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Archive-name: Working/derik.txt

Archive-author: Derek Blonde

Archive-title: Early One Morning

AUTHOR’S DISCLAIMER:

(Unfortunately, this is NOT what the life of a computer

professional is like, at least in Research Triangle Park.

Anyone who knows of a place where systems consultants can

do this type of thing, please let me know.)

They had been working on the system for twenty-one straight

hours now. It was finally up and running; their client, a

large banking law firm, wanted the in-house system plugged into

a banking information network and a huge legal database. The

conversion had taken over four hundred thousand dollars worth

of hardware and software, in addition to three weeks of work,

and in the end Ryan thought that it would have been simpler

just to order every single piece of shit in the IBM catalog

that would fit inside the cabinet and load it onboard.

And now the computer was getting ready to entangle itself

into an international 24-hour database. The Brain would never

shut off again; now, it was going through a self-test,

getting ready to read market data, scan the newspapers, and

watch the local trouble spots in locations around the

world where the firm had clients. Its huge main monitor

was split into sixteen screens, one screen for each

communication controller operating in the building. Ryan

was trying to give each of them in turn something

approaching his immediate and undivided attention.

He was having trouble concentrating, however. His

software engineer, Kelly, was a sweet young thing just

out of MIT…young, blonde, beautiful, and brilliant.

She showed a decided preference for working in sweats,

and since the machine room was cooled to 68 Fahrenheit,

sweats were comfortable. But while she and Ryan

were hooking up the cabling on a replacement unit, and

now again as they crowded in front of the monitor to

watch The Brain do its sitting-up exercises, they had

been working in close quarters. And Ryan had found himself

meditatively studying the curves of her beautiful, firm

ass underneath her crimson sweatpants. Wondering what it

would be like to nibble on her neck, near her hairline,

with her on all fours…

With an effort, Ryan snapped out of this pleasant fantasy.

The console beeped, signalling the end of the self-test.

“Is it ready to connect now?” asked Kelly.

Oh boy, he thought, is it ever. He was so hard that he

was positively throbbing, and he knew that he would

have to find some kind of relief soon. Just go off in

a corner and jerk off two or three times.

“Well, let’s give it a try,” he said, struggling to control

his voice. He punched the key sequence, and The Brain

started activating its connections. Lights danced on

the modem consoles. Satellite linkups moved into place.

“Jesus, I think it works!” breathed Kelly. “I think it’s

really running!”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed.”

An error code flashed on one of the low screens. “Oh, shit,”

muttered Kelly. “Hand me the green manual, would you?”

Ryan looked around, hoping against hope that he would

see the green-cover book somewhere within his reach. To his

dismay, he found it: it was on a utility shelf about four

feet over.

He stood with as much dignity as he could muster, but

his stiff seven inches were standing at attention inside

his grey flannels. He retrieved the green manual, and walked

gingerly back to Kelly’s desk, willing her not to look up

at him.

To no avail. She looked up at him; her eyes widened, and

she gave a little gasp, as she saw the evidence of Ryan’s

arousal (and the source of his embarassment). Then she

quickly looked around to see if anyone else might have

come into the machine room (they hadn’t), and gripped

Ryan’s cock firmly, through his pants.

“You’ve been watching me tonight,” she said matter-of-

factly.

What could he say? “Yes.”

“And thinking dirty thoughts about me.”

“Yes.”

She smiled, unzipped his fly, and cupped his hot, swollen

balls in her cool hand. “Are you lonely, Ryan?” she asked.

Ryan was now concentrating very hard to keep from spraying

hot come all over her MIT sweatshirt. “Yes,” he half-

exhaled, half-moaned.

She rubbed the tip of his throbbing organ gently over her face,

and suddenly gave a little shudder. “Oh, God,” she said.

“This is for me. My boyfriend’s been away for MONTHS!

I need a man. I need to be fucked. I need you, Ryan. Now.”

She wriggled out of her sweatpants, exposing a gleaming,

moist patch of blond pubic hair; she stood, and kissed Ryan

deeply while fumbling with his belt. Ryan picked her up, and

sat her magnificent ass down on the table next to the system

console. He entered her still standing, and she locked her

long legs behind his back to support him as he thrusted

into her warm and welcoming wetness.

Her cunt was firm and tight and muscular, and her scent was

intoxicating. At the apex of each thrust, Kelly gripped Ryan

with her vaginal muscles and pulled him in tighter with her

legs. “Your cock was made for me, baby. Give it all to me.

Give me everything you got.”

