Author's Note
:
if I want to stick to 5000-word chapters, not all of them will contain slime/tentacles action. But I'll make sure that none of them are nosex. Anyway if you like futa it'll be fine.
==============
THE WEEK OF THE COMET
or How I Became Teratosexual
*
Chapter V
==============
Three-hundred loads could fill a tub. Question mark?
After Cumageddon you'd think sex would be the last thing on my mind, but I was too hungover for anything else. I had no strength to
form
coherent thoughts and had to put up with the factory settings. Inside my unabashedly slumped form that could be seen sitting last row of the lecture hall, it was just a stream of base contemplations, and not compelling enough to make my muscles google the capacity of the standard bathtub, or focus on Professor Yuen. He was talking about sand dunes stabilization, I think. I was fever-daydreaming of coffee and sex, barely able to groan at the fact that I was out of the former and still sore from the latter.
"Futa night?" the girl next to me asked.
A futa night means a night without any resting quality, often with a sexual connotation. I tend to forget you guys may be from a totally different civilization and won't have Urban Dictionary for context.
"Mhgrbhl..." I replied. It means yes.
I then had the folly to shoot her a glance.
You see, that morning I had woken up from my mere three hours of sleep with the most painful wood ever. I was like, "Ooh, I'm ever eating chili again," and you know what? I did think for the first time of my life I'd be true to my word.
But a glance was enough to notice the girl's golden eyebrows.
And soon flashed upon me the possibility of her blond bush.
Hhhg
It was my white whale. I had yet to fuck a real blonde. To see my dick contrasting with these unique tones.
I wouldn't be spared today. I went back to my coma and got tormented by visions of this girl naked in a tub of black coffee. I guess my futa readers won't understand me there. I didn't want that in my head, I wanted to be left alone. If I had to suffer through a forced chastity of the body, could I at least have a blankness of the mind, please?
But I couldn't do anything. To the point that I was the only student without my phone under my fingertips. So I only saw
theirs
all light up pretty much at the same time. And heard the gasps and the butt ruffle.
Yuen even turned away from the whiteboard to look at us. The TA walked up to him and whispered something in his ear.
Like someone died.
Yep, someone had died.
The news had broken at 11:24 local time on the AP feed. Two minutes later on Reuters. I was among the last people on the planet to learn what was going on.
"Ok, students, please," Yuen said in impeccable English. "You're with me until noon and I'm sure you won't find anything more than untrustworthy headlines on your phones. So, if you please."
And the thing is, he himself had a hard time getting back to his lecture after that.
Howard L. Philips had died in a plane crash.
To you it probably doesn't sound like a big deal. To us it was. Even more than the King in the ICU.
Philips was the head of the Institute of Salvaging Archæology.
Archeology had pulled humanity out of the New Stone Age. Thanks to excavators, who unearthed old computers and stuff, it took us only four centuries to go from striking flints in caves back to the point technology had reached mid-1600, before Butler. That is atomic energy, digital data--in a word: a buncha schmucks hunching over their phones all day. Only those schmucks did it wearing powdered wigs back then. And with three billion people less. And also they liked steam apparently.
Anyway, you can imagine archeologists have been the rockstars of the world ever since. And when they organized, with it came lobbying power. It wasn't even clear anymore what the ISA was actually doing, but among other things it had its own bank, an intelligence agency (allegedly), and headquarters on the right side of the Potomac. So if Philips really was dead, the world was about to stand still until the conclave appointed a new boss.
"What the hell," I heard my new crush whisper.
"Wuzzat?" I mumbled.
"I wanted to see what Graham Hancock had to say about it on his Twitter, but it says Error 451."
She showed me the blocked page on her phone. I had to raise my head.
I said, "His name is filtered in schools, you didn't know?"
"Even in Capparosæ?"
The ISA (the 'is a scam' as more and more people called it) had lost its luster over the last two decades or so. With time and size everything gets corrupt and with just a few scandals and some exposed inconsistencies, the world was waking up to the abnormality of such a bloated grip over information. My generation especially had broken the taboo of looking into pseudo-archeology. Guys like Hancock. Not that he was better than the real scientists, but his bullshit was more entertaining than theirs, so in the end, he won.
"Hey, is the Pope ok?" I asked.
She checked. "You're Catholic?"
I shrugged. "Technically."
"He was water-skiing last week, wanna see--"
A glare from Yuen darted at us across the lecture hall and my new friend put her phone down while I went back to collapsing over my fixed seat.
