1 comments/ 13925 views/ 3 favorites The Voice Within By: ufpe The success of Gruber's Labs newest contribution to the scientific community reverberated through the sterile halls unchecked as the revelers downed their intoxicating concoctions in wild abandon. Apparently the small gelatinous mass I irreverently referred to as flubber, had been successful in restoring the neurological damage an ambulatory construction worker sustained during a substantial fall some months back. I guess I should have been happy too, but had declined the party invitation in hopes of completing my rounds early to catch the tail end of the Raiders game. With virtually no idea of the ramifications of the experiments success, I chose to remain blissfully ignorant knowing that too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing to a tired mind as my own. Old man Gruber had hired me right after my accounting position of 28-long years had been downsized into a miniscule pension. My wife left shortly thereafter with a smooth talking real estate agent who probably got his start selling hot cars. She left me with ungodly payments on our maxed out credit cards and the certain knowledge that my genitalia was at the bottom of the under privileged pile in her opinion. Bitter yet relieved, I set about quietly restoring my financial credibility while attempting to smother my deflated ego. That was four years ago, and although I've secured my financial respectability again, my ego never fully recovered. Several frustrating nights at the local strip clubs had convinced me that my personal life was best left to my imagination. Working as a custodian has its perks; although the hours are long at times, there's relatively little pressure and plenty of free time to converse with the menagerie of scientists and lab techs that scurry to and fro. At times condescending, they seem to enjoy their coexistence with a subservient lower life form, and often bestow whatever leftovers they possessed from food to technological trinkets. Several other coworkers - like the secretary Susan, a middle aged mother with three kids and a no load mate; Roger, my counterpart and great friend; and of course Mr. Druber, the head of the think tank and his somewhat ditzy niece Dawn, who had just gotten hired on out of some University back east - all treated me as a real person. The events that were to change my life began to unfold early the next morning as a dark overcast began to drizzle. The street lights were beginning to flick off as I unlocked the front door and sloshed into the lounge with a dripping coat and squeaky shoes. Roger was sitting at one of the shiny tables savoring a warm cup of Joe with his eyes half closed. Roger and I had bonded almost immediately and spent much of our free time together as he lived just a few doors away from me in the apartments that had seen better days. We spent many long hours together tapping brews while enjoying football games on the tube as his "main squeeze" terrorized the bargain bins at the nearby mall. An avid reader, Roger was always interesting with his witty anecdotes and philosophical revelations of the meaning of life. We talked about the persistent recurring stain under the long stainless work table in lab two, and the problem light fixture on the second floor before excusing ourselves to our separate paths – Roger to his pre-warmed bed with Gladys and me to the second floor buffing duties. Absent mindedly, I went through my well rehearsed procedure of making a new pot of coffee for the crew; especially Susan, who could easily down half the pot before her eyelids remained open. As I turned, there stood Dawn with the most bloodshot eyes I had ever seen. Her reputation as a hardcore party babe would definitely be in question when her coworkers saw her this morning. It wasn't until later that I learned the old man had given everyone a day off to recover from their brain numbing binge the evening before. Dawn had confided in me on several occasions on her life's inconsistencies as I was non-threatening and could truly feign interest while staring at the two perky globes that pushed her lab coat away from her otherwise anorexic figure. I kept her confidence while realizing many of her dilemmas were self-induced brain fade so inherent in the young. "Hiya Bob," she slurred as she pulled the oversized sunglasses from her pale face. "Morning Dawn," I drawled trying to conceal the snicker that was forming in my throat. "Raining yet?" "Haven't noticed," she offered meekly as she moved towards the coffee maker like a fly towards the porch light. "I got some pills down at Hanks pharmacy that just might help if you'd like me to get them for you," I offered; "They're all natural and non-addicting." She studied me for a moment and licked her lips slowly as she struggled to stay on her