5596.08.25 Personal Alert. Richard Green: current residence, Chicago region, Terra.
It had been almost three years since any of the ‘ancients,’ as they were known to Sarah’s generation—and indeed to dozens of previous generations—had come back to Earth. The net’s best estimate said that there were thirty-seven of them still alive, scattered throughout the seventeen colonies. The estimate was likely to be off by one or two; accidents and planned departures weren’t necessarily logged immediately in the system.
Changes of residence, however, did receive an immediate entry thanks to the passenger manifests every starship had to file. Since Sarah Fiftyfive had requested alerts on every one of the ancients, the arrival of Richard Green back on Earth had sent her this ping.
Not for a visit, even. That would have resulted in a different kind of ping, from the visa system.
Richard Green had returned to Earth, apparently intending to live in Chicago for at least a year.
Sarah leaned forward.
“Victoria,” she said, addressing her digital assistant, “bring up the file on Richard Green.”
The Green file didn’t represent the pinnacle of Sarah’s achievements in antiquarian research—that honor definitely belonged to her work on Gregory Nevins, who had sent a letter of intent to the Earth government the previous year, saying that he wished to build an underwater memorial to his grandmother at the site of her birth in what had once been Brooklyn, New York, and was now one of the most popular spots on Earth for recreational diving.
Nothing had come of the project yet, but news reports about the ancients had undergone an uptick in interest at exactly the time in Sarah’s life that the youth counselors called, embarrassingly, a young person’s intellectual blossoming around their eighteenth birthday. Sarah had responded with an obsessive curiosity that took her ever deeper into the net’s wealth of information about the days before the Change, when the ancients had been truly young—like Sarah.
Sarah’s youth counselor, a kind two-thousand-year-old woman of African descent named Gernanza Thirtyeight, had encouraged Sarah’s interest in Nevins and his project.
“There’s a lot of good learning to be had there, Sarah,” she had said at one of their sessions soon after Sarah had turned eighteen. “Having a crush on an ancient is perfectly okay—it happens to a statistically significant number of newborns.”
That had made Sarah blush, the way she did whenever someone called her a newborn, which was unfortunately still all the time, in a galaxy where those born even in the last hundred years numbered less than .001% of the population. She couldn’t wait until she reached her mid-stage bodily development at twenty-eight or so. Medical services were the judge of when a newborn could start longevity treatment, and until then—though with less and less frequency as Sarah moved closer to the age at which her aging would be frozen forever—she stuck out like sore thumb, and she got called newborn by everybody.
At the same time, when Gernanza had approved her research into Gregory Nevins, and Brooklyn, and the world of the ancients in general, her blush at being called what she got called every day had felt hotter than it should have. She hadn’t wanted to let herself think about why, but later that night, after a full afternoon immersing herself in her own Nevins project, looking at pictures of the strikingly handsome man who had once been president of the United States and thinking about what it would be like if she got chosen as an intern for the building of the memorial and actually got to meet him, she had lain in bed and had made herself face it.
Nor had it really proven all that difficult to focus her mind there. She did have a crush on President Nevins, she had realized, much as she had laughed off what Gernanza said as a teasing joke. If she got to meet him, what would she say? Her face had gotten hot all over again, even there in bed by herself, when the first thought that had come into her mind had been, President Nevins, I would be honored if you were the man to deflower me. I’ve saved my little pussy for you, because I want the first man to fuck me to be an ancient.
With a little hesitation, Sarah had gotten her tiny vibrator, a gift from Gernanza on her eighteenth birthday, out of the drawer of her bedside table. She had only used it once before, at that point, and it still made her blush even to think about it.
“There’s nothing shameful about sex, Sarah,” the counselor told Sarah when the newly adult girl had opened the present to reveal the little purple device that buzzed like a hive full of bees when you pushed the tiny switch. “But because sex is a private thing even when more than two people share an intimate moment, everyone feels a healthy embarrassment about referring to it openly, especially at first. There’s also the matter of the duty every citizen of the galaxy should feel to spend his or her time improving him or herself. Before you enter into a committed relationship with one or more other people, you’ll probably feel a little guilty about masturbating as much as you almost certainly will.”
Sarah nodded uncertainly at this news, feeling a little reassured but still quite embarrassed—though less embarrassed about the embarrassment, which seemed a strange way of thinking at the time, but no less true for its oddity.
“Why don’t you use the vibrator in bed tonight, and at our next session if you’d like me to use it on you, we can take our clothes off and have some grownup fun. Go ahead and watch the video I sent again, and see what you think.”
Sarah’s eyes went a little wide at Gernanza’s frank proposition, but it held nothing improper, of course. Most newborns, she knew, had their first sexual experiences with their youth counselors. In fact, just that morning Gernanza had indeed sent her a video to watch about the matter, before they met for their counseling session. She had watched it, at first a little red-faced at the frank presentation of private matters, and then with a strange feeling in her tummy, then further down, that she knew from her educational programs must have to do with sex.
