by Anel Viz
When Emmett throws a party, I go. I go because I would spend the evening alone if I didn’t. Just about all my gay friends and the most militant of my gay-friendly straight friends go to Emmett’s parties, and I have a lot of them. They may go for the same reason I do. I don’t mean he throws bad parties. The food is good, the booze plentiful, and the company varied, good looking, and interesting—if you can hear them. If I have a lot of gay friends, Emmett has twice as many, and four times as many as his apartment can hold or ought to hold. I’ve gone to parties there as crowded as the Tokyo subway in rush hour. You may as well drink yourself sick at Emmett’s because your headache won’t go away for two days even if you aren’t hung over. So, before I was in a long-term relationship, I usually left before one with somebody else who couldn’t stand the noise another minute. We left to escape, not so we could have sex, although sometimes we did.
“A place where you try to have a conversation” describes Emmett’s parties to a tee. You have to guess at what someone’s said in order to respond. For example, that night I had no idea what Preston was telling me (assuming he wasn’t just moving his lips and pretending to talk), yet we were standing close enough to rub groins. In fact, we were rubbing groins. We weren’t standing that close in order to rub groins; neither of us was thinking about either of our groins rubbing against each other any more than I was thinking of Cody’s butt, which he kept pressed against mine for the sole reason that we were standing back to back. (Cody is straight.) Unless that wasn’t Cody standing behind me anymore.
What Preston and I were engaged in wasn’t foreplay. No, it was a serious conversation about something or other, though it had finally dawned on me we might not be talking about the same thing although we had been talking for at least ten minutes. So I asked the only sensible question under the circumstances: “What?”
Preston must have read my lips, because his answer fit, more or less, and he must have yelled it at the top of his lungs because I actually heard him, though I doubt anyone else did.
I hadn’t seen Bryce Olson in over a month. Nobody had. If Preston had seen, heard from or had news of Bryce, I wanted to hear about it. But you can’t hear about something unless you can hear. I gestured that we should get away from the noise, and he nodded.
There were only two places we could go and be able to hear each other: the bedroom or the balcony. Either that or leave the party, but it wasn’t even ten o’clock. If we went onto the balcony, we would freeze. It was fifteen degrees outside at most. What would happen if we went in the bedroom was less predictable. We might interrupt an intimate moment. What would happen if we did was equally unpredictable. We might be ignored, bawled out, or invited to participate. The bedroom was our obvious choice. We’d have to go there anyway to get our coats in order to talk on the balcony, and if no intimate moments were in progress, we could talk there.
Two intimate moments were in progress, and none of the five people involved paid us any attention except Sam, who had to shift position to let me retrieve my coat.
“Leaving already, girls?” Emmett asked as we plowed our way past the humanity in his living room. For some reason, Emmett was the one person who didn’t have to yell for you to hear him.
“Just to the balcony,” Preston said.
“For a joint? No one’ll mind if you smoke here.”
“Press wants to tell me something.”
“Oh, I adore secrets!”
“Not a secret, just a little complicated.”
“Oh, I hate complicated! You go and freeze your tush then come back so Auntie Em can warm it for you.”
“We’ll do that.”
As soon as I’d slid the glass door closed behind us, I asked, “What gives, Press? You were saying something about Bryce. Have you heard anything? Do you know where he is?”
He leaned back against the railing and nodded. His expression told me the news wasn’t good.
“You’ve been in touch with him?”
“Sort of. I tried to see him.”
“Tried? What do you mean, ‘tried’?”
“The dude’s gone completely wacko since Ken dumped him. Wouldn’t let me in. Didn’t believe I was me. Wanted to see my ID and then asked how he’d know it wasn’t fake.”
“Jesus. Who the hell did he think you were?”
“How’d he look?”
“I didn’t see him; he never opened the door. Had to hold my stupid driver’s license up to the peep hole.”
“Does Ken know?”
“You think he’d care?”
I turned to look at Ken DeMars through the glass. He was coming on strong to some young guy I didn’t know, dazzling him with his beach-boy beauty, and the guy was lapping it up. “Bryce had to be wacko to get involved with Ken in the first place,” I said.
“Why d’you say that? Weren’t you involved with him?”
“Me involved with Ken? Casual isn’t involved. He was with Bryce for eight months.”
“Eight months! He must be one hell of a fuck.”
“You’ve screwed Bryce?”
“No, Ken screwed me.”
Implying I wouldn’t have gotten involved with Ken was a lie. Bryce had to be a terrific fuck, or at least a better fuck than me. “Sounds to me like someone should see Bryce and help talk him through it,” I said. “Bryce Olson’s a good kid. He deserves better than Ken.”
“So you think you’re better than Ken?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Another lie.
“It’s cold out here. I’m going back inside.”
I was too hung over the next day to deal with Bryce’s craziness. Whether it was his head that needed screwing back on or his ass that just needed screwing, I didn’t feel up to it. I went the day after. I thought I came prepared. I would have been if it was just his ass.
I knocked on his door and got no reply. Then I banged. Still no reply. “Bryce, are you in there?” I yelled. “It’s me, Russell.”
A very soft, scared voice answered, “What do you want?” He had to be standing right by the door.
“Do I have to want something? I want to see you, that’s all.”
“Why do want to see me?”
“No one’s seen you in weeks. I was wondering how you’re getting on.”
“I’m not. Now go away, whoever you are.”
“I told you who I am.”
“That doesn’t mean you are who you say you are.”
“Who the hell else would I be?”
“An alien. They’re coming for me.”
“How do you know that?”
“They caught me once already.”
“Look, if I were an alien, I wouldn’t need you to open the door. And won’t you be safer if they come and there are two of us here? C’mon, Bryce, open the door. I want to hear about the aliens.”
“You mean you believe me?”
“I don’t know what to believe. Tell me what happened and I’ll make up my mind.”
“Just a second. The door’s triple locked.”
That had been easy. Bryce hadn’t asked for ID, though he probably checked me over through the peep hole. Preston couldn’t have tried very hard.
Bryce looked ghastly, though not ghastly enough to make me believe in aliens. There were dark rings under his eyes, his face was sunken, his skin sallow, his hair matted. He had let his beard grow, probably hadn’t showered in days if not longer, and he’d lost a lot of weight. Even if he had showered, I wouldn’t have wanted to fuck him. He had no meat left on what had once been a very lovely bubble butt that filled his jeans to perfection.
He quickly closed the door behind me, bolted it, and, speaking in whispers, hustled me into his living room, which looked more of a mess than he did. The curtains were drawn and it stank. I noticed he had unplugged his phone. I would have left then and there, but he obviously needed help. I had my cell phone with me. If he was as bad as he looked and sounded, I could always dial 911.
