The Dirty Emperor

The Dirty Emperor

Copyright Sept. 2023 by Fit529 Dotcom (started 4/2022)

== Disclaimers ==

Everyone is over age 18

All names are randomized to protect Alien Overlords from lawsuits.

If you remember history a different way then (in the words of the immortal abiding Lebowski), "Yeah? Well, you know, that's just like, uh, your opinion, man."

== == ==

When someone asks you if you're a God, you say, "YES!"

Obviously this movie quote was meant to be a joke, but I actually had a point in my life where I was obliged to say Yes.

I was 44 years old, the year was 2025, and I was living on a farm outside Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, with my wife of 20 years, Kim, and several cats. Our two college-aged kids were off at school in Toronto, and I worked from home as an IT infrastructure engineer while my wife kept house and volunteered at a dog rescue.

So, before I get into how things got Very Weird, I have to mention that I'm a runner.

That is, trying to keep my weight down - always a challenge to me as a middle-aged guy when my wife Liked To Cook - I'd re-taken-up my running habit originally developed in high school.

Running from 11 am to 1 pm every day let me put an 'appointment' on my work calendar of "Lunch and Workout" and not get interrupted. My co-workers eventually discovered I never attended meetings during that time, so it was simpler to not invite me then.

In the 7 years I'd been doing this and working from home, I had a good routine, but hadn't really dropped much more than 15 kilos, stuck in my 110 kg rut. I knew, a main cause was my wife making food that was altogether too tasty and fattening, but I could only do so much in my life, and cooking my own meals wasn't on my priority list.

So, the fateful day?

I'll try to tell this story in a reasonable way, but bear in mind I don't have any incentive to beat around the bush and lie. In fact, in the interests of history, I'm going to pull in my diary entries (yeah, I kept a journal) and (to piss off the religious wacknuts) make it as purient as possible since why not, it's their problem not mine.

Yeah. So, I have several loops I run, not too many because we're semi-rural in Manitoba about 45 minutes drive outside Winnipeg, a 'big' city of 700k, comparable to Atlanta or Stuttgart. We moved to our farm in 2020 at the height of the covid thing because Canadian healthcare is way better than that in the states, and it's lots cheaper, too. We wanted to be more rural and our kids were off at college, so why the heck not.

My job was doing system configurations for cloud computing systems, so I could work literally anywhere there was an internet connection, and our little farm was near enough to a big highway that we had a solid broadband drop. This being my business, I also had a satellite feed, just in case an ice storm (it happened) took down our comms.

The running loop I was on that day went out down a paved road, then off to an unpaved one, and around a lake at a county-provincial park campground. Nice views, not too long, not too short, I could have a good time, and if I had a problem (I always thought about worst-cases), there were people sometimes coming by.

That day, it wasn't a person that came by.

To describe this, you're not going to believe me, so, yeah, don't. I'll tell it anyway, so here goes.

Running along, I heard a series of bangs, like thunderclaps, but a quick (3-per-second) succession of them, slowing down in tempo, maybe 15 total and starting distant but getting closer.

Above and to one side, I saw a white streak through the sky - it was mid-october, so there was light snow on the ground and a warm day so it was right about freezing. A fog in the air limited visibility, for sure, but it was the kind of thin fog that's kind of overcast.

The white streak looked like a light plane, and it trailed a contrail, not smoke, but whispy. It came down as I watched, curving, changing directions several times, and then curved into being down the road I was on towards me.

My pace slowed up because, well, I was interested, and I glance at my running watch instinctively. It was blank. I thought Ug, bad stuff, but, well, can't do much about that.

The light, as I glanced up again, was a large drone, though I couldn't see the rotors. It was hovering like one of those professional ones, big enough to carry cameras, kind of slick and swoopy looking. I thought, 'great, some drone guy is flying up to me, gonna watch me run'.

The drone isn't making any sound, really, though; some small air-noises but not much, and it gets a lot closer - really close, like 2 car lengths, maybe, and about at eye height, and it's one huge-ass drone!

There were nacelles where rotors could have been, but I didn't see any propellers or jetwash, or sounds from them. Mostly it was silent, so I thought, hey, not just big, but pretty damned fancy to be flying silently.

Needless to say, I stopped at that point, breathing not-hard since I don't tend to go overboard. So I could talk.

I said, "Hey."

So fast my eyes caught it but I couldn't move away, something flew at me and hit the front of my leg. My eyes immediately followed downwards to see a silver dart about a finger-length sticking out of my thigh!

It shot me?!?

As I looked down, another two hit my other leg.

That's about all I remember. It happened incredibly quickly, tenths of a second.

There was a consciousness gap at this point.

When I woke up, it was like waking up from a deep dream, or anesthetic, where you can before you can move? I got my eyes open, blinking back the uncentered sleepy aspects, and realized I was lying face-down in the dirt of the dirt/gravel road.

I'm pretty sure I fell forwards.

The gravel or grass under me made my face hurt, so I tried to move, pushed up, and got to kneeling. The front of my legs hurt, and my face hurt, and somewhere on my forehead hurt, too, though feeling it, I'd obviously hit some dirt that I could wipe off, and a little frost, too.

Looking around, I didn't see anyone, and I was getting cold, so I started walking back the way I came, shortening my remaining route to about 3 kilometers, and tried to organize in my mind what had just happened.

My sweats had little marks in the thighs, so I paused and pulled them out so I could see down my pants legs, and sure enough, there were red marks where the darts had hit me, two in each leg. I'd only seen 3 of the 4 hit me, so obviously my memory was missing one.

Feeling all around my body, I didn't find any other sore spots, so I kept walking.

Getting home, Kim (my wife) asked me if I was okay - I had dirt in my hair, still, and my face was all red. I told her I'd tripped and fallen. Thinking fast, I didn't want to go to a hospital and explain Anything At All, so I said I was feeling weak and shouldn't have had a third cup of coffee in the morning. In reality, I'd only had the one, my total usual amount because more made me really edgy.

She said, "Well, then, your own fault, hope you learned something," and kissed me. She was like that - pretty frank, and I loved her for it.

Not all parts of our marriage to that point were great, but I never doubted that she loved me.

Instead of getting a shower, I decided I was tired enough, so I dashed off a quick set of emails telling my manager and group-chat, "feeling bad, taking rest of day off, will advise."

I grabbed a quick shower, looked over my body, and suddenly (in the middle of the shower) had to poop - a lot! I didn't make it out of the shower stall, even, and boom, my lower half just relaxed and let go, making me light-headed in the process. It kept going a lot longer than I thought it would.

With that much coming out, I got nervous about hydration and had a drink of some shower water (not ideal) but I wasn't born yesterday and knew that that much water out meant water had to go in, too.

Happily, the shower took it all down the drain, and the fan being on seemed to carry the odor away in the next few minutes. I just leaned against the wall, let the water hit me, took drinks from the shower, and felt my stomach rumble.

I knew, we didn't have enough hot water in the tank for a forever-shower, so I shut it off, but I couldn't get out farther than to sit on the pot again.

By ten minutes later, I'd pooped again, a huge stream, mostly watery but even with some green in it, which I found out later was bile. I decided I'd just flushed my entire digestive tract in one fell swoop, and worried that it might be radiation, since that was a thing that exposure to radiation would do.

If I lost some hair or my gums went bleeding, I'd know, but... no bleeding gums yet.

Looking down at some points between flushes, I noticed a lot of floaty bits on the surface of the toilet - lots of fats, it looked like, but, hell, I had no idea.

(After a certain age, if something comes out of you, you pay attention to details even if they are personally disgusting.)

I felt a lot better after that second round and had filled up with water, so I brushed my teeth and went to bed, at 1:30 in the afternoon.

The next week was mostly sleeping, eating, pooping bucketsful, drinking lots of water, and feeling okay when I was up.

I wanted to go to the clinic, but I had a deep-seated paranoia pop up, unusual for me. I didn't know where it came from, being 'afraid' of the clinic, but I decided well, what the hell, I'm mostly fine, so I just decided to wait this one out.

My wife, normally a capable cook of comfort food like shepherd's pie, chili, pasta dishes, etc., accepted my request for more healthy food by adding a salads and veggie side dishes to every meal, which I had to wonder about when it came to my digestive problems, but, hey, I was feeling better and better by the day.