feet. "Yeah, I'd like that." I was able to suppress my laughter once out of the lounge, but couldn't help but think of what an easy lay she'd be under the influence. Although skinny by most any frame of reference, she still was attractive with her delicate features and long blond hair. I grabbed the pill bottle that was safely nestled between my vitamins and ibuprofen and returned to find the same pale figure losing the balance battle. Helping her to the nearest chair I shook a couple of pills into her palm and handed her the coffee. With nary a glance she downed the pharmaceuticals and chased them with a noisy slurp of Joe emitting a barely audible burp to complete the performance. I smiled and patted her hand in a fatherly way, as she stared at the concentric circles the coffee was making in the small Styrofoam cup. As I turned to leave her to her misery, she blurted out "Don't go just yet Bob . . . please?" The pain in her voice was unmistakable. I temporarily abandoned my thoughts and warily sat across from her hoping secretly her stomach was settled and her resolve sound. She started sobbing softly, and my nurturing instincts kicked in. "What's happing, Dawn," I queried sincerely. She sniffled and produced a wrinkled hanky, taking a lifetime to blow out her nasal passages before letting her red eyes meet mine. "I'm sorry," she muttered. I paused for a moment, trying to analyze the best approach – as a therapist, a friend, or as father easily being twice her age. "I'm afraid the BSP is a long way from perfection, and I'm responsible," she blurted. Forget the therapist and sibling approach; I'm going to tackle this as a friend, I thought. "OK Dawn," I sighed, "let's get to the bottom of this but try to keep your terminology on the secondary level, would you? What is a BSP?" I reached out slowly and took her hands in mine. She hesitated and wiped her nose sloppily as if she was more accustomed to a sleeve than a hanky. "Three years ago," she began, "My Uncle, your boss, discovered the proper chemical sequencing in the human neurological system and through gene splicing was able to perfect a compound that would repair the damaged neural sequencing required to effect movement. When I joined on, I had a theory for creating a symbiotic life form that could live on the unused chemicals the human body normally stores – hence the term biological symbiotic parasite or BSP. We hoped to create a life form that could be applied to skin near the damaged neural system, for example on the spinal column, and once the BSP integrated with the hosts unique chemistry, the integrated neural compounds would repair and sustain the damaged system, restoring the subject to their former levels of dexterity. The ramifications of such a discovery are staggering." She paused to slurp down some more Joe and continued; "Just recently, our grants have expired and we've been operating on borrowed funds which will soon be exhausted. In an effort to accelerate our research, I incorporated several untested theories into the life form. For several weeks, the subject showed unparalleled recovery, but this morning when I made my rounds, I found he had regressed to his former state and the BSP was lifeless on the chair next to him. "Sure it wasn't sleeping?" "Yes, the normal gelatinous mass was dried and shriveled." "Maybe it's malnourished." She paused, "I never thought of that." "Look Dawn, before you start playing the blame game, why don't you get that hunk of dried goo into the lab, and find out what really happened - like maybe the host rejected it, or accidentally leaned up against an electric transformer or something." A small smile slowly stretched across the scowl she had been wearing and the color noticeably returned to her face although her hands were still as cold as an arctic glacier. "I'll do that," she quipped and with a quick peck on my cheek, she was on her way to the lab. I'll never fathom the recuperative powers of the young, only look upon them with envy. With a feeling of relief, I staggered up the stairs to the second floor on my quest for a shiny floor, realizing how drained I felt from concentrating on her explanations of something I really didn't want to know and that my current employment was in question. In an empty building, cleaning is a snap, and before I knew it, I had finished up the second deck as well as thoroughly cleaned the restrooms and vacated offices. It's Miller time! I stuck my head into Dawn's lab as I was donning my rain attire to see how she was doing and let her know of my departure. She was humming while shaking beakers and tubes filled with heaven knows what. I had a gallery view of a mad scientist at work! "Come in, Bob," she quipped happily; "It appears as if the BSP was starved! Keep this up and you'll be working here instead of cleaning the johns!" "Great, Dawn – I'm done here so I'll see you bright. . ." "Wait; you gotta see this!" She held up a large beaker and nestled in the bottom was a translucent blob of flubber. "Looks like a booger," I mumbled. She snickered and waved me off. I was gratified and headed for the door thanking all that is great for not being drawn into another scientific discourse about what life could be with the miracle of modern science. Further, I didn't want to get too close to this young gal either as the consequences could be terminal if old man Gruber thought I might be doing something I ought not in the confines of his lab. "Bob?" I knew things were going too well. "Could I talk to you?" I paused, and finally nodded, "What is it Dawn?" "Let's go into the lounge – I need some more coffee." "OK, but let's not mess it up for Roger!" I eyed her warily as she dumped enough sugar in her mug to sustain a junk food junkie for a week. Topping it of with a few spoonfuls of coffee, she glided over to the opposing chair and landed with uncharacteristic abandon throwing my personnel folder on the table in front of us. The grating noises of spoon stirring raw sugar were irritating. She cleared her throat and assured eye contact before continuing. "When I applied the BSP to the subject's epidermis, it was unable to sustain itself, but as soon as I exposed it to an open wound it thrived." She pulled up the sleeve to her stained lab coat to reveal a small incision on her wrist. "What we need," she continued, "Is to implant the BSP surgically to insure it may obtain its nutrients directly." She paused for a pregnant moment allowing me to decipher her latest conclusion before continuing. "I see that you suffer from frequent bouts of sciatica and would like to implant the BSP to see if it would. . ." "Whoa Roger Ramjet; you're not suggesting you stick that slime onto my spine?" She giggled intoxicatingly; "Gee, poetry! And in a word, yes!" "In another word, NO," I stated emphatically. "Why not – aw common Bob, this could help you with your backaches and quite possibly give the project the boost it so desperately needs now." "Thanks for the opportunity, Dawn, but I'm not into S&M." "Bob, I'll be with you every step of the way and after you've been host for a few days I can remove it, if you'd like." "Why not do your little surgical thing on one of the other scientists; like Doc Muskwicz (the oldest scientist that suffered a terminal case of grumpiness) or maybe the Hunchback of Notre Dame? Look the Doc said my condition is quite normal and with a shot of steroids ever once in awhile, I'm just fine." "Bob, please do this for us, you're the most likely in-house candidate and the easiest to talk with. I'd monitor your progress every step of the way and we'd terminate the experiment the moment you request it. Tell me, do you like your job?" It took a moment for the implications to set in – without the success of the BSP; I'd be drawing my second miniscule pension along with Roger and all the others I'd come to know so well. In an instant I saw myself morph from a lowly shit sweeper to a real somebody with press conferences, interviews, and maybe even TV commercials (as long as they weren't for hemorrhoids or tampons). One look into her eyes assured me of her sincerity, and the remote possibility of painless work was tempting. "How long will the procedure take, Doc?" The way she flew over the table and hugged me dispelled the last of my fears. "Five minutes under a local. Common let's prep!" She sailed out of the lounge babbling like a five year old with a new Barbie while I removed my outer wraps and wondered if this was how Frankenstein might have felt. The table was already prepared and before I could mutter any last words, she had me sprawled out face down with my Dickies around my ankles and my shirt scrunched around my neck. Why do medical professionals always refer to a needle prick as a pinch and any type of pain as a little pressure? Fear can play strange tricks to an otherwise well organized mind, and although the "procedure" was almost over before it started, I was still in the throes of high anxiety. Her deft and delicate hands were gentler than a Mother's caress and her soothing encouragements kept me from bolting for the door and screaming obscenities in wild abandon. With the stinging prick of a syringe in my right buttock, I was on my way to a dream land, barely aware of her struggles to cover me in my conventional attire or scribble her procedure on a tattered clipboard. My head was still spinning when, with a quick peck to my cheek and a packet of Demerol, I was floating out the door towards the ultimate comfort of my unmade bed. The evening fell and night passed without once interrupting the most peaceful sleep ever. Normally, the electronic buzz of my alarm would throw me into spasms of my