Ennui Ch. 05

Chapter 5

By sixty minutes, I'm bathed in my own dripping sweat and losing my mind. All my muscles in all places ache and are exhausted from protracted flailing and straining. I'm frantic.

Okay, so by now, Amelia's discussion has gotten oddly weird and personal. Sixty minutes is a long time, and Amelia, I can tell, is sometimes racking her brain how to fill the minutes. So, either because she wanted to, or because she ran out of other ideas, or because she's just following my strongest responses and going with the flow, she's ended up here:

"Try to suck on my tongue. Liam! You're not trying hard enough. It's right here." She sticks it out, so sexy and glistening; her hot lips are obscenely splayed as she extends it, and I strain and crane my neck, but my lips are just millimeters short. I still have not touched her since we shook hands when we first met. Down below, Janice is simply tireless and wonderful. I am, as I have been again and again and again, so fucking close to orgasm. I think Amelia is directing her by hand motions out of my vision, because I'm always *just* short of coming, so expertly. Either Amelia or Janice's perceptions are exceptional.

"Why won't you suck it?" She pouts. "It's because you don't love me enough."

"I do love you enough," I moan, strained.

"Do you?" She pouts. "You won't even kiss me."

"I do I do. I will I will." I surge upward as best I can, and she jerks back, laughing. Our lips just miss.

"Ah, you do love me, don't you?"

"I do, I do. Oh God, I'm going to come."

"God, I love watching you in this state, Liam. So fucking hot. This has been so fun for me. Every part of you is aching for me so bad, and what Janice is doing down there is hijacking your brain. You can't think. Easy Janice," she says sotto voice, though of course we can all hear it. To me: "Don't come. So you admit you love me?"

My groin muscle is pulsing spasmodically, but not ejaculating. Janice has released me and I feel myself leaping up and down. I nod, gasping. "I do, I love you."

"Good," she grins evilly. "I've ensnared you so quickly. But don't come."

I shake my head. This is bad, but I say it. I can't hold it back, drunk as I am on pleasure: "I do for real, Amelia."

"What, love me?"

"Mm-hmm. Oh God--" Janice has re-grabbed me.

Amelia snorts. "That's just your erection talking. I don't know why, biologically, elevated male arousal leads to such professions of love, but... it's kinda a nice feature, I have to say. We like it. I approve."

"No. I mean it, I've never met anyone like you. I know, I know already, you're the one for me." It's really, really bad.

She kind of hesitates, squints, trying to read if this is part of the fantasy-talk or not. She nods dismissively. "I know you love me for real, that's why you're so hard for me. Just don't spray out all that love yet, or you'll be in big trouble." She's rolling it into her fantasy. I feel an urge to object, but common sense returns to me--what the hell am I doing; I don't want to ruin this session.

Ten minutes later, this thread has continued much farther down that same path to somewhere truly strange:

"So then, where do you suggest we honeymoon?" she says, giggling.

"Wherever you want." I am tense in every muscle, I can barely speak.

"Okay, but if you come now, I'm calling it all off. I won't marry you."

"Oh God. Oh God. I won't."

"I mean it Liam. You'll lose me." She grins. "Let's test him, Janice."

Suddenly, everything is happening. All parts of my shaft, tip, testicles, are being overwhelmingly stimulated. All my muscles tense. "Oh shit."

"Don't do it! It's not time yet." Amelia is stern. "I'm warning you. You'll lose me. I'll cancel the wedding. I won't love you anymore. You won't get to spend the honeymoon fucking me day and night."

I'm about to surge over the top; one of them can tell because I'm suddenly released. I strain, strain, staying just below the edge, then gradually calm. I slowly sag, breathing labored.

Amelia smirks, watching me. "I have to say I feel like I'm acing this. Can't wait to read the report on this sample. I really think this release is going to set the record. Beat your personal best." She laughs. "Do you doubt?"

I nod weakly. "It really might."

"As long as you don't come for twenty more minutes, this all might make my 1% worth something." She laughs. "You don't want to ruin my commission by coming do you? That's not something you do to someone you love, baby. You won't, will you? I'm trusting you. Okay, go."

Janice has me again. Oh shit.

Five minutes later, my groin muscle is spasmodically pulsing. I'm right on the edge. I can't think straight. "Marry me for real, Amelia."

"You're being such a good boy, I really might."

"Really?" I say, a little too earnestly.

She's taken aback for a moment, but then dismisses it, returns to fantasy. "I really might. You're rich, right?"

"Oh yes, very rich."

"How much?"

"I--I'm not sure."

"That's pretty rich then, that you don't even know or care. Well, if your money got you my pussy, you'd care, I bet. Get me for real, not Janice under there. Just you and me, alone in... yes, let's go with Fiji. That's where you'll get to fuck me for the first time. Do you want that?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Oh God, I'm going to come--"

"You better not, or I'm walking out right now and you'll never have me."

"No, no. I won't."

