0 comments/  13330 views/  1 favorites

Let Nature Take Its Course

By: psymonkros



"Put your clothes on the hook by the door F-C-312-478-954-398- uh…43573...V Your undergarments go on the table below in the black bag. Make sure they are secured and out of sight!" The final "vee" was dragged out for emphasis, and you felt the thorns around the pronunciation as you always did.

As was normal, the directive was a command, not a request. The laws were clear that whenever one person was placed in charge of another that all directions would be just that: directions. This was like all laws should be, to eliminate crime by preventing lawless behavior, even at the most elemental level.

It was one of those rare times in your life you were allowed to be naked. Again, to prevent criminal behavior, everyone was required to wear some kind of garment and keep their body parts hidden, except for face, hands, and sometimes feet, but not often. Penalties for lawbreakers were swift and sure, since no one was allowed to be unsupervised at any time, from cradle to grave, and the law made no exceptions. You remember what happened to 0283, the eff in the same squad as you when you were five, who took unlawful glee at raising her garment to see everyone react. She was swiftly disciplined before the entire institute, and it wasn't pretty. You remember how she smelled when she was finally released, having been forced to eliminate inside the punishment suit as well as sweat. No one ever followed her example, at least not in that institution.  You feel waves of shame roll over yourself at your nudity, you feel so…so…dirty!  You lower your head, cover your breasts and genitals, and back against the wall.

"Come, come, Individual! You are here for a great honor! Not every eff is allowed to reproduce. Stand up straight and show pride in your body! The examiners will probably fail you if you show any reluctance, and you know what that means!" This was said, or rather barked, by a neutered eff nurse, one with her graying hair crewcut and tattoos on both arms. There was no doubt she was neutered at or soon after puberty when it became obvious she would never be attractive enough for reproduction. She probably looked like an emm with breasts, but you didn't know for sure, having never actually seen an emm. That was the rumor the other eff-vees whispered to each other.

Beauty was a two-edged sword in the Age of Enlightened Democratic Control. As the old authoritarian dictatorships had fallen and Democracy had swept the world this most flexible form of government quickly solved the major problems that had beset Humanity throughout it's darkened past, at last truly bringing Liberty and Justice to all. Particularly Justice.

Little by little, the forces of Government were less consumed by external problems and had more and more time to devote to smaller and smaller problems, including the once-seemingly intractable problem of Crime, eventually having enough time and resources to go after individual criminals with the entire machinery of the Justice System fully engaged each time. "Using a sledgehammer to kill fleas is a thoroughly effective method!" Some senator had once said, and it was right.

At the same time, Media outlets proliferated, and with them the never-ending demand for material to fill the airtime of all those channels running 24/7. Eventually, even small domestic crimes such as noisy family arguments received total coverage on the global net, and were investigated and rehashed by talking heads on the visi for years after the original perps had served their sentences and died of old age or assist.

And it was odd how that phrase "twenty-four-seven" had persisted, even though time measurement had gone metric centuries ago, and even the laws passed mandating the use of metric phrases hadn't erased it. The Government was once again considering measures to stiffen the penalties for noncompliance

Eventually, given the overabundance of Media attention, Government studies, and legislative posturing, a general consensus (there was no other kind allowed) was that the sexual urge essentially lay at the bottom of all unacceptable (and therefore criminal) behavior, and that its manifestation in the form of sexual "love" was what was enabling all sorts of people to commit illegal acts. You yourself managed to survive those dreadfully boring required college criminology courses dealing with the Misty Somerst (people had word-names in those days instead of the more unique and efficient metric numbering system in use today) Case, where a woman had slit her children's throats to please her boyfriend, who then beat her to death because she wouldn't stop crying and fetch his beer, by forcing yourself to be the most strident and vocal "Angry Feminist" in the class. Indeed, it was your outward persona as such that landed you here at the fertility clinic as much as your feminine appearance.

The Government finally properly realized that the problem lay with our genitals, and finally "did something about it" by segregating and neutering the sexes, no mean feat. Many husbands and wives (whatever those were) were shot or blown up by mines trying to cross the noperson's zone until enforcement finally reached a sufficient level. Even after neutering was mandated in 1536 D.E., many still tried until long enough had passed that Nature accommodated itself to the new situation, and natural selection, aided by modern genetic science, had bred a new Humanity, one that had better control of it's sexual urges. Crime dropped precipitously to it's present almost nonexistent level. The program was a shining example of Democracy at work.

