Reversion
a Novel by Varkel
Spring, 2002
Chapter
11: Commencement
�Damn, I miss them!�
Clara looked up from her book.� �Surely not your old friends in Hightower!� Do you mean your parents?�
�No.� Well, yes, them too.�� I had taken the bus home two weeks ago before school started.� Not surprisingly most of those �old friends� proved too childish to be of interest.� Furthermore they asked too many questions about my FBI shadows.� I talked with Dad, bringing him fully up to date, and hugged Mom a lot, though I think she regards me now more as a distant relative than a son.
I sighed.� �What I really miss are computers.�
�Computers?�
�Yeah.�� I waved my clipboard full of tensors.� �I need to find out the range of convergence for this series, and every term is a fifth power increment.�
Alice, fondling Alazar in her lap, suggested, �Use logarithms.�
�Fifth power!� I emphasized.� �Logarithms don�t have enough accuracy to be useful.�� I chuckled grimly. ��And it�s for sure I�ll never multiply such numbers as these without error!�
Melita, the lovely furry little one curled against my side under the robe, turned her head up to me.� �Hunsh?� she asked.� By now I recognized all her expressions.� This wide-eyed one, full of innocent sympathy, was among the cutest.� Melita may not have known the reason for it, but I�m confident she understood my frustration.� All we primates share the language of emotion, expressed in posture and tone.� I tickled her behind the ears and her look went dreamy.
Clara frowned thoughtfully.� �I�m surprised that a scholastic assignment includes such difficult problems.�
�You shouldn�t be.�� I laughed, which brought relief and a monkey smile � bared teeth � to Melita�s little round face.� �Math professors delight in leaving unsolved world-class problems as, quote, �exercises for the student,� unquote.� And I admit, once in a while they get a new solution, like the guy who integrated the differential for position versus time in Celestial Mechanics.� But this isn�t an assignment.�
�No?� Then what are you up to?�
�Well, I�ve been scanning the quantum theories from your time that you left on the viewer for me and ��
�What!�� Alice straightened up with a glare.� Alazar in her lap glared also. �It was almost comical.
I chuckled.� �Did you think I was only interested in your affairs with everyone around us who�ll hold still?�
Her expression blanked as her chin rose.� I laughed harder.� �By god, you did think that, didn�t you!�
She sniffed.� �I suppose you find it all just too repetitive, eh?�
I quit laughing.� �Alice, I�ve been meaning to ask you.� Were you like this as a married woman?�
She began with a snarl, �That�s none of your ��� Her expression softened as she contemplated me.� She took a breath.� �Only in my imagination.� But now �� Now I don�t have to worry about disease or pregnancy or even too-rough men, what with the FBI on call.�� She smiled brightly.� �Sometimes I feel as the queen of Sheba must have felt � only freer.�� She cocked her head at me.� �What�s the matter, Timmy, my sweet?� Don�t tell me you�re jealous!�
I grunted.� �Nobody ever had a better reason.�
�Clara doesn�t mind my adventures.� She admits to a vicarious pleasure in studying the recordings.�
�That reminds me,� I noted, snapping my fingers.� �I meant to ask you, Clara, how much of what we feel can you record?�
The woman studied me thoughtfully.� �You mean, can DNA memory record sexual feeling?�
�Well � yes.�
She nodded slowly.� �It can, but the results are useless to anyone else.� It turns out that the way our brains work, the different order and details of experiences encountered by each brain map upon it uniquely.� A given memory sequence in your head can only mean what it does to you, in the environment of all the surrounding sequences to which it is integrated.� In my head it would mean something else � or more likely be noise.� Experimenters have tried direct communications.� It is successful only when cast into shared symbols such as those of speech or writing.�
�No direct memory recordings, then?�
�Oh no!� Your own memory can be recorded and played back into you, just not someone else�s.�
I�m sure I frowned.� �But when I�m viewing Alice�s adventures, I distinctly feel her partner�s arms around me.�� I grimaced with annoyance.� �I even feel his dick parting strange flesh between my legs!�
Clara�s grin flickered.� �And how does that make you feel?�
�I�m not sure how to answer that.� It certainly doesn�t stimulate me!�
She pointed her finger at me in a you�ve got it gesture.� �Exactly.� Tactile sensations can be conveyed but not the conclusions of the mind that receives them.� Which is just as well.� I can show you the results of real experiments.� Men and women do not react the same at that level.�� She grinned.� �Not so surprising, is it?�
�I guess not.�
�I�ll show you how to turn off the tactile input from the viewer.�
�Good.�
Alice sniffed.� �Then you didn�t see my run-in with the cop.�
�The cop?�
�Yes, Sean O�Higgins from the Christmas party.�� She smiled lazily.� �I met him in the park while you were away visiting your schoolgirls.� He was so grateful!�
�For past favors, no doubt.�
�That too.� He said he could hardly stop thinking of me.�� She feigned a sigh.� �The poor man.� I�m afraid he�s obsessed with immature flesh.� He threatened to ask for a transfer to Eastbend Orphanage.�
�You sound pleased.�
She giggled.� �I�m the canary who ate the cat.� In fact it was most amusing, almost as much as your evening with Bobby and Phyllis.� I�ve still got the viewer if you�d care to see.�
I looked sternly at Clara.� �Did you record everything on my outing?�
She said softly, �I warned you.�
And it was true: she had done so, most explicitly just before I boarded the bus.� �Remember, Timmy, we�ll be watching through your eyes.�� Then she had added, �But we�re part of you now, sharing your joy and pain.� Don�t let us stop you from anything you want.�
I took a deep breath.� �Yes, you did warn me.� And it didn�t stop me.�
�I�m glad,� she said simply.� �I think it was good for you.� You have returned with a new purposefulness.�
�I had some ideas on the bus.�
She nodded.� �Original thought occurs easiest when we are protected from interruption.� Does this have anything to do with your fifth-increment series?�
�Everything.�
�Tell me.�
�I think �� Well, it�s a little premature, but if this series converges in the range around Pi, I think I may have found a way to make inertia vary independently of mass.�
She only stared.
