The Alien King And I

Part 1

I was kidnapped by an alien on my thirtieth birthday. And not just any alien, he told me he was the king of his people from a faraway planet: Naxia of Alpha Centauri B, the nearest star system to our sun. So he had said.

            “I am Fairoh du Urugna, Lord of Stinani, Vanou, Edora, Adilor, and Iatil, Protector of the Free Lands, Quadrant Three of Naxia,” he announced in his deep, baritone voice.

            “But I can call you Steve, right?” Because, really?

            Of course I didn’t believe him. I was expecting a male stripper. It was my birthday, after all, and my BFF Carrie had arranged a special party for me hitting the big three-zero. All the single girls in my office and my close female friends had been invited. Carrie and I had promised them the party would be a blast—a wild night in Vegas would look like a Sunday sermon at the Vatican.

            “Nay, woman,” he rebuked me, straight-faced. “You may address me as Lord Fai, for you have been granted the privilege as my chosen mate.”

            “Right.” Strippers these days seemed to be very committed to their role.

            One thing I didn’t understand, though, was how he’d managed to get me into the room in the first place? The girls and I had begun partying and I had consumed a considerable amount of alcohol when I’d opened the door to the, much awaited, highlight of our party. We were all excited and giggled “ooh” and “aah” when we saw him.

            He was better looking than what I had anticipated and not in attire I would have expected.

            For a stripper, he had dressed too much. The hunk was over seven feet tall, clad in shiny metal armour like a warrior from the video game HALO that my nephew is so fond of playing. The only thing missing from his ensemble was the self-sustaining helmet and a big-assed laser rifle.

            “Pray, tell me, are you Lindsey Cunningham?” His voice was deep, seductive.

            “Why, of course, sexy,” I had answered. “What can I do you for? Missionary? Cowgirl?

            Reverse cowgirl? I’m a lady of many talents.” The girls behind me were jeering and catcalling like raunchy bitches in heat.

            He had only smirked and touched my forehead with his metal-gloved hand and seconds

            later, I found myself standing in the middle of the room that looked like a set from a bad, low-budget Sci-Fi flick.

            How the hell had he done that? What kind of Houdini tricks had he used on me? I don’t think even Chris Angel would have been that good, let alone some run-of-the-mill stripper. I asked him and that was when he told me he was an alien. He had come to get me because I was his chosen mate and would carry his royal heirs.

            I needed another martini. Several, maybe.

            I didn’t realize I had voiced my thoughts out loud.

            Steve, or rather Lord Fai, narrowed his eyes and gave me a reproachful look. “You are obviously inebriated.” He spewed it with such distaste, I found it hilarious. I thought male strippers preferred their clients drunk off their asses. Males are males and no man I know didn’t care for loose women.

            Apparently, Lord Fai didn’t.

            He strode to the adjoining room and vanished from my sight. Feeling more curious than a fickle cat, I followed him. The moment I stepped in, I was welcomed by the sight of an upscale, stainless steel professional chef’s kitchen.

            Yeah, alien my ass. I swore I spotted a Kitchen Aid mixer.

            If they wanted to make it believable, why didn’t they make the set thoroughly consistent?

            Besides, his lordship Fai spoke perfect English. Only, his accent was unrecognizable. But I knew some guys who pulled this kind of stunt just to get into women’s panties. They drawled in some exotic accent, like French or German, when in reality, they were from Jersey.

            So, I thought, the unexplainable time lapse, like one second I was standing in the hallway of my apartment and the next I was here, was nothing but the result of too much alcohol on an empty stomach. I had heard stories that when alcohol hit too hard it could cause someone’s brain to go funky as if they were on an acid trip. Maybe I had fainted. Or maybe this was Carrie’s joke.

            She laced my drink and I had passed out and this hunk-o-steel swiped me to this place to be entertained. Well, har-de-har-har, happy birthday to me. I wouldn’t mind a little joke. Lord “Steve” Fai here was one delicious bite of temptation no woman could resist. Hallelujah.

            Fai opened a drawer and extracted a silvery, tall can. He opened another drawer and took out a glass. His movement was deft as I ogled him opening the silver can and pouring the contents into the glass.

            “Here, drink it. I want you sober while consummating our bond.”