tagSci-Fi & FantasyBeam Me Up Scotty

Beam Me Up Scotty

byandtheend©

Alien stun gun liberates women of their clothes on Nude Day.

Now that I'm imprisoned here, abducted by aliens, I realize how much my last job ruined my life. I wish I knew then what I know now. Had I known all the negative experiences I'd have from that one job I had in my past would continue throughout my future and subsequently ruin my life in the present, even after leaving that job so many months ago, I never would have taken that job, and I never would have met Martin. I'd be living my normal life on Earth, instead of rocketing through space at warp speed going to who knows where.

An educated man with a good career and a bright future, I was a revered assistant professor at the university, before I found myself being abducted by aliens. Yeah, that's right, aliens. They singled me out because I had their stolen phaser. That's a long story and what this story is about. I know, it sounds crazy but it's true. I'm just as surprised by the whole experience of alien abduction, as I am surprised that my captors allowed me access to the Internet to post this true story.

In all started when I took a job at a nursing home. Back then, to afford my education, while attending graduate school and earning my advanced degrees, I worked in a nursing home caring for the elderly and the infirmed. Better than flipping burgers at McDonalds or waiting tables at a local restaurant, this nursing home job paid better than most. With many of the residents sleeping or watching television, the job afforded me the time that I needed to do my studies, and I got to meet a lot of nice and interesting people. That's where I met Martin.

People think that just because you're old, you cease to exist and no longer function. From having worked at the nursing home, I can testify that we can learn much from our elderly. They are our real national treasure. Been there, done that, their practical advice and down to Earth wisdom, even though they experienced their life lessons fifty and sixty years ago are still applicable to what is happening in the world today.

Martin was an elderly man that I befriended. Maybe I liked him because no one else did. Whatever that says about him with no one liking him, it says as much about me with my liking someone that no one else likes? The fact that no one liked him should have told me something right there, but what did I know? I was young and naive. A scholar with my head in the clouds, when it wasn't stuck up my ass, I didn't know any better. An optimist, I thought everyone was good and I liked everybody. Besides, I was just doing my job in caring for him.

The thing that stuck out in my mind though is that no one ever visited him, not his wife, his daughters, his sisters, his nieces, his female cousins, or his female friends. I thought that was more than a little weird, especially after I discovered that he had a wife, daughters, sisters, nieces, female cousins, and female friends. He told me he did and over the months that I cared for him, he shared his memories of them all with me. I mention only females, as visitors, because more than 90% of all visitors to a nursing home are female.

More caring, sensitive, and nurturing, women routinely visit their loved ones, while the men sit at home watching sports and drinking beer. It always struck me as odd that no one came to see him. Surely, the man had one woman, who cared enough about him to visit him on Christmas or on his birthday, but no one ever came to see him, not a woman or a man for that matter.

It was so sad to see him sitting there alone in his room week after week on a Sunday, when all the other residents were out and about walking the grounds, while visiting with their families and friends. Most times he just slept the remainder of his life away or watched TV. A prisoner in his own room, I felt sorry for him, enough to spend part of my day off with him talking to him and laughing with him. I used to wheel him around the grounds in his wheelchair.

No one else cared enough about him to spend their free time talking to him and learning more about him, as I did. Maybe because both my grandfathers died, when I was too young to remember them, I quickly discovered that this man had lived an interesting life. He had grown up on a farm in the mid west, where he worked as a ranch hand. He showed me photos of him with his horse, Daisy, his dog, a Daschund, he named Jimmy Dean, and his wife, Carolyn. After spending time in France, he survived World War II, came home and had two daughters, Sandra and Jenny.

Yet, I found it disturbing that no one brought him homemade cookies. No one sent him a funny card. His daughters didn't even remember him on Father's Day. How sad is that? No one called to talk to him on the phone. He was the only resident, who was so alone and so ignored. How could I, as his full-time caretaker, just abandon him on my one lousy day off?

