Date: Sat, 17 Jan 2004 20:15:42 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Dash Hogan and the Martian Menace

		     DASH HOGAN AND THE MARTIAN MENACE
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     [This group of three short stories are done tongue-in-cheek in loving
imitation of the old sci-fi adventures I read as a child, when it was
thought that life would be found everywhere, even on every planet and moon
in our sky, and that getting there was just a matter of figuring out how to
build a spaceship. This, then, is not a presentation of the Solar System or
even science as it is...but darn it, wouldn't it have been a lot more fun
if it was?]  Dash stood inside the Martian city with only one question on
his lips and in his mind. "Where is everybody?"
     The city did NOT look deserted, in that the streets were neat and
clean, the buildings were intact and at night, the lights beamed from every
building, which were the lights he had seen from orbit and even from Earth
on clear nights when he got to use the Space Academy's super-telescope and
its optically perfect lens over ten miles in diameter. The canals glimpsed
by Percival Lowell so painfully not long before had been crystal clear with
such a telescope, and their cities as well.
     "Then where is everybody?" Dash wondered. It was like he had landed in
an Earth city's business district on an early Sunday morning; the entire
city was simply not being used right now.
     Lacking any better objective, he wandered over to the canal. There it
was, only another thing not glimpsed in Earth's telescopes was that the
entire canal was covered with thick layer of gray steel, and he could hear
the water flowing beneath, secure in its sheath. Good thing he wasn't
thirsty, that much steel could fight off anything that would steal the
water; such as that dust storm coming in over the desert just now. He ought
to get back to the ship and take cover until it blew over....
     "Oh, of course!" he said, slapping his hand against his forehead. "I'm
a ninny." He went further into the town and looked around. There ought to
be a door on one of these buildings and he could knock or something
similar. It was so hot and dry outside here, with the all-encroaching dust
blowing, blowing. Of course the Martians were all inside, it was about to
get very dusty outside!
     Dash began to look for an entrance into one of the buildings, but he
hadn't expected the suddenness with which the storm would strike. While he
had passed some grueling survival tests back on Earth, he hadn't remembered
that Martian horizons were nearly 60% closer than an equivalent one back on
Earth, and the flat Martian landscape let the storms build up speeds they
couldn't attain on Earth. While Dash was still within the Martian city, the
storm caught up with him.
     Martian horns blared out at him, clearly warning of the storm. He felt
the grit building up in his eyes, on his clothes, inside every orifice of
his body, snorting, he said, "Yeah, yeah, I know!" Now an entrance into the
Martian buildings was no longer a convenience, but a necessity. He couldn't
make it back to the ship in time!
     He fumbled in his search as well as he could, for the dust was
blinding him. The wind was growing fiercer by the minute and after a time
he found a surprising side-effect to it, the lighter Martian dust, silicate
crystals, were systematically destroying his clothing and causing a hundred
small blisters to form on his skin! It was like being attacked by a
microscopic army all wielding knives and spears, too small to destroy, the
horde could slash at him with impunity, and did.
     Now he was desperate. The lights on the buildings swivelled to focus
on him and in that somewhat helpful light, he continued his search. The
lights followed him as he moved, new lights coming to bear on him as he
moved out of range of the others. The Martians must know he was out here,
why else would the lights be trained on him so well? But if so, why hadn't
they come and gotten him already?
     He was exhausted, standing, struggling against the wind which was now
up to hurricane force, and beyond it. Now he was trying merely to not be
blown away! He moved down next to a building, a smooth, featureless
building, the lights shining on him, and he clung, but he was slipping,
slipping! He could hold on no longer!
     He barely felt the hands that picked him up, his clothes now so many
rags, his boots disintegrating, but he felt it when the door closed and
that wind, that horrible, scouring wind and dust, ended and he could rest
in the blessed silence and breathe clean air again, safe....
     He awoke some time later, in an oval bed in the central area of the
room. It was very much a bed, though without a pillow, he was covered by a
wonderfully satin-like spread that warmed and comforted him. He felt his
face gingerly, knowing how it had been a morass of blisters from the
dust...but only smooth skin greeted his fingertips; he had even been
recently shaved!
