Area 51

 

First, I take a long, hot bath to relax my tense muscles. Brent has me so keyed up, damn him. I then slip on a short silky robe and step into my bedroom, where I proceed to light some candles.

A girl needs to set the mood for a date with some alien dick, right?

“This is so stupid,” I murmur, sighing.

My lady bits don’t find it dumb, though. Hell, they’re urging me on. Miss Clit—she’s the ringleader of the crew—is more than a tad bit curious about what the big, green fake dick can do.

I start giggling as I hold the package out in front of me. “Yes, let’s see what green can do for you.”

It’s time to find out.

Plopping down on the edge of the bed, I remove Area 51 from the plastic casing. “I am taking the package out of the package,” I say in my best robot voice.

Yeah, that does nothing to turn me on. But I can’t deny the 51 emblazoned on the side reminds me of a certain someone.

Hmm, that gets me going a little.

Untying the sash on my robe, I lie back and let the silky material fall to my sides. I like the feeling of nakedness, especially when I spread my legs. It reminds me of the anticipation of sex. But this can’t compare to the feelings you have when you’re about to get busy with a “real” man. There’s no flesh-on-flesh contact, no heated body pressed to one another in need. And, sadly, there’s no kissing, not with the toy. I guess I could kiss the tip, keep in practice for when I get back to giving blow jobs. But then I’d have to suck the thing too. And I have a feeling, based on the smell, that Area 51 would taste like rubber. Or whatever the hell it is Gumby here is made of.

Nevertheless, I am undeterred. I’m going to make this good no matter what. Damn Brent Oliver and his accusations of sexual repression.

As I fire up my new toy, I remind myself, “Don’t forget about the pulsating vibrating action.”

And, whoa, there it is!

Within seconds of turning on that feature, I’m all like, “Hey there, hold up.”

It’s quite a struggle to control Area 51. He sure is a wiggly little bugger once he gets going. At one point, he almost flies out of my hands.

I quickly turn him down a notch, murmuring, “Okay, settle down, big boy.”

Once I have control of the bending and twisting alien cock, I touch him lightly to my clit. “Oh, wow!”

That pulsating vibrating action is gooood. Kudos to whoever thought to add that.

I’m suddenly glad he moves so much. It makes Mr. 51 seem as exuberant as I. He also starts to glow a funky shade of florescent green the harder I press and the faster I go. Who cares, though? I’m starting to think this thing may be all I ever need for the rest of my life. Maybe I won’t leave this room for a week. That’ll show Brent. Sexually repressed, my ass.

“Mmm, Imma marry you, Mr. 51,” I murmur after another minute of the pulsating vibrating action.

All the pulsating and vibrating is really intense, but so is the glow. No worries. I close my eyes and start fantasizing that my toy is really Brent. I pretend it’s him sliding his big pulsing dick over my clit, and that it’s his real cock that’s parting my wet folds.

My fantasy works, and I start having to use both hands to keep Mr. 51—no wait, I’m renaming him Brent 51—from slipping around too much. “Yes, Brent fifty-one, right there. I like that.”

I’m mainly concentrating on my clit, but when the toy dips inside me I let out a gasp. Tentatively, since it is kind of big, I push Brent 51 in farther and farther.

My whole hooha vibrates in response.

No, wait, that’s my whole body vibrating.

Oh my God, now I see why this thing is so popular. I open my eyes and look down.

Brent 51 is halfway inside me and glowing like an alien ship has just docked in my vagina. Even, er, enclosed like that, the thing is still mega-bright. So bright, in fact, that my whole bedroom is glowing an odd shade of green.

I don’t give a shit. I’m way too close to what I can tell is about to be an amazing orgasm. I resume my fantasy and pump my way to a release E.T. would definitely phone home about.

“God, yes, Brent fifty-one, give it to me hard. Fifty-one, fifty-one, my new favorite num—”

Just when I’m about to explode, there’s a freaking knock on my bedroom door.

What the hell?

“Aubrey, are you okay?”

Fuck. It’s Brent! The real Brent!

“Your room is glowing,” he goes on. “Like, there’s a really weird shade of green coming from under your door.”

Something else was about to be coming, till you showed up.

Brent won’t shut up. “It’s lighting up the whole hall. I even saw it from my room. What the hell are you doing in there, anyway? Is it some kind of crazy experiment?”

If he only knew!

“Does it have something to do with life coaching?”

Pfft, he wishes!

“Ah, hold on a minute,” I yell out. “Don’t come in, okay?”

Of course, he doesn’t listen to a word I say. The doorknob starts to turn.

Fuck me. How could I have forgotten to lock the damn door? I’m failing Masturbation 101 miserably.

I quickly pull Brent 51 from his vagina-space mission of getting me off. Not going to happen, seeing as I’m now in full Defcon-Five panic mode.

Unfortunately, out in the open Brent 51 is brighter than ever.

And the door is slowly opening…

“Aubrey?”

“Hold on,” I yell to Brent.

“Turn off, you bastard!” I grind out to Brent 51.

Giving up, I fling the wiggly alien dick at the door, hoping to achieve the two-fold mission of powering the damn thing down and keeping Brent from coming in.

I fail on both counts.

Brent 51 does quit buzzing, but, damn, he’s glowing brighter than ever.

Oh, and Brent the man?

Of course, he walks right into my personal masturbation den. “What the—” I hear him say as he shades his eyes from the bright glow Brent 51 is giving off.

His temporary blindness allows me to pull the comforter up to cover my nakedness.

“Oh hey, Brent, what’s up?” I give a little wave and feign nonchalance, which doesn’t really fly when there’s a florescent-green vibrator lying on the floor, lighting up your whole damn bedroom.

Brent takes one look at me naked in the bed, and then focuses back on my glowing friend. Let’s just say it doesn’t take him long to figure out what’s going on. If only I’d been assigned to a dumb hockey player. But noooo, I get one who’s too smart for his own good. And also too snarky, meaning he’ll no doubt torture me about this forever.

“Well, well, well, Aubrey. What do we have here?”

Real Brent bends down to pick up Brent 51. “I thought I heard you calling out my name. I even thought I heard mention of my number.” He quirks a brow. “And then I saw the weird green glow.” He nods to the vibrator and smirks over at me. “This explains the glow, but I have to wonder why you‘d be calling out my name and my number?”

His smug grin tells me he knows exactly why.

“Just go ahead and kill me now,” I say as I flop back on the bed.

I expect the worst, more teasing and taunting. But to my surprise, Brent mercifully says nothing more. He simply places Brent 51 on a table by the door. But not before pausing long enough to read the number stamped on the side.

With the hint of a smirk, he leaves.

The door closing behind him should fill me with relief, but what it actually does is scare the hell out of me. Brent knows I was getting off while thinking of him. And he’s now fully aware I own a big-ass vibrator that shares a freaking number with him. He couldn’t have missed the big 51 emblazoned on the side, like a goddamn tattoo.

Could it get any worse?

I cover my head with a pillow and scream. So much for professionalism. I have a feeling my life is about to become pure torture at the hands of Brent Oliver.