Neutering helped considerably by removing the desire entirely in those who were not selected to participate in the continuation of the species. Spaying was a rite of passage for most effs and emms after puberty, and while it was the ticket to success and prosperity (and no men…men… menstration.  There, you said it!), every one you had ever known well enough to speak to said they envied you because you still bled.

So now you were here, standing naked in the white-tiled room, waiting your turn to appear before the Examination Board! Every eff dreamed of and dreaded this day, for to fail the inspection would mean almost immediate hystorectomy and an end to that which made one a real eff with the "V" for "viable" suffix to her I.D. You were still a "Woman," and were still called a "her" or a "she." Never an "it."

You didn't have to wait long, which was a relief because you were standing exposed alone with this sexless old crone who hated your guts for still having them, and were in no mood to yield to the social pressure to make small talk to it. Fortunately, you were spared having to, for it too was silent. It had seen too many candidates pass through and despised every one to the core of her soul, for most would pass through those doors and be fulfilled. She had only seen them to clean up afterwards Still, there were severe consequences for being antisocial…you tried hard not to think of them.

The door at the other end of the waiting room finally opened and a fat old doctor in a white coat called your number again, loud enough for all to hear, and jerked it's head for you to follow.

The room beyond was brightly lit, as were all the clinic's procedure rooms, with a straight-backed chair, a stepstool, two examination tables, one for gynecology, one for proctology, both with their taborets of gleaming stainless instruments, several medical machines on carts and stands, a toilet seat with a plastic bag underneath, and a desk, behind which the other two doctors were already sitting.

The big doctor directed you to sit in the chair before the desk and "make yourself comfortable," then took it's place with the other two. More thorns. Your ID is confirmed yet again, you are asked your medical history, which is printed out in greater detail before them on their terminal sheets than you can possibly remember yourself. One of the doctors is jolly, one is bossy, and one is bored. You are taken to the stepstool and stand while they touch you and poke you, they squeeze your thighs, buttocks, ribs, breasts, and arms to check body tone, they look in your eyes, ears, and mouth, take sputum, blood, urine, and stool samples (all three stood staring at you with their arms crossed as you provided the latter), and then gave you the most thorough rectal and pelvic examinations of your life.

The big gynecologist between your knees calls out: "She's still unbroken." What's not broken? It reaches for a plastic thing that looks like a sausage, coats it with gel, and you feel it being pressed into your opening. "You may feel a little discomfort…" it says.

The thing, whatever it is, hurts like hell!  You gasp as it stretches you open, and then you feel it hit the end, but it presses forward anyway. You feel the skin inside begin to stretch and suddenly tear, and the pain shoots through your hips and gut like fire…

But, not before you feel something else. The doctor strokes the tool a couple of times to make sure there are no more obstructions and the feeling, even through the pain, is…is…is…!

Ultrasound proved quickly that you were not already pregnant (no kidding!), and that you were indeed…viable. A "plus" sign was added to your suffix, the final mark of approval. The doctors congratulate you (one insincerely happy, one curtly, the other just ignores you), and you're given a simple paper lab coat to cover your nakedness, then directed out the door at the opposite end of the room from the entrance.

"M-my clothes?" you stammer.

"You'll get them back!" the big bossy one snaps, and you know you are no longer welcome here. Even if it had once been a "she," that time was long ago now, and you're just another drop in the constant stream of reminders of what was or might have been.

There is a hallway beyond the door that ran two ways, and two huge nurses to make sure you went the way you were told. In your case to the right, and the nurses are probably friendlier than if you had been directed the other way. You actually could feel a chill up your spine emanating from that door behind you. Many eff-vees were known to terminate after going through that door, all of whom were just swept up into another statistical category in the population control accounting feedback loop.

