Be careful going upstairs at Jack's Place.
You may not be able to handle "the real stuff."
And no one will believe you afterwards.
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WARNING!
This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.
If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2016 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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I guess I should begin at the beginning. It all started with Fred at Jack's Place.
I had been stopping in at Jack's Place for a couple of years whenever I was on planet. I liked it because it was close to the spaceport and relatively clean. And more importantly, it was quiet. There were no shows or games or whatever intended to suck money out of the tourists' pockets.
There wasn't room. The whole building was only, at most, eight meters wide. You might miss it if you were flicking past on a flitter. The thin old building had such a narrow front that there was barely room for the words "Jack's Place" on the sign across the front.
Inside, there was a bar which stretched from just short of the front door to just short of the back wall. In front, there was a small area for people to stand as they stepped in from the street. In back, there was a dingy-looking stairway which descended into what was apparently a basement storage area.
It was a very long bar. In fact, the bar was so long that there were four large vidscreens behind the bar for customers to watch. They were spaced evenly all the way to the back. The one at the back was always tuned to a news channel that included a once an hour review of recent- and not so recent- news. I liked to sit there in the back and catch up on what had been happening on Terra while I was gone.
It was always basically the same. Somebody- or some nation- was killing somebody somewhere and the politicians were screaming about whose fault it was and how they- and they alone- could fix it if the people would only give them more power.
Another thing I liked about sitting in the back was that Fred was always there. I don't know if Fred was really his name or not. The first time I came into the bar, he said "You can call me Fred. There's nobody else here named that."
See, he didn't exactly say that Fred was his name. Nor did he ever say anything about himself. He looked to be somewhere north of seventy or eighty, but with some of the new rejuvenation serums, who knows?
Fred was the perfect companion at the bar. Most of the time he was silent and sullen. Usually he just sat quietly nursing a quasi-beer of some sort. He never asked about my work or anything like that. He once asked if I followed sports, but when I told him I was off planet too much to keep track of things like that, he just nodded and said, "Ummm."
The only time that Fred would brighten up was when he would ask, "What are the women like on the last planet you visited?"
He always phrased it like that. He never asked which planet or how far away. He just wanted to know what the women were like wherever it was I had been.
He didn't ask the question until we had been sitting there together for quite a while. He always let me finish at least one dark quasi-ale before he even nodded his head to say hello. But once we started talking about women, he was almost a chatterbox.
"How tall were they?" he would ask. "Do they have full-time boobs like earth women? If so, how many?"
That question sounds strange... unless you've been in space. The first time I ran into a humanoid female with no breasts it was a real shock. I sort of expected that all humanoids would have tits. It turns out that on a lot of planets, the teats only swell up when the mother needs milk for her offspring.
I got over it pretty fast because the other thing I discovered about the flat-chested females was that they really preferred it from behind- either hole. They thought front-to-front sex was weird. You had to pay extra for that.
I never did get used to the four-breasted females on Runella Nine. They absolutely demanded missionary position only, and those extra tits rubbing against my lower abdomen just creeped me out. I almost couldn't "perform." Fred thought that was really funny.
Last time I was on Terra for planet leave, Fred actually bought me a round. It was the good stuff, evidently kept out of sight behind the bar. I don't know where they got it, but it wasn't quasi. It was real.
I hadn't tasted real ale since we stopped off on Kluxord Seven. A couple of my shipmates and I slipped over to an off-limits bar in a really scummy area of Kluxord Prime. I know the alcohol is bad for you and a little too much can leave you with a real headache, but it slides down so smooth and the taste is nothing like that artificial stuff.
After I had taken a few sips, Fred leaned in real close and said, "Nothing like the real thing, is there?"
He took a sip of his own drink and then added, "Same with women."
That got my attention. I looked over at him with my tankard half-way to my mouth. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"I know some women who can give you the perfect sexual experience," he answered. He paused and looked around a little before continuing. "These are alien women," he says. "They look just like Terrans- full tits up front and everything- but once you've had one of them, you will never be satisfied with anyone else ever again."
I looked around a bit myself to make sure no one was listening in and asked, "What makes them so special? Can they pump you dry better than the women on Bumax Three?"
"It's not exactly physical," he says. "They're a telepathic race. They form a mind bridge during sex." He laughed slightly and said, "It's sort of a mind fuck."
"How come I've never met anyone from this planet?" I asked him.
"You wouldn't know if you had," he answered. "They look just like Terrans. They can even pass the DNA scans at the entry ports. The only way you can tell them from Terrans is that their eyes don't always work together. They can look in both directions like a lizard if they want to."
He then rolled one eye around and stared at me. I almost dropped my drink.
"How much?" I asked.
"For you," he replied, "free."
"Why?" I asked, starting to worry that I was being played in some way.
"We," he began to explain, "are only able to perform sexually for the first three or four hundred years of our lifespan." He grinned. "But we can maintain a telepathic link until the day that we die. As you have been describing the women you have met to me, I could see them in your mind. I could read your memories. I could experience what you experienced."
"And..." I said warily.
"I've built up enough of a mind bridge with you," he continued, "that I can read your memories in real time as you..."
He let that thought trail off as he took a big sip of his beer.
"Where are these women?" I asked.
He laughed softly. "This is my place," he answered. "And it is much more than just a bar. Our space crews have needs... just like you do. As you know, it gets very lonely in space. I provide a necessary service... for a fee, of course."
