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Marooned

Genre: Science fiction, humourous, m/m non-traditional Romance, Novella, (R-18) This page contains one excerpt with adult content rated 18.

Nominated for Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews Book of the week, January 15th, 2011.

The Sexual Evolution of the Marooned Spaceman.

When he’s marooned on a strange planet, cosmonaut Vernon Attwater thinks his only problem is one of possibly ending up as reptile poo — especially when the reptile chasing him looks like something out of an old science fiction movie. Little does he know that the alien who saves his life is about to complicate matters in ways he never imagined…ways that make him sigh, pant, groan and gasp with pleasure. Even so, surely he can control his own yearnings, especially when he’s never previously felt such desires being that the alien may look androgynous but is decidedly male in every way that matters.

Cresszna seems to have other ideas and is rather persistent. It doesn’t help that Vern knows he’s sending out mixed messages. He keeps saying no even as his body is saying yes, and feels rather shocked by the overwhelming sense of loss when it seems Cresszna is prepared to accept his rejection.

There’s no way home and Cresszna is the only intelligent humanoid life-form he’s run into. Would life, and sex, with the alien truly be so bad, especially when Vern’s experiencing sensations he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. Trouble is, there appears to be a price to pay if he wants to be Cresszna’s mate — one that’s even more amazing than the strange things he’s so far encountered on the planet.

Available from Changeling Press.

Read an Excerpt…

For the moment the alien had finished with him, apparently. It closed the trunk and stepped back. Vern took his fruit and water over to the corner by the window and sat down to finish the only meal he was likely to get tonight. Surprisingly the fruit quenched his thirst more than the water did, and very soon he felt full. Despite his understandable caution, he had to consider the creature had shared its food.
Fine, so the food it shared looked like a green dildo complete with knobbly bits, but it satisfied the places dildos with knobbly bits usually couldn’t reach. Surprised to feel rather content, Vern was distracted enough not to notice the alien undressing. When he looked up, he saw that the alien had folded its garments and was just now settling itself in the centre of the bed.

Completely naked in the centre of the bed.

The creature sat there with its back to him, cross-legged, head upright, arms resting against its thighs. If asked to describe what the alien was doing, Vern would have said it was meditating.

Vern blinked. The last of the fruit lay on his tongue and it took him a moment to remember he needed to swallow it quickly. He choked it back with the last of the water. It took Vern that time to acknowledge he was looking at the elegant line of the alien’s back with something close to admiration.

Vern stifled the urge to cough. It wasn’t desire or anything like it, most definitely not, no. That body was just so… unexpected. Perfect. There was something androgynous about its form. That wavy black hair that curled up at the ends as if weightless led down to smooth rounded shoulders that had something masculine about them. The arms were slender, feminine. The back could belong to either a man or a woman. The hips…

Vern looked away. He didn’t want to think of those hips leading down to the curved buttocks and the beginnings of the cleft between. At least the creature was definitely humanoid. It had no extra appendages — not that he could see anyway, but then he hadn’t seen all of it… yet. As nudity didn’t appear to bother it, he felt sure he’d get the chance.

Not that he wanted the chance. Of course not. Why would he? Why would he want to see…

Vern jerked his head away again, only then realising that he’d turned to look at the alien creature once more. He’d begun to feel most peculiar. He felt certain he’d even lost a minute or two there, had zoned out.

Swallowing yet again, Vern began to wonder whether he should have eaten that strange fruit after all. He’d needed the sustenance, but as a result maybe he was experiencing some kind of strange reaction. He at once felt drowsy and yet absurdly alert in other respects.

Performing a quick self-examination, he noted that his heart rate had kicked up a pace; not racing, still he was aware of his blood surging. His skull felt full, as if inner pressure had caused his brain to swell. Maybe he’d suffered injuries in the crash that were only now making themselves known. His skin… tingled. His fingertips, as he brushed them against his leg, felt particularly sensitive. Only then did he notice that other parts of his body were feeling exceptionally responsive. Why?

Vern gazed around, sniffed. Maybe his reaction was owing to the fragrance in the air. Maybe it was owing to whatever the alien used to fire the glow sticks — there was probably oil of some type in the bottom of those jars. Maybe the fumes were making him lightheaded and giddy. Except that wasn’t right. Those weren’t the right words to describe how he felt. He felt… aware.

Battling the desire to look across the room yet again, Vern struggled and lost. His gaze lifted and he caught himself staring. His mind… separated. Part of him stared, taking in the vision of the creature’s body, but as his gaze continued to rise, he tilted his head enough to study one side of that face.

The eyes were oval. He could see that even with the creature’s eyes closed. The cheekbones were high, leading down to an angular chin. The alien definitely appeared androgynous, but its form also leaned just enough toward masculine to be male. Its expression was one of perfect peace. The creature sat there: legs crossed, the back of its hands resting against the knees, palms out, hair drifting up at the ends in the soft golden illumination emanating from the sticks. The alien looked like an arousing version of a dark angel. It looked like something one would conjure up in an erotic dream.

