The Morning After
My Synth implant woke me very early in the morning. I opened my eyes to see that Sam was already out of bed, but not out of the room. He stared over the edge of the mattress. I felt his thoughts in my head. My implant displayed an image of the backyard and an emotion of urgency. I slipped out of Lac’s arms and threw a pair of shorts on. Sam and I ran downstairs so I could let him out to potty.
The big dog sprang through the door and barely touched the back stairs as he hurried to cock his leg on the base of the massive oak tree. I wished the tree my daily ‘good morning’ and sat on the step in the early morning sunshine. Sam did his business and started his morning inspection tour of the property. The morning was warm, but soft, perfect for the beginning of June. The air smelled like Spring.
When I first started to live in the house, it had been a typical South Philly rowhome with a miniscule backyard. Behind the yard was a narrow alley and a row of garages. A long time ago, when car ownership went out of fashion, I paid to have the garages demolished and the alley converted to green space. A little while later, when I became a dog lover, I bought several of the homes on the opposite street and had them demolished so I could add their property to my yard. I loved to live in the city, but I wanted to have a big yard for my dogs and children to play in. I was happy to spend some money to achieve both.
I loved to watch Sam play. I used my implant to focus on his thoughts and emotions. Dogs were very simple creatures. In that respect, they were a lot like men. Sam loved to run and play outside. The simplicity of his joy made me smile. Being able to share that with him, and with my previous dogs, had been one of the greatest benefits of the Synth implant.
Synth was short for Synthetic Communicator. The Synthetic Communicator was made by the Synthetic Reality Company. The communicator was a computer chip which could be implanted in the brain of both humans and animals through a non-surgical procedure. Almost everyone had them. They performed all the functions of the old cellular telephones and much more. The implants translated language in real time. They facilitated learning. They even permitted basic mental communication with pets.
Synthetic Reality made a whole range of products. The desert scene Lac had chosen for our lovemaking the night before was created in my bedroom through another Synthetic Reality product. That device was known as the Synthetic Location Projector. The projector was a multimedia device which could surround one with any number of preloaded scenes. They also offered customized programs. One could literally slip away from reality into any alternate place or time they wished.
The magic of the Synthetic Location Projector was that one could physically interact with the created surroundings. That’s why, when Lac and I were in the desert, I could feel the sand under my feet and the sun on my face. If I wanted to, I could have had sex with any of the men at the oasis. The act would have looked, felt, smelled, and tasted real. It was an incredible feat of technology.
My mind was in the middle of wandering through all the wonders of technology that had been achieved in my lifetime when Sam finished his tour of the yard and charged at me. He leapt into my lap and sent me sprawling backward onto the wooden landing of the stairs. A universal characteristic of adult Great Danes is they don’t grasp that their bodies are much larger than they were as puppies. If they remember being able to sit in a spot, like my lap, they think they should always be able to sit in that spot. Sam routinely sent me sprawling by trying to sit in my lap like he did as a pup.
He sniffed around my body and licked my face. I was tempted to shove him away, but I felt his love and loyalty through my implant. I couldn’t bring myself to discourage his show of affection. I wrapped my arms around my dog and hugged him. I didn’t even try to stop him from licking my face. Given all the sweat, ass slime, lube, and piss I was covered with, a little dog slobber hardly mattered.
Sam finished his licking, and his thoughts shifted. He was hungry and hoped I’d feed him. I coaxed him to stand aside and climbed up off my back. I rubbed both sides of Sam’s furry face to rile him up. “Who’s ready for breakfast? Who is? Are you? Are you ready for breakfast?”
Sam replied with a bark. I let him into the back of the house and took the big tray of dog casserole out of the refrigerator. I fed my dogs mostly raw food that I selected and prepared myself. I knew the stuff manufactured by the dogfood companies was just as good, but that hadn’t always been the case. Once upon a time the companies who processed food for both pets and people used fillers and dubious ingredients to adulterate their products. My bad memories of that time kept me from fully trusting their goods to the present day. I knew that whatever I bought as real food ingredients and prepared with my own hands was good. As much as was possible, I fed Sam like I fed myself, with healthy whole foods.
