"Saving Planet Earth": A (benevolent?) alien arrival story

[MarieDavisRPs]

L.F. Wade International Airport
St. David's Island, in St. George's Parish
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda

5:15 pm, local time (an hour ahead of NYC and DC):

"About frickin' time," Carrie murmured as she deboarded from the plane that both was and wasn't Air Force One. "I was about to take another nap."

The airport stair truck -- a term Carrie had never heard before because she'd always boarded and deboarded directly from airport terminal waiting area in the past -- hadn't been used for a plane as big as AF1 in years, and the maintenance crew had had to do some work on it before they drove it out to where the plane had been parked away from the terminal.

Finally walking across the tarmac behind her charge, the UK's Ambassador to the UN, she glanced back to his counterpart from the US, Ambassador Richard Connors. Actually, Carrie was looking to Connors; she was looking to Bob Ross, to whom she'd made an offer to get naked on a Bermuda beach if time permitted. She smiled to him and -- even though she was wearing dark shades -- winked, hoping that maybe he could see the muscle flinches in her face and know what was on her mind.

They passed through the terminal without any delay; this portion of the airport had been closed to other passengers and even most of the staff, and there was no need for the presentation of passports or anything like that. Soon, they were all loading up in a long line of vehicles of all sorts for the ride to the harbor, where they would then load up on ferries for the trek from St. David's Island to the unimaginably named Main Island.

To everyone's surprise, the entirety of the upscale hotel The Loren at Pink Beach had been booked for this day and two more following it by an unknown source. Carrie was by now coming to realize that the alien, Anya, was more omnipresent and perhaps omnipotent than she'd thought before. The hotel staff helped the Ambassadors and their people to their rooms; each nation's people were put up in a different area of the establishment, to give them their privacy. Again, Carrie thought What privacy? Privacy from the other Ambassadorial teams maybe, but not from Anya. That bitch is everywhere.

The Manager of the hotel came around to each of the Ambassador's rooms to give them a very extensive packet of entertainment, recreation, and relaxation opportunities, some provided here at The Loren, others across the islands. "Cars will be available in front of the Hotel 24 hours a day for your convenience ... and everything is covered ... financially, I mean. The tab for the Conference has been picked up."

"By whom?" Carrie asked the Manager when he was at the US Ambassador's door again explaining things.

"I am not at liberty to give out that information, Miss," the man said with a sincere and professional tone, finishing, "Sorry."

Carrie's first thought was to speak to her more senior Special Branch Officer, Alec Brosnan, about putting someone on tracking the payments. Might be interesting to know how the money flows, she thought to herself.

She told the Ambassador that she'd be nearby for his protection, as was expected, but he told her, "No, that's not necessary. I'm staying in the room to deal with things." He looked between her and Alec, saying, "Why don't the two of you go have some fun. Bermuda is quite a place."

After they left their charge, Alec told Carrie, "You heard the man. Personally, I'm going to find a place that rents small catamarans. I haven't been on the water for a while." He looked to Carrie, asking, "How are you thinking about spending your evening?"

She only smiled wide, saying, "I have an idea." As soon as they were apart, she sent a message to Bob Ross: I'm free for the evening. I'm heading to Church Cove. She had no idea whether or not Bob was being cut free or not, but she certainly hoped so.

 

[desperado1089]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
5:30 PM local time

British Ambassador to the United Nations Sir Henry Fleming (a surname he legally adopted when he found out he was a distant relative to the famous spy novel author and Naval Intelligence officer) had already tasked his senior Special Branch officer to investigate where the money was coming from, but using analogue methods. The story about the catamaran was because an old SIS station (which was still being manned, incidentally) was only reachable by boat. So while his number two was off relaxing, he was already knee-deep in old code books that had not been digitized and the only communications he had sent to London via means from this century were instructions (themselves coded) on which decryption key to use. He was tasked with manning the radio in shifts with the two MI6 operatives, a man and a woman in their mid-30s (whom he suspected were not just pretending to be a couple, as their cover story dictated) while London prepared the requested information using as little modern infrastructure as possible, and then transmitted it with equipment from when Sean Connery played Sir Henry's ancestor's famous secret agent.

