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Table of contents
CONTENTS
LESSON-1-2
LESSON-3
LESSON-4.1
LESSON-4.2
LESSON-5.1
LESSON-5.2
LESSON-6.1
LESSON-6.2
LESSON-7.1
LESSON-7.2
LESSON-7.3
LESSON-8
LESSON-9
LESSON-10.1
LESSON-10.2
LESSON-11
LESSON-12
LESSON-13.1
LESSON-13.2
LESSON-14
LESSON-15.1
LESSON-15.2
Contraception
The Sex Life of the Gods. Michael Knerr. CHAPTER-1
CHAPTER-2-3
CHAPTER-4
CHAPTER-5-6
CHAPTER-7-8
CHAPTER-9-10
CHAPTER-11-12
CHAPTER-13-14
CHAPTER-15-16
CHAPTER-17-18-19

planet. It was a joke, in a way. In a manner of speaking, he was the 

first Terran to fly an alien space ship, but he wasn't thinking of that. 

He was thinking of the woman, Elizabeth Danson of Everett, Pennsylvania. 

 

She was waiting. 

 

And he could see the warmth of her body, sheathed in the web-like gown 

that seemed spun over her turgid breasts and curved hips by an army of 

artistic spiders. It would not be a hard thing to love a woman like 

that. 

 

His fingers curled about the controls, his feet working the rudder 

pedals of the screaming ship as he headed for the strange darkness of 

the Atlantic Ocean. The space ship was operating well and the Earth 

lifted her curved bosom to meet his rush. 

 

Trouble came early. The danger lights flickered in his eyes and the fear 

welled up within him like a flood. Fifteen hundred miles an hour and the 

scout ship was out of control! The behavior of the craft was erratic, as 

though a giant hand was slapping the silver belly as he plummeted toward 

the ball of the earth. 

 

Desperately he tried to reduce the speed of the hurtling ship, his 

fingers working the buttons and levers in a frenzy of determination. The 

craft refused to respond. She whipped into a cloud bank, headed for the 

sea, lifted suddenly and whirled back toward space. 

 

In an agony of fear he realized that he no longer was the master of the 

space ship - he was a prisoner in a violent, uncontrollable meteor that 

would finally slam him into infinity against the very earth that was to 

be home... 

 

* * * * * 

 

In the early hours of morning, Jean Renault of Nova Scotia fingered the 

wheel of his fifty foot boat through the grey ground swells of the Grand 

Banks, almost to the place where he would cast his nets into the water. 

The overcast sky was refusing to emit the sunlight and a light mist hung 

over the sea like a disjointed ghost. When Jean heard the whirring roar 

of the ship, it was too late. The silver streak whipped over his fishing 

boat with all the furies of the gods, and nearly tore his steadying sail 

away. Muttering a string of French curses, Jean picked up his radio 

telephone and reported in violent tones the presence of the jet to the 

Coast Guard. 

 

* * * * * 

 

In the half-light of early dawn, the United States and Canada whirled 

with reports upon the strange craft. The CQ of the National Defense 

system began systematically pinpointing the track of the strange craft 

as it raked across the adumbral sky. 

 

Then, it was gone! 


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