Erotic Hitchhiker's Guide Ch. 06

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diggypop
diggypop
34 Followers

Certain men, of a rather fussy temperament, find the growth of hair in the female body to be an unfortunate, but correctable, aspect of human biology. That they don't restrict themselves to sleeping with only Asian and Native American women would be a testament to their tolerance and magnanimity if there were any such men left. (Tragically, there are also no Native Americans or Asians left either, but dwelling on such matters is rather depressing.)

Arthur, bless him, did not let what was approximately two days growth of leg hair dissuade him in the least, other than to reflect to himself that four days growth would have been a great deal less prickly.

He let his fingers trace up her calves, trying futilely to peek under the material, then letting his fingers tell him what his eyes couldn't. She seemed especially sensitive just behind the knee, but as expected, it was her thighs which were the most rewarding area.

The outer thighs could be grasped firmly, which seemed inevitably to lead to grabbing her ass once again. But the inner thighs felt so soft and elicited such inviting squeals when pinched that Arthur once again had to consciously restrain himself from ripping through the fabric and working his finger as far in as physically possible.

This proved to be more frustrating than he would have thought, since the fabric effectively blocked him from stroking her pussy, only letting him get as close as her mons, to the point that it seemed it was deliberately redirecting his probing.

Agnes, thankfully, was ready to move on to Phase Two. She thoroughly enjoyed the feel of Arthur's hands on her body, but the restrictions she'd placed on him, especially his being unable to kiss her, were making it all seem a bit impersonal. Hopefully this next phase would make their interaction a bit more...intimate.

But she was unwilling to completely drop the imperious tone she'd began the session with. "Arthur," she said firmly, "you may, if you wish to touch any part of me that is uncovered, ask my permission, and I will, if it suits me, grant it."

He wanted to kiss her. But the previous minutes had set a tone, and Arthur was loathe to disrupt it, even as parts of him screamed to. He could build up to the moment, he was certain. He had the discipline.

"May I stroke your hair?" he asked. She nodded, after apparently considering the request for half a moment. If she was surprised by the tame nature of the request, it didn't show.

Arthur was determined to take as much time as each step demanded. He started by lightly brushing the unruly strands that dangled in front of her eyes and threatened to obscure her vision. Then he began stroking it back, from scalp to shoulders, keeping his touch soft but not overly slow, using the opportunity to look directly into her eyes and bask in her gaze.

Now was the time. "May I kiss you on your lips?" he asked, and was rewarded not by a verbal response but by her closing her eyes and positioning her chin so there was no doubt about her acquiescence.

Arthur, as a teenager, had little more to guide him through the murky paths of sex and romance than the popular entertainment he was exposed to as a child. This primarily consisted of movies, television, comic books, and science fiction novels.

Now, the comics available in Arthur's childhood were generally geared to be suitable for a younger audience (especially the American ones, thanks to their Comics Code Authority) and the movies and TV his parents allowed him to view generally followed suit.

So a large amount of the amorous activity Arthur came across consisted primarily of kissing, mildly risque flirtatious banter, and (very occasionally) a couple lying in bed together.

Of all things it was the science fiction that gave him the closest idea of how romance and the various physical aspects of it played out in real life. While none of his favorite authors wrote what could be considered love stories, occasional details would find their ways in.

Thus Arthur got a few pretty good descriptions of what a kiss felt like, was able to extrapolate how the sex act was performed, in broad strokes anyway, and assumed, even though he was never going to be a starship captain or a scientist, that he would meet someone of the opposite sex at work and/or school. This all served him pretty well, although that last assumption seemed less than useful in light of recent circumstances.

The point is, until he read a written description, he hadn't the foggiest notion of what a kiss felt like. Afterwards, he had only the foggiest notion, but at least he was disabused of the idea that an orchestral swelling of music usually accompanied them. Now it is true the best kisses are precisely those which cannot be captured by even the most detailed verbal description, but those kisses tend to be few and far between.

This was one of those kisses. Ordinarily Arthur didn't close his eyes during a kiss; it had always seemed a girlish thing to do, almost as bad as pretending to swoon. But of course he could see why others might feel differently; like prayer, it could seem disrespectful to be glancing around while everyone is supposed to be focused on one thing.

Regardless, Arthur felt everyone should keep their eyes open occasionally. If you've never seen your lover's face while she's kissing you or while she's sleeping, you haven't really seen them.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying that Arthur closed his eyes without even thinking about it, at which point everything else in the universe ceased to exist except that kiss, to such an extent that Arthur only existed in so far as he was a participant.

This kiss was bigger than the both of them. This kiss was the only thing between them and blissful oblivion. Suddenly, both Arthur and Agnes were intensely aware of the intolerable fact that a bizarre alien fabric was covering them, intolerable because it prevented them from wallowing in each other's naked flesh in frenzied, sweaty sexual congress; in other words, screw the rules as each of them yanked the peculiar garments off the other and clung together for several seconds.

"If you don't get that thing inside me within the next sixty seconds, I shall turn into a rabid clawing beast," snarled Agnes.

Arthur smiled, a rather cold smile considering. He had about one ounce of self-control left, all of which was fully devoted to refraining from penetrating her for just as long as it took him to lift her bodily and toss her so that she landed prone on the bed, slightly winded and completely disinclined to put up any sort of resistance.

