by Logan Jacobs
On my right, next to Artemis, stood Tempest with a sexy chip on her shoulder the size of Texas. She’d been the hardest to convince, not quite used to Team Havak’s penchant for the flamboyant, but once she saw herself in the outfit I’d picked for her, she took to it like a rockstar to a groupie which made sense because I’d taken inspiration for her outfit from Runaway era Joan Jett.
She had on a pair of skin tight bell-bottom jeans with battered brown leather platform shoes. A too small, white with black sleeves, Sex Pistols, half-shirt covered her torso and showed off her smooth, taut stomach. The Spif-O-Matic 2000, what I called our automated shower and grooming closets, had done her hair in a practically ironed straight Seventies do and she wore overdone, too heavy eye makeup that made her look ready to fight or fuck anyone and everyone.
The pièce de résistance, however, was Aurora who brought up the right flank. I’d gone full Roller Girl for her with a dark purple with white piping pair of velour shorts that looked like they had been painted on and let the delightful round slope of her Sixties Playmate ass peek out. On top she had on a matching purple string bikini top that must have been made from steel to contain her huge, teardrop shaped breasts. A pair of white with red, yellow, and blue striped top knee socks led to a pair of flat classic original Nike sneakers that would soon be replaced by roller skates. Her luxurious silver hair was done in a Farrah Fawcett feathered style, and she’d gone with light purple eye shadow and lipstick to match her shorts and top.
For myself, well, I’d gone full on Burt Reynolds from Smokey and the Bandit.
I had on a bright red, oversized collar shirt with blue embroidery around the shoulders, sleeves rolled up to my forearms and a pair of stupidly tight, low waisted flared leg jeans cinched even tighter by belt with a turquoise buckle. Normally I hated hats, but I decided this was a special occasion, so I had donned a tan, felt cowboy hat with a silver band. The capper was that somehow the Spif-O-Matic had made it so that I was able to grow a full on Burt mustache. It may sound silly, but I was pretty sure I looked Seventies sexy as fuck.
“Havak, I look like my villages fool back from when I was but a young warrior who could hardly hold a sword,” Grizz’s voice boomed from behind me.
“Grizz, you look like one of the most famous actors on Earth from one of his most famous movies, only better,” I said as I turned and looked at my masterpiece for the evening.
All six-and-a-half-feet of my space barbarian trainer was decked out in a white three piece leisure suit, shiny black satin shirt, gold chains, and black half boots with a two inch heel. Artie had been able to figure out a program that gave him perfectly coiffed hair without the use of a can of hairspray. He looked like the doppelganger for John Travavolta as Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever, if he had done a thousand cycles of steroids.
“Really, well, in that case, I look marvelous,” Grizz said with a cocky smile. “Although, how do Earthlings wear pants this tight all the time? My reproductive organ is greatly smushed.”
“Yeah, we don’t wear our pants this tight anymore, the Seventies were a strange time,” I replied.
“Your poor poor reproductive organs,” Grizz said and shook his head.
“Well, what do you think guys,” Chaz said as he squeezed his way through our little formation to stand next to me.
Chaz wanted to pick his own outfit, so I’d let him troll through my nearly encyclopedic pop culture memory to find something that struck his fancy. And had he picked a doozy. He was done up as the outlandish pimp, Flyguy, from the classic indie by Keenan Ivory Wayans, I’m Gonna Git You Sucka, complete with a zebra-striped sombrero, platform shoes with goldfish in the heels, and a walking cane. I had no idea how he’d found that obscure Eighties movie from the recesses of my brain, but he had, and it was kind of awesome in a mildly offensive way. Sometimes even I was amazed at my own generation spanning knowledge of film and TV. It’s what happens when you have a single mom who worked a lot, basic cable, and a Blockbuster three blocks away from your house.
“We can dig it,” PoLarr answered with a big smile as she started to bounce to the beat of the music.
“We dig it the most,” I mirrored. “So, let’s go get some skates.”
Chaz led us over to a counter with a short Telecultus working behind it.
