Space Aliens Vs. Cowboys

PROFESSOR R'S CASEBOOK

Case 99-1 Aliens vs. Cowboys

by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________)

This story may be reposted in any on-line medium, so long as no one is charged any amount for access to the story, and the above e-mail address and this disclaimer are retained verbatim. All of the characters and their behaviour are fictional, and anyone attempting their behaviour is bound to get into a lot of trouble. Practice safe sex! [Practice makes perfect.] Copyright © 2005 by Richard Williams, all other rights are reserved.

Part 3 - The pleasure is mine

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LYNDA CONTINUES "Winona never heard from the aliens again, either. But she's pretty happy. There's a truck driver who comes through here regularly who stops by to see her, and I know her well enough to tell you that he is good for her. She always has that dreamy smile when he pulls out. And in a few weeks, he's taking her with him on a run to San Francisco.

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And so, in my notes the story almost ends here, about as happily ever after as you could expect in the circumstances. However, you may still want to know what happened that night on the highway. I have those notes on a separate piece of paper, locked away, but I will tell it in my own words, because Jock let me see it all unfold.

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OUT ONTO THE PRAIRIE We're back in the cab of the truck, Winona is continuing to enjoy our eyes straying to her gloriously exposed chest, and Jock had paused in his story. I had so many questions to ask, but instead of answering, Jock looked far out into the dark prairie and picked out the tiny light of an oncoming train. He revved up the big rig's engine, and as the train approached, threw the truck into gear.

Jock's only comment was to Winona-- "yes," he grinned, "you'll feel better if you go ahead." And with that, Winona began to caress her breasts, holding her nipples out to show me, teasing them with her fingers and then sighing.

We pulled out onto the road- a strange trio in the darkened cab. Winona squirmed as her excitement developed in the confined space. In spite of Sophia's lip service efforts at my departure from Denver, I found my manhood was feeling quite confined. I was determined to keep it that way, although the way Jock was grinning now, I wondered if he was testing me through Winona.

Jock paced the thundering transcontinental freight through the tiny town. We could feel the power of the big yellow engines hammering through the steel cab of Jock's truck. Unless someone had been looking right at the truck, and there was no one out on the road, they would not have known that we had passed. What were we doing? Should I bail out of the cab?

"Winona," Jock intoned, "you can put those away now. We are convinced that you are the sexiest woman alive."

Meekly, Winona smiled, pulled the satin around her swollen treasures and reclasped the bra. She buttoned herself up without comment.

"Winona, you will find that it feels very good to stay aroused. The bra will be a little less comfortable now, and you will remain aware of how ready you are and how beautiful you can be." Jock issued this in a command voice and Winona nodded. I noticed her tugging at her bra through her blouse a couple of times, trying to make it comfortable, in spite of the sensory overload she was associating with it.

We continued down the road out of town.

"Winona," and now I recognized the command tone immediately, "tell Professor R what is going to happen." She nodded again.

"Frank and Dan Wyant and Dan Simmons and maybe some of the other guys have set a trap for the aliens. They're up ahead along the highway now. Dan Wyant told me this-- it's a secret, but I had fun getting it from him." [She chortled seductively.]

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Jock explained that Winona's freer single status in town had allowed her to both keep her contact with the "aliens" a secret, and to keep an eye out for trouble. He had given Winona some key activities to watch for, and Winona had followed instructions. Not that she minded a reason to spend a little time with Dan Wyant now and then.

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COWBOYS vs. ALIENS

Just then, a shadowy figure stepped from the side of the road and flashed a light at us. Jock eased the truck to a quiet stop. The brakes barely hissed.

"It's Dan Wyant!" Winona smiled her recognition. He was holding a shotgun. I did not feel very comfortable at that point.

"Dan needs you" Jock intoned. Winona dropped into a trance, somehow a different one than before. She blinked passively as Jock gave her some last minute instructions, and then counted her up and out of it into her appearance as a glowing, irresistible, femme fatale. Winona straightened up her bra for the zillionth time, and then climbed over me to get out of the truck. Her sensitized breasts brushed me as she did so, and she laughed throatily at the sensation.

"Winona!" We heard Dan exclaim in surprise. The two of them talked in a lower tone, and I could see that Winona took advantage of the need to whisper with him to bring herself closer and closer. Now her erect nipples were reaching out to him through her blouse and the "outer space style" bra, while he tried to maintain a serious demeanor.

"She's telling him that she caught a ride with this trucker out here, because she wanted to watch when they caught the aliens. She especially wants to watch with Dan. But she'll be chilly outside here, so she's going to suggest that they sit in his truck where they can keep watch." Jock calmly watched the animated couple. I saw her gesture with a shiver and a teasing motion toward her outthrust nipples, indicating that she was chilly.

In minutes, as planned, Winona led Dan to the truck. We remained in the untraveled highway, the truck's engine still idling low, as we watched the darkened pick-up. In about six minutes, satin panties which matched the space-age bra came flying out the window of the truck, flashing in the moonlight.

"I guess the future is about the same as the past," chuckled Jock after spotting Winona's signal, and he put his rig in gear again and we rolled ahead unhindered. Then a bigger surprise swung into the cab.

I about jumped out of my own clothes when the cab door swung open and another man jumped into the seat beside me. Jock was unconcerned. It turned out that he had asked his partner to stay back in the sleeper cab till Winona was out on her mission.

"Professor R, meet my partner, Lance Miller." There was something different about Lance Miller's mannerisms, almost undetectable. And then I recalled that Jock's partner is gay-- "kind of over-macho looking, about 30" -- the Weigh Station man had said. I did not think that he was overdoing anything, but then different people have different reactions.

"Professor, great to meet you. I saw your reports when I was reading some of the male/male stories on-line. I actually read your stuff, too, even though the sex wasn't very interesting." I had to admit that you can't please all of the people all of the time.

"I did find something intriguing, though, and that was Case 98-2, where the company president developed a mistress. I had just been wondering how to apply that to a gay situation, when our 'alma mater' sent out a bulletin on what it called the "Presidential Perogative" induction. It didn't deal with gay situations either, but I think that I can make the necessary conversions."

Jock interjected to explain that as graduates of the School for Sexual Expression, they both received mailings of a classified nature reporting the latest techniques developed by the student body and the school's research arm. But, he admitted, offerings for the few gay graduates were few and far between. Lance had to use a lot of imagination with the material.

I asked Lance if he had anyone in mind.

"Yes, I just want to try this out to see if it works. Scientific curiousity, I guess, so I want someone in an isolated location who likely won't have participated in gay sex before, but who might enjoy it." Lance rubbed his smooth face thoughtfully.

He grabbed a notebook and quickly flipped through a highlighted page. It was printed in a way that defies normal photocopying. It was the bulletin from his school, code-numbered on each page, so that very elaborate measures would have been needed to avoid detection if he had bootlegged copies. It dawned on me that he was cramming for a final exam.

"Okay, Jock," Lance breathed deeply. "I think I've got it. Remember the four-ways."

"Yes," Jock said in an amused tone. "I won't forget. Now get out there."

We had come to a small cluster of men on the highway. This was not a roadblock, as they had not expected us to come through. This was the men who had hidden in a dry creekbed, waiting to see the aliens, and they did not appreciate us turning up in the middle of their trap. And why had that */!@# Dan Wyant let us through? Lynda stood with them, looking dejected.

"You'd better stay here, Professor-- somebody needs to survive to tell our story in case Lance and I make a false move." I nodded, this not being my fight, and basically being a coward on this sort of thing anyway. It is funny, but lots of tough men could not stand up in an intellectual battle of the sort that I had often engaged in, but in turn, arguing with men with weapons did not appeal to me.

As the men saw Jock approach, they automatically turned their attention to him. He was older, and looked like a natural leader. Lance was ignored-- except, as I began to realize, by Frank. The rest of the men seemed to forget Frank, engaging in animated conversation with Jock without their own leader. I suspect that Frank was more of a rabble-rouser than real leader anyway, so it was easier than it might have been for Jock to turn their attention.

I saw the men's hostile body language fade. One by one, they shrugged, lowered their weapons, and headed off to their trucks. One of them tugged at Lynda's arm and took her with him. The big rig's headlights caught the plume of dust which each truck kicked up as they roared out of their hidden parking area. They blasted by Lance and Frank as if they were not there.

Jock came slowly sauntering back to the truck. Wordlessly, he climbed into the cab, and switched on the four-way flashers. Intently, he continued to peer out toward the two men in the road. Frank turned to stare at our truck, looking into its headlights and at the flashers, I assume.

Then, I saw Frank's right arm raised in a typical confirmation of a hypnotic state. That was impressive enough to me, and I breathed a sigh of relief, supposing that this would bring an end to the nonsense surrounding this case. Jock began to speak in low tones.

"I didn't hypnotize those guys, believe it or not, just made some suggestions. They really wanted to go home. I told them that Dan had caught me on the road, that he had just heard a news report that reminded him that the Air Force was going to be doing some low level night flights, and that he didn't see any point in spending a cold night when nothing was going to happen out here. I said that Dan told me to tell them to call it off. I think they wanted to hear that."

"But what about Frank?" I queried. Frank's arm was slowly coming down.

"Well, we'll know in a minute if the Presidential Perogative technique can be converted for use by gays. I don't know why not, but then I'm not an expert. The important thing to remember, is that they're not having sexual relations!" And Jock laughed heartily at his own Clintonesque current events reference.

