Touched Ch. 05

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Throw caution to the wind: Their illicit romance continues.
4.6k words
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Part 5 of the 10 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 08/19/2011
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"You stink."

I turned my head to see the man beside me in the lift take another step away, as far as he could go without making contact with the wall.

"Excuse me?" I responded, returning his glare.

His thick eyebrows joined into one as he wrinkled his bulbous nose. "When was the last time you decontaminated?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I am on my way to do so right now."

"It's a public health hazard, you know, to go too long between cleanings."

"I'm aware of that. I had a physical task to perform today and haven't had the opportunity to decontaminate. I'm sorry if my sweat offends you."

"It's more than sweat. I don't know what it is, but now I have to go straight to the decontaminator myself, just to get your stink off me," he sneered, stepping out of the lift.

Relieved he was finally gone, I let out a deep breath. I hoped I'd handled the situation satisfactorily, not aroused suspicion. I knew I stank, and that it wasn't from sweat. At least, not entirely.

When Grant and I were in the storage room, we hadn't noticed that we smelled any differently. But the moment we stepped out into the corridor, we detected an odor at once, and it was coming from us.

We smelled of each other, a combination of sweat, body fluids and our own personal fragrances. It was similar to what my body released when I secretly masturbated in the privacy of my bunk, only amplified. I'd never had to worry about the smell before; I always decontaminated before leaving home.

The lingering scent of Grant's body mixed with mine aroused my senses, not offended them. It was heady and penetrating, a potent reminder of our sexual intercourse.

Still, we understood we had to decontaminate as quickly as possible, lest someone notice our aroma, thereby arousing suspicions as to its source. We decided separating and visiting chambers on different floors would be safer than being seen together, both of us sharing the same unusual odor, even if the risk of one of us encountering another person might be greater. If we were alone when confronted, it could be explained away more easily.

My personal preference would have been to go home and crawl into bed, masturbate, then fall to sleep with the scent of our union filling my lungs. But I dared not indulge in such fantasies.

With relief and regret I arrived at the decontaminator and stepped inside.

~*~*~

"I wish there were some way to take the box, or at least the data chip, with us," I said to Grant the next morning. "I'm especially going to miss listening to music."

"I know," he replied, his face sober. "After today it won't be so easy to get you down here, but right now I don't think we should risk removing the chip from this room. It's too important."

I nodded. We stood in silence looking down at our uncovered hands, clasped together. In a matter of days, our whole lives had changed, and they were about to change again. "Oh Grant, what are we going to do?" I asked in despair. "I don't think I can bear not seeing you every day."

He drew me into his arms and kissed me. "We'll find a way to be together, Astrid. It may not be every day, but we'll find a way to see each other as often as possible."

The next day Grant's supervisor and the rest of his department would be back from their dig in the ruins outside the city, and I would be back at the Office of Historical Records running Oliver's errands.

Even though we knew it was a risk to engage in sexual intercourse again after my encounter with the stranger in the lift, we couldn't help ourselves. We didn't know when the next time would be where we could spend the entire day together, to lay in each other's arms, to talk and touch in relative safety.

After today, we would be relegated to public places and the occasional short liaison in one of our flats. It was always risky to meet at home, but one advantage was that it allowed us to decontaminate before leaving, thereby eliminating any olfactory evidence. But the visits could never be long—less than an hour—nor too frequent. We might be able to pull it off once a month, provided we alternated flats.

It was all so unfair.

Because it was not safe to talk openly over communication signals, while we worked we conceived of a code to use when we called each other.

We decided a greeting like "Good morning" meant "Can we meet today?" If the other responded in kind, it confirmed a rendezvous might be possible. Replying with "Hi" told the other we could not do so today, but we were able to discuss an alternative time and venue. "Hello" signaled "I can't meet and I can't discuss it right now."

Because it was virtually deserted, we agreed the arboretum would be the best overall meeting place, the default location unless otherwise indicated. Even so, approaching from different directions and staggering our arrival times would be a necessary evil to keep us from being too predictable.

