Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction intended for adults who are not offended by sex scenes, vulgar language, mind-control, and alien abduction. All character's are fictional and adult. All plot points are implausible and silly. No alien space thingies were harmed in the writing of this story. This story is authorized to be posted at www.storiesonline.net and may be downloaded and printed out for personal use. Publication on any other site or in any other medium without permission from the author is strictly prohibited. Comments and criticisms welcome.
Jackson Davis lived in a trailer in the woods east of Smyrna, Tennessee on the banks of Stewart Creek. He was proud to be a redneck. He was barely literate, far from hygienic, and his only close relationship was with Jack Daniels. He enjoyed drinking, Nascar, pro-wrestling, and porno. Statistically speaking, he was more likely than most to be abducted by aliens. Nevertheless, it still came as quite a shock when the big glowing sphere bathed his pickup with an eerie green light as he drove home from The Hangman Bar and Grill at 2 in the morning down a country road.
His engine immediately cut out and wouldn't start up again no matter how he tried. When the entrance to the ship opened, he pissed himself with terror. The light then took on a reddish hue and suddenly things didn't seem nearly so bad. He grinned and stepped out of the truck and giggled as some unknown force lifted him up into the alien ship.
There in the ship, he came face to what could possibly be a face with a bonified alien. It was a big yellow-green blob about 12 feet across with tentacles and flippers and several shiny patches that might have been eyes. It was floating in a transparent tank of some sort with 2/3rds of itself submerged in something that looked and smelled like lime jello mixed with turpentine and vodka.
Jackson was about to introduce himself when a tentacle reached out and touched his forehead. He had the peculiar sensation of remembering everything he had ever done, seen, or thought in his 32 years of life in the course of 32 seconds. After that, introductions didn't seem necessary.
"What ya gonna do to me, Mr. Space Thingy?" he asked. He wasn't so much worried as he was vaguely curious.
"I'm going to perform strange medical experiments on you and then leave you naked in the woods," said a voice in his head. "That's what we do--hadn't you heard?"
"Oh... Well, O.K." said Jackson.
"Actually, it's more complicated than that. I'll explain it to you as the machines perform the procedures"
As the space thingy spoke, several robotic pincers, probes, blades, and lasers converged on Jackson and proceeded to remove his clothing and then peel most of the skin off his body including his face. It occurred to Jackson that this should hurt, but it didn't seem to. Neither did the probes forcing their way into every orifice of his body.
"Don't worry," said the space thingy. "Not that worry is really an option for you at the moment, but never the less, you might want to know that your body will be restored to pretty much the same condition that I found it in. I'm just installing a few implants."
"As you may have guessed," the alien continued, "I am a member of an alien species vastly superior to your own, at least from a technological standpoint. Culturally, we are profoundly similar, disturbing as that may be. Our interstellar probes discovered your planet some five thousand of your years ago and ever since we as a people have been fascinated by your exploits and follies. It doesn't speak well of us, given that there are dozens of species with much more admirable traits and lives, but it does keep me gainfully employed."
"You see, I am the equivalent of what in your culture would be a television producer. Not to say that we have anything so crude as television. Rather, we place sensors into members of your race which broadcast everything you experience back to our home planet and colonies. For a small fee, the equivalent of your cable access, my people can download any of the broadcasts coming from the several hundred of your people who have been implanted just as you are being now."
"So you see, the technology is quite different from television, but in practice the programing is quite similar. My predecessors discovered millennia ago that implanting poets, artists, philosophers or holy persons was a recipe for low ratings, while implanting sadists, criminals, degenerates and idiots would keep the molting masses coming back every time."
"Now for a long time, viewers were content with just the normal human exploits, provided that one selected a sufficiently entertaining human whom the viewer could feel superior too. Indeed, this continues to be what most of my competitors broadcast. But I am not content with the status quo. I have taken to manipulating the subjects a bit, throwing in a wild card."
"I've had success with giving subjects telekinesis, telepathy, and adjustable body parts. A few years ago, I gave mind control powers to a horny kid in China. The ratings were good at first when I released him, but viewers got bored really quick. I had to cancel the show and take back the power after just a couple months. I'm afraid the husbands, boyfriends, and fathers of all the women he'd enjoyed in the interim didn't treat him very well once he lost his powers of persuasion."
