index


Message-ID: <39085asstr$1036336204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Reversion {Varkel} (M+m+b+g+f+F+) [11/21]
Date: Sun,  3 Nov 2002 10:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

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 _O_s 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
_under_bachelor 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."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+