Meet Me at Infinity

by James Tiptree Jr.

  “Both partners,” murmurs Loomis, apparently puzzled; “Ah, you mean the woman-female like you, and the male-mans such as we are? No more?”

  Puzzled herself, Sheila can only laugh and say, “That’s all it takes, yes. But now there is the question of where the sex is to be done. It is very noncustomary to engage in it in public, or even to be too obvious about intending to. It has a disruptive effect on others, you see. For example, shall I go and book my room, and then drop back here, as if saying good-bye, while slipping my key to you?”

  “Oh, we thought of that!” says Bolingbroke proudly. “Even without the manual! I believe it’s a nice room. Will that influence your arousal?”

  “Yes, a secure, comfortable, private environment is very favorable, Now, it is a pleasant gesture, though not necessary, for you to settle any small account I have here. I’ll tell you about feeding symbolism later,” she adds to Loomis, as the redhead summons the robot and inserts his credit chip.

  When they go out, the aliens guide her into corridors she knows as high-credit territory. Their diplomatic service must do better by them than poor old Terra’s, she thinks, as they pass a luxurious floral hydroponics display.

  Despite a slight difficulty in walking, Bolingbroke strides ahead to fling open a door.

  “Stars! What did you do, book a Human royal suite?” She advances into an extravaganza of pale furs and satins, alabaster and mirrors—mirrors everywhere, all centered on a huge, ornate bed. As she catches her own image she is ridiculously pleased to see herself looking quite in place; she knows she’s a very good-looking woman. Of course these Thumnorians wouldn’t know if she looked like a baggage-basher, but it will do them good to set a high standard.

  “Oh, nice! See the little feast they’ve laid out for us for later on. And, oh! Real flowers!” She buries her nose in the rare fragrances.

  “This is suitable?” Loomis inquires. “Do you feel yourself becoming aroused?”

  Sheila’s answer is cut short by Bolingbroke, who goes straight to the bed and plumps down on it. “This is where we do it, right?”

  “Exactly… I hope it isn’t too soft.”

  “Why? How can I tell?”

  “That will be self-evident later,” she chuckles.

  “Always later! Why don’t you approach me? Come on, Loomis.”

  “I think she has more preliminaries,” says Loomis, who has been quietly watching her. “Remember she said there were.”

  “That’s just right. We women vary a great deal, but I am one of those who prefer to become more relaxed before leaping into bed—unless time is very short, which I gather it’s not. For instance, you haven’t properly locked the door.”

  “Oof!” Bolingbroke jumps up and beats Loomis to the door.

  “Now, Myr Bolingbroke, when you close or lock the door, you might look at your female in a way signifying that you are locking the world out. You see the idea, make everything contribute to arousal.”

  “I’m not sure I need any more arousal,” he says.

  But Loomis tells him, “Boley, listen to her. You won’t get such guidance again. I have an idea she’s very good. Aren’t you?” he asks her.

  “I’ve been told so, but of course people are polite,” Sheila laughs. “Now, another preliminary is undressing—which is customary unless, again, you’re in a fearful hurry.” Enjoying her school-mistress role, she throws back her mantilla and is kicking off her slippers when her attention is distracted by the sight of a magnificent cluster of Martian pi-fruits.

  “Myr Loomis, these fruits are an extraordinary delicacy to Humans. On such an occasion it would be customary, and a good intimacy factor, to offer them to your woman. In fact, they would be a good pretext for inviting a female to your suite to share them. If she assents, it is her implicit acceptance of sex activities later. Does all this sound too complicated?”

  She helps herself to a handful of the tantalizing pi-fruits.

  “Well, yes,” sighs Bolingbroke, struggling out of his panters.

  Loomis, following her lead, is taking off his boots. “You said you would tell us about feeding symbolism,” he says in his soft voice.

  “Oh, yes. Well, a classic form of male sexual attention to a female is to give her something to eat. It is physical and intimate, and we share it with many simple Terran animals, especially the birds. You will see a female bird flutter and crouch like a nestling, while her male places berries in her beak. So you can see it’s a symbolism that runs deep. He offers her something to take into herself, right? And women may serve pleasing food to men, but that’s a different symbolic story.”

