Sorry Forever

I'm at the lab a lot. That's the way it is. I was on the verge of a breakthrough that would change the world. I was close.

But breakthroughs take time and long, long hours. Taylor didn't get it. She complained bitterly about this or that, claiming I was never there when she needed me. I trimmed some hours after we married, but she knew what she was getting into. Take the bathroom fan. She could have hired anybody to fix it, but it was somehow important that it be me.

"I married the smartest, most handy man in the whole world," she said, "and you can't even fix a fan?"

I resisted the urge to point out that her pronoun didn't match. That rarely went well. I had attempted to repair the fan once before but failed to familiarize myself with the part number before traipsing off to the hardware store. That indicated a lack of attention to detail, which rarely happens, and then I guessed wrong. That doesn't happen often either. I texted her for the correct one, but she didn't respond. That was happening more often lately, and she was snippier every day.

I could build or fix anything. Colbert Renault, he of the prestigious Renault Groupe Illimité and my boss and mentor, recognized that when he recruited me at my seventh-grade science fair. As for being the smartest man in the world? I believe he recognized that as well. Eventually.

Taylor wasn't happy with my salary either. I never could understand that. I'd received a good faith twenty thousand dollar raise the past two years running in addition to a base salary of a hundred twenty thousand. I was twenty-three years old. Name one of her former classmates and potential suitors who could compete with that.

"The percentage of your raises is going down," she said crossly.

"Yes, but I haven't produced anything yet," I explained patiently for the umpteenth time. "It could still fall through. You should be happy they're paying me this kind of money to stay put and you don't have to work."

"So, when is this supposed breakthrough going to happen?" Still cross.

Ah, that was the question, wasn't it? When? My Motio Molecular Module, M cubed, or EmCube, would indeed change the world, and she didn't know a thing about it. Safer that way. Of course, you already know it as a matter-transmitting portal technology that moves your molecules from place to place. What you don't know is that the word "molecular" is actually a bit of a misnomer because the compactification process actually relies on the topology of a six-dimensional Calabi-Yau manifold. That's string theory, folks, theoretical physics that yours truly just made actual. The objects moved are much smaller than a molecule, infinitesimally smaller than the distance between an electron and the nucleus it orbits. It incorporates the C-Y's topology's mirror symmetry to transport objects distances so minuscule they were previously unmeasurable, which, by its inverse, translates to the largest distances imaginable and every point in between. The word "molecule" allowed the use of three M's and the name EmCube. Pretty snazzy, right? Transit itself was informally dubbed "cubing."

It's similar in concept to the transporter on Star Trek, except duplicates are not created, so it's not like the big trick in The Prestige either. It's more like those pods in The Fly without all that dry ice. You're HERE, and then you're THERE.

By the way, it pains me to no end that I am forced to explain perfectly evident scientific principles to you using popular movies and television shows. What's wrong with this stupid society? Nobody cares about science. Are we ever going to get tired of dumbing down every single thing?

But I digress.

That Tuesday, I made a point of coming home early. It was me or the fan, mano a fan-o. No one was home. I don't know what caused it, but I experienced an uneasy sense of hasty departure, like someone had just left. I carried my toolbox up to the bathroom only to chance upon something that tore my heart out, an odor I hoped to never encounter again for the rest of my life.

