Sex And The Single Spaceman

My name is Edward Tate (Ted to just about everyone), and I was doing my allotted time on Space Beacon 9, one of the older galactic lighthouses still in use, parked somewhere between Saturn and Uranus; and yes I’ve heard all of the old jokes, told most of them myself at some stage.

To call it a rust bucket would be unkind and unfair as it still functioned pretty well, and was certainly comfortable enough provided you hadn’t become too enamoured of the mod-cons on some of the newer stations. I liked it a lot and was always happy to see my name listed alongside it on the roster.

It was big enough to accommodate up to 4 crew, but as the Royal Australian Lightship Service (RALS) was currently in a ‘personnel rationalisation and improvement phase’ (aka doing more with less), there were only two of us onboard at the moment.

Fortunately for me the other operative was Nate Carter, a veteran of the service at 59 years of age, and one of the sweetest Lightship Keepers you could ever hope to meet. The fact that I thought he was drop-dead gorgeous with his mop of grey hair, salt and pepper beard (trimmed just right), and well kept body just starting to show its age (be still my heart…), may or may not have had something to do with my delight.

We had just farewelled the previous two incumbents, both of whom were pleased to sail through the airlock after 3 months of humdrum duty, and were busy stowing our gear into the lockers provided, happy to have two storage units each which gave us room for a few additional necessities.

I always liked to go over a station first thing on a new tour, just to make sure that everything was in working order and the previous inhabitants hadn’t left the place looking like a Venusian brothel; a pleasant enough environment as a visitor, but you wouldn’t want to live in one. Believe me, I know!

Nate tagged along, being similarly rigorous, and between us it didn’t take long to see that our colleagues had left everything pretty much ship-shape and regulation, as expected. The galley was well stocked, the veggie garden was chock-a-block with greens and various types of citrus, the sleeping quarters were freshly made up and the head was scrubbed clean and fresh. There were definitely advantages to taking over from a couple of anal-retentive lesbians, a famously fastidious team in the service.

Nate and I made pleasant, easygoing conversation as we moved through the beacon, stopping here and there to check various monitor readings and bulkhead seals, all of which were in order as expected. We sussed each other out, naturally, and quickly determined that we were both gay and currently unattached; an almost dead cert anyway as the service rarely sent “incompatible” couples away on these longer tours.

I suppose I should mention here (as I did to Nate) that I’m half Venusian, my father being from Venus and my mother a Sydney girl, born and bred? Like all Venusians dad was a shapeshifter and he’d met mum on a package-tour to Earth, falling for her pretty hard as soon as he laid eyes on her. 

She’d been the Commander of the airship he was travelling on for the Australian leg of the cruise and, not unaware of his regard, had invited him to dine at the Captain’s Table every night. The situation developed from there. That had been 36 years ago, and I had arrived shortly after.

Now the thing about Venusians is that they can’t control their shapeshifting, at all! Something takes their fancy, they’re it for however long it takes. A trip to Venus (I’ve had three so far, visiting the rellies) can be an unsettling experience, surrounded as you are by Venusians constantly transforming into all manner of other Venusians, or even other races. Disturbing really. Fortunately being half-human I seem able to control the shifting for most of the time, give or take the occasional glitch, which can be as alarming for me as it is for those nearby.

Anyway, mum had met plenty of aliens before, but never one from Venus and was instantly enchanted by his fluid appearance. To be perfectly frank, she was never quite sure what he really looked like, and neither was I, but he can’t have been too bad as people tell me that I’m pretty easy on the eye, and I guess some of that must have come from him. 

Neither one of us saw much of my father over the years, as Venusians can only really be amongst other races for short periods of time before it all becomes too much, but to this day mum and dad regularly visit each other on their home planets, and both seem very happy with the arrangement. Infact mum studied for and received her interplanetary pilot’s license just so she could get a regular shift on the Venus run, which resulted in my now having two younger brothers and a sister!

While I’m outlining my personal situation I should also explain that I have inherited a few other characteristics from my father, such as three testicles, a smooth dark fur over most of my body, and the obligatory two arseholes, one human style for general waste disposal, the other (just below it) purely for pleasure.

Males on Venus long ago developed this secondary, and very flexible, “pleasure-hole”, packed with nerve endings, muscles and a sort of micro-fibre fur, all of which can be controlled instinctively to give maximum enjoyment to visitors as well as the owner himself. A very advanced race, the Venusians. Mind you, I also have a prostate, which Venusian males don’t, so I pretty much lucked out on anal pleasure.

I was, naturally, keen to make sure that Nate was aware of these advantageous physical characteristics. I definitely detected a flicker of interest as I told him about my family background, and I don’t believe it was purely genealogical, but we had three months to work these things out, and I was happy to play a bit of cat and mouse in the short term. In the interim, there was always my well developed voyeurism muscle, happy to be flexed at any time of the day or night.

