The craft was black. Blacker than darkest night, it could only be seen by realizing there was a spot of darkness so complete that shadows seemed light by comparison. Looking off to the side of it helped; it somehow seemed clearer in peripheral vision. Its clean lines appeared organic rather than manufactured. It was sleek and aerodynamic in a way mankind had yet to fabricate. It was clearly not of this earth.
It landed just beyond the garden edging the patio and seemed to disappear from sight as soon as it stopped moving. It was as if a shadow had fallen from the infinity of space and vanished into the surface of the earth. Only by not looking at it could one see it, and there was only one person there to sit and wonder if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
Melinda Taggart sat on the steps leading from the patio to the French doors off of the dining room. She smoked a cigarette as if it had insulted her and every drag was her way of punishing it. Hunched into herself, shoulders up, head pulled down, knees tightly together, she looked as if she, too wanted to disappear into the lawn beyond the garden and remain unseen.
She was not dressed for the cocktail party that was in full swing inside the house. Mother had said to wear something nice, "not that horrid, black mess you always wear." Those had been her exact words. Melinda had decided jeans were nice enough, and pulled on a loose pair and a black t-shirt, leaving a sweatshirt unzipped over it. She wondered what her mother would think of the white anarchy symbol on her shirt. She still hadn't gone inside, and no one knew she was there.
Melinda was nineteen and her parents couldn't wait to find her a suitable mate and marry her off. She had no interest in their idea of a perfect companion, and it was another of those parties, filled with eligible bachelors, all of whom wanted the combined prize of a beautiful wife and the Taggart family fortune. She hated them all on principle, and had no desire to meet, greet or talk to any of them. This had promised to be another boring night, but this thing that she thought she had seen, this was something interesting.
She stretched and stood, trying to focus on the spot where she was sure the craft had landed. There was something there, but she couldn't quite determine what it was. She moved off of the steps towards the mysterious, shadowy object. She knew it couldn't be what she had imagined at first, but her curiosity needed to be quenched.
There was a spot of utter blackness just beyond the garden, but in the dark of night she couldn't quite determine where it began or ended. She stepped right up to the garden, staring intently at and around the void before her, her eyes straining to make out detail. There was a metallic clang from somewhere in front of her, as if a latch or door had been released. She froze, and a thin slit of light appeared in the darkness before her.
Heat and light poured forth as the slit grew, first into an oblong rectangle, then extending towards the ground, square, getting longer, almost matching her own height until it finally stopped. It was a rectangle of yellowish light the size of a doorway, but she could see nothing beyond the outline of the door and the light pouring forth. Warmth flowed across her body from within that opening. This couldn't be real, could it?
A sound behind her made her spin around, certain it was her mother or father. They had seen the light and then located her, and were going to drag her inside to sit through an eternal night of fending off advances from men she would rather stab than date. Her eyes scanned the yard, the gardens, the patio, and finally fell on a man, stumbling down the steps as if he'd had too much to drink. She glanced nervously back at the rectangle of light, and then back at the awkward man.
He skipped a step and nearly fell on the patio, leaning heavily forward, almost defying gravity by remaining standing. His arms were out to either side as if he were about to take flight. He paused, holding the pose for a moment, and then slowly straightened and continued to come her way. He faltered, one foot stomping into the garden, crushing some sort of expensive flower that Melinda couldn't identify. He stopped again, lifted his foot out of the plants, a garden hose tangled around one foot. He shook his leg trying to dislodge the hose, and then walked right up to Melinda.
"Melinda Taggart," he said. His eyes were bright and held no hint of the intoxication that seemed to be affecting him. He was handsome, but not in a conventional way. Every single feature was off: his nose was too big, his eyes too far apart, lips too full, cheekbones too high, but somehow their disparate combination worked.
Melinda had no idea what to make of this stranger, so she fell back on her standard reaction. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Call me Bob." He smiled, and it was oddly disarming.
She had wanted to lay into him like she always did any man who approached her. She didn't want or need their attention. But something about him intrigued her. She wished she could put her finger on it.
"Wanna go for a ride?" He sounded like a high school kid.
"Not with you." She held onto her edge, her verbal barriers.
"Let me show you something." He ignored her attempted insult and looked straight at her, the smile in his eyes spreading across his face. She smiled, too, and wondered why she wasn't lashing out at him. Was she somehow attracted to him? He held one finger up in front of her and raised his eyebrows.
Melinda looked from his finger to his eyes, scowling.
"Ready?" His smile was mischievous. He started to wiggle his finger.
As soon as it moved, Melinda felt something respond inside her. It was as if his finger, the one in front of her face, were directly stimulating her g-spot. The more he moved it, the more aroused she became. It was electric. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hung open, her cigarette dropped to the ground forgotten. Her body shook, trembled, quivered. How could he do this? An orgasm was coming, she could feel it building. She grasped his arm to steady herself, hips bucking urgently, involuntarily pumping air. And then it stopped.
She opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them, and saw his motionless finger still held up between them. Her breathing was ragged, and she willed it to calm before speaking.
"What…?" She took another breath, apparently not quite ready to speak, and tried again. "What was that?" She was a bundle of over-sensitive nerve-endings. Her body wanted to repeat that experience, but she needed to understand what had happened.
"Foreplay." He was still smiling.
"What do you say to that ride, now?" He looked smug, as if he already knew her answer.
Normally, Melinda would have to be sedated to willingly go anywhere with any man she met at her parents house. She wanted to give him the same answer as before, but she couldn't. She had no idea what he'd done to her, but she wanted him to do it again, and again, over and over. It had been amazing. She wondered what it would be like to make love to this enigmatic stranger, to actually feel their bodies pressed together. If he could make her feel that way without touching her, she couldn't even imagine the heights of pleasure he could give her if they actually came in physical contact.
"Well?" Still smiling.
"Sure." She smiled then, the first smile she remembered showing in anyone else's presence in a long time. "Let's go."
He waved a hand towards the rectangle of light, as if motioning her to enter. She looked into the light, questioning, almost frightened.
"In there?" Her voice was smaller than she wanted.
He nodded. She remained motionless, unsure, unable to step into the glowing rectangle of light. He stepped inside, luminosity bathing him, an angelic halo of radiance around his entire body. His hand extended back out to her, waiting.
Melinda hesitated. She looked back at the house, thought of her parents and their plans for her. She thought of her friends, her past boyfriends and her complete disinterest in everything. She looked back at Bob, his hand offered out to her, and made a decision.
She took his hand and stepped inside.