"You'd better not; you've got twenty more minutes to go. But if you make it--if you make it, then I'll marry you in Fiji. Now isn't that worth waiting to orgasm? We'll get a cabana out on the water like you see in the ads, and on our wedding night I'll present myself to you, my hair done up in a bun, my makeup perfect, my pussy shaved clean, wearing white lace that I'll take off and be naked for you, my husband, so you can fuck and fuck me."

She doesn't even know how badly I want that. I have not been inside a woman for six years. It's illegal. Mouths are legally allowed early in the sequence, before getting too near peak, because even if an accident occurs a sample is generally 90% recoverable if released in the mouth. But, research shows that under practical real-world conditions, a vaginal accidental ejaculation is mostly unrecoverable, lost forever to humanity, unenriched and with negligible chance of fertilization, so, to avoid temptation and risk, penetration is forbidden by statute for men with FC over 0.1, but Amelia doesn't know that applies to me.

And to touch her in such a way--I still haven't touched Amelia at all--a handshake hours ago. Just an inch separates us as she whispers these things to me that make me insane. "Oh--oh--oh--" I think I am heading over the edge, but Janice is a step ahead of me, and miraculously, I do not.

"Oh, baby, you love that, don't you? Imagine our wedding night, imagine every night together. Would you like to share a bed with me? I promise after we marry I will sleep naked every night. You can just mount me whenever you like. I like being surprised like that."

A few minutes later she checks the time. "We'll let you spray soon; we need to--you're so incoherent like this--" she laughs "--and we have a lot of planning to do. So many details to decide. Together." She faux-frowns. "I'm not going to do all the work of planning this wedding myself." She laughs, then licks *just* the tip of my nose.

So soft and wet. I'm drunk on the smallest contact. I say, "There's a little wedding chapel at the Tavua Bay Resort."

"Hmm?" Her red lips smile as she tilts her head curiously.

"In Fiji. I've seen it."

"You have?" she says, genuinely surprised. "You've vacationed in Fiji? Liam, so you really *are* wealthy then?"

I nod. "It'll all be yours. I'll give you everything. No pre-nup. Share everything. I won't go to any fertility facilities anymore. No other women. You can do all my extractions--if we want--for spending money. But mostly I'll come in you--in secret. I trust you not to report us. I already have enough money. We can live wherever you want. Do whatever you want. I just want to be with you, I don't care about money. I hate money. I hate the extractions. I hate my debt to society. I hate my life. You make me so happy. All I want is you forever. Do--do you have parents still alive, I want to meet them. Mine have both passed, but yours could come to the wedding. We could buy a house there, and stay. Why not? We may not want to leave Fiji, why should we? Why come back here? I hate it here anyway. I--"

I suddenly realize that I am no longer being stimulated. I suddenly realize Amelia has backed away, wide-eyed. We sit in utter silence for a long, long moment. I'm terrified. What's happening?

"Janice," she says, "can you leave us for a bit?" To my left, I see Janice's head emerge; she peers at me as she stands, then looks questioningly at Amelia. Amelia nods to the door, and Janice hurries out. I cannot decide if this is a bad thing, or maybe the best thing ever.

Amelia takes a long breath after the door closes, observing me. I am still on the table, dangling, rock-hard.

She says, infinitely gently, "Liam, this is a fantasy. An extraction service."

"But not to me," I say. "I mean it. Don't--don't you feel anything for me?"

She is dead-silent, observing me. "I--I do. I really do, I think you're great but--"

"And are you attracted to me? I can tell you are."

She nods. "Yes, I admit it. I'm wet as a swamp down there--"

"Yes!" My heart leaps.

She laughs. "This may be a normal day for the women you normally work with, but not for me. My pussy is so confused and sopping wet, like: 'what the hell's going on?' she wants to know." She laughs. "So yes, I'm very, very turned on. But--"

"Then don't say 'but'--let's just go with this. I mean it, I mean all of it. We can live in Fiji. Or here. I--you can finish your degree. Follow your dream; I'll support whatever you want to do. Work as a therapist. Or not work. Or wherever you want. I--I am probably worth a billion dollars by now."

"Good God. Holy shit. Are you serious?" She is wide-eyed for a long moment. Her eyes drift over my face. Then, she shakes herself. "But--but, Liam, you have to understand--I was just going where you seemed to want the fantasy to go. What you responded to. You--you responded to closeness and the promise of loving intercourse, and, and the end of aloneness--so that's where I went. I wasn't seriously--"

"Yes, but I'm asking you to... seriously--consider it seriously."

I study her, rapt, waiting for a response, as she also studies me. At last she says, "Liam, I wasn't trying to mislead you, I just--have no experience at this procedure, no real training. I was improvising, and I went--I screwed it up, completely. I should have known better than to get so personal. I was just trying to--to--be of service to you, as best I could figure how to. For--for the sake of the planet. For your sake, as a patient."

"Yes, yes, that's fine. But now you know: I'm asking you to marry me. I know that's crazy, but I already know. What--what do you say?"

She's silent for a long, long moment. At last, she sits up straight. "Liam..." she trails off. She inhales, collecting strength. "I'm married."