Meanwhile, at Dick Connors' suite and those of his staff, as soon as he arrived he promptly slammed the door and growled through it that he had work to do and anyone who was listening can go catch the clap from one of the local broads for all he cared. So when Ross received Carrie's text, he responded immediately: It just so happens I have been cut loose by The Dick. Maybe our journalist friend didn't fork over the carpet, no, excuse me, the tile floors? Ice rink? Is there even a name for that? LOL, maybe I'll find out if YOUR carpet matches YOUR drapes tonight

After making two stops, one in the suite that the lion's share of the DSS team had turned into a barracks/armory to swap his rather bulky Sig-Sauer P220 .45-caliber with a much smaller Glock 27 and a fanny pack that could discreetly conceal it, the other in his suite where he put on a pair of swim trunks, a button-up short sleeve, sandals and baseball cap, he grabbed a towel, a bottle of sunscreen and a few condoms (he had no idea if she was on the pill) and headed down to hire a car. Don't you need to wait for me at the gate or something? I don't have a card, remember? He sent off the text and was debating whether or not to bother one of the drivers while he waited for her to answer.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
5:30 PM local time

Florence MacDonald stood in the middle of the hotel's lobby looking somewhat baffled about all that was happening around her. This wasn't where she thought she would be when she got up this morning.

First, she wasn't even supposed to have been covering the UN this morning. She'd only been there because the normal Associated Press reporter had been down with the flu. Then she'd started getting text messages from, of all people, someone who wasn't really a people but was an alien. Are aliens people? she'd wondered.

The last message Florence had received from Anya had come while she'd been standing in the Air Force One office of POTUS's Chief of Staff, face-to-face with US Ambassador to the UN, Richard Dick Connors. Florence had had no idea why Connors would want to see her in particular; she was Press, sure, but she didn't command throngs of viewers -- aka voters -- like someone like Tom Llamas or Anderson Cooper or Norah O'Donnell.

It had never occurred to Florence that her invitation to speak to him alone had been a prelude to him hitting on her. She'd had no idea that months earlier -- when POTUS's Chief of Staff, Parker Brown, had said he wanted to know whether or not Florence's carpet matched her drapes -- Connors had been part of the conversation. She hadn't seen him.

Connors began the conversation professionally and politely, but in less than two minutes he was asking Florence personal questions that made her uncomfortable. She wanted to get the hell out of there, but Dick had casually circled around the desk to stand between her and the door. Getting by him was going to require Florence to be forceful, and that just wasn't her way.

Then her phone chimed with a message, and while she thought it would be rude to interrupt their interaction -- uncomfortable as it was -- she did take the moment to read it. And she was glad she did; it was another weird text that was obviously from Anya. It read, Ask him 'How's Denise?'

Florence did just that, and Connors' face went white. He politely stepped aside and said he had a call he needed to make, and Florence took the opportunity to get. And now, standing in the hotel lobby, she caught sight of Connor being led to the suites set aside for him and his team. He glanced her way with an expression that was anything but polite and friendly. Florence wanted to ask Anya who this Denise was, but -- while the alien seemed totally able to contact her at will -- Florence had no idea how to text back; she'd tried once to send Who is this? as a return text, only to get an Undelivered message back.

"Miss MacDonald?" a hotel hostess asked, smiling. When Florence nodded, the woman asked, "Will you come with me, please? Your room is ready."

"My room?" Florence inquired. "I didn't reserve a room. Hell, I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be in New Jersey getting a statement from that guy who released a thousand hens in the foyer of the Pentagon."

The hostess only laughed and continued leading her, ultimately entering a beautiful room that looked out onto a private balcony and, beyond that, the ocean. The worker said, "I'm sorry that we didn't have a suite for you. Will this do?"

