It's Always Time Act 01

"What?" Dee said.

Two locks of hair extended into thin tendrils and mimed dialing on the cell phone. "Beep! Beep-boo-beep," she sang. The green girl's arm pressed the cell-phone to the side of her head, and then pushed the phone through the giving, jelled flesh until it floated in the translucent, emerald suspension behind her eyes. Something complicated happened inside her neck. "Hello," she droned, and Dee jumped at the sound of his own bass voice coming from her. "This is Deiter Detwiler. Can you put me in touch with HR? My…" She mocked-sighed. "My grandmother died, you see, and I need to ask about bereavement leave—"

"You killed Nana?" Dee cried, leaping to his feet on the bed. His unbuttoned pajama top fell off, leaving him only in briefs. He lurched forward on the cheap spring mattress, tangled his feet in the thin comforter, slipped on the discarded top and toppled to the floor.

"What?" his voice came from her again. She swung around to face him, her features performing about-face turn on her body. Even in his panic, he took pause to watch the entire back of the chair disappear into the deep valley of her cleavage.

"Grandma," he choked, scrabbling to get up, to get away. "You killed—"

She shouted in her own voice. ""What? Oh, Deiter: No! What kind of monster do you take more for? I just made up a story, that's all. I even faked a death certificate—thank you Internet!—but they didn't even ask for it. You've got three days of bereavement leave left. Calm down!"

Dee sat up on his knees. "Sorry. I thought that—before you seemed so angry and I…"

"That's okay," she said. "I did murder your girlfriend, though. It wasn't my fault, she dropped by without even calling and—"

"You killed her?" Dee rose with fists clenched. "Oh my fucking God, how could—Wait a minute. I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't? Must've been the maid then."

"I can't afford a maid."

"Nosy neighbor, maybe?"

"You're just making this up."

"Of course," she cooed, and stood up, or at least elongated up to her apparent full height.

The lower half of her hourglass figure spread less when standing than sitting, but only a deep, v-shaped dimple in the rounded bulk suggested separate legs. She glided close to him, undulating over the rug like a snake or snail. Dee stood about six feet tall, yet his nose was level with the base of her throat. She reached out to caress his shoulders.

Her breasts got there first.

The sensation blew his mind and nearly his load. It started when the nubs of her sticky nipples pressed into his collar bone. There was resistance and pressure but her tits did not push him back. They just kept coming, a tide of flesh. Two circles of gooey, cool, soft sensation grew and then merged and then surged around his arms and up his neck and down his belly and…"Oops," the green girl said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Talk about overkill. Better reel these babies in." With a sliding slurp the tide of tits receded. She drew some of her chest's substance into the rest of her body, darkening to a forest green. "There we go," she sighed. "Big enough to shame any porn star, small enough to fit through the door. Where was I?"

It took Dee a moment to respond. "You, uh, were making jokes about killing people."

"Right." Her facial features rearranged themselves into a vision of sorrowful sincerity. Green, glistening oval teardrops brimmed from her pancake-sized eyes. "I'm sorry, honey," she breathed, caressing his shoulder. "Of course I didn't kill anybody. I've spent the past two days in here, with you."

"Two days? That's right. Bereavement leave is five days and you said I had three days left. What happened?"

Her face flicked into mischief mode again. "You don't remember the Demonic Fifteen Point Fleshlight Palm Technique, honey," she said, mocking sympathy this time.

His nuts tried to draw up into his pelvis. "Oh yes I do."

"No, Deiter, you just remember the first few minutes of it. It seems the human male's higher thinking functions shut down at certain levels of biochemical pleasure stimulus. We'll have to get you some beta-blockers, sweetie."

"I…I don't understand."

"The Demonic Fifteen Point Fleshlight Palm Technique lasts forty-eight hours."

Dee plopped back down on the bed. The green girl's arm stretched down with him, her hand still tender on his shoulder. "Well that explains the hangover I guess," he said. "God, what a headache. Listen, just what the Hell is going on?"

The green girl cocked her head to one side. "I bet you're thirsty."

"Yeah, but what the Hell is—"

"Me too!" A sine wave rocketed down the gel of her arm and the force of it pushed Dee prone on the bed. "You sit tight, I'll grab us something."

She drew herself up and her outline snapped into focus, going from the suggestion of curves to very real curves in a matter of moments. Her legs were long, strong, and well defined as any runway model's. Those jade, sexy-Cinderella, fuck-me pumps popped out of her feet again, sending a wave rolling down her body as she heaved up few more inches, her breasts bobbing a mesmerizing rhythm above Dee's head. Her nipples stuck out, sculpted in a relief of smoky, opaque green in stark contrast to the milky-crystal translucency of the breasts they crowned. He could see a ghostly, fun-house mirror distortion of his gaming rig through those curved globes.

