How Not to Date an Alien

  How Not to Date an Alien

  Stephanie Burke

  Chapter One

  One must always determine what type of alien one is trying to date. It would not bode well for you as a human 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.

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  “You have antennas.”

  Kilana peered closely at the man who was resting rather comfortably 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 made his spiky white teeth look all the more deadly.

  And, of all things, his long black hair was tied back into a braid that seemed to snake around his firm, pale body. His eyes were a solid black, too, and she was sure 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 this phenomenon. 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 to a normal conversational tone.

  “And when I open them, you are not going to be here. Do you understand?”

  He nodded his head sadly, pouting a bit. But she hardened her heart. She didn’t have time for 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 eyes were solid black; there was no white at all.

  It appeared that all the white seemed to have leaked out into his pale skin. It was kind of a molten silver, rather uncommon but certainly not too abnormal for a figment.

  But his head nodding was making her dizzy.

  “Don’t nod.” She swallowed again, holding onto a moan with the persistence of a clinging vine of ivy. “You’re making me seasick. God, you’d think that my own figment wouldn’t be so monochromatic as to cause seasickness. 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 devil’s number to remind me to stick to seven, heaven’s 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’re still here,” she moaned, dropping her head back onto the pillows.

  “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 crossing as she stared at his finger, 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 had slipped her Special K. Ketamine was said to produce very believable hallucinations 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 va-jay-jay felt normal and unused as usual. No odd taste in her mouth, other than 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 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 winced at the lancing pain in her head. “What exactly are you supposed to be hunting in my bed at —” She glanced out 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 figment’s feelings.” She groaned, rolled over and closed 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 had actually slipped around the bend into insanity.

  “And I am not a figment. I am a Scrimtat from Veta Belga.”

  “Scrimtat, sure,” she spoke around a yawn. “I can tell by your very black lips and your very black hair.”

  “My tongue is black, too. See?” And he stuck out 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 one 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, showing off a thick, ringed cock about the thickness of those novelty dildos 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 were a nice touch she congratulated herself on imagining.

  “I make good figments.” She grinned, then winced as her head began to pound.

  “I wonder if it’ll all fit?”

  “I am not a figment,” he repeated, one antenna drooping 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? My anus feels just fine.”

  “You are thinking of the Greens,” he sighed. “Odd creatures. Like you can find anything in a human’s 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, licking his lips and fixing his gaze on her. “I am hunting humans.”

  “Right.” She tried not to laugh despite her hangover. “You’re such an entertaining figment. Sorry.” She raised one hand in a placating manner. “You’re 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’re a figment of my imagination, because there are much more probable females out there. So I’m 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.

  H
e rose up — well, floated upright — and hovered over the bed.

  The urge to vomit dissolved as she came to the 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. Those black lips had parted, showing her his dangerous-looking teeth.

  “Humans?” she squeaked, her flight or flight response dissolving as he reached out and ran a finger over her cheek, closing her mouth before his tongue slid out and ran along the side of her face.

  “Tasty,” he purred, his forked tongue 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 it’s suppertime —

  She looked up once more look into those glassy black eyes and then the world, like her consciousness, fled.

  Chapter Two

  Gather as much information as you can about your alien. Cultural and societal exchanges are a must for clear and complete understanding… and may provide loopholes for escape if you manage to catch an alien’s attention.

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  When she next opened her eyes, Kilana’s head was no longer pounding. That was a very good thing.

  The bad thing was that soon after she reached a complete state of awareness, she realized that she could not move any of her limbs. That was a bit more than bad, she decided. It was actually kind of scary.

  She tried to lift her head, and was able to, but it was kind of difficult with her limbs spread out and tied to all four corners of the bed.

  She moaned and dropped her head back to some prudently placed pillows and then turned her head to the left. Her heart began to pound, and the bitter taste of fear filled her mouth.

  And of course, there he was, her figment-not-really-a-figment in all his pale, naked glory.

  Really, he was standing there, looking down at her and smiling. His tail of hair wagged behind him, and he leaned forward eagerly, as if waiting for her first words.

  “You — you should put some clothes on.”

  She groaned as the words just slipped out. Did she have a plea for her life or some fancy words that would prevent her from getting eaten? No! She had to comment on his state of undress.

  “Stupid,” she hissed at herself, sighing deeply.

  But all her toes and fingers wiggled, so that meant he wasn’t feasting just yet.

  Who knew that there were actual aliens floating around the city? If she had known, she would have never set foot in that stupid bar. Hell, she never would have stepped foot out of her house.

  “Why are you humans so concerned about the natural state of your bodies?” He threw his hands up as if he were exasperated. “It never ceases to amaze me. Maybe that is why there has never been a successful hunt on your species.” Then his eyes took on an odd glow. “Until now.”

  “So I wasn’t dreaming the hunt part?” She had to keep him talking. Keep him talking, and that would give her time to figure a way out of this before he pulled out a butcher knife and began his lunch in earnest.

  Or used his talons, which scared her worse.

  “No.” He smiled again, those black lips just emphasizing the sharpness of his teeth. “We never make light of the hunt.”

  Hell, how did he chew in the first place? It looked like those choppers would take his tongue clear off. Or maybe that was why his tongue was split.

  “So you’re hunting me?”

  “Have hunted.”

  “So now you’re going to eat me?” She felt tears well up in her eyes at the thought. She had no real family left, just her goofy friends Se and Lena. They would maybe manage to miss her after a few weeks. But it was almost sad that the only thing that really needed her on this planet was her goldfish, and that idiot would not miss her so long as his automatic feeder kept dishing out the flakes.

