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Archive name: jillian2.txt (MF, rom, v, oral, sci-fi)
Authors name: Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com)
Story title : Jillian Saves the World - 2

--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2002 - As the author, I claim all rights under 
international copyright laws. This work is not intended 
for sale, but please feel free to post it to other 
archives or newsgroups, keeping the header and text 
intact. Any commercial use of this work is expressly 
forbidden without the written permission of the author. 
--------------------------------------------------------

Jillian Saves the World (MF, rom, v, 1st, oral, sci-fi)
by Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com)

***

Jillian and her friends had no clue what a mess they'd 
gotten themselves into with their moms. Then again, no 
one had EVER gotten into a mess like this. Follow Jill as 
she goes from being a very nervous schoolgirl, to savior 
of the world.

***

Part Two: Departure
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
4:45 P.M. 


Jillian slowly awoke. 

Laying on her back, she looked up at a slate gray sky. 
Only it wasn't sky at all. It was the bottom of the 
spacecraft. It rotated slowly above her. 

Where she lay was thickly matted grass, strife with 
weeds. Moaning in pain, she worked herself onto her 
elbows and looked around. To her right were the remains 
of her mother's best friend; ghastly, shriveled, clothed 
in disintegrated rags. Jill looked down to examine her 
own clothes--and was thoroughly shocked. 

"Oh, my God," she whispered. 

Sitting erect, she found that her legs, shaved baby-
smooth only that morning, were covered in a soft, silky 
down. No longer had she a narrow strip of pubic hair 
above her clitoris, but a wild mass of curls. She felt an 
equal mass of curls beneath each arm. And her brown hair, 
which before had barely reached her jaw, now hung about 
her in waves, nearly to her waist.

"Oh, my God," she said again, examining her split ends. 
"Yuck." 

Getting to her knees, Jill realized that her hair was not 
the only thing to have grown. Trapped inside her 
brassiere were breasts twice the size and weight of her 
own. "Jesus Christ!" she muttered, cupping each in a 
hand. "What is this?" She actually had difficulty 
breathing. 

Standing erect, Jill slipped two fingers inside her 
blouse and released the bra snap. Her brassiere sprang 
open. "Ah," she sighed, breathing freely again. She felt 
suddenly embarrassed. She looked around. Then she peered 
down her blouse and realized she really had grown twice 
as big. "Oh, my God," she said a third time. Then she 
buttoned herself up.

Like it matters, an inner voice said. Why not take off 
the rest and go completely nude? No one's to see.

Shut up! she thought.

The wave had aged her clothing as well. The colors had 
drastically faded, and the material hung on her like 
sackcloth. 

"Gross," she said, shifting her shoulders.

For a time, she considered waiting where she was. Then it 
occurred to her that anyone with sense was heading in the 
opposite direction. Giving Dana Pratt's remains wide 
berth, she paralleled the high grass until reaching the 
street. The line of demarcation between wave and break 
was amazing. Calf deep grass gave way abruptly to chest 
high growth. It was like being in Africa.

She headed east, back toward Krystal's house. Suddenly 
she stopped. Everywhere, houses were collapsed, or right 
on the verge. Those standing were overrun by weeds and 
vegetation; nowhere did one look inhabitable. Only in the 
break-path had anything survived. She headed back toward 
the swath of thinner grass.

"I hate being naked," she said, sullenly. She looked 
around. "Cut it out, Jill. Who'd rape you, anyway, 
looking like this? Besides, no one else survived."
And that was the gist of it, right there. No one had. 

Jill erupted in tears. 

"Oh, God!" she bawled. "Everyone's dead!" 

Her mother, her friends, both of her sisters. Her dad. 
And thousands of others she didn't know. Millions 
perhaps. And if the spacecraft above were one of just 
many, you could push that count into the billions. 

Jill fell to her knees, unable to stand. "Please, God!" 
she begged. "Please make it not real. Please, make it not 
real." 

Then she fell forward onto the ground, and bawling 
wretchedly, Jill rocked herself back and forth until 
unconsciousness blessedly overtook her. 

"Hello? Anyone there?"

She stood on the front porch of a small brick rambler, 
screen door in hand. No one answered.

