A Probing Interview by John Willems

 My wife went ahead to her parents’ house for Thanksgiving, so I had to catch up to her after work. It’s a four-hour drive, and after two hours driving up highway 35, I needed to get off the road for a burger and beer. As soon as I got out of the car, I was surrounded by this white light, which I initially thought was just a floodlight from the shopping center. Before I got to the door of the microbrewery, I felt myself dissolving into a thousand little bits, and in five seconds, I went from the parking lot of a pour house to some kind of oval room with bright, white metal walls. Then, an alien walked in through what could have been the orifice of a metallic uterus. When I say an alien, this guy could have been taken from the fake autopsy video Fox tried to sell us all in the 90s. As cliché as it may be, he was a grey stick figure with oval, black eyes. The first words out of my mouth were “Dude, you’re an alien!”

“Affirmative,” the alien responded. “From your perspective, I am from an alien race.”

“Well, you look exactly like I thought you would,” I said. “I mean if you guys were trying to hide yourselves….”

“We are aware,” he said. “Please bend over.”

“Bend over? Oh, you’re going to probe me.”

“Yes, I am. I would appreciate your cooperation.”

The alien took out a small device shaped like a handgun. 

“Oh, okay,” I responded. “I guess there’s nothing I can do about it.”  

I turned around, undid my belt, and lowered my jeans a little, but then I stopped. Why should I do this?  

“Hey, can I ask a question first?” 

“You just did.”

“Okay, so why are you doing this?”

“Why am I probing you?”

“Yeah.”

“Research.”

Research. That’s not an explanation. That’s an excuse. I decided to probe further before he probed me at all.

“So, there’s nothing sexual about this?”

“Sexual?  How could this be sexual?”

“I mean, by probing, you mean that you are sticking something up my ass. I don’t know how things are with your people, but that’s kind of sexual for us humans. And the fact that humans know pretty well what an alien looks like, makes me think you’ve done this before. You even speak English.”

“Sir, I’m insulted,” responded the alien. “I do this to better understand the human race and the universe in general. I’m a scientist, not a pervert.”

“Can you blame me for asking? You’re going to stick something up my ass!”

“Would you accuse Mr. Spock of this? That’s what I am, an alien scientist.”

I thought this alien knew an awful lot about human culture to mention the sacred Nimoy.  I pressed a little further.

“So, you have dealt with a lot of humans? Because you know what Star Trek is.”

“Yes, and you know Star Trek. So, you must know that the reason I am doing this is that I have much higher purposes than what you just suggested. Now bend over and let me shove this thing up your anus.”

“You’re sure there isn’t anything sexual about this?”

The alien gave a sound very much like a very aggravated sigh, expressed through a grey, rubbery frown.

“You are an inferior species. What you are suggesting is the human equivalent of a man ‘probing’ a cow to get an erection. It’s very insulting.”

“Can you at least show me the probe?”

The alien let out another sigh. I faced him and, sure enough, the alien took out the ‘probe’ which was pink and plastic, long like a dong, and had the thickness of a man’s fist. I struggle to contain a chuckle as the alien glared at me with his big black eyes. It was the look of a guilty silicon-based lifeform.  

“This is a legitimate scientific device,” he pleaded.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself, man.”

“It is.”

I didn’t argue with him. Clearly, he had made peace with what he was about to do. That assumes his people have two sexes comparable to he and she. One way or another, he was getting off on this. It was perversion. 

“You compared me to a cow. On Earth, we artificially inseminate cows. Now, I imagine from their perspective, this feels like being molested.”

“But if you could, you would explain to them that this has legitimate, non-sexual research purposes.”

“Over and over again, to the point where humans recognize you by sight, and when a human sees you, his initial reaction is to assume he’s going to get probed? How many non-sexual, research purposes have you got?”

The alien’s expression turned sour. His grey, thin cheeks arched in the way that only a well-aimed insult could cause. He slowly got his mouth moving.

“Bend over before I disintegrate you.”

I didn’t doubt he could do that, so I bent over and dropped my jeans to the floor. This wasn’t gonna be fun, but at least it wouldn’t be fun for him either. So, he did the deed. Can’t describe it to you other than to say, I let myself get buggered real good. It hurt. Best leave it at that. The alien made damn clear that he was in charge. At some point, he started to moan. Oh, so this wasn’t sexual? Fuck you. After he was done, he walked out of the room, which let him out like a whore spreading her legs. Once the opening closed behind him, the room lit up with radiant bright light, and I found myself right in front of the gastropub. 

I walked inside, and I found my seat, which was considerably less comfortable given my recent experience. The bartender came to me.

“What’ll it be?”

“I’ll have anything that will help me forget the last thirty minutes,” I said. “I just had an unpleasant experience.”

“Oh, did you get abducted?”

“Yeah, how did you–?”

“Fifth one this month. Jesus, they really seem to like this shopping center. Okay, let me set you up with a pillow to sit on and a little drink we’ve made called a Neuralyzer. I’ll make it a double.”

John Willems

Image by 12995263 from Pixabay