Superf Er Vol 01

The Superf***er: Saving the planet one p**** at a time

Volume 1: A Desperate Plan

I watched the waitresses carefully from the bar. They were all hot; this was the Caribbean Zone restaurant on the Las Vegas strip, and all of them were suntan models, waiting tables in bikini tops and tiny, flowery sarongs. I was searching for the target of my first attempt at inter-species mating; so far I was finding lots of girls I would love to fuck, but none that really jumped out at me and said "I'm the one you want." There was a brown-haired girl with a very slender waist and excellent breasts that was leading the pack, but I wasn't sold on her yet for some reason. I decided to head out back for a moment to check the IMS—I'm sorry, Interplanetary Motion Simulator—one last time, because once I put my plan in motion, there would be no going back.

I popped out of the restaurant and cut through the adjoining Hollywood World casino, seeking a spot where my IMS could make its readings clear of the myriad electrical disturbances of the strip. I slowed, however, when I realized some of the cocktail waitresses serving complimentary drinks on the casino floor were at least on par with the girls in the bar. I really liked their outfits, too; black fishnets with high boots, black miniskirt or short-shorts, and a loose red top worn unbuttoned to show a black bra underneath. There was just something about seeing just a little slice of flat belly through the opening in the shirt, under the bra, that was somehow more enticing than the girls lettin' it all hang our next door. Maybe I had restricted my options prematurely by just focusing on the restaurant. I took a chair in the sports book, ostensibly watching a game but really scoping out the staff as they refilled their trays at the bar. After about five minutes, I found the girl that had been looking for. She was blonde and had an ample rack—being Vegas, quite possibly enhance, not that it mattered. They don't come that big where I come from, naturally or otherwise—with the gravity on my planet, you'd never be able to keep a tit that big in an upright and perky position. Her shirt seemed to hang open more than the others, showing a flat and well-tanned abdomen—perhaps it was her cleavage, or maybe she had more buttons undone. But it was when she turned and walked away, and the perfect little wiggle of her tight ass, that I decided she was the one. I followed her at a distance to see what area she was serving; she was working the high-limit slots. Ugh—they're not called one-armed bandits for nothing. Oh well, sometimes you just gotta suck it up and pay the price; I sat at a machine, put in a C-note and played slowly until she came around again.

"Drinks. Cocktails." Her voice was sweetly pleasant. I raised my finger to gain her attention. She came over and smiled. "Would you like a drink, sir?"

"Gin and tonic, please," I said, looking up and giving her a big smile. She had a black choker on which were hung little jeweled letters that spelled out "J-e-s-s-i." Cute touch...much better than a stupid name tag.

"Gin and tonic," she repeated, making a little mark and turning towards the next bank of machines.

I tried to minimize my losses while I waited for her to come back with my drink. I cued up a ten-dollar bill to tip her with—I wanted it to be big enough to get her attention, but not so big as to tip off my intentions just yet. I hadn't seen a ring on her left ring finger, but just to be sure, as she approached I squinted so as to activate my infrared vision. There were darkish bands on some of her other fingers, indicating rings absorbing heat, but not on the one that mattered. Good.

"Gin and tonic," she announced, holding out my drink.

I reached for the drink, making sure my hands touched hers ever so slightly in the process. I was watching her face, though, and as our skin touched I saw her one eyebrow flinch just a bit. Good, it worked on humans too. On my planet, positively charged ions naturally accumulate in the fingers of males and negatively charged ones in our thumbs, so that when we touch a conductive surface—like skin—tiny microcurrents are passed between them. On my planet it helps males get females to relax and not respond to our advances by putting us in the hospital, but to humans who have never experienced it, it would feel like my touch made her skin tingle. With any luck she would interpret it as an indicator of raw physical attraction. "Thank you Jessi," I said with a smile, handing her the Hamilton, touching her again.

She saw that the face on the bill was not the usual Washington. Between that and the sensation of my light touch, she smile broadly, genuinely, mostly from surprise. "Oh...thank you sir."

"Nuh-uh," I scolded teasingly, wagging my finger. "Not sir. Bill. Call me Bill. OK?"

