Erotic Hitchhiker's Guide

He crooked his head just enough to get a good look at the figure snuggled in beside him on the bed. Sapphire, that was the name she'd given in the strip club. Surely a name she'd adopted for work, but it seemed churlish to question her at the moment. She was covered in sweat, and consequently smelled more than he was used to with Cindy. Not unpleasantly, he would have guessed she had just finished a long jog, or a series of athletic maneuvers on a pole under hot lights.

He still wasn't clear why she'd asked to go back to his flat on the spur of the moment. They'd enjoyed a nice, cozy time on the couch of the back room his thirty pounds had rented. She'd let him feel her breasts, and look at her jenny, and she'd rubbed her buttocks on his crotch, after surreptitiously rousing him with her hand. (She always seemed to be on the lookout, always wary of prying eyes, though whether she was more worried about the management or a surprise raid from the cops he couldn't be certain.) But more and more she just seemed to want to hold him against her and do things like nibble on his ear and his neck. Finally she planted a kiss full on his lips, then said, "You should know, I NEVER do that."

Arthur was immediately worried. "Are we going to get in trouble?" Then he felt ashamed. "I mean," he said bashfully, "Are you going to get in trouble? Did some rule get broken?"

She smiled. "Only a personal one. Though they do warn us when we start. Once you start liking the customers enough to kiss them, you lose your judgement. Same thing if you start hating them, but then you usually just quit. But I felt like it, and you looked like you could use a snog. You've been shut in for a while, I can tell."

Arthur knew he might be pushing his luck, but he felt reckless. "Would you," he said hesitantly, "like to meet up later on? Someplace that isn't so..."

"Businesslike?" She smiled again. She was one of the few black girls he'd met who didn't straighten her hair, just let it grow out naturally in a classic Afro. It suited her, made her seem more real, somehow. Plus she had a great smile.

"I think," she said, "whatever we do, it needs to be tonight. Not that I'll never want to see you again, but I'm feeling exceptionally spontaneous. Is your flat nearby?"

Luckily it was, and she had a head for remembering directions. He left about thirty minutes before her shift was over so he could tidy up, and she had taken less than fifteen to change and drive over. After an initial exchange of pleasantries, she was quick and abrupt. "I've felt that thing through your trousers, and I want to get my hands on it. NOW!"

Her first priority was to make him come as quickly as possible. Then, after fifteen minutes to recoup, she insisted on riding him for a good half hour before collapsing on him in an explosion of orgasms so frenetic he didn't even realize he'd come again until she finally rolled off him.

Which is how they ended up next to each other. The weight and warmth of her against his side felt comforting, and he involuntarily gave her shoulder a squeeze, more to feel the reality of her flesh than to get her attention. And she mumbled.

"Hmmm?" he said, again more out of reflex than curiosity.

"...SAID you better rest up, 'cause in an hour or two, we're gon' fuck 'gain, until one of us is too sore..."

*****

9:20 GMT

Arthur was not a man given to volatile opinions. He was comfortably certain that Labour was superior to Tory, safety nets were essential to an orderly society, and pot smokers and gays weren't out to do him any harm. These were views he preferred to express quietly, for the most part; outrage was rarely his motivation, for either words or actions. Being unjustly accused, however, seemed to complete a mental circuit he was previously unaware of, and his response to it was appropriately fiery.

"Five hundred THOUSAND?! For a home IMPROVEMENT loan?!! On THIS street? There isn't a single bloody house in this entire neighborhood worth more than Two-hundred-fifty! Who approved this bloody boondoggle? D'you have Donald Trump working under an assumed name?"

For the first time in this conversation, a tinge of uncertainty could be detected in her reply. "We're having trouble locating her, as well. She's listed as Susan Donym, and nobody can quite recall seeing her around the office..."

Arthur burst out laughing. "Sue DONYM?!! As in PSEUDONYM?!! And no one in your office figured it out? Is everyone at your blank a certifiable moron?"

Coldly, she replied, her voice full of hostility. "Apparently you thought so. I guess you thought we'd just forget, and you'd have the money free and clear; is that it?"

Arthur was flabbergasted. Apparently she had become convinced of Arthur's guilt, and nothing he could say would absolve him in her eyes. Well. That was just fate, perhaps. He decided he'd put in as much energy into resolving this debacle as he cared to, at least for one day. He smiled, tried not to sneer, was only partially successful.

