Deadline
Page 88
“No.” She smiled, a little wryly. “I just wanted to let you know that I have condoms.”
I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I blinked for a moment, and then nodded. “Cool, because if I have any, they’re downstairs.” Actually, I wasn’t sure whether I had condoms in my pack or not. I hadn’t needed that sort of thing in so long that I’d stopped thinking about it, since thinking about it didn’t do me a damn bit of good. Sex wasn’t a factor in this post-George world. There just wasn’t time.
Becks smiled a little more, looking surprisingly shy, considering that we were buck-ass naked and twisted around each other. “Will you let me up?” she asked.
“Um, right.” It took some effort to untangle our limbs. She stood, stretching to give me the best possible view of her body—and I had to admit, the girl was stacked—before crossing to her pack and bending to rummage through one of the inside pockets. I stayed on the bed, feeling suddenly awkward and not exactly sure where I was supposed to put my hands. That was another thing I never had to worry about before. I wasn’t even sure I was supposed to be looking at her when she wasn’t in the bed. I settled for sitting up with my hands resting loosely between my thighs, looking in her direction, but trying to keep myself from really looking. She might get upset if I looked away. She might decide I didn’t like the way she looked or something.
Jesus. When did life get so damn complicated?
“Here we go.” Becks turned, a foil-wrapped condom held between her thumb and forefinger, and walked back toward the bed. “I’ve got a birth control implant, but you can’t be too careful, right?”
“Right,” I echoed, faintly. The pause had given me time to think, which wasn’t such a good thing. My body was still voting in favor of going through with things, but now my brain was trying to weigh in on the topic, and it wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea. It was reasonably sure that this was a really bad idea, and if there was any time to stop, this was it.
Becks tore the foil.
My brain found itself outvoted in a sudden upset sponsored by the body and supported by every hormone I had. I was reaching for her, and she was reaching for me, and then her fingers were unrolling the condom along the length of my cock, and then coherent thought took a backseat for a while. Its services were no longer required, or really wanted. Everything that mattered was in the bed, and none of it took the slightest bit of thinking. All I had to do was act. So I closed my eyes, cupped my hands against the side of her waist, and let the moment do the driving.
I don’t know how long the moment lasted. Long enough that when it ended, I was even more exhausted. It was a better exhaustion, it was just… all-consuming, the kind of tired that it’s almost impossible to fight. I helped clean up the mess with my eyes half-closed, fumbling as we got the damp sheets and the used condom into the appropriate hampers and waste baskets. Then I sagged back into the mattress, relaxing utterly as my head hit the pillow. It felt like all the tension was finally running out of me, leaving me floating in that wonderful horizon between half-asleep and all the way gone.
Fingers trailed down the length of my chest, coming to rest just above my navel. “Good night, Shaun,” whispered a voice, inches from my ear.
God. For the first time in longer than I could remember, the world felt like it was actually back the way that it was supposed to be. I brought up a hand to brush my knuckles against her cheek, smelling the sweet-salt-sex smell of her, and smiled.
“Good night, George,” I said, and slipped away into sleep.
Mankind’s history is littered with singularities—big moments that changed everything, even if nobody knew they were coming The discovery of antibiotic medicine was a singularity. Before that, it was normal for women to die of “childbed fever,” a simple staph infection making them die slowly and in great agony. Cavities killed. Antibiotics changed all that, and less than fifty years later, the thought of living the way people lived before antibiotics was alien to almost everyone.
The industrial revolution was a singularity. As you sit reading this, consider that, once, electric lighting was considered a luxury, and some people weren’t even sure it would catch on. The idea that someday the entire world would be run by machines was crazy, preposterous science fiction… but it happened.
The Rising was a singularity. The way we live today isn’t just a little different. It’s alien. Our paradigm has shifted, and it can’t be shifted back. That’s why so many of the old rules of psychology don’t apply anymore. Once the dead are walking, crazy’s what you make it.
—From Cabin Fever Dream, guest blog of Barbara Tinney, April 20, 2041
Tonight’s watch-along film is that classic of the genre, The Evil Dead, wherein a truly spicy young Bruce Campbell—yum—is menaced by demons, evil trees, and his own hand. I’ll be opening the chat room at eight Pacific, and live blogging the whole movie for those of you whose attention spans won’t tolerate anything longer than a few hundred characters.
I hope to see you all online, and remember, last person to log on owes me a drink.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 20, 2041
Sixteen
I woke sprawled buck-ass
naked on the guest room bed, surrounded by the furry mounds of sleeping bulldogs. Groaning, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. The door was open about a foot—just enough to explain my unwanted guests. I scrubbed at my face with one hand, trying to wake up enough to start worrying about my clothes. “Guess it’s time to deal with another f**king morning, huh, George?”
