SGM Seeks LTR in NYC: Sex in Space! A Science Fiction Story.

Captain James T. Riley headed down the corridor on his way to the bridge, an extra spring in his step. Every crewman he passed stopped and stood in place as he walked by, a sign of respect to one’s captain that Riley was still getting used to. He wasn’t the youngest captain in Starfleet, but he was certainly the youngest ever to be in command of the USS Enterprise, and he knew it would be a while before he was accustomed to receiving such austere signs of obedience from crewmen twice his age.

“But, hell, I’m worth it,” he thought, smoothing his hair with one hand. Oh, yeah. Totally worth it.

When he walked onto the bridge, all of the crewman stood.

“Captain on the bridge,” his first officer, the tall and beautiful Commander Jessica “Jessie” St. James, called out. She stood poised and alert, her long brown hair tied in an elaborately braided knot behind her. This hairstyle exposed the slight points of her ears, evidence that her lineage was one quarter Vulcan. “And three quarters high-larious,” she had told Riley when they first met.

Jessie and Riley had been best friends since the very first day of their freshman year at Starfleet Academy, and that he had been promoted to captain first was just the whim of fate. In fact, he often felt their positions should be switched, but such were the cards they were dealt.

“Report, Commander,” he said, nodding to her, suppressing his desire to wink.

The slight, momentary curl at the corners of Jessie’s lips showed she was fighting the same urge. They had been working together in this capacity for months now, and he had to get used to the professional atmosphere a captaincy demanded. Somehow, giggle fests and pillow fights seemed inappropriate on the bridge of the Enterprise.

Hot? Yes. Professional? Ehhhh … maybe not so much.

“A disabled ship appeared on our sensors about five minutes ago, Captain,” Jessie said. “We’re en route to investigate now.”

“Life signs?”

“One, sir. The ship itself is small – sensors indicate a Danube-class vessel.”

Riley’s brow furrowed. A Danube-class ship was barely more than a shuttlecraft, incapable of warp speed. “A Danube out here, this far from any inhabited planets or space stations.”

“It’s unusual, Captain,” Jessie agreed.

“Let’s proceed,” he said. “But cautiously. Mr. Brown, take us close. Impulse speed. And let’s put it on screen.”

The helmsman, Lieutenant Charles “Charlie” Brown, was also a friend of Riley’s. He excelled at navigation and had an instinctive knack for anything technological – unfortunately that intuition didn’t extend to men, as he had once set up the captain with a sexy ambassador named Da Bunj that had led to a rather disastrous outcome.

Still, he was a good man, a good officer, and a good friend, and Riley was glad to have him on board.

On the view screen, the small ship looked like a pebble in the gigantic lake of space. As they drew nearer, Riley could make out its designation written on the side of its hull: the Apolatino.

“Hail them, Charlie,” Riley ordered.

“Hailing now, sir,” Charlie responded. “We’re getting a response.”

Suddenly the image on the viewscreen changed from the tiny ship floating in space to its interior, dominated by the very handsome face of the lone soul inside. The man was about Riley’s age, with skin the color of caramel, and long, dark curls partially obscuring his face.

“What’s up, hottie,” Riley whispered to Jessie.

“Rein it in, Captain,” she whispered back, rolling her eyes.

Riley stepped closer to the viewscreen. “This is Captain James T. Riley of the USS Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?”

The face on the viewscreen broke into a wide grin. “Couldn’t be happier to meet you, Captain!” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Rockster. I don’t suppose you would mind giving me a lift?”

******

So, okay, when we last left off, I was getting all kinds of romantic with Rock Star on the roof of his palatial apartment building. It was a beautiful, warm night, and the wind whipping around us at the dizzying height was like a soothing (if forceful) caress.

It was exciting, kissing him, and definitely sexual, with that kind of pulsing that runs through your body, you know? The kind that starts simultaneously at the top of your head, your fingers, and your feet, and then just rushes inward, meeting in a crash right at your junk.

I wanted to have sex with him. Hot diggety damn, I wanted to have sex with him. Real effin’ bad.

But I didn’t.

Yeah, you heard me. I know, I know, rules were made to be broken, and I shouldn’t be mindlessly beholden to my “no sex before the fourth date” rule if the mood strikes and I really like the guy, but what I’ve found is that the sex is usually so much hotter if you want it for a little while before giving in.

Not to mention, you can only get to know someone so well over two dates – which is all Rock Star and I had had – and as we all know, there are a few things you should talk about before getting it on, and I like to know a guy a little better than I knew Rock Star before that conversation becomes a thing.

So after making out with him for a good long while, I told him it was time for me to go.