Slingshot

"You missed last call," David said as she approached the bar.

"Just as well. I'm done for the night," she said, taking a last pull from her beer bottle.

"Oh, I guess you'll be heading home," he said. The look of disappointment on his face was almost adorable.

Gemma smiled. "Well, my roommate has her boyfriend over for this evening, so I'd rather not go back there and listen to them. Do you live nearby?"

Spoiler - He does.

"Ummm, yeah. Like a 10-minute walk away."

"Want to talk to me about theoretical physics some more?" Gemma said. She hoped he was smart enough to realize that "talk about theoretical physics" was code for "how about we have sex?" But he was a scientist, so there were no guarantees.

And that's how they ended up leaving the bar, Gemma with her arm through his and leaning against him. He still had a dazed look on his face. It was matched by the bartender, who seemed baffled at how the depressed skinny geek was leaving with the hot girl.

It was a nice enough walk. They mainly talked about the weather rather than science. It was a nervous walk, where the voices in your head were louder than the person next to you. Gemma was glad to be with him, though. This part of Toronto was much dirtier and seedier in 1970 than in 2025. David wasn't intimidating up close, but he was 6'3", so he would be a deterrent from a distance. Certainly more than her at 4'10". However, she'd taken self-defence classes and could handle herself in a fight. Too bad he couldn't walk her to the drop later, but she would be pulling a Cinderella on him, so it wasn't an option.

She was at least grateful it was clean when they returned to his room. Although calling it an apartment might be charitable. David's place was a dive. The carpet was thin and the wallpaper looked like it might have been put on the walls during World War II. She knew David didn't smoke, but given the yellowed nature of the wallpaper, previous tenants had. The kitchen, living room and bedroom were all in one tiny space. He slept on a futon, which was currently out as a bed. He shared the bathroom with other tenants on the floor.

She made a mental note to not use the bathroom, no matter how desperate things got.

"It's a dump, I know. But being on campus and stuck with a roommate drives me nuts. At least here I can have privacy," he said.

That's when someone upstairs yelled at someone else.

"Well, a little privacy," he said, and grinned.

"We'll try not to disturb them too much," she said, stepping up to David and pulling his head down to kiss him.

At first he appeared shocked and didn't kiss her back. She worried about having a conversation about being sure she wanted this and blah blah blah. It was a boring talk at the best of times, and she was very much on the clock now. Gemma had three hours to seduce David, fuck him unconscious, sneak out, change into her tinfoil fetish gear, and slingshot back to 2025.

Meaningful, reassuring conversations were not high on her agenda.

Fortunately, David started thinking with the right head for the occasion. He reached behind and grabbed her ass, and Gemma made a happy little purring noise as he did. The next few minutes were an awkward, but amusing, stumble toward his futon as they shed coats, boots and articles of clothing.

When he collapsed on the squeaky futon and she straddled him, he was down to an undershirt and shorts. She was down to her nylons, panties, and had just pulled her sweater and t-shirt off with a dramatic flourish. Gemma smiled as she saw his eyes widen when he saw her bra. Ah, for a time when porn wasn't everywhere and a girl wearing a bra was still a thing to be cherished.

Feeling confident, he reached up to undo it. She stopped him.

"You need to study mechanical engineering to get this thing undone," she said. To her surprise, he continued.

"Please, I'm studying the nature of reality. How hard can a bra be?"

Gemma smirked, held her arms up and gave him access. She had to give him credit; most guys with a half-naked girl on their lap would be trying to tear the damn thing off. Instead, he attacked the problem, figured out where the hooks were, determined the best way to undo them, and then efficiently unhooked her bra. He let it drop on the floor beside the futon.

"I'm impressed," she said.

"Me too," he said, referring to what he was looking at. Gemma blushed for the first time this evening and felt a little self-conscious. She was a B-cup at best. Nothing epic to brag about. Still, it was nice to be appreciated. She pulled off his undershirt and leaned down, her breasts pressing against him as they kissed.

That went on for several minutes, with the two of them kissing. Gemma attacked his neck at one point. He responded by sliding her up and sucking on her nipples. She gasped and encouraged him to keep doing that.

