Fifteen Years
2 — Conclusion
“My name’s Steve, and I’ve come from the future.” It was such a corny opening line that I couldn’t even believe he’d said it. But then I found myself wondering if I should take him seriously. I knew I should have just walked away when I approached him on the street, but I’d walked out with him to the most secluded part of the woods to talk. And when I’d got creeped out and run away, he just called after me and I came right back. I knew I shouldn’t act like that, and I didn’t know why I had, but I was kind of inclined to trust him.
He certainly didn’t act trustworthy. He kept going on about some weird geek fantasy, how everyone had a secret name and he could use it to make me do whatever he wanted. I could imagine that however many years in the future, scientists would understand better how our brains work. But a magic word like that seemed straight out of a nerd’s wish fulfilment fantasy. There were three guys in some of my college classes who liked writing lame stories about that kind of thing, you could hear them quietly talking about it at lunch. Matt Watkins would read off some weird fantasy about a world where you can get laid by solving an equation, and his hangers-on Ste and Timmy would giggle. Could a story like that ever come true?
“So, how does it work?” I asked, “You’ve got this machine that you point at someone and it tells you their name, and then you can make them do whatever you want?” I really hoped that he’d pick up on the sarcasm this time.
“No. It’s pretty well secured, the neuro-ngram reader will only let you determine your own True Name. It gets printed out in a custom grapheme/idiom language that only you can read, so it’s up to you if you want to tell anyone else. It’s the ultimate sign of trust. Like marriage was supposed to be, in the old days. Heh, just realised you haven’t had hundred-divorces Davis in the news yet, using the sanctity of marriage as a political tool.” I couldn’t quite read his expression as he paused for a second. Maybe culture shock, or remembering how he’d hoped to get married when it still meant something. “Anyway! Yeah, you share your true name now, when you decide you’re going to stay with the same Mistress for life, and that really me—”
“Wait, Mistress?” I cut him off, and it took all my self control not to burst out laughing, “You really are getting this from one of those lame stories the nerds are obsessed with, aren’t you.”
“Or Master, if you prefer.” he shrugged, “Direct superego control meant we can stamp out sexism, as well as racism. Now, you only have to serve someone if you really want to.”
“Seriously?” I asked. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going with that, but the whole story he was feeding me seemed too good to be true. “There’s nobody who gets tricked into it somehow, ends up enslaved without asking for it?”
“Well, maybe,” and again the look of shame flashed across his eyes, “But even then it can work out well. We’re good together, regardless of how it started, so I’m going to make sure it happens the way I remember. That’s not your choice.” That’s when I started getting really scared. He’d been weird from the start, but this was the kind of weird you run away from, not the weird you laugh at. I couldn’t run, though. As much as I wanted to, I kept on thinking I’d ask one more question, find out just a little more about what the crazy guy was thinking before I risk making him angry. If there was any grain of truth in what he was saying—and I still wasn’t sure on that score—then maybe I was just starting to realise that he’d made me his slave using this futuristic mind control thing. I didn’t want to admit that my actions were anything but my own, though.
“You’re not going to—”
“I’ll do whatever I want,” he snapped, “I’ve been looking forward to getting a piece of that ass for as long as I can remember, and you can’t stop me now. It’s fifteen years now since we first tried this, and we agreed no anal. But that’s in the future for you, so today I get the forbidden fruit.” The smile there told me that was an in-joke; a phrase used so often with someone (future me?) so often that it had a meaning beyond the mere words. But I wasn’t thinking about that now, there were more urgent things on my mind.
Like outrage, and a little fear. I knew there weren’t that many virgins among my friends; they were in a mix of relationships both happy and strained, and those who weren’t had probably played the field a few times. We joked about the nerd trio—Watkins, Lang, and Queens, who spoke to nobody except each other and the math teacher—being the only ones who couldn’t get any action. Some people looked down on Mary Chandler, too, for having no interest in guys. I played along, because it almost seemed like something shameful. I’d had a few boyfriends, but never actually had sex. I wanted my first time to be special, and now this total stranger was threatening… something completely disgusting, so depraved I couldn’t believe I’d heard it. And he really thought I’d agree to date him afterwards?
“You’re deluded,” I growled, “You’re not coming anywhere near me, and I’d never let anyone do that, not in a million—”
He interrupted again, but I couldn’t sense any anger in his voice, just impatience. The tales he’d told me were wild and fantastic, involving science I couldn’t accept as real. But what I could see of his emotions matched what he was saying. He’d waited a long time, been frustrated every time he asked, and now he thought he’d earned his chance. He didn’t want to wait any more, and he wasn’t ready to tolerate any argument. Maybe I could ask him questions about the future world he so wanted me to believe in, but when I said ‘no’ to him again I’d have to show I was serious by running straight away.
I stood and turned away from him, putting my hands on the low stone wall behind the seat. It was about the right height, so I could kneel on the bench while my arms were folded on the top of the wall. I was still dressed in something like an ironic parody of my old school uniform, so the short skirt lifted up to my waist easily enough. I reached back with one hand to pull my briefs down to my knees, but Steve had beaten me to it. He was certainly eager, loosening his belt and whipping out his already-rigid cock in a single motion.
“So what do you want first?” he leered, “Pussy or ass?”
“Fuck you,” I replied as I moved my knees a little further apart to give him better access, “You’re not putting that thing anywhere near me.” He didn’t listen, though. He reached between my thighs with one hand, and I knew he could tell how wet I was already. His fingers traced up and down my lips for a moment, making me breathe in sharply, and then it was the tip of his penis slipping up and down my slit. I knew I should be terrified of what he was doing to me, but all I could think of was gratitude that he wasn’t going to make me do anal.
It was so close, I was only one thrust away from having a man inside me. I hated the thought, it was so different from the way I’d hoped it would be, but as the moment came closer the anticipation was driving me wild. My body wasn’t nervous at all, I was so wet and the feeling of helplessness was only turning me on more. His teasing was driving me wild, and then I couldn’t take it any longer. I ignored his words and pushed closer, taking him inside me in one decisive movement. He was huge, though I didn’t really have anything else to compare it to. It felt like he was going to tear me apart, but then as he pressed in deeper I quickly got used to feeling so full. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so good, like I was doing exactly what I was meant for.