by Meg Ripley
“That wasn’t our agreement!” Lenth frowned at Giselle. Bronn chuckled.
“Considering how good it felt to experiment with her,” Bronn told his fellow researcher, “I’m willing to make a new deal.”
“So,” Giselle said, and Bronn watched her nimbly shift so that the best features of her body were in ready view to both men, “Tell me about where you come from. Your planet must be similar to ours, or you couldn’t live here.”
Bronn teased one of Giselle’s nipples, marveling at the way her breast responded. “Let us answer your questions while we prepare you for the next experiment,” he suggested. “After all, it is hardly fair that Lenth has felt your—is it ‘pussy?’ ”
Giselle burst out laughing, nodding, and Bronn smiled. “He has felt your pussy, but I haven’t. I must make my own examination.”
Giselle chuckled, “Okay, okay. But you have to answer my questions.”
“Full disclosure,” Lenth said. “Yes, this agreement is going to work out well.”
Bronn let his hands trail all over Giselle’s body, watching in fascination as she shivered; he could feel her body temperature rising. “You are a very intriguing creature,” Bronn murmured lowly, one hand slipping down between Giselle’s legs.
“I would ask if you two had ever seen a woman naked before…” Giselle started to say with a chuckle. Lenth echoed her amusement, laughing in the Khateen way.
“We’ve seen films,” Lenth explained. Bronn brushed his lips against the woman’s neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse.
“I believe that in order to fully understand your body, we’ll need a great deal of time,” Bronn said. He grazed her sensitive skin with his teeth, and felt a thrill of heat work through his body at her response.
“What kind of time are we talking about?” Giselle asked, her breaths becoming rapid and sharp as she became more aroused. Lenth began to touch and tease her as well.
“Every night that you’re available, for at least the next six months. Can you commit to that?” Bronn watched Giselle consider the proposal, twisting and writhing under the combined attentions of the two aliens.
“I can do that,” Giselle said. “But only if you promise that every session is going to be as good as this one has.” Bronn glanced at Lenth, amused.
“We’ll make sure that every time is better than the last,” Bronn told her. He watched the play of emotions on her face.
“Then I absolutely accept. Now let’s get to work.”
Bronn chuckled, knowing that his and Lenth’s experiments with Giselle would be fruitful indeed.
THE END
Part Three
Chosen Alien Gene: Banek's Quest
Story Description
Struggling to find a human woman who will agree to participate in his experiments, Banek, an alien scientist from the planet Khateen, turns to the one source he hopes will be the key to unlock the mysterious mind of womankind…romance novels.
Fascinated by the human concept of romance, he models himself on romantic heroes, and doesn’t understand why he hasn’t had any luck with the opposite sex.
While visiting a bar where he has become a regular, Banek encounters the ideal “damsel in distress” to make his move on: a woman named Jessica, who he has found himself thinking about more and more.
Jessica—a recently single woman, with troubles to spare—finds herself drawn to the strange alien being, and curious about what his tight pants imply about his anatomy. When she learns the truth of just how foreign he is, will her interest remain?
Banek took a moment to look at himself in the mirror he had positioned just beside the door of his laboratory, making sure that his appearance was as it should be. Before he had arrived on planet Earth, Banek had done extensive research into the best methods of gathering participants for his study. While most of his colleagues on the vessel had spent the voyage absorbing information about the mechanics of human mating—particularly as it applied to female sexuality and reproduction—Banek had been intrigued by the human concept of romance.
It was a concept that didn’t quite exist among Banek’s own people, the Khateen. On Khatanar, mating was a very, very different process. While his people possessed a latent empathy—an ability to read emotions in others with whom they were bonded—courtship and romance were strange phenomena.
As a result, Banek had devoted most of the time on his voyage investigating those particular aspects of human sexuality. While his colleagues had tracked down information about physical means, developing theories for testing, coming up with hypotheses about whether or not orgasm was required for conception, and arguing cases that seemed to indicate that in certain settings, more than two partners seemed to be required, Banek had consumed anything and everything he could get his hands on in regards to understanding this so-called romance.
It seemed to him that this strange mystique was part and parcel of human sexuality, particularly for females. Initial investigations into human male sexuality suggested that it was much more straightforward: males seemed able to inseminate women at will, almost. But in order to convince a human woman to accept, Banek thought, as he read books and watched films that humans had produced on the subject, males had to use gestures and behaviors geared specifically towards communicating their ability as mates. While his colleagues had debated various ways to convince human women to participate in their studies, Banek had—almost from the beginning—decided that the best method to ensure that a woman would agree to work with him would be to romance her.