"The interesting thing is, in the brief period between my taking away his powers and his unfortunate demise, ratings shot back up again. I've been thinking about that, and I think I know where I went wrong--I made poor Ping to powerful. After his initial surprise and excitement, the show just degenerated into hundreds of women throwing themselves at him, and he didn't
even appreciate it anymore! At least, not like he had initially. There just wasn't a challenge. But once he had lost it, there was adventure again! Short lived, but like I said, it was my first attempt at the genre."
"So I thought, how could I keep the horny guy with overwhelming mind control powers theme, and yet keep an element of challenge. And then it hit me--I'll reduce the radius of power, so he can only control people that are quite close. Even better, I'll make it so he can only control people he is touching and lose control when he loses contact. And as long as I'm restricting it, why not restrict it to the subject's hands?"
"So that's what I've done to you, Jackson. I've implanted your hands with devices that will allow you to control any of your fellow humans if you touch their bare skin. As long as any part of them is in contact with any part of your hands, from wrist to finger tip, they will do anything that you suggest, believe anything that you say, feel anything that you want. You just have to think it at them or, if you can't manage that, tell them. As long as contact is maintained, they won't question why they obey you and believe you. They won't even try to break contact. Once contact is broken, however, you're on your own until you can regain contact."
By this time, the probes had withdrawn from Jackson's orifices, various devices had been implanted in to him, and his skin had been replaced without so much as a scar. They had even given him a shave and trimmed his moustache. He stared at his hands. The space thingy had been talking about his hands. What had it been saying?
"Of course, there is one other way in which I am like an earthly television producer," said the space thingy. "If you really want the role, you're going to have to suck my reproductive gland."
Jackson felt suddenly overwhelmed with a deep desire. He scrambled into the space thingy's tank, diving into the green goo. Finding a small oval hole in the side opposite the one he had been facing during the operation, he yelped with delight and started sucking and licking it with abandon. After several minutes of this, the space thingy let out a squeal and a flood of thick green liquid began to flow out of the hole, oozing and spurting. Jackson swallowed it hungrily, rubbing the excess all over himself.
Then he was floating again, up out of the tank down out of the happy little ship and back into the woods. He waved as the ship flew away, vaguely aware that it was a chilly night to be naked in the middle of the road.
Jackson awoke naked on his couch in the living room covered in sticky green goo. He tried to remember what had happened the night before and had a flash of sucking on something large and foul which sent him bolting for the toilet to hurl. Once he stopped heaving, he staggered into the shower and proceeded to scrub until his skin looked sunburnt, it was so red. He resolved not to
think about it ever again.
By the time he got dressed, it was nearly eleven. Damn. He was late for work even by his standards. Earl would have his hide.
He sped off to Earl's Auto Shop. Thankfully, Amy Jo wasn't behind the front counter. Earl's hot little wife had disliked Jackson since the 3 of them were in high school. She was always getting on his case for showing up late and screwing off. Jackson knew she was always after Earl to fire him. If he and Earl hadn't been such good friends in high school, he probably would have already.
"Where the hell have you been, Jackson!" demanded Earl from the entry to the garage. The big mechanic was smeared in grease and looking none too happy.
"I, uh, well..." said Jackson, "I over slept?"
"Bullshit," said Earl. "You were drunk, weren't you? Jackson, I've had about as much as I'm gonna take from you."
Jackson could tell his friend was more than a little pissed. He could see his job was on the line. He panicked and blurted out the truth before he could come up with a plausible lie.
"It wasn't like that, Earl. I was abducted by aliens!"
There was an awkward silence between them as Earl tried to figure out if Jackson had gone bonkers and Jackson tried to do the same.
"Jackson, that is the stupidest lie you have ever come up with," said Earl, stepping towards him menacingly. "I've got half a mind to kick your ass."
Earl feinted a punch at him and Jackson grabbed at his wrist, feeling jittery and paranoid as memories from the night before started to seep into his consciousness.
"It's true Earl!" he protested.
An odd look replaced the angry one Earl had worn.
"Wow," he said, lowering his arm. "That's some weird shit."