Just when Gemma thought she would have to take the next step, David pleasantly surprised her by sliding his hands under her nylons and panties, pushing them down her hips. She stood up to help, and they quickly slid down her thighs and pooled at her feet. She stepped out of them, naked in front of him for the first time.

"You are gorgeous," he said. "How on earth did I get lucky enough..."

She leaned in and put a finger to his lips. "No analysis, David. Enjoy the moment."

To emphasize the point, she reached into his boxers and took out his cock. It was a little longer than she had previously experienced but also a bit thinner. It would fit in her nicely. She ran her hands up and down it, and he groaned. Fortunately, the amount of beer he'd had this evening hadn't affected him. He was rock-hard.

She was preparing to straddle him, when he gasped out "condoms" and pointed to a little table next to the futon. There was no chance of her getting pregnant. She reacted badly to chemical birth control, so she used a diaphragm. Then again, David's ex had probably been cheating on him for a while. No sense taking a chance of bringing an STD back to 2025.

After grabbing one from the table, she tore it open. It was a very thick condom and she worried if David would actually be able to feel anything while fucking her. She then grinned, put the condom in her mouth and bent down so it hovered over his cock. Looking him straight in the eye, she pushed the condom down his cock using her mouth.

The condom had a horrible, slick, chemical taste, but the look of shock on his face was worth it.

"Where did you come from?" he managed to gasp out.

Gemma smiled and resumed her previous position over his cock.

"Maybe I'm an alien," she said, teasing the tip of his cock with her pussy.

David reached up and began playing with Gemma's nipples. She groaned and slipped further down, letting his cock slide into her.

"Funny, you don't look green with antennas," he said.

"Not all aliens look like they do on Star Trek, David," she said, continuing to slide down his cock. God, she might have underestimated how long he was.

"You watched Star Trek?"

"Sure, we get a kick out of it on our planet," she said. Gemma meant it as a joke, but she could tell he was actually wondering if she might not be an alien. It made as much sense as a hot girl picking him up at a bar.

She leaned forward, his cock now buried inside her, and kissed him. They made out for a few minutes before she came up for air.

"David, I'm not an alien. I'm a girl who got dumped before Valentine's Day and went to a bar where I ran into a cute, brilliant guy. Nothing weird or cosmic about it," she said.

"Discounting the fact he was fucking a woman who wouldn't be born for over 30 years. Totally normal night out," she thought.

He laughed. "Sorry. Overactive imagination."

Gemma began moving her hips again, sliding up his cock, then back down. The look on his face indicated that the condom wasn't cutting off all sensations.

"I like imagination," she whispered. "You can put yours to better use right now. Hmmm?"

Finally, it sank in. Whatever fugue state he'd been in washed away. He pushed up from the bed and wrapped his arms around her. She was now sitting on his lap with her legs wrapped around him as he kissed her. Gemma enjoyed that but liked it more when his hands slid down to her ass. He began lifting and dropping her on his cock.

"That's a much better use of your brain," Gemma groaned, arching her back. He took the hint and resumed his assault on her nipples.

When Gemma seduced David, she was well aware of the hypocrisy of telling him not to think so much when all she could do was think of how much time she had left. She would glance at her watch to check the time. She worried if she would have enough time. Then, seeing his nerves, wondering if there would be too much time left at the end.

But he was a better lover than she initially estimated. Or the condom really was reducing sensation, or he was trying very hard to impress her. It was after she screamed out from her third orgasm she realized if he didn't cum soon, she might literally disappear in front of him.

"Cum for me, baby," she said, her voice a rasp as she reached up and touched his face. "Cut loose, fuck me hard and cum.".

David took her at her word. She wrapped her legs around him and he fucked her hard. The futon made obscene noises until finally, with a gasp, he pushed into her and came. She couldn't feel it, but she smiled, watching him orgasm. Then he collapsed on the futon beside her.

The two of them focused on breathing when a voice called out from one of the other rooms.

"Thanks for the performance, but now let us get some fucking sleep!"

They both laughed. Gemma rolled over and rested her head on his chest. Some part of her mind was urgently whispering, "You need to get moving. Right fucking now." But she still had some time. She could take a moment and enjoy him.