"Are you serious?" Florence laughed. "You're gonna have to drag me out of here when this is all over."

"We were told that your inclusion in the Conference was last minute," the hostess said as she went to the closet and pulled open the doors. Inside was a wardrobe including professional dresses and pant suits, elegant dinner and dancing dresses, swim wear and bikinis, and undergarments. "Everything is in your size, but if we've forgotten anything, please let us know at the Concierge desk. They'll get you anything you need."

Florence didn't know what to say and instead only pulled some bills out of her pants' pocket to tip the hostess. But the woman waved her off, saying, "No, Miss MacDonald. Everything's taken care of. You just have fun."

After the hostess left, Florence simply wandered about for several minutes, checking out the balcony last. The view of the ocean was incredible, but what really caught her attention, though, was the man standing on the balcony of his own room about six suites down.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Somewhere in the South Pacific

Kimmie Lang watched wordlessly as the Lockheed C-130 Hercules touched down on the packed dirt runway, kicking up a long cloud of dust that ever so slowly enveloped the adjacent village. The island breeze would eventually extricate the cloud, but not before every horizontal surface in the community was once again coated in dust.

It would be another three long minutes before the beast of a plane would taxi to the end of the runway near the boat dock, lower its ramp, and allow the village's laborers to begin unloading it's valuable possessions, some of which were Kimmie's.

Unfortunately, the island on which the plane had landed wasn't the one on which Kimmie was standing; she was on the much smaller island 3 miles to the south, a speck of volcanic rock and black sand that was too small to handle the big plane.

It would be another hour before the supplies were unloaded from the plane, inventoried, inspected, transferred to the boat, and finally brought over here, to the research station.

Kimmie had been on the tiny, South Pacific Island for almost 14 months now, researching unique strains of microscopic life; they existed only here in an underwater, multi-entrance cave that honeycombed throughout what her colleagues called the island's basement.

Kimmie spent a quarter of her working time in the water, sometimes snorkeling but more often than not diving with tanks; another quarter of that time studying the samples that she and others had brought up; and at least half of the time cataloging and recording their findings.

Kimmie was working on her PhD in Biology, specifically researching how microscopic, single-celled organisms lived in the vicinity of the fumeroles spitting up never-ending clouds of mostly poisonous gas on the ocean floor.

The research was a next step toward what Kimmie wanted to do: join NASA as an Astrobiologist. With Human Beings about to venture out to the other planets of their solar system -- places that might support life or may have once -- Kimmie wanted to be the first name NASA thought of when they needed someone to go out to Europa or Titan or any of the other dozen or so planetary bodies in our solar system that might support life.

"Hey! Kimmie!" a colleague called out. She acknowledged him with a wave as he jogged her way. Arriving, with a concerned look on his face, he said, "You need to pack up your shit. You're going home."

With obvious shock, she asked, "What...? We're not done here!"

He pointed toward the cargo plane on the nearby island, saying, "They're saving you a seat. But hurry. I was told you're to be on that boat for the return trip, then on that plane, without fail."

"I don't understand," she responded. Then, with her mind suddenly jumping at chances, she asked, "Is it NASA...? Did they call?"

"We'll ... it's even better than that," he said cryptically. He explained about the alien at the UN named Anya, then said, "I don't know specifically why they're asking for you, but they did."

Although still confused, Kimmie packed her things in time to get the boat. As the boat was pulling away from the dock, her colleague hollered, "Say hello to your boyfriend for me if you see him. It's been more than a year for you. He's in for a true experience."

Kimmie flipped him off, mouthing Fuck you! which was actually rather ironic as he was in fact taking about her finally getting fucked. During her 14 months her, Kimmie had been celibate, not wanting to distract herself from her work with a work place relationship. Every male on the island -- and about a fifth of the females! -- had tried to get naked with Kimmie at some point, only to fail.