Even those other totally infirmed residents, who were senile with Alzheimer's disease or dementia, had regular visitors. There was always someone, who cared enough about them, to pay them their respects with a visit, a card, and/or a telephone call. Even if the senile and Alzheimer residents didn't know, who their visitors were and why they were there visiting them, someone was always there for them.

Moreover, those residents with special physical and mental disabilities were given extra care by the staff, but not Martin. Even though Martin was now bedridden and too weak to get up and walk around, even to go to the bathroom alone, he was ostracized by staff and residents alike. It seemed that no one liked and cared about him.

What comes around goes around. Maybe, I figured, by giving him the courtesy of my time, when I'm his age, some kind soul will take pity on me and spend time with me by visiting me, should I find myself in a nursing home, one day. Yet, the same sad fate that befell Martin in a nursing home, befell me later in life. Because here I am trapped on a space ship to where, I have no idea. I'm alone with aliens, who look at me, as if I'm the alien. Well, okay, I guess I am an alien to them.

Truly what comes around did come around and it came around to me, all because I befriended Martin. That's not fair. I thought I was doing a good thing by helping an old man. Certainly, if I knew this would happen to me, I never would have accepted the job as his full-time caretaker.

It should have occurred to me, when even the administrator, the secretary, the accounting assistant, the other orderlies, the nurses, the dietician, the physical therapist, and the doctor in charge, all females, I might add, took an immense disliking to him. Their dislike for him wasn't at all random, I discovered later; it was personal. As if he had offended them somehow, the women in the nursing home riled against him, in the way that only women can when banding together. Only, no one would talk about what he did to garner such hatred.

What did he do to them? The fact that they were all females was telling. It had to be something sexual, but what?

I figured, by their silence that they were as deeply offended by what he did to them, as they were embarrassed by something that he had done to them. Perhaps, what he did to them is what he did to others outside the nursing home, which would explain why no one came to visit him. Only, I had no idea what it was he did for the staff to hate him enough not to do their jobs in caring for him and for the other women in his life not to visit him.

I was more than curious why the nursing home staff had nothing to do with him. When I asked him why no one liked him, when I asked him why no one came to visit him, and when I asked him why even the nursing home staff didn't give him the adequate round the clock care that he so deserved and was entitled to receive as a resident here, he just shrugged and changed the subject. When I asked some of the women on staff why they didn't like Martin, when I asked the female staff members why they weren't doing their job by caring for him, they all exhibited the same behavior; they'd just shrug and change the subject. Martin was a mystery that weighed heavily on my mind.

Believing the obvious, I figured he flashed them all his cock. Patients were always flashing themselves to the nursing home staff, especially the men. Yet, that was no big deal, especially in the confines of a nursing home. It made no sense for the entire female staff of the nursing home to ostracize him from their round the clock resident healthcare routine and other regular duties, unless he did something more than that, but how could he?

If he wasn't so bedridden, if he was such a problem, they could have tethered him to the bed. All they had to do to avoid his grasp was to take a step away from his bed. He was too weak to force anyone to do anything. I was at a loss to explain why they refused to care for this one resident.

Certainly, the women who worked there, wouldn't hate him and not want to care for him, if all he did was to flash them his penis. In working here, they'd seen that many times before on a daily basis, I'm afraid. It had to be something else, but what? Mrs. Franchette, as if still in New Orleans and celebrating Mardi Gras, was always flashing me her big, saggy breasts. Knowing that she'll flash them her tits and ignoring that when she does, the staff still cares for her, as they do any other resident.

No doubt, taking the opportunity to still feel attractive that someone, especially someone much younger, still wants these elderly and confined residents, flashing goes with the job. Maybe it's their way to get attention and to be noticed but, after a while, we're all immune to it and none of us pay it any mind. I feel sorry for the nursing home residents, who feel they must flash their body parts to be noticed. It's sad to feel so ignored that you must resort to flashing to be noticed. I hope my life never comes to that.