“When did this happen?” I began.
“I couldn’t say. I lost track of time.”
“And you’ve been here since you escaped the aliens?”
“Not escaped. They let me go.”
“Then why do you think they’ll come back?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yes, you do. It’s why you let me in. But first tell me: have you gone out at all?”
He shook his head.
“What’ve you been eating?”
“Whatever I can find. I ran out of food two, maybe three days ago. Or was it four?”
“Stay right here. I’m going to get you something to eat. Promise you’ll let me in when I get back.”
I bought him three Big Macs, two large fries and a large shake. If anyone ever needed fattening up, he did. I also picked up a bottle of vitamins.
He sniffed what I had brought suspiciously, took a little bite, then gobbled it down so quickly I thought he’d throw it all back up. “Thanks, Russ,” he said. “What about you? Are you hungry?” There was one small fry left at the bottom of bag.
“No, you take it. Now tell me about the aliens, and start at the beginning. How did they catch you?”
“They lured me to their spaceship. One of them pretended he was Ken, and I went with him.”
“You followed Ken into a spaceship.”
“I followed someone I thought was Ken to a spaceship. And I didn’t know it was a spaceship.”
“And then what happened?”
“I was surrounded by a roomful of creatures like nothing I’ve ever seen. And the one who looked like Ken but wasn’t changed shape in front of my eyes and became like the rest of them. They grabbed hold of me and ripped off all my clothes and strapped me to some kind of table and hooked me up to a lot of machines.”
“It sounds like something straight out of The Simpsons.”
“It was, kinda, except I’m not a moron like Homer, and they didn’t look like fanged green octopuses, and their spaceship wasn’t shaped like a saucer, and they didn’t beam me up. They lured me there, like I said.”
“That’s an awful lot of ‘excepts’.”
“I know. It’s the similarities that’re important. One of them, the one who’d looked like Ken, I think—in fact, I’m sure it was the same one—probed every orifice on my body, and I think—in fact, I’m sure… Well, pretty sure, anyway.”
“Sure of what?”
“He mated with me.”
“So what? I can think of at least a dozen other people who have.”
“Don’t blow me off like that. It was a traumatic experience.”
I was certain it was, and equally certain it was all his imagination. “They hurt you?” I asked.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, no. I yelped a lot when he started poking around—”
“Don’t you mean ‘it’?”
“Quit interrupting. It had to be a he to do what it did to me. Like I was saying, he kept jabbing me in all the wrong places until he figured out my asshole was the way to go. After that it felt good.”
“Did he seem to like it?”
“I couldn’t tell. They don’t look anything like us. I couldn’t even say for sure what part of him was his face.”
“But you knew which part was his cock.”
“If that’s what you’re going to be like, forget it.”
“I’m only making these comments because I want to show you I’m listening and don’t know what to say. I am interested and, more important, I care about you and want to help you get it off your chest.” A half-truth. He’d stopped freaking out after I compared his story to The Simpsons, so I thought it best to continue in the same vein. “Did it—he—make any noises that sounded like he was enjoying himself?” I asked.
“Absolute silence, all of them. It was eerie. I don’t know how they communicated with each other. Telepathy, maybe. Or, if they had a spoken language, the sounds they made weren’t in the range a human ear can hear.”
“Were they very ugly?”
“Not at all. I thought they were pretty attractive in their own way, whatever they were… lovely beige-colored skin like peach fuzz. No arms or limbs I could identify as such, nor any other features, for that matter, but they had these dark brown eyes that struck me as kind and gentle.”
Ken has dark brown eyes. As for kind and gentle, I hadn’t paid that much attention. “How many?” I asked.
“How many aliens? I didn’t count.”
“No, how many eyes.”
“Two. What else do you want to know?”
“What were you thinking about while all this was going on?”
“I wondered how he would react when he realized I wasn’t going to conceive. Would he think a turd was his hybrid offspring? I had no way of explaining the situation. Now you are laughing! So much you care!”
“I’m sorry, I thought you were making a joke. That bit about the turd…”
“Yeah, suppose that was pretty funny. It’s amazing, the things that pop into your head when you let it wander while there’s somebody fucking you. How would you have explained the situation if you’d been in my place?”
“I don’t know, maybe drawn a picture. Something like the male and female figures NASA sent into space to see if some intelligent life form will pick it up and understand. Like, it would send us an answer?”
“Like I could find a pencil and paper? They had all this fancy equipment, but nothing basic like that.”
“That reminds me. You know how the Russians solved the unsolvable problem that stymied NASA, how to get a ballpoint to work in zero gravity?”
“Bingo. Okay, they had a lot of fancy equipment. What was it like? What was it used for?”
“How the hell would I know? I didn’t recognize any of their tools.”
“Except the one that fucked you. Sorry about that.”
“I didn’t recognize that either. Except by feel.” He went on to describe—by feel—what I recognized as (or suspected was) Ken’s dick, which had fucked me once or twice before he hooked up with Bryce. By the time Bryce finished his description, his eyes had glazed over as if he had forgotten about the aliens and was reliving the pleasure of sex with Ken.
“Did he let you reciprocate?” I asked.
“I’m not sure how I would’ve, since I couldn’t make head or tail of his body.”
“Maybe he would’ve shown you.”
“Yeah, the idea occurred to me, and I tried to get across that I was interested.”
“Sign language. I think he must’ve understood the concept of male and female, and maybe he even figured out eventually what my gender was because I got hard when his alien’s penis swelled up inside me and hit my love button, and I came a second or two before he finished.”
“Then he won’t be surprised you didn’t get pregnant.”
“If I didn’t get pregnant. I am, for all I know. You never know with intergalactic couplings.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“For all I know, he may be pregnant too. After I shot, he wiped up my cum and tucked it away in a pouch in his body or else a pocket in his clothes. I couldn’t see what he was doing exactly because the other creatures had gathered around him to have a look at it, and they blocked my view. But they kept turning around to peer at me. In awe, I think.”
“I still don’t think there’s any way on earth or in the universe you can get pregnant.”
“Think again. You’re assuming those creatures reproduce by a fusion of two gametes like us. What if what he planted inside me only needs some warm place to incubate? Couldn’t I give birth then? I don’t know how long the gestation would be—weeks? months? years?—so I’ll be living in doubt for the rest of my life. Do you know how scary that is? I’m afraid it’s gonna hurt. I’m afraid it’ll kill me.”
Bryce broke down in tears. I took him in my arms and patted his back and smoothed his hair. I gave him a kiss on the forehead. “There’s no point tormenting yourself over something that may not have happened.” I said.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” he sniffled.
“I don’t mean the abduction or even the rape, just the pregnancy.”
