Joe Haldeman - The Coming

“You have it pretty well thought out,” Dan said.

“I used to be paid to think,” he said. “Dr. Cameron Davisson, at your service. Ex-professor of philosophy at this august institution.”

“Um… what do you do now, Dr. Davisson?”

“I try to serve as a bad example.”

“Ah…” Out of the corner of his eye, Dan saw a vision of loveliness. “Ma’am? Pardon me, señorita?”

The woman stopped and looked at him. She was a classic Latin beauty—statuesque; haughty, aristocratic features. Ebony hair and skin like dark honey set off by a simple white dress that loved the flesh it clung to and partially exposed.

“I’m interviewing people here about the Coming.”

“The aliens? I think it’s marvelous. Have to get to work.” She turned and walked away and even the camera stared at her. I wouldn’t mind going to work with you, Dan thought, but he didn’t know half of it.

She’d forgotten to take the gel home with her and so that meant an extra fifteen minutes without pay at work, feet in the stirrups. So it didn’t make any difference that she’d worn underwear. She couldn’t have worn this dress without underwear, anyhow, and it was a hot-weather favorite.

Two blocks into campus, she turned into the building discreetly labeled IISR, the International Institute for Sexual Research. What a joke.

She took an elevator to the top floor and went into Lab 3 and locked the door behind her.

“Gabby? You’re early.” A bald man looked up from a machine.

“Forgot to take the gel home. Afternoon, Louis.”

“Hi, Gab.” A young man lounged by the window, naked, scanning a magazine about popular music. There was nothing unusual about him except for the length and breadth of his penis.

Gabrielle stepped into a small bathroom, where she hung up her dress and put her shoes and underclothes on a shelf. She urinated and tried to break wind, and the medical student in her wondered for the dozenth time what perversity of psychology and anatomy made it impossible for her to do it now and almost imperative later, horizontal and public.

Obeying state law, she didn’t flush the toilet. She checked her makeup, carefully blotting the slight shine of sweat from her face and between her breasts. She tried to smile at her reflection and then left the bathroom and walked toward the table.

“Panty lines,” the bald man said.

“Harry. I knew the gel would take fifteen minutes to set, so I allowed myself the exquisite luxury of underwear, okay?”

“All right. I guess they’ll be gone.”

“Maybe your customers like panty lines.” She mounted the table with a gymnast’s slow grace, her ankles landing precisely in the stirrups. “I bet you never asked.”

“Artistic convention,” he said with a straight face.

“Right.” She picked up the large syringe next to the table and applied a liberal amount of lubricant to the nozzle, and then some to herself. She inserted the nozzle carefully, grimacing, and slowly injected the clear gel. If you did it too fast you left air bubbles in the vagina, which would be edited out later, but why make work for your boss? Even if he is a pig.

The gel provided a medium with the proper index of refraction. It smelled and tasted like diesel fuel and was about as hard to get rid of as a coastal oil spill. Fortunately, Gabrielle didn’t have any lovers who might complain about it, just an uncritical fellow medical student with whom she shared occasional spasms.

She leaned back. “Louis, would you get me that pillow?” She took off her long black wig and smoothed on a cap of metal mesh, then put the wig back on. Louis was already wearing his neural inductor cap.

He brought over a firm cylindrical pillow and she put it under her neck and gave him a playful tug. He was semierect. “You see the stuff on cube about the aliens?”

“Yeah, I was watching it.” He ran a finger lightly down her thigh. “Qué maravillosa.”

“Hey,” said the bald guy from behind the machine. “You come too soon and neither one of you gets paid.”

They exchanged professional smiles. “I’ll try to control myself, Harry.”

“I’ll try to keep my hands off him. What did you think?”

“Gonna be a long couple of months. Can’t wait.”

She nodded at the ceiling. “Anything could happen.” She dipped a finger into the softening gel and spread it around her external genitalia. “You ever have Professor Bell?”

“No, I never took astronomy. I had her husband.”

“I had her intro course some years back. Before medical school, of course.” She circled her clitoris lightly.

“Good teacher?”

“Oh, yeah. A little nervous, but really sincere. Really wanted you to love the stuff. Too much math for me, though.”

“Doctors just need to know how to add,” he said.

“You have that right. How’s her husband?”

“Kind of sweet. He starts out tough, but it’s all an act.”

“Big class?”

“No, a quartet. Six-week phrasing workshop a couple of summers ago.”

Harry came over with a thing that looked like a cross between a snake and a telescope. “Take a reading.” Gabrielle pressed both thighs with her palms and spread wide. He inserted the tube a few inches into her.

“Ow!” She jumped. “Easy on that thing. It’s the only one I’ve got.”

“Yeah yeah.” He peered into the tube and turned a knob. “Squeeze.” She did, grunting. “Again.” He nodded and pulled the thing out with a little sucking sound. “Okay. Get it up.”

Gabrielle grabbed the nearest projection and pulled Louis closer. She cradled his scrotum with the other hand. “So what’s phrasing?”

“Basically timing.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Thanks. It’s…” He gasped and paused a moment as she took him into her mouth. “It’s how you put your own interpretation on a piece of music. Of course, with a quartet, you have to all agree.”

“Sounds difficult.” She stroked him slowly, studying his progress. “This is the only instrument I ever learned how to play. Skin flute.”

“‘Duet for skin flute and honey pot.’”

“Honey pot, yeah. Marry me and take me away from all this.”

Harry rolled the lights and holo cameras in around them.

Harry explained the narrative, such as it was. They were in a rowboat near the shore of a small lake. Nine minutes into the sequence, another boat was going to approach. They’d try to get down and hide, but would keep fucking, and be caught at the last minute.

He turned on a flatscreen that showed what the actors on the actual boat were doing, so they could mimic the postures and timing. They didn’t have to be too precise. The actors on the boat wore skinspray that conducted the feeling of rough wood and water splash. The somatic input from Gab and Louis would be edited in, combined into the main male and female tracks.

“Gabby, get on your knees and back up here.” He unmounted the stirrups and pushed a button that lowered the platform a foot.

“Oh, goodie,” she said, rolling over. “Arf, arf.”

“We still have a little panty line.”

“Oh, bullshit, Harry,” Louis said. “You can make this look like we’re in the middle of a rowboat, and you can’t edit out a little panty line?”

“Just extra work. Take a couple of dips before we put the harness on.”

They worked together well. Louis stood still behind her and let her control how deep, how fast. The external cameras caught it in every detail. He slid out of her and was so erect his penis slapped against his abdomen.