His Own Kind

There weren’t any of his kind left. No, they’d died off centuries before leaving Drom the only humanoid in a world of beings thousands of years his senior. His only solace in this speciary loneliness was the company of a Vermilingua from the planet Venus. While her face held the classic conical features of her race, it was easily covered by her coarse hair. The prize was her mammalian chest, which bore two solid mountains of flesh, much like the Appalachian range back home. Drom’s favorite galactic voyage was to visit her sandy sanctuary.

After pleasantries and a few kisses that felt like sticking his tongue into a tackle box, he would swoop her hair down over her snout, leaving just the view of her two tanned circles, the warmth of Earth’s sun beaming into each palm. He suckled her in remembrance…