Eventually noon rang and there was an announcement. Classes were canceled for the day. All faculty members were to attend an extraordinary meeting.
The lecture hall emptied in lines of excited commotion.
The girl tapped my shoulder. "Lucky you, you can go have a nap."
She wasn't wrong. But I was to meet my friends for lunch. And I was freakishly hungry to be honest.
"Grmmbl," I replied.
"I'm Kirsi, by the way." And that's when I identified her Finnish accent. Well, Nordic at least.
"Ester."
"See you around, Ester." She stood up. I stayed put. Boy, she was tall. I looked at her ass. She caught me. I feigned dust on my glasses. She smiled.
* * * * * *
"Are you listening to me?" Olivia said.
My behavior had radically changed the moment I had sat at our table on the cafeteria patio. I was wolfing down my third serving of chicken pasta. My movements were fast, precise, relentless. Still, I couldn't focus on anything, other than the steaming bucket of buffalo wings waiting for me, with a side of coleslaw. Olivia and Micha and his girlfriend Zadie were hardly eating, basking in the sun, playing this game of making up theories for Philips' death. The least tinfoil-hatted one was that he had died in reality a few days ago but the ISA bigwigs had taken the time to delete his browsing history before making the announcement.
And then Olivia was holding her phone in front of my face. It showed a photo of some metal structure engulfed in black smoke.
"What's that?" I said, mouth full.
"The radio telescope in Effelsberg. It burned down."
Took me a second to connect the dots. "That's where Dieter is."
We met Dieter in Reinhardt when Livia and I started learning German. He left to finish his senior year at Bonn.
"Was it a terrorist attack? Is he alright?" I asked.
"He says they won't tell. And the Army will probably kick them out to investigate."
That telescope is the largest in Europe, the second largest in the world. It's literally listening to fucking
space
. Can you hear the
X-Files
theme yet?
"What is going on?" Zadie said, a little freaked out. I lost track of the replies because I was busy downing an entire one-liter bottle of water. I know at some point Micha and Zadie switched back to Hebrew when they started arguing over something. Olivia then spoke to me in Italian because she knew they couldn't understand:
"So where were you all weekend?"
(I guess the AI is hellbent on translating it.)
"Mind your own business," I said. I speak Italian fluently thanks to my grandmother. Olivia only had the basics.
"Ester, seriously, you look like hell."
She watched me cram two chicken wings into my mouth, one in each hand.
I tried to elude. "I think I found some pussy for tonight. There was this blond girl--"
"Kirsikka?"
"You know her?"
"She's right behind you," Olivia said in English and I choked on my food discovering Kirsi standing right there beside me. She had coffee cups in a cardboard holder.
"Here," she said, putting one on the table, under my nose. "I thought you'd need it. Hey, Livie."
"Hi."
"Seeya!"
And she was gone.
"What was that about?" Olivia said.
"Damn..."
I removed the cap and gulped down my coffee totally impervious to the fact that I burned myself from lips to stomach. "How do you know her? You fucked her?" I asked Olivia, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.
"No. But she's in that phase where she realized she's two thousand miles away from home."
Heh. Been there.
"She's flirted with every futa on campus but I haven't heard about any fucking her."
Micha and Zadie never liked futanari locker-room talk but they were listening to us. Micha said to me, "She looks so sweet. If she likes futa so much maybe you could keep a girl for more than a week for a change."
"I dunno," I said.
If only they knew...
"
Come ooon!
" Olivia hollered, soon joined by Micha. "Give her the D! Make us proud!"
I curled up on my chair, arms protecting my head, saying, "Leave me alone, I don't want a girlfriend," while the two fuckers kept chanting, "
Es-ter! Es-ter!
" over me.
Until suddenly the whole place froze. Students, cafeteria employees, and us, everybody, sitting, eating, walking, everybody stopped moving, talking, breathing, even those with headphones on. Eyes rose, widened, frowned. Only stunned silence while actually a deafening din had invaded the air. A sound most of us were familiar with, only not here, not in Capparosæ: jet fighters were flying over, very low and very close.
We could feel them in our chests.
And you know how it's difficult to see them cause they're never where you hear them? When someone finally spotted the three dark shapes zipping through the sky and pointed at them, everyone looked, not just the aviation enthusiasts.
They flew away, taking their roar with them to leave a bunch of questions for us.
Capparosæ had no air force. Whatever country had gotten lost here it was a big fuckup.
I looked at my friends.
Zadie and Micha were holding each other.