     The door opened and a Martian entered. Again, Dash saw evolutionary
convergence at work, the Martian was as manlike as could be, right down to
the nipple that danced brownly below one bare shoulder. The Martian wore a
tunic that draped over one shoulder and came down to his thighs, yellow
tights and dark green boots completed the ensemble. Both arms were bare
entirely, and the hair, if any, of his head was covered with the golden cap
bearing a red mark upon it, not quite star-shaped.
     "How are you feeling now that you are awake once more?" Dash
heard. But the man's lips didn't move. Telepathy!
     Dash started to get out of bed, then stopped, for he was buck naked
under those sheets. "I'm fine." Dash decided to speak out loud. "How long
have I been asleep?"
     "More than five doram." the man said. "That equals a bit less than one
half of your own planet's rotational periods."
     About ten hours then, Dash thought to himself.
     "That is correct."
     "Please only answer questions when I speak them out loud." Dash
said. "I cannot control my thoughts the way you can. Tell me, how have you
cured my skin from the duststorm's effects, the blisters it caused?"
     "We have had long experience with the cutting dust, and our people
have a simple salve that repairs the majority of the damage quickly." the
man thought at him with a gentle smile on his face.
     Quite a nice looking man, Dash thought. Wouldn't mind showing him a
little gratitude! "Uh, don't answer that." he said as the man smiled. Have
to watch my thoughts on this planet!
     "Actually, I was going to say that we were hoping for your gratitude."
the man said to him.
     "Well, anything I can do for you, I will." Dash said. Like rip those
clothes off you and...damn it, I've got to stop thinking that! Say
something else. "What's your name?"
     "We don't use names; telepathy makes them unnecessary since all know
whom is being addressed at all times." the man said. "But as you are
unschooled in your thought-trains, you may pick a sound/thought to identify
me if you wish and I will respond to it."
     "Okay." Dash said. "I'll call you Hiram." And he smiled, for Hiram was
a character on a tri-vid show back on Earth, an easy-going, good-looking,
muscle-bound, dim-witted character who was famous for getting into
ridiculous predicaments.
     But the Martian just smiled. If he saw the comic, he also saw Dash's
own desires underneath that for the handsome actor who played Hiram on the
show. "Very well. You may call me Hiram."
     "All right, Hiram, now that you've saved my life, what can I do for
you in return?"
     "You can save my people."
     "How?" Dash wanted to know.
     "You have seen how our world is dying. Our lower gravity has let too
much of our air and water escape. All our history has been a slow losing
battle against the encroaching dust. Now we have to keep our water covered
at all times, and all our farms and our cities are entirely underground."
     "I saw that." Dash said. "Nearly cost me my life when I couldn't get
indoors, in fact." A thought occurred to him. "Hey, why then do you have
all those lights going all the time if you all stay indoors?" Mars at night
was aglow with lights from outer space.
     "We cannot all stay indoors at all times, or we would perish. Many
things must be done out of doors, repairs, constructions, travel, transport
and other such things. But you have seen how the storms come up suddenly,
and how fearsome they are."
     "I did indeed." Dash said with feeling.
     "The lights are for our workers outside; they can work knowing that no
matter what happens, the lights are there to guide them and will guide any
rescue efforts."
     "Sounds like you have the battle for survival on this planet licked."
Dash said.
     "We do." Hiram agreed. "But the cost was high before we won that
battle. That is why we now need help from Earth...and from you."
     Fair enough, Dash thought. "So what can I do for you here and now?"
We'll talk about the rest of Earth once I see what that is, he thought.
     "We need to check you for genetic compatibility." Hiram said.
     "I don't understand."
     "Let me summon some of the others, and you will see." Hiram said.
     He must have sent out a telepathic signal Dash couldn't hear, for in a
short period of time, six other Martians appeared, to stand before him in a
row.
     "Can you see our problem now?" Hiram asked him.
     Six men in a row. Six Hirams, near as made no difference. Small
differences in age, but other than that, just the same. "You're clones."
Dash said with comprehension. "That's why you're telepathic."
