First Contact with the Monster of Steropes I (sci-fi/ giant/ futanari)

Log Title: Catastrophe Log of Dr. Neville Samson, Science Team Leader Aboard the Deep Space Satellite, Steropes I

Log Date: March 30 from 3:35 AM to 4:10 AM (duration of 35 minutes), Earth Year 2100

This mental log is transcribed automatically by Neville Samson.

Today is the day I either win my Nobel peace prize or regret exercising such saintly patience over slow years of study.

Roughly two years ago, space-time rifts began to sprout up all over the galaxy. Ordinarily small in size, often so small that they could not be detected without the aid of a microscopic lens, these portals defy the physical laws we know to be true and constant. While the workings are still largely mysterious, testing has been thorough. We have discovered that these portals, purple and emitting a sort of dull light, can be used to transfer materials between the past and future. Our science team has sent parcels into the future and received them in kind, signed with dates indicating the relevant time period. It's fascinating stuff.

Even as the science team leader, I can only abandon my narrow pursuit of logical definitions and call these space-time rifts a modern miracle.

However, if there is to be a true resulting miracle, it will be from this: the giant space-time rift that our satellite was built around. The parcel load and deposit time of a portal tends to vary with its size-- after deposit, the portal tends to close. We have avoided sending anything through this unusually large portal and we instead are waiting to see what the future sends us-- the scientist in me is both erring on the side of caution in my instructions, while chomping at the bit with curiosity about what we will discover. Running calculations based on the size and longevity of other sizes of space-time portals, we have determined that this one's about to unload whatever was sent through it in the future in mere moments. My assistant and apprentice, Dr. Cristoph Fuches, is on-hand to witness the phenomenon with me.

We have a betting pool, speculating on what will come through. I'm betting we'll receive technology that will catapult humanity into the future, allowing us to freely generate these rifts for our own pursuits. Fuches is betting that a giant monster comes out and the security team will be **** to put it down. I think he's been watching too many movies, personally.

The tension in the air is palpable as the portal begins to emit a sort of pink strobe light, accompanied by a loud suction noise as though the air in the room is being sucked out through a vacuum. Thankfully, I know that no such thing is happening. The portals are benign and do not harm humans. They've always been harmless, since the moment I reported the first discovery.

All the same, we do have security on detail, armed, in case anything unexpected should happen.

But as the first semblance of our future begins to make its way through-- not a package, a machine, or anything like that, but clearly a living creature-- I begin to doubt if the guns could possibly be enough.

At first, it's as though a set of four worms has peaked through, wrapped in a silver coating like a shinier version of the material of my own spacesuit. The worms are each massive in size-- a single one of them is as large as a human. I wait with bated breath and I feel my jaw hanging open behind the protective visor of my equipment-- Fuches has the same expression on his face. I can see he doesn't want to win this bet of ours.

Next, another silver object pokes through, a smooth surface that takes up a significant part of the portal... and it seems to actually stretch the portal, to my awe. I had no idea the portals were something you could physically touch, let alone anything with elastic properties. The unknown thing pushes further out, then with a massive thrust, swings the rest of its body through so powerfully that we all stagger backward, making room for its entrance. Even giving it as much room as we can, we've been pushed all the way to the opposite wall.

At first, it's difficult to tell exactly what we're seeing. The creature's entire body is covered in a seal of silver, perhaps some sort of space suit to protect against an unknown atmosphere. I say a space-suit because I now believe the creature to be human, but, for whatever reason, gigantic in size. The four "worms" I spotted earlier were actually the fingers on one hand, though now wedged between the creature's abdomen and the portal. The object earlier was its shoulder... but, unfortunately, the rest of its entry was rather poorly executed. The thrust managed to get its head, shoulders and chest through, but nothing further. Both arms are still trapped.

The creature's face is obscured by a pitch-black visor on the hood of its suit, revealing none of their identity. As for the other most noteworthy identifying feature...

If I have correctly interpreted this being's shape as human, the size of their chest is massive. If they were a human female, adjusted down to my own size, I believe they'd have the largest pair of breasts I've seen in my life. I don't mean to be vulgar, but rather, scientific in noting that each breast would be larger than the size of a man's head. At their current size, they're unfathomably large, not quite reaching to the protective drop-pad we'd placed upon the floor, but coming close. Every time the creature moves its body, they shake back and forth wildly, threatening to pulverize anything close to them.

