World Travelers

All participants in sexual activity have been on their respective planets for at least eighteen years.

World Travelers

Chapter 1

Melody Sundown

David Greene had, and was, the biggest dick on Mars.

I certainly didn't have any firsthand knowledge of the size of his male member but, if I could believe the stories told by several other women in the habitat, he was well endowed.

On the other hand, I could personally attest to his lack of social skills. It's like he purposefully tried to piss me off at least once a day. He reminded me of the boys in my sixth-grade class who constantly harassed me just because I was smarter than them. I thought the sophomoric bullying would end when I was an adult. Unfortunately, twenty years later, and a hundred-forty-million miles from Earth, I was forced to put up with the constant rude remarks of an uneducated farm hand.

David was an immature asshole who should never have been chosen for the elite fifty-person team that lived and worked in the US Martian habitat.

David Greene

Melody Sundown had the most desirable boobs on Mars. Not the biggest; they belonged to Cathy Crouch, a Nebraska born and corn-fed astrophysicist who brought new meaning to the term "heavenly body". Sue Chin had the smallest breasts in the habitat but made up for it with the softest lips you'd ever want wrapped around your cock.

At the time, the only reason Melody's tits earned my "most desirable" award was because I had yet to taste, touch, or even see them. We'd been on Mars for just under two years and, during that long stint away from home, I had closely and intimately inspected the bodies of the other twenty-four women on the planet. But not Melody. She was the lone holdout.

I didn't take her physical rejection personally. She had also refused the advances of twenty-two other male astronauts and the two guys who hadn't made a pass at Melody, well, they preferred to bunk together.

A year into our stay, I was convinced Melody was gay. I mean, what healthy thirty-something human could go twelve months without sex? That theory was blasted out of the water when a half dozen other women, who I knew were tigers in the sack, told me that Melody had also turned them down. As our return to Earth grew closer, I wrote Melody's lack of sex drive off as an unfortunate personality flaw and quit trying to show her what she was missing.

On the other hand, her condescending attitude towards me professionally was starting to get on my nerves. Never a day went by when she didn't either mention her PhD from Princeton or my lack of a college degree. In her world, an hour spent in an ivy league classroom was ten times better than a day spent learning how to overhaul a tractor motor.

I wasn't looking forward to being her escort on a forty-mile jaunt across the Martian desert, just so she could explore yet another crack in the barren landscape, but that was part of my job. Whenever a group of over-educated scientists wandered more than ten miles from home, I was expected to tag along ... just in case things went wrong. Otherwise, I spent my days fixing all the things that broke in the habitat and my nights servicing the local female population.

Melody Sundown

I was the lead botanist on Mars. We brought hundreds of different strands of fruits, vegetables, and grains from Earth with the explicit purpose of becoming self-sustaining. Sure, we'd have to find sources of oxygen and water to establish a permanent colony, but those were other people's problems. My job was to determine which plants would flourish in the Martian soil and, so far, the answer was none of them. The only plants that were still alive were those who were still rooted in dirt from Earth. When we tried to transplant the rest into Martian soil, they quickly perished.

This excursion was my last chance. Thanks to video from a drone, we discovered a thousand-foot-deep fissure with stratified layers of rock and soil all the way down its sheer walls. Convinced that acceptable soil existed deep below the surface, I asked permission to descend into the fissure and remove samples from each layer in hopes of finding the equivalent of the Mississippi Delta on Mars. I was so desperate to gain approval for my mission, I even agreed to let David Greene accompany us.

Travelling forty miles over the rough Martian terrain and then descending five-hundred feet into an otherwise unexplored fissure was a big deal. Probably the most hazardous thing we would do on the surface. We loaded six of us Martians (as we liked to call ourselves) and several hundred pounds of gear into three rovers and departed the habitat shortly after sunrise.

The rovers had a top speed of fifteen miles per hour, but David insisted we not go over ten. "I don't want to spend two days replacing rover parts so you eggheads can get to your hole in the ground a few minutes earlier," was his excuse for the slow speed.

