Note to readers: this is the beginning of a novel-length story in three parts. This first chapter starts as a slow burn, but please stay with it. If you like the other stories I've written, you won't be disappointed.
FYI, 'separatrix' is a technical term meaning the boundary between two modes of behavior, for example in a differential equation or a fusion reactor.
SEPARATRIX
Part One: The Modern Age
Chapter One
Jake had just stepped down from the stage after a nice round of applause and taken a pull on the complimentary beer at the bar when she approached him.
"I appreciated your talk," she said.
"Thanks."
She was small and slight, a bit over five feet, with short dark hair, and very attractive. He noticed well-proportioned features, skin almost bronze, flawless complexion with little, if any, makeup. Her only imperfection, if he could even consider it such, was a complicated gold necklace that seemed heavy for her spare frame.
She lounged against the bar in a supple posture. "I always find it amazing what you smart people can do--" she waved towards the temporary projection screen that had been showing his slides-- "given the limits of your... current technology."
The Hive was a small bar/disco in the local art district that every couple of months gave the DJs a rest and held an evening of science and tech talks. Jake had been speaker number two of three this evening. His talk had been on LASSO, the new cosmic ray observatory he was helping to build over a large expanse in Canada. He wasn't sure how to react to her remark, which was almost condescending. "We're investigating rare and difficult phenomena. Science is long and life is short."
"That is so true. Humble, even. You have no idea." She smiled and put a hand on his arm. Her touch gave him a tingle. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's really clever, using all those lovely Canadian lakes as-- what did you call them?"
"Cherenkov detectors. The particles are moving faster than the speed of light in water when they hit the lake surface-- not faster than in vacuum, of course-- and they radiate away the excess energy as they decelerate." It was his standard answer. This had not been his first talk, though previous ones had been at conferences. He could answer such questions in his sleep, including anticipating the elementary ones from laymen. That was fortunate, because most of his attention was on this woman. She wore a tight, one-sleeve red crop top that displayed small breasts, toned arms, and a flat stomach. Her petite jeans shorts showed off athletic legs in moderately high-heeled sandals. She was smoking hot.
"I think I get it. I'm an historian, but I'm not really up on that tech."
That answer made no sense to him. Even most scientists weren't "up" on his esoteric field. Why should an historian apologize? "Oh, sorry," she continued, "I've been imbibing the local potions." She got the bartender's attention. "Two more," she ordered, "same." To Jake she added, "I recently discovered tequila." As if the liquor were an important historical artifact lost for centuries. "Join me?"
Other people had been hovering around, wanting to ask questions. She stayed near him while he conducted an informal Q&A, mostly simple queries. She was so close that the others must have thought she was his girlfriend. He didn't mind that. He was "between girlfriends", as he liked to think of it. The months-long trips to subarctic wilderness hadn't helped his social life. And it didn't hurt his ego to observe the other men in the crowd who couldn't take their eyes off this small, hot woman as he gave his answers. He tried to respond to each person patiently, even when he was repeating facts he'd already mentioned in the talk.
The shots arrived. The tequila was gold but not expensive, available everywhere. Her touting it was another tiny mystery. He did a shot with her, toasting cosmic rays.
When the questioners left-- another talk was starting-- she was still there, along with another pair of shots. He was willing. "To history," he toasted. She laughed at that, though he'd meant it sincerely. "What historical period do you study?"
"This one." Another answer that didn't make quite enough sense.
Talk number three was a biology talk, the importance of peloids to health. They watched for a few minutes until he understood what it was really about and turned away to face the bar. And her. She was much more interesting than the talk.
"People actually do that?" she asked, motioning toward the stage. "It's so... dusty, I mean dirty."
He laughed, but saw she wasn't making a joke. "No dust, but about as dirty as you can get. You don't know about mud baths?"
"Not in... anywhere I've been."
"Not my technology either." That got a chuckle from her. "And I see way too much of it in Manitoba."
She suddenly embraced him. Her hands went up to his head, her small breasts against his chest. She rose on her toes and he thought she was going to kiss him but she put her cheek against his. While he enjoyed how she felt in his arms, which he could not resist putting around her, he also felt something cold on his neck. She pulled back from him and he caught a glimpse of a metallic gray object as her hand retreated into a small pouch belted around her waist.