I did my best to get the food into Sam’s bowl while he crowded me to get closer to the tray. Implant or no implant I was never able to adequately explain to Sam that he would get his meal faster if he left me alone while I served it instead of crowding me from the time I opened the fridge to the time I shook the spoon off into his bowl. I blocked Sam with my body and managed to fill his bowl. Sam inhaled his breakfast and padded to the living room couch for his first nap of the day.
I decided it was time for a shower. As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, I debated the wisdom of waking Lac. I liked when we showered together. I loved to feel his strong hands as they alternately washed and massaged my body. Just the thought of it made my cock stir in my jock.
When I invited him over for fun and games, I’d extended the invitation for the entire weekend. I planned to wallow in hedonism from the time he arrived on Friday evening, until he would have to leave on Sunday night, or perhaps Monday morning. I envisioned long sessions of foreplay and fisting, showers together, being held in his arms, all kinds of sex. We started according to plan, but when Lac asked me to marry him, his question disrupted my best laid plans, or my best plans for getting laid.
As much as I wanted to enjoy the pleasure of his company, I didn’t want to lose the day to physical distraction. Lac expressed a desire to be my husband. I wanted the same thing, but I couldn’t agree without explaining. Marriage was a lifetime commitment. Lac needed to know what he was committing to. In order to preserve the time I needed to explain things, I decided not to wake him.
When I reached the top of the stairs and moved along the hall, the sound of a running shower told me Lac was already awake. He was getting cleaned up in my master bathroom. I didn’t even bother to enter the bedroom. I moved along the hall to the other master suite and used the shower there. When I finished, I ran naked through the house to the basement laundry room. I threw on some clean clothes from a load of wash I hadn’t yet taken from the dryer. Then, I went back to the kitchen to start breakfast.
Lac came down a few minutes later. He was dressed like he was headed to the gym, in tight shorts that hugged his big ass and a sleeveless shirt to show off his strong arms and hairy pits. He greeted me with a full body embrace and a lingering kiss with lots of tongue.
“How’s your butt?” I asked when my tongue was back in my own mouth.
“A little sore, but I’ll be able to go again later. That’s the nice thing about not getting punched. Punching feels great, but it takes days before I can play again. That’s one of the reasons I started doing depth play, shorter recovery.”
“That’s why I love you. You always teach me new things.”
Lac chuckled at my teasing. “Are you ready to agree to my proposal yet? There is so much more you should learn.”
I wanted to agree. I longed to say yes to Lac’s desire and start to plan our life together, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to him. I shook my head and twisted out of his arms. “Please, let’s eat and then we’ll talk.”
Lac’s whole body sagged like I’d refused him. His adorable, boyish face pouted miserably. “I thought you loved me.”
I was tempted to leap into his arms and kiss away his sadness, but again I held back. I tried to soothe his hurt with words instead of physical affection. “I do love you. I want to marry you. I haven’t agreed yet for your sake. Please, Lacas, let me have my say. If you still want me after you’ve learned who I really am, I’ll give myself to you.”
Lac reluctantly agreed to do things my way. He retreated to a seat at the table while I started to cook. The first thing I did was to put the coffee on. I got my all-glass siphon coffee brewer out of the cabinet and laid out the pieces to get it ready. The brewer was what had brought Lac and I together.
Last October, I was making coffee when a neighbor from a few doors down knocked on the back door. The knock brought Sam Cooke running. He bounded through the kitchen to protect me from the perceived threat from outside. In his haste, he bungled into me and caused me to drop the World War Two era antique. The glass carafe shattered on the floor.
I searched for a replacement, but none could be found. As an act of desperation, I sought out a specialty glass manufacturing firm in the hope they could fabricate a new carafe. The glass maker was a small-volume outfit. It was a fascinating business which paired a storefront gallery with a production shop in the back. The production shop made low volume, high quality specialty glassware, primarily for use in scientific research.
