The Space Noir Bar, Michael Marino [people reading books txt] 📗

raised. As they got closer, they stopped and began laughing hysterically and waved back.

 

“Maddie Baby...damn it’s you and I see you brought that delicious can of Eskimo tuna with you. Good to see you Asrini. What in hell you doing here? Back to join us?” Maddie threw her head back laughing. “No Art. We’re looking for the Rabbit. Got a bit of a squeeze play going on with the Toho’s and Com-Reds too so we figured this was a safe harbor and hopefully we’ll pass go and collect 2,000,000 space bucks too!”

 

I came out from my burrow, ego bruised by my show of cowardice more curious than ever. Who were these three? They were female in appearance with a slight rustic yet exotic look about them. Asrini not forgetting the social graces handled the intros. “This is Doc Yucatan a private dick from Retropolis..” ( I hated when she referred to me as a “dick”...Doc the Dick! Looks great on a holographic biz card!) “Doc this is Art Deco and the ravishing goddess in yellow battle gear is Long Wang and the purple delight is Wang Chung. The Tranny Squad from the Monte Rock Feather Boa Brigade of Brigand Babes.” I was meeting a human Chinese meal with weapons and could probably end up in the sack with them for the price of two egg rolls at the Suc Muc Dik nightclub in Chinatown in old Detroit. “Pleased to  meet you...Art...Wang...Long” I couldn’t say “Long..Wang” with any sense of decorum.

 

Transsexuality is universal in my Century..in fact bi-sexuality is also galactic. Hell we fuck robots, and electronic hermaphrodites fuck themselves.

 

As science became more advanced and stone age 21st homophobia was left in the lobby  with the Rainbow Hat Check Girl trannies and tranbots have become some of the fiercest fighting femmes in the gender bender galaxy and are prized highly by the Tohos as Erotibots. Sexy cyborg chicks with dynamo dicks.  

 

According to a song by a 20th Century rock group "Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up world" In fact, that mixed up world is a delightful copulating cornucopia of tantalizing T-Girls with enough sexual horsepower under their well endowed hoods to fuel inject the Erectus Eruptus factor of their many admirers. These surgically altered buxom beauties possess that physical combination of south of the border male genitalia and north of the border female rocky mountains that fascinate and capture the hearts and imagination of male and female alike. These beauties break the down the barriers and excite the latent or blatant bi-sexual responses from the male of the species with a gravitational pull that can't be ignored.

 

If you venture forth stepping briskly through the vanilla looking glass you'll find that you have penetrated Alice's Sexual Wonderland. If you are in search of the Holy Grail of the bi-sexual merry-go-round ride, you'll discover it in the hurricane tempest of the T-Girl! The tranny is not only regal and resplendent in her looks, clothing and physical makeup, but also personifies the ultimate result in the sexual metamorphosis for those males who feel they are a female being held captive in a male body, but they also have the balls (real balls!) to do something about it.

 

The T-girl throws off the sexual shackles society has forced upon her in the name of fear and homophobia that society has used to inhibit their freedom of sexual expression. All she wants is to be all the female she can be to borrow a military recruitment phrase, as she emerges as a transsexual army of one! It's the yin and yang of attraction simply enough, and what the hell, a little bi-sexuality attraction to a tranny goes a long way!

The transsexual not only comes out of the closet, but, does so with fabulous flair, honey dripping honesty and penis erecting panache. These are not crossdressers or transvestites. No sir, these are females trapped inside a male body, an Alcatraz of flesh that inhibits the person’s freedom to choose the gender that best addresses her emotional needs for expression, as well as the desire to parade proudly as the woman she has always wanted to be. The best part is...this is nothing new. This T-girl romp under the sheets has fascinated humankind since the days of the Iron Age! Yes, I could somehow relate the iron age to the birth of the chastity belt but will save that for another time.

 

“Down Doc!” Asrini blurted out admonishingly. “There’s plenty of them here so if you don’t bang Maddie you might get lucky with a tranbot!” Everyone had a good laugh at that of course at my expense. Oh luck be a Tran-Lady tonight. “Can we get going please before I get Wang Chunged tonight?” I said sarcastically.

 

Art agreed. “It gets worse at night. The Tohos have modified the Erotibots withe built in night vision and we only have a few old models. We’ll have to jetpack to the Hole. Gawd will she be glad to see you two, and Doc you can probably have a go at a nice rebel Eve of your choosing, but if not...Long Wang will be glad to do a lunar landing on your moon...you know..one giant Wang for mankind!” I had to  smile at that one. Hell, at least it wouldn’t be a total loss.

