In the backwaters of the Milky Way galaxy, there's resides, or rather resided, a small blue-green planet whose inhabitants were so amazingly primitive that they still relied on their external genitalia for sexual satiation. This created no end of problems for them.
Around half the members of the dominant species of the planet found that they couldn't have nearly as much sex as they wanted unless they had sufficient amounts of little pieces of paper. This paper would either be used to procure sex directly, purchase goods which were bartered in exchange for sexual access, or would fund elaborate rituals designed to convince the participants of the sincerity and hence the longevity of the couple's attachment to each other. Coincidentally, the mere possession of large amounts of these pieces of paper was enough to render the possessor significantly more attractive to the half of the population that seemed to have little or no problem having sex regardless of how much paper they had. As a result, many were getting less sex than they wanted. Those who had enough paper to purchase significant amounts often felt bad simply because they had to pay for it. Many couldn't get the partners they wanted regardless of how much paper was offered, and had to settle for those who were willing. And those whose professions involved sex for paper directly often had so much sex that their genitalia became degraded from overuse. Not to mention there were large amounts of people going around trying to force or persuade people NOT to have sex, especially if it was pleasurable.
Unfortunately, before anyone could figure out a way to ensure that everyone got just enough sex to keep the whole bleeding lot of them happy, the planet was destroyed as an extreme pre-emptive strike against illegal immigration.
This is the story of the very few survivors of that benighted place. It's also a story about fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.
*****
Stardate 147592 2200 Hours Galactic Standard Time
"All passengers prepare for hyperdrive. Hyperdrive commencing in five seconds. Four... Three..."
Arthur had no idea how he'd ended up in this situation. This was a fairly common feeling for him; in fact, he was less surprised by the thought, How did I get here? than by the sheer number of times that thought resurfaced in his consciousness. His body and mind were completely disoriented, and his mind cast frantically backward for any explanation. Wait, he could just remember waking up this morning to the doorbell...
*****
April 22, 2010 9:00 a.m. Greenwich Mean Time
While 9 a.m. was earlier than he usually preferred to receive visitors on a Saturday morning, the sun had been up for a few hours already, so this wasn't too devastating an event. And the first couple of seconds after he opened the door were quite pleasant indeed, as his eyes were greeted by the sight of a pleasant face with attractive cheekbones, full lips and a slightly upturned nose, all of which were surrounded by wavy blonde hair. A wide forehead, which Arthur thought looked rather nice in her case, was suspended about five feet and six inches above the ground by a body that was itself supported by high-heeled, red open-toed shoes, which made it plain that the toes were covered by thin white stockings. The body itself was clad in what would ordinarily be termed business attire, the business aura of this red skirt and jacket combo somewhat disrupted by being tightly wrapped over noticeably large breasts and provocatively wide hips.
After this pleasant (and bracing) first couple of seconds, then followed another four or five which were a bit less enjoyable, as Arthur suddenly became uncomfortably aware of his own disheveled appearance, comprised of uncombed hair, unshaven face and a bathrobe with visibly frayed edges, which he had not even managed to close properly, although thankfully his faded white briefs were not on display. (He looked more than once to reassure himself.)
Arthur wasn't naive; he had no illusions that the presence of an attractive, briskly dressed women on his doorstep of a Saturday morning anticipated anything more than a sales pitch or a possible invite to a church social, but still he liked to make a good impression on the fairer sex, at least the fairer members of that group.So it was that several seconds went by before Arthur's brain decided to tackle a more relevant topic: just what in the world was this attractive (although rather severe) thirty-something businesswoman (come to think of it, she hadn't smiled once, not even briefly) doing at his door at this hour on a weekend morning? "Ah, hello," he ventured tentatively, as if the way he approached this situation might still influence it towards a positive outcome, "can I help you with something, Miss..." Arthur was always nonplused by women's addresses being dependent on their marital status. He could always default to 'Ms.' of course, but that always felt like cheating, plus he never felt confident that he was enunciating the 's' clearly enough. Arthur was often made uncertain by a great many things, usually in rapid succession.
Her reply, brisk and lacking even an atom of geniality, did nothing to set him at ease. "Agnes Middleton. Westbridge Security and Loan."
*****
2202 GST (Galactic Standard Time)
Hyperdrive sounded like something out of Star Wars. What it felt like was, well, there was nothing he could honestly compare it with. At first, it felt like the entire universe had been shut off. After a brief, terrifying, moment of this, his mind was frantically attempting to find some way to generate its own sensory input. A kaleidoscope of images followed, a maelstrom that momentarily seemed even more terrifying. He felt he had to seize onto something, anything stable. What he chose (if that word means anything under the circumstances) was porn.
The last porn magazine he'd read was an old one, dug out of his "reserve stash" (otherwise called the "When are you going to throw this shite OUT" stash. It was one of those that promised "real, natural looking girls," and it was from America, which meant he could safely fantasize without having useless, impractical thoughts about how brilliant it would be to go looking for this girl in Knightsbridge, based on the probably sexist assumption that if she'd let herself be photographed pulling her labia apart, she could probably be talked into a good shag without too much trouble.
Anyhow, she had long, brunette hair and looked rather petite, breasts a bit on the small side but still a nice handful, pussy totally shaven and a bum worth smacking once or twice to see how she liked it.
She had an impish grin and lovely green eyes, and the expression on her face was all "Let's have some fun," and Arthur felt himself keen to oblige. He never liked sultry serious looks, looks that said, "Aren't I sexy?" They were asking too much; the place to tell a woman how sexy she was, was at the bar, but once they got naked Arthur, for one, didn't feel like answering any more questions; there was always afterglow for that.
He was a little startled when he realized it really felt like there was a magazine in his hands. He was even more surprised to notice the girl in the pictures was moving. By the time he realized he'd been drawn into the pictorial with her, he was sliding towards acceptance again. And he suddenly was very curious to know if he could touch her. Only as he reached out his hand did he regretfully consider how a bit of chat might have been a nice precursor than a technically uninvited grope. But even as he paused, she gave him the most welcoming smile, and he felt that NOT groping her might be even more rude, under the circumstances.
*****
9:02 GMT
He was certainly familiar with the bank she named. He had even applied for (and been denied) a home-improvement loan from them two years ago. The loan arranger had been equally brusque in his denial of Arthur's application, and Arthur was startled to discover that merely hearing the company's name could still evoke a discernable sensation of resentment, even after so much time had passed. Still, that was not going to prevent politeness from guiding his actions on what he'd suddenly noticed was a sunny, cloudless, yet pleasantly breezy Saturday morning.
She proceeded to follow her introduction up with several seconds of increasingly icy silence. Eventually Arthur found it unbearable; unfortunately, to break the silence he would have to take up the task of moving along a conversation with no idea of its intended destination.