Despite his inability to do basic math, I didn't argue with him. We'd already decided it would be a two-day trip. Four hours to get there. Another three to four hours to set up our equipment and, if things went smoothly, we'd make our first descent into the fissure that afternoon. If not, if we ran into a snag, I'd have to wait until the next morning to see what lay underneath the Martian surface. Either way, we didn't have the daylight to do it all in one day and travelling at night was strictly forbidden.

Three and a half hours into the trip, one of the rovers broke away from the other two so it could position on the opposite side of the crevice. While the gap in the surface was only sixty feet at its widest, it was nearly a mile long. Our plan was to put two rovers and four people on one side of the fissure, with the other rover and its two occupants on the opposing side. This let us construct small towers on both sides to support the cables which I would use to descend into the fissure.

It took us just over three hours to set up the A-frame cable supports and rig the various pulleys and motors we would need to support me and my soil samples. With all the preparations complete, I was more than ready to take the leap of faith, but David insisted that we set up our remote housing modules - more than a tent but a lot less than a four-star hotel - before we did anything else.

At that moment I realized my tactical error. There were three men and three women on the expedition. The rover on the opposite side of the fissure contained two of the men, neither of which were named David. They had a two-person module. That left the three women and David Greene on my side of the fissure. We would share a four-person module which, while slightly larger than the two-person module, only included two beds. There was no way in hell I was going to share a bed with David.

My two female companions were Cathy Crouch and Mellissa Stanford. If we had been on Earth, I would have summoned Mellissa and Cathy behind one of the rovers while David was otherwise occupied and had a whispered discussion about the sleeping arrangements. That wasn't possible when wearing spacesuits; our only means of communications was helmet mounted radios. Fortunately, our suit developers had foreseen my predicament - well, probably not the need for three women to discuss who would have to sleep with their asshole manual laborer when camping by a crevasse - but they did provide an easy way to initiate a private conversation.

"Suit. Set up a discreet com channel with Cathy and Mellissa."

"Do you wish to include Habitat control?" the AI asked.

"No. And don't record our conversation either."

"Habitat regulations require a digital record of all official conversations."

"This isn't an official conversation. Just set up the damn com link."

"Unrecorded com link established for unofficial conversation between Melody Sundown, Cathy Crouch, and Melissa Stanford," the AI announced.

"What's up?" Cathy asked.

"I want to discuss tonight's sleeping arrangements."

"Wow," Melissa said. "I was just wondering about the same thing. You're kind of in charge of this little expedition, so what's your preference."

"I'll sleep with anybody but David Greene," I said. "How about you two?"

"I'm okay sleeping with David," Cathy said. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Same for me," Mellissa said. "Although the last time we shared a bed, neither of us got much sleep. Maybe we should both sleep with him."

"I'd love to, but I don't think the bed's big enough for a threesome," Cathy said.

"Maybe we can stack vertically. We'll make a David Greene sandwich."

"Only if I get to be on top."

"That's enough. I don't see what you two see in the man, but you're both welcome to him. Now let's get back to work," I said. "Suit. Terminate discreet com link."

"Discreet com link terminated. I've placed a copy of your conversation in your non-official communications file."

Fucking AI.

David Greene

With the three ladies' help, I got our side of the chasm ready to go by 1400 local Mars time, which was pretty much the same as 2:00 p.m. on Earth since a day on Mars is only 37 minutes longer than a day on Earth. In other words, we still had plenty of daylight left and Melody was eager to go dirt hunting. Unfortunately, the two guys on the other side of the ditch were having some technical troubles with their cable supports.

"What kind of troubles?" I asked over the com link.

"It's kind of complicated," one man said. "Probably best if you come over here and see for yourself."

"And bring a hammer," the other guy said. "A big hammer."

Since there was something wrong with their cable support system, I had no choice but to drive the mile around to the other side of the fissure. Protocol insisted I travel with another person. Common sense suggested my traveling companion be the girl with the biggest boobs within 140 million miles.

"Hey Cathy, you up for a romantic drive to go visit the neighbors?"

"Only if we can put the top down and let my beautiful blonde locks blow in the breeze."