fight or flight reflex but the dawn came and the buzzer went off unnoticed. When I finally did stir, any thoughts of an unblemished on-time record had sailed into the clear morning air as I eased myself from the comfort of my down comforter into the familiar recesses of my poorly vented water closet sporting the biggest woody I'd carried in years! I stared at the throbbing appendage amazed by its miraculous rejuvenation and the feelings of desire it was pumping through my torso into my still somewhat drug-clouded brain. Amazingly my back, knees and feet were completely devoid of the normal ache that was a constant reminder of my aging process. There was a knock on the door; and here I was sporting my first erection in years with my mind, my only bastion of defense, swaggering in a pool of ecstatic confusion. I threw a towel around my torso and stumbled out to investigate the offensive clatter. It was darling Dawn who pushed herself past me and marched into the small studio apartment, throwing her coat unceremoniously over my over worked captains chair. Her eyes immediately landed on the bulge tenting my towel in unspoken awe. "Why Bob, are you glad to see me?" I couldn't even mutter a response. She bounced lightly onto the bed with a small medical bag and patted the blanket next to her. "Let's see how your implant is adapting this morning." "Ah, don't worry about it, I'm fine," I muttered trying to hide my embarrassment. "C'mon Bob," she stressed with a hint of urgency in her voice. I complied gingerly, awash in emotions that were, for the most part, less than honorable. As her gentle hands swept the towel away from my torso and she began to caress the slight bulge in my lower back, her whole demeanor changed abruptly. What once was a look of professional curiosity was suddenly overcome by unmistakable unbridled lust complete with dilated pupils, flaring nostrils, and drool. In one swift motion I was on my back and she was pawing my torso like a woman repossessed. Fondling my engorged organ with the inquisitiveness of a virgin and the urgency of a nymphomaniac, her body began to gyrate in the unmistakable throes of arousal. Her grip tightened suddenly squeezing the living life out of my tool as she emitted a low "Uuuuummmmmmmmmph," and her body began jerking uncontrollably. She wrapped her legs around my own and began humped my kneecap with wild abandon as I watched her orgasmic throes with suspect curiosity and delight. About the time my kneecap was about ready to slide to safety around the backside of my leg, she rolled onto her knees and pulled her calf length skirt up around her waist. In an instant, she tore away her frilly white panties and, grabbing my glistening penis she guided herself onto me with a swift well rehearsed motion. Ecstasy poured through every fiber of my torso as she grunted with each forceful thrust. Before I could fully savor the warmth of our intimacy, her whole body stiffened and she fell backwards onto her elbows with a long screech as an explosive fountain of her essence shot across by chest and onto the headboard. I was stunned. Dawn rolled off me exhausted; droplets of her essence still clinging to the trimmed downy muff that only partial hid the inflamed lips of her sexuality. Still amazed at my new found dexterity, I easily rolled off the bed as Dawn continued to shake, quake and squirt. Her face was contorted in erotic ecstasy as her body continued to cope with her orgasmic overload; her beautiful legs twitching sporadically while her delicate fingers continued to knead the center of her lust. Ah the unspoken beauty of youth. Once in the shower, I allowed the warm soothing stream to bring me back to my senses – a liberty I was soon to regret. Questions soon tumbled onto my psychic like a rock avalanche punctuated by why and what if. She was my only contact with the little bundle that had restored part of me to my youth and she was also the boss's niece. This was one fine mess. My penis, now shriveled to its normal size felt mauled yet, for the first time in my life, fulfilled. Should I go to work; should I run away, should I tell someone about my dilemma, or should I just pretend nothing happened? In the end prudence won out, and I decided to run away. Drying off quickly as Dawn moaned incomprehensible expletives on the bed, I grabbed a few changes of clothes and some important papers and headed out the door for a new life; heaven knows the life I had known was all but ended. As I reached the bottom of the stairs I heard the voice within for the first time. "Well how did you like that?" I whipped around quickly trying to locate the source of the unmistakable feminine voice. There was none. Again with more persistence: "How did you like that?" I froze and whispered "Who are you?" Here I am talking to myself. "I'm your better half now