Once he had come to this conclusion, Banek had spent the rest of his time on the voyage to Earth researching how best to conform to the expectations that human women would have in a romantic partner. He had grown his hair out of the usual close-cropped style that his people adopted when in space, and had reviewed the physical traits of romantic males extensively. Banek knew that the most important thing for him—and for all of the scientists participating in the extraordinary study—was to blend in with the humans. Khateen technology allowed them to keep in touch with the skeleton crew manning the ship, keeping it out of the range of human detection, and in certain ways, they were able to disguise their inhuman skin color and eye color. But Banek wanted more than to simply blend in with the societies of the planet he was on; he wanted to present himself as a potential romantic partner.
There seemed to be one archetype of human romance whose looks Banek could hope to duplicate with a reasonable amount of success; he had seen the human man, named Fabio, on multiple covers of romance books—as well as in other media that humans produced. It seemed that even when the man was past the point of ready reproductive viability, he continued to be a figure of female desire. Because of the greater gravity of Khatanar, Banek and his fellow researchers were larger, more heavily muscled, than the human males; in that sense, it would be easy to mimic the physical traits of the one called Fabio.
Clothing was more difficult for Banek; there were so many varied styles associated with human romance, and he had gathered from his research that some of the romantic media took place in bygone times—different eras of human society. He had taken the human money his superiors had given him and invested in a variety of romantic costumes: Banek had purchased clothing consistent with what he knew to be called a “cowboy,” as well as a “Lord,” with a few pieces that were less easily defined as a type.
As he prepared to leave his laboratory and temporary home, Banek looked over his outfit intently, comparing it against the norms that he had absorbed from books and films. He had left his long, dark hair flowing, though the brush of it against his shoulders was still something that he couldn’t quite get used to. His broad, muscled chest was on display in a loose shirt, the first three buttons open. A pair of tight jeans—and Banek had wondered more than once how any human male could be comfortable in the constricting garment—accentuated his muscled legs, and a pair of boots covered his feet. Banek debated whether or not to include the leather jacket he had purchased; but the pla
net was much warmer than his own—and it was the season that humans called summer, making it even warmer in the area he had chosen for his base. He decided against it.
In the weeks since Banek had established his base on the planet, he had not found a great deal of success in attracting a subject. Some of his other colleagues had reported back already, finding preliminary success with human women and putting forth some new ideas about female sexuality. Banek had absorbed some of the information that his fellow scientists had come up with, but he was eager to test his own theories. He had met with one of his colleagues the week before; Hanket had managed to find a subject to work with, and the woman had given him a wealth of information—namely that women were capable of climaxing many, many times in the course of a sexual interlude. Hanket had laughed the Khateen way, saying, “It’s very, very gratifying to test how many times she can achieve climax in a single session,” he had told Banek.
****
Banek made his way towards the bar he had planned to patronize that evening in order to seek out a willing human woman for experimentation, considering the problems he had encountered thus far. Some of the women he had met over the weeks he had been on the planet seemed to be interested in him romantically at first—but somehow, he had not managed to convince any of them to follow through. I’ll have to refine my techniques, he thought as he walked along the sidewalk, barely taking in his surroundings. He had become a “regular” at the bar—Banek had been careful to tip well every time he ordered a beverage, and to be patient with the bartenders, waiting until they had served others without complaining. There was one woman at the bar that he had seen a few times—but always, it seemed, she was with someone else, usually a group of friends.
She was tall and slim, with dark hair and green eyes, and there was something about her that drew Banek’s gaze again and again. He had not been able to understand the feeling that came over him whenever he saw her—it was foreign to any experience he’d ever had. But the sound of her voice, the way that she moved, made Banek wish again and again that he could gather the courage to speak with her, to use his well-studied behaviors and mannerisms to convince her to participate in his experiments. While he had refreshed his studies on the subject of how romantic males approached a woman in a group, he was no closer to understanding how to perform the correct way than he had been before.
Banek stepped through the door of the bar called Vagabond, looking around. It was early in the evening; there were only a few people scattered around, listening to the music and nursing beer or cocktails, talking in small knots of two or three people. “Banek!” the man behind the bar called out, and Banek raised his hand, nodding his head to acknowledge the greeting. He told himself that he would find a subject that evening—whether it was the woman he had been interested in or not.
Banek approached the bar, settling on one of the stools, waiting as the bartender finished serving a diminutive brunette. She was a potential subject, Banek thought, examining her as nonchalantly as possible. The woman seemed improbably tiny by Khateen standards, but he had met women who were smaller than she. Her body was intensely curved: her breasts so full and her waist so small that for a moment Banek wondered how it was possible for her to live without pain. The woman smiled up at the bartender, taking her drinks and leaving a few dollars on the bar as a tip before she left, and Banek considered the possibility of beginning the complex dance that would—he hoped—lead to her agreeing to come “home” with him.
“What’ll you have tonight, Banek?” the bartender asked, leaning forward slightly. “Love the look you’ve got going tonight, by the way; much better than the cowboy thing.” Banek nodded, smiling.
