He craved touch. The feel of hot, supple skin sliding against skin. If he only closed his eyes he could feel it. The invisible rasp of tiny hairs bending as nerve endings lit up like a pinball machine on tilt, blood vessels singing as they pumped harder infusing a warming flush, it made him dizzy just to consider.
Then again he felt the same way about waffles. He really did, though his friends laughed when he tried to explain. The feel of hot batter in his mouth, mixing and playing with the cold syrup and melting butter… it was too much for him. Everything was far, far too much. Always had been, truth be told. So he went to doctors and sought professional help only to be told the problem was in his mind. More doctors, more tests and experiments and he learned, over the years, to expect the sad shake of a head that doctors tried to hide from him right before they shrugged their shoulders and sent him to talk to someone else.
He tried to live alone for a while, eliminating as much of the world as possible. He tried to control his urges. Even then, he would get out of bed in the middle of the night to pee and the feel of the chilled hardwood floor under his bare foot – the grain of the varnished wood just hinting up along his heel – sent chills through his spine.
Blind desire filled his every waking moment and yet somehow, maddeningly, never dulled to the point of the far-too-well-known. Twenty years into his personal hell he gave up. Five years after that he gave in. The doorknob’s smooth brass slid against his palm like the whispers of the universe and he grabbed it tighter, turning it. The door opened and a warm breeze licked at his neck, making him swoon. The sun prickled along his face, like the kisses of a thousand needles and he smiled into it, stamping down the urge to run and hide. Where could he go, anyway? Bed? With its soft sheets and warm covers? That wouldn’t be better so why not just enjoy it, embrace it and run in the grass?
And so he gave in. To all of it. He made it as far as the driveway before dropping to his knees and rolling around in mindless pleasure and desire. They found him that way, two days later – dew covered and sleeping with a huge smile on his face. Back into the house he went, drugged so that he wouldn’t wake up and feel the hands of the people carrying him. Back into the fake house, past the fake lawns and neighborhood he could have seen if only he had been able to take twenty more steps. But none of that would matter in a while.
Their experiments were almost done, after all. Soon they would know enough about how these desires worked in humans, to launch the first attack wave.
They couldn’t wait. They wanted nothing more than to board their attack ships and feel the smooth Hrnjds-skin seats against their backs while engines purred like lovers and…
“Wyksboh?” Gskri asked, “Did you spill the klrtht’ing formula on us? Awwww jhraso!”