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    Lady Bliss
    Lady Bliss
    Lady Bliss
    Ebook238 pages3 hours

    Lady Bliss

    By Odie Hawkins and Ralph H. Vernon

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    About this ebook

    The seven astronauts who are about to embark on a Long Duration Mission (LDM) have decided that they would like to have female companionship.

    "Lady Bliss", designed by the mad scientist Dr. Eveready, is cautiously welcomed by the astronauts. Fast forwarding back. The LDM has been successful, with help from "Lady Bliss", but she has to remain a secret because of the sociopolitical climate.

    NAPA ("National Association for Protection of Astronauts", -- think Orwellian) decides that "Lady Bliss" should be disassembled. The astronauts decide to release her into space.

    A Solar Gulf Stream washes "Lady Bliss," onto the shores of the Planet Azii, where she is thought to be the re-incarnation of Mali, the It Being.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateJan 12, 2007
    ISBN9781467075053
    Lady Bliss
    Author

    Odie Hawkins

    Odie Hawkins was a member of the Watts Writer’s workshop that spawned the Watts Prophets, a collection of spoken-word artists, considered the forebears of modern hip-hop.He is the co-author of the novel “Lady Bliss,” and the author of “The Snake, Mr. Bonobo Bliss, and Shackles Across Time. 2011 he was a panelist at the Modern Language Assoc. at the Hilton, LA Live. Additional information may be found on Facebook page, his website:www.odiehawkins.com., his blog, and/or just Google his name.

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      Book preview

      Lady Bliss - Odie Hawkins

      © 2010 Odie Hawkins and Ralph H. Vernon. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      First published by AuthorHouse 7/5/2010

      ISBN: 978-1-4259-6038-4 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4670-7505-3 (ebk)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2006908819

      Printed in the United States of America

      Bloomington, Indiana

      Contents

      Official NAPA statement:

      PART II

      LADY BLISS MALI, THE IT-BEING

      Official NAPA statement:

      For the past three years unmanned pathfinders, logistical and environmental re-engineering missions have been preparing us for our first manned mission to Planet X.

      With the discovery of sub-surface microbial life forms and liquid water, one of mankind’s greatest dreams is on the verge of becoming a reality. Under the auspices of the international consortium, People United for Space Study and Exploration, Acronym P.U.S.S.E., a human habitat will soon be established on that distant planet.

      Our mission plan calls for us to send seven male astronauts on a five-year mission of exploration and possible colonization. There will be a number of problems to be concerned with an undertaking of this magnitude, challenges to the collective intelligence of the men and women of NAPA.

      XXX

      The neatly lettered sign at the entrance informs us that this is the Astronaut Training Center, Houston, Texas. The seven individuals who have been designated to make the historic exploration are having a meeting. It is exactly fifty days before take off.

      The men, all superbly conditioned scientist/athletes, The Gang of Seven they’ve chosen to call themselves, lounge around the meeting room, sipping bottled water, energy drinks, no false caffeine or sugar charges, listening closely to Jason Strong-Horse, one of their most outspoken members.

      "What do they expect us to do, stay wacked out on some kind of Space Age ‘salt petre’ for five years?! I don’t want that, I just don’t think it’s fair or realistic for them to expect us to go without female companionship for five years, that’s asking too much.

      I don’t know about you guys, but I have a hard time after a week. And, I do mean hard."

      He grabs his crotch to make his point, his fellow astronauts share lascivious laughter. What the hell are you raising your hand for, Coltrane? Where the hell do you think you are – fifth grade?

      These men have shared a lot of hard training together, they’re at ease with each other.

      It’s not that, Jason, it’s just that I only had one hand free at the moment…uhhh.

      Once again the group laughs, it’s a good vibe scene.

      Well, I just want to say I’m in complete agreement with you. I’m about 100% certain that every man in this room has had thoughts on the subject. Can I hear a nay from anyone?

      The seven future space travelers look around at each other, no nays here.

      Nelson Yang shifted uncomfortably on the over stuffed sofa. Jason Strong Horse took notice of his discomfort.

      Well, c’mon out with it, Nelson….