  She seats herself on one of the little love-couches to investigate the wine.

  “What if I do this?” asks Loomis. “Here, wait—”

  He picks up a particularly tempting pi-fruit and holds it before her mouth. As she reaches for it, he pushes it gently between her lips, then withdraws it again and again inserts it. The smooth sliding Contact makes her gasp.

  “Your breathing has changed!” he exclaims delightedly.

  “What are you doing, Loom? Where did you learn that?” demands Bolingbroke, while Sheila leans back, smiling in a new way at Loomis.

  “I just thought of it,” beams Loomis modestly. “It was right, Myr Sheila?”

  “Myr Loomis, I don’t think you need any instructions,” says Sheila a trifle thickly. “Your natural impulses are enough. Oh, Myr Bolingbroke! Oh, dear—” She breaks into helpless laughter.

  “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing’s really wrong. It’s just customary to undress in a different order. Because, to Human womens’ eyes a man looks ridiculous wearing only boots and tabard but no panters. And in your condition—” Sheila emits muffled giggles while Bolingbroke tears at his boots.

  “Top first, then bottom, then panters?” asks Loomis. “Right?”

  “Perfect.” Sheila rises and keys open her jumper bodice. “And of course, hats off first of all if you have them. Same for a woman, except”—she gracefully divests herself of the jumper, revealing a lacy teddy—“except a woman may leave a headdress or mantilla for last, as an ornament. But I know Myr Bolingbroke is eager to get to the essentials, so I’ll skip everything except one important point which affects the quality of the experience: These lights are much too bright. Soft light lets the woman relax more easily, and is flattering to everyone. Yes.” Loomis has found the dimmer and brings the chamber to a shadowy glow. “You’ll find your Human eyes adapt amazingly. And now—oh, dear, look what I’ve done to poor Myr Boiey!”

  Bolingbroke is sitting naked on the bedside, contemplating his limp penis with dismay. He looks at her reproachfully. “It deflated. When you—”

  “Yes, I know. When I laughed. But that would be serious only if you had a much older body. With yours it doesn’t matter at all. You’ll see.” Sheila steps out of her last lacy covering and stretches happily, making a slow twirl so the aliens can see all of her. “Myr Loomis, under the circumstances I’ll attend to your colleague first, may I?”

  He waves assent and seats himself on the love-couch by the bed, his erection apparently durable as rock. “Go ahead. I feel that watching will please me.”

  Sheila, naked now except for the gauzy flutter of the mantilla, advances on the dejected red-haired alien and smiles mysteriously.

  “Myr Bolingbroke, we will now play an informal sex game called Discover the Sleeper. You are the Sleeper. You must lie back comfortably on your back with your head resting on your hands.” She raises her arms and crosses her wrists behind her head, catching her nipples in the filmy mantilla. “That’s right. Some prefer to close their eyes. Now the object of the game is for you to try to remain still and passive as long as possible. You must not on any account try to, ah, inflate. And I am the Discoverer. I can do whatever I like. I’ll start by kneeling at your other side”—she steps around the huge bed—“so Myr Loomis can see. And by the way, this game can be played with the sexes reversed, i
t works beautifully.”

  As she speaks she has climbed onto the downy coverlet, and is kneeling by Boley’s supine body.

  She allows herself a moment to admire his really elegant Human form. Long, cleanly molded limbs, with a little curl of red hair in each armpit matching the wiry copper mat around his genitals—that will feel satisfying on her clitoris. His torso is perhaps a little thin, but well-muscled—and she can feel his superhuman warmth rising to her. She lays her hands on him—his flesh is hot, but not uncomfortably so—and caresses him in long gentle strokes, just flicking his nipples to see his belly jump. “Still, you must lie still…” she murmurs, lightly brushes his already half-erect penis. “Lie still, relax… be asleep …”

  As she bends down to sniff and taste his skin, her long raven hair trails on him, making his flesh quiver visibly. She pauses to fling it back, and sees Loomis watching intently. In a low voice, she tells him, “He will climax or come, as we call it, much too soon for me. That’s because of his body’s youth. If this were our only chance, as Discoverer I could now stimulate myself.” She rises on her parted knees, and fingers her swollen clitoris to show him. Boley too, she sees, is peeking. “But your bodies will come twice or more, so I shall wait.”

