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From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
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Subject: {ASSM} Episode 36: Lust for the Aliens 1/3 (M+F MF oral mild bd toys)  
Date: Sun, 27 Oct 2002 21:10:02 -0500
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EPISODE 36: LUST FOR THE ALIENS


Agent Gerald Maytag answered the knock at his hotel room door to
find his partner Heather Stanton standing in the hall in a long
white dress with bell bottom sleeves. 

Stanton opened her arms in a gesture that invited inspection.
With a slight turn to the side she asked "So, how do my buns
look?" 

"Outstanding," Maytag said with a giggle. "Can I touch them?" 

"Go ahead," she said. 

Gingerly, Maytag reached out with his right arm, then his left.
"They're really firm!" 

"It's the hair spray," Stanton told him. "So, really, how do I
look?" 

"Those look exactly like the bagels she had on the sides of her
head in the movie. Except for the blue eyes, you make a terrific
Princess Leia. The dress is perfect, too." 

"I know, I think it's hilarious!" Stanton took a moment to look
down at the flowing outfit. She lifted the skirt a bit. "It's a
shame the thing is so long, these white go-go boots are a trip.
You look pretty good yourself, rebel!" 

Maytag took his turn to show off his costume. He wore a white
tunic with a draw string neck left mostly open, and over that a
beige pocket vest. A wide brown belt held up his tan pants, but
they fit so tight that a belt hardly seemed necessary. The pants
fit his legs snugly and tucked into a pair of dark brown leather
calf-length boots. A holster lashed to his upper right thigh
completed the ensemble. 

"Where did you get the laser pistol?" Stanton asked. 

"Blaster," Maytag corrected her as he drew the weapon. "I have it
on consignment from one of the collector's booths downstairs. He
wanted more in the form of ID and security deposit than most
actual gun dealers." 

"Oh, sure, real guns are all over. But a genuine blaster,
Maytag..." 

"It is cool, isn't it?" Maytag exclaimed gleefully. 

Stanton smiled. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourself. I'm still
surprised that you didn't go for the Jedi costume." 

Maytag shrugged. "Without a light saber, I just don't see the
point." 

"Let me get this straight: non-functional light sabers are bad,
but a fake blaster or whatever is cool?" 

"It shoots paint pellets!" Maytag said. 

"Nice," Stanton said. "That's great, Maytag. Try not to get the
other kids in trouble by staining their clothes. C'mon, let's go
before my hair spray wears off." 

Downstairs the hotel lobby gave way to the Civic Center, where
the Unconventional Science Fiction Convention, known to its
devoted attendees as UnConCon, was in full swing. This convention
always leaned toward fans of the Star Wars universe, and George
Lucas's revival of the series only accentuated that in recent
years. There was nary a Klingon, druid, or costumed super hero in
sight among the throngs of costumed enthusiasts and curious
onlookers in shorts or blue jeans. 

Maytag and Stanton were more than curious onlookers. They were
here with a mission: someone had been on the Internet releasing
home made videos using characters from the Star Wars universe.
Normally, that was tolerated as part of having a rabid fan base.
But these movies took love of the material a little too far, body
fluids included. Lawyers were not happy about that, and wanted
Maytag and Stanton to stop it from happening again. The last
video had "see you at UnConCon" as its ending, so that's where
the duo went to find the amateur film makers. 

They were not having much luck, but Maytag was doing a good job
with his shopping. In between trying to learn about parties, he
had bought himself a pair of thermal detonators. Playthings,
really, about the size of a racquetball, highly elastic,
transparent with LEDs under the surface. If you bounced them, a
spring mechanism transferred the energy to the lights, making
them flicker with impending doom. Metallic finish over the areas
not housing lights finished the illusion. Stanton's amusement
with Maytag's enthusiasm was wearing thin. 

A vendor with a balding pate and a large collection of weapons
and equipment on the table in front of him caught sight of Maytag
looking over his wares. "That's a nice looking blaster you have
there, rebel," he called out. "How about something to go along
with? I have a nice set of communicators for you and the
princess." 

Maytag walked over to the table and saw a pair of short metal
tubes, about the shape of a travel-sized shaving cream can, with
a push button on the side and wire mesh on one end. They looked
like the communicators from the movies, if only a bit thicker.
"Do they work?" 

"Absolutely," the man said. "A guy I know converts Motorola
two-ways into these. Want to give them a try?" 

Maytag looked down at the price. "Seems a little steep." 

"You get what you pay for, believe me. This is quality work, he
machines everything himself. Tougher than the originals, I'll
tell you that. You can drop these from twenty feet and nothing
would happen to them." 

"How much to rent the communicators for the weekend?" Maytag
asked. 

