Space Aliens vs. Cowboys

"It's feeling warmer in here." He began in a calm and factual tone. "And as you notice that, you will ask yourself what you can do about it. Of course, with the professor joining us, you won't want to unbutton your blouse will you?" I watched in amazement.

"You're thinking about unbuttoning your blouse, but don't let the fun of doing that keep you from feeling self-conscious in front of us, because with each button you undo, you will find yourself feeling warmer and more excited." Winona smiled and began to unselfconsciously unbutton her blouse, having reversed the intentionally confusing negative command in her open subconscious mind. With the third button, her breathing grew heavy, and she tossed her head back in a very feminine sign, bringing her bra-restrained breasts out from her open blouse. The front-clipped pair of scalloped cups had a Year 2000 Victoria's Secret look to it that did not go with her Western informal attire.

"Winona, you know that your breasts are very beautiful and that men want to see them. In a few minutes, I am going to suggest that you wake up and join in our conversation, but when you find our talking boring, you will remember that they are pretty in your bra, and as your mind drifts away from our conversation, you will think about how much prettier they are out of the bra, and you know that our attention will be drawn to you when you open your bra... as that will give you power over us." She signalled her comprehension. "You will find that there are so many things to think about, that you will have great difficulty in consciously remembering what I just said, but your subconscious will remember it all for you. And now that you are thinking of that as exciting, you will calmly awaken, feeling relaxed and ready to join in our discussion. Awake now!" And she did. With a perky smile, she tucked her legs under herself on the middle seat, and looked at each of us expectantly. Jock smiled with satisfaction, openly admiring her breasts. Then he turned to me.

JOCK'S STORY

"This alien thing is getting out of hand. I didn't mean to draw a lot of attention here, and you've turned up just as I was going to try and wrap it up. Your timing is good, actually, because you can get the word out discreetly, to the men and women who really matter. I can't exactly write a letter to the editor about it, and besides, the paper here only comes out about once a month.

"I know from reading your articles in that you would understand the problem that I was dealing with when I instigated this alien stuff. It had been an easy way out as a post-hypnotic suggestion, explaining to a couple of attractive women as to what had happened to their time.

"It kind of is more complicated than that in Lynda's case. Winona here is the bright one of the pair, eh?" He smiled and Winona laughed in embarassment, modestly nodding agreement.

"Lynda has a body that won't quit, and she's wonderfully athletic, but she has noooo clue as to what's going on. You know, all the study and training I went through kept stressing how easy it is to entrance intelligent women, and it kept reassuring me that I could handle that. I was supposed to be impressed by that and I was. But no ever taught me what to do with someone really ground down by life, and not too bright in the first place." Jock looked genuinely frustrated.

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Winona interrupted to explain.

"Lynda grew up around here, went to high school here, and got married to Frank, her husband when she dropped out to run away to Rawlins with him. She hasn't traveled like I have. I've been to Denver, I've been to Salt Lake City.

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I pounced on Jock's statement that "no one ever taught me...."

"Are you telling me that you studied seduction methods somewhere?"

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"Well, yes," Jock responded. You know about the program, because you mentioned it in your other reports."

He reached into a folder where he kept log sheets, maps, and the other typical paperwork of a long-haul commercial driver. He shuffled through the papers and pulled out a diploma with a familiar logo.

"Here it is," he proudly announced, "the School for Social Expression -- that's what the diploma says, but you know it's really the School for Sexual Expression."

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I took it from him and immediately flipped it over. I preferred not to closely examine the intertwined figures of the hypnotic seal on the diploma, and wanted to check for the link to the school's real purpose which I expected to find on the reverse side.

Sure enough, there was a hidden-camera photo of Jock in bed with two girls, one of them screaming in unimagined ecstasy as he plunged into her and the other licking her lips in wet anticipation.

"Your final exam in Sausalito?" I queried.

