The Day the Earth Stood NudebyMatthewVett©
Author's Warning: This story is talky. It has its sexy parts, but there's a whole lot of talking in the middle, so if you dislike that, you probably won't like this. Also, since this story is inspired by a 1950's science-fiction film, it's not especially hard sci-fi. So there are your two warnings. If you hate talking and/or soft sci-fi, turn back now. Otherwise, read on, and enjoy!
It was the day the world changed forever. No one then realized the full implications of The Day. All we knew was that it happened, but no one knew why, not for a long time, anyway. Well, I shouldn't say no one. Three of us on all of Earth knew what had happened, why it had happened, and who did it.
But this story doesn't begin on that day. It starts a week earlier. Early that day, I was in my anthropology class, the teacher describing the Ama people of Japan, mostly found on the Izu Peninsula. They're traditional divers, diving without scuba tanks up to 75 feet. The women do most of the work, while the men row the boats and fix the nets. They've been doing it for about two thousand years. Women do the diving because women's fat keeps them warmer underwater than men. It's hard work, but profitable, and Ama women were traditionally considered to be good wives. It was interesting, but I couldn't pay much attention, for two reasons.
Firstly, the Ama traditionally dive wearing only a loin cloth. This meant that on the giant projector screen at the front of room were thirty-foot tall topless Japanese girls, fresh from the sea, laughing with their friends, carrying bags of shellfish, but mostly, so far as I was concerned, being very topless. They were strong, happy women, totally free, wild, and proud. How could you not love a culture like that? They were practically real life mermaids. Why hadn't my European forebears promoted athletic, topless, working women? The Spartans left behind the wrong memes, so far as I was concerned.
This is a bit embarrassing to admit, but at the age of nineteen, I still hadn't seen a girl naked. I had seen pictures, of course, but never in person. I hadn't even had a real girlfriend, except for a girl back in 9th grade for about a month, during which time we held hands and kissed once. I could be the posterboy for inexperienced college freshmen.
It wasn't that I was ugly. I didn't think so anyway. My chestnut brown hair was a bit messy, stubbornly resisting any efforts to get it neat. My eyes were a glacier blue, but they were usually hidden by my glasses. I had tried contacts, but I hadn't like the feeling of them in my eyes, and had resigned myself to hiding what I considered my best feature.
I had trouble remembering to shave often enough, so I usually had a bit of stubble, and I disliked picking out clothes that matched, so I mostly stuck to earth-tone sweaters, t-shirts, and khakis. That day I was wearing a charcoal grey sweater and a pair of light tan khakis. I felt like a deviant sometimes, but I just couldn't get used to boxers, let alone briefs. They were too constricting, too tight, a problem only exacerbated by my incorrigibly eager erections.
I hoped that with age and experience my cock would lose a bit of its over-eagerness. As it was, I couldn't even hug a girl without my manhood hardening, pressing against her soft body, enthusiastically announcing its presence to her. I guessed most girls didn't notice, since most of my female friends really enjoyed hugging me. Katie even said that I gave the best hugs out of all the guys she knew and called me a real teddy bear. But girls don't date teddy bears.
I guess my problem was that I was too shy. I focused a lot on my classes and books, and it paid off in terms of grades, but not socially. I didn't really like to put myself out there, and I didn't know how to make new friends. I wasn't much into parties, either. I had made a few friends in classes and in my dorm and in some clubs, but I could barely work up the nerve to talk to the girl I liked.
The margins of my anthropology notebook were covered in doodles: a UFO, breasts, maps, and a heart with a name inside it: Esther. I sighed deeply and subtly sneaked a peek at the second reason why I couldn't concentrate.
Her name was Esther Zhang: 19, Chinese, and gorgeous. I had sat next to her the first day of class and had barely squeaked out a hello. She smiled back, introduced herself, and my heart melted. She wasn't sexy; she didn't have ruby red lips or D cup tits or legs up to her neck. She was cute, she was beautiful, she was quiet and shy and maybe a little bit mousy and bookish, but heck, so was I.
Her eyes were big and brown, with that incredibly seductive shape that luck gave to Asia. Whenever she looked at me, I felt my whole body warm up: they were full of depth and affection. Her face was rounded, but not plump. Her soft pink lips were short and full. She didn't smile much, but when she did, it was breathtaking, her eyes lighting up with her beaming smile. Mostly her expression was serious, thoughtful, or wistful. She always flashed a smile when she saw me, though, to my delight. Her black hair went down past her shoulders, usually worn in a ponytail, with long bangs covering her forehead.