  “No,” he shook his head up and down.

  “So you are going to eat me?”

  “No.” He nodded again.

  “So why are you saying yes?”

  “I am saying no.” He nodded his head more slowly, as if she were having trouble seeing.

  “You shook your head yes.”

  “Oh!” He smiled wider. “A cultural anomaly. This gesture means no.”

  “Not in any English-speaking country,” she snorted.

  “A quandary solved. I shall endeavor to learn much from you.”

  “Through anal probes?” she hissed, her mind going to all kinds of torture that aliens in movies were capable of.

  “You and the Greens,” he sighed sadly. “What is it about the human digestive tract that fascinates you all so much? I believe that it is bordering on an unhealthy obsession.”

  “So how are you going to learn?” she demanded, a blush going to her face. But come on, everyone thought anal probes when they thought of aliens. “I mean, about us humans. Don’t you do all kinds of weird experiments and shit?”

  “How about I ask?” He licked his lips, and she went cross-eyed as she observed each fork in his tongue lapping at each lip individually.

  “Then you will eat me?”

  “Hmm.” He reached out and ran his finger along her face. His tongue wrapped around his finger before he stuck the whole thing in his mouth and hmmed again, but louder.

  “Well?”

  “Not yet,” he decided.

  “Well, why not?” she asked, kind of affronted. “What are you waiting for?” If he was going to kill and eat her, she just wished he would get it over with.

  “You don’t taste right.”

  “You are correct, sir!” She leapt on that opening with both feet and hands, all twenty fingers and toes, and a set of recently polished teeth. “Humans are tough and gamey and not very good. We taste terrible.”

  “No.” He pulled back and examined her bindings. “That is not totally correct.

  Humans are reported to be very delicious, but only under the correct conditions.”

  “Correct… conditions?” Was she going to be tortured for days before he finally gave in to his hunger for a bloody, gory feast?

  “Yes. You need fattening up.”

  Well, that was a first. She needed fattening up? Kilana thought of all the diets she had tried, all the grapefruit she had pinched her nose to suck down, all the bread she’d avoided upon the pain of love handles and excess body fat, and snorted. Finally she met a man who thought she needed a few more pounds, and he wanted to have her with mint jelly.

  “And you need a better diet. No more high fructose corn syrup,” he decided.

  “Only the best fresh fruits and vegetables and the best cuts of meat from here on out.”

  “Huh?”

  “You humans do so many things to your bodies. There are chemicals in your food. You put chemicals in your hair.” He ran his fingers through her relaxed hair and shook his head. “Tattoos and piercings, and perfumes and —” He broke off and nodded his head almost sadly. “We have to get you in shape for the feasting.” He shook his head again, which she belatedly recalled meant yes. “And we have to get you properly pleasured.”

  “Pleasured?”

  “Yes. The taste of orgasm and external pleasure greatly enhances your flavor.

  You need to be fed and fattened and pleasured until you are ready for tasting.”

  Well, maybe this wasn’t such a bad way to go after all.

  “You don’t have to,” she tried to explain, shaking away any stray thoughts that involved wallowing here and letting him have his way. Any other time, this plan would sound really good. But, no — when faced with being the main course on the dinner tray, this plan sounded rather bizarre.

  “I insist,” he disag
reed. “Not only for my benefit, but the pleasure will enhance your relaxation and in conjunction with a proper diet will make you more tender.”

  “Tender, right. So why am I tied up?”

  “To prevent you from moving too much. You really need to relax and hold onto some calories.” He ran his hand over her, and she belatedly realized that she was dressed in only her comfortable granny panties and a t-shirt. “I already removed the poisons from your body from your night out, and now you need to rest and recover. I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

  “I would feel more comfortable if you let me go,” she wheedled.

  “No.” He leaned over and tested the strength of the — silk scarves? Really? She had silk scarves?

  “Then stop smiling at me!”

  “I am just showing you my desire to consume you.” He pouted a bit. It made his full bottom lip poof out all cute and plump. “I thought you would feel flattered by my obvious desire for you.”

  Obvious, my left butt cheek, she thought, looking down at his impressive but still flaccid cock. “I would feel more flattered if you put some clothing on.”

  Maybe his feasting on her wouldn’t be so bad, she decided as she watched him shift his weight from one side to the other, the muscles in his body straining oh, so perfectly. At least she had something hot to look at.

  But, with a sigh, he rose to his feet and walked over to the open door of her closet, the most perfect ass she had ever seen partially hidden behind his braid. He shot a look at her over one broad shoulder before he began to rifle though her clothes.

  “Humans and your desire for garments,” he grumbled, tossing clothes this way and that. Finally he pulled out a pair of dark track pants. He held them up to his waist and eyed her again before he bent over and pulled them up thick muscular legs and tied them so that they hung low over the cuts at his hips.

  He had no navel, yet, despite that oddity, the man had a body to die for, she thought as she lifted her head to get a good look. Though he was a bit paler than she was used to, paler than any human being she had ever seen, that ass was just damn near perfect, even in tightly stretched track pants.

  She bit her bottom lip as he moved. Each and every muscle bulged and strained as he rose and wiggled his hips. Getting his junk settled, she decided. He tossed his long tail of hair over his shoulder, wrinkled his nose, and moved toward her again on silent, bare feet.