The Outpost is a community landmark. It has been around forever, since the very first astronauts came here in the early '60s, since the site of the Johnson Space Center was still a cow pasture. And when the inhabitants of 2263 a.d. Earth uncover this archaeological goldmine once known as Clear Lake City, Texas, they will find the Outpost going strong, doing a landslide business under there.

It's just a little wooden shack with a bar, a stage in one corner, and swinging doors at the entrance. Just like the saloons of the Old West. The walls are papered with autographed pictures of every astronaut who ever worked on the space program. They have all lifted their glasses there. Part of the Astronaut training curriculum, as a matter of fact, includes real-time elbow-bending at the Outpost.

Cindy and the Prince make their entrance. The Prince chooses a table.

"This alright with you?", he asks.

"Sure, it's cool," Cindy says. "Order a Shiner Bock for me, willya?" She heads for the ladies room.

Inside the restroom, Cindy tackles the slip problem. She doesn't have a safety pin, of course. She never has a safety pin when she needs it. She never has a needle and thread. She goes through life totally unprepared. But she does have one mighty weapon in her arsenal. It is called "pantyhose". She folds the waistband of the slip underneath the waistband of her pantyhose. It ain't goin' nowhere now. Those pantyhose have a death grip on her.

Back at the table her cold Shiner Bock awaits, as does the Prince, who is ready to resume his monologue. Cindy nods in all the right places and sips on her beer. She looks to the stage.

There he is. Sir Lightnin of Lewie. Playing guitar tonight for some reason. Guess they didn't need a drummer. She listens for a minute. Naaaah ... they need a drummer. Maybe they don't know that?

He's wearing glasses. My god, they make him look like an intellectual! The long brown hair, the black-rimmed specs ... shit, he is the epitome of the artiste. Must be killin' him to play with this nowhere band.

"Blah blah blah," goes the Prince. Cindy doesn't even know what he's talking about any more. Something about sex, she's sure of that. It's his one topic of conversation. Sex this, sex that, sex the other.

[ y a w n ]

She's stifling them now, swallowing them, smiling through them, turning her head at the critical moment so the Prince can't see her mouth gaping wide in sheer boredom.

She wonders about him. About the Prince. She knows he can talk about other subjects, because she's had conversations with him before. But he is hung in this groove for some reason tonight. Why is he telling her all this stuff? Does he really think she's interested in hearing graphic details about his sexual exploits? What's the point, anyway? Is he trying to impress her? Warn her, maybe? Prepare her? Scare her? Bore her to death?

Could be it's just his wall, his protection. He does have that Mars-Saturn conjunction in Cancer. Soft as the Pillsbury Dough Boy on the inside and scared to death somebody's gonna find out. And Mars is always blathering about sex. Wonder where that Mars-Saturn conjunction falls in his chart? Third house, maybe? He *is* using it to communicate. Cancer on the third house would put Taurus on the Ascendant ... hmmmm ...

"I thought this was a blues band," the Prince whines, interrupting her runaway train of astrological thought.

"That's the way they're billed," Cindy says.

"Well, this doesn't sound much like blues to me."

"Roger that." She couldn't have agreed more.

"Which one is the bard?", the Prince asks.

"The one with the long hair and glasses, playing guitar."

"Him?!?" The Prince is incredulous.

"Yes, him."

He looks at Sir Lightnin. Then he looks at Cindy. Looks back at Sir Lightnin. Shakes his head in a kind of dazed and amazed fashion. Cindy smiles.

"I'm sorry," he says, "but I'm just trying to picture the two of you ... "

" ... uh, doin' it, you know, and uh ... sorry, but I just can't see it at all."

"No?" Cindy takes a sip of her beer.

"No, no way," he says. "No fucking way."

Cindy leans in to the Prince, her gorgeous shoulders brushing his chest in a most tantalizing manner. Her face moves very close to his, so close they are sharing the same breath. So close their auras are completely entwined. His heart beats faster. His arm reaches out and pulls her tighter to him. Then her lips find his ear.

"He's the best lover I ever had," she says.

Chew on that, Prince.

.... continued here