      Look, let me be up front with you guys about this…I feel just the way you do, but I don’t see a snowball’s chance in hell of having them do anything about this…this problem….

      I’m not saying they would, or they could, but I sure as hell don’t think it would hurt to put in our request. Look, before I step off the end of the gangplank about this, let’s get the rest of you guys in on this. Coltrane is up for it, no pun intended. Nelson is a team player. How about it guys, where do you stand on this, Bob?

      Bob Fellows, I feel the spirit of Shackleton in my bones.

      Look, man I’m twenty-four years old, you think I want to store up jissum for five years? I say, let’s go for it!

      Steve?

      Well, what can I say? As you know, as a full-fledged macaroni, I get a hard-on just thinking about a good pasta. Hell yeah, let’s put the request in….

      Don?

      Let me get this out of my gut first. I know most of you guys have always thought of me as a Bill Gates nerd…

      Who could do five hundred sit ups! Nelson Yang, a fellow nerd called out. Don Armstrong blushed.

      Well, thanks for that. But, I have to say that I wouldn’t be bent out of shape by not having…uhhh…sexual, some sex, for a period of time. But I am a member of the team, and I’ll go along with what the ‘Gang of Seven’ decides.

      They give him a dry cheer, you could always count on Don Armstrong to be square.

      Jack?

      Jack Schmidt is a Jack Nicholson look-alike and, some would say a reasonable facsimile of his Hollywood look-alike, with his perverted sense of humor….

      Look, I didn’t speak till I was twelve, ya wanna make something outta that?

      5’9. The tallest of the seven, 136 ½ muscular pounds, hopes to be fat after his astronautic days… I like beer."

      Look, its all a pile of ca-ca o.k.? But that shouldn’t deprive us of the simple pleasure of having a simple naturalistic ejaculation, from time to time…Jesus Christ! What do these fuckin NAPA idiots think we’re supposed to be? Monks for NAPA! NAPA Monks! Let’s go for it and if there’s a Nurse Rached ahead, let’s mow her down!

      The Gang of Seven claps and yells their approval of the unanimous vote. Jason Strong Horse reclaims center stage.

      O.k., so we’re all together on this, that’s a first.

      All applaud in agreement. Jason does a little head forward bow to acknowledge himself as the M.C. for the group. Nelson Yang will be the designated proposal writer, they all know that. They’ve scoped each other pretty well, and Jason Strong Horse will be the primary spokesperson for the group. If he falters, Jack Schmidt will use his charisma to obtain the desired results; that’s how charismatic he feels.

      Nelson will be the one who puts it into the language that NAPA understands.

      "Look, guys, we haven’t asked for much ‘til now. Let’s shoot this through our NAPA rep. and see what the reaction is. We’re not wording this, Nelson, as though it were the conditions for a strike, or anything like that.

      But let’s declare it ‘Mission Essential.’ No doubt in my mind that they’d have to consider what we’re concerned about, if the language is hard enough."

      Once again Jason Strong Horse grabs his crotch and leers at his audience. Don Armstrong frowns at the action.

      I feel that I have to go on record here and say that I think it’s a ‘mission impossible’ but…

      Jack Schmidt stops him in mid-sentence.

      No butts, Don just tits’n ass, that’s all we want!

      The Gang of Seven lets out a raucous cheer.

      Jason leans across the table to speak to Nelson Yang.

      O.K., Nelson ol’ man, it’s on you. How long do you think it’ll take to draft our request?

      What’re we requesting?

      We’re requesting some pussy in space, that’s what were requesting.

      You think they’d consider sending a pro out there with us?

      We won’t find out ‘til we ask, will we?

      XXX

      And so the Mission Impossible request, skillfully written by Nelson Yang, was steered into the bureaucratic tanglefoot commonly called Mahogany Row. First stop, the desk of the Project Manager; next stop, the NAPA Council the movers, shakers and decision makers for the manned mission to Planet X.

      XXX

      Peter Stankin, President/CEO of the National Association –Preservation of Astronauts, did a slow careful pan of the Big Nine, the members of his NAPA Council.

