You'll Go Down in History Ch. 03

Before us in the center of the room, the shiny brass light apparatus and Fresnel lens that was the real business of this place stood on a circular platform that rested on rails, smelling strongly of oil and metal.

"So," Sandra said, "I keep this polished and spinning at night. Which leaves a lot of time for my research. I think maybe you can help me with that?" She stood at the glass door, hand on knob. "Come out here for a minute, but hold tight. The wind's getting up."

When she stepped out her hair was flung sideways and the sweats clung to the windward side of her slim body in a way I couldn't help but notice. The cold wind hit me, too and good thing. My cock had been threatening to get hard again. Maybe in the sunlight the glow wouldn't be noticeable through the fleece, but my instinct was to hide it. I was surprised at the force of the noise made by the wind howling relentlessly through the superstructure of the lighthouse. My awe was augmented by a visceral fear. I could imagine the wind taking me, throwing me into the air and shrieking its pleasure at my helplessness as I sailed into the cold sea. At that moment I realized that I wasn't truly suicidal anymore. You bet I kept a tight grip on the cold iron rail. Better to be flung into a strange future with this weird woman and her glowing fish tanks.

Sandra yelled, "We'll have a job tonight, Tom." Sounded like she'd just drafted me and I had no idea what she was talking about. Nice that she just assumed I could be helpful and nice that I might get to spend some more time around her. Because damn that hot spark of lust, my body had begun to long for hers. But naturally I was wary. Most folks don't want somethin' for nothin'.

"See those ships on the horizon, Tom?" she pointed to the east into the dark shadow under the storm. I could make out three, maybe four clusters of running lights in a line. "Those are loaded with shipping containers from China, mostly. This time of year they're full of all the crap folks'll buy for Christmas. Black Friday's just around the corner!" Sounded like she wasn't totally into the holiday spirit.

We stepped back inside and wrestled the door closed against the grasping wind. Quiet and warm by comparison and dominated by the light apparatus, the room shuddered in the approaching storm. "Time to flip the switch and get this old girl twirlin'. Can't let all the good boys and girls down." She sure sounded sarcastic now. Maybe the bible-thumper in her didn't think a consumer orgy was the reason for the season. I wouldn't know. I had my own resentments about Christmas, never having had one anything like normal.

"Don't look directly at the bulb or the lens, Tom. This has the candlepower to burn your retinas out." Then she turned to a gray panel beside the stair and pulled up on a large yellow handle. She had to lift with her legs it was so stiff. With a grunt she pushed it up into place, then tripped a smaller lever and the platform groaned, squealed and began to turn. The whine of an electric motor and the smell of ozone filled the room. I leaned back against the glass as the machinery got up to speed. In the center the lens, as large as me, a multi-faceted gem, turned on its axis. On the outer edge of the platform an assembly dominated by a large convex, mirrored bowl moved slowly toward me around the circuit. Nested in the bowl I saw a large bulb, it's tip pointed toward the lens. So this was how the beam was made to flash from the lighthouse, spinning its light across that distant horizon.

Sandra flipped another switch and the bulb began to glow, starting red and turning orange, then yellow toward white-hot. I squinted as it brightened. She was right, to look at it began to hurt. I turned my head as the beam spun toward me. Surprisingly, it was hot, too. The fierce light burnt through my eyelids and I cradled my head in my arm.

The bulb crackled as it lit. There was a high-pitched whine, rising as it accepted the voltage being poured into it. The wheels of the platform ground on the rails. I felt the floor tremble as the apparatus came up to speed, felt the brightening beam sweep over me. Then, a pulse in the whine, a sizzle, a brilliant burst and a bang.

"Oh, fuck," whispered Sandra. I looked up and she stared at the rotating machinery, now dark. "Oh, double and triple fuck. Sorry Lord." she continued, hands on hips. Obviously this was a problem. I just crouched there.

She stared at the broken apparatus for a long time as it slowly rotated, blind. Clouded darkness approached and the wind rose. Sandra looked out to sea into the gathering storm. The first rain drops struck the glass like bullets.

I wondered why she didn't move. "You've got a spare bulb, right?", I asked. She bit her lip, eyes closed, brow furrowed, silent for another long minute. Sandra flipped the switch and the machine ground to a halt. Now I heard only the wind and the slap of rain on the glass. She flipped another and a ring of work lights shone. The space felt much smaller.