I wanted to laugh, but was too stunned by what happened next. Lance stood in the roadway, his back to us, arms akimbo, as Frank knelt before him on the asphalt. I could not see everything, as Lance's powerful stance blocked our view. Frank's hands were working, and I saw Lance shift just slightly as, I imagined, Frank worked Lance's lance out of his fly.

There was little doubt left as to what was happening. Occasionally, Lance bent over slightly to issue instructions or to urge Frank on, and then I watched him raise his head toward the stars in a combination of victory cheer and orgasmic pride as his experimental student successfully brought him to a climax. Frank rose and embraced him, hugging and kissing Lance in the middle of the tired old transcontinental super-highway.

Jock grinned with delight at his partner's success.

"I think this long-haul trip will be a bit shorter for Lance now. It was a long way to San Francisco. And I think that Frank has found a new interest in life." Jock was still chortling.

"Did you know that he had any homosexual tendencies? You're not a psychiatrist," I nudged Jock out of his triumphal mode.

"It was a hunch that I had, from all the things that I saw and from what the women told me. He was trapped in the Wyoming rural lifestyle, and couldn't find his own way out. It was great of Lance to help us."

Lance had resumed talking with Frank, and I gathered from their body language that he was issuing him post-hypnotic suggestions. In a few minutes, Frank and Lance kissed goodbye, and Frank's truck now left in its own plume of dust. Lance came slowly back toward the truck, imitating a bow-legged cowboy.

"Pretty good for a first-timer-- great potential for an intern," was all that he said as he settled into the truck, a Presidentially-satisfied smile on his face. Jock turned the truck back toward town, waiting as he had before until a freight train came to cover the noise of the truck. As we eased past Winona's double-wide, we saw that Dan Wyant's truck was parked at a sloppy angle in front of the mobile home. Skid marks in the gravel showed that he had parked in a hurry.

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LYNDA'S INTERVIEW CLOSES

As I reported earlier, Jock set up an interview for me with Lynda. He was able to do it by telephone, just a few quick suggestions, so that when I called her she was quite willing to sit down in a corner of the Virginian coffee shop and chat. In a way I resented Jock's having used his residual hold on her to arrange the interview-- I had always prided myself on swimming through all sorts of resistance to intimate questioning-- but it did streamline things to have her eager to tell her story.

"Frank hasn't really been a problem since then. I mean, he still worked on getting me on that tv program, and he thinks about it at times. But he seems to have a new attitude. He doesn't try to force me to have sex with him anymore. And, he's gotten some good jobs as a hunting and fishing guide with some British aristocrats who come over here. They think he's the best guide they've ever had-- "gives us great service!" They're very nice.

"And your own sex life?" I tinkled the ice in my water glass with my spoon, as Jock had told me to do. He had said that she would give me a clear answer if I did that suggestion. There was something post-hypnotic that he hadn't mentioned, though, and now I found out what it was.

"I'm not hanging out here looking for men, if that's what you mean. But I look forward to those tv fellows when they come out here. And you've been in town for a while without a woman now, haven't you?" She shifted in her chair so that her well-formed breasts moved proudly in front of me. She smiled down over them, enjoying the way she had caught my eye and how startled I was at her remark.

Too many things had happened since Sophia had "taken care of me" at the Oxford. Lynda batted her eyelashes as she seductively lowered her head, keeping her eyes on me. My manhood surged hard in my slacks, so that I was forced to shift my legs to keep it from getting out of control. Lynda watched my reaction with undisguised pleasure.

"You have a room upstairs here in the hotel don't you?" Weakly, breathing heavily, I acknowledged that I did.

In the staircase, Lynda winked at the painting of the painted ladies playing cards. I almost expected them to wink back their approval, as I followed her well-shaped derriere up to my room.

I had splurged, and it was one of the end rooms, with the big brass bed and lots of too-red upholstery, with starched white curtains. Lynda sucked in her breath, which moved her breasts so attractively.

"It's perfect! I always wanted to make love in one of these fancy rooms. On a big brass bed." She sighed and grabbed me in a hungry embrace, unsnapping my slacks in the same movement. I could never forget the image of her that afternoon, clutching the rails of the brass bed above her head for dear life as she joyously made up for the lost years with Frank. Her revitalized sexuality burned hot into the night and reminded me of how much power a woman focused on pleasure can have. I did my best.

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Sophia was more understanding than I had hoped. She knew that when I explored topics like this, there was always a certain exposure. She just asked me not to write too much detail about what happened in that room in the Virginian. I obliged in my official file, but I might add for your interest that Lynda was just as beautiful as Jock had described-- worth the effort that he had invested in this marooned beauty of the plains. And now, thanks to his tutelage, I enjoyed a night with sparkling humor, imaginative sex, and, as Jock had said "a body that just naturally won't quit." Oh, and I had a new experience. I've never been a buck antelope before, but then when a beautiful doe is in heat... what choice could I have but to rise to the occasion?

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