Someone knocked at the door. Bryce froze and put a finger to his lips.
“Bryce, are you there?” a woman’s voice called. “Bryce, won’t you please let me in?”
I leaned forward and he shook his head. “Who is it?” I whispered.
“Bev, my sister,” he whispered back. “Don’t say anything. Don’t move.”
“You’re not afraid of your sister, are you?”
“I don’t want her to see me like this.”
“Brycey, please, I’m begging you. You have to let me in this time. Mom and Daddy are frantic with worry.” She sounded desperate.
“At least tell her you’re all right,” I whispered.
“She won’t believe me.”
“Then let me tell her.”
“You’ll let her in.”
“No. I promise.”
I stood up to go to the door. He grabbed my arm. “Don’t tell her what I’ve told you.”
“About the aliens?”
“About the pregnancy. She already knows about the aliens. I told her after it happened, before it hit me they’d be coming back for me.”
“If they haven’t come back yet, they won’t.”
“They will when it’s time.”
“Time for what? Why would they come back?”
More banging on the door. “Brycey!”
I headed for the door. Bryce locked himself in his bedroom.
It was easy to see Bryce and Bev were brother and sister. She looked just like him except for the beard, or would have if she’d been thin as a rail and dirty as a dustman.
“Are you Ken?” she asked belligerently. If I’d said yes, I think she would have clawed my eyes out.
“No, I’m Russell, an old friend.”
“I want to see my brother.”
“He’s hiding in his room and won’t come out.”
“I want to see him anyway.”
“Not a good idea. He looks awful and he’s talking crazy.”
“About the aliens?”
I nodded. “I had to talk my way in. He was afraid I was one of them.”
“God! Can’t anyone help him?”
“You can. You’re family. You can get the police to intervene.”
“We’ve tried. They won’t. They say he’s an adult and he isn’t missing.”
“You could have him committed.”
“We’re hoping it won’t come to that.”
“I hope so too. He’s paranoid, thinks the aliens are out to get him. Locking him up would only make him worse.”
“What are you doing here? Why did you come?”
“Because he’d disappeared and I wanted to find out what was going on. Now all I want is to get him to calm down, and I think it’s working.”
“Calm him down how?”
“By letting him talk. Listening, not arguing with him except to convince him he’s safe. If he thinks the danger’s over, maybe he’ll agree to go out. Then maybe we can get him to a psychiatrist. In the meantime, try not to worry. He’s all right, except in the head.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. Buy groceries.”
“You’ll stay with him?”
“As long as I have to.”
“You’re an angel,” she said and hurried off to buy food.
“She’s gone,” I called to Bryce. “You can come out now.”
I heard his bedroom door open. I waited. A little while later, he poked his head around the corner and looked all around the living room to make sure I hadn’t lied to him. “How did you get rid of her?” he asked.
“I sent her for groceries. She’ll be back.”
“Now I want to think through what you told me and see if I can come to any conclusions. In the meantime, I want you take a hot bath, comb your hair, trim your beard, and put on some clean clothes. That way you’ll be able to let her see you and she’ll know you’re all right.”
“Stay with me.”
“I’ll be right here.”
“I mean while I’m in the bathtub.”
“Okay. I’ll even scrub your back. I bet it needs it.”
I watched Bryce undress and was shocked. He was emaciated, all skin and bones. It made his dick look bigger (that is, I assumed it did—I hadn’t seen it before), but other than that, he looked the worse for it. He turned to fill the tub, testing the water. His buttocks were flatter than flapjacks. “Make it hot,” I said.
“Do I look pregnant?” he asked.
“If you are, you’ll give birth to a wraith. Where’s the soap?”
Despite his thinness, I enjoyed soaping his back and would gladly have soaped the rest of him if he’d asked. He was, after all, a naked man, and one could see he’d been a handsome one, and he liked me touching him. If he weren’t so far gone, a couple of hours in bed together might have cured him.
I helped him comb his hair and trim his beard and then gave him a peck on the cheek. “You see,” I said. “I’m not afraid you’re contaminated. I’m not afraid of catching anything.”
“That’s because you don’t believe me.”
“No, because I couldn’t resist. Let’s find you some clothes.”
There wasn’t much in his closet that was even vaguely clean, and everything he tried on was several sizes too big. Two of him could have fit into his pants, and none of his belts could be tightened enough to hold them up. We had to settle for a bathrobe.
We sat in the living room and waited for Bev. “Have you reached any conclusions yet?” he asked.
I hadn’t given his aliens a thought. “Give me time,” I said. “It’s not the kind of problem I have to confront every day.”
Bev knocked at the door and let us know who she was. “Can I let her in?” I asked Bryce.
He nodded, and I went to the door. She had two overfilled bags in each arm. “Let me take those,” I said.
“Will he let me see him?”
“Yes, I’ve talked him into it. Prepare yourself for a shock; he’s lost a lot of weight. Don’t stare and don’t dwell on it. Now that there’s food in the house, I’ll have him fattened up in no time.”
Bev didn’t stay long. She suppressed her distress at seeing how he had altered, smiled warmly, and asked him how he was.
“Better, thanks. Much better, now that Russ is here. He’s an angel.”
“He is an angel. Not like that old boyfr—” I shot her a warning glance. “Not like any of your other friends I’ve met. I’ll put away the groceries and leave so you two can talk.”
She returned a few minutes later. “Well, that’s done. I’ll come back tomorrow and clean your refrigerator.”
“Tell Mom and Dad I’m all right,” he said.
“Just knowing I’ve seen you will be an enormous relief.” Then she gave him a kiss and left.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked. He shook his head. “Is there a washing machine somewhere in the building? All your clothes are filthy, or just about. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll shrink.”
“In the basement.”
“Come with me.” He looked terrified. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”
He sat a while trying to screw up his courage. Finally he said, “I will if you’ll stay the night.”
“Only if we wash your bedding, too—it’s worse than foul. Unless you meant stay and sleep on the couch.”
“No, next to me. I haven’t had much to eat lately, but I don’t think I’ve slept at all.”
That night we cuddled and we both got hard, but we didn’t have sex. I’m no angel, whatever Bev and Bryce said, but I’m not that much of a cad, either. But I thought, If I can get him through this, then maybe… His dick may have looked bigger than it was because he was so thin, but now I couldn’t see the rest of him to make comparisons, and it felt pretty damn big. On the other hand, I couldn’t overlook the fact that if we did get involved and it didn’t work out, it could send him back over the brink. Anyway, all that had to wait.
He fell asleep in my arms. I lay awake, thinking of where to go next. Everything pointed to playing along with his delusions as the best cure. Once he’d gotten over them, I could tell him that I never believed in his aliens. So I devised a plan.
