Dancing to Louie Louie - A Halloween Story.

By The Technician

Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Halloween,

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A young woman travels a LONG way to attend a Halloween party.

Strange things sometimes happen on Halloween night and no one
notices because... it’s Halloween. On what other night could a
green female visitor from outer space escape notice– well, not
exactly escape notice – it is very hard not to notice a beautiful
naked woman dancing on stage, especially if her beautiful, naked
body, including her hair, is green.

This story is more Sci-Fi than erotic. There is nudity, but no
real sex. It will appeal primarily to the exhibitionists and
voyeurs among us. And, of course, it will appeal to the nerds and
techies. I guess I belong in that last group. After all, I am
“The Technician.”

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WARNING!  All of my writing is intended for adults over the age
of 18 ONLY.  Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual
content.  All people and events depicted are fictional and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should
not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the
difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any
state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the
reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading
immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first
century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if
acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is
included with the article.  This story is copyright (c) 2015 by
The Technician ( Technician666@Gmail.Com. )

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this
story for personal, non-commercial use.  Production of multiple
copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is
expressly forbidden.

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Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell (The Technician}
Senior Project  http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=7753
Handcuff Island http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8160
I, Masochist http://www.a1adultebooks.com/book.htm?pr=8263

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Sta-ie-che braced herself as she saw the solid ground rushing
toward the escape pod. It had all happened so fast that she had
not had time to properly buckle herself into the survival seat.
Captain Ha-ie-mak had literally thrown her into the pod moments
before impact.

They were supposed to be a contact team. At least, Captain
Ha-ie-mak and the four crewmen were supposed to be the contact
team. Technically, Sta-ie-che wasn’t a part of the contact team.
She wasn’t even a part of the Turillian Space Corps.

She had been added to the mission at the last minute for two
reasons, both of which had to do with her position in Turillian
life. Sta-ie-che was a pleasure dancer.

Pleasure dancers did what their name implied. They danced for the
pleasure of others. Often times that meant dancing on stage in
pleasure emporiums for male– or female– Turillians. Sometimes it
meant engaging in what was euphemistically called, “The
Horizontal Dance,” also for the pleasure of male or female
Turillians.

Pleasure dancing was not exactly the most honorable of
professions, but it was legal, and a young woman– or man– could
save up a significant amount of money in just a few years. They
could  then use that money to launch themselves into other
professions that would have been financially impossible for them
to attain.

Sta-ie-che did not need the money. Nor was she planning to become
something else in a few years. Her parents, a space fleet admiral
and a university professor, would have gladly paid for whatever
education she needed for whatever career she wanted to pursue in
life. Instead, she turned her back on them to become a pleasure
dancer. Her father thought she had done it just to hurt him. It
had always pained Sta-ie-che that, to the day of his death, he
never understood why she had done so.

It was not a devious or devilish desire to hurt and humiliate her
parents that led her into pleasure dancing. It was her love of
dance, itself... a love of all forms of dance, not just the
rigidly structured dance of the official Turillian dance troupes.
And Sta-ie-che could dance!

By the time she had entered junior high school, she had mastered
even the most intricate steps required to be admitted into the
Academy of Dance.  Graduation from the academy was a necessary
stepping stone to an honorable dancing career on Turillia. And
although few were selected, she would have been eagerly welcomed
by the academy. But Sta-ie-che never even applied to the Academy
of Dance.

Sta-ie-che was a free spirit who wanted to experience all kinds
of dance, not just the limited selection of “officially approved”
styles. She was especially intrigued by what the star scopes were
now picking up from a very distant planet in a distant solar
system. Their music– and their dance– was not rigid. It flowed
and it moved– sometimes to slow refrains, sometimes to driving
rhythms.

Videos of people from that planet dancing showed them not in the
structured lock step of the dance troupes of Turillia, or sitting
around quietly watching just one person perform the complex steps
of one of the traditional dances. Instead, their movements were
wild and free, and there were often many of them moving and
pulsing with the music at the same time.

It had been when these videos first began reaching Turillia’s
outer ring of sensors that the space corp decided that it was
time to contact this planet. They had been keeping an eye on this
distant planet for some time as it moved slowly through eras of
technological development that in many ways mirrored the
development of Turillia.