  She sinks down again and gives him one more long smooth caress, then joins her palms together and pushes her hands between his thighs.

  He gasps, breathing hard. “Lie still… be asleep …” she whispers. She can feel her own moisture now wetting her labia; good, just in time. She cups his testes in her palms and fondles them a moment, smiling at the stiffly distended penis standing upright from his curls. A milky drop appears on the tip of his glans. It’s time.

  She rises on one knee and slides the other leg across him, straddling his groin. The heat of his body is pleasant on her whole crotch; that penis will be hot! Holding her labia open with one hand, she guides herself halfway down on his erection—oh, it’s delicious!—and then goes nearly up again before letting herself sink down fully onto him.

  As her clitoris crushes his wiry curls he can bear it no longer. Uttering an inarticulate cry, he whips his arms down and pins her hips to him. She lets her body collapse onto his as he convulses and bucks in his first Human orgasm.

  Her wiggles against his hot sex excite her more, but she restrains herself so as not to get too close to coming and spoil it. Seeing Loomis’s face quite close to hers, she tells him, “Boley’s ejaculating. That’s it, what we call coming or spending… and a dozen other things.” Loomis nods, bright-eyed.

  “Was that what it was?” Bolingbroke asks thickly. “I thought I was a rocket.”

  “And you?” Loomis asks her.

  “Not yet. Young males are very fast.”

  “Then I wish to try that. But in reverse. You will be the Sleeper. I find I want to examine your body.”

  The quality of his voice suddenly reminds her that Boley had called Loomis his superior. Yes, he has a senior authority, although they are evidently warm friends.

  As Boley’s grip loosens, Sheila lifts herself off his penis, which is already beginning to stir again—what youth!—and sees she’s forgotten to have a towel handy. But Loomis has already seen the need and tosses one to her.

  “Oh, thanks. I failed in my instructor’s duties.” She laughs, mopping up semen and juices. “Some men would like a shower and a bite of refreshments now.”

  “Refreshments yes, shower no,” he tells her, grinning, “I find I like the after-effects, it—it reminds me of home.” He and Loomis exchange a surprisingly warm look that makes her wonder how much she knows of these Thumnorians.

  While Boley applies himself to the snacks, Sheila sets aside her mantilla and stretches out in the bed, supine, arms crossed behind her head. Loomis takes his place kneeling beside her.

  At first he copies what she did, looking her over carefully, and then bending to sniff and touch his tongue to her flesh.

  “I find your body really very appealing, though strange. It is as if my Human body knows, while my Thumnor mind is just discovering it,” he tells her softly. She smiles and closes her eyes, and feels herself beginning to shiver with pleasure as his hot hands examine her, carefully, gently, thoroughly. He inspects her from top to toe, her face and ears, her armpits, and when he comes to her breasts, says, “These are how you feed your young?”

  “Yes,” she says sleepily. “Do you want to play infant?”

  “Like this?” He starts to bend to her, but his erection makes him awkward until he goes on one knee. Then she quakes as those overly hot lips close on her nipples.

  “Y-yes,” she manages to say. “Good …”

  “I too find it pleasant. I will remember.” He leaves her breasts to continue his examination. First he passes down her sides to her legs and feet, and spends a moment with her toes, then he gently forces her legs apart and continues up the insides of her thighs. Her glimpses of his face through her lashes show him as intent as an artist. Or a surgeon. She trembles harder.

  As his fingers reach the fur around her vulva he pauses to bend low by her ear. “You are becoming aroused,” he says in his low voice. “I can see it. So am I.”

  “So am I,” speaks up Bolingbroke from somewhere by her knees. “I don’t know why.”

  Loomis chuckles. “Sshshsh,” he admonishes his friend, “This is a spell, don’t break it.” His searching fingers gently probe behind, find out her anus. “Your other aperture,” he whispers. She can only nod tremulously. With exquisite care he pushes, enters the opening. “So small, so tight.” She nods again, manages to say, “It expands. But not 1-lubri-cated.”