It wasn't that we couldn't be seen together; I met up with Errol and Xen once, occasionally even twice a week. But I'd known them for more than five years and I'd met Grant only three weeks ago. Outside of work, people rarely interacted on a daily basis. To do so socially at the same frequency would draw far too much attention.

~*~*~

The first week apart was the hardest. As difficult as it had been those two weeks between our chance encounter in the lift and our first open conversation, it was nothing compared to the torture of being separated after spending three days sharing every part of ourselves, including our bodies, with another human being for the first time in our lives. After work I came straight home, undressed, masturbated under the covers and cried myself to sleep. I thought my heart would break from missing him.

After my friends and even Oliver mentioned that I seemed to be losing weight, I decided, a month later, it was time to introduce Grant to my friends. I knew it was asking a lot of Errol and Xen to accept another person into our social group after so short a time, but I had to find a way to see Grant in person more often, even if I couldn't touch him.

"I can't say I'm comfortable having dinner with that man you met in the lift." Xen shook her head as we sat in our respective flats, confirming our plans for the evening via communicator.

"His name is Grant, Xen," I reminded her gently. "And he is a friend."

"He isn't my friend. He's some stranger you talk about all the time all of a sudden. I've done some checking. Did you know there have been a few cases where strangers who shared a single traumatic experience together developed symptoms approximating that of an emotional bond? After the connection was recognized for what it was—an artificial construct induced by unusual stress—the symptoms dissipated soon thereafter."

I laughed. "How many times do I have to tell you? My friendship with Grant is not the result of some trauma. He's a very interesting person. I enjoy his company, and I think you will, too. You like me, don't you?"

"Yes, but we worked together for over a year before having dinner for the first time. You've known this man for less than two months. Can you blame me for finding it all a bit out of the ordinary?"

"Of course not," I conceded. "But you've said it yourself, on more than one occasion—I'm not exactly the most typical of friends either. Promise me you'll give him a chance."

~*~*~

"Astrid says you work at the Museum of History," Errol said, head cocked and chin lifted as he peered at Grant from across the table while we waited for our meals to arrive.

"Yes, in the archeology department."

Xen shifted in her chair, increasing her distance from him. "Have you been...in the ruins?"

He shook his head. "No. I work in the archives. My supervisor and others in my department go on the actual digs. I organize the collection and maintain records."

"Don't they worry about coming into contact with," her voice lowered to a barely audible whisper, "Outliers?"

Errol rolled his eyes. "Jebus ryste, Xen. You're far too old to believe in monsters."

I nodded. "Tales of half-human mutants living in the forests beyond the ruins have been told to children for ages, yet not once has a single claim of their existence been substantiated."

"That's right," Errol agreed. "Everyone knows they're just stories to keep children from straying too far from home."

"If it makes you feel any better," Grant put in, looking at Xen, "in all of the times since I've worked for the museum, not once did any of my colleagues ever mention coming into contact with anything other than the products of an ancient civilization."

Lifting her chin, my female friend crossed her arms and looked down her nose. "I still can't see how those people can stand it."

"I'm sorry?" Grant asked.

"Even if there's nothing...living...out there—and I'm still not convinced there isn't—how can your colleagues stand being out in all that...filth?"

"They wear protective gear," Grant explained. "And there are portable decontamination units they bring along with them."

"I don't think those portable units could make me clean enough to feel safe away from civilization."

"Most people feel the same way. I think it takes a certain kind of person, someone whose interest in the subject matter is so great they can immerse themselves into their work, even if it means engaging in activities they might otherwise find highly disconcerting. Kind of like doctors."

My friends shuddered.

"Frankly, I don't see the point of it at all." Errol shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares how ancient humans lived? They've nothing to teach us except how not to live. We survive as a species in spite of them, not because of them."

I could see Grant struggling with how to respond without offending my friends. "I don't agree," he replied at last. "An ancient human philosopher named George Santayana once said, 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.' Even if we have evolved since the Great Decimation, I believe we must study the past, if only to ensure we continue to have a future."