Goddamn it if it wasn't a two-matcher.

~~~~~

I sat alone at the student café, as usual. No big deal, I sat there alone every day. I didn't have time to go home between my morning classes and my insane afternoon labs, so there I was, ensconced amid a rather intimidating collection of papers and notebooks. I was left alone. Nobody was beating down the door to be friends with an undersized twenty-year-old poised to receive his master's with a triple major in Mathematics, Astrophysics and Biology. Too intimidating. Honestly, probably too weird. I wasn't all that interested in hanging out with them either, as if I had the time. It was a lonely existence, but I had made my peace with it long ago, and this chapter of my life would close soon enough. This was as far as I would go. The world was calling.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

She was a little thing, maybe five foot one. And cute, boy, was she cute. And those eyes. The blue of a cloudless sky.

"I'm Taylor," she began. "I've noticed you sitting here every day, but you never talk to anybody."

I didn't say anything.

"And you are..." she asked hesitantly, nonplused by my lack of response.

"Aaron."

"Well, Aaron, I think you're a pretty cute guy."

Who was she trying to kid? Was this some sort of prank? "Please."

"No, really. Your hair would look really nice if you just got a decent haircut." She reached out and ran two fingers down my chest. "I think you might have a decent body hiding under there, and even if you don't, well, you're not sloppy or anything. We could get you toned up in no time."

She wasn't getting an answer, so she reached over and snatched my glasses right off. "See? I knew it! Get rid of these and look at that cutie pie in there just waiting to break out. I'm a girl that likes a challenge. Why don't we talk about it over coffee?"

She looked at me expectantly, but I'd had just about enough. "Look," I said, grabbing the glasses back and jamming them back on my face. "I don't know if this is a bet or maybe some sorority initiation foolishness, but I'm not buying it, okay? Have your fun with someone else."

She stared up at me, hurt, so hurt, absolutely gobsmacked that anyone could resist her charms. "In case you don't get it," she hissed, "I'm offering myself up on a silver platter here."

"You call that a silver platter?" I grated. "Insulting me like that? I'd hate to see you play hard to get."

"But I..."

"So, I'm sure you can understand if I ask you to leave my table so I can get back to what I was doing. I'm behind schedule now as it is. Thank you."

She stood up and hesitated for a moment, exasperated, then turned on her heel and marched out. Whew. Whatever bullet I'd dodged, I was glad the fun was over.

Except it wasn't, of course. Two days later I was attending - not by choice, might I add - a lecture on advanced quantum statistics, and there she was. She was dressed oh-so primly in a conservative knee-length skirt/jacket combo with low heels, quite a departure from her earlier fuckware featuring a barely there top, short shorts and high, high wedge sandals. Now she was wearing glasses the way pretty girls do when they try to look smart, or perhaps she was aiming for a sexy librarian with her hair pulled back like that. As she glided over to sit next to me, I had to admit to myself that it was an adorable look for her.

"I figured you needed an escort for this important function," she said sweetly.

And god help her, she tried. She tried so hard, and I couldn't help but feel for her. After adopting an intensely studious expression, she laboriously took notes in an attempt to maintain the charade that she was even a wee bit interested. I think she was the only one. Hey, I like this stuff and I was bored stiff. So was everyone else in attendance, including the lecturer himself. The one exception was Taylor, who was absolutely riveted. She hung on every word, and Doctor Wu, pompous egomaniac that he was, couldn't help but notice the pretty blonde in the fourth row. He gradually began directing his presentation almost exclusively to her, which was completely absurd, because she had literally no idea what he was going on about. It got embarrassing after a while, but you couldn't stop watching the grand spectacle. I know I couldn't.

When the whole debacle was finally over, she stood up quickly.

"That was so interesting," she said. "We'll have to discuss it in depth sometime soon."

And with that, she planted a soft kiss on my cheek and scurried out, adroitly evading the clutches of Dr. Wu's scaly, liver-spotted hands, leaving me completely in a funk.

So began what I like to think of as our war of attrition. She was everywhere I was. I'd see her at least five times in a week, twice it was three times in one day. She couldn't have been more pleasant, always asking demurely after my health, my studies, my parents, my life. Every encounter ended with a gentle kiss that progressed from my cheek to the side of my mouth to my lips. She must have enlisted help from somewhere or shot a locator dart in me because there was no way she could find me that often left to her own devices. If you want to call it stalking, go right ahead. I did, but there was no chance I would report it. Who would ever believe it?

