Putopia

1. Leith Walk

The coffee was good, the porn vanilla and thankfully 2D. He has arrived at Waverley after a featureless 50 minutes in the Vactrans from London and settles into a corner seat in one of his favourite Edinburgh cafés. It was too early for his hotel, leaving his bag at reception, he had strolled the first few hundred metres down the Walk to the Gallery Café.

He glanced back at the screen, an advert for Pervy Pensioners Magazine was playing, showing a sandy, palm fringed scene and the action unfolded. A zimmer frame lay cast aside and an attractive wiry Hispanic youth was busy getting as much of himself as possible inside an elderly but very muscular black gent. Paper magazines and indeed paper books were making another of their periodic comebacks, retro-chic soon to be replaced by the inevitable return to watch content. There was even a 'Bookshop' in the old town!

His visit to Edinburgh was to receive a medal from the International Anthropology Society and to give a short address. Probably the highest award society could bestow on an historian and anthropologist like himself, it was a big event being streaming live 3D. A great occasion to launch his new 'Book' although he was also there to attend the funeral of an elderly colleague.

He glanced aside at his profile in a nearby mirror, still hot at 68, handsome, tall, taught skinned and thankfully black. His fathers had chosen well for him, plumbing the darker waters of the gene pool. Few men could be described as white in the North European sense now, although there was retained an inevitable fetish for the Scandinavian and ginger.

The gentle opening of ‘Soave sia el Vento’ drifted from the screen followed by the inevitable syrupy voice-over advertising the Mangina Fan® - keeping your boypussy cool and happy. It was still early morning and he had a free day ahead of him. He had known Edinburgh as a student and would devote the day to visiting his old haunts, to nostalgia and to pleasure. But he knew inevitably pleasure would gain the upper hand………

Touching his watch to pay he got to his feet. As he went to leave, a Hispanic teenager entered the café. The android barista asked him what he wanted, but the guy merely shook his head and said 'Not coffee'. He strolled towards Edward and extended his arm. They touched watches and the note they emitted suggested huge overlap.

'My place or the back pod?' He asked, nodding to a door at the back of the cafe.

' I'm a tourist' Edward said 'I don't know you.'

'Well the contact is already logged on the watches, and I know you want to play, the match is good. I'm Martin.'

'The pod it is then, I'm Edward.'

He touched my watch on the pod door sensor and Martin did the same.

We stood silently outside the door, whilst the pod readied itself.

'Nice to meet you Prof.' said Martin as the door slid open. The sling was about the right height, the lube poppers and Recies on a low shelf to the side and the lighting low and warm.

'Real or enhanced Prof?' You fancy a three way with a hungdroid?'

'With you Martin, I think real will be enough.'

They kissed gently on the lips and then they stepped in and the door shut. It was, after all, far too early for sightseeing…………..

2. Picardy Place

Dear People,

It is now five hundred years on from the start of The Silent Pandemic. a seminal event, that rescued humanity from the abyss of environmental disaster caused by the boundless greed and vacuous consumerism of late twentieth and early twenty-first century and propelled us along a path leading to the re-naturing and restoration of the planet, the ending of poverty and need, and freedom and fulfilment for the vast majority of the earth's population. To plagiarise an expression from my particular period of historic study, ‘It was not the best thing since sliced bread, it was truly, the best thing since bread’.

To set the scene for you, let us go back to the earth of just over 500 years ago, an earth that reeling from the decades of misrule of the early twentieth first century, and from the disastrous rise of the empty consumerism that was the hallmark of that era. In countries all over the world, Britain, Brazil, America, Russia and Poland; corrupt, dishonest numpties had come to power, lacking any form of vision or appreciation of the environmental perils the earth was facing. The environmental damage caused by their incompetence, their inability to take any form of effective action over the climate emergency, was catastrophic and worldwide. The Maldives were the first to disappear under the rising sea level and everywhere vast areas of the coastal plain disappeared under the flood. In Europe the effects on low lying areas like the Netherlands were catastrophic. Walled cities once more became the norm, more to keep the waters out than to protect them against strife and war. Civil strife and drug related war were already the norm within cities. Resources were scarce, food was effectively rationed, due to the loss of so much productive low lying land, and wars for territory or water supplies were routine and perpetual. Europe and its offshore islands (of which there were then so very many), had by the mid twentieth Century effectively become a fortress against climate migrants, fleeing famine in the scorching equatorial regions.

The final decades of the twenty-first century were marked by social disintegration in most developed countries and by repressive and dictatorial governments, often unelected. In the middle of this chaos an international group known loosely as the Neo-Malthusians began to emerge, growing in numbers and importance, advocating population control and a reversal of economic growth. Unsurprisingly many of their supporters worked within the bio-technical and scientific fields.

A particularly mild winter five hundred years ago this year, and which winters could not be described as mild during that period, saw the appearance of a new highly contagious, vaccine resistant variant of chicken pox. The symptoms were incredibly mild, practically unnoticeable in most cases and had little effect on anyone’s day-to-day activity. Unsurprisingly the discovery attracted little or no scientific or media interest and a year on from that winter the infection had become widespread and endemic.

A few years after that winter, reports started documenting a significant change in the pattern of births. Previously the birth ratio, since mankind had been able to measure it, had been fairly evenly matched with a slight preponderance of boys. Papers appearing in the scientific press online suggesting that around 60% of live births in cities were now boys. The proportion of male infants slowly increased and a couple of decades on from these initial reports, this figure worldwide had stabilised at around 85%. Even the least educated amongst the population were not slow to grasp that this was a seismic shift in human biology but no one foresaw then quite how radical the changes it produces would be. Or how hugely beneficial.

Research suggested that this change in the birth ratio was attributable to a reduction in the mobility of sperm carrying an X chromosome and very soon this was linked to a gene from the virus causing the new variant of chicken pox that had become readily inserted in the X chromosome. It was not clear how the new virus had arisen and indeed it still isn't. New-agers and Eco-warriors attributed it to Gaia, the earth acting to limit the growth of human population; conspiracy theorists had, as always, blamed the Chinese, and the Neo-Malthusians smiled quietly to themselves and said nothing.

