But, I now firmly believe that even if I’d refused to sign, even if I knew what every single word in those contracts said, asked for a lawyer, and refused to sign --- I’d be right where I am right now. These fuckers were determined.
They told me I had entered into a voluntary agreement with the government. It was explained to me, in the many times I tried to get out of it, like I’d enlisted in the military. There was no escape clause.
The women in my group ranged in age from 21 to 30 and we all thought we were applying to be spokespeople and students. I’d wanted to go to Cornell and study anthropology. I just didn’t expect the field work to be on another planet as part of Project D.
FML.
Project D is Top Secret. Uber classified. The UN or someone like that had struck a deal with the government of another planet. They called it Phallyx, yep Phallyx, as a rough translation from whatever language was spoken on that planet, to help them populate their planet. We were told that their planet was lush, wealthy in resources, but the vast majority of their females had died off a few years ago, due to some superbug that went rampant.
The men had the ability to fight it off, not getting much more than a nasty flu, but over 99% of their women didn’t recover. Fast forward to now and only a fraction of a % of the female population remain. Those who didn’t die? They’re immune and very few are of childbearing years and the few children that have been born in the past four and a half years were male. But, we are biocompatible. A test run happened and a year ago, a woman from Chattanooga was sent there and she was able to conceive.
That baby girl is now six months old. And they said, after I asked, that she was born with the innate ability to fight off that super flu.
Six months old? Bad math? Nope. Apparently, gestation is just three months on that planet for their females. Six months for ours, since things happen more rapidly with their babies. Happy medium between their three months and our nine months.
And childbirth is reportedly a breeze when you give birth to a child who is fathered by one of these aliens. This is just one of the many things they’ve said that make it sound like things on this other planet are going to be just hunky dory. No, not hunky dory, that we are lucky ducks for having landed this opportunity.
And no, we can’t go away and think about it because the information is so top secret and so classified that they can’t take a chance that we might spill the beans. They claim that this was why one of the criteria was a small familial circle.
We’re told they have glorious climate, many sandy white beaches (I have always always wanted to live right at the beach but HELLO, an Earth beach), lush greenery, and it’s described like a garden of Eden crossed with Star Trek-like technology and medical advances that could change the face of medicine on Earth.
I’d be doing a service as an Earthling and I’d be doing something good for myself as I’d live in paradise with a man of my dreams.
They really worked hard to sell us on the ‘man of our dreams’ bit. We heard tales of gallant and chivalrous men of Phallyx, that their culture was one that pampered women, that they were extraordinarily handsome, that their culture was kindness personified. They were left heartbroken when they lost almost all their women and we would be treasured. It was tragic, what’d happened to them. Didn’t we feel bad? Didn’t we want to help?
I didn’t know that I believed much of anything they had said once we found out we’d been tricked. They tried to make excuses for their behavior. Classified. Looking for the right candidates. Doing a service for our planet. Yada yada yada; blah blah blah. I didn’t trust them.
My roommate is going to be pissed at me. She won’t have a problem finding someone to replace me. We live in a great building. She also won’t mind smoking all my pot when it’s ready. But she hates my cat. To be fair to her, he’s kind of an asshole. But he’s my cat. And she’ll chuck my stuff. I don’t have a whole lot of it but I’d love to have my scrapbooks back. My parents might have been crappy parents but I’d like my pictures to not go to a dumpster.
I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to my extended family. I’m not super close to them but I’m sure they’ll notice after a while if I don’t get in touch.
***
Their way of breaking our fates to us gently included showing us a short film, as if we were watching something for entertainment value, but it felt odd to be watching it. I figured they’d show us a film of our colleges, of what our responsibilities might be. I honestly thought this sci-fi was a joke. And if the film ever got out it’d look like pure fiction. A cheesy sci-fi.
Sad species loses their women. Generous Earthlings share their women. Women get men better than any Earth man. Earthlings and aliens live happily ever after. Earth gets help from alien friends who cure world hunger and cancer and a dozen other ailments. Partnership: success. The end.
A clipboard-holding man stood on a podium after the 20-minute film and asked, “What if this were true? What if you could help? Would you? Would you help your planet? Would you take a chance on finding a happily ever after in a world ten times better than ours? Would you?”
A couple of people put their hands up, stating that they would absolutely offer help. The clipboard-holding guy smiled and said, “Good. Because that’s what you’re all here for.”
The room went quiet. Stunned silence. I started to laugh, thinking we’d been punk’d.
It was soon pretty obvious that it wasn’t a joke. I kept waiting for hottie Ashton Kutcher to jump out and reveal it’d been a funny ruse. (Maybe he’d also say, hey, wanna fool around in the dark with me? I can use the fact that you look like Mila as my defense)
But Ashton didn’t show.
I tried to throw a fit and leave after the truth was revealed, but I was separated from the group, called to the head Clipboard’s office. That was when they became complete assholes.
Three clipboards tried to nicely, at first, convince me what an opportunity this was. When I insisted on leaving I was subtly threatened. And the language used made it clear I wasn’t getting out of there.
