Future Darkly: The Ghost Rocket

Empty field, stars overhead. Roger stands in boxer shorts and a UFO shirt, tin foil cap on his head, LED glasses glowing. He finishes wiring an antenna on the flatbed, wired to his wrist gadget, muttering ghost-rocket stats while lubing his chest with Vaseline. One last keystroke, a crackle, then a beam slams into the dish. The rig melts, Roger drops. He drives off pissed, chucks the ruined antenna out the window, and nearly runs over a woman planted in the road. Metallic catsuit, silver hair whipping, Cherie stands there like she owns the asphalt. She presses her palms to his window, rattling off alien gibberish until he cracks the glass. She asks to climb in and breed. Roger needs proof. Her face peels back—Roger folds fast and admits he’s male. Face snaps back, she smiles, hops in. They roll up to his place: bare walls, posters, a saggy air mattress. She unzips, tits out, guides his shaking hands across them, then drops to stroke and taste his cock like she’s logging data. She climbs on, rides him deep, breath hot on his ear. But the probe’s about to flip, and Roger’s the one about to get explored.