4
Charles Becomes Chuck
T here are students doing poorly despite all my efforts to explain the most basic concepts to them. There is no hope for them, I am sorry to say. They will have to be pruned.
All except one. The one I will make my prey.
The body I’m in craves flesh, both for touch and consumption. It’s quite curious. The touch-hunger isn’t necessarily related to copulation, either. I understand pleasure accompanying procreation—this is an evolutionary trait many species develop, including mine. When we meet with another of our kind to trade genetic information, the process is a pleasurable one. Even so, it’s not something we crave, and we certainly do not seek out others of our race to touch for no reason beyond the touching itself. I do not understand this. Nevertheless, both Charles and I want to touch this human, just not for the same reasons. We are interested in two very different types of consummation.
The chosen prey is a fine specimen—a well-developed male of his species. His sex is unimportant to me but extremely important to Charles. Again, I find it curious. Charles tried to explain to me gender attraction and human sexuality. I do not think his information can possibly be accurate. It’s far too complicated to be correct. Besides, it has no bearing on my desire—our hungers are not the same.
Charles keeps trying to dissuade me from my current course. My prey has powerful parents, the risk of discovery is too great, and if I must eat meat it’s available in places called grocery stores. Charles did not eat flesh so I’m not certain his advice is to be trusted. The food he provided his body is nutritionally complete for his species, but I require more protein than that diet can provide. The only animals in the area are quite small and would require far too much energy to obtain. Then there is this larva—this boy—who is both large and well-muscled. The solution is obvious and this body salivates at the thought.
Charles keeps droning on about stores where meat is obtained. This is nonsensical and unnecessary, so I tune him out. I can sense him sulking deep inside me but that is all and I’m able to concentrate on the task at hand.
My prey watches me intently as I instruct the other larvae. I wonder if he knows his fate, or suspects. The humans of this planet do sometimes show flashes of higher understanding. In this larva, that does not include mathematics of any kind, unfortunately for him. Without effort on his part, he will fail. Once he does, he shall be mine. His own father will do the job of killing him for me, which is most accommodating. Then I will devour him one delightful morsel at a time.
When class is over all the student larvae flee to buy overpriced cups of the disgusting beverage they call coffee, pretend to study in the university library, or go do procreational things with other larvae. Often in the full view of others of their kind. All that is except Travis Pritzker. He hangs back, getting his things together with a slowness I find painful to watch. Once the last student save him has left, he walks up to me.
“Hey, prof,” he says with his mouth language. I’ve gotten used to it, but it’s a crude and needlessly complicated form of communication. “I’d like to talk with you about my grade. You know,” one of his eyes closes in an inexplicable spasm, “somewhere private.” His eye spasms again. I think it’s deliberate, but I can’t say for certain. I hope I will be able to study the phenomena more closely. “Like in your office. Because it’s Friday.”
I see no reason to dissemble. We’re the only two entities left in the room.
“I am aware what the day of the week is, student who always sits in row three, seat four. I believe you’re wearing that hat incorrectly. Should it not be turned the other way, so the brim can shade your eyes as intended?” This is one more human foible I fail to understand.
My prey stops his eye twitches to openly stare at me. “Dude, really? There’s like less than twenty people in this class. I show up every day even though I hate this shit. I know you know my name.”
Our hosts, for reasons we have yet to discover, have a need to label all things, giving them a designation they call a name. For example, my host’s name is Charles Foster. He wanted to be called Chuck, but no one cooperated with him on this point. This is all illogical in the extreme and yet more proof this species needs new governance. We may be helping our species, but we’ll be elevating them in the process.
I poke through my host’s memories and find the one that matches this particular larva’s grade in the class.
“It’s Travis Pritzker,” I state. “Your current grade sits at sixty-four percent. You will need to answer ninety-three percent of the problems on the final exam correctly to earn a grade high enough to keep you on the sportsball team at this university. Is that not correct?”
“Sportsball? Dude. Seriously?” Out of all the important information I related to the larva, this is what he focuses on?
I can sense Charles being smug. Apparently sportsball is not the correct name. He thinks it’s funny—a joke. I understand what jokes are—I have been trained well—but this is not funny. I think it is not a very good joke.
Travis gets a look on his face like he has ingested some unpleasant substance, “It’s football, and I know you know it’s football. Football is serious, my dude. It’s why I need to get at least a C in this class.”
I am unsure why he persists in calling me Dude. The host has no such name.
“Dude is no part of my nomenclature. If you must call me something beyond Dr. Charles Foster, Chuck will do.”
“Chuck? You’ve got to be shitting me. You want to be called Chuck?”
