SPACE NOIR BAR by Mike Marino (top books to read txt) 📖

was an expendable human in a run down cheap hotel room  with a faded former chorus girl, now a ten dollar bar girl, sweating up a torn mattress  with too many stains on it. I could only guess at what the stains were and who left them there as a marker to celebrate  their various and varied sexual victories. Now mine joined them to greet the next customer.

 

This morning, however, I awoke alive and alert to brilliant daylight, clean sheets, and the soft flesh of Poontang Pemalang  in my arms and the scent of our sex as aromatic as a room full of perfumed pole dancers. Our sexual gymnastics last night set into motion a gyroscopic inertial navigation system that would propel us deeper into an affair that would turn our libidos upside down.  

I was still  a little foggy from the tranqs and weed we ended the night with, but, Poontang on the other hand, always the sober one who took the high road as I wallowed in the late night gutter, woke up refreshed and alive with happiness...I hoped it was because of me alone, but, I could only guess this time it also had something to do with our close encounter on the path with her mysterious past with Art Deco that  brought her under the casa blankets with me while an old flame fanned her passions as far and wide as her legs.

 

We knew we were given clearance to leave Toho 4  last night, clear to make the two minute jaunt and dock on Robotia, but, sex and drugs came first to fortify us for whatever lay ahead.

 

We packed our bags quickly, and just as we were checking out  I was handed a strange message by the hotel clerk dressed in black. “I can’t read it Poontang. It appears to be some sort of coded message in a language I’m not familiar with.”

 

Poontang was more than a beautiful Asian undercover agent,  in addition to having  the talent to fuck in 10 languages,  could also read and speak five planetary languages and four Retropolin  dialects. When she was spying for the Com-Reds of the Red East she was a trained linguist and code breaker, as well as a sharpshooter with her Annie Oakley vagina.

She snatched the piece of paper from my hands with the fervor of a rabid Canadian beaver (which in a sense, she was!) and I could see her eyes, beautiful as they were normally, now enlarged.  I swear I could see the entire Milky Way in them sparkling and bright as the rapid fire bursts of a galactic Gatling gun tearing into the flesh of a Regulus Regulator.

 

“It’s from Sappho Strangelove! I used to work with her during the war with the Antarian  Lesbians. She was the best. She could turn a lesbian into jello in five minutes. We milked the Antarians, no pun intended, for information of disruption plans, bomb making basement factories, and learned about the development of the Jane Russell Exploding Shrapnel Bra  Pinata Drones which were being manufactured in a rapid pace as the rebellious minions were beginning to undergo underground  undergarment training bra training.”

 

Sappho  was good from what Poontang said, rather slavishly I felt. I could picture Poontang and Sappho now. Two pro’s having a go go go. Back to the revolution I told myself. “So what happened to her,” I found myself panting.

“The Bureau doubted her loyalties to the Com-Red party. After the revolt was squashed like a baby raccoon hit by a bulldozer,  she disappeared and  never left word with me. Not a good bye, gee you were great in the sack...nothing.  I was never sure if she escaped or was killed by Com-Red Intel. Now I know…..She is alive!” she said excitedly as a bum who found a good sized cigarette butt on the ground at a space bus terminal

“She wants us to meet her at the Old Chum Cabaret. We have to proceed with caution though.  it’s owned by Narco Marx and  he wants the Strip Tease Falcon and will kill anyone who stands in his way. I’ve dealt with him before! He’s fat and dangerous!”

I took it all in as she spoke. Her words and warnings were as sharp as a machete decapitating my already shrunken head ready to be hung on a warriors beaded belt in some forgotten lost world. I had heard of Sappho Strangelove as well and was looking forward to meeting her. Poontang  Pemalang and Sappho Strangelove. A double header with  the doublemint Olsen twins of espionage who used sex as a weapon of subtle interrogation where their willing subjects gave valued information as easy as a school boy jacking off to a International Galactic Geographic Magazine with a hologram essay on the tits and arse of a lost tribe of Penumbrian pygmies.

Everything was beginning  to scare the hell out me. Every obstacle imaginable lay ahead and death was 50/50 proposition. There was the ample sized Wall  of China, Narco Marx who would kill his own child to get his fat hands on the Falcon … then there were the Com-Red agents who had been (we discovered later)tailing us all the way from Retropolis,  not to mention  the enforcers of Toho itself who would vaporize me in a speed of light minute if they knew part of  the nature of my mission to Robotia was to find the Strip Tease Falcon and remove it from their domain thereby reducing their power and influence in the remote Ford Galaxy after they had weakened the Dystopian Empire in our own solar system.

As for Poontang and Sappho? They would be Cyborg’d and transformed into a Transsexual Transformer Ambsextrous  Robotic Sex Workers if we were discovered and captured by Tohoians.  The key to our quest to find the Falcon and Poontangs sister Mary Asteroid was now in the hands of the three of us...no help...no runs...no hits.. . Something told me..it was all one big ballgame  and I was next up at the plate to bat.

Chapter 14 - Old Chum Cabaret

 

Robotian night life was a dream sequence of unreality, at least as I knew it, so I wanted to experience as much of it as possible without blowing my internal circuitry. We were to meet Sappho Strangelove  at 10 P.M. at the Old Chum Cabaret, but I managed to talk Poontang into arriving early to have a few Soma’s and Robotian beer, and although not the best brew for a Bukowski buzz in Dystopia, it would do the job.

We arrived at 8 P.M. ahead of our meet and greet and  the place was already in full swing! It was officially showtime at the cabaret boys and girls, and those of you in between! "Life IS a cabaret old chum." I just had to say it, and now that the phrase has  broken free of my cranial orbit I  could  take a delicious look up under the Catholic schoolgirl skirt of delightful debauchery found in the night time twilight zone of the dark side of the cabaret moon.

The Old Chum Cabaret was nothing more than one large breathless bordello laden with lacy robot boys in fag drag with tight mechanical waists, while macho manly female eroti-bots donned fedora's looking for some same gender vaginal gratification and satisfaction. Someone had opened a  Pandora's box of jazz and jive, and Robotia was hell bent for leather and in leather to get it on with a mechanical dose of topless and bottomless displays of wet and wild faux genitalia with a delightful dash of BDSM found usually in the flesh at the annual anal fancy dress gold and silver lame’ Fomulhaut fetish ball.

Yes, boys will be girl, and girls will be boys, and tonight the Robotian cabaret scene was locked and loaded on kink and twink. The place was alive with temptingtransvestites in tights, Mecha-Marlene Dietrich Dream Machines in top hat and tails, while the topless black machine chorus girls were ramping up the libido factor with bare heavy metal Josepine Baker  breasts bouncing and flouncing like two bronze baby moons with nipples extended like 50,000 watt Newtonian reflector telescopic arrays  emitting a radio signal of pure sexuality. The whole scene was in full swing with a ring-a-ding-ding Rat Pack sexual abandon and expression. Female Cyborgs frolicked playfully baring all while mecha-boys in full drag regalia were traversing the transvestite trail to the land of libidinous Oz, following the Yellow Brick Road of good old fashioned degeneracy where midgets camped it up with the best of them, and Dorothy Impersonators were making it on stage in a lesbian frenzy free for all! Cue the Flying Monkeys!

The neon stage was exploding with exotic dancers who danced, singers who sang and exotics who exoticed. There was plenty of Soma and cannabis along with a comfortably numb clientele adding to the highly charged sexual nature of the floor show. It was home turf for the enigmatic Sappho Strangelove as she had been performing, under an assumed name and persona  on the galactic cabaret circuit since  the last Lesbian wars, managing now to extract classified information from seduced Toho military officers for sale to the highest bidder who fell under her cabaret spell of flesh and promiscuity. She was not a machine, but a highly charged Retropolin vixen on a mission.

The Old Chum was owned by the notorious Narco Marx  and gained an unholy rep as a drinking hole for artists, poets, writers, and other drunks to visit, sit and try to outwit each other in verbal fencing matches with as much caustic wit as a flock of bitchy self absorbed drag queens. Soon, the cabaret, originally an old warehouse underwent  an urbane urban renewal transformation as the old ghetto mentality of sit and drink was replaced by flamboyance and panache of the notorious red light district. It came complete with a bright  red windmill on the roof that would keep Don Quixote busy for hours dreaming his impossible dream.

While most cabarets had “rules and regs” for the regulars, the “irregulars” followed no rules. The rules did not apply to them. Rules were cast aside into invisibility and were  non-existent while flesh, machine  and fantasy merged into a Picasso dreamscape.


Everything on the stage was ripe with sexual innuendo removed far away from modesty, as topless dancers and transvestites could now rub elbows and perhaps other body parts with patrons which included not only the straight community, but also Gay men, Lesbians and Transvestites from every quadrant of the galactic compost pile. Strange bedfellows indeed, but, interesting wouldn't you say?


There was a plethora of porcelain boys with too much moulin rouge and highlighting eye-popping eyeliner who would parade around the tables as wanton waiters. Lesbianism was now flaunting itself openly and deliciously. Fuck the puritanical 20th Century Age of Aquarius...this was the dawn of an era some historians have referred to as that of the Pink Millenium,  as the streets were awash with the date raping pink punks on dope strolling along mincing to the symphony of sexual abandon.




Alien and machine cabaret girls and cabaret boys pranced and danced in a sequin dream sequence, wearing enough sparkles and spangles that would give Liberace's