Fantasy The Time War

The Dutch whore smiled and took him by the hand. Calle let himself be pulled into a small room with an unmade bed. They didn't even change the sheets between customers, he realized.

Not that it mattered.

The whore started to pull at his clothing, Calle pulled back. The whore tried again, and Calle pulled back again.

"Vat is wrong?" she asked.

"I... I just want to talk," said Calle.

The whore's eyes narrowed. "Talk?"

"Yes. I just want to have a conversation," said Calle.

The whore's expression soured. She raised her voice. "Mistress! I have client who wishes to... talk."

There was a pause. "Bring him here. I love talking," came a musical voice.

The whore gave a nasty smile. "To follow please."

The whore led Calle to another small bedroom, where a woman wearing a violet dress was faced away from him.

"You talk here," said the whore, closing the door behind her as she left.

"I'll be with you in a moment," said the woman, still facing away.

"Thank you," said Calle, sitting down in a chair.

The woman turned around. It was Sharice Robinson, and she held a compression pistol in her hand. "And now, what would you like to talk about, John Calle?"
​

********​

"We do seem to meet in the oddest of places," said Sharice. "What was it last time, Gambia, in 1709?"

"1708," said Calle. He was wondering if he could reach his pistol before she shot him. Probably not.

"And so what brings you to Northern Virginia more than ten years later, John Calle?"

"Whores," said Calle.

Sharice gave a wide smile. "They are splendid, aren't they?"

"Where are they from?" Calle asked.

"They're Dutch," said Sharice. "Dutch whores are the finest in all of Europe."

"I'll have to take your word for it," said Calle.

Sharice laughed. "I love your white sense of humor, John Calle!"

"You do?"

"And your white smile and your blue eyes and your adorable straight Caucasian hair."

"Does this mean you're not going to shoot me?" Calle asked hopefully.

"Decisions, decisions! Don't rush me," said Sharice, waving her gun irritably. "For now, let's talk about what brought both of us here. I'm here to stop the slave trade; what are you here for?"

"I'm... I'm...." Suddenly, Calle was at a loss for words.

"You're the force of righteousness and goodness, here to make sure 600,000 of my brothars and sistas are enslaved, cruelly put under the whip for the rest of their lives, and their children's lives. Is that correct, John Calle?"

Calle wet his lips. "I'm here to restore the timeline. To leave things as I found them."

"To leave things as I found them," said Sharice, mocking his deep voice. "Yes, I am well aware of the motto of the Continuity Service. But right now, there is no slavery in the South, John Calle. You should leave it like that. Anything else will be restoring slavery, wouldn't it?"

"Yes... but that's the way history was." He felt increasingly uncomfortable.

"That doesn't make it right," said Sharice. "If you could go back in time and stop a baby from being killed in a car crash, you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

Marion. Suddenly, Calle had to fight to blink back tears. "I... I couldn't. It would change the timeline."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"If we let your changes stand, millions of people will never be born in America."

"But millions of new people will be born in Africa. Millions who will never know the yoke of slavery. Is that what you're fighting against, John Calle?"

Calle had no answer for that. He knew what Sharice was doing was wrong, but he had no way of arguing against her at the moment.

"And now we come back to our original topic. My standing orders are to eliminate Continuity Service agents." She paused, and her gun hand started to rotate in a little circle. "Take off your clothes."

"Why?" Calle asked.

"I want to see if you have any hidden devices. Now, take off your clothes, or I will fulfill my standing order." Her voice was grim.

Calle slowly started to undress, first his shoes, then his shirt, then his pants. When he was down to his underwear, Sharice said, "All of it, Honey."

"Do you think I could hide something in there?" Calle asked.

"Sugar, it looks like you're already hiding something," said Sharice, pointing at his pubic bulge. "Strip," she commanded.

Calle pulled down his briefs, and was rewarded with a low whistle. "Honey, you sure got da goods!"

She walked towards him sinuously, wiggling her hips. She lowered her compression pistol so that it was pointed at his penis. Calle jumped when he felt the cold muzzle touch the head of his penis.

"Careful, Sugar," she said, looking into his eyes. "We don't want this thing going off prematurely, do we?"

Calle shook his head.

Sharice's dark eyes bore into his as he felt the muzzle of her weapon slowly move up and down, over his shaft, his testicles, his pubic hair, then back down the shaft again, and then rubbing the head of his organ,insistently, back and forth. Calle felt shame as the rough edge of the pistol barrel caused his male sex organ start to grow.