I'd gone back to work that next week, having missed 4 work days, but either they gave me easy projects because I'd been sick, or we hit a good spot. Finishing the required stuff quickly, I moved on to reading wikipedia, and then doing an online textbooks course or two that first day.

For the rest of the week, that continued - finish the required work in an hour or less, then spend all day doing what was increasingly fun online coursework.

Figuring that a week off was enough for my running, I went out on some walks of the same length and made them loops where I was closer to home.

My weight dropped.

I weighed myself every week, prompted by a reminder I set on my running watch, and I'd gone from 105 to 92 kg, pretty good for me, but that much weight loss in a week usually wasn't good, so I paid attention.

For the next three weeks, I kept dropping weight, running more easily and faster paces at the same effort level, and having so much energy I started using the weight set in the basement that I'd gotten second-hand soon after we moved.

The farm we lived on needed work too, and I felt like doing that, thinking over the stuff I was reading on Wikipedia. On one of my walk-the-fence / fix-the-fence jaunts, I got out my phone and turned on France-24, a French-language news station that had livestreams. I'd had two years of French in high school, decades ago, but suddenly it all started fitting in together and I could infer meanings from what they said.

From then on, I kept France24 playing in the background while I was working, a low droning barely-audible thing.

Five weeks, then six weeks, and I was down some serious weight. My wife was, too; her exercise program was riding a bike and doing yoga while I was downstairs working, and sometimes she'd go out and start working on the barn, a dilapidated structure we had aspirations to put to some use eventually.

I should back up slightly - about 3 weeks post-3k (I'd given a personal name to my UFO encounter, a "Close Encounters" reference), Kim wandered into the kitchen while I was making my post-run sandwich / lunch.

"Kevin," she said, "we haven't been regularly, well, intimate, for a couple of weeks," (it was true, from the 3k thing I'd been tired), "so, I'm wondering, are you getting what you need?"

I laughed, happily, and (as I assembled my sandwich), "Well, I could use a blowjob now, if you must know."

Really, I'd been masturbating twice a day for the previous week, I was feeling so much better, but I figured hey, we'll see if she's okay with a BJ.

The context is that while my wife liked giving BJ's, and she was good at them, they usually were part of a pattern where it was a thing she did immediately before we made love. That is, sometimes we'd go directly to making love, and sometimes she'd blow me first for a minute, but it wasn't a focus.

Instead of laughing it off like I was, she said, "Okay. Glad to help. So...here? Living room? Want to go to the bedroom?"

She was so clear-eyed and up front, I said, "Right here is great. I've ... never had one while eating a sandwich before. First time for everything."

Expecting her to tell me to go stuff it, she dragged a kitchen chair over to me, sat in it, pulled down my pants, extracted my penis from the waistband of my underwear, and clamped her mouth over the head of my cock.

"Wow!"

She nodded, like it was a normal thing to do, and I just leaned back against the counter and felt the beautiful sensations flowing through me.

Taking a breather for a moment as she jacked me with her hand, she asked, "So... I'm super-horny these days. If you want to, stop upstairs, sometime in the middle of the day, tell me to turn around and drop trow, and I will, you know. Right there." She went back to sucking.

Early in my life I had trouble coming in response to a BJ. This was true mostly through my college years when they were inexpertly given, but my wife knew how to do them and I very quickly grunted loudly and shot my load. She sucked loudly and swallowed fast, her enthusiasm showing through.

Waiting a full minute for me to calm down with it still in her mouth, she unclamped and looked up, smiling, then pulled my underwear and pants up, fastened my belt, and put the chair away.

I came down from my bliss and noticed out loud, "I forgot to eat my sandwich."

She laughed and said, "Funny, I got a good meal out of it." Pausing, she asked, "So, can I do this again tomorrow, or will you be offended? Too soon?"

"How about dinnertime?"

"Done."

I went back downstairs and worked, and that became a pattern for us, right after lunch. At nights, with our increasingly fit and trim bodies, I took to making love with her more often, but mostly in the same ways.

So, that's the context, and about six weeks post 3k, she startled me with a new question.

This was immediately after we'd made love, and I was in the middle of a post-sex bliss relax-brain moment. Her question was, "So, life-goals-wise, what are your regrets or wants?"