In the morning, I carefully got out of bed so as not to wake him and went to the kitchen to prepare a big breakfast for when he finally got up, which might not be till afternoon. The poor guy was exhausted. When he did wake up, I discovered he was ravenous, too.
“You know what I think?” I began.
“About the aliens?”
“Yes. I think that alien you thought was Ken really was Ken, that Ken is really an alien, and he became your lover to win your trust, so you’d follow him to the spaceship and they could perform their little experiments on you, and now it’s all over. Finito. It also means you aren’t pregnant, because you slept with him for nearly a year and nothing happened.”
“I’m sure plenty did, but nothing like getting pregnant. And he slept with me, too, before he took up with you…”
“I knew that.”
“…and I didn’t get pregnant, either, so I’m pretty sure you have nothing to worry about on that score.”
“We used protection.”
“Did you blow him?”
“Need you ask?”
“Did you swallow?”
“Don’t you think your stomach would make as good a womb as your butt for alien seed? You sucked him off, swallowed his cum, and didn’t conceive. That’s why I’m sure you aren’t pregnant. Make sense?”
He looked doubtful. “It’s possible. It’d take a big load off my mind if it’s true.”
“It has to be.”
“Well, at least we know what needs to be done next.”
“You tell me.” I had no idea what he meant.
“We have to find out if he really is an alien. We’ll start by interviewing everybody he’s ever had sex with.”
“That would take forever, and Ken would hear about it. Let me think of another way.” The prospect of telling anyone I suspected Ken might be an alien was not something I looked forward to.
“We wouldn’t tell them our real reason for interviewing them. We can pretend it’s a survey. You know, like, ‘Who’s the best lover you’ve ever had sex with?'”
“What if they don’t answer ‘Ken’?”
“Of course they will. But we can ask them to name the best three just in case.”
I hoped that if we ever did have a relationship, he wouldn’t compare me to Ken all the time. “Okay,” I said, “we’ve got them to talk about Ken. Now what?”
“We ask, ‘Did he fuck you?’ and ‘How many times?’ Yada yada yada. You get the picture.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You will once we’ve got all the questions written up.”
“You realize we’ll have to interview Ken, too, or he’ll get suspicious.”
“You’re right. I wonder who’ll he’ll say his best lover was,” he added wistfully.
It would probably take Ken a good half hour to name all the men he’d had sex with. I imagined him mentally ticking them off one after another before he answered, “Me.” Or maybe he’d do a Miss Piggy imitation and say, “Moi!”
“You’ll have to conduct half the interviews, Bryce,” I said. “I can’t do it all myself; he’s slept with too many people. You know what that means, don’t you? You’ll have to go out, leave your apartment.”
“I can do that now. Now that we have a plan, I feel in control again.”
Everyone thought Bryce looked just awful but were glad to see him up and about. It was generally assumed we were lovers because he still didn’t feel safe alone at home—”What if Ken figures out what we’re up to?”—and insisted I stay with him when I wasn’t working. I moved into his apartment, or just about, and only left to run errands, go to work, or felt I was about to lose it if I didn’t. Even Bev thought we were a couple. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to my brother,” she said, and gushed about me to her parents, who invited us for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Olson treated me like one of the family and, at the same time, like a king.
Bryce and I slept chastely in our underwear in the same bed. I found it harder and harder not to make a move on him. He’d begun to put on weight and looked less skeletal, though he was still thin. The beard looked good on him, and I could I see that, once he grew back into his clothes, he would be handsomer than before his breakdown. (I don’t know what else to call it.) Had he come on to me, I’d have been all over him in the time it takes to eat a potato chip, but he was too preoccupied with collecting the data that would expose Ken as an alien. That’s all he thought about and all we talked about. It’s no secret what I was thinking about.
We agreed at the outset we shouldn’t interview guys we ourselves had slept with if we could avoid it. That wouldn’t always be possible since we traveled in the same set, which included a fair number of swingers. Me, for one. If we’d both had sex with a potential interviewee, the task would fall to whoever hadn’t gone all the way or had only had a quickie or a passing encounter at a sex party; otherwise we’d flip a coin.
I had my doubts we’d find too many people willing to cooperate. Our “survey” did raise a few eyebrows, but no one we interviewed minded, really. It just struck them as bizarre. One guy told me, “I know why you’re doing this. It’s because you and Bryce are so smitten with each other. You’re both convinced you’re having the best sex ever.” I kept it to myself I’d been celibate since three days before I knocked on the door of Bryce’s apartment. Celibacy was a new experience for me and not one I was proud of. He wouldn’t have believed me, anyway, if I’d told him the truth.
Not only did no one mind, as word got around, it seemed nobody wanted to be left out. Guys came to us and volunteered to be included, so we also had to interview people who hadn’t had sex with Ken. (There actually were some of those.) We stored the results of the interviews on Bryce’s laptop and assigned each man a number to preserve his anonymity. Ken was number 69. It seemed the surest way to hide his identity.
We discovered there were a lot of men we didn’t know he’d slept with who had, and our list grew by leaps and bounds. Straight men, too—like Cody, with whom I’d rubbed hindquarters at Emmett’s party. “Ken’s is the only dick I’ve sucked,” he told me at the interview, “and the only one I’ve had in my ass.”
“And that’s why I can’t talk about the three best unless female partners also count.”
An option we hadn’t considered. “If I just asked for the three people you’ve had the best sex with, would Ken be one of them?”
“Definitely. Number one.”
“And you still consider yourself straight?”
“Not ‘consider myself’—am.”
“Then why did you do it? Were you bi-curious?”
“No, not particularly. Let me rephrase that. Not in the least.”
“Did he come on to you?”
“No, it just sort of happened.”
Not a very informative answer, but it sounded like a reasonable one, and I accepted it.
We turned our attention back to the survey. I went through all the questions in order, and Cody answered them honestly, describing in detail what they had done. It didn’t embarrass him in the least.
“So, on a scale of one to ten, where—”
“Eleven. Twelve. Twenty… And think of it as a Richter scale.”
I’ve never understood the Richter scale, but I did know that on it one plus one doesn’t equal two. Personally, I would have given Ken a standard ten.
“That good, huh?”
“It was fabulous. If all gays were that good, I’d turn gay myself. But they aren’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ken told me.”
Not everyone put Ken in first place. If a guy was in a relationship, he usually named his partner, and, as Bryce and I expected, if we had had sex with the person, four times out of five he’d say the best lover he’d ever had was “You, dude” even if he had a partner, and would stick to his answer even after we told him we weren’t fishing for compliments. So our decision to ask for the three best had been a wise one. However, everyone named Ken as one of his three top fucks—everyone, without exception, and it was always a fuck. We collected reams of data on him, which we stored on Bryce’s laptop.