"Kiss me," she commanded, still fingering him with her pistol.

Calle leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Her plush, red lips reminded him of Marion's. He pressed tentatively against her, but Sharice pressed back hard, deepening the kiss, making it stronger, grinding against him, even as he felt the barrel of her pistol rubbing insistently, even painfully, against his penis and balls, down below.

When Sharice pulled back, she had an unreadable expression on her face as she took several steps away. She started to undress herself, even as she pointed the compression pistol at him.

"What are you doing?" Calle asked.

"Try and guess, Sugar," said Sharice. In moments she was nude.

Sharice Robinson was a gorgeous, light skinned black woman. She had large, heavy breasts, teardrop shaped almost identical to Marion's, but even larger. Sharice had firm, muscular legs like Marion, and dark triangle of pubic curls between her legs which, under any other circumstance, would have been quite sexy.

Sharice widened her stance and aimed her pistol at him more precisely. What was she doing?

"And now you have a choice to make, John Calle. The pistol, or the girl," said Sharice.

"What?" said Calle.

Sharice spoke more slowly, deliberately. "The pistol, or the girl."

Somehow the view of Sharice, totally nude with her legs spread, pointing a pistol at him was incredibly, incredibly erotic. Calle's penis started to point upwards of its own accord.

"The girl." Calle nodded slightly, and even as he slowly walked into Sharice's firing arm, she was dropping the pistol, putting it on the nightstand.
​

********​

They made love. There was no trickery, no attempt by one to overpower the other or to grab the compression pistol mere inches away; it was a simple act of lovemaking. Calle knew that standing orders were to capture enemy agents so they could be interrogated to find out their point of origin; but somehow, he couldn't find the strength within himself to do it. Sharice's argument had been so persuasive that he was truly confused about what was right and wrong. He felt so sapped of determination, by self-doubt about his mission here, that he simply didn't make the effort.

Soon Calle found himself entering her, making love to her. And then he learned something else; Sharice loved to talk during sex.

"Mmmm... mmmm... mmmmm...." She said, smiling. "You are so wonderfully white, John Calle."

Calle was startled. No one had ever said that to him before.

"I love the way your white chest rubs against mine," said Sharice. "I love your strong white arms, your strong white legs. I like watching your white ass pump as you put it in and out of me."

"T-thanks," said Calle, not sure what to say, even as he continued to move inside her.

"So white... so sexy... so wonderful....."

And even as Calle had sexual intercourse with Sharice, he was reminded that she wasn't just a pretty black woman; she was a Black White Supremacist. She practically worshipped white people. In some ways it was disturbing to Calle, but in another way he found it incredibly erotic.

"Uh... uh... uh...." said Sharice, jolting with every move. "That's right, white lover, put it in me. Give me your small white penis, give it to me now!"

That was too much for Calle. "My small white penis?" he said, even as he continued to thrust inside of her.

"Yes, it's so wonderful," said Sharice, with a dreamy smile. "Black men have such big penises. They can only move in and out. But your small white penis... it's so roomy... it can move around so much inside. I can feel it, I really can."

"Thanks," said Calle, not sure whether to feel pleased or offended.

"Uh... uh... I'm getting closer, John Calle."

"I am too," said Calle, feeling himself reaching a peak.

"Make it happen, John Calle! Fill me with the creamy goodness of your lily white sperm! Fill me up now, John Calle!"

Her words sent Calle over the edge. His penis twitched, shuddered, and spewed ejaculate inside of her. Sharice cried out as her own orgasm engulfed her, as Calle spent himself inside of her. Part of him was pleased to do what only a man could do inside of a woman, what a man was meant to do inside of a woman. But at the very same time another part of him was horrified to have inseminated a Black White Supremacist.
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********​

They were cuddling tenderly in bed. "You white people. We love you so much," said Sharice, smiling at him as she hugged him tightly. And suddenly Calle realized that whatever Sharice was, that he could no longer shoot or even capture her. Sharice seemed to read his mind and smiled at him.

She reached down and touched the tip of his penis. It was still wet. She held up a finger which had a dab of liquid on it. "It's white on black men, too. And it looks very odd."

"Odd?'

"For a black man to have white sperm. Don't you think their sperm should be black, like their skin color?"

Calle didn't know what to say. "Is there anything else you can tell me about the prostitutes?"