      Ernest Nishimora, Japanese-American Sansei, as strait laced, conservative and analytical as anyone he’d ever met. A NAPA loyalist, official title: Head, NAPA Quality Control.

      Manuel Torres, third generation Mexican-American, (a guy who takes great pride in being able to use his bi-lingual brain to talk out of both sides of his mouth). He smiled graciously at Peter Stankin’s round the table look.

      Official title: Head of Public Information (propaganda). Vincent Vinnie Norton, multi-cultural, responsible for minority relations, a fun loving guy. He took Peter Stankin’s all encompassing look in with a look of his own, What’s the deal?

      Angelina Grice, African-American, who had once thought about having her upper front teeth widened to resemble her personal heroine, Condi Rice, the NAPA Coordinator, stared at her boss’s mouth waiting for the pearls she knew would spill out.

      Diana Chen, Department Head Space Psychology, alternative medicine expert. And, finally, John W. Angles, Head of NAPA Liaison, second in command. My middle name is Wayne, and yes, I do stand for the values that have made this country great!

      Martha Styles, personal assistant to Peter Stankin and Deborah Rhinehardt, Styles’ executive secretary, completed the group at the conference table. After a few moments of suspense to capture their full attention, Peter Stankin spoke, in low, confidential tones, one of his favorite attention getting gambits.

      Well, it seems that our friends over at NAPA have saddled us with a very interesting problem… Space psychologist Diane Chen’s left eyebrow shot up. She was keenly interested in all of the interesting problems that astronauts might have.

      The way I read it, it would seem that our astronauts have come to the collective conclusion that female companionship is critical for the health, morale, and general welfare of the crew, therefore making it ‘mission critical,’ with a footnote; it would be inhumane to think otherwise.

      Once again he made a slow pan around the table, mentally recording first impressions. He took careful note of the amused expression on the faces of Manuel Torres, Department Head of Public Disclosures (propaganda), Vincent Vinnie Norton, Department Head of Minority Recruitment/Development, and Fred Thomas, Head of Space Activities in Orbit.

      John Wayne Angles, his second in command, (Hell! Who else is better qualified to rule the planet? We’re feeding most of the bastards on Earth, why shouldn’t we do what we want to do?"), stood up to speak, the veins on the sides of his neck cording up with repressed anger.

      This sounds like mutiny to me and, if I remember my space history, there’s a way to deal with mutiny….

      Uhhh, John, I don’t think we’re ready to go there….

      John Wayne Angles sat down, grumbling to himself. The nerve of those nerdy little bastards….

      Let’s knock this around a bit O.K.? Ernie, what’s your read on this?

      Ernest Nishimora, a NAPA Loyalist to the bone, Head of NAPA Quality Control.

      Well, first off, Peter, I gotta say…this is not a problem we haven’t thought about. We gave it a lot of thought very early on.

      Martha Styles and Deborah Rhinehardt exchanged startled looks. What the hell is going on here?

      "We ran the numbers a whole bunch of times and came out with the same conclusion. The increase in weight would completely alienate our thrust to payload ratio.

      We would have to re-designate the propulsion system and the crew compartmentalization. We would have to double the amount of consumables on board. And, at the average cost of ten thousand dollars per pound to send an object into space, the cost of putting seven female astronauts on board at, let’s say, an average weight of one hundred pounds each would run us…(he does quick sum math on the pad in front of him) eight million, four hundred thousand and that’s just for the lift off, it doesn’t include the five-seven years of upkeep. That figure doesn’t guarantee everybody total bliss and happiness either."

      Diana Chen chimed in… Inevitably, there would be a spectrum of human issues surfacing. Are we talking about creating boyfriend-girlfriend astronauts? Are we just talking about marriage contracts for the duration of the probe?

      Martha Styles stabbed her finger in Peter Stankin’s direction –- What about pregnancies, Peter? Are we going to go into the baby killing business?

      Yes, Peter, what about that?

      Peter Stankin maintained his stoic expression. Let ‘em rant, good.

      Peter, I just don’t think it would be feasible to recruit, train and put seven ‘astronauttes’ into space within the time frame we’ve established. I feel like these guys are really asking for too much.