"Of course. And if we're not there too long, I'll find a secluded place to park on the way home and we can make out while the sun sets."

It took us twenty minutes to get to the other side. The guys weren't too happy to see that I'd brought Cathy along with me. Not that they didn't like the woman, damn near everybody on Mars did, even the two gay guys. But they would have rather I came alone so word about why we delayed our project wouldn't spread to the rest of the habitat.

Now don't get me wrong. The two men in question weren't obnoxious assholes. Unlike some of their compatriots, these two were always willing to pitch in when somebody needed a helping hand. And they were certainly smart enough. Hell, one of them was a certified rocket scientist and the other had a PhD in nuclear physics. But the last step in setting up the cable support system was to hammer metal spikes into the rocky Martian ground to keep the rig from being drug into the fissure when Melody and her precious dirt was hanging a few hundred feet below ... and neither of the men had ever used a hammer before.

Yeah, I know. Hard to believe, at least for a man like me who grew up on a farm. But not at all uncommon for the educated elite that had decades ago taken over the country.

The two guys had to suffer through the embarrassment of me demonstrating the proper use of a hammer while one of the most desirable women they would ever know looked on. To make matters worse - when, despite my expert instructions, the two brainiacs still couldn't drive the spikes more than an inch into the rock - they and Cathy watched while I finished the job for them.

By the time Cathy and I got back to our side of the fissure, Melody had given up on any further exploring for the day and was in the remote sleeping module with Melissa, hopefully making dinner.

Our home for the night was modeled after the old-style pop-up camper trailers. When towed behind a rover, each module was six feet wide and ten feet in length. A single verbal command to the module's AI initiated an automated process whereby the walls unfolded outwards and the roof rose, expanding the living area to nearly double its traveling footprint. The standard module included a kitchen, toilet, and living / sleeping area (the bed folded down from the wall).

Since there were four of us on our side of the fissure, the second rover towed a slightly modified companion module which hooked up as an extension of the primary module ... kind of like a double wide trailer joined end to end instead of side to side. The companion was similar to the primary except for a small shower instead of the toilet (the four of us would be sharing a single pot to piss in) and the kitchen was replaced with additional storage. The cold fusion reactor, integral to the primary module, had sufficient juice to heat both modules, run the carbon dioxide to oxygen conversion unit, and power all the extraneous utilities ... like the convection oven.

At Melody's direction, Cathy and I entered via the companion module airlock, closed the outer door, and waited until the Martian CO2 laden atmosphere was sucked out and replaced by the much denser, oxygen and nitrogen rich, earth-like air of the inner module.

While it is possible to remove your own space suit, it is much easier if you have help, especially from somebody that is not wearing the thick gloves required to exist in the sometimes frigid, always thin air of Mars. Since neither Melody nor Melissa volunteered to join us in the airlock, I wrestled the glove off of Cathy's right hand and, with the help of her now unincumbered fingers, we more quickly removed her remaining glove. Once we had two fully functional hands available to us, the rest was easy ... if not pleasurable.

Let's face it, when a man and woman remove each other's clothes, even if it's part of the job, there is still an underlying hint of intimacy. After she removed my gloves, I unscrewed Cathy's bubble helmet and lifted it off. She took a deep breath of fresh air (as compared to the recycled crap we'd been breathing for most of the day) and, giving her head a shake, showed off her shoulder length blonde locks.

If we were back home, lifting the large life support package off her back might have been a strain, but since everything on Mars weighed a third of what it did on Earth, the pack came off easily. My helmet and backpack were next. Once free of the bulky stuff, we took turns stripping each other of the rest of the suit leaving us wearing full length thermal underwear and whatever we chose for our bottom layer. Boxer shorts and Led Zepplilin t-shirt for me (it was my great grandfather's... the t-shirt, not the boxers).

At that point in the process, it was customary to find a semi-private spot and replace the long johns with pants and a shirt ... especially when other people were in the module. Cathy had other plans.

As I moved towards the inner airlock door, Cathy blocked my path and kissed me. It was not an overly passionate kiss ... nor a mere peck on the cheek. More of an exploratory, feel me out, "do you want to do more" kind of kiss.