This change had initially given enormous power to women, they coupled with rich, handsome, talented men and produced beautiful, but predominantly male, children. Even the least intelligent and unprepossessing female had few problems finding herself a rich, intelligent and attractive male partner. One consequence of this change was it effectively removed vast swathes of the less attractive, intelligent and ambitious male population from the gene pool. Within fifty years the population had become predominantly male, and with the huge competition for a female mate, increasingly fitter, more intelligent and much, much more handsome.

The consequences of the population shrinking dramatically over a period of a couple of generations were seismic, causing huge and catastrophic disruption to all societies. In the developed world, the care of the elderly, and disabled had been the major employer of migrant workers and people with a less developed education. It was also a field of employment heavily dominated by women. Women rapidly became unwilling to be carers, as everywhere there were better opportunities available. Most men were not especially suited to replace them and their role was taken over by primitive personal care robots. From these crude beginnings were developed soft-skinned, gentle motherly androids, with empathy programmed in and often resembling middle aged women.

The decrease in the population resulted in vast overcapacity for the production of many products, especially nearly all electronic devices, but the huge demand for robots led to a rapid switch to manufacturing androids. Gradually androids became involved in every aspect of life. Developed countries increasingly became reliant on robots and automation for the vast majority of commercial activities. Within a century of the silent pandemic, robots were running and staffing shops and bars, mending roads, cleaning the streets and collecting and sorting garbage. Most vehicles had of course already been driverless for centuries, it was safer and more reliable. Robots continued to be built with features resembling humans, because that's the way we like them, no one wanted their drinks served by something resembling a vacuum cleaner, or their shopping delivered by a drone.

He sighed and strode over to the window. It still needed editing, but how exactly did you say something new about the last 500 years, other than the earth was probably in a better state now than it had been for a millennium.

Outside there was little happening, a slightly grey overcast sky and a chill wind had limited the boys on the streets. In Picardy Place a few passing delivery pods slid by, together with the occasional decrepit vehicle on the historic tramway, but otherwise the scene was quiet. A few guys cruised in St James Park at the top of The Walk. The population of Edinburgh-Leith was now around 120,000 and only the historic cores of the city were populated. Most people walked or cycled everywhere. The twentieth and twenty first century suburbs had gone, mostly recycled and returned to forests and to agriculture. Apart from the historic arts festival, it was a small quiet prosperous city.

He lay on the bed, switched on the screen and hit the local button. Some dreadful retro Scottish comedy show set in the late 2180s was playing, rubber gloved police had just raided a flat in Leith, to find a couple of lads wearing uniforms and remarkably similar gloves in a room with two slings. The stockier of the lads had held the flat door open in welcome.

'So it's the full cavity search you'll be subjecting us to officer? Or should I say oraficer?'

'Inspector to you son.'

'Oh I do hope so.'

The second skinnier lad raised his hand in greeting to one of the group. 'Hi, Reginald, you have a good night here on Tuesday?'

The officer blushed and the leader of the party turned to him. 'I thought you said your name was Dave? Reginald???'

They needed to spend more on their writers, he knew where this was going, things were about to get sticky…….

The next channel was a chat-show hosted by the ubiquitous Oucha Sorassi, a camp Japanese youth with a slight lisp and wild purple hair. He was interviewing the famous Arab porn star Assa Maseur. Like most people in mainstream media, he had started out in home porn. The centuries old deluge of amateur porn, had put production firmly in the hands of the consumers, porn was ubiquitous, multifaceted, free and above all liberating. No one had seriously described it as exploitative for centuries. A lesbian collective in Cologne produced some of the most imaginative porn on the planet. There was certainly no money in porn! Everyone posted sessions with their mates or their partner online , many flats and homes had lighting rigs and cameras for this purpose, run by the house android. Some of the best experiences of his life had been shared with his friends and then with the world.

An advert for a cooling Mangina Fan® appeared with its slightly sleazy silky voice-over, and he hit the off button. He had the usual hunger he felt when alone and travelling, a need for the intimacy of strangers. He gazed round the hotel room, the sling in the corner hung in a glazed enclosure next to the bathroom, the white ceramic floor glistening invitingly. Maybe he would play there this evening? He would head out now, after years away from Edinburgh he knew where to find life at its rawest. He headed to the bathroom for a quick check by the AC before he left.

He strolled across St. James Park up the quiet mulberry tree lined neo-Georgian Clyde Street and into St. Andrews Square. The square was an elegant space bounded by a mix of Georgian and neo buildings. A huge circular fountain filled the centre of the square. At its centre lay a massive pile of rubble, the remains of some ridiculous eighteenth century column. The column had been blasted by a black activist group in the latter years of the twenty-first century. For centuries the rubble had laid untouched and covered with a profusion of small trees and ivy in the centre of the square. About twenty years ago, a shadowy figure Philomena Pitkin had won the design competition for regenerating the square, installing the vast circular pond and fountain and dotting the resulting island of rubble with dozens of large triumphant black male figures, broken chains hanging from their wrists. The polished black granite edge of the fountain was inscribed with the inevitable quotation from Shelley, the nineteenth century poet. No one knew who Philomena Pitkin was, they had never spoken in public or agreed to be interviewed, but their tiny masked androgynous figure was familiar to everyone, and they seemed to catch the mood of the moment with monotonous regularity. Their identity was probably the best kept secret in the world.

Facing the fountain and looking down the length of George Street was THE BANK, a perfectly proportioned, symmetrical eighteenth century country house, the former home of the guy on the column, and now home of what was arguably the best sex club outside Berlin or Moscow.

3. Nail Beavers and Anal Aardvarks

He held his watch to the sensor and the door swung open. The view into the great hall of THE BANK took his breath away every time he visited, the graduated stars surrounding the central oculus seemed to float high above the hall and the warm autumn afternoon sun flooded the space below. in a cool, even light. The large mahogany central bar was surrounded by small groups of handsome men. The room had a dry gentle heat and everywhere were small tables partially hidden by huge containers of spectacular tropical plants. Around the room flocks of tiny, brightly coloured android birds circled, occasionally alighting on metal rails to recharge. They licked up spillages of all sorts throughout the building, drinks, lube, bodily fluids, helping to maintain a safe playing environment.

He collected a drink from a side bar and sat quietly at a vacant table, observing. Silently a tiny android nail beaver, maybe a little bigger than his smallest finger, appeared up the far leg of the table and expertly trimmed his fingernails before filing them with its abrasive tail. He was barely aware of it happening. He scanned the guys at the central bar, most were clad in a small white towel, but a few were dressed and had either just arrived or were leaving. In the far corner a slim hispanic guy was pressed against the wall and was having his back systematically scratched by an android bear.

