Misc. Erotica The Problem With Immortality

"All this...dogoodery... I think it's blocking my sex drive," she said, looking down at her body.

"It's gone?" said Anson.

"I don't feel anything," said Jessica.

"Maybe it's just because you're relaxed, because of the massage."

"Maybe. Or maybe I've lost my sex drive!" said Jessica, panic edging into her voice. "Make love to me."

"What?"

"Make love to me. I want to see if I've still got it."

"Jessica, you're being-"

She silenced him with a kiss. He responded strongly. Within moments, both their clothes were off.

"My tits," she whispered. "Suck on my tits!"

Anson reached down and put a nipple in his mouth. After a while he pulled out and said, "Feel anything?"

"Not sure," said Jessica anxiously. "Try again."

Anson did, this time sucking harder, pursing his lips tightly.

"Ooooh... yes, I feel that!"

Anson very gently scraped her nipple with the edge of his teeth.

She gasped, "Anson! All right, that part works! Now check the lower half."

Anson reached down and started rubbing her clitoris, as he stared into Jessica's eyes. She stared back at him, waiting, needing, longing. And then came the first gasp, and then a second, and a third, and she nodded and smiled.

Anson turned to find his clothes.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, it seems pretty obvious that you still have your sex drive. That's what you wanted to find out, isn't it?"

"Get over here NOW!"

Anson grinned as he allowed Jessica to make love to him. She did so hungrily, demandingly, but also, with an undercurrent of relief.

Afterwards, as she slept by his side, he got up and quietly got dressed. The crickets were calling to him. He quietly left the hotel room and went down to the beach.

Something was calling to him. Something much more urgently than Jessica. Something important. It was the water, lapping against the beach. He knew that sound. He knew that call. How could he forget? It looked the same exact way it had that previous night, sparkling in the moonlight.

Anson sighed. Why did he have to come to the Bahamas?

Of course, after 311 years, nearly every place would remind him of Jennifer. They had travelled nearly everywhere together.

But this had been the site of their honeymoon.

They had been together for four years. Four wonderful years. Anson had gotten his first job as a junior Fixer, after the customary apprentice and training period. But his work was requiring him to travel a lot. That meant more and more time apart from Jennifer.

Jennifer said she didn't mind it, but he thought that she did. He noticed that Jennifer started to talk more and more about a man named Enrique, who she was collaborating with to produce a musical composition. Enrique said this, Enrique said that, and wasn't that so funny, and Enrique's simply brilliant, and Anson, you simply have to meet Enrique!

Anson very much wanted to meet Enrique. They met at a party at the Musical Conservatory in Geneva, where Jennifer was teaching classes part-time while working on her compositions. This was before she had become famous as a world-class pianist.

Enrique was everything Anson had feared. He was tall, at least two inches taller than Anson. He had dark curly hair that fopped over his forehead. He had piercing hazel eyes. He had big strong arms, and an equally big manly chest. Anson took one look at Jennifer and Enrique, standing together, laughing together, and his pulse raced.

He had to do something. But what could he do? He was supposed to get on a stratoliner and go to Tokyo in the morning. He would be leaving her to Enrique's tender mercies, again. When they got back to their apartment, Anson paced back and forth furiously in the bedroom, while Jennifer practiced on her baby grand piano in the music room. Then, finally, he couldn't stand it anymore, and slammed the door open. Jennifer stopped playing, surprise written on her face.

"What, Anson?"

Anson rushed forward, and got on bent knees.

"Anson... what is this all about?" said Jennifer, suddenly getting excited.

"Jennifer, I love you so much. You mean the world to me. I need you more than life itself. Marry me. Marry me, please!"

And then time slowed down, and then crawled to a halt, and so did the beating of Anson's heart. He looked at Jennifer, and saw the shock and surprise written all over her face. They had lived together for the past two years, it is true, but they had never really talked about marriage. Anson's impression had been that Jennifer was relaxed about it, happy with the way things were. But now he was going to find out the truth. Had he asked too late? Had Enrique stolen his love from under him?

"Anson... where did this come from?" Jennifer asked quizzically.

"I love you and want you to marry me. Right now."

"Right now?" said Jennifer. "In the middle of the night?"

"We can do it online. Through the comm."

"You want an instant holocomm wedding?" said Jennifer. Suddenly understanding dawned on her face. "It's Enrique, isn't it?" She read his face like it was a line of text on her datapad. And she laughed, "Oh, Anson! My poor dear Anson!"

"Am I too late? Have you fallen in love with him?" Anson cried.