     Hiram shook his head. "We were born just as you were. But our genetic
population is small, so small that we must take ever more desperate steps
to avoid genetic mutations and dangerous combinations of genes, and that
has caused us to create more and more genetically identical people as our
genetic drift removes more and more strains from the gene pool. We have now
come to an end of our abilities to combine our genes to create diversity,
we can only create more of the same very few variations. These men are not
my brothers, but from a genetic standpoint, they may as well be. I would
not dare take any Martian women for my wife for the same reason, the child
would be bound to suffer a dangerous percentage of recombinant genes.
     Dash whistled. "You are in a pickle." He said with a flair for
understatement. "And you need to import some baby-makers from Earth."
     "We don't wish to lose our own genes entirely." Hiram clarified. "As
much as we can, we want to intermix our own genes with those of Earthmen,
if they are compatible, create children that are yours as well as ours. In
that limited way, then, the Martian race can continue, as Martian-Earthman
hybrids. So if you would now come with us so we can collect the needed
samples, for I fear our need is urgent. We have been monitoring you for
many years, we feared you might not arrive in time and you nearly did
arrive too late."
     Samples? Dash could well guess what kind of samples! Still, the
Martians had saved his life, surely a load of his jizz was a small enough
payment!
     He considered again his state of undress and decided to disregard
it. Hell, if he was about to jerk off into a test tube, what was the harm
in a little nudity?
     He expected to be taken to a laboratory, but instead, it was more like
a hangar. A large machine sat in the center, a dish pointed to the
sky. Dash would have called it an anti-aircraft gun if he'd had to give it
a name, but the ceiling was quite solid.
     "What is this place?" Dash asked.
     "This is the genetic collector." Hiram explained. "It is a psychic
device, amplifying our esper abilities. Once we have tuned it to Earthmen's
frequencies, so to speak, it will help us collect what we need."
     "I thought you wanted a genetic sample from me." Dash said.
     "We do." Hiram said. "And if you will get up on the collection plate,
we will begin." He gestured to a large, flat-topped area roughly
triangular-shaped (if you ignored a projection off one foot of the triangle
that connected to the large dish-thing.)
     Hmph! Oh well! Dash obligingly climbed onto the surface, it was warm
to the body though not soft, rather like a heated steel plate,
uncomfortable only in its hardness, not in its temperature. He lay down on
it lengthwise and said, "Okay, now what?"
     Hiram's answer was to grasp Dash's cock and begin to gently manipulate
it. The other men, moving in concerted, practiced unison (they were
telepathic, Dash assumed any amount of conversation was going on in this
room, it was just outside of his range), began to stroke his body. Dash had
fingers running over his body, gently stimulating the skin, bringing the
senses alive to scream out their delight in being touched by these warm
fingers, warm, warm!
     Dash moaned as the two were at his head leaned in to press their lips
to his skin. He reached up with his hands and cupped both their necks, and
two pair of lips kissed his shoulder blades at one time, again, the
pressure was exactly what he needed to have his senses awaken and clamor
for attention, more, more!
     Hands were on his ribcage, on his stomach, on his legs and thighs!
Hands were on his feet! God, his feet, he hadn't thought about them for so
long, but they responded so strongly to the touch of these Martian men,
that he wondered how he would ever make love again without wanting a foot
rub in the process!
     His cock pulsed happily under Hiram's diligent pumping. When his
breath began to come faster in his mouth, Hiram said, still ever so gently,
"We must ask you to turn over now."
     "Why?" Dash asked, but he began to move as he said that. The hands,
the friendly hands, helped him move, turning was the easiest thing in the
world, his body supported by hands that knew just where he needed help and
when. Telepathic lovers are the best! He decided.
     "We must have your seminal fluid upon the collection plate's surface."
Hiram said. "I shall continue to pleasure you as will my friends."
     But that turned out to be something less tenable with Dash on his
stomach. Dash raised up on his knees and spread his legs wide and Hiram
jacked him that way for a while. But the position was awkward and Hiram
seemed to realize it as Dash's cock diminished, not shriveling, but losing
its tensile strength.