You are assigned a private room, equipped much like any room in a mid-priced hotel, to await your next ovulation, which could come any time in the next couple of days. A nurse takes your temperature and a urine sample once every couple of hours, otherwise you are left alone to wait. You don't feel like socializing with the other "eff-vee-plusses." The first night a group of them came by to check you out, some silly, some gushing over their "plus," some silent and withdrawn. You watch TV alone in the dark.

You yourself are still not out of the dark. If you don't concieve after a "reasonable" number of inseminations ("fulfillment" it's called), you go down that corridor the other way, bound, gagged, and sedated if necessary. You breathe a deep sigh and try not to think of that either.

TV is a bore, all the sitcoms, even your old favorites, just don't have any spark. You don't bond well with the other plusses, much less the nurses, and all the recreations, books…nothing.

You wonder what it must be like over on the emm's side. You have no idea what one looks like, much less what they use to make, what was it the nurses called them? Babies with. You were pretty sure they did something to you, and that you actually made the babies (baby?) yourself, but you had no idea how. Everyone figured that was the big secret in the fertility clinics, and that you'd get told when you were fulfilled.

The next morning when you woke up that prune-faced nurse was right there with the thermometer, the cup, and the test strip. Your guts tighten when you hear it grunt approvingly at the temperature and the colors, and the quickened pace of it's step out the door tells you your time has come. You drop your head back on the pillow and wait.

It isn't long in coming, and it's the big bitch doctor that's going to do it to you. Swell! It once again takes your temperature, rectally, and gives you a quick examination, and another urine sample, which it and the nurse watch this time. That takes forever, because you were fully drained the first time.

Finally they're satisfied, and the doctor tells you to lift your gown above your waist and raise your legs. Once again you are exposed. It runs a finger up inside your opening and probes around, and you try not to show that it feels…it feels…good actually. Ever since the episode at the examination you've been searching high and low for something, anything—a banana even—to try to duplicate that feeling you had when you were opened, but no luck.

Evidently now, for it grunts it's approval, and the nurse hands it a huge syringe, shaped like the tool. You brace yourself, but this time the pain of insertion is minor, compared to the feeling of having just the right size…thing pushed into you.

The doctor begins to slide the cylinder in and out of your opening. This one isn't smooth like the other one was, rather it is textured more like a tree, with bark, although not nearly as rough. You begin to feel a warm glow as the stroking continues, but what is it waiting for? What's going to happen next? You dislike it so much you don't want to say anything, much less ask like you're ignorant, but fortunately the doctor supplies the answer without being prompted.

"You should be feeling a feeling you've never felt before now, a good feeling, am I right?" You nod your head. "Good. Let the feeling grow and don't hold back. It will get quite intense and you may feel you want to shout or cry out. That's okay. It will tell me when the time is right."

"Right for what?" you ask.

"I'm going to inject a fluid that will begin the reproductive process." It answers. "It won't hurt, so don't worry. Some candidates don't even feel it, others find it quite pleasurable. It helps siphon the fluid deeper into you."

Pleasurable is the right word for it! You have to go back to the grocery and get some cucumbers! The feeling is growing so intense you want to lift your hips off the bed into the air and stretch forward to meet that wonderful…thing, whatever it is. You begin to gasp for air involuntarily and make little whimpering moises, which grow into whines and howls as the pressure in your belly climbs.

Finally a point is reached and you let go trying to keep that pressure inside, and you stiffen and cry out. You feel your insides squish with liquid, as the doctor shoves the piston home. Then it's over, and your hips drop back onto the mattress, and your heart pounds as if you've run far and fast.

"Excellent!" the doctor says, and even the prune is smiling. "Excellent!" You feel like a trick pony that has just performed, but then it's gone after telling you to stay on your back for the rest of the morning with your knees up, and details the nurse to stay "in case you need anything." You know it's because they're watching you and making sure you comply.

You wish you could clamp your legs together and hold in that feeling that's tingling down there like ants crawling inside you, that's what you "need." You "need" that nurse to get it's skinny ass out of the room so you can figure out a way to do that again!  You don't know what "crime" is, nobody does any more, but whatever it is, if that's it then THROW ME IN JAIL!!!

This scene gets repeated several times over the next couple of weeks, but you know something's wrong when everyone's disappointed you have your period but cover by reassuring you that it's not all that unusual, most plusses take several cycles before the process begins, especially their first times.