Certain he had to be dreaming, Vern tried to tear his gaze away. A moment later, he tried again. He couldn’t do it. His body simply refused to obey. His mind told his head to turn, and nothing happened. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t look away, but that he didn’t want to.

Another part of him was aware that he sat there, legs drawn up, sore, achy, cold. His body felt chilled to the point where it was beginning to quake. He was shaking with cold, the chill having crept into his bones so that even the fact that the alien had covered the window, and the room had reached a decent temperature, he couldn’t get warm. Although aware of this deep aching chill, Vern couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He could only watch, aware of his increased heart rate and of his sensitive sex. He wasn’t quite hard — he was too cold for that — but Vern was very aware of sexual feelings down there.

The alien appeared to rise up from its trance. Without opening its eyes, it reached out and dipped its fingers into a small bowl that had escaped Vern’s attention. When it pulled its hand back, a lilac-coloured cream adorned its fingers. This it proceeded to rub into its skin with slow movements and extended strokes that in turn led Vern’s gaze on a wandering path in the wake of those long fingers.

His gaze travelled from the wrist to the elbow, elbow to the shoulder, around the shoulder, down the sides to the small of the back, then back up to cross the front of the creature’s body where he could not see, and then up to the neck. By the time the being began the same stroking caresses applying the cream to its legs, Vern had managed to turn away.

Not for long. When he looked back, the alien had resettled into its cross-legged stance. It began applying the last of the strange mixture to its thighs, one hand on each, down in a glide from the hip to the knee, then sweeping in.

A sharp intake of breath broke the silence as the alien tilted back its head, its expression tightening to just short of a frown. It wasn’t pain Vern saw in that frown. He saw pleasure and maybe something more. He saw ecstasy.

Surely, the alien couldn’t be… It wasn’t… No. It wouldn’t just… Talk about your ultimate exhibitionist.

Another gasp shattered the silence and fractured Vern’s mind as well as his denials. That sound drove down like a spear and then cracked, flying out in all directions of his body, teasing his nervous system into feeling sensations he hadn’t even known his body was capable of.

It had to be some kind of drug. He couldn’t be feeling these things. He was imagining it. He swallowed and felt, as well as heard, a little click in his throat. What he was feeling, and what he believed the alien was doing had to be an illusion. The alien couldn’t… wouldn’t… Was!

Try as he did to deny it, Vern recognised the look on the creature’s face. He knew exactly what the creature was doing and all thoughts, wishes, and hopes of this alien being a female went out of his mind. No matter the hints of androgyny, this being was a male. It had to be. Surely, no female would… do that in front of him when they’d only just met. His mind briefly flitted to thoughts of Nancy again, but then she was one in a million. A million what, he couldn’t say, but she was rather unique.

Knowing his thoughts were ridiculous, Vern tried to turn his mind aside, to think of something else — anything to ignore the creature’s sighs, which shivered out in tune with the movements of its fingers. That movement was the very thing that enticed his head to turn back even as he forced his gaze away.

Vern just couldn’t accept this being was female. It was definitely male. He’d known that. He’d known it the moment it had licked his face, while it pulled him through the forest, carrying him here. Yes, now he was remembering: little flashes of consciousness where he hung over its shoulder, vaguely aware of his vision swimming in and out, little glimpses of the forest floor intersected with the sight of that mottled coat that the creature wore. Slung over its shoulder, Vern’s face had hovered just inches from a well-formed backside. The fact that he’d felt any attraction to it then, or now, made Vern’s face grow warm even as the rest of him shivered from cold.

There was no reason to be so hard on himself, no pun intended. It was hardly surprising he should have chaotic thoughts and… feelings. Vern swallowed, fighting the urge to cough, not wishing to draw attention to himself.

He accepted that he’d only hoped the being was a female because he knew he was lost here, alone, and in too short a time he’d feel lonely. Not that loneliness should have got to him so quickly, if ever at all. He was Vern the loner and wore the mantle with the epitome of coolness, even if his loner quality was something everyone else forced on him, instead of something he chose. One had to make the best of one’s attributes. He’d used that loner façade and superiority to get where he was now.

Vern’s gaze wandered around the room, and where he was now came home to roost with vivid squawks and what sounded like a randy cock crowing.
What if you were lost on a desert island? What would you wish for?

Water, food, shelter, in that order, but then company. Vern knew that eventually, he’d long for company.

Who was he kidding? He’d been lonely most of his life. Vern could be in a room of recruits or home with his very successful family, and he felt lonely.

Still, there was a difference between lonely and alone. To think he’d only been here three days. Three days and already Vern longed for friendship to a point where any form of companionship would do. He just hadn’t expected to find company in the form of a masturbating alien. He was reminded that one should be careful what one wished for.

He could tell by the movements of the hand that this creature wasn’t sinking its fingers or rubbing at sensitive folds; it was jerking the hand back and forth. Maybe a lazy jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.

Quite suddenly, Vern felt like the jerk; quite suddenly, he wanted to see.

© Sharon Maria Bidwell, all rights reserved.