I process the term ‘shitting me.’ “I am not shitting you but that might occur later. You need to achieve ninety-three percent on the final, Travis Pritzker, larva with incorrectly worn hat who sits in row three, seat four. Focus on what’s important.” Not that the larva has the ability to do so.
He eyes me speculatively. “Larva?”
“I meant student.”
“Uh huh. Look, this is all very Close Encounters but the reason I’m here is ‘cause I had an extra credit deal worked out with the prof. Dr. Foster. I mean, with you. My professor. Chuck.”
This small verbalization piques my curiosity. Perhaps the larva has more intelligence than I have previously credited him with. He seems to be hinting, poorly, that I am not the professor he used to know. Much good that information will do him. Infiltration has already reached steady levels. We will soon be the ones in control. The larva can threaten me with exposure all he wants, it will make no difference.
I consult Charles as to what extra credit the larva is referring to. He reminds me of the deal he struck with the sportsball players. Physical gratification for a better grade. Charles reminds me that it’s football, not sportsball. Yes, of course. That’s what I meant. Football.
The important part is getting our dick sucked, Charles insists. Food is easy. Meat is gross but plentiful. Getting someone like Travis on his knees while you fuck his throat is a rare opportunity.
I had intended on making a tasty and bountiful meal of this larva but now I hesitate. Maybe my dietary needs could be met in other ways and maybe I’m curious about this sex Charles seems to be fascinated with.
That part of my anatomy my host was so concerned about begins to thicken and grow both longer and heavier. This is a normal sexual response, Charles assures me. It makes the organ used for human procreation and body fluid elimination grow and harden with excessive blood flow.
This must be why my host insisted on an increase in the organ’s size. A large organ is obviously superior to a small one.
Charles grumbles something about five inches being a perfectly average length and it’s at least nine now. Who do I think I am? A porn star? I will have to parse ‘porn star’ out later. In the meantime, I need to do something about this organ that is used for both elimination and reproduction. It is a compulsion I can’t ignore.
“By deal, Travis Pritzker, you mean for me to put my reproductive and elimination organ into your mouth for reasons of pleasure and not consumption. This will provide me with endorphin and testosterone release while not consuming my flesh for nourishment. In exchange I will give you an average grade in this class regardless of the effort you fail to put forth. Correct?”
The larva’s jaw goes slack. Perhaps he is also eager to have my reproductive and elimination organ in his mouth. “Um. It’s a dick. Or cock. Please stop calling it your elimination organ. That’s gross, dude.”
“Reproductive and elimination,” I remind him. “Not merely elimination. And it’s Chuck, not dude.”
“Riiiiiight.” Travis bites his lip.
“I believe we have established this, yes.” The host’s dick or cock—more needless naming—swells further at the sight. I have an overwhelming urge to touch the organ. My organ now. To stroke it, perhaps, and relieve the ache I feel. Charles enthusiastically agrees. My hand twitches but I need to learn more before allowing gratification.
The larva shakes his head. “This is crazy because I’m pretty sure you’re a pod person but I really need to pass this class so I need to suck enough dick to score a ninety-three percent on the next test, so I guess we’re still doing this? Your dick is still normal, right? It’s not some alien dick? I’ve seen those alien dick dildos online and I dunno…”
“I will need much of this dick sucking in exchange for grade improving.” I say quickly. “We should proceed at the earliest opportunity.”
“Shouldn’t we go to your office first?” the larva asks. “We’re kinda in public.”
“Now will do.”
“But we’ll get caught.” Lines crease his forehead. “I don’t think Dr. Foster has tenure. If you get fired I’ll probably end up with Dr. Bhat. She’s scary. Besides, she doesn’t have a dick to suck and pussy’s not my jam. It’s got to be you, Chuck. You’re my only hope.”
I do not wish to wait. The host’s dick or cock—I mean my dick or cock—demands immediacy. I go to the classroom door, turn the lock, and take the larva to a corner of the room. “Here. Put my dick or cock in your mouth organ now. While kneeling.” I do not understand the reason for it, but the host is certain that kneeling is necessary, and I have no wish to alter the process.
“This is super freaky weird but kinda hot, too. Reddit is gonna shit itself.” The larva lowers himself to his knees. “Come on. Show me what a pod person dick looks like. For the record, I am no fucking way putting anything green or oozy in my mouth. Fuck football. It’s important but there are lines.”
“I assure you my dick or cock is completely normal for your—our—species.” I unfasten my trousers as the larva watches me, eyes large and round.
“Duuuuuuude.”
“Chuck. Not dude.” I do mot understand why the larva persists in calling me dude and I wish him to stop.
“Right. Chuck. That thing is not normal.”