Her skin was the color of freshly cut peaches, ready to be devoured. The one time I had accidentally brushed my hand against hers, it had felt as soft and smooth as silk. Her hair always had a faint scent of flowers, never enough to be overpowering, or even explicit, but just a lovely background note that you wouldn't notice until it left or you were listening for it. She was tall, too. At 5'8", she was only about three inches shorter than me. With her height and build, she was almost willowy, ethereal...
As I gazed at her face, focused intently on the screen, I could feel the butterflies swarming in my stomach, a tiny tempest in my tummy. I wished I were bolder. I wished I could get her to notice me as more than a classmate. We talked, but not much. I wanted more.
At the end of the class, Professor Woodbury assigned an essay on one of the cultures we had studied so far. Looking at the projector, with its dozen or so topless beauties lounging on the beach, I knew my topic.
After the rest of my classes, I went to the library and checked out some books on the Ama to begin my research. I always went down to the very lowest levels of the stacks to read. Almost no one was there to disturb my reading, it was comfortably cool, and I was surrounded by the classical literature section, if I ever needed a study break. With a stack of books, a notebook, a pen, and a drink, I sat down to work.
The hours passed as I absorbed book after book, article after article. I felt almost ready to start writing by the end of it. I knew I had chosen a good topic; after all, I had a personal interest in it. And none other than Ian Fleming, the creator of James Bond, had been intrigued by the Ama, I found out. He included them in You Only Live Twice. I made a mental note to read that book sometime. I picked up the last book I had checked out and opened it up. It was a lot larger than the other books; it had been in the double plus-sized stacks. It hadn't even occurred to me that it would be a photo book.
Page after glossy page of pictures lay before me, with only the scrawniest paragraphs of context to interrupt my eyes' new playground. I savored every page, almost drooling. Soon, secure in the knowledge that almost no one came down to the bottom stacks, I began to stroke myself through my thin pants. I used my spare hand to flip through the pages and digest the pictures.
A beautiful Asian woman, wearing only a cyclopean diving mask, cowering behind a rock. Her breasts were full, yet firm. Her wet, black hair clung to her back. Her impressively tight and thick ass, just barely visible, her large eyes looking up in hope or fear towards someone unseen.
Two young women, smiling broadly, sitting on the coast, their bodies covered with dark sand. They wore shorts, bandanas, and nothing else. Their petite breasts were bare, pointing proudly towards the camera, their brown nipples easily visible even under the sand. The two girls were ecstatic, joyous, almost childishly cheerful. They looked like two girls playing, and I suppose they were. It was incredibly sexy to see nude women so happy, so natural, so candid.
A woman underwater, surrounded by undersea weeds and flowers, her backside towards the camera. Her modesty was only protected by a fundoshi, a loincloth almost like a thong, leaving both her beautiful, muscled cheeks exposed. In her belt was a long blade, used to cut abalone from the rocks.
A few tanned beauties, reveling together on the beach, a bonfire at their center for warmth. All of them smiling, beaming at the camera, just so happy to be alive and healthy and naked. Their breasts and backsides were all on display; not a stitch of clothing remained on any of them.
I stroked myself furiously. My hand raced back and forth across my engorged, swollen cock. The pleasure was building further and further. It strained against the thin fabric of my khakis, eager to be released. I had to stop myself as I felt my pleasure reaching its plateau. God, if I did any more, I was going to cum my pants. Already there was a dark circle on the front of my khakis, a drop of leaked precum.
But... I was alone. No one else was here, after all. I made a quick circuit around the room and confirmed my solitude. I sat back down and unzipped, releasing my cock from its confines. With the book open in front of me, I spit onto my palm and slowly began to work my shaft, squeezing and tugging, twisting my wrist as I reached my thick, red head, my body quivering from the twin pleasures of the danger of being caught and my hand stroking my cock. I teased myself, trying to postpone my orgasm as much as I could. I was already close, but I didn't want to finish too quickly. I wanted to savor it, enjoy it, revel in it for as long as I could. I brought myself as close as I could, then stopped, panting, waiting for the pressure to abate enough that I could start the cycle again.