"My dear, sweet Anson." She touched his face and smiled. "Enrique is married. His wife is expecting their second child."

"He is? They are?"

"Enrique is charming, handsome, sweet, and wonderful. But I could never fall in love with him."

"Why?"

"Because, my love, I only have eyes for you," said Jennifer softly, and then she got down on her knees to match him and gave him a kiss of the ages. At that moment, her lips against him was the most wondrous sensation he had ever felt. Even better than sex. Ten times better than sex.

They embraced like that, both of them on their knees, for some time. Then Anson said, "Then marry me."

"Yes, Anson."

"Yes? Yes what?" He suddenly, desperately, needed confirmation, to remove all shadow of a doubt.

"Yes, yes, yes! I'll marry you!" said Jennifer, laughing. "But not tonight. Can we at least invite my parents to the wedding? I'd hate to tell them we were joined by a holominister."

And Anson laughed and cried on the most joyous night of his life.

The wedding was fine.

Ironically, Anson wasn't so excited. His excitement had peaked when Jennifer had agreed to marry him. The rest was simply... a formality.

But Jennifer looked stunning in a beautiful white dress. And as the minister said the words, and they repeated them, and Anson looked into her eyes, and said, "I do", and so did she, an electric thrill permeated his body as he kissed the one he loved.

And then they took a stratoliner to the Bahamas.

Thankfully, the beautiful hotel they had stayed at had been torn down; the memories it would have evoked would have broken Anson's heart.

Although he and Jennifer had been a couple for four years, it felt like they were strangers to each other. Anson's heart raced as he saw Jennifer in a white bikini, her feminine thighs and tight ass looking gorgeous as she ran and played in the surf. Her smile was radiant, and her blue eyes perfectly matched the color of the water. The sun had started to give her chestnut brown hair just the sexiest hint of blondness. And that first night, when they made love, it was like their first time all over again, feeling his body against hers, touching, moving against her, moving inside of her, making love while looking into her eyes, and she into his, like it was all new; because now, she was his, and he was hers, and it would always be that way.

And on the last night, they had sat on the beach together, Jennifer in those tight white slacks that defined her ass and legs so wonderfully, and that blue and white blouse that showed off her delicate curves--even then, with only a B cup at the time, he found her breasts totally irresistible. They had sat, hand in hand, and watched the waves come in and out, just as Anson was doing now.

And when Jennifer suggested they go inside, Anson had resisted, and Jennifer said, "My love, we will have our entire lives together to do this," and Anson had turned to her and said, "Yes, but I want this moment to last forever," and she had looked at him with such passion, and kissed him with such intensity, that forever after he would associate this beach, and these waves, with the one he loved.

Jennifer enjoyed watching Carl.

Carl walked back and forth bringing blankets from tent to tent.

Carl stopped to talk to a bunch of young black girls with braided hair.

Carl helped a young black man hobbling on a crutch get to his tent.

Carl liked helping others. This wasn't an act. Jennifer could see it. He was such a wonderful man. Why had they never gotten together?

It had been an accident of timing. Carl had gone one way after high school and Jennifer had gone another. And then, a few years later, Anson had appeared, and stolen her heart.

But maybe she would have been better off with Carl. She liked his smile, and his curly brown hair. He was generous, and gentle, and smart. She found herself attracted to him, but the question was, was he attracted to her? She resolved to find out.

As they worked during the day, Jennifer's arm "accidently" brushed against Carl several times. At first he didn't notice, being so busy handing out food and blankets and medicine. But soon he started to take note, and when he saw Jennifer smiling at him, he smiled back.

Excellent.

That night they had a wonderful dinner at the Chateau while a man played the guitar and sang a romantic song for them. It was wonderful being able to volunteer, to help black people during the day, while spending the evening in the lap of luxury in French wine country. It was the best of both possible worlds, and Jennifer wondered why volunteer organizations hadn't conceived of the idea sooner.

After night fell, they moved to the outdoor porch and sat in two overstuffed chairs, side by side. They could still hear the guitarist singing behind them, but he had to compete for the crickets. The view of the vineyard and the mountains behind them in the moonlight was incredibly romantic. The stars were out too, and Jennifer could see the Big Dipper, which was always her favorite, as it reminded her of the time she and-

No, mustn't think about that. She turned and looked at Carl. He was looking at her and smiling. No words were necessary. She reached over and gave him a kiss. His lips were soft and yielding. She put her tongue in his mouth, and for a precious moment, their tongues dallied together. When Carl pulled back he said, "Boy, that was some first kiss!"

First kiss. That meant he was already thinking about the next one.