One particularly beautiful black guy chatting quietly to a couple of older men particularly caught his attention. The dread-locks cascaded over the towel around his neck onto his taught muscular back. It was the only garment he was wearing.

Edward finished his drink and made for the door leading down to the locker rooms. He glanced back as he left and found that the beautiful black guy was looking directly at him. The lockers rooms, unlike much of the rest of the club, were functional, cramped and perfused with that particular odour of warm male bodies, testosterone and trainers, whether real or pumped in by the air-con it was hard to say. The locker room he chose was in a long low brick vaulted corridor. It was busy with a profusion of naked and semi-naked men. Most wore black leather boots, strapped on or held in place by long laces. A few had jocks, but most wore just a thick shiny steel ring.

He knew elsewhere in the building were groups of men clad in leather chaps or shiny tight rubber or tightly restrained by elaborate rope-work. He himself enjoyed being naked and had a strong preference for the company of naked men. But he liked his Berlin made boots, the long red socks, the red laces, the red leather harness, the thick metal cock-ring and his complete lack of body hair. He knew others liked it too. He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the many mirrors, why would any man choose not to be black?

He slid his watch up his arm to just above his biceps and the red and black strap adjusted its size to lock it high on his arm. The screen went black with just a pulsating red roundel on the screen. He felt himself stiffen at the thought of an afternoon of uninhibited play, especially thinking back to the dread-lock guy. The inner inflatable annulus within the cock-ring slackened slightly to accommodate the increasing girth. Sensors on the ring were measuring blood flow, skin temperature and stiffness, adjusting the pressure within the annulus to maintain what was laughingly called cabin pressure. He intended to be flying at cruising height most of the afternoon.

He had intentionally left all his Recies at the hotel and had hit and time-locked the safe play button on his watch. He believed in safe sax in this type of environment. Any Chems and Recies would be from the machines in the building. The watch would monitor his purchases and his body’s vital signs and would eventually call a halt to further stimulation if various physiological parameters were breached. He was in his sixties after all! If necessary, it would call a get-you-home android at the end of the session. Little could be done in modern society without a watch and they would all summon help in the event of any biological emergency.

Centuries ago, legislation had been passed giving the individual control over what they put in their bodies on both the micro and the macro level. A few very toxic hallucinogens were banned worldwide, but most things were freely available, formulated to strict government standards and heavily taxed, a great source of income for the government, which wisely spent a considerable amount of the income on chemicals education. Everyone was aware of the strength and quantities they were taking and the risks. The biggest industry in the world had been taken away from gangs and cartels centuries ago.

He started by buying some V2, an amyl, a pentyl and some weed to smoke immediately, tucked an E in his sock for a little later. He was after all black and a traditionalist. After smoking the green pure in the up-draft room, he tucked the bottles of poppers in the little elasticated pockets in the front of his harness for safe keeping. He was half-way to high when it was done, feeling warm, horny and immensely slutty. He touched his watch on the lube machine and a minute later he had a half-litre bottle in his hand. The watch had told the machine how he liked his lube as it paid. He gripped the warm bottle tightly and headed for the vault.

The safe sex of former centuries, bore little relation to what he was planning. A quarter metre thick steel door stood open revealing an immense ancient safe-deposit room lined with individual boxes and dimly lit. Attached to the ceiling were pulleys from which hung a couple of leather slings, one behind the other. He liked the period feel of the room, no obvious high-tec here, very eighteenth century, very Edinburgh. The nearer of the two slings held a hot and very hairy Hispanic bear, being fucked by a very tall, blond, hairless Dutch guy. He slid out and packed some more lube in with his hand. As he replaced the bottle in the stand, a tiny bird swooped down and cut through the strand of lube linking the bottle to the hand. A small group of guys were enjoying the show, blocking much of the view. Thank God for mirrored ceilings. It would be pointless to describe the Dutch guy as well hung. Little of him was visible, but centuries of selective breeding had rendered the term pretty meaningless. Size was now only limited by the body's ability to survive with so much of its blood supply being used for recreational purposes. In some materials he had been researching from the late twentieth century the term 'baby-arm' was used to describe well endowed men. The term was now redundant, there was now only really ‘arm’. Modern cocks were beyond the appetites of most women. Many women lived quiet lives of lesbian domestic bliss, often in quiet rural settings, accessing the goods required for child-bearing by other means.

He felt a gentle touch on his ass and then a hand slid between his legs and he felt moist warm fingers curl around his balls.

'You have your mix with you and the far sling is free.' Dreadlock guy slid his second arm round my neck, resting his face on the back of Edward’s head. He felt the warm breath on the back of his neck and caught that sweet mustiness you sometimes got from dreadlocks.

'You're on' He said.

He was in no hurry and they stood together by the empty sling, snorting poppers in that retro fashion that seemed appropriate for the setting; kissing languidly and checking each other out, first with eyes, then hands and finally tongues. When he was pushed back into the sling it had already adjusted the height. Dreadlock guy slid Edward’s boots into the loops either side of the sling.

'Safe-word?'

'Dundas.'

'Name?'

'Edward.'

'I'm Jago'

Jago’s tongue was everywhere, as were his fingers, still exploring, but beginning to probe and stretch. The bulbous end of his cock was huge and still and deep within Edward together with a couple of fingers when Edward came in Jago's mouth. He leant forward and dribbled the warm fluid into Edward's mouth, then started to work it deeper with his tongue.

'I know you're looking for a little more.' He started to shift within Edward, slowly at first and then the full fetch of him working the hole. Sometimes there were a couple of fingers, sometimes, the full length and often Edward could not really tell what was happening within him.

He was conscious that the other sling was now empty and there was quite a large group watching them. He snorted some Amyl, replaced it in the pocket in the harness, and felt a surge of weed hit his brain. He had no idea where the Pentyl had gone. He smiled quietly to himself, he loved an audience………..