Something had happened. Jackson wasn't sure what. He wasn't sure why he was still holding Earl's wrist either, but instinctively he held on. There was something the alien had said about his hands. If only he could remember it without remembering the last part.
"You believe me?" asked Jackson. Now that he thought about it, he didn't expect him to.
"Sure I believe you," said Earl "Why shouldn't I? But it's some seriously weird shit."
"Tell me about it!" said Jackson, "There was this big yellow blobby thing with tentacles. I fuckin' pissed myself."
"Damn!" said Earl.
Jackson was growing suspicious. It wasn't like Earl to believe him. Earl knew better than anybody that Jackson was full of shit. And besides, back when old lady McVicor was saying that space aliens had been taking pictures of her in the bathroom, Earl had told him that he didn't believe in aliens, let alone aliens sick enough to do that. The space thingy had been talking about his hands. Jackson let go of Earl's wrist to see what would happen.
"I ain't sure what they did to me," said Jackson. "It was all kind of confusin'."
A confused and skeptical look came onto Earl's face now.
"Are you sure you didn't just get ahold of some bad hooch?" he asked.
"I thought you said you believed me!" objected Jackson.
"Well, I... I did, but... I mean, come on Jackson! I believe you probably saw somethin', but there's gotta be another explanation for it."
"Earl, listen to me," said Jackson, grabbing his friend's forearm, "I was abducted by space aliens. They did weird experiments and shit on me."
All doubt fled Earl's face and the look of wonder returned.
"Fuckin' shit!" he said.
At that moment, Amy Jo came back from the auto parts store and both men turned to look at her. Jackson, as always, started at her ankles and worked his way up. Amy Jo had the best legs in all of Smyrna. Today she was wearing an old pair of cutoff white jeans cut high on her hips, showing the legs off to full effect. Her taught little belly was also on display, with her red blouse unbuttoned and knotted beneath her pert boobs. Jackson often stopped his perusal of Amy Jo at this point, but today he traveled on up to see a disgusted but pretty face framed by her over-processed curly blonde hair.
"I got the starter motor, Earl," she said while glaring at Jackson. "What time did this waste of flesh show up? Is he sober enough to help you with that transmission?"
"He weren't drunk Amy Jo," Earl exclaimed excitedly. "Jackson was abducted by real live aliens! They took him up in their spaceship and did weird shit to him."
Amy Jo looked sharply at her husband and suspiciously at Jackson trying to determine if there was some joke they were playing together or if Earl was just being sarcastic and getting ready to finally send Jackson packing. Earl just kept an expression of wonder and Jackson looked sheepish and guilty.
"Damn it, Earl! Are you drunk too?" she asked and came up to sniff his breath.
Still not quite sure what was happening, Jackson saw an opportunity and jumped at it. While Amy Jo leaned toward Earl, he grabbed her wrist.
"You gotta believe me Amy Jo!" he said. "I really was abducted by aliens!"
Amy Jo looked at Jackson with amazement, but not any doubt.
"I do believe you Jackson," she said. "My God! That's incredible! What did the aliens look like? What did they do to you? Did they talk American?"
Jackson recounted what he remembered of the night before, his hands never leaving the arms of Earl and Amy Jo. They listened with rapt attention. Jackson was still a little fuzzy on just what had happened, so he soon started making stuff up. After all, he certainly couldn't tell them about
what the thingy had made him do--he didn't even want to remember that! And if what the thingy told him was true--and he couldn't think of any other reason they were believing the horse shit he was shoveling--his new found power was something to keep to himself.
The space thingy's words were coming back to him now--Any one he touched would believe anything he said, do anything he wanted. Well goddamn! What else could he do to Earl and Amy Jo?
"Well, it was quite a trying experience," he said. "You think I can have the day off? Maybe I should go see the doctor."
"Well sure, Jackson," said Earl, "Take all the time you need."
"You'll still pay me, won't you?"
"Of course," he said and Amy Jo nodded her agreement.
"Thanks! You two are great friends."
They smiled at that him looking friendlier than they ever had. Jackson was thinking about inviting himself to dinner--Amy Jo was a marvelous cook--when the couple spoke at once "You should come to dinner tonight."