But after several cycles have gone by, things are becoming grim. Every weapon in the ancient arsenal of reproductive science is brought to bear on your womb, with no success. People are beginning to look at you differently, and even your few other plus friends are beginning to avoid you. You see other plusses squeal with delight when the daily sample turns positive and they move once more through those doors at the far end of the building to the maternity section.

The final blow for those who have overstayed here is to be called into the doctor's consultation room to be given the bad news. You've been here long enough now to know a couple who have made that trip. You resign yourself and wait.

Sure enough, one day that little prune-face with the tattoos (God, what were they thinking when that was the fashion?) motions to you to follow. Sure enough, there was that big bitch behind the desk, looking like the cook put too much garlic in the prunes and onions it had for breakfast.
"Sit down, please." It said, and you did.
That was the last you saw of her, or the fertility clinic, or the life you had known. In afterthought, you think that Little Prune-Face had hit you with a syringe in the neck from behind. All you know is that you woke up an unknown time later in a wooden box, lying on your back, apparently in the cargo hold of an agrav.
It was night, and you could feel the agrav descending, the air pressure popping in your ears. Some things hadn't changed in the thousand years since people had learned to fly. There is that bump as it touches ground and the lid is pulled off, there are no lights of any kind. You are hauled to your feet by two people and flung out the hatch onto the ground, something else thumping to the grass beside you. The door is closed, and the agrav lifts off into the starry night sky.
You don't know much about the stars, but you do know this is not the sky you have seen all your life. There are even a couple of…what do they call them? Nebulas? Galaxies? in the sky, and you know there is nothing like that in the Northern Hemisphere of Earth. Are you on another planet?
Not in the original Solar System you're not, at least not on the surface without a protective suit on. Here the trees look normal and the animals of the night sound right. There have been several discoveries and explorations of new stellar systems in the past thousand years, but none have been reported as being Earthlike enough to sub for the real thing. You decide you're still on Earth, but perhaps in the southern hemisphere. Besides, you couldn't have been sedated for long enough to make the years-long voyage to another star to not remember at least some of it.
You feel for the other thing they threw out with you and discover a large knapsack. A flashlight is attached by a chain, and you switch it on. Now you're getting somewhere!
There is an envelope tucked on top with a survival manual, a diagram of how to repack the knapsack, a map with your position marked and the words "go upriver" written on it, and a letter:


Let Nature Take Its Course







Let Nature Take Its Course



"She's expecting."

"Expecting what?" you turn away and face your friend.

"You really don't know, do you?"

Uncertainly: "I guess not."

The old woman sits you down and breaks the news to you gently. She takes you to a corral on the edge of the village where really big animals called "cattle" eat the grass, a really big surprise! She points out one called a "cow," another called a "bull," and tells you to just wait around for a while and watch what happens, and what happens after that happens. When she leaves you watch for a very long time before walking home.

Your man is sitting on the porch, playing music on his guitar. He isn't as perfect as the music you used to hear played by professional musicians back…back home, but he does play sweetly, especially since he saw you come into view. It is getting dark, and all is still. You decide you want to mate too. It looked so pleasant having people come up and make you the center of attention, and you find you love being touched. You want to mate. Now.

You think about the cow and that bull, how he just came up behind her and hopped on her back, then down again a few minutes later, and that was it. Seems simple enough! You sit quietly and wait.

And wait. And wait…

Andwaitandwaitandwaitandwaitandwaitandwaitandwaitandwait… Why doesn't he get the message?

You begin to get irritable because he's so dumb! Cattle can't talk and they knew what to do, what's the matter with him? You search out your friend again and ask if he has to hop on you for the process to work.

Your friend blinks a couple of times and makes a funny face. "He hasn't, has he?" You shake your head.

"Cattle don't talk, and they know what to do." You complain.

"Have you tried telling him?"

"He doesn't know how?"

"Oh, he knows how all right. No, honey…you've got to tell him you're ready!"

"He can't figure it out for himself?"

"People aren't that much like cattle, honey. He's waiting for you to signal that it's okay with you if you want to make love. He's too nice a man to just force himself on you."