He reached into his sock and swallowed the E. It would kick in in about twenty minutes, just when things were getting challenging. The watch quickly sensed the new chemicals seeping into his bloodstream and an android appeared with a litre of cold water, some fruit juice and another half litre of lube. What followed was almost straight out of the book. There was cock and then a few fingers and then the two together. Finally there was a vigorous Kitkat fuck, four fingers and the cock shafting deep inside him. Then gradually the cock has dropped out of the action and it was a hand, then a hand and a few fingers. Always there was being added, more and more lube, until things seemed to foam and froth. Someone had retrieved the Pentyl from the floor and replaced it in its pocket on the harness, sensing it would be needed. The cock was back now, but the hand remained, whatever he was feeling he couldn't label if pain or pleasure, it was spilling over the boundary between the two and flooding his brain. He snorted some Pentyl and he felt someone put the nozzle of the water bottle to his lips for a second time. The Pentyl was spectacular, tiny splashbots swam around in the fluid like paddle steamers ensuring the air in the bottle was always saturated with pentyl making every snort a real hit.

Then suddenly, he was out of there, he was flying. There were clouds and sun and mountains and distant volcanos. Then he was on his back being fucked by a huge pteradactyl , its great blue wings hunched over them both. Through a gap in the wings he could see a group of predatory dark blue creatures circling above them.

Then he was back in the room. He could see in the mirror above him that there was a hand and four fingers inside him. He took some Amyl and watched as the spare thumb curled into the palm of the second hand. He felt the rush flood his brain and shut his eyes trying to make Jago's hands his. Sometimes the pressure seemed unbearably intense and sometimes it was like everything involved was part of him. He felt complete for the first time in days and then a great wave of calm washed over him. He could not tell where his flesh started and Jago’s ended. There was just a feeling of completeness, of full-fill-ment. He shut his eyes. The second hand was gently removed, whether the first hand was still there he could not tell and he wasn't going to look. The room was silent, but he could feel the heat from the bodies surrounding him. Then the remaining hand was slowly removed and there was the sound of freshly lubed hands being rubbed together.

'Take some Pentyl.'

'Now some Amyl.'

The double-wave hit his brain and serious stretching began, gently but insistently. He felt himself gripping Jago's slim wrists and he felt the hands turn slightly, seeking a more comfortable fit. He took another blast of poppers, he no longer knew what was happening, but sensed that Jago's really was doing things by the book. He knew what was coming next.

First one and then the second hand withdrew a little, he felt the thumbs make a bid for freedom and then he was at a gentle stretch, just the eight fingers inside. He felt Jago's cock sliding between the palms and then he was pushing the tips of the fingers apart and he was deep inside.

‘The double kitkat fuck Edward, one below the holey trinity. Though probably not the day for you to get deep-seated religious feelings, although God has had several mentions already ……’

The pace started slow, but Jago was relentless, sometimes he could watch, and sometimes he could only shut his eyes and try and hold things together. As he sped up, Jago's left hand slid out and the right slid in completely. When Jago finally came with his hand wrapped around his cock, the spasm ripped through them and then hand and cock were still. Gently first the cock and then the hand slipped out, leaving a feeling of emptiness.

Gently Jago started to cool him down, just fingers and tongue and lips. Gradually the feeling of emptiness subsided, replaced by one of not quite completeness. He knew he would feel something was missing for the rest of the day..

'Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more comfortable and chill for a few minutes.' I love to finish with a double Kit Kat fuck and then toss myself off inside.

'I could do with some calories and a drink. And a shower.'

'Let me help you out of there, the showers are just down the corridor.'

Jago held him for a few minutes, kissing and caressing me, whilst he adjusted to standing again. Then they grabbed the towels, got some Anti-lube from the machine and headed for the showers. The lube was impossible to remove with soap and water, but Anti-Lube seemed to mysteriously make it disappear! The room was empty now, save for a few lube birds tidying up and two mopdroids cleaning and sanitising the elaborate tiled floor. Minutes later a small android creature closely resembling an aardvark appeared and started cleaning the dried lube from the slings with its immense sticky tongue. One could only imagine where else it’s tongue might have been……..

4. Dinner and a quiet night in

Jago and Edward had an early dinner together that night, Jago’s principal Paul was away in London, and the two boys were old enough to be left to their own devices. Edward was missing Idris , but knew he would be having a pretty good time on his 'business trip' in New York They wandered down George Street, past The DOM, an elegant outlandish, but very specialised fetish club, it’s front graced by six enormous columns tightly wrapped in huge chains, and settled into a small booth in the adjacent building. Jago was a reader in sexual history at the university, quite well known for his popular writing about sex. He said he would be attending the lecture. Neither of them wanted much to eat, they were already satisfied, but we knew we would both be hungry soon, though probably not for food. Edward felt he needed to spend some time reading through my lecture notes, things needed tightening, everything needed tightening after an afternoon with Jago…. After the meal Edward headed back across St Andrew's Square to his room. He grabbed some sparkling water from the tap, lay on the bed, hit the watch and started looking over his lecture projected onto the ceiling.

But let us retrace our steps a little. In the early twentieth first century, the foundations of an equal and free society had been laid in Western Europe and to a lesser extent in North America. The economic, military and cultural strength of the United West was to see off the threat from the autocratic reactionary dictators in Asia. In the early twenty-second century there had been a revolution in sexual attitudes that had led to something resembling true equality, irrespective of sexual orientation or gender identitiy. Increasingly there was acceptance of a more fluid sexuality and of non-hetro and non-binary relationships. The Silent Pandemic that followed together with liberalisation and the decline of religious groups and of the far right has a sensational effect on society. The preponderance of fit, intelligent handsome, unattached men had had an equally sensational effect on gay life. The pressure to conform with the previous straight social norms which had been driven by the dictates of the declining world religions, evaporated and allowed a flourishing of alternative lifestyles. The gays were on the rise, and they have been on the rise ever since.

Following the Scient Pandemic, as the older population became increasing male and gay, android’s design responded to the new market conditions gradually became predominantly male, and taking on the appearance of fit, attractive young men in a variety of colours. The end of life care offered by these androids inevitably became more intimate and personal than their predecessors. From these empathetic robot carers has evolved the 'enhanced industry', we all occasionally use, hungdroids of increasing sophistication; safe, empathetic, with the body and skin tone of your dream partner and deeply, deeply perverted. As we all know, pretty well any fantasy can be fulfilled at the touch of your watch, and a debit on your account.

The decades following the Silent Pandemic coupled with the earlier liberation of gay men brought about a complete shift in the sexual orientation of society. The shortage of women helped men to seek relationships outside the traditional heterosexual couple. Men were very soon living as couples, thruples, and in small groups, affording each other with the support that heterosexual couples and traditional families had formerly provided.