Jackson was startled, then remembered the space thingy had said he could just think things at people as long as he was touching them. He decided to try this out. He thought hard "Amy Jo, your ass itches' and the little blonde started twitching a bit. Apparently she didn't want to do anything about the itch in front of him. He grinned wickedly for a moment, enjoying her discomfort, then thought, 'Scratch it, Amy Jo! Scratch that hot little ass!'
And as soon as he thought it, she was doing it, raking her red-painted nails across the white denim that encased her curvy posterior.
"Keep scratching," he commanded mentally, while asking aloud, "You O.K. Amy Jo?"
The blonde woman blushed but kept scratching her ass.
"I got an itch," she said.
Jackson chuckled and so did Earl and Amy Jo. Jackson wondered about that--Earl might find it funny, but he wouldn't normally laugh about it in front of his wife. Amy Jo certainly wouldn't ever find it funny. It must be his hands.
"You'll have to put your hand down your pants to make it stop," he thought at Amy Jo and somehow she managed to squeeze her hand into the tight shorts. She was blushing furiously, but she sighed with relief none the less.
"Your ass must feel good, Amy Jo," thought Jackson.
"Your ass must feel good, Amy Jo," said Earl, whose presence Jackson had almost forgotten.
"Shit!" Jackson thought and Earl and Amy Jo said simultaneously.
Jackson realized he was going to have to learn to guard his thoughts. Earl and Amy Jo obviously couldn't hear everything he was thinking, but some of the things he didn't mean to think at them were slipping through. He had never really thought about controlling his thoughts, but now he had motivation to learn. Seeing Amy Jo with her hand down her shorts looking all confused drove that home.
"So, um, I'd better go see a doctor about the alien thingy and find out what it did to me," said Jackson. He wanted to get away and go see just what he could do with his hands. "You think you could loan me a few bucks Earl?"
"Sure," said Earl, the confusion of a moment before fading.
"Give me all the cash in your wallet," Jackson thought.
"'fraid all I got is 36 bucks, Jackson," he said, removing several bills from his wallet.
"Thanks Earl," he said, letting go of Amy Jo to take the money. Realizing what he had done, he looked sharply at Amy Jo. The blonde was scowling and looking very, very confused. Jackson saw the early warning signs of a very pissy mood. At the moment, though, she was most concerned about freeing her hand from her shorts. It was stuck tight. She struggled, embarrassed, angry glances daring either of them to be amused by it.
"Seven O.K. for dinner?" Jackson asked.
"Sure thing!" said Earl.
"Um, about that... ," began Amy Jo.
Jackson saw trouble and reached for her arm. She flinched, but not fast enough.
"Oh, any old thing would be fine said," said Jackson, "Of course, if your asking, I'd love it if you made fried chicken."
"Fried chicken it is then," said Amy Jo cheerfully, and then Jackson was out the door before they could rescind his invitation. A plan was forming in his mind and he really wanted an excuse to spend some time alone with Amy Jo.
He drove to his favorite liquor store hooting with pleasure and making all sorts of plans. As he got out of his truck, he saw something that made him smile mischievously: The Mormons were walking down the street towards him. He knew one of the missionaries, who had the unfortunate name of Elder Elders. He wouldn't tell Jackson his first name; He said he had to be called Elder Elders for the two years he was a missionary, which seemed pretty fucked up to Jackson. Elders and his partner had shown up at his trailer one afternoon and Jackson had been drunk enough to let them preach to him and give him their book. He'd even promised them he'd go to their church. Since then, they'd come by every so often to bug him, but he usually just pretended he wasn't home.
Jackson grinned now because he knew that every time he talked to the Mormons, they would shake his hand with a monster grip, like they wanted to arm wrestle him for his soul. Now Jackson had never much had his eye on heaven and now that he had this power he certainly wasn't about to go religious, but now he had an opportunity to mess with the young Mormon even more than usual.
"Hey Elder, wassup?" said Jackson, sticking out his hand.
"Hello, Brother Davis," said the young man, grabbing hold and pumping firmly. For once, Jackson shook hands with as equal enthusiasm.
"I see you got a new partner," Jackson observed.
"Yeah--this is Elder Jensen. Elder Petersen got transferred down to Shelbyville."