The light goes on in your head. You can't wait to get home because it just happens to be the day you ovulate, too. Perfect!

When you arrive, he is lighting the lamps. You are astounded that you can live so well without electricity or plumbing, or data hookups, or anything that you took for granted in that awful place you used to think of as "home." He sees you come in, and gives you that wink of "hello" that is his trademark greeting.

"I want to mate now." You say, by way of greeting, and he nearly drops the lamp. You stare at him curiously as he recovers, mystified at his reaction.

"Just like that?"

"Well no, you have to hop on my back. Don't you know how it works already?"

It dawns on him that you're serious. You wonder how a grown man could be this dense. He takes your hands in his and kisses them, then quietly says: "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure! How hard could it be?"

 For a long time he looks in your eyes without speaking. "Not yet." He says, then turns away and puts the lamp up in its wall bracket.

"Why not? What have I got to do to get mated around here?"  For some reason you shout at him, hot and angry for his obtuse refusal. You storm out of the house into the darkness, burning mad, determined never to have anything to do with him again!

"Well, if he won't, I'm sure that there must be other emms-uh, men who will!" You think to yourself as you stomp down the path to the village, your lower lip set. You come to another house where you know a man and woman live with several children. He is outside, chopping some wood for the fire.

"That man I was living with won't mate with me. Will you?" you ask, and he swings and misses with his big hatchet, a look of total surprise on his face.

"What???"

"I want to mate! What's wrong with right now?"

Suddenly his woman bursts out of the house screetching like a cat on fire, so angry you can't even understand what she is saying, but you're sure it's you she's coming for, and you run for the trees and don't stop until you've put distance between yourself and the house. Now, what was that all about?

All the walking you've done since you came here has made you strong, and you realize you are quite some distance into the forest, with little or no idea of which direction is which in the dark. You know the best thing to do in such circumstances is to sit down and wait for daylight to get your bearings. You find a place just off the path, and are about to nod off to sleep when you hear someone coming.

"Oh come on, you know I only love you!" a young man's high-pitched voice says in the dark.

"Then why were you talking that way with her?" a young woman's even higher-pitched voice replied. You recognize them as two of the adolescents you've seen around the village, usually together. Usually close together.

"We were just talking. Really! There's nobody else, nobody!"

Why is she so angry with him for talking to someone else?

"There better not be! I'm not marrying you if there is!"

What-ing him?

His voice drops an octave and becomes quiet and soft: "Only you. There's only you…"

They don't say anything more, but you hear noises like they're licking their lips. You sneak a peek.

It is a full moon night, and there is enough light to see that they have their arms together and are, what was that word he used? Kissing! At least you guessed that was the word, since neither of them was bleeding or hurt. Your heart begins to thump in your chest for some reason as you watch them grab at each other like wrestlers and even giggle now and then, touching noses, touching one another's bodies softly…

Almost as if one they suddenly take off their clothes and resume their clinching. The man is younger and much better built than yours…yours? It suddenly strikes you that you have come to think of him as "yours" in a way, was that why that woman chased you away? Does one eventually get like that? You'll have to ask, but for now you watch.

The woman steps back from the male and you see his hosepipe standing out straight! He is breathing quickly, and the woman begins to rub it with her hands and kiss it, finally putting it into her mouth! He squirts his urine through that thing! You have to hold your mouth closed with your hands to keep from retching.

But you can't turn away! Eventually, she lies down on her back and the man returns the favor, putting his mouth into her crotch and she begins to make little sounds like she is being tortured. She doesn't fight back though, and even grabs at her own breasts and hair, and stretches her back like a cat.

You wonder what he is doing to her with his mouth. It looks like he is…licking her genital orifice! You lift your dress and stroke a finger into your own, simulating what such an act would feel like. Electricity shoots up your spine from your crotch to your brain almost like when you were inseminated at the clinic. Woah!

You hear him say: "I want you!" "Take me now!" she replies.

