The Adventures of Eggy Remixed — BOOK 2 — A WEEK LATER
E4 — GAIL AND ARAM — HEALTH
Gail had finished wiping Troy clean, and he said thank you and stooped down slightly to steal a kiss from her full on the lips. Not that she objected, in fact she went a little weak in the knees and sat on the greasy sheet.
“Aram, get up here and help Gail change the mattress. And help her out of the robe so she doesn’t get it any more dirty.”
I don’t think Aram ever moved as fast. He and Gail largely knew what was coming—most of the fear in the room had dissipated, I hadn’t turned anyone into a newt or anything, they were starting to believe that the worst that was going to happen was a lot of unexpected and unasked for sex. And to be fair, that was basically true. “A lot” is a flexible concept.
“We need to clear some floor space for this. Push back the chairs.”
There was a flurry of activity as the furniture was rearranged. Aram lifted the robe from Gail’s shoulders then shook of his own, throwing them in the corner. Aram stood there in a tight one-piece jump suit, looking like one of the Solid Gold dancers, his buttocks and legs clearly defined by the elastic material, like a second skin, flaring out bellbottoms at the ankles. A zipper extended up the front from his navel to his neck, undone to mid-chest, showing his butterscotch skin and three small medallions hanging around his neck. Gail wore a matching dress, cut low to reveal the valley between her breasts, with a skirt reaching mid-thigh, inch-long corded fringes hanging from its bottom. Both were my favorite purple color, with sparkling orange rhinestones and glitter.
“Gail and Aram are going to dance for us—and for each other. Gail, you’re a pretty good dancer, you trained for a while.”
“Yes, ballet until I grew out of it. Stella has a much better body type for it than I ever had. And I went in ballroom competitions with her dad before we married. We were good—a few wins, some seconds and thirds.”
“And Aram, you love to dance.”
“Un huh. Where I come from, no dance, no girl. Here in America I dance, but no girl. Stella and I did win the roller disco that time.”
“Have you been rehearsing?”
They nod.
“OK this time for real. Marc, you get to be the AV club—there’s a stack of LPs on the turntable’s spindle, start the first on track 2. When I tell you to stop fade the music out first. Then lift the needle.”
The Blue Danube from the 2001 Soundtrack started and the pair faced each other, clasped one hand to another, their other arms around their partner’s waist, pulling close together and started a perfectly executed ballroom waltz. It was remarkable how they managed to fill the space available without stepping into the watchers or banging into the walls.
“Marc, can you dim the lights about half way. And pass the flashlights over there to Betty and Sheila. Sheila, Betty, thank Marc with a kiss, then turn the flashlights on and point them at me. Marc don’t forget to cop a feel.”
As they did so I made myself silver shiny with tiny squares coating my shell, then began rotating slowly. Where the flashlights hit small points of light reflected, making the room seem to spin. The sentient not-human disco ball, that’s me. ‘I Feel Like Dancing, Woo!’
Gail and Aram were moving as though one being, legs intertwining, bodies meshing. Gail, slightly taller in heels felt Aram’s chin rubbing between her breasts. It was no surprise that his hand had slipped from around her hips and was now gently squeezing her ass cheeks while he pulled her tight to his hips. More shocking for those who noticed, and Vicky was watching intently, was Gail’s hand was doing the same, grabbing Aram’s ass.
“Rose. Time to go sit with Will. While you’re at it, why don’t you lick his ear and give him a neck hickey, he’s pretty tasty these days.”
The song ended. “Next record first track.” Marc clicked the change lever on the all-in-one stereo. Turntable, amp, both cassette and eight-track tape decks, with remote speakers—top of what Carl sells, though a used floor display item, sold at deep discount from Wild Carl’s House of Good Enough Appliances. The tone-arm lifted and returned to the rest position while the next LP on the spindle dropped down on top of the first record. After a second the arm swings back over the edge of the vinyl disk, lowers itself onto it, and the lively jive of Elton John’s Crocodile Rock blasts out.
