WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in Hardcore these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century. Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2018 by The Technician . Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. What would you do if a childhood friend sent you a long, rambling email about kinky sex with aliens? That’s what recently happened to me. The only reason I can think of that he would do so is that he knows I’ve seen a lot of weird shit and written about even more really strange stuff so I would probably believe him. Also, he knows how many stories I post and I am pretty sure he expected me to publish his email on some of my story sites. In fact, he even gave me the name to use for the story. He says it’s true– hell, it might be, but I can’t ask him for further proof. No one has seen him since about a week before I got japanese this email from him and the reply address comes up as invalid. I tried to back trace the IP and it also comes up as invalid. Despite not being able to verify anything, I decided to publish it exactly as he wrote it and let you decide for yourself. Maybe it will stir some deep, forgotten memory of gray beings with big black eyes... and the feeling that you MILF had some really fantastic sex somewhere but you can’t remember where. The email reads as follows: W, I am sending this to you because you will believe me. No one else believes me. They say I am imagining all this or that I am having some sort of strange seizures. I can understand why they would say that. I do have seizures– or I used to. Whenever I have to fill out a medical form and it asks, “Have you ever been knocked unconscious?” I answer “Yes.” Then where it says, “Provide specific details” I say, “See attached page.” We grew up together, W. You know that I was always the one who fell out of the tree or off the cliff or got hit by a car or conked in the head with a line drive or was still lying on the grass when the rest of the team went back to the huddle. I guess the straw that broke the camel’s back– or more accurately the bug that put that final piece of scar tissue in my gray matter– was when I got knocked unconscious by a cicada while riding my motorcycle about five year ago. Even you had trouble believing that one until I showed you my helmet with a hole in the front of it. I hit that sucker at somewhere well north of ninety miles an hour and he went all the way through the shell and padding and put a big bull’s eye bruise right in the middle of my forehead. It was a miracle I got into the median and slowed down enough to not hurt myself seriously when I tumbled off the the back of bike. I had a hell of a headache for a few days but that was all. I thought everything was OK after that. Then the seizures started. Luckily, by then, they had developed a pacemaker for the brain. At least that’s how my doctor described it. They put some kind of tiny computer in my head with a network of wires connected to my brain. I kissed her back. She was an elegant woman in a pale-pink dress, her lush legs crossed before MILF her. So far, two animals had turned into people, meaning that there japanese was no reason for me to expect it to stop now. Oh, wait, it’s a truck,” she says before she puts her tongue back down my throat. That and the scream she let out when my cock was forced into her pussy. It Hardcore felt weird as hell going into the lingerie section to pick out some clothing. “You know, we do have a nice jet that can take you and Diane anywhere you two want to go,” I tell him trying to get him to think a bit. The stupid thing is I’m really good at it, Ive just… lost my groove.” And then she pulled a pillow from the sofa, got on her hands and knees, and stuck her ass in the air. As did mine. My upper body lay on the part that slanted up so I was somewhat looking directly at Mr. Chowdhury. "I hope you've learned something.