Immediately, I came back with (mostly because we'd just had sex), "Well, I was an engineering major, and I didn't have enough business-school friends to get invited to the good parties. I guess I missed out on the part where I could have been banging a succession of beautiful girls. I guess... I wish I'd gone to those parties? Smart, capable, drop-dead gorgeous girl-next-door types, standing around, drinking beer - I could have... I dunno, maybe, pulled them by the hand to the parking lot, or taken two home at once and given them giant orgasms. I Always Liked giving that, it's a power rush. Maybe in creative places, or maybe two at once, or three even. Giant orgasms to watch them squirm, and thrash, knowing it was ME that helped that..."

She "Hmmm"'d, understanding.

"... Yeah, so I guess I have dreams of, sort of, the standard debauchery. Lots of sex, for sure. In my dreams, it's all without condoms and worry. That's all at odds, though, in my brain, with the dreams I had of having a super-big family, since party life and family life are... different. Doesn't matter, though, in the fantasy they're both there."

She nodded, "Yeah, I get that. Guys always dream of doing the entire cheerleading squad or something."

I corrected, "NOT cheerleaders. Never cheerleaders. I know, they're like, gymnasts now, or whatever, but back ... well, then, there was this reputation thing? Like they were in the theater department and were putting on a sex show but it was all fake? Not me. NOT for me. If it's a sports team, it's like, volleyball squad, or tennis, or maybe someone from every team. Or, the girls cross country team. VERY sexy."

"That's high school, not college."

"College has them, but... you're right, that's definitely true. Can't deny it. Fantasy is, maybe, high school seniors, or college freshmen, sophomores - old enough to have had sex before, so I'm not taking virginity, I don't have that as a fantasy, really. I had one girlfriend who was a virgin, and I worried to no end I'd make it bad for her, hurt her somehow. I didn't, but I worried."

"You cared, sounds like."

"Sure! You know, I've talked about Beth before, I loved her... But, if this is fantasy land, right? So, in my fantasy, they know what's up, they're on their way. Or, maybe immediately post-college? So, they're not so upset if they get pregnant, like. If we're talking fantasy and having the big-family thing. It kind of conflicts with the reality of kids = obligations and money and dirty diapers and stuff."

"I'll say!" She thought about it for a moment and said, "So, sports team girls. One at a time, like, committed relationship? Or, for-fun? Or, where you play with their emotions and move on to the next one, tragedy in your wake, a misunderstood loner traveling the lonesome prairie?"

We laughed at that.

"I guess for this to work I'd need to be super-super-super rich. And, the girls would have to be great moms, that I could visit, and bang again, and ... the kids would be super-smart and change the world to be a better place, all the stuff you want."

"Global warming, free healthcare and responsible governments? No more wars or starvation or refugees, all that? This is your fantasy, not mine."

"Hey! I like those things, too!"

"If you like them, do them yourself."

"I'm not... we're, not rich. We're doing okay, but that's not richness. Richness for this would need ... not just money, but power enough to use it, I think."

She snuggled in beside me and pulled up the covers. My sleep had been delayed, but I had a time limit on being awake after sex, and we were there - my last few sentences had been slightly slurred.

I was out, fast.

== ==

Since we'd moved, I'd kept my hair short and since I was a dirty blonde, no one could see that I had gray hair, a good thing in an industry where older folks were looked to for being slower and less up-to-date with the tech.

About 10 weeks post 3k, in the bathroom on a morning when I'd not shaved in several days (my beard didn't always grow in quickly), I looked in the mirror and realized my gray hairs had turned back to being the off-blonde again! This was a change!

On closer inspection, too, the lines around my eyes had gone, the skin on my face looked a lot younger, and my weight had dropped way down, almost to college level at about 70 kg.

My running times were progressing, too, and I had enough energy to start doing sprints, interval training, 3 times a week. That seemed enough because I never really liked intervals even when coach made us do them, despite knowing how much good they did for my times.

Running fast was a rush. I hadn't run fast in a long time.

At work, I was efficient enough that I got done in an hour or two in the morning, sat through another hour of mostly-useless meetings, and spent the rest of the time working on math, chemistry, physics, whatever struck my fancy, from online free-college courses where you could sign up, do the homeworks, and have them graded all without a human involved. It was loads of fun, and I'd re-learned a ton of stuff that I'd forgotten.