Curvy for Him: The Astronaut and the Alien (Curvy for Him Series Book 6)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Though perhaps I overdid it with the whole ‘I am a sleeping god and you are my goddess’ thing,” I mutter, grinning as I hear my own voice. It is still a novelty to hear myself speak. Like I have travelled in time and not just space. Millions of years ago even the Arganians spoke out loud—or so say our historians.

  “Well, I am now the history and the future of the Arganian race all in one,” I say as I wince again and watch my flesh slowly regenerate, the wound closing up, the scar disappearing and leaving nothing but smooth muscle. But this time the regeneration took longer, I note with a frown. Why is that?

  I think back to how my body was generated in the first place. I’d been lying dormant in my natural form, hovering between dimensions, slowly succumbing to the same fate that wiped out the rest of my race.

  And then she arrived.

  She arrived and something happened to me.

  “This happened to me,” I say as I stand up and look down over my body. I did not consciously create this body. Yes, it is just a shell, a mask, a vehicle for my energy. But it is also me. A manifestation of my true self, my energy flowing into physical form.

  I laugh at the images I saw in her mind when I reached into her. Perhaps she would not have shot me (twice) if I had been able to look like the Flash Gordon of her fantasies. But my laughter quickly fades as that strange pain flows through my new body once again. I feel it in my heart, though I know my heart is working just fine. This is not physical pain. Yet it is not pain of the mind either. It is something in between. Perhaps something higher.

  “Impossible,” I say, standing tall and raising my chin. “There is nothing higher than the mind.”

  I clench my new fists and pace the room, trying to determine the source of this unfamiliar discomfort that is making me restless and impatient. I close my eyes and all I can see is her, and I know that she is the reason for this pain. I do not understand it, but I know it has something to do with what I felt when I touched her skin for the first time, held her close enough to smell her scent, looked upon her face that glowed with a beauty I had never experienced before.

  “But we evolved beyond this,” I mutter as I look down at my long, thick penis and shake my head. “We evolved beyond the filthy needs of the physical. Beyond violence, war, hunger. Beyond lust, sex, the needs of an animal!”

  Yes, but our evolution somehow reached a dead end, I remind myself as I think back to how our race faded from the fabric of the universe despite everything we had achieved. We evolved our way out of existence. Everyone except me, it seems. Why me? Dumb luck? Or fate?

  “Fate,” I mutter, shaking my head and smiling as I pace faster around the empty room, my long cock swinging free as images of Fran flow through my mind. Even the thought of her sends energy surging through my body, and I grin and stretch my arms out wide, crane my thick neck backwards, breathe deep and long. I remind myself that I was slowly fading away into nothing before Fran appeared, before her presence somehow pulled me into the physical world. She saved me. Perhaps she even created me!

  “She is mine,” I say out loud, my mind whipping through all my knowledge of the universe, about how time works, how space works, how the future is written as a series of probabilities, how free will and destiny somehow work together, how there are different paths fate can take. “It was our shared fate that she arrived at this space station in time to save me from my personal fate. And it is our shared fate that she will give birth to the future of the Arganian race. The next step in our evolution.”

  I stop pacing and nod, narrowing my eyes and clenching my fists. I turn in the empty room as my mind spins through my next course of action.

  “Simple,” I say with a grunt. “Find her. Make her yours. And . . .” I trail off as my eyelids flutter, serving up images of what I saw in the record of Fran’s memories. Images of her as a girl, sitting on her bed in pajamas, furiously flipping pages of books, talking out loud to the characters, laughing and crying with them like they were real. “And live happily ever after,” I whisper as my mind hovers over a scene of a teenage Fran turning the last page of a book and bursting into tears, holding the dog-eared paperback against her bosom and curling up in her bed.

  I feel my own tears roll down my lean cheeks, and I blink them away. This physical body thing is going to take some getting used to, I tell myself as I take long strides towards the main control room of this abandoned space station. The Arganians haven’t needed technology for thousands of years, which ironically means I have no fucking idea what all these controls do.