And on that note... I can only assume that this is not how her first contact was meant to go. She's wriggling like a mad-woman, trying to create more separation between her body and the rift to pull the rest of herself through. The creature's aggravated grunting is muffled by the spacesuit and their language is like none I've ever heard, like a human's but without a single word or phrase I can interpret.

This isn't good. From what I know, the rift will close in a mere thirty to forty minutes. I instruct the rest of my team to find some way to aid in pulling our visitor the rest of the way free.

Fuches warns me that even if we were to do that, if the rest of her body-- 2/3 of which is still concealed-- is freed, she will be larger than the room we're hoping to contain her inside. I tell her there's no time for that. We can only speculate what happens if the rift forces itself closed on her, but I can't help imagining the worst-case scenario.

Humans tugging at this creature can't accomplish a thing; it's like trying to pull down a building with your bare hands. I've advised the team to operate the room's pair of industrial-strength, heavy-duty cranes. With great speed, they set into action, moving the crane's claws into position to grab each of the creature's shoulders as gently as we can manage. I don't know how strong she is under there, but we want her to be as comfortable as possible during all of this. As they carry forward their work, I begin to try and catalogue the alien being's words. I'm sweating inside my suit at the pressure of the situation. This first contact isn't going how any of us imagined it.

My concern turns to terror as I see the cranes finally succeed in pulling free what they've got clamped. The problem is that what came free wasn't the woman from the portal-- it was the suit from the woman. With a sudden, deafeningly loud tear, the woman's space suit falls into tatters from the collar down to beneath her chest, and the silvery fabric collapses to the mat beneath her like a tremendous parachute.

The first thing all of us note is that she's completely naked beneath the suit. Her impossibly large breasts swing in the open air, now freed from their confinement.

That isn't what's sucked the sound out of the room, though. The woman's skin is not quite human flesh. It's almost cherry red with a sheen like rubber. An orange coloration dabs it here and there like freckles dotting skin. On that note, the creature's humanoid nipples share the same color, practically glowing with their vibrant color. They're large, proportionally, and extended as though through cold or arousal. This creature is now, most definitely an alien, despite the similarities she shares with humans.

The creature's speech has become almost warbling. She sounds angry and I can't blame her. She's stopped squirming and has now begun a more methodical motion of ramming herself forward in jerking motions, though every time she does, I hear her utter another phrase that I've now interpreted as a curse of frustration.

Apologies will have to wait. We've got a scant 20 minutes or so left before the rift begins to close. I order the science team to begin to strip away the rest of the suit that we can reach and begin to lubricate her body, with the intention of freeing her. I'd prefer not to have to do anything that could damage her skin, but we don't have the luxury to worry about that. For now, we're taking a two-pronged approach: air spray on the affected area while using machine oil lubricant on the rest of her body, all applied by the mechanical exoskeletons that we keep housed in this hangar.

Her reaction is immediate and wrathful, as we tear more of her suit away where we can reach it using the cranes, leaving her just the hood. Cold air begins to blast the area around her ribs and, unavoidably, her breasts as well. I can see her nipples stiffening even further and I hear unprofessional whispers begin to break out among the rest of the science team. The angry snarls turn into something that I loosely identify as a moan each time she's subjected to the shots of air. When that doesn't seem to be availing us, we begin to pour on liquid oil, which runs down her back, coating not just there but, again, unavoidably I will note, her breasts. Her already shining skin now reflects the light even further, accenting the awe-inspiring, womanly curves of her body. It doesn't seem to be accomplishing the goal of letting her slide out of the hole any easier-- all it's doing is making her predicament more erotic to look at.

The rest of the science team are walking funny to hide erections now. I stand firm. I don't have time to think about her body-- I'm focused on my Nobel Peace Prize! Note to edit that later. I am focused on the betterment of relations between humankind and this new alien species.

While I was distracted just then, Fuches had begun to issue orders on his own. The science team is bringing out vacuum nozzles that we use to decontaminate the hangar. I'm not sure what they intend to do with them... they can't possibly produce suction that would be adequate to help free her.

I turn to Fuches to get his explanation and what he gives me is far from satisfactory. He claims that this creature is likely the one who created the hole and will not allow it to harm herself-- he says he hears not fear in her voice, but only anger, and no gratitude for our efforts. I do agree with him on that point-- I actually am worried now that when she does get free, we will have very little time to argue our case. There's something in his voice as he describes her, though... I do not know whether to identify it as animosity or something else, but it's leading him to irrational, hot-headed conclusions.

