The alien effortlessly constituted himself into whatever shape he wanted, and yet always resembling a deformed octopus, complete with pulsing tentacle... perfectly designed to be inserted inside of me. He could change to fit my mood, indulging in whatever sex act I craved. But now there was a necessity in the shape. Tattoo wouldn't say it. He rarely actually talked, so there were some similarities to a man in my extraterrestrial boyfriend. Only he relied on images, instantly transmitting thoughts. Andressa Oljesson. She was pretty--5'2", about 110 pounds and well-built. She sported a 'Blondie' skull-cap hairdo and had the lightest blue eyes I'd ever seen. She was a Danish citizen living in the U.S. on a teaching visa. The keys were to a SAAB. Not too shabby. My computer was still on so I Googled her name. Holy crap! This woman was a research biochemist with more degrees after her name than God's got Chicklets. She was in the middle of some really nasty controversy. Maybe she hadn't been. More

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