"Ahem! What color are my eyes?"

"A darkling green," Dee said before looking up to meet her impatient glare. "Emeralds on black velvet."

She faltered a step back, a flush the color of a wine-dark sea painting her neck and cheeks. "That…that was a much unexpected thing for you to say, Deiter."

Dee smiled for the first time since he walked into that SRU supply shop. "Your games and tricks are very distracting, but I do pay attention, you know. And call me Dee, please."

"Games, Dee?" There was a sound like the fluttering of many wings as a crisp, maid's pinafore unfurled to just above her knees and a frilly tea-green apron crawled itself up to strain against her magnificent chest. "What games?" Pale stringy rivulets zigzagged around and down her legs to form fishnet stockings of liquid glass. To top it all off, a maid's bonnet with an elephantine bow jumped out of the top of her head with a loud, smacking pop.

Dee groaned, rubbing his temples with one hand and waving her away with the other. "Okay, okay, you win. Do what you want, but promise me you'll answer some questions."

She gave him the thumbs up, a broad wink, and thup-tupped out of the room. Dee heard her bustling about in the kitchen for a minute before her head peeked back into the bedroom's doorframe. The noise of busywork in the kitchen continued unabated. "You aren't hungry, are you?" she asked.

"No thank you," he said. Realization dawned. "Hey, if you've been—if we've been doing—if I haven't eaten in the past two days, how come I'm not hungry?"

A sly smirk puckered her lips. "Oh, you've eaten." Her head zipped out of sight.

She sashayed back in the room laden with supplies, an extra pair of arms sprouted from her shoulders to carry it all. Dee had no tables other than computer desks in his bedroom, so she arrayed everything on the floor: a couple cartons of milk, four gallons of bottled water, the discarded instant Jell-O box, a shot glass, the tin of SRU thickener, two brown bottles of expensive ginger beer, and the old bottle of Nyquil from his medicine cabinet. Dee sat up on the bed and she handed him a ginger beer. He drank the bottle down to the dregs. "What's the Nyquil for?" he asked, stifling a belch.

"Getting high," she said. She sat down cross legged and smoothed out her skirt. The extra arms drew back into her mass as she poured a thimbleful of the green medicinal into the shot glass. "I don't know what this does for you, but one snort of this shit and I'm flyin'." She slammed the shot glass back. The bow in her hair dissolved and her skirt crinkled up. "Woo, yeah!"

Dee shook his head, hopped off the bed and helped himself to the second ginger beer. "Okay. Question time."

She nodded. "Shoot."

"What’s your name?"

She shrugged. "Dunno."

"Then how do you know my name?"

She crooked her thumb at theWinTelbox. "Innernet," she slurred.

"How do you know how to use a computer? Or that bit about beta-blockers? Or English? Or fetish maid outfits?"

"Dunno. Innernet?"

Dee eyed the SRU tin. "Where did you come from?"

She took one last hit of Nyquil before screwing down its bottle cap. "Fridge. You. Before that? Dunno."

"What is that stuff?" Dee asked, pointing to the tin.

"Nanomek."

"Nanotech?"

"Nanommmek."

Dee gulped. "You haven't taken more of it, have you?"

She swayed a bit, losing definition, oozing back into her abstract form. "Me? Nah, don' need it. Could use more collagen, though, but not that cheap stuff." She nudged the Jell-O box with a pseudo-foot. "Make me stronger. Let me do more. Have more fun." Her grin was wicked and wet, her teeth scimitars. She tried waggling her eyebrows lewdly, but her forehead just fell into her eyes instead. She smoothed it back with both hands, and for a minute her whole head was bullet-shaped before it bobbled back into the cherubic heart-shape she seemed to prefer.

The ginger beer slipped from his fingers and fell fizzing to the hardwood floor. "Why? Why do you want to have fun? That is, fun with me?"

"Love you."

Dee sat dumbstruck until she socked him on the shoulder and added, "Dumb ass."

* * * *
Ain't nothing in the world like a green skin girl
But that don't mean to say you can't look!

—XTC, Omnibus
* * * *

Chapter Two: A Lovely Way to Burn

Dee sighed and shook his head. A tip of a green tendril touched the puddle of ginger beer and siphoned it up. The green girl belched, straightened herself out and asked in the super-smooth, steady voice that only a drunk desperately trying to act sober thinks sounds normal, "Any more questions?"