It was Alice who sneered.� �Don�t be silly, Timmy, boy.� Inertia and mass are indistinguishable one from the other.� The two words but identify different aspects of the same thing.�
I shook my head.� �They may not be so interlocked as you suppose.�� I waved the clipboard again.� �These equations show that inertia is not just some attribute of mass.� If they tell the truth, it is a force generated against acceleration in a continuum somewhat analogous to voltage in a wire moving in a magnetic field.� Further, they suggest that you can mediate that force without varying the mass.� They imply, for example, that under the right conditions a man�s pinkie could shove a standing train down a flat track.�
��In a continuum,�� she repeated thoughtfully, staring at me.
�Oh, yes.�� I grinned back.� �And how the shover feels about it may have a large influence.�
She sniffed.� �The way he holds his mouth, eh?�
�Can�t you think of anything but sex?�
Her chin rose.� When you find a way to irritate Alice, she always invites you to plaster her on the chin.� �Who was it taught me about sex?�
I hadn�t forgotten the name she gave me.� �One Joel Prickler, so I�ve been told,� I said, plastering her.
�Ugh!� she exclaimed in horror, falling back into her chair.� Alazar glared at me, chattering reproachfully.
�Tim,� said Clara earnestly, �I�ll make you a computer.�
* * *
�Which way do you cross your fingers?�
I looked up at Clara in surprise, but her expression was serious.� So I asked, �What do you mean?�
She sighed patiently.� �Will you just cross your fingers for me, please?�
We were sitting at the kitchen table, Clara over coffee and I over a coke, with Melita over me � that is, perched on my shoulder, licking the back of my head.� Anyone who thinks he would object to that has never tried it.
With a shrug I held up my hand, middle finger crossing forefinger.
She nodded.� �Is that how you normally do it?�
�No.� I don�t normally cross my fingers.� How do you want me to do it?�
�How about putting your forefinger over the middle?�
I tried.� �Okay.� I have to work a little harder.� It takes longer.�
�Good.� Then you�re not likely to do it accidentally.�
�Right.� Hmm.� I can do it a little better with the left hand.�
�Then that�s the way we�ll set it up�� It�s activated.�
�Set what up, Clara?�� Suddenly something was in my eyes.� I blinked.� It was still there.� I looked at the blank wall and saw English words floating in dark, pinched characters, apparently stuck to the wall until I looked away.� I stared at the woman over the shadowy words.� �What�s going on?�
�What do you see?�
��Enter Command.��
�Cross your fingers again, forefinger over middle.�
I did.� The words vanished.
�Is it gone?�
I admitted it was.� She chuckled slightly at my stupefied expression.� �That�s your on-off switch and your video display.� Didn�t you call it that on your computer in 2002?�
�Call what that?�� I recrossed my fingers, middle on top: nothing.� But put the forefinger on top and bingo, Enter Command.� I held up my hand again.� �You mean this is the on-off switch?�
�Yes.�
�How do you interfere with my vision?� Are you driving the optic nerve directly?�
�No, not yet, not until you � graduate.�� I noticed her hesitation and wondered at it.� She continued, �The fovea � the part of the retina that has the resolution to distinguish words � is not very large, so the nanobiots compensate.� They stimulate the foveal cells directly while monitoring the muscles that move the eyes.� When you sweep your eyes as if reading, they synchronously change the pattern of stimulation so it seems you are reading a page of material much larger than your fovea can register.�
�If you say so.� How do I display more than �Enter Command?��
�By issuing a command, of course.� First you must learn how to do that.�
�I�m all ears.�
�Ears won�t get it.� Stretch your fingers apart and lay them gently on the tabletop.� Yes, both hands�� Now press down firmly with� � she held up her own hand and wiggled the fingers oddly � �with your left forefinger and ring finger, plus your right forefinger at the same time.�
I obeyed and my visual field changed.� Looking at the blank wall, I saw that a numeral 1 � no, a lower-case L � had appeared after the d of Command.
�See the L?�
When I admitted it, she continued, �Lift them and press the left ring finger twice.�
Two lower-case Os popped into existence after the L.� She gave me further directions and soon the line, Enter Command lookup keys, was displayed.� I could scan across it readily, as if it were written on the wall.
�Your right pinkie is the equivalent of the Enter key on your old computer keyboard, Tim.� Press it now.�
I did so and �� Wow!� Almost my entire field of view was suddenly full of words, stable words that held their positions on the wall while my eyes scanned them.� A title line proclaimed them to be Key Codes, as indeed they were.� First the fingers of each hand were numbered, 1-4 on the left and 5-8 on the right.� Then each letter and number plus several control functions were coded.� The letter E was indicated by the left forefinger, number 4, alone.� You had to press several fingers together for some keys.� Q was the worst with Code 12345 � all the left fingers plus the right forefinger.
�This is a chording scheme!� I concluded in fascination.