  “How hard can it be?” I mutter, tapping a screen, pulling a lever, poking a button and then standing back and crossing my arms over my bare chest. “Fly!” I command, staring at the flashing screen. “Fly to her!”

  It takes a moment for me to realize that a space station probably cannot fly through space on its own. It was probably dragged out here and deposited in orbit—though clearly it has broken from orbit and is just spinning through space, getting farther and farther away from Earth.

  “There must be a ship, a shuttle, a pod or something,” I mutter as I look around, a strange anxiety rising in me as I realize I am a naked beast, trapped and alone. The feeling is so strange I almost want to take a moment to study it, but I know I don’t have a moment. “The woman I say is mine just shot me twice and ran out of here. Right now she is either halfway across the galaxy, alerting her military, or she is pointing her ship’s weapons at me and preparing to vaporize my alien ass. My body might regenerate after a blast from a rainbow-colored laser. But vaporization? Yeah, that might change my fate really fucking quick.”

  I grin as I hear myself think out loud. I can feel myself incorporating what I pulled from Fran’s memories into my use of language, and it brings me a strange joy. “How much oil can a football boil if a football could boil oil?” I say, marveling at how my tongue twists and rolls to create sound.

  “Fuck. Darn. Shit,” I say with a devilish grin as I storm out of the control room and try to find my way to where a shuttle or pod might be docked. Not that I’d know how to fly it, but—

  “Wait a minute,” I say as I cock my head and stop so hard I almost fall over. “Of course I know how to fly a ship! I just pulled all of Fran’s memories into me, did I not? She’s a Flight Commander! She can fly any ship in existence, which means so can I!”

  Suddenly things snap into place, and I run down the dimly lit hallway, taking care to keep my head low so I don’t bang my head into the doorframes again. A minute later I’m standing before a small one-person ship docked to the space-station. I scan the knowledge I pulled from Fran, and I know this is not a ship with long-range capabilities. But it is my only way off this space-station. My only way to her.

  I step through the air-lock and squeeze myself into the ship. I don’t bother with a space-suit. I wouldn’t fit into the thing anyway. I squint at the controls and nod, and a moment later I’m spinning out into open space in my little ship, scanning the dark horizon for my mate, my destiny, the future of my race.

  3

  FRAN

  I scan the dark horizon as I grip my controls tight and prepare to fire on the little ship that’s just spun its way out into open space. It’s him, I know. I should have vaporized the entire space-station before he—I mean it—had a chance to escape. But I didn’t. I told myself that I’m a scientist, reminded myself that part of Space Command’s mission is to discover new forms of life, to learn about the mysteries of the universe, to try and understand our place in the vastness of what’s out there.

  “But is that why I hesitated?” I whisper out loud as my ship’s mighty weapons lock in on the little pod careening towards me. “Is that why I’m hesitating now?”

  I blink as I remember what Flash said to me, and my body trembles in my seat as if his words are still doing something to me. Everything he said was a strange mix of hokey nonsense that I know he somehow pulled f
rom the recesses of my own memories, my own dreams, my own fantasies. But it got to me. Shit, it got to me!

  “Well, of course it got to you,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes and tapping my thumbs on the red buttons that will blast this beast back to the void it crawled out of. “He’s using your own vulnerabilities to manipulate you. It’s classic oppressive male behavior!”

  I rub my neck and shiver as I remember the way he lifted me off my feet with one hand, brought me up to his face like I was a doll. Yes, I was scared for my life. But in a strange way I don’t believe he wanted to hurt me. I don’t think he fully understands the constraints of a physical body. He’s like a child in a way, innocent and pure, testing his limits, learning about his environment.

  “Yeah, a man-child in a nine-foot-tall body of glistening muscle,” I mutter as I steel my resolve and try for the life of me to get my thoughts clear. I’m still in shock, still turned around by what just happened, still messed up in a strange way that I didn’t think could ever happen to me. That image of me pregnant and glowing is whispering from the background of my sharp, scientific mind, and although I want to push it away, it’s just sitting there and staring at me.