Aram and Gail start dancing a lively freestyle romp. Gail draws on everything she’d ever learned dancing, ballet moves merged with movements she’d seen in the Rock ’n Roll exploitation movies shown on late night TV through her youth, with the Latin steps that were so hot when she danced ballroom, where she never could compete with the girls who did nothing else, and with much more. She had never danced like this before. She was in the pure ecstasy of constantly doing exactly the right thing, being aware of it, and staying confident enough to keep going without losing her concentration. And Aram, what a partner, echoing her, keeping up and not overwhelming her. He even managed to throw her up and catch her once. He’s stronger than he looks! It was for her the kind of moment so good that it’s what you live for. Good as learning you were going to have a much-wanted baby good. And all too soon the music stopped.
Gail felt acute disappointment at the end of the music, the end of the dance. But then the applause started. All the others in the room were standing and cheering, clapping their hands and shouting, “Fantastic”, “Beautiful”, “Far Out”, “Bravo!” and even an “Oh Mom, that was wonderful”. And that moment, she knew this was going to be the happiest moment of her life. Pleasure—not only emotional but physical, intellectual—all the learning at all the dance schools her mother marched her through as a kid came flooding back, all the childhood years of practicing and rehearsals paid off in returned muscle memory—and even, dare I say it spiritual pleasure too, as she had caught herself a glimpse of the god of dance, something even Gene Kelly or John Travolta or the legendary Pavlova could work a lifetime for and only hope to approach.
As the applause died down Aram hugged Gail and she hugged him fiercely back. Though still slightly breathless from the exertion, “Thank you for the dance, Mrs. Gail,” he said shyly, going tip toe to give her a quick peck on each cheek, in the style of his countrymen.
“And thank you Mr. Aram,” she mockingly replied, though with great affection for this beautiful young man who danced so masterfully. She lowered her lips to his and gave him the longest and juiciest French kiss of his young life. It actually curled his toes. “It hadn’t been anywhere this intense at rehearsal, what else is going on?” she thought.
“I’m glad you all liked that last number. One more to go.” I then answered Gail’s mental question, “You may wonder exactly what Aram and Gail can expect to get. Let me explain Aram first while they catch their breath.” I was happy to note that they stood holding hands. Both were beaming with joy and the glow of recent exercise. “Aram has Dance Superpowers, Not like the Dazzler in the comic books, but real, Any partner he dances with dances as well as they possibly can, given their training and experience and natural rhythm and coordination. And if they are then better dancers than Aram, he grows in skill to match them. And he’s a pretty good dancer to start with. Today Gail was paired with him as being the best hoofer here. This is sure to improve his luck with the ladies, he’ll always be in demand as a dance partner. But there’s more, of course. Aram can ooze sex when he dances. And he can control the amount added to the natural attraction that dance partners feel, from a polite zero to a ‘I need to jump your bones, now!’ ten that reaches directly into his partner’s libido. His soft shoe is an aphrodisiac. His jitter-bug a Spanish fly. His tango a tray of oysters, you get it.” This is news to Gail, we didn’t visit this at rehearsal. I had told Aram alone afterwards.“ What was the rate on the first and second numbers, Aram.”
“Two on the first to warm up, then zero on the second, Gail was all fantastic naturally-talented Gail then.”
I looked into Gail’s state of mind, “Aram, no more than five now, ok.”
He grinned, “Yes, eight please, OK”
So he wants to almost max out, well why not. Might learn something. We all might. She’s in good shape, it was him I was worried might bust something. Still I’m open to negotiation. On the other hand I didn’t want to scare them too much.
“Six, and that’s my final say. Any more you’ll have to earn yourselves. Marc, the eight track this time. Aram, Gail better unbutton all buttons, unzip all zippers, un-hook all hooks or they may tear off. Start at one and call them off. Slowly. Gail just concentrate on the dancing. Don’t fight any feelings, let them flow but the dancing comes first. Aram let her take the lead.”
