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Archive-name: digital-sw
Here's a story I wrote a few years ago. Its erotic content is small. All comments welcome, although if you object to my story merely because it involves two male humans instead of some other combo then I suggest your comments might get more of a response than you might want.
Michael Bertrand mbertrand@upei.ca
------------------------------------------------------------------------ - Digital Switching - ------------------------------------------------------------------------
As soon as I saw him I felt that old familiar rush of longing inside, like a big hole had just opened in me that only he could fill. Suddenly the rest of the world fell away and the only thing that mattered was how I was going to get him in my life. He was chatting with a group of his friends around one of the displays in the Computers section of the Museum. I was looking up at him through the skylight on between Computers and the Palaeontology section. As he laughed at some joke I couldn't hear (and probably wouldn't have even if there hadn't been twenty feet of slightly musty Museum air between us) his hair caught the light, and he appeared as a merry angel, limned in a golden halo of auburn hair and burnished gold. I felt that rush again, so strong that I felt I would black out, and just stared fixedly up at him. Luckily, the area I was in, the early mammals, was not very popular, because had there been anyone to see me there I would have looked like I'd been struck dumb. As I stood basking in the glow I had seen, a small but vital part of my mind noticed that he was about to leave. A switch closed in my mind and I took off like a sprinter through the Palaeontology section and up the stairs to keep from losing him. Luckily, he had stopped to look at the digital switching display, so not only did I not lose him but I had a precious few seconds to adjust my clothes and my composure, and saunter up to the display in a study of nonchalance.
"Amazing technology, isn't it?" I opened, hoping desperately that the tremble in my voice wasn't too noticeable.
"I'll say!" he replied, not looking away from the display. "You could have a million lines into a certain station and it could handle them all, with no noticeable effect on the user!" His dark blue eyes scanned over the information in the display like a child reading a story book, and his expression was one of enrapture.
"Really? You mean the main computer wouldn't get confused with all those different lines giving it different inputs at once?"
"Not with this system," he said, in much the same tone a proud parent uses when they say "Not MY child!" "Each line has its own built-in traffic control system, which reports to the main computer how busy the line is and tells it whether it should reroute the data or not. The computer can switch lines in an instant if one gets too busy or there's a security breach."
I nodded intelligently. Computers were only a hobby for me, so the conversation had already gone totally beyond me. "Sounds like quite a powerful system."
He nodded, still locked into his intellectual congress with the information in the display. "It is. This way the computer doesn't waste precious CPU time on users who aren't doing anything and can cut off in an instant ones who are doing something they shouldn't."
Again I nodded, trying to grasp enough of what he was saying to make an intelligent comment. The seconds ticked by, and i was sure he was about to turn and walk away, totally forgetting me. Finally I blurted out, "That sounds kind of harsh, doesn't it?"
He turned and looked at me for the first time, