Bill 4 - on the Planet of Tasteless Pleasure (3 page)

Boing! went his eyelids as they sprang wide open.

Wine!

In Bill's top ten list of favorite libations containing CO2HO2O, wine was maybe number nine, with Sterno as number ten and good old brain-destroying grain alcohol with all its varied applications leading the pack. But then, when did a Trooper get to dally with fancy stuff like el vino? Bill had gotten drunk on dingleberry wine on Squat IV once in a particularly rancid cantina on leave from Latrine Attendant Qualifying Training, and the hangover the next day was a memory that still disturbed him when he was distressed. But this stuff he was smelling smelled real good, and hey! Alcohol was alcohol and the only time that Bill was uninterested in alcohol was when he had to drive a starship. (Footnote: Free Public Service Announcement from Galactic Troopers Against Drunk Driving.) But then, since Bill wasn't a starship pilot, had no intention of being one, and was frightened bowbless at the thought, he very seldom had to worry.

His eyes rolled about. His stomach clutch engaged, then ground into gear. Saliva gushed into his mouth, drooling down and dripping off one of Deathwish Drang's fangs.

“Hi there, you-all!” he croaked. “Anybody got something to drink here?”

The sight that met his eyes, however, stopped all thoughts of gross guzzling.

He lay sprawled in an olive grove, lightly kissed by gentle lightbeams radiating warmly from a stylized sun in the heavens. This same sky was bluer than a robin's egg in deep depression. In the distance mighty mountains reached skyward, while, just yards away, he discerned the tell-tale flora of a vineyard. He was lying on luxurious soft grass, even more cushiony than the Porta-lawns in the Officer's deck on Imperial battle cruisers. Flowers speckled the green with vibrant colors worthy of an Impressionist painter's most blobbily intense splatters.

But it was not the overwhelming beauty of the scenery that surprised Bill most, but rather the festivities, the caprices capering about him. Scantily clad women giggled as they darted amongst the bushes. Horned furry satyrs frenetically pursued these young women — or lounged about, being fed grapes from glistening purple bunches. Philosophical types in toga-like folds of white cloth, wearing laurel leaves upon their aged brows, spouted metaphysical theory — while ogling young boys from the corner of their eyes — pausing in their orations only to grab the occasional passing ephebe buttock.

And all of these merry-makers held huge jeweled goblets aswim with fragrant purple liquid, constantly being topped off by leafy dryads carrying pitchers of wine.

By the eternal benevolence of Ahura Mazda in all his magnificence, though Bill really hadn't been to church lately, this was something! What an incredible party!

“What a brave new world, that hast such creatures in it!” came a voice, sweet as Bill's favorite childhood cereal, CORNDOG CRUNCHIES, with an entire dog in every stick.

“Huh?” he susurrated vibrantly. The words had come from behind him, and Bill swiveled his head.

“Oh sweet prince!” the voice sounded again, as vibrant as a silver bell. “Never have I looked upon a visage so lovely. May I dare request humble permission to kiss an ivory fang!”

Bill found himself staring into a set of the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. These were sticking out of a face that would have launched a thousand starships! As well as a body that would have launched a thousand starship Troopers! All of this fascinating femaleness clothed in the barest minimum of silken gowns, the maximum of blonde hair and honey-soft skin!

What a package of palpitating pulchritude!

He was about to hurl himself upon her, wrap her in the generosity of his embrace, rain kisses on those fulsome lips, and all the other bowb he read about in the romance magazines, when he was brought up short, suddenly remembering the circumstances from which he'd just arrived.

“Where am I?” he said, with great and boring lack of imagination and/or intelligent response, sitting up. He was still clothed in his hospital jumpsuit, still in his bare feet, and one of those feet was still hairy, and, it must be mentioned, also sported a cloven foot. In his hand he still clutched the BLEEDER'S DIGEST lozenge. Absently, he slipped this into a pocket, and eyed his surroundings with beady and suspicious eyes.

“Why, don't you know, darling?” said the fair young woman. “You are in the fabled Fields of Ozymandias. Not very far from the even more highly valued Fields of Elysium! Pray tell, good sir, what sort of fabulous mythic creature are you?”

He looked back at the beautiful woman, and was immediately hypnotized and paralyzed by the radiant complexion, the pearly teeth, the immense breasts scarcely covered by the chintziest wisp of gauze. “I'm an Imperial Trooper Drill Instructor, Unskilled, Horny.”