"OK," she smiled, "thank you, Bill."

"It is my pleasure, Jessi," I replied, returning to my machine before this interaction turned awkward. The first step had gone well. I checked my watch—plastic, since the natural conductivity of my skin tends to lead to short battery life otherwise—and saw it was a little after 9. I guessed that her shift would end at either 11 or midnight. That gave me a couple of hours to try to win her over. In the meantime, I started working on my drink. I had to be damn sure it was empty by the next time she came by.

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I hadn't planned to be in Las Vegas that night—I expected to be 300 light-years away by now, back on my home planet. You see, there was supposed to be a Ceres-size asteroid colliding with earth somewhere in the Nevada desert—the first celestial impact large enough to create a wormhole in space-time behind it since the Tunguska impact that brought me to your planet in your 1908. That may sound like a long time to you, but since one year on my planet equals about 12 of yours, I've only aged as much as you would in about nine years. I was sent here to investigate reports we received from friendly X!tlyx (short, silver-skinned, hairless beings with large almond eyes, your closest neighbors and the most frequently seen extra-terrestrials on this planet) of a planet where we had heard life had evolved strikingly similar to ourselves. Indeed the reports are correct—I have never once been recognized as an alien in all the years I've been here. But my research was done long ago, and I was overdue to return home. Apparently one of the many differences between our planets is that it gets hit by a lot fewer asteroids. Earlier in the week I had been wandering about in the Nevada desert, looking for ground zero so I could find the wormhole and finally punch my ticket back home. Then suddenly my IMS updated to inform me that the asteroid had hit a large piece of space garbage in the far reaches of the solar system and was now on a near-miss trajectory instead. Damn!

Its amazing enough how similar our species are—I studied biology at one of your universities in the 1960s, and I can tell you that the similarities run far more than just skin-deep—but especially when you consider how different our home planets are. My planet—I can't tell you it's name because it can't be pronounced in any Earth language I've run across—is 300 light-years away, about the size of your Jupiter, and frankly a lot less hospitable. It took me a while to get used to walking normally at less than half the gravity I was used to. Your atmosphere is much more oxygen-rich, too, so while the essentials of our cardio-vascular systems are similar, ours had to be much more efficient. In fact, because we developed our abilities in a much harsher environment, they tend to be the same in kind but stronger than yours—to you, I appear to have superpowers. I find it fascinating how much similarity there is between the real me and the character Kent Clark of your comic books, only I don't run around in a caped costume and chunks of my home planet don't neutralize my "powers." And while we may look very similar, we are not identical. The distance between my facial bones is more similar to a juvenile than an adult human, and so while the casino's software would tell you my facial landmarks are five standard deviations from the human norm, people tend to think I just look young.

There is a lot less gender difference among my kind. Females are the same size and strength as males, and while they have the same secondary sex characteristics, they are much less pronounced. It took me a while to get used to the size of earth mammaries, but I have come to appreciate them over time. Because there is no size or strength differential, attempting to mate could be a dangerous proposition, so we males have evolved certain subtle characteristics to improve the chances of reproductive success—the microcurrents generated between my fingers and thumb are one example. These little advantages were what I was counting on to acquire human mating partners. So far, my first attempt was going well.

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About 20 minutes later she came around again. She made sure to stop by me (who else was giving ten dollar tips?) and asked "Cocktails...would you like another gin and tonic?"

"Eh?" I played, "can I get you another gin and tonic..." indicating something was missing.

"Can I get you another gin and tonic, BILL," she answered in mock petulance.

"I would love another, Jessi, thank you." She came back quickly, and I tipped her another ten, making sure to make hand to hand contact in the process. "Ah yes, thank you, my dear. Say, Jessi, you work in this area a lot I presume?"

"I move all over, but I've worked here before, yes," she answered.

"This machine just isn't doing it for me. Is there one you would recommend?"

"I don't play them myself, sir...uh, Bill," she corrected when I frowned. "That Wheel of Cash one seems to be pretty popular," she said, pointing to a machine nearby.

"All right, I'll try it," I said, cashing out and moving over. Feeling somewhat responsible now, she came over and watched for a moment. I lost my first three pulls.