  “Ah.” She has the impression he has turned momentarily to speak to Boley. But then his hand moves purposefully into her dark curls, and with slow pressure he forces her legs farther apart so he can see. He seems to know by instinct the exact rhythm of advance and retreat, pressure and relaxment; she cannot restrain a little moan of pleasure as he parts her outer and inner labia and looks down.

  “This …” His heated fingers press the stem of her clitoris, her head rolls in her arms, and she moans again as his touch comes on her most sensitive point. “So distended,” he murmurs. “Ah, I see, I see. This part corresponds to the tip of mine.” He strokes it slowly. “Doesn’t it, little Human? Doesn’t it?”

  “Y-yes… oh, oh—” His touch leaves the fire point, and comes again below it. “This, for urination, yes?”

  She manages to nod. And then his hot touch comes thrillingly to her vagina. Carefully he pulls the lips apart, and she can feel his eyes on her flesh like a physical pressure; he is watching the opening contract, open, and contract again. She feels moisture gush and senses his puzzlement.

  “Are you ejaculating?” he whispers, close to her ear.

  She gulps for air, and finally whispers back, “N-no… that is lub-bri-cant.” The next instant the burning fingers slide into her, withdraw, slide again in deeper, and her muscles convulse around him. This evidently is too much for his enforced calm. His grip on her tightens. “Now I must insert—I—I must—how?”

  “You—between my legs—” She draws up her spread knees, inviting him in, and brings a hand down to guide him. But he has already understood; she feels the hot blunt head of his large penis pushing just right. Her fingers reach her clitoris as he pulls slightly out, then thrusts in all the way—and they are in orgasm together.

  Distantly she hears Boley give a kind of suppressed wail.

  What should be the last tremors subside, but they are not the last. She realizes that her long-deprived body has gone into its multiorgasmic state. Inside her, Loomis too is stiffening again. He starts to withdraw, then experimentally thrusts back in, and his thick pubic hair crushes against her pulsing clitoris, sending her off again. Her arms tighten around him, he gives a deep sound in his throat and thrusts in hard, seeming to appreciate her superexcited state. But a moment later he is unsure.

  “Am I harming you? Do you need to finish?”

  “No—no. I
can do more… you have excited me… so I may come several times—”

  “Good,” he says, with what seems like real tenderness. “But now I wish you to be on top. Can you?”

  “Yes,” Sheila answers. “Roll.” She clamps him between her knees and twists, and he with surprising strength pulls them both over so that she lies on him with bottom upturned, feeling luxuriously impaled, half coming.

  Suddenly a touch makes her conscious that Boley has climbed into the bed behind her and is cautiously feeling between the cheeks of her rump. The long, hot fingers find her anus, and Boley’s head comes down beside hers.

  “That’s your second aperture? The changemaster said—”

  She regains her senses enough to say urgently, “Yes, but there’s no natural lubrication! Stop, or you’ll hurt me! Cream or oil is needed—”

  “Stop,” says Loomis authoritatively. “Go in the bathroom, there’s some stuff beside the pink mirror. I warned you. Go.”

  “Yes.” She has a moment of absurd giggles, hearing an unspoken “Sir.”

  In a moment he’s back, and she feels cool cream being pushed attentively deep into her anal opening. “On yourself, too,” she tries to say, but he has already done so, and his now trembling erection pushes slowly through her sphincter, already tightened by the presence of Loomis. It has been some time since she’s enjoyed two men at once, she’s almost forgotten the indescribable visceral sensations. Relax. Still half coming, she makes her body relax, while the almost painfully delicious pleasure builds.

  “It so tight,” Boley complains. And then, “Oh! Great! Ahhh-hh.”

  “Are you all right?” Loomis whispers worriedly into her ear. “This is suitable?”

  “Yes… yes… suitable, but… rare.” Her blurry eyes find his face, she smiles. “Stop if I cry out.”

  “We will,” he assures her. “Boley, be careful. I sense she is very vulnerable.”

  “Right,” says Boley thickly, and plunges himself home.