As our investigation proceeded, “evidence” began piling up that Ken was an alien. What Bryce called evidence, that is—things like saying sex with Ken was “out of this world” (almost all our interviewees said something of the sort) and other clichés like him taking possession of them “body and soul” or being transported to another galaxy. It goes without saying I gave it no credence, but it was more than a little unnerving and didn’t bode well for Bryce’s cure. I didn’t notice anything myself until Bryce interviewed me. I didn’t want to be interviewed, least of all by Bryce, and made every excuse I could think of not to, to no avail. Ken belonged to my past and Bryce, I hoped, to my future. As is, it disturbed me when we went over the answers of someone one of us had been with, and my interview would focus exclusively on Ken. Why pretend we needed data on any of my other top lovers? We entered only the names of other people’s favorites and threw out everything else they said about them unless they had compared them to Ken.
Bryce wanted me to interview him, too, but I refused. I couldn’t have borne listening to him go into detail on sex with Ken. “You made up your mind from the beginning that he’s an alien,” I said.
“Not from the beginning, from when I found out what his real name was.”
“It isn’t Ken?” As far as I knew, we had no other name for him on file.
“Ken isn’t short for Kenneth; it stands for Kenning.”
“A kenning is a kind of riddle.”
What’s in a name? I thought. If Bryce took that for proof, he wasn’t getting any better.
“When you made up your mind is irrelevant,” I said. “You’re convinced of it now, and anything you say would only skew the research.”
“But you think he’s an alien too. You said so.”
“I was only speculating.”
“But now you know.”
“I do? Because his name’s Kenning?”
“The name just gave me the clue on how to make all the pieces fit together. In a kenning, instead of calling a thing what it is, you use two words that tell about it, kind of like a metaphor turned into an epithet.” This unforeseen display of esoteric trivia revealed a side of the flaky, high-drama Bryce I had not known existed. On the other hand, having thrown himself “body and soul” into our research project, he had shown himself capable of a high degree of concentration—a very scatter-brained version of concentration, to be sure. “The Vikings used them all the time,” he went on.
“I get it… and Ken is Scandinavian,” I said triumphantly, as if he needed further proof I didn’t.
“Ken isn’t Scandinavian. He’s an alien.”
“So he has an unusual name. That doesn’t prove he’s an alien any more than his ability to give his partners an extra-terrestrial orgasm.”
“Who else besides an alien gives his partners extra-terrestrial orgasms?”
“Just about any character in an erotic gay romance.”
“Why’re you being so damn stubborn? Romance novels are fiction. And don’t tell me so are aliens. We both know they’re for real.” Bryce looked and sounded exasperated.
“I’m trying, Bryce. Honest, I am.”
“Well, if you still haven’t put two and two together, you will when I interview you. ”
That damn interview again. “Can’t I just write out my answers and give them to you?” I asked.
“If we do it like that, you won’t see. Besides, recording their facial expressions and body language when they talk about Ken has given us valuable information.”
We always wrote up a small paragraph describing a man’s reactions to our questions, his comfort level, and so forth, but the only “valuable information” I had gleaned from observing any of them was that some lied and others got hard, if that counts as body language. I was pretty sure I’d get hard and Bryce would assume it was because I was talking about sex with Ken, whereas the reason would be that I was talking with Bryce about sex.
I did get hard. How could I not? It was near the end of May and very warm, so we were sitting on Bryce’s bed in our boxers, I leaning against the headboard with my legs stretched out, he cross-legged at my feet, his legs still thin so his boxers hung loosely around his thighs and exposed the bottom of his ball sack. And I was talking about sex with Ken and trying not to think about having it with Bryce while Bryce was asking leading questions and pressing me to tell him everything. Leaving anything out, however insignificant it seemed, was streng verboten.
There was no way not to see the tent my boxers made, and we had grown too close for Bryce to pretend it wasn’t there. “If we didn’t have more important things to do, I just might take care of that for you,” he said.
“Why don’t you? We can finish the interview after.” I couldn’t think of anything more important than him taking care of it.
“You’re kidding, right? I was making a joke. We have a different kind of relationship. We’re partners in a scientific research project. It wouldn’t be ethical.”
Since when had any of us worried if sex with someone would be ethical? “The project won’t last forever,” I said.
“No, maybe another month or two. Then we’ll know.”
It had taken him less than a minute to forget my boner in favor of Ken the alien. “Let’s get on with it,” I said sullenly. “We have a shitload of questions to get through.”
“Okay, how did you come to have sex with Ken? Did you hit on him?”
“A stud like him? He could have gotten anyone he wanted into bed—anyone—just by snapping his fingers. And who am I? Just your ordinary queer, not wildly good looking, not hung like a horse… I wouldn’t have dared.”
“Did he snap his fingers at you? Did he hit on you?”
“No, it just sort of happened.”
He asked, and I answered, red-faced.
“What’re you embarrassed about?” Bryce asked. “Nobody else has blushed, and you know all the questions in advance.”
“This is the first time I’ve been on the receiving end.” I couldn’t admit I was blushing because he was asking them, could I?
Bryce tried to set me at ease by making light of it. “Of course you were on the receiving end. We’re talking about sex with Ken, aren’t we?”
I was mortified. “If you put it that way, I haven’t been on either end in a dog’s age.”
“Certainly. When I interview someone, five times out of ten, we end up having sex, or else we start off that way. Why do you think so many of them put me as one of the three? I wasn’t all that promiscuous before we started this project.”
I felt like a triple idiot. One, it never occurred to me that people he got to interview because I’d slept with them and he hadn’t had ranked him as one of their top three. Two, good friends who assumed we were a couple had cheated with him behind my back. Third and worst of all, Bryce wouldn’t have sex with me so long as we were conducting the survey—oh no, that would be unprofessional—but it was perfectly legit to do it with the subjects. I could have wept.
“What’re you pouting for?” he asked.
“In other words, we have to discount all the responders who put you in the top three.”
“Why? Nothing any of them says is relevant that isn’t about Ken. Let’s get back to the questions.”
Having sex as a component of some of the interviews was not the only irregularity in how Bryce conducted them. He kept interrupting me to put in his two cents, interpreting incomplete data as we went along, showing how this or that aspect of my sexual encounters with Ken pointed toward his being an alien. Things which at the time seemed insignificant I now saw in a new light, and every last person we interviewed had reported these same things.
“It can’t just be coincidence,” he repeated more than once. “Even the words they use to describe it. Look here.” Held up the questionnaire where he’d written my answers. “‘It just sort of happened.’ Your very words.”
“So what? It did just sort of happen. Seemed too good to be true.”