She did watch it again, as soon as she got back to the apartment she shared with the three moms who had brought her into the world to celebrate their partnership, Yolatta—Sarah’s genetic mother—Trinia, and Rega. Sarah went into her room and closed the door, and turned on the video, but this time she held the little purple vibrator in her hand, taking her eyes of the screen to look at the little device uncertainly from time to time while she watched the introduction.
“Your Sexuality and You: A Brief Guide for Late-Born Girls (Edition 2c: Submissives),” was narrated by a couple who looked, like more than ninety-nine percent of the population across the galaxy, not much older than Sarah Fiftyfive did at eighteen. It opened in what looked like the living room of an apartment the narrators shared, high up in one of the residential towers in a Pacific coastal urban area—perhaps Anaheim, where Sarah knew the old 5 highway ran right along the water.
The handsome couple sat companionably on a couch, holding hands. They wore casual clothes in the bright colors favored in the Western Americas: comfortable shorts and open-neck shirts of synth-cotton.
“I’m Josert Thirty,” said the blond man. “I was born in 3046, and I met my partner Heleda here just a few years ago, in 5342.”
The year 5342, of course, was more than two hundred years before Sarah had been born. She had a feeling the producers of the video had wanted to emphasize to the ‘late born,’ which was the more formal term for newborns, how much they had to learn, but to accomplish that aim in a more subtle way than teenaged Sarah had heard from her three moms, who had eventually taken simply to saying, “You have a lot to learn, sweetheart.”
“I’m Heleda Fortyfive,” said the pretty, confident-looking woman with long chestnut hair. “I’m a lot younger than Josert. I was born in 4567, so I know what it’s like to be a late born growing up in a world that seems like it’s full of possibilities, but you’re not ready for any of them yet. That’s why the administration’s film board chose us to talk to you about sex, of course. I want to make sure the most important thing I believe I have to tell you comes through loud and clear: don’t worry, and take it slow. You have all the time in the galaxy to figure out what you want in bed, and who. I had a lot of sexual partners before I even met Josert, and I had a lot of fun with them. Sex is a special thing, and a private thing, but it’s nothing to be anxious about, even for a virgin like you.”
That made Sarah feel even funnier the second time through the video than it had the first. She, like the tens of girls who had watched this video since it had been published fifty years previously, had that strange female reproductive quirk: the hymen. Her face got warm as she thought of its much older name: maidenhead.
Sarah had come into the world because her mother Yolatta desperately wanted to know what it felt like to carry a child, and her partners Trinia and Rega, who had no such desire themselves, loved Yolatta and also thought it would be fun and not too much of a nuisance to spend eighteen years doting on a newborn, who would quickly grow into an adorable learner and finally into an exasperating adolescent. They had dutifully gone through the lengthy application process to bring a child into the world, and waited just a little more patiently—as the story they told Sarah went—than Yolatta herself, for the planned life departure of a resident of Earth to open up a spot for a late-born child. Sarah’s ‘father,’ of whom she always thought in quotation marks, lived a dozen lightyears away, and knew of Sarah’s existence only as a courtesy.
Yolatta’s antiquarian passion, which had led among other things to Sarah having a name that marked her out as a sort of tribute to the days of the ancients, rubbed off on her daughter with a fierceness that surprised even Yolatta, who had expected Sarah to explore the passion for music all three moms had. They had met playing in the Reformed Albany New York Philharmonic, after all, and Sarah had shown musical gifts to match her mother’s at an early age.
But Sarah’s first interest, probably because of the name that she had learned from her moms made her special despite the odd looks she sometimes got at the social center, had lain in the deep past, before the Change, when names like Sarah, Gregory, and Richard had been common in North America—and, even more, people like Gregory Nevins and Richard Green had real last names, too, rather than a century designation like those born since the Change.
In the deep past, among other things, young women had been called maidens as often as they were called virgins, and it meant that their maidenheads remained intact. Sarah knew that she could go to medical services to have her hymen ruptured in a sanitary setting where it wouldn’t hurt much at all, but she had chosen not to do that, though it made Trinia scratch her head when Sarah had announced her decision that very morning; most newborn girls went to have their hymens ruptured on their eighteenth birthdays.
“I can do it any time, Mom,” Sarah had said. “There’s no rush, right?”
That had mollified Trinia, but Yolatta, sitting at the table with them, had given Sarah a rather searching look, which had made the birthday girl blush a little. Watching the video now, she tried to figure out why she had resisted the thought of losing her virginity, being deflowered, as the ancients had called it, at medical services. She just liked to try to do things a different, older way, she guessed.
Richard Green left the sprawling orbital elevator base and strode into a lovely summer day in what he knew he would never stop calling Illinois, the state of his birth something like thirty-five hundred years before. Three and a half millennia, and a different world despite the basic geography of Earth remaining more or less the same.
Less, mostly—thanks to the rising oceans that had pushed civilization to the brink of collapse before Senator, then President, Gregory Nevins and his right-hand man Major General, then Secretary of State, Richard Green had negotiated a worldwide treaty through a mixture of might and diplomacy for which they had jointly won the Nobel Peace Prize of 2378.
The breakthrough in diplomacy had come through Richard’s idea of emphasizing the confluence of emerging technologies that, if given breathing room and support, could save the world. The astute observer could see that with a framework for global cooperation in place and a few economic incentives, the Change, as it would be known ever after, lay just around the corner.
Climate technology, cyber technology, geriatric medicine, materials science, renewable energy: together they had by 2390 made both poverty and work a thing of the past thanks to the abundance of resources they freed up for human use in a virtuous circle that saw the abolition of currency in 2401 and the wide availability of nanotech longevity treatments in 2450.
Recipients of the early versions of those treatments, at a time when the resources didn’t yet exist for everyone to live as long as he or she wanted, Richard and Gregory had become two of the group who would one day find themselves called ‘the ancients.’ Now, thousands of years later, Richard couldn’t even recall when he had first heard himself referred to that way.
For a moment, as he walked the short distance through the verdant park surrounding the elevator base, he considered calling up his digital assistant Opal to ask her to search for the information. He elected, though, to enjoy the sunshine. Richard’s insatiable curiosity had kept him going for these millennia, just as Greg’s will to preserve what was best in humanity had done for him. In the last few hundred years, though, Richard had become annoyed with himself occasionally for looking things up to which he found he already knew the answer.
He had made a conscious effort recently to try to use the brain nature had given him to figure things out. Admittedly that brain was enhanced as much as preserved and restored by the nanotech that made Richard and every other human being functionally immortal, so he supposed he couldn’t really claim credit for exercising his memory muscles, whatever that might mean. But it felt good to dredge up a memory like the first time someone had called Richard an ancient on his own, rather than having Opal just read it to him off the net.
Could it have been the launching ceremony for Harmony, the first manned interstellar scout ship? He definitely remembered Gella Twentysix, president of the Global Federation, saying affectionately and generously that the ‘ancients in attendance,’ including of course Richard Green and Gregory Nevins, deserved the lion’s share of the credit for sending humanity to the stars.
Oh, Gella. Now, as he stepped into the first autocar at the stand, Richard tried to remember if Gella had been the first girl he and Greg had banged together. Call him old-fashioned, but he didn’t want to ask Opal that one.
Thankfully, the information came quickly into focus, the way anything to do with sex had always tended to do for Richard. No, Gella had actually come second. He and Greg had dominated a sweet young woman named Hunala, at her request, having met her in a bar in Reykjavik during the tech conference of 2674.
Richard watched the little vid screen in the autocar’s passenger compartment as Opal silently gave it the coordinates of the farmhouse he had requested from the Terran Authority, administrative descendant of the Global Federation.
“Thanks, Opal,” he said, out of a habit he had decided to cultivate and keep up, thousands of years before.
“You’re welcome, sir,” she replied, just as if gratitude held a meaning for her. Richard happened to be of the opinion that the meaning of gratitude for him made it imperative that his effortless—and therefore unrewarding—dominance over the cybertech that surrounded and enabled human existence not become too far separated from, for example, the way he and Greg had dominated Hunala, and then Gella, never neglecting to thank them and praise them for their service.
It came to him in a flash of memory, then: Hunala had been the first to call them the ancients.
“…that is, if you think you two ancients can handle a girl like me,” she had said, looking from Richard to Greg, and then back.
They had joked once or twice, in the centuries they had known each other, about sharing a girl. One essential aspect of their friendship that no one but their wives and, after both men were widowed in a single plane crash, their lovers, knew lay in their both being dominant men not only at the negotiating table but in the bedroom. In all that time, though, the occasion had never before arisen at which a highly desirable young woman—in Hunala’s case a Scandinavian blonde like the girls of Richard’s eighteen-year-old fantasies way back in the suburban Illinois of 2346—had sensed their shared dominance and called it out.
Richard and Greg had, of course, been frozen at age fifty-six for two hundred fifty years between 2384 and 2650, when nanotech reached the point at which age reversal became possible. Neither of them had been exactly wanting for submissive pussy during that period—or at least Richard hadn’t been and Greg claimed not to have been. But since his age reversal things in bed had grown what he could see in his more reflective moments was completely ridiculous. The women who sought out the saviors of civilization with the specific intention of feeling history move inside them never came in what sometimes seemed to him a queue stretching around the figurative block.