From the videos, however, it was apparent that this was a very
war-like planet, much more so even than Turillia, herself. And
now, it was also becoming more and more apparent that the people
of the distant, blue planet were planning deep space exploration.

Such exploration would, eventually, bring them into contact with
Turillia. So, it was decided that it was time to establish
contact and, if the planet showed peaceful intentions, to welcome
it as a trading partner. If, as was feared by many, its war-like
society was incapable of peace, then Turillia would have no
choice but to destroy the planet before it acquired the weaponry
or travel technology to become a true threat.

Everyone on the contact ship was a volunteer. To maintain
secrecy, the contact ship was launched from the fleet while it
was still a great distance from the planet. And because the plan
was to land without being detected, it even launched in full
concealment mode.

But being totally cloaked requires traveling at a very, very slow
pace. In fact, the contact ship had to travel significantly
beneath light speed. Even properly shielded, the cosmic waves
created by traveling at light speed or above would create ripples
in the fabric of time and space that would easily be detected by
Turillian sensors, and perhaps by the planet’s star scopes or
defense systems.

Reaching the planet from the point of launch at sub-light speed
would take two years. A battle cruiser with full power to its
star drives could cover that distance in days, or even hours if
the captain was willing to risk overheating his engines. But two
years is a long time to spend in a small vessel that must
maintain complete electronic silence. Crews had broken in less
time than that isolated in the darkness of space. So, it was
decided that something had to be done to “entertain the troops
during the voyage.”

Sta-ie-che was that entertainment. When it was made known that
the star corp was seeking a pleasure dancer to accompany a
dangerous contact mission, she volunteered. She told her mother
that she felt she owed it to her father’s memory to help in this
way.

There was a second reason for sending a pleasure dancer on the
mission. As near as anyone could determine from the electronic
transmissions which were being captured, the people of this
planet were very similar to Turillians with one major exception.
The people seen in the videos from the planet were pink, brown,
red, or even dark black. All Turillians were an equal shade of
green.

The five members of the contact team had been chemically and
medically modified to be a rather light shade of brown. That,
combined with clothing copied from the videos meant that they
would be able to mix in with the people of the planet in the
early stages of their contact mission.

But so that the main contact group would not be too much of a
shock for the inhabitants of the planet, someone was needed on
the mission who would remain unaltered... and who would be
willing to let the people of the planet examine their body–
visually, physically, and perhaps even medically.

Such an action was obviously considered beneath members of the
space corps. Pleasure dancers, however, by law were never clothed
unless it was part of their dance routine. The climate was
controlled on Turillia so clothing was not a necessity, but
rather an expected social norm– except for pleasure dancers.
Clothing was forbidden them so that everyone would know exactly
what they were. And more importantly, no one would mistakenly
assume that some other Turillian woman was a pleasure dancer when
she was not.

The one item of clothing that pleasure dancers were allowed to
wear was shoes and most wore some sort of protection for their
feet. This was primarily so that they would not injure themselves
in public areas. During a performance, a pleasure dancer was
usually barefoot and naked.

Sending along a pleasure dancer was the perfect solution. It
would keep the crew “entertained,” and someone like a Sta-ie-che
would have no problem allowing anyone– or everyone– to look at
her body.

The two years of transit were relatively uneventful. Sta-ie-che
sang and danced for the crew on a regular basis. She also sat for
hours with them helping them as they practiced the language of
the portion of the planet where they would land. As a result,
she, herself, became rather proficient in the language.

And yes, she also regularly accompanied them to their rest
platforms for horizontal dancing. Captain Ha-ie-mak made sure
that her visits were equal to all five men. “You are a blessing
and curse,” he told her. “You keep the men happy and entertained,
but you can just as easily make them jealous. And that would
create problems for the mission.”

He paused before adding, “Remember, the mission is everything.”

Those words were emblazoned somewhere in every room and cubicle
aboard the ship. “The Mission is Everything” was the motto of the
space corps, and that statement shaped their every thought and
action.

