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I flip him onto his other side and see the gash. The profusely bleeding gash. Right near his cocks and dangerously close to his femoral artery. If the crash had severed his femoral artery he’d already be dead, so it’s not that serious, but it’s clearly been nicked.

I pull off my t-shirt and use my teeth to make enough of a hole in it to tear a three-inch wide strip along the bottom.

I have a knife somewhere in my backpack, but I dropped it on the run to the crash and don’t want to waste time backtracking.

It’s dark out now, the landscape only lit by the gleam of the three-quarter moon.

After pulling my shirt back on and kneeling at his hip, I hesitate a moment as I wonder how to attack the problem.

There’s no way around it, I’m going to have to touch his cocks.

Swallowing hard, I slip my hand between his legs, brush both penises out of the way, and tie a quick tourniquet.

I’ll do a more thorough job after I get him to the cave.

After tucking both blankets around him, I grab the webbed pull and trudge forward.

Because the river is shallow this time of year, I can’t float him toward the cave. Mostly I pull him forward, but when my arms and shoulders ache from that position, I turn around and walk backward just to give my screaming muscles a rest.

There’s enough moonlight for me to see a moose calf across the river at the water’s edge. He dips his ungainly head as he takes a drink. By the dark patches on his legs which I can only assume are blood, I know with certainty this is the one I came here to save.

I’m relieved to see he escaped the restraining barbed wire on his own and his injuries don’t appear serious. He takes one look at me and lopes away. I guess all the medical supplies in my backpack can be put to a different purpose. My gaze flicks to the comatose male on the metal disc.

Walking backward, I inspect the Draalian.

Such a pretty male. I don’t know why I find this species so handsome, but I do.

There’s something about their blue scales that calls to me.

This one has an interesting pattern of light and dark blue.

I wonder what color his eyes are, then I imagine those eyes looking at me like he can’t wait to remove my clothes and have his way with me.

The thin lips his race is known for grace his face. I’ve always wondered about their forked tongues, not sure if it would be sexy or have a high ‘ick factor’. That remains to be seen.

He has broad shoulders sculpted by powerful, ropey muscles. There’s an armband around his right bicep. The silver metal is filigreed and has a round ruby in the middle of the design. It’s the only thing he’s wearing.

Turning forward, it’s as if all of my awareness is focused on three fingers of my right hand.

The three fingers that brushed his penises when I moved them to apply the tourniquet.

I know it’s not right to be so focused on those two gorgeous cocks.

As a doctor, I shouldn’t be intrigued by a patient’s genitals.

Even though I’m just a vet, I should still be more professional.

I finally see the cave up ahead, my hastily tossed backpack waiting a few steps from the opening. I pull him inside, grab the small flashlight from my pack, and look for predators who might be lurking there, especially bears. I don’t see anything.

I pick a spot near the rear of the cave to open the small sleeping bag I brought with me, then ease him onto it as gently as I can lug a two-hundred-pound male. Once he’s settled, I drag the door outside to collect firewood.

“I’ll be back,” I call to my comatose Draal.

While I’m gathering firewood and tossing it on the door, I can’t help but wonder why the male is here.

Alien mates choose to come to Earth at our request. They come on ships and wind up in tidy barracks where they learn our customs and choose women to date.

Although this isn’t the way it’s done, I’m closer to a Draalian than I ever thought I’d be.

He’s so handsome. And he’s hurt. I need to hurry back and tend to him.

I return with kindling and at least a day’s worth of firewood, then use the lighter from my pack to make a roaring fire.

With that source of heat and light, I pull the blankets off him and perform a complete inspection. Scales, of course, are thicker than skin, so he’s not as banged up as I thought he’d be. He has cuts and scrapes all over, especially his chest.

There’s a slash of blue blood on his temple, which must be why he hasn’t regained consciousness. I wonder if he has brain damage, but don’t have the equipment to run any tests. I’ll look at that later since the leg wound is more urgent.

I open his legs wide to get good access to the deep gash near his groin, then peel off the blood-soaked t-shirt fabric I used when I field-dressed him. It’s caked to his scales, but with a slight bit of pressure, I lift it off him.

