Sex And The Single Spaceman

The Kindness Of Strangers

The look on Nate’s face was probably no more surprised than mine as we waited in silence to see if we might have misheard some creaking or groaning of the Beacon’s ageing bulkheads. Silence, and then there it was again, an unmistakeable tapping on the main airlock.

“Are we expecting anyone?” I asked, breaking the spell of surprise. 

We both headed for the external monitor at the same time, and switching it on saw hovering a few metres away from the Beacon a VW Combi Van, painted all the colours of the rainbow, and sporting an external rocket drive that I’m sure wouldn’t have passed the rigorous testing requirements of the Interstellar Retrofitting Licensing and Authorisation Bureau. 

Just outside the airlock door was a spacesuit-clad figure, waving casually at the camera as he waited to see if anyone was home.

“Oh no, a Combinaut!” muttered Nate, clearly less than enthusiastic about these solar-system travelling nomads. 

I on the other hand beamed delightedly at this new arrival, having encountered various members of this far-flung community on more than one occasion, with some very pleasant experiences ensuing. They were, to put it gently, a randy lot, travelling mostly alone for months if not years, and usually very pleased and grateful (if you know what I mean…) to meet another flesh-and-blood creature.

For those unfamiliar with this motley crew, Combinauts (or Interstitial Nomads as various government agencies still insisted on calling them) appeared on the scene very shortly after the cost of space travel went through the floor with the discovery of anti-grav propellant and super-cheap rocket boosters. Almost overnight every moderately well-off household had its own short or mid-range family space-tourer parked in the driveway, and the skies were suddenly very, very full. 

Nobody is quite sure who first came up with the idea of retrofitting old VW Combi vans, making them space-worthy and releasing them into the far reaches of the galaxy, although many believe it was Kevin “Midget” McTaggart, an old surfie who pined for the bygone days of “heading down the coast” and “living the life”. The vans couldn’t launch themselves and first needed to be towed into space, usually cadging a lift on one of the space freighters which plied the trade routes between planets, before being released into the void to sink or swim.

Certainly Kevin was one of the first documented retrofitters, but as he totally disappeared on his van’s maiden voyage around Mercury (he wanted to go somewhere warm…), we shall probably never be sure how successful his early experiments were. What we do know is that his demise, far from discouraging other lunatics, inspired a whole generation of like-minded madmen (and a few mad women), to take up the challenge, and the space-ways between the planets were now criss-crossed by hundreds (possibly thousands) of these endearingly goofy contraptions. 

Volkswagen, hoping to cash in on the craze, had released its own super-sleek version, but the super-expensive price tag that came with it put it way beyond anything the Combinaut-type could possibly afford, and the retrofitting continued happily and madly apace.

And now it seemed we had a Combi of our own to deal with, and I for one was only too happy to roll out the welcome mat, not to mention my cock, still sticking out of my shorts and harder than ever at the prospect!

Nate, on the other hand, was all for turning out the lights and pretending we weren’t in, which was neither sensible nor hospitable. Given that the Royal Australian Lightship Service had, as its core value, the safeguarding of all interstellar travellers we could not have turned our visitor away, even if we had both wanted to. Nate knew this and was already preparing the airlock to receive our guest as I fumbled with my inconvenient tool, trying desperately to manoeuvre it out of sight.

I finally managed a semblance of respectability just as the inner airlock door whooshed open and out stepped our mystery traveller, already fumbling with his helmet, clearly keen for the fresher air of our oxygen recycling unit. No sooner had he lifted the dome over his head than a jumble of long, blonde hair cascaded down over his face and shoulders, momentarily hiding his features from view.

Then the show began. Tossing back his curls to reveal a bright, laughing countenance he began almost tearing at his spacesuit, expertly unlatching, unzipping, unbuttoning every complicated flap until he was able to free himself from its constricting embrace and he stood before us, as naked as the day and with an erect penis that looked almost painful in its tumescence. 

