Stellar Aces

Author note: This is my entry for the 2024 Literotica Geek Pride Story Event.

As we sat down on the pair of identical chairs behind the stall, I felt nervous. There was a buzz of anticipation in the air in the last few minutes before Manchester Sci-Fi '23 finally opened, with the stallholders either seated like Dad and I were, all their wares set out neatly on the tables, or milling around, chatting and catching up with old friends. Looking at some of the other stalls, stacked head-height with merchandise and covered in colourful advertisements and decorations, I wished we'd thought to do something like that. All we had was a black tablecloth, speckled with white stars, which covered the stall. Perched on top was a wooden display stand which Dad had arranged several of his best artworks on, and next to it was a small stack of books. Those were my pride and joy: Stellar Aces, The Next Generation. A 120,000-word book I'd written, based on the hit 80s sci-fi series Stellar Aces about pilots of space fighters battling mysterious aliens. Dad's artworks were all immaculately drawn and coloured images of the spacecraft from the original book series, each one thoroughly researched and painstakingly constructed, and I knew that several details had been the subject of hot debates on StelAce Forums. I'd finished sixth form a few weeks before, my exam results good enough to study Physics at Liverpool uni, but I was much more nervous about finally revealing The Next Generation to the world.

"Ready?" Dad asked, sensing I was apprehensive.

"I think so," I said, needlessly adjusting the angle of the book most prominently displayed on the top of the stack. Dad had drawn the cover: my main character, Cath, sitting in the cockpit of her ship, Scarlet Dawn, her blonde hair falling across her face as she desperately hauled the control stick over: an action shot. Dad wasn't as good at people as he was at ships, but it still didn't look far off being professional. I'd spent my free time over the past two years writing, with Dad as my creative consultant, while the other kids at my school had played first-person shooters or hung around with girls at the park.

"Don't worry," Dad said, putting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing. "People are always really kind at these conventions."

Then it was eleven o'clock and the doors opened. Somehow I'd expected a rush of people, but it was more of a trickle, and most of them didn't rush straight over to an obscure stall selling homemade artwork for a sci-fi book series that was forty years old. In fact, none of them rushed over. Dad re-read Stellar Aces III: Striking Out while we waited, but I was too nervous to relax.

"I'm, uh, going to the toilet," I said, standing up abruptly.

"Alright," Dad said, not looking up.

The convention pass, on a bright red lanyard that said 'EXHIBITOR', bounced on my chest as I walked too fast to the gents'. I felt hot and didn't really need to go, so I just stood in the empty room, splashing water on my face and taking deep breaths.

"Get a grip," I said, softly, to myself in the mirror. Whenever I looked at my reflection, I saw the scrawny guy who'd been useless at sport and had never had a girlfriend. Dad always maintained I'd find the right person when they came along, but I was extremely doubtful. The girls at school, even the geeky ones, had been more interested in the good-looking, funny guys, not the ones who spent evenings re-drafting chapters of their epic fanfiction. It wasn't that I was bad-looking, really: my dark hair looked okay and most of my acne had cleared up. It was just that the first mention of Stellar Aces tended to send the girls running in the opposite direction. Not that I did mention it, of course. That would have been social suicide at school.

Now, I told myself, I had left school. A man of eighteen. I'd be at uni in a few months, and Liverpool had a sci-fi society, a whole group of like-minded people who met every week. I didn't need to dwell on the past. I could be a whole new person, if I wanted to.

Walking back into the convention hall, I smoothed down my t-shirt, which was black with white lettering saying 'Never Allow Adversity to Triumph', a well-known quote from Stellar Aces. Well-known amongst the fans, at least.

"Congratulations," Dad said, beaming at me when I got back, and he pointed to an empty slot where one of my books had been. "First ever sale."

I stared at the empty slot. "No way."

"Yeah way. A bloke came over to look at the artwork, but he saw your books and took one straight away," Dad said, happily, patting my seat. "Now sit down and help me drum up a few more sales, it's getting busier."

The Next Generation did far better than I could have imagined. If I'd sold ten copies I would have been pleased, but after an hour I'd already sold a box of twenty and was working my way through the next twenty. Dad's artwork was selling more slowly, but he charged a lot more for one of those than my books and when he did make a sale, more cash got handed over.

