GENIUS JUICE Mark Walker

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorised duplication is prohibited.

CHAPTER ONE

Jeremy Miller awoke with a start. He gasped for air, and looked around his darkened bedroom frantically. Everything was still. The fan by his bed blew his messy red hair gently, humming quietly. The digital clock on his nightstand read 3:27 AM. The poster on his wall with a UFO hovering above trees and the caption I WANT TO BELIEVE continued to hang there as it always had. The only thing wrong was the glow, the bright blue glow coming in through the window and casting shadows across it through the blinds.

He'd had a dream. A really crazy, visceral, intense dream. One that he felt he needed to remember no matter what. The need was so intense it gripped his body, making him shudder a little.

"Wow," Jeremy muttered quietly. "What the fuck was that?"

Feeling unusually energised, he tossed the covers off and got out of bed. After putting his thick glasses on, he went to the window and pushed the blinds aside so he could see more easily. The glow was coming from the woods behind his house, the wild Maine woods from which he could sometimes hear howling late at night. The glow seemed to form a dome on the horizon. It seemed to be somewhere nearby.

It was then that a loud, extremely high-pitched squealing noise ripped through the room and through Jeremy. Jeremy doubled over and gripped his head, hoping for it to stop. It went on for at least ten seconds or so, and each one of them was an agony. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had started.

"Whoa," was all Jeremy could manage. The only thing he could compare it to was microphone feedback. He immediately went out into the hallway, wondering if anyone else had heard it. The hallway was still dark and the rest of his family were still tucked away in their beds. It was as if nothing had happened. Jeremy shrugged and returned to his room.

It was then that he noticed the paper sitting on his desk. It hadn't been there before. There was also a pencil lying on top of it, as if it had been recently used. But Jeremy hadn't written anything since doing his homework several hours before.

He examined the paper under his desk light. The message on it was short and simple. It read:

Delta 901 has arrived.

Jeremy had no idea what it meant, but it had been written in his own hand. Yet he had no memory of writing it. Moreover, the paper, he realised, seemed to have appeared only in the last few minutes. When he had woken up from the glow. When the whining noise had almost blasted his eardrums out.

But, it was just a short sentence. It was odd, but didn't seem dangerous. Jeremy got back into bed and tried to go to sleep despite the blue glow. But the words stuck with him through the night:

Delta 901 has arrived.

And he still had the overwhelming urge to find out what he'd dreamed about.

The next morning, Jeremy got up, went to breakfast, gathered his things into his backpack and went to school. It was a warm spring day in the suburbs of Portland. He did not have a spring in his step, and he was not looking forward to school. He was especially dreading PE class, which he had on Tuesdays and Thursdays and that day was a Tuesday. But, it was the last class of the day and once he got through it, he could go home.

Jeremy's first class of the day at Grover Cleveland High, though, was English. He took his usual place at the back of the classroom. The teacher, Mrs. French, was a young idealist fresh out of university. Unlike other teachers, she was more willing to cut Jeremy a little slack. She spent most of the class helping the other students, who were not as far along as Jeremy was, do group work, while Jeremy sat alone reading a copy of Death on the Nile.

Towards the end of the class, though, something different happened. Mrs. French announced that the class would be taking on a new project. "You're going to each write a story," she explained.

Jeremy sat up straight. The rest of the class let out a collective groan.

"Now," Mrs. French continued. "You're going to write a story in pairs. I've already put you together, so you'll probably be working with someone new."

Mrs. French then proceeded to break the class up into pairs, and told them to sit together. It was clear that she was breaking up the cliques and mixing the class up. The blacks, Asians, the good girls, the mean girls, jocks, bad boys, and geeks all got jumbled. When it was over, some grumbling could be heard and Jeremy found himself sitting across a desk from Brad.

Brad was a jock par excellence. He was blonde, much taller than Jeremy, and muscular to the point of being intimidating. He seemed confused when faced with Jeremy, the smart quiet boy who never seemed to get to know anyone. Then, before Jeremy could say anything, he turned right around and started talking with his friend Chad.

Jeremy just sat there silently and continued to read his book. He preferred to do assignments alone. Whenever he had to do group work, things usually happened one of two ways. Either he ended up doing all the work, or he ended up doing none of the work. From where he was sitting right then, it was looking an awful lot like the former would be the case.

Mrs. French came up to where Jeremy and Brad were sitting and looked at them both. A look of annoyance quickly crossed her face when she saw that Brad was completely uninterested in the assignment. When she turned to Jeremy sitting and reading, her expression seemed to signal disappointment for a second.

