Fragments Fiction

DRINK THE WORM

October 1, 2007

When Patrick and I woke up last Friday, we never imagined that we would be Earth's first line of defense against an insidious alien plan to conquer the planet. Thoughts like that just never cross your mind on Friday mornings before coffee and tequila. But that was last Friday. Today, we're taking a well-earned sunner in Cabo.

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"Did I hear a delivery?" I asked, climbing out of the swimming pool and crossing the veranda. I wrapped a towel around my waist to stop dripping.

"Ay-yup laddie, me scientist buddies found artifacts on a planet circling Sirius. They sent a package through the Quantum Rift." Patrick turned the container searching for the latch.

"More petrified animal dung?"

"No, artifacts of culture from an ancient civilization," Patrick said. He twiddled with the container unable to see the writing on the lid thanks to being colorblind. "I can never... Here, damn it," he threw the container to me.

"Thumbs O'Leary time huh?" I gave it one good look. I pressed my index finger to the top of the container and it opened wide like an eager cheerleader spreading her legs for the quarterback. I handed the container to Patrick.

"Seamus McFumble-Fingers can't open boxes, big deal." Patrick laughed. He peered into the box and removed a computer flash drive. He loaded the files and began to read. The box held black billiard balls.

"Doesn't make sense, does it? Billiard balls, how intriguing. How do Professor Travis and Brain-Boy explain that one? The ancient Sirians had trouble, oh yeah trouble, with a Capital C and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pool?"

"They can't be billiard balls. Unless, our two academically brilliant xeno-archeologists have suddenly turned to Trick or Treat jokes and we both know just how humorless those two are." Patrick scanned the computer files and picked up one of the balls and to study. We sat on a promontory of pure white sand surrounded by warm, tropical waters. Palm trees waved behind us and dolphins jumped. I leaned back on the beach chair and spread suntan oil on my body. I loved my beach. I loved the sun and I loved my tequila sitting next to my antique beach chair. My only two, real possessions.

"They carbon date back a million years." He handed one to me. It felt heavy, not glassy heavy but carboniferous coal-like heavy. I tapped it with my nail.

"This one feels more like the composite rubber antique bowling ball I bought a few years ago. It's bot even round. It's rough and eliptoidally funky." I said. I set it on my chest. It flip-flop-illy rolled down my washboard abs, like a boiled egg goes wobbly. I let it stop and rest against my Speedo swimsuit. Then, I arched my back and let it roll back up to my pecs. Patrick watched me flex my body. He eschewed exercise and I loved being fit. I also loved being a smart ass.

"Like fine cigars rolled on the thighs of pretty girls. It's either hollow, liquid filled, or something stupid. Maybe an Easter egg laid by a drunken bunny rabbit." I let it slip inside my swimsuit. It bulged out the thin fabric and rolled around with my own two orbs.

"Show off." Patrick folded his arms and glared. "How many times have I told you, never put an artifact next to your cock and balls?"

"I dunno, Thirty-five or forty, I guess. You're just jealous because you're I'm bigger and uncircumcised."

"Grow up Dude." Patrick picked up the other artifact and rolled it between his fingers and palms.

"Aw, I'm just trying to cheer you up. You know how depressed you get when I don't give you hell for couple days." Patrick couldn't answer rhetorically personal and upbeat questions. Instead, he shut down the displays. The sun went out, the sky turned gray, the beach turned to metal, the gulls ceased to fly. The dolphins pixilated themselves out of existence. All that was left was our gray workroom, fluorescent lighting, my beach chair and the bottle of tequila.

"Well, if you're going to be Miss Pissy about it..." I slid my Speedo's down and rolled the artifact inside my foreskin. "Ta Da! The Italian sausage strikes again." I stretched my arms and for all the world to see my muscular magnificence. The artifact hung from the end of my cock, suctioned like a tennis ball on a vacuum cleaner hose by my overhanging foreskin .

"Do you know how dangerous shit like that is? One day, some artifact is going to rot your dick."

"Ain't going to happen. The filters on the Quantum Rift screen out anything dangerous. A dozen klaxons would be screaming bloody murder if it was unsafe." I put on my best "little boy bad" face and lifted a finger to my pouty lips.

"I'm going to ignore you, now. Cope with that," Patrick said. He tried to set his artifact down but it stuck to his fingers like snot. "Now what!" Patrick growled, pushing the artifact with his other hand and getting that stuck too.

"It's stuck," he said. I grabbed my dick with one hand and pulled at the artifact with the other. It had lip lock on my Willy's foreskin.

"Ohhhhh shhhhhheeee-it!" I yelled. The artifact dissolved and spread around my foreskin, down my cock and up onto my torso. My fingers stuck to the blackness of the artifact letting it spread faster. I rolled backwards on the lounge as the artifact infused my body. Patrick tried to pry the ever-changing artifact from his arm but it spread like sour cream on a baked potato. He rolled. We screamed. I clawed. The black stains moved over out bodies our faces and silenced us.

Then I heard the aliens talking in my head.

"Well Grygg, these two were decidedly easier than the first two explorers."

"How true Ifffnar. If all humans are this juvenile, inane and addle-brained then conquest is assured." I didn't see Patrick's mouth moving. Telepathy? Telepathy? The universe wasted telepathy on billiard balls?

