Over The Rainbow

“God, I hate this job…”

Marcy Grey, lead secretary of the United Earth Immigration Services’ sub-sub-department for extra-terrestrial immigration, hit her head against her desk, moaning. On her computer screen were the latest updates for the application for Lawful Permanent Residence on Planet Earth and its Associated Territories. Based on the antiquated US Green Card, this document had been used over the last fifty-seven years to handle the trickle of aliens emigrating from the outer reaches of the galaxy to Mars, the Moon and of course, Terra Firma. Most extra-terrestrials considered Earth too provincial to be worth emigrating too, but ever since the arrival, or rather, crash-landing, of the Beglox Interstellar Cruise Ship and Temp Service for Itinerant Space Travelers, the Green Card had become a hot item amongst the members of the alien sentient species stranded in the solar system. Seven hundred sixty-two thousand, nine hundred eighty-one non-human creatures now needed homes and jobs, but the government declared only the desirables would be allowed to stay. Everyone was screaming over the sudden influx of the alien population, most of which were from species previously unknown. Somehow, it had become Marcy’s job to interview the most bizarre specimens and process their applications for Lawful Permanent Residence, aka the Green Card.

Except according to the message on Marcy’s screen, the Green card wasn’t really green anymore.

“Append light blue card to applications for aliens with advanced engineering and technical skills (desirable)… append beige card for aliens with advanced artistic and cultural skills (also desirable)… append burnt orange card for aliens with exceptional culinary skills but cannibalistic tendencies (desirable under certain conditions)… append neon pink card for aliens with multiple genitalia and abnormal sexual preferences (not desirable under any circumstances)…”

She hit her head on the desk again. So now she had to assess who was desirable and who wasn’t, in addition to processing their paperwork? Great. She knew jack about engineering and art; she prayed to god she didn’t run across any cannibals, even if they could cook; and how the hell was she supposed to determine that last one? Turn over the alien in question and take a look? She shuddered. The non-stop freak show that had become her job was so not fun these days.

There was a knock at her door.

“Ms. Grey?”

Marcy lifted her head at the sound of a musical voice. A really musical voice, that is. It spoke her name in three part harmony, giving a little trill on the ‘R’ in her name.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

She tried not to cringe as she said that last bit. Helping people used to be the fun part of her job. She had loved assisting the occasional extra-terrestrial visitor in securing a home-sweet-home on Earth. They had been exotic, but not too exotic. Just like ordinary people, really, only with pointy ears or ridges on their foreheads and a charming off-world accent. But what walked through her door these days was often so strange she couldn’t relate. One species was little more than a bag of stinky green slime with two brains and a vast collection of fart jokes. Another looked and acted like a large boulder with a fondness for kittens. Just yesterday she’d spent several hours interviewing what looked like a rubber tree plant… and then discovered it actually was a rubber tree plant, left in her office by Feldman, the department practical joker. But how the hell was she supposed to know? Every day brought something stranger and stranger into her purview, and today was going to be no exception. In response to her query about help, the office door swung open and in skipped a scarlet-skinned creature with four arms, three mouths, and hair that made Marcy think of a menagerie of psychedelic balloon animals. The alien wore a black neck-tie decorated with flying pink pigs and a tie-dyed jacket that hung just below its hips. It had nice legs, Marcy noted ruefully, but no pants. She cringed again as the creature pulled up a chair and perched by her desk.

“Ms. Grey!” it sang, and grinned at her broadly with its three mouths. “It is my delight to see and speak with you today. I am Royjavaxilogamax Geelustrious Bivomaniaduplex and I would like to apply for–”

“Lawful Permanent Residence,” Marcy finished with the creature. The addition of her groaning voice to the alien’s turned the exuberant three-part harmony into a sort of dirge.

“Yes, yes,” the alien twittered. “So lovely to be here, on Earth. Your planetary anthem is very pretty.”

The creature broke out into song. Its balloon animal hair wriggled in time to Lynard Skynard’s Free Bird.

“Okay, yes, thank you, I get it. You like Earth and want to stay here. However, Mister… What was your name again?

“Royjavaxilogamax Geelustrious Bivomaniaduplex.”

“Okay, Mister Bivomania… Bivomundania… whatever. Before I can process your application… Uh, where is your application?”

The creature reached into the tie-dyed jacket and pulled out a copy of Form IA-2132-6. All twenty-five pages were filled out in crayon.

“It’s very colorful, like me, yes?”


Marcy set the form on her desk and rubbed at her temples. “Technically, this form is supposed to be filled out in pen.”

“Yes, pen is lovely too!” The alien pulled out another copy of the form, this time filled out in ballpoint pen — twenty different colors of ballpoint pen that is, including six metallic gel inks.

