The Alien and The London Escort

by A. M. Knightley

  “I see,” the professor said, “So you were able to approximate the higher emotional realm, such as affection and respect?” Chrubba nodded. “That is extremely rare, according to the historical data. This confirms that it was a wise choice to have selected you for this assignment.”

  “With all due respect, Professor,” Chrubba clarified, “all credit must be given to Cherie. I doubt that I’d have experienced the same feelings if I’d consummated with the garbage disposal unit.”

  “Garbage disposal?” the professor repeated, intrigued, “Tell me more about this garbage disposal.”

  Chapter Five

  With her mission accomplished, Cherie returned to the agency for debriefing. Judy greeted her enthusiastically and ushered her into Mr. Knobsworth’s office.

  “Mr. K is in a meeting,” Judy said, breathlessly, “but as soon as he returns, he wants to tell you himself how pleased he is with you. The account has already provided their feedback and gave you a stellar review. Cherie, you’re our new superstar!”

  Cherie smiled. Surprisingly, the compliment – while pleasing to her – didn’t have as much of an impact as she’d thought it would. For some reason, she no longer felt so desperate about her situation. She felt good…confident, in fact. Her tryst with Chrubba had made her feel good about herself, not just emotionally, but all over.

  “Cherie,” Judy began, squinting as she peered into Cherie’s face, “I’m not sure how to say this, but have you done something since I last saw you? I mean, with your make-up, or hair? You look so different! And it’s not just your face. Stand up, would you?”

  Cherie obliged, smiling coquettishly as she turned in a circle.

  “My god, you look six or seven years younger! How is that possible?”

  Cherie sat back down and took out her compact, and saw for herself what Judy was talking about. It was true: she looked fresher, younger. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have guessed her age to be about…twenty-seven!

  “I feel great, too. I don’t know what it could be, other than my little Cherub! He was the sweetest little fella, Judy. I think there was something special between us. Call it chemistry or magic, I don’t know which, but I think he had some sort of effect on me.”

  “Well, there’s no doubt that Mr. K will want you joining his stable.”

  “Thanks, Judy, but I’d have to think about it. Maybe it’s time for me to make a change. I mean, a lot of this life has been fun, but I think I can do more with myself than just please men, know what I mean? Maybe I should look into school or something, learn a skill. I used to think I was too old a dog to learn new tricks, but the way I feel now, I think anything’s possible!”

  “Well, you’re just amazing, Cherie,” Judy said, shaking her head. “If that’s what you want to do, then I’m all for you!”

  “Thanks, Judy,” Cherie said, rising. “Of course, if you should ever get a call from that special account again looking for someone who looks like me, give me a jingle. You never know.”

  They embraced and Judy accompanied Cherie to the door.

  “And if Cherub, in particular, should ever find his way back to these parts, definitely let me know! That little guy…well, he’s just out of this world!” *

  Miriam and the Time Machine

  By A. M. Knightley

  Chapter One

  When my friend Josie told me about the time machines, at first I laughed it off. Why would anyone want to go into the past? Especially back to times when there was rampant plague and food was iffy at best? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. After all, everyone had regrets—the things they hadn’t done, the choices they hadn’t made. But who was to say that going back in time would fix that?

  One after another, my friends went on mini-vacations to the past. There were rules, the scientists said. You could go back in time in your own past, but you should avoid meeting yourself—you would change things, maybe come back to a present you didn’t know.

  There were still a lot of unknowns, they said, and while they hadn’t found out anything conclusive, it was best to err on the side of caution. But my friends went one by one, back in time—they turned in all of their technology to see the Civil War, bringing gold with them so they could actually buy things. One of my other friends went back to the 1980s and talked her way into a raging party. “Miriam, you have to try it,” my friend Elizabeth told me. “It’s amazing. You can go anywhere in time!”