She could have explained to her suggestive colleague that she and her last lover were longer together but didn't? Besides, they weren't going to see each other again anyway.

We're they?

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
Close to 6 pm local time

Carrie looked at the text on her phone from Bob Ross: It just so happens I have been cut loose by The Dick.

She laughed at the use of the "The" in front of the nickname. It reminded her of how people referred to the former US President: The Donald.

Now THERE had been a Dick, Carrie thought. Then she laughed again at Bob's reference to the young reporter: Maybe our journalist friend didn't fork over the carpet, no, excuse me, the tile floors? Ice rink? Is there even a name for that?

"Hollywood," Carrie murmured to herself, a reference to how even the men in that city's porn industry were shaved. "Or the Bald Eagle."

She laughed yet a third time, typed both of those into a return text, then asked: Don't those both seem so American, as if shaving one's pubes clean away is originally a USA invention.

To his question about how he was getting down to the private, members-only beach, Carrie responded: I left my key card and your name with a cute barista at the coffee shop across the street from the gate. Snag us a couple of teas and biscuits and my card, too. And don't forget a nice tip. It'll be with it, trust me. BTW, if you don't get here before sunset, I've invited the barista to join me, so ... hurry

Carrie knew that part about Bob liking what he saw when he got here was a bit presumptuous, but then no man had ever not appreciated the sight of her naked before. Carrie has a banging body -- Another American word? she wondered -- with firm B-cup breasts, ever-pert nipples, a smooth belly with just a hint of a six-pack, a nicely shaped hourglass figure, and long, sleek legs that hinted at her athletic nature.

Of course, when Bob got down there, Carrie would only be topless; the bottom half of her red thong with its kite-shaped piece of cloth hiding her pussy and the also-kite-shaped, closely trimmed patch of hair above it was still in place; she never went totally nude on a nude beach unless she was totally alone, and there were around 12 others scattered about Church Bay Beach at the moment.

 

[desperado1089]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
Close to 6 pm local time

Heh, what if I want the barista to join both of us? Bob had typed out that message, but didn't hit send before he got ahold of a car and headed over to Church Bay Beach, where he parked at the coffee shop and walked inside. Thankfully, he'd remembered his wallet, which was in a pocket of the fanny pack along with the sunscreen, the condoms, his DSS credentials and his gun. Paying for the teas, biscuits and getting Carrie's card, he tried to discern whether or not the barista would be open to joining them, but regardless, he did leave a big tip as Carrie asked him to.

When he entered the club with Carrie's card, he made his way to the beach, not really paying much attention to the others (but not failing to appreciate beautiful women when and where they were present) and when he saw Carrie, his smile and his cock grew larger in about equal measure. "Hey, wow, you...wow," he said, chuckling as he handed her one of the teas and her card.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, closer to 5:30 PM local time

The man that Florence spotted standing on his balcony stood out for several reasons. One, he was exceptionally handsome, with sandy blonde hair and a body that didn't quit. Two, he was sipping a water bottle with a sensuality that he either didn't realize he was giving off, or did so effortlessly enough that he didn't even realize he was doing it. Three, he was completely nude, his flaccid cock and rather large sack surrounded by hair that matched that on his head.

When he noticed his fellow reporter looking his way, for he was a French blogger who scored a spot with his country's UN delegation's press corps named Arno LaRoche, he waved apologetically and quickly grabbed a towel to cover himself with. "Sorry!", he shouted, in richly accented English, as he retreated into his room.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

{OOC: I made a mistake and set the time of day as to late. It's January, so the sun sets before 6 pm. I'm going to change the time to 4 pm. I can do that ... 'cause I'm a Goddess! )

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Carrie's phone chimed, and checking it, she found an automated alert from the Club that her key card has been used to access the beach gate. Her stomach rolled anxiously as she's thought What the fuck are you doing? You don't even know this guy.

