All characters and places are strictly fictional. Any resemblance to any sentient beings, living or dead, or to the thing that's been growing in your fridge for the last three weeks is purely coincidental.
To those who are interested, I wrote this story because I think the idea of aliens having sex would be a funny thing to watch. You might disagree. Anyway, a word of caution: for your own mental health, don't try to visualise this story. Enjoy! Or don't. Your choice.
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Norgagle finished applying the fifty-third coat of paint to the bungalow. He stepped back and, resting on four of his seven lower tentacles, he opened his third eye to admire his handiwork. After an hour's worth of consideration, Norgagle bobbed his bloated head up and down in satisfaction. There would be no need for a fifty-fourth coat of paint.
Norgagle turned his eyes to the sky. It was a beautiful day, not too far past the summer solstice. Norgagle lived on the planet Lorgan (which translates as "dirt" in Earth-speak), the fourth celestial body revolving around the Sun. The kash plants were thick with flowers and--thank Bloshkart--the quickle beads weren't biting for once. However, they were still pests: they had a nasty tendency to land on the wet paint and ruining, just ruining the fine, even coat.
Norgagle made his way along a little stone path, his lower tentacles moving him forwards in a stop-go motion. His heavy-set, almost jelly-like body swayed precariously from side to side. Norgagle drifted onto the crisply cut lawn and gave a gurgle of pleasure as his soft tentacles slid through the grass. Norgagle liked grass. Grass just kind of stood there. Grass didn't have to live with the horrible possibility that their spouse would want to nargulate. Norgagle shuddered at the mere thought, causing his skin to move in seven different directions. As far as he was concerned, the world would be a better place if babies were grown in vats. That would leave Norgagle all the time in the world to contemplate grass.
But Norgagle was of the zulpan species (known galaxy wide for the mousse splaté), and when zulpan females wanted to nargulate there was no getting out of it. Bloshkart, but they had a sex drive! Zulpan females had erratic, powerful periods of sexual impulse. In the normal course of things the male zulpan would ejaculate a few fertilised eggs into the female. The eggs would then float up the inner polkeit stunk, through the bilbac tubes and into one of the three incubal chambers. The eggs would only "take" if two special hormones happened to mix and changed the females receptiveness from, to put it simply, "no" to "yes."
But pregnancy in all three chambers would offer no respite for the zulpan male. No sir! Females sustained desire until one of the eggs had matured for fourteen months. Then the impulses stopped, but only until birth some three weeks later, unless another egg had matured for the appropriate interval.
Oh, but nargulation was a tricky bit of business! F'r instance, Norgagle always forgot whether his inferior trunkle waggle entered the female's lower polkeit stunk before or after the superior dabernackle was stimulated until it turned red. Norgagle flapped his left ear in displeasure. He hated the dread ritual. Already he had lost count how many times in the last 152.26 hours his spouse, Jijoje, had forced him to nargulate. ~~I'm Not A Machine!~~ he'd yell at her, as if anything could possibly blunt her appetite for sadistic pleasures.
In an effort to take his mind from such distressing thoughts, Norgagle turned his eyes to the bright blue sky. The stars, of course, weren't visible at the moment. But if there was one thing Norgagle liked more that watching paint dry and walking in the grass, it was staring up at the stars. Stars were nice. They just kind of existed. They didn't force anyone to--
But when he could see the stars, Norgagle would sit on his massive buttocks and wonder at the life those stars supported. Such as the fishashel, known for their bean dip, of the planet Lom (which translates as "dirt"). The fishashel were lucky in that they nargulated (though they called it "bablumbing") in 3.4 seconds, every time, and only a handful of times a year. Or the weezocks, known for the way they make those adorable throw pillows, of the planet Wezzle (which translates as "dirt") who, on occasion and only by mutual agreement, spent between 4 and 6 weeks in the act of "stuffing their plumbing." The part about "mutual agreement" was what stimulated Norgagle's senses. He damn well knew what he'd agree to!