"Congratulations," she said.
"Uh, thanks, I guess. Congrats for my talk?"
"For me. I'm willing to fuck you."
After a moment he was able to make a semblance of a reply. "I'm glad to hear that."
"Hmm." Her eyes scanned over him, appraising him. "I know you've never met a woman like me. So I'll cut you some slack, as they like to say here."
"Very kind of you." Whatever she was appraising him for, he wanted to pass that test. "You
are
different." He had the urge to tell her how hot she looked, but knew better. "Okay, I'll bite. Why do I need any slack cut?"
"Because I meant what I said. And you don't seem like other men here. Which I like. And if you bite, that could be fun. But you're not sure you can believe me."
He needed to think about that. "Another drink?"
"Definitely."
He ordered this time, a better brand. "So, in what ways do you consider yourself unlike all other women?"
She didn't answer at first. She looked him up and down. "Well, for one thing, how many other women have offered to have sex with you?"
"You're the first tonight. Okay, yes, more than one. None in so many words, though." He touched her bare shoulder without thinking, but then pulled back. He was getting a bit drunk. "Other women in my experience have had subtler ways to express their willingness."
With her small frame she must have been even further along towards inebriation, but she showed no signs. She leaned back against the bar. She had a nice profile. He was liking her legs more and more, especially given the thought that he might be admitted between them. "Well then," she said, "what's the favorite way in this culture-- asking as an historian-- to have a woman offer herself to a man for their mutual sexual pleasure?"
"You're asking my expert opinion?" He pretended to think. The drinks arrived.
"What are we drinking?" she asked.
"Same but better. Reposado." To her questioning look he explained, "Aged."
They tapped the small glasses together and drank. She nodded her approval.
"Well, I have to admit," he answered, wanting to continue their sexual banter, "novelty plays a part in the communication of desire. You get full points for that."
"Should I curtsy? How does a native show gratitude in these parts?" She had a slight accent he couldn't place, as if she were Welsh or Scottish, and she let her accent emphasize her sarcasm. Maybe she was Australian. Her light bronze skin meant she could have ancestors from anywhere.
He'd been wondering vaguely where she might be from. Now he tried to work through the possibilities. At first he'd thought she was Asian, then South American. That golden skin. But her sharp features made her look more like a Scandinavian with a killer suntan. Japanese? Not with that accent. He thought of Sana, a serious girlfriend from a few years back. He gave up for the moment. "Offers of sex from a beautiful woman are always welcome, in any form. But you said you picked me because I'm not like other men, right?"
"Oh no! You're not gay, are you? Or Marmot or whatever that religion is?"
"Mormon? No." He shook his head, more to clear it than to emphasize his answer. Marmot? "But you're obviously a smart woman, so your opinion of me is important. I'm intrigued and I'd like to get to know you better."
"That's great. I'll consider that a compliment, and you can continue complimenting me as long as you want. Just don't let it get in the way of your mission to use your personal rocket to launch me around the Moon."
"And there's something really charming about your directness. I'll give you that also. It's... I almost want to call it innocent."
She moved close to him, nearly touching. He could feel her warm breath. "Wow," she said softly, as good as a whisper in the noisy room. "One more compliment and you'll win a free blow job."
"You have pretty eyes."
That made her laugh out loud.
"Okay," he continued, "so I could be persuaded to satisfy your desires, but maybe a bit slower?" He could hardly believe he was saying that. But he felt wary. "And I need to know something. When you embraced me, you touched my neck with something. What was it?"
"That must have just been my fingers."
"You know, when two people agree to become sexually intimate, they really need to trust each other." She didn't answer. "It felt cold. I saw you put it back in that pouch." He pointed.
She pulled away, back to the bar. "It's my, um, magic pebble."
"Magic?" He resisted an alcohol-promoted urge to make a joke about the magic pebble between her legs.
"That's just what I call it."
"And what does it do?"
"A lot of things. It helps me decide on men... people."