"Well, thank you for bringing this matter to may attention! Since you haven't brought a lawyer or policeman with you, I think you ought to run on back to your office, and I'll let the credit bureau know about this little misunderstanding."

He was just about to follow this up with a hearty slamming of the door when another entirely unexpected presence established itself in his field of vision. It was Ford, one of the strangest people he knew.

*****

2300 GST

Ford was shaking his shoulder, for some reason. He was relieved to discover that he had a shoulder to shake, as well as eyes to see with and a place to be in. Ford's presence, he wasn't so sure about.

"What was all that?" was all he could think to say, it taking a while to dawn on Arthur that what might very well have been a hallucination could be unexplainable by anyone who didn't experience it themselves. But Ford seemed unfazed by this.

"That's just hyperspace, that is. The dimensions don't correspond to our anatomy, so biologically, we don't exist."

"But there was some sort of awareness. I had visions, memories, I'm not sure what you'd call them, but something was definitely going on. Does this mean souls are real?"

"No one's sure. Since hyperspace is a different physical reality, we don't have any way to record what really happens. Lots of people experience weird things when they pass through, but your brain may just do that to convince itself something happened. No proof either way." Suddenly there was a loud, groaning sound coming from a lump next to Arthur. He had a sneaky suspicion he knew who it was, as the rest of the morning's events came rushing into his memory.

*****

9:35 GMT

Ford's absolutely banal appearance (unless one counted a slight bushiness in the eyebrows and ears that resembled brussels sprouts, even acquiring a greenish tint under fluorescent lights for some reason) belied a penchant for often bizarre behavior and an almost sinister level of success with women, and the occasional man. He was the sort of person you introduced to friends, vaguely wary of what kind of impression he would make, only for the evening to end with them eating out of his hand, sometimes literally. His surprise appearances (which, reflected upon, constituted the bulk of his appearances) usually either came as godsends to deliver Arthur from desperate situations or were disruptions tending to (so far, minor) catastrophe.

Ford barreled right in to the conversation. "Arthur, I need to talk with you really quickly. It's extremely important, and extremely urgent."

Both Agnes and Arthur regarded Ford with severe skepticism. To be fair, he had no idea what he was interrupting, but it was clear to both that he must be exaggerating, particularly Arthur, who had never known Ford to involve himself with a single matter of importance in all the time he'd known him, a good three-and-a-half years.

"We're, um, actually in the middle of something rather important, I'm afraid," said Arthur, hoping Ford would take the hint and come back later, but knowing from experience that Ford seemed incapable of taking hints.

"Can it be resolved now?" asked Ford; cutting to the point was a singular strength of his; subtlety was not.

"If Mr. Dent accedes to our conditions, certainly," said Agnes, seeming improbably optimistic about this possibility, considering Arthur's previously demonstrated intransigence in this matter.

"So all you have to do is agree with her, right?" said Ford, his tone suggesting this was an eminently reasonable idea.

"She maintains that I owe her bank several hundred thousand pounds!" cried Arthur, still outraged. "I don't even HAVE that much money, so how can I agree to pay it back, especially since I never got it in the first place!"

"But," replied Ford, oh so reasonable still, "if the world were to end tomorrow, or even today, at around 4 p.m., there wouldn't be any problem, would there?"

"You mean," said Arthur, clearly irate, his aggression starting to redirect itself from his initial antagonist, "as a result of my annihilation, and her annihilation, and the destruction of the bank she works for, and the toppling of the entire planet's financial systems?"

"Well," said Ford, "optimistically speaking, your personal annihilation wouldn't be strictly necessary..."

"Yes," said Arthur. "I imagine that in such a circumstance any agreement entered into previously would be effectively null and void. And I'm starting to understand your rather cavalier stance towards bar tabs. But it's not really something to rely on as an insurance policy, is it?"

"Why not?" Ford seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Well, it's disingenuous, for one," said Arthur, looking nervously at Agnes. "I'd be, um, taking advantage."

"So do you think you SHOULD pay her the money?" Ford seemed, for some reason Arthur couldn't quite fathom, to be making a lot of sense.

"Well, no..."