~*~*~

"I think they liked you," I told Grant as we walked side by side, taking the long route home from the eatery later that evening.

"You think so?" he asked with an incredulous laugh.

"You're the one who insists Oliver is the picture of grace," I teased. "My friends are like those recordings of baby animals at the Natural History Museum in comparison to him."

"True," he conceded, chuckling. "I guess I just felt like I was being evaluated, like they were trying to figure out why on earth you would ever be friends with someone like me."

"That's exactly what they were doing," I confirmed.

"And you think I passed the test?"

"I wouldn't go that far, but you did make it past the first round. Didn't you notice the change in Errol's expression when you told him what that ancient philosopher said about remembering the past? You made him think. And Xen, the way she stopped leaning away from you after a while? I think she found you fascinating. She's not the only one who feels that way."

We stopped walking and stood looking at each other for a long moment. The night air felt cool against my exposed face, in sharp contrast to the tingling warmth of my suit-covered body. More than anything, I wanted to feel the heat of his skin pressed against mine. At that moment even a single touch would have been enough.

~*~*~

"I'm having a dinner tonight at my home and I want you to come," Oliver informed me one morning three weeks later.

My mouth dropped. "Why I... That is very generous...thank you so much for inviting me, sir, but I already have pl—"

"I know I made it sound like a request," he interrupted, "but it isn't. This is work, not a social function, and I need my assistant present."

"Y-yes, sir. May I ask what the purpose of the function is?"

"No, you may not," he retorted.

I returned to my desk. After leaving a message for Errol about the change in plans, I resumed working on the data file my supervisor assigned me the previous day. A few minutes later the old man appeared, standing in the doorway to his office.

"It is a meeting of the Historical Society, which includes scholars of recent and ancient history," he confirmed, his voice gruff. "Representatives from each of the museums will be amongst those in attendance."

His lips twitched, and for a split second I was certain he noticed my excitement at the possibility that Grant might be one of the attendees. "I'll need your help making everything ready," he went on, handing me a pad. "Please arrive promptly at six-fifteen; the address is on the pad."

~*~*~

Heels clicking, I hurried down the street as fast as I dared on my way to Oliver's home, trying not to break a sweat so soon after decontaminating.

He had kept me so busy making arrangements I barely got home in time to clean my body and change into a formal outfit. I didn't even have time to contact Grant to see if he would be attending the dinner, though I still held out hope of seeing him there. He and Oliver were friends, but I didn't know how much my supervisor knew about my relationship with him. In those few opportunities when Grant and I could be alone and speak freely, my superior was not exactly at the top of the discussion list.

As I scurried toward my destination I noticed the character of the buildings change from the nondescript boxes of flats and businesses into larger, detached homes of a less modern design. The general populace was told our small living spaces were a revolution in simplicity and efficiency; seeing what to my eyes seemed virtual monstrosities in a neighborhood I'd never had cause to visit before made me wonder if it was merely a ploy to keep the rest of us satisfied with the standard eighteen square meters.

"It's six-nineteen," Oliver announced when I arrived at his front door. "You're late."

"I'm sorry, sir," I apologized, breathless. "I took the wrong street, and I didn't realize my mistake until I reached the end of the bl—"

"I don't need to hear excuses," he groused. "Come in."

He led me through a series of rooms, all of them exhibiting the signs of a pending social engagement: a series of sterilizers filled with glassware, dishes and cutlery on two large tables, bottles of what appeared to be wine—how did he get hold of bottles of wine?—chilling in open-topped coolers, more seats and chairs than I'd ever seen in a private dwelling before. Given his generally disheveled appearance, I had no idea Oliver was a man of means.

We stopped at the end of a long hallway some distance from the rooms we'd just passed through.

"Before you get started, I want you to decontaminate and sanitize your suit. Your clothing must be soaked from all that running," he declared, grimacing, "and I don't want your sweat getting all over everything. You have twenty minutes to meet me in the dining hall."