Trying my best to send a nonverbal "you bet your sweet ass I want more" signal, I added a little tongue to the kiss.

Her arms reached up to my shoulders, my hands went down to her butt.

I thought I'd misread her intentions when she pushed me away saying, "get your hands off my ass ..." until she continued with "... and take off my top."

Thanks to the relatively new "custom weave garment" technology, Cathy's thermals were perfectly contoured to her body. Pulling the form fitted top over her "largest on the planet" sized boobs wasn't the easiest of tasks. The t-shirt underneath was less of a challenge and even though her bra had more hooks and eyelets than a well-stocked tacklebox, it too was quickly added to the pile of discarded clothes.

"You're going to have to kneel down so I can get your shirt off," she said.

I complied, giving her forehead, lips and chin a kiss on the way down.

She reached down to grab the bottom of my upper thermal layer. I'm not sure if she meant to stick her left boob an inch from my mouth, but I took advantage of the situation and wetted her nipple with my tongue before taking it between my lips. I raised my hands to her shoulders. She broke my lip/nip lock by pulling my shirt over my head. We repeated the process with my t-shirt and her other nipple.

Since I was already on my knees, I grasped her thermal bottoms and pulled them down to her calves, taking a pair of pink cotton panties with them. Cathy sat her naked butt on a towel covered bench and raised her legs. After slipping the fabric off, I kept hold of her ankles and kissed my way up her inner thighs, stopping at her puffy lower lips.

I didn't spend an inordinate amount of time with my face between her legs. Not that I didn't enjoy pleasuring a woman with my tongue, but we'd have all night to play those sorts of games and, since I hadn't had a bite to eat since breakfast, I was hungry for something besides pussy. After five or so minutes, time enough to let her know I was interested, I got back on my feet; at which point Cathy knelt before me, pulled my pants down to my ankles, and gave my cock a quick welcome home.

After cleaning up the airlock as best we could, we finally opened the door to the inner module.

"Perfect timing," Melissa said. "I just got out of the shower."

"Dibs on next," Cathy said.

I didn't argue. She was still naked, and despite a minor case of blue balls, I was more interested in a beer than anything else.

The beer was in the refrigerator, which was in the kitchen, which would normally not be a big deal. Except, to get to the kitchen, I'd have to walk by Melody Sundown. In doing so, I pulled three of her triggers.

Let's start with the beer. No, we didn't import a case of Coors from Colorado every week. We made our own, using the hops, wheat, and corn grown in the habitat. Melody was the chief botanist on Mars and considered anything that sprung from the ground hers. When we harvested our first successful crop of hops and grains and were deciding what to do with the surplus, I was the one who suggested making beer.

"We were not sent to Mars to make beer," she said at the time.

Fortunately, everybody else in the habitat thought it was a good idea and elected me brew master, a skill my grandfather taught me at the young age of thirteen. Ever since, Melody considered opening a container of Martian Brew in her presence a personal attack on her authority.

Next on her list of cardinal sins was sex. The entire gamut. Oral, anal, out of wedlock, gay ... if it had the word "sex" attached, she was against it. Hell, for all I knew, she might have been opposed to a married couple using the missionary position to make a baby. I knew for certain that she hadn't gotten any during the nearly two years we'd been on Mars and wouldn't have been shocked if she was a thirty-five-year-old virgin. Not that there is anything wrong with a life of chastity. Melody's non-sex life was none of my business and wouldn't have been an issue ... if she didn't feel the need to constantly comment on mine.

The extremely cramped quarters of the remote sleeping module forced me to walk within a foot of where Melody was lounging while reading what I assumed to be some sort of botany book. Unlike Cathy, I didn't walk through the inner airlock door completely naked. I still had my boxer shorts on. Since Melody seemed completely enthralled with her reading material, I took a chance and slipped sideways through the narrow passageway between Melody's lounge and the storage cupboard.

"It's bad enough that I must associate with reprobates such as you, but why do you insist on waving further proof of your degeneracy in my face?"