"Nice to meet you," said Elder Jensen, extending his hand, but Jackson ignored it and continued to grip Elder Elders, who of course found nothing unusual about this.
"Well, you and him should come by Saturday--we're gonna have another party. Of course, you still owe me for the keg. You drank more than your share, only fair that you pitch in."
With delight, Jackson saw the new Mormon's eyes go buggy and gawk at his companion. Elders looked terribly embarrassed.
"Gee, um," he said, glancing sheepishly at the new guy. "I'm sorry Brother Davis. Um, I got a 20, will that cover it?"
The missionary awkwardly removed his wallet with his left hand and held it open for Jackson to pillage. Jensen stared, dumbstruck.
"Well, that'll cover what you and Petersen drunk, though I should probably charge you for all the stuff you was pouring down my cousin Sheila's throat. I mean, I know Sheila's a lush, but I ain't never seen nobody get her that drunk!"
"Oh Elder!" said Jensen, "You didn't!"
"Course he did, didn't ya?" said Jackson.
"Um, yeah, I did," said Elders looking horribly ashamed, like he wanted to go kill himself.
"Oh, there ain't nothing to be ashamed of," said Jackson. "You done yourself right proud! Drunk as she was, Sheila still remembers the screwin' you gave her! Says it was the best lay she ever had, and you've had plenty of competition. You must be quite the stud."
Elders no longer looked ashamed. He looked as proud and pleased as Jackson thought he should be, imagining the drunken orgy with all the spectacular vagueness a teetotaling virgin can.
"Elder!" said the indignant companion. "You didn't break the law of chastity, did you?"
"Damn did he ever!" said Jackson, "Fucked her right there on the floor in front of everybody!"
"I fucked her good!" said Elders, eyes filled with wonder.
"You... you didn't!" Jensen was white as a sheet.
"Well of course he did," said Jackson. "She was drunk and horny and somebody had to fuck her. I wasn't about to--She's my cousin, for hell's sake! Where you think you are, boy? Kentucky?"
"Yeah," affirmed Elders, "She was a drunk slut and she needed screwin' and I was the only stud for the job!"
"Hell, Petersen was passed out under the table," said Jackson, "But if you can hold your liquor better than him, come by Saturday and I'll tell Sheila to bring her girlfriends."
"Oh yeah!" said Elders, "We are so there!"
"No we are not!" said Jensen, grabbing hold of his companion and pulling him off in the direction they had come. "We're going to see President Grady right now!"
Jackson had had enough fun he guessed. He let the poor kid go. As he did, his look of debauched pride turned to confused horror. He looked back and forth from his companion to Jackson as Jensen strong armed him down the road.
"But... but... I didn't... I would never... Tell him Brother Davis! Tell him the truth!"
Jackson chuckled. Somebody was in trouble, and for once it wasn't him. He could get used to that. He entered the liquor store to spend Earl and Elders' money.
Evelyn Crable had seen Jackson Davis more times than she cared to, but being that she and her husband owned a liquor store, it was almost inevitable. Something about him was different today, though. He lacked that desperate look he usually wore when he came looking for liquor in the early afternoon. He walked in with a smooth, confident air and instead of going straight for the Jack Daniels, he took some time browsing.
Evelyn's suspicions were aroused and she kept a close eye on him. He was the only person in the store, so she gave him her full attention--he wasn't going to get away with anything on her watch!
After a few minute, he came to the counter with two bottles--12 year old scotch and Wild Irish Rose. The fortified wine was something Jackson bought when he couldn't afford whisky, but Evelyn had never known him to shell out for scotch. The bum must have come into some money. Evelyn hoped it was at least somewhat legally acquired but however he got it if he didn't spend
it here he'd spend it at McGregor's. She rang him up and put the liquor in a bag behind the counter where it would stay until Jackson actually gave her cash.
"That'll be $53.72, Jackson" she said.
"Ok" he said, holding out a wad of bills. She took them, his hand brushing against hers, and then she froze. She wanted to keep touching his hand. She wasn't sure why. But she was delighted when he reached over with his other hand and sandwiched her hand and the cash. She stared at his hands, happily smiling and completely baffled as to why.
"You know, I sure do enjoy our times together, Evelyn, and I hope you do too. You're what makes this liquor store the best one in Smyrna."