Marcy took the application and gritted her teeth. “Thank you Mister… Whatever your name is. Before I can begin processing your application, there are a few questions I need to ask to determine whether you might qualify for residence.”

“Yes, yes! I like questions!”

“Good, then this should go quickly then. First question, do you have any engineering or technical skills?”

“I like to experiment with Legos.”

“Legos? You mean the little toy brick things kids play with?”

“Yes. They are very tasty.”

Well that takes care of two questions, Marcy thought, putting big red Xs in the negative column for engineering and culinary skills.

“What about performing arts?” she asked. “You seem to like music. Are you a professional singer, perhaps?”

The alien cocked its head, thinking. “No,” it trilled. “I don’t sing very well.”

Marcy gaped. “But you came in here singing. And you sang Free Bird! In multiple voices, no less!”

“No, not singing. That is… what do you call it?” The creature tapped its foot, which Marcy noted was as shapely as its long red legs.

“Singing?” she suggested.

“Orgasm!” the alien exclaimed. “Yes, I was so happy to see you I have an orgasm on the spot.”

“You… what? Right there? In my office chair?”

Marcy felt her face grow as red as the alien’s. She shrank back, wondering how much paperwork she was going to have to fill out to get a new chair for her office. Would the government even believe her if she told them why she needed a new chair?

“Yes, yes, yes! I have good time coming to see you,” the alien sang.

“Oh. My. God.” Marcy covered her face. This had to be the weirdest, most awful interview she’d done yet. Was Feldman behind this somehow? Oh just finish it and get rid of this guy already! she told herself.

“Moving along,” Marcy said, fixing her gaze squarely on the screen. “Mister whatever-your-name is, how many sets of… oh, I can’t believe I’m going to ask this…” She swallowed hard and blurted out the question. “How many sets of genitals do you have?”



Marcy spun around to face the alien. It uncrossed its legs, giving Marcy a glimpse of what was between its thighs. It looked like another colorful collection of balloon animals, only in miniature. The one that looked like an elephant leaking chocolate syrup from its trunk gave Marcy a serious case of the willies. She suddenly didn’t care how much paperwork it took, she was definitely replacing that chair.

“Forty-two,” she repeated, struggling to stay calm. “Well, that could be a problem for your application…”

“Really? Why?”

“Well, you see Mr. Bivlomano-whatsit, the government is currently not accepting applications from aliens with multiple genitalia and deviant sexual practices.”

The alien pressed the fingertips of its four hands together. “Define ‘deviant sexual practices.'”

“Well…” She looked back at the updated guidelines on her screen, but didn’t find anything helpful there. “I guess that would be anything different from what humans do.”

“I see. And what do humans do for sex?”

Marcy blanched. “I really can’t get into detail on that—”

“Why not? Do you lack experience in human sexual behavior?”

“What?! No! Of course not. I’ve had boyfriends. Hell, I was married for six years–”

“But not anymore?” the alien asked, cutting her off.

“Well, no, not that it’s any of your business. We got divorced.”


“What does it matter why? We’re interviewing you here, to decide whether you get to stay or go. My personal life certainly has nothing to do with that.”

Marcy turned back to her computer, nose up in the air. “Forty-two sets of genitalia!” she muttered. “Honestly, that’s absurd. No species needed that many reproductive organs.”

“No,” the alien agreed. “But they are fun to collect.”

Well that certainly made Marcy stop in her tracks.

“You collect them?”

The alien nodded. “I have collected two sets of penetrational organs,” it said, using two hands to point to the balloon animals frolicking on its head and between its legs.

“How… how… how…”

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t complete the question, but the alien seemed to understand anyway.

“My first few were gifts,” it said. “Given to me upon my ascension into biological maturity. Later on, I became interested in trading. I like to go to swap meets. Many interesting items can be found there.”

One of the organs near the alien’s hips seemed to wink at Marcy. She squeaked in dismay, then started as she realized she recognized the organ in question.

“Is that… a human penis?”

The alien smiled and angled it hips to give her a better view. “Yes! Very simple in design and function, but produces the most pleasing sensations. Would you like to try it? I think it likes you.”

It did indeed seem to ‘like’ her. The swollen purple head leaked semen, all over the alien’s shapely thigh and Marcy’s precious office chair.

“I really shouldn’t,” she began.

“Oh, well then how about this one,” the alien said, and it plucked one of the protruding organs on its head and placed it into Marcy’s hand. Before she could scream, it darted up her arm, nuzzled against her neck, and then disappeared down the front of her dress. She shrieked and smacked at it, trying to stop its downward path, but the maverick organ zipped below her waistline and quickly found itself a new home.

“Oh my god! What is it?! What is this thing?!”

She yanked up her dress to see the organ now standing erect from her pelvis. It had planted itself just above the waistband of her panties, melding its brilliant aqua-colored flesh seamlessly into the pale ivory of her skin.

