Honey I'm Home!

*** Honey, I'm Home! ***

It's just a matter of time.

Randall Bork looked in the mirror as he slicked back his thinning mousy hair. This very evening he was honoring Miss Lisa Swenson, a lissome Journalism major, with a private demonstration of his finest achievement to date: his Multi-Dimensional Transporter. And according to his calculations, he would soon be feeling her long slender thighs embracing his narrow nerdy hips.

Okay, it was time to go. He adjusted his uncomfortable erection and drew himself up to his full five-foot height. Well, nearly five feet when he had the lifts in his shoes.

He hoped his boner went down before he met Lisa. But she probably wouldn't be looking at his crotch, anyway. She would be gazing raptly into his face, overwhelmed at being in the presence of true genius.

He ran through his calculations a final time. If she left her apartment at the time she said she was planning to leave, the probability was high they would meet along the campus path, defusing the awkward "who-got-there-first" issue.

The odds won out. Randall escorted the demure Miss Lisa through echoing corridors to his private laboratory suite where he unlocked the heavy steel door with a biometric keycard. He knew she dreamed of writing the first article on this obscure but brilliant and sure-to-become-famous geeky physicist, and he dreamed of sliding her panties down her silky thighs.

Randall turned the lights on and cleared his throat.

"I should give you some background before we run a test," he said. "I assume you're comfortable with differential equations?"

"Uh, not so much," Lisa said. "I've prepared some interview questions, though, and I kind of hoped we could just run through those..."

"Sure," Randall said generously. "I'll just warm up the machinery while we talk." He went to a large switch labeled "Main Power Supply" and activated it. Machinery hummed to life around the lab and colored lights began to blink on several consoles.

He answered several inane and extremely stupid questions as politely as he could before she asked, "So, Doctor Bork, is your machine like the transporters on the Starship Enterprise?"

"Exactly! And you're the first to have picked up on that," Randall lied. "In fact, I got the idea from the old Star Trek show when I was three years old."

She turned pink at his compliment.

Randall couldn't wait any longer. Although he knew time was relative, and history certainly could repeat itself, he was still impatient.

"Come over here and stand on this floor tile that's painted red, right in the middle of all this machinery. Good. Now we'll have to stand very close together..."

He stepped in front of her and placed his feet on the same tile. She looked down at him inquisitively. A pang shot through his heart. He placed an arm around her waist protectively.

She was only a few inches taller than he was. Randall liked that.

"We're not, uh, going to disappear, are we?" she asked.

"No, no; I'm just trying to explain how this works. It's perfectly safe."

He gestured at the hulking machines and electronic consoles surrounding them.

"We are enclosed in a sort of force field. So, if we did go anywhere, we would just have to stand perfectly still for a few seconds, and then we would come right back here."

He reached out and pressed a button. Machinery hummed louder. A glowing bubble surrounded them.

"Now, we're standing on this one tiny dot in the vast universe, right? And I've arbitrarily designated this spot as X,0; Y,0; Z,0. There is no other spot in the universe that is absolutely identical to this one, right?"

She looked puzzled. Randall stepped back one step.

"Okay, now I'm at X,1; Y,0; Z,0, see? I moved one unit on the X axis."

She nodded, but he could tell she was clueless. He sighed.

"We all move through the X,Y,Z dimensions all day every day without thinking about it. But we also seem to move through another dimension too, don't we?"

Lisa nodded uncomprehendingly.

"And it appears that there are many more dimensions than that, but the next most easily identified is the fourth dimension, that aspect of existence we call 'time'".

He stepped back up in front of her, her perky breasts just... barely... brushing the wrinkled fabric of his shirt. She stepped back reflexively.

"Be careful!" Randall warned, reaching for her. She reluctantly allowed him to pull her back onto the red tile. "It's not safe to move out of the 0,0,0,0 point when the field is intact."

She gazed at him, liquid blue eyes filled with skepticism.

"Yeah, okay. But Doctor? If you just wanted to hold me, we could have gone dancing or something. Maybe. Some other time. So could you just shut that thing off? It's creeping me out."

And you're pretty creepy yourself, she thought. Besides that you smell like a stale washcloth.

"Now I'm sure you noticed I said four zeroes; not just three," Randall continued. She shrugged.