I hadn’t even thought that far ahead. I blinked for a moment, and then nodded. “Cool, because if I have any, they’re downstairs.” Actually, I wasn’t sure whether I had condoms in my pack or not. I hadn’t needed that sort of thing in so long that I’d stopped thinking about it, since thinking about it didn’t do me a damn bit of good. Sex wasn’t a factor in this post-George world. There just wasn’t time.
Becks smiled a little more, looking surprisingly shy, considering that we were buck-ass naked and twisted around each other. “Will you let me up?” she asked.
“Um, right.” It took some effort to untangle our limbs. She stood, stretching to give me the best possible view of her body—and I had to admit, the girl was stacked—before crossing to her pack and bending to rummage through one of the inside pockets. I stayed on the bed, feeling suddenly awkward and not exactly sure where I was supposed to put my hands. That was another thing I never had to worry about before. I wasn’t even sure I was supposed to be looking at her when she wasn’t in the bed. I settled for sitting up with my hands resting loosely between my thighs, looking in her direction, but trying to keep myself from really looking. She might get upset if I looked away. She might decide I didn’t like the way she looked or something.
Jesus. When did life get so damn complicated?
“Here we go.” Becks turned, a foil-wrapped condom held between her thumb and forefinger, and walked back toward the bed. “I’ve got a birth control implant, but you can’t be too careful, right?”
“Right,” I echoed, faintly. The pause had given me time to think, which wasn’t such a good thing. My body was still voting in favor of going through with things, but now my brain was trying to weigh in on the topic, and it wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea. It was reasonably sure that this was a really bad idea, and if there was any time to stop, this was it.
Becks tore the foil.
My brain found itself outvoted in a sudden upset sponsored by the body and supported by every hormone I had. I was reaching for her, and she was reaching for me, and then her fingers were unrolling the condom along the length of my cock, and then coherent thought took a backseat for a while. Its services were no longer required, or really wanted. Everything that mattered was in the bed, and none of it took the slightest bit of thinking. All I had to do was act. So I closed my eyes, cupped my hands against the side of her waist, and let the moment do the driving.
I don’t know how long the moment lasted. Long enough that when it ended, I was even more exhausted. It was a better exhaustion, it was just… all-consuming, the kind of tired that it’s almost impossible to fight. I helped clean up the mess with my eyes half-closed, fumbling as we got the damp sheets and the used condom into the appropriate hampers and waste baskets. Then I sagged back into the mattress, relaxing utterly as my head hit the pillow. It felt like all the tension was finally running out of me, leaving me floating in that wonderful horizon between half-asleep and all the way gone.
Fingers trailed down the length of my chest, coming to rest just above my navel. “Good night, Shaun,” whispered a voice, inches from my ear.
God. For the first time in longer than I could remember, the world felt like it was actually back the way that it was supposed to be. I brought up a hand to brush my knuckles against her cheek, smelling the sweet-salt-sex smell of her, and smiled.
“Good night, George,” I said, and slipped away into sleep.
Mankind’s history is littered with singularities—big moments that changed everything, even if nobody knew they were coming The discovery of antibiotic medicine was a singularity. Before that, it was normal for women to die of “childbed fever,” a simple staph infection making them die slowly and in great agony. Cavities killed. Antibiotics changed all that, and less than fifty years later, the thought of living the way people lived before antibiotics was alien to almost everyone.
The industrial revolution was a singularity. As you sit reading this, consider that, once, electric lighting was considered a luxury, and some people weren’t even sure it would catch on. The idea that someday the entire world would be run by machines was crazy, preposterous science fiction… but it happened.
The Rising was a singularity. The way we live today isn’t just a little different. It’s alien. Our paradigm has shifted, and it can’t be shifted back. That’s why so many of the old rules of psychology don’t apply anymore. Once the dead are walking, crazy’s what you make it.
—From Cabin Fever Dream, guest blog of Barbara Tinney, April 20, 2041
Tonight’s watch-along film is that classic of the genre, The Evil Dead, wherein a truly spicy young Bruce Campbell—yum—is menaced by demons, evil trees, and his own hand. I’ll be opening the chat room at eight Pacific, and live blogging the whole movie for those of you whose attention spans won’t tolerate anything longer than a few hundred characters.
I hope to see you all online, and remember, last person to log on owes me a drink.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 20, 2041
Sixteen
I woke sprawled buck-ass
naked on the guest room bed, surrounded by the furry mounds of sleeping bulldogs. Groaning, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. The door was open about a foot—just enough to explain my unwanted guests. I scrubbed at my face with one hand, trying to wake up enough to start worrying about my clothes. “Guess it’s time to deal with another f**king morning, huh, George?”