I can't hide my incredulity as Fuches further explains his motives. He has noticed that the alien appears to be secreting liquid from the tips of her exposed breasts. He is planning to milk her!

I give the order to stop, but it's ignored in the chaos. During our conversation, the tubes were attached to the creature's very erect nipples, and despite my very clear and audible orders to cease, they activate each pump. The creature gives another warbling shout of alarm, then trails into what I have now identified must certainly be a moan of arousal, as the peaks are squeezed with vacuum power. She throws back her head as a sort of gooey, orange-yellow substance pours out from her breasts, congealing like honey inside the vacuum chambers. Its got a milk-like viscosity, but an entirely different coloration.

This can't go on. This can't be recorded as humanity's first alien contact. I won't let it! As my own security officers hold me back, I bellow for all of them to cease!

Instead, they've mounted the creature, and are now feeling the surface of her skin and remarking upon it: smooth, supple, even softer than a real woman's. The men are abandoning their spacesuits now, violating the alien's body with their hands and other parts. The thrashing throws them off, but they keep trying regardless. I'm attempting to speak to the alien now, using her word for "anger" and her word for "no." I plead: "No anger! No anger! No anger!"

The cranes, without my instruction, grab hold of her hood and peel it up and away from her head.

The room goes silent once more and the chaos dies down as the hood falls to the mat with an airy swoosh. Underneath, her head is not so different from a human's in shape, with similar ears, nose, and mouth, although her scalp and brows are hairless. What is remarkable is the eye... in the place of two humanoid eyes, she has one large one, glowing as vibrantly orange as the honey-like substance we pumped out of her.

What's equally remarkable is the clear expression on her face. It's full of anger. Indignation. Murderous intent. I grab hold of Fuches and run for the door as her eye begins to glow brighter.

Before I can question anything further, help others escape, smooth over the situation, or anything else to ease my conscience towards the prisoner we've abused and the men I've led to this unfortunate outcome, it's all over.

A beam of light, like a laser, shoots out from the center point of her eye and follows her head as she twists this way and that. It's as large around as you'd imagine, given the scale I've described, and it's cutting through everything like it was tissue paper. She's destroying exoskeletons, equipment, cranes, walls, floors, and all the rest of the hangar, shooting all the men out into space. Perhaps fittingly, those who stayed in their space suits are alive and may see later recovery. Those who abandoned their spacesuits for hedonistic pleasure will die in the void of space. Fuches and I can watch no longer-- we run for the evacuation pods and barely managed to escape the wreckage of the space station. As we're jettisoned rapidly towards the nearest friendly space vessel, the image of the giant woman, her body completely bare, is burned into our minds. She's tearing apart the satellite, using both her hands and the beams emitted from her burning orange eye. Superheated chunks of useless metal float in the space around her like little more than motes of dust.

The whole catastrophe occurred in just thirty-five minutes. Steropes I is lost...

...and with it, all hope of humanity's peaceful first contact.

How had things gone so far astray? The woman was full of rage from the moment she exited the portal. I realized now that from her language, she'd intended to destroy us all along. Had she deployed the portal herself? Why there and for what purpose? I might not live to understand this event-- I'm forty years old and the other end of that portal won't occur until around fifty years from this point. This can only be a sign of turbulent times to come in the future.

Log Title: 2nd Contact Log of Cristoph Fuches, Acting Commander of the Arges II Resistance Battleship

Log Date: March 29, from 12:00 PM to 12:35 PM EST (duration 35 minutes), Earth Year 2150

This mental log is transcribed automatically by Cristoph Fuches.

Today is what the men and I are calling Future-Day. This going to to be second contact between humankind and the alien invader who attacked Steropes I half a century ago. I celebrated my seventieth birthday just a few days earlier, but I consider this a late birthday present.

My mentor, Dr. Samson, went stark-raving mad after the alien's attack, but he has a home aboard my ship all the same, for what little the two of us have to say to each other. He blamed himself for the outcome five decades ago aboard the satellite-- a bit ridiculous, considering that he did everything in his power to defuse the situation. If there was an instigator, it was me, but I don't regret it. The years following the Steropes I catastrophe were hell. Alien attacks came in from all sides, forcing humanity to go on the defensive and spreading destruction at an unprecedented rate. They did nothing to shake our initial poor impressions of them as hot-headed, violent aggressors. It's only in recent years that we've managed to recollect ourselves. The aliens seem to have gone soft. I believe they're underestimating us.