"That's because I've also set the fourth dimension, t, at zero; which is actually where we were five minutes ago, okay?" She shrugged again.

"It's now 4:48 by my watch. So if I were to push this button..." his hand hovered over a blinking red plastic tab, "we would pop right back to five minutes ago. Want to try it?"

"Not really. I mean, what if something went wrong?"

"I've done it thousands of times," Randall said reassuringly. He pressed the red button.

"We're still here," she said.

"No; we're here again." Randall showed her his watch. "See? It's 4:43 again. Of course we're not really in the same place we were 5 minutes before we left. That would be impossible. We're in a parallel universe almost identical to ours, but five minutes behind."

"Now step off the red square..."

Randall moved the 't' dial one click.

"And we step back onto the square...and here we are back where we started!" He showed her his watch proudly. It read 4:48.

Lisa yawned. "Cool. Although I don't really see the point... Hey. I've really got to go. You don't have to walk me home or anything."

Randall spun the axis dials. "Just this afternoon, I found an interesting place you might like to see."

"Not unless it's Tahiti," she said, trying to remove his sweaty hand from her waist. "I really do appreciate the demonstration, Doc, but I've got to be going. I really don't want to go back to this afternoon; I had a monster headache and my hair just would not behave..."

Randall pressed the button just as she thrust his hand away from her and stepped back. The hum of the machinery rose to a roar momentarily. She stumbled in the soft sand and sat down hard. He took a quick step forward and looked around. It was a beautiful day on the beach; soft wind, clean and tangy off the choppy water.

She brushed petulantly at the sand on her dress before she realized there should not be sand... She looked around, stupefied.

"OH...MY...GOD!"

She leapt to her feet and looked around.

"You really did it! Is it okay to walk around, or do we have to stay right here?"

"Sure, look around all you like," Randall said. "We could even go swimming if you want."

"I forgot my bikini," Lisa giggled, kicking off her shoes and running to the water's edge. A small wave broke, splashing water up her long legs. She squealed and jumped back.

"This is fantastic! And you can come here just whenever you want and then pop back and it will be the same time as when you left?"

"Now you see," said Randall. "Still think there's no point in it?"

She held her arms out, her flawless face offered reverently to the sun. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. The money this would bring in. The possibility of daily vacations to anywhere or anywhen she chose. All she had to do....

She walked back toward him, her hips swaying enticingly. Randall smiled. Now she would be the aggressor, and he would play the reluctant virgin. It was a role he loved. Or at least he imagined he would love it, if it ever happened to him.

She stood very close; not quite touching, but tantalizing all the same. Saucy minx.

"I just don't know what to say," she whispered. "How come this isn't either super-secret or all over the news already? It's fantastic!"

"Nobody knows yet," said Randall. "And I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you not to tell anyone, at least for now."

"Wow. I guess I'd have called the evening news myself, if I were you. But I can see how you might want to keep it quiet -- think it through first."

She extended an index finger and traced the line of buttons on his shirt. "I can't hardly believe you picked me to show it to first..." Her brow puckered. "Why did you pick me, anyway?"

"Well, I couldn't stand keeping it all to myself any longer," Randall said. "And after I met you at that party, I couldn't get you out of my mind, so I figured, some reporter is going to have to break the story, and I might as well pick one I like..."

"What party?"

"The one at old Professor Smallwood's house. I'm sure you remember. We were standing by the bar, and you ordered vodka and tonic. We were just starting to have a nice conversation about the origins of tonic water when you had to go to the bathroom. You mentioned something about nausea."

"Oh, yeah, I remember," Lisa lied. "You caught my attention too. But I never expected you to want to see me again or anything."

Randall put his hands on her slender waist and pulled her gently against him. She only resisted a little.

"I really don't know how to thank you for thinking of me..." She shyly lowered her head, which had the unfortunate effect of making her lips inaccessible.

"No thanks necessary," Randall said, chastely kissing the top of her glistening blond head. "But hey; we're here, and time has just become irrelevant. Want to go for a walk on the beach? Or maybe find a shady spot to lie down?"

"A walk would be nice." No way she was going to lie down and let this dwarfish asshole paw at her.