"Can't do it," the salesman said. "I can't trust you to bring
them back. Besides, I'll move these things today, no problem." 

"Well, if you're sure you can move them, why not make a little
extra by renting them first? You can trust me, I'm an FBI agent." 

"I think you have your costumes mixed up, pal." 

Stanton laughed out loud from that. A kid who had been examining
the hardware looked up at her. "Nice hair. But Leia's eyes aren't
blue," he told her. 

"Thanks," Stanton said. "I'll be sure to fix that next time." 

The kid put something back down on the table and walked away.
Maytag picked it up. "Is this a grappling hook?" 

"Yep. The line is tested to 500 lbs. You and Leia can swing all
you want. If that's your thing." 

Stanton picked up on that. "That's definitely our thing. Any idea
where swingers might look for a party around here." 

"Sorry, your highness. I do a nice little trade here in custom
pieces. But when the floor closes up I go back to my room and
watch TV. You'll have to ask someone else about the social
scene." 

Maytag was far too interested in the grappling hook to think
about Stanton's line of questioning. "Will this attach to my
belt?" 

"Sure thing," the man said. 

"How much?" Maytag asked. 

The man gave him a figure. "Tell you what, you buy that, and for
a little extra I'll let you rent the communicators for the
night." 

"Deal!" Maytag said. He did not even wait for the credit card
transaction to clear before putting on his new gear. He handed
Stanton a communicator. A broad smile split his face. "Cool,
huh?" 

"Great, Maytag." 

"Walk over there," Maytag pointed. "I want to try these out." 

"I don't know why you even got these, Maytag. The last thing I
plan on doing here is getting separated from you and wandering
around on my own." 

"Just try it," Maytag pled. 

Stanton walked to another display table, this one selling various
bits of signed memorabilia. A teenager with shaggy dark hair and
a thin wispy mustache looked over at her. "Great costume, but
Princess Leia has dark eyes." 

"Maytag," she said into the communicator, "if you can hear me,
come get me out of here." 

"This just isn't working is it? I think we need to reevaluate our
intelligence gathering," Maytag observed when reunited. 

"I think you're right," Stanton said. "And I think I know where
to start." 

"Where's that?" 

"Just like in the movies," Stanton said, pointing to a flashing
neon sign in the corner that blazed the single word, Cantina. "If
you want information, head to a bar." 

* * * 

The two agents made their way to the corner of the convention
center, and found a bustling bar. There was no other term for it,
although it was decidedly unlike other bars they had been to.
Storm troopers with their helmets off hung together in bunches,
laughing loudly like other servicemen might. Alien heads sipped
on drinks through tall straws that penetrated their masks. The
beverages ranged all colors of the spectrum, and a lot of them
gave off white smoke. 

"They must go through a lot of dry ice," Maytag remarked. 

"And food dye," Stanton added. "Is that blue milk over on that
table?" 

"Speaking of food dye," Maytag said, "Check out the bartender." 

Stanton looked over at the bar and her face contorted in
bewilderment. Behind the bar was a tall man whose skin was
undeniably orange, the color of ripe apricots. That was not what
caused her reaction, however. In place of hair, two thick limbs
sprouted from his head, tapering along their length down to
finger-width tips. They were long enough that one wrapped around
his neck before draping over the back of his shoulder. He wore
the other one the opposite way, so that the small end hung over
his right shoulder and terminated at mid chest level on black
v-neck top. 

"What is that?" Stanton asked. 

"One hell of a costume," Maytag answered. 

"I don't remember anything like that from the movies." 

"Bib Fortuna looked like that," Maytag said matter of factly. "He
was Jabba the Hutt's right hand man in 'Return of the Jedi.'
Different skin color, though." He looked over to see Stanton
giving him the same wrinkled face she wore when first seeing the
barkeep. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Stanton. I was a kid
when the movies came out, and I have a very good memory, OK?" 

Maytag approached the bar and a highly amused Stanton followed
him. "You had a Bit Fortuna doll, didn't you?" she asked. 

"Bib Fortuna," he said, "two B's. And I never had one of him. By
the way, they're called action figures, not dolls." 

"Excuse me," Stanton said. "I would never accuse a man with a
paintball gun and grappling hook of collecting dolls." 

They stepped to the bar and took seats. The bartender made his
way over to them. "What can I get you?" 

"Is that beer?" Maytag pointed to a glass at the end of the bar. 

"Corellian ale. And by Corellian, I mean non-alcoholic." 

"I'll take one," Maytag said. 

"And you?" the bartender asked Stanton. 

"I have no idea. Do you have some kind of juice?" 

"Big galaxy," he said with a smile. "We have all kinds of juice." 