"That would have been on my second trip to Chandler's," she sighed. "I was sure there was more life in this one -- It's well within the replacement cycle. Damned budget cuts! Sorry, Lord." She pounded her fist against the control panel. "You know, I've only got my ass out here on this rock so I could do my research. Couldn't get a grant through the NSF or the EPA or NASA or NOAA or anyone, so I took this job and brought my lab and my work out here and I'm getting close to having a paper. Fuck if this loses me the job and my work, too. Sorry, sorry Lord."

Now, you're thinking that I knew of a second light source there in that room. I did and I wasn't about to share that info. My dick wasn't anywhere near shining at that moment. I wasn't ready to die, but I wasn't ready to show her my deformity, either. And I didn't care about Christmas, or her job or all the acronyms she spouted. Her kindness notwithstanding, I didn't think I owed her anything. Well, maybe a little. I was a thief and a conman, not a hero.

She sank to her knees, the flash of anger spent, kept talking, as if to herself, "Lord, I know you set me on this path. Lord, I took the steps you laid before me. In faith I followed, in faith I toiled, in faith I have suffered here alone. My work is your work, my life is yours. I have given myself up to you and all my labors are to your glory, merely a small part of your greater glory, Lord! Humbly I lay myself before you. Humbly I seek the way, I seek your guidance, I seek your answer to this, the prayer of your servant."

Oh, shit, I'm trapped on an island with a jesus-freak, I thought.

Sandra continued, "I resisted your help, oh Lord. I didn't understand your message. I didn't see right before me the help you sent. I have been praying these last days to understand why you sent Tom to me. I was too weak to accept your gift. I was too afraid to receive your offering. I guessed you sent him to me to further my research. I prayed for an assistant, not a man with, with, with...glowing, uh, organs. Lord, I didn't understand. I didn't understand." She hung her head over her clasped hands, on her knees, weeping.

I edged toward the stair. She did know about me.

"We're here for a reason, Tom." She looked at me with wet eyes. The sun, dropping to the horizon, cast its last golden light on her, haloing her.

I had one foot on the stair.

"I know what it is now. The Lord put us here, right here in the storm, to bring us to our full selves, Tom."

I moved slowly down and her voice rose.

"It can't be a coincidence! I didn't see how He could be sending me you and your, uh, parts. How He could ask me to work with you, a man, a stranger. A strange man with a glowing organ. I have a vow of chastity and little experience with man-parts. But He must think my work is important to send help in you. And I wouldn't accept it, that help. But now He's made his word clear. He's made this lighthouse blind so that I might see!"

I was thinking maybe, storm or not, I would learn to drive a boat that night. All by myself.

"The Lord sees the light in you, Tom!" She rose to follow me down the stair.

I moved clumsily in the dimming light, feeling my way down.

"Tom, we all have a God-given purpose. Jonah didn't want to be a prophet, but he sailed and he suffered in the belly of a whale before bringing his message to the people." She was descending with me.

"I saw your light as I sat by your bedside one morning. I saw your miracle organ glowing right through the bedclothes. I was sore amazed! And I didn't want to see what God had sent me. I tried to deny it. I didn't know how to go forward. You didn't take my hints. It was clear that you didn't know your purpose, either. And now the Lord is forcing us, Tom. He's forcing us to answer his call!"

"I'm a freak. Leave me alone. God has nothing to do with it."

"He's given you a miracle organ and here's your purpose!" She grasped my shoulder.

"There's no use in this deformity. Let me go!"

"We can't leave the island til the storm's over. But we can do some good. We can see those ships to harbor. And I can make your brilliance useful, I'm sure I can. The plankton studies have shown me enough. I can study you and we can both make a difference. You are not a freak, you could be a savior."

I thought she was crazy, of course. But part of me warmed to hear those words.

"Tom, come up and let's try to light this beacon. It's a trial from God, but an experiment in science, too. I'll have to find how to make you as bright as possible for as long as possible. And collect specimens and record data for a baseline and I'm going to need some supplies up here and..." she was talking to herself now. Make me as bright as possible for as long as possible? I'd never lasted more than a few minutes.

"You mean I have to get hard and stay hard all night?" Why was I even considering this? Fucking testosterone. The idea of a night of arousal caught me. Much more than her notion of doing good. It was true, though, there wasn't anywhere to go.

"So the harder you are the brighter you are? That's interesting data. You'll have to show me. Help me bring some supplies up here." And she moved past me to hurry to the lab at the bottom.

I followed slowly, thinking. My life on the streets had honed an instinctive cost/benefit analysis, often finding that high risks were worthwhile. What was the worst that could happen?

Sandra focused on gathering several boxes of equipment and instruments. I had no idea what they were, but I carried a box up as she directed.

"Tom, we're going to have to use you as a replacement bulb," she explained as we climbed back up, "If we use the scientific method and try to be totally objective that'll make this easier. Just think of it like a doctor's exam, maybe." She looked me in the eye and I could see her own fear and some excitement, too.

Back at the top Sandra emptied the boxes and, very business-like, directed me. "Stand there on the platform between the mirror and the lens. Face the mirror. Pull out your penis and make it glow." She was twiddling knobs on one of the instruments. I stared dumbfounded for a moment. Well, shit, why not? Better to die with a hard-on.

As she hovered over her equipment I pushed my sweats down to my knees and wrapped a hand around my half-hard cock, chill air on my ass. I pulled at it and got some response, glowing a little. Sandra looked up at me, tentatively, not at my cock but at my face, her lips in a thin line. "I'm measuring lumens. We need at least 50,000 lumens to match the bulb that failed. You keep, uh, doing that and I'll, uh, tell you when you're bright enough. We'll have to see if there's a one-to-one correlation between your luminescence and the lumens we need. Pray to God that there is."

I closed my eyes and stroked, not praying, but thinking of Zenobia in our best, brief moments. I tried to imagine her full, fleshy body, it's warmth and slickness, how it felt in the shower, covered in soap. But I also heard the buffeting wind, felt the tower swaying in the storm, the cold air in that glass room perched high in the air. My efforts were frustrated and I glowed only dimly.

"Tom, we're not getting the result we need," she said, anxiously. I opened my eyes and saw her, hands on hips, looking from her gauges to me. At least she looked now at my cock, though appraisingly, and that helped a little. I felt a libidinous tickle in my groin and my glow increased. I didn't know I could be turned on by being looked at. She said, "Output is only 15 percent of spec right now. Can you do anything to increase it?" She darted a glance out into the darkness, imagining, I supposed, that garland of ships in the growing storm, her job, her research and all she had on the line.

Our goals were aligning and I wanted to get to 100%, too, you can understand. But this was weird. Up til now in my short carnal life, full-on flash-bulb brilliance came too soon and without effort on my part. Now what? I was aroused enough to be motivated and my devious, street-rat brain started thinking. "You said you didn't have a lot of experience with guys?" I asked.

"No, but I've done some internet research. You know, so I'll be ready for my husband when the time comes to give myself to him." She was twisting the hem of her hoodie, so I knew I had my hook in. she was at heart a scientist, curious, however devout she'd been raised.

"Well, Sandra (everyone responds better when you use their name), I can't do this by myself without some kind of other stimulation." She looked aghast for a moment, but a moment later determined. I guessed she didn't get to be an un-funded, mad scientist working with stinky fish by being too squeamish. Still, I didn't know how quickly to move her along. "Can you take off your hoodie?"

She hesitated, looked at me pulling my pork, glanced at the readout and visibly made up her mind.

"Lord," she turned her eyes heavenward, grasping the hem of the hoodie, "Lord, you called us here to do your will. And you move in mysterious ways. Who am I to question the path? We, your servants, put our souls in your hands." And she dragged the cotton over her head.

As I stroked I took in what she revealed - a golden, taut skin, slim, muscled and smooth, her breasts concealed in a simple white bra. "Mmmmm," I said, flattering her.

"Wow," she said, " that bumped the needle to 32 percent. Interesting."

"Now the bra," I said in my most harmless-kid-just-needs-a-fiver-for-a-meal voice. She reached behind her and with a twist loosened the harness. She shrugged and slid the bra off her arms. Her firm breasts, golden like the rest of her, stood firm, round and proud, nipples perking in the cold. Those nipples were a dark, wine red and fat, the small areola pinched to tight carmine cones. My instinct to suck watered my mouth suddenly. She stood demurely, awkward, hands half raised to cover herself.

"Holy cow, 47 percent," she said.

"You've been nude sunbathing, haven't you?"

She blushed, a rising pink glow that made her tastier, looking away and finally putting her hands over her breasts.