 

In the grey dark I hadn’t noticed the jet packs they were wearing. Damn near antique RT-450 models. They weren’t as fast as the newer XT 5000 but would do in the cover of dusk and dust to elude the Erotibot mercenaries and reach the safety behind the front lines of the Eves of Destruction..then...The Rabbit and the Falcon. All I had on  my mind was getting back to Old Detroit and an evening of drunken debauchery.

 

“Ok, Asrini you ride with me, Maddie you’re with Wang, and Doc, you can saddle up with Long Wang.” We each grabbed the hand straps in front of our assigned and were ready to rocket and roll. As the packs fired up small arms fire erupted around us, but as soon as we were up up and away we shot out of range in the bosom of the gathering dark of night.

 

Chapter 26 - Jet Packs & A Parallel Universe

 

I have my own jet pack back at the office on Retropolis. Sleek silver  jet job which produces a G-force for easy excursions on the planets with less gravity and magnificently  manageable in the atmosphere in the Retropolis gravity field. The system is highly responsive in flight, to the point where I need to closely control my head, arm and leg movements in order not to enter an uncontrolled spin as a Mad Hatter Tea Cup Whips and Chains ride at one of the  Betty Page S & M amusement parks favored on the de Sade moon of the Pandoran planet in the Marquis Galaxy. The engines on my pack and all jet packs  require precise alignment during set-up in order to prevent instability and a NASCAR spinout. A computerised electronic starter system ensures that all four engines will ignite simultaneously. In the event of a spin, the wing unit can be detached and both me  and the wing unit will drift gracefully to Terra Firma on separate parachutes, shaken, not stirred.

 

I always packed solo...now I was holding on to an Oriental pilot that I wasn’t sure had the skills of a fortune cookie! “Ready for lift off?” Long Wang inquired. “Give it a goose Wang, ready to rocket and roll!” I replied nervously. What if I lost my grip? What the hell could I grab to hold on to? His name is Long Wang, so  if he lived physically up to his name and actually had a long wang, maybe that was a clue. Long Wangs long wang would act as an airborne tether. No time to think as we left the ground with fuel packs sputtering dangerously until the fuel ignited completely in both engines and we were Peter Panning smoothly except I was flying with Tinkerbell while Asrini and Maddie were tripping with Little Red Riding Hood and Little Miss Muffet. Christ, if Arthur and Sandoz saw us now they’d swear they were watching an Ed Wood movie. Art Deco yelled out, “Not far now, but better to fly over than dodging laser fire all the way.”  

 

We could still be shot down from the ground or dethroned by a drone, but in the grey-black smoke and haze we weren’t an easy target. “There it is!” Maddie yelled. I couldn’t see a thing, but all the others were excited leaving me feeling like I was Helen Keller at an art gallery NOT appreciating the treasures hanging on the walls as though they were cattle rustlers in a dime novel strung up by vigilantes with the townspeople  gathered around singing “Amazing Grace” while children ate cotton candy and used slingshots to fire rocks at pinatas so they could run off with jawbreakers and toy guns. “Where is it? I can’t see anything!” I cried out. “It’s a rift to a parallel universe, Yucatan. You’ve heard of a Worm Hole where you enter in one location and emerge at the other end in another location?” Art Deco replied. “Only this is the Rabbit Hole and we keep it hidden and guarded. An Oriental Eve found it quite by accident incidentally. Not only does it take you to another geographic location..but, it also takes you to a parallel universe so finding the Rabbit, the other rebels and the Falcon is impossible unless you know where the rift is. It’s Paradise Lost and Found!”“Hang on!” bellowed Art and suddenly there was a force of energy that almost loosened  my grip on Long Wang. Lightning surrounded us with a cacophony of zaps and pows, bangs and booms. As we entered the Rabbit Hole  our velocity increased voraciously as it propelled us into it deeper and deeper. I felt like a jet packed penis penetrating Heidi Fleiss. 

My the noise and lava lamp like lights we were traveling through had my head in a leg lock. Except for the flashes of light everything everywhere was black...blacker than I had ever experienced before. We emerged no worse for the wear and  were now in the parallel universe where refuge seeking rebels could regroup, plan and plot revolution and protect the Falcon from those who would use its uncanny power to crush resistance and impose its power and impossible restrictions on any planets freedom. I was prepared for that aspect of our adventure, and looking forward to meeting “The Rabbit” I had heard so much about.

 

I also wanted to explore this new universe. Parallel universe that is...maybe there was another me here, but mostly it was the attraction of real women in great numbers, like Surf City, two girls for every boy so I could wax my woody on a sandy beach and hang ten with a Pineapple Princess. As we landed on soft ground my head and my eyes began to clear and I could  hear the shrill call of a Mandorian mockingbird, very rare as it could speak in different planetary languages. I had one for a pet once as a child, but it