They were just circling into their last orbit before final
descent when the meteorites hit. Another problem with flying in
concealed mode is that you cannot use full shields, and your own
sensors aren’t as sensitive as they would normally be.

The sensors did not warn of the approaching meteorite storm
because of their size. The individual meteorites were extremely
small, but because they were traveling at such high velocity
their energy was sufficient to penetrate the reduced shields and
breach the hull in several points. The holes themselves were
almost minuscule. Life support was able to maintain pressure, but
the impact points were in just the wrong places. Three of the
four control computers were badly damaged at a very critical time
and the craft was barely in control.

The craft had been designed for five men. There was no force
chair for Sta-ie-che. So, as they tumbled toward the earth,
Captain Ha-ie-mak tore the curtain off the wall which hid the
escape pod and literally threw her through the hatch as it
automatically opened. He threw the curtain in after her and
yelled, “Strap yourself in. We’re going to hit hard.”

There was a slight overlay of fear on the captain’s face and in
his voice. Sta-ie-che had never seen that before and she knew
immediately that they were not going to hit hard. They were going
to crash!

As the door to the pod closed, she heard Captain Ha-ie-mak’s
final order to his men, “If any of you survive this, it is
imperative to the mission that you send out the safe contact
message. The damage beacon sent out an attack warning when those
meteorite hits. They will think we were shot down and the fleet
will come in with weapons charged and firing.”

He may have said something after that, but the door had already
sealed. Shortly afterwards she saw the ground rushing up to meet
them. Just before impact, the pod was blown free. Sta-ie-che told
herself that the captain had ejected the pod in an attempt to
save her life, but she would never know. He may have been
sacrificing her in an attempt to save the ship. After all, “The
Mission is Everything.”

His motivations would never be known because the ship, itself,
was almost immediately lost in a fiery ball of flame as it
burrowed deeply into the earth near the top of a large hill. The
concealment shields contained most of the explosion before they,
themselves, dissolved. Meanwhile, the smaller escape pod skipped
off the crest of the hill and bounced across thick vegetation of
some sort until it finally came to rest almost a mile from the
main crash site.

Sta-ie-che climbed slowly out of the crumpled escape pod. She was
bruised, but uninjured. The weather on this planet was not
regulated, however, and she felt the cold air blow with icy
breath against her bare skin. The silky black curtain provided
some protection from the cold, so she wrapped it around her body.
The first layer, she wrapped tightly against her skin. The rest
of the long curtain she wrapped almost like a cape flowing over
her shoulders.

“Well,” she said to herself, “at least it matches my shoes.”

***

What do you do when you are the lone survivor of a contact ship
that has crashed on an alien planet?

“The Mission is Everything.” she said aloud to herself.
Sta-ie-che was not a member of the space corps, but she had heard
those words from her father many, many times. She had also heard
the last orders of the mission commander and there was no one
else living who could possibly carry out his commands.

Sta-ie-che knew that she had to somehow make contact with the
native population. She then had to somehow convince them that she
was part of the space corp. And finally she had to somehow send a
message to the fleet that their crash had been accidental.

‘I have to prevent a war between Turillia and... Earth,’ she said
to herself as she started walking toward a nearby clearing in the
vegetation. ‘And I have to do that with no means of
transportation, and no radio.’

She huffed to blow her dark green hair out of her face and said
aloud in almost a wail, “Even if I can find a radio, I don’t know
the proper frequency or verification codes. Space Fleet won’t
believe me. With my green skin, I shouldn’t have much trouble
convincing the locals that I am not from this planet, but even
then, I don’t know if they will believe me either.”

She huffed again as her hair once more drifted in front of her
eyes and added, “Especially since I don’t know what I need to
tell them other than the fact that the fleet is about to destroy
their planet because our emergency beacon thought we were shot
down when we were hit by micro-meteorites.”

She could now see lights moving in the distant clearing and ran
toward them. The clearing was some sort of road, and the lights
were on a vehicle of some sort that was approaching from the
distance. It appeared to have another vehicle hanging from a
hoist mechanism behind it. On the side of the second vehicle was
a large sign banner that said, “Come to Channel 10's Halloween
Junkyard Jam.” In slightly smaller letters beneath that it said,
“Halloween Night From Dark ‘Til Dawn.”

