SPACE NOIR BAR, Mike Marino [good e books to read .txt] 📗

Deco had penetrated Poontangs emotional vector long before I came along and I knew he had to be on the perimeter of Poontangs mind at all times. All the love making we had enjoyed on this journey was probably fading fast into a landfill of mere sexual encounters encountered along the way of her vast career of espionage.We freshened up in the guest huts cleaning off the grime and dirt from the previous days battle in the Vortex. We were drenched in the smell of electronic laser emissions and the faint perfume of gun powder. It was nice to feel almost humanoid again...we put our clothes in the Dymaxion dry air washers and soon I felt as fresh and dapper as Cary Grant instead of Mickey Rourke after splashing around a Bukowski booze soaked dream scape.Poontang and I stepped into the shower together naked.

Naked, she is a canvas of art. Shewas absolutely stunning.. a garden of breathtaking Asian beauty taunting the senses in symphonic harmony joined by the chorus of song of birds that would sing to her accompanied by the kiss of the wind in the chimes.She is as a beautiful garden of flowers scented with the perfume of Asia. She had already affected my heart, leaving a lasting footprint as she had carved a gentle path to my soul that would lead me to a gentle wondrous valley of love and peace and inner contentment. I was merely her Western shadow. She was poetry in motion. I was the sunrise in the West, she the western sunset in the East. I was a lust filled volcano and she is the hot lava that consumed me.The deep pools of brown in her eyes complimented the intoxicating tan brown texture of her soft body.

Her spirit shot me out of the sky, and I had tumbled to earth helpless and willingly in love at her feet. I knew I was her captive now, and my heart and soul now belonged to only her even though we came from two different worlds that had collided like fiery comets blasting through the solar system.We made sweet, gentle unhurried love before we joined the others for the going away party Windsora had planned for us. The Robotian sunset began casting cooling shadows as we lay in bed after a tango of love making, her head of beautiful hair resting comfortably on my chest.We were also two different races and after the sex I had to admit...I was totally immersed in her...I was in love! I had never known such beauty until I met and fell in love with her. All along I thought it was just a physical attraction, but damn...love. Neither one of us could tell who would get killed first given our lines of work...was there a future at all for us? For the galaxy? Was it all to be given to us only to have it hijacked by interstellar events out of orbit, out of synch, out of our control? What about Art Deco?

I’d worry about him later. Right now I held Poontangs small hand and it was time to join the others.The Neptunian wine flowed that evening faster than the spring snowmelt in the Rocky Mountains. Our senses waxed and waned with each glass. Homegrown black market galactic ganja lifted our spirits higher than a street preacher loaded on Jesus and Sterno. Poontang and I took our place around the blazing bonfire, the smell of roasting Ghokkis from Pluto brought gastronomical anticipation to a new level. The entertainment? It was enough to make a Hydra loose a head or two.

Sexy cyborg females, danced and performed. Move over Salome, and take your seven veils with you. These Venusian vixens, former kidnap victims transformed into sex prisoners of Robotia were liberated . They were now rebels recruited by Windsora and they carry Link Wray guns as a fashion accessory for a walk down the revolutionary runway. Tonight, they put that all aside, in our honor with such sensual half human mecha-precision performances I could only imagine taking place a a holiday high stepping show at Rocket-feller Center in Sinatra City, formerly New York, New York with an exclamation point.Nothing gives the debauched Retroplin male a more stand at attention military salute erection than the erotic reality check of a good groin to face lap dance. Need something a little more artistic?

Then give a piece a chance by watching a whirlie gig Erotibot girl whirling around on a rim shot badda bing badda boom cheap comics strip club stage spinning like a out of control childs toy top on a pole.Rated on the Doc Yucatan erection scale ...no assembly was required. Windsora and Strangelove were enjoying the show holding hands while their senses were spinning in a lesbian gyroscopic tandem frenzy to the genital gyrations of these lap dancing Erotibot doing the erectus dance of the muse.They may be a cyborgs, but, still humanoid so their weapon of mass and ass destruction is in the form of a secret secretion they can unleash to increase the vaginal intoxicant. It happens at certain times of the month, even to cyborgs, where she will emit a heavenly scent of estrogen marking her territory holding us as a sexual captive in a garden of estros.I love the smell f Estrogen and a patch of wet vaginal hair in the morning!!!