�Very good,� she agreed.� �You�ll never match the speed you attained with your single-key-at-the-time computer keyboard, but this keyboard will always be with you.� The sensors are in your fingers.� Once you learn the code, you won�t need the table.� Pressing your fingers against any fairly firm surface, such as the muscles of your leg, will work.�
�Holy cow!� Is this a full computer?�
�Well, the start of one.� It�s the beginner�s tool of the 24th Century, installed in children shortly after they learn the rudiments of reading.� It will do your job.� If you enter �Menu,� you�ll get a list of all the commands at the top of the hierarchy.�
�Which will be useful once I learn all these key codes, eh?�
�It�s not hard.� See the command entry area down at the bottom?� If you key �practice� it will lead you through some exercises.�
�My god, Clara!� Oh.� But you didn�t design this.�
�Hardly, though thanks for thinking I might.� The whole world has been using that software � for over a hundred years.�
�What�s the capacity of the computer?� Hell, where is it?�
�In your head.� It consists of your own brain cells, Tim, a few of them.� I co-opted about a tenth of one per-cent, plus a few nerve lines from your fingers and eyes.� In fact it�s a rather simple machine.�
�How fast is it?�
�Hard to say; it has a parallel organization, you know.� But once you tell it how, I suspect it will answer your convergence question in a few eyeblinks.�
�Takes months to learn how to program, does it?�
�A few hours, Tim, once you can enter commands efficiently.� You�ll find out how in those menus I mentioned.�
�My god!� Then let me go practice!�
When I jumped to my feet, Melita screeched and wrapped her tail around my neck, but I hardly noticed as I dashed for the stairs.
* * *
What a difference a computer in your own head makes!� It had a �Scene Recording� command that worked better for classwork than a microfilm camera.� Huh!� I�m obsolete in my own time.� I mean, better than a SCSI scanner.
My class attendance slacked in favor of long walks around campus while the equations of variable continua danced in my eyes.� Literally.� Virtual Inertia Detachment proved definitely possible.� VID!� (Venereal Identification?� You show me yours and I�ll show you mine?)� With the acronym on my tongue, could reality be far behind?
Apparently it could.� I needed to generate a field, analogous for inertia to the magnetic field that induces voltage in a wire.
Class attendance did not suffer alone.� I looked up from my path one day to find Margery, my occasional lover who happened to be the dean�s secretary, marching along beside me.
She chuckled at my wide-eyed greeting, not too suavely presented: �Where�d you come from?�
�From where you�ll be called in a day or two if you keep cutting classes.�
�Somebody complained?�
�Stimson.� You should�ve seen Bucky grin.� He�ll use any excuse, Timmy, to set you back.� Where have you been?�
I shrugged.� �Walking.�
�To see one of those round-heeled little hussies in the accounting office?�
�Huh?�
Her eyes searched my face.� �I mean, why haven�t you been to see me in three weeks?�
�My god, Margery, I�m sorry!� I don�t know �� It happened that ��� I took a breath and started over.� �You�re off work this afternoon, are you?� Let�s go to your place.�
�Not so fast, buster!� Just where have you been?�
I took a deep breath.� �In another world, as a matter of fact.�
She chuckled bitterly.� �You mean in another set of panties, don�t you?�
�No, Margery.� I haven�t been chasing anyone � in accounting or anywhere else.� I�ve had some ideas, that�s all.� I�m on the trail of something big, maybe even another � I mean, something that could lead to a Nobel prize.� I�m very close to a breakthrough that would knock your socks off.�
She blinked.� �Knock my �� I don�t wear socks.�
Another anachronism?� I pressed on, �It would revolutionize physics if I could build a working model.� But I need a field, an inertial field.� You can�t just run out and buy one at Sears and Roebuck.�
We had stopped to face each other.� To my surprise her expression changed from accusation to something remarkably like approval.� �Timmy, most girls would slap your face about now, but I think you mean it.�� She smiled reminiscently.� �I�m not unfamiliar with that problem.� David was the same kind as you.� He thought of something big too, the week before he had to leave for his basic training.� He only got to see me a few hours the last night.�
�Where is he now?�
�In the Ardennes forest, so they told me.�� She sighed.� �At least I made sure he went off with good memories.�
�I�m sorry.�� But I agreed: every warrior should have good memories.
�Me too.�� Her hand tousled my hair.� �You really want to come home with me?�
I caught the hand and kissed it.� �More than anything.�
�Well, we�re going the right way.�
* * *
�What�s come over you, Margery?�
Her eyes were already staring up into mine.� They developed a distinct twinkle, unaffected by the small cock plunging in and out of her lips.� She�d wiped her mouth with the bedsheet but missed the streak of boy-juice on her cheek.� She made an interrogative sound through her nose.
�We always finish up this way,� I explained, �but this time you started with it.� I�m not looking a gift horse � ah, that is, I�m not really complaining, but you know I�m good for a long go the second time.� Couldn�t I do something for you?�
She opened her mouth.� I tried to back away but her hands behind my ass prevented it.� With half my dick still in her mouth she said, �I� �et �ou �ick me af�er awhi�.�� Her tongue tickled.
�I�ll lick you, but I�d like to do you the right way.� You�re not having a period, are you?�
�Hunh-uh.�
�Then I repeat: what�s come over you?� I hope you�re not trying to leave me with good memories!�
With that she spat me out and admitted, �I was thinking of David.�� She smiled, eyes sparkling.� �And something else.� With such an early start I believe you�ll become a great man, Timmy.� When that happens, it�ll thrill me to say, �I used to suck his cock.��
Her words were agreeable enough to make me chuckle with pleasure, though I protested, �Just who would you tell that?�
But I understood: my successors no doubt, as she now spoke of David.
I scooted backwards over her tits.� �Hold still.� I�ve got an idea.�
�To astonish the world?� she asked, her smile broader.� I detected no mockery.� Indeed this woman would be good for a man�s self-confidence!