After lunchtime, when there was a lull in the crowd, I was in a really good mood. Dad offered to man the stall while I looked around the convention, but I liked talking to the other Stellar Aces fans when they came over. Some of them were just people Dad knew from the forums who wanted to chat, rather than buy anything, but it was a rush to see people in real life who were into the same thing we were.

That's why I was smiling when I looked across the exhibition floor and saw her. And my blood turned to ice.

Brianne Waters.

She was the hot girl from my school year. Blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful. She had boobs that half the guys would have given their right arms to see bared. The other half would have given both their arms. Brianne hung out with a group of other popular girls who were similarly beautiful, and the guys they mingled with and went out with were all rugby players. There was a rumour around school that at her eighteenth birthday party back in November she'd snogged one of the other popular girls, Taylor Sandford, but I didn't know if it was true. Just to have a rumour like that going around gave her a certain glamour and admiration. She'd been going out with Robbie Holdman for most of our last year at school, a tall, blond-haired guy who the girls at school unanimously thought was the best-looking. A girl who could go out with Robbie Holdman absolutely did not go to Manchester Sci-Fi '23.

I looked away hurriedly, then doubted myself and looked back. Yes, it was one hundred percent Brianne. She was walking next to an older woman who looked like her mum, and my mouth dropped open as I slowly realised what she was wearing.

It was a pilot suit.

Better still, it was specifically a Stellar Aces pilot suit. An automatic-force-managing-envelope, AFME, and the number printed on the arm marked it out as RF-009, the pilot suit of Suzie Dyer, decorated flyer from the first Stellar Aces book. This was surreal. It felt like I was having a weird dream, but I was wide awake, which was even more terrifying than it just being a dream.

Then I knew real terror when Brianne looked at me and a recognition flashed across her face.

"Hi Paul," she said, smiling as she and her mum came up to our stall. "I never expected to see a Stellar Aces stall here."

I was literally speechless and just stared dumbly at her.

"Hi there," Dad said, unfazed. "Do you know Paul? I'm his dad."

"He was in my maths class," Brianne said. "Did you draw this art, Mr King?"

Dad nodded. "Yes, it's all original. If you don't see anything you like, I've got a few more in a box here, so do ask if there's a specific ship you want. I can do commissions, too."

"I didn't realise the Fatal Foxtrot had a dorsal fin," Brianne's mum said, leaning in to look close at one of the pictures.

"It houses the radar shields," Dad said, quickly. "It's mentioned in Stellar Aces XI: Fight for Survival."

Brianne looked at me and smiled again. She was so pretty. She was wearing makeup: mascara on her long lashes, a pale pink lip gloss, concealer and eyeliner to emphasise her blue eyes. I was hooked instantly by that smile. The years of being ignored and shunned by the popular kids seemed irrelevant, somehow.

"Oh my God, you wrote this?" she suddenly asked, picking up one of my books.

Instinctively I wanted to deny it. I didn't want anyone at school to know. Except here, at the convention, I could hardly pretend I didn't write the book with my name on the cover.

"Um, yeah, it was me," I said, my mouth dry and voice cracked.

"Wow, she's pretty," she said, admiring Cath on the cover. "Your dad drew this?"

"Yeah," I said, unable to think of anything to add. Or really to think of anything except how pretty Brianne was. The pilot suit was tight-fitting, like in the books, and she was so fit. Her boobs were incredible; her hips so sexy; her legs amazing. I tried not to stare and completely failed.

"This is really amazing," Brianne said, faltering slightly as I stared dumbly at her. "I didn't even know you were into Stellar Aces."

"Uh, yeah."

She looked at me and there was an awkward pause. My resolve broke and I glanced down at her chest, then cringed at how obvious I was.

Brianne noticed. "Yeah, my mum made the costume. She makes all sorts of costumes and clothes, it's so amazing. She's actually hosting the costume workshop this afternoon; we're just looking around before it starts."

With a sigh of relief I realised she thought I had just been looking at her costume. "It's, uh, really good. Amazing, actually. The details are just right."