"Taylor, what's going on?" I finally asked after two weeks, again planted at my usual table. "Why are you doing this?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she said with a coquettish smile. "I would love to take you out for coffee sometime. Wait, wait," she said, holding up her hands. "I'm sorry for what I said that day. That was so mean of me. I was only trying to get you to see that if you would just, you know, TRY a little, that you could get out into the world more, you know? Like, maybe I could help you with that."

"But why would you?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I?" she replied. "You are cute, you know. You're obviously brilliant, otherwise you wouldn't be carting THOSE around," she said, indicating the gallimaufry behind me. "That makes you a good prospect."

"Prospect? What do you mean? I'm only twenty years old." I was horrified.

"Yes, prospect. I know I'm only two years older than you," she said, "but time marches on. I'm going to graduate soon. It's time I get serious about my future, think about settling down."

"Well, I haven't been thinking that way at all, but you go right on ahead," I said. "Go find yourself a frat boy. Or a jock. How about one of those rich guys? I've heard girls like that in a 'prospect.'"

"Haven't you been listening?" she demanded. "I'm through with all that. I'm tired of being a plaything. Or having a plaything. They don't care about me. I want love. And yes, security is important, but that doesn't make you a gold digger. It just means you want to make sure your kids are financially stable...oh, and babies, at least two babies to start."

"Taylor..."

"And I'm not a gold digger," she continued. "My family has money. Not eff you money or anything like that, but we're comfortable. That's all I need."

"This is crazy."

"If you mean crazy good, yeah."

"But you don't know a thing about me," I said.

"That's why you go on dates," she said gently. "The first one is usually low pressure, like getting coffee or something. What do you say? What have you got to lose?'

As it turned out, quite a lot, but how could I know that then? Low pressure. Right.

"How about Thursday?"

"Thursday's perfect," she said with a delighted clap. "I'll meet you at Whole Latte Love on Maple at seven thirty. Good?"

"I apologize," I said. "I forgot. I'm at the lab every night this week. Why don't we reschedule for some time soon? How about late next week?"

"No, no, it's all right. Let's do this." She was persistent, she'd already proven that. "You said Thursday. What time would work for you?"

"It'll have to be more like eight, maybe even eight thirty. Yes, eight thirty is much more convenient. Nine would be even better."

She gave me a look that I would come to know well over the next few years, but it was smoothed over before you would ever notice. "Of course. That's fine. I'll see you there at nine."

She leaned up to give me a kiss, but instead of the chaste peck I was expecting, she put her hand behind my head, pulled me down and laid quite a whopper on me.

"I can't wait," she smiled as she seemed to float away.

I felt terrible, I really did, but I was over fifteen minutes late. I'd debated endlessly with myself about whether I should show up at all. After much reflection, I posited three scenarios that were most probable:

Scenario One - She would meet me. Crazy as it sounds, this scenario was the odds-on favorite, given her recent stalking behavior.

Scenario Two - She would stand me up. This outcome appeared particularly unlikely based on her recent pattern of the aforementioned stalking behavior. Why would she waste so much time if that was her intent?

Scenario Three - I would be seized by a group of fraternity goons who would strip me naked, roll me in grease and slide me up and down Spivey Hill. Although not necessarily feasible for several reasons, this scenario would adequately account for her tireless pursuit of my affections. It made more sense than Scenario One, to be honest.

It might have been better that I was so frazzled; I had little time to agonize about Scenarios Two and Three. It wasn't until I walked through the door that they hit me, but there she was, looking bored and fetching in something I suppose was in season somewhere, but I'm not interested in women's fashion, so I can't give you much on that.

"Taylor, I apologize for being so discourteous. It's just that subject 929 has been exhibiting certain peculiarities for weeks now, but it's been intermittent at best. It's been so frustrating. Tonight, it manifested them right in front of me, and I had no choice but to observe and report."

"That's all right, Aaron, but you could have let me know. Oh, wait. How could you do that when we don't even have each other's number? Shouldn't we fix that right now? Gimmie."

I sheepishly handed her my phone. Later, I couldn't locate her contact information under T, and I realized that I didn't even know her last name. Finally, I found it near the end under the heading "Your Taylor." She had also installed herself in Speed Dial 1, replacing my mother. Oh well, I already knew that number, and it probably didn't deserve number one status considering how rarely I called it.

"Okay, that's done," she said. "Show a girl a good time?"

And what a time we had. It was the best night of my life so far. It was with no little dismay that we were booted just before midnight. We had just gotten started.

'Mmmm, I don't want this night to end," Taylor said, snuggling into my chest, "but I have an early class tomorrow. That's why I tried to make it for earlier. I just knew we'd hit it off."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be inconsiderate."