They nod. And silently I reinforce both orders. Gail’s face goes a little slack as she loses the heat she was already feeling—two almost three by Aram’s scale.
Love to Love You Baby started booming out. “One!” They started with some standard disco steps, separate, facing the others, even with Aram pulling the Saturday Night Fever pose at one point. Then they turned and faced each other and started wrapped an arm high and an arm low around each other and started undulating and grinding against each other, their loose clothing sliding down. “Two!” Then helping to strip each other in time to the music until Aram wore only his “Joanie Loves Chachi” themed boxer shorts, and Gail was in her skirt and demi-bra that pushed her tits upward baring her nipples. “Three!” They reconnected fiercely and as Donna Summers started moaning so did Gail. It had been obvious from the last number that she wore nothing under her skirt, and now from the moisture running down her leg that she’d spent. “Four!”
Gail then cried “Fuuuck it!” and pushed Aram down on his back on the mattress. She grabbed his underwear, and not respecting Scott and Erin, yanked it below his knees, ripping the bottom end of its cheap sweatshop quality fabric around the front opening. “F-f-f-five!”
She straddled him, hiking her skirt with both hands and to the disco beat swaying her hips lowered herself onto his hard pole. He reached up and unhooked her bra at the front, freeing her swinging udders. She’d worried as she hit her thirties that they’d start to sag from the perky banana shape that emphasized her upturned nips. But they hadn’t yet, almost eight years later. Aram and her kept dancing together, sort of, as their hips moved against each other in perfect time. His fingers found her now straining tits, making them dance as well. Rose moaned again and so did Gail. Aram took a big gulp of air.
The tape went “chunk” as it changed tracks mid-tune. Aram took the opportunity to call “Six!” This was the eighteen minute club version, lots of time for a talk about fertility while watching the first planned unprotected fuck of the day happening. Betty and Troy surprised me earlier and it through some of my planning of what to say and when off.
“Aram, Gail. Roll over. Let Aram on top to show you what he can do.” They did so, Gail’s legs wrapping around his butt as they continued to do a snakey horizontal mambo.
“Now Aram may be the least of the guys in manly size and girth—Hey Aram, pull out and waggle it around for two beats then back in.” He did so, revealing his erect but not particularly spectacular cock, big for his short body. “But for him and his lovers it’s not the meat, it’s the motion. Put some music on in the background and it’s power flows through his movement, hitting all his partner’s right spots at just the right time. Not only is he a hot dancer on the floor, turn on the tunes and turn him 90 degrees and his loving is like none other. Ladies, the other gents here all have their charms; time with the Balanchine of the Bedroom is always going to be special. Just make sure you have a stereo, radio or guitar pickin’ fool present and playing. And The Flight of the Bumble Bee isn’t for beginners. And while the music plays he can cum and stay hard to cum again, similar to Marc he borrows from past to always be ready, but his own past only. See, there he goes, but no stopping.” Aram’s face turned crimson then back to its natural light brown as he shot a load deep in Gail’s quim. But he didn’t miss a beat, up and down, side to side, front and back.
“Marc, turn the music down just a touch. Thanks. Let’s talk about making babies.”
All heads turned towards me at this, even the still-bouncing couple.
“Not going to happen. At least not for the first few stages of our project, and after then when the mother-to-be says out loud ‘I want a baby’ three times in a row. All the women here now have almost total control of their wombs, it’ll only release an egg when they say this. And if they want they can name the father as part of that statement and only his sperm will be active. No more periods.
And the egg released will be the one most genetically perfect. The most healthy—no hereditary disease, the strongest immune system, the best looking, smartest, wisest, luckiest, sanest, most dexterous, most musical, best in all number of ways—a superior contribution to the human race’s gene pool. And when menopause comes, it’ll be when you hit the appropriate physical age, which we are messing with today, not calendar age, and be as painless and trouble free as possible. For example Aram will be physically 20, not 19 on his next birthday, and Gail will be a year younger physically than she is now.”