I had gotten down from the bed.� I went directly to the bottom pulls on her chest of drawers, groped in the drawer for my objective and straightened up with it in my hand.� �Not the world � you!�
She raised up on her elbows and stared.� �You, you � you�ve been rummaging, you little sneak!�
I grinned slyly.� �The kid part took over the other day when you went to the phone.� But this will allay your concern about my too-virile squirts.�
She sniffed.� �I can�t believe you�d rather put that in me than your own cock.�
�How about both together?�
Her brow wrinkled.� �Just what is this great idea?�
I had figured out how the strap-on worked the day I found it.� I had to take up a couple of slip-buckles.� It�s no surprise that a woman�s ass is broader than a 13-year-old boy�s.� She watched contemplatively.� Shortly I was ready � with a thick nine-inch dick (estimated) projecting above my five-incher.
When I took the cold cream jar from her nightstand and clambered onto the bed between her legs, she shook her head.� �I won�t be able to feel yours, Timmy.�
�Oh, yes, you will.�� As I spoke I slathered lubricant on both huge falsie and dwarfed reality.
�Timmy, you mean ��� Her eyes widened and her lips opened in obviously rising anticipation.
�Ooo!� she murmured as the dildo parted her flesh.� The real dick missed on its first try.� Her hand flew down and corrected its aim. Curious.� Margery�s anus is tighter even than Alice�s � or it was at first.� Then I understood that she was compressing it, probably for my benefit.
�Oh, god, Timmy!� she exclaimed in a deepened voice.� Some ideas are winners.
She began to groan almost right away.� It grew in volume as her body shivered beneath me, hips rolling strongly.� I had previously observed the likes of this only with my tongue in her crack.� I pumped away gamely, in no danger of popping, though this experience was qualitatively different as well.� Her skin flushed.� I felt the radiant heat as the womanly odor enveloped me.� This was the passionate Margery I remembered from 13 years in her future � except that she soon surpassed even that.� Moans becoming screams, she nearly bucked me off her.
Then I froze.� By god, this was the answer!� Avenues of opportunity cascaded open in my mind�s eye.
�What�s the matter?� she demanded hoarsely, eyes glaring, chest fluttering for breath.
�That�s how to get my field as large as I need it � dildoes!�
Her expression changed to stupefaction.� �Wh-what?�
Words poured from me.� �The math allows only small generators.� My dick is about the size of the largest generator you can build without having it disintegrate into component atoms soon as you turn it on.� But a whole lot of small dicks in the same enclosure would reinforce and spread the field to cover as large a volume as needed.� Like photons in a laser, everything inside would also become detached and you could ��
It had zoomed over her head.� �Timmy!� she cried, gritting her teeth.� �If you stop now I�ll never speak to you again.�
�Huh?�� I stared at her and had to grin.� �Oh, yeah.�� I started up again, encouraged by my breakthrough, pumping hard and as fast as I could.
�Oh, god, yes!� she agreed before her eyes rolled up.� I held on tight to her butt cheeks and rode my tigress, who subsided only when she felt my deposit in her entrails.
We lay entangled for some time even after I rolled off her.� Her hand crept over me to caress the real dick.� �Oh, Timmy!� she murmured.
�You like more than one dick at the time, don�t you?�
�It seems that you do too.�
�Oh, yes.�� I sighed happily.� �Think I�ll call it the Margery Effect.�
* * *
�The Margery Effect!� cried Alice, looking away from her viewer with an undisguised sneer.� �Men!� To even think of naming a principle of physics after a dissolute woman ��
�Dissolute!�� I stared in astonishment.
Her glare softened to a chuckle.� �Did you want to say, �Look who�s talking?��
�I thought of it,� I admitted.
Her eyes became distant.� �Wonder where she found that strap-on dildo.�
I laughed.� �You want one too, do you?� Alice, is that all you got from this incident?�
She focused on me.� �You mean your idea of multiple little cocks?�
�Generators!�
�Whatever.�� She leered at me.� �I�d rather have a few big ones.� Did you notice Rosalind�s English professor whom she and I entertained last week?� Now there�s a cock!�
�No,� I responded impatiently.� �Your recordings have become too predictable.�
�Jealous, are you?�
I shook my head.� �Your affairs take nothing from me.�
�Predictable, you say?� For the last two weeks yours were nothing but strolls around the neighborhood.�� She held up the viewer.� �Actually I was glad to see Margery kick your feet out from under you.�
I nodded with a grin.� �No one could pass up an opportunity like that.� And I�m especially glad she came along this time.�
�Did she really give you the idea?� It seems a bit obvious, if your generators are too small, to apply many of them.�
��Obvious,�� I repeated dryly, �like a paperclip once someone else has thought of it. Hey, I�ve been meaning to ask you: what did the paperclips look like in your old universe?�
�Hmm.�� She blinked at me.� �Now that you mention it, they were a different shape.�
�Helices?�
�Do what, helices?� No, ours were shaped like opposing Ws, joined at the top.� Wonder who came up with loops anyway.�
�How about your universe, Clara?�
The woman had been listening to us absent-mindedly while bottle-feeding Elaba�s new baby.� The mother had developed an instant hatred of the tiny ball of fur � apparently according to her mentor because she wanted a human-looking infant like the ones she had seen in magazines.� Clara admitted that modified Capuchins were less stable than natural ones.� Now she asked, �What about my universe?�
�What did your paperclips look like?�
�Paperclips!�� She sniffed.� �We didn�t use paper for recordings.� Trees were yet so few and forests so far-between.�
But Alice�s curiosity was lagging behind.� �I still say multiple generators are an obvious solution � but to what problem?� What would you use them for, Timmy?�
�Ah,� I breathed, pleased that someone had finally asked, though surprised at my reluctance to answer.� Instead I explained, �They would disconnect inertia from mass in a usable volume.�
She nodded.� �You crowed about your series� convergence on Pi just the other day.� So what if you can disconnect the inertia?�
�Don�t you see?� F = ma is no longer rigorous.� With disconnected inertia a very small force could induce a large acceleration in a large mass.�� I smiled sadly.� �Too bad it�s so counter-intuitive.� Where will I find believers, even after they�ve seen the math?�
�Oh, that shouldn�t be so hard.�
I blinked.� �Shouldn�t it?�
�No.� In fact, Tim, I think you can cite evidence that already shows your disconnection.�
�Huh?� What evidence?�
�The UFOs.� I was reading a summary the other day.� In many sightings they stopped instantly or turned on a dime in mid-air.� That would be duck soup if you didn�t have to worry about inertia.�
I breathed, �By god, sweetie, I think you�re right!�
She smiled.� ��Sweetie,� am I?� But you�re too elated just to be explaining UFOs.� What�s really got you so excited about disconnected inertia?� What will you make of it?�
I stared at them and for the first time said it aloud: �A space ship.�
That riveted their attention!