Today is the day we get **** on them. I'm going to find that alien who attacked us all those years ago and give her a little payback, using the full power of the resistance fleet I've amassed.

They may call me mad, if there's anyone left to review this log in humanity's future. My goal in organizing troops, building a rebellion, and surviving all this long time has never been for human-kind to "win" the war. I don't know if that's even possible. I just want **** on the giant-sized bitch who tore apart my team. Today's the day she attempts to enter-- and becomes stuck-- in the time-rift. I assume she'll be alone, or else she probably could have gotten some assistance during that time poking through without everything we subjected her to. That's our chance to strike.

I don't want to kill her. Ever since that day, I've remembered the look of her breasts dragging the bottom of the hangar, nearly slapping the walls every time she twisted her torso. The size of them... the softness... the shape and weight... I see it all in my dreams. That is the only time I feel any sexual satisfaction. I haven't gotten an erection from anything else in those fifty years. Now, after all this time, I'm not sure if the old soldier will stand up at all. But if there's one thing that can get it up, it'll be seeing the Monster of Steropes I get what's coming to her. I've fantasized what it will be like, surrounded myself with like-minded individuals, and developed technology appropriate just to this purpose.

My fleet cloaks their ships as we enter low orbit around the massive portal. We've discovered that the aliens do not create these portals, although their flesh has the distinct property of allowing them to manipulate the portals by stretching or compacting them, to a small degree. The portals, if anything, are an object of curiosity for the aliens as well and this is likely the only one they've encountered that even appears large enough to fit one's body through; likely, that's the reason they never tried outside of this one point in time.

Sightings of the aliens are rare these days, but this time, we know exactly where she'll be thanks to the calculations we began running fifty years ago. I feel myself licking my lips wet and leaning forward at my console as she comes into view on our ship's main monitor.

I remember this one's appearance better than I remember the face of my own mother. Those breasts weren't a trait shared by all of her species-- they're uniquely hers, massive cow tits that jiggle with her every tiny movement, even while they're still wrapped up in the silver-colored spacesuit all of her cyclopian kind wear. I can practically hear them sloshing as she makes her way to the portal. She's unaware of our presence-- unaware of the show she's giving me.

I saved a small sample of the "milk," by the way. I drank it on the way back to earth, alone in my pod. It was the sweetest nectar-- I wake up with my mouth watering for it some times, feeling like a baby who wants to cry for a suckle of his mother's teat. I don't know what it is beyond that it's safe for human consumption and that I have been craving it every day since the catastrophe.

She's the object of my hatred. My love. My obsession.

Despite the way she's consumed my every thought, the alien isn't thinking of me at all as she sticks her ridiculously curvy hind-quarters out and begins to enter the portal, starting with one hand, then leading in with her shoulder. She's no leader of aliens, no key war strategist, no great conqueror. She doesn't have the demeanor of one of their warriors. She's not even competent, based on how she's about to get stuck halfway inside the portal and halfway out.

But to me, she's the goal of this war and the target of my preparations over the past fifty years. I spur my ships to action once her head is through the portal and she can no longer see us. One of her arms is free, but without being able to track our movements, it's unlikely to be of danger as long as we don't get close to it. The legs are the bigger issue. We drift at a low speed until we've flanked her, two ships at the sides of her wiggling hips and three ships stationed so we're lined up with her rear.

How fitting that this encounter will begin in much the same way the last did. She's stuck and we're going to use the heavy duty manipulator cranes attached to the support ships to begin tearing away that flimsy silver suit. As her impossibly large hips swipe back and forth like they're trying to hit us, the claws of the ships grab hold of the suit and begin to stretch and tear at it. Once a hole is properly created, we begin to peel, exposing more and more of her cherry red flesh. The giant surface of her ass, like a celestial body itself, is now mooning us, with orange spots flecked across its surface like freckles.

Her butt is adorable. It's everything I've wanted. How I wish that I could drift out into space and bury myself personally in that vast field of flesh.

Numerous hails start to come in from the other ships, but my attention is suddenly caught by the eerie laughter of my elder, the mad Dr. Samson. He cackles, saying he understands the alien now. He says that "time moves backward for her! It's opposite ours! She's going backward!"

I don't understand what he means. Yes, the portals send things forward and backward in time. Is that it? I don't have time to play riddles with him, so I shove him off of my arm and answer the hails. They tell me that there's something I've got to see.