"I've never had sex like that in my life," David said, his breathing calming down.

"Special alien tech to increase stamina," she said, giggling. He laughed.

"Tonight was going to be so miserable and depressing. I was going to stay at that bar until they kicked me and then stagger back here drunk. Instead, I met an amazing woman, talked physics all night and then had incredible sex. This is the best night of my life. Thank you," he said, turning to look at her.

Gemma's heart broke a little even as she smiled at him. He wouldn't understand when she wasn't there in the morning. She didn't think he would run off to California now. But he would be crushed and confused when she wasn't here when he woke up. That would only get worse when he discovered she didn't exist.

"It's been an amazing night for me too," she said. The little voice in her head was now accompanied by the reappearance of the pain, which was becoming intense. The sex had been an excellent way to disguise her discomfort. But now that the endorphins were dropping back to normal levels, she could feel how much pain she was in.

Then, mercifully, she heard his voice start to slow down. A long night of beer and sex will do a lad in.

"Sorry, I'm absolutely wiped out," he said, slurring his words.

Gemma kissed his chest. "It's ok. You've been working hard."

He muttered something and then began to snore. Gemma had never been so glad for a guy to fuck her and fall asleep immediately afterwards in her entire life. She waited a few more precious moments until she heard his breathing deepen. Then she extricated herself from his arms and the noisy futon.

Only then did she press in on her watch - 00:47:32.

"Fuuuuuck," she said quietly to herself. By her best estimate, it would take 15 minutes to get back to the alley from here. She didn't have to be in the exact same spot she arrived in, but as close as possible was always recommended. Slingshotting back was always harder, for some masochistic reason. It only got worse the further you did it from your landing site.

She threw on her t-shirt, sweater, nylons, skirt, and coat. She didn't bother with the underwear. She was going to have to strip and get back into her tinfoil fetish gear in the alley, which was going to suck. Not having to deal with the damn bra was a time-saver.

Plus, it was a little souvenir for David. It wasn't a glass slipper, but at least it was proof he didn't imagine the damn thing.

With tremendous willpower, Gemma resisted going over and kissing him one last time. She did one last survey of the room to see if she had left anything behind. That's when she noticed the desk. Piled on top were books and notes. Even with brain screaming at her to get going, she couldn't resist taking a last look.

The calculations were brilliant for a man his age. She knew physicists in her time who couldn't make the leaps he was making. For the first time, Gemma found herself wishing she could stay. Then, a sharp pain took her breath away, reminding her that choice was out of her hands.

But that's when she saw a blank piece of paper and a dangerous idea crept into her head.

"I really, really shouldn't, but I feel terrible leaving him like this. I should be able to give him some hope," she thought.

And that's when she found herself picking up a pen and writing.

David, I wasn't completely honest with you. I have to leave and I'm so sorry. I'm also not a student and you won't find me there. But please, please stay in school. You're brilliant and it's a huge loss if you don't.

G

PS I'm not an alien

PPS Perhaps don't mention this note in your journals

PPPS Black Bull: 02/14/90

Before she could come to her senses, take the note, and destroy it, she fled his apartment and ran to the alley.

She made it there with 10 minutes to spare and things were starting to hurt now. Gemma's skin felt like it was on fire, and she could see it was beginning to redden. Her muscles ached and a migraine was starting to come in around the edges.

She walked through the alley and prayed that some homeless person hadn't settled in over the last few hours. It was still empty. She stripped again, tossing her clothes into a garbage bin. Unlike her arrival, she wasn't cold standing naked in the alley because she was burning up.

She fumbled putting on the suit, even as her watch chirped a five-minute warning. Her fingers didn't want to work right.

"All right, 1970, you fucking bitch. I get it. You want me gone. Stop fucking with me for five minutes and I'll go," Gemma muttered.

Finally, she got sealed up in the suit. The watch chipped a one-minute warning and then sizzled. It wouldn't be making the return trip. She threw that into the dumpster as well. Finally, she put on the blackout glasses, her hood, and then waited.

After all the rushing, the last minute took forever. All Gemma could do was stand there and pray nobody walked into the alley at 4 am and saw the strange lady in skintight tinfoil. Everything was hurting now.