Bob compliments of that depleted hulk you ravished this morning." "What the f. . ." "Come on Bob, you can't really expect a one way symbiotic relationship, can you?" Pieces were coming together. "It would be nice." "Listen, I probably could have done a lot better with someone other than yourself, you know?" "Well, why don't you," I snarled. "Like, I really had a choice. Now are we going to try to get along or what?" The Voice Within "Do I have a choice?" "Not really." "Maybe I'll just get Joe Quack doctor to give me a dose of radiation therapy and short out your brain mass, or whatever you might be." "You'll never walk again much less carry on a normal conversation." I turned and started back up the stairs. "Maybe your creator has some answers." "The way I cranked up your pheromones, you won't be able to get near her before she ravishes that little package you're packing into oblivion. Did you ever pack socks into your shorts to increase the proportions of your little Willie?" "Hey that's a hit below the belt, Sister." "Sorry, so what do you want to do?" "Well you seem to have all the answers, you tell me!" "Let's talk about it while you're getting some new rags." "Right!" Several weeks have passed since I first heard the voice of the parasite the dwells within and I'm delighted it harbors no jealousy even after sharing my most intimate thoughts and moments. It thrives on my fulfillment and chocolate while unselfishly renewing my confidence. As I lay in the arms of Miss K., a universally celebrated vocalist, I reflect back on those I have come to know intimately; all fulfilled beyond my (and their) wildest dreams. I've been with spinsters so frigid they could evoke a new ice age, and virgins so naïve that a mere touch could bring them to ecstasy. Disguised in all sizes and shapes, I entertained the essence of human existence up to several times a day. My resurrected equipment survived the test never wavering once in its pleasure packing destiny. Hoping we could patent the secrets of my allure, I was quickly stymied by my co-inhabitant for fear of "flooding" the market. Turning to me with eyes filled with fathomless passion, Miss K. asked me to stay for awhile, and with her millions, I reckon a few moments of passion will reap the dividends I require to enhance my financial security. Further, living in a beautiful condo on the beach with unlimited access to the club house offered endless possibilities at procreation. I held her tightly, marveling in the smooth alabaster skin and wondered briefly how I had ever lived before. For an instant, I even thought of Dawn until my alter ego, the voice within, chided me gently and goaded me on to the task at hand. It was to be an experience I'd never forget! The Voice Within Ch. 02 (Writers note; Thanks to the positive feedback I received from the initial installment, I've been persuaded to continue the epoch journeys of Bob and his symbiotic soul mate. At risk of redundancy, so abundant in sequels, Bob is about to embark on a cosmic journey into the depths of reality in search of fulfillment (or whatever else makes itself available). As the gentle hands of Miss K. found my hardening organ, the same wild abandoned I'd witnessed upon my many recent conquests began to overwhelmed her delicate features. Throwing the thin blanket to the carpet, she threw herself face down into the plush mattress, and raised her rump high into the air as I half expected her to release the pent up gasses from the spicy tamales we had devoured the night before. Rather, a simple expletive about reaming her butt cleared the air while triggering alarm bells in the brains atop both my throbbing member, and between my ears. Now I've never been one to exploit all the available openings my female counterparts possess as I had always reasoned the old poop shut was for foul things to exit rather than for my cherished manhood to enter. It was apparent that any reasoning she may still harbor was dominated by animal lust, so I improvised and went to the head. A woman possessed is beyond driven, and before I could lock myself into the only immediate refuge that came to mind she was in front of me, bent over at the waist, mumbling things that would convince a deaf mute she was no virgin in the rear end department. Her tightly puckered hole was barely visible between the two flawless globes she presented so shamelessly to me. Such unconditional abandon was more than my resurrected organ could deny and I moved toward her remembering, only at the last moment, that a little lube keeps the squeaking to a minimum. A quick dollop of KY and I was positioned to enter uncharted waters as my victim shivered visibly in anticipation. Tight is a gross understatement when describing her pink portal while perserverance is a virtue. After several forceful thrusts, I was in the slippery