The young man rises on his hands and knees, moving up and lifting himself above her, his pipe stiff between his legs. The young woman reaches for it and guides it into her slit, and he begins to shove it into her. This part you understand! He begins to wiggle his butt up and down, and she sighs as if happy. He laughs quietly and she echoes, and they both laugh together as if sharing a secret joke. He rears back and raises her legs over his shoulders and begins to work at her in earnest, both of them start huffing and puffing in synch with his strokes until their cries sound like children being punished. He gives a final stab and they both howl together, their bodies stiff and trembling. Then they both deflate, like punctured balloons and lie still together, occasionally kissing or stroking each others bodies, speaking short sentences in low whispers.

So that's it? That's how it's done?

Eventually a night bird calls out and they jump up and dress, then hurry off into the night, back towards the village. It's now light enough that you know where you are, and you turn away and sit back against the tree you were hiding behind to ponder what you have just seen.

You take another look around to make sure you are alone, but of course no one else is there. You lift your skirt and reach between your legs…

The feeling is as if you had touched the wires in an electric outlet to your slit! All those years of being watched, of being told it was wrong to do anything that might feel good! You even bathed in a special coat when you were alone back in those days, and anything to do with the space between your legs was always dealt with quickly and fearfully. Now there were no such restraints, and you were like a crustacian venturing out from its shell, still fearful of discovery, but daring to discover nonetheless.

You soon find the spot, and you rub with all your might. After a minute or so you feel like fire is burning in your genital orifice (isn't there a better name for it than that?) and that sinful pressure hits like a balloon bursting. Again!

Again and again you rub yourself until your slit is so raw you can barely stand to touch it, yet the hunger is still there because as good as it was it wasn't as good as when the inseminator was being pushed inside you, and it was cold, and you didn't get kissed or hugged or told how pretty you were like that young man did to his woman. If you hadn't already had a bad experience asking another man and if you hadn't heard this woman act so possessively you might have walked over and asked him to mate with you.

You thought about the young man for a moment. He was younger, slimmer, and a lot smoother and hairless except on his head, where he had lots of hair where your man didn't, and no hair where your man did.

Your man…it was strange, but you were beginning to think of him that way, for if truth be told you probably wouldn't have lasted very long in this forest if you hadn't met when you did. He was kind, and gentle, and always asking what you would like, or how you would like, or what you thought. You thought of the time he brought you that beautiful flower to put in your hair, and even the dress you were wearing. He even found a mirror, which was saying something this far away from civilization.

You begin to realize that not all the other men treat the women so kindly. Some only speak harshly to them and order them around. For that matter, some of the women treat the men badly too, but you have been chalking it up to monthly cycles. You wonder if men bleed through their hosepipes too? You also realize that your man hasn't been speaking harshly to you at all. He doesn't back down if you speak harshly to him, but he hasn't been unkind in anything he has said…anything at all! You feel kind of lucky, actually.

What is it that he wants? Find out what it is and then he'll mate with you. You decide you want more than anything else to, what was that term for mating the old woman used? make love to your man, even if it took all your smarts, your dignity, or whatever else it took, you want Him (Capital "H") to be the one. No one else. You figure he deserves it for being so nice. It was then that the jaguar pounced.

You scream in your surprise and jump up, as the cat takes a swing at your skirt and snares it with its claws, and you fall to the ground. The cat leaps, fangs and claws bared when you see a flash in the night and hear a "thump!" The heavy cat lands on you like a tree falling, and you get a faceful of hot wet liquid that stings your eyes and tastes awful. But instead of tearing you to pieces the cat goes limp, the air rushing out of it's nose hot into your ear and then lies still. As still as death.

Strong hands once again pull you up, and you see Him holding you by the arms. You both wrap your arms around each other and squeeze yourselves together as hard as you can as it sinks in what almost happened. Even through the cat's blood he kisses your face, and you kiss back, clutching to Him for dear life.

Without a word he releases you and pulls your hatchet out of the cat's head, then slings the dead animal over his shoulder and takes you by the hand as he heads for home. You follow, also wordlessly. As you pass the house he drops the cat on the ground, and continues on down to the path to the river. "We need to wash that blood off of you." He says.

The river sparkles silver in the moonlight, and the flowing water chuckles over rocks. He takes you to the overhang where you can dive in, and undresses. After a moment, you disrobe and stand naked before him for the first time. Although you use the river as a bathtub this is the first time you have gone together.