"I'm sorry, it doesn't look like it's very lucky for you," she noted.

"It's all right," I said, taking a good swig of my drink, "sometimes it takes a while. I'll play a bit and see if my luck changes." It didn't—the thing was robbing me blind. Good thing I was playing entirely with casino money from across the street—blackjack is an easy game when you have X-ray vision and can read the dealer's cards. Play at first base on a shoe, and you can know what your first card will be and bet accordingly. I'd been living off of casino cash for twenty years. I also have a nice safe backup stash in various Swiss banks that I accumulated buying shares of major computer companies at IPO since the sixties. I knew that if I bought every one that hit the market I'd eventually hit on the ones that would inevitably transform your—no offense—technologically impeded society.

Jessi came back again shortly. "How's that machine working for ya?" she asked jovially.

"Not so good yet, but I'm not giving up," I replied. "I am starting to think about food, though. If you could go to anyplace on the strip for dinner, what would you choose?"

"The Ming is very good," she replied.

"Have you ever eaten there?"

"Yes, I liked it."

"If you could choose to have dinner anywhere at all, regardless of price, somewhere you've always wanted to go but never have—what would it be?" I pressed.

"I guess if I could go anywhere AT ALL, I'd want to try Chez Lafitte," she said, "but that would be out of my price range."

"Would they still be serving at say midnight, 1 AM?" I asked.

"I would think so," she answered, "it's near a very popular nightspot, I think they stay open late."

"OK, maybe I'll look into it...thanks." While she went off to fill my order, I called my host at the Roman Forum casino across the street, where I was staying on the house as a fairly large player. "Hey...think you can get me reservations for two at Chez Lafitte tonight? Say 12:15?" A few minutes later he buzzed me back saying I was all set.

It was getting busy now, so when Jessi brought back my drink she was carefully balancing a full tray. I took my drink, tipped her, and let her go on her rounds. When she came back to take orders, though, I popped up, saying "whew...that was quite a tray...I guess you need to lift weights just to work here!" Teasingly, I gently rubbed her shoulders through her silky shirt. I think she was about to ask me not to touch her when she felt the relaxing tingle of the microcurrents from my fingers. Instead she just said "mmmph" at the relief. "There, that's better," I said soothingly, "you back sore?" I gently rubbed along her lower spine; I could feel her muscles relax in response to my charged fingers. Then I stopped, before any alarms—hers or the people behind the cameras—were raised.

"Thanks, that felt good," she said in a voice belying her own surprise. "Now I should give you a tip!"

"OK," I said gamely, "gin and tonic would be perfect."

"Coming right up," she smiled and continued on her rounds. As soon as she was out of earshot, I fed $1000 in bills into the machine. As before, she came by straining under a full tray. Because it was full, she was holding it from below with bent arm, so that it was up around her shoulder. Perfect.

As she approached, I called out "Hey you were right, this is a lucky machine—look!" I pointed to my credits, now well over 1000.

"Hey, all right!" she said with mild excitement as she handed me my drink.

"This is for the drink," I said, giving her a ten. "I'd like to reward you for tipping me off to this machine, too, but I suppose you pool your tips, and you'd just have to share them with everyone else, huh?"

"Yes, we pool our tips, but that doesn't mean we don't appreciate..."

"Unless I could find some way to sneak it to you..." I interrupted. I had two Franklins balled up in my hand, and I touched her bare skin just below the tray. Smiling and making eye contact, I slid my finger along, down the edge of her open shirt, until I felt the edge of her lacy bra. Then I gently tugged on the edge and slipped the bills under the fabric. The full drink tray hid this from the view of the cameras, and limited her ability to step away—even so, I'm sure it was only because of the tingle my fingers left on her skin that she didn't find a way to slap me. As I finished tucking in the bill, I swung my thumb around in a wide arc, reaching down as far as I could, hoping to swing past her nipple so that the electric current between my fingers would pass right through it. It was just a quick brush, but I felt a tiny nubbin suddenly get hard under the fabric. Bingo!

