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If only that were true. You could buy chocolate from the station’s general store, but it was an expensive import. It had to be. They had no room to grow cocoa beans on the station, and the food replicators were dodgy on a good day.

Vegas had been shocked to discover that not all aliens loved chocolate. That seemed like an anomaly too far. Horns and squirting tentacles she could handle, but no chocolate, you had to be joking. “Chocolate is sometimes given as a gift. But it’s more than the gifts you give.”

“Back to the orgasms,” the Galaxar at the front said. “Do you have them easily?”

If only she did. Vegas had to think back. It had been several months since she’d had a decent one, and that had been by her own hand. “Women do enjoy a good orgasm. And they can be had easily, providing they’re given the correct stimulation.”

“Show us that. How do you stimulate yourself?”

“That’s for another class.” Vegas didn’t like the eager look in the Galaxar’s eyes as he peered at her groin. “It will be shown in a 3-D simulation, not a hands-on practical session.” She didn’t know how Avril coped with running these classes. She ran them seven days a week to meet client demand. Vegas would have to make sure Avril didn’t get sick again soon—she’d up her supplements and check her exercise routine. She needed to be fighting fit, so Vegas didn’t have to endure this humiliation again. She’d only been doing this a week and finished every day with a headache and her cheeks feeling like they permanently glowed from the probing questions.

“Your race enjoys lots of reproductive opportunities?” The Galaxar sitting at the side hadn’t spoken until now. He played with the tablet in his hand.

“We do,” Vegas said. “Females are pregnant for nine months before they give birth.”

“We do not mate with you when you are with squib. I mean, child?”

“You can still mate; it doesn’t harm the squib.” Vegas considered the Galaxar term for child appropriately cute. “It’s also a good bonding experience to remain sexually active.”

The Galaxar nodded. “That is good.”

“We become fertile almost immediately after birth. But it’s sensible to hold off for a few months before becoming pregnant again. It gives the body time to recover. It’s safer for the female and the next baby.”

“I understand the reproductive process,” the Galaxar said. “What I meant was, do you like to try to become pregnant regularly?”

The Galaxar at the front snorted. “Tolak is asking if you like to be mated often? Do you enjoy the process?”

Sweat prickled on the back of Vegas’s neck. She had another half an hour of this. She would need a long, cold shower and a strong alcoholic drink at the end of today. “With the right partner, we definitely do. Now, let’s turn our attention back to the female reproductive organs. We haven’t covered the clitoris.”

“Show us the breasts. They are for more than feeding the young?”

Vegas’s hands unconsciously drifted to her chest. “They are. Some women find stimulation of the nipples and surrounding breast area extremely pleasurable.”

“You have nice ones,” the Galaxar at the back said. “I would like yours.”

A choked laugh came out of Vegas. “You don’t get to pick the exact breast type or size. You can say you would like a certain type, but we can’t guarantee that. But we do guarantee you this: you will breed with a fertile human woman. It is why you are here. It is why My Single Alien is here to help you.”

The Galaxars all muttered an agreement. They were desperate. Their own women could no longer reproduce. They needed humans. And humans needed their money and their protection. The fact the Galaxars were not hideous to look at was a bonus when it came to finding them suitable mates.

There were other alien races who came through the Glory Hole—better known to the science dudes as a wormhole, who were a little more niche. You needed an open mind to be interested in mating with them. Although, Vegas had heard the Dackins tongues took you to a whole new level of pleasure. You just needed to get past the feathers and beak-like mouths.

A knock came on the training room door. Letting out a relieved sigh, Vegas strode over and opened it. Heather Roberts stood on the other side. She glanced into the training room, grinning when she saw the eager aliens peering back at her. “Our new intake has arrived.”

“They’re early.” Vegas checked her wrist comm. It was a handy mixture of communication device, galactic level web browser, and timekeeper. It also kept a check on her macros, so she didn’t overindulge too often. If she did, it sent her a stern reminder that excess fat in the space station put a strain on the already stretched resources. As if a few extra pounds on her thighs would rip apart the space time continuum.

“They got a jump on their transport window. I think they’re keen to get here and find their true loves.” Heather’s blue eyes sparkled.

“When are they not keen? Although it’s rarely about love.” Vegas glanced at the aliens waiting for her to discuss all things clitoral and breast-related. She’d be glad to cut this lesson short. These Galaxars had more classes to complete before they got to experience the delights of a human female in their beds. “Give me two minutes.” She turned back to the Galaxars. “We must end our training early today.”

“But we were learning about the breasts. They are fascinating.”

Vegas heard Heather snigger behind her. “We can learn all about breasts tomorrow. In the meantime, take your study records with you. They’re pre-loaded on the tablets you’ve been given. I’ll test you in the next session to see what you’ve learned. There are also info pods available in your rooms. They provide useful information on all aspects of mate interaction.”

“We know how to treat females’ breasts,” grumbled the Galaxar in the front row. “We do not need info pods. We are not squibs.”

“But we are a special kind of female,” Vegas said.

“Miss Munro is correct.” The quiet Galaxar stood, his tablet in his hand. “We must cherish these females. If it weren’t for them, we would have nothing.”