And no one was willing to go pick up my fluffy black cat Tucky and my stuff, so I could take him and my scrapbooks with me. Yeah, it was kind of lame to make that request at the end of the conversation and I probably lost a little bit of my badassedness at that stage, but whatever. One of them looked at me with pity.
In late-night chatter, Lacey, a pretty blonde girl from Connecticut with a tragic past who was in the bed next to mine, reasoned that maybe our planet didn’t even have a choice. Hand over our women or they’d take us!
Eek.
Lacey seemed like the sort to always think the worst. She wasn’t a Debbie Downer or anything like that but she and I together were stressing those out around us because Lacey would suggest a worst-case scenario and I would start to try to get answers or get stressed because I would want to start looking for a way out. We were fueling one another and they separated us and put her at a bunk on the other end of the dorm on the last night.
I didn’t know if we were going to be brought to green monsters with snake or lizard heads in a sub-zero temperature cave instead of finding ourselves with attractive male specimens in a garden of Eden slash Star Trek environment but it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.
At the start, there were a few clipboard guys acting like our gay male besties but they haven’t been here since day two. I think they were planted to put us at ease in the beginning. Toward the end of the trip over, the ones remaining started to be ornery assholes.
Late at night in our barracks-like dorm after watching that film and getting the truth, I said, “Was it just me or was that film’s narrator Morgan Freeman?”
Tanya, a pretty and petite redheaded librarian said, “I don’t think it was him but I think they picked someone who sounded like him to put us at ease.”
It didn’t put me at ease. I got more and more not-at-ease as time went on but by that point it didn’t matter. There were no exit signs
. The place was like a labyrinth and the doors blended into walls. Staff were scanning fingerprints to leave and it was all but impossible to sneak out behind them as they covered one another with two other staff members every time one of them left our presence. The only way we could get anywhere was with a mutiny but not more than a few of us seemed to have the nerve.
And through no coincidence, at 3:00 AM one night when I quietly called a meeting and, in the dark, suggested mutiny, the Clipboard Assholes barged in, turned on all the lights, and pulled me into a room and tried to calm me down. We were under surveillance. Assholes were watching us even as we slept.
The next workshop was a PowerPoint presentation information dump that reiterated a lot of repetitious information that went something like this:
Years ago, our suspicions about Earth being only one of many planets with intelligent life was revealed to be true. This information has to be protected in order to protect citizens of Earth. You are among the few who know the truth. Your country, your planet are trusting you.
A couple of years ago, the people of the planet Phallyx asked us to help them with a problem. On Earth, the planet’s ratio of men to women has always meant an excess of women. At the rate that the Earth is populating, it’s anticipated that within twenty-five years, women will outnumber men five to one. At this rate, it may become difficult for women to find a suitable mate. At this rate, men will have their choice of women. In another fifty years, should this continue without interference at the pre-conception level, men will outnumber women twenty to one. Planet Phallyx has a different problem but one we are, fortunately, able to help with.
Most of their women have died off due to a super flu bug. Human women become immune to this infection as soon as they mate with a male citizen of Phallyx. Upon arrival on Phallyx, women have approximately three days to mate with a male in order for the infection resistance to transition from the male’s body into your body.
In addition to the high quality of life on this planet, the average lifespan is, at minimum, quadruple that of Earth and with very good end of life quality as compared to Earth. As you can imagine, if this pilot project is successful there will be a lot of females on Earth who are interested in volunteering. Soon, it may only be the extremely affluent, healthy and beautiful that get the opportunity to go. You all are in an enviable position. And the more children you bear the longer your body stays youthful-looking. There are some cultural gaps and language gaps but we have implants that do not interfere with your hearing, but rather they serve as instantaneous translators. The males you are matched with are also given an implant, enabling them to converse with you. Your implant is two pieces, worn on both the inside and outer shell of your ear.
The outer piece looks like attractive jewelry and it is a pink stone that will turn blue once you’ve acquired your immunity to the destructive virus.
Great efforts have been taken to minimize the trauma and confusion around the change but of course, there will be things that simply do take time to get accustomed to.
The PowerPoint presentation was thrown together and had given us information we already had but gave this new information, too. I was getting more and more panicked by the moment. It was like they were scrambling to get us settled down.
I needed to get out of there. I’d quit my job but could get it back if I needed to.
There were girls who were eager for this, acting excited. There were girls who were scared out of their minds. And there was me and Lacey, who were trouble-makers (especially me).
When they’d said there would, of course, be culture gaps, things we’d have to simply get acclimated to, a girl made herself known as the teacher’s pet. She hadn’t stopped asking questions, kissing asses, since we’d arrived.
“Of course,” that eager beaver Tiffany called out, smiling. I got the impression she was stoked about this.
It was no wonder. There were so many aspects of the presentation that were designed to do that.
Words like strong, wealthy, lush surroundings.
They made it sound like if we stayed on Earth, we’d die sooner and in a more painful way. They made it sound like we were not creating a hardship to our own planet by leaving because the Earth was overrun with females as it was. They made childbirth seem easier at six months instead of nine and telling us it was a ‘breeze’ compared to childbirth on our planet. They made it seem like we’d won the lottery. Women were going to be treasured on this planet, this planet where their handsome men wanted companionship, families, to lavish affection and attention on us.