"Look," I said seriously as she was momentarily stunned—one that I'd just copped a feel right out on the casino floor, but more than that how good it felt when I had. I pushed the cash-out button on the machine. "I'm a big believer in destiny, and that when something is right, you'll know. The only reason I've been playing at this machine at all is because from the moment I saw you, it felt like there were sparks flying between us. I know that sounds corny, but really, I've never experienced anything like it. I don't know what it means, but I am convinced it means something. I know you're not allowed to fraternize with guests, but I just made reservations for two at Chez Lafitte tonight at 12:15—that's right after you get off work, right?" She nodded, partly entranced. "I have reservations for two, but I don't have anyone to share it with, and I really hate eating alone. I know that someone as beautiful as you must have someone who's expecting you home tonight, but I was really hoping you'd accompany me for dinner—that's all—and maybe get a chance to talk and see if I can figure out why it feels like there's lightning in the air every time you're near me. I'll have a limo waiting outside the door at midnight to pick you up—I'll be at Chez Lafitte waiting. All you have to do is call home, tell you boyfriend or whoever that you were asked to work a double shift, then go to the limo and meet me for dinner. OK?" She didn't respond; this had her completely offguard. "Just think about it," I said, smiling, touching her cheek momentarily, setting off another spark. "The limo will be outside at midnight." Then I winked at her, took my ticket, turned on my heel and walked away before she had a chance to recover her wits and tell me no.

I crossed the street and, with a little time to kill, walked the mile or so to Chez Lafitte. I had no idea if she'd come or not, but I was fairly optimistic that she would. Between the sparks from my touches and the two bills in her bra, I hoped I had piqued her interest sufficiently.

I thought it would be around 12:30 when she arrived, but it was almost one—I had just about given up—when the maitre'd ushered the lovely Jessi to my private booth.

"Sorry I'm late, Bill," she said breathlessly, "I had to take care of some stuff after my shift, and then I was going to change out of my work clothes, since everyone on the strip knows this is a uniform, but what I'd worn to work wasn't dressy enough, so I ended up leaving it on." She was smart enough to have taken off her name necklace, though.

"I'm just glad you came, Jessi," I smiled, "I'm sure this isn't something you usually do."

"No," she answered, "never. I could probably get fired for it."

"You're entitled to eat here as much as anyone. I'm not a guest of the hotel—I didn't even use a player's card, so there's no record of my ever having been at Hollywood World. I'm just a guy taking you to dinner. Here, let me pour you a glass of this wine—it's very good. Better be, for $200 a bottle!"

I filled her glass, we toasted, and made eye contact as we sipped. I kept watching her intently—in part so that I could read her reactions, in part because I knew that if she returned my gaze, she would start to see a subtle kaleidoscope effect in my irises. Another adaptation to try to help us soften the formidable defenses of the females on my planet.

I ordered us the Chateaubriand for two. We sipped wine while we waited; I lay my hand gently on hers. She left it there. We talked; I kept turning the focus on her, even though she wanted to know a lot about me—like where I got all this money from. When the dinner came, I slid over closer to her so we could share better. It WAS excellent. After dinner I sat back, stuffed, and put my arm gently around her. Again she left it there. I was able to see almost directly down her open blouse at her cleavage, but I resisted, wanting to keep eye contact. I also touched her shoulder, setting off more sparks. Good thing I'd had such a big dinner—the electrochemical reaction in our fingers may increase reproductive success but is monumentally inefficient from an energy conservation point of view. You burn lots of calories if its being used a lot, and I was using it almost constantly on the lovely Jessi. I think I was getting her pretty close to convinced that these sparks she felt when I touched her must indeed mean something.

The check came; I put it on my card. "Thank you for dinner," she said. She gulped slightly; we were dangerously close.

"Thank you for sharing it with me," I answered, and then reached over and kissed her, putting my hand on the side of her face at the same time to generate more sparks. She was stiff and reluctant at first, but gradually her resistance melted away. She put her hand on my shoulder, too, and we kissed intently until we were interrupted by the waiter coming with my charge receipt to sign. I sat up to sign it, saying quietly, "Jessi, have you ever seen a high roller suite at the Roman Forum? They're quite impressive—and there's a bottle of wine in mine that I've been dying to open, but there's no way I can finish it myself..."