Jennifer smiled, and put her hand on his, and he squeezed it, and it was enough to know he was interested. That was all she needed to make the night hers.

The blonde bitch sisters, Emilia and Ruby, were at it again. They were carrying supplies back and forth to the tents filled with black refugees, when Ruby asked, "Should I take an image?"

"No, this isn't compelling," said Emilia. "I think we're in trouble."

"Why?" said Ruby.

"Susie Jordan just uploaded a holo of her building a hospital in Tibet."

"Tibet?" Ruby made a face. "Who the fuck cares about Tibetans? We're helping black people! People will think we're a lot more virtuous!"

"I know, but we're just putting up tents. That's boring," said Emilia. "And Tommie Wattafocher uploaded an image from Honduras. He's donating blood to Hispanics!"

"That Tommie Wattafocher makes my blood boil," said Ruby. "He's always trying to upstage the rest of us. He always prances around the country club, with his nose held high, like he's the greatest thing, always rubbing our noses in his latest and greatest volunteer experiences. Well, if we were as rich as his Daddy, we could afford to spend top credits to do the worthiest things in the world! He holds himself up as being the most morally pure, more than all the rest of us put together. It makes me sick."

"We've got to do something," said Emilia. She looked around, and saw people digging a trench.

"What's that?" she asked Fannie Mandell, who just happened to be walking by. This time Fannie was wearing a stunning one piece bathing suit that didn't fail to show her wonderfully curved behind.

"They're digging a latrine."

"A what?" Emilia asked.

"A toilet," said Fannie.

"You mean... they simply shit in a pit?"

Fannie, smiled and nodded.

"Why don't they just use atomizer toilets?"

"The idea is to create physical activities for volunteers to do. We could just as easily have robots and Fabricators do all this. Is that what you want?" Fannie asked.

"No, of course not," said Emilia hastily. Fannie smiled and walked on.

"Ruby, that's it!" said Emila.

"What?"

"Come on!"

They ran to the ditch. Emilia saw a shovel and picked it up, and started digging. Anson, carrying some supplies for one of the tents, stood still, watching the scene unfold.

"We'll get a picture of me digging this shit ditch!" said Amelia.

"Who cares about that?"

"It's shit work, Ruby. Working with shit to help the poor... can you imagine how Tommie Wattafocher's eyes will burst out when he sees it! Now snap an image of me while I dig!"

Ruby raised her datapad to snap an image, but Emilia stopped her. "No, don't. No one will know the fuck what I'm doing. It just looks like I'm digging a hole."

"We'll caption it."

"A picture should say a thousand words on its own," said Emilia. She looked around. "Hey, hey you!" she said

A young black man was walking by.

"Feel like the need to go to the bathroom, Mister? We've dug this hole, and we want to see if it's deep enough. Try it out!"

Anson, expecting the man to simply walk on, was surprised when he stopped and went over to the ditch, and looked down.

"Yeah, that's right, Mister! Go to the bathroom! It's ok, it's only us girls!"

And the man opened his pants and took out his black penis and started to urinate. His penis looked very long and flexible, almost like a garden hose.

"Great!" Emilia chortled, and she dug. "Ruby, are you getting both of us in the same frame? Are you?"

"Yeah," said Ruby.

The young man, seeing what they were doing, didn't seem bothered by their snapping an image of him urinating. He actually raised the stream so it arced high in the air to produce a more impressive visual.

"Great!" Emilia yelled.

The man finished urinating.

"Thank you, thank you so much," said Emila."I would shake your hand, but since you were just touching your penis and all, you understand...."

"You... like... peepee?" said the black man.

"Yes, very much so."

"You like dooty too?" the black man asked.

Emilia and Ruby looked at each other. That would make the photo even more compelling! "Yes, please!" Emilia cried.

And Anson watched, as the black man lowered his pants and squatted over the trench, and Emilia, grinning like a maniac, shoveled behind him, and as Ruby repeatedly snapped images in the few precious seconds as a large brown piece of shit evacuated from the black man's buttocks.

"Look at what I got," Ruby cried, showing her datapad to Emilia. "We have it a quarter way out, half way out, three quarters out, and I even got one where it's flying downwards! Which one should I use?'

"Which one does my hair look best in?" Emilia asked. "Oh, Tommie's going to hate this!" She was so happy.

For Anson, he wasn't watching the girls. Not at all. He was watching the black man who pulled up his pants, and, staring at the girls with a big smile, started walking away, whistling contently.

Something was not right here.

Later in the day, Anson and Jessica did a variety of volunteer duties. They spent an hour teaching a class of young black children basic hygiene.

