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Message-ID: <49945asstr$1103235002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Al Steiner" <do_not_resuscitate_ever@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} A Perfect World by Al Steiner, Ch 11 (MF, romance)
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Date: Thu, 16 Dec 2004 17:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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A Perfect World

By Al Steiner



Chapter 11



The New Pittsburgh City Administration building was 111 stories high,
located in the older section of downtown, five blocks from the capital
building itself. Like most of the buildings in this part of the city, it was
of pre-revolutionary construction and the drabness of the architecture-which
had been designed with cost-savings in mind as opposed to aesthetics-was its
primary feature. It was within this building that the New Pittsburgh branch
of the Martian court system dwelled, taking up all of the office space on
floors 50 through 54. In the back corner of the 53rd floor was Courtroom 5,
which was currently the realm of Judge Diode Skinman.



The courtroom was a large, open room carpeted in Martian red, as were most
of the government offices on the planet. It resembled an Earth courtroom in
only a superficial manner. The Judge's podium was not really a podium at
all, just a standard plastic office desk sitting atop a portion of the floor
that had been raised about a meter. Next to the desk, still on the raised
portion, was a chair that served as the witness stand. On the main level of
the floor, three meters in front of the testimony area, were two simple
tables, one for each of the lawyers and the principals of whatever case was
being discussed. Circling around the entire assemblage, in optimum position
for viewing the proceedings, were twenty chairs for the fifteen jury members
and five alternates. Against the back wall was a bleacher style arrangement
of seats for the public to sit in should they be so inclined. Though not
many people bothered viewing trials on Mars, on this day things were a
little different. Every one of the public seats was filled with reporters,
family members of the defendant, family members of the victim in this case,
and the just plain curious. The case of Mars vs. Griffith-a possible murder
that had captured the attention of the entire planet-was about to be heard.



Ken Frazier was sitting in the third from the middle of the jury box chairs.
This was his tenth and last day of serving as one of Judge Skinman's jurors,
his mandatory two-week stint at an end. Jury duty on Mars, as he had found,
was not quite the same as it had been back on Earth. Here on Mars the rules
and procedures of doing one's civic duty actually made sense and were
designed to be as painless as possible.



The selection of those who would serve jury duty was pretty much the same-a
random assortment of citizens from the city in which the courtroom was
located, their names pulled from the census computer. On Mars, though, one
did not easily get himself or herself excused from fulfilling the duty. Very
few excuses were accepted in regard to employment or family obligations
since the Martian government paid the full salary of a worker for the
duration and professional, in-home childcare was provided at no cost to
those who needed it. As a result, a comprehensive cross section of Martian
society would typically be found in any jury box, not only the retirees, the
unemployed, and the just plain morons who weren't smart enough to get out of
it.



The two-week duration of jury service was another difference from Earth
days. A Martian juror was put into a jury that sat in judgment over every
case that came through that particular judge's courtroom over the course of
ten working days. No longer were lawyers for either side allowed to pick and
choose what kind of jurors they wished to hear their cases. They were not
allowed to question them or know anything about them at all. A juror's
personal views or past experiences were considered irrelevant. The only
valid reasons for removal from a particular case was personal knowledge of
one of the principals involved or some sort of clear ethical conflict of
interest. This system worked because unanimity was no longer required for
conviction in a criminal case or for a verdict in a civil case. No longer
could a single juror with a radical viewpoint or a terminal case of
stupidity or simple preconceived notions hang a jury and cause a mistrial.
If ten or more of the fifteen jurors agreed a suspect was guilty, he or she
was deemed guilty. For a verdict of innocence or for decision in a civil
suit, a simple majority was all that was needed.



The speed and efficiency of the Martian justice system meant that in a
two-week period the average juror could hear testimony in as many as five
different matters every single day. Martian trials moved quickly.
Showmanship, blustering, and misdirection were not allowed and were rarely
attempted. The lawyers for each side of whatever case were employees of the
Martian government and, though they were charged with being the advocate of
the side they represented, they were bound by stringent ethical rules. Their
overriding concern was not to win their case at all costs but to expose The
Truth, no matter what The Truth was and regardless of whether or not it was
a hindrance to their client or to the state. Gone were the days when each
side would have its own expert witnesses on certain matters, each paid
handsomely to say whatever the lawyer wanted him or her to say. The average
trial these days came to the court's attention less than a week after the
matter in question and lasted less than an hour.



Ken had initially been a bit skeptical of such a system, so ingrained with
twentieth century attitudes toward crime and punishment was he. When first
told of how Martian justice operated it actually made him a bit
uneasy-visions of Nazi Germany or African nation show trials spinning in his
head. The defense team working for the same government agency as the
prosecution? Limits on what kind of defense testimony was allowed? But after
seeing the system in action and participating in it, he was forced to
conclude it really was fair, impartial, and most of all, efficient. He had
sat in judgment over matters both criminal and civil and in each case the
testimony delivered was succinct and to the point. Assault cases, theft
cases, a robbery, a case of child abuse, a dispute between business partners
over ownership of a valuable component, a breach of contract case between
two other business partners-all were laid out in a matter of an hour or less
and sent to the jury in less than two hours. In no case did Ken get the
impression he was being led by the nose toward a forgone conclusion or that
he was merely a rubber stamp for a decision that had already been made, this
despite the fact that in every criminal case so far the verdict had been a
unanimous guilty one and that in every civil case the plaintiff had
prevailed. That was simply because of the fact that cases without merit were
not brought to trial in the first place.



And now, by simple luck of the draw, he would hear the case of Mars vs.
Griffith, which had been all everyone had talked about for the past week
planet wide. Murders on Mars, while drastically less common than had been
the case on Earth, were not unheard of. The New Pittsburgh Police Department
investigated, on average, fifteen to twenty homicides every Martian calendar
year. Most of these were spur of the moment murders committed in a fit of
rage, either between spouses or squabbling acquaintances. As in Ken's day,
such incidents were usually fueled by alcohol or drugs and tended to be
confined to the lower classes of society. Angleworth Griffith, on the other
hand, was one of the richest men in New Pittsburgh, the owner of a prominent
Internet advertising agency and, instead of being accused of a spur of the
moment killing in a fit of rage, he was accused of the cold-blooded,
pre-meditated murder of his wife, Kinsley Griffith, a well-known actress who
had starred in several entertainment movies over the years.



Only the barest facts of the case were currently known to the general
public, including Ken and his fellow jurors. The Martian media, though
completely independent and, for the most part, free, were bound by a
stringent code of ethics and subject to oversight. They were not allowed to
report speculation or innuendo as fact and the New Pittsburgh Police and the
Martian court system were not allowed to release any investigation details
prior to trial. All that was known was that Kinsley Griffith had filed for
divorce from Angleworth two months before. No reason for divorce was
required on Mars and none was given in this case. A week after the filing,
Kinsley was reported missing by Angleworth. A search was undertaken for the
actress but nothing turned up until six weeks later when her decomposing
body was finally found in a large lake at the Red Hills Golf Course in the
south part of the city. An autopsy was performed. Two days later, Griffith
was arrested and charged with murder. A preliminary hearing was held the
next day-in secret as was the Martian custom-and he was ordered tried. Now,
eight days later, the case was being called on Ken's last day of jury
service.



A uniformed and fully armored New Pittsburgh police officer stood near the
judge's desk and served as the bailiff. He had been perusing something on
his PC but now he perked up as he heard a transmission over his radio link.
He nodded to himself and then made the announcement that court was returning
to session. "Here come The Man," he said.



