The Journey of Rick Heiden
All Rights Reserved © 2018, Rick Haydn Horst
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning came too early, but we had time for the first fuck of the day. He came from the bathroom to find me standing next to the bed, leaning over.
"You want more?" he said.
"I had to release the others; I want one to start the day off right."
He stood behind me. His growing erection rubbing against my hole. "Well, I wouldn't want your engine to stall," he said. "So, I can't leave you to walk around with an empty tank." He proceeded to shove his cock into my hole. "There, doesn't that feel better?"
"Oh, yes. Fuck me." He began ramming my hole, and I slammed back onto him.
"Oh, you like it hard, don't you? You want to walk around today, knowing your mate serviced your hole this morning the way you like it, is that it?"
"Oh, fuck yes."
I loved it rough, and he reamed my hole hard and unrelenting. He gave me the kind of fuck I wanted, needed even, daily, and I knew David would take care of it. He began to speed up. Just before he reached orgasm, a knock came upon the door. His ramming my prostate caused a spontaneous orgasm, and I came all over the floor. My squeezing his cock caused him to cum, and he hammered me three final times and stopped holding his dick deep inside me.
We heard another knock.
"Bloody hell," he said.
"Do we expect anyone?"
"We expect breakfast." He gently pulled out of me and quickly donned his white cotton robe. The front bulged as he still had an erection. He answered the door while I cleaned up my mess. I still felt a little sleepy when I woke up, but after a vigorous waking from David, we enjoyed a well-earned breakfast.
That day I dressed in my navy two-piece suit and yellow tie with white polka dots. David wore an ill-fitting two-piece suit similar in color. The fit served to inform me how much he needed someone to see to such things.
David called Ms. Newton requesting to see her at her office, but that morning, she had a meeting at the Minister's Cabinet Office at Whitehall. I wished to join him, but as an official visit, he considered it inappropriate. With that understanding, I agreed to wait elsewhere.
I had never gone to the cabinet office at Whitehall, and I must say it made me nervous. We passed through the security checkpoint at Downing Street and parked behind the building reserved for deliveries. Amanda wouldn't have an office at Whitehall, so she borrowed one to use before her meeting. I sat in the outer office where the member's assistant had his desk. David had gone there many times and showed no sign of nervousness. He followed Amanda inside the borrowed office and held a small cardboard box filled with the surveillance equipment from the penthouse, to which he added the one from the Jaguar found using the device provided by Aiden.
I heard their muffled voices inside. As a matter of priority, I suspected David would first relieve Amanda's mind over her daughter. Telling her the dead man had endangered her, and due to his demise, she had nothing to fear. Then it came to the surveillance equipment, and by their muted tone, I assumed that David had not allowed Amanda to palm the responsibility for the surveillance onto the Americans, as he told me. I then heard a few minutes of low talking and a sudden thud against the wall. I couldn't imagine what was happening at that point. The voices disappeared into silence, and within a minute, a red-faced David emerged rubbing his mouth with his handkerchief. I noted the lipstick on the cloth. In agitation, he informed me he wished to leave at once. I decided not to press the issue and kept my mouth shut until we had returned to the car.
When we climbed inside, David flipped the visor down, checking his appearance in the mirror. He wiped away the lipstick remnants and mumbled to himself.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
With his face crimson to his ears, he said, "Yes, of course," in a blatant attempt to sound as amiable as possible.
"Will you tell me what happened? I would like to know."
I had already surmised most of it by the time we got back to the car. I tried to smile pleasantly and not laugh. The circumstance explained a great deal, holding his arm like a vice at the party, the caress of his cheek before exiting the vehicle. I wasn't so naive that I couldn't recognize her feelings for him--fond of him indeed. He remained flush for a good ten minutes, and he had trouble even looking at me.
"I went in," he said, "and I told her that she no longer had to fear for her daughter's safety, and she seemed grateful."
"So, she kissed you."
"Do not interrupt the flow of my narrative, please." His face continued to redden. "I laid the box in front of her and told her we found them. She did what I figured she would do and blamed the Americans. It may come as a surprise, but I decided to let her think I accepted her explanation just in case the British government did do it. Then things went wrong." He then paused to look me in the face. "I must confess to you, and it concerns me that it might make you upset. I wouldn't want you to think I've manipulated you in any way, at least not intentionally."
"Okay, let's hear it," I said.
"Have you heard of pheromones?"
"I've read an article about them once. I understood that humans don't produce those."
"Well, that's not quite true. Some humans still produce them under certain conditions, but the small quantity remains largely undetectable with modern equipment, and that leaves scientists much to debate as to what they detect. However, humans still carry the genes for them, but nature and time have either genetically switched ours off or epigenetically turned them down. The Foundational Enhancement has certain effects. I suspect a purpose by its designers, but it activates those genes that produce pheromones, and now sometimes, I appear to practically percolate with them."
"Has this caused me to feel about you as I do?"
"Maybe," he said as if I'd caught him cheating, "but evolutionarily speaking, it just does what it does."
"I'll have to think how I feel about that," I said, "but please, continue your narrative."
"It's just that not everyone responds to everyone's pheromones," he said. "Amanda has a natural response to mine. It's sort of how I got my job."
"You used this to get your job."
"Well, not willfully! One doesn't think about these things, and until now, Amanda's reaction has remained subtle. Once I realized they were affecting her, it had gone too far, and this job has provided the perfect opportunity to make a positive difference here, which I can say I accomplished for nine years. However, Amanda and I don't have the same situation as I do with you. You and I have had sex. We have physiologically coupled, and although I still produce lots of pheromones, between us, they get mitigated by hormones intended to make us feel love for one another."
I sat there, with a little smile, listening to him continue as I studied his red face. I noted the look in his eyes, the curve of his jaw, the way his mouth moved as I heard every word he said, and although I hadn't known what to think of it all, it made me want to kiss him anyway. Should I care if my attraction to David had come from chemical manipulation? We knew emotions came from chemicals created by our brains, making us feel things through receptors in our cells. Far less mystery existed there than humans liked to pretend, and love felt great, so the cause shouldn't matter. It wouldn't have to stay mysterious; we should seek to understand its complexity. But not to worry, we have always lived in the illusion of free agency, our minds couldn't have done otherwise.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Your surprises keep getting better and better. So, what made the difference with Amanda today?" I noticed she had grabbed him by his crooked tie.
"This has never happened before. Amanda and I have never had anything sexual between us. She's just had an unspoken attraction to me, and it created a feeling of trust in me, which I admit having used on occasion, but I've never abused. I remained abstinent till I met you, so I'm uncertain, but I suspect it's because I showered last night before bed. Since then, you and I have had sex several times, the last of which happened a few hours ago."
"Do you mean that, chemically, you smell like sex on legs?" I asked.
"I wouldn't put it that way."
"I think it's pretty fitting. You could take morning showers, you know." I could no longer resist adjusting his tie's knot. "Will you continue to have this problem, you think?"
He grasped my hand that straightened his tie and looked me in the eye. "I trust that I may rely on you in the future to help keep others off me if I do."
"Oh, you can count on it."
On the way to Facility3 in East London, I made a phone call to my parents, as I had neglected to contact them the previous weekend. They sounded pleased to hear from me. As they told me, they had "ran into a few bumps in the road," but hadn't wanted to worry me. The company that my father worked for went bankrupt, and he wouldn't receive his pension after working for them for decades. They also received a letter that week informing my mother that her supplemental insurance would not cover several of her essential medications because of their cost and forced her to switch to cheaper generics of other medicines that hadn't worked previously. My older sister was divorcing her husband, and the younger one had fallen in with the wrong crowd. My father suspected she was abusing prescription drugs. Everything seemed like the typical humdrum of American life.
They also told me that things continued to decline for the LGBT community, so I still could not return home. At that point, I told them about David, that I had chosen to make my home with him, and that I could not go backward. Until I had said that I hadn't quite realized just how accurate that felt. I had not stayed the same person who left the United States or the same person who had yet to promise himself to David Saturday night. I couldn't go backward by returning to the U.S. any more than I could revert to the man who stood with Maggie at the subway entrance at nine o'clock on Saturday morning. I told them I loved them, and that no matter what, I was fine. When the call ended, it had a finality to it.
In that moment of so much change and uncertainty, I needed to know a part of my life seemed stable and sure. "Do you love me, David?"
