Fiction

Interplanetary Date: Fiction by Larry Lefkowitz

Larry Lefkowitz, The Wardrobe, The Wardrobe Journal, Wardrobe Journal, Fiction, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Dating, HumorAuthor Bio: Larry Lefkowitz’s humorous fantasy and science fiction collection “Laughing into the Fourth Dimension” is available from Amazon books. His literary novel, “The Novel, Kunzman, the novel!” is available as an ebook and in print from Lulu.com and other distributors.

 

 

Interplanetary Date

Written by Larry Lefkowitz

*Note: This piece is for our young adult and adult audiences

Larry Lefkowitz, The Wardrobe, The Wardrobe Journal, Wardrobe Journal, Fiction, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Dating, Humor

Let me tell you about my first date with a chick from another planet. Lenithon is out there just east of Andromeda, or in the area. I’m not too good on Astrogeography. A blind date. The trouble with blind dates is that they are hit or miss. That’s what I told myself before mine with Miss Xnoplat—that’s her name. What can you do? Different planet—different names, different dating customs. Who knows what awaited me? Luckily, I have a sense of humor. So Earth chicks tell me. That’s how I succeed with them. So, why not with Lenithon chicks, I reasoned.

Anyhow, I end up sitting with this particular Lenithonian chick in a singles’ bar on the moon – Earth’s moon, not Lenithon’s. Lenithon’s moon is so cold it freezes nitrogen to a liquid. Even yours truly couldn’t warm up a chick in that atmosphere.

Where was I?

Ah, sitting in the singles’ bar on the moon—me and X-N, as I call her for short. Getting her lunarwise in my souped-up spacemobile is a piece of cake. What? You want to know how I end up on a blind date with a Lenithon female? X-N is visiting Earth with her father. Seems she was hanging around on Lenithon with nothing to do. Her father thought the change would do her good. He’s a big shot representative of a meglanium mining company—meglanium is a precious metal found on Lenithon. There, it’s not so precious, but on earth, very precious. Without it, we’d be living in caves. Ok, an exaggeration, but precious, I kid you not.

X-N is lonely.

So my uncle, who deals with the Lenithon meglanium company, says her father says. Sits around pouting all the time—Lenithon is a drag, all the Lenithon boys are a drag, and so on—this is my uncle quoting the meglanium dude, or rather my simplifying unc’s quoting of him. For my uncle, it is important to make X-N happy. If X-N is happy, her pere is happy, and the meglanium continues to flow unimpeded from Lenithon to us.

Which is where I come in.

At first I am reluctant to “entertain the Lenithon lass,” as my uncle, somewhat ancient in thought and expression, puts it. I mean, who needs it—blind dates on Earth can be a wasted night and when I think back on some I suffered with earth “lasses,” imagining what a Lexithon girl might turn out to be causes me to get feet colder than if they are soaking in frozen nitrogen. On Earth, at worst, a blind date consists of a wasted night having to make conversation until you can safely ditch ’em without insulting ’em. But here, Lenithon considerations come into play. And my spacemob would be grounded without the meglanium catalyst that gives me flying wheels. I could hardly stop my spacemob half way to lunar to become romantic with my Lenithon date and claim “My mob ran out of meglanium”—maybe she carries a spare in her pocket or skin pouch. Still, lately nothing’s going great guns with Earth chicks, so why not? Already my mind is trying to think where to take X-N after the drinking stage—if she appeals to me. Otherwise, I tell myself, I can pickle her as a specimen in the alcohol from the drinks—this is an example of my vintage sense of humor.

As I say, the chicks go for it, so why not X-N?

So I concentrate on mentally mapping out a suitable venue to take her to if she turns me on. Where we can get physical, though I don’t know what petting consists of on Lenithon, let alone more intensive physical relations. On my way to pick her up in my spacemob, I speculate what will she look like. Visions of a big jellyfish, a big centipede, all sorts of worrying possibilities. I didn’t get a chance to ask my uncle, who is usually too busy to relate to me at all, about her looks, and he would probably say “lovely, lovely,” absentmindedly anyhow. Can you imagine having to be attentive to a big jellyfish? And I can’t get drunk, can’t escape. My uncle promised to pay for a year’s fuel for my mob if I “am nice” to Xenoplat.

Xenoplat turns out to be far from a jellyfish when I meet her. Wow!

She could easily be a centerfold in “Playworld.” Ok, her four eyes are at first off-putting—two green, two blue—but what eyes! Pools. Pools you could swim in forever. And her legs—three, but perfectly shaped. I see those legs and already I fantasize them wrapped around my bod. When introduced to her, I stammer something. She replies, friendly-like. Ok, her voice sounds a bit like a Xylophone, too planky-planky for my taste, but something you can get used to. I escort her to my mob, snatch a glance at those legs of hers when she folds them, all three, under her on the seat. I tear myself from looking at them and blast off with both duals at full power to impress her. I really want to get off on the right foot, so I fall back on my forte: humor.

As soon as the Moon Rocks are set in front of us—potent drinks and expensive, but my uncle is footing the bill—I lay on one of my best bits. She gives me a puzzled look with all four orbs and smiles weakly, and I know she doesn’t catch it.

“Something to tickle your funny bone,” I explain.

She says she doesn’t have any bones, only cartilage. And then asks how I, with the bones of an Earthbeing—so they call us—can have a funny bone. I explain it is shorthand for a sense of humor, but once again she blinks all four eyes in confusion. Doesn’t get it. I begin to sweat. She doesn’t have a sense of humor. Panic overcomes me. It will be a long night. The date will fail. My uncle will be displeased. War will break out between Earth and Lenithon. My year’s free fuel will go down the drain. Apparently, sensing my distress, she reaches out a velvety-skinned hand and takes mine in hers.

It’s not important, she says. I feel you like me, she purrs.

Two of her knees under the table begin rubbing mine. I wish I had a third knee. Suddenly she laughs. It turns out she can sort of read mines. The rest of the night is a breeze. We get along—and how. Afterwards, no, it is indescribable! Let’s just say it puts Earth equivalents in the shade. I am in love. At night, I dream of her four eyes, three legs. I wake up humming, “Three legs good, two legs bad” as a kind of mantra. I can’t wait to see her again. Alas, before I can see her again, her father and my uncle settle all their meglanium business, and she is whisked back to Lenithon.

My uncle hands me a package. “From Xenoplat,” he says. When I am in the privacy of my mob, I open it. A bone—cow, dog, Lenithon equivalent? I am touched—a funny bone. I begin to laugh until tears come to my eyes. For weeks afterwards, every time I see a three-legged stool or a tripod, my heart starts to race wildly.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s