In the early years of the twenty second century Berlin, Rio, New York, Paris, London & of course Moscow were all majority gay cities. There was and indeed still is, no place on the planet so deeply gay and thoroughly depraved as Moscow, it is as if a thousand years of religious and totalitarian repression never happened. The best saunas, the best clubs and all those sensational onion dome topped dildos! And the incessant Russian cry when they’re in the sling and you’re wielding the onion toppers. ‘AYE you bastard, PUT IN, PUT IN.

This shift in sexuality also manifested itself as political and fiscal power, just as it had done in the Castro in San Francisco a couple of centuries before. The straight worlds obsession with reproduction had been blamed by many of the New Gay Environmental Left as the reason for the cataclysmic damage suffered by the earth over the last millennium. In a ground-breaking speech in the early 2120s a New York mayor summed up the new mission of gay left:-

'We all love breeding, but the way we gays do it, doesn't destroy the planet. We're not aiming to replace ourselves with multiple mini versions, we're here for a good time. We're in charge now and we've turned away from the old environmentally damaging past. Look around at the state of this planet, and see what the straight and narrow has brought us to, put simply it's an environmental disaster. Now we're going to try the broad and the gay. We're taking the planet back from the brink, we're embracing new ideas, new thought and novel technologies to free us from the need to work. We have already dealt with the population emergency, now we're going to tackle the climate disaster. We're-wilding the planet, and as the demand for food falls, we are planting trees. You will not believe how many trees we're going to plant and we're going to keep planting them……..'

Being gay become synonymous with being environmentally responsible and kind to the planet. The gay dominated and financed UN, commissioned and financed huge numbers of environmental recovery projects. Vast autonomous solar powered rafts floated around the oceans removing plastic debris and filtering toxic plastic particles from the surface waters. Shoals of solar powered fish android fish basked on the surface of the seas before diving into the depths to scavenge for plastic particles in the deeper layers of the ocean.

Non-hydrogen fuelled internal combustion engines were effectively banned as was nearly all quarrying and mining. The major deposits of many of the rare minerals needed for much of modern electronics were now in the urban landfill sites, skirting major cities. These were mined for their deposits of rare metals and then restored to nature.

As the population dropped, people moved back into the urban centres and cities gradually became surrounded by suburbs of decaying and derelict housing. With quarrying a thing of the past, the decaying suburbs were mined for building resources and fuel, and the remains were demolished,crushed and used for road repairs. The move towards a plant based diet, together with the greatly decreased population, had allowed vast quantities of the planet's surface to be re-afforested. In the bruised damaged wastelands surrounding cities ponds and lakes were dug, trees were planted and the conditions for rewilding were created. Gradually the levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere started to decrease.

Being gay became synonymous with being responsible for your own action, environmentally proactive and in control of your life. We gays have spent thousands of years being told how to behave by the straights and we sure as hell weren't going to make the same mistakes they had. Diversity, of artistic expression, and of personal freedom flourished. Early on in the period following the Silent Pandemic most recreational drugs were legalised as governments realised they needed a new major source of tax income to deal with the short term consequences of population collapse. All, but the most harmful recreational drugs, or Recies as we all tend to call them, became available in chemists and vending machines, heavily taxed, but carefully controlled and of known strength and composition. Legalisation led to a global decrease in crime with the collapse of drug cartels and huge increases in government tax revenues. As with the environment, people increasingly took responsibility for their behaviour.

The majority of the population being gay and male had a surprisingly positive effect on women. Already, I have alluded to the power the change in birth ratio gave to women. Women, particularly in the western world, in the latter half of the twentieth and the early part of the twenty-first century had felt at risk and vulnerable particularly when out at night, much of the fear fuelled by a right wing male dominated press. They had also suffered from centuries of discrimination, ridicule and objectification by straight men. The majority of men now being gay, fit and out most nights of the week, made the streets seem and indeed be safer. Attacks on women declined dramatically and men were increasingly protective and respectful towards them, recognising them for what they were, as a rare commodity to be respected and protected.

By the mid twenty second century there was no oil production for anything except the production of a few specialised medical plastics. Everywhere plastics and metals were heavily taxed, but all such products were and continue to be coded. Generally people were environmentally responsible, but then as now nothing made people environmentally responsible like hitting them in the pocket. The system instigated in the late twenty-first century has not really changed for hundreds of years, just as nowadays, when you went shopping you returned empty containers to the sorting machine so that the cost was credited to your account. Often you could half the shopping bill by doing this. If you saw a bottle or can lying in the street you would recycle it, both because you cared about where you lived, but also because it was money in the bank. The streets in cities became clean and of course scavenger androids now collect anything lying on the streets and recycle it.

Gradually there was an increase in available resources and manufacturing capacity as the population fell. The amount of work needed from the population decreased dramatically. Indeed it could be said that not since the black death in the fourteenth century (the last time there had been a major decrease in the world's population), had so little work been needed to provide an acceptable standard of living. To give an example, much of the anthropological and historical research I'm involved in is carried out mostly by androids. Two days a week is the most I've ever worked.

Material want effectively disappeared. Nobody now worked for more than a couple of days a week, there was no need for it financially. The higher rates of tax on larger incomes very actively discouraged work, and besides, there was so much fun to be had in your spare time. In the late twentieth century money had become entirely digital, so that tax evasion was well nigh impossible.

An early casualty of population decrease was space exploration. There had been manned missions to Mars and many more to the moon, but what was the point of sending men on these missions, when you could send sophisticated unmanned missions? There was no need for manned space exploration any more than there was a need for the resources of other planets. The earth is after-all, all mankind needs. That and a little restraint.

Scotland and England have now been self governing for hundreds of years, as have the many European regions. The general principle of subsidiarity has been implemented throughout most of the developed world. Texans think of themselves as Texans first and citizens of the world second, but everywhere there is freedom of movement, freedom of thought and freedom to be who you want to be. The Senate in Berlin had huge influence and economic power, effectively acting as a European government. Likewise congress in Washington speaks for the whole of the continent north of the Canals. There was now little or no economic or population pressure on resources, the cause of so much conflict in the past. Political decisions were largely a matter of reaching a consensus that tried to be fair to all parties.