It wasn't until I overheard bits and pieces of whispered conversation that I discovered that the women, who worked at the nursing home, accused Martin of mind control. They accused him of hypnotizing them and making them do things against their wills. How in the Hell could this feeble, old man hypnotize anyone? Then, I wondered, if he does possess the power to hypnotize someone, what things did Martin make them all do for them all to be so pissed at him?

Did he make them strip naked? Did he touch their naked bodies? Did he make them blow him? How could a feeble and bedridden, old man do something as vile and perverted, albeit as exciting and as erotic as that to so many woman?

What else could it have been? What else could he have done for them all to hate him so much? It must have been something really bad and truly nasty for him to get such a unified reaction from so many women.

Then, I looked at this harmless old man lying so helplessly in bed. Mind control? Hypnosis? Martin? Nah. Rubbish. I don't believe it and if you met Martin, barely 130 pounds soaking wet and unable to get out of bed without assistance, unable to control his own body from soiling his sheets, you wouldn't believe he was capable of controlling anyone's mind. I dare say, not even his own, the poor, little, old man.

Yet, even though people are hypnotized all the time, no one can be hypnotized to do things against their will, can they? At least, that's what I always thought. Wow, what if Martin really was hypnotizing these women and making them do sexual acts. What if he discovered a way for women to do things, sexual things, against their wills? I needed to know how he did it, not so that I would do it, too, of course. As a scholar, I was just curious, is all.

Only, what was rumored and what I suspected was hypnosis was just partially the reason why no one liked him. It took me quite a while to discover the rest of the reason why no one liked Martin. Years later, after quitting my job at the nursing home to accept the assistant professor's job at the university, I found out the hard way. I discovered why no one liked him, when everyone started disliking, hating actually, me.

In hindsight, I may have been the only person in the place who liked Martin. After the entire nursing home staff refused to care for him, the doctor in charge took away my responsibilities of caring for other patients and had me care exclusively for Martin. I'm sure the doctor would have treated him, if there were a life and death situation. She could have been reprimanded, if there was a family member to report her on Martin's behalf, for not giving him the care that she showered on the other patients.

With just me caring for him, after a while, I had grown to be friends with Martin. He trusted me with his secrets. Only, in hindsight, after he ruined my life and with him being the direct reason why I was abducted by aliens and am now rocketing at light speed through space, I wonder if he even liked me.

It all started when Martin told me that 40-years-old, he had been abducted by aliens. Aliens? Not illegal aliens, but space aliens, beings from another world? There's no such thing as space aliens, is there? C'mon. At the time, I didn't believe it. Surely, he could have come up with something better than that.

I mean, for sure, I don't think that we Earthlings are alone, but why would space aliens go through the trouble of abducting, of all people, Martin? It was difficult for me to believe that he had been abducted. I've read about the reports, but I never actually met anyone who claims to have been abducted, that is, until I met Martin.

It was a ridiculous story and, of course, I didn't believe him. I figured he was only vying for my attention. There were a lot of admissions about being abducted by aliens in the sixties through eighties. With the sudden rash of space alien movies, Barbarella, Star Trek, Star Wars, ET, Mork from Ork, Alf from Melmac, Alien, The Predator, even Superman, was it any wonder? Even the automobiles they made in the 50's and 60's with their big fins and swoopy fighter plane bodies looked more to the sky than they did to the road. Then, of course, there was Area 51 in Nevada, where an actual spaceship crash landed with aliens inside, supposedly.

Since it was the age of Aquarius and Dr. Timothy Leary, with people experimenting with psychedelic drugs and hyping the positive effects of flower power, believing the abductees to be high out of their minds, few people believed in visitors from outer space beaming up Earthlings. Rather we tended to believe it was people out of their minds from drinking too much alcohol and taking too many drugs and seeing things. Seriously, how could aliens abduct anyone without being seen by someone else?

Yet, when we ponder the existence of other beings living in our vast universe, there is evidence that our planet has been visited many times before, maybe still, even now. For me, they walk among us is never more truer with me suddenly being abducted. They are here and have always been here.