Brianne smiled a big smile. "I suppose I look a lot like her," she said, pointing at Cath on the cover of my book. "Right?"

"Um, yeah, that's true."

"Cool coincidence! I should stand here advertising your book," she giggled, turning it over in her hands, which were in white pilot gloves, accurate to the last stitch.

"Yeah, true."

I felt like an idiot.

"Anyway, I'm going to be in the costume competition later if you're watching it."

"Oh, okay, I might do."

There was another awkward pause, and she put the book down when her mum and my dad concluded their discussion. With one final smile she was gone. I watched her go and dearly wished I could do more than just look at her arse.

"She was nice," Dad said, but another customer came along and cut short any discussion we might have had.

Surreptitiously consulting the convention programme, I saw that the costume contest was being held in the main hall from two until three, and then the costume workshop was immediately afterwards, three-fifteen until five-fifteen. As successful as my career as a fanfiction author was going, I couldn't stop thinking about Brianne and at quarter to two, I asked Dad if I could go for a look around.

"By all means," he said, interrupting his conversation with a potential buyer about the colour shades on the Dark Dart. "I'll text you if I need anything."

Guiltily, I abandoned our stall and walked towards the main hall, trying not to make it obvious what I was doing. Not that anyone would care, of course, but I had convinced myself that everyone was judging me. At school, I wouldn't have had more than a passing interest in Brianne: everyone knew she was sexy, but she had her friends, they all ignored me, and that was that. Even in our shared maths class, I sat on the opposite side of the room and we barely interacted. But seeing her dressed up like the characters I had spent two years imagining and writing about had lit a fire under my imagination, and I couldn't help myself. I needed to see her again. And anyway, she'd invited me, so it wasn't weird. Probably.

The contest began at two sharp and the MC, a middle-aged lady in a Yoda t-shirt, tried to work up the crowd's enthusiasm. Half of the entrants were in low-effort costumes, either bought online or just vague imitations of the actual character's outfit. The other half, though, were generally extremely high quality and even Brianne's immaculately detailed pilot suit was put in the shade by a couple of fully moulded and painted efforts. She won a few votes back by striking model poses when her turn came to walk up and down the catwalk, her long blonde hair streaming out behind her as she walked, and I couldn't take my eyes off her. But inevitably the costumes with internal frameworks and LED lighting were going to win, and she accepted third place with a big smile and a wave at the crowd.

When it was over, I watched her walk to one side of the hall and sit down on an empty chair, looking at her phone. I assumed she was waiting for her mum or something, but when five minutes passed and she was still on her own, I summoned my courage and ignored every impulse in the body, which was begging me to leave immediately. I went over to her.

"Hi," I said, regretting my decision immediately.

She looked up and smiled and suddenly it was the best decision ever. "Hi, did you vote for me?"

"Yeah, I did. You should have won."

Her smile turned to a laugh. "Those other costumes were incredible. I think I was lucky to come third."

I sat down next to her so I wouldn't need to look down at her. She locked her phone and put it away, and I noticed up close that her cheeks were slightly flushed, like she'd been exercising or something.

"It's a great costume," I said, realising that I was rapidly running out of things to say to her.

"Thanks, but really it's my mum who's the talented one. I'm just the model."

"Did you ever read Stellar Aces?"

"Yeah, once through. They're really good."

Once through. Dad had probably read the entire series thirty times.

There was a pause.

"So, are you excited to go to uni?" I asked.

"I don't really want to talk about it," she said, hastily. "Listen, do you want to get a drink or something? I wouldn't mind walking around a bit more."

"Aren't you going to your mum's workshop?"

"Nah, I've been to them before. Sewing isn't my thing."

We got two bottles of sparkling water from a vending machine and Brianne insisted on paying for her own. As we walked around, not really talking much except when we saw something cool or interesting, I knew what she was thinking. 'This event is so boring that I'm reduced to hanging around with this tragic nerd'. I didn't even want to contemplate what she'd say to her girlfriends when she next saw them. Or maybe she couldn't admit to them that she'd been to a sci-fi convention. Either way, my reputation was in for a trashing, but it was with people I would never see again. To be honest, I hadn't expected to ever see Brianne again.

