The Guinea Pig

DISCLAIMER: While this story is essentially one or more romances, it is also Science Fiction. The operative word being 'fiction', and while the science part could possibly happen in the future, it probably will not.

Much of the 19th century background is drawn from my family history.

She shimmered into the room like something I'd seen at the movies of a long time ago. While most of the women affected the 'Roaring Twenties' look, after all that was the theme of this party, she took a whole different take on this theme.

The majority of women sported either white or silver short dresses with long fringes, and beaded head bands of the same colour, complete with feathers, her dress was something else. It was covered in dazzling black sequins from the top, held in place half-way up the upper slope of her breasts by thin straps, to the hem that was modestly just below her knees. Running down the centre was a gap a hundred millimetres (4") wide that hid behind a curtain of purple beads, these swayed from side to side as she walked, leaving very little to the imagination. At the appropriate position was a pair of purple, what looked to be silk, panties that barely preserved her decency.

She had arrived with two other women, one of whom was blonde, I think, but don't quote me on that, the other I don't remember.

Her friends dropped behind her as they surveyed the available male talent. She, her eyes focused on mine, strode in my direction. It was neither Christmas nor my birthday so I took a quick glimpse behind to see who she was headed for. Finding no-one, I turned to face her as she reached me. A beautifully manicured hand reached out and her index finger reached me and gently closed my mouth.

"Good evening Robert." My mental data processor was galloping through the stored information in a desperate attempt to remember if, or when, we'd ever met. "Don't worry, we've never met."

"Then, how is it you know my name?" Was this a set-up by one of the bastards I call my friends?

"I know more than your name, a lot more. I am here tonight to make your acquaintance, to meet the physical body to go with the collected data, to put a face to the name if you will."

"You said 'collected data', what does that mean?"

"We, that is my father and me, have been analizing population data looking for the longest vertical male lineage. Yours is the longest we have found, so far. I have convinced Father to stop looking."

"It's going to take a while for me to get my feeble brain around that of which you speak, so I intend to take my mind off it by consuming a beverage or several. Care to join me?"

"Not if all that's available is what's mentioned on the invitation. I mean, 'bathtub gin' or 'bootleg whisky', I hate to think what that will do to my intestines."

"Okay, scrub booze."

"I do have a passably good red at home."

"Is that a hint?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go. What about your friends?"

"They're on the prowl, I think that'll keep them occupied."

I don't think anyone noticed me leaving, all attention was on her. "By the way, what do I call you?"

"Darling sounds good to me, but if you want, my name it's Stephanie."

"Well then Darling, where am I taking you? I presume it's yours." We had reached my car and I had opened the door for her to slide in. The hem of her dress rode up, the beaded curtain fell to one side revealing a shapely leg, all the way up to her panties.

"When you've finished perving at my legs, we have somewhere to be." I was directed to an apartment building in a once fashionable part of town. "It's not much, but it's home for me."

I was invited to sit on a sofa, while she opened the bottle of passably good red and poured us each a glass. "Nice." I said after my first sip. We said little as we proceeded to empty the bottle. It took some time, time that was well spent by her getting up close and personal. The thigh nearest to me pressed against mine, while the other thigh moved further and further away. The beaded curtain no longer provided cover. "Are you trying to seduce me?" An obvious enough question.

"Yes, am I succeeding?"

"I would have to say yes." I took her now empty glass from her, and placed it with mine and the bottle on the floor. My hand just happened to slide up her leg, coming to rest at her panties. My finger applied pressure for several seconds before sliding under the loose hem and into her now moist pussy. She had made no attempt to stop me. "Mmm, that's nice." She sighed.

She too, had been busy, I heard my zipper being slid down and her hand entering. I was glad that I was wearing fly fronted trunks, because access to my now hard cock was easy. "He's an eager thing, isn't he?"

"It would seem so."

"My bed is much more comfortable than this sofa, come." She stood and held her hand out to me. I took it of course, and we soon found ourselves in bed, naked in bed, me in her naked.. you get the gist, I don't need to tell you what happened next.