As she stepped out of the corn field, the joined vehicles
suddenly slowed and pulled over to stop by the side of the road.
A glass partition on the side of the first vehicle opened and a
voice shouted out, “Are you OK? Did you go off the road into the
field? Is anyone hurt? I can send another tow back for your car.”

“I’m OK, ” she answered, hoping that she was pronouncing the
words correctly. “I just need to get into town.”

“Looks like you’re headed for the party,” he replied. “That’s
where I’m going. Get in, I’ll take you.”

A light came on when he opened a door on the other side of the
vehicle. Sta-ie-che gasped as she realized that he could now
clearly see her green skin and hair. She waited fearfully for his
reaction, but instead he laughed and said, “Neat costume.” Then
he added, “I guess you and I are definitely headed for the same
place.”

Sta-ie-che had no idea what he meant, but understood with relief
that he thought that she was disguised in some way for a party.
She decided that it would probably be safer to accompany him
there and then try to figure out what to do next. She remained
quiet as they drove. She wasn’t sure what to say, and besides,
once they pulled away, it was difficult to hear over the roar of
the old engine and the rattle and rumble of the aging vehicle.

“What’s your name?” he said loudly.

Without thinking she immediately answered, “Sta-ie-che,” and
gasped slightly as she waited for his reaction to such a strange
sounding name.

“You’re not from around her, are you Stacey?” he replied. “You’ve
got sort of a strange accent.”

“Stacey...” that was a name she had heard on the videos from this
planet. “I’m from the far north,” she answered. The people from
the far north on Turillia had a strange way of speaking and she
hoped that was also the case on this planet.

“My name is Jake,” the driver yelled over to her. “I’m the early
morning host on Channel Ten. The station does this Junkyard Jam
every year on Halloween, and I’ve been emceing the dance contest
for the last five years. It’s gotten raunchier every year, but
the station still sponsors it because almost every year, the
video of the winner of our dance contest goes viral on the
internet.”

He looked over at her and asked, “Did you see last year’s
contest?”

“Yes,” Sta-ie-che answered. Then she reflexively added, “But I
can dance better than that.”

She wasn’t sure whether or not she had seen the particular video
of which he spoke, but she was pretty sure that what she said
about being able to dance better than the winner was true.
Sta-ie-che could dance better than almost anyone.

“If you can,” he yelled back over the noise of the truck, “not
only will you win a thousand bucks, the station has arranged an
interview and a clip on the Today Show tomorrow morning.”

“What is ‘The Today Show?’” she asked.

As they pulled into a large open area with many vehicles parked
around it– some were even stacked one on top of the other– he
said, “You really aren’t from around here, are you? Are you
telling me that you have never heard of The Today Show?”

Sta-ie-che gnawed at her lower lip as she debated her answer.
Finally she said, “I am a pleasure dancer from the planet
Turillia. I was with a contact ship that was supposed to land in
secret and contact your government leaders. It crashed. I’m the
only survivor and I have to figure out a way to get a message
back to the fleet so they don’t think your government has shot us
down.”

She looked over at Jake with wide eyes as she waited for him to
respond. She didn’t know for sure what he would say, but she
absolutely did not expect his laughter. “Keep it up, Stacey,” he
choked out between laughs. “If you can stay in character that
well for the contest, our winner just might be a green Turillian
pleasure dancer.”

He got out of the truck and hurried over to the passenger door.
“I tell you what,” he said. “With that great costume and makeup,
I can use you in some clips tomorrow morning on our early show.
If you keep in character all night– or at least until I leave
after the dance contest ends at midnight– I’ll pay your
twenty-five dollar entry fee for the dance contest.”

With that he ushered her over to the table where a variety of
women in various costumes stood in line. Jake dragged her to the
head of the line and said to one of the two young women sitting
at the table, “Let’s get her registered so we can get some
background shots of her here at the party.” He laughed and said,
“She says she’s going to win.” Another laugh. “Who knows? She
might. And if she does, we’ll have a great package for my segment
that’s going on network.”