They moved together in the simplest and most primitive rhythms.

His breaths were coming short and sharp now, and he tried

to fuck Kelly as hard as she was thrusting back. She could

feel him swelling even bigger inside of her. “Coming,” he

gasped. “Oh, God, come with me.”

Her eyes became very, very wide as she felt him swelling.

Her lips parted, and she felt like she was drifting weightlessly–

that the only two things in the universe were her tight young

pussy and his engorged cock. And they were moving together

faster and faster, and it was getting bigger, and she knew

that soon the spasm would come.

Ryan exploded inside her, in a hot, blinding

flash, like a supernova. Her muscles jerked rhythmically,

uncontrollably, over and over again as her orgasm washed over

her in blissful waves.

When they had rested a moment, and recovered their wind, they

glanced up at The Brain. Its lights danced merrily; it was

storing up and analyzing all the financial data on Southeast Asia

since the dawn of recorded history, just because it wanted to

and there was nothing else for it to do before the London

stock exchange opened.

“We should test it before we allow it to hook in this morning,”

Ryan said gently.

“The machine,” Kelly replied firmly, “can take care of itself.

You can take care of me.”

He then in turn, gave her his immediate and undivided attention.

End

–

Captivity, Week 18.

I should probably label this ‘0058, then, shouldn’t I? I bet the
new year’s come and gone without my really noticing; After all, I
haven’t really been watching the news.

Okay, so I haven’t written anything in here in over a month. I was
stuck in bed, what do you want? A daily log of everything I ate, drank,
and read? Forget it!

I’m up and about, and yes, I’m back to working on the Shirow,
although admittedly I’m still getting about on crutches and have a
rib-wrap still on; They aren’t fully healed. I was pleased to know
that the PFusion pack came on line in four weeks, just like clockwork,
and was giving out sufficient power to operate the Shirow at full
capacity. Not that I was going to need full capacity, there was nothing
to shoot at, so I removed most of the hardpoints and the HUD.

Yes, I’m still wearing the .45, although I have yet to fire it. It
was in my clothes when Brieanna let me get up. She never questioned my
posessing it. After all, most people own them, and know how to use
them. It’s part of what makes this world so peaceful. Who’s going to
start a fight when your opponent is equally or better armed?

And if he does, there are enough bystanders who don’t want to
become statistics to take care of the problem.

I’ve disabled the arms and legs until I get into the damned thing.
I think that’s a reasonable attitude to take towards the armor. After
all, it was my stupid program bug that caused the thing to try and kill
me.

As for the kiss, well… We haven’t talked about in the month since
it happened. It’s almost like it never happened. I said almost.
Brie’s attituted towards me has changed, a little. She’s nicer to me, I
think. She’s certainly around more often.

I got my Shakespeare back, too. Managed to find another VHR
somewhere in the house. It’s almost like things I need appear, but
always in an inappropriate form. Like the fusion repair stuff, or the
servos that I ripped out of a maintainence unit to fix the neck of the
armor. In any event, I’m not watching Shakespeare so much, now…I’ve
moved on the greek tragedy. Oh, and I finished all three of Halleck’s
books. Good stuff, especially The Assassin’s Guidebook. Not that I’m
planning on killing anyone, like I said.

And why is everything in the house so… so old? Like, why a
VCDHR? Why not just a bubble card player? Why does everything in the
place use moving parts? Almost like they’re designed to… break down.

That’s it. Oh, shit, why did I never see it before?

That’s what this place is for. That’s why Brieanna is around so
rarely. So that when things break, I’m the only one around to fix them.

It’s to make me feel useful. Therapy. Positive-work therapy.
That’s what this whole place is. Even Brieanna is part of that. And
the .45. Props to make me feel useful. Attempts to get me do things.

So what do I do? Abandon everything, confront Brieanna, take off,
or just go on?

I’ll tell you what I plan on doing. I plan on going on, that’s for
sure. I want to finish this powered armor. I also want to get a little
better at the flute, although the more I play it the more sure I am that
I should go back to keyboards. And, I’m going to confront her.

May as well.

In the Spring.