“I think I’ll have a whiskey sour, James.” He had been trying all of the alcoholic drinks he had seen mentions of in books and films—since the Khateen were able to drink alcohol with almost no effects, he had seen no reason not to.
“Good choice.” James started to grab a bottle of whiskey and glanced up as someone walked into the bar. “Looks like your lady-love is here,” James said with a little smile. Banek’s eyes widened and he glanced in the direction of the bar’s entrance. Walking through the door—for once by herself—was the tall, slim, dark haired woman. Banek felt his heart beating a little faster; she looked upset—which filled him with a mixture of concern as well as excitement. A damsel in distress was the perfect opening for his particular understanding of human seduction. So many of the stories he had seen depicting romance involved an upset woman; at first, in his research, Banek had thought that the distress was a required component—but he learned quickly that it simply increased the odds of success.
James served Banek his drink and moved immediately to the seat that the tall, slim woman sat down at. Banek racked his mind for the best possible opening. She had chosen a stool a few places down from him; that didn’t exactly make it easy to talk to her. He thought about his options carefully as he sipped his drink. The whiskey sour was potent—Banek thought that if his metabolism were human, it would give him what was called a “buzz” before he even finished it. He laid down a few dollars for James’ tip and watched as the bartender spoke to the object of his interest. He saw the tall, slim woman smile slightly, nodding to something James said. Banek felt an irrational surge of irritation at the man, who he considered something like a friend, and pushed down the impulse. There was such a thing as getting too into character, he told himself firmly.
James mixed a drink for the woman, and Banek watched in fascination as the bartender added one element after another into the steel mixing cup, shaking vigorously before pouring it into a glass. The woman must be in deep distress indeed, Banek thought. Normally she drank very straightforward cocktails: gin-tonic, or whiskey-Coke. Banek sipped his drink again as he thought about how he would approach her; it would take something very great indeed to woo such an unattainable woman, even when she was in distress.
****
Jessica smiled at her favorite bartender, James, as he handed her the Long Island Iced Tea he had decided she needed after hearing the cause of her troubles. She moved to slide her card across the bar and James shook his head, wagging his finger. “We’ll open you a tab if you decide you want another, but that one’s on me, Sweetie,” he said, turning to help the next customer. She sighed and took a long, grateful sip; at least, she thought, if she had to contemplate the wreckage her life had suddenly become, she would at least be able to enjoy the haze of liquor to soften it. She looked around the bar; Vagabond had been her favorite place for years—ever since a friend had introduced her to the hole-in-the-wall bar. The relationship with the bartenders had outlasted her friendship, and the ever-changing customer base of goths, hipsters, club kids, and hip hop lovers kept the atmosphere interesting.
As she was beginning to unwind, the copious alcohol in her Long Island loosening the grip of panic that overwhelmed her, Jessica felt the uncanny sensation of someone watching her; someone close by, rather than across the room. Darting her gaze around, she spotted the source. She had seen the guy in the bar before, sporting some rather odd—at least to her eyes—ensembles. He would’ve been a unique sight even without his romance novel cover outfits, she thought idly, turning back to her drink. She had heard from James that the guy’s name was Banek; the foreignness of the name made her think that he must have come from some very isolated country. Probably close to Chernobyl, she thought wryly. The man was tall—taller than she was, which was unusual in and of itself. He was also massive, with shoulders so broad that Jessica thought it would be impossible to wrap her arms around them and legs that a tree trunk would envy.
His hair was strange, too—falling down to his shoulders in a cascade, it was a bizarre orange-gold color, contrasting weirdly with his brown-gray skin. Jessica realized that half of her drink was gone and shook her head in amazement; when she stopped to consider it, she realized that she could feel the hum in her veins, the subtle fogginess that came along with the alcohol entering her bloodstream.
“Yes?” she said, setting her drink down with unsteady hands. The guy may not be creepy, but he was big—and so close to her. In all the times she had visited the bar, Jessica had seen him on several occasions, but he had never introduced himself to her, never done more than casually glance at her from across the bar. She had seen him talk to other girls—but he never seemed to leave with anybody. If that’s even his intention, she reminded herself. Not every guy who went out to bars viewed them as a meat market.
“Forgive me if I’m being forward,” he said, “but you look like you’re very distressed, and I was wondering if a sympathetic ear might be useful.” Jessica glanced at James, who was leaning against the back of the bar, surveying the slowly growing crowd. She worried at her bottom lip, mentally calling to the bartender. James’ gaze fell on her and he grinned, raising an eyebrow slightly and inclining his head just as subtly. If Banek had James’ approval, then Jessica thought to herself that it probably wasn’t a bad idea to accept his invitation.
“Have a seat,” Jessica said, gesturing to the stool next to her. Banek sat down, and Jessica almost laughed at how improbable he looked. “I’m Jessica, by the way,” she said, extending her hand towards him politely. She steeled herself; guys of Banek’s size tended to almost crush a person’s hand without even realizing it.