This story is PG.
On a hot summer day, just west of Boston, in the dim basement of an old brownstone building, Professor Dole sits slumped over a table. An interstellar radio receiver amplifier rests against his ear. A scanner cycles in a loop, looking for anomalies, finding none. The professor snores. A map of 92 stars of the Libra constellation lies on the table, sweat-smeared and stained. A well-worn Playboy magazine rests in his lap. His pants are jumbled around his ankles, and he smiles and giggles in his sleep.
“Thora . . Thora,” he whispers.
His eyelids twitch and he starts breathing heavy.
The scanner locks on a frequency.
bzzz bzzzzz bzzz
The professor wakes, gasping. He fiddles with the scanner controls and checks the connector wires, then lets out a nervous squeal.
“Start of communication. Attention Professor Hiram Dole. We are what you call the Greys.”
The professor stands and gasps, pulls up and zips his pants, and kicks his Playboy under the desk.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Please, call me Hymen. Hiram. My name is Hiram. I’m very pleasured to meet you. I mean, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m hornied. Honored! Honored to meet you. Excuse my stumbling speech. I just can’t believe this is finally happening- to me! A retired university professor. I’m not a crackpot after all. And they said I was penile. I mean senile. Please excuse my ramming. What the fuck. Make that ‘rambling.’ I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“You contacted us.”
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“You want to mate with us.”
“Huh? Er . . no, I mean, what did you say?”
“As a show of good faith, we are complying with your request and are teleporting a sample of our mate fluid to your research laboratory.”
“Er, my laboratory? I’m in my basement.”
“Because our mate fluid and your mate fluid are biologically incompatible for conventional reproduction, our mate fluid will combine with your most advanced replication technology.”
“My basement doesn’t have anything more high-tech than this interstellar radio receiver. I purchased it from SSAU when they abandoned the Message from Earth project in 2030, and-”
“We have corrected your most advanced replication technology, and the teleportation is complete. Our monitors indicate the mating has produced viable, reproducible Grey-nano hybrids.”
“Er.. did you say ‘nano’? Grey-nano hybrids?”
“Please offer a reciprocal show of good faith, and we will be allies.”
“Er- reciprocate? Well, sure, but I’m a bit concerned about that nano-Grey hybrid thing. Could you explain that a little bit more?”
“As you have chosen reciprocation dishonor, we have chosen non-alliance. Stop of transmission.”
bzzz bzzzzz bzzz
<ring>
“MIT NanoLab, this is Ally-Anne, may I help you?”
“Hello Ally-Anne, this is Professor Hiram Dole. Please connect me with Dr. Ty R. Friar. It’s an emergency.”
“Dr. Friar speaking.”
“Ty, this is Hiram. Please, could you check your nanobot project? The one that Dr. Devin St. Tan started?”
“You mean Calypsis?”
“Yes. Please go to the lab and see if there’s anything unusual going on.”
“Why? We disabled that software last year because it was too risky. Now we just use the hardware as a teaching tool.”
“Please, just check Calypsis. And call me back right away. It’s urgent.”
“Hiram, is this a jo- AAAHAHAHARRRRGRG!”
<click>
<ring>
“Police department.”
“Hello, is Lucy Furman available?”
“She’s on lunch break.”
“Okay. I’ll try later, I suppose.”
“Is there something I can help you with, sir?”
“I’m not a crackpot, you know. But I think the apocalypse is here. Greys’ goo.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.”
<click>
<ring>
“Yo!”
“Hello, Odie?”
“Hey, dad!” Whassup?”
“Oh nothing, I just want to say hello.”
“Oh, okay. Guess we haven’t talked in a while, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout-”
“I love you, son.”
“Aw gee, dad. Love ya too. I was thinkin’ maybe we could-”
“Gotta go. Good-bye.”
<click>
<ring>
“Hello?”
“Hello, Thora?”
“Yes?”
“This is Hiram. Hiram Dole. You were my research assistant at MIT from 2018 to 2021.”
“Oh hi, I remember you. Nice to hear from you.”
“I don’t have much time. But I want to tell you I never got the chance- well, I never had the nerve to . . to tell you-”
“Excuse me Hiram, I’ll be right back- I hear a bunch of screaming outside.”
“Thora? Thora? I love you, Thora!”
<click>
Hiram slumps in his chair.
A low rumbling, and the house vibrates. The window cracks, then shatters. Shrieks and cries from the street spill through the opening.
Hiram’s dog barks at the top of the basement stairs.
“Doggie door, Lucky. Doggie door,” he calls up the stairs. “Good dog!”
Lucky turns and trots across the kitchen and jumps outside through the pet door, growling and barking.
The scanner cycles through the frequencies in a loop, looking for anomalies, finding none. He switches it off. He scoops the Playboy from the floor, rests it in his lap, and feels for his zipper. He leans forward, then sits back down, and his pants fall around his ankles. He flips through the magazine, then closes his eyes and gets to work.
“Thora . . Thora,” he whispers.
His eyelids twitch and he starts breathing heavy.
The brownstone house shifts and liquefies, and the new goo replaces the old.
.ooOoo.
Thanks to Chuck Wendig for this flash fiction challenge!
CMStewartWrite 
Lauralynn Elliott
/ July 22, 2011What a great story! And I love the videos. :0)
CMStewart
/ July 22, 2011Thanks! 🙂
I’m a huge Zoolander fan. Also a huge slime mold fan. lol
Sonia G Medeiros
/ July 25, 2011Poor Professor. He didn’t even get to have the fun part of mating.
CMStewart
/ July 25, 2011At least he went out with a . . splurge? lol 🙂
Sonia G Medeiros
/ July 26, 2011Ewwww! LOL
oldestgenxer
/ July 28, 2011it’s hard enough to mate with another human. females seem like aliens most of the time anyway. but the rituals involved in dating a real alien? I mean, how do you know you’ve reached second base?
CMStewart
/ July 28, 2011Second base? Hmm . . I guess that would depend on whether the alien was using a bat, a ball, or a glove . . 🙂
EllieAnn
/ July 28, 2011That was funny! And good writing. =)
CMStewart
/ July 28, 2011Thanks! 🙂 Glad you enjoyed it.