The doors at the rear of the courtroom slid open and Judge Skinman strolled
in. No one rose in his honor-it simply was not done on Mars-but the babble
of conversation that had been permeating the room died down. There were no
elaborate trappings to the office of judge as had been the case on Earth-no
black robes, no wigs, no hats. Skinman wore a faded T-shirt, upon which was
a silhouette of a couple practicing rear entry intercourse. The inscription
on the shirt declared that his honor had won the Stinky Slut Club's annual
botching contest the previous year. He sat down in his chair, belched wetly,
cracked his knuckles, and then looked at the crowd that had gathered.



"What the fuck's the haps?" he greeted politely, leaning back a bit and
yawning. He looked at his jurors. "I trust you all got down and stinky on
your lunch hour?" he asked them. "I know I did."



No one answered his rhetorical question, although Ken had certainly gotten
down and stinky, as he had every one of the last six lunch hours of jury
duty. The two companions he had gotten down and stinky with, Dazzle Yamamoto
and Sandra Mendez, were sitting on either side of him. Both chuckled at the
judge's words, giving meaningful glances to Ken. The looks did not go
unnoticed by Skinman.



"Well then," he said, offering a knowing grin, "It's good to know the
freedoms won by our Founding Parents are not going unused. Laura bless Mars.
And now, to business. Next on the docket is the case of Mars vs. Griffith, a
murder trial." He glanced at the lawyers' tables, where the prosecuting and
defense attorney were both seated. "I see council for both sides is here.
Mr. Ragney, are your witnesses all present?"



"Fuckin' aye," the prosecuting attorney replied. "They're chillin' in the
holding rooms."



"That's the shit," Skinman responded. "And you, Mrs. Waggins? Are your
witnesses present?"



"Fuckin' aye," she said.



Skinman nodded. "Well, lets get some lube on the asshole then," he said. He
turned to the bailiff. "Zinger, bring in the defendant."



"Fuckin' aye," the bailiff said. He spoke into his radio link for a second.
A minute later the side doors of the courtroom slid open and another police
officer led in Angleworth Griffith.



Griffith was tall and conservatively groomed for Martian culture, his hair
short, neat, and uncolored by any sort of genetic stimulation. He was
dressed the same as any prisoner being held in the New Pittsburgh jail
facility-in a pair of brief orange shorts and a matching half shirt with
NPPD PRISONER stenciled boldly on the front and back. His hands were
manacled in front of him but other than that no restraints were binding him.
Escape from the courtroom might be theoretically possible if he moved very
quickly and the NPPD officers on shift were very incompetent, but there was
no way he would ever get further than the stairway before the building was
locked down tight and he was tracked by means of a bracelet attached to his
left wrist that was fitted with a triangulation transmitter and was
virtually irremovable if the NPPD didn't wish it removed or if the person in
question did not have access to a fully equipped machine shop. He was led
over to the defendant's table where he took a seat next to the lawyer
assigned to his case. Griffith's face was expressionless as he settled in.
No communication was exchanged, either verbal or through body language, as
he settled in.



"Angleworth Griffith," Judge Skinman said formally, "you stand accused of
one count of pre-meditated murder. At your preliminary hearing you pled not
guilty. Does that plea still stand?"



"Fuckin' aye," Griffith said.



"The court's down with it," Skinman answered back. He turned to the
prosecuting attorney. "Let's get it on."



He got it on. It took him just under ninety minutes to present the entire
case. He made a brief opening statement in which he declared he would show
that circumstantial evidence pointed to the conclusion that Griffith had
strangled his wife in their home, transported her body to the lake in which
it was eventually found, and sunk it there by using metal chains. He then
began calling witnesses. Each one was on the stand less than ten minutes,
with the exception of the lead police detective, who was there for nearly
thirty. The story of the alleged murder was presented in chronological order
for the most part.



It was shown that after Griffith's wife had filed for divorce, Griffith had
been heard complaining to acquaintances in the Covington Heights Social
Club-a rather high class intoxicant and botch establishment-that the liberal
Martian divorce laws were going to allow her much more of his fortune than
he really wanted to part with. This testimony was offered by the bartender
and one of the regulars to the club. The prosecution pointed out that no
less than six other people could testify to the same basic conversation if
need be. Need did not be. The defense attorney conceded that the point had
been made.



Six days later, Griffith's wife turned up missing. The police officer who
took the report testified that Griffith told her he had last seen his wife
the night before, when she'd gone to bed in a separate room of the house.
Griffith's story was that he went to work the next morning without checking
on her and found her missing upon his return that evening. Mrs. Griffith's
PC-which she could have been tracked with-was still on her bedroom dresser,
something that raised immediate concern. It was quite unusual in modern
culture for a person to leave their house voluntarily while not in
possession of their PC.



The lead detective-who had uncovered the witnesses from the Covington
Heights Social Club-explained how he had used that information, coupled with
the mysterious disappearance, to obtain a search warrant for Griffith's
house and office. In the house he found soil and moss residue on the bottom
of a pair of Griffith's shoes. Fresh laundry soap residue was found on the
sheets and pillowcases of Mrs. Griffith's bed, suggesting that the linen
here had been recently laundered. A check of the lint trap in their dryer
turned up fibers that matched this linen, confirming it had been in the last
load run through, this despite the fact that their bitch-a woman named Darla
Sankey-had been on vacation for the three days proceeding the disappearance
and the other laundry had been piling up since. A further look at the bed
itself turned up trace amounts of Mrs. Griffith's blood on the
mattress-blood that decay rate analysis proved had been there less than 72
hours. When the detective asked Mr. Griffith about these discoveries his
answers were far from enlightening. He claimed no knowledge of when the
linen had been washed last even though analysis of the soap residue
indicated it had been washed in a twelve-hour window that fit quite neatly
into the time period in which anyone but Mr. Griffith had last seen Mrs.
Griffith and well after the departure of the bitch for vacation. Griffith
also claimed to have no knowledge of where the soil and moss residue on his
shoes had come from, although he offered a vague explanation about how he
had gone to a nearby park for a walk the day before her disappearance. And
as for the blood residue, he had no explanation whatsoever and claimed
complete ignorance of how it might have come to be there.



It was then explained by a forensics expert how the soil sample from
Griffith's shoe was analyzed and compared with the soil from the nearby park
he'd claimed to have visited. Since every park in New Pittsburgh was
constructed directly on the bare soil at that particular geographic region,
it was quite easy to eliminate that particular park as the source of the
shoe soil. It was also nothing more than a process of elimination to start
going through other areas in the city where bare soil was exposed, one by
one, and comparing a sample in each with the shoe soil until a match was
made. It took several weeks but eventually pay dirt was struck at the Red
Hills Golf Course. On the eleventh hole of the course, near a sharp dogleg
left, 130 meters from the green, a near perfect match was found beside a
lake. Infrared spectrographs were brought in and, sure enough, there was
Mrs. Griffith's body, stuffed in a canvas bag and wrapped with heavy metal
chains, sitting at the bottom.



An autopsy revealed she had died from strangulation and had suffered several
cuts to her face just prior to death. There was no evidence of sexual
assault. Fibers stuck in her clothing revealed she had been lying on the
linen that had been found on her bed shortly before her death. The type of
canvas bag she had been wrapped in was identical to the type used at
Griffith's office for storing computer components. The type of chains used
to weight her down were identical to the type used by the maintenance
department of the building in which his office was located for doing outside
maintenance. One such set of chains had been noted to be missing from the
building's inventory during the investigation.