“Hmm! Never heard of those; but then you must be from the Halls of Hades to possess such a visage of delight! You are, dare I say it, awfully handsome. Can I get you some wine, a large beaker let us say!”

Does the Emperor sit on the throne?

A very dazzled frazzled Bill could say nothing but “Uh — yeah!” and then watch as her plentifully portioned posterior wiggled wondrously away to get a goblet.

Bill realized that his heart was palpitating in a curious manner. Now, palpitations were no stranger to our intrepid Trooper whenever sighting desirable female flesh. Particularly palpitations of certain regions. But these stirrings were far more subtle, filled as they were with sighs and little tremblings in his abdomen.

Bill belched, and the abdomen problem stopped, but a kind of fuzziness strapped itself securely upon his brain.

Bill was in love, of the First Sight variety.

Naturally he wanted to consummate this passion immediately, and so waited impatiently for his belusted to return.

Instead, however, the female satyr popped her head around the bole of an olive tree and grinned lecherously at him.

“Yoo hoo! Big guy! You're awake!”

“You!” said Bill, disgust oozing from his lips and trickling down his chin. He got up and dusted himself off. He pointed a thick Trooper finger at his abductor. “Where the hell is this? Where the bowb did you take me to? Don't you know it's treason or worse to kidnap a Trooper of His Majesty's Imperial Forces?”

The female satyr bounced up provocatively and licked his finger with a horse-sized tongue. “But Sailor, I brought you here for purely heterosexual reasons. What are you, some kind of poof?”

Accusations of effeminacy are as bright red flags to virile Troopers like Bill, but the truth was at the moment Bill would far rather prove his sexual preference with the lady getting his wine. He had just enough bearing on the matter however, to again demand an answer. “This sure as hell doesn't look like Colostomy IV!”

“Oh! You mean the dreary planet I grabbed you from. Well, let's just say it is ... and it isn't. Now, tell me, which sexual position do you prefer?”

“With you? None!”

“What's wrong with you, guy? Most Troopers I grab are plenty hot to trot! You didn't get something shot off in the war or anything like that?”

At that moment, the voluptuous maiden of his dreams strolled back carrying a beaker of wine so large she had to use both hands.

“Zeus's caboose!” The satyr sighed. “The penny is finally dropping. I see that Irma got to you first!” The creature shrugged resignedly.

Irma raised lovely eyebrows as she swept her eyes over the Satyr. “Darling,” she breathed icily, “You are about the ugliest poxy doxy I have ever seen. Anyway, I thought satyrs were all males!”

“We are, babe!” said the satyr, pulling off its wig and its strap-on breast prostheses. “But me, I like a little break now and then. See how the other half live.” He pulled a cigar out of the bra-humidor and stuck it in his mouth and stomped off, giving the maiden a parting scowl.

This was far too much for Bill to take, sober. He grabbed up the wine that Irma held and downed several enormously hearty gluggs. He emerged gasping with pleasure, for this was the best wine he'd ever tasted, though of course he'd never actually had true wine before, anyway not the kind from stomped grapes.

Feeling much better, Bill looked at Irma, and his heart grew soft again. “Irma! What a nice name! I'm Bill.”

“Thank you, Bill!”

“What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Why, I've been here a very long time! This is my home. I live anon in the Parthenon!”

“Anonymously?”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” Bill took another few quick swallows to clear his head. “I still don't get it, though. I guess I've heard of myths and stuff from books and comics. But myths are supposed to be myths. I mean, if they were real, they wouldn't be myths, would they?”

Irma looked downcast. “You've found me out, Bill. You're quite right. I am not from this land. Like you, was untimely ripped from the womb of my gentle home planet.”

She sat down against a bole of a tree and wept.

Bill drank some more wine and thought about this. When he looked at the maiden, his heart still went pitter-pat. A Trooper being a Trooper, he still wanted some fast and heavy action, but the iota of farm clodhopper still remaining in the core of his being was moved by this delicate flower of a woman.

“There, there,” he said, thinking of words to comfort her. “Maybe some way-out, enthusiastic sex would make you feel better!”

“Oh, you male chauvinist pigs are all alike!” said Irma, and she wept yet more.

