Just Another Flying Saucer Story

My neighbors have been complaining. I've done every thing I can to remediate their concerns. I don't start working before 9 am, I stop before 6 pm. I've built a shed around the saucer, made it out of heavy rubber matting, which dulls all sound. If they weren't spying on me they wouldn't even know I was in there working.

They just don't like the idea I'm building a flying saucer. Their term not mine. I know better, it won't fly when I'm finished, not exactly, and it is actually shaped like a football.

My problems started when I lost my job and had to start scrounging materials. Industrial dumpster are the best, you wouldn't believe what companies throw away. One day I found a box full of unopened RAM, another time the dumpster was full of aluminum cable tray, I mean, what were they thinking? I guess I'm obsessive, that's what my therapist told me, when I could still afford a therapist. I just get so caught up in working on my projects that I don't have any time to make money. When I found I could get free food from dumpsters, not to mention new running shoes and jeans I stopped even looking for work.

That's when the Gregson's, the bobos next door really lost it. They caught me going through the dumpster behind Wendy's. Great pickings if you're looking for a quick snack.

Today, I had to fuck Mrs. Gregson.

In a moment of weakness I told her the truth. I didn't expect her to believe me. She was in her back yard sun bathing. I got too close to the anti-gravity unit, I know better, but I lost focus for a moment. Next thing I know I'm floating over her fence.

Mrs. Gregson, five years I've lived beside them and I don't have a clue what her first name is, was lying on her stomach, on a blue blanket, wearing a yellow thong. I was admiring her ass when the charge wore off and I crashed to earth about two feet from her head. I caught her off guard.

She sat up suddenly and there I was lying in front of her. It took her a few moments to remember to cover her breasts.

"Pervert," she screamed.

"Alien, actually," I said.

After that I figured I had no choice but to tell her the entire story. I'm not sure she understood all the technology but she got that I'm trapped here, ever since the police impounded my original spaceship. They thought it was hazardous waste. I don't blame them, it looked like slag and glowed in the dark. I should have done a better job of hiding it.

It is quite hard for the average joe to put their hands on anything hot enough to fuel a proper transporter. Unless your rich getting plutonium or uranium is out of the question. I had to think of a different technology. Anti-gravity seemed like my best bet but it is notoriously hard to control and I have no desire to spend the rest of my life careening madly around the universe. So I'm only going to use it to get out of Earth orbit, then I will switch to diesel.

Okay, I know your laughing but you haven't read any of Diesel's original papers have you. He had plans in there for using neem tree oil to build a ram jet engine. My fuel of choice is canola oil, I beg used oil off restaurants and filter it in my backyard. Another thing my neighbors hold against me. I'll fire the engine just as I'm leaving orbit and push off against the sudden pull of gravity when I shut off the a-g drive. It'll take me twenty years to drift back home but it has to beat spending another day here.

Mrs. Gregson had to mess it up by believing me. She went for the cell phone. It was on the blanket beside me. If only she'd phoned the police, that I could have dealt with. But no, she had to phone NASA. It has taken me eight years to build Gertrude, I'm damned if NASA is going to come along now and take all the glory.

I reached out and touched her left nipple with my right index finger. She stared down at my finger, I rushed blood in and out of the finger tip. Hot and cold, hot and cold, works fine at home. I guess human women aren't that different. I slid my other hand down her belly, it was a little plump on such a thin woman, and under her bikini panties.

Back home we learn to make our fingers vibrate in play school. No reason humans couldn't master it, physiologically we're mostly the same. Mrs. G. wasn't ready for a vibrating hand. She tried hard to pull away, I had to grab her tit to keep her in place long enough for the obvious attraction of such a skill to become apparent. When it did she was all over me like kids riding magic carpets on a snowy hill.

Things didn't get completely out of hand until she yanked my jeans down. It isn't that we're bigger than human men, it's that the ligaments that hold the penis attached to the pubic bone are a lot more elastic. We appear to have three or four extra inches. Our penis going around and around is just how we signal sexual excitement, since we're always erect.

Now I'm stuck on the horns of a dilemma. My wing commander forbade me to have sex with Earth women. He made a good argument. I could bring back some viscious bug we don't have immunity to, I could leave behind DNA prove of my existence, give how fertile we are as a race I might impregnate her and God knows what the result of such a union might be capable of getting up to, and most importantly, they'll go nuts given how hopeless Earth men are at sex.

But cocks and cunts have a language that doesn't care about differences, welcomes them, and all the warnings did was make the sex more fun. Mrs. G was tighter than our women, much tighter, and that was a delightful discovery. She also liked to grind her pelvis against mine, what an innovation, I can tell you. But the best thing was her attitude to kinky sex, she actually liked it when I applied my tongue to her genitalia, and she didn't insist on getting it in her anus. Overall far superior to our women. She passed out in the end, she's still sleeping over there, I moved her into the shade, but boy was she a revelation.

Three choices and I'm going to lose no matter which I pick. I leave right now, take my chances that the saucer is ready to fly, and know that when I'm debriefed I'll be looking at forty years in the brig. I stay she if my wing was right, that Mrs. Gregson will be prepared to do anything I want, now that I've fucked her. Maybe I could start my own cult, one of those free love things where every one had sex with the leader. Or I can go back over there and grab Mrs. G, she and I can head into space together, look for someplace new. See what our offspring look like.

Whatever, I've got about twenty minutes to decide. Then she is going to wake up.