"Jeremy," Mrs. French ventured as she knelt next to the desk, "what are you going to do?"

Jeremy shrugged. "I don't know. I'll probably write it myself." He pointed at Brad and said bluntly, "I think he's useless."

Brad, despite being right there, appeared not to hear Jeremy's insult. It was a common occurrence for the boy. By and large, the other kids at school seemed to be unable to realise he was even in the room.

"I'd like it if you'd try talking to him," Mrs. French said. "Please."

"Fine," Jeremy muttered, even though he had no intention of doing so.

Jeremy had always had trouble making friends. When he was toddler, a psychologist had told his parents he was gifted. His parents had been ecstatic about having had a genius child. But it later turned out that he was not gifted at all, that he actually had a mild form of autism. As time wore on, Jeremy had drifted away from the other kids at school and the bullies had taken the place of friends. Now in high school, he was very withdrawn.

After English class, Jeremy spent lunch hour in the school library reading Calvin and Hobbes. He still had the gnawing urge to find out what he had dreamed about the night before in the back of his mind. And the image of the note on his desk still stuck in his mind.

Who or what was Delta 901?

How could he have written the note? Jeremy still had no recollection whatsoever of having written it.

Switching gears, Jeremy put down Calvin and Hobbes and went into the non-fiction area. He emerged with a book on alien abductions. Flipping through the pages, he refreshed his memory. Sometimes, he read, people who claim to have been abducted by aliens experience the phenomenon of missing time in which they believe they have "lost" hours and are unable to remember what they were doing in that time.

Jeremy thought back. The note on his desk had simply appeared, and it seemed like it had appeared out of nowhere. However, Jeremy realised, he hadn't lost any time—or if he had, he had lost very little. He began to wonder if there was a connection between the screeching noise he'd heard and the note.

After lunch, Jeremy went to Math and Civics classes before it was time to head down to the gym at the far west end of the school for PE class. He went into the boys' changing room. Most of the class was already there; Jeremy was one of the last to arrive. The other boys were all in various stages of changing. There was a lot of skin on display. Some were muscular, others not so much. Few were chubby. Jeremy was chubby, and he was covered in freckles.

Jeremy moved slowly down the aisle between rows of lockers. There was a blue metal bench in the middle. The floor was white tile. This part of the school was relatively new. As he moved along, trying to find a place where he could change in relative peace, Jeremy tried to keep his eyes off the other boys.

Boys turned Jeremy on, and they were especially arousing in the locker room. There was a lot of naked carousing, high-fiving and butt-slapping. Jeremy did not yet think of himself as "gay." The idea had yet to occur to him. He was only fifteen. For the moment, he was more concerned about how his embarrassing, fat body looked and not popping wood than anything else.

After Jeremy picked out what looked like a relatively quiet corner at the far end near the exit, he put his things down on the bench and tried to change as quickly as possible. Most of the time he was able to do this without too much trouble. Today was not one of those days.

Shouting erupted in the changing room. Brad and another boy were running the length of the room, mimicking a football game. Brad pantomimed receiving a pass, while the other boy—an equally muscular African-American—pretended to run after and tackle him. They were both nude. Jeremy gathered they were on the football team.

"And that's how we won!" Brad declared. The other boys all roared in laughter. Jeremy had no idea what they were laughing about.

Then, the two enormous football players jumped up and bumped off each other's bellies. "Uhh," they grunted in tandem. It reminded Jeremy of a primitive, tribal ritual.

Jeremy was utterly transfixed by the sight of Brad and the other boy, as well as by the other boys in the room. Brad was impressively hung. He lost control of himself. When he realised that he was both completely naked and sporting wood, it was too late. Jeremy's penis—short and thick with rounded pink helmet—was standing straight up.

Brad saw him, and when he did, a smirk appeared on his face. "Look who's got a boner," he told the other boys, pointing directly at Jeremy.

Chad, who was somewhere in the back of the gathered crowd, suddenly shouted, "Boner Boy!" Then he laughed out loud.

The other boys immediately picked up on it and started chanting. "Boner Boy! Boner Boy!"

Jeremy was frozen. Blood rushed to his cheeks. He didn't know what to do. His heart skipped a beat and he felt horror wash over him. Suddenly, he snapped back to life, reached around and grabbed his khaki shorts and used them to cover himself.