Now, I have had some experience with sex. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some kind of super stud, just a moderately successful participant on the noble art of fornication, so there is some truth when I say that our love making was the best that I have experience, ever.

The early morning heart starter was every bit as good as the one that ushered me into my blissful sleep last night. "I think that I could get used to this."

"I should hope so. Now get out of bed, we have places to be and people to meet."

"What places, what people?"

"My parents' place. You are going to meet my parents, my father in particular."

"This is a bit sudden, meeting the parents, we have known each other for less than a day."

"This is not a social call, it's business."

"What business is that?"

"You'll see."

"I suppose that you're not going to tell me."

"You suppose correctly. Don't worry, they'll love you."

She directed me to a semi-affluent part of town, the part where old money lived. These people were content with living in what were once substantial homes, that didn't see the need to flaunt the wealth of their owners by embracing the newest trends.

We were greeted by her parents as we mounted the three steps to the front verandah. "Welcome Robert, come inside won't you." Her mother said as we arrived at the front door.

"Has Stephanie told you why I wanted to meet you?" Her father asked as we took the offered seat on the sofa.

"No, She decided that she would keep me in suspense."

"Let's get the intros out of the way. This is my wife Muriel, and I'm her father Samuel, Samuel Rosen. I am by way of being an Anthropologist. My chosen field is historical human anthropology. For literally centuries, the histories of mankind have been written by those who won the war, and can be a tad biased. Little is known of the losers, both before and after the war. The upside for the winners is that they can rewrite the history to suit themselves. This is where you, hopefully come in." He continued. "I have trolled thousands of genealogy records looking for a particular person, you."

"What sets me apart from everyone else?" I asked.

"You are the rare person that can trace his ancestry back some three hundred years through males in the line. There have been no generations that did not have a male heir."

"Why is this important?"

"Because, if there was no male heir, a daughter would have to marry outside the direct line. There is the possibility that her husband's lineage would be far removed from hers. We needed an unbroken lineage."

"I was aware that, going back three generations we were all male."

"There was another thing that we were looking for." Samuel said.

"And that was?"

"We did not want any royalty involved, or, for that matter military officers. As far as royalty is concerned, there has been so much interbreeding and inbreeding, it will be difficult to establish if a person was actually the son of record. There is no reliable record of the bastard sons of royalty. As for the military, it has proven impossible for a particular line to have been in the winning side of every war."

"As far as I'm aware, my family are nothing special."

"Sometimes I think that nothing special is the best." Samuel said.

"I'll go along with that." Stephanie smirked.

"So what do you want me for?"

"I've been working on a system that link establishes a link with the brain's data storage centre, the memory." Samuel explained. "The plan is to establish whether we can go back in time from this generation to previous generations using stored memories. If we achieve that we can rewrite the history books based, not on the official records of battle winners, but of the ordinary people, the working class."

"So I'm the guinea pig, is that it?"

"Only if you want to be, we're not going to force you to do something that you don't want to." He said.

My thoughts went to the pleasures that I had experienced last night. "How does this thing work?" I asked.

"What we had to do in the first instance was to create something that the designer of the brain, whether it be God, or someone else, did not think of, that is a de-fragmentation programme. It is now easier to access data."

"I suppose you had a quick look at me."

"Dad had a quick look," Stephanie smiled, "I had a much more detailed look, and the more that I saw, the more that I loved. You met me already in love with you."

"I can't understand why, I'm nothing to write home about."

"And thus the beauty of it, less competition."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"With your permission," Samuel held up a small device with cables hanging from it, "we will attach this device to establish a link with the part of your brain that stores all of your experiential memory. If you, and your ancestors have had any sensory contact with it, it will have been filed away in their, and hopefully your, memory stream. We hope to extract that memory and analyse it so that we can create a history not based on victory in a battle."

"I hope I, and my ancestors, don't prove too boring and you lose interest."

"That will not be the case. Your ancestors have lived in interesting times."

"So, when do we start?"

"Before you go to sleep tonight, we'll attach the electrodes and begin recording."

