The Alien with Two Dicks
Balls O. Steel walked down the neon-lit streets of Paradisus, the largest city on Zaladon IV, the former pirate Gribbl on one side and Otto rolling along on the other. Marc was off finding some exotic new strains of weed to plug into his powered armor-slash-bong.
Which, honestly, was what Steel would have preferred doing right now. He had figured on a simple rescue, a grateful princess, maybe some sexy fun time with the grateful princess, and a fat reward at the end. Pretty simple.
Instead, he was now missing the princess and one of his own crew. They were somewhere on Zaladon IV but Steel had no idea where. Which sucked, because Zaladon IV was a sizable planet and Steel really didn’t feel like traipsing over every inch of it looking for the two missing women.
One option was just leaving them here but the end result of that would be Covalent Blonde eventually tracking Steel down and venting her frustration, which would lead to him drinking his meals through a straw and pissing them into a bag. So that option was right out.
The other option was to go find Big Mod.
Big Mod was an old friend of Steel’s who was now living on Zaladon IV. Big Mod was also a seven-foot tall large-breasted purple hermaphrodite with two dicks, more muscles than Arnold Schwarzenegger and an inclination for revealing clothing that would make a nudist blush.
None of that bothered Steel, of course. It was a big galaxy out there, and if you couldn’t dig a multitude of aliens jazzin’ around and doing their alien things, then it was a better idea to stay back home on whatever backwards rock you were from. No, what made dealing with Big Mod difficult was the fact the his (Big Mod generally self-identified as male) two dicks were independently intelligent and very communicative. Steel had dealt with a wide variety of lifeforms in his time, but two large penises who alternated between effusive praise and bitter bickering was still enough to give him pause.
If there was a third option Steel couldn’t think of it right now, which led to he, Gribbl and Otto entering the writhing, drunken mass of debauchery that was Big Mod’s Boozatorium.
Walking through the soundproof force-field doorway and into the Boozatorium was like being slapped in the face with a White Zombie concert at maximum volume while a drunken elephant licked your face with a tongue made of psychedelic butter. Small doses of pheromones and hallucinogenics circulated through the air, pumped into the circulation system at regular intervals to keep the clientele horny, stoned and happy. Dancers in diamond-chip body glitter bounced, writhed and gyrated on the prismatic dance floor to a deafening beat. Random anti-gravity bursts would carry waves of them into the air, where they spun and tumbled before floating down again. In darkened corners and in well-lit booths couples coupled, swingers swung and gangs banged.
Glancing up to the domed roof, Steel saw an arachnid larger than a man spinning a crystalline web. A dancer caught in the anti-gravity swell spun too high and floated right into the web, where he happily thrashed in a drugged haze, grinning even as the arachnid took notice of him and edged closer, venom dripping from its fangs. Gribbl looked up, too, and visibly paled.
“Stay close, “ shouted Steel, leaning in close so the frog could hear him. “This place can get a little rowdy.”
Gribbl nodded as they continued their way through the bar. It was a long, circuitous route, as the Boozatorium was the size of several city blocks. Centered around the immense dance floor, the rest of the bar was divided into a maze of smaller venues, each one with a unique theme of its own. Here a room of frigid ice where chionophiles from a dozen planets sat naked on benches of solid ice and licked cylinders of frozen alcohol, there a room where visitors bounced and frolicked in giant, colorful organic bubbles. Steel glimpsed a stone man wrestling with an obsidian woman in a pit of lava in one room, the crowds cheering and making bets even as the molten rock splashed the protective force dome mere inches from their eager faces.
The trio made their way to the back, to Big Mod’s private room. The doorman, a diminutive azure-skinned Traskin smiled at Steel as the three approached.
“Mr. Steel,” he said with a wide, sharp-toothed grin. “How good to see you again!”
“Graz,” said Steel with a nod. “Is Big Mod in?”
Graz’s smile grew wider.
“Oh, yes,” he replied, extending his arm toward the force-field doorway. “And he will be so delighted to see you!”
With a nod Steel went into the room, followed by Gribbl and Otto.
As soon as they entered the heavy din of the pounding dance music disappeared, to be replaced by the lilting sound of a harpsichord-like instrument being played by a pretty silver girl with glittering blue gems for eyes. The bar was a single massive ruby, cut and shaped into a semi-circular shape with a single six-armed bartender in the center of it, mixing drinks with one set of hands while serving and cleaning glasses with the others. The room was emptier than the rest. Only a few aliens lounged in the oversized, undulating furniture, drinking exotic alcoholic beverages from long-stemmed glasses and smoking from three-foot curved amber pipes. All of them were friends of Big Mod’s, since strangers rarely gained entry into his private sanctum, and all were nude or nearly so. Steel, lacking a shirt, was spectacularly overdressed. As was Gribbl in his overalls.
Otto was fine, because Otto rolled through life naked anyway.