They walked through the surf, hand in hand. Randall had rolled his pants legs up over his knobby knees, and Lisa had seductively peeled off her panty-hose, making sure he got a peek at her lace panties as she did so.

"So exactly where are we?" Lisa asked. "And how come there's nobody around? I can't believe a beach like this is private."

"I can give you the coordinates, but it wouldn't mean much to you. They're entirely arbitrary.

"We're in a place that will be called San Diego... in about 15,000 years. Well, actually, it's a place nearly identical to what we know as prehistoric San Diego. But if we waited here for 15,000 years we wouldn't be back where we started. That's because we're in a parallel universe just infinitesimally removed from ours. So, actually, you could say we've created a new world. Just for us."

He squeezed her hand. She let go and wiped her palm on her dress.

"Awesome. I can't say I understand it, but I'll take your word for it. Too bad we didn't bring a picnic lunch. And a beach blanket."

She peeked at him from under lowered lashes, wondering how much she would have to give him to keep him interested. Maybe she should just drop her drawers and get it over with. How bad could it be? No doubt it would be the thrill of his life -- and then she would have him at her mercy.

"Not a problem," Randall said. "Of course, I always bring an emergency kit with me, but the food is that freeze-dried stuff, so if you want dinner, why don't we just pop over to Paris? Or anywhere you fancy; just name it."

"I'll never get used to this," Lisa said dreamily. "But let's go to Paris another time." She giggled. "Whatever that means. For now, why don't we just go home so I can let all this settle in my mind. It's really too much to comprehend all at once."

She raked her fingers through wind-tousled hair. "I do hate to leave this beautiful place, though. Promise we'll come back soon?"

Randall raised her hand to his lips. "You can count on it," he said. "Wait right here, OK? I have to get something..."

He walked away a few steps, located a faintly glowing red sphere hovering over the sand, and stepped on it.

He staggered slightly as his feet settled onto the red tile in his lab. Damn! He had to keep adjusting the ground level compensator on the 'Z' axis function. It would really suck to pop out five thousand leagues under the sea. Or five feet above a pile of sharp rocks.

He really should do some cautious testing before involving any more test subjects.

Better make some notes. True, he had an infallible memory, but a back-up hard copy was always a good idea -- and the duty of all true scientists. He opened a notebook and recorded the pertinent data as well as local date and time, using his personal, secret language.

He knew people sneaked into the lab and photographed his notes whenever he was out. Good luck to the nosy bastards! They were probably spending tens of thousands of taxpayers' dollars trying to decipher his 'code.'

Incredibly moronic. It was not a 'code,' but another language based on mathematical equations. Very simple and easy to use for Randall -- but not a code or cipher, and therefore impossible to break.

It never failed to amaze Randall when he thought of how many stupid people there were in the world. The comforting part was that 51.56% of them were women.

Randall stretched out on a couch behind his desk. People thought he was nuts for having the couch behind the desk. Everyone knew a couch should face the desk, so guests can use it. Well, fuck that! It was his couch and he would keep it for himself. If guests wanted to sit, they could bring their own damn chairs.

He closed his eyes, set his mental alarm clock for exactly 46 minutes, his optimal nap time, and closed his eyes. Integrating equations danced through his mind, lulling him quickly and efficiently into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Randall woke up, stretched, and scrubbed his front teeth with a finger. He disdained toothbrushes. Nothing but breeding grounds for all manner of bacteria.

He didn't have to look at his watch to know exactly 46 minutes had passed after he closed his eyes. Whatever that meant. The whole 'time-passing' concept was dead wrong. You're the one passing, not time. Time is a constant. For the most part.

Living creatures all slide down this dimensional chute, and we don't know how to slow down, stop, or turn around. But when you consider the energy and matter factors, not ignoring the dark matter either, the answer became so obvious that Randall's greatest fear was that some other physicist would get his head out of his ass and see the daylight. That thought was a real downer.

He called a taxi and went to a snotty boutique grocery store where he bought the "Hot Lovers' Picnic for Two," complete with wicker basket. Back in the lab he slightly adjusted the coordinates to allow Lisa a few hours to begin to miss his company, and pressed the red button.

"I thought I'd just pack us a picnic lunch," Randall said proudly, holding the basket out to Lisa. He had read that this sort of thing drove women mad with lust. His prick stirred in its nest. He was about to get laid -- for the first time ever!