“That is an Orluxian krupla. Very sturdy. Good for athletic encounters. Sensitive too. See?”

The alien reached out and stroked the organ with long fingers. An explosion of pleasure blossomed inside Marcy and she slumped back into her chair, moaning.


The alien nodded and stroked her again. Marcy writhed in her seat, pushing into its hand. It felt amazing! And every time the alien touched her, she experienced the sensations in shades of the most orgasmic colors—orange and purple, teal and red, marigold and neon pink!

Oh damn, neon pink. Her head lolled back to the screen. Just like the card she was supposed to hand out to Mister I-can’t-pronounce-his-name-but-he’s-obviously-a-sexual-deviant. She pushed the alien’s hand away.

“I’m… sorry,” she gasped. “This is really… too strange… the United Earth government just… doesn’t have room… for something like this… all those organs… and those colors!”

The alien frowned. “No room for color? Of any kind?”

“No,” Marcy said, struggling to rearrange her skirt over the throbbing organ between her legs. My god, was she stuck with that thing forever now? “No room at all. Not for pink, or purple, not even aqua!” she exclaimed as she tried to tuck the stubbornly erect organ into her panties.

“What about grey?” the alien asked slyly, tapping at her name plate. “Does your government have room for someone grey, like you? Because if they don’t, I certainly do.”

The alien pulled open its jacket to reveal what looked like several fleshy openings along its torso. Some were just simple puckered sphincters, but others were decorated with multi-hued rills of flesh. They reminded Marcy of a flower garden on a sunny spring day. Her Orluxian krupla lunged at the blossoms on display, dragging her willy-nilly over the desk and into the alien’s lap.

The krupla plunged itself into a cavity surrounded by lacy orange frills, sending shockwaves through Marcy’s body. She cried out, overwhelmed again by the colors of her building orgasm and by the sudden realization that the sensations from the krupla were also feeding into her native sex organs. Fluid seeped between her labia. The alien stroked her damp panties, sighing.

“Should I fill your orifice?” it asked.

The krupla plunged again and Marcy shrieked. “Yes! Fill it! Now!”

With deft hands, the alien stripped away Marcy’s dress and tore off her panties. She felt several bulbous heads press against her now gaping pussy. One of them wormed its way in and Marcy began to roll her hips in a circular motion – up, forward, down and back—to accommodate the organ she pushed into the alien as well as the one it pushed into her. As she moved, a few of the penetrating organs on the alien shimmied their way from its body to hers, and she found herself grinding and bumping in all sorts of strange ways as she inserted tabs A, B, C, L, N, and Q into slots G, R, O, X, Y, and D. She thrust her hands into the mass of pulsating organs on the alien’s head and squeezed. The alien sang Beethoven’s Ode to Joy while his balloon animal hair sprayed her down with a cascade of fluids that smelled and tasted like all thirty-one flavors of a Baskin-Robbins.

Marcy’s own orgasms hit one right after the other, sending her rocketing into the stratosphere and beyond. She sailed through every color of the rainbow, squealing in ecstasy, and landed, exhausted but smiling, in the alien’s welcoming arms.

“Won’t you be, please won’t you be?” the alien sang. “Please won’t you be my neighbor?”

Marcy giggled and looked up. “Hi neighbor!”

It took several minutes to disentangle herself from her new friend. Some of the organs went back to the alien but a few, including the aqua-colored krupla, stayed with her.

“Gifts,” the alien explained. “For your time.”

“Oh, government employees really aren’t supposed to accept gifts over a thirty-five credit limit,” she began.

“Ah? But I can’t take them back. They suit you. And besides, what price would you put on them?”

Marcy thought that over. “Um, I don’t think there is a market for alien sex organs right now. So I guess we’re okay!”

The alien nodded. “Good, good. I hope you will enjoy them. I wish I could stay to share more, and collect more. I would love to have a human vagina. But if my application is no good…”

“Oh! Your application!” Marcy crawled back over her desk and started typing furiously. “I know you say you can’t sing, but I honestly think you qualify for the ‘advanced artistic and cultural skills’ category. I mean, really, Ode to Joy? Plus you can make people orgasm in colors! That’s got to be an art. Now we just need to fill out your name… What was it again?”

The alien straightened his jacket and smiled. “Royjavaxilogamax Geelustrious Bivomaniaduplex!”

“Damn! That won’t fit in the name field. Too many characters. Do you mind if we shorten it?”

The alien shrugged. “To what?”

Marcy chewed on her lip and thought. Then she grinned.

“Oh, that would be too perfect…”

She tapped at her keyboard, filling in the name field. When she hit the print key, the computer spit out a beige card. She handed it to her new friend.

“Congratulations and welcome to Earth, Mr. Roy G. Biv!”

© 2009 Helen E. H. Madden. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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