"You mean the whores?" said Sharice. She took her finger, the finger she had just used, and rubbed it playfully over his lips. "I told you, Sugar. We got the whores from Amsterdam, and we brought them here. But you can't stop us. The whores are all eager and willing. Just accept it. Slavery never happened."

Her words struck Calle like a hammer.
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********​

"All right, so we know where the whores are coming from," said Colonel Strayker. "Now, how do we stop them?"

"We could sink the ships," said Major Reynolds.

Erica Green was horrified. "Do you know how badly that would affect the timeline?"

Reynolds shrugged. "They're whores."

"Whores, as you call them, often have contact with the richest, wealthiest and important men in society. The damage done by eliminating whores would be incalculable," said Erica.

"All right, so we can't kill the whores, what can we do?" Strayker asked. He glared at his officers. He often found that helped. While he waited for answers, an Indian woman with tight buttocks handed him a cup of atomic coffee. "Thank you, Ayesha." She smiled and swayed her hips as she walked away. "Well, people?" His eyes roamed the room. "Daniel?" he barked.

"Sir?" Daniel stiffened.

"Any suggestions?" Strayker asked.

"I don't know... maybe if we gave the whores syphilis, then no one would want to have sex them," said Daniel.

"Ha, ha," said Erica dryly.

"No, that's it," said Doctor Vladek.

"Syphilis?" said Daniel.

"We'll give the whores a venereal disease," said Vladek. The way the Russian stretched out the word 'disease' was creepy. "Herpes would be more suitable for our purposes, I think."

"Herpes?" said Erica, sounding horrified.

"They won't be harmed," Vladek assured her. "On the women, it will not even be visible, except, perhaps, for their lips, if they are the sucking kind of girls. But on the men... they will have legions on their penis. Word will spread quickly, I think, and before long the whores should be out of business."

"You can't be serious," said Erica.

"Oh, but I am," said Vladek.

"How do we spread the virus to the whores?" Strayker asked.

"Well...." Vladek considered this. "We could have operatives spreading it to them."

"No way! You're not giving me herpes," said Major Reynolds.

"We... we could impregnate the outside of transparent condoms with the herpes virus," said Vladek. "That way our people could infect the whores without themselves being infected."

Erica looked pleadingly at Strayker. "Sir, you can't be seriously considering-"

"Do it!" Strayker barked. "Infecting Dutch whores with herpes is a small price to pay to bring back African slavery to the Americas. Get started at once, Doctor."

Doctor Vladek prepared the condoms and impregnated them with the virus. Nearly all men on the base were called into action. Mercifully, Calle was exempted from this assignment. He had gone to the Commander and explained his reasoning.

Strayker looked at him and for once there was a softness in his eyes. "So you haven't been with a woman since...."

"Since Marion," said Calle. "I feel it would sully her memory."

"It's been two years, Captain," said Strayker. "Don't you think it's time to move on?"

Calle shook his head. "Not yet. And I wouldn't want to start with... Dutch whores." He felt guilty lying to Strayker. He had just had sex with Sharice three subjective days ago. But he really didn't want to participate in this effort.

Strayker gave him a hard stare. "All right, Captain. I'll excuse you, this time. But in the future I expect you to pitch in. There's no I in team, Captain Calle."

But there is an I in penis.

"Thank you, sir."
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********​

And so the Dutch whores were infected with herpes.

But a week after the operation began, the timeline still hadn't changed. Blacks were still absent from present day America.

A time operative went back to the brothels and used a special attachment on his penis to gather a pap smear to analyze. After it was returned and studied, Doctor Vladek reported his findings.

"These whores have been treated, with a form of Valvaline," said Vladek. "I should have anticipated this. Our intelligence reports indicate that the Black White Supremacists have a highly skilled technical staff. They must have synthesized the drug and administered it to the whores."

"Then we're back we're we started," said Strayker, pounding his fist on the conference room table. "We have Dutch whores in America, but no black slaves. How can we fix this?"

No one spoke for a long moment.

An idea came to Calle. To his everlasting regret, he made the impulsive decision to speak up. "You know, sir, there's no need to give them the common form of herpes. We have designer viruses now that are quite complex. We could probably pair the herpes virus with a designer virus which-" he broke off, realizing what he was saying. He was helping them restore slavery to the Americas.

But it was too late. "Yes, yes!" said Doctor Vladek excitedly. "By combing the herpes proteins with the designer virus, we can give it a 29 digit unlocking code which will be virtually impossible to decipher."

