Millicent's Misadventures on Blargthon-6 by Mickie Silver, pink and purple tentacle against a black background

Millicent’s Misadventures on Blargthon-6

MILLICENT PLUCKED HER PIECE

of toast from the toaster, sat down at her breakfast nook, and prepared to spread a teaspoon of margarine onto its perfectly browned surface. 

She considered heading into the pantry to retrieve the marmalade, then shook that wild thought right out of her neurons. Marmalade was a special occasion condiment. 

“Millicent,” she said to herself. She said it silently, inside her own head. Speaking out loud would have been mad. She was the only one in her household. “You listen here. This is no special occasion. This is Tuesday.”

And so Millicent, in her household of one, just finished with a sip of her plain English Breakfast tea, no cream, no sugar, prepared at the ideal temperature (95 degrees Celsius) and with adequate but not overblown steeping time to allocate no more than 22 milligrams of caffeine (3 minutes), glanced down momentarily at her hand to observe the process by which she spread the margarine onto the bread, only to catch sight of a most unsightly lump. 

This unsightly lump was on her own forearm.

Protruding from it. 

Green. 

It had a face. 

The face had a mouth. 

This unsightly arm lump opened its hideous mouth and squeaked, “Greetings!”

Millicent shrieked. She flung her margarine knife and her toast, and knocked the toast plate onto the floor, and threw over her teacup with such force that it shattered as soon as it hit the ground while on previous days the same accident would cause no more than a clatter, a chip, to be glued into place once spotted on Millicent’s newly washed kitchen floor. 

The lump was undaunted. 

“Greetings!” It proclaimed again. “I will be your guidelump!”

“My guidelump for what?” Millicent said. 

“Your guidelump for Blargthon-6,” the lump said. 

“What’s Blargthon-6?” Millicent’s voice had evened out quite a bit following her initial shriek. For somebody with a talking lump on her arm, it was conversational. 

No sooner had Millicent popped the question than her kitchen wavered, shimmered, and disappeared, to reveal the surface of a planet that did not resemble her kitchen in Bristol in any way.

Ever been to Blargthon-6? No?

Blargthons one through five, perhaps?

No?

Do you know what blargging is?

Neither does Millicent.

And she’s about to find out.

Millicent’s Misadventures on Blargthon-Six is a 20-minute read of epic intergalactic proportions and the first installation in the blockbuster asexual space erotica series.

Click the tentacle below to read now on Kindle!

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