     There must have been some Martian jabber going over his head
(literally), for Dash found himself with company on the collection
plate. One of the men had sat down on the narrow head of the triangle and
Dash saw a firm seven-inch Martian cock waiting for him. He wondered what
it would taste like as he leaned over and opened his mouth.
     The answer was coppery, like placing a brand-new penny on your
tongue. Dash had done that as a child, and the surprising flavor of the
metal had intrigued the young Dash. He had savored it, but the flavor
became too intense after a moment and he spit it out and went for a drink
of water.
     This had the copper-taste, but combined with other, more familiar
flavors, the taste of masculinity embodied, the familiar almost musky aroma
combined with something else to make it like tasting a new dish in a
restaurant, where old items appear in new and exotic combinations and you
stare at a lemon peel curled into a delicate tassel and wonder at the
marvels you have not yet seen in the world all around you.
     This was like that, there was the musk of maleness, but it combined
with...was that cinnamon? Call it something cinnamon-like. And another,
almost sweet taste, but sweet like love's first kiss when you stare at the
person, whom you'd known for years, but now were seeing in a new light and
it's like you've never seen them before.
     Musky, cinnamon-y, sweet, this was the dong that nestled on Dash's
tongue and when his tongue danced over the glans and crinkled the foreskin,
it gushed forth a fluid, Martian precome, and that flavor of cinnamon was
stronger than ever, with what he could only call a peppermint undertone
without any of the caustic properties of the Earth mint.
     Dash felt a tongue (Hiram's? By now he wasn't quite sure which one
Hiram was!) press up against his anus and the tip demanded entrance like a
kitten, totally unable to open the door by its own strength yet ignorant of
this inability, trusting to its superior lot in life and the eager
attentions of its humans to obey its every whim, sitting there serenely and
certain that the door will open.
     The tip pressed against his anus again, like the paw of a kitten, and
Dash found his sphincter opening and the tongue bored in like a soft-nosed
worm tunneling inside soils that should defeat such a soft intruder, and
yet it never does.
     When the tongue was indeed fully inside of him, when Dash's anus was a
tight circle around the fatness of its middle, Dash's body remembered
itself and the cloaca tightened, and Hiram (if it was he, Dash decided to
think it was so) removed it hastily. Dash sucked on the cock which was
attached to a Martian writhing in ecstasy at his touching, and waited for
what would come next, sure as rain, certainty, because it waited inside his
mind, which here was an open book.
     And Hiram's prick pushed into Dash's butt and again his body seemed to
be more than willing to comply, so much so that he suspected some sort of
mental control was being played upon him, at the unconscious level, to make
the body relax and not fight at a time when it normally would, blind and
stupid and standing by its orders, unyielding and loyal, and it must be
overborne by force. That wasn't what happened here, Dash felt his body move
and adjust as the long pud slid inside him, so much that it was totally
without even the slight pain an experienced man can manage. This was as
comfortable as sitting in your father's lap and having his arms around you.
     Hiram didn't hesitate (he didn't need to!), but began to move in and
out of Dash's ass with long, slow, sure strokes, these motions were hitting
Dash's body exactly right, more than right, they were perfect, each one of
them. Again, the answer was in the mind, the connections that flowed from
him to this army of uniformly handsome lovers.
     As if Hiram and the others saw that he saw, knew that he knew, they
suddenly opened their minds to his and let him share in the experience that
they had been having all along. Dash caught it all of a sudden, it was like
having eight sexual encounters at once, he was a part of them, a part of
all of them. He had eight bodies, his own and seven new ones, and they all
were in stages of growing passion. A little more, a little more, one of his
bodies said, and then I'll come!
     Slow and easy, slowly let it build, make it last, said another one.
     Faster, yes, suck me faster, said a third.
     Mmmm, nice dick, thought a fourth.
     Oh, God, this Earthman has such a tight ass, thought another, who had
to be Hiram.
     Suck suck suck suck!
     The others were in there as well, sharing as he was sharing,
experiencing all of it, all at one time. And Dash knew that this grouping
wasn't unique on Mars, that there were entire cities engaged in this sort
of group-orgy elsewhere, if his mind could possibly hold it, he could share
that, too...but there was the fear that so many other minds with his would
drive him insane. Hosting seven other thoughts inside with his own, he
realized, was pretty close to his limit!