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. "What! But--but--"

"That was all fantasy. To help you. I only wanted to help you. Not just with your extraction, but I can see this life is difficult for you. But--but I can see I've screwed it up, and everything I tried to say to help has actually hurt you. I thought I was so clever, but I'm a shitty therapist, I think. I don't know to--didn't respect the proper boundaries."

"No--no--but--but--" I can't put a thought together. "But you said--you're attracted to--you--" I paused, then said, "Leave with me anyway. Let's run to Fiji. You're not bad for me, you're good for me."

She is firm. "No." Then gentler: "No, Liam. I love my husband. I'm--I'm happily married. Very happy. It's not perfect but--but I've committed my life to him. And--I'm older than I look--we have a pre-crisis child. Fifteen years old. I can never leave my life." She stands. "I'm sorry--so, so sorry. I tried to help you, but I know I harmed you. You--you need to find a good therapist to help you work through these feelings of detachment and ennui you feel--"

"How about you?" I blurt. "Please, be my therapist. I just want to keep talking to you, I've never been as happy as this day--"

"No Liam. I'm bad for you. Someone else. I have enough training to know it'd be unethical for me to treat you now; this kind of fixation or, or, personal entanglement. I could get kicked out of my program for something like this, if I allowed it to continue, besides which it's wrong. Malpractice. Perhaps a male therapist would be better. But it's clear: You and I can't ever see each other again--it's best you fully understand that, not just because of my husband and daughter, but also for your sake."

Oh God. I have never heard a worse sentence. Humiliated, I run. I leap off the table, grab my pants and throw a towel around me as I run out the door.

On the street, again. I call a limo service, and it silently wheels up in two minutes. Autonomous, which suits my mood perfectly to be fully alone. When I don't speak a destination, it moves from the curb to avoid hindering traffic and begins to circle the block. It circles and circles and circles, which is also fine with me--where do I have to go? I let the car circle as I think, stunned.

Gradually my anger and humiliation subside, and I come to the obvious realization--which you or any reasonable observer would have long ago made--which is that, of course, the entire debacle with Amelia was wholly, without exception, my fault. And not just self-inflicted. Inflicted on her also. Of *course* she's married. She's a catch. A sweet, honest-to-a-fault, beautiful, loyal, real woman. Uninterested in money. Her only passion is to help people. I in no way deserve her. The value some people see in me is entirely in my testicles; an odd genetic lottery winner with no positive attributes outside that whatsoever. I'm a billionaire but I'm worthless.

I just lie back on the long couch as the car still circles. Stunned, but not exactly depressed. Some other emotion, not entirely negative. Because, on the other hand, up until twenty minutes prior, it was by far the most interesting and best day of my life. Such a surprising day. How I love to be surprised.

Now calmer, I darken the windows, and take my cock out. I feel a mild ache in my testicles, far, far too much build-up and too little release. In my man-purse, I always carry a specimen jar; not for the money, but, quite seriously, because of my duty to mankind. I'm not joking. Once--just once, alone, I ejaculated into a public toilet. I don't have to consult my attorney to know that that's a felony. But more than that, looking down at it, I was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. I even tried to fish it out with toilet paper, but gave up, and flushed it. Flushed humanity's future. Flushed some couple's most ardent hope. Sigh.

Quite naturally, with no effort whatsoever, my mind moves back to a moment when I didn't know Amelia was married. I imagine a honeymoon with her; I imagine whisking her to my favorite Fijian resort--but instead of the usual crowd of women in my cabana, there is only her. We take one of those huts out on stilts in the water, and just fuck. All day and night. And I come inside her. For the first time in years and years. Yes, it's felonious, but we don't care. I spray and spray as I kiss and pledge my life to her, and when I'm done, we leave the sample in. We make no attempt to extract it or save it or any of the morally-obligatory things.

I am now jerking off furiously in the limo. I try to sit up so I can position the specimen cup at my tip. It's a little odd to be looking out onto the street, but I'm quite certain they can't see in. We are passing the front of the facility again, and to my surprise, there is a huddled figure standing right beside the "Gamete donations accepted" placard. I study her for a moment then bolt upright.

"Stop! Pull over!" I shout to the computer.

I hastily re-arrange, then roll down the window. "Amelia!"

She looks up, startled at the sound, glances about, then sees me. Her eyes are red and wet. She waves me away with a handkerchief and turns away. A cold gust of spiraling wind flaps the handkerchief.

"Are you all right? Do--do you need something? A ride? Can I take you home?"

She shakes her head. "I'm fine. I will walk. Goodbye Liam."

But, at that moment, the universe, after torturing me for years and years, shows glorious mercy. A thunderclap. Her body jerks in surprise at the flash and immediate sound. A few very large, very cold drops begin to hit the pavement, and the sky is turning dark as the temperature plummets.

I open the door, beckoning. "Please, Amelia. It's dry and warm. It's no problem, I'll take you wherever you want to go. To your doorstep."

She hesitates again, looks up, looks at me, then dashes toward the limo as the downpour starts. Thank merciful, merciful heavens.

Continued in Chapter 6