“Sizes?” The Telecultus asked in a thick Long Island accent. They were a race that emitted a pheromone that allowed them to pull comfortable memories and feelings from others brains. It made them excellent cab drivers, bar tenders, and all kinds of service professionals. For some reason they always sounded like my mother's cousin Jimmy Bouchi, who was indeed a cab driver from Long Island.
Everyone gave their respective sizes, and the Telecultus set six pairs of roller skates on the counter. They were even sweet retro Seventies ones with broken in white leather and bright orange wheels.
I motioned for us to go over to several long, polished wooden benches near a group of cubies where people put their shoes. When I put the skates on it brought all sorts of pleasant memories of middle school nights out with friends to mind. I slipped my feet into them and unlike Seventies Earth roller skates these laced up automatically to a perfect tightness, and the toe box even expanded a little to accommodate for my wide foot. As a kid that part of roller skating had been a giant pain in the ass, or foot I should say, because it gave me blisters on my pinky toes every single time.
We stowed our shoes in the cubbies, and everyone stood up. It took a second or two for the muscle memory to kick in, but soon I felt comfortable and ready to skate the night away. Not everyone else in my crew felt the same way.
PoLarr shared my memories, so she was fine, but Nova, Artie, and Tempest were unsteady and quite unsure how to make things go.
“How do these damn things work, Havak?” Nova said, annoyed.
“You kind of have to move your foot out to the side instead of back and forth so that the friction moves you forward,” I tried to explain, but it was something you just sort of had to do.
I managed to help everyone out onto the wooden roller rink surface, that was maybe a quarter full of aliens enjoying the Twentieth century Earth pastime, with a bit of finagling. PoLarr held Tempest’s hand and gently instructed her how to make them work and the blue-green alien started to take to it pretty quickly.
Aurora, to my surprise, actually began to skate circles around us, completely into her transformation to Roller Girl. She saw us staring at her and twirled to a stop.
“This is very similar to a sport on my homeworld that I trained in as a child,” Aurora explained with a very innocent smile from what I assumed was a fond memory. “My mother was one of the best in the sport when she was younger, and she and I would practice all the time. I could do this before I could walk practically.”
“Well maybe you could assist me then?” Nova practically pleaded. She was incredibly unsteady on the skates. Her added mass could not be making it easy for her, and she was not used to taking to something athletic easily. In fact just as she turned her head to talk to Aurora, she lost her balance and landed with a pronounced thud on the hardwood floor.
“Oh my god, are you okay, Nova?” Artie rushed over to her. She was doing alright on the skates. She’d studied the physics of it but just lacked the muscle coordination yet.
“Yes,” Nova gritted her teeth. “My ass is spectacularly muscled, so it is fine, but my ego has been bruised mightily.”
“Here, I’ll take you over to the concession stand and buy you a… what is that? A Slurpee?” Artie asked as she helped Nova up and back onto the more manageable carpet that surrounded the rink.
“Oh, you are going to love that,” PoLarr answered before I could even open my mouth. “Frozen ice with super sweet flavored syrup. Go for cherry.”
“That sounds like just the thing I need to soothe my bruised pride,” Nova grinned up at her. “You all have fun with this inane activity.”
“There she is,” I grinned back at her. “Sorry, Nova.”
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“For what?” Nova waved me off. “Not your fault my race is clearly not built for this sport. You all have fun while Artie and I Slurpee ‘till our heart's content.”
“Okay, that sounded kind of dirty,” I joked.
“Maybe it will be,” Artie shot back and winked at me as they slowly made their way over to the garish concessions area. It was very authentic from what I could see with burnt orange molded bench seats around plastic tables, back lit signs advertising rather gross looking nachos and hot dogs, and a big self-serve popcorn machine. I made a mental note that later in the night I was probably going to make myself sick on imitation cheese and corn chips with a helping of pickled jalapeno.
With Nova and Artie off on their own adventure, I turned my attention back to the roller rink.