* * *
�You�re just insufferable, Tim.� How can a girl preserve her magic and manipulate a guy like you who is never desperate for sex?� Was there ever a time you had to beg a girl or make a fool of yourself?�
Rosalind�s complaint was almost serious, I thought.� She pouted at me as I stood in her one room apartment with the casual air of a fourteen-year-old sovereign prince whose harem was nearby.� I could tell she wanted to eat me up.
�Have you ever contemplated social work?� I replied with an impudent smirk.� �Plenty of the horny graduate students around here would do housework for a brief sniff of your unwashed panties.�
She laughed.� �They�d drool on my carpet.�
�If you had one.�� I fondled a small breast but recoiled playfully at her attempt to kiss.� �You could deflect entire careers with your slim body.� Haven�t you noticed the ugly fat girls some of these desperate men cling to as their only protection against queerness?�
She turned away to pick up a glass of pop from the table.� �Not the vets, Timmy.� I have a hard time attracting them.�
�You could do it, Ros, but you�d have to act more grown up.� Most of them are looking for a relationship.� They�ve already dipped their cocks into easy girls.�
She sniffed.� �Sometimes I think I�d rather have pathetic virgins, to tell the truth.� At least they�re thankful for the experience.� A lot of the older guys I�ve come to know take sex with me for granted, but they still act like young boys.� Last month a suave Egyptologist from the Oriental Institute invited me to a dig in Nubia, but he insisted he needed his mother�s approval first.�
�He was a vet?
�North African campaign.� I think he just wanted someone to sweep his tent.�
I took the glass from her hand and finished the drink in a swallow.� �Virgins might be fun,� I said.� �You could do a dissertation on the subject.�
�I don�t intend to change my field, Timmy.�
�Think about it.� Your title might be Orgasmic Response of the Human Male During Initial Bisexual Coitus. �The work could become a best seller.�
�I prefer your orgasmic response, little boy,� she responded, capturing me with her arms.� �You squeak when you come.�
We kissed with tongues fully engaged.� I fondled her pert butt cheeks with easy familiarity.
�I think I�ll taste you this afternoon,� she whispered when pausing for breath.� �I�m having my period, unfortunately.�
�We could try the tighter opening,� I suggested, wriggling a finger at her crack.
�If you want, Timmy, but you know I never enjoy that, even with your small cock.� No offense.�
�I�m still a growing boy,� I protested. �It�s not as if I were forever stuck with my modest endowment.�
�Yes, that�s true,� she said, undoing my belt as she spoke.� �It must be an inch longer than it was when you made a woman of me.� It�s certainly thicker.�
She took a step back to pull off her dress.� We disrobed slowly like an old couple, shedding our clothes without frenetic excitement.� The pale flesh of her long, athletic body still aroused me, however, especially the curiously small breasts that looked like those of a young teen.
�I don�t mind the blood,� I remarked, taking her lightly into my arms.� She was still half a head taller than I.� �I�ll even lick on you.�
�Ugh!� she exclaimed.� �The prospect of that does not thrill me at all.� I�m very self conscious of my curse, you know.�
She pulled me to the bed upon which we casually climbed.� We lay beside each other for a few gentle caresses, my body half atop hers, before we began to kiss.
�You can go in the back way,� she said after a moment.� Our noses touched.
�But you don�t enjoy it,� I objected.
She kissed me passionately then held me tightly.� �You�re a special guy, Timmy.� I want you to do it this time when I�m not drunk.� I want to feel you push it in.�
�I�ll be gentle,� I promised.
�You�d better be,� she grunted as she rolled onto her stomach.� �The Vaseline is in the medicine chest.�
I rose from the bed to retrieve the lubricant.� She lolled facedown on the bed with arms above her head while I slickened my cock.� The backs of her thighs and small butt seemed appealingly boyish, an observation that troubled me.
�Hurry up!� she called out, her voice muffled by the pillow.� �The anticipation is scary.�
I climbed onto the bed and positioned myself between her out-spread legs, wanting the sex very much yet hesitant.� Why was she suddenly so ready?� My thighs touched hers, slender and deliciously smooth.� Leaning down further I poked my slick cock into the crack of her butt.
�Do it!� she cried when I still hesitated.