"You must wipe after you go to the bathroom. Not before, but after," said Jessica, patiently reading a script from a datapad.

"For you boys out there, shake it three times after you finish. Three times, or you will get your pants wet," said Anson, also reading from a script.

After they finished the class, a young black girl came up to them with a bouquet of yellow flowers. She had big black eyes. "Thank you so much," she whispered. "Thank you so much for teaching us everything about the asshole and the wiping paper."

Anson and Jessica exchanged happy looks.

Later, they helped stacked some firewood for old fashioned stoves. No modern nuclear fusion ovens here! As they dropped a stack of wood, a woman came forward and put beaded necklaces over both their necks. "We are so grateful, so grateful for all you do."

"Thank you," said Jessica, feeling pleased.

And then later, when they were assisting in the hospital tent, they acted as nurses and attendants while a doctor injected a sick boy with a strong antibiotic. The boy was cold and trembling, even though it was quite warm outside. But antibiotics worked almost instantly in the 28th century, and within a moment or two he had stopped shivering, cast aside his blanket, and was smiling and jumping for joy. "Yay!" he yelled. His parents hugged and thanked the doctor, as well as Jennifer and Anson.

"Maybe there is something to be said for this volunteering experience," said Jessica grudgingly.

Jennifer and Carl were having an equally great time in Bordeaux. They had just finished teaching an impromptu class about hygiene. Jennifer had just finished instructing the class on how to wipe their ass (using old fashioned toilet paper! no micro-mini nuclear anal cleaners here!), and Carl and told the boys how to shake the residual urine off their drippy penises, when a young black girl came up to them with yellow flowers and thanked them profusely.

"Thank you so much," she whispered. "Thank you so much for teaching us everything about the asshole and the wiping paper."

Jennifer and Carl grinned at each other. It felt so good to be appreciated!

And then later, when they were stacking firewood, a woman thanked them profusely and gave them wonderful beaded necklaces.

And perhaps the highlight of the day was when they saw a poor, sick boy receiving a shot of antibiotics. How Jennifer loved it when he stopped trembling and started running and yelling, like any boy his age should!

Jennifer and Carl enjoyed their week immensely. For a brief time they felt like they had a purpose in life, helping others. Jennifer didn't question why black people lived in huts in the beautiful wine country of France; she was too caught up in the experience of feeling, of sharing with Carl. As she watched Carl help a young boy complete a class assignment, or hand an apple to a little girl, her fondness for him only grew.

The good feelings they enjoyed only grew during the evenings, which were tremendously romantic at that gorgeous Chateau. She and Carl held hands as they looked over at the vineyards in the moonlight while sipping fine wine. The moonlight also made Carl's rugged features even more attractive, and she found herself snuggling against him, very contently....

And then it all would have been perfect, absolutely perfect, if Jennifer hadn't awoken at 3 o'clock in the morning, her mind flooded with memories of Anson, who had booked a romantic weekend with her to a very similar looking French Chateau, to celebrate their 200th anniversary together. He had wined and dined her and been so tremendously charming! And then he had made love to her so sweetly, so tenderly-

She shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. She was with Carl now. Carl. She looked over her handsome man, sleeping just inches away from her. They hadn't consummated their love, not yet, she didn't want to rush things, she wanted to wait until it felt right for both of them. But she knew, even at this early stage, that he was the One. She stared at his sleeping face. He looked beautiful even with his eyes closed. She had a handsome, perfect man. Why did she keep thinking about Anson?

She willed herself to go back to sleep, but she couldn't. The memory of that night, their 200th wedding anniversary, haunted her. Finally, as silently as she could, she snaked a hand between her legs, inside her nightgown, and started rubbing, creating as few vibrations as possible. A few minutes later she gasped once, twice, and then three times, but the results had the opposite effect of what she intended; and she painfully realized that her own hand was such a poor, poor substitute for Anson. Finally, weeping silent tears, she was able to settle into an uneasy sleep, sort of, for the rest of the night.

Anson and Jessica were paired with a family of black people lead by an elder man named Boyo. Boyo was very welcoming to them as they brought wood, food, blanket, and medicine supplies to their tent. Boyo invited them over to enjoy their campfire after dinner and to enjoy some tea with them. Anson and Jessica readily agreed.

That even they got to meet the rest of Boyo's family; there was his wife Chiamaka, his daughters Abimbola, and Kuntu, his son in laws Kwanza and Nnenno, and seven grandchildren, ranging in age from 12 to 19. All were wonderfully charming.

Boyo told them how they had led a good life on the west side of the island until the hurricane struck.