“Hey, howdy, hello roller enthusiasts, I’m your Uncle Jack and I’m going to be your duke of musical mayhem and pleasure this fine evening here at Wonderland,” a somewhat familiar voice came over the loudspeakers. I glanced around and saw the DJ booth nestled back in one corner of the roller rink. It was on a small riser and plastered in classic vintage concert posters from Jimi Hendrix, to Blondie, to Led Zeppelin. Uncle Jack was a member of the same race of cat-like aliens as Chi-Chesire and Fallon, except he was rather portly with graying whiskers and bright orange fur. He kind of looked like Garfield on two feet. “I’m going to be kicking out jam after tasty jam from Earth’s musical peak in the Nineteen Seventies and Eighties. Also, there is a two for one corn dog special going on right now at the concession stand, so make sure to fill those bellies while they last. Right now, I have a little masterpiece from a band called The Cars. This is Shake It Up. So lace up those skates tight, shake that booty, and free skate in the forward direction.”
I watched as he took an actual LP album out of a record sleeve and placed it on a turntable. He gently set the needle down, and the early New Wave sounds of The Car’s classic began to play.
“Let’s skate,” I said to my crew and began to pump my legs in rhythm to the music. PoLarr and I were at about the same level and Tempest struggled a bit to keep up but was clearly having fun anyway. Aurora was the real star. She wove in and out of the other skaters as if they were standing still. The look of pure joy on her face could have lit up a thousand mirror balls.
“Ha! Havak, this is incredible!” Grizz’s shimmering holographic form zoomed past us on holographic skates like a pro. He had a giant grin plastered on his big face.
“How the hell do you know how to skate, Grizz?” I asked, confused.
“I had Artemis load the skill into my cortex stack,” he explained as he flew by and then into a disco spin. “I’ve been told there is a combat sport involving these roller boots.”
“Roller derby?” I asked. “That’s typically played by women.”
“Havak, are the men on your world so cowardly that they would only let their women fight in this rolling gladiatorial combat?
“Well, it’s not exactly like that--”
“Regardless, I will organize a roller derby for the other holographic trainers to compete in.”
“You do you, Grizz.”
“There will be blood, Havak,” he growled and grinned. “There will be blood.”
“Well, that is certainly something you don’t see every day,” Tempest commented.
“Nope, it sure is not,” PoLarr agreed and then grinned wide at Tempest. “Come one, I’ll race you.”
“You’re on blondie,” Tempest agreed with a look of determination in her eyes and they took off as fast as they could which left Aurora and I skating together.
I reached down and grabbed her hand. Our fingers intertwined, and she smiled over at me.
“Alright, alright, skaters,” Uncle Jack said over the PA, “it’s time to slow it down a bit for a couples skate only. That’s right. The rink is just for lovers right now. And to aid in your skate dance of romance I give you Waiting For a Girl Like You by Foreigner.”
Once again the song changed, Waiting For a Girl Like You started to play on the speakers, and the rink cleared of most of the skaters. Maybe only a dozen or so couples continued to skate.
“Wanna skate dance?” I asked and put my arm around the soft, warm skin of Aurora’s waist.
“I thought you’d never ask, sugar,” she replied, and we skated out into the center of the rink.
I didn’t know many moves on roller skates but I could manage going backwards for a little bit and going in a slow circle, so that’s what I did as the classic ballad played for us. Aurora put her arms around my neck, and for the next four minutes and fifty-two seconds the world seemed to fade away. It was just me and this incredible, gorgeous woman on the dance floor, arms wrapped around each other like a couple of eight graders at our first social and it was amazing. Like some kind of prepubescent dream come true.
I’d been a rather short, chubby kid who was way more into comic books and video games than any kind of sport in the eighth grade, and I never went to any of our school dances. I certainly didn’t dance with any girls like Aurora. Eighth grade Marc was in seventh heaven.
Aurora’s blue tattoos seemed to pulse in time to our heartbeats and the music, and as the song finished, I tilted her head up toward me and placed a gentle kiss on her sensual lips.
“Well, those two need to get a room, am I right?” Uncle Jack teased us as the lights all came back up to full force. “Enough of this sappy stuff, right folks? Let’s crank it back up with an ode to my favorite kind of girls. The fat bottomed kind!”