From drawings of them on cave walls to early reports of them having visited in all religious writings, including the Bible, to the construction of the Egyptian pyramids, to the Mayans and Incas knowledge of math and science, to the monoliths of Easter Island, and the unexplained vast runways carved out of the Earth so many hundreds of years ago, it is a fact that we are not alone. We were all so self-important to actually believe that we were alone and were the only life in the vast universe. We're not. To be honest, I never believed it either, that is, until Martin gave me proof that confirmed he wasn't lying to me about being abducted and the existence of aliens.

He had been very sick and the doctor didn't give him much more time to live. He didn't have very many possessions, his clothes, a few books, a broken transistor radio, and an old Timex watch. Everything he had was old and nothing he had was of value really. His prized possession was what appeared to be an old garage door opener that he always kept plugged in the outlet.

But for a white button in the center and a red diode in the top, at first sight, I thought it was some kind of prehistoric air freshener. It was a small rectangular shaped piece of black plastic, which turned out to be not plastic at all, but some other kind of lightweight and strong carbon fiber like material that I've never seen before. Without doubt, it was an odd device.

"Take this," he said reaching over to unplug it from the electrical outlet. "I want you to have it, but always keep it plugged in, that is, until you use it."

Now that I was handling it, definitely, it more looked and felt like a lightweight garage door opener. I wondered if, maybe, this opened the door to a garage that housed an antique automobile. I couldn't help but imagine a pristine red Pontiac Trans Am HO, an all original, purple Plymouth Hemi 'Cuda, a rare, orange Dodge Superbird, or a 60's era, big block, black, shiny Chevrolet Corvette, so new that it was still in the wrapper. The mere touch of the remote control sparked my imagination and my excitement grew in correlation to what I imagined lay behind the imagined garage door. Surely, he had been safeguarding a super car. What else could it be?

"What is it? A garage door opener?"

"It does look like that, doesn't it? Yet, I can assure you that it is not a garage door opener" he said with a snicker, while watching me with sad, little expressionless eyes. "It's a phaser."

My disappointment was immediately replaced with excitement.

"A phaser? Like on Star Trek? That kind of phaser?" I looked at him and he smiled and nodded his affirmation. "Seriously," I said looking down at it again and looking back up at him to see if he was pulling my leg. "You're kidding."

"No joke. It's the real McCoy. It's a phaser, alright," he said again with a proud smile.

"Wow," I said still not believing that this piece of junk was the infamous phaser of fantasy and sci-fi fiction fame.

I turned it over in my hand. Was this the original and literal stun gun? Weird. There was no made in China, Japan, Taiwan, or Sri Lanka sticker. It didn't even have patent pending numbers, bar code, or serial numbers on it. Weird again. Definitely, he didn't get this thing in a cereal box or from Wal-Mart. Still not believing that it was a phaser and now more believing that it was a garage door opener that housed a rusted out, old Buick, I assured myself that he was delusional and decided to humor him.

My Dad was heavily into those old Gene Roddenberry Star Trek shows from the '60's, otherwise, I wouldn't know what the Hell a phaser was. Not even shaped like a gun, this was even smaller than the phasers they used on Star Trek. I found the Star Trek shows a bit out of date, yet, back then, they were ahead of their time with their "Beam Me Up Scottie" transporter, their communicator two way radio device the size of a modern day cell phone, and their phaser stun gun, which I was now, supposedly, holding in my hand.

Not wanting to upset him, I figured I'd just play along with him. What can it hurt, if I pretended to believe him. I felt bad for the old man. This old garage door opener, pretend phaser, is all he had.

"You can say that it looks like the phasers they used on Star Trek," he said. "Only, the difference between those and this is that this one really works," he said with a wry smile.

"What does it do?" I aimed it at the wall and pushed the button.

"Don't, you'll weaken the charge," he said putting up a feeble hand of protest. "It takes a year to charge it on Earth using our antiquated electric power. They charge it instantly onboard their star craft using a nuclear charge. Since I didn't have access to their nuclear reactor, I jury rigged an adapter to plug it in an outlet," he said handing me the adapter with dangling wire attached.

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