She looked to her bikini top laying near her on the beach blanket and considered donning it again. Carrie was no angel when it came to her sex life; she didn't consider herself a slut, but at the same time, she rarely went more than a fortnight without sex -- usually with men but occasionally with a woman, too -- and most of those encounters were one night stands, often with men she barely knew ... like Bob Ross.

She looked toward the long, wooden staircase descending from the small club to its private beach and -- though he couldn't yet see her -- caught sight of Bob on his way. Last chance, she told herself.

Looking about the beach, she clocked four couples, a throuple, and three singles: all of them were, in some way, taking advantage of the Club's exemption from Bermuda's strict public nudity restrictions. Carrie thought it would be hypocritical for her to suddenly cover up for modesty's sake, even if she didn't know Bob.

I'm the end, Carrie simply made herself comfortable in her wood and canvas beach chair; her lower half stretched out upon the blanket, one knee up, while her upper half reclined back at a 45 degree angle, allowing her a view of the ocean and of Bob as he approached.

Behind her usual dark sunglasses, she studied the man, finding herself suddenly even more hungry for him than she already had been.

"Hey, wow, you...wow," Bob said as he neared her, chuckling.

She gestured to the second beach chair; she'd intentionally set it up to face her from her leg at a 90 degree angle in a way that -- if he chose -- allowed him to keep his sunglasses on and ogle her surreptitiously.

"Thank God you're here," Carrie said with a bit more excitement than he might have expected. Then, smiling, she waggled the fingers of one hand at the to-go cup of tea, saying, "I was going stir crazy without that."

She giggled as he handed over the tea, cookies, and her card. Glancing around at the others enjoying the beach, Carrie smirked knowingly before saying, "Clothing is optional, Bob ... which means that nudity is, too."

She lifted her cup to her mouth, studying Bob, wondering what he would do

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

(OOC: Same comment about the time correction.)

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Florence has no idea that she'd been starting at the man for almost three full minutes before he spotted her and reacted.

"Sorry!" he said apologetically as he quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself; he spoke in very good English, but Florence knew a Parisian accent when she heard it.

He retreated into his room, after which Florence suddenly laughed -- at herself -- and blushed a deep red. She'd never before seen a man naked in the wild like that, and she found herself embarrassed for having been so shocked at him exposing his body like that ... his beautiful body ... his perfect, beautiful body.

Florence was probably the least sexually experienced, attractive woman of her age range -- she'd recently turned 28 -- excepting for nuns and women who'd spent their lives in comas. She'd only ever been with two men, and she'd only ever been with each of them once.

Florence counted the balconies between hers and his, thinking she might try to find out who he was by interviewing a member of the staff. Then, she went inside, stripped, and entered the shower. There, she gently, then more energetically, fingered herself to an orgasm as she imagined the Frenchie having her bent over the railing of her balcony.

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Bob gave Carrie a smirk as he first unclipped the fanny pack and set it down gently on the chair that Carrie had set up for him, perhaps in such a way that suggested it had something in it that required careful handling...like a firearm. Sure, Glock guns were known for their reliability and how infrequently they went off without the trigger being pulled, but Bob wasn't about to tempt fate.

Regardless, he unbuttoned what few buttons of the shirt he had bothered to fasten before draping it over the chair, exposing a muscular, hairy chest, but one that was scarred in a place or two from his time in the Army. Keeping his eyes on her, he untied the string on his trunks and lowered them to his knees, exposing his nearly seven-inch, thick cock to the ocean breeze--and due to his proximity to a gorgeous woman with whom he intended to become more than just a fling, he was already approaching his full hardness.

Bob didn't know if she would appreciate his care for the trunks, but he still didn't want to try to pull them off over his sandy sandals. So he sat down in the chair before unstrapping one, pulling his foot free of the leg of his trunks, then repeating the action with the other sandal and the other leg of his trunks.