So I thrust roughly into her.� She squirmed and yelped but she soon quieted, allowing me to take my pleasure, which came quickly.� It was not a good fuck, not what I had expected, and I did not linger to relish her flesh pressed against mine, because she seemed to be in distress.
�Why?� I asked, rolling off� to lie beside the woman who still grimaced from her recent discomfort.� �Why?�
Sobbing in frustration she grabbed me in a tight embrace.� �I want you to be my guy, Timmy,� she wailed and kissed my face furiously.� �If you were older, I�d trick you into getting me pregnant.�
I held her in my arms, my hand running up and down her back, fingers bumping along the knobs of her spine.� I felt both flattered and disturbed by her sudden outburst.� Rosalind had always struck me as being a levelheaded person.� Indeed, wry cynicism was an important element of her charm.
�You sound like a virgin school girl,� I chided her with my lips grazing her wet cheek.� �I can�t imagine you insisting we go steady.�
She rose up on an elbow to grin wanly at me.� She rubbed her upper face with the back of her hand.
�Hardly a virgin, Timmy,� she responded in a clear voice.� �You should know that.� Maybe it�s the period.� It sometimes makes me moody.�
�You sounded rather desperate just now, like I was about to walk out on you.�� I pulled her to me again.
�But I shall be losing you.� We both graduate in a few months and we may never see each other again.� The thought of that upsets me.� You�re really somebody special to me, Timmy.�
�I�m not yet fully grown,� I protested, attempting to lighten the mood that was uncomfortably somber.
�You�re grown enough, Tim.� You�re spooky.� Harrison says you�re hiding something incredible.�
�Who�s Harrison?� I inquired, sitting up abruptly.
�An older guy I met last week.� Harrison Cleaver.� He�s been asking all kinds of questions about you and Alice.�
�You shouldn�t be talking to strangers about us, Ros,� I scolded.
�He�s hardly a stranger, not now.�� She winked at me.
�Fucking a guy does not make him a confidant.�� I laid beside to her again.� �What did you tell him?�
�I didn�t volunteer anything, Timmy.� I just answered some of his questions.� He especially wanted to know how mature you and Alice are, whether you acted like kids.�
�And what did you say?�
�Understand we had just had sex in a rather acrobatic fashion and I had also been drinking.�
�What did you say!�
Rosalind shrugged and wriggled her nose.� �I said the only childish thing about you two are your bodies.�
�That�s all?� Didn�t he ask about our work?�
�Well, yes, he did.� But I couldn�t tell him anything about that, because I�m an illiterate when it comes to science. �He said he wants to meet you.� I think he�s a pervert who savors young flesh.� He went wild over my little-girl titties.�
�They are rather cute,� I said, placing my mouth on the tip of one.
I put her older friend, Harrison, out of my mind.� I felt a youthful urge to fuck again, and this time I wanted to do it in the old fashioned manner.
�How do you get this rag off?� I asked, pulling at her sanitary pad.
�You�ll make the sheets all bloody,� she complained, but she removed the item for me.� �I can�t deny you anything, Timmy,� she sighed as I mounted her.
She responded with a passionate groan the instant I entered her slippery opening, and for the next thirty minutes her vocal response did not let up.� I counted at least three major orgasms � wild flailing, scratching climaxes each louder than the last.� I worried about the noise, about the neighbors.� She had never been like this before.� She stared at me with large, excited eyes when it was my turn.� She pulled on me, urged me on and seemed to share my pleasure.
Odd, I thought later.� Her declaration approached obsession, yet she omitted the old-fashioned word for it.
Clara loads up the viewers for us every day or two.� I watched for the most recent and took it to Alice.� �What do you think of this?�
She cocked an eyebrow at me.� �Something unusual?�
�I think so.� I�d like your opinion.�
She viewed it while stroking Alazar in her lap.� The king monkey has become Alice�s personal property and she seems to relish it.� His first lieutenant has taken over almost all his management tasks.� Clara smiles tolerantly.� Our modified capuchin population has grown in this stable environment.
Alice giggled.
�What?� I demanded.
�She�s so immature, thinking she�ll get away from us that easily after graduation.�
Immature?� Well, yes, compared to the 70-year-old personality sharing Alice�s head.
After a moment Alice looked up.� �This guy Cleaver sounds like trouble.�
�Huh?�� I had to think a moment to recall whom she meant.� �The hell with him.� What about this obsession Rosalind seems to be developing for me?�
She looked at me askance, grinning slowly.� �Don�t count on it.�
�Count on it!� I�m worried for her.�
Alice smiled in the superior manner she sometimes affects, especially to me when feminine nature is the subject.� �You shouldn�t be, Mr. Red Dick.� She said it herself: it�s probably just because of her period.� Sometimes it afflicts girls terribly, completely changes their personalities.� Didn�t you ever notice?�
I�m afraid I blinked in astonishment.� �You mean it�s genuine?�
She barked a laugh.� �Now why would you ever think I meant that?�� She tossed her head, eyes twinkling.� �But you really shouldn�t worry about it, Timmy.� She and I are double dating twin brothers Saturday.� I hear they�re what the Seventies called swingers.� I assure you, Ros won�t be pining for you Saturday night!�
She laughed as I turned away.
* * *
�Fern means far, right?� I asked Alice, careful to pronounce it �fayrn.�
I looked up when she didn�t answer immediately.� She was sitting in her recliner, turned towards me by chance ― I think! ― with bare feet up on the footstool and her housecoat parted over her belly, pink slit only too exposed.� She�s approaching thirteen and a few kinky strands were visible around it.� Alazar lay on her belly-to-belly over the lowest secured housecoat button, arms and legs spread around her, tail coiled up his back.� I presumed the lower display was for my benefit instead of his, though you can seldom be certain with Alice.
