Installment 3 in my ongoing unfinished Sci-Fi saga is here for your perusal. Hopefully it is not too awful. It is a little bit racy in a junior-high sort of way… and it might turn your eyes black to read it, but it is also a little bit funny.
Canto Three – In the Tadpole Chambers Aboard the Base Ship
Alden Morrell was astounded by the changes alien technology had made in him. His wife, Gracie, inhabited a child’s body which had been artificially created by the Tellerons. Her mind had been lifted out of her dying brain and placed into a container which had automatically adopted her DNA. So the aliens had offered him a chance to be the same age and size as his now child-like wife. They had put him in a device that resembled a tanning bed and processed him like a naked frog in a microwave oven. When he had come to… no more body hair, penis reduced to a tiny pink mushroom, bald head re-forested with hair, and a renewed youthful energy he could barely contain.
Alden sat now in the moist sauna-bath that was known as the Tadpole Chamber wearing only his fruit-of-the-looms. Gracie sat next to him, naked, and feeling apparently far less embarrassed than Alden himself felt. Five naked Telleron tadpoles were with them, Davalon, Tanith, Brekka, Menolly, and George Jetson. The tadpoles were the reason they were there. Nutrient baths were absolutely necessary to the continued health of the amphibianoid children.
“We should dance,” suggested Brekka. She was a lovely female Telleron tadpole with skin of forest green and having a delicate reddish blush on cheeks and neck, as well as her shapely buttocks. Alden shuddered when he realized what he had been looking at. He looked away and blushed deeply maroon himself.
“Why do you always want to dance?” asked Tanith, another pretty young female of emerald green. “You suggest that forty times a day.”
“Since we learned to do that on Mars,” said Brekka, “I haven’t wanted to do anything else. I want to dance like the Mickey Mouse Club kids we saw on the Earther broadcasts.”
“It doesn’t hurt to exercise,” said Davalon. “I learned that by playing baseball. It makes the muscles hurt at first, but then you come back stronger and more filled with power.”
Alden beamed at that. He had been the one to teach Davalon about baseball during that brief time on Earth when he had tried to adopt the abandoned fin-headed alien boy.
“The computer system has Mickey Mouse Club music recorded from Earther TV,” reminded Menolly. “We just have to ask for it.”
“Yeah! Great idea!” said George Jetson. Like many of Captain Xiar’s children, George was named for something on Earther TV that Xiar particularly liked. “Computer, play all the Mickey Mouse Club songs.”
Alden didn’t know the song that started to play, but it had a good dance beat and the green children began to sway and move and dip and boogie. It was a wild collection of dance moves from Earth filtered through alien perceptions.
“Let’s dance too,” said Alden’s beloved wife Gracie. She stood and held out a hand to him. “We can show them how it’s done.”
Alden was forty years old and Gracie was two years younger. But now they inhabited children’s bodies, having been reduced in age to twelve and ten. Their health was so much better, and many years had been added to both of their lives. Still, it felt unnatural and somehow wrong. She was younger now than when they’d first met in Belle City High School in Iowa when he was seventeen and she had been fifteen.
“Do you really have to be naked in front of the children?” he asked her in a whisper.
“Why, yes, you old coot. I think I do. You should take those soggy shorts off too. This is like a sauna bath after all.”
“You know Mrs. Castille wouldn’t approve.”
“That old fuddy-duddy doesn’t have a say in this. Prudes would tell us we have to wear swimsuits in the bath tub because they have issues, not because we do.”
Alden nodded. He didn’t agree, but he nodded because that was what he thought Gracie wanted. She was a mere child again, but his love for her made his twelve-year-old body want her mightily. He had to dance bent forward because he didn’t want mushrooms blooming and embarrassing him while he danced with naked girls in an alien nutrient bath.
*****
Catch a Falling Star 
The Need for Easy Pants
I have never been an advocate of hard-to-wear pants. Pants are suppose to be an aid to civilization, allowing a man to hide away the sensitive and sorta ugly bits that make him more like the animals, and in certain situations, unable to access the rational data-base in his little bean-like head. My own need for comfortable pants is further complicated by an enlarged prostate that presses on the spine, as well as two lower vertebrae eroded by years of arthritis. Pants have to be tight enough to hold me together, yet not so tight they cut off the blood flow and kill my lower half. It would be danged inconvenient to have to walk around without any legs, or any butt, or any naughty bits. If I wore Urkel pants, I might even lose my heart and my stomach, things I’m almost certain I would miss. And I wouldn’t be able to do the Urkel dance, either.
Of course, there are times when the whole issue of easy pants can become a real concern. I am trying to make my way through the labyrinth of problems of the retired on a budget. So I tend to favor cheap pants. I buy most of my pants from Goodwill Inc. They are mostly used pants… or previously loved pants… or previously worn-out pants. The pants I am wearing at the moment have developed holes in the region of the crotch… not a good place for unwanted air-conditioning. And the pants I bought to replace them have buttons in place of a zipper in the fly. I didn’t realize the potential for spontaneous bathroom dancing that the combination of buttons and arthritic fingers could cause. My best pair of blue jeans are the kind of denim known UN-affectionately as “high-water pants”. This, of course, leads to inconveniently aerated ankles.
The final verdict is in about easy-pants issues. To avoid all pants-related issues you have to give up wearing pants. And I do still have issues with becoming a nudist as well. So the struggle to obtain and wear easy pants is a never-ending battle that we simply cannot afford to give up on.
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Filed under angry rant, autobiography, commentary, feeling sorry for myself, foolishness, goofy thoughts, humor
Tagged as easy pants, goofiness, humor, Jimmy Neutron, paffooney, Steve Urkel, wearing pants