At this point in the trial, the prosecution rested its case and the defense
attorney took over. On Earth, in Ken's day, any decent ambulance chaser
would have been able to get Griffith off, especially considering his fame.
The evidence was entirely circumstantial and the burden of proof that would
have been required was "beyond a reasonable doubt." In addition, speculation
about any number of wild, improbable theories could have been introduced to
the jury as possible explanations for the damning facts. On Mars, however,
defense attorneys were forbidden from employing such antics. If no evidence
for a harebrained explanation was forthcoming, said explanation would not be
introduced. This included the defendant's own harebrained explanations.
Griffith's attorney was able to do little more than repeat that Griffith
claimed he hadn't killed his wife. Though she had been charged by the
constitution with investigating his story in every way, with running down
every lead he gave her that might have suggested his innocence, she had
received no such leads and there had been nothing to run down. She had no
witnesses to call and her half of the trial lasted less than ten minutes.
After brief closing statements, the case was given to the jury.



"Check it, my fine ass-fuckers," Skinman told them before sending them to
deliberation. "By now, I'm sure you're down with the standards of the
Martian court system. You've heard all the testimony, been told all the
facts that have been uncovered. If your common sense tells you that
Angleworth Griffith murdered his wife, then you must vote guilty. If your
common sense also tells you that Angleworth Griffith pre-meditated this
murder, you must vote that he's guilty of pre-meditation. That's the shit.
Now go get it on."



The deliberation took less than ten minutes. An initial vote on the question
of innocence or guilt proved unanimous in favor of the latter. A brief
discussion was required on the issue of pre-meditation, with two of the
jurors speculating that maybe... just maybe, it might have been an impulsive
act of violence, but in the end, that vote too was unanimous. Their
foreman-in this case a forewoman, Dazzle Yamamoto-noted down their verdict
and told the computer they were ready. They were led back to the courtroom
where the judge, the defendant, and everyone else were still sitting.



"You have a verdict?" Skinman asked.



"Fuckin' aye," Dazzle told him.



"That's the shit," Skinman said. "Lay it on me."



"Guilty as charged," she said immediately, without pausing for dramatic
purposes.



"The vote?" the Judge wanted to know.



"Unanimous."



"Guilty of murder then," Skinman said. "And on the subject of
pre-meditation?"



"Guilty as charged, unanimous as a motherfucker."



Skinman nodded, stifling a belch and reaching down to scratch his balls. "I
guess that'll do it then," he said. He turned to Angleworth, who had buried
his head in his hands. "Mr. Griffith, look up at me."



Angleworth raised his head, revealing fear on his face now and a few tears
streaming down from his eyes.



"You've been found guilty of pre-meditated murder," he told him. "The
penalty for such a crime under Martian law is life imprisonment at hard
labor. Your ass is outta here. You are hereby stripped of all constitutional
rights and will be remanded to the custody of the Martian Planetary Penal
System, effective immediately. Now take a flying fuck at Phobos, you slimy
scumbag. This trial is adjourned."



The same police officer who had escorted him into the room now escorted him
back out. Griffith continued to weep but did not resist. By day's end he
would be discharged from the New Pittsburgh jail and transferred to a
planetary prison facility. He could appeal his sentence from there if he
wished but the appellate court and the Martian Supreme Court itself would
not hear the case unless there was a clear case of misconduct during the
trial or unless some new evidence to suggest innocence was discovered. What
he could do there, however, was end his own life. Not only were lifers not
kept on suicide watch but they were provided with a lethal dose of narcotics
if they requested it. About half of those sentenced to life in prison took
this particular road within their first six months.



The reporters, members of the public, and family members of the principals
all made their way out of the courtroom through the back door. The lawyers,
after a brief conference with Skinman, exited through a side door. This left
the jurors alone with the judge. He looked at his watch, seemed to think for
a minute, and then began to speak. "The next on the docket is Mars vs.
Cousely, which is another assault case. We probably have time to run it out
before 1700 but I say, fuck it. This is the last day of jury service for you
motherfuckers and it's within the realm of conceivability that his case just
might take longer than the end of this particular day. So, with that in
mind, I'll dismiss you early. You've been a good jury. Thank you for getting
down with your civic duty and you're all free of further jury service
obligation for two years. Court is adjourned for the weekend. Party on,
Martians."



With that he stood, belched again, farted, and then strolled out through the
back door to his chambers. The jurors all looked at each other for a moment
and then stood. They spent a few moments saying farewell since they would
not be meeting again. Hugs were exchanged, even a few kisses, particularly
among those cliques that had formed. Ken gave very large hugs to Sandra and
Dazzle, the members of his particular clique. Dazzle was a fourteen-year-old
mother of three. She worked part time as a childcare specialist for the
Martian Day Care system. Sandra was a professional woman of nineteen. A
computer systems engineer, she worked for the Martian Government in the
communications department. She had yet to find that special someone to marry
and have children with although, like most women her age, she was extremely
passionate about sex.



"It's been a lot of fun fucking you two," Ken told them as they walked arm
in arm out the door. He didn't offer to keep in touch with them because he
really didn't want to, nor did they him, or each other for that matter. They
were really nothing more than casual acquaintances. It was just that on
Mars, casual acquaintances liked to fuck each other.



"Yes," Dazzle agreed. "You guys made jury duty a little less boring."



"I thought it was pretty static too," Sandra put in. "And hey, since Skinman
let us out early, why don't we go and tear off one more quick one? I don't
have anything better to do."



"Sounds good to me," Dazzle said casually, taking a quick glance at her
watch.



Ken looked at his own watch. "I'm meeting my girlfriend after jury duty
today," he said. "But since we are out early, I guess I could come over for
a bit."



"Well fuckin' aye then," Sandra said, smiling. "Let's go."



They went, walking the six blocks to Sandra's apartment-the scene of most of
their earlier forays. Once inside they wasted little time before getting
down to business. They stripped off their clothing in the doorway and headed
directly for the living room. Ken sat down on the couch and the two women
knelt before him, passing his cock back and forth so each could suck it,
bringing him to an impressive state of erection. They ran their hands over
each other's bodies as they ministered to him, paying particular attention
to the breasts. Once all were quite hot and bothered, they switched
positions, Dazzle sitting on the couch and Sandra kneeling between her legs
to lick her bald pussy. Ken got behind Sandra and licked her pussy for a
while, enjoying the taste, before sitting up and putting himself inside her
from the rear, slamming in and out of her aggressively in a manner he'd
learned she preferred. After Dazzle's orgasm, the ladies switched places.
Dazzle had a bit of an anal fetish and immediately attacked Sandra's asshole
with her mouth. Ken fucked Dazzle in the pussy for a few strokes and then
pulled out and put himself in her ass. She was very tight here and had
impressive control of her muscles. He rubbed her clitoris as he fucked, just
barely managing to give her another orgasm before shooting his own load deep
into her bowels.



Ken rested for a bit after pulling out of her, smoking a cigarette while the
two women pleasured each other in a 69. After butting his smoke in an
ashtray he was hard again so he slid himself into Sandra once more, plunging
in and out while Dazzle licked and sucked her clitoris. This sent Sandra
careening into a multi-orgasmic frenzy that lasted nearly ten minutes and
left her a quivering mess at the end of it. Dazzle then extricated herself
from the bottom of the pile and went around behind Ken. As he pushed and
pulled out of the semi-catatonic Sandra, Dazzle ran her tongue up and down
in the crack of his ass, probing into his rear hole from time to time until
he blasted another load. She then knelt down and sucked all of his offering
from Sandra's pussy.



He looked at his watch once again and was shocked to see that it was now
1750. He was supposed to meet Slurry at his home in only ten minutes.
"Shit," he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I gotta go."