"Oh, shhh," she said, pulling me down to kiss me on the nose. I liked it. "It sounds like you had your hands full tonight. When you're with someone, you compromise. Maybe I can teach you about it."

It turned out she could, and over the course of our relationship, Taylor taught me many things, and only a few of them were unpleasant. Three weeks and seven dates later, she taught me all I could handle about sexual intimacy.

I was in turmoil. We had kissed deeply several times by now - she said I was good at it, who knew - and she had let my hands wander wherever they wanted. She had massaged my hard member through my pants almost to completion twice before I stopped her. It was patently obvious to both of us that we were ready for the next step, but I was conflicted. Of course I wanted her, but my lack of experience couldn't help but be evident and embarrassing. I was reticent to make any kind of move.

"Don't worry about a thing, baby," she whispered sweetly as we slowly removed each other's clothes. The bed covers were already turned out. "No matter what happens, I'm pumped to be your first. That means I can train you up just the way I like it."

Prophetic words.

She had eased off my shirt and jeans and now, finally, she pulled my underwear down. There it stood, hard and ready for her. "Ohh, you are gifted in SO many ways, Aaron," she cooed, kissing it up and down. "Let me do this first. Just let it go. You'll last longer when we get to it."

How do you describe your first blowjob with no context? All I can tell you is that she used her hands and her mouth, and it was over soon. Oh, and it was indescribable pleasure, let's not leave that part out.

"Now, why don't you return the favor while we're waiting for Junior to...oh, hold on there. Hooold on. Are you ready already? I guess you are, big boy."

I was ready, oh, I was ready. I'd been waiting all my twenty years for this, well, seven or eight at least. I crawled over her, and as she took hold of my shaft to put me in her, I kissed her softly.

"You are so adorable," she sighed.

She guided me inside and oh, oh the rapture, the glorious feeling of wet and hot and, oh, the exquisite gentle velvet pressure, all at the same time. It was nirvana. It was bliss.

And it was over. Did I even make it two times?

I lay there, collapsing on her, trying desperately not to crush her, absolutely devastated. It had felt so good, so good, but I had ruined everything.

"Hey," she whispered, rolling us over on our sides and holding me tenderly. "You were great."

"I was not. I..."

"Shhh," she said gently, calming me. "Didn't it feel good?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"It'll get better, I promise."

It got better in about forty-five minutes, and it kept getting better. I needed lots of practice, and she let me, lots. She especially liked how I learned to return the favor. Soon we were a couple. After that we were an exclusive couple. After that we were an engaged couple, and four months after that, it was time for her to meet the family.

There was no way out of it this time, and, truth-be-told, I was itching for a chance to show off the new, improved me, sans glasses. I wanted them to see my hot fiancé and eat their hearts out. A little demeaning, a little devaluing of her, true, but you need to understand my history and treatment by this extended family. I wasn't an outcast by any means, but I was certainly a source of amusement to them. My cousins were considerably older, and they never missed a chance to have at me. Torture? Ill treatment? Maltreatment? I don't know what to tell you. Let's just say I was picked on a lot, but in that sneaky way where they pretended they were kidding. I was forced to pretend to go along with it, or I'd be an even bigger dick. I spent many long nights plotting revenge.

A lovely lady on my arm was my first salvo. It would alter their perception of me some. The next would land when EmCube hit. Mr. Renault had made a costly mistake when we began our association. Although the science was sound, he hadn't understood it enough to foresee its ramifications. He admits now that he underestimated me because of my youth. He thought it would all come to nothing, but he signed me anyway so I'd be under contract to him. He would later direct my focus when it didn't pan out. Consequently, he gave me a sweetheart of a deal: seventy-five percent of the gross profit and complete ownership of both the Motio and targeting/coordinate algorithms and patents. They would never amount to anything, so what better way to draw me into the fold than to cede me almost complete control? I would derive great satisfaction in returning my family's generosity of spirit in equal measure financially.

When all was said and done, I wouldn't be Bill Gates rich. I'd be able to buy and sell him many times over without a care. Gates and Putin combined. I would become the most powerful man in the world almost overnight, but danger laid in wait as well. Consider the number of industries I would invalidate or cripple: auto, airline, petroleum and shipping, to start. If they got even a whiff of what I was doing, my life wouldn't last long. Men have been killed for much, much less. That's why nobody knew everything except Mr. Renault and me, and we intended to keep it that way.