"My name is Jill," she advised. "I'm coming in." She 
stepped slowly through the doorway and into the house. 
She listened to the silence. "Don't shoot me," she 
pleaded. "I'm not a burglar."

She had awakened in a fetal position, thumb in her mouth. 
She had left her thumb there. 

For most of an hour, Jill had forced her mind blank, 
humming tunelessly, shoving aside thoughts when they 
intruded. Only when the ground began to shake did she 
rouse.

The spacecraft was moving on. 

Rising to her knees, Jill watched the huge craft drift 
slowly northeast, toward Baltimore. Toward its next 
victim, she thought. She prayed folks there had fled. 
Surely everyone had. They, at least, had had warning.

Following the slowly widening path, Jill passed the home 
of a classmate, Jill Sperry. The house was collapsed on 
the side of the wave, left virtually untouched on the 
other. The edge of the break straddled the midline of the 
sidewalk. Jill had not the heart to climb the steps.

Walking on, she eventually came to a house fully within 
the path's confines. Now, she passed through the living 
room of that house and into the kitchen. Although not 
especially hungry, she had a ravenous thirst. She went to 
the refrigerator and put her hand on the handle.

"Wait a minute," she said. "You don't want to do this."

She was talking about years here. Many years. The smell 
alone would make her puke.

"God," she whispered. "How old am I?" 

With mounting trepidation, Jill went in search of a 
mirror. 

A bathroom lay off the main hallway, but it was much too 
dark to see. Jill could barely make out her outline. She 
looked in the bedroom across the hall, obviously that of 
two girls, and decided against entering. Rachel and 
Angie, her two sisters, had until recently shared a 
bedroom. 

In the master bedroom, she found a vanity and mirror. She 
went and stood before it. She observed herself in shock.

God! I am so old!

Moving close to the mirror, she turned her face back and 
forth, then went impatiently to the curtains and threw 
them back. She returned to the mirror. 

"Better," she said.

Her hair grew between eight and ten inches a year, and 
Jill guessed her age at nineteen, maybe twenty years old. 

Six fucking years! she thought.

"Better than a hundred and six," she said, aloud.

Yes, better than that.

Other changes had occurred. No longer was she chunky 
throughout the waist and hips; her tomboyish figure had 
given way to rounded hips and a flattened tummy. 

"Wow!" she said, fingering her new thighs. "For real?" 
Twisting back and forth for a better look, she rather 
giddily thought: I look good. Better than I did, anyway. 
I actually have hips. But God, I hate all this hair. 

"So what's next?" she asked her reflection.

A low dresser was against the wall, cosmetics littering 
the top. A jewelry box stood front and center. Jill 
opened the top, right hand drawer, and inside found the 
owner's panties and bras. Jill pulled out a purple 
brassiere. 

"Thirty two-B," she said, reading the tag. She sighed. 
"Well, that was my size." She replaced the brassiere. 

Removing a pair of beige panties--Victoria's Secret, the 
waistband read--Jill slipped them on. Her new growth 
stuck disgustingly out the sides. 

"That," she said, laughing, "is the first thing I do." 

Stripping off her blazer, Jill removed her blouse and the 
useless brassiere and dropped them both on the floor. 
From a center drawer she selected a white tee shirt and 
pulled it over her head. She shook her breasts beneath it 
and laughed again. Then she went to look for a brush.

"Ouch." 

The brush hung up in her tangles. 

"Ouch, ouch ouch!" she complained. She dropped her hands 
in disgust. "This is impossible." 

Twisting her hair into a rope, she coiled and secured it 
at the top of her head with a pin. Finding two barrettes 
in a plastic bowl, she placed one either side of her 
head, securing the loose strands. She tucked the rest 
behind her ears. 

"There," she said, feeling a bit of satisfaction. "Now 
let's find something to drink." 

She headed back to the kitchen. 

A telephone ring.

In the ethereal silence, it was impossible to tell from 
where the sound came. She ran to the front door and out 
onto the porch, then down to the sidewalk. She turned 
back and forth.

"Come on, Jill," she warned. "It could be anywhere."

But that wasn't true. It could only be from the path. 

Turning slowly around, she pegged the sound as coming 
from somewhere behind, maybe the next block over. But 
just as she started to run, the ringing stopped.

"Fuck."