"Not right now. I guess I'll get more answers at SRU," Dee said. "The place I bought the 'nanomek'," he added when he saw her quizzical look.

"Alright," the green girl said. "But not yet. You need more fluids."

"You're right." Dee reached for the milk. "I'm still really thirsty."

The green girl slid to block him. "Ah-ah!"

"What?"

"You accused me of playing tricks on you before," she said, tapping the tip of his nose. "That wasn't very nice. Want to see a real trick?"

Dee thought it over. After watching the green girl get disarmingly drunk on a few ounces Nyquil, Dee thought she seemed more human now then ever. And then she'd said she loved him. What did that mean? Was it the Nyquil talking? How could she love him? How could she even exist? And how could she be so damned hot?

"Well?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, and she squealed and clapped her hands.

The green girl seemed to sit up on her knees, her lower half forming a rounded wedge beneath the swoops and swells of her upper body. He could see the rounded tops of her legs and shadowy cleft where they met but the rest of the wedge was a solid, flowing mass. One arm stretched and snagged the carton of milk and she began to sing a wordless fanfare: "Dah dee dah-dah dee dah doo dah! Yah dee dee-dah yee dah yah dah!" She sloshed the full carton in front of his face, still singing.

"An ordinary gallon of milk, ladies and gentlemen!" Dee crooned in his best radio announcer voice.

Delighted, she nodded. Her fanfare built to a crescendo as she popped open the carton top—"Yah ner nah ner nah!"—but was cut short as she wrapped her lips around carton's spout. She held up a hand, four fingers and thumb snapping open and closed in the universal sign language for "yap yap yap." Her fanfare began again, quieter, from her hand. Dee thought he saw a small pair of lips moving on her palm when the hand yapped open wide. She drank the milk down, making ridiculous, cartoonish gulp! noises. The milk carton compressed and imploded until it was nothing more than an inch or so of crushed cardboard around her writhing mouth. He could see the white fluid gathering into a sphere deep in her belly.

"She can suck a bowling ball through eight feet of garden hose," her hand confided to Dee on the sly, a sock puppet without the sock. The hand pivoted down. "Wow, this is getting you hard, huh?"

Dee, abashed, adjusted himself in his underwear. The green girl plucked the defeated carton out of her mouth, discarded its ruined husk with disdain, and started draining the second. Even through his trauma-induced amnesia, a vague memory of the Demonic Fifteen Point Fleshlight Palm Technique stirred in him and the tiny voice of his conscience cried out an alarm. Did you see that? That's going to be you. Again. Run, run for the love of God! The thought just made him hornier.

Tossing away the second empty carton, the green girl undulated with more sensuous fluidity than any belly dancer, her face plastered in a blissed-out trance. Dee watched rills of milk spiral and percolate up through her gluey interior. "You ever jerk off to a lava lamp?" the green hand asked. When Dee just shifted in silence it whined, "C'mon, talk to the hand!"

When he saw where the milk was going, he scrabbled back on the bed in panic. "Oh, no. No-nuh-no-no-no-nuh-no."

The green girl opened her arms in an inviting gesture, milk roiling in little pearls from fat nipples the color of black glass. Her already massive breasts were so gorged with milk she could not reach around them. "Come to momma," she cooed. Her hand cackled like a crone but she silenced it with a sideways glare.

"I'm not ready for this!" Dee squeaked, gripping the head board. "It's too much!"

The green girl sighed, sitting with arms wide and nipples weeping milk. A fat pseudopod arced out from her lower body and raced across the floor toward the bed. "Come..." she said as Dee watched a green gummy river flood over the bed frame, the bedposts cutting strange eddies in the current. "To..." The viscous assault lapped over and around his feet. He shut his eyes and felt it envelop his legs, cup his ass (he gasped as it goosed him once on each cheek), then crawl up his back and down his arm. "Momma!" she demanded. She tugged, gentle but relentless. The stuff made his grip too slick and he slid up and over the bed frame into her awaiting lap. He had lost his underwear along the way. He peeked with one eye and caught a glimpse of the talkative hand eating his shorts.

Dee felt a cool, gentle touch on his forehead. "Not until you’re ready," the green girl’s voice promised.