The late twentieth century confirmed English as the major international language, especially for gay men and it has remained so. Now much more English was spoken in Berlin than German, and most marginal languages had disappeared in the west, Finnish being one of the first to go. The clue's in the name if you think about it!

Huge tracts of land surrounding the world's cities had now been returned to nature, and cities have had to rebrand themselves to survive. Forest and parkland now run down to the shoreline along most of the coast surrounding Manhattan and the islands, the view of the city of gleaming towers seen across the water from a well nigh deserted shoreline was almost surreal. Edinburgh has positioned itself as a pairing of a crowded mediaeval city with an enlightened Georgian town, both still fighting to keep tartan and shortbread kitsch under control.

The rights of everyone have been protected by the state for centuries now, the discrimination of the twentieth century is a distant memory. Cities now however have a disproportionately high population of men, only around seven percent of the residents are female. Cities have become almost too gay friendly, although the rights of minority population groups such as straights and lesbians were and still are protected, these groups often feel out of place in cities. Straights and gay women have gravitated to smaller towns and villages living in communes, singly or in couples. Many see these as better environments to bring up young children in, than the overtly sexualised cities.

God he needed a break from this, the afternoon at The Bank hadn't satiated his desires, it had just moved them onto a higher plane. It was nearly eleven now, he needed to get out.

'Clubbing now' he said. The watch, aware he was alone, projected local possibilities onto the matt white ceiling above the bed. He scanned the ceiling and the sensors detected his preference for McEwan's over The G’Usher on Lothian Road, and opened up the field. Both buildings were vast domed dance arenas, with a sound system to match. But the décor of McEwan's was Victorian high kitsch of the finest quality. The phrase 'All the taste that money can buy', came back to him from a late twentieth century source he had been researching. Surrounding the dance floor were two circular arcades with bars and tables. He knew towards the back of these arcades were private rooms where groups or couples played, often with the house’s kilted hairy Scots hungdroids. Some areas were a little less private, you knew everything happening in them would appear on the screens behind the DJ, sometimes fleetingly and sometimes for several minutes, depending on the show you were putting on.

But you did go clubbing to be seen. A huge bath and sauna complex filled the listed white tiled lined basement, but dancing and the cabaret would be a good start to the night. He hit Book and the watch arranged transport for half an hour. 'Make that twenty' he said and the watch adjusted the timing.

He headed for the bathroom and the AC for a quick freshen up before heading out. The primitive water closet that had grown to become a dominant feature of bathrooms throughout the nineteenth, twentieth and twenty first centuries, had gradually been replaced by something a little more advanced, the AC or anal concierge. This had grown more sophisticated with time, and things were now always clean and presentable down below. Some of the more recent models even did the routine monthly testing that was recommended and alerted the user to problems. Like everything else, it linked up with the user's watch. STIs were pretty rare nowadays and most people wanted it kept that way.

McEwan's would be hot even with the AC (the other type) running a full pelt. Not the boots tonight, something light and good to dance in, just a jock, socks, long basketball shorts, a jacket and a harness. He slid the poppers from this afternoon into the pockets on the harness and checked his look. The V2 from the afternoon was probably still good and he could supplement it if needed. The watch buzzed and flashed up POD on the screen, it was time to go. He donned a light jacket.

The pod was a four seater with just a hairy ginger bear lolling in the rear seat. He immediately felt overdressed, the bear wore just a brief green and grey kilt, light boots and a green leather harness. The sporran bulged with chems and Recies, but it was very clear that anything he took would merely be a top up. His head was shaved but the beard was red. Like Edward he was heading to The Mac.

'GILF tonight' he said, 'Will be a great night, attracts a good crowd of students and wee scally neds looking for bear cock'.

Sure enough the pod stopped at the Foot of The Mound and two young guys got in, both slim and dressed in shell-suits and trainers. The olive skinned Hispanic guy, the taller of the two, was jaw droppingly handsome. As he got in he smiled at Edward and said 'Evening Prof'.

'Evening Martin'

The other shorter, slimmer guy, looked albino or maybe slept in a bath of bleach. Retro late twentieth century scally-wear was in vogue, the black shell suit bottoms bore full length poppered Velcro fastenings hidden by the obligatory red side-stripes. The zipped pockets of the man-bag bulged with Recies and accessories for the night. His shiny nails matched the black of his lippy and make up.

His companion stirred in his seat. 'I'll have they wee cunts before the night is out' he muttered as the pod drifted up the mound. A couple of pods were pulling away from McEwan's as we arrived. Even outside you could feel the pavement rocking from the sound-system.

We held out watches to the sensors on the security gates and one by one we were charged and admitted. Edward stashed my coat in a locker, sealed it with my watch, and headed into the arena. He had missed the warm up act, a trans comedian and the stage was occupied by a retro drag act. With platform shoes and the towering buffon wig Tessa strutted around the stage singing popular songs from the late twentieth century and occasionally turning her back and firing a volley of sweets into the audience from her ballistic bustle. Thankfully the act ended a few minutes later, but the large, mostly local, crowd cheered enthusiastically.

He headed up to the first gallery and got a drink from a cute android barman. Olive skinned and hairless, the bow-tie was all he really needed to wear. Edward leaned on the balcony rail and surveyed the scene. Below him the dance-floor was invisible, the entire view being a seething mass of testosterone fuelled movement. No clothing was visible, although he was sure a fair proportion still wore jocks, at least at this early stage of the evening.

'Hi Edward, Thought you'd be here'. He felt a warm, very familiar hand on his arse.

'You good Jago?'

'Yes, but I’m hoping to change that soon. I have plans for a friend from work who's here tonight. Thought you could help me out. Young guy who tutors some of the first year student, called Patrick, he no cis like us.'

'And he's looking for?'

'A double Scotch, double the pleasure, double the stretch. A couple of guys to sweep him off his feet. I'll message him.' Jago hit his watch and joined Edward looking over the balcony.

Minutes later they felt the touch of a slim hand on their backs and turned to see albino boy from the pod. He still wore the baggy shell suit bottoms and the man-bag.

'Hi Jago, who's your friend?'

'This is Edward, he's visiting from London.'

'Great to meet you Edward, I'm Patrick. I'm just here to dance, unless you were thinking of something a little more exciting?'

'Thought you might like to share us, whilst we shared you.' Edward nodded and slid his hand down the back of the trackies.

'Well I'm not known as bonus-hole boy for nothing. But I would be looking for something comprehensive and very vigorous.'