cavern wondering secretly if packaged enema kits wouldn't be a far gentler means of fulfilling her needs. The tugging friction was glorious, and her unexpected orgasm accompanied by the almost unbearable tightening of her sphincter was far more pleasurable than I could imagine. Uncounted orgasms later, she collapsed onto the bathmat; while my unfulfilled pee shooter remained as solid as ever. I let her lay, a pool of quivering humanity, as I turned on the hot water and quickly cleaned any residue that may plug up my pee hole in fear of future consequences, the least being spontaneous abdominal combustion from pent up pee. I covered her gently and flipped on a pair of conservative swimwear so I could bask by the pool and reconsider the new application of my tool in its recently demonstrated rotor rooter role. As I turned to the door, she was kneeling in front of me, and yanked down the oversized spandex to engulf my flaccid tool. She used her mouth with the same beautiful expertise she sculpted her voice, while her delicate fingers tugged and smoothed the pink folds between her still quivering legs. It was far more stimulation than my overworked appendage could sustain, and as her hand began to cup and ply my gonads; I expended the essence my reproductive system. I too fell to my knees in ecstasy as my pheromone saturated seed slid into her digestive system. She began quaking with renewed orgasms in an erotic display that would make millions on the porn market. It sure is good to be a reengineered man, and I thanked my symbiotic companion gratefully as I gently caressed the trembling frame of Miss K. A gentle buzz at the base of my spine signaled its acknowledgement as I rose to my feet, and once ahead headed for the comfort of the pool. The pool was surrounded by manicured palms and had a delightful floating bar under a thatched roof on the shallow end. I slid onto one of the submerged stools allowing the gentle water to sooth my weary torso as the bartender nonchalantly poured me a scotch on the rocks. There was little activity to set my depleted reproductive system astir except for two young beauties at the far end of the pool, playing volleyball. I was intrigued by their chest mounted superstructure that swayed and bobbled in wild abandon in a delayed symphony to the motions of their extremities. As I was about to unleash my fantasies, I saw them – the Men in Black emerging from the guest gate; one with a striking resemblance to Tommy Lee! Within seconds my fight or flight reflex kicked in as I saw them moving determinedly towards me! Panic spurred me to choke down my Johnny Walker, as my legs turned to jelly. Wordlessly, they flashed badges that could have easily come from a five and dime for all I knew. With a quick, no nonsense command, I was following them like a little puppy to their unmarked POV with a small decal that proclaimed "Homeland Security" stuck on the driver's door. With nary an indication that the black gas hog would convert into a rocket sled, I was forced into the back seat and we were off before a crowd could gather. These men must have graduated at the top of their class in humane inhumanity as my queries were blatantly ignored while neither seatbelt nor explanations were ever offered. We roared down the freeway to a small government facility and I was briskly escorted onto a small jet with plastic seat covers and a thread bare carpet. I was given a lukewarm Coke as we flew over the desert and watched a Humphrey Bogart movie while they stared at me from behind their Ray Bans. As the plane began its descent I could see unremarkable hangers and support structures alongside a long landing strip and suddenly recognized the site as Area 51 from the aerial photos I'd seen on a 60-minute special several weeks ago. The lump in my throat turned into a boulder. A quick taxi on the tarmac and I was pushed out the hatch and into a small office that could have easily doubled as granny's home in the 'burbs. The elevator ride into the bowels of terra firma seemed endless, and I found myself getting excited for some gawd awful reason. As the door opened, I was staring directly into to shiny glasses of Dawn, the BSP queen! The symbiotic lump in the small of my back suddenly reacted so violently my legs almost gave out. "How's it hangin' Bob," she quipped. "To the left and a quart low; how's that mole on the inside of your right thigh – you really should get that looked at by a trained professional." My discomfort with the current scenario was apparent through my clenched teeth. "Still quick on your feet among other places, I hear'" she bantered back with the emotionless face that all professionals seem to carry. "Not quick enough thanks to your MiB's; why don't you put me on a greyhound back to my scotch, and I'll forget all about the kidnapping charges." A