Grabbing a collapsible pot from my backpack, I hurry to the rushing river outside the cave and return with enough water to clean the wound. It’s deep enough to worry me. It’s a wonder his artery wasn’t sliced.

Draalian anatomy is probably different from ours. Well, duh, the two cocks are a dead giveaway. I’ll just have to keep a close eye on this.

After another trip for clean water, I finish irrigating the wound as thoroughly as possible.

Grabbing the disinfectant spray, I give him a generous dusting, then rummage in my pack for the self-adhering gauze.

I consider using medi-seal to close the wound, but fear I may have to go back in to clean and disinfect again.

I decide to bandage it and reassess in the morning.

If we weren’t a three-hour hike down a canyon, I’d take him to a hospital where he’d be properly treated. I certainly can’t carry him out, nor can I use my comm because it gets no signal.

I bend his knee so his sole is flat on the floor, which allows me to more easily wrap his upper thigh. As I do this, I wonder if he can tolerate the antibiotic I brought for the moose calf. Although I know nothing about Draalian physiology, I assume he can tolerate our medicines.

The scientists who picked the first three species to join us on Earth were looking for genetic matches so we could procreate. I heard this vast experiment referred to as Project Ark when it was in its infancy.

The other two species have produced some adorable human hybrid babies, but the jury is still out on Draalians.

They haven’t been able to procreate with humans yet, but there is hope for that.

I’ll just have to assume we have a lot of genetic similarities or they wouldn’t have been among the first to emigrate to our planet.

It’s an interesting irony that my planet isn’t producing males anymore and Draal’s population is now ninety percent male because of their global warming.

What was this guy doing here, anyway? This male was obviously traveling alone.

Could he possibly have come all the way from Draal on his own in his efforts to find a female?

Was he so desperate for a mate he risked life and limb in that tiny capsule?

He must really want an Earth woman. How romantic.

My nostrils flare and my head tips back as I wonder about that.

We have a rigorous screening process before we allow males to board transport vessels to come here.

We don’t want unstable, sick, or criminal mates.

Could that be what this male is? Some reject who couldn’t pass inspection?

One who was so desperate for a mate he traveled across the galaxy on his own to find one?

“I wonder who you are,” I whisper into the cave as my fingers itch to stroke him. I’m sitting cross-legged at his hip and allow myself to visually inventory every hill and valley of his body.

“Why were you naked?” I wonder as I watch the firelight play across his skin, or rather, his scales.

Gently touching his wrist, I smooth my fingers along his scales, enjoying the texture. It’s not slimy like some people think. It’s dry and slightly pebbled—interesting to touch.

My gaze travels to his hairless head. I won’t lie, ever since we discovered their race and their interest in a mating compact between our species, I imagined what it would feel like to trace my fingers along the patterns I would find there.

This Draal’s markings, the appealing dark and light blue stipples, are so interesting compared to my pale tan skin. I wonder if he’ll find the smattering of freckles on my cheeks as interesting as I find his colored variations.

His lips are thin. I’ve imagined kissing lips like that almost every night since the first pictures of Draalians filled my newsfeed.

And his nose, almost non-existent, intrigues me as well. As my eyes sweep down his body, I decide this male is a perfect specimen.

I’ve tried to keep things professional, but I can’t control myself from inspecting more closely. Down wide, powerful shoulders to perfect washboard abs, to trim hips, to slightly jutting hip bones that make my mouth dry. But my gaze dips lower to the main attraction. Or attractions as it were.

I realize my hand is still braced on his shin, keeping his knee bent from when I was applying a clean bandage. I guess the back of my mind had this visual inspection in mind all along. His cocks are on full display.

I’m no expert on cocks. There hasn’t been a male born on this planet in ninety years—not one that lived, anyway. When I look at porn, it’s certainly not flaccid cocks I’m interested in. So what I see is more interesting than arousing.

They call the top one their secondary, the bottom one is primary. I can only imagine what they’d look like erect. Well, I can do more than imagine. Although I’ve only had it a short time, I’m well acquainted with my Draalian sexbot.