  Flash’s ship is approaching fast, and although I know he can’t dock with my ship unless I let my shields down and let him in, I feel like I need to make a decision right now. A decision that I somehow know will define who I am, who I want to be.

  “You’re a scientist and a senior officer in Space Command,” I say out loud like I’m trying to convince myself. “You’re not a teenager with stars in your eyes, imagining that an intergalactic god with the cock of a horse is going to take you as his goddess or queen or concubine! Get real, Fran! Do your duty. Follow the rules. Rely on your training. What’s the protocol when you encounter an alien life form?”

  I swallow hard as I remember my training. The protocol for dealing with an alien life form is clear: Call for backup immediately. Do not engage the alien life form, since you have no knowledge of its capabilities or intentions. If you are in immediate danger, either remove yourself from the danger zone or eliminate the threat. If you are not in immediate danger and it appears safe to do so, capture the being and bring it to Space Command Central for study.

  For all our progress in space, we still haven’t encountered a sophisticated alien life form beyond that of some frozen bacteria on Jupiter and a couple of slugs on a warmish planet a few galaxies over. This is the discovery of the century, Fran! You’ll be famous! Promotions, endowments, maybe even a Nobel Prize! This about duty, not booty!

  I laugh out loud as I realize how ridiculous it is that I’m even considering a different option! There’s no way I’m getting in a room with this creature again! He almost killed me! Wake the fuck up, Senior Flight Commander Fran Fisk!

  “Open Dock Three,” I say to Gary as I exhale. “And then activate Level 3 Security Measures. Once he’s docked, close the gates, seal the airlock chamber, and prepare to return to Space Command Central. We’re bringing this sucker home.”

  I blink as that strange feeling of sickness rolls through me, like I’m overruling a part of me that’s screaming from deep inside, warning me that I’m making a mistake, choosing reason over instinct, fighting my own fate, diverting my own destiny. But it’s too late, because Flash is now inside the gates and in total lockdown, and Gary has already alerted Space Command Central and put us on a warp-speed course back to home base.

  “Sorry, Flash Gordon, alien god-king, or whatever else you say you are,” I whisper as I hug myself and try to keep a sense of humor even as that mournful darkness descends on me like a shroud. “You’re now just a lab-rat.”

  4

  SPACE COMMAND OUTSTATION

  TWO HUNDRED MILES OUTSIDE EARTH’S ORBIT

  FLASH

  She turned me into a fucking lab-rat, I think as I stare at the shimmering plasma cage that seems impervious to all the strength my massive body can summon. My knuckles are bent and broken from punching the walls of my invisible cage, and my throat is hoarse from roaring in rage at the men and women in white coats and silver masks, all of them staring at me like I’m some kind of animal.

  A part of me wonders how it can be that I’m trapped in a humanoid body when the legacy of my race is freedom from the limitations of the flesh. Then I see her standing towards the back of the room and I know the answer.

  It’s her.

  Her appearance somehow pulled me into this fleshy reality in which I am trapped. I do not know how. I do not know why. I just know it is true.

  Perhaps this is death, I wonder as I step back from the shining walls of my cage and crane my neck upwards to see if there is a way out from the top. Then I look down at my body again, wondering if there is a way out of this cage—the cage of human flesh!

  “Its physiology appears humanoid,” says one of the masked white-coats, a woman with cold gray eyes. She’s staring at a large screen that’s facing away from me. “There are four sets of extra ribs, thirteen extra vertebrae that support its extended height, extremely dense and heavy bones that contribute to its strength. It is overdeveloped and oversized, but its skeletal system is still remarkably humanoid.”

  “The brain shows several curious anomalies though,” says another White-coat, pointing at the screen as my captors hover around what I suppose is a crude image of my insides. “So does the heart.”

