Jump to content



Recommended Posts


Her leather miniskirt would leave nothing to the imagination as she perched on the barstool if she didn’t have her legs crossed.  Black silk stockings seemed to call “come hither” and so someone did.

“Buy you a drink?”

She turned to look at the newcomer.  Coppery red hair cascaded off her shoulder and over her back when she turned to look at him.  She smiled and tapped her almost empty glass.

“Another,” he told the bartender, “And a scotch for me.”  He looked back at the woman.  “So what brings you out tonight?”

“Meeting someone,” she said in a throaty voice.  There was an awkward pause as he looked at the door wondering if he’d just bought a drink for nothing.  “Or hoping to be meeting someone,” she corrected herself with a little less confidence.

He sized her up before deciding to continue.  “Anyone in particular?”

“You are bad.”


“I’m sorry.  Are you bad?” She stopped, seemingly thinking of something, then added in a sexier voice, “I’m looking for a bad boy.”

She was bad at this but extremely hot, and he was getting curious about where this might lead.  “You have no idea how bad I can be, doll.”  The doll was a bit much or maybe trying to raise an eyebrow.  Fortunately, she seemed delighted to hear this – at first.  Her joyful expression fell as she furrowed her brow in concentration.

“Are you so bad,” she said stammering as if looking for the right words, “that you need to be spanked or that you want to spank me?”

“What?” He was taken aback by the question but not quite ready to give up.  Spanking was one step closer to naked.  He should probably say he wanted to spank her, but she continued before he could.

“The whole ‘bad boy’ thing has always confused me a bit,” she admitted.  Again, she seemed a little disappointed as if she had somehow failed but continued hopefully.  “A bad person deserves to be punished but some bad boys like to spank women.”  It was an explanation but at the same time she was confused about what she was saying.  “I know that it determines which of us will be wearing the handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs?” He stood up and took a step back.

“Don’t worry, I brought some.”  As she searched her purse, she pulled out a flogger.  This was too much for him.  “Oh, here they are!”

She held up a pair of police style handcuffs only to see him heading out the exit.

Failure.  She repacked her purse and left the bar.

It was a five minute walk to the local park.  Waiting on a bench was a well-muscled man whose cap and T-shirt advertised Speedy’s Pizza.  She sat next to him.

“Any progress?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Tonight, I have delivered twenty-two pizzas,” he reported, “and not one lonely housewife has inquired about my sausage.”

“I had four failures this night,” she admitted.  “Strange creatures, these humans.  They continuously broadcast samples of their communications as if they want to communicate but don’t follow their own protocols.  Could we be at fault?”

“The frequencies we have been studying specify that they are about adult relationships,” the man replied.  “The council has determined that they are the ones we should be studying.”

At the appointed time, they stood and stepped away from the park bench.  A bright light surrounded them, and they were back abord the ship.

“Progress,” their commander said more as a command than a question.  They reported their failures.

“A week, as these humans count time, of excursions and still no progress.  There is still hope.  Starting tomorrow there is to be a Trudy Zyer marathon; she appears to be an expert in human negotiation techniques.  According to the announcements she always gets what she wants.  We shall study these files and plan your next series of human contacts.”

  • Create New...