For a long time she stood there and fumed. Her fists 
opened and clenched. "Come, on," she finally said. 
"You're not really alone. You're only alone here."

The destruction, so far as she knew, extended only as far 
as the wave traveled. Judging from the precipitous drop 
in speed, she believed it stopped at the ship's edge. 
Millions of people were still alive and well. They had to 
be.

Returning inside, she went to the telephone on the 
kitchen wall and picked it up. Then she put it back down. 
There was no dial tone. 

Her cell phone was where? she wondered. In her backpack 
at home? No! It was here in her blazer! 

Sprinting to the bedroom, Jill snatched her blazer off 
the floor, and fumbled the Nokia out of the front pocket. 
Pressing the power button with her right thumb, she 
waited for the display to light. Nothing happened. The 
battery was dead. 

Of course, the battery's dead, stupid. It's been six 
years! 

Jill tried to strangle the cell phone. Then she sat down 
on the edge of the mattress and, for a time, became 
catatonic. Her face grew slack and her mouth hung open 
and saliva trickled out the left side. She hummed 
tunelessly to herself.

What was it her had mother asked? Where were you last 
night?

Oh, right, Jill remembered. Missy Pupchak's.

Missy Pupchak's indeed.

Two months before, right in the middle of an IM session 
on AOL, her best friend Krystal's old Macintosh had died. 
Her father replaced it two days later with a new Compaq 
Presario--an early birthday surprise--and Krystal was 
back online. (With the same boy from Colorado, of 
course.) But no one had expected the digital camera. 

"It was there," her dad admitted. "But I didn't know it 
was part of the deal." 

Krystal barely gave the camera a thought, packing it away 
in a dresser drawer. Then her Colorado boyfriend 
mentioned web casts, and Krystal mentioned the camera.

"YOU HAVE A CAMERA?" her online friend said. "HOOK IT 
UP!"

Krystal hooked the camera up.

Their last three times online, both girls had stripped 
down to panties and bra's. They had posed and gotten 
silly and giggled a lot. Two nights before, after 
repeated badgering from "TeddyIam", Krystal had removed 
her brassiere. She kept her breasts covered with one 
hand, typing with the other. Jill came very close to 
going topless herself, but embarrassment had saved her. 
She had, however, mooned the camera.

It was this activity Jill feared her mother would 
discover, not some stupid high jinks at the mall. 

Like an automaton, Jill got up and placed the cell phone 
on the dresser. She went into the bathroom to pee. 
Raising the toilet lid, she started to lower her panties, 
then stopped. There was no water. 

Well, she shrugged, I only have to pee. 

Then she realized this was not true, and swore in 
frustration. 

Pooping in a dry toilet would smell really bad. 

And she had no idea how long she'd be stuck here. And she 
wasn't going outside, not in the dark. There had to be 
another way.

Beneath the kitchen sink, Jill found a plastic bucket 
filled with car wash supplies. She dumped the contents 
into the sink, then, mumbling under her breath, placed 
the bucket on the floor. She removed her panties and 
squatted.

"Paper, stupid!" she remembered.

In the corner was a round kitchen table. Atop it were 
ancient flowers in a clear glass vase, a salt and 
peppershaker, and a holder full of napkins. "Thank you," 
she said, grabbing the holder. She returned to the pail 
and squatted once again. As urine rang out against the 
plastic bottom, Jill said, "This sucks on a wholly 
different level," and then her insides blew out. 

"Ohhhhh!" she moaned, clutching her belly.

It was a horridly messy affair. And very noisy. Stinky, 
as well.

After wiping herself, Jill slipped back into her panties 
and carried the bucket to the back door. She decided 
right by the door was the best idea; if her belly-rumble 
was any clue. 

"Jesus," she said. "I feel like a pioneer."

Suddenly, she felt watched.

Backing through the door, Jill looked nervously around. 
There were trees and bushes everywhere; lots of places to 
hide. She looked at the rear of the house across the 
fence, at the darkened windows. She looked at the 
darkening sky. The light was nearly gone. Standing behind 
the door, she cautiously called out: "Is anyone there?"

Her voice, sounding timid and weak, invited rape. Jill 
slammed the door and locked it. 

"There," she said, softly. "That's better."

Inside the kitchen pantry, Jill had discovered half a 
dozen white candles and a supply of matches. Carrying 
them back to the kitchen table, she lit a candle and held 
the flame over a saucer, allowing wax to build up. Then 
she planted the candle upright.

She looked around the flickering kitchen. She was thirsty 
as hell.

"How about the cabinets?" she said. "Let's check there."

Checking next to the refrigerator first, she found baking 
utensils, but nothing to drink. 

The next cabinet was just as uncooperative: Tupperware 
bowls and other plastic ware. 

The third cabinet yielded pay dirt. On the lower shelf 
was a freshly opened case of Dasani bottled water. 
Grabbing a bottle, Jill whooped in delight and twisted 
off the cap. She upended it and gulped the contents down, 
emptying it without a stop. Then she grabbed a second 
bottle and emptied it just as fast. It made her belly 
ache. 

"Easy," she cautioned, wiping her mouth. "Once was plenty 
enough." Dribbles dotted her shirt and she brushed them 
lightly away. 

Removing the case and setting it on the table, Jill 
counted the bottles. There were twenty-one. They might 
have been made from gold. 

Hide it, her greedy half said. 

Hide it from whom?

Whomever might be sneaking around.

Jill looked at the widow. "No one is sneaking around," 
she said.

But she shivered all the same.

Leaving the case where it sat, Jill lit another candle 
and made a circuit of the house. She checked every window 
and every door, lowering the blinds and closing all the 
drapes. But she felt no safer.

"Come on," she said. "It's just the creeps. You've been 
creeped before."

But no one had ever been creeped like this.

Thank God there was no basement, she thought.

Back in the kitchen, Jill went to the counter and opened 
the drawers. She found a Bic lighter, a flashlight, two 
packages of D cell batteries--which despite an expiration 
date of June 2004, held a full charge--and a package of 
AA batteries. There were also a pair of scissors. She 
placed everything on the counter. 

Had she seen a Walkman, tonight? She had, hadn't she? In 
the children's bedroom. 

Returning to the bedroom, Jill found the yellow case 
sitting atop the dresser. It was a combination CD player 
and AM/FM radio. The batteries were dead, of course, but 
she had more. "Forgive me," she said to the missing 
children. "I'll bring it back."

In the kitchen, she removed the batteries and dropped 
them in the trash. Installing two fresh ones, she turned 
the case over and put the headphones over her ears. She 
thumbed on the switch. 

Static.

Moving the tuner up the dial, she found a station with 
someone shouting Spanish. The next station blared a 
staccato, repeating signal. Two more stations did the 
same. 

"We repeat..." a man suddenly said.

Jill hurriedly turned back the dial.

"... in or near a large city--" there was a loud burst of 
static "--not delay! Saucers are approaching Richmond, 
Virginia, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Columbus, Ohio. 
Norfolk, Virginia and Cleveland, Ohio have just been 
destroyed. So will Atlanta, Georgia, very shortly. All 
the major cities--I repeat--all the major American 
cities, New York, Washington, Chicago, Los Angeles, have 
all been destroyed. Smaller cites and installations are 
now being targeted. Bands of alien attackers are 
assaulting any large concentration of refugees; drive 
with your headlights off and stay to the back roads. Keep 
your radio tuned to this station for further 
announcements. Do not, I repeat, do not, attempt to 
contact civil or military authorities. They have their 
hands full. Take whatever food and water you can find, 
and head for a rural area. Do not take pets. I repeat, do 
not take family pets! Those showing up at refugee centers 
with animals will have those animals taken away and 
destroyed. This is by direct order of the central 
military command!"

Jill could take no more. Ripping off the earphones, she 
threw the Walkman into a corner. If it broke, she didn't 
care. Grabbing the candle, she ran to the bedroom and 
threw herself across the bed. The candle flickered, but 
did not go out. She shoved the saucer onto the bedside 
table, then wrapped herself into the bedspread. Curled in 
a fetal position, thumb in her mouth, she began to hum.
Time passed. The humming faded and her breathing took on 
the slow, regular cadence of sleep. Outside, peering 
through a small chink in the blinds, a pair of blue eyes 
watched Jill's unmoving form. They watched for a very 
long time. Then, with a look of guilt and intense 
longing, the blue eyes went away.
Jill slept the remainder of the night.

Continued in part 3...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 19