The woman looked up and said, “Name?”

She answered, “Sta-ie-che,” but when the woman looked very
confused, she repeated it as “Stacey.”

“Last name?” the woman said, not looking up from the form in
front of her.

“We don’t have what you call last names on Turillia,” Stacey
answered.

Jake was barely controlling his laughter as he stood behind her.
“I told her that if she stayed in character, I would pay her
entry fee,” he said. “Just put down Turillia as her last name.”

“Address?”

“I don’t know what you want?” Stacey answered.

“Write in the station’s address,” Jake said from behind her. “We
can sort out the official stuff later if she actually wins.”

A few minutes later, she was standing near the side of the stage
with Jake. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m going to save you
for last. You got any questions?”

Stacey looked at the other contestants gathered with her and
said, “I didn’t realize that you have pleasure dancers on your
planet.”

“What do you mean?” Jake asked.

“That girl there,” she said, pointing to a tall blond in a
naughty nurse costume, “she is displaying her body as though
seeking someone to dance with in a horizontal dance. Only a
pleasure dancer would be allowed to do that on Turillia.

“And that woman who is covered in some sort of dye or paint.
Except for some small pieces of tape over her nipples and some
sort of cloth that barely covers her sexual opening, she is
naked. Is that not the sign of a pleasure dancer?”

Jake laughed again. “I have to admit, your makeup is much better
than hers. It almost looks like your hair and skin are really
green.” He lifted one of the folds of the black curtain which
concealed most of Sta-ie-che’s body. “Hopefully it’s as good
under this witch’s robe as what I can see on your face and hands
because you are going to have to lose this in order to dance for
the contest.”

“Pleasure dancers always dance naked,” she replied, “unless the
clothing is worn to be removed as part of the dance routine.”

“You are precious,” Jake answered. “I’m really looking forward to
seeing you dance, but right now I have to do my emcee bit and get
this party going.”

He then leaned in a little closer to her and said softly, “A word
of advice. If you are really interested in winning this contest,
just hang around here at the stage. Let the other girls get drunk
on their asses. It doesn’t improve their dancing, even if it does
really loosen them up.”

Sta-ie-che was not sure what “drunk on their asses”or “loosen
them up” meant. Neither was a phrase in the language programs,
but from the tone of Jake’s voice, it was apparent that it would
be better for her to follow his advice. Besides, she wasn’t sure
how long she could keep up her masquerade in the crowd before she
was discovered. So, for the next hour or so, she stood near the
side of the stage watching the party.

It appeared to her that the primary aim of most of those at the
party was to consume as much intoxicating drink as possible and
to go off into the darkness to have sex with as many different
partners as possible.

‘Not a whole lot different than what young people back home do on
some of our own festivals,’ she thought to herself, ‘but I had
best remain fully sober tonight.’

The deejay, who was also alongside the stage, was playing a lot
of music which she had never heard before. Every so often,
though, he would play what he called “an oldie.” Sta-ie-che was
surprised that she knew almost all of the oldies, but none of
what was evidently new music. ‘I thought I listened to everything
that could be picked up, even what was relayed from the outer
sensors,’ she said silently to herself, ‘... but there seems to
be a gap of many years.’

Then she looked more closely at the vehicles and equipment at the
party. The vehicles she was familiar with from the videos were
the rusted hulks stacked around the edges of the junkyard.
Obviously they were years old and had worn out. The clothing of
those few who were not in costumes was also very different from
what was expected.

“Light-years,” she suddenly said aloud. Then continuing silently
she told herself ‘They forgot about the time it takes for the
primitive electronic signals of this planet to get to Turillian
receivers. The contact crew was prepared for earth life as it was
years ago.’

She gasped and almost shouted, “That means that any message sent
to the fleet with this planet’s technology would take years to
get there. My only chance is to send a message that will get to
General Wi-cho as he approaches the planet, but before he
attacks.”

She knew from her father’s dinnertime conversations that the
fleet would be monitoring the transmissions from the planet as
they approached. That, however, could be millions of messages and
transmissions. Whatever message Sta-ie-che sent had to be
something that would stand out amidst the electronic clutter of
the planet.

