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Chance Encounters of the Close Kind - Simon - 12-30-2025
1. Aliens
It was like something straight out of The Simpsons, except he wasn’t a moron, they didn’t resemble fanged green octopuses, their spacecraft wasn’t saucer-shaped, and they had lured him there instead of beaming him up. Still, one of them had probed every orifice in his body and, as far as he could tell, had mated with him.
He’d found it a very pleasurable experience, once the creature had figured out that his anus was the way to go. He wondered how he – he assumed it had to be a he – would react when it realized he wouldn’t conceive. Perhaps it would take a turd for its hybrid offspring. He had no way of explaining the situation. If they had a spoken language, the sounds they emitted were not within the range a human ear could hear. He could have drawn a picture if there had been paper and pencil handy, something like the male and female figures NASA had sent into space to see if some intelligent life form would pick it up and understand, but he didn’t recognize any of their tools, including the one that had fucked him.
The creature had shown no interest in allowing him to reciprocate, though he’d tried his best in sign language to communicate his willingness to do so. It or he was an extremely attractive whatever it or he was. They all were, with lovely beige-colored skin like peach fuzz, no arms or limbs he could identify as such, nor any other features for that matter, except their pair of dark brown eyes that seemed to him kind and gentle. The one that had probed him had taken care not to hurt him.
If it understood the concept of male and female, it must have realized to which gender he belonged, for he’d grown hard feeling whatever it had put inside him swell and press against his prostate, and had ejaculated a second or two before it finished. It had carefully gathered up his semen and tucked it away in what could have been either a pouch in its body or a pocket in its clothing. It had happened too swiftly for him to tell which, and the other creatures had gathered around to have a look at it, blocking his view, occasionally turning their bodies to peer at him in what he interpreted as wonderment.
His only fear was that he might have contracted some intergalactic STD. Then he thought that perhaps they didn’t reproduce by a fusion of two gametes, that what it had planted inside him only needed some warm place to incubate and that he would give birth, after how long a gestation he didn’t know. Would it hurt? Would he even survive the ordeal? And if it should come to pass, what would he name the child?
2. The Morning After
I woke up with the taste of semen in my mouth, my body sticky and pleasantly groggy from sexual satiation. My balls felt wrung out, my asshole, reamed. I didn’t know where I was, nor did I recognize the man whose bed I shared. I couldn’t remember going home with; I couldn’t even remember meeting him. I assumed it was at Jimmy’s. I remembered going there.
I glanced around the room. Our clothes lay scattered on the floor. I was relieved to see a pile of open condom wrappers on the nightstand, though I couldn’t imagine how we’d gone through so many. The clock beside them said ten-thirty. I racked by brain trying to remember if today was a workday. Probably not, if I’d gone clubbing the night before.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, then turned to examine the naked form sprawled on his back beside me, his goods as visible as a display in a department store window. I couldn’t have done better if I’d been sober, not for looks, nor, judging by how I felt, for performance. I could only hope I’d done half as well by him.
He had the pale skin, raven-black hair and full red lips Snow White’s mother had wished for her daughter. I wondered whether the eyes behind his closed lids were dark or steely blue. His smooth chest, only a hair or two around each nipple, rose and fell with his quiet breathing. On his belly, rounded in relaxation, a faint trail of fine dark hairs ran down from his navel. He had a narrow waist and strong legs. His penis, large and pulpy, lay limply across his thigh. I bent over and kissed the tip.
Apparently I hadn’t disappointed him, for he stirred in his sleep, reached out a hand to feel if I was still there, and pulled me to him for a kiss. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m afraid I forgot your name.”
3. Rain
A dark gray sky, the noise of heavy rain deadening his ears, and at every turn another puddle blocked his path, deeper than his shoes were high. The storm sewers had begun to back up. His umbrella only protected his shoulders; his slacks, cold and waterlogged, clung to his calves.
He’d waited for the bus, and when it still hadn’t come ten minutes after the scheduled time, he’d set out on foot. Few people had ventured out to brave the weather. The rare car that drove by, sending a spray of water onto the nearly empty sidewalks, had its wipers going full speed.
A young man, little more than a kid, stood leaning against a shop window under the awning, his shoulders hunched, his hands clutching his upper arms. No raingear, just a light windbreaker, jeans and sneakers. He let go of one arm long enough to wipe away the water dripping down his face from the hair that lay plastered to his skull.
He didn’t intend it as a pick-up line. He pressed a dollar bill into his hand and said, “Here, get yourself a cup of coffee before you catch pneumonia.”
“I got money. I’m waiting for someone.”
“Don’t you have a cellphone? Can’t you call whoever it is and say you’ll be somewhere else, somewhere warm?”
“I don’t know who I’m waiting for. Might be you.”
How do you answer something like that? “Then come with me to that coffee shop down the street and we’ll find out.”
There was a fireplace in the far corner, and near it a low table, a sofa and three overstuffed armchairs. They sat facing each other. The barista brought them their mochas. The kid had insisted on paying for his own.
“What did you think you were doing, waiting for no one in particular on a day like this?”
“Nothing to do at my place. It’s just one room and the TV’s busted. You know how to fix televisions?” He certainly had some unusual come-on lines, if that’s what they were.
“I’m afraid not. Do you have a name?”
“Porter.”
“First or last? I’m Michael.”
“First. Porter James. My parents named me backwards, figuring I had a first name already. You got a car?”
“No, I took the bus downtown.”
“What for?”
“Errands.”
“Important?”
“Not really. If I’d known the rain was going to turn into a downpour and the bus I needed to transfer to wouldn’t show, I’d have stayed home.”
“You wouldn’t have met me if you did.”
That was true enough. The kid was very good looking, too, though where this was all leading he couldn’t tell.
“I only live four or five blocks from here.”
“In which direction?”
“South.”
So they’d be passing the bank, one of his errands. He wouldn’t mention, though, in case the kid was planning to rob him.
“Got some frozen pizzas. The oven still works. We could get out of these wet things and hang them over the radiator to dry.”
“We’ll finish our mochas first, won’t we?”
“Yeah, maybe chat a little longer too. It’s a nice fire; nothing like that at my place. And who knows, maybe the rain will let up a bit.”