He got his laptop and started opening files. “Daryl: ‘It just sort of happened.’ Lou: ‘It just sort of happened.’ Cody, a straight guy: ‘It just sort of happened.’ Even Emmett, who’s an in-your-face kind of guy who’s not afraid to come right out and proposition someone: ‘It just sort of happened.’ Who are they kidding? It didn’t just sort of happen—it happened!”
“It’s an expression.”
“Allen, the same thing: ‘It just sort of happened.’ Whattaya say to that? Did it just sort of happen? You told me yourself it didn’t.”
Allen was the guy I’d seen Ken hitting on at Emmett’s.
“I think it’s time one of us interviewed Ken,” I said, “and it’ll have to be me.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Aliens can read your mind.”
“What can happen to me that hasn’t ‘just sort of happened’ already? And there are a few things I want to ask him that aren’t in the questionnaire.”
“Ken, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? They’re about sex.”
“I was wondering when you’d get around to me. Shoot.”
“You’ll answer all of them truthfully?”
“Sure. What’ve I got to hide?”
“Who’s the best lover among all the guys you’ve had sex with?”
“As if you didn’t know!”
Here we go with the lies, I thought. He’s going to say me.
I took a deep breath. “You have to say it. I’m not going to put ‘As if you didn’t know’ for your answer.”
“Bryce, of course.”
My jaw dropped in disbelief. “Bryce? Bryce Olson?”
“Oh, come on. You of all people know how good he is.”
I put the questionnaire aside and asked, “Then why did you dump him?”
“I didn’t dump him.”
“He dumped you?”
“Not so much dumped as ran away. He got it into his head that I’m an alien. Locked himself in his apartment and wouldn’t let me in. Don’t tell this to anyone.”
“I didn’t mean Bryce. He knows already.”
“That explains why he was hesitant about my interviewing you.”
“Incredible, isn’t it? Nothing like that ever happened to me before.”
“Being called an alien must be a first for everyone.”
“That, too. But I meant no one’s ever dumped me… not ever. And then to take up with you! Why you of all people? What’ve you got that I haven’t got? What’ve you got, period?”
Like, I needed that put-down? “Maybe because I’m not an alien.”
“And I am? I’m so damn jealous of you. I was so fucking stuck on that guy. I mean, literally. He’s the only one I’ve let fuck me since I was a teenager.”
“He’s fucked you?” Ken nodded. “More than once?”
“I won’t even try to count how many times. God, isn’t he just awesome? I am so damn jealous of you!”
“Was it always Bryce who was on top?”
“No, far from it, not that I would’ve argued with him if he wanted it that way. Hey, just a minute… Are you saying you’re always the bottom?”
“I get to ask the questions here.”
“Yeah, it’s better like that. I don’t think I could stand it if you said yes. I am so fucking jealous of you!”
I could see this was going to be the most trying interview of all. And was it ever! It was excruciating, hearing him talk about Bryce’s endowment, his talented hands and mouth, his sexual inventiveness, his ability to turn Ken on in all the right ways and all the right places, to be told in detail everything they’d done together and see the bulge in Ken’s pants and his vacant stare as he relived it all… Boy, would I give Bryce a piece of my mind when I got home!
I didn’t think I could bear another moment of such exquisite torture. Neither could Ken, apparently. He asked if it would be okay if he beat off while he told me the rest and whipped it out without giving me a chance to answer.
“You don’t need to beat off,” I said. “I’ll suck it for you.”
He stilled his hand long enough to ask, “How’ll you take notes?”
“You have a tape recorder? Turn it on and I’ll transcribe everything you say.” Yes, and play it back for Bryce and make him listen to the world’s loudest blowjob and rub his sadistic little nose in it.
“No tape recorder. I have a camcorder—a digital—but the sound isn’t good.”
“Set up the tripod and talk as loud as you can.”
I outdid myself on that blowjob. My ten-decibel slurps had Ken moaning and gasping for breath and so distracted he left off describing Bryce’s cock up his ass. “Jesus, you’ve gotten good at this, baby!” he exclaimed.
I took my mouth off his cock long enough to say, “Bryce taught me.” That would get his goat when I played it back to him!
It wasn’t an especially long blowjob as blowjobs go, but it was a very intense one. He erupted like a waterspout and I scarfed it down to the last droplet. I’d have offered him my ass next, but it was obvious I’d taken his all.
I put the half-done questionnaire in my binder and said, “So much for the mechanics. You’ve covered all the particulars I need. Tell me about the breakup.”
“There’s nothing to tell. One day he couldn’t keep his hands off me; the next day he was gone. I was at a loss. Couldn’t figure out what I did wrong. I went to see him, he answered the door, saw it was me, and slammed it in my face. I pleaded with him, and he started carrying on, saying I’d tortured him, raped him and I don’t know what else. ‘When? Where?’ I asked. It was then he accused me of being an alien. He said I’d held him prisoner in my spaceship. Would you believe?”
It sounded all too familiar. “Did he say what they looked like?” I asked.
“You and the aliens with you.”
“I’m the only alien around here; he didn’t say anything about there being more. And I suppose I must’ve looked like me. How else would he have known it was me?”
“Was it you?”
“You’re not gonna start that too, I hope! No, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t anybody. It was his sick brain. Watch your step with that dude. He looks calm enough now, but he’s a loose wire. Either that, or he had one somewhere.”
I drove back to Bryce’s fuming, going over in my mind everything I’d say to him. I couldn’t wait to confront him: “Okay, asshole. You can stop playing games now.” No, not nearly strong enough. “I’ve had it with you, you goddamn sonofabitch. What the fuck were thinking about, telling me Ken’s an alien and cooking up this cock-teaser of a scheme to—”
Then it hit me. Bryce hadn’t told me he was an alien; I had given him the idea. Sure, he’d nattered on and on about aliens and being pregnant and all sorts of crazy shit. But Ken wasn’t one of them; the alien was in disguise. It didn’t add up. Or did it?
“Are you okay?” Bryce asked when I walked in the door. “How’d it go?”
“Ken DeMars is an alien. And he can read minds.”
I plunked myself down on the sofa. “So now we know,” I said. “Now what do we do?”
“I’ve known all along, Russ. As soon as you said, ‘I think maybe Ken is an alien,’ I knew in my bones you were right. I could see you were only trying to humor me, but without realizing it, you hit the nail on the head.”
“Thank God you’re all right. I was so scared for you. Anything could have gone wrong, interviewing him with you only half convinced and without your guard up. It would’ve been easy for him to take advantage of you.”
“He did. I gave him a blowjob.”
“Russell, no! Tell me it isn’t true!” My face told him it was. “Why, Russ? Why?”
“It just sort of happened.”