Indeed I had an opportunity to flex it sooner than I’d expected. It had been a busy day  and we were both more or less beat, but I volunteered to stand duty that night so that Nate could have the first sleep; ‘age before beauty’ as the saying goes, although he had both in my eyes.

He gratefully took himself off to the sleeping quarters after we’d had a carefully prepared meal courtesy of the RALS hospitality division; confit duck with citrus infused veggies, if I remember rightly. I cleared up what little mess there was and wished him a good night as he disappeared through the hatch, and then settled myself in front of the main control panel, checking that all systems were operating correctly before throwing myself into the most important watch duty of all, browsing the porn channel on the beacon’s in-house entertainment network.

Most of my old favourites were there (Uranus Spank Party, Penetrating Saturn’s Ring, Piss Storm on Jupiter’s Moon) as well as a gazillion hours of amateur stuff of which I hadn’t seen quite all. So, in for a busy night then. 

I was up to volume two of outtakes from the Daddy Fuckfest series (all 56 episodes) when I slowly started feeling strangely and pleasantly lightheaded. At the same time  I could feel my already hard cock begin leaking precum into my regulation-issue undies, while my Venusian pleasure hole was tingling as if I was being very actively fucked, despite the obvious fact that I was alone at the console. 

Much as I’ve always enjoyed the Daddy Fuckfest shows, I knew that I couldn’t put this extreme erotic response down to their sordid pleasures, and I began to fear that I was having some sort of (admittedly pleasurable) seizure. To say that I was having hot flushes would be putting it mildly, and I decided that I had better wake Nate, just in case something was seriously wrong.

I hurried into the sleeping quarters and was about to wake him when I realised that he was not alone in his bed, and furthermore he appeared to be fucking whoever was with him very vigorously. When I say that my first thought was not, “who the hell is that?”, but rather “how could you do this to me?”, you will understand how haywire my overcharged senses were at that particular moment. 

The rooms mellow night-light was on and I was about to break up the proceedings and demand an explanation when a closer look revealed the person Nate was fucking was me! 

I stared in disbelief  as I watched myself sitting astride Nate’s slender naked body, his cock deep inside my pleasure-hole, his hand pumping my stiff dick, the smooth hair on my chest and stomach shimmering in that way that tells me I’m about to orgasm. And all the while Nate appeared to be in the deepest sleep, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy and regular as he pumped my hole and worked me to the point of ejaculation.

Which is precisely what happened inside my underpants as I watched this other me let out a silent cry as a stream of thick cum shot from his/my penis, sparkling momentarily in the air before dissolving into a fine mist, then disappearing into nothing. I staggered back with the force of this unexpected orgasm, all the while feeling the fine hair and nerve endings inside my hole buzzing with the feel of Nate’s cock as he continued pumping my illusory self. What the fuck was going on?

I didn’t have time to think too much about it as it was clear that Nate was about to blow. His body, still sleeping, arched and shuddered as a low moan welled up deep within him. His orgasm hit like some force of nature, seeming to fill me with his liquid essence even as I watched my other self shimmer and fade into nothing with each intense ejaculation. It was as if his orgasm was dispelling the illusion, each release dissolving a layer of its solidity, to the point where I could now see his beautiful penis throbbing and spurting inside a rapidly vanishing me.

My own pleasure passage was very much alive with Nate’s intense release, and I could feel my Venusian hole on the verge of reaching its own climax; a messy business, as it’s lined with tiny fissures that ejaculate their own seminal fluid on stimulation, and they were certainly being stimulated at the moment!

Already giddy and unsteady with the powerful orgasm that had filled my undies with warm juice, I braced myself against the wall behind me as I felt my passage fill with the clear, thick fluid of a true Venusian anal-orgasm, a debilitating condition that can leave the recipient unable to stand, or even talk, for five to fifteen minutes.

I stood there gasping, watching as Nate’s body relaxed and subsided back into the mattress, the other me now entirely gone. His breathing had flattened out, his cock (that beautiful cock) limp between his thighs, a trail of semen spread across his upper leg. We were both entirely spent, but whereas I was ravished and exhausted, he slept on, satiated and seemingly unaware.

And then it hit me!

He was a Martian Dream-Spinner, an almost mythical race, closely aligned in many respects to humans, but able to conjure dreams into reality from a comatose or deep sleep state. They were much sought after by the super-rich elite throughout the galaxy, and also (or so rumour had it) by the slave-traffickers of the outer rim. I had no idea that the Service had any such employees, and Nate hadn’t given anything away during our getting-to-know-you sessions, but I was in no doubt that a Dream-Spinner he was.

Which was all very interesting as I slid slowly down the wall and ended up on the floor, legs splayed, my nether regions awash with the results of his dreaming. I hadn’t had a double orgasm since that time in the Venusian brothel I mentioned earlier, and that had involved two other participants and a range of insertive devices. Nate had managed it from 2 metres away and fast asleep!

This tour was getting more interesting by the hour.