What else could I need to see? Well, there is one thing... I demand that those manning the claws use those to part her legs.

Hesitantly, the others agree and begin to use the manipulator claws to do just that, securing her thrashing legs-- a dangerous task that breaks one of the arms clean off of the right support ship. With some effort, they establish a firm hold against her protests. Next, the ships drift to the left and right away from the body, forcing her knocking knees to part. As the legs spread, so too do the cheeks, revealing the puckered asshole of the alien, accurate to human anatomy but so large it could be considered a portal itself for one of our ships. My eyes water at the sight of it. I've wanted to see it for so long. And just below that... hanging...

Balls.

I hadn't been able to see it from my angle in the escape pod, but hidden between her leg was a hairless ballsack, and past that, a penis, large in size proportional to the rest of her body and already semi-erect, throbbing lightly with the unfamiliar sensation of our ships molesting its owner. It stood to reason that an alien with such over-developed mammaries would have similarly over-qualified reproductive organs down below.

Murmuring breaks out among my men. Words of panic. Laughs of hysteria. Some cry mutiny and want my head. They'd waited decades to see this alien woman's pussy and now they were presented a penis. We were all half crazy, nearly as far gone as Dr. Samson, and this awful ruckus is just that hot cauldron of insanity beginning to bubble over. The men want answers.

I return laughter in response and ask them: are you all really so weak? Had you honestly not seen this eventuality? There was never any guarantee that we would find a vagina waiting for us. We've never had a chance to study the alien's reproductive organs up close like this. I'd always been prepared for the possibility that a penis would be waiting for us. I'm Captain Ahab and this is my white whale, whatever the shape of her. The fact that she has a penis is not doing a thing to deter my own growing erection, nor the steady march of my battle plan.

I ask Ram Ship 01, Arges I, to hang back-- it no longer has an entry point. My Ram Ship 02, Arges II, still has its purpose and Milk Ship, Brontes, just acquired its own.

I'm sure my face is a fearsome sight, twisted in a mask of ecstasy and wrath, as I issue the order to extend the main battering ram. Spaceships don't tend to have battering rams-- that's because they aren't intended for the same devil's purpose as mine. A lengthy metal rod extends from my ship's nose as I release camera pods out of the ship's wings, which begin to encircle the alien's body to give us a view. Our main camera will soon be lost and I want to maintain visuals. I've waited too long to settle for anything less.

I salute my men and tell them it's been an honor. Only a few return the gesture.

I push forward the throttle to fire our ship's engines, lining up the rod squarely for the open hole between the bright red cheeks of the giant alien woman. We all brace as we make contact, the rod pushing into the walls of the cyclops' asshole and burying our ship half of the way in. I feel the wings tear off our spacecraft immediately, not pretending to make their way inside, but everything else is shrouded in darkness as we lose visuals from the main camera and all surrounding light.

We've done it: we've buried ourselves in her asshole! She's been entered by the whole crew of the Arges II, nearly fifty men! Humanity has struck its first blow against the alien women's anal virginity!

I line up what's happening now with her reactions in the future and grin, practically drooling. She's feeling it. She's moaning with pleasure she doesn't understand. She's never felt anything like this before! I pull the ship back as far as we can now, seeing that her anal crevice is now gaping; free of our ship, it's got an inviting orange glow, much like her nipples... hopefully not the same glow as her laser-capable eye, despite my ship's reports of rapidly rising temperatures.

As the men protest and some begin to fear for their lives, I ignore them. I plunge forward for another attack while insisting that Brontes begins its task. At my command, the ship unveils a modified version of the manipulator arms, forming a lengthy tube between its clawn with a cushioned interior, much like the one we offered to pad the fall of the alien visitor some fifty years ago. This time, its purpose is a bit more aggressive. The ship, piloted by one of the finest men of the resistance, maneuvers its way in front of the alien in such a way as to avoid being knocked out of space by the flailing penis. Once in position, the two free support ships grab the creature's hips steady. Then, the implement is fitted over the head of her penis, sliding all the way down to the base, knocking against the alien's balls.

Brontes is uniquely equipped with reverse and forward thrusters for just this exact task. After reaching the back of its arc, the forward thrusters fire again, shooting it nearly off the head of the penis. Now, back thrusters. Forward. Back. Forward. Back! The milking device we've created will stroke this alien bitch until she can't stand it! At the sight of it, I can feel my own erection throbbing, painfully, joyfully. I tell the captain of the Brontes he's damn good at his job-- one last moment of comradery before the madness truly takes us.