“‘It just sort of happened.’ Hah! Only this time we’ll know. It just sort of happened you were taking notes, and it’s all in the questionnaire.”
“More than that—I have it on videotape. You don’t have to watch.”
“Not watch the blowjob? Are you kidding? We’ve got him, Russ. Kenning DeMars—caught on tape having sex! He won’t get away this time.”
Bryce’s triumph was short lived. “I have to tell you this,” I said, hanging my head. “There’s more to it than my sucking him off, a lot more.”
“Oh, baby, baby, what did he do to you?” Bryce pleaded, on the verge of tears.
“Not what he did; what I did. I swallowed. Those times before, you know, when he fucked me, we used protection.”
“With me, too. He always wore a condom, but not in the spaceship.”
Way back when, before we started our research, I’d told Bryce that if swallowing Ken’s cum didn’t make him pregnant, neither would getting fucked in a spaceship. Knowing that Ken really was an alien pulled the rug out from under that argument. On the other hand, we’d interviewed tons of guys who’d ingested the stuff, and not one of them was pregnant. That is, as far as I could tell, they weren’t. The gravity of my situation slowly dawned on me: Bryce Olson is pregnant… may be pregnant. And Russell the Risk-taker… My gorge rose and I made a rush for the bathroom. I threw up on the floor before I reached the toilet.
I was trembling like a leaf. Bryce poured me a glass of water, wiped my face, and helped me walk to the bedroom. “I’ve no one to blame but myself,” I whimpered. “I know that. But I feel violated. He didn’t force me to do it. It just—”
“I know,” he said gently. “Get undressed and lie down. I’ll go clean the bathroom.”
When Bryce had finished, he got into bed next to where I lay curled up in fetal position. He stroked my hair to comfort me. “Bryce?” I asked. “Did you ever fuck him?”
“He told me you did.”
“Well, I didn’t. I’d fuck him over good now if I could get my hands on him. Fuck him over, not fuck him.”
“But you have topped. With others, I mean.”
“Sure. I’ve done that and more.”
“Will you fuck me?”
“I can’t fuck anyone ever again. Not after the spaceship. Who knows what I might be carrying? A half-human, half-alien hybrid… some cosmic STD…”
“But you had sex at the interviews.”
“Hand jobs. I needed the release, Russ… needed it bad. I’ve been dying to make love with you, wishing I could, not daring to. I was a victim… am a victim.”
“We’re both victims.”
“No, you’re a hero. You sacrificed yourself for the good of humanity.”
“I didn’t, really,” I said modestly. “It just sort of happened. But we’re in the same boat now, Bryce. There’s nothing standing in our way. I don’t know what’s in store for us down the road, but for now at least—”
“We’re survivors. And we have each other.”
“You top, too, sometimes, don’t you?” he asked in a half whisper. “No, you don’t have to tell me—I’ve asked. If someone said you were one of his three best, I pumped him to find out everything I could about you. Because I wanted to know. I asked about Ken because I had to know.”
We had unprotected sex that night, as we have ever since. We had nothing to lose. I had never known sex to be so tender, so unrushed, so satisfying.
“You know who Ken said his best lover ever was?” I said, when, drained and happy, we lay in each other’s arms. “You.”
“He was manipulating you.”
“I know. It doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.”
Beautiful Bryce Olson! What a wild rollercoaster ride he’d taken me on. Not the sex—although that was a pretty wild ride, too. At first, I had only thought of helping him; then I just wanted to get into his pants; then I was ready to throttle him. Now I was in love—in love for the first time and forever.
Time will tell, they say. Now time has told, and I know for certain that neither Bryce Olson nor I was pregnant, nor is it likely we ever will be. In retrospect, I can say that we could have left well enough alone and gone on with our lives, to which Ken DeMars had inadvertently brought a happiness we might not have enjoyed had he not crossed our paths. True, there was an alien in our midst indiscriminately fucking every man he could get his hands on. (Or tentacles, or whatever kind of alien limbs he had. It boils down to the same thing: he was fucking every man he could get his dick into.) Did it really matter, though? The world is full of non-aliens who behave like Ken—I’d been one myself before I fell for Bryce—and none of Ken’s victims seemed worse off for it.
However, one cannot expect two drama queens to eschew drama. We saw ourselves as men with a mission. In our defense, let me point out that we were neither the first nor the last so misguided as to believe God put us on earth to save the world from the goddamn best casual sex a person could hope for.
Our first order of business was to devise a plan of attack, which we named Alien Shield. Having sifted through the wealth of information we’d amassed, we realized that only the person Ken had chosen as his next conquest couldn’t see what was happening. One man alone was defenseless against him; with two, one would expose the deception he was perpetrating on the other.
For safety’s sake, we decided to enlist the help of a few friends but not say anything about aliens until we were sure they’d been won over to our side. Bryce suggested Cody because he was straight and Ken had used him.
“Being straight is no big deal to Cody,” I said. “He doesn’t think for a second it makes him more of a man. If anything, he’d be afraid people would call him a closet homophobe if he tried getting back at him. I say we enlist Preston. He doesn’t like Ken. Thinks he’s full of himself.”
However, when we approached Preston, he said, “Ken’s not that bad, really. It’s all a front. You know—posturing. Don’t hold a grudge, Bryce. You have Russell.”
“But you wouldn’t take up with him, would you?” Bryce asked.
“Not likely. I don’t like it when guys come on strong to me. But life’s full of surprises, isn’t it? It just might happen, kinda sorta.”
That was all we needed to hear. It would happen unless we did something to stop it.
“We need to recruit someone a lot of people look up to, someone they’ll listen to,” I told Bryce.
“That would be Emmett. Fat chance we have! I don’t think Emmett likes Ken all that much, but he wants him at his parties. Gives them a kind of chic.”
“I don’t know about that. Emmett’s a big SF buff, and if we tell him we’re going after aliens, there’s a chance he’ll play along for the fun of it even if he thinks it’s a lot of hooey. We won’t tell him Ken’s the alien until he’s convinced the aliens are real.”
“No. He’d get so scared he’d shit his pants.”
“You don’t know Emmett,” I said. “That’s him in hostess mode. He swings both ways.”
“He’s bi? I don’t believe you.”
“Not bi. He goes from butch to brazen in a second to put you off balance. He isn’t anyone’s Auntie Em and doesn’t want to be. Emmett’s a take-charge kind of guy.”
When we told Emmett we needed his help catching an alien that had infiltrated our set and was fucking every guy he could get his hands on, he said, “Sounds like Ken. Ken DeMars, an alien! Wouldn’t that be a hoot and a half? Guess what, gang. I’ve been fucked by an alien!”
“You mean Ken’s fucked you, too?”