While their main business was their production glass, in between production runs, the glassmakers were encouraged to explore the creative side of their craft. The storefront gallery was chock full of beautiful, delicate creations. I was dazzled by a blown glass beehive which hung from the ceiling by a wire and was surrounded by a swarm of fine glass bees. There were butterflies with colored wings, tropical birds, even colorful fish which hung in a school.
I wandered up to the counter and rang the bell for service. While I waited, I picked up what I thought was a heavy, glass paperweight. One end of it was an oversized egg decorated with all manner of swirls and sparkles cast into the glass. The wide end of the egg sported a clear glass neck of sorts which ended in a flat base. The base confused me. I wondered if it was added to the egg as a way to view the inner design, like a kaleidoscope. I had the base to my right eye when a great, bear of a man came from the manufacturing area in the back to see what I wanted.
I held the egg up and asked what it was. He grinned and explained. “It’s a butt plug.”
For barely a second, I thought he was teasing. When I reexamined the shape of the ‘item,’ I realized he was telling the truth. I roared with laughter. “I thought it was a kaleidoscope!”
The bear joined me in my laughter. His baritone voice was deep and gruff. Even so, his laughter sounded joyous instead of harsh. “I guess if you didn’t know what that was, you didn’t come looking for a sex toy.”
I returned the glass egg to the counter. “Even if I did, this is a bit big for me.”
“Oh, yeah? It’s pretty small for me.”
“Is it?” I asked with growing interest. “Are you into toys?”
The bear shook his head and leaned as close to me as he could while the counter was between us. The rich scent of his overheated body wafted to my nose and captured my attention. “I’m into fists.” He admitted proudly. “Lacas Menzies,” he said and offered a hand for me to shake.
“Marvin Gaye Collins.” I replied and shook with him.
I told Lacas about the shattered carafe of my precious antique coffee brewer. I presented the salvaged Bakelite handle and stainless-steel retaining ring. Lac scratched his dimpled chin with a pair of thick fingers as he turned the handle over in his other hand. “I can make a replacement.” He said at last. “But only on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You let me take you out when I’m finished.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Lac was very attractive, and his scent was incredible, but he wasn’t really my type. I tended to gravitate toward men who were more like me. I’m five-foot-eight with a runner’s build. Lacas was over six feet. He was a stocky, muscular, hunk of a man. Besides that, he said he was into fisting. I worried about his kink and the obvious differences between us.
Lac spoke as if he could read my mind. “Don’t worry. I’m very versatile. We don’t have to fist if you don’t want to. We don’t even have to have sex. We could just go out and have some laughs and see where it leads. Full disclosure, my boyfriend and I just called it quits. I could use a night out with a cute guy. What do you say?”
I said ‘yes.’ He said he needed a few days to work on the carafe. I left the handle and other hardware with him and went home to wait. Lac called the very next day to tell me it was done. That night, after an amazing first date, I watched in wonder as most of my arm disappeared into his body. We started our relationship the next day.
Our relationship wasn’t merely sexual. The sex was incredible, but our emotional compatibility was even better. Lac was sensitive and sweet. He loved animals and children. He hoped to have a big family someday, but he worried that at thirty-five years old, his time was running out. He loved his job at the glass factory, but he really enjoyed the creative freedom it afforded him. Lac was an artist.
Since he was a kid, he tried all different modes of expression. He painted. He learned to play music. He sculpted. He sewed. He acted. Nothing felt right until he was in Junior High and his class visited a glass factory on a field trip. To use his words, ‘the glass called to him.’ As soon as he was old enough, he got an afterschool job at the very same factory. He worked his way up from sweeping floors to being a production worker.
Once he learned all he could, he sought to branch out into more creative work. The company he currently worked for recruited him from the original firm. They hired him for his professionalism and his skill, but they gloried in his artistry.
Now that same talented artist, that sweet sensitive man, that gorgeous hunk wanted to be my husband. I wanted to let him, but first, he had to know the truth about me.
* * * *
Lac and I finished breakfast and moved to the living room to talk. He sat on the sofa and pulled Sam Cooke’s head into his lap. He ran his hands over the dog’s head and down his back. I remained on my feet so I could pace. Lac tried to get me to sit with him, but I refused. “I told you last night, I can’t talk about this in your arms.”
“Alright, do as you need. I’m here to listen.”
I paced the floor in front of the sofa. Lac watched like he was watching a tennis match. His eyes followed and his head turned back and forth each time I changed direction. I didn’t know where to start. The conversation I was about to have, I’d had seven times before. Not one of those seven times had gone well. I doubted the conversation was one that would ever go well, especially with as far-fetched as the subject matter was. I tried to be direct, as direct as I could. I opened with what I thought was a statement both Lac and I would agree with.
“I believe marriage is sacred. I believe it should not be entered into lightly. I believe that once the union is made, it can only be destroyed by death.”
Lac agreed. “I believe the same thing.”
“Good, that’s good.” I said as I gathered my thoughts to approach the heart of the matter. “I also believe that marriage requires sacrifice. If we unite in marriage, we sacrifice our individual lives to the union.”
“I agree.”
I forced myself to stop pacing. I wrung my hands together. “The trouble is, if we join our lives together, your sacrifice will be greater than mine. You have only one life to give away. When your life is over, that will be the end for you. When my life ends, when this body dies, that will not be the end for me. I will start over with a brand-new body. I will live again, and again, and again.”
Lac cocked his head to the side in confusion. I almost laughed because his head-tilt reminded me of Sam when he was confused about something. I held my amusement and waited to see what he would say.
“I don’t understand. You mean you’ll reincarnate, like in one of the old religions?”
“No, that’s not it at all. Today is June 6th, 2525. My consciousness was born on November 28th, 1981. I’m five-hundred-forty-three years old.” I pressed my hands flat to my chest. “This body is twenty-seven. It was created in a lab and grown for me to inhabit. I took possession of it seven years ago when this body was twenty. This is the eighth body I’ve lived in, nine if you count the one I was born into. My consciousness has been around for centuries. It will remain for centuries more. If we join our lives, my contribution to the union is limited to this body and the time we’ll spend together. I cannot contribute my life, because my life is no longer my own.
“Long ago, I surrendered myself to the world. In return, the world has granted me a version of immortality. I am given successive bodies of flesh with which to experience life. The person you’ve fallen in love with is the eighth of these. I’m telling you this because I want to be fair to you. I want you to understand that I will dedicate myself to you for the entirety of the life this body has before it, but when this body dies, I will get a new body to start again, and you, Lacas, will not.”
Sam yipped from his spot in Lac’s lap. My boyfriend had stopped petting the attention-starved dog. He was too busy trying to figure out why I’d said what I did. Sam’s yip got Lac’s hands back into motion. It also got him speaking.
“I can’t figure out why you’re telling me this. The Marvin I know is a serious man. He can be silly sometimes, and he has a good sense of humor, but he has never been cruel. If you didn’t want to marry me, you would have said. You wouldn’t bother to make up a story.”
I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’m racking my brain to figure out why you would say the things you have. The only thing I can come up with is that it’s true, but it can’t be.”
“It is.”
Lac closed his pretty brown eyes and held them shut. “I hear you saying it, but it makes no sense.”
“Why would I say it if it wasn’t true? We haven’t known each other for very long, but in that time, I have never lied to you.”
“You never have.” Lac agreed. “So, you wouldn’t start now, would you?”
“No.”
Lac heaved a deep breath and blew it out. He opened his eyes. “I’m not saying I believe you, but I’m willing to let you tell your story. I’m willing to listen because I love you. A big part of me wants to believe what you say because if I do, I get to have you. If I find out you lied, I will be disappointed. If you’re lying, you are the cruelest, most heartless man I’ve ever met. I don’t want to think that about you, so tell your story, and make it a good one.”