“What about the guys and their little soldiers? Well, for them all but 10 little swimmers come out unable to fertilize an egg. But those ten are also the best of the bunch, varying slightly on the criteria for best, some may tend to creating artistic types, others scientists or even, gods help us politicians. Not only are those 10 incredibly fertile, they don’t die off, but stick around waiting until an egg is released, even if it’s not in one of you women. Details to come.
Guys, you are going to visit many a sperm bank and improve the whole human race—it’s the only right thing to do for your species. And one of the little sailors always gets through and even manages to move the resulting zygote to the most ideal placement to grow trouble-free the next nine months, and will be born healthy even under dire trauma, smoking, drinking or bad drugs taken by the mom during pregnancy.
The clever swimmers even read mom’s intention, sort of. If birth control was intended, and while it is in use, IUDs, condoms, the pill, whatever even the rhythm method, they will ignore any egg. They will even pummel apart any other live sperm that enter the womb if that birth control fails. Intention is the key. But one instance of unprotected sex and no counter measures before the next period such as immediate douching or starting the pill asap, and it’s baby time. So guys be careful once we broaden our sexual horizons. And it’s always going to be a gamble among the ten little Aram’s or Carl’s which ones will succeed—closest when the egg is released wins. And if more than one of you leaves a load, and you all will at some time for most of the non-family pairings here, only the best ten womb tadpoles live, the others die off as would a normal spermatozoa.”
This was taking a bit of time to sink in, I let them think in silence for a bit, Marc turned the stereo back up as the song reached a final climax, as did Gail and Aram. The music ended and Aram rolled off her onto his back, exhausted. Marc popped the tape out and the speakers hummed with static.
“Aram! I need your spunk! Now!” Gail reached over and grabbed his slick dick, circling it from the base upwards capturing it’s oily coating. She spread it on her face around her eyes. She’d caught on to what Betty and Sheila did to get their skins flawless and smooth. Not as dumb as she looks—and acts at times. She reaches down to her twat and can only get at what is on the puffy outer lips. She brings it to her upper lips and spreads it around, but it’s not enough. “Aram, help me. I need more.”
Aram sits up, confused, not knowing what to do. I decide to help. “Aram, kneel between Gail’s legs, open them wide. Now when I say gently squeeze your pussy together, just it, not your legs. As best you can. Aram, cup your hand underneath her hole. Ok now Gail, try to squirt just a tablespoonful of cum out onto his palm. That’s it. Perfect. Now Aram, bring it up and rub it on her. Gail put your hand over his and guide it where you want it. Ok, now go back down and gather another blast, not too big, you don’t want to spill any. Good, Now back up again. Keep doing it until you go dry.”
“Aram got dance powers, what did Gail get? She’s now super-cunt. Any dick, any size, she’ll grow or shrink to a perfect fit and tightness. And the nerves attached to her pleasure centers almost double when she has sex. She has limited curing powers too, not only can she not get any VD, a diseased dick is cured when entering her puss—and it will create anti-bodies, there so that within a few days her partner will be completely cured through the rest of their body. Not just viruses, but crabs and fungi will shrink away and die. Not that you guys can catch anything anymore, but once things are a bit more open, then carefree as far as both pregnancy and sex-spread sickness. And anything—except for you guy’s top ten gunk can be retained or rejected in her purse with great accuracy. She empty now Aram?”
“Seems to be.”
“Put a couple of fingers deep in to make sure” He did. “Any spunk?” He pulls his hand out and looks, then shakes his head no. “Better reach in and check. All the way.” He curls his hand, thumb tucked in, and slowly puts his hand to the wrist into her. She gasps once and then settles into a beatific look with her back arched and head thrown back. She starts to moan as he gently rotates his hand. “And fisting doesn’t bother her at all, quite the reverse,” I reveal. The others all look on with shock and awe.
“Beautiful Missus Gail, thank you oh so much,” Aram says withdrawing his wet hand and reaching with it to rub the last of the special spunk on her right tit.
Looking up at her he then said, “Missus Gail, do you know there is a lump here?”