He dressed quickly and said his final goodbyes to his two jury duty
companions. They gave him one last kiss apiece and went back to their
embrace of each other as he headed out the door. As he walked to the nearest
tram station he pulled out his PC. "Com Slurry," he told it.



A few seconds went by and the hologram of her face appeared before him. "Hi,
Ken," she said, smiling. "You running late?"



"Yeah," he said. "I lost track of time. Sorry. Where are you at now?"



"I'm at your place," she said. "Just got here. You didn't answer the door so
I went ahead and went in. How long until you get home?"



He was not concerned or surprised that Slurry had gone right into his
apartment. They had been dating for three months now and he had long since
given her access to his residence, as she had given access to hers. They
spent as much time together as they could spare from their other obligations
and both had even slept over at the other's place on several occasions,
although always in separate bedrooms. True to the Martian tradition of
courtship, they still hadn't had sexual contact with each other-nothing more
than the occasional passionate session of tongue kissing when things were
particularly heated. As a result, they had been able to explore their
growing friendship with each other without complicating it by sexuality. It
was a friendship that had grown into what Ken could only describe as love,
although neither of them had declared this emotion to each other yet.



"I'm still downtown," he said. "Figure about half an hour or so if I catch a
tram right at the station."



"Okay, you flake," she said affectionately. "I'll just have to find
something to do here while I wait. See you in a bit."



"See you then, Slur," he said. "And I'm sorry about the time. You know it's
not like me."



"Fuckin' aye," she said, and then blew him a kiss. She signed off and her
hologram disappeared. He smiled warmly and put the PC away.



He arrived at his building exactly 33 minutes later, taking the elevator up
to his apartment and using his fingerprint to open the door. He saw that
Slurry had indeed found something to do while she waited. She was sitting in
his desk chair before his computer screen, his VR helmet on her head, his VR
gloves on her hands, and female enhancement stimulators snaking both under
her half-shirt, where they connected with her breasts, and under the leg of
her shorts, where a stimulus would be cupped around her vaginal region. She
was breathing very heavily, her pelvic region rocking slowly back and forth.



Ken smiled as he looked at her, feeling a stirring of sexual wanting within
him that was much stronger than he had felt with his jury duty companions
earlier. Seeing Slurry moving her body in passion, hearing the moans of
pleasure from her mouth, he could imagine what it would be like when it was
time for him to finally make love to her. Though Slurry was certainly not
the most attractive woman he'd had dealings with on Mars, and though she was
far from the sexiest, it was her that he desired more than any Martian who
had come before. He desired her nearly as much as he had desired Annie all
of those years ago, with his heart and soul instead of merely with his body.
He knew now how the Martians were able to separate sexuality from love-how
they could differentiate between the two. Sex was nothing but a pleasure of
the flesh-a desire for reproduction that all humans shared, whether they
wanted to admit it or not. Love was a feeling from within. And though it
triggered strong sexual desire in and of itself, it was still a completely
different emotion.



"Computer," he said, walking over to her. "Pause program."



"Are you high?" the computer asked, which was its way of asking for
confirmation of a command. "Slurry Bagwell is in the middle of a VR porno
program."



"Pause program," he repeated. "I'll take the consequences for my actions."



"Fuckin' aye," the computer responded, actually seeming to sigh in a
don't-say-I-didn't-warn-you tone of voice.



"Ahhh!" Slurry suddenly barked, her body twitching in a mini seizure, her
hands gripping tightly beneath the gloves. "What the shit?"



He let his hands drop down to her shoulders and he massaged her for a
second, letting her know he was there. She relaxed against him at his touch
so he reached down and lifted the helmet up, revealing her face. It was
flushed and slightly damp with perspiration. "It's just me, Slur," he told
her.



"Laura damn it!" she said. "I was in that Mount Everest program and had the
fucking Yeti sticking it to me from behind while a Sherpa sucked my clit!
Couldn't you have waited five more minutes?"



"Haven't you done that program enough?" he asked, leaning down and giving
her a soft kiss on the mouth.



She returned the kiss, the tip of her tongue just flitting out to touch his
lip. "I could never do that program enough," she told him. "And what's that
I taste on your lips? Is that why you're late? You been sucking pussy when
you should have been coming home to me?"



"Yeah, sorry," he said. "The judge let us out early and things got a bit out
of control back at Sandra's place. You know how it is?"



She gave him a scowl, though a minor one-the sort a wife from Ken's day
might have given when her husband was late coming home because he stopped to
have a few drinks with the boys. "The least you could've done was let me
finish with the Yeti," she told him.



"It's only on pause," he said. "I need to go take a quick shower anyway. Why
don't you go ahead and finish up?"



"Well... okay," she said, appeased. She kissed him again, a little longer
this time, the tongue touching his lip with a bit more contact. "She does
taste pretty good."



He chuckled as he headed for the bathroom, hardly even pausing to marvel at
the Martian morality he was now a part of. In the early days of his
relationship with Slurry he used to feel incredible guilt at the
extra-curricular sexuality he participated in. For a time he actually tried
to stop having sexual encounters-although that only lasted a bare two weeks
before Marcella enticed him into a heated session when he'd been over to
visit Karen. After that, he'd actually tried to keep his escapades secret
from his beloved, convinced that, despite everything he'd been told and had
read, she would be infuriated at him for fucking other women while they were
dating. In a way, she had become infuriated-but only because of the
admittedly weak lies he'd offered her as excuses. She cared not in the least
who or how many he fucked, nor did she expect him to care about the same
thing in her.



That too had taken a little getting used to. As far as sexuality went,
Slurry, like Karen, was a committed bisexual. She had been sleeping with the
female manager of the flight line's cafeteria ever since her first week of
employment there and had not even considered breaking off the relationship
when she'd started dating Ken. She was also in the habit of fucking one of
her male doctoral advisors whenever they got together to discuss her
dissertation. Again, this was a relationship that it simply had never
occurred to her to discontinue. She would have been quite offended in fact,
if Ken had asked her to. And then there were the casual fucks she
enjoyed-those random men and women she came across in her day to day life
that a sexual spark clicked with and which, in true Martian fashion, she
pursued to completion despite her terminal shyness.



Rising Automan, one of the senior pilots at the facility, was one such
person. A little over a month into Ken's relationship with Slurry he had
patted Ken on the back and described an encounter in which he and Slurry had
slipped into a supply closet after work and she had sucked him off and let
him come all over her tits.



"She has good technique," he'd told Ken analytically, the way a man would
describe to a friend how a particular golf club functioned, or how a
particular brand of clothing stood up to normal wear and tear. "The tongue
action could use a little more practice and the timing on the switchover
from mouth to hand was a bit off, but I'm sure that's because she's not
quite as experienced as most women."



"Probably," Ken had replied thoughtfully, part of him wanting to throttle
Rising for speaking of his girlfriend that way, part of him grateful for the
information.



But, as Ken had learned on Mars, just about anything can be accepted
eventually, up to and including the sharing of one's girlfriend's sexual
favors with a variety of others. Actually, it wasn't really even sharing per
se, at least not yet, since he himself had yet to benefit from said favors.
He had kissed Slurry, had put his tongue in her mouth, had even tasted the
essence of another woman's vaginal secretions on her lips much as she'd just
done to his lips, but his hand had never touched her breasts, either through
her clothing or beneath it. Her hand had never touched his penis, either
directly or indirectly. Once, in a fit of lustful passion after a date, she
had let her hand stray down to brush across his ass for the briefest of
seconds, a touch that had sent tingles running through his being.