Samson is already gone. He clutches at his hair with left hand while drawing loops in the air with the pointed index finger of his quivering right. "Time is reverse for her! It runs in reverse! First contact was actually the second! Second contact is actually the first! Causality is not the same for us, you see?! Both of us are mad at the outcome! Neither of us are the instigators! We're both blameless! We're both sinners! Ha ha ha ha ha hahahaha!"

I ignore him, clenching my teeth and whiting my knuckles as I thrust us back into the hole, imitating the motion of Brontes from behind her ass. Because of the structural damage to my ship, I can only go so fast, but damn it, I'm trying. In, out, ignoring the cackles of Samson, ignoring the pleas of my men. We'll give that alien the fucking of a life time! I command the support ships to give it all they've got-- this alien's a masochist and she wants more, more-more!

I can see that my truest agents aboard the other ships have subdued the detractors and they're ready to join me in my reckless mission. Manipulator arms aren't good enough for what I'm picturing. They're ready to enact their final orders. Each ship rolls 90 degrees and drifts backward to position itself behind the alien woman. There are no weapons proper for this task... they are the weapons! Top-installed thrusters begin to fire, swinging the whole of each ship into her bottom and paddling her so hard that her legs kick at the impact of it. The supple surface of her buttocks ripples like the turbulent waves of an ocean and her red skin begins to glow slightly orange with the paddle mark. I feel an orgasm rocking myself at the sight of it, even as the ships begin to break themselves apart.

I see them swing twice more before the commanding officers salute me and the ships are lost. My own ship is on its last legs. Every alarm we have is blaring for me to stop as I ram us back in for the eleventh or twelfth slam into the previously uncharted territory of an alien's asshole. The remaining support ships have fled, along with Arges I. It's just Arges II and Brontes now, my ship at the asshole, Brontes at the dick, milking her for all she's got.

On the other side, right about now, she's probably having her tits vacuum-sucked. On this side, on the side monitors, I see a string of liquid begin to escape from the head of her penis... an interesting, half-white, half-clear color not unlike human semen. It first forms as droplets, emerging from the tip, perhaps precum that she's trying to hold back for the sake of her own dignity. It could even be that she's hoping to prolong the pleasure. Before too long, she loses the battle and it erupts. The jizz shoots out in strings, ropes, floating out and away from her body in useless globs to spatter across the surface of the nearby uninhabited planet, colliding so powerfully that it creates craters where the cumshots are hitting. I watch her balls tighten and contract on the various cameras. I can see her penis throb, aching with pleasure, before finally settling into its spent, limp-noodle shape, nearly hitting Brontes as it falls, spent.

Brontes has lost its milking arm. That's for the best. I give them leave to go now. Maybe there are other alien women out there to see, other experiences for those men to have. They're young, compared to me. I hope that they'll have legendary adventures, perhaps something they can be proud of, with a better end than my own vengeful chapters have led me to.

Now it's just Arges II. We go in for our fifteenth thrust, rocking the alien's entire body forward as her asshole is penetrated yet again. We got in deep this time... too deep. Everything around us is darkness as the walls close in on the finest ship of the resistance, shamelessly repurposed for this flight of self-indulgence. Thrusters are failing and all systems are down. There will be no pulling out this time.

I look around me and see my men ****, passed out from the turbulence. Old Man Samson sits slumped, strapped to a chair, either sleeping or dead. All is well. Our mission is nearly over.

I hear the ethereal hum buzz inside my brain as we pass through the portal. I have no visuals, but I know what is now around us-- the same starry sky I once looked out upon fifty years ago. Dr. Samson and I, barreling away in our escape pods.

The forty year old Samson's heart is full of grief and I pity him.

Unbeknownst to that Samson, my young heart bears the seeds of lust and obsession. Also unbeknownst to Samson, or even to the younger me, the fruits of that obsession are right there before him: a space vessel, now the world's largest buttplug, fully lodged into the asshole of the alien invader, so deep that he can't even see it as he barrels away. Her butt is to him, but he can't see it, nor the gargantuan dick and balls he will theorize may exist, but wait decades to confirm the existence of.

This is the end and the beginning of a space odyssey that will play out again and again in the pretzel of time and causality I've unwittingly bent into shape, culminating in a climax-- an overlap-- that lasts but a brief thirty-five minutes.

And what more fascinating events could we ask for as scientists?