I was throbbing, pulsating in my grip. Precum was leaking from my manhood. My limbs tingled and buzzed. I couldn't take the torture anymore. I decided to end it. Using one hand to hold my shaft steady, I gripped tighter, rubbing my cock with short, quick motions, focusing on my head and the underside of my shaft where I was most sensitive. I was close...oh god, I was so close...
KLONG. I froze. Shit, someone was here... I panicked; I couldn't work my zipper; I could hear their footsteps get closer and closer. Oh god, what would happen if I got caught masturbating in the library? Would I be expelled? Imprisoned? Everyone would find out, I'd be the laughingstock of the university. Shit, shit, shit, why wouldn't this zipper go up oh god the footsteps were getting closer what to do what to do?! I grabbed the book and covered my lap with it, just in time to look up into Esther's face.
"Oh! Hi Michael!" she said, holding her hand over her heart. "You startled me. Usually this place is empty."
"Hi Esther, how are you?" I said, trying desperately to keep my voice from cracking. Here was my crush, a foot away from me, and I was sitting here with my cock out, covered only by a book, pressing against it. Even that pressure was nearly unbearable, thanks to my earlier teasing.
"Great! I just aced a prelim, so I'm in a good mood. I was just coming down here to grab some books for my History of Rome class." Her eyes landed on my lap. "Oh, so you're the one who grabbed all the Ama books, huh? I was looking for those." She leaned over me, her petite chest almost in my face, as she read the other titles I had. I could smell her perfume, gently massaging my senses, lifting me up towards heaven. Almost subconsciously, I began to rock the book on my lap back and forth slightly, giving just a touch of friction to my tormented shaft, hoping to relieve just enough pressure that to make it bearable. "Wow, look at all these... So I guess they're gonna be your paper topic, huh?"
"Ya, they seemed really interesting to me," I said. For completely innocent reasons, I tried to telepathically broadcast into her head. Don't think I'm a pervert, don't think I'm a pervert, don't think I'm a pervert...
"Me too! It's kind of cool learning about a matriarchal society, especially one that's not hung-up about nudity or anything. Sometimes I wish society were more open about it, don't you?" she asked, her eyes inches from mine, her beautiful rose lips in a seraphic smile.
My cock spasmed beneath the book, begging me to let it cum. "Um, well, I mean..." Was she for real? This quiet, mousy girl wished she could be naked more freely? Was this a dream? No way, I didn't even dare dream such ideal fantasy worlds. I rested my hand on the book, shifting it against my cock, and the pressure became too much. The pictures of the Ama, the teasing, the friction of the book, mental fantasies of this gorgeous goddess frolicking nude through the quad, oh god, it was too much. I felt my body pass the point of no return.
I hoped it looked like I was thinking. I gritted my teeth, stifling my moans. I held the book as still as I could, trying to betray nothing about what was happening beneath. The pleasure overwhelmed me, covering me, taking over my body. Our eyes were still locked as my cock shuddered, spurting out hot cum between my legs. I could feel it dripping down my thighs, leaking into my pants. My heart was pounding. She was still looking at me...
I took a deep breath. "Well, there's a lot to think about... I do think our society is too anti-nudity, though. I always love studying other cultures. I mean, if you only stay in your own culture, it can be hard to tell what's universally true and what's just the result of growing up inside your culture. If you really want to expand your mind, you need to interact with other cultures."
"I totally agree. That's one thing I like about ancient cultures. In a lot of ways, they're close to us, but in others, it's just totally...well, alien." She reached her hand tentatively towards my lap. "Mind if I look at that book for a second?"
"Yes! Um, yes, I'm just reading it now, and it's the last book I need to read for my paper. I'll return it when I'm done, if you want to read it then. Sorry," I offered weakly, hoping she wouldn't think I was some sort of psychotic book possessor, my basement torture chamber full of unfortunate souls who had dared-dared!-to read a book I wasn't finished with.
"Oh, OK..." she said, a little taken aback. "Are you feeling alright, Mike? You look a little red. Are you sick?" She pushed her bangs out of the way, leaned in, and pressed her forehead to mine. Our faces were almost touching. "It doesn't feel like you have a temperature... Well, I guess I'll see you later, then, Mike! Maybe we can meet up sometime and discuss the Ama?"