And just when could he expect to finally enjoy Slurry's body? He had posed
that question to the three Martian advisors who kept him current on such
things-Marcella, Karen, and Jacob. Their replies had been unanimous, leaving
no room for misinterpretation. The Martian courtship ritual was actually
quite simple. A couple interested in more than a casual sexual relationship
would abstain from any sexual contact other than hugging or kissing until
such time as they declared their mutual love for each other. So far, such a
thing had not occurred. Such a declaration was considered a sacred thing
among Martians and was not taken lightly. The Martians revered the concept
of love, considering it the greatest gift to humanity. Loathed was the
person who falsely or mistakenly claimed its existence. Such a person was
subject to scorn on the order of a sexual criminal. For this reason, before
making the declaration, one needed to be sure, not only that one really
loved his or her partner, but that the love was mutual. One of the great
heartbreaking moments in Martian culture was to declare your love only to
have your partner tell you it was not returned. Such was the thing sad songs
were written about, that tragic poetry was penned in honor of.



Ken turned such things through his mind as the warm water washed the bodily
secretions of his jury partners from his skin. His penis and testicles had a
raw, used ache to them, the sort of pain that came from overuse. Even so, he
knew from experience he would need to use his masturbation program when he
got home in order to relieve the sexual congestion that being with Slurry
aroused in him-particularly if they engaged in a session of kissing at the
culmination of the date. Part of that was the juice-up the Martian medical
science had given to his body but most of it was simply the feelings she
stirred in him. He always felt like a teenager returning from a date instead
of a full-grown man.



When he emerged from the bathroom dressed in a fresh pair of shorts and a
fresh half-shirt, his teeth brushed and rinsed, his hair damp and neatly
combed, Slurry was standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing off the VR
attachments she had used. Her skin was still lightly flushed and she had a
contented expression on her face.



"How was the Yeti?" Ken asked her, his hand rubbing the small of her back.



"A fuckin' animal, like always," she said with a smile. "I don't know how
women in your day got along with nothing but vibrators and trashy romance
novels. There weren't even decent porno pictures."



"Yes," he said. "The age of darkness. Love it or leave it."



She looked at him with a note of confusion. Even after all this time, she
still didn't understand many of his humorous references. She was at least
attuned to him well enough now to know that he was joking. "I need to take a
shower too," she said at last. "I smell like pussy."



"Nothing wrong with smelling like pussy," he said. "In fact, its one of my
favorite smells."



"I'm sure it is," she said, "but tonight we're going to a nice place for
dinner."



"We are? I thought I'd just cook us up a couple of steaks and open some of
that EastHem wine."



"No fuckin' way," she said. "Tonight is a special occasion. I have something
to celebrate."



"You do? What is it?"



"Later," she said, handing him the VR attachments, which were still dripping
with water. "All will come in time." She pecked him on the cheek and walked
past him, heading for his bathroom. A moment later the door slid shut behind
her.



+++++



It turned out she was not exaggerating in the least when she said they were
going to a nice place. They rode the tram to the Calistoga district on the
edge of the newer section of the city, about five kilometers from downtown.
Here, on the very edge of the inhabited area, stood the tallest building in
New Pittsburgh-the Calistoga Tower. Rising 240 floors above the street
level, the Calistoga Tower was a top-end housing and commercial building.
Some of the richest people on Mars lived and shopped within its walls-it was
in fact where Angleworth Griffith and wife had made their home before the
latter took up residence in the duck pond and the former took up residence
in the penal system. On the top floor of this building was what was arguably
the nicest, most exclusive restaurant on Mars-Zalibu's Chowdown.



"How did you get a reservation at Zalibu's?" Ken asked her as they entered
the lobby of the building. Zalibu's was one of the few restaurants on Mars
that even took reservations and the waiting list was rumored to be nearly a
month long at any given time. Unlike what had been the case on Earth,
bribery of the maitre d or being a well-known person was of absolutely no
help whatsoever.



"Well..." she said furtively, her eyes casting downward in mild shame, "I
probably shouldn't say."



Ken looked at her, shocked. "You didn't?" he asked. "You bought
reservations?" What he was referring to was the black market-something that
existed in every society to one degree or another. In the case of Mars the
items that could be illegally obtained were limited mostly to such things as
concert and sporting event tickets that had sold out and reservations to
places such as Zalibu's. Various unsavory entrepreneurs risked criminal
fines that amounted to ten to thirty percent of their monthly salary in
order to obtain such items and sell them at inflated cost to others by word
of mouth. College campuses were particularly active black markets.



"Sorry, but I really wanted to take you here tonight," she said. "I hope you
don't think badly of me."



"Jeez, Slurry," he said. "How much did you pay?"



"It wasn't bad, just ten credits."



"Ten credits!"



"Shush," she told him, putting her finger to his lips. "Like I said, it's a
special occasion."



They rode the elevator up to the top of the building and stepped out into
the restaurant foyer. Zalibu's was one of the only places that utilized the
old fashioned method of service in that they had an actual maitre d, actual
paper menus, and servers who actually took the orders manually. It was also
one of the few restaurants that served seafood, which was a rarity on Mars
since there were no oceans. All seafood on Mars was shipped either live or
frozen from Earth, the only meat product that was actually imported. Ken
inhaled the savory smell of cooking fish and shrimp as they approached the
reservation desk.



The maitre d was a bald, Asian-descended man of about twenty. He looked them
up and down as they approached, his face friendly. "What the fuck you want?"
he asked them politely.



"We have 1900 reservations for uh... Killian," Slurry said.



The maitre d's face scowled a bit as he heard this. "Killian huh?" he asked
knowingly.



"Fuckin' aye," Slurry agreed.



He checked his computer screen for a moment and then nodded. "Shag your
asses after me," he told them. "We have a table with a view for you, Mrs.
Killian, as requested."



"I'm Mrs. Bagwell," she told him in order to keep from contradicting her
name when it came time to pay the bill. "This is Mr. Killian here."



"Of course it is," he said, turning and leading them into the restaurant.



Ken felt his face flushing as they turned the corner and entered the main
dining area. He hated doing things that were illegal, even if the offense
was nothing more than the equivalent of fudging a bit on taxes in his day or
of buying a dime bag of marijuana. His guilty conscience was assuaged quite
a bit when he saw the view they were being provided with. The entire
southern and eastern walls of the dining room were transparent, allowing a
beautiful view of the wastelands and the downtown high rises. The sun had
just set, leaving a twilight glow on everything. Even as someone who flew
for a living and regularly saw things from a panoramic height, Ken was still
impressed. "This is very nice, Slurry," he told her.



"Fuckin' aye it is," she replied as he pulled her chair out for her at the
corner table. "I've never been here before. It's pretty fuckin' rankin'."



Ken, still instilled with his twentieth century upbringing, waited until she
was seated before he himself took a seat. Once they were settled the maitre
d told them that Billings would be their waitress for the evening and that
the intoxicant steward would be with them shortly to arrange for pre-dinner
wine and bonghits.



"Thank you," Slurry told him.



"Ain't no skin off my ass," he said, turning and leaving them.



They ordered two hits apiece of some good Eden greenbud and a bottle of
French chardonnay. They then were given menus to peruse. Ken blanched as he
saw the prices.



"Jesus, Slurry," he said. "I've never seen food so expensive on Mars
before."



"Rent is high in this building," Slurry told him. "Also, Zalibu has three
times the employees to pay as any other restaurateur. I'm sure his profit
margin is within legal limits."