  I see Fran flinch at the back of the room at the mention of my heart, and I frown as she moves closer to the screen to join in the analysis of my alien insides. I try to calm myself down and listen. After all, this is new to me too.

  “We’ll need a blood profile,” says another white-coat quietly.

  “If it even has blood,” says a tall, broad white-coat, who appears to be the leader. He grins before turning to Fran and cocking his head. “Commander Fisk, didn’t you say you shot the creature when it attacked you?”

  Fran flinches again, her gaze darting towards me and then back to the white-coat. “Well, he—I mean it—didn’t really attack me. I mean, I felt I was in danger and I defended myself.”

  White-coat #1 laughs. “Commander Fisk, you don’t need to defend your actions. You are not under investigation here. We are two hundred miles outside of Earth’s orbit. Two hundred miles outside of Earth’s laws. This is about science. It’s about security. We need to understand this creature, learn from it, prepare to defend ourselves against its kind.”

  “Defend ourselves?” says Fran, blinking as the color rushes to her pretty round face. “I told you, I don’t think he meant to hurt me. I mean, he didn’t hurt me. I just . . .”

  I feel a warmth flow through my massive body as I hear the emotion in Fran’s voice, see the doubt and regret in her big brown eyes. I still do not fully understand what’s happening, but I know I am drawn to her, that I exist for her, that my body was created to join with hers. I can clearly see an image of Fran round and bulging with our offspring, and my vision almost goes blank as the need surges through me with a fury that makes me growl.

  “Oh. My. God,” gasps the woman White-coat as she looks up from the screen and towards me. “Is that . . . is it . . .”

  “Well, that explains its oversized heart,” says White-coat #2. “It needs all that muscle to pump blood into that . . . thing.”

  “Great,” says White-coat #1, grinning and shaking his head as he folds his arms over his chest and stares at me. “After decades of space exploration that yielded nothing but bugs and slugs, we finally encounter a humanoid race, and they turn out to be nine-foot giants with penises the size of the Washington Monument.”

  “I feel like we just stepped into a science-fiction porno movie,” says White-coat #3 with a giggle. She turns to Fran with a wry grin. “I think it likes you, Commander Fisk.”

  But Fran doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t look at her colleagues. She looks at me. Directly at me. Into my ey
es.

  She feels it too, I realize as I step to the edge of my cage, place my hands on the shimmering plasma walls as my heart pounds in my chest, my cock throbs between my legs, my entire body yearns for hers. Arousal, yearning, and rage roil me from the inside out, and I clench my fists as I imagine ripping through this cage, destroying my captors, and taking my mate right here and now. I want to fight the image, but I cannot. I am being pulled deeper into the needs of my flesh, and I feel myself changing. Changing for her.

  White-coat #1 clears his throat. “Well, anyway. Back to the topic at hand. Commander Fisk, you said you shot this creature in the chest. Is that correct?”

  Fran nods absentmindedly, her eyes still focused on mine. “Yes,” she says after a pause, finally blinking and looking at White-coat #1. “I inflicted a wound that would have been fatal to a human.”

  “I don’t see any signs of a wound,” says White-coat #1. “No internal damage either.”

  “It closed up,” says Fran, standing as if at attention, her throat moving as she swallows hard and looks up at the ceiling like she’s trying desperately to stay focused and professional, be a scientist when she knows she’s my mate, my woman, my destiny.

  When she knows she’s made a mistake.

  “Are you sure you’re remembering correctly?” says White-coat #2, squinting at the screen and then glancing at my chest. “The creature has living tissue that would be irreparably damaged by your weapon. That kind of rapid regeneration is scientifically impossible. It just can’t happen.”

  Fran blinks and swallows hard again. I can see the conflict all over her face, and I take a slow breath and step back from the edge of my plasma cage.

  “Perhaps I was mistaken,” Fran says softly, everything telling me she’s lying. Lying for me. “I’d lost my helmet, and perhaps the oxygen-nitrogen ratio was off. Maybe I was disoriented. Perhaps even hallucinating.”