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"Yup. Two college girls from Monmouth, Oregon. Down there for Spring Break and looking for something unique. Now that was fun for all of us, and they were happy to be first on my list. You see, I took this course when I realized how many lonely nights I was spending on the road, and how boring and dumb the hookers at truck stops usually were. It made sense to me-- I had to go back to driving school to learn to drive the big rigs, and now I had to go to school to learn how to handle the kind of women that I wanted to have.

"I pretty well have my routes covered now. A phone call as I come into town, and they're telling their boyfriends (or their husbands in a couple of cases) about their headache or shopping trip or whatever they know their guys want to hear, rummaging through their dressers for their sexiest lingerie, grabbing their diaphragms or checking their pills, and hurrying down to the truck stop to meet me.

"It took me a while to realize that I wasn't getting some kind of magic power over women-- I was just meeting women who wanted to do these things anyway, and now with the training, I can ask them confidently and I can release the inhibitions that would have made them miss out on this otherwise.

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Jock spoke with the matter-of-fact assurance of a man who deals in tangible things, practical problems. No wonder the Weigh Master liked him.

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"I'm pretty conscientious-- that's why the company likes having me on their rigs-- and so I've installed triggers with each of the women. Even if I'm a bit tired from the road, I touch the right place and suddenly they remember the most beautifully erotic moments in their life, all now collapsed into this time with me. They've told me that they never regret slipping away for our rendezvous. I always recharge their batteries for the next time, too, with a little story to file away in their subconscious till something reminds them of it. You know, it's great to have a woman tell you later how she woke up one morning with the horniest thoughts of you-- had to see you as soon as possible.

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Jock said this all in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he was discussing the best route to Billings. Most people would have thought he was a braggart, but in fact everything he said seemed plausible to me.

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"What was missing was someone to fill in this long gap between Cheyenne and Salt Lake City. I wasn't thinking about that when my partner and I came through Medicine Bow, though. He wasn't square with his log and I heard that there was a big safety spot check planned on the Interstate so I took the old highway. When we got to Medicine Bow, we heard that a portable checkpoint was set up just west of town, so we called it quits for the night and checked into the Virginian.

"You probably don't know what goes on here on summer nights, especially Saturday night. Somehow, this place is on a German tourist itinerary. The Germans, especially the German women, are fascinated with cowboys, and this is a good place to meet them. They all want to dance with a cowboy in the saloon at the Virginian Hotel. Actually, come to think of it, their checklist probably says that they should fuck a cowboy who they meet at the dance.

"It works out pretty well. Guys come in off of ranches from up to 200 miles away, and they are the real thing-- rangy, strong, and horny as hell. On the drive down in the pick-up, they've been talking about nothing else, getting each other cranked up for the hunt. Within a couple of hours of that time, Ilse or Helga or Katerina or whoever finds herself being lifted onto a big old brass bed in one big swoop, in a room that looks like it's straight out of an old Western. She may be a software engineer in real life, but now she's a dancehall girl in a movie, and the man she's picked out is ready for several takes. And when she gets back to Deutschland, she's going to let her girlfriends know what happened, and they're going to see their travel agent as soon as possible.

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It made sense to me, but I wondered what it had to do with the alien story. I asked Jock about that, but we were interrupted. Winona sighed in a "I've heard this before" kind of way, and unclasped her bra, pulling it back so that her unsupported breasts were attractively framed by the slack cloth. She grinned at us, enjoying our inability to keep our eyes off of her.

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"Dream now!" Jock commanded, and Winona returned to her pleasant trance. He instructed her to forget the conversation which he and I would now have, and to enjoy delving into her own thoughts for beautiful or stimulating memories. She acknowledged the instructions, and we watched as she drifted into her own mental space. The direction which she was heading was easy to guess, as her nipples rose to taut erection and her breasts firmed. Her lips parted slightly, and now and then she licked them.

Jock admired his handiwork for a moment and then entered the heart of his story. Winona began to gently massage her breasts as he continued.

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Continued in Part 2.