"And you'd certainly rather have him agree to your conditions than make this into a police matter, wouldn't you?" said Ford, turning an almost hypnotically reasonable gaze on Agnes, who actually started nodding her head.

Ford leaned in close to Arthur, and said in a low voice, "Look, Arthur, I can't explain right this second, but I can guarantee you I'll get you out of whatever you agree to here, but I can't have you arguing with this bird the whole morning, so we need this wrapped up, understand?"

Arthur's brain kept chewing on everything he'd heard so far. As yet, it hadn't made much of a start on digesting any of it. But it did manage to seize on one important detail: "How exactly can you guarantee anything of the sort?" I'm finding this all highly dubious."

Ford sighed. He seemed a bit hurt by Arthur's expressed lack of faith. "Fine," he said, "a demonstration."

Both Arthur and Agnes looked at him in puzzlement. He rubbed his hands.

"What we need is a show of good faith. Miss, in exchange for Arthur's solemn promise to pay you back, will you please give him a blow job?" She seemed more confused than shocked. "How do I know he'll keep his word?" she asked. "He's already defaulted once."

Ford smiled. "Yes, but this time I'm personally guaranteeing the repayment."

No one was more surprised than Arthur when Agnes simply shrugged, walked up to Arthur and got down on her knees.

Ford looked at Arthur expectantly. "Arthur, I think you should pull down your pyjama bottoms, so this young lady can fulfill her side of the bargain."

Feeling as if he were no longer in control of his own body, Arthur tugged them down, revealing his penis, which seemed decidedly unenthusiastic about the matter. It hung down about three inches, and Arthur felt embarrassed about its flaccid state.

"Good heavens, that won't do at all!" cried Ford, clearly irritated. "Miss, I'm afraid you need to be more provocative! Unbutton that blouse, give him a good look at your tits! And lick your lips or something! Act like you're looking forward to it, basic customer service."

As she followed her instructions to the letter, Arthur noticed his own arousal growing. After trying NOT to stare at her breasts for the last half-hour, it was a relief to have them frankly presented for his viewing pleasure. And she was indeed exhibiting what looked a lot like eagerness all of a sudden, looking at his rapidly rising penis as if to say: Is that for me?

Finally she grabbed hold and started sucking on the head, letting an impressive amount of drool spill out, which she proceeded to rub all down his shaft, making it slick, therefore easier to stroke, then engulfing it, letting it hit the back of her throat. She certainly knew all the tricks, sucking vigorously one second, using her hand to pump the shaft the next, always knowing just when to change her approach so he wouldn't get bored or numb.

She must have been going at it for about five minutes when Ford decided once again it was time to intervene.

"Are you at all close to getting your nut off, Arthur?" he asked in an utterly casual fashion.

"Hard...to...tell..." Arthur replied, obviously not happy about his attention being diverted.

Agnes's enthusiastic slurping was soon augmented by such coaxing as, "I know you like this, baby," and, "Come right in my mouth; I want you to fill it up with your cum." Ford, however, had waited long enough.

In a move familiar to any fan of Star Trek, he reached out and pinched Arthur on the shoulder. This did not render him unconscious. However, it did precipitate an orgasm of such force and volume that Agnes's mouth was not only filled but leaking a string of it. After her initial surprise, she made a great show of swallowing and again licking her lips with obvious relish. His hand still at Arthur's shoulder, Ford was now pulling his friend after him as he walked towards the road, pausing only to allow him to pull up his PJS.

In a post-coital daze, Arthur struggled to form words. "W-where are we going?"

"To the pub," was Ford's brisk reply. "We need to talk over a few things, and you're going to want a couple of pints in you to help you cope."

*****

9:55 GMT

Arthur's afterglow had faded by the time they reached the pub; the four block walk had woken him up quite nicely. The bartender looked skeptically at Arthur's attire, but luckily he had ties the robe back up, and wasn't hanging out in public view, and Ford seemed even more persuasive than usual this morning.

Plus, Ford's purchase of four pints, "For me and my friend," seemed to quickly ingratiate him; possibly the five pound tip had something to do with it.

Ford took a mighty gulp of his, and looked expectantly at Arthur. Then, to further encourage him, he said, "Drink up, man. I'll explain while you swallow." Curiosity more than thirst prodded him to start swigging. "You're probably wondering how I got that bird to go down on you, eh?"