“Yeah, it just sort of happened. Hey, are you telling me Ken’s your alien? That is so fucking cool.”
“Then—I’m not saying it is Ken, mind you—you’d be willing to let it go on taking advantage of unsuspecting gay humans? I mean, it could just be a harmless pastime and nobody’s hurt by it, but what if it isn’t?”
“Me? Let it go on? Shit, no. I’m part of an exclusive club and I want it to stay that way. Can’t let too many people in or I’ll have nothing to write home about. So, what makes you think Ken’s an alien?”
“We didn’t say it was Ken.”
“I stand corrected. What makes you think there’s an alien in our midst?”
“It’s all on Bryce’s laptop.”
We opened the files for him. “You guys are really serious about this, aren’t you?” he said. Then: “Number 69’s your alien. Am I right?” Then: “You weren’t shitting me. He really is an alien.” And then: “I bet it’s Ken.”
It didn’t take much in the way of brains to figure out. Nobody else had topped so many of us.
Emmett couldn’t hide his excitement. “It’s the war of the worlds, man! Us against them, the gays versus the ghoulies! They think they can fuck with us, but we’ll show them! Yeah!”
“From things that go bump in the night, may the good Lord protect us,” I intoned.
Emmett pouted. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “Now to raise an army. Uncle Emmett wants you!” He winked at me and Bryce. “Very much, but he knows you’re not available. Ready to be sworn in?”
Bryce couldn’t restrain his enthusiasm. “Count us in!” he cried.
“Either of you two have a Bible?”
Bryce shook his head. “Not my kind of book. How about The Joy of Gay Sex? Now, there’s something I swear by!”
“Three men doesn’t make an army,” I said.
Emmett had an answer to that. He had an answer to everything. “Put together everyone Ken’s fucked and you have a regiment,” he said. “Gay guys, straight guys, bi guys—just like in the service.”
“But no women.”
“The straights can bring their girlfriends. Cody’s is captain of her hockey team.”
“Do you think we’ll have to use force?” Bryce asked. “Should we bring handguns?”
“Handguns’ll only get us in trouble. Switchblades, nanchaku—you know, nunchucks—shuriken, pepper spray… Anyone got a Taser?”
I wish my story had a more exciting ending. I wish I could tell about a war of the worlds, humans against aliens zapping each other with ray-guns, living beings dissolved, disintegrated, vaporized, broken down to molecules and scattered to the wind. I’m sorry, but I can’t. What promised to be the adventure of a lifetime, fraught with danger, proved unimaginably ho-hum and mundane.
A dozen of us confronted Ken.
Emmett acted as spokesman. He got right to the point and asked, “Have you had sex with Preston?”
“No, not yet. Is there something I should know about him?”
“I’m sure there’s nothing we could tell you you don’t know already. I’m sure you know more about him than we do. I have only one thing to say to you. Don’t.”
“The jig is up, Ken. We know you’re an alien.”
This was supposed to be the moment of truth, when he shed his human shape and revealed his alien self, warts and all. Tentacles, too, if he had them. Instead he asked, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
An embarrassed silence ensued. When he put it like that, none of us could come up with a good answer. Finally, Emmett said, “We want you outta here. Fire up your spaceship and go back home to your galaxy.”
“And if I don’t?”
“We bring in the CIA.”
Ken’s face froze in an expression of panic. “You wouldn’t!”
“The CIA is too busy turning over stones looking for terrorists,” he countered, trying to appear nonchalant.
“You think so, huh? You don’t belong here. And don’t try telling me illegal aliens aren’t a high priority with them.”
“Aw, please, guys… I have to stay here.”
“Give us one good reason.”
“There is no spaceship. It left without me.”
“You were abandoned by your own kind?”
“They’d finished their business, so they moved on. I was having too much fun and didn’t want to leave.”
“I’ll say,” Bryce muttered.
Ken turned to Bryce. “I did everything I could think of to get them to hang around. I even brought you to the spaceship to show them how much fun life on earth could be. They weren’t interested.”
Emmett took the lead again. “But you were.”
“You can’t begin to imagine what a bunch of repressed Puritans the inhabitants of my planet are. To them, sex outside of marriage is something unthinkable and only for reproduction if you are married. Have you ever heard anything so lame?”
“All too often,” Emmett told him.
“He’s just proved he’s from another planet,” Cody said.
“Hey, just a minute!” Bryce objected. “If you only took me there to demonstrate what you’d done thousands of times, why’d you have to poke me all over before you fucked my ass?”
“Because I was in my alien shape. We don’t have the same senses humans do. I had to find it first. I stopped poking when I found the hole, didn’t I?”
“You stopped poking around. You didn’t stop poking.”
Ken went back to pressing his case. “Look, what’ve you got to lose if I stay? It’s not like you have to support me and I’m not taking away anything from anyone. There’s plenty of ass to go around.”
“That doesn’t justify your being greedy. We’ll let you stay, but you can’t go on like you’ve been doing. You have to choose one guy.”
“Can it be an open relationship?”
“That’s up to the guy. As I was saying, you have to choose one guy, and he has to be someone you’ve already had sex with—”
“In other words, not Preston.”
“…and he has to agree to it. Now, who’s it gonna be?”
“I choose Bryce.”
“He’s taken,” I said.
“Emmett said he has to agree.”
“Only if I’m carrying your baby,” Bryce said.
“What are you, some kind of nut? Okay, anyone here up for an open relationship? You know I’m good at it.”
“I’m up for it,” Cody said. “In an open relationship, I won’t have to give up women.”
“That wouldn’t be fair to Ken,” Emmett said. “Ken’s hooking up with me, and that’s that.”
A couple of guys started bitching. “Who are you to horn in on everyone else? Ken gets to choose.”
Emmett stood his ground. “I’m head honcho here, and what I say goes. You wanna make something of it?”
They backed off. Emmett looked Ken in the eye and laid down the law. “So, how about it? An open relationship. You can have sex with anyone you feel like provided I say it’s okay, it’s someone you’ve already been with, and you come on to him openly. None of your alien tricks. Got it?” Ken nodded sheepishly. “And one more thing: you bottom.”
“All the time?”
“Hell, no. You think I’m about to let you have all the fun? But I top first. Is it a deal?”
They shook on it. “Is that what you call vows of commitment?” we cried. “A kiss! A kiss!”
They kissed, Emmett’s hands on Ken’s butt, squeezing his buns. He smiled wickedly. “And we start now.”
We clapped and whistled and cheered. “And we get to watch!”
Ken is glad he stayed on earth and even gladder he was found out, but he says he’s disappointed Bryce won’t cheat with him. Is it because he knows what he’s missing?
(© 2012 by Anel Viz. All rights reserved.)