"And I'll make sure that you're sleepy and happy."

"We don't want him too tired."

Wired for sound and suitably fatigued, I closed my eyes. Sleep eluded me for some time, but eventually, it seems, I was fully receptive.

"Wake up Darling." Her soft voice eased me into wakefulness.

"Is it over?" I asked.

"Yes, and we have an awful lot of data to analyse. Daddy will fill us in on just how much there is. Come on, we can't stay in bed all day, although the prospect has some merits."

"I don't know whether I was dreaming but I had this feeling that my life was flashing past at a phenomenal speed, and the only thing preventing me from going with it was something holding me down."

"That something was me, we were joined at the hip and lip. While it seemed as if you would join your galloping past life, my holding you down was unnecessary, it was fun, my pussy was clamped to your cock for seeming hours and we enjoyed, at least the noises coming from your lips suggested enjoyment on your part, my practising tantric sex. I feel it is something that we should try when both of us are fully conscious."

"So what happens now? What is your father going to do with all of that data?"

"You mean what are we going to do with the data? We are going to begin with the now and work our way back to the then. I think that we are going to examine your past life in greater detail. I think he wants to see how the unusual impinges on the life of the normal person."

"What do you want to know about the me of now?"

"We know that you are twenty-five years old and work for your father in Talbot and Sons, a highly respected construction company." Samuel asked.

"Now that's not the whole story. I work with my father, not for him. We have a father/son relationship, not a boss/employee relationship. My father, like my grandfather and several generations before that, is passing on to me his knowledge of the construction industry, that's to be expected. What is not expected is that he has encouraged me to think outside the square. If I come up with a different way of doing something, he listens to me, we discuss it, and if my idea has legs, he works with it. He has impressed upon me; 'don't ever lose the desire to learn.' None of us know everything."

"See, that's the very thing we're looking for. Your father took over from your grandfather, didn't he?" Samuel was taking notes.

"Yes. Along with there being a male heir in each generation, the building trade has been passed from one generation to the next since the early part of the nineteenth century."

"There were no breaks for things like wars, then?"

"The men of the family went off to war. The generations covering the two World Wars saw it as their duty to enlist. They survived physically unscathed. It took some time for them to adjust to not having to shoot people. My great-grandfather was, unfortunately, caught up in the draft and was sent to Vietnam. Again he was not wounded, but it took much longer for him to recover psychologically. Unfortunately for him, the treatment for PTSD was generic, and consisted of treating the symptom and not the cause. My mother provided the psychological support and physical stimulation that helped him recover. The family owed her much more than we could repay."

"You sound critical of the treatment handed out to these soldiers."

"In a word, yes. I am critical not only of the lack of appropriate treatment given to those affected by this war, but by the general public's 'welcome' home. I'm also critical of our government's refusal to recognise the affects of stuff like 'Agent Orange', just because the manufacturers said that it had no detrimental effect on personnel. Good God, didn't they learn from asbestos or atom bomb testing at Maralinga? Great-granddad was at Long Tan where a hundred and twenty odd young conscripts were ambushed by a force of some two and a half thousand experienced and well armed North Vietnamese and Vietcong troops. The Australians won, but lost eighteen killed to over two-hundred Vietnamese." I paused to gather my thoughts, my memories of great-granddad's recovery has defined my opinion of war. "If you must get involved, prepare well so that you have a greater chance of survival. What defined the Australian involvement in this war was that, by the time the soldiers shipped out, they were all mates. They went through basic training together at Pukapunyal, they went through jungle warfare training at Conungra and Shoalwater. What was instilled in them, as well as the mechanics of jungle warfare, was that they were mates and, as mates they looked out for each other. That was one of the reasons that they won at Long Tan. What made it worse for the survivors was that those lost were mates."

"The mechanics of jungle warfare was developed in New Guinea during World War II. It involved using the jungle as concealment, to carry out guerilla raids and interrupt the enemy supply lines. When Australians troops go out on patrol they do not wear helmets, they wear 'giggle hats', jungle green towelling hats that, along with camouflage face paint, makes them difficult to see when they hit the ground in combat. They did not walk down trails with ghetto blasters advertising their presence, they patrolled silently off the track in the jungle."