"Why thank you, Jackson," Evelyn blushed, "I really enjoy your visits too."
And she did. She hadn't remembered doing so before, but it was always such a delight to see him.
"Well, I guess you could say we're really good friends then, couldn't you?"
"Oh yes, Jackson, we're the best of friends!"
"Well, Evelyn, you know my birthday's coming up. Since you're my friend, you should probably give me a present."
"Oh Jackson, I'm so sorry! I almost forgot!"
"How 'bout you just not charge me for the liquor, then. That'd be a great present!"
. "Of course!" she said. What a great idea! "Keep your money, Jackson. It's my treat."
"Why thank you, Evelyn," he said, slipping the cash back in his pocket, but keeping tight hold of her with his other hand. She was glad he hadn't let her hand go.
"Why don't you just hand me the bag, then?" he asked.
Evelyn cheerfully gave it to him. He gave her a firm hand shake, then letting go, took the package and headed for the door.
Evelyn was very confused. What had she just done! She couldn't just give away merchandise. Not to Jackson! She rushed from behind the counter, calling for him to wait. She was relieved to see that he stopped and smiled questioningly. But what could she say? She had given it to him.
"Um, Jackson, I,... well, its Horace. I really wanted to give you everything for free, but you know what a cheapskate Horace is. He'll have a fit. How about I just give you the wine for your birthday?"
"Why Evelyn," said her customer, "I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble with Horace."
Thank God! He was going to be reasonable. He smiled and took her arm.
"Of course, Horace doesn't have to know. It can be our little secret."
"Of course," agreed Evelyn. "He doesn't have to know."
"After all," said Jackson with a grin, "I've kept our other secret, haven't I?"
"Of course, you have," said Evelyn, confused. "Ummm... what secret is that?"
"Oh Evelyn, didn't you think I knew? I've seen how you look at me. I know that you get hot and bothered every time I come in here. You want me, Evelyn, and we both know it."
It was true! Oh God! How did he know? She wanted him so badly! And here he was, his hand on her arm. Now he set down his package and cupped her chin in his other hand, looking into her eyes. It felt so good for him to touch her!
"That's the real reason you want to give me such a nice birthday present, isn't Evelyn?"
She bit her lip, embarrassed, but she couldn't lie to him. She nodded.
"You want to give me everything, don't you Evelyn? And I can give you what you want. I've always been willing. All you have to do is ask. Why don't you ask me for what you want, Evelyn?"
"Oh God, I can't wait any longer!" she exclaimed, "Take me, Jackson! Please, take me! Right here, right now!"
And then he was kissing her, roughly, deeply, his hands working into her clothing, touching her skin. She was in heaven! Jackson was making love to her at last, after years of wanting it!
He lead her back away from the front window, back behind the liqueurs isle. He was so considerate, protecting her reputation, keeping their dirty little secret. She would make love to him on the courthouse lawn if he wanted.
Now his hand had made its way down the front of her pants. He was touching her pussy! It was electrifying! He was kneading and prodding, and she needed it so badly! She mewed loudly.
"You like this, don't you Evelyn?" said her wonderful lover.
"Oh yes, Jackson!" she cried "Yes!"
And then the bell on the door rang. Jackson froze and Evelyn whimpered. Jackson peeked through the liquor bottles, then whispered to Evelyn.
"I should go. We can take this up later." he said, and Evelyn couldn't help but agree, although she ached for him to make love to her. "Thank you for the birthday presents. Don't worry, I'll keep our little secret."
Then he took his hand out of her pants, away from her pussy, grabbed his liquor and left, leaving Evelyn frustrated and then very, very confused.
Oh God! What had she just done? Rolling around on the floor of the store like a slut--and with Jackson Davis! Jackson! It had seemed so right while she was doing it, like she needed it so much, like she'd always wanted it. But she hadn't, had she? She was almost sure she had never found Jackson attractive--he was a dirty drunken loser! Oh God, what had she done?
She remembered that someone had come in before Jackson left. She got up from the floor blushing furiously, quickly tucking her blouse back in, struggling with buttons. Thankfully, it was no one she knew--a young couple. Hopefully they were from out of town. They looked at her curiously, but then quickly went back to selecting a bottle of rum.