"Fuck, recovery is going to be a bitch," she thought. Then she felt the pull, and before she could scream, Gemma was gone.

Location: Classified

Time: February 13, 2026

"She shouldn't be going. She's compromised," Chair Three said.

"For fuck sake, this bullshit again," 'Gemma' thought.

"It has to be me," is what she said out loud.

"Don't assume you're irreplaceable. A half-dozen women are ready to slingshot tomorrow if we decide to change things," Chair Three said.

The other two said nothing for the moment, which wasn't a great sign. Before any slingshot, the traveller would sit with a three-person panel to review last-minute details. Then, the three would vote on whether to proceed with the slingshot. Typically, it was a perfunctory meeting. There were months of prep before any slingshot.

But this wasn't a normal one. Nobody had ever gone back to see a person twice, let alone the founder of time travel. Plus, rumours persisted after her last slingshot about precisely what happened in 1970. Dr. Sale continued to study physics, so that was good. But did she violate protocol and sleep with him? There were no formal accusations, but Chair Three believed she had.

She also thought Gemma had feelings for him that compromised her. Chair Three wasn't...completely wrong about that. Gemma would like to blame leaving the note on time travel psychosis, but she was in her right mind when she did it. Nobody had said anything during her debrief after weeks of recovery, so she thought she got away with it. But who knows what David wrote and what they were telling her.

"Send someone else and they'll spend eight hours convincing him to continue time travel research. Or he can take one look at me, looking exactly the same as I did 20 years ago, and he'll know he succeeded," Gemma said. "Seems pretty obvious which one makes more sense."

"And what will you do with all that extra time?" Chair Three sneered.

"Discuss asshole department heads," Gemma said, before she could catch herself. She could tell Chair Three was about to jump up and down on her when Chair One intervened.

"Enough," she said, and both women went quiet. Chair One was there for the first slingshot. She knew Dr. Sale when he was alive. When she spoke, you shut up and listened.

"Gemma, I have concerns, especially with your attitude sometimes. But your argument makes the most sense. This time, you have less margin for error with your slingshot only lasting seven hours. Stick to the plan and don't make me regret this. I vote she goes," Chair One said.

"She goes," Chair Two said.

"Opposed," Chair Three said. Just to be a spitey bitch.

"Thank you," Gemma said. She must be insane to want this again. She hadn't forgotten how badly she hurt after the last slingshot. She spent two weeks in a hospital bed recovering when she landed back in 2025. The quit rate among travellers at the Institute after one slingshot was 48 percent.

But she wanted to make a difference. She wanted to go back in time. And she wanted to see David again, even if things would be different.

"Good luck," Chair One said. And then added. "Don't fuck this up."

Gemma suspected it was code for "Oh, and please don't fuck the doctor while you're back there."

No promises.

Location: Classified < slingshot > Toronto, Canada

Time: February 14, 2026 < slingshot > February 14, 1990

Gemma ran into the Black Bull, teeth chattering. She wouldn't need to time travel if she had a dollar for every time she cursed Costuming. She looked back at her 70s outfit with nostalgia. It had the added benefit of being warm.

The outfit this time was an orange striped mock neck cropped sweater with three-quarter sleeves. For some insane reason, Costuming thought showing off her stomach in the middle of February in Canada was a good idea. She also wore a brown tartan mini-skirt that was, somehow, shorter than the one she wore in 1970. She had an oversized jean jacket that did little to keep her warm from the wind blowing off Lake Ontario.

This time her blonde hair was a layered shag. When she looked in the mirror back in 2026, she thought she looked like jailbait. She recalled that the head of Costuming and Chair Three were friends. She wasn't sure if the outfit was to humiliate her or make her look so young that a 41-year-old man wouldn't sleep with her.

Goes to show what they knew about men.

The Clifton House became the Black Bull back in the mid-70s. There were some changes, of course. It had been 20 years. But the crowd felt different. West Queen had a lot of money pumped into it over the last 20 years. There were fewer working-class people, and more people in suits. It was busy, but less busy than last time. Then again, last time it was a Friday night and now it was Wednesday. Besides, who brought their date to this bar for Valentine's Day?