'Think we can provide that.'

'The cube is free, I've not played there for a long time.'

' That would suit us.' said Jago. 'Think we all enjoy being watched.' He left to find a machine and get some lube sorted.

Patrick moved to the front of Edward and slid his tongue into Edwards mouth, whilst he did a stock-take down below. 'One of my old school teachers used to say, you should always do something that will stretch you. I think that will fit the bill easily'.

'But you're not really looking for something that fits easily are you?' Edward now has a couple of fingers hooded inside whilst Patrick’s swollen clit throbbed between the upper knuckles.

I sometimes wish I was like you big cocked versatile black boys, but I can be very accommodating. I remember I got both the best and the worst advice at school' said Patrick. 'Always do something that stretches you and don't talk to strange men. I've always found talking to strange men to be very rewarding.......’

Jago returned with the lube and slid his arms around them. 'I forgot to get Recies or poppers.'

'No need.' replied Patrick, 'I've got some very specialised product in my slut-sack. There is enough for all. I've booked the cube, our hour starts in a few minutes, best not to keep our public waiting.'

The cube was five 2.4 metre squares of specialised toughened glass sitting on a metre high plinth. The glass was a two way mirror, people could see in, but you could not see out, you could only see reflections of the action taking place. Access and all services were via the plinth. Sophisticated air-con ensured the glass did not steam up and the lighting was soft but effective There was a carnera at each of the corners.

The cube was bare apart from a narrow glass bench standing in the centre. Patrick opened his slut sack and put on a red harness with copious pockets for poppers along the chest strap. He filled the pockets with colour coded vials.

'As I'll be the centre of attention, the reccies will always be close at hand. I've also brought my two new wee birds, they're the latest model from Lube Avionics© of Detroit. He opened a small black box and two tiny birds flew out perched on a rail to top up their charge. They don't deal with lube problems though, they blast poppers up your nose. The pink is Pentyl, the blue is Butyl, just say what you want and it's there. Here both of you, have one of these.''

The blueies were fast, but superfluous. We were both hard as we stood front and back of Patrick kissing and exploring him. Occasionally he spun round and swapped the mouth he would be exploring with his tongue whilst our hands and fingers worked his lower body. The trackies were fully unpoppered now, the only thing that was, and lay on the floor with the other clothes.

He spun around and sunk his teeth into Edwards neck and then whispered in his ear. 'I want you in my girl cunt, and then maybe Jago can join you there. Go lie on the bed.'

He straddled Edward facing him and then gently slid him in. He was moist and warm and very still. 'Butyl.' he said and the bird breathed new life into him, up each nostril. He began rocking back and forth on Edward, fingering himself as a moat of fresh piss started to form around Edward's cock. He leant forward and started to work Ed’s mouth, slipping his tongue and then his wet fingers into my mouth.

'Why don't you join us in the bridle suite Jago? There is plenty of room up front.'

He leant forwards and they felt the bench shift as Jago straddled it and began to work in a couple of luby fingers. Three fingers in, Patrick called for Pentyl and the pink bird swooped in. ‘Butyl’ Called Jago, the fingers slipped away and he joined Edward fully in the oval office. He was big and knew how to move, slowly at first then picking up pace. They felt Jago spasm and then shoot, he started moving with greater speed and then Patrick began to moan. Supporting himself on one arm, he worked two fingers in above the cocks and then spasmed for what seemed like a couple of minutes.

' I think I’ll take the lift now, I need to stand.' Jago slid out and then Patrick lifted off Edward.

Patrick turned to Jago and pointed. 'I want you in my boy cunt and Edward here in my girl cunt. Then you can sweep me off my feet'. He walked over to Edward, put his arms around him and started to kiss deep. Ed lifted Patrick’s leg and held it by his side and slid back into him, then lifted the other leg and crossed Patricks ankles behind him and started to rock.

Jago's lubed fingers had started to work his boy pussy behind them, two fingers in he slowly slid his cock in leaving the fingers in and started to move gradually synchronising the rhythm.

'The thing I love most about sandwiches is the filling. I'm really enjoying the filling now. Black on white on black, it's so utterly monochrome.'

Patrick uncrossed his legs and then hung between us supported by the body contact and the two of them inside him. His feet floated a few inches above the floor. He raised his hands above him and started to clap, setting the rhythm. 'And the thing I love most about being trans is the two man lifts.'

He replaced his hands around Ed’s neck and crossed his ankles behind. He started to kiss Ed again and to rock in time with his rhythm. ' Work my cunts boys, work them good, fill em up….

When Ed came within him, Patrick stood and Jago and Edward ate him out, fingering and licking. The red light came on above us, indicating our booking was over and it was time to leave. They stashed their clothes, such as they were, in a locker and danced together, occasionally kissing and fingering Patrick. Everyone was high and naked by this point. About 5 they got a pod back to Patrick’s and slept till around 12 in his huge warm bed, fingers and cocks slipped in and out as they slept.

They showered together in Patricks big shower soon after they woke and an android arrived with lunch and coffee about one. Then lunched and talked at the big table in the sunlit bay window checking over their watches, laughing and talking. Finally they went their separate ways, but they would do it again , they were all very sure of that…….

5. A night in the country

Edward walked along Clark Street and then down North Bridge and back to his hotel. It was sunny and warm, but clearly 2pm on Sunday was too early for most of the inhabitants of the Old Town.

Edward lay on the bed and ran through his talk on his watch. Really it would have to do. The ceremony was at 5 and he knew what he needed to say. He ordered a pod for 4.30 to head up to the old university building. He, dressed carefully, in black boots, a sharp dark grey suit and a lighter grey shirt and tie. Occasionally even in academic life you had to dress the part.

The talk went well, the drinks afterwards were brief and restrained and the award’s silver medal slipped easily into his top pocket. He walked down the North Bridge for a second time, collected his bag from the hotel and boarded the elderly tram for Corstorphine, a small village nestling in the forest south of the city.

Martha and Emma lived in a compact ancient Victorian end terrace a short walk from the tram-stop. Behind and to the side of the house was a vast highly productive garden with solar collectors, enclosures for pigs, goats and chickens and a small apple orchard. They were the mothers of Edward’s and Idris’ boys and had brought them up together in the country until they were about sixteen.