"You ignorant bastards, get out of my mind and leave my body!" I thought.

"Oh yeah sure, human. Just because you say so, I'm going to go back to hibernation. What do you humans say: Possession is 9/10ths of the law? Finder's keepers? Eat shit and die?" He clamped a gag on my internal voice. I felt my body get up off the floor and sit next to the table.

"This one is calling me all sorts of vile and nasty names. Apparently, I'm corporeal garbage. They seem to have thousands of derogatories for stupidity and bodily waste, synonymously identical terms," Irfffnar thought.

"We got bodies. We incarnated ourselves. We got corporeal lives filled with taboo acts we can perform with feeling bodies. Especially, pleasurable are acts with plug-in toys called females. In fact, this particularly stupid human tried to use my inert form for sexual pleasure. These humans are truly scraping the bottom of a very shallow gene pool. They consider the two round dangling lumps of flesh the seat of intelligence," Grygg chuckled.

"I just retrieved a memory of intense physical pleasure via mutual oral contact with the fleshy, tubular things," Irfffnar thought.

"I remember physical contact, don't you? No wonder he stuck me inside that fold of flesh. we've been incorporeal too long. Let's try this physical contact thing called a blow job even thought it mostly deals with sucking. What silly names they assign to their acts."

"What are we waiting for? let's Lambada, babycakes!"

"Oh Jeffe, I thought you'd never ask."

Grygg willed my body to respond. I felt my cock stiffen and grow. I watched helpless as Patrick undressed and lowered his throbbing manhood towards my mouth. The alien made me savor Patrick's pissy smell and his salty taste as he let Patrick's tube steak thrust in and out of my mouth.

My human hips responded, humping Patrick's face. I could hear the alien thoughts as they enjoyed our sixty-nine. They bit, licked, tongued, wiggled, giggled, and learned man-to-man sex. The aliens used our bodies like rubbery sex toys; unashamedly screaming, yelling, sucking, deep throating and things neither Patrick nor I ever imagined doing to each other. Worse, they did it for a long time, longer than I expected my body to last without an orgasm.

That's when I realized their weakness. As sure as God made little green apples and jockstraps to keep them little green apples safe, the aliens had spent years without physical pleasure. What little was left of their physical bodies could be expelled by our bodies when we reached the big O.

Patrick and I could just barely communicate through the aliens' telepathic link. Little by little, we pushed the alien minds into our genitals. Unfamiliar with human psychosexual physicality and too secure in their belief of superiority to figure it out, Grygg and Irfffnar abandoned themselves to the act of fellatio with enthusiasm and its brother, gusto.

The orgasm raged through our bodies like trumpets proclaiming the end of the world, drums banging out the falling cosmos. Our bodies crashed too. The beach chair splintered. The wood split in a wild-ass, balls-to-the-wall, brain-busting orgasm. The beast we created blew a second time like Vesuvius, like Krakatoa, like Mount Saint Helens. A veritable Old Faithful of alien essence spurting forth.

As the orgasm rocked the alien's minds, Patrick and I forced them out of our bodies just like sploogy-white jism and red-hot, stinky scummy sperm. I would guess about four, maybe five ounces of gagging good spermalicious, seminal spermatofores. I thought my poor Willy was going to split open like a hot dog in boiling water from the pressure.

Patrick and I gagged, spit, wiped, drooled, spit, wiped, spit, spit, spit. Anything but swallowed. I grabbed the tequila and washed the remnants of the aliens from my mouth. I poured the tequila into Patrick's mouth and made him eject the aliens. We puked. We vomited. We rejoiced in their eviction and extermination. Two dead aliens lay mixed with half-digested lunch and wasted tequila. Patrick and I lay there on the shattered remains of my beach chair, washing the remains of two dead aliens from our mouths and bodies, gasping for breath, dripping with sweat, thanking the makers of tequila for the alien, spermicidal worm that saved us.

"Fucking aliens can't hold their liquor, only real human beings can drink tequila," I said back in control of my body. We both stunk of spent spew and befouled booze.

"Reseal that damn container and activate the hazardous waste sign. Don't dare touch anything inside. Just close it. We can't take any more chances." Patrick ordered.

"Are you going to inform Space Command that Professor Travis Shorts and his intern, Preston Bunns have been compromised," I asked.

"We have no choice. Those aliens came through the filters in the Quantum Rift. There must be several dozen left in that container."

"Can't we just call it a failed invasion and not turn over the surveillance tape?" I thought about how I might explain my actions without seriously damaging my reputation as a stud muffin with the girlies.

"Not a chance. this will go down in the annals as the the tale of the Italian Sausage That Defeated the Aliens Invasion Of Earth. Our story will live in the Chronicles of Intruder Xenobiologicals. You and I deserve the recognition. Just think of all those hot, horny collegians forced to watch your foreskin antics in their Junior xeno-biology classes for many years to come. Your grandchildren will have something to be proud of." Patrick sneered at me. He has this mean streak. Still, me and my foreskin forgive him.

After Space Command de-aliened us, they decided that we needed a vacation. That's how we ended up in Cabo San Lucas taking a sunner and enjoying the beach. After all, saving the human race from alien subjugation deserves some sort of reward, doesn't it?

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