"Long Tan was fought in a rubber plantation after they met a large enemy force that were moving forward to mount an attack on the base at Nui Dat."

"What hurt most was that, while Delta Company were awarded a Unit Citation by the US Army, they were met not recognised by the Australian Army. Instead, they were met with hostility by anti war demonstrators at home when they arrived back. It took a long time for the Vietnam vets to get over that, if they ever did."

"Great-grandma deserves a medal for her devotion to great-grandpa's well-being. Grandpa told me that even a loud noise would bring it all back. Great-grandma would hold him for sometimes hours, re-enforcing the love that the whole family had for him, and the protection that this love brought with it. While he never fully got over his experience, few if any would, he got to feel safe in the love and care of his family."

"You see, that is the sort of thing that I'm looking for!" Samuel exclaimed. "You look on you family as 'normal' and in that you might be true, but yours was a normal family doing extra-ordinary things."

We returned to scouring the reams of printed data, looking for further examples of deviations from the norm.

"This is interesting," Samuel said. "What do you know about the reason for your eighth great grandfather coming to Australia?"

"From what I've found out from the family histories, he was one of the first free settlers. He was a builder and was brought to Sydney Town to build workers cottages. Most of the single storey row houses were built by him, They were quick and easy to build."

"You know nothing of the dramas surrounding his move?"

"No."

"He and his wife escaped by the skin of their teeth from becoming embroiled in a huge Royal scandal. It seems as if he eloped with a young lady who was about to become the bride of Peregrine, the son of the Duke of Wilsford. Her father, to further his status in the community, had arranged the event. She wanted no part of this marriage to, as she put it, the idiot son of the Duke."

"Is this a part of my memory?"

"Yes, and interesting reading it makes. Samuel said. "Listen to this. 'The gossip from the household centred on Peregrine and his penchant for young girls. One of the chamber maids went to his bedchamber to remove the chamber pot and refresh the towels and water in the wash basin. His Lordship was laying on his bed stroking his rampant member. 'I say, girlie, come here.'

'Yes your Lordship.'

'Take your hand and stroke my jolly roger.'

She stroked it for a short while until he ejected a load of cum into the air. 'That will be all girlie, but I will call for you this afternoon, you will do this again.'

She told everyone about it when she returned to the kitchen.

'He's at it again, we thought that he'd got over it.'

'I don't like doing it, but I supposes that I must.'

'It won't be for long, I hear tell a suitable wife has been found. I hope he has more success in fathering a child with her than he has had with the maid servants.

That afternoon she once again stroked him.

On the third day the order was different. 'Girlie, climb onto the bed. Now lift your skirts and put your leg over, today you will ride the cock horse,'

She rode him until he filled her cunt.

His intended, Margaret Wilson, daughter of the Mayor of Wilsford, overheard the tales of the bedchamber and she felt less inclined to undertake matrimony.

On one of her obligatory frequent visit to Wilsford Manor, Margaret took to 'rambling', wandering around the grounds, taking in the beauty of its gardens and groves. On one such ramble she came across a man constructing a 'folly', a building that serves no useful purpose apart from demonstrating the wealth of the land owner.

'Hello, what are you doing here?'

"I'm employed by His Lordship to construct this building.'

'What is its purpose?'

'It's not without reason that it's called a folly. It has no purpose that I'm aware of.'

'Them why build it?'

'It keeps me busy between sowing and harvest. The Steward looks after the money side of running the manor while I help my father look after the matters of the farm, but not for much longer.'

'What do you mean?'

'As soon as I have finished this I am sailing for Sydney Town to take up a position that my uncle has found for me, as the builder of workers cottages for those convicts who have served out their term, and have earned their ticket of leave. They will need somewhere to live now that they no longer live in the convict barracks. Why are you interested? I understand that you are to become the lady of the house.'