“G’day guys, back in a minute” and he was off, haring down the corridor, complete with a couple of cartwheels, before his sinewy back and beautiful, smooth buttocks disappeared around a bend in the Beacon’s structure. We could hear his laughter as if from some distant valley, utterly infectious, and we both laughed with him.

He must have circumnavigated the ship about 8 or 9 times before finally slowing down and coming to a panting, huffing, sweat-soaked halt in front of us, cock still as hard as when he’d started, his face a mask of pure pleasure as his breath came in great, heaving gasps, mingled with laughter and a stream of delirious profanities.

“The name’s Mitch, and if I don’t fuck one of you right now my cock is going to explode!” 

Another burst of laughter followed this announcement (almost hysterical) and Nate and I looked at each other, and then at Mitch’s cock, and then at each other again, and then at Mitch’s’ cock again, and so on and so forth, for about two minutes. 

I was about to suggest tossing a coin when a low moan escaped Mitch’s lips and his cock started leaking copious amounts of precum, mere moments before his entire body started to spasm and he went off like a rocket, shooting ropes of cum into the air again and again and again. 

He staggered back against the corridor wall as if hit by a blast, bracing himself against it as his penis took over, white ribbons of jizz falling like heavy rain on the metal floor. His moans became almost a yell as his orgasm reached its peak and then slowly began to subside, his cock bobbing and dancing before our rapt gaze as it released its final few spurts of cream.

Nate and I looked at each other and sighed, each realising that we had both missed out on what would probably have been the fucking of all fuckings; he who hesitates, as they say. Still, the show had been damn good and my dick had forced its way out of my shorts again, clearly unwilling to forego the spectacle. Even Nate’s recently milked tool had appeared through the folds of his robe, apparently ready for round two.

Mitch, head bowed and face covered by a curtain of hair, slid down the wall and came to rest in pools of his own making. His breathing continued heavy and regular, and I thought for a moment he had fallen into a deep sleep, so still was he. 

“Sorry about that!” he gasped as he finally raised his face to us, tossing aside his curls, beaming mischievously. “I did warn you.” A chuckle, which we answered with laughter of our own, breaking the silent tension of the moment.

“Fair enough” I answered, “but you have nothing to apologise for! Apart from the mess, that is.”

“A small price to pay” responded Nate, clearly revising his opinion of Combies.

Stepping gingerly over the pools of jizz, we offered Mitch our hands and helped him to his feet, noting that his cock was now hanging heavy and limp, strands of semen trailing from his fleshy foreskin, which he casually wiped away as he pulled himself together.

Getting a good (stationary) look at him for the first time, he was shorter than I’d expected, wiry in build and considerably older than I’d first imagined. His body was smooth, except for a dark and thick chaotic bush which framed his meaty penis and hairy, low hanging balls most attractively. There were strands of silver and grey in his pubes, as was also the case in his long, sandy hair, and his face was at once boyish and mature, helped greatly by a big, wide smile that seemed to light up everything. His eyes, one green one blue, spoke of the lad he had clearly always been.

“Welcome”, Nate and I chorused, as we all looked each other over admiringly. He stretched out his hand and I thought we were going to get all formal, but he instead took hold of my stiff cock and gave it a very pleasant pull, doing the same for Nate who had become increasingly aroused. 

Pleasant as these introductions were I felt that we needed to establish a more official atmosphere, and with a colossal burst of willpower slipped my dick from his ministering hand and forced it, once again, back into my shorts. Nate achieved a similar triumph with his own, and we were soon leading our guest towards the shower room, where we felt he might like to freshen up after his exertions.

This proved to be the case, and I set the Hydra shower system to “internal”, feeling that Mitch would probably appreciate a deeper clean after who knows how long in space, cooped up in a ship barely big enough to lie down in. We left him to it and could hear his groans and chuckles back in the galley as the cleaning tentacles did their thorough work.

This, I felt, was shaping up to be one of those tours against which all other tours would be measured. 

As it happened, I was quite correct.