This Sizzling Sunday, I have a brand new, free story for you. Enjoy!
Earth Girls are Easy
I’d always thought alien abductions happened at night. You’re driving down some dark, lonely country road, when a cone of blinding light captures your vehicle and sucks you into the sky. Or you’ve just donned your pajamas and brushed your teeth when a suspicious noise lures you into your shadow-filled backyard. Like a sleepwalker, you drift helplessly up the gang-plank into the silver saucer that hovers above your lawn.
In my case, it was barely eight am. I was on the final stretch of my morning run along the Charles, panting and sweaty, looking forward to a shower, then a productive morning in my lab. I summoned a final burst of energy for the last hundred yards. Instead of speeding up, however, I slowed to a crawl. My arms and legs suddenly felt leaden. The air around me congealed into a sort of sticky jelly that made every movement a struggle. The traffic noise from Memorial Drive died away. The rippling river froze. The sun-lit sparkle on the water dimmed. I hardly had time to be frightened before the world blinked out of existence.
The first thing I noticed upon waking was the chill. Goose bumps rose on my bare arms. My nipples contracted to hard knots under my perspiration-soaked sports bra. A faint hint of ozone hung in the cool, still air.
“You are cold.” Not a question but an assertion, spoken in a deep, resonant voice that seemed to come from all directions. Instantly the atmosphere warmed to a more comfortable temperature.
As I tried to locate the source of this comment, I came to my next realization; I was bound, face up, secured to a padded table by smooth, flexible restraints that encircled my wrists and ankles.
“Hey! What’s going on?” I yanked futilely at my bonds. They tightened a bit in response. At the same time, the material softened as if to avoid damage to my skin. “Let me go!”
The domed ceiling glowed with a diffuse, soothing light. I craned my neck to look around. The peculiar chamber had no angles at all, which made its size difficult to judge. Featureless, shell-pink walls curved up to meet the luminous panels above me, unbroken by any sign of a window or door. The platform upon which I was restrained appeared to be the only furniture.
I struggled to remember how I’d arrived here, to understand my strange environment. I’d been running, then—nothing. Had I suffered some bizarre variety of stroke? Was this a dream? Was I in a coma? A quick inventory revealed no pain or apparent injury. My mental state had none of the fuzziness I associated with dreams. The table beneath me felt real and solid, though as I shifted position, the surface did likewise, adapting and molding itself to my body. My bonds were convincingly real as well.
“Where am I?” I called. As if in response, a circular aperture appeared in the wall to my left, and a figure stepped into the room.
“Greetings, Dr. Morrison.”
I should have been astonished by the fact that he knew my name, but I was distracted by more primitive concerns. My breath caught; my nipples peaked; a hungry ache settled in my pelvis. The man who stood beside me was beyond gorgeous. Tall and lean, with wavy golden hair, classically masculine features, broad shoulders and a subtly sculpted bare chest, he looked like some Greek god—except for the lavender skin, violet eyes and hands with two thumbs.
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