"Um, ya, I'd like that. A lot..."
"Alright, see ya then!" she said, walking off. I waited to hear the door close behind her before I took the book off my lap. Its cover was sticky and soiled. Ugh... I took a tissue out of my backpack and wiped it clean before getting my things together and leaving the library.
I walked outside and started to head towards my dorm when I saw it. It wasn't anything, but it blocked the stars behind it. Just a black shadow coming down from the skies. Was it a falling balloon? I tried to watch it carefully despite the darkness. It looked like it came down in Wilder's Woods. I glanced at my watch: 11pm. Ya, I had time. I decided to go check it out. The woods were dark. A few times I had to stop and clench my eyes shut, waiting for my night-vision to adapt. If it weren't for the campus's clock tower, I would have been too afraid of getting lost, but it was a massive landmark, and its quarter-hourly chimes were a constant reminder of where home was.
It took me about half an hour of stumbling through the woods to find it. It was some sort of machine, the size of a large house. Its surface was covered with dark greys and greens; it looked like it was designed to blend in with the woods around it at night, like a cuttlefish. I almost walked into it before I even saw it. It was round and convex, like a giant lens. It stood upon the earth on thin, insectoid legs. The surface was completely smooth. I walked around it, looking for an opening.
I halted. Twigs break all the time, right? Why, I bet sometimes they get really depressed and commit twig suicide, snapping themselves to death, right? The back of my neck prickled and my arms erupted in goosebumps. My chest burned and my teeth tingled. I stood still, moving only my eyes, afraid to turn my head for what I might see. I decided to chance it. Better to see what it was now and have a shot at running than wait until it tried to eat my brains before I could make a value judgment about it.
I turned my head, slowly, my heart pounding in my ears. Walking towards me was a black being. It was taller than I, though only by a few inches. It was covered in black leather from head to toe. It wore thick, flat boots, up to its knees, and above that, what resembled a greatcoat. Its hands were concealed by black gloves, and in one hand, it held some sinister weapon. Its head was terrible: enormous, glowing green eyes, no nose or mouth, and a smooth skull, except for two moth-like antennae. I was frozen in place as it approached me. As it got close, everything went black.
I woke up in a small, brightly lit room with white walls on a flat, soft table. Where was I? The last few minutes came back into my head. Oh god, was I...was I inside the ship?! I looked around at my surroundings.
The room had no doors. The ceiling was a simple, bare white, and the floor was glowing: the source of the room's light. The room was a bit short, probably only seven and a half feet or so in height, I estimated. The walls had charts with graphics and words I didn't understand. My head still felt foggy. What had that monster done to me?
"Saluton!" chirped a perky voice.
What? "Um, hello?" I replied back.
"Saluton! Mia nomo estas-"
"I don't understand you," I tried to explain, looking around. "Where are you?"
"Kion? Feko! Oni diris al mi, ke Esperanto estas la internacia lingvo! Hello! Is this better?"
"Yes, much." I looked around for the source of the sound, and settled on a glossy, black box on the wall, about the size and shape of a Nintendo DS. The bottom half was a speaker, while the top half was dominated by a large lens, about three inches across. It glowed blue, a ghostly light. It reminded me of a nuclear reactor: that otherworldly, ethereal Cherenkov radiation. The light was brightest at the center, then decreased in intensity in concentric circles, until the edges were nearly black. "Who are you?"
"My name is Never-Forget-That-Were-It-Not-For-Ten-Thousand-Generations-Of-Sex-You-Would-Not-Exist," she boasted. "I have come all the way to your planet on a mission! It is of the-"
"Your name is what?" I asked. "Is that a real name?"
"Yes! It's a very fine name for an exploration and research vessel!"
"You mean, you're the ship?" I asked, bewildered.
"Yes! And my name is Never-Forget-That-Were-It-Not-For-Ten-Thousand-Generations-Of-Sex-You-Would-Not-Exist."
"Is there anything shorter that people call you? Like a nickname?" I asked.
"Hmm... I am the 109th ship of my class, so my class-cousins often call me 109. Is that better?"
"One hundred and nine? Ya, I can remember that, at least. So 109, why am I here? Who was that outside?"
"Just wait a few moments. I notified the captain that you're here, and she'll be arriving...now."