stone faced Neanderthal stepped in front of Dawn and, after allowing a few seconds of intimidation, he spoke in a voice that could set off a new ice age. "You've been brought to this research facility to serve your country on a mission of intergalactic importance." "Spare me. . ." "Would you prefer to spend the remainder of your paltry existence in a maximum security facility?" "That would far more palatable than working with an over inflated idiot as yourself," I retorted, growing increasingly annoyed. "We have sworn testimonials from all the women you've raped. . ." "They asked for it. . ." "Whoa - let's take it down a notch, boys." It was Dawn who interjected just moments before I was aiming to rip out the Neanderthals throat. "Come with me Bob," she requested in a firm voice. Again I found myself following someone I really couldn't trust like a new found puppy. It was true she had given me a new lease on life, but I was about to learn it was only a small part of a much grander scheme. We walked down a long white corridor, me in a swimsuit with hardening nipples and a shriveling penetrator thanks to the cold and colorless floor. Again a victim, I could feel my constant companion writhing torturously against my spine learning first hand, the true meaning of empathy. How I wanted to hear the voice within once more but I surmised its silence was for a just cause. We turned down a less well illuminated hallway before coming to a door that seemed to vanish as soon as Dawn stepped through it. There on a small bench were two honest to goodness Roswell aliens, staring at us with huge unblinking eyes and long sinewy fingers that slowly moved as if they had a mind of their own. Now I've seen many strange things in my time but these little creatures took the cake. Emotionless, colorless, sexless, and who knows what else less, their aura was just too weird and I got ready to bolt out of there even if it meant spending the rest of my life in solitary. Without looking I turned and ran directly into the chest of He-Man, the Neanderthal and fell flat onto the floor bruising my butt. "These are ambassadors from another world," Dawn stated as she tried to suppress a hint of laughter. I just sat on the floor with my lower jaw hanging somewhere down near my knees. "They have shared some of their technology and helped us in adapting that technology to our life forms in that we may assist some of the planets they protect by providing a, shall we say, natural resource that is abundant on our world." "Uh. . ." was all I could mutter. Dawn continued: "You are the first of we hope many that will travel to different worlds to help their dying species procreate. With no ties on this world, and frankly, very little to offer, you're a prime candidate." "Hold on a minute Speedy Gonzalez," I was finally able to blurt out, "You're going to send me as a sexual ambassador to ET's planet to make little Martians?" The thought of dumping my seed into one of these bug-eyed apparitions went beyond repulsion. "Well, yes," Dawn return unfaltering, "But you'll find 'ET' far more appealing than some of the people standing in this very room." She nodded towards He-Man with a smirk. "Why don't they just go fuck themselves?' "They can't, Bob. Most all male species that evolved similar to our own appear to have one basic flaw – in time the male reproductive organs shrink into. . .well look at the two males sitting here!" I looked at their crotches from afar, yet close enough to ascertain their throbbing manhood was little more than a pimple with a pee hole. "Will this happen to us?" "Fortunately not, thanks to fluoride." "Come again?" "I'd love to; thanks Bob," she snickered, scrunching her nose in a way I always found cute. "Fluoride?" "Why do you think it's been used for such a long time in the developed nations?" "Why do I need the booger you stuck in my back then?" "It will help you adapt and support your reproductive system so you won't, shall we say, peter out prematurely. You'll be happy to know, your voyage across the galaxy will be faster than light so when you arrive at your new home, you'll be substantially younger than you are today." It took a few moments to digest what Dawn had given me but who in their right mind would turn down an opportunity to serve their species by living on a technologically advanced planet while being surrounded by hoards of sex starved naked virgins eagerly awaiting fertilization. "I'll go," I muttered while forcefully repressing the urge to tap dance through the halls. "I knew you would," Dawn clapped her hands with glee; "Let's get you prepped." ***** Somewhere amidst the great expanse, we commonly refer to as The Milky Way, a naked figure lays strapped to a floating bed with a large video screen showing non-stop porno movies while a device aptly named an "orgasmic