"I'm sure it is," he said. "But you can't afford this on a student stipend
and a cafeteria worker's salary! Why don't you let me pay for it?"



"Oh, take your twentieth century chivalry and shove it up your ass," she
said. "I invited you and I'm paying. Besides, you're Mr. Killian, remember?
You can't pay unless you re-program the banking computer to recognize you by
that name."



"Sorry, but..."



"No buts. I want to do this, Ken. I've always wanted to come here and
tonight is the perfect occasion."



"Okay," he said. "But what's the news you told me about? I'm dying of
curiosity."



"Wait until the wine comes," she said. "We have to toast this one."



The bonghits actually came first. They sucked them up through lemon-flavored
ice water and felt the effects go immediately to their heads. Finally the
wine was delivered. The intoxicant steward poured them each a glass and then
beat a retreat, leaving them alone.



"Okay," Slurry said, barely able to contain her excitement. "Are you ready
for the news?"



"Fuckin' aye."



She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "I got a com today
about a job I applied for after my doctoral is finished."



"Yeah?" he said, pleased. Now that she was nearly done with her studies and
her dissertation was almost complete, she had been applying for various
positions, most of them at universities as a professor of history. "Who was
it?"



"I'll give you one hint," she said. "The com came from the capital
building."



"The capital building..." He looked up at her, knowing immediately what she
was talking about. One month before she had submitted an application for a
position with the Martian Historical Advisement Department. This was a
government agency that concerned itself with the study of history and
research into all aspects of it. They advised on textbook standards for the
Martian schools, researching and verifying facts when needed. They wrote
opinion pieces on various historical precedents if a controversial subject
came up. They gave historical briefings to the Martian Supreme Court, the
Martian Congress, and the Executive Office when such bodies had to deal with
a subject in which a perspective of history was required. Most of all, they
researched everything historical, verifying and investigating subjects
beyond the university level. For a historian it was perhaps the most
prestigious position available and Slurry-though a well-respected doctoral
student-had applied for it only as a fantasy, with no hope they would
actually consider her. "What did they say?" Ken asked.



"They were impressed with the portions of my doctorate I submitted to them,"
she said. "They need a junior research specialist for the late 20th to early
21st century period. They've offered me the position as soon as my PhD is
complete."



"Slurry, that's rankin'," he told her, squeezing her hand, pleased for her.
It was always nice to see someone obtain a life goal, especially when that
person was someone who had worked as hard as Slurry had.



"Isn't it?" she said, excitement radiating from her. "I'm gonna work in the
capital building, Ken. I'm going to be work where I've always wanted to
work, with access to everything the Martian government can hack into from
the Earth computer system! It's a dream come true. It's almost as good as
meeting you in the first place! The information I'll be able to get! And
I'll be able to cross check a lot of it by asking you about it! This is
perfect for a first career! Absolutely fucking perfect!"



They toasted her success multiple times, plowing their way through the first
bottle of wine before even giving their dinner order to Billings, the
waitress. Slurry talked excitedly the entire time about the research she
would be able to accomplish, the prestige she would be able to enjoy, the
Martian officials she would be able to brief. It was conceivable that she
might give a briefing to Mitsy Brown herself. Her enthusiasm was contagious
and Ken found himself sharing it with her.



Dinner was nothing short of exquisite, especially for Ken, who had not had
any seafood since he'd lived on Earth. They enjoyed steamed clams, breaded
white fish, crab legs, and saut�ed shrimp, washing all of it down with
another bottle of French Chardonnay. By the time the plates were taken away
and Slurry paid the bill-she coughed up eighteen credits, an obscene amount
for a two person dinner-both were quite stuffed, feeling the wonderful
sensation that came from extreme gluttony.



"Let's take a walk," Slurry suggested when they reached the ground floor of
the building. "It'll help settle our food down."



"Sounds like a plan," he said, rubbing his bulging stomach. "Where should we
go? The park?"



"Fuckin' aye," she replied, leading him out the lobby doors and turning
left, toward Starview Park, one of the larger recreational areas of New
Pittsburgh.



The south entrance of the park was ten blocks away-a short jaunt to a
Martian-and they reached it twenty minutes later. Like in all Martian parks,
the glass ceiling here was several hundred meters above the ground level.
But unlike most parks, this one faced out over the wastelands on two sides
instead of being completely surrounded by high-rise buildings. The
landscaping was simple, consisting of grassy, tree-lined hills of varying
size with concrete footpaths winding this way and that between them. It was
perhaps the closest thing to a forest to be found on the planet. Since it
was now well after sunset, the park was dark with only a few strategically
placed lamps on the foot trails and the ambient lighting from the distant
buildings providing illumination. The two lovers walked hand in hand along
one of the trails, heading by unspoken consent toward the most isolated
portion of the park. They passed several other people as they strolled, most
couples or triples of lovers.



"Let's climb the hill," Slurry suggested when they reached the far corner of
the enclosure. They were at the base of one of the taller hills. It
stretched about 150 meters toward the ceiling, its slopes lined with pine
and redwood trees but its summit bare.



"Let's do it," Ken agreed.



They mounted the moderately steep slope and began working their way upward,
following along a well worn pathway created by others who had gone this way
before them. When they entered the clearing at the top they were able to see
how the park had gotten its name. The bulk of the other hills behind them
blocked the city lights from reaching the perch. Above them, shining in all
their glory, were the bright diamonds of a billion stars stretching across
the sky in all directions. About thirty degrees above the southern horizon,
Phobos, the larger of the two Martian moons, was making one of its thrice
daily trips across the sky. Appearing about half the size of Earth's moon in
a relative way, and glowing a beautiful pinkish-white, its movement from
west to east was plainly visible as they lay on their backs on the hill.



"This is one of the few places in the city you can get a good look at
Phobos," Slurry said, putting the back of her head on Ken's shoulder. "It's
so low in the sky and so small. Have you ever been to Ore City?"



Ore City was the third oldest city on Mars, high in the northern latitudes,
located over a particularly rich iron ore deposit. "Never," Ken said,
putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer, enjoying the
feel of her body against his, enjoying the moment.



"I spent a few months there between my master's degree and starting my
doctoral. You can't see Phobos at all from there-it's below the horizon. And
you can only see Deimos about ten degrees over the horizon. I missed the
moons while I was there, more than I ever would have thought."



"They're really pretty from Eden," Ken said. "They both go right over the
top of you since it's a zero latitude city. I used to lay on the serenity
level at night sometimes and just stare at them as they went by. I would
marvel that I was really on Mars, that I was really hundreds of millions of
miles from my home, on an alien planet. Sometimes it would make me sad,
homesick in a certain sort of way."



"Do you miss the Earth's moon?" she asked him, snuggling a little closer.



"Yeah," he said. "I really do. It was the one I grew up with, that I used to
look at through a telescope, that I used to imagine walking on someday, even
though I knew it would never happen."



"Maybe you'll get to go to Earth sometime, so you can see it again."



He shrugged. "It wouldn't be the same," he told her. "When I used to look at
the moon there was nothing on it, just the craters and the shadows. I've
seen the pictures of what it looks like now. There are cities up there. You
can see the sunlight reflecting off the buildings. You can see the orbiting
cities going around and around it. Even when it's a new moon, when you
shouldn't be able to see it at all, the city lights glow all over the
surface."



"Some people think that's beautiful," Slurry said.



"And in a way, it is. But it's not the moon I left behind."



"You miss living in that time, don't you?" she asked him.