      A heavy moment of silence erupted into a space passionate charged room. Angelina Grice, the only African-American woman on the Council, who had once thought of having her upper fronts widened in imitation of her personal heroine — Condi Rice – made a sly, quick study of the people around the table. Now Peter, I think we have to make some moral considerations here. I mean, are these guys serious? Are they fully conscious of the consequences of what they’re asking…?

      Martha Styles and Deborah Rhinehardt, never fond of Angelina Grice, nodded in agreement with her question. Politics were about achieving an end, no matter who helped you.

      Peter Stankin, pulling rank, waved off all future comments.

      "Listen up, everybody, I’m not gonna repeat myself. We have 45 days before blast-off and counting.

      Planet X won’t be in the proper position for another three years or so. Our window is now. I have to think that our guys took this fact into consideration before they wrote their proposal. And, since it’s an official NAPA request we can’t ignore it. As you all know we thought we had dealt with this thorny little problem by providing these guys with a pharmaceutical solution. And advising them to use a specially designed ‘mastro-bustion condom.’ We thought the solution would be effective because it solved the weight and disposal problems, no free floating cum floating around to gum up the works."

      Several members of the Council smiled at the idea of cum on the wing, and Peter Stankin’s deadpan delivery.

      Now then, having said all of that, I want to take a brief statement from each of you, pro or con, so we can figure out how to deal with this…John, you’re on.

      John Wayne Angles stood once again, his anger more controlled then before….

      "I’ll make my opinion quite clear. I just say No to ‘astronauttes’ or whatever the hell else these guys are proposing.

      If medication and masturbation was good enough for those who went before them, why isn’t it good enough for them?"

      Thank you, John. Ernest?

      This astronaut team was chosen based on a profile drawn up by ‘People United for Space Study and Exploration,’ or as it’s commonly called ‘P.U.S.S.E.’ There have always been a number of ‘X’ factors involved with this project. The one we’ve had the least control over is the human ‘X’ factor….

      Uhhh Ernie, we have other people who want to share their comments.

      O.K., o.k., what I’m getting down to is this, we expect these guys to occupy a relatively small space together for five years, in a hostile environment, they’re going to lose 35% of their muscle tone and bone mass by the time they return. If they return….

      Ernest Nishimora allowed a sinister shade to color his last words.

      Manuel?

      "Look everybody, let’s face it, these are not ordinary men. They know that there is a strong possibility that they may not return from this mission, but they’re going anyway.

      So, let’s give them some credit for knowing what’s important to them. Let’s face it, the only worthwhile reward we can give them to help them through this ordeal is exactly what they’re asking for…some pussy. I can’t find any fault with their request."

      All of the women, except for Dr. Chen frowned at Manuel Torres’s colloquial language.

      Vince?

      Just spit balling here, Peter, but why don’t we hire a pro?

      His suggestion was greeted by several startled glances. The meeting was threatening to become a bit risqué.

      That is, if we could find a qualified, one hundred and ten pounder who was willing to take on seven horny astronauts for five years. It would only cost us about one point two mil to get her up there. I think that would be a real cheap piece, uh, price to pay for the service she’d perform.

      Angelina Grice didn’t wait for Peter Stankin to invite her to speak, and her voice bristled with contempt for Vincent Norton’s suggestions.

      I can just see the tabloid headlines in all the papers – ‘NAPA Launches Whore Into Space’ – the Righteous Moralists would eat us alive, and it would be really bad for their clean cut guy images, wouldn’t it?

      Martha Styles and Deborah Rhinehardt nodded in agreement. They didn’t really like Angelina Grice very much, they shared the page on this one.

      Angelina Grice, always protecting her own back (she had studied Dr. Condi Rice’s book on The Art of Being on Both Corners), did a little back flip with her closing remarks.

      I know Vincent was only kidding about the prostitute thing, but if we did go that route, I should think that this matter would obtain the highest level of secrecy coding. After all, we want to give the brave astronauts their privacy.

      Martha Styles and Deborah Rhinehardt looked betrayed. Diana Chen looked down

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