inducer" continually urges his gradually diminishing seed into a small receptacle. His once proud symbol of masculinity has been reduced to a lifeless membrane that had lost all sensation; the once abundant nerve endings pummeled into senseless oblivion. Deep inside his pelvis, a small translucent membrane throbs with activity, spurred on in its ceaseless activity by a small electrode that tirelessly emits the tiny spark of life that keeps both the BSP and its host at their peak reproduction efficiency. As tears slowly continued to form in his eyes, his mind wanders, for just a brief moment, to the hum of the buffer as he polished the floor and the happiness he knew then. A million tomorrows passed. Somehow, as Bob dozed amidst the incessant silence that caressed him he became aware of the first movement he had witnessed for an eternity. A small child ran over to his immobile form and began to caress his face with the tenderness only a mother posses while tears reddened her twinkling eyes. Other hands hurriedly began to free his bound extremities as the gentle persistent pressure that had clung on his lifeless genitals was suddenly gone. "Wha. . ." was all my parched lips could produce. I'm so sorry Bob, the crying little girl stammered "So sorry." I recognized Dawns voice and with closer inspection, saw the juvenile precursor of the woman I had grown to loathe over untold centuries. "What?" "Shhh," she chided, "We're going to take you home now." Knowing words were hard to come by, I succumbed to her advice, while a voice within spoke clearly and distinctly; "That was fun, what'll we do next?" On the voyage home, the angelic little child explained how, after I and a few of my successors were transported to other worlds, a benevolent race of aliens had interceded to reveal the true nature of our inbreeding. My genetically superior offspring would eventually join invading forces that, in their hybrid form were destined to dominate Earth and several other nearby habitable planets. On humanities behalf, these benevolent aliens offered their assistance, and set out to rescue those who had survived their grueling internment while banishing the bug-eyed bad guys into oblivion. I was the lone survivor thanks to the continuing efforts of my BSP to preserve what little life force I had. As the ship landed under the cover of darkness at Area 51, I was amazed to find that I was the same as when the MiB's had torn me from my world an eternity ago. Only catching a glimpse of one of the tall skinny alien rescuers, I waved my gratitude as I was hurriedly escorted from the long sleek silver ship into an awaiting jet. The jet looked the same, as were my two escorts; dead ringers of those who had originally taken me from my scotch, complete with Ray Bans and the personality of a rock. The only difference was the Presidential Medal of Freedom one of them handed me unceremoniously graciously displayed in a mahogany box perfect for storing my unused condoms. Miss K. was somewhat perturbed with my unannounced absence until I flashed the medal in front of her face, and set about removing the thin sleepwear that clung so enticingly to the gentle curves of her womanhood. In an instant, my face was buried in the delicious folds of her sexuality, savoring her essence as she greedily groped for my tool. A drop of precum later, she was flooding my mouth with the sweetest taste I could ever desire, bucking and moaning uncontrollably as her body took on a life of its own. Still recovering from its machine induced trauma, my manhood barely stirred in arousal while grudgingly offering what little orgasmic inducing fluid it could surrender. Sometime later, as we lay in the incomparable afterglow, my mind drifted back to the young woman who had started it all, and wondered, just for a moment, where she may be. The voice within shattered my mental meanderings. "She's not bad but I know we can do better; got any chocolate?" "Haven't you had enough excitement for a lifetime," I queried skeptically? "I can't speak for you slim Jim, but I plan to live forever." "I think we already have," I quipped, "And let's knock of the below the belt slurs, shall we?" "I can talk how ever I want about my equipment," it retorted. "Got me there," I sighed. "Sure do," it responded wistfully. "Let's play Volleyball tomorrow." "Sure you're up to it?" "Try asking yourself the same question!" "Just did; now shut it and let me get some rest, would you? I swear you must be a woman!" "Are you," it asked suspiciously. "Does it really matter," I retorted wondering if schizophrenia was setting in. "I'll be whatever you want me to be." "Good, be quiet then; we'll check out the pool as soon as the bar opens." I felt a warm buzz at the base of my neck and knew, as the only implant survivor, I had to be the luckiest guy in the whole world.