  “Miri, I went back and had sex with John Lennon,” my friend Ellen told me when she came back from her own trip. The thought of that excited me; I asked her for all of the details. “Oh he was great. You know he was a total slut in his day. I felt a little bad, since I know he was married, but if it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else. His cock was bigger than I thought it would be.” I shook my head, pretending to be appalled—maybe even scandalized. In the back of my mind, though, I was wondering what it would be like to go back in time and have sex with someone famous; what would you do if you came back to the present knocked up?

  I tried not to think about it too much, but I’d gone my whole life being so careful about who I had sex with, worried about the possibility of getting knocked up by the wrong guy; and I’d turned down a lot of chances out of that fear. My boyfriends told me time and again that I was frigid, that I was a cold fish—and to be fair to them, I was. On purpose. I wanted to be completely in control of every aspect of my life. But as I got past the age where guys would hit on me if I barely looked in their direction, I had started to regret it. I had a great life:

  I had gone far in my career, and had a lot of great friends to spend time with. But I always wondered on some of the chances I’d turned down. How would my life be different if I hadn’t turned them down? And, of course, even if I’d made the same decisions the rest of the way through my life, I’d at least have the memory of what I’d done.

  The more I thought about it—and the more of my friends came back from adventures in the past, unscathed and with great stories—the more I was interested. I knew there were rules; you couldn’t go back to a moment in your own life and change a decision you’d made. You were supposed to avoid contact with your past self. But I could go back and see what it would have been like to screw a stranger I’d only just met, or to be involved in a threesome or any of the other chances that had come my way that I’d ruthlessly shot down.

  So one day, feeling a bit nervous and silly, knowing that if I ever told anyone about it they’d give me all kinds of crap, I went downtown. Time machines had been set up in all the major cities, under a franchise agreement; Past Present Future, the company that had originally developed them, was booming. Everyone wanted a glimpse at the past—everyone wanted to be a tourist for some event in history. So far, everyone had been careful not to change things. There were, the scientists behind the company said, a few minor quirks that could be chalked up to the time travel phenomenon, but no one had gone back in time to kill Hitler, or to stop the JFK assassination from happening. The stakes were too high.

  When I walked in, a young woman—maybe in her early twenties—immediately greeted me, smiling broadly. “Welcome to Past Present Future,” she said. “I’m Natalie. Are you interested in traveling to the past?” I nodded, looking around to make sure none of my friends were there watching me. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit more about it? What’s your name?” I’d told everyone I was going out of town for the weekend; if they knew the truth, they’d laugh at me. I’d said over and over again that I thought it was ridiculous to monkey with the past; that it was important to just learn from what you’d done in your own time and keep going.

  “My name is Miriam Temperance. I have… a particular moment in mind I want to go to,” I said nervously. Natalie nodded slowly.

  “I do have to warn you that you can’t go back in time to change a decision you’ve made. It’s a paradox—if you’ve already made the decision, and you’re here with the results, you can’t change that. We’re
not sure whether it’s just ineffective, or if you change the timeline—but we recommend not even trying.”

  “Oh, no,” I said, reassuring her. “I wouldn’t change my actual past self’s decisions. There’s just… well, there’s an opportunity I’d missed when I was in my twenties—like you, dear—that I’d like to… maybe… try and experience.”

  “That’s a bit tricky, Miriam. Are you going to try and convince your past self to do it?”

  I shook my head, “No, I want to go back as I am right now and, you know… it’s sort of complicated.” I made a face, not quite knowing how to explain what it was I wanted to do.

  “Well, we do have a form we need you to fill out; maybe you can compose your thoughts in writing?” Natalie showed me the form. “As you can see, we need to know when and where in time you want to go, what you want to do, and how long you expect to be in the past.”

  “Is there a time limit?”