But we had three days to mate with them to get some magical antibody from their sperm otherwise die?
In general, I was a little bit of a skeptic. I was good at reading people. And I smelled a rat.
I just didn’t know yet what kind of a rat it was. Was the rat that there were other motivations at play or just that they were leaving out some important facts?
I didn’t like the way my questions were given non-answers with placating tones. When I pushed harder in front of the others I got “That’s classified” or I’d get pulled in to a room by myself yet again. I was upsetting the other women. I was making clipboards nervous.
They started saying that I would just have to wait until we’d arrived and then a further briefing would be forthcoming once we were acclimated. Extra things had to happen to get me the required clearance to know more. These answers were designed simply to hold me off.
“I wonder if they have big cocks,” Lacey asked in a huddle while we were eating in the cafeteria, “The planet sounds like phallic symbol. Is it shaped like a giant dick?”
“Maybe they’ve got two cocks!” Lauralee, the comedian of the group, lamented. She had continually tried to keep our spirits up. She and I had been chummy at the start but I was in no mood for humor during the sex talk.
On day four when I was the first of the group who was told I had to undergo a gynecological exam, I tried to throw a fit and was tranquilized and out for, the girls said, two days. Things got really panicked from there because no one wanted to be tranquilized.
I was quiet and observant after that, hoping to glean information to help me find a way out of this.
After waking from my two-day nap, things felt worse. Some of the girls, like Tanya, were on the verge of tears all the time. They were scared. Others were wired, excited about the information they’d been spoon-fed. One girl joked that at least she’d gotten out of jury duty. Another few acted like we’d won the lottery. But most of us were scared.
I was scared but my way of dealing was by being difficult with the Clipboard Assholes and by providing the frightened ones with comfort. I tried to turn it into a nurturing slumber party. It kept me busy and stopped me from having to face my own fears.
I constantly glared at the Clipboard Assholes and took every opportunity to be difficult. I tried to read over their shoulders. I tried to listen in on their whispers. But they were onto me. I did it in a way that they couldn’t knock me out again. I was a thorn in their sides. But it didn’t do much to help me.
We woke up for the 7th time (me the 5th since I’d been knocked out for 2 days) and were told to shower and get ready for a meet and greet. A reception where we would meet some suitors. Suitors?
We had arrived. Arrived? I hadn’t even been told we’d left.
“I didn’t even know we left!” I exclaimed.
My least favorite Clipboard Asshole informed us that we’d left forty days ago. And he sneered at me. Like he’d pulled one over on us and was sickeningly pleased about it.
A few times I’d had a sensation like we were moving but it never lasted long. It’d almost felt like vertigo a few times to me. It never occurred to me we might be in some sort of space shuttle. We were in a couple of windowless rooms for what felt like a week but had really been forty days.
Sienna had probably sent Tucky to the animal shelter by now.
Shit shit fuck.
I only counted waking up 5 times here
in our barracks-like accommodations. Tanya said she’d woken up 7 times. Lacey was confident it was more but said she couldn’t be sure. How was it 40 days since we’d been sent there in a large facility rather than being buckled into a space ship was beyond my understanding.
Someone in our group said they heard the clipboard assholes refer to ‘stasis’ between medical examinations and classes.
Assholes were knocking us out to make their lives easier.
Evidently, at some stage of being led through the labyrinth of a facility, we had actually been taken into a space ship. A space ship large enough to seem like a dormitory with classrooms, a cafeteria, medical clinic, locker room style shower area, and multiple offices of clipboard-carrying assholes.
I was not remotely prepared for what was ahead. We were here. There would be no further opportunities for me to escape or argue my way out of this. It was happening. Now.
-2-
JETTA
We were lining up to leave our ship or whatever and meet some men of Phallyx. I was deep in thought as I chewed my thumb nail. And my stomach was in massive knots.
They have apparently been in female withdrawal for four and a half years in most areas. And the lack of outlet for their testosterone (or whatever the equivalent is here) makes them very competitive, very horny. We were told this in much gentler terms but that was the gist.
“Virile men are anxious to meet their future wives!” Enthusiastic Cheerleader Clipboard Asshole beamed, “And wait until you taste the food!”
Next, he was going to tell us that their food had no calories. Slimy snake oil salesman!
We’d been told that a lot of men wanted to participate in the first round with our group. A lot. To make it fair, they competed for spots. There are ten groups arriving in this location over the next few days and mine has thirty-eight. My group goes out first.
We’ve been told that they look similar to us, have similar ethnicities, depending on where on Phallyx the men are from. They have men that look Asian, men who are Caucasian, men that look middle eastern or Mediterranean, African, and so forth. The Clipboard Assholes say that the people on this planet don’t have any elitism when it comes to race, unlike Earthlings, and are not averse to interracial marriages. I didn’t think that statement was necessary, since they clearly didn’t have a problem with inter-species relationships!
Hot Alpha Alien Husbands: Book One: Daxx and Jetta Page 2
