Page 1 of Solan

Chapter 1

The temperature controlled air in the training room did nothing to stop the sweat on Vegas Munro’s top lip. No matter how many times she’d filled in for Avril, these sex education classes got no easier. It didn’t help that six muscled, attentive aliens stared at her, hoping she had all the answers.

“That is your female hole?” The six-foot five bronze-skinned Galaxar stared intently at the revolving 3-D image at the front of the class.

Blowing a strand of dark hair off her face, Vegas nodded. “That’s correct. You’ll see the similarities with your own females’ reproductive organs.” She kept her tone level. She was twenty-six; she shouldn’t squirm when talking all things alien-human reproduction. It was, after all, what her job was all about. Arranging long-term hook-ups between humans and aliens. Getting them to produce beautiful alien babies to populate the stars.

“It looks smaller,” another Galaxar said. “How do you fit us?”

Galaxars were nothing if not direct with their questions.

“Females expand widthways and lengthways,” Vegas said. “When a woman is aroused, she expands to fit her mate.”

The Galaxar shook his head. “You won’t be able to fit me.”

Vegas made a discreet note on the tablet in her hand. She’d be sure to pair this one with a female who wouldn’t mind him insulting her sexual organs. “We’ve had no complaints about not being able to fit.”

“You’re right, Jaylag. It looks too fragile.” The Galaxar at the front slumped back in his seat. “A good match was guaranteed. A female who would accommodate us.”

“You will get perfect matches,” Vegas said. “We are thorough at My Single Alien.” Glancing at the space station’s logo emblazoned on the wall, Vegas grimaced. It showed a smiling blonde woman holding a blue-skinned baby. Next to her was a blue, smiling Draxdan. Staff at My Single Alien now knew not all aliens were blue. They’d had a few complaints about favoring Draxdans on the publicity materials and were working on a new logo. As with anything that needed a decision being made, it took its sweet time and involved a crap load of forms and meetings.

“I’ve heard it called a garden,” a Galaxar from the back said. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve heard human female parts called growlers,” another Galaxar said. “Does it make strange noises when aroused?”

Vegas gestured with her hands, partly to cool her burning cheeks and partly to stop the cascade of names for a woman’s down belows getting shouted around the room. “The last description is not a compliment. Don’t go using that when you meet your match. However, garden is not so bad. It makes sense, you see. That is what you’re doing. Planting your seed to grow something amazing.”

Several interested murmurs drifted around the room. Males, they could be from Earth or from the deepest reaches of space, sex was always on their minds.

“Your brochure said you have a seventy-five percent success rate,” the Galaxar at the front said. “What happens to those who are unsuccessful with their mates?”

“If, after three months, you and your partner have not successfully become pregnant, you have the option to choose a new partner. But there are certain conditions that must be met before you get a new mate. Fertile human females are in high demand.”

“Which are?”

“You must be intimate with each other for a minimum of five times a week.”

“That won’t be a problem. I like to take my mate several times a day.”

Vegas pressed her thighs together. Galaxars were huge in all aspects. As part of her job, she’d studied the biology of every new alien interested in this service. It was crucial to know what they were dealing with. Especially since, in the early days, there had been a few... incidents.

Vegas knew she wouldn’t be able to walk for a week if she was mated several times a day by one of these well-hung beasts. Not that she had anything against big muscles and strong-minded males. She did, however, like to sit down without needing a cushion and an ice-pack.

“We all do,” the Galaxar in the back row said. “It keeps them happy.”

“I heard the orgasm is good,” the Galaxar at the front said. “Tell us more about that.”

Vegas pressed her fingers on the bridge of her nose. “This education session is about reproduction. You’re here to learn how the human reproductive organs work. It’s important you understand what you’re signing up for.”

“We know what we’re here for. We need a female. We have to breed.” A note of desperation speared through the Galaxar’s words.

Vegas’s frustration softened. “Of course, but things operate differently for human women. It’s more than just breeding they require from a mate.”

“You like flowers,” the Galaxar at the back said. “Dead flowers are given as a sign of fondness.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Vegas nodded. “It’s an old custom. It’s not one we use on the space station. The pollen messes with the air filtration system. Do not give your women flowers, unless you want our chief engineer to come looking for you.”

“And candy,” another Galaxar said. “Your men like to make their females fat.”