�In German,� she answered absently.� �Remote, distant, far, and so on.�
�I wish I dared call it Fernwerk,� I noted wistfully.
�Far works?�� She barked a derisive chuckle.� �Sounds like a hillbilly word for firecrackers.�
�In English.� Hey, that�s it!� I�ll call it �Fernworks.��� This time I pronounced it �furn.�
�Do you plan to go into botany?�
�No.� I told you: into space.� I plan to go far!�
She sat up a little.� As if she had just noticed it, she pulled one side of the housecoat over her legs, throwing the almost-mature twat into shadow.� Alazar turned to glower at me.� �Tim, what are you up to?�
I grinned at her.� �Having a computer in one�s head lets you sit still and be �up to� anything your heart desires.�
She studied me.� �You�re planning your spaceship, then?�
�I�ve already planned that.� Now I�m planning how to build it.� I�m going to need a secret factory and about a hundred million dollars.�
�Chickenfeed!� she proclaimed sardonically.� �How did you arrive at such a trifling sum?�
�I�ve been reviewing Von Braun�s efforts at Peenemunde and the Apollo program at Cape Canaveral.� Von Braun had to start over again and again.� Both programs went through a lot more money than that.�
�Because they had to invent everything from fuel to fasteners.� Have you decided on your fuel?�
I nodded.� �Water.�
�Water?�� She blinked.� �You mean as your reaction mass?�
�That too.� I�ll use a hydrox fuel cell from a 24th Century design to generate the electricity that powers the VID field and runs the pumps.� In space, sunlight on 24th Century solar cells will generate it.�
�Doesn�t sound very efficient.�
�Who cares about efficiency?� It�ll work.�
She grinned narrowly.� �Confident, are you?� Don�t forget: you�re a scientist, not an engineer.�
�Meaning what?�
�That you don�t automatically know never to push machines to their limits ― or how to determine what those limits are.�
I had to pause.� �I�m impressed.� You�re right.� So I�ll hire an engineer.� But tell me: where did the girl who blew up the fusi-fizz lab learn to be concerned with engineering?�
She chuckled proudly.� �By lying under half the engineering undergraduates at Roosevelt Poly, of course.�� Her chuckle became a laugh.� �They ought to offer a special diploma ― hmm ― an underbachelor of engineering.�
�That reminds me,� I said dryly after a pause for her to preen.� Alazar grinned his approval, adding his own sniff of derision for me.� �What ever happened to our mutual promise not to fuck outside the family without prior permission?�
�Oh, that!�� She shrugged with a wry grin.� �That was mainly to protect us females from male flightiness, you know.�
�Was it!� Even so, I don�t recall it being rescinded.�
�In effect it has been ― because of you, Tim.��� It seems that with the efforts of Clara, myself, Rosalind and the dean�s secretary, your libido is content.�
�I see.� While half an engineering school is not enough for you and Rosalind.�
�But, Tim, we�re female!�
* * *
I unrolled the parchment and held it up.� �At last:� �Timothy Peter Kimball, Doctor of Philosophy� � without that scene-stealing Honorary in front of it.�
��Honorary?�� Clara repeated.
�I had five of these on the wall of my office in 2002.� Guess which four were the fanciest!�
We had just returned from the commencement ceremony at Rockefeller Chapel with diplomas in hand.
�Where is Alice?� I asked.� �She disappeared as soon as we got home.�
�She took the telephone to her room.� She and Rosalind are plotting some kind of celebration.�� Clara looked at me coyly.� �I haven�t properly congratulated you yet, Timmy.�
I tossed the document aside and took her in my arms.� At physical fourteen I was growing, now half a head taller than her five-foot two.� She pressed her lithe body against me and pulled our mouths together.� Clara is a fabulous kisser, which I may have mentioned.� At such moments she somehow makes me understand that I have her whole attention.
She said against my lips, �Sex is the original and still the best way for man and woman to celebrate.�
�Then let�s go upstairs.�
We turned toward the staircase only to find Alice in a bathrobe stepping barefoot off the bottom tread, Alazar cradled on one arm, the telephone in the other.� She set the instrument on its stand and plugged its huge four-pronged jack into the wall.
�Stick around, Tim,� she advised.� �Rosalind�s coming over.� Her mother can�t stay for the usual festivities.�
�You and Rosalind can entertain each other.� Clara and I just discovered some personal business.� Oh, yeah, congratulations, doctor.�
�Thanks and the same to you.�� She looked from me to Clara and grinned.� �Ordinarily I�d insist on horning in, but Rosalind and I�ll wait for you down here.� We�re in no hurry.�
�I know.� Come on, Clara.�
�Maybe we ought to wait, Tim,� the woman suggested.� �A celebration postponed is sometimes better appreciated.�
So I concentrated on Alice.� �What�s going on?�
The front knocker thudded through the foyer before she could answer.
�Better scamper,� said Alice to her monkey, making shooing motions.� He disappeared toward his closet.
I went to the door and opened it to Rosalind, who grinned and skipped past me without a word.� She stretched her arms dramatically, taking a deep breath.� �Oo, I do love air-conditioning, especially here where we don�t need it.�
�Except when we do,� I agreed dryly, following her.
�That�s my point,� she expostulated.
Until today I had not seen her in some time � except in the viewers helping Alice collect seminal samples from all over the campus.� I noted clinically that her breasts had grown larger behind the lightweight blouse.