The deejay, standing next to her, startled at her outburst, said,
“Man! You are really in character. What are you supposed to be?”

Sta-ie-che replied, “I am a pleasure dancer from the planet
Turillia. Our contact ship crashed and I am the only survivor. If
I don’t get a message to General Wi-cho before the fleet arrives,
they will destroy this planet. We were hit by meteorites, but our
emergency beacon thought we were shot down and sent a message
saying that we were attacked.”

The young man started laughing. “So what do pleasure dancers
dance to?” he asked, pointing down at his control board.

“Let me watch some of the other dancers,” she replied. “I have to
think. It has to be just the right tune. The existence of this
planet depends upon me winning this contest.”

“Whatever you say,” he said with another laugh and then turned on
his mic to introduce the next song.

Finally the dance competition itself began. Sta-ie-che stood by
the stage and watched the dancers as Jake introduced them. The
first was a young blond dressed in a very short, black dress. She
had soft leather, high-heeled boots that came almost up to her
knees and a strange, pointed hat. She looked over at the deejay
and shortly after that a deep voice came over the speakers
saying, “I was working in the lab, late one night...”

The girl swayed slowly around the stage until the music changed
and the voice began yelling– you couldn’t really call it singing–
“He did the mash, he did the monster mash...”

The girl began jumping and moving around almost like she was
running in place and stamping out insects at the same time.
Sta-ie-che almost wanted to laugh at how terrible the girl’s
dancing was. Then the girl threw her hat into the crowd and the
crowd cheered. Her tiny black dress followed to more cheers,
leaving her dancing on stage in just her boots, a lacy black bra,
and a tiny black thong. Just as the song finished out with “Then
you can mash, then you can monster mash,” she whipped off the bra
and threw it out into the crowd before dashing off stage.

The deejay looked up at her as she stood laughing next to the
stage. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“They don’t train pleasure dancers very well on this planet, do
they?” she said with a laugh.

“She’s not the best,” he replied with a shrug. Then, as a very
drunk redhead wobbled onto the stage, he added, “but she’s not
the worst.”

The redhead was terrible. She could barely stand up. She dropped
her clothing at the edge of the stage, staggered to front, center
stage and fell over backwards. She lay there on her back, barely
conscious, with her knees drawn up and her legs spread wide as
her song continued to play and the crowd hooted and made gross
comments.

The deejay looked over at Sta-ie-che and shook his head. “OK,” he
said, nodding his head toward the stage, “she’s the worst... the
worst I’ve ever seen. And she is the worst every year. At least
this year she didn’t puke all over the front row.”

A rather large man dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt
with the word “Security” on it came out onto the stage, picked up
the redhead and threw her over his shoulder. He slapped her ass
loudly as he carried her off stage, but she didn’t respond at
all.

A few minutes later, a very stunning woman in a cowgirl outfit
strode out onto the stage. A white cowboy hat contrasted greatly
with the ebony skin of her face. Her white leather dress, even
with the row of fringe around the hem, barely covered her ass. It
was easily apparent that there was only a very tiny thong beneath
it. A skimpy vest more or less covered her ample breasts. It was
also very obvious that there was no bra under the vest. White
boots with several rings of fringe on the top completed her
ensemble.

This girl could dance. She bounced around the stage as her music
blared. She had a microphone in her hand and was singing along
with the recorded song. When it got to a chorus phrase, she would
point the microphone at the crowd and they would join with “Save
a horse, ride a cowboy.”

The music then changed to an instrumental of some sort and the
cowgirl started stripping off her outfit. Unlike some of the
other girls, she did not throw her clothing into the crowd, but
dropped each piece onto the stage. When she was down to just her
minuscule white thong– and of course, her boots– the chant of
“Take it off, Take it off, Take it off,” roared up from the
crowd.

In response, she toyed with the string sides of the thong for the
final few bars of the song, but it was still in place when she
bowed to the crowd at the end of the dance. After a few moments
of applause, she turned around and bowed deeply to the back of
the stage. When she bent over, it was almost as if she were naked
on stage. The thin white stripe of fabric did nothing to hide her
rear hole which she presented to the crowd. The crowd roared its
approval all the while she was bent over carefully picking up all
of her clothing from the stage. She turned to face the audience
once again before bowing slightly and leaving the stage.