"Wait a minute," said Erica. "Are you talking about creating an unstoppable version of the herpes virus? That could alter the timeline even more."

"We... we can sunset it," said Vladek, thinking rapidly. "Put a line of code in which will cause the virus to disappear after five or six years."

"Better make it ten, just to be sure," said Strayker. "Do it." He turned to Calle, and for once his gaze was admiring. "Good work, Captain."

Calle felt terrible.
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********​

It worked. After the project was launched, after the Dutch whores were infected with the new, potent version of the Herpes virus, everything suddenly returned to normal in the present. All the black people returned to the United States. Half the faces on holochannels were once again black. And Major Reynolds was once again smiling because his wife was back, and Sunday morning sports was once again the domain of black people.

Sarah told them later that after getting the sickness, all the Dutch whores had returned to Amsterdam, and the Southern farmers had resumed harvesting cotton--and buying African slaves.

John Calle felt awful. It was his suggestion that had led to the downfall of the brothels and the reinstitution of slavery in the South. He was directly responsible for the enslavement of 600,000 blacks and their descendents for a hundred and fifty years. It was an extremely heavy weight to bear on his shoulders.

He knew he could talk to Doctor Vladek about it, and what Doctor Vladek would say. That they were the Continuity Service. That it was their job to "leave things as they found them". That he was only restoring what was meant to be.

Calle also knew what Major Reynolds would say about it. He would act grandly, as Calle's personal black Pope, as he had grandly anointed himself, and give Calle an indulgence, his personal forgiveness on behalf of all black people. As long as Reynolds could have his wife and his dog and his black sports teams, he was happy.

Well, it wasn't enough for John Calle. Somehow, his feet found themselves walking into the control room. He felt terribly sad.

Sarah took one look at him and said, "Now?"

Calle nodded. "Yeah." He hadn't known what he was going to say before he said it, but somehow Sarah did.

Sarah turned to her assistant. "Naomi, take over."
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Calle kissed Sarah hungrily. Sarah didn't have thick lips like Marion, but what she lacked in plushness she made up for in enthusiasm. She grinded against his lips as avidly as he grinded against hers. She started pulling at his clothes, and he started pulling at hers, and before long they were both nude.

Sarah didn't bother to wear a bra, and for good reason. She really was flat chested. She had just the slightest hint of breasts, a saucer shape of gelatinous flesh, perhaps the thickness of a single pancake, or perhaps a pancake and half, when she was leaning forward, but she was completely flat when she was on her back. The only other indication she had on her chest to indicate she was a female were slightly larger teats than a man. Even her areolas were not very large.

But Sarah seemed happier with his chest than he was with hers. She smiled as she rubbed her hands through his hairy chest hair, making "mmmm" sounds as her fingers brushed him lightly, up and down.

And then they were kissing and pressing their bodies together, and Calle felt himself starting to get hard.

But then, suddenly, Sarah pushed him away. "I want to see this," she said with a grin. She watched, completely fascinated, as Calle's penis started to assemble itself, as if she were watching an animal waking up in the morning at the zoo. Sarah encouraged it, petting it gently, caressing it, even talking to it, cooing in a soft voice, like it was a baby. Calle felt a little shy to have Sarah manipulating and staring at his male sex organ while it was... awakening. It was like a snake coming out of a long slumber. First it pointed downwards, then it started to point upwards, and then, stimulated under Sarah's soft feminine touch, it grew more and more, until it was standing out stiffly from his pubic hair at a rough 45 degree angle. Calle felt embarrassed to have put on a most intimate show for her, but Sarah was grinning from ear to ear.

And then she started to stroke it softly with her fingers, and Calle felt himself getting even harder. Sarah squeezed his shaft with a practiced thumb and index finger, and said, "I think the meat is well done, and ready to go into the oven."

Calle laughed, despite himself, and raised himself above her. The hair between her legs was sparse and brown, in vivid contrast to the lush blonde hair on her head. Her labial lips were as sparse as the ones above. Sarah, it seemed, had been denied excessive femininity on both ends.

Calle took the plunge and inserted himself into her. Sarah wasn't lying when she had told him she was a tight fit; that much was true. He started working himself in and out of her, establishing a rhythm. Her insides scraped the head of his organ wonderfully. He smiled at her as he worked himself in and out of her, and his smile seemed to please her as much as the movements of his organ.