Stanton took a closer look at him as he leaned on the bar in
front of her. Despite the skin color and the horns or whatever
they were, he was actually a good looking man, with strong
features and full lips. It even took a moment for Stanton to
realize the man had shaved his eyebrows. Only a handsome face
could take on those factors and still appear attractive. He was
still grinning, and Stanton found herself rapidly getting used to
the orange hue of his skin, if not the strange head gear. "I'll
stick with Earth fruit as long as we're here and take an orange
juice if you have it." 

"Funny how my new customers all seem to choose orange juice when
they don't start with a drink in mind." The smile stayed on his
face as he poured their drinks. 

"I have to say your appearance is quite striking," Maytag said. 

"Really? I thought I was only slightly taller than average," he
said. The man was staying in character. 

Maytag played along. "I mean it's not often that you see one of
your people around." 

"Twi'lek?" the bartender asked playfully. "I see them all the
time. My whole family is Twi'lek." 

He had answered their as yet unasked question and made a joke out
of it at the same time. Maytag was impressed. His routine was
polished. "Well, I can believe that. Here's hoping your
bartending is as good as your demeanor, let's say." It was
Maytag's best effort at making an oblique compliment on his
costume. 

"You two make a fine pair yourself. Good gear," he said nodding
to Maytag's belt. He turned to Stanton. "And your hair looks
perfect." Again, he had acknowledged that they were playing
parts, but did so obtusely. 

"No comment about my eyes?" Stanton asked. 

"Fishing for compliments?" the bartender teased. "I'll just say
that your hair style seems to be popular in these parts, and blue
eyes add something special." 

Now it was Stanton's turn to admire the man's smooth manner. It
may even be possible to look past the growth sprouting from his
head. 

Maytag spoke next. "I'm Gerry, this is Heather." 

"Call me Brendo," the bartender said. "If you need anything let
me know." He left to take care of other patrons. 

"He seemed to know what he was about," Maytag said. 

"Yeah he did," Stanton agreed. "If there is anything to know, my
guess is he knows it." 

Maytag and Stanton looked around and sipped on their drinks. Many
people were dressed for the occasion, and they all seemed to be
laughing and having a good time. Even the storm troopers and a
couple of guys in the fascist looking imperial officer's uniforms
acted more gregarious than nefarious. 

"Do you think they need to take off the uniform to pee?" Stanton
asked. 

"I'm sure they solved that problem." 

"They certainly did," Brendo said, returning to their end of the
bar. "But you should see how long it takes them to dig out some
money when the tab is due." 

"Funny," Maytag said. "Rebels any better?" 

"If you're asking me how to pee in that outfit, I'm afraid you're
going to have to figure that out yourself." 

"I think I'm all right there," Maytag said. "Brendo, let me ask
you what do people do for fun here?" 

"Easy. They buy drinks from me." 

"He means afterward," Stanton said. "When the exhibition floor
closes. You know, parties that kind of thing." 

"Plenty of parties. Just ask around, talk to a few people." 

"How about you?" Stanton asked. "Do you socialize here?" 

"Takes me a while to close up shop and clean. But I'll get around
a bit tonight." 

"Anything get kind of wild?" Maytag asked. 

"Wild? Yeah, but I think you may be on the wrong side for that
kind of thing. Lots of bad boys among the storm troopers,
especially at UnConCon. You might try finding some smugglers. The
Jedi tend to be a little too serious. Even the ones on the dark
side." 

"I can see that," Stanton said. "They dress like monks after
all." 

Brendo smiled again. "Something like that." 

"In case I did feel like changing loyalties, any idea where the
storm troopers are getting together later? I have a feeling that
I might not be able to ask myself dressed like this." 

"Word has it they have a block of suites on the top floor of the
hotel." 

"Brendo," Maytag said, "you are both informative and
entertaining." 

"Thank you," Brendo said. "And to think I haven't even done this
for you yet." And with that, the little end of the head appendage
that rested on his chest wiggled in place. 

* * * 

Sandra got dressed. The yellow thong had cellophane straps so
that it looked invisible when the open sides of her dress swayed
to show off her hips. The dress itself was a bright orange, and
though practically open at the sides it fit high on her neck. All
of it looked great compared to the green color of her skin. 

The artist took half an hour to apply the body paint to Sandra's
spindly frame. It was a lot faster than most subjects Vic painted
because she wanted an even color, no patterns, and only up to her
neck. The toughest part of the job was matching the color to the
mask she brought along with her. Mark took care in doing that,
though, and now her skin was the same lime-rind color as the
bumpy mask with the big black eyes. 

"You look good. I explained how to wash it off, should take about
fifteen minutes or so. You need any help with the mask? I've done
some makeup work, I could help." 

"Thanks," Sandra said. "I think I'll take you up on that." 

