Author's Note: Hi, everyone. I have written a metric ton of stuff over the past few years and haven't submitted anything. Perhaps I fear people will think most of it is cheesy or unappealing, but I finally decided to just do it. So anyway, I have no idea if it's any good, but most of my stuff is light in nature, with themes influenced by the films of Russ Meyer, and strips like Little Annie Fanny. I think this first submission is one of my weakest, so I'd like to start here and get some feedback. Criticism is welcome. Hopefully, it can influence and improve the upcoming submissions I have planned (assuming folks are reading, I guess). Good news is, if you like my stuff, I have at least twenty more stories finished or very close to being finished.
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The Future of Travel
My name is Denise Smathers. At 27, I had become the youngest assistant executive at Drable, Young and Murray, a tax law firm in the heart of Los Angeles. At this rate, I'd be a partner by 35 if I played my cards right.
Drable, Young and Murray accepted me right after college, when I graduated in June of 2057. Though I had passed the bar, they had me working as a paralegal, essentially, filing papers, researching tax law, searching for tax loopholes for our clients. My eager drive, long hours and success at completing every task assigned, got me a desk and a chair where I worked all day signing on new clients.
Perhaps it was - as Jack Murray said - my attractive figure that aided in that particular role. I signed on more clients my first year than any other executive assistant in the history of the company. I was breaking many records.
I suppose I should tell you that I'm a heavy C-cup with a thin frame and tight butt. Daily Pilates has its benefits. Nevertheless, I didn't stay fit to draw the attention of men, necessarily. Growing up in a modest, almost puritanical, household had deeply embedded a code of modesty in me that was perhaps unusual for someone that could so easily be described as "hot." I'm not trying to sound like a narcissist, but men often made the comment to me, to which I often found off-putting and usually said prematurely in the relationship, almost always inappropriate. Sure, I had the occasional partner, though it had been over a year since the last, but I always struggled to feel comfortable naked around men, even long-term boyfriends.
That said, I certainly don't mind the attention of men, in a light-hearted, even flirtatious, kind of way. Thankfully, that's how most men are. Even women! So tight-fitting clothing is certainly in my catalog.
When I first began at DYM, word spread quickly of the young, attractive girl working in the back. Many men stopped by to greet me every day. Now, me being an executive assistant, my desk was closer to the front offices and could be seen more often by more people.
Within months, many new businesses had started coming to DYB to sign up as clients, asking for me personally. Again, the youngest partner in the firm, Jack Murray, claimed word had spread throughout some circles about the pretty girl working here and men came on board just to enjoy the view. I suppose he was probably right.
It was Jack who came knocking on my door this morning that led to the circumstances I was in now.
"Hey, Denise, do you mind joining us for the quarterly Executive Meeting?"
Those meetings were legendary. All the executives - there were seven now - met in the New York offices with all three partners. Frank Drable only came out of hiding when these meetings occurred. Oh, and of course for the annual Christmas party. On rare occasions, I would see Matthew Young, but he, too, worked in the New York office.
"Uh, sure... is this normal?" I asked.
"Actually, no. But Danny and Tom can't make it. They're working a big client in the Dominican Republic right now. We need you to cover for both of them. Anything that might be assigned to them, you'll have to cover. No worries, I told Sandra to reschedule your meetings for the two weeks. You'll have the normal workload in your regular duties."
Sandra was my secretary. Actually, she served as secretary to all the executive assistants. I reported under Danny normally, but I saw Tom and Andy on a regular basis, the other two executives in the office. They all reported on Jack, of course. There was a rigid hierarchy to Drable, Young and Murray.
"OK, I'll be happy to help," I said, hoping this would be one more task that would get me closer to faster promotions.
"We leave at 10," said Jack. "No need to bring anything."
All our files were of course on a secured cloud service. From any computer or terminal in the world, we could access them. I carried around a MiniHex, a small device you'd place on a desk and a holographic display appeared, voice activated and hand and eye responsive.
"OK," I said, knowing I'd at least bring that.
At 10 a.m. I met Jack at the front door.
"I'm glad the airport isn't far," I said. I figured we would be flying in a Jet300. They could make it from Los Angeles to New York in less than two hours.
"Oh, we're not flying," said Jack. "I thought you knew."
And my heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I knew all these meeting were in person, unrecorded and never via e-meetings. We would actually be present in front of each other. And if we weren't flying, that meant we were teleporting.
Teleportation had been a mainstream way of travel since 2042. It had as much a market share in long-distance travel as airplanes, but for a myriad of reasons, it never dissolved the flight industry. Sure, airlines essentially crafted all their planes to have first class amenities in order to compete, but that wasn't the only reason they managed to stay in business. Some people feared ill health effects from teleporting, even though those fears were unfounded. Yes, there were some unpleasant things about this form of travel. Two, notably.
The first one known as "the jitters" causes one's body to convulse uncontrollably for about six to eight seconds upon arrival at the destination (which is essentially the same moment as the time of departure). The convulsions aren't violent, by any measure. In fact, they are painless and proven to be completely harmless. Scientists have explained this phenomenon in layman's terms as a reaction to "purging" the air of the space one fills when teleporting. Honestly, it's all beyond my scope of understanding. I had never experienced it, anyway. My modesty has always kept me from teleporting.
You see, the second ill-effect is that teleporting only allows atoms that are coded to the traveler's DNA to pass through the teleportation pods. No way was I comfortable appearing stark naked on the other end of a trip. I was well aware there was always at least one member of the travel staff on the other watching over, ensuring things went smoothly. There actually hadn't been any "bad trips" since 2046, a far safer measure of travel than flying, to this day. But regulations were regulations and the thought of being naked in front of a stranger sent shivers down my spine.
"I thought we were flying," I said to Jack. "I've never teleported before." I was almost ashamed to admit it, as I'm sure Jack had done it hundreds of times.
"There's nothing to it, Denise, I assure you. We use our private pods that take us straight to the meeting room in New York."
I realized now just how wealthy DYM really was. Private teleportation devices were rigidly regulated and very expensive to license. To have not one, but two, seemed grossly wasteful in spending. Nevertheless, the thought that I would pop over in a private room was relief to my anxiety.
Jack nodded. "You're going to be fine, I promise. Let's go."
Jack turned and walked back to the east-end offices, where his was located. We walked down the wide hall and two doors past his main office. He opened the door and inside was two clear pods labels VentureTech. I knew of the company well.
"Just step right on that pod," Jack said, pointing to the one on the right.
"Uh, I thought clothes and objects couldn't go through."