These cyborg girls certainly knew how to get my mojo working by working her own mojo just inches from my face, emitting her scent up close and personal! I admit it is a somewhat juvenile pursuit of mine when it comes to unearthing the mysteries of the vaginal universe in my exploratory quest for the meaning of life in a stale pitcher of Bukowski beer.In the erotic arena of "female" combat it is up there on the pubic pedestal with roller derby and mud wrestling. Drenched in sweat or covered in mud…it’s time to get down and dirty…with a great pair of sweaty and muddy knockers! Gentlemen start your engines…ladies put the pedal to the metal of your girl crush dreams…it’s time to get down with knockers up and get lost in a wet dream leg lock!Mud wrestling by itself is a heavy artillery libido explosion, add to that mud wrestling by teams members of a female roller derby, and you can forget the Striptease Falcon. Hell, this is the stuff that mud dreams are truly made off.

When Poontang, Strangelove and myself emerged shaken, dusty and bruised from our recent foray into the revolution we were as beat and tired as old winos blinded by Sterno. Getting back to our time and universe through the Geo-Time Rift we found ourselves on Beaubien Street just outside the third floor walk-up building where my agency was in Oldtown Detroit.

I could sense, feel, smell something was drastically, deadly wrong. Even the constant night time thick as a fat person’s thighs rubbing together stage prop fog seemed out of synch with the stray alley cat blues hungry mood of the deteriorating Detroit neighborhood accompanied by that damned wailing ever present Mickey Spillane wee small hours of the lonely morning saxophone music spinning around in my head at a 45 rpm redlining jukebox speed 24 hours a day. What was to be a triumphant when Johnny comes marching home the war is over victory is ours return did an immediate about face. It was not the happy lets fuck the prom queen after the dance homecoming.

We tread quietly as we made our way up the three flights of stairs, dim dust covered cigarette yellowed light bulbs were casting eerie bizarre finger puppet shadows on the fading green paint peeling from the walls in layers as thick as the rotting flesh of a leper on a hot day. As we entered my third floor office, the older consistently inconsistent incandescent light bulbs were dim and flickering as usual, bad wiring having a feast on power fluctuations. When I opened the door, the scene was a troubling one of ransacked office, furniture turned over, file cabinets emptied of their contents, all strewn about...this was a real pro job of tossing the joint.

Once the initial shock, one insignificant nano second in time pulled a Jimmy Hoffa and disappeared, I was astounded to find my agency partner Sandoz pretty well beaten up bloody and slumped over limp on his desk cut and bruised. Not exactly a welcome home Hallmark greeting card.My state of emotional flux went up and down with the buoyancy of a fresh body tossed off a dock and into the dark half Canadian waters of the Detroit River before it floats downriver somewhere near Toledo. I was fluxed, yes, but now realized, we were all fluxed and fucked too.In the room was Poontang's former lover, Art Deco, with a fully laden cargo of ego smuggled ashore from somewhere in Marseilles with all the purified heroin a heroine could handle. I salaciously referred to him on more than one sarcasm filled verbal moment as a pompous, arrogant bon vivant who would rather drink the King’s wine and screw a royal concubine than overthrow the throne if truth be told.

I had to admit I allowed a small smirk of a smile to form when first seeing the mighty Deco being held helpless at gunpoint by the fat man with a fez fetish, Narco Marx. The smirk soon faded faster than an early ejaculation while having sex in a barn with an underage second cousin in a dirty river town in Arkansas.

My tsunami of consternation was fueled further when I noticed sitting in the shadows of the room was the deranged Joel Faberge, Link Wray laser gun in hand smiling with that stupid Fabulon grin of his. His itchy trigger happy finger on his Link Wray with it’s red hot laser beam aimed straight bulls-eye on the mark at at my ticker. I could sense by his frenetic mental stage and the look of animal determination in his eyes he was hoping I would somehow do something stupid frothing with false bravado to draw fire so he could even the score. “Keep on riding me and they're gonna be picking iron out of your liver,” he said with a lisping Sylvester the Cat voice laced with feminine Fabulon bravado. The cheaper the crook, the gaudier the patter. Where do they get the lingo?

Narco was holding all the cards now and I wasn’t about to call his hand. “I see you made it back safely Mr. Yucatan and with our prized Falcon. Hand it over at once or we will without hesitation kill your partners, Mr. Deco, Ms. Pemalang and yes, you too Sappho. We would have made a great team my dear. Oh well, we must move along... oh, and please, all of you drop all of your weapons. I don’t want any fancy heroics to try my patience and have the evening spoiled with any needless killing.”
I wasn’t about to make any fast moves. I didn’t know by leaving one universe portal and entering another you could experience jet lag, but the last week had taken a toll on all of us.