     But it intensified his pleasure in a way he had never known, he was
not just being fucked, he was fucking, as well, and both the joys were his,
he wasn't just sucking that Martian dick, he was a Martian getting sucked,
and he was proud to see that he was doing a wonderful job, even the best
this Martian had ever had! And he knew that his expertise was being read
and comprehended, and when this was done, all the Martians would be able to
tap his ability and suck dick right along with him.
     As he gained their experiences as well.
     Climax assaulted his brain of a sudden, and he suspected that one of
the Martians had realized what Dash had realized and chosen this mode of
interception, sending his brain into the ecstasy of climax, to wrack him
with ejaculations and hope that this would fend him off long enough, just
long enough, and it would, he knew, even as he fell into his joy that
dashed him about like a rag doll.
     Dash was coming, he sprayed his jizz all over that collection dish, if
that was what it was and he knew now it wasn't, his real use to the
Martians had been this lovemaking, but he was unable to do anything about
it now, he was sending out wave upon wave of orgasm to be read, understood,
catalogued...and used...by the Martian forces.
     In a very real way, he had just betrayed the human race. He took
comfort as his spurts of jism slowed, that he had been tricked utterly.
     And once he had come, he wasn't done with it, now the other seven men
took turns in sending their pleasure out to be shared by the rest, Dash
included, and he felt climax as one and the other squirted their seed, and
he saw with bemusement that the sperm was light blue in color, maybe it was
copper indeed that he had tasted there? It glowed like a fine silver on the
collection dish (or so they had named it) and one by one, they fell into a
stupor Dash shared, for the body wasn't used to such a series of climaxes,
his body writhed from the sequence of second-hand orgasms, he could only
endure, endure.
     "Oh, you bastards!" he muttered when it was finally, finally
done. "How am I going to tell the General about this?"
     "It was necessary." Hiram said to him, contrite but feeling thoroughly
justified at the same time. "We needed your untempered sensations."
     "Read me like a book, didn't you?" Dash said, his voice bitter.
     "We shall not harm the human race." Hiram said. "But the percentage of
genes we can use from you is limited. We shall need a vast supply of it if
we are to save our own people." Righteousness pervaded his thoughts. "To
save your own people, wouldn't you have done as we did?"
     "I don't know." Dash admitted. Which was as good as saying yes, in
this case.
     Reassured, Hiram went on. "Now that we have stored the sensations
needed to bring humans to climax, we can turn the collection ray on
them. Beaming it to Earth will only inconvenience your people for a short
time."
     "Just long enough for them to cream their pants, every last man on
Earth." Dash pointed out.
     "We will first get them to open their pants." Hiram said. "After all,
we must be able to catch it as it flies out."
     "Teleporting it with your minds back here to Mars, courtesy of this
collection ray." Dash said. "Then you'll have your tubful of jism (how much
come would two billion men spurt out, anyway? Make it a pool-full!) and can
start in processing it."
     "That much will just be barely enough." Hiram said. "With that, we can
leave Earthmen alone."
     "For how long?" Dash asked him. "You'll still have genetic drift,
won't you?"
     "We will only have to impose upon Earthmen about once every twenty
years, I should think." Hiram said. "Is that such a high price to pay, to
save our people from extinction?"
     "You could have asked." Dash pointed out.
     "You might have said no." Hiram returned.
     He had a point! "Can I at least warn Earth?" he said. "Nobody is going
to want to be operating heavy machinery when he has to pop his cookies."
     "We can permit a brief warning." Hiram conceded.
     * * * * *
     Back on Earth, General Tolson was angry at his radio officer. "Is that
all he said?" he asked.
     "Yes, sir." the radio operator responded. "The message is so
incredible, I can hardly believe it myself."
     "Well, let's have it." Tolson said.
     "You won't believe it." the operator warned.
     "Come on, tell me."
     "It's just three words, General, three words that carry an astonishing
message."
     "So what are they?" Tolson barked.
     The operator took a deep breath, then said them slowly, one word at a
time.
     "MARS."
     "NEEDS."
     "JISM!"

				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM