It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon when my computer beeped at me, informing me of a discovery that would change my life forever. It was late in the afternoon and I had been running a translation algorithm on a set of barely legible documents that had been recovered in an archeology dig. My team’s job had been to extract as much of the writing as possible and figure out just what the hell these documents contained. Most of the time they’re innocuous—inventories, receipts, or other day-to-day occurrences, very seldom would we expect to find anything like philosophical treaties, or undiscovered writing from famous historical figures. Of course, the discovery is most of the fun, so even something as banal as a love letter was extremely exciting to our team.
We had been using a new technique, which had the unfortunate side effect of destroying the original artifact, but we had document it enough that we felt the trade-off was worth it. It was now up to me to run it through my translation software to figure out just what the hell these writings actually were. The odd part was that the software had been running non-stop for the better part of a week with no results. Until that beeping told me it had found something.
My name is Jon. Or at least that’s the name I’m setting down in this document to try to make sense of the last five years. As I write this, I’m in an uncharted island in the Atlantic. Bethany is under the table slowly gliding my cock in and out of her mouth, her adoring eyes staring at my face, adjusting her rhythm and depth to small changes that my face makes that indicates what is giving me pleasure. Her concentration is completely on her task, as she see this as the best way to express her absolute love and devotion for me. Her eyes twinkle with every moan that escapes my lips, assuring her of devotion and effectiveness of her technique, and driving her to take my cock deeper into her throat, all the way down to the base. She looks up at me with her dark, brown eyes begging me to come down her throat so she can swallow my seed—an act she knows turns me on to no end—and fulfill what she thinks is the most important task in her life.
But I’m not worried about her too much. She’ll get my load down her throat soon enough. I have to concentrate on this document so I can get a handle on my life. Bethany is just the latest one in a series of women who are in my thrall. But this is part of the story too.
So it was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, and my computer was beeping. It snapped me out of my daydream of that gorgeous barista down the street whom I have had a major crush on for the last year, but have been too chickenshit to do anything about. I glanced at the screen and saw the message flashing in bright letters: “97% translation confidence. This is as much as I think I can do”. I knew mentally where my code had gotten to. Most of the messages were typed in by me and I don’t really have enough imagination to make them descriptive. Besides I’m the only one who really uses this software anyways, so I didn’t much care what the message said, so long as I understood.
97% was pretty good though. I tapped a few keys on my keyboard and the program started exporting the translation into something another piece of software I had written could read. I got up and reheated my cold coffee for 30 seconds in the microwave to kill some time while it did what it was supposed to. I took a sip and the aroma made me again think of that beautiful barista Cindi.
Cindi had been working at the coffee shop on the ground floor of my building for the last year or so. She was a gorgeous black woman probably 26 or so with deep black skin and beautiful brown eyes. I’ve always had a thing for black women ever since I was with my ex-wife, a black woman herself. We had 2 wonderful years together and 2 absolute nightmare years of her trying to control me until she gave up and dumped me. Since her though, I just found black women incredibly sexy and hot, especially ones like Cindi. Short, standing about 5′2″, smallish breasts, probably B cups and gorgeous legs and a flat tummy, she always liked to wear short sun dresses, heels and hoop earrings. I tried talking to her on more than one occasion and ended up making a fool of myself at every occasion. Now, our meetings consisted of me asking for my usual and her commenting about the weather.
I put Cindi out of my mind and fired up the software to read the translation. It was a simple document. A recipe of some sort that seemed to be held in regard—or perhaps secrecy—as it had certain pictograms that the software had flagged for some kind of secret ancient society. Not much was known about this society—most people in the field though they were a myth or some sort of cult. We didn’t really know much of anything about them, including why they were so secretive or what they did. This made it an exciting discovery as it might shine a light on this group of people. Maybe enough for a paper, even.
The recipe looked exotic. It called for some strange plant and ingredients. Some of them were pretty rare, some even extinct, although it would probably have been more bountiful back in those times. There was no indication what this was for though, although there was a single drawing suggesting that touching the hands of someone with this concoction was the application method.
Perhaps a medicine or an ointment of some sort I thought to myself. Although the purpose of it escaped me. There also seemed to be a word that my software could not really identify: popeneyen. It was strange, even a short search in Google brought up nothing. The word root itself was not too uncommon in the ancient dialect of the people we are studying. It translated roughly to “absolute devotion” or “absolute love”, although it also had to with worshiping, something like how you are supposed to give all your love and worship god, but with mundane connotations. Most of the time the meaning of these words changed with context, which is why my software seemed to have choked on this word, it could not figure out any sort of appropriate context for it. It was in a sentence that made no sense to what the word meant. Perhaps a name I thought.
There were other interesting symbols on the drawing that my software had actually translated. The hands which the ointment was applied to were male. As in very male. Alpha male, or dominant or king or master or something along those terms, whereas the hand that the ointment was then transferred to was female, a low-level one in station, or property perhaps? Although it had a connotation of being unowned.
Well, this was a very exciting puzzle. I still had to go translating a few other dozen documents, this was just the first one, but already an interesting one. I loaded up the next translation and started to get ready to leave for home. As I was getting ready though, my mind drifted to this recipe. My mind raced with possibilities: A cure for a disease? An aphrodisiac perhaps? There is something inherently exciting about a discovery that could mean something completely new and unknown. Nothing drives us scientist harder than something like that.
I knew I was probably fooling myself, but I thought Fuck it! Let’s build the it! as images of me accepting a nobel prize in medicine for the cure of cancer flashed in my head. I sat down at another workstation and pulled up a chemistry software that I had written at another job. I was able to isolate the different chemical compounds in the recipe and entered them into the software. The computer would then run a simulation of the molecular structure of the mixture and come up with a pretty good approximation of what the molecule in the mixture would have been. It would take the rest of the night, but it’s not like that machine was doing anything important. I loaded up the code, hit run and walked out of my office 3 hours after I was supposed to leave. Tired but excited at what I though might have been the discovery of a lifetime.
Little did I realize the upheaval that little molecule would create.