She wasn't the prettiest subject Vic had ever painted, but she
had a good body. He certainly saw enough of it. She stripped down
as soon as he mixed the right color, and told him to cover as
much of her body as he considered safe. She spread herself open
pretty good to let him do just that, and there wasn't a single
body hair to get in his way. Sandra was shaved clean. Angling an
invite to tag along might be worthwhile. 

Sandra dug into her bag and brought out the rest of her kit. She
handed Mark the cement that would help keep the latex in place,
and a small tin of red lip gloss. "You want to get that ready?
Lip gloss first, I think." 

"Sure," he replied. 

Sandra worked the mask on slowly, tucking her ears into the side
pockets that formed the longer, fleshier, alien ears. As she
pulled the bottom of the mask over her chin, Sandra's white face
disappeared behind a veil of solid green and two large, glassy
black eyes. The face was triangular, and smooth, the nose
connected to the mouth as a slightly protruding snout. There was
some structure there, to keep the snout from sagging, and Sandra
pulled it out to snap it back in place over her own lips. 

"Looks like Greedo, that dude that Han Solo shot," Vic remarked. 

"Same race, Rodian," Sandra answered, through the muffling snout.
"Now I'm Nadra Sookee. You can start glossing the lips if you'd
like." 

The mask fit snugly over her head, but a seam at the top allowed
a strip of her sandy brown hair to come through. Sandra teased it
up and used hairspray to make a mohawk in the middle of the bumpy
green scalp. On the top of the brow of the mask, two short
antennae-like appendages sprouted and flared to a suction cup
shape. 

"This is a pretty good looking mask," Vic commented as he dipped
a brush in the bright red lip gloss. 

"You get what you pay for," Sandra-turned-Nadra replied. That was
true enough. Between the mask and Vic's time, this get-up was a
rather expensive proposition for her. That did not even take into
account the convention fees and the hotel room. She was intent on
getting her money's worth out of the affair. 

"I hear the parties at these conventions can get a little out of
hand," Vic said as he applied a thin outline of gloss to the tip
of Nadra's snout. 

That was exactly what Nadra was counting on, but she answered Vic
otherwise. "If you like geek fests, sure." 

"I was thinking as long as I'm here, I might as well check things
out." 

This was not what Nadra Sookee had in mind. "You'll need a much
better costume than that, I think." She was done with her hair,
and eager to lose this guy and get on to the party. 

Vic finished applying the makeup. "Well, you could vouch for me.
You know me now, right?" 

"You know me, now, too," Nadra said evenly. "You could give me
the money back for your work." She was smiling, but that did not
show through the mask. 

"Forget I even asked," Vic said. Artists got to attend plenty of
parties. Paying jobs were harder to come by. 

"Will do," Nadra replied. She gathered up her stuff and prepared
to leave. She had a party to attend. 

* * * 

Maytag and Stanton talked to a lot of people, and learned of a
lot of social events, but none was poised for a wild movie making
session as a private affair among masked and armored storm
troopers on the penthouse floor. They were in the lobby, the
convention floor emptied, people ate dinner or leaved to get
ready for an evening of UnConCon fun. 

"I'm going up there," Maytag told his partner. 

"They won't let you in," Stanton said. 

"I don't expect them to." 

"So are you going to use the Jedi mind trick or something?" 

"No, just good old fashioned stealth. But we can't even be sure
this is where things are going to happen." 

"Or if anything is going to happen," Stanton added. 

"Or that. So you try to look around elsewhere. You're Princess
Leia, you should be able to get in wherever you want." 

"Even if my eye color is wrong?" 

"Right," Maytag said without a touch of irony. "Just keep that
communicator handy." 

He left her there and made his way to the elevator bank. She was
truly considering what it would take to mingle at parties tonight
when a voice interrupted her thoughts. 

"Heather," a voice called. 

Stanton turned to see Brendo, the orange skinned bartender from
earlier in the day, still wearing his head tails. "Hi," she said.
"I see you still have your head gear." 

"You, too," he said, making a twisting motion with both hands at
either side of his head to trace out the buns of Stanton's
hairdo. "So where's your friend?" 

"Maytag? Oh, he's sniffing out some of the parties." 

"You're not interested in the parties?" 

"Oh, I have an interest. I'll probably be catching up with him
soon." 

"But not right away. Can I interest you in a drink? A real drink
I mean, not the kiddie stuff I'm allowed to serve inside." 

"You don't want to get changed first?" she asked. 

"With the crowd they have in this hotel this weekend, I don't
think the staff is going to find this look all that odd." 

"I just thought you might be uncomfortable like that." 

"Oh, I don't even notice. I've grown kind of attached. No pun
intended." 

"Good," Stanton told him. "I don't like puns." 

"I'll keep that in mind." 

* * * 
.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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