“She could win,” observed the deejay. “It helps a lot if you
sing, and especially if you work the crowd like that. If she
wins, the video of her dance will be all over the net. If it goes
viral, it will be seen worldwide and will be picked up on all the
major news networks.”

“I know how to send the message!” Sta-ie-che exclaimed suddenly.

“You’re really into your character tonight, aren’t you?” replied
the deejay.

“I need something to write on,” she said excitedly, and the
deejay handed her a couple of small cards and a pen. “When the
music changes...” she began writing on the first card

On the second card she wrote down two songs. She handed him the
second card and said, “This is the music I want you to play.”
Then she handed him a third card with orders to give it to “the
big earthling dressed in black.” The deejay was laughing and
shaking his head as she scampered off to take the first card to
Jake.

By the time she returned, two more girls had danced on stage.
Neither was very good. Sta-ie-che stood nervously at the edge of
the stage area waiting for her turn on stage. Jake had said he
was saving her for last, and he kept to his word. She waited for
almost another hour.

None of the other girls who came on stage while Sta-ie-che was
waiting were really notable, except for another girl who was so
drunk that she was barely able to stumble on stage. She was naked
as she walked up the steps to the stage, and it was obvious that
she had recently had sex. At least she stayed upright. The crowd
both cheered and booed as she staggered around the stage
attempting to dance. Finally it became so pathetic that the
deejay faded out her music and the security man walked onto the
stage to escort her off.

When she was gone, Jake bellowed into his microphone, “I’ve saved
this final dancer for last because she has come from such a long
distance to join us tonight. Put your hands together for
Sta-ie-che from the planet Turillia!”

The crowd screamed and applauded as Sta-ie-che flowed onto the
stage, but they soon became silent as classical musical played
from the speakers. She was still wearing the long dress formed by
the black curtain as she pirouetted on point across the stage
like a dancer from the Bolshoi Ballet. As she performed several
of the classical ballet steps from Turillia, the silence slowly
changed to cries of derision.

Sta-ie-che  ignored the boos and hisses until the man in the
black shirt was walking across the stage. She then curled herself
slightly and pointed to the deejay as she pulled a microphone out
from the folds of her dress and yelled, “Hit it!”

The heavy twanging beat of that great oldie, Louie, Louie 
suddenly blared from the speakers. As the security man grasped
her dress, Sta-ie-che spun away from him until she was standing
naked on the stage. She then faced the audience and began a
leg-wobbling dance which she had seen someone named Tina Turner
do on several of the older video transmissions from this planet.

As she danced, she was singing in time to the music. “Ut-ti-ma
Wi-Cho, whoa... oh... oh, oh... pela-too-pa-wa-chi...
ba-la-me-ka.” She repeated it as the music looped once again
through the riff,  “Ut-ti-ma Wi-Cho, whoa... oh... oh, oh...
pela-too-pa-wa-chi... ke-na-muka... ba-la-me-ka.”

Jake’s voice blasted over the speakers, “Sta-ie-che is trying to
send a message to her fellow Turillians begging them not to
destroy our planet. She needs your help. Sing along with her....”

Sta-ie-che pointed the microphone toward the audience as she sang
loudly, “Ut-ti-ma Wi-Cho, whoa... oh... oh, oh...
pela-too-pa-wa-chi... ba-la-me-ka. ... Ut-ti-ma Wi-Cho, whoa...
oh... oh, oh... pela-too-pa-wa-chi... ke-na-muka... ba-la-me-ka.”


The crowd followed along with her. They were totally butchering
the words, but it was loud and raucous. “This time in English,”
she yelled as her dance changed to a bouncing hop across the
front of the stage. She then began to sing, “General Wi-cho,
whoa... oh.. oh.. it was an accident... meteorites... Oh, General
Wi-cho, whoa.. oh.. oh.. it was an accident... do not attack...
it was an accident... oh, oh, oh.”

