Touched by an Alien

to leave this position or the bed, but the damned alarm wouldn’t stop.
    I opened my eyes, but there was no clock on the nightstand next to my side of the bed. However, the night-light, or whatever had been dimly on last night, was now turned to high. It was as bright in the room as if we were above ground and had a window without any curtains to keep the sun out.
    I felt Martini stirring next to me. “Jeff, can you shut off the clock?”
    He yawned. “Nope.” He kissed the back of my head. “Alarms are room-based. Until we get out of bed, it’ll just keep going.”
    Great, I was housing with the Extreme Morning Militants. What a joy. “Why do we have to get up now?”
    “Time to get ready to go to work.” He moved me around so we were facing each other, kissed me until every part of my body was wide awake and rarin’ to go, and then he rolled over and got up. The alarm didn’t stop. “You have to get up, too. It’s set for all occupants.” He went into the bathroom.
    “So it’s going off in your room?” I dragged myself to the edge of the bed and sat up. Not good enough for the Alarm from Hell.
    “Nope. There’s no one in my room to be awakened.” He stuck his head out of the bathroom door. “But it’s nice to see you still think I’m hiding a wife somewhere.”
    I managed to stand, and the alarm shut off. What a relief. I sat back down and it started again. “I hate that thing.” I stood and leaned against the wall, and the sounds of silence greeted me. At last.
    “It’s effective.”
    “So’s a snooze alarm.”
    “We don’t do snooze alarms.”
    “I guessed.” A thought occurred. “Um, Jeff? How are you going to get dressed? Without anyone knowing you spent the night with me?” By anyone I specifically meant my parents. I didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, but the thought of my father catching us worked like an ice bath—I was wide awake now.
    “No idea. I figured I’d just walk down the hall and get my clothes.”
    “Just like that?”
    He looked back out. “Yes. Just like that.” His expression changed, and I realized he looked hurt. “You don’t want anyone to know, do you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You feel guilty and ashamed, and you want to hide.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    He gave me the “duh” look. “I’m an empath. Remember?”
    “Oh, right. But it’s not what you think, or feel, or whatever.” I moved into the bathroom and put my arms around him. “All of those feelings are because my mom and dad are down the hall. I don’t want my parents to know, just yet anyway. I’ve known you for about a day, Jeff. Maybe this is normal for you guys, but my parents aren’t going to be thrilled to discover I learned exciting new sexual positions with a guy I just met.”
    “Let alone an alien guy you just met.”
    “I don’t think Mom cares about that. Dad probably won’t, either, once he gets to know you all. But, um, they don’t really want to know their daughter’s a slut.” There, I’d said it.
    Martini put his hands on my shoulders and moved me away. I looked up at him, and his expression was shocked and confused. “You’re not a slut. Why would you even say that? Is it just because it was with me?” There it was, the hurt and disappointment in his eyes again.
    I remembered the conversation with Claudia and Lorraine, and it occurred to me that the impression of overwhelming confidence Martini projected might be, at least in some ways, an act.
    “No,” I said as gently as I could. “Jeff, I think you’re gorgeous. You’re smart and you’re funny. You’re the best kisser on, I’d guess, two planets. And, just to clear things up, I’ve never been with anyone who had the potential to perpetrate death by orgasm on me before. I’m not ashamed that, I guess, we’re a couple. But it’s different for women than men.”
    He looked a little less hurt, but still confused. Another thought crept in. Two in one morning, possibly my personal best.
    “How many Earth women have you dated?”
    He shrugged. “Not too many.” But he wasn’t making eye contact.
    I moved his head so he had to look at me again. “How many is not too many?”
    “Counting you?” I nodded. “A handful. Less than ten.”
    I managed to keep my jaw from dropping just in time. I’d dated a lot more guys than this. I was a slut. “How about A-C women?”
    “Well, growing up, sure, plenty. I mean, over ten.” He swallowed. “But, you know, as they