After reaching behind him, which did wonderful things to his muscles, to set his trunks next to his shirt, he returned his gaze to Carrie to say, in an act of boldness that he hoped not to regret, "You're overdressed," gesturing to her bikini bottoms. "By the way, why did you say that it would be worth giving the barista a big tip? She's not gonna be joining us either way, is she?" From his expression and tone, he seemed equal parts curiously hopeful, and cautiously doubtful, that that was the case.

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Arno had definitely noticed the woman, the striking goddess, who had been checking him out for, unbeknownst to him, three minutes. Others had said he had had much too few women for such a handsome man of 29, but just because a bunch of people might jump off the Eiffel Tower, doesn't mean he should follow them. So while he had not had much experience with women, he did appreciate their charms, and just from what he saw, she had plenty. So while she touched herself to thoughts of him bending her over her balcony railing in the shower, he did so in the middle of the room, using a series of paper towels laid out on the coffee table before him to catch the resulting ejaculation. He would only put on clothes later, when he left the room.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

Carrie studied Bob as he slowly stripped down to even less than she was wearing, her dark glasses permitting her to give his wondrous cock a long ogle. Despite the chill of the soft breeze, Bob was semi-hardened enough that his cock lifted out away from his body, giving her a look at his balls as well. Carrie had always had a thing about testicles, one of her favorite oral sex habits being rolling them gently around in her mouth or in her fingers as she performed.

Even after he sat back in the chair, his shaft hovered over his belly just a tad, gently wobbling about as he moved to place his possessions where he wanted them.

"You're overdressed," Bob said, gesturing to her bikini bottoms.

"Have to leave something to the imagination," Carrie said smiling wider. "At least, for now."

"By the way, why did you say that it would be worth giving the barista a big tip?" he asked. "She's not gonna be joining us either way, is she?"

His expression and tone screamed his desire to become the filling of a sandwich in which she and the barista were the bread. With a gently chastising tone, she asked, "What, I'm not good enough for you?"

 

[desperado1089]

Church Bay Beach
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda
About 4 pm local time

"Oh, trust me, Carrie, you are plenty. I am merely curious as to your meaning behind the words, while at the same time acknowledging that, yes, she is cute." Noticing that she didn't elect to strip the rest of the way, he casually draped the swim trunks over his crotch with a smirk. "Fair is fair, after all," he quipped as he teased her with a biiiig stretch before taking a sip of the tea he'd bought for himself.

 

[MarieDavisRPs]

The Loren at Pink Beach Hotel
The British Overseas Territory of Bermuda

About 5 pm, an hour later:

Florence was amazed by the wardrobe the hotel had provided her, and -- like the hostess had told her -- everything was in her size. She didn't understand that in the least; despite being a reporter for Associated Press, she wasn't the investigative type, so she hadn't put a lot of thought into how the alien or aliens were able to know so much about Humanity or about specific Humans in particularly, namely her.

Planning on dinner in the restaurant, Florence dressed accordingly: a relatively sexy, strapless bra and a thong that wasn't specifically matching but was of a complimentary color; a white and pink, flower print sundress that showed off the cleavage of her freckled, C-cups; and modest, three-inch heels with open toes. She rarely wore much makeup, happy with what Mother Nature and her parents' DNA had afforded her; tonight, she glossed her lips and used just the lightest amount of mascara on her lashes. She did dab on a bit of perfume she'd found in the bathroom, also supplied by the hotel.

She headed down a flight of stairs and into the lobby, then across it to the restaurant. The hostess there told her it would be a couple of minutes before a table opened up; despite the hotel being reserved solely for the Security Council's Meet and Greet with the alien leader, the restaurant had been inundated by the guests after they'd learned that -- like the rooms and everything else -- the tab for the meals and drinks had been covered.

"Bar?" Florence asked the hostess. "And a table as soon as one opens?"

"Of course, Miss," the woman said, gesturing Florence the correct way.

The bar was crowded, too, but she found two empty, side-by-side seats at the far end of it. She took the one that was a tad bit more private than the other, sat, and gestured the bartender for a drink.