  Natalie shrugged, “There’s a rumor that some people have taken one-way trips—just gone to the past to stay. For liability purposes, you’d have to have a really good reason for that. If you get lost in time…”

  I could see where that would be a problem. Natalie explained the different parts of the form and I began to fill it out. I came to the part where it asked about the specific instance in the past I was interested in. When I was in college, I wrote, blushing and trying not to look around me furtively. I had an opportunity to have sex with two of my professors. I would like to go back to that moment and go for the chance that I turned down as an undergrad. I put in the details—the time and place—and was surprised with how thoroughly I remembered that moment. I had thought I’d put it behind me; that I’d put it out of my mind. But it had apparently been a pivotal moment in my life.

  I turned in the form and waited in a little area off to the side of the main lobby, sitting nervously and still hoping none of my friends would show up and see me. After a few moments, Natalie came back with a grin. “Okay, you’re approved!” she said, “Just make sure you don’t contact your past self, and that you try your best not to shake anything up—no revealing anything about the present to anyone, no playing the lottery, nothing like that.” I nodded.

  Natalie led me to a bank of little boxes that looked like old telephone booths and opened a door, gesturing for me to take the low seat inside. “Okay,” she said, leaning against the door frame. “Here are the controls.” She took me through them all—the place to put in the date you wanted to go to, the place where you could set the duration of time, where to get the information about where you would find the return ‘capsule’ that would take you back to the present and how it would look. “We’re very careful that your return capsule will look as innocuous as possible. There are still some places in the past where we haven’t yet devised return devices—so we can’t let anyone go back there. But in the time period you’re traveling to, you should be able to get back easily.” I was impatient to go on my trip and barely paid attention to her instructions on coming back. How hard could it be, I thought.

  Finally Natalie left, wishing me luck and a good time before she shut the door, closing me into the box. I put in the date, time, and place I wanted to go to—I wanted to arrive shortly before the point in time when the two professors had propositioned me when I’d been a college student. I wondered just how I could convince them to go for me after my younger self turned them down; I couldn’t exactly tell them I was from the future.

  Chapter Two

  Everything flickered and wavered inside of the time machine, and deep in the pit of my stomach I felt nauseated. This was normal, apparently—there was even a sanitary compartment in the booth to throw up if you needed to. I closed my eyes, swallowing down my nausea and waiting for the machine to come to a stop.

  Finally, just when I was starting to regret my choice to go on this crazy trip, I heard the high-pitched wailing die off, and the nausea swelled—and then finally subsided. I opened my eyes. The console in front of me was blinking a message: Unit will return to original time in 5 minutes. Please exit the unit. I made a note of the address where I would find the return capsule and stuffed it into my purse before I got out.

  I exited the building and made my way by memory to the bar I knew my two professors would be. How would I approach them, I wondered. I checked the time—Natalie had given me an appropriate watch, since I couldn’t carry a cell phone or current technology with me. It should be right about the time I’d turned down the two professors—my past self, anyway. I knew that in spite of being much older than I was then, I was still attractive enough; I’d never really been ugly, and even though most guys wouldn’t spare me a glance just for being older, I was not hard to look at just because I’d gained in years.

  I stepped into the bar, and looked around. After a few moments, I spotted the two professors, drinking and looking downtrodden. My heart was beating faster as I walked up to them; I had dressed with this evening in mind when I went to Past Present Future. “I heard you talking to that girl,” I said, smiling slightly as the two men looked up. They were just as handsome as I remembered—Dr. Grant with his brown hair clipped short, his big, intelligent blue eyes peering through a pair of wire-frame glasses, and Dr. Moffatt with his boyish blond hair and brown eyes. They turned red, both of them looking as though they were certain I’d start screaming at them.

  “It’s—I hope you saw that we didn’t give her any trouble when she refused…” Dr. Grant said.

  I laughed. “Gentlemen, I’m not worried about the girl. She’ll be fine. What I wanted to say was: if you really want to have a threesome…” I smiled slowly. “How much does age matter to you?” I bought them a drink and we got down to details; they weren’t entirely on board at first, but they were both tipsy enough to get into the idea. It was easier than I thought it would be—they were obviously horny, and they were down to have their little adventure.