I wondered why he gave me so much time when I could be clean and ready to go in five minutes, but said nothing. After I stepped inside, the door slid shut and I bent down to remove my footwear. Boots and gloves in hand, I started to place them into the sterilizer when I discovered another pair of boots, another full set of clothing, already inside.

"Feel free to move it around to make room," a voice said behind me.

I jumped and turned around.

"Grant?" I whispered, not believing my eyes as he emerged from the far side of the dimly-lit chamber. "What are you doing here?"

"The same thing as you," he replied, smiling as he helped me peel off my shirt. "Getting ready for the party."

"But, but...how? Does Oliver know you're in here? Is he—"

Grant tossed my top into the sterilizer and drew my bare-breasted body into his arms and kissed me. "Yes. He's one of us," he murmured in my ear. His lips slid down my jaw and onto my neck, and I shivered as his stubble left its imprint against my skin.

"Oh, Grant, I have missed you so much," I choked, surrendering myself to him while his hands ravaged my body. "Oh please, touch me."

I gasped when my back made contact with one of the smooth cool walls. "I want you so much," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion as he nuzzled my neck. "I need you, Astrid. Every day without your touch is like death itself."

"I can't bear to be without you," I moaned, my fingers running through his hair as he devoured my breasts, squeezing them together, attempting to suckle both nipples at once.

Settling in on one breast, he slid his hands down to my waist. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of my pants, all at once he dropped to his knees, sliding the fabric over my hips and down my legs, tossing them away when my feet stepped out. With both hands he stroked one of my legs from top to bottom, bending it at the knee before placing my foot on his shoulder.

I cried out, unable to contain my pleasure when he began to kiss me between my legs. Depictions of this act, both written and visual, were among the many files on the forbidden data chip. I secretly wondered what oral stimulation would be like, but couldn't bring myself to mention it. It was one thing to join our bodies together; tasting each other, in a world where people were repulsed by their own sweat and saliva, seemed far too much to ask even of a deviant.

Yet here he was, groaning as his eager mouth explored my sensitive flesh. "Ohhh yesss." I pressed myself into his face, holding onto his head. "Lick it, taste me, pleeease..."

He grunted, his hot breath caressing my swollen pussy while he lapped at my wetness. Fingers tangled in his hair, I moaned when he then ran his flattened tongue up the length of my slit and over my clitoris. He manipulated the tiny organ with the tip of his tongue, flicking it again and again. My vision blurred and I shook as pleasure blazed through my body.

I heard myself begging him to make me come, and groaned with delight when I realized his tongue was now circling my clitoris, following the same path our fingers had traveled when I taught him how to bring me to release. My muscles clenched and I threw my head back, smacking it against the wall as my body let go.

"Guhhh...ahhh!" The leg I stood on wobbled and I held on tight to his head while the orgasm slammed through me. "Oh fuck!"

When I loosened my grip, Grant turned his head, kissing my thigh with his wet lips before easing my other leg back onto the floor. Then he stood up, crushing me between the wall and his tight form. "You have no idea how arousing it is to make you come with my mouth," he murmured, his eyes almost black in the darkened room.

Overwhelmed by the intimacy of his actions, I pulled his head down and kissed him hard. I tasted myself on his lips, and something came over me; the next thing I knew I was shoving my tongue into his mouth. After a moment's hesitation, Grant's tongue met mine, and we groaned in unison.

Breaking the kiss, I reached down and wrapped my fingers around his penis, slowly stroking its full length, smiling as he quaked with pleasure. I placed his stiff organ between my legs and stared into his half-closed eyes. "Take me, Grant. Fuck me hard with your beautiful cock."

He entered me with a force that lifted me off my toes and took my breath away. Picking me up by the thighs, he slammed into me again and again as he held me against the wall. "Your pussy is so hot and feels so fucking good clamped around my cock," he whispered in my ear, chuckling when I whimpered in response.

My legs circled his waist and I held on while each powerful thrust forced a cry past my lips. "Yes, Grant..." I gasped, finding my voice. "That's right... Take me hard...like I want..."

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