"Where the hell did you go for it, San Francisco? I turned around and you were gone. I sat out here in the sun literally for hours and didn't even have any suntan lotion. I'll have freckles on my forehead. And I'm hungry enough to eat... give me that!"

Lisa snatched the basket and lifted out a bottle. "Generic champagne. Thank you so much. Asshole."

Randall glowed with her lavish praise. She was probably creaming in her panties already. But the "asshole" comment puzzled him. Could she have been hinting she wanted anal sex? That was rather distressing. And he thought he noticed a tiny note of sarcasm in her voice....

She dumped the basket out on the sand. "What is this shit, anyway?"

She picked through the scattered food containers. They were so varied and cute, and so cunningly branded with little pink hearts and roses, that Randall had fallen in love with the basket instantly.

It had cost $234.48, including sales tax, but he could always go back later and win the lottery if necessary. He had already done a fractal analysis and found an easy way to tilt the odds in his favor. But then he got bored and never bothered to buy a ticket.

The reference to 'shit' worried Randall. He knew that in some contexts the word was a euphemism for illicit drugs. As in 'good shit.' He hoped Lisa wasn't a drug addict. And that there was no 'good shit' in the picnic basket.

Lisa tore the wrapping off a piece of fried chicken and gnawed at it. "This sucks. It's dry." She tossed it aside and picked up a small glass jar. "Caviar. In your ass it's caviar. It's fucking lump-fish roe."

She opened the jar and dumped the contents into her mouth. "I can't believe I have to eat this shit. Alright, take me home. And if you fucking touch me, I'll cut your nuts off."

Randall sensed she was not happy, but he could not understand why. What had he done wrong? Perhaps there was an issue with her menstrual cycle? He had foolishly failed to take that possibility under consideration.

But she had said 'fucking' twice! Obviously she had sexual intercourse on her mind. His prick writhed, making a small tent in his pants. He stepped closer to her.

If she had been standing, he could have drawn her suavely into his arms. But instead, she was squatting on her lovely haunches, licking soft cheese off a foil wrapper. Would it be appropriate to squat next to her?

"Take me to a restaurant, doofus, and maybe I'll let you touch my titty before I go home. And forget Paris. Burger King is fine. There's one right down the street from my apartment."

She wanted to take him to her apartment! Randall imagined himself wallowing in the silken luxury of her maidenly bed, which was probably a solid brass four-poster with a lace canopy... His cock stiffened to its full three-inch length. Taking her home might simplify things, but on the other hand she might be less cooperative once there.

"I'll get you some take-out and be back in a jiffy," he said. "You just relax. I'll be back before you know I'm gone."

"You better be, dickface," she mumbled around a hard-boiled egg. "If you don't get back before I finish forcing down whatever is vaguely edible here, I'm going to run your teeny dick through a sausage grinder and eat it raw. No, wait--" She glared at his aching erection, and then stood up. "You're not going anywhere without me."

She had mentioned his dick! And looked right at it! Randall trembled with anticipation. She was his for the plucking. But in the interests of safety, he had to keep her here.

"Well, there's a small problem," he said, taking his cellphone out of his pocket. He pressed a few random buttons and shrugged his frail shoulders. "I seem to have improperly calculated your mass, and my remote control won't accept both of us. I'll have to go back alone and make a few adjustments. Then I'll come back for you."

She squatted back down and picked through the finger sandwiches. "Make it snappy, then." She licked mayonnaise off her finger seductively. "Douchebag."

Randall nearly disgraced himself in his pants. The finger-lick had been a clear signal of her desire for oral gratification. He had read a lengthy treatise on the subject.

And the mention of a feminine hygiene device designed to rinse the vagina had been a definite hint that she anticipated sexual intercourse. Of course she wanted to always 'feel fresh.' He had gleaned this data from television advertisements that were annoyingly interspersed with segments of his scientific news show.

"Okay, then." He walked toward the small red sphere. It was nearly invisible in the bright sunlight.

"Hold on, jack-off. There's a few other things I need if you're going to the store. I don't know how long I'm going to be stuck here while you wank your weenie, so I might as well be comfortable."