The crowd began singing with her as she spun and danced upon the
stage. As she bounded from one end of the stage to the other, she
used several of the standard pleasure dancer moves which thrust
her cunt or her ass toward the audience while she simulated the
pelvic motions of sexual union. The noise from the crowd was a
combination of applause, screams, and the drunken shouting of the
words she was singing.

The record was “the long version,” so it continued for several
more minutes. When the song finally ended she stood straight in
the middle of the stage, bowed once using only her head, and
strode from the stage as a proper pleasure dancer was expected to
do.

***

Carson Daley stood in the orange room of The Today Show and said,
“Halloween always brings out the weirdest of the weird, but this
viral Halloween video of last night and today tops it all. We
can’t show you all of this video. We can’t even show you most of
it. Even with portions blacked out by our censors, it’s a little
too much for morning television, but here’s a small excerpt.”

The screen cut to the video at the point where Jake was
introducing Sta-ie-che. Black squares covered her breasts and
pelvic area as she spun out of her dress and began to dance
across the stage. The crowd’s singing was slurred, but
understandable.
Matt Lauer’s voice came up over the sounds of the video. “We had
been planning to show a portion of the winner from our affiliate
Channel Ten’s Halloween Dance Contest anyway, but because of how
popular this viral video has become, we flew in the winner and
Jake Bolton to join us on the show this morning.”

The scene cut to a portion of the set where Matt, Jake and
Sta-ie-che were seated. As the camera came in for a close up of
her green face, he said to Sta-ie-che, “I see that you are still
in costume. That must be some really good makeup to survive all
that dancing and then a flight here to New York.”

“It is not a costume,” replied Sta-ie-che. “It is the separation
curtain from the escape pod to our spacecraft. I was the only
survivor. We were hit by micro-meteorites, but the emergency
beacon broadcast that we had been shot down. Captain Ha-ie-mak’s
final command was that anyone who survived should get the message
back to General Wi-cho that it was an accident and to make
peaceful contact. I am hoping that he got the message.”

She smiled a rather nervous smile and continued, “Otherwise, the
fleet will destroy earth.”

Matt was trying very hard not to laugh as he asked the next
question. “So, do you think he got the message?”

Before Sta-ie-che could answer, Carson suddenly ran into the
image, stopped and looked back into the orange room. “I am being
told,” he said in a very measured pace, “... that our Twitter and
Facebook accounts have just been hacked in some fashion. My
screens are filled with a message that purports to be from
General Wi-cho. He is demanding Sta-ie-che to give the proper
contact frequency and verification codes.”

Sta-ie-che stood up and faced the cameras. She said something in
Turillian and then switched to English. “I know you can hear and
see me, General Wi-cho. And I know that I am but a humble
pleasure dancer.” She dropped the black garment to the floor
revealing her green body. She then stepped out of the shoes and
walked closer to the camera.

Surprisingly, no one on the set moved to stop her and the
director’s voice could be heard yelling “No! Stay on her! Stay on
her! Stay on her!”

“Please do not attack,” she continued. “It was an accident. We
were struck by meteorites that the sensors evidently interpreted
as an attack from the planet’s surface. The proper frequencies
and verification codes died with the crew.”

She paused and a look of deep sorrow covered her face as if for
the first time she fully accepted the death of the five men who
had become her friends. Then she recovered herself and spoke once
again, “I am the only survivor. And I am only a pleasure dancer.
But as the daughter of Admiral Mo-cha-nee, I was bound to
complete the mission. This was the only way I could think of to
send you a safe contact message.”

She paused and looked directly into the camera in front of her.
“The mission is everything,” she said quietly. Tears of relief
were streaming down her face as she added, “Peaceful contact has
been made. I have discovered that the people of this planet are
not that much different from the people of Turillia. Peace is
definitely possible between us if we both want it– which I’m sure
we both do– and if we are willing to work toward it.”

She paused once again to wipe a tear from her eye and said
softly, “I am sure that the government of this planet will
transmit all needed contact information to you shortly.”

***

And that, my friends, is how one Halloween night, a naked
pleasure dancer from the planet Turillia became the first alien
ambassador to planet Earth.

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