Arthur took another second to drink in the sight of her, naked at last, breasts falling back, chest heaving, legs splayed, pussy fully displayed, and belly slightly trembling. Resisting once again the urge to dive into her like a swimming pool, he positioned himself over her and guided his penis expertly into her sheath, relishing the slipperiness of her tunnel, then looking up to see the blatant want in her expression.

Generally, Arthur would opine that he preferred his lovemaking to be performed in a sober state. He liked noticing the little details, being able to remember each sensation in a precise, visceral fashion.

The more his memory consisted of blurs and gaps, the more his imagination tended to invent likely faux passes and unnerving assertion that it probably hadn't been as good for her, etc. Pot sometimes made for a good middle ground, relaxing those oh-so-inhibiting inhibitions while leaving his recall generally intact.

But there is more than one kind of intoxication, and Arthur was fully under the throes of one generated by his own brain, with just a little assistance from the high-tech implant he was currently sporting. All of which is to say that if the devil is in the details, this is the moment when the devil was thoroughly evicted from the premises, at least from Arthur's perspective.

If you were to ask Arthur exactly what was done, or how it felt, or even how long it lasted, you would get the responses, "We shagged," "bloody incredible," and "somewhere between forever and a minute."

If you were to ask Agnes, she would probably glare at you for asking such a personal question, unless you were Arthur, in which case her response would be, "You were there, idiot," and a mischievous grin. Suffice it to say that when it was over they were both happily exhausted, and then quiet for a time, and then the talking started again.

*****

"Not to pressure you or anything, but have you even the vaguest plans for our future?"

Arthur looked down at Agnes, her question startling him out of his reverie. The only response that came to mind was, "Um...er..."

She ruffled his hair. "Don't panic, darling. I just thought it was something we should discuss while we're alone. You know, two of the three remaining humans, and all that."

Speech finally came to Arthur's tongue. "I guess we need to find out how people make their livings. It is a big galaxy, after all. Surely there must be some niche..." He drifted into thought, unable to find the verbiage to make his musings sensible.

"Yes, but you were in advertising, and I was a loan supervisor. Even if versions of our jobs exist, we can't possibly hope to do well in them. I assume you were, like me, good at your job but hardly brilliant. No, we'll be lucky if we can get hired as grunt labor, I'm afraid."

This was starting to become a depressing conversation. Arthur furrowed his brow and thought for a minute. Then he brightened.

"Maybe labor is obsolete. Obviously the tech level is pretty high. Maybe all we need is a matter replicator and a few square feet to call our own."

She shook her head. "Not exactly ambitious. I can't imagine how you expect to pay me back."

A striking feeling of deja vu settled over Arthur. "Pay you back? You mean for the sex?" He smiled, a small puzzled smile that struggled to convey that he had no idea what she was talking about, but he certainly wasn't trying to imply that she was charging for sex.

"Well, if you remember, you agreed to pay back everything that was owed to the bank, if I gave you a blowjob. So, in a way, I am charging for sex." She paused, then hastened to add," But just for that first time. The rest was thoroughly complimentary."

Arthur was flummoxed. She really had come back to herself, although, strictly speaking, she hadn't been fully herself when the agreement was made, and neither had he. Ford had also secured his acquiescence by essentially promising Arthur he wouldn't have to make good on the debt, and Arthur, for his part, had believed Ford could make good on that promise. But none of Ford's assurances seemed particularly helpful just now.

That didn't mean Arthur was completely out of ideas. "My agreement was to pay back what was owed to the bank," he said firmly. "With the bank's demise, surely that debt is null and void."

She shook her head. "As last surviving shareholder of that bank, I'm entitled to whatever assets remain. Your promise might not be legally binding, but you still have a moral obligation, and I know you, Arthur. Whatever trickery Ford might pull out of his arse to help you weasel out of this, you wouldn't be able to look at yourself in the mirror if you didn't at least try to make good on it."

Arthur swore to himself. She had him pegged. Even if Ford could come up with another angle, Arthur wouldn't feel right about going along with it. He almost felt worse about making the promise in bad faith than he did about being held to it. There was just one problem.

"How the hell can I pay you back? It's not like British money's being printed any more, and there's no exchange rate to speak of, whatever passes for currency around here could be based on plutonium for all we know."

"I'm sure we can find an equitable solution," said Agnes. "If it's really impossible, then we'll drop the whole thing. But I don't want to just...veg out with a matter replicator and holographic friends. My job may have been stupid and even unethical in parts, but it got me out of the house and forced me to interact with people, even people I couldn't stand. Maybe it wasn't productive but at least it wasn't sedentary."

Arthur felt like saying a number of things. He felt like saying there was nothing wrong with a quiet existence and minimal social interaction. He felt like telling her that holding a debt over his head to get him to go along with her plans was petty, controlling and selfish. Then he thought how lonely he'd be, how lonely they'd both be, if they didn't have each other and he decided knowing when to keep his mouth shut was an important skill and he'd better start practicing it immediately.

Will Arthur ever pay Agnes back? Will Ford be able to come up with a solution that even Arthur might find conscionable? Will Agnes come to love matter replicators, if she can find one that matches her shoes? How many of these questions does the author intend to answer, anyway? Are they just a hackneyed rhetorical device, with no impact on the future direction of the story? You won't find the answers by not reading the next installment, so why not give it a try?

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AnonymousAnonymousabout 13 years ago

Needs about 25 more chapters or so! This version I like better than the original Douglass Adams version.

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