  We went back to Dr. Grant’s apartment together, and I found myself between the two men in an instant, both of their hands moving over my body. I shivered—it was creepy but incredibly erotic at the same time. Dr. Moffatt kissed me hungrily, starting to unbutton my shirt while Dr. Grant unzipped my skirt. “This is crazy,” Grant was saying, laughing out loud as he pulled my skirt down over my hips. “We’re going to regret this in the morning, all three of us.”

  “I won’t,” I said, breaking away from Grant’s lips to kiss Moffatt. Grant cupped my breasts through my bra, squeezing them and teasing my nipples through the fabric. My pussy was starting to get wet with the feeling of two men’s hands all over my body. Between the two of them, they got me naked in a matter of moments, and I lost track of who I was kissing at any given time, switching between the two professors at random, my hands reaching out to touch whoever was nearest.

  Grant’s and Moffatt’s clothes started to fall away as we moved to the living room couch together, and they sat me down on it, playing with my breasts tentatively and reaching down almost haltingly to touch my slick pussy. “Come on, fellas,” I said, giving Grant’s hardening cock a long stroke, “Someone make a move, let’s get this started.”

  I was shocked at how open I was to the experience, how exciting it was for me—I’d never even seriously entertained the idea of a threesome in my life! But Moffatt started to caress my pussy, stroking my labia slowly and steadily. I leaned forward and took Grant’s cock between my lips. When I was younger, I had thought that sucking a man off was degrading, vulgar, and gross; but as Grant’s cock twitched in my mouth, I got more and more excited, wetter and wetter, gushing on Moffatt’s fingers as he rubbed my clit and started to probe me. I could feel Moffatt’s cock digging into my hip behind me, and I pushed my ass back against him, rubbing and grinding.

  I was getting more and more turned on by the moment, replacing my mouth on Grant’s cock with my hand and then switching back; I was like a completely different person from who I normally was.

  Moffatt lifted me up slightly on the couch, grab
bing me by my hips, and I felt him moving into position underneath me. He pulled me back down and I felt him thrusting into me, felt his hard cock sliding into my soaking wet pussy from behind in one quick movement that left me breathless. I moaned with Grant’s cock still in my mouth, beginning to ride Moffatt as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of me. I heard both men groaning; Grant’s fingers tangled in my hair while Moffatt’s hands gripped my hips, slamming me down onto him.

  In a matter of moments, I hit my climax, barely managing to keep Grant’s cock in my mouth as I cried out and moaned from the pleasure shooting through my body. I was trembling, my thighs beginning to ache from the need to keep myself upright as Moffatt continued to slam up into me from behind for a few more strokes before he reached his own orgasm. Grant let out a long, low moan—and even as Moffatt’s cock began to jerk and twitch inside of me, I felt and tasted a hot, salty-bitter gush of sticky-slick cum shooting from Grant into my mouth.

  After a few moments, the three of us were somehow all tangled up on the couch, limbs tangled up together in a snarl. I was panting, tingling all over; I was so glad I had gone through with my trip to the past, with the idea that I had put aside for so many years. “Ready to go again, boys?” I asked, my body already excited, already turned on once more—I had never been like this before in my life.

  “Give me five minutes, darling, and I’ll be more than ready to give you more,” Grant said, and I saw him grinning in the darkness. Moffatt echoed the reassurance and I grinned to myself, thinking that I would never tell any of my friends—not that any of them would believe me—about what I had done.

  A few minutes later, Grant was reaching out, untangling himself from the couch and lifting me up off of my back. He lay back against the couch cushions and guided my hand to his semi-hard cock, just starting to stir once more. I wrapped my fingers around him and started to stroke him, thinking of how good it would feel inside of me. At the same time, Moffatt was touching me all over—teasing my nipples with his fingertips, rolling and pinching them, cupping and squeezing my breasts. In a matter of moments, Grant was hard again, and he pulled me down onto him. I straddled his hips and sank down onto his thick, hard cock, letting it fill me up slowly.