We turned a corner into a quieter area of the exhibition space and I knew that one more corner would mean seeing my dad and our stall. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to see me walking with Brianne, but before it became a problem, she let out a little gasp of surprise.

"Okay, um, hold this," she said, rapidly shoving her bottle into my hand.

"What's up?" I asked, confused, but she was shuffling over to a wall in a peculiar way, her legs locked together. I followed, and she shook her head and hissed at me to look away.

"One of the seams of my costume has gone," she said. "Stand in front of me, face away and stop people from looking."

I did as I was told, a bottle hanging from each of my hands. "Do you need any help?" I asked.

"No, I've got some safety pins here. Just look away."

Waiting, I looked around at the other people who were near us, but none of them were interested in a scrawny teenager carrying bottles of water, no matter what was happening behind him. I tapped one of them against my leg idly.

"Okay, that will do for a minute, but I've got to get back to the hotel room to fix it properly," she said, standing up. I couldn't help myself and I glanced down, and the inner thigh seam on her pilot suit was being held together by pins from her knee up to her...

"Don't look," she said, fiercely, and I looked up at the ceiling.

"I didn't know you had a hotel room," I said.

"We always have to get one for all mum's costume stuff, it's too much to bring in a car for the day. Come on, I'll show you where it is."

I followed her as she cautiously set off, keeping her strides short. The convention was being held in a venue with an attached hotel, so we only had to go through a set of doors and along a corridor to a lift, but the crowds instantly disappeared as soon as we had.

"I said don't look," Brianne said when we were in the lift, but I hadn't.

"I didn't," I protested.

"Oh. I thought you did."

We went the rest of the way in silence until we reached an anonymous room on the third floor, which Brianne unlocked with a card. She stepped in, but I hung around outside, assuming she would want privacy.

"I'll wait here," I said, wondering if she'd forgotten me.

"No, come in," she unexpectedly replied, so I did.

The curtains were open so the room was full of summer sunlight, but the air conditioning meant it felt quite cool. There were boxes of clothes and fabric everywhere except on the twin beds, and when Brianne bent down to get something out of her suitcase, I took advantage of her facing away from me and stared at her bum.

She stood up and looked over her shoulder at me. Embarrassed, my eyes snapped in the opposite direction, which couldn't have made it more obvious that I was looking at her. I wondered if I'd upset her.

"I need a hand," she said, and her tone was much softer. I walked over and she stood in the window, the privacy curtain hanging behind her, her pilot suit bathed in sunlight.

"Here."

Turning to face away, she gathered her hair in one hand, putting it over her shoulder, and pointed to the tiny zip at the top of the suit, on her neck. My hands shook as I reached out and tried to hold it, but the pull was very small and I fumbled at it for a second before I could grip it. Then I pulled it down and the teeth moved smoothly, creating a gap in the suit which ran all the way down to the small of her back. Then it reached the bottom and I let go, and Brianne turned around to face me.

"Want to help me take it off?" she asked, her eyes meeting mine, smiling.

I blinked.

"Uh, yeah."

She held up her hands and undid her gloves, dropping them on the floor next to her suitcase, then held out her wrists to me.

"Pull the cuffs."

I did, and she pulled her arms out of the suit. Once they were free, I let go of the cuffs, and the front of the suit fell down into the space between us.

I could see Brianne Water's bra.

I'd actually sortof seen her bra before: on a day in May, just before our exams, there had been an unexpected rain shower at school, and when I arrived at maths, her white blouse had turned partly see-through. She had been covering it with a book, but she let her guard down for a moment to pick up her bag and I saw her pale blue bra underneath. This time, though, her bra was white and smooth, the perfect thing to wear underneath a tight-fitting pilot suit made of thin material. The top part of her breasts were exposed above the top of the bra and I looked at her cleavage, my boxer shorts suddenly uncomfortably tight.

She didn't hesitate, though: she pushed the suit down over her hips and inelegantly pulled it off, using zips on the side of her boots to loosen them before getting the whole thing off. Then she stood up straight, her knickers white and plain just like her bra.

"Like what you see?" she asked, tilting her head to one side slightly as she looked at me looking at her.

"Yeah," I admitted, breathless.