Acknowledging a few familiar faces as he walked by, Steel headed for Big Mod’s private booth at the back of the room. He was almost there when Big Mod, who had been deeply enmeshed in a romantic holo-novel, looked up.
“Balls,” Big Mod cried out. “Is that you?”
Big Mod grinned, letting the lights of the room shine off of his diamond teeth. He was wearing a silver collar from which hung strands of tiny little bells, and matching bracelets, so that each and every movement he made was accompanied by a soft ringing. Aside from gold body glitter and a selection of gems affixed to his torso, he was otherwise naked when he vaulted out of his seat.
The purple hermaphrodite rushed over, his twin penises chattering in excitement, and Steel found himself crushed in a massive hug, his face mashed into Big Mod’s huge breasts. He could feel the penises as they exuberantly tapped against his legs.
“Balls! We miss you,” the right penis exclaimed.
“You never come visit no more,” said the left one. “Look, looky here! I have a new necklace!”
Big Mod stepped back so that Steel could see that, yes, the left penis was wearing a diamond collar. The penis twisted left and right, showing off its jewelry.
“Very nice,” Steel said sincerely. “You certainly wear that better than I could.”
The left penis blushed, while the right one said, “Is all he talks about! Me, I wanna getta stud through my chin, but Big Mod says no.”
“That’s right,” said Big Mod. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
“How ’bout tattoo?”
Big Mod sighed. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
He spotted Otto and picked him up, planting a big kiss on the globe. “Otto, you are looking as fit as ever! I don’t know how you do it!”
“I’m on a liquid diet,” Otto replied. “Plus I do a lot of rolling.”
“And who’s your new friend,” asked Big Mod, as he looked Gribbl up and down. “A Gulumphian, unless I’m mistaken?”
“That’s Gribbl,” Steel said with a nod. “He’s…new.”
“It’s good to have new friends,” said Big Mod as he ushered the three back to his table. He had a deep but surprisingly soft voice. His penises, however, spoke in higher-pitched tones, and Big Mod shushed them as the group sat down. He set Otto down on the table and settled into the booth between Steel and Gribbl. The right penis settled in next to Gribbl’s leg and he looked down uncomfortably.
“He likes you,” said Big Mod. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”
“I might, but I got no teeth,” said the penis with a grin.
Big Mod poured out three glasses of a bright red liquid. Taking one, he sat back in the booth.
“So,” he said, after taking a sip from his glass,”I take it you need my help, dear Balls?”
Steel nodded. “What have you heard about Princess Tasmin?”
Big Mod guffawed and shook his head. “That little ultra tart was causing quite a stir around these parts. She hit the planet with a fistful of credits and spent them faster than a drunken Gurak. Then she got herself kidnapped by a bunch of space pirates and that was the last anyone’s heard of her.”
Gribbl took a sip of his red drink at the mention of space pirates. He hadn’t taken part in the actual kidnapping of the princess, but he was still nervous about being on Zaladon IV. The alcohol burned its way down his throat, making him cough.
The right penis looked up at him. “Hey, you okay, pal?”
Gribbl nodded, eyes watering, and wondered just how in the galaxy he’d ended up in a bar bigger than his ship, talking to a penis. Life was strange, sometimes.
“We rescued the princess,” Otto told Big Mod. “Well, kind of. Long story short, she ended up back here on Zaladon IV with Covalent Blonde, but we have no idea where.”
Big Mod fanned his face with long fingers. “Goodness! I didn’t hear many good things about the princess, but on the other hand, Covalent Blonde once threatened to tie my dicks in a knot and beat me to death with them!”
“To be fair, you were drunk and your dicks were kind of being…well, dicks,” Otto said. “And then when one of them threw up on her new shoes…”
“That was him,” claimed the right penis. “He canna hold no liquor!”
“I said I was sorry,” said the left penis. “She not so understanding.”
“Look,” said Steel. “The thing is, you know everything that goes on on this planet, Big Mod. And we could really use your help.”
Big Mod brushed a strand of long red hair out of his face. “Well, not everything. Just everything worth knowing. But, yes, if the princess and your aggressive blonde friend are on this world, I’m sure I can track them down.”
Tapping the table, Big Mod brought up a holographic computer screen. It was layered with information in a variety of languages as well as in numeric coding, so much so that it was incomprehensible to most. But in addition to being a purple hermaphrodite with two talking dicks, Big Mod was also an informational savant. He was able to parse through enormous amounts of data with ease, picking out relevant bits and piecing them together in mere seconds. Scrolling through the screen, Big Mod nodded, then frowned, then, with a tap on the table he turned the screen off.
“Well,” he said with a sigh, “there’s good news and bad news, my dears. The good news is that it appears that the princess and your friend are very much alive and well.”
Steel looked at Big Mod with some concern. “And the bad news?”
Big Mod finished off his red drink in a single gulp. “The bad news is, they have evidently kidnapped King Zixtik of the crabmen!”