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From: Wayne Mitchel <thetechnician1001@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: Wayne Mitchel <thetechnician1001@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Dancing to Louie Louie - A Halloween Story     Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Halloween, Public Nudity
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Date: Sat, 03 Oct 2015 19:10:02 -0400
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   By The Technician

   Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Halloween, Public Nudity

   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = 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."

   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

   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.

   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Published eBooks by Wayne Mitchell
(The Technician} Senior ProjectĀ
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

   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * *

   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 corps 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
corps 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 meteorites hit.  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 corps.  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
micrometeorites."

   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 emceeing 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-ieche 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.

   = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = END OF STORY = = = = = = = = = =
= = = = = = = = = =



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