ASMSG Scifi Fantasy Paranormal Emagazine March 2014 | Page 7

Why Is SciFi Sexy?
Patricia A. Knight

In the time-honored tradition of storytelling, I will try to illustrate with
words why Sci-Fi is sexy. Here are a couple of paragraphs that came hot
off the keyboard. Clear your mind. Settle into your chair and relax. Now
imagine this:
I, Darla Marie Dexter, object of alien fixation and thus representative for
the entire human race, sat alone in my neighborhood Chicago bar – the
one with the too-loud music and the tacky plastic tablecloths that my ex
used to disparage. But I was waiting for a male from the planet Vortus.
What would he know from plastic tablecloths?
It was late, but the joint was packed. A good local band had played tonight.
I chatted with Max, the bartender, and sipped my girly mixer with the
pineapple on a stick and a cheesy little umbrella. I was always too
embarrassed to order one in front of my sophisticated former boyfriend
but I was a sucker for anything coconut.
Max’s head lifted and his eyes shot to the door to draw my attention to the
new arrival. I would have known, regardless. I felt it when he walked in.
Because of my seniority with the Office of Extra-terrestrial Assistance, I’d
been assigned as personal, cultural liaison to the Vortian. You know,
prevent any social faux pas, educate the alien on how Earth inhabitants
behave, that sorta stuff. I just didn’t realize how intimately he wanted to
liaise. I hoisted my cocktail and tried not to stab my eye out with the
umbrella as I gulped the entire contents.

Source: Rainbow Leia by Jagged Eye, DeviantArt

“It’s the Vortian, Darla. Back to work. Make us proud.”
“Yeah, Max. I know.”
I ran shaky fingers through my page-boy hair cut. First putting my brunette locks behind my ears, then pulling the hair back to cover the
blush that heated my cheeks.
I did know. I could feel the Vortian’s arousal. I could feel the blood pounding into his groin. I could feel the expansion of his male, ah,
parts . . . yeah, you heard right, parts. See, that was the thing. I didn’t imagine I felt it. I
really felt it. That mind telepathy stuff made the male delegates from Vortus a real hit with
us earth ladies. Well, that and the extras that wrapped around and tickled your, ahem, while
they, ah, stroked inside with the other, ah, thing. I picked up my bar coaster and started to
fan my face.
And then I was looking at me through his eyes. I could see my slender body perched on
the barstool, my miniskirt barely decent, my four-inch stilettos caught on the wrung of the
stool. I inhabited his body – a body that was, whoa, gorgeous, and equipped with that little
something, ah, extra. And all the time there were these erotic images of what he wanted to
do to me rolling through my mind like classy porn – memories of what I had looked like
coming apart underneath him the last time he’d done me. Holy multiple orgasms! Take me
to your leader.
I shoved the empty fruit-drink toward Max.
“Maxie, I need some ice water, fast.”

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