He sighed. "Sometimes," he told her. "I like living on Mars and I like
living under your common sense rules, but sometimes I just long for home-for
my home, the way it used to be. Part of it is living indoors all the time.
No matter where you are on this planet, even here, in this park, among all
of these trees, we're still inside. We're under a ceiling. You have no idea
what its like to be outside, do you?"



"No," she said. "I don't."



"You've never felt wind on your face or rain coming down on you. You've
never felt how nice it is to jump into a swimming pool when it's hot
outside. You've never swam in the ocean at all, or been out on a boat, or
gone on a camping trip, or gone fishing. You've never been in a real forest
before, way up in the mountains, feeling the chilly air that comes with high
altitude, smelling the pine trees, knowing there's no one else around for
miles. Not everything about Earth was bad."



"I'd love to experience those things someday," she said wistfully.



"And that's the problem," he said. "Most of them you can't do anymore, even
if you do live on Earth. Only the very rich have private swimming pools now,
swimming in the ocean and private fishing is illegal because of their
environmental laws, and all of the mountainous areas have either been turned
into housing developments or they're owned by the government and trespassing
is illegal."



"True," she said. "It wouldn't be the same as your day. Not even close. But
that's not all you miss from that time, is it?"



"No," he said, not bothering to fib. They had talked at length on several
occasions about Annie and what his relationship with her had been like. "I
still miss her. I think maybe I always will."



"You had true love," she said. "It happens here on Mars fairly often since
we've managed to separate the concepts of love and sex and to remove the
societal pressure from marriage, but in your day it was rare indeed. You
were a lucky man."



"Yes," he said solemnly. "And it was that love that has allowed me to live
here now, in this time. Annie had me frozen because we loved each other so
much, because she thought we'd be able to meet again some day. Most other
wives of the time wouldn't have done that."



"You feel guilty sometimes because you're still alive and she's dead,"
Slurry said. It was not a question.



He nodded. "Especially lately," he told her. A pause, a deep breath. "Since
I met you."



"Oh?"



"Fuckin' aye," he said. "Because... well... because I seem to have stumbled
across that perfect person for the second time in my life."



Her eyes widened. She sat up a little and looked into his eyes. "What do you
mean, Ken?"



"I think you know what I mean," he said.



"I think you're right," she said. "But I just want to be clear. It's the
Martian way, you know."



"Yes, it is, isn't it?" He sighed again, wondering if this was the right
time to say it or not, knowing that one way or another he was going to have
to. "I love you, Slurry. I've known it for quite some time and maybe I
should have told you this earlier, but I do. I'm in love with you. You are
that special person."



She sniffed a little, a tear tracking down the side of her face. "I love you
too, Ken," she said. "I have since maybe our first date. I should have told
you earlier, too. I know how you feel about me, I really do... but... I also
know about the issue you have with it."



"The issue?"



She nodded. "You love me," she said. "But you don't love me as much as you
did Annie, do you?"



"Slurry..." he started.



"It's okay, Ken," she said. "It really is. True love has degrees, even when
it's mutual, as ours is. I understand that I can never replace Annie, that
I'll never be her equal in your heart. I'm just glad you've found a place
for me in it, that you do feel the same way about me as I feel about you."



He smiled, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her nose. "You really are
an incredible woman, Slurry Bagwell," he told her. "You're incredibly smart,
even in a culture where high IQs are as common as ragweed, and you're very
perceptive."



"I am what I am," she said.



"You just quoted Popeye," he said.



She giggled. "It seemed to fit the occasion." She rolled over, so she was
laying half on his chest. "Don't feel guilty for loving me while Annie is
dead," she told him. "It's possible to love more than one person in a
lifetime. Really it is. We have people here on Mars that even love more than
one at the same time. Look at John and Mark and Jillian. They all love each
other, don't they?"



John and Mark and Jillian were the triple that lived in the residence next
door to Slurry and were occasional social acquaintances. The only polygamous
marriage that Ken had ever had close contact with, they did indeed exude a
clear vibe that they were all deeply in love with each other. "Yes, they
do."



"So you see? It can and does happen. We have something special Ken-not as
special as what you enjoyed with Annie, but still special all the same. So
let's enjoy it, nurture it, see where it goes, shall we? We both have a long
lifetime in front of us and, though I never knew Annie, I'm certain she
wouldn't have wanted you to spend the second chance at life she gave to you
all alone, mourning her year after year. I think she would've wanted you to
find love again. Aren't you glad she found the same?"



"Yes," he said truthfully.



"Then there's nothing to feel guilty for. We love each other and the world
is a good place. Let's enjoy ourselves. That's what being in love is all
about, isn't it?"



"Fuckin' aye," he said. "That's what it's all about."



They lay in silence for a few minutes, each pondering the gravity of what
had just occurred, their arms around each other, their eyes watching Phobos
as it continued its trek across the sky. From around them came the pleasant
chirping of crickets and the occasional hooting of a night owl calling to a
companion. Ken let his fingertips rub up and down the bare skin of Slurry's
upper arm as she snuggled to him. She cuddled closer in response and he
turned his face to hers, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on her
mouth.



They held the kiss, letting it linger, keeping it romantic for the first few
moments but gradually letting it heat up to something a bit more passionate.
Ken's tongue stabbed out and licked at her upper lip. Her tongue emerged to
greet it, tip to tip at first, and then a full-fledged caress. They rolled
toward each other as their tongues danced, their arms going to each other's
backs. Ken felt the smooth flesh of her lower back, running his fingertips
up and down on it. Slurry slid her bare leg against his, rubbing it softly
up and down, thigh to thigh, her toes gliding over his ankle.



The kissing quickly grew more heated, going from passionate to lustful,
tongues plunging deeply into mouths, hands making more daring explorations.
Slurry put her hands under the back of his shirt, feeling the muscles there,
her fingernails scratching at his skin in a way that sent shivers up and
down his spine. He let his own hands move around her body to the front, so
he was touching her belly, someplace he had never touched her before. Her
flesh here was baby soft, almost silky. It was not a rock-hard abdomen by
any means since most Martians did not bother with physical exercises
designed to tone such body parts (there were no health clubs or exercise
rooms on Mars since genetic manipulation was a far superior means of
preventing obesity), but neither was it a fat one either. Ken liked the way
it felt under his hand, enjoyed the sensation much more than he had when
he'd touched the bellies of other women.



"Kiss my neck," Slurry whispered to him, breaking the kiss. "I love it when
you kiss my neck."



"Mmmm," Ken moaned, moving his mouth downward just a bit and fastening his
lips just below her ear. He kissed and licked, running the back of his
tongue down the line of her jaw from the earlobe. He felt her hands tighten
on his back as he did so.



"Oh yes," she sighed. "I love you, Ken. I love you!"



"I love you too, Slurry," he said again, knowing she wanted to keep hearing
it, enjoying hearing it himself.



Already they had gone much farther in sexuality than they had ever gone with
each other before. Ken found himself on unfamiliar ground, in a state of
nervous uncertainty unlike anything he'd experienced since his days as a
teen fumbling with a date in the back seat of a car. How far should this
encounter go? He knew that once love was declared the relationship could be
consummated, but was there other etiquette involved? Was one expected to
make arrangements in advance for a romantic setting? Was there any sort of
ceremony involved? And what about the sex itself? Were you supposed to do
the physical, lustful, need release sort of sex you did with your other
partners? Or were you supposed to be more tender? Should he stop this
encounter now? Or was he supposed to go forth with it immediately upon
making the declaration?



"Your hands feel nice on me," Slurry whispered, her fingers scratching at
the back of his neck now.



"Yes," he mumbled, continuing to kiss her neck, his brain whirring with
questions of should I or shouldn't I, will she or won't she.