"It ripped up our homes like they were sandpaper," said Boyo. "The winds were fierce. The water started coming up from the sea. We had to grab onto things just to keep from being sucked out into the bay. When the water got waist high, I thought we would not survive. My wife screamed that this was the end. But then the World Government arrived, and they established a one-way force field all up and down the shoreline. It allowed the water to drain but not come back in. It saved us. It saved all of us. My great niece Michelle gave birth that night. She named her baby World Government, in honor of those who saved us."

It was a very touching story. Sitting there, sipping strong tea, and watching the faces of these black refugees in the light of the fire, had a definite effect on Anson and Jessica. They felt that they were doing something of consequence, something vitally important that touched on their very humanity. They felt that they were making a difference in other peoples' lives.

And it all felt so good.

The following day, Anson and Jessica did more volunteer work. Jessica, who hadn't been very interested to begin with, had changed her mind. "All these people... they're so nice! And they thank us, and show gratitude, and invite us into their homes... it feels good, Anson. I don't know if it's something that's right for Francisco Odour... but... I like it."

Anson nodded, as he often did when he fundamentally disagreed with Jessica, but didn't want to get into an argument.

Last night Boyo had told Anson about the hurricane which had struck the island four weeks ago, destroying their homes and nearly sending his family out to sea.

Anson had done a little checking later that night.

Not a single hurricane had struck the Bahamas in the past six months.

It was easy enough to check, but not at all surprising that no one else bothered to. They all so badly wanted to believe, that there was a need to help other people, that they didn't want to ask questions. They didn't want to ask why people needed help in a beautiful paradise like the Bahamas, or why poor black people were suddenly transported to one of the most beautiful areas of France, or why these people didn't demand a much higher standard of living they could have had with Fabricators almost instantly.

The following evening, Anson moved from tent to tent, never entering, but always listening. In one tent he heard a man describe the hurricane, how the water came up to waist level, how his wife said they were all going to die. In another tent he heard the elder describe, almost word for word, how the World Government set up a force field which saved them from the tides. And in a third tent he heard an elder describe how one of his grandchildren was named "World Government" to show their gratitude.

Anson heard a footstep behind him and turned to find Boyo, staring at him. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to find you here."

"Of course not. I was assigned to you," said Boyo.

"So this is just another sham, another fake."

"Not at all," said Boyo. "Real work is being done here, to help others."

"To help fake refugees from a hurricane that never happened?"

"Not at all," said Boyo. "To help white people deal with their guilt."

And then it struck Anson like a hammer. The people being helped were not the poor black victims of a hurricane; it was the white people, who had ostensibly come to help them.

"White people have long felt guilt," said Boyo. "Some of it is economic, the feeling that they are better off than non-white people."

"But with the Fabricators, material needs were wiped out 400 years ago!"

"But still, they remember. And then there is slavery."

"But no one has been a slave for 800 years."

"But still, they remember. We help them assuage their guilt."

"You, you robots," said Anson, his eyes narrowing.

"You are wrong, my friend. We are no robots."

"You're real people? You can't be! It would be incredibly expensive to hire so many actors."

"You've got it all wrong. We are not actors. We are volunteers."

"Volunteers?"

"Yes. And, like you, we pay a lot of credits to come here," said Boyo. "Where I come from, volunteer packages to help white people are the most expensive."

"And why is that?"

"Because we feel compassion, and pity for white people. You have everything you could possibly dream of, in terms of material wealth. And so do we. And yet, unlike us, you still feel this burning need within you, to help others, even when there is no one left to help. We see this within your cultural psyche, like a group mental trauma, and we feel for you. And so we pay up to 100,000 credits a week, all for the purpose of coming here to missions like this to make you feel better."

"You pay 100,000 credits to help us? We pay 100,000 or more credits to help you!"

Boyo smiled wryly. "No one ever said that the The Helping Right Hand was not a profitable institution."

"And so we come here, thinking we are coming to help poor black people-"

"When in reality, you are actually morally poor white people coming here to be helped by much more well-adjusted black people. We feel such sympathy for your inner turmoil. It pains us, it really does. If this can quiet the conflict within you, to bring a smile to your face, for even a week or two, it is worth it. If you feel an odd sense of advanced virtue by being able to say you helped someone of a different skin color or race, we let you have that feeling. We let you have that happiness, even if we ourselves don't begin to understand it."

"So it's a sham... and not a sham," said Anson.

"You could say that," said Boyo.

Anson laughed, and looked at the water lapping onto the beach. "The only thing that's real here is my love for her."

"Who?"

"Nothing," he said.​