A gift on your night-stand

When you finally awaken from your long-overdue slumber, it's already mid-afternoon. You find that the lights are already on, so apparently the power came back at some point in the night, though it wasn't enough to disturb your sleep. You feel... Good. A bit groggy. It's a Sunday, so you lie back and let the confused events of last night reassemble in your mind, while you try to sort through the imagery to separate out the outlandish reality from the murky contents of your dreams.

You're more than a little disappointed to find that your Reptilian patron is nowhere to be seen, and you're even considering the possibility that what happened was a wet dream/nightmare... That is, until you sit up. You feel your butt and thighs squelching around in the produce of last night's shenanigans, with a little more seeping out from your sore ass-hole, and when you do away with the sheet (which is its own special form of dried shame), you're surprised and more-than-a-little intrigued to find that the Reptilian semen hasn't even begun to dry. In fact, when you feel it with your fingers, you find that the viscous, pearly substance is still above room temperature. And it's sticky, too. Much stickier than the human equivalent.

Bringing your fingers up to your nose, you take a sniff, and are blown away by just how strong it smells. It's like a mixture of powerful male musk, and a more potent variation of the usual tell-tale aroma of fresh ejaculate... But with the addition of another scent that is harder to put your finger on (Heheh), but which you find yourself associating with the reptile house at your nearest zoo. You try a taste, and almost spit it out! Oh man, that is strong! It's everything the smell had you expecting, but ten times more potent, and you feel as though someone just emptied a tablespoon of salt onto your tongue. Hopefully you'll have the time (and opportunity) to get used to it... But you must admit, it's a few leagues outside of your comfort zone.

You're thinking about heading downstairs for a cup of water before you beginning the process of cleaning up this mess, and yourself, when you notice something in the room that wasn't there before. On your bedside table is... Well, you're not sure. It looks like an octahedron (in other words, two four-sided pyramids stuck together), made out of some smooth metal that could be brass or bronze - although the colour and shine doesn't seem quite right for it to be either - resting on one of its eight faces. You're about to pick it up and examine it, though you hesitate for just a moment, although when you do wrap your hand around it, you feel a tiny prick in the middle of your palm, and quickly let go.

Somewhat alarmed, you take a closer look at your hand to see what's happened, and you notice what looks like a tiny metal splinter, no longer than the business-end of a drawing pin, and so thin that you could hardly see it at all if it didn't catch the light. It's fine enough that it didn't hurt, exactly, though it certainly came as a shock. You pull it out and flick it away before realising that you should probably have kept track of where you put it instead, but since you're not likely to track it down any time soon, you turn your attention back to the metallic octahedron. You cautiously prod it, working out that it's much lighter than it looks, and once again try to pick it up. This time, nothing unusual happens, so you start inspecting it to try and work out where the needle came from. Alas, the surface is flawless, and each edge and all the vertices offer no clues, either.

You leave the anomalous object on your night-stand for the time being, and spend the rest of the afternoon washing your bedclothes and showering, making sure to rinse out all the alien ejaculate from your rectum, and wash all the dried fluids from your own limp penis (which is almost as sore as your poor, gaping asshole). You see no other signs of the Reptilian that evening and, with resignation, you realise you're going to have to go back to work next week, and keep your eyes out for more signs. You wonder if this cryptic cycle of 'contact' and clue-finding is what passes for courtship, or foreplay, in His hyper-expanded mind, and the theory at least cheers you up somewhat: "It's love, Jim, but not as we know it".

Before turning in for the night, clean as a whistle and with fresh bedding to match, it occurs to you that your feet and hands feel a bit... Stiffer than usual. Your eyes are a bit sore too, along with your lower-back, just around your tail-bone, but you chalk that up to your previously poor sleep regimen, and your nocturnal exercises, respectively. You down a couple of paracetamol for good measure, and go to sleep, dreading the week of work ahead, but optimistic for the future.