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Then the machine starts to hum. In less than a minute a medium sized pouch pops out of the atm. Clearly labelled ‘compostable’ in the top with a barcode to scan at the bottom. That happens three more times before I have all of my custom made clothes.
I rush out of the cubicle to find Ma’xon. He is right where I left him, still talking to the guy. With one arm full of bags, I can only grab him a little bit but it works. I squeeze his side hard. This was utterly life changing, even more so than finding out humans aren't alone in the universe.
Clothes are made exactly to fit my body.
“Look, Der’lo, you know I’m not really the one who takes care of this anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but from his tone I don’t think he gets it. “Let me ring you up, so you can get outta here.”
This part of our shopping experience is extremely normal. But the thrill of walking out of the store with a bag full of clothes isn’t lost on me. My chest feels lighter. It’s like some fear that I was used to hanging over every aspect of my daily life has finally been lifted. I can see the world and my place in it with a different potential now.
“That was so fucking amazing, can we keep shopping?” I ask. When I look up, Ma’xon is grinning from ear to ear. All his shark teeth are showing and I just think I could kiss him until I pass out.
“Of course, pup.” He takes the bag from my wrist and wraps his free arm around my shoulder. “You’ve got a whole closet to fill.”
I never understood the shopping addiction thing. If anything I’m firmly a person who gets buyer’s remorse. That odd guilt from spending money that knots up my stomach until I return whatever I’ve bought. Many trips to the mall back home were spent hyperventilating in my car, rationalising that I did in fact need a new pair of jeans because the single pair I owned had a thigh seam blow out.
But today, I have none of that remorse. Not a single drop of it. Every time a clerk rings us up, Ma’xon taps a clear screen device that’s about credit card size to till and asks me if I’m sure that’s all I want. As if the bags and bags of clothes weighing his arms down aren’t a burden, or too much spoiling. He kept insisting if I like the design of something, I should get it in all the colours I like.
Axilarian clothes are all humidity proof, with lots of mesh panelling to allow gills to breathe. I spend a whole three seconds deciding that I don’t care if I look pale. I’m living on a planet that is always hot, I’m gonna show some skin. A regular outfit here consists of a few pieces, kind of like on Earth. Tops, bottoms, sandals; totally regular stuff you’d buy to fill your closet.
I’m glad I didn’t have to try these on in store either. I don’t want Ma’xon to miss out on seeing the fashion show. Which he would have at every store we were at this afternoon. At least one person would stop him to ask about something to do with the colony or an upcoming senate hearing. He’d nod at me to silently tell me to go pick out what I want, and only when I was ready to check out did people finally get the message to stop chewing his fin off about work he has retired from.
They know heisretired, right?
“I vote,” he murmurs, leaning over so the other passengers on the tram don’t overhear us, “that when we get home, we order in for dinner. I introduce you to the best movie of all time. Then late night swim.”
I purse my lips, pretending like I am thinking very hard about what sounds like a perfect evening to me. “Do we get dessert?”
“If I ever say no to dessert, I need you to hang me out to dry,” he says.
Eagerly, we launch into a discussion about what the best desserts are and I’m happy to forget about anyone else existing. When we arrive back home, there is a small basket overflowingwith flowers and a small invitation. I carry it into the kitchen while Ma’xon drops my shopping in the bedroom.
“To the happy couple, love Pri’za,” I shout. “P.S. Drag Ma’xon to lunch on Cortus so the three of us can get to know one another.”
I hear the groan almost instantly, and my mate sustains the long drawn out noise until he has me pressed into the counter.
“What’s Cortus?"
“Like Tuesday, it’s just a day of the week,” he says.
“So why are you groaning about lunch with your sister?”
“Because she will want to talk about politics.” He nuzzles into my shoulder, kissing the one lingering bite mark I have from the frenzy. “Her mate, Al’dren, has a very firm ‘no work outside of business hours’ policy.”
“I mean…”
“Yes, it’s very good of him, isn’t it?” Ma’xon teases, tickling my sides until I’m wiggling myself onto the counter top. “Now, let me introduce you to the Axilarian version of Thai food.”
We order enough food to feed a small army. There are towers of metal takeaway bowls called tiffin tin stacked up around us. Apparently those are a traditional Indian lunch box that Axilarians have adapted. After we wash them, we set them outside for someone to collect in the morning. If it weren’t for our leftover noodles tucked away into the fridge, it would be like we’d never eaten.
The taste of new fruit is still on my lips. For dessert, we ordered some kind of sweet fruit filled Jell-o that looked more like art and less like food. Watching Ma’xon’s sharp teeth cut through it was almost heart-breaking, but once it was ruined I was happy to dive in. The exact fruit comparison escapes me, but I could have eaten a whole one of those all by myself.
As the miles on end credits roll, it doesn’t escape me how domestic everything feels. I’ve been on an alien planet for aweek, with most of that time being spent in bed having endless amounts of orgasms. With Ma’xon, it’s easy to slip into the groove of it all. Laying here on the couch with my legs draped over his lap is what I dreamed about at home. This natural affection and cohabitation.
I want to spend the next twenty-five years, at least, doing this. Maybe not shopping everyday because that’s insane, but doing activities together without stress. I don’t want either of us to have to stress about deadlines or needing to be somewhere else. Our focus should just be on the pleasure of each other’s company.
“How ya feeling?” I ask him.
