Three eyes winked at me in alternating eyelash battings. It was mesmerising, hypnotic, and disgusting in its vulgarity. I hadn’t flown halfway across the universe to be hailed by such as she. The woman-thing wriggled her hips; waves of fat rolled around her midriff. She stuck out a forked-tongue, very un-enticingly, and wriggled it at me. A passing humanoid whistled, but she only had eyes (eyes, do you get it) for me.
I scratched at my unruly hair. I was too tired for this. So in an attempt to be polite, despite not wanting to be, I smiled and headed off down the spaceport plaza.
To be stalked by a woman might be some men’s fantasy: not mine. I was happily married, especially when away from home, (you might need to think about that one) and to have a womanoid hooker hissing in pursuit of me on a faraway world just wasn’t my thing. I hurried. She slithered faster.
Almost at a jog, I made a dash for the nearest bar: The Wayward Monk. I was neither wayward nor a monk but couldn’t have cared less at the time. The place was heaving, packed full of intergalactic space types all drinking the latest cool beverages, but the bar itself was suspiciously clear. So I wandered up to a surly looking barbot and ordered a pint. The robot dispensed a drink from its chest just as I heard a hissing come from the open doors. I didn’t look up.
Taking a long draught of my dirty-glassed beverage, I was surprised by the barbot slamming his metal fist on the counter beside me, ( no wonder the bar was empty). Who the hell manufactured a miserable barman? What good was that to anyone? Why would you even think it a good idea? You can tell I was in a bad mood.
Anger rose then, I had a short fuse at the best of times, and was about to shove my beer where the sun don’t shine, (if a robot has that place) when I saw the dollar signs flashing in its mirror-like eyes. Of course, money!
My hands reached into plastic pockets just as I felt the four breasts of the hooker press into my back. It just wasn’t my day.
I won’t bore you with the torrent of abuse that got hurled at the shivering wreck of a womanoid thing, after all, she was just trying to earn a space dollar or two, but it wasn’t pleasant. And throughout my two minute rampage not one fellow drinker offered to help either of us. Goddamn space scum!
When the barbot gave me another shove it was the hooker that came to his rescue by paying for my drink. Paying from a small, leather wallet. My wallet. The wallet she had wanted to return. The wallet I had dropped.
I didn’t know what to say. What could you say to a space hooker just trying to help? I took back the proffered wallet from my fork-tongued female and was about to put it back in my pocket when she suddenly got nasty.
“You’re short,” she hissed. “The contents of your wallet, plus your watch, plus a lift of this godforsaken world should do it. I’ve got a room upstairs and plenty of everything to spare.” She ended her spiel by hoisting up her bosom and giving me another triumvirate of winks.