scarcely noticed beneath his hugeness, smothered by his bulk.
But her tail is partly free. She curls it up to sting him again on the flank, but ineffectually. Trying to gasp a breath, she sinks her talons into his tender chest. Up he roars, tearing free her talons, flinging her upward. On damaged wings, she veers around, landing on his back, and digs in her talons again, just between his shoulder blades.
“Now run, my steed, lest I sting you again. And again. Till you are naught but my meat!” Rearing up, he tears through the forest, partly upright, partly on all fours, she clinging on by embedded talons drawing blood, he crashing through brush and small trees like an errant boulder. Down the hill he tumbles, almost rolling onto her, and plunges into the broad creek. Bubbles and escaping breath for one quiet moment.
Up the opposite bank he clambers, onto a grassy swale. Shallow panting; he’s weakening! “Hunh, hunh, hunh, hunn, hunn, unn . . .”
He’s on his back, looking upward. Sky, green boughs. Then fierce yellow eyes! Yellow eyes, pupils wide, looking directly into his, her talons grasping his ears. His vision is not quite right, like looking through a pink haze. The haze of the poison. He grabs her with his left hand around her midbody. He could crush her, he knows. But this particular time, he chooses not to, and just holds her to his chest. They lie there panting, regarding each other for a long moment.
Then she wriggles free, scootching down his chest to his groin. His resistance is bated. Digging into his matted fur, she finds his gonads. Pressing back the fur, she regards them, flicks her tongue, lowers her opened mouth. Fangs grasp his jewels, razor sharp they are! On the most tender of all spots
Just a gentle nip with her fangs, just a touch of pressure, hardly enough to draw blood even, but a stab of pain that would wake the dead!
AAAAAWWWHHHRrhrhrrh! OOOOOHOHOohhhh! Ahrhrhhr!
Then she draws back, while he trembles and twitches and groans. A huge mass of helpless male beast. She could rip him to shreds, she knows, but this particular time, she chooses not to, and instead lies against his side.
After a time, he rouses. Shuffles, slides down the bank to the creek, tears off a large Fely leaf, folds it into a cone, dips it into the cool water.
Up he crawls, cradling the cone of water, offers it to her. She takes it and sips.
She stands, he sits, they gaze eye to eye. “You are my favorite beast,” she coos. “You my best poison,” he murmurs. He gently turns her around, begins grooming her feathers, sighing apologetically about the broken and missing ones.
“Hungry,” he mutters.
“Let’s hunt something down,” she responds. He stands, she leaps onto his back, spreads her wings. Thrugalug and Flimmerwither bound off into the woods.
This is an episode from Far Out Tales—The exploits of Meehel from planet Ert.