Not wanting to seem too eager, Arthur merely shrugged his shoulders and kept swallowing.

"Well, I'll get the hardest to believe stuff out of the way first, then. I'm an alien, from a highly advanced, intergalactic civilization, and one of the areas we're truly advanced in is that of sex."

Arthur kept drinking. It seemed the only sensible thing to do.

"It's complicated, but long ago, we doped out that almost every sentient being can be persuaded to do just about anything if you can convince him or her that they'll experience the most mind-blowing orgasm they've ever had, just by complying.

"Just telling them isn't enough, though. There's almost always a little switch in the brain, or its equivalent, that's set up precisely for -- let's call it pleasure overload.

"Usually, it's not even necessary to turn it on.

If you just jostle it a little, you can get people to do -- well, whatever you can convince them will lead to flipping the switch, they'll generally do."

Arthur had succeeded in working his way through the first pint, and now looked puzzled. "Why would that woman think blowing me was going to do HER any good?"

" Glad you asked." Ford had never seemed more professorial than he did at this moment. His finger starting making points for him, as if indicating a blackboard only he could see.

"First," marked with a mildly dramatic flourish, "humans have an insane capacity for delaying fulfillment -- obviously some more than others. It's why Christianity and Islam are such big sellers. No matter how much shit you go through, you're guaranteed a big party at the end. To listen to some descriptions, just BEING in heaven blows away any orgasm you can imagine. Which is getting a bit off-topic.

"Second," this gesture seemed to serve more as a counterpoint, or an afterthought, if the intensity of the gesture was any indication, "any sexual act is pretty easy to charge up with erotic promise. The ability to give someone else -- hell, even yourself -- pleasure makes people feel more competent, more powerful, and just more turned on overall. Even the stupidest, most insensitive male chauvinist pig likes to think that he gets his woman's rocks off. And even decent, churchgoing women absorb the message that a successful woman is one that keeps her man happy.

"Third," and this one had to be important, his finger looked as if it was ordering the whole world to be quiet, "she wants something from you. She needs your cooperation to succeed at her job, and for quite a while now, she's thought that being successful at her job will ultimately lead to sex on her terms, either with all the dynamic, virile, successful men she'll come into contact with, or all the young, pliable boy-toys an attractive, financially successful woman can rent as needed."

Arthur was by now halfway through his second pint. "Bit...manipulative, isn't it?" he mused, certainly not outraged, but not one hundred percent sold, either, even though Ford had essentially revealed himself as the possessor of the key to what most males would see as the biggest candy store in the universe, the prize that would obviate virtually all others, that could be used (Arthur was only just now realizing) to get virtually anything one wanted, sex being only the beginning, and here he was, drinking buddies with the Keymaster himself. But it wasn't as simple as that, Arthur could tell...

And then it seemed Ford hadn't finished talking. "As for why I'm on this planet, that will take a bit more time to explain, time I'm afraid we haven't got at the moment, just as I can't really explain why we have to leave, and soon."

"Leave the pub, you mean?" Just as Ford knew that you can get most sentient beings to do anything provided you dangle the right carrot, it is also true that humans have a unique ability to ignore any understanding, observation or conclusion provided it promises to be unpleasant enough. Thus Arthur managed to obscure from his awareness the (by now) obvious fact that the Earth was going to be destroyed, Ford and Arthur wew too if they didn't leave the planet, and either way, Arthur would not be seeing his house, his car, or any friends of his not named Ford ever again. As if to help distract him, Agnes chose that exact moment to show up uninvited for the second time that morning.

*****

"Trying to run away?" she breathed into his ear. She then nibbled on it playfully until Arthur drew away slightly.

He looked at Ford, wishing he could find a quick five minutes in which he didn't feel completely out of his depth.

Ford grinned apologetically. "I hit her with a pretty strong dose," he said. "It might take a few days to wear off. Longer than this bloody planet has, at any rate."

It was becoming ever more difficult for Arthur to ignore the unpleasant situation he (and the entire planet) found himself in. He felt absurdly responsible. Even guilty. It noticeably darkened his demeanor. Certainly Agnes noticed.

"Is there something wrong, baby?" she asked, concerned. "It isn't -- do you not like me, is that it?" She seemed a bit hurt now. "Was I -- did I do something wrong?"