The world's first stable, artificial wormhole, product of a multi-billion dollar, decades-long, international research project, was ten thousand kilometres long - and barely ten centimetres in diameter. For the first time in history, a person in Berlin could shake hands with a person in Rio de Janeiro. As a proof of principle, it was unquestionably a success, but it was swiftly forgotten, little more than a museum curiosity and insignificant compared to the great transport conduits that took humanity to the stars.
Until the day I found myself separated from my boyfriend by that same incredible span. I was on sabbatical in Rio for a year, Karl unable to join me, and although we'd agreed we could see other people, still I missed the familiarity of him. "You know," I said one day, "there is a way we could be together."
"Are you sure it's safe?" he asked, once I'd explained.
Of course it was, except for it not being the most private of assignations. But men, it seems, will happily stick their penis in any receptive hole, even one that punctures the fabric of space-time. At 4 a.m. in Berlin, midnight in Rio, we met, me in a dusty exhibit room, Karl in a corner of a giant hangar filled with relics of past technological achievement, opposite sides of the world, almost.
The wormhole itself, anchored by a ring of electromagnetic resonators, was unimpressive. It looked like a misty sphere the size of a tennis ball, and yet I really could push my hand in all the way to the wrist. Feeling another hand grasp mine was quite astonishing. I could see nothing, of course, though the soft kiss, lips pressed against my fingers, was a pleasant reassurance.
But I wasn't here for his lips. I laughed as I felt his semi-hard cock guided between my fingers. I squeezed it gently and teased it as well as I could, but the wormhole was too tight a restraint for me to do much more. Still, feeling him swell to rigidity was a definite thrill. Reluctantly, I released my hold of him and pulled my arm from the misty aperture. I could smell him on my skin, that distinctive odour of male genitals. How strange to think I had just reached around the world to fondle a man's parts.
How delicious the realisation that the cock jutting suddenly from thin air was equally, impossibly long. But it was Karl's for sure. I was intimately familiar with its curves and veins. I caressed it lovingly for a minute, until I found a satisfactory kneeling position that brought me head-to-head with my prey. Wrapping my lips about his thick shaft, I tasted the salty precum as I sucked gently and brushed the sensitive underside with my tongue.