"Why don't you move them up a little?" she suggested. "I think I'd really
like to feel them in other places too."



"Okay," he said, a little breathlessly. "I think they'd like to feel you in
other places."



They went back to kissing, their tongues resuming the duel. Ken let his hand
move upward, pushing it beneath the elastic of her half-shirt. He felt the
underswell of her breasts pushing against his fingers. He caressed her for a
few seconds and then moved up further, cupping the breast in his hand. Her
nipple was hard and pushed into his palm. She sighed into his mouth at the
contact, her body twisting into him to increase the pressure. He let his
hand move to the side, to the other breast, cupping that one as well,
comparing it to its twin, and then, unable to help himself, he lifted up on
his arm, pushing her top toward her neck, baring both breasts to his eyes.



Slurry trembled a little but made no move to stop him. He broke the kiss and
looked down at what was revealed. Though the light was dim, there was enough
available for him to drink in the sight of her naked chest. Her breasts were
neither large nor small, nothing that would have graced the pages of a
pornographic magazine from his day, but beautiful to his eyes all the same.
The size of oranges and with the slightest sag, they were the set that
Mother Nature had intended Slurry to have. Martian women all had natural
breasts. There was no such thing as enhancement surgery, nor was it
fashionable to genetically alter the natural growth of the mammaries. Ken
let his fingertip touch the tip of one nipple, swirling his finger around
it, manipulating it. Finally, he could take no more and he lowered his mouth
to it, suckling the nipple between his lips.



"Oh yes, Ken," Slurry moaned, her hand going to the back of his neck to
encourage him. "Oh Laura yes!"



He sucked and slurped and kissed all around the nipple, his hand busy
squeezing and palpating the other breast. When it was as hard as a pebble
and protruding upward he switched to the other one, marveling at how
sensuous what he was doing to Slurry felt in comparison to the nipples he's
suckled during botching trips or his other meaningless encounters. These
were nipples he had fantasized about for months, nipples he'd seen poking
through her shirt at times that had driven him mad with desire. He tongued
and licked, sucked and touched, even bit gently from time to time, relishing
every moan his actions produced.



Slurry, meanwhile, apparently decided to put her hands on a few things she'd
been fantasizing about as well. Her fingers went into the back of his
shorts, to his ass, where she squeezed and felt the cheeks, touching them
everywhere, pulling his body tighter against her, so his cock was pushing
into her thigh. She then let her hand slide around under the shorts to the
front. He felt her fingers on his upper thigh and then they were touching
his cock, sliding up and down the shaft.



"Oh yes, Ken," she breathed as she got a firm grasp on him. "Do you know how
long I've been staring at that bulge in your shorts, wanting to get in
there?"



"Mmmm," he said, enjoying her hand action. "About as long as I've wanted to
get my mouth on these tits."



"Take me now, Ken," she said. "Right here! I want to feel you inside me."



"Shouldn't we uh... go back to my place?" he asked hesitantly, again
wondering of the etiquette of the situation.



"No," she told him firmly, desire dripping from her tone. "I want you right
now, under the stars, under Phobos. Take my shorts off and make love to me.
Fuck me!"



He didn't need to be told twice. He was barely able to control his own
desire as it was. He raised up and grasped the waist of her shorts, pulling
them down and off of her legs. She spread them for him as soon as the shorts
were clear and he was startled to see what had been revealed. Slurry had
pubic hair, not a lot of it-the area of her vaginal lips was smooth and
there was only a tuft on the pubic region-but it was startling to see in a
society where every other woman he'd been with was bare.



"Do you like it?" she asked him, seeing his interest. "I had it done in 21st
century just for you."



"It's gorgeous," he said with honesty. Though the smooth-shaven look of
Martian women had been exciting at first he was still a product of his
upbringing and liked to see a little hair on his woman.



"Now let's put it to use," she said, her hand reaching out and grasping the
bulge in his shorts. "Get these things off and show me how much you love me.
Let me feel it."



He slid his shorts down and, after a bit of clumsy fumbling, managed to get
them off. His cock was extremely hard despite its earlier usage, almost
painful in its rigidity. Slurry stroked it one last time and then lay on her
back, her legs spread widely. There was just enough light for him to see how
swollen her lips were, to see the slight glint of Phobos' light in the
moisture clinging to her. He took his shirt off as well and then brought his
body down atop hers, his bare chest against her breasts, his outer thighs
touching her inner thighs. His cock slid through her pubic hair and he moved
it downward until it was sliding through the wetness of her lips.



"Yes, Ken," she whispered in his ear, her hands caressing his bare back. "Do
it to me. It's time."



"Yes," he moaned, leaning down to kiss her. As his tongue touched hers he
pushed forward, sliding the head of his cock into her body, spreading the
moisture around. Once firmly seated he thrust into her, burying himself to
the hilt in her tightness. Both of them sighed in sheer pleasure at the
intrusion.



He moved in and out of her, feeling her grip him in the Martian way, feeling
her pelvis rise up to meet each of his strokes. In a purely physical sense
she was no different than any other Martian woman he'd had, was in fact not
quite as adept as many. But the emotional sensation of doing it with someone
he loved, with someone he had desired so badly made it the difference
between night and day. This was Slurry he was thrusting into, it was
Slurry's sex that caressed his cock, Slurry's musk that was rising up into
the air around them, Slurry's juices that were clinging to his cock and
saturating his balls. That made it so much better than anything else-better
in fact, he hated to admit-than making love to Annie had been since Annie
had never had the sexuality training that Martian women received in the
public school system.



"Oh yes, Ken," Slurry told him between kisses. "So good. I knew it would be.
I just knew it would."



"Me too," he grunted in agreement, picking up the pace a little as more of
the lust of the situation took over. "Me too."



Ken was, of course, well versed in the expectations of Martian sexuality by
now. Though it was a struggle, he held himself back from orgasm as he ground
against her, stimulating her clit with each stroke. Fortunately, Slurry was
as keyed up with desire as he was. It was less than five minutes before her
body began to shake and twitch with the onset of orgasm. Her legs went up
around his back and tightened there. Her hands went to his ass, pulling him
harder into her body, making him grind at her with more force. When she
reached her peak her fingernails raked into his ass, leaving marks. Her
mouth bit down on his lower lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. Even
before the spasms died down she began encouraging him to let his own
pleasure come forth.



"Come in me, Ken," she panted, biting and licking at his neck. "I want to
feel you shoot inside my pussy!"



He began to thrust even harder, releasing the mental block he'd placed on
his orgasm. Once done, it hit with overwhelming speed and power, the waves
of pleasure exploding throughout his groin and abdomen, leaving him
momentarily breathless. With a cry of ecstasy he began to shoot inside her,
blasting against her cervix, shot after shot, his hips undulating wildly.



"Oh yessss!" Slurry cried, feeling it. "That's it! Yesssssss!"



They lay there afterward for nearly twenty minutes, still locked in their
embrace, the sweat slowly drying from their skin. Phobos continued to track
across the sky and finally disappeared over the eastern horizon. It would
rise again in about eight hours in the west. They shared a few kisses but
talked little, simply enjoyed the closeness. It was only when another
couple-this one two women-emerged from the tree line to have their own
romantic encounter atop the hill, that they finally broke apart.



"Let's go back to your place," Slurry suggested. "Maybe we can find
something to do there."



"Maybe we can," Ken agreed.



They kissed and felt each other's body during most of the tram ride to
Ken's. Once there they went to the bedroom. They didn't sleep very much that
night.







To be continued in Chapter 12

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