"You're beautiful, Sandra. Didn't that come from God, too?" She took that in and stood a little taller. "Please let me see them again. For God. And science." Slowly the hands fell and those perfect, glowing, raspberry-tipped breasts were revealed again. Her breathing quickened. Even the devout get horny, I figured, maybe moreso than the rest of us, going without like they do.

She didn't look at me but kept her eyes on the gauges as I rubbed myself harder and brighter. For a few minutes I appreciated her demure beauty, half naked and uncertain.

She frowned, "We're steady between 47 and 55 percent, Tom. That's not good enough. What will increase that?" I thought there was a touch of new eagerness in her question.

"Pinch your nipples."

"Like this?" she asked, tentatively pulling the right one.

"What kind of internet research did you do? Did you watch any porn?"

"No!" She was real cute when embarrassed, pink all over again.

"Did you read stories? You must have looked at pictures. I can't imagine it was all textbooks."

"Lord," she said, eyes turned upward, still tweaking that hot red nipple. "I confess. I did weaken and pollute myself with filth. But, though you are mysterious, you don't really want your servants to be willfully ignorant, surely?" She leaned one hip on the railing as if dizzy, now rubbing the left breast, too, still one eye on the gauge. Her curiosity, I think, was stronger than her religion after all.

I stroked a little more slowly, her self pleasure working for both of us. "I bet the sun warming your body felt good, didn't it? It made your flesh hot where it fell on you, on the places you keep hidden? Like a hot mouth on you. There was nobody out here to see you but God, right? Your weren't smited, were you?"

"No, I showed myself to Him and he was pleased," she sighed, running a hand across her belly now. "59 percent and rising." She seemed to realize that her actions had a direct influence on my output and let her fingertips dip into the waistband of her sweats. She caught a deep breath and I could see with my own eyes the brightness increase our little glass room.

"Touch your lady-parts." I was breathing a little hard myself. She slipped her hand down into the sweats and pressed. I saw her back arch, the other hand still pinching a nipple. The fingers rippled under the fabric as she worked and I felt a drop of my own juice wet my fingers as I stroked.

"My cum glows, too," I said, "See." And she looked, a little hungrily now, at me stroking as I dripped a bright drop.

"Ahh, curious," she said still watching how her actions were influencing my output. "68 percent. Tom, we need more. Or those ships won't make it to port tonight," she added quickly.

"Take off your pants," I said and she didn't hesitate this time, but bent (oh, those swinging, ripe fruits!) and stripped them down, panties and all. Her bush was trimmed just enough for modesty in a swimsuit and sun-bleached from the sunbathing as her skin down there was also golden and flawless. She stood and seemed to be aware again of sinning, covering herself with her hand, blushing again, turning her attention fully to the instruments.

"Tom, we're still not where we need to be..." I heard her anxiety and excitement, both.

"How about you surprise me?" I was sure being alone out here she'd experimented on herself.

"Oh!" she said, thinking. I knew she'd be challenged to own her lust, not be at God's mercy alone, to act without my dictate. She turned on her toes as she spread her arms wide in a pirouette, showing me her lithe body, perhaps feeling a bit of the sin of pride. Her ass turned to me and it was as golden, tight and smooth as the sun-kissed rest of her. That stair-climbing rump was exquisite, round and firm, tracing a line against the darkness behind her sinuous and sinful. The kind of line painters die for, that falls on the canvas from the hand like fingers stroking the downy skin itself. I got even a little harder, dripped again.

"You're an angel, Sandra, a gift from heaven." I knew to speak in a language she understood. And she touched herself again, running a hand down each side, cupping each breast, outlining the pinch of waist, the flare of hip, the swell of thigh, then pulling her hands between her legs, rubbing the smooth flesh and squeezing those melon breasts together. One hand flat across her mons and circling, the other eased it's way up across the soft plane of her belly to find a nipple to pinch. She looked at me then with raw wanting. Maybe I would survive the night.

I didn't need to stroke as hard now, my own arousal lifting on it's own. But as I rose I wondered how to stay short of climax. Every other time nature had taken it's swift course, even after that time I'd come in Zenobia's shower. My second cumming hadn't been long after being sandwiched between her and her mother. Well, tonight might require a second, third and fourth unless I learned some new skills. I'd known about edging, but what 19 yr-old's got the discipline for that. I trembled a few strokes short of shooting.