Opening two wormholes at once was too much of a risk, she decided. The traces
of the freshly melted black ooze, in the middle of her metallic 3D printer, still lingered in the stagnant summer air. She usually liked the texture of the Denim overall rubbing against her otherwise naked skin. But, hunched over her laptop, her legs shaking and knees digging into to her small bed, Aguara, did not ooze of composure, or denim brushed arousal. From between a ring of hardbound textbooks, the scene vaguely resembled a summoning. Her absurdly large star-shaped earrings only added to this ambience. But the titles of the books themselves indicated a different kind of ceremony.
On the other side of the room, a shiny cylindrical container of anti-matter stood knightly on a table. A container she had tip-toed out of her lab in the previous night. It stood guarding a gathering of stuffed toys of bright and colorful shades and also sticking out in this odd collective was mild-mannered glassy green bottle. Below the bottle's curved spout, it said in smooth calligraphic curls "Rearflow-for smooth entry".
At the center of the otherwise empty white glow of the screen, that lit up her pleasantly round face, was the last exchange between her and a online friend.
Bigboi69: Texted you my coordinates. Ready to join the history books!
KleinBunny: Maybe the ones on home experiment catastrophes.
Bigboi69: Following the chapter on the show Jackass? Ah, no worries. Any publicity is good publicity. :)
You will be great, babe. Good luck!
She read the messages in the of the deep voice of this faceless Australian man, who had a strangely South African accent. She had only briefly corresponded with him over the phone. The lone fool from a different part of the globe, who had agreed to participate in her payless experiment. Brushing her frizzy blue hair aside, absentmindedly transfixed at his profile picture, she wondered where his unbridled confidence came from. Maybe it was the antioxidants in all the delicious Melbourne coffee. Or maybe it was just camera angle.
She had, not very painstakingly, explained to him that it was against regulations to open a wormhole outside a sanctioned lab facility, and that the makeshift lab in her tiny apartment definitely wasn't designated as one. Opening two was even more unstable. Generally, two in proximity tended to create a steady repulsive drift, possibly causing them to grow apart in distance indefinitely. She had finally figured out how to stabilize them, but if things went south, her new acquaintance could need to change his profile name. At least a partial change.
The portal was going to be the size of a tangerine between her bedroom and Bigboi's. Enough for the position she had planned for maximum visual effect. This would be enough to show her professor. Her professor, the dapperly dressed, mickey mouse watch wearing middle-aged man, who had been rejecting her advances all fall. He kept citing pompous university policies, rubbing his creased, but delightfully kissable forehead, droning on about how inappropriate her emails were starting to become. She had always thought the days of performing oral being inappropriate were long gone. But he did belong to a different generation. However, she had also seen how painfully stretched his meetings with her fellow student, the chiseled hips Amy Gurgen, were. Meetings that were suspiciously behind closed doors too. No dissertation discussion needed to have been that tenuously long. There was the the silver lining that he was the kind of gentleman who took his time with the woman he made love to. This observation drew a giggle out of Aguara, as she fantasized his prolonged attention on her, pinning her against his wall. She clenched her denim over her stomach forcing it to bunch up against her fist, her breasts spilling out in equal glee.
Shaking herself from her brief reverie, she checked the scribbled integrals and differentials on her palm sized yellow notebook one last time, and compared it with the current state of her now partly black screen, which was constellated heavily by white strings of code. She typed "compile" onto the left corner of terminal and let her index finger hover over the keyboard and after a moment of blank indecision, she gave a quick jab to the enter button.
Almost instantly, the air around her vibrated violently, a few inches over the bed the space warped, into yellow ring, revealing a handsome stubbled chin below a pair of full lips.
"I see it now. May I?" she heard him through the wormhole and a repeated occurrence of the sentence through her earphone, a clear delay between the two.
"Yeah, go ahead. Stick it through," flinging her earphones off her bed.
"I am not hard yet."
"Didn't I tell you to be ready?"
"Well, mentally, I am frothing. I could even write a sonnet."
"We don't have time for foreplay, pal", she said, feeling the red light blinking on her tripod fixtured camera coaxing her.
"Okay, but make it quick", she gave in.
She kneeled over her bed, and pressed her lips on to his. It was just a formal peck at first. But the low smacking noises of their lips coming together grew louder each subsequent instant, only interrupted by the light wind of their breaths. She leaned back in for a longer kiss, feeling him take her upper lip first, and then, the lower. As she thrust her face deeper into the portal, she winced at the hot sensation of its edges against her skin. She pulled back from the pain, confused how unfazed Bigboi seemed.
She had to push through. So she did once again, and sucked on him hard, wincing at the same time. She was surprised, and flushed, by how attentively, and softly he held her. Delicately. Like a rare fruit he was trying to relish. Were the rims of the worm hole not hurting him? She tried hard to anchor the thought that they had to hurry. The wormhole could remain open only for ten minutes, and that was not the only problem. If they weren't sufficiently separated when it collapsed, they could both loose their lips or any other erogenous zone. But the wonderful cocktail of pleasure and heat pulled her senses in a different direction, as they opened wider, their tongues appearing now in invitation, a few threads of saliva now bridging their oral fissures. His cologne infiltrating her nostrils, she felt an urge to place her palm on his cheeks, and run it into his hair to pull him closer. But the wormhole was not big enough. Instead, she grabbed two books nearby and in extension, planted her palms on the small tower for support to dive into him more freely, struggling to hold back a yelp from the pain.
"You can...stick your tongue in", she said, her voice audibly quivering between the words.
"But we don't have time", said Bigboi, smirking.
Not waiting to respond, she took a drunken pause to bite her lower lip and then slacked her jaw as she submitted her tongue in extended, but stiff suspension. He obliged by sucking at her juicy flesh, and then glided his own tongue along it, testing its tension, hiking up to its root. The pain was right between her nose now.
Moistening under each other's teasing, their gasps now twirled around their wet slithering licks. Their pants were becoming louder now. She imagined his large hands exploring her. The hands she had seen on that profile picture supporting himself, pinching her skin and caressing her all over, pressing her closer into him. So close, and yet so far. As a compromise, she unbuttoned the straps of her overalls and started caressing herself. She started on the side of her hips, which felt more tender now, slowly proceeding upwards to her nipples, where she wanted him.