Evelyn went back behind the counter and sighed, trying to figure what had made her feel the way she had felt, do the things she had done. The young couple made their purchase and left Evelyn alone with her confusion. She sighed and then retrieved some money she kept hidden from Horace in the back room and paid for Jackson's 'birthday present'. She had to keep the dirty little secret from Horace, she thought with a hysterical, mirthless giggle.
She squirmed there behind the counter. Her body was still deeply aroused, but every time she remembered how she had gotten that way, she felt nauseous. She desperately wanted to masturbate, but she was terrified that if she did so she would fantasize about Jackson.
She put a few more dollars in the till and bought herself a bottle of vodka. She really didn't want to think about it.
Jackson was not known for being a smart man, but he did know how to get what he wanted, given the opportunity. Just because what he wanted often consisted of a bottle of whisky, a porno mag, and the wrestling special on pay-per-view, didn't mean he wasn't quite capable of finding ways to get these things, using whatever means became available.
Now that the alien thingy had given him this power, Jackson immediately saw that he could get other things he wanted. But, as with everything, there were obstacles. Sometimes you had to dope the guard dog before you could splice your neighbors cable hook up.
One thing Jackson had wanted to do since high school was fuck Amy Jo's brains out. His experience with Evelyn had shown him that this was well with in the realm of possibility now. Evelyn, however, had been alone. Earl was not likely to leave Jackson alone with his wife. Jackson could send him off on some fool's errand, but as soon as he let go of him, he'd realize what Jackson was up to.
Jackson had thought about holding on to both Amy Jo and Earl, like when he scored the dinner invite, but he didn't want to be getting it on with another man watching--he weren't no queer-- and he wanted both hands on Amy Jo anyway. Besides, if he made Earl let him fuck his wife, he'd be in for a serious ass-kicking once he let go.
The solution, like it so often was with Jackson's problems, was liquor. If he just made Earl drink himself under the table and got Amy Jo good and smashed, the next day, they'd just wonder why they got drunk and blame the booze for whatever happened next--assuming they remembered at all.
"Hey Jackson," said Earl when he opened the door. He didn't look too happy to see him. That was about to change.
"Hey Earl!" he said, thrusting out his hand. Shaking hands wasn't something Earl did often, except on the rare occasion he went to church, so he stared a moment before grasping the proffered hand.
"Thanks for inviting me, Earl," said Jackson. "This is gonna be really fun."
Earl smiled and relaxed. "You're right, Jackson, It will be fun."
"Yep," said Jackson, "Just like old times, only better."
Earl chuckled and so did Jackson.
"I brought hooch," said Jackson, holding up the bag Evelyn had given him. "The good stuff!"
"Well all righty then!" said Earl, taking the bag and sticking out his arm for Jackson to take hold of. Together, they walked back to where Amy Jo was cooking in the kitchen.
"Look, Amy Jo!" said Earl, "Jackson bought us a present!"
Jackson's face fell when he saw what Amy Jo was wearing. She had on more clothes than he had ever seen on her at any one time in the summer. Her blouse came up to her neck and down to her wrists and was tucked into a skirt that dropped down bellow her knees. Apparently, she wasn't planning on putting on a show for Jackson tonight. Well, that would change. But it would be tricky. The only exposed skin was her hands, face, neck and calves. He tried to hide his disappointment and quickly thought at Earl not to voice it.
"Bought with your money, fool!" Amy Jo practically spat, and turned back to her stove.
"Oh, I'll pay him back Amy Jo," said Jackson.
"Sure he will," said Earl.
"I'll believe it when I see it," said Amy Jo.
Earl placed the bag on the counter and Jackson pulled out the liquor.
"The wine is for dinner," said Jackson, "The scotch is for Earl."
"Humph," said Amy Jo, looking at the wine. "Fortified. You shouldn't have."
Her tone and look were withering. She obviously wasn't looking forward to tonight as much as Jackson was.
"Well, how 'bout we try out that scotch while the little woman finishes up?" suggested Jackson.
"Great!" said Earl and grabbed a couple glasses from beside the sink.
"Now don't you go gettin' drunk, Earl," said Amy Jo. "We gotta lotta work tomorrow."