�What brings you here?� I asked.� �Are you and Alice plotting to seduce the city government?�
�In a manner of speaking.�
We had already entered the living room where Clara and Alice waited.� I paused to regard Rosalind quizzically, but she scurried ahead.� Cooing as if they had not spoken in years, she and Alice fell into each other�s arms.� I raised an eyebrow at Clara, who only smiled tolerantly and noted, �The greeting rituals are different at each age.�
I had to snort at that.� �Between 23 and 70?�
�In this case I think the average of 12 and 70 is about 23.�
I was dispatched for drinks.� When I returned with the tray, everyone was seated, Alice nearly in Rosalind�s lap, Clara facing them across the coffee table.� Rosalind had taken off her blouse.� To my surprise she leaned forward, hands behind her, and unsnapped her brassiere.� Large breasts tumbled out, pink nipples bouncing.� Indeed they had grown at least half-again.� I suspect my mouth fell open.� I spun to search Clara�s face.� I had never heard of Rosalind and Clara together, but our eldest sat watching with a smile � a satisfied smile, I realized, on that so-familiar face.� Whatever the protocol is between women before a first-time baring of the breasts, they must have performed it while I was in the kitchen.
Rosalind laughed up at me.� Alice was quick to follow gaze and laughter.� Breast enhancement?� My god, silicon jelly had yet to be discovered, so far as I knew!
�What happened to you?� I demanded.
She lowered her chin to admire herself.� Her hands lifted the heavy hemispheres.� She grinned up at me.� �Do you like them?�
�You know it!�� I was trying to remember when I had last seen her tits exposed.� It was the last time we had fucked, when she told me of her rich admirer.� I immediately discovered that I preferred the previous gentle mounds and perky nipples of youth to these udders.� Or at least my old man did.� The young one was simply awe-struck.
I added, �But you can�t do that in a few months.� Unless you�re pregnant?� Don�t tell me!�
She sniffed.� �My period was last week.� Guess again.�
I shook my head.� �Then what have you done?�� I snapped my head around to study Clara again.� Her eyes twinkled.
Behind me Rosalind said, �It�s puzzling to me too.� I�m beginning to think that male attention must account for it, though I never heard of that before.� I noticed last month I was spilling out of my B-cups.� Now I�m spilling out of Cs!�
�And you think it was male attention?� I asked incredulously.
She snickered at Alice.� �It�s only in the last few months I realized this campus had so many heart-throbs.�
�Hard-throbs,� the smallest female corrected with a leer.
�Oh, yes!�
�But I think the real reason for your boob growth,� Alice continued, �is that you wanted larger ones so much.�
�Mind over matter?� Rosalind conjectured.� �I wish it were true.�
�I wish it were true!� I contributed fervently.
�Time will grant your wish,� Rosalind assured me, eyes dropping to the vicinity of my fly.
�In a couple months?�� I looked at Clara once more.� Her hand rose to conceal a smile.
�In a couple years, I suspect,� Rosalind answered.� She slipped into her brassiere and turned her back for Alice to hook it.� �Anyway that�s what I wanted to show you.� I�ll have a good use for them next month.�
Feed a baby? I wondered.� Big tits in two months, why not milk in a week?� But I only waited with my lips firmly sealed.
Too long.� Rosalind frowned at me as she recovered her blouse.� �Aren�t you going to ask what use?�
�Some consequence of your new doctorate, no doubt,� I suggested dryly.
�Be that way!� Though actually our graduation is the opportunity.� We�re invited to a party to celebrate.�
�We?�
�You, Alice and I.�
�A party?� What party?�
She leered.� �I suspect it�ll turn out to be an orgy, but I know you won�t mind that!�� She wiggled her shoulders, causing her blouse to ripple most attractively.� �I expect these to make up for your advantage of seeming youth.�
I don�t suppose anyone should be surprised that Rosalind, after all our intimacy, had tumbled to the central fact about us � even if she didn�t really believe it yet.� I sat down beside Clara, letting my hand slip casually into the overlapped front of her robe.� She never so much as twitched, though my fingers fell on her clit.� Rosalind�s eyes followed my disappearing hand.� Alice�s lip curled sardonically.
�All right,� I conceded from my pose of proprietorship, �tell us about this party that you suspect will become an orgy.� Is that how Chicago celebrates success?�
�Doesn�t everyone?�� She tossed her head.� �Some people even do it for Christmas.�
�Oh, do you know any?�
She sniffed, brows rising slightly as Clara clasped my arm, imperceptibly forcing my hand lower.
I added, �Are you throwing this party, Rosalind?�
�Oh, no.� This is for scores of people.� The host is my very wealthy friend, Mr. Harrison Cleaver.� He throws a party every year for selected graduates, the ones of known liberality.�� She grinned.� �No one dares publish anything about his parties but people talk about them for the entire year.�
�Oh, yeah?� What do they say?�
�How much they envy the ones who were invited.� This year that includes us: Alice, you and me.�
�I�ve seen no invitation.�
�Harrison�s are delivered by word-of-mouth.� My mouth, in this case.�� She grinned lazily.� �I know you like some things in my mouth.�
�What about Clara?�
�Well, of course ��
�No, dears,� the woman interrupted with a smile, holding up a hand.� �I�m no party hound.� I�ll keep the home fires burning.�
�It starts at nine P.M. on Saturday, the twenty-fourth,� Rosalind continued blithely, obviously not displeased at Clara�s rebuff.� �It�s a formal party, though you should wear a dickey� � she barked a laugh � �instead of a shirt.� And leave off your shorts.�
�I will if you�ll leave off your bra.�
After a moment�s frown her eyes lit.� �I think I know how to surprise even you, Mr. Smarty-Pantless.