The brilliant harmonies of Eddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon blasted from the speakers at what must have been full volume.
“Come on fat bottomed girl,” I joked. It was one of my all-time favorite Queen songs and I grabbed Aurora by the hand and began to skate around the rink as it filled with aliens eager to rock-and-roll.
“Sugar, it’s just more for you to hold on to,” she drawled back and squeezed my hand. “This song is very primal. Who is this?”
“Oh, sugar,” I started to explain, “This is a little Earth band known as Queen. One of the greatest rock bands ever with quite possibly the greatest frontman of all time, Freddie Mercury.”
“Oh, yes, I know who that is,” Aurora nodded. “He’s an alien. You knew that, right?”
“What?” I sputtered. “Well, that makes sense. He always did seem out of this world.”
“Here, come on, I have a naughty idea,” Aurora said in a low sexy voice and led me off the skate floor. “I noticed this earlier.”
She skated over to a hallway that led to the back of the roller rink and to what looked like a supply closet. She turned the handle which wasn’t locked, and we snuck into the room.
It was maybe six feet square and lined with shelves that had all kinds of cleaning supplies.
“Aurora, what are--” I didn’t get to finish my question because she pushed me up against the wall and kissed me hard on the mouth. I felt her tongue flick over mine and then bite me playfully. Outside the muted strains of Superfreak by Rick James began to thud and groove.
“Shh,” she whispered into my ear. Her breath was hot and tickled my ear. Without warning she dropped down into a low crouch in front of me and with quick, deft movements unbuckled and unzipped my pants.
Before I could utter a sound her lips were wrapped around my cock that had gone instantly hard. I groaned in pleasure.
Her mouth was hot and wet and soon her hand was slick with saliva as she stroked the length of my shaft. I watched in the dim light of the supply closet as she then leaned back a little, straightened up, and guided my dick into the deep valley created as she pushed her breasts together so that the soft flesh wrapped around my manhood completely. The extra height given to her from the roller skates allowed her bounce up and down ever so slightly. Just as the friction was about to get to be too much she lowered her head once again and took me into her mouth until I was slippery enough to fit back between her tits again.
&
nbsp; “Holy shit, Aurora,” I panted and began to thrust in rhythm with her bouncing.
“I want you to explode all over me,” she commanded in a husky sex soaked tone.
Not one to disappoint, the command and her tone sent me over the edge and the orgasm that had built quickly crested and jolts of bure bliss coursed through me in spurts of ecstacy.
“Oh my,” Aurora giggled. “That was something.”
She rose up from her crouch, reached over to a shelf and grabbed a bar towel to wipe our endeavor from her heaving breasts. I was still reeling from the experience, and she very kindly reached down and put me back into my pants and buckled my belt.
Aurora wiped her lips with her fingers, rearranged her bikini top, and fluffed her hair to make sure it was all back in place.
“Wow,” I was finally able to get out after a minute or two.
“That’s only the teaser, sugar,” she drawled. “Now how about you buy me one of those Slurpees and then take me home?”
“Sounds like a hell of a plan to me,” I answered.
Aurora, without even bothering to peek to see if anyone was outside the door, opened it and skated back out into the roller rink as Back in Black by AC/DC began to play.
We rolled up to the concession stand, and I bought two large cherry Slurpees. As we sat down in one of the hard, plastic booths, Chaz rolled up to us with a tray full of hot dogs and nachos.
“Hey, Marc, Aurora,” Chaz said as he saw us. “Where’d you guys go? Everyone is eating now.”
“Oh, we were just skating around,” Aurora answered and winked at me.
“You guys want to join?” He asked.
“As delicious as that looks, Chaz,” I started to say, “I think Aurora and I may head back. My feet are killing me.”
I really didn’t want to lie to the little guy, but a gentleman didn’t kiss and tell. And a scoundrel certainly didn’t brag about what Aurora had just done to me.
“Ow, sure,” Chaz replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them you are going to go do it.”