Now, Bill thought this was a compliment, and was touched deeply. “Look, I'll get us both out of here, Irma. But first we have to compare notes.” In protracted and boring detail he outlined his origins, and how he'd been dragged here by the licentious satyr. Irma, blinking back perfect tears, sniffled and listened. Bill had to wake her up twice during the repetitious parts, but at least she tried to pay attention.

“Now it's your turn, Irma. Tell me your story.”

So Irma did just that.

IRMA'S TALE

or

“Snow Job”

My full name is Irma Feritayl, and I'm from a planet called Fey in the Softscience system in the Half-Baked Sector of the Galaxy.

When I was a little girl, I had lots of kittens. Pretty little balls of fur, oh! such soft and cuddly creatures. I loved cats and kittens so much that the servants called me Kitten, and that's still my nickname if you want to call me that. Anyway, I had a kitten called Moonbeam and a kitten called Dusty and a kitten called Snowflake. They were such funny things, and they loved to play with yarn and scamper about. Oh, we had such fun! Did I tell you about my kitten called Mr. Furball? He had these strange gray spots all over his rear end. Anyway, these kittens when they became cats weren't psychic or anything, but I wish they had been, just like in the Snortin' Andy books I used to read. You know about those, don't you? Like GALACTIC PETS. And my favorite, BITCH WORLD. No? Oh, they're sooooo good.... All the heroes and heroines are psychic and they can talk to animals! Oh, and did I tell you about the kitten I had called Sir Troublemaker. Well, when he became a cat...

Bill interrupted at this point and suggested that Irma get past the bit about the kittens and get to the point. Any point that wouldn't send him screaming out of his mind like this dreadful cat crap.

Oh, sure. So, did I mention I was a Princess? Yes, my father was King Hans Pagan Feritayl. What a wonderful father! He was the one who gave me all the kittens. And we had a family counselor named Merfud. It was Merfud who divined that I was a Special! I don't know if you know what Specials are, but some people call them Talents and some call them Espers, and some planets just call them Nerds. Anyway, Merfud figured that my Specialness was that I could psychically speak to Unicorns! Unfortunately, as there were no Unicorns on Fey, I didn't get to use my specialness very much. But still I knew I was not only a Special, but a Special Princess!

But now the story gets sad. I was kidnapped by the evil Queen Snowjob in the country of Great Big Frosty Mountains when I was just a teenager. Worse, she spread a genetic curse on my father's land of juvenile. Communicable Zits! Whew, was I glad I wasn't there! Did I tell you I had a boyfriend? Well, I did. His name was Joe. Joe and I both liked cats, which is why we got along so well. And also, Joe was a Special, too. Joe could talk to slugs. Unfortunately, that didn't help him much in his quest to rescue me. He didn't make it too far, either, before he died of Terminal Acne. Or that's what the evil Queen Snowjob told me, anyway. I found out pretty soon what Snowjob wanted from me. She wanted to rule the whole planet of Fey, change the orbit around the sun, and turn it into a galactic ski resort. She'd made a deal with the Chingers to get a Special Cosmic Unicorn shipped in to Fey — and she needed me to communicate with it!

Well, when I found out about this, I knew that I could never be a party to this evil plot. Daddy hated tourists! So I had to find a way out. And I did just that! I explored the lower regions of caverns and found a sewer grate. I opened it and with a lantern I navigated my way down deep into the sewer system.

I had been wandering a very long time, when I saw a light ahead! It was an opening! So I walked out....

And I found myself here.

When I looked around, though, the hole had closed up.

And so, here I've been stuck for what seems like forever.

The End

The beautiful princess called Irma sighed and put her head into her hands.

Bill rubbed her back sympathetically. Such a sad story. It was also the most incredible load of lachrymose bowb that he had ever heard. Only he didn't dare tell her that since he still had plans to get into her knickers. “You know, maybe a little sex would cheer you up!” he said brightly.

“Oh, Bill. Let us just forget awhile the crude lusts of the flesh! I think you are one of the most majestic creatures I have ever seen. May we simply commune from soul to soul?”

“Soul to soul? Isn't that a Galactic Motown record by Outta Sight and the Pimps?” Bill said.

“No, silly! It's a form of Romantic Psychic Telepathy, just like in BLAZING ROMANTIC SCIENCE COMIX!”

And when she flashed her baby blues at him, Bill simply turned to silly putty in her hands. Having drunk the entire goblet of wine may have had something to do with this malleable state, but actually Bill was in fact as smitten as his tough Trooper training would allow.