Martha was in the garden, a long handled towel in her hand. As he approached she straightened up and shaded her eyes. ‘It’s yourself’ she said, squinting in the light of the setting sun. ‘Great to see you Edward, Emma’s in the house, go straight in, the door’s open’.

The hall was busy with bikes and pictures and a very worn original tiled floor. He knew it had been carefully relaid over the thick insulation and underfloor heating that had been installed by the girls when they had taken over the shell of a house. At the far end beyond the stairs Emma could be seen busying herself in the kitchen. There was a smell of fried pork. He had noted there were only a couple of young pigs in the pen at the front of the garden.

Emma raised her head from the pot she was stirring and smiled in greeting. ‘Hi Edward, dump your bag in the hall. We’re having a friend for dinner’. It's Beatrice, her pork steak is wonderful. Herbal Tea?’

‘G and T’

‘That’s no changed then!’

‘Though the pen looked a bit adolescent’.

‘They’re her two boys, we need to get them a sow.. How are our boys? Time they nipped up to see their mums!’

‘They’ll be up at Easter. They’re beginning to find their way in the world, Jake is off to University at Cambridge next September and Jim is thinking about what to do after school ends’

‘They ticked the straight or gay box yet?’

‘They've not told me anything about what they get up to, but I know they have several very close friends, mostly male. They stay away for many nights at weekends and holidays, so the sap is clearly rising. They make their own decisions, they’re adults and they can hardly avoid being well informed sexually. They really don't have to tick any boxes, sexuality is fluid if you allow it to be, just go where your desires take you.’

‘Aye you’re right there, you more than most’

Martha came in, a trug of fresh veg in her hand and kissed them both. ‘G and T for me too Em, none of that herbal shite.’ she said as she washed her hands.

They sat on the old comfortable chairs dotted around the back of the kitchen and talked of the boys, of old friends and of Ian, the late professor of extinct languages, whose funeral Edward was attending the next day.

They ate in the dining room, Edward was after all an honoured guest, the pork was wonderful, the veg fresh and the wine perfect.

The girls seldom went into the city, most of what they ate they grew or was delivered. Fuel was freely available from the surrounding forests and they were far enough from the city to be allowed to have wood fires. Occasionally they would venture out for a trip to one of the clubs in the city and to visit the galleries and museums, but most of their friends were neighbours living within a mile of the house.

By the end of the evening, the fire was burning low, the room was pleasantly too hot and they were all relaxed and slightly drunk. Edward realised that a wild weekend away, made you appreciate quiet domesticity. He realised how much he was missing Idris and being at home. Just before midnight they all went to bed, he especially needed an early night.

As he slept, he felt something soft and furry clamp onto his arm.The girls had a couple of SPIDERS (Self Propelled Independent Dichargers) in the house. During the day they recharged on a sunny windowsill, but at night sought out any small electrical devices that needed recharging. Just as well as he had forgotten to recharge his watch.

Breakfast was at the sunlit kitchen just before nine, and then he said his farewells and headed for the tram back to the city. The funeral was at 11.00 at the old church in the centre of Bellevue Crescent in the New Town. Formally known as St Mary’s, the shape of its spectacular late Georgian spire had led to it being called St Dildo’s by most of the local inhabitants, centuries ago. It was now home to a pseudo religious group from America, who had now formally renamed it St Dildo’s.

The conventional world religions of the first two millenia had died out in Europe and in the Americas well before 2500. By then, many of their great buildings were clubs, bars, museums and living accommodation or in ruins. Fraternities had taken over some of the redundant religious buildings as meeting halls. The major.‘religious groups’ in Edinburgh were now the Neo-Glassites, who did not believe that sex should ever involve a cock, and the Porn Again Fistians, who were open to all possibilities, very, very open. He knew that at today’s funeral, everyone would be there from academic life in Scotland, with a few from further afield.

6. The Church of the latter Day Sluts

The building was already packed when he arrived, but he managed to find an aisle seat half way down the nave. The buzz of conversation was almost deafening, he spotted Patrick and Jago together, with a few familiar faces from the night before and several he knew from his academic work.

Suddenly the doors behind him were ceremonially closed and the officiant at the head of the nave, banged his staff on the floor for silence. He was tall and lean with long white dreadlocks and dressed in a tight red and black leather suit with gold trimmings and long black boots.. He wore tight black gloves and held a bulbous black and gold dome-topped staff in his hand.

‘We are here to celebrate the life of Ian Baxter, a noted academic, player, lover and party goer who gave pleasure to thousands and was a friend to all he met. Always ready to party, always ready to lend a hand. So let us welcome Ian into the body of the kirk, as so many of us have previously invited Ian into our body.’

The doors at the back of the church were flung open and six tall muscled figures began marching down the aisle carrying a simple coffin aloft. They wore black boots, with red laces’ leather jock-straps and bow ties, black and red arm-bands and leather peaked caps hung with chains. Their oiled skins shone and their heads were either shaved or bore glistening dreadlocks. The front and rear pair were coal black, the middle pair were white and glistening.

As they passed each row of the congregation the mourners stood and clapped in time to their marching feet.

The cortege reached the head of the nave and placed the coffin on the waiting trestles

at the centre. There was a moment's silence as everyone gazed on the simple box flanked on either side by three glistening bearers.

‘Ian is dead now, but he died as he would have wanted to, in a sling with a vial of poppers in his hand. He was seventy six years and way out of warranty, but he kept playing to the end, an example and an inspiration to us all. He lives on in the two beautiful boys he raised and in the memories of most of you in this congregation and is survived by his partner Joe. I'm sure when you think of him, you will think of him high and partying, a beautiful, generous and sensitive player, who always knew when he was going far too far and that you were loving it.

So when you next play , think of Ian and all that he gave you and taught you. Let him live on in your play. Think of him as you play and pass on to others the many things he taught you.’

The celebrant raised his gloved fist in salute and the congregation replied in kind. The bearers shouldered the coffin and precessed back down the nave. The audience clapped until the doors were slammed behind them.

‘There is little more to be said, a great life devoted to pleasure both his own and those of his friends and fellow players. So we consign his body to the Fire and ours to his Wake. The Bank is booked for the afternoon, your watches will get you in free and the drinks, recies and the lube are on him’.

The celebrant led the congregation out of the doors flanked by the six bearers and the funeral procession walked up the Steep of Broughton Street and across St James Park to The Bank. It was time to party…….