"Oh, we'll just take a taste, Amy Jo," said Earl, putting ice in the glasses. The two men headed for the living room.
"Why's he touching you like that?" asked Amy Jo.
"Like what, Amy Jo?" asked Earl.
"He's got his hand on your arm," said Amy Jo.
"I was just feelin' his muscle, Amy Jo," said Jackson. It was the first thing he could think of. "Damn he's tough. Wouldn't wanna get on his bad side."
"That's right. I'm the man!" said Earl, flexing.
"Y'all are crazy," said Amy Jo, turning back to the stove. Jackson ushered Earl to the living room. There on the couch, Earl poured them each a scotch. They clinked glasses and drank the 12 year old amber liquid.
"Damn!" said Earl of his own accord.
"Beats the hell out of the shit we used to drink back in high school, don't it?" said Jackson, refilling Earl's glass.
"Amy Jo don't want me gettin' drunk," Earl reminded him, though he eyed the glass tempted.
"You ain't gonna let her tell you what to do, are you?" said Jackson. This strategy often worked even before Jackson got his power. Now, of course, it was no contest.
"Hell no!" said Earl and slammed back his scotch. "Ha!"
"Y'all behave in there," Amy Jo shouted from the kitchen. "Dinners almost ready."
Jackson had to get the ball rolling, make sure Earl was drunk enough that he had some maneuverability. Amy Jo was already suspicious. He couldn't keep his hand on Earl when they went to dinner or the jig would be up. He directed his thoughts at Earl.
"Hey Jackson," said the big mechanic, "Remember when we went fishing and I'd chug that cheap vodka?"
"Sure, Earl. You rocked!" Jackson said. "Course, you was young."
"Young hell, I bet I can do it with this shit."
"Well go for it!" encouraged Jackson.
Earl put the bottles to his lips and took a nice long pull. He put it down and exhaled rawly. His eyes watered and the color rose in his cheeks. Perfect.
"Come on now you two," called Amy Jo. "It's ready."
"Here Earl, let me help you up," said Jackson, getting to his feet and lending his friend a hand.
"You da' man, Earl," he said as he lurched to his feet. Jackson let go of Earl and grabbed up the bottle of scotch.
"You sh'n bring the bottle," said Earl, "Amy Jo'll get pissed."
"Oh, Amy Jo is always pissed at me anyway, Earl," said Jackson.
Earl sniggered "Yeah, she is."
Earl's words proved prophetic. His wife was none too happy to see the bottle.
"You said just one drink, Earl."
"Oh, he ain't gonna drink no more, Amy Jo," said Jackson. "But I might like a little sumthin after dinner and I ain't gonna want to get up after eatin' such a fine meal."
Amy Jo glowered at the compliment but didn't object further. She just took her seat at the little round kitchen table, waited for the two men to sit, then deliberately slid towards Earl and away from Jackson. She was simply not going to make this easy.
Jackson had thought of a way to get ahold of both of them at once, but if Amy Jo was going to go for it, the idea had better come from Earl. In the living room, Jackson had noticed a quarter-sized hole in the knee of Earl's jeans. If he could get his finger in that hole, he could control Earl and
Amy Jo would be none the wiser.
Of course, if he missed the hole, that would be bad. Even when he was a little drunk, Earl was likely to give him a beating if Jackson grabbed his knee. Still, it was his best shot. His hand snaked under the table, his middle finger stabbed--and missed.
"Hey," said Earl, looking at Jackson whose fingers scrambled all over his knee, desperately looking for the hole. Earl must've thought he'd gone queer. Just as Jackson was sure he was about to get the worst beating of his life, one finger slipped in. Earl relaxed immediately.
"Hey what?" asked Amy Jo.
"Oh, um... We should say grace," said Earl.
"Say grace?" asked Amy Jo. "We don't never say grace 'cept at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Since when do you wanna say grace?"
"I think it's a great idea," said Jackson. "My mamma used to always have us say grace at dinner, afore she passed."
"See Amy Jo?" said Earl. "We oughta--outta respect for Jackson's mamma."
"Well, I never thought I'd see the day that you two would turn to prayin'. Y'all must be drunk."
"Could we join hands?" asked Jackson. "That's the way my mamma always had us do it."