The edges of her lap spread out to accommodate him entirely and then folded up and over to snuggle him into a full-body embrace. She cradled his head in the crook of her shoulder and pressed his cheek gently against the underside swell of her left breast. A cool bulge on her lap tucked in around his feet and firmly massaged his soles and in between his toes. Strong, warm waves coursed over his shoulders and down his back, melting any points of tension they found. As his mind-melting massage continued, he felt a wide, warm, sticky softness settle against his scrotum and gently push his raging erection into his stomach. It pulsed in time with his slowing heartbeat, squeezing and relaxing, over and over, until he felt the sweet sting of precum production from his cock. After a few minutes, the voice of the green girl drifted through the kaleidoscope of sensation she had given him. "Ready?"

He opened his eyes but her warm smile was eclipsed by the curve of her bosom. "Oh, fuck, yes," he whispered.

The warm force lifted away from his groin, and he looked down only to discover it had been the sassy-mouthed hand. "She’s not a bad girl," the hand scolded, adding as it slid past his ear, "she's just flavored that way."

A drop of warm milk splashed onto Dee's check. He reached out to caress and suckle a nipple—and laughed.

She gulped. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just, I'm so snuggled in and your breasts as so, well, awesome that I can’t reach."

"I'm not built like normal girls," the green girl said.

From the deep shade beneath her breasts Dee said, "I can see that."

"No, silly," she said, laughing, "not like that. I mean I'm not built like normal girls. I'm not internally structured. I'm more...flexible."

"Hm," Dee said. "What if I… " He reached out one hand down and around the bottom curve of her left breast, his fingers splayed out, sending ripples across the surface tension of the gel.

"Oh," said the green girl. "Oh, that's, that's interesting."

"That's right," Dee realized aloud, smoothing his other hand up along the upper swell of the breast. "This is the first time I've touched you, isn't it? The first time anybody has ever touched you?"

"Y-yes it is," she stammered, "I—ooh!"

Dee had discovered her nipple and tweaked it gently. It expressed a little milk that got in Dee's curly, chestnut hair. She started to apologize, but Dee interrupted, "Don't be. I'm nearly there." He stretched his arm as far as it could go and thought he found the top swell of her breast. "Ready?"

"I guess so." Dee had never heard her nervous before. "But what…Oh. Oh my."

Dee sunk his fingers into the giving surface of her jellied flesh, and pressed gently down with his palm. As he expected, the gel rolled over his hands and wrists, sealing them within the elastic substance of her breast. "Ready?" he asked again.

She panted a moment. "Just stop asking and keep going. Whatever it is you're doing it feels incredible and I trust—"

Dee pushed the hand reaching under forward while pulling the hand reaching over backward, ever so slowly. And, gradually, her nipple rotated downward into view. He could feel her body heave as she gulped for air. When the dark nipple was just inches away from his face, he said, "It's like the world's biggest trackball."

Her whole body stiffened. "Oh, Christ, Dee," she wailed, "what a way to ruin the moo—" But he had kissed her nipple into his mouth, pressed it firmly with his tongue, and began to draw down milk. The liquid was hot, sweet, and tangy (lime?). She was dead silent as he drank. He had not realized how thirsty he really was. He gently withdrew his hands from her material—they came out sticky and wet and beaded with green droplets. His drought from her breast lasted a good ten minutes. Dee felt her change beneath him, around him, felt her lose cohesion. Her lap grew more sticky and cloying, and a runnel of hot green gelatin ran down his cheek. When he was finished, he tried to reverse the process of revolving her breast, but it was much harder going. He eventually had to nuzzle and nudge it back into its original shape and position. When he was done, he had to peel himself away from her body, and a coating of green gel came off with him. He looked at her face for the first time since he began, and saw that she was gasping for air, her surface dappled and dewy. "Are you all right?" he asked, although the ropey goop around his mouth, delicious and definitely lime, make it tough to talk. "I'm still thirsty, believe it or not, so if you want me to do the other—"

The green girl reached down and hauled him up over her bosom to look him square in the eye, although her lap would not peel away from his back, and her tits refused to part with his chest.

Speaking was even harder for her because her lips kept running together. "Deiter," she smacked, "shut up and look at me. You've made me so fucking wet I can't fucking stand it. I appreciate your nice, sensitive caring guy routine, I really do, but if you really want to know what I want, well right now I fucking want you to fuck my fucking brains out!"

Dee grabbed handfuls of her hair, now a forest of runny ice-cream cones, and sought her lips with his. Muck bubbled over his nose and down his smooth chin, but her mouth was in there, warm and eager. He wiped just enough mess away on his forearm to whisper, "I'm just as soft as you are, here, in just this one spot," before squooshing his fingers into her melting hair and pressing back into her with a deep, French kiss. A mad moan reverberated through the green girl and her mouth collapsed into a thick, tangy, treacle that filled his mouth with a taste so heady and overpowering that he—