Archive-name: Fantasy/karene2.txt
Archive-author: Jim and Meg Norris
Archive-title: Karen Eliot’s Excellent Adventures # 2

Karen sat at her bar in the small pool of light cast by a desk
lamp. She keyed the remote and was immediately jolted by the
intense volume in her headphones. She quickly adjusted to the
digital rock’n'roll. She extracted one of the two sugar cubes from
the small ziploc and dropped it into the clear water which about
half filled the blue crystal glass. Karen watched the thin tendrils
and bubbles climbing upward from the dissolving cube. When only a
vestige of the cube remained, Karen stirred the water. The painted
Emperor penguin atop the glass stir stick turned and spun. Clasped
lightly in Karen’s regal fingers, it completed the ceremonial
preparation. Karen raised the glass and drank the water in several
unhurried swallows. With a phrase, she invoked her hypnotically-
installed interface metaphor and prepared to enter the always open
playground of her mind.
Karen closed her eyes. As always, the first effect to hit was
the intense joy. Beyond euphoria, she was lit by the electric
pleasure of cognition. The acceleration of her awareness took
Karen’s breath away. She was filled with a sense of vibrant energy;
restless, resisting confinement, awaiting purpose. Karen waited,
still and receptive, enjoying her most powerful and balanced hit of
L+ yet. Her face was transformed by a wide grin. Everything that
she experienced seemed hilarious. The boundless soul laughed at
every aspect of its voluntary earthly confinement. The joyous
feelings mellowed and Karen could feel the visual effect hitting.
She opened her eyes. Her will twisted the perspective of her
view. With slight effort, she could see the framework of points
underlying her previous perspective. Karen loved to come to the
grid of brilliant spectral colors pulsing on a background of the
deepest black. She shifted her perspective further into the grid.
The perception of her immediate surroundings become masked by the
perspective switching. With the underlying grid mostly in violet
with some green, she could see her world alongside. With the grid
shifted to yellow and blue, her world became a fading afterimage.
The final displacement was to orange and red grid lines. The
delicate flows between the white node points connected by the grid
lines were clearly discernable. Karen relaxed, her mind still.
When she felt totally cleansed, Karen twisted her perspective back
to her physical circumstances.
The point framework faded, but the clear joy remained. Karen
tamped the last of her Mendocino purple kush into the bong bowl.
She smoked several hits of the famous one-hit shit.

Karen piloted her 16-valve yupster through the thickening early
morning traffic. She drove to her favorite regional park,
occasionally playing with the shapes of the fluffy clouds to the
sounds of blasting rock’n'roll. The promising gusts of wind earlier
had picked up to a steady breeze.
She was easily able to fit into the street side parking space
left by a suit driving a boat that didn’t quite look like his
father’s Oldsmobile.
Karen removed the two bags with her gear from the car and set
off on foot. Her favorite visual hallucination was immediately
operational; the clouds were false colored. The resolution improved
as she watched. Horizontal and vertical movement was highlighted to
the degree of magnitude. Movement tails were plotted against the
latlong grid on the sky that suddenly appeared. Her left eye
displayed additive color mixture and her right showed subtractive
mixture. She blinked rapidly several times before establishing gray
scale; positive on left, negative on right. With several more
blinks she tested the binocular gray of her shaded object view mode.
She switched the tactical overlay on and enjoyed the instant
replacement. Dense monochrome axial and edge lines defined the
plotted objects in her wireframe view mode. She blinked rapidly and
switched the representation color; red, orange, yellow, green, blue,
violet. Trees moving in the breeze appeared as fractal fluff. She
toyed briefly with switching visibility of the hidden lines before
halting on the small hilltop that she’d walked to. The position was
ideal for kite flying; an unobstructed hilltop with a comfortably
calm lee side. Karen willed the visual hallucination suite off.
Once Karen had unpacked everything that she needed, the special
components of her custom kite were arrayed about her in small
unitary bags. Moving lithely, she fitted the machined alloy tubes
through the fabric. With some flexing of the frame tubes, the
assembly locked into position. The dihedral looked perfect to her
practiced eye. She quickly attached her toys to the kite. This was
to be the final test of the digital camera. The stoner-friendly (more…)

Hey everyone, here is a joke I d like to share
—
A good fuck costs nothing, but gives much. It reaches those who
receive without making poorer those who give. It takes but a
moment, but the memory sometimes lasts a lifetime. None is so
rich or mighty that he can get along without it, and none is so
poor but that he can be made richer by it. A good fuck creates
happiness in the home, fosters goodwill in business, and is the
countersign of friendship. It brings rest to the weary, cheer
to the discouraged. A good fuck is sunshine to the sad, and is
nature’s best antidote for trouble.

Yet, it cannot be bought, begged, borrowed, or stolen, for it is
of no value to anyone until it is given away. Some people are
too tired to give you a good fuck. Give them one of yours, as none
needs a good fuck so such as he who has no more to give.

:)

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