“Cruising Chronicles” is an archive of anonymous sex diaries by Them's very own readers. From the euphoric, to the outrageous, to the (almost) indescribable, this series is all about sex — and everything it teaches us about ourselves.
This entry of “Cruising Chronicles” describes a role-play scene involving abduction and consensual non-consent. Reader discretion is advised. Names have been changed for privacy.
For Pride weekend this year, I trekked upstate with my boyfriend to execute a forced insemination alien abduction scene in the woods, as the good Lord intended. Far from the marches and the rainbows, we reached the setting for our extraterrestrial encounter — a gorgeous Northeastern nature reserve with swimmable koi ponds, docks, and tall evergreen trees. I don’t remember who first proposed this scenario, but we had been scheming out every last fucked up detail of this mutual fantasy of ours for months. Even just the drive out of the city felt electric, our shared anticipation palpable in the space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.
According to our plan, I would spend the following morning tending to a fire as a human man. Meanwhile, my partner would leave, returning later as an alien who communicates exclusively through gesture and touch. They would then abduct me and fill me with alien eggs. Before too long, my human boyfriend would return, discover the nonhuman parts inside of me, and storm off. Finally, with my human boyfriend out of the picture, my alien lover returns once more, just in time for me to birth their young. And this is almost how the scene ended up going down. While in-the-moment changes to a scene are hardly unheard of, what struck me was the unexpected desires that afternoon brought out of both of us.
I’ve always had a bit of a breeding kink — let’s be honest, who doesn’t? Yet, in the past, I’ve mostly experienced it as an act of degradation. I had never thought about it as an act of tenderness and vulnerability, where there’s real potential for care, even love. But then there I was, in the middle of nowhere, getting railed by a girthy, all-grown-up E.T., thinking earnestly: Maybe I actually do want kids.
Then again, there’s a lot of things I didn’t think about before I met Jermaine. It’s been two years. I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, but I do know that I am completely head over heels for this man. Before I met Jermaine, I was certain that I didn’t want to have children. Now, I’m not so sure.
The desire might have grown stronger that day in the woods, but it didn’t begin there. Jermaine has this niece. Spending time with her is like live action role-playing parenthood. It’s great: You get to take care of the baby for a few hours before returning them to their actual caregivers. With him, there was a surprising ease to taking care of the child. It felt natural. It felt right.
“We should have one of these,” I’d quip, in that way that queer people love to do when there’s an elephant in the room that neither person wants to be the first to name. It was like that for a while, that back and forth, both of us waiting for the other to acknowledge that desire to actually have one of these, a desire made even more terrifying by its creeping mutuality.
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Back in the forest, Jermaine left me to humbly tend to the fire alone, where I ate a small handful of shrooms. I poked and prodded the embers, pretending to be casual despite the fear and desire thrumming through my body. Then something hit my arm. I turned, and there he was: the alien, half of his face cloaked by a bandana, wearing a buckle-heavy snakeskin-printed bodysuit and a massive, 10-inch long ovipositor — a hollowed-out dildo, perfect for the planting of “eggs.”
I burst out laughing.
“Okay, let’s try again,” the alien said, and slumped back into the woods.
Gasping my laughter down, we resumed our starting positions — me humbly tending to the fire, him preparing to creep up on me. This time, I was ready. When I saw the alien his eyes peering at me from behind that bandana like I was a piece of meat, fear and arousal jolted through me like lightning. He “chased” me around this wooden picnic table, though it was hardly a chase; I was a helpless mouse, and the alien was a cat, lithe and sinister and toying with me just to draw out my inevitable end.
Before long, he grabbed me by the hair and threw me onto the table. I felt his fists landing on my ass and thighs over and over, the practiced blows of a sadist who knows how to do damage without doing damage. I sank deeper into the warm void of subspace with each dull explosion of consensual pain. The moans escaped my throat almost involuntarily. But still I had the wherewithal to shake my head and whisper, “No,” out loud.
The alien slapped my face hard, and pointed again at the table, jabbing the air with a force that communicated without words, You better do what I say.
So I laid down, my back barely resting on the rough surface when I felt something huge pushing past my lips, into my mouth, down my throat, then pulling out before relentlessly pushing its way back in. Once the alien had his fill of making me gag and sputter for mercy, he withdrew from my throat. The sudden absence made me whimper, though I knew that I wouldn’t feel that way for long, as I watched him disrobe and grab the ovipositor in his hands.
The wind tickled my skin like a caress. I looked up at the trees above me as they swirled together, forming what felt like a protective bubble above the both of us. What a beautiful day for an abduction, I thought. The shrooms were hitting. I know I’m supposed to try to get away from the scary alien, but also I need this alien to fuck me. Right now. He did.
The ovipositor was made of squishy material, soft enough that you can squeeze the “eggs” out, with the same sort of motion that you’d use to get the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube. For twenty minutes, the alien fucked me before depositing four “eggs” inside — little silicone blobs a little bigger than a quail egg. For an interspecies breeding, it felt like a huge success; the thought made me laugh out loud. Soon my giddiness transformed into an orgasm sweeping up my whole body, its power like a tidal wave. If you scream while cumming in the forest and no one hears you, do you make a sound?
As I came back to earth, breathing heavily, my vision slightly blurry, I felt the alien yanking my shorts back up before sneaking away. I continued to lay there, focusing on the sensation of my breath moving throughout my body, the wind moving through the trees, the daylight starting to soften.
“Hey,” I heard Jermaine say from a distance. I sat up on the table and my boyfriend, the man I love, came into focus — no bandana, no bodysuit, no giant alien cock. He helped me up and we walked back to the cabin, where we took a break for lunch. But as we realized, we didn’t want to take that much of a break. Over sandwiches, we agreed we were both having way too much fun with Jermaine as the alien and me as his unwitting prey. We decided to skip the part where my human boyfriend would discover the eggs, and instead went right to the birthing scene.
Jermaine changed back into the alien costume and grabbed a pink picnic blanket. Together we walked to the dock. I couldn’t help but giggle, both because of the absurdity of this situation we’d co-created, and because I was truly tripping balls at this point. But even despite the absurdity, even despite the alien’s prior cruelty, something in the muggy summer air between us shifted as soon as I spread the towel and the alien helped me to the ground like a perfect gentleman. I looked out at the water and gasped at the clouds reflecting off the glassy surface. The alien gently nudged my legs apart. Then, without warning, I shot one of the eggs into the pond, sending a shock reverberating through the once-perfect mirror image of the sky. We howled with laughter. Neither of us really saw this moment of tenderness coming, but here it was — my alien boyfriend stroking my hair, gently kissing my shoulders and the back of my neck as I birthed our spawn.
Before we knew it, the last egg was out; the scene was finished. We both sat in silence for a minute. Then we wrapped our arms around the other. It had been so meaningful to exist in this temporary reality where I was giving birth to his children, and he was holding my hand every step of the way, like a sexy alien birthing doula. Ideally, when we do have actual kids, there will be an actual medical professional and/or birthing doula present. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, we have these moments hidden away in the woods, my lover and I, reveling in the terror and ecstasy and intimacy of a world all our own.
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