The ridiculousness had now reached what Richard could only describe as epic proportions. His eyes met Greg’s, and the man Richard still thought of most of the time as President Nevins, or just Sir, gave the same tiny wink with his left eye that Richard remembered from the negotiating table in Geneva. Here in the Reykjavik bar in 2683, just as when Richard and Greg had saved the world in 2376, the wink meant Richard should lead, and create an opening for Greg to close the deal.
With lovely Hunala, Richard had realized with an inward chuckle, the ‘opening’ might assume a more literal existence than it had taken in the Global Technology Treaty talks.
“I don’t know, young lady,” he said, putting his hand gently atop hers where she had boldly placed it on his knee, and moving it back to the bar to indicate that although erotic overtures were never unwelcome, forwardness would receive its reward. “Are you willing to learn an old-fashioned lesson about how to act around men who know how to teach a girl to show respect?”
The look in Hunala’s eyes showed boundless willingness, but also a little fear—like so many girls to whom Richard had already by the twenty-seventh century taught the joys of submission, she had gotten in over her head. Her eyes darted from Richard to Greg. “I think so?” she whispered in her beguiling Icelandic accent.
Greg picked up the cue effortlessly. “I think you’re right, sweetheart. But you should be sure about it. You need to understand that the first thing that’s going to happen is that your panties will come down for a good, hard spanking over General Green’s knee, for your brazen behavior. Then it will be my turn. You’re going to learn that an ancient hand can be very firm when it’s applied to a pretty young bottom. Then you’ll find out what ancient cocks can do, when their owners have had a few centuries of practice.”
The girl swallowed very hard, looking back to Richard again with crimson cheeks as if for confirmation that Greg’s words represented the truth. She had definitely gotten more than she had bargained for with her casual offer of a threesome. Richard knew his role in this negotiation thoroughly, despite the newness to the crack team of Nevins and Green of the specific, very sensitive topic.
“You’re a lovely young woman, Hunala, but President Nevins and I have specific ideas about how things should go in the bedroom. Our dear departed wives felt our belts across their beautiful backsides when they misbehaved, and afterward they submitted to us as we enjoyed them, to show their respect. If you come up to our suite, now, you need to be prepared to learn a very thorough lesson in pleasing an old-fashioned man—and you need to be ready to learn it twice.”
He couldn’t resist his own wink at Greg at that point, but the greatest president of all time was too intent on closing the deal to respond; he looked into Hunala’s eyes and soothed away her anxiety just as he had calmed the fear of the unknown from the expressions of other leaders so many times.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said. “We don’t believe in any outdated ideas about shame and modesty. Even General Green and I aren’t that old. We do think, though, that when a girl puts her hand on a man’s knee, she should have the chance to feel the consequences—and she should know what those consequences are.”
Hunala swallowed again, and took her bottom lip between her teeth. The brazen expression with which she had approached them had flown away, replaced by the charming face of a young wife who has purposely earned a spanking but now isn’t sure she really wants to know what it’s like to go over her new husband’s knee with her panties down. She gave a tiny nod.
All that long Icelandic night they dominated Hunala in the beautiful hotel suite. Greg held her hands while Richard spanked her with skirt up and panties down, and then they made her strip to her charming red lace garter belt and bra before Greg had his turn punishing her, Richard capturing her little hands in his big ones and looking into her eyes as she cried out under the president’s promised firm hand.
She stood before them with her bottom flaming red and her hands on her head, eyes cast down to the carpet, while they told her what would happen next. Seated on the couch, they commanded Hunala to kneel and take their trousers and briefs down, before she sucked their hard cocks, learning to please two resolute men at once, and how to keep from earning the playful wrath of the one who must watch his friend enjoy a pretty, submissive mouth while he must wait.
Actually, Richard couldn’t decide whether he even liked fucking Hunala himself as much as he liked watching Greg fuck her. When they began to fuck in earnest, of course, most of the time the girl had two cocks inside her, so that Richard didn’t have any need to come to a conclusion. Nevertheless, he hadn’t expected to be so moved by the sight of his best friend enjoying himself in the pussy of a stunning girl, and of her enraptured face as she felt Greg’s hardness master her.
Hunala was slight of stature, but when the time came to take her fore and aft for the first time, Richard in the ass and Greg in the pussy as she rode the double phallic saddle in the enormous bed, she sobbed with pleasure. Remarkably, and very, very memorably, they all came at nearly the same moment, as the purple dawn broke over the frozen city. Richard felt Greg’s cock pulsing, through the thin wall of Hunala’s anal canal, and it set him off inside the exquisite tightness of her bottom. She screamed, writhing between them as the ancients’ strong arms held her in place for their fucking, and they felt her whole body shudder in their strong embrace.