How Not to Date an Alien
Chapter one, Identify your Alien
One must always determine what type of alien one is trying to date. It would not bode well for you if you chose a flesh eating Scrimtat from Veta Belga . That would give a whole new meaning to the term dinner date. As these creatures are very dangerous, it is best to avoid them at all costs.
“You have antenna.”
Kilana peered closely at the man who was resting rather conformably and naked, beside her on her bed. Somehow, he made the huge California King feel like a college dorm twin.
“And you do not,” he helpfully pointed out, with a black lipped grin that somehow made his spiky white teeth look all the more deadly.
And of all things, his long black hair was tied back into a long braid that seemed to snake around his firm pale naked body. His eyes were a solid black too, and she was sure that if she weren’t so hung over, she would probably be screaming bloody murder right about now.
And the man was naked.
There was only one explanation for his phenomena. She was still drunk.
“I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten,” she whispered, her head not willing to take even the shock of her own voice raised above a normal conversational tone. “And when I open them, you are not going to be here. Do you understand?”
He shook sadly, pouting a bit. But she hardened her heart. She didn’t have time for cute little imaginary beings in her bed. She was a newly divorced woman, and she had things to do.
Like maybe wake up sober and get her divorce papers framed and gilded.
She peered at him again and had to blink fast and swallow hard. He had the biggest eyes she had ever seen. Those large liquid black eyes were solid; there was no white to be had there at all.
The whites appeared that all the white seemed to have leaked out into his pale skin. It was kind of a molted silver and white, rather uncommon but certainly not too abnormal for a figment.
But his head nodding was making her dizzy.
“Don’t nod,” she added swallowing again, holding onto a moan with the persistence f a clinging vine of ivy. “You are making me sea sick. God, you would think that my own figment would not be so monochromatic as to cause sea sickness. I thought I had more imagination.”
So she closed her eyes, inhaled softly, exhaled long and started counting.
“One figment two many. Three reasons to never drink again four any reason. Five senses going crazy and six is the devils number to remind me to stick to seven heavens number, unless it is the number of tequila shots. I should not have eight the worm thing last night and nine martinis are more than enough, especially at ten dollars a glass.”
She opened her eyes, but the very pale and very monochromatic creature was still lying next to her in bed.
“You are still here,” she moaned, dropping her head back onto the pillows and peeling one eye open to stare at him balefully.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, before reaching out with one finger, one finger with the longest black fingernail she had ever seen. “And I will be here for a while.”
He tapped her on the nose and she knew her eyes were going crossed as she stared at it, but that was one awesomely sharp looking talon.
“Doing what?” she asked, wondering if it was insanity to talk to an obviously drug induced creature from her boring imagination.
Maybe someone slipped her Special K. Ketamine was said to produce very believable hallucination in users. Maybe someone had slipped her some and had their wicked way with her prone helpless body.
Then again, maybe not.
She thought about it for a second, and none of her girl parts seemed particularly sore. Her anus was fine and her Va-jay-jay appeared normal and unused as usual. No odd taste in her mouth, other than the stale beer and regret—
“I am hunting.”
“Yeah,” she scrunched her nose and thought for a moment. “That makes sense. Hunting — in my bed — while being totally naked. Yes, that makes perfect sense.”
He remained silent and smiling, showing off that mouth filled with fangs.
“Okay, no it doesn’t. “ she rolled her eyes, and then winced at the lancing pain in her head. “What exactly are you supposed to be hunting in my bed at—“she glanced out of the window, noting it was still night, “O’dark-thirty? Tell me that Mr. Monochromatic figment of my imagination.”
“I am not a figment,” he stopped smiling. “And my coloring is very nice for my people. It is considered very attractive.”
“I’ve hurt my figments feelings,” she groaned, rolling over and closing her eyes again in an attempt to make him go away. But when she opened her eyes, he was still there and waiting to speak.
“I don’t have feelings, in the way that you mean,” he pouted prettily.
“Of course not,” she allowed, wondering when she actually slipped around the bed into insanity.
“And I am not a figment. I am a Scrimtat from Veta Belga.”
“Scrintat, sure,” she spoke around a yawn. “I can tell by your very black lips and your very black hair.”
“My tongue is black too,” he grinned. “See?” and he stuck out one of the longest black forked tongue this side of a freak show.
“I can see why I dreamed you up,” her voice went thready. “Each fork in your tongue operates individually?”
She had to know. There were so many things she could imagine him doing with that, the clitoral pinch being just tone of them.
In response, he wiggled each side then closed them in a pinching manner.
Oh yeah! Now that’s what she was talking about!
“Sweet,” she decided. “Good for your all over clitoral stimulation needs. Now if your dick matches your tongue–”
She could only hope! Really! If she was going to dream up naked men, then his carpet had better match his drapes, so to speak.
He slid back and tugged at his braid, showing off a thick ringed cock about the thickness of those novelty dildo’s one gives away at bachelorette parties. And it was solid black like his tongue and his lips. The four ribbed rings that surrounded the sloping head was a nice touch she congratulated herself on imagining.
“I make good figments,” she grinned, then winched as her head began to pound. “I wonder if it’ll all fit?”
“I am not a figment,” he closed his legs and repeated, one antenna dropping a bit as he sniffed at her.
“Okay, imaginary adult-friend.”
“I am alien to your planet and I have come hunting.”
“Okay,” she snorted. “I’ll bite, you crazy hallucination, figment, whatever. If you are an alien, what happened to the anal probe? But anus feels just fine.”
“You are thinking of the Greens,” he sighed. “Odd creatures, like you can find anything in a humans digestive tract other than the wastes of what they just consumed.”
“So what are you hunting?” she demanded, wondering if the drugs had driven her to insanity.
“Humans,” he leered before he licked his lips and fixing his gaze onto her body. “I am hunting humans.”
“Right,” she snorted, trying not to laugh despite her hang over. “You are such an entertaining figment, sorry,” she raised one hand in a placating manner. “Sorry, you are an alien, right?” Shaking her head she rolled her eyes as she settled back into her bed, ready for some sleep. “And the only human you see fit to hunt is a freshly divorced forty year old woman who just dumped two hundred thirty pounds of dead weight and needs to shed about ten more. Try again, imaginary alien. I know you are a figment because there are much more probable females out there. So I am going to close my eyes and when I open them, again, you will not be here.”
And then the pale bastard went and did something that almost made her wet her panties.
He rose up, well floated upright and hovered over the bed.
Suddenly the urge to vomit dissolved as she came to the sudden realization that hallucinations rarely floated.
And if they started floating, she would most certainly not feel the long black braid that smacked her in the face, smelling of vanilla musk and lemon.
She blinked and attempted to sit up, her mouth dropping open as he rolled over so that he was floating directly above her, facing her, and those black lips had parted showing her some suddenly dangerous looking teeth.
“Humans?” she squeaked her flight or flight response dissolving as he reached out and ran a finger over her face, closing her mouth before his tongue slid out and ran along the side of her face.
“Tasty, he purred, his forked snaking back into his mouth.
And then something poked her in the belly.
Oh look, she thought, looking down at the dark erection that swelled and thickened until it was kissing her navel with its slanted head. The taste of me makes him hard. Or is it that its supper time-
She looked up once more into those glassy black eyes and then the world, like her conciseness, fled.
One Reply to “Count Down to Alien from Changeling Press”
sounds wonderful, as your stories are always
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