Adam Wolfe looked back at the mountain range, a two-day hike from where he stood now. Still no sign of modern man.
Maybe 100,000 years was too far back in time. The Foundation only been given one shot at it. The Earth was not likely to pass that close to a wormhole again for several millennia. No, actually make that more than a hundred millennia in the future from where (more accurately when) Adam stood now.
Some in the Foundation wanted to go back to Big One, to the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event 65 million years ago, when the dinosaurs were wiped out by a giant asteroid. But the suits at NASA were too cheap to spring for a million-year ticket and a big expedition.
That was OK. Adam was pretty sure that he didn't want a front row seat for the Big One.
They finally agreed to a smaller expedition (just Adam and a measly 100,000 years back in time). As it was, they had strapped Adam into a space capsule that had to be smaller than the one the Rooskies used to launch that poor mutt Laika into space back in 1957, a full two years before the Clovers sang the original "Love Potion Number 9" (although they had been that way since 1956).
The reentry had been a little warm, as the most of the recycled Space Shuttle tiles blew off his capsule, heating its surface to 900 degrees Fahrenheit (although the 755 degrees Kelvin temperature announced by the ship's computer sounded so much more refreshing). Whatever it was, it had been enough to turn the capsule's hull into a festive glowing red.
Also, the parachute had opened a little late for Adam's taste, especially when the capsule hit the ground at 100 klicks an hour. Goddamn air bag didn't even deploy, the cheap Chinese shit.
At any rate, here he was safe on the ground in Europe in 998,075 B.C. (or so his I-Phone 2210 told him), and there was still no sign of modern humans. It looked like the gap in the fossil record was no fluke. But how could modern man seemingly arise out of nothing in France and then move eastward to slaughter all the other hominids in sight?
Adam flipped open his I-Phone and dictated his findings thus far. The plan was to bury the phone and the boys from the Foundation would find it 100,000 years from now with the GPS tracker. That's why the thing was powered by Energizer batteries.
You see, the ticket that they bought for Adam was a one-way one. There would be no return trip.
Adam looked at the smoke-free woods. He sure as hell hoped that there were some modern humans here. As least three or four of the female variety, glad in bear-skin bikinis. Adam's war club began to rise at the thought.
It was then that he stepped into the pit, was caught up in a rope net and lifted ten feet in the air.
They emerged from the bushes then, ululating and thrusting their spears in the air. The ones Jean Auel had called the Others. The Neanderthals.
They made short work of cutting down the net that held Adam, binding his hands and feet to a large spit, carrying him like a deer carcass back to their village, stripping him, and staking him on the ground with his limbs splayed like a human X.
The largest of them reached out to Adam, seeming intrigued by his brown hair, so unlike that of the carrot-top Neanderthals. Their leader looked up after playing a quick game of Tetris on Adam's phone, cheered on by a dozen onlookers. He nodded at Adam and smiled in approval. Then, he bumped his chest and told Adam his name. Elon.
He pointed to Adam, who quickly told Elon his name, feeling that it might be prudent to be as friendly with these people as possible, especially in view of the fact that they had just placed the human-size roasting spit they had used to carry him to their camp over a roaring fire.
The women rushed over to touch Adam's naked body, intrigued as women always are by his foreign nature and the strangeness of his body. They crowded around Adam then, wearing only loin cloths in this interstitial heat wave.
They were a pretty solid group of women, but then Adam had always liked them a bit zaftig. What impressed him the most where the size of their jugs. It was difficult to infer the distribution of soft tissue from fossilized skeletal remains, but those anthropologists who prepared him for this mission had underestimated these chicks' bra size by several orders of magnitude. Those magnificent honkers would go a long way toward explaining that anomalous curvature in the spine of female Neanderthals that scientists had been puzzling over for years.
In no time, those prehistoric boobs blanketed Adam's naked body, the women's mouths covering every inch of Adam's flesh, as their shaman poured some type of potion down Adam's throat. Adam felt his already steel-hard cock grow even larger as the warmth of the potion suffused his body. He had never felt this horny in his life. (OK, maybe that one time with Elizabeth Furman in the basement of her father's house. He couldn't walk for a week after that one.)
Adam looked down on his splayed naked body, which had been transformed into a sea of undulating red hair as the women ran their tongues up and down his legs, chest, neck and face, taking turns sucking his cock and lapping his balls, each one with a different technique, a different tongue, and guided by different desires. One woman, the strongest among them, forced the others from Adam's crotch, engulfed his cock with her mouth, and ran her hands around his back to grab his buttocks in her vise-like hands. She began to bob her mouth up and down on Adam's rod while lifting his body off the ground with her incredibly strong arms in time with her movements. Adam tried to match her thrusts with his own, which was not easy with his hands and feet staked to the ground and his pelvis suspended two feet in the air.
