This month's patron-funded story is The Love you Make by David Hill.  It's narrated by Scottie Calif. This episode is sponsored by Literotica.  For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class Harriet wasn’t frightened by the close encounter—at least, honestly, not very much—because she had seen it all before in the movies and on television: the blinding lights in the sky stabbing down toward her car, the problems with the ignition, the headlights, and the other electrical circuitry. The trembling of the earth beneath her tires, the feeling that what she was experiencing was all a dream. Even though, of course, it wasn’t. What did surprise her was that, after the whole passé rigmarole was over, she hadn’t been abducted. No alien implants, no pointless medical experimentation, no bizarre attempts at communication. The only departure from script—the only thing out of the ordinary—was that, as the ship rose into the night sky on pillars of blue light, one bright beam pointed to the asphalt in front of her Toyota, calling her attention to a small metallic object that had evidently been deposited there just for her. She got out of the car, picked the thing up, and brought it home. “What do you think it is?” she asked John after describing the strange episode along Pennington Road. “Sure looks like a cock to me,” he answered. Which it did, being about six inches long and tubular, with two small oval attachments on one end and a tiny vertical slot on the other. “Be serious.” “Seriously, Harriet. Maybe it’s some kind of alien dildo. Or maybe it’s an extraterrestrial pocket comb. Who knows? If you want, I’ll take it into town and drop it off with the police. Could be they might figure out what the damned thing is.” Harriet shook her head, reluctant to relinquish possession of the alien artifact, no matter what it eventually turned out to be. This question intrigued her for the remainder of the evening. After John left for the ten-to-six shift, she abandoned her usual boring routine of sitcoms, news, and late-night talk shows. Instead she sat on the couch and fiddled with the thing. She turned it over in her hands, wondering what it was, who had made it, how it was used, where it was from, why it had been left there on the road for her. Her husband’s observation stuck in her mind, though, and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that, yes, the object truly did resemble a penis—albeit a stylized one made out of metal with a matte silver finish. Moreover, she observed, it looked remarkably like John’s very own, being somewhat tapered and almost exactly identical in length. This made her feel nostalgic. And a little randy, too, since—what with the difference in their timetables now that John was working nights—it had been quite a while since their last romantic entanglement. As a matter of fact, Harriet couldn’t exactly put her finger on just when they’d made love recently. Definitely not within the past couple of weeks. Had a month or more really gone by? She tried to remember. The very effort of recollection hammered home the point that too long had passed. She ultimately focused on an evening not too different from this one, except that she wasn’t alone. He was there with her, and it was more than obvious what he had on his mind as he caressed her in long, slow, masterful shuddering strokes from shoulder to haunch.