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As soon as Sam said it, he knew it was a mistake. It seems anything you say after you come is awkward, is misplaced, even if it's praising your or your partner's performance. "I knew becoming an astronaut would get me laid more." Her face contorted, she scoffed at him, grabbed her sleek one piece and was out of his shuttle-pod before he could say Neil Armstrong. "Fuck her," he repeats after her scuttling image; "fuck her, even though I already did. Well, if that's how they fuck at least." You can't be sure, especially with all those tentacles coming out from her armpits. Was he supposed to suck them tenderly? She became more excited when we tangled his phalanges in them and pulled hard. And those claws! Like a crab. He had to remember to get his guide fixed soon. Or maybe he'd jumble up his translator more when the action started to get heavy, just to avoid things like this happening again. And it's not like he was lying when he said it. He was being perfectly honest, elated with his hypothesis becoming empirical evidence. He had set out, just as everyone else who sets out into this abyss, this ever-expanding void of universes, to explore all this shit floating about, including tiny planets which life-forms populate. His exploration was mostly research based, but of a different kind than most scientists; he is in search of the perfect mouth. Or orifice, he has to remember that mouths weren't always available, or could be multi-use for some species. Sam's real problem with space exploration was the lack of terminology--is political correctness even important? Even applicable? In translating his culture to another species, would anything actually stick? Would what he calls his mouth and what he calls a kiss be applicable to, say a Jupiter-born krokildil with four mouths and no eyes to speak of? And genitalia, that was a whole other asteroid game. Even with these obstacles, Sam had been doing alright. He had exchanged sexual favours, or at least what he interpreted as sexual favours, with over 665 species. But he had yet to find it: the perfect mouth. One that could encompass his entire manhood with one suckling intake and hold him there until, as they said back home, worlds collided. These worlds, he assumed, were his semen and the back of whatever throat or throat-like organ the species giving him fellatio had. Sam had never really understood such adages, like that one about chickens and counting their hatchlings. He had never even seen a chicken, only their desecrated flesh in vacuum-sealed packets. That was enough for him, and delicious when paired with the vacuum-sealed 'peas' from his stores. As he prepares the aforementioned meal, Sam consults his video records. As separate evaluation of the fellatio he'd received was a bit foggy by memory alone, he makes video and scent recordings for every one. The video is obvious, but the scent recordings, first patented back in 4.2..333 SD by Fenny Bankfrin, are the most important memory aids. He had already forgotten how his last conquest had smelt--but thanks to Bankfrin, his shuttle is flooded with her sickly sweet aroma: a touch of gingery racimbole, with top notes of fermented citrus and a base note which struck him deeply. It was a subtle, soiled aroma, probably the combination of her deep-purple genital juices and his salty human sweat. Sam has seen himself come so many times that any embarrassment he felt in response to his facial expressions had morphed into strange pride. He anticipates his twitching, his panting, more than he anticipates his partner's. He attributes this to commitment--he isn't out here searching for their reactions, but for someone to give him a reason to react differently, to react perfectly. What was it they called it back home? Oh yes, a 'blowjob'. What a quaint human word, he thinks. As his thrusters power up against the orange sand of the planet Translamda, he sets his course further outwards towards the edge of the Beginzam galaxy. He has heard wonderful things about the genitalia there, that it lights up and emitted radio waves when excited--and it was rumoured that a colony of boucheriatia lived out there! A whole species whose physique resembled the human mouth. Sam shudders as he imagines their capabilities--maybe this time he would be able to fit his whole body into them. 061213