He turns and dives in a clean arc, and surfaces, turning to face you. You follow, breaking the surface cleanly. When you surface you see that he is closer to the far shore, where the water is shallower and you can stand. You dog-paddle a few strokes and stand, then sweep your wet hair back out of your face.

The water is about waist-deep where he stands waiting, and you approach, your wet breasts dripping water as you continue to adjust your mane down your back.

"You okay?" He quietly asks, his arms crossed over his chest, His eyes watching you.

"Yes, thank you. I'm fine." Like hell. You're so excited by the danger and the other events of the night it's all you can do to keep from jumping on his back, although now you know for sure it's the front.

He reaches for your elbows, and draws you closer. "I spoke with the neighbors and smoothed things over, but tomorrow you owe them an apology for upsetting them. They didn't know, but now you know how this works, don't you? You nod `yes.'

"Good. I know I wouldn't have been able to live if anything had happened to you, even though I don't have any right to claim you, and I can understand if you want someone else because I'm just the first man you've ever met but…but I want to mate with you too, it's just that I want to make sure you understand that it's not just a "wham-bam-thank you-man" kind of thing, that when you do mate it should be for life with only one person, okay?"

"Okay." You reply. "But why?"

"Because it makes children, and children take a long time to care for until they're able to take care of themselves. Years of intensive work, and sometimes it's more than even two parents can handle. Besides, if you have a mate you get attached to that person more than anyone else in the world, and it causes great hurt if one should leave the other."

"Do you want to mate with me?"

"More than anything else in the world. You and nobody else."

"How come you don't already have a mate?"

"I used to."

"What happened to her?"

"She died."

"Do you have children?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Sometimes that's the way it goes."

"Why didn't you get another wife?"

"Only one per customer."

"Only one per what?"

"Only one at a time. You may have only one mate at a time, otherwise there's too many people involved."

"That's why that woman came at me?"

"Now you're catching on."

You think for a minute. "I didn't really want to mate with him, he's not as pretty ("Handsome. It's called `handsome' when it's a man. `Pretty' is the term for a woman." He interjects.) as you are." He embraces you to his hairy chest and you cuddle against him, his heartbeat in your ear.

You draw on what you heard tonight, only turn it around to fit your different situation: "There's no one else but you that I want." You turn your face up to his, a dark silhouette surrounded by a million silver stars.

"For ever and ever?"

"Ever and ever!"

"No matter how bad or good things get?"

"If we're together it won't be that bad." 

"Then I take you as my mate, for the rest of my life."

"And for mine!"

He kisses you, and you kiss back. His tongue tickles at your lips and you somehow know to open without being told. Your tongues dance together in your mouths, flick over your teeth and tickle your lips. Your arms encircle each other, and your hands stroke your slick wet skins. You can feel his hosepipe begin to stiffen against your belly and you feel a thrill of understanding! Your first real mating has begun!

You move up on the bank to the grassy spot where you dive. The rest of the night is a gauzy blur as you touch and are touched, speak lovingly and are warmly replied. You yelp when he touches your raw slit, but he quickly "kisses it and makes it well." This time it really does make it feel better!

At last you don't want to wait any longer and you tell him: "Take me…take me now." And he does.

Just like that boy in the woods He rises and positions his stiff pipe at your opening, and gently presses in. You feel yourself widening to accommodate him, just like in the clinic, except his pipe is so much hotter than that cold inseminator. He withdraws a little, and the feeling is much better, then he pushes again, this time sliding past the muscle ring at the entrance, all the way into you. Your eyes roll back in your head and you too arch your back like a cat stretching at the glorious feeling.

Unlike the young man, your man takes his time withdrawing and thrusting, drawing out the delicious agony. But slowly, ever so slowly, he increases his speed, and soon you both are huffing and puffing like the other two, that hot pressure building between your legs, feeling more and more like you're going to lose the grip on yourself when you hear him shout "GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" and you feel him spray hot fluid inside you. You too burst like fireworks and the stars in the sky light up as they've never shone before.

Later, you now know why that artificial system isn't working. You don't know why, but you know, and you also know that "letting nature take it's course" is the only way.

It's working for you!