"Guys," he squeaked meekly, not knowing what would come after that one word. It did nothing to defuse the situation. The other boys closed in on him. Some had grabbed towels from the pile at the entrance and began pelting him with them. Jeremy raised his hands weakly in defence, to try and fend off the blows, but this did nothing and his glasses got knocked onto the floor. The chants of "Boner Boy! Boner Boy!" rang through the changing room and quite possibly through the entire school.

While the other boys battered him, Jeremy got dressed, gathered his things, and finally shoved his way through the crowd to the exit. The other boys, though, followed him all the way to the very threshold of the changing room. Once he was finally out of there, Jeremy ran all the way home, where he locked himself in his room and cried. He was too humiliated to tell his parents what had happened.

That night, Jeremy awoke panting again. But he was no longer frantic. There was a clear image in his mind. He knew exactly what he had dreamed about, and felt relief rather than a nagging need to remember. There was no blue light at his window. And the contents of the dream turned him on.

Jeremy had a raging boner. For a few minutes, he lay in bed just enjoying his erection and turning the dream over in his mind. Then he began to stroke himself.

The dream was intensely erotic. It began with him just as he was right then, masturbating in bed late at night. Then the blue light, the same blue light that he had seen in real life, brightened until it blinded him. When it subsided, Jeremy was in a different place altogether.

It was a room with sensuously curving silverly metal walls, bathed in sickly green light. Groans, moans, and cries rang out through the air, which was damp and reeked of sweat and semen. The image wasn't clear at first for Jeremy, but it gradually came into focus. He was being led along by two hulking reptilian aliens, whom he assumed to be guards. Even though he was really safe at home in his bedroom, Jeremy could almost feel their iron grip on his upper arms. Then, as he played out the dream in his mind, he realised that he was naked and that he could almost feel his testes swaying between his legs.

Then Jeremy became aware of the source of the cries in the room. They were coming from boys—rows upon rows of boys, all about his age, all naked. The boys were of all kinds, white, brown, fat, thin, and they were all tightly restrained to machines that they were riding in a posture that resembled that of a biker on a fast ride. At one point, he could swear he saw Brad mixed in with them. In his bedroom, Jeremy gasped as a sudden jolt of pleasure ran through him. He almost came right then, but releasing his grip on his cock prevented it.

The dream continued. Jeremy was led closer to the rows of machines and boys. His heart almost skipped a beat when he realised that there was an empty space meant just for him, down at the end. His heart really did skip a beat when he realised why the boys were crying out, some in pleasure, some in pain. They were being milked. Their semen was being mercilessly extracted by the machines as the boys writhed and twitched atop them, their bodies glistening with sweat from the exertion.

Jeremy's guards led him closer to where his machine was waiting for him. He couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for him. He held the image in his mind and began jerking himself off furiously. When hot semen erupted from him, he stifled a shout into a grunt. The orgasm continued for a few seconds as he shot stringy gobs of semen over his body. Some landed on his face and others landed on his bedsheets.

When it was over, he felt disappointed he'd been unable to let the dream play out long enough to see what happened to him. Then he heard the voice.

"They're coming for you," it whispered to him.

"Hello? Who's coming?" Jeremy asked the empty room. "Hello?"

But no one had spoken to him. He had heard the soft whisper in his head.

"Hello?" he asked once again.

"You must leave now," the voice added, this time with an air of urgency. "They're coming for you," it repeated.

"Who are you?" Jeremy asked.

"I am Delta 901 and I have arrived to take you away before they can. The Xu'ka are coming for you. What I have shown you will be your fate unless you act."

"What? Who's coming for me?"

"The Xu'ka. They are coming to take you way. I must prevent it at all costs. My helper will be at your door in a few minutes."

"Stop, stop," Jeremy told the disembodied voice. "This is crazy. People aren't supposed to hear voices. It's not good when people hear voices."

"You are not crazy, and I will prove it. Wait for my helper to arrive. He will be with you shortly."

It was then that Jeremy heard the front door of the house be suddenly thrown open. Jeremy jumped up in fright. "Burglars?" he muttered to himself.

"He is early," the voice commented. "That is unusual."

After putting his glasses on, Jeremy gingerly opened the door to his room and went out to the second-floor landing. Slowly but surely, he got up the courage to look down into the foyer below. He gasped when he saw a large, muscular, blue being standing in the front doorway. The being was holding a weapon that looked like a laser pistol from a science fiction movie.

"You have more courage than I anticipated, Jeremy," Delta 901 remarked. "I had wondered, after what happened at school earlier."

Jeremy, not wanting to be reminded of the incident, whispered tersely, "Shut up!"

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