But as things progressed, Calle began to doubt if he would be able to take things to completion. Perhaps he was still overwhelmed by the guilt of what he had just done. No, it wasn't that, it was something else. He was used to having sexual intercourse with Marion. He was used to having sex with a woman with large breasts. He plunged faster and faster, but stopped making progress.

Sarah seemed to sense his dilemma. Or maybe she was good at reading facial expressions. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes, lift your chest up, and think of her." Her eyes narrowed. "Do it!" she snapped.

Calle obeyed. He closed his eyes. He lifted his chest up so it was no longer rubbing against Sarah's flat chest. He suddenly realized that was a big part of the problem. And then he started to think about Marion.

Suddenly, it was Marion's vagina he was thrusting into. It was tight, tighter than what he was used to. But it was Marion's smile, starting at his face, that got him even more excited. Calle started to thrust faster and faster. "Ah.. ah... ah..."

"That's it... that's it, my dear," a soft, feminine voice encouraged him. He felt hands on his arms, grasping him more tightly.

Marion. Calle thrust harder and harder, felt himself reaching an edge, falling over it. "Aaahhhhh!" he cried out. And then he released inside of her.
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********​

Afterwards, he felt embarrassed. He had pretended that Sarah was someone else in order to climax. She seemed to read his mind again, and said, "Don't be upset. It's all right."

"It is?" said Calle.

"Well, except for the fact that I didn't come. You were too busy thinking about your own guilt to wonder about that, didn't you?" said Sarah.

"I... uh... do you want me to-"

"Never mind, I'll handle it," said Sarah. And then she climbed on top of him, and mounted his organ, putting it inside of her. His shaft, which was still semi-hard, started to get firm again.

"I can't come that way, when I'm on the bottom," Sarah explained, as she started to move up and down on Calle. She seemed totally unembarrassed, by all of it; unashamed that Calle had had to pretend she was someone else, and equally unashamed that she hadn't been able to climax when he was on top. Sarah was clinically focused on only one thing: getting her own orgasm.

As she plunged up and down on his shaft, Calle saw her looking at his face. She started to make "Ah... ah... ah..." sounds, and for the first time Calle saw a different expression on her face, one he had never seen before, perhaps an expression of... vulnerability?

For Calle, the sight of Sarah bouncing up and down on his penis was an odd one. Her chest was almost perfectly flat, with just the tiniest hint of jiggle around her nipples. It was as if he were being made love to by an immature girl or a young boy; Calle wasn't sure which was worse. But when he looked up at Sarah's face, at her feminine eyes and lips, at her luscious blonde hair, she was clearly female. The juxtaposition of a womanly face on a young boy's body was an odd sight to behold.

Sarah started to move more rapidly now, and Calle sensed she was close to coming. He watched with pride as his organ disappeared and appeared again at the joining between her legs as she moved and down rapidly. And then Sarah closed her eyes tightly and balled her hands into fists and cried out, "Aaaaaaarrggggh!" And then she lay down on top of him and lay perfectly still, as her brain relaxed in a post-orgasmic haze, and suddenly Calle realized that not only had he needed this to relieve the tension from his mission... but Sarah did too.
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********​

Afterwards, as they enjoyed the feeling of relative calmness, Calle asked, "So? Did it happen just like the vision you saw in the Binochi Corridor?"

"I wouldn't know," said Sarah.

Calle sat up. "What do you mean?"

Sarah looked Calle right in the eye. "I never had a vision in the Binochi Corridor of us having sex." She smiled at his reaction. "In our business, I find that expectations can be a very powerful tool, quite often a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because you believed you were going to have sex with me, you did."

Calle looked uncertain.

"Would you have had sex with me if I hadn't told you of my vision?"

"I, I don't know," Calle replied. For some reason the thought troubled him.

"A pity we can't do a double-blind study. It would be a fascinating experiment," said Sarah.

Calle gave her a sharp look. "And now you've slept with me. What do you do now, go back and sleep with all the other men again?"

"That's a distinct possibility," said Sarah, sitting up on her pillow. "Or I could favor you again, from time to time, when you need it."

"When I need it?"

"You surely needed it tonight, didn't you?"

Calle had to admit that he did. Sexual intercourse with Sarah hadn't wiped away his guilt over what he had done. But where he had felt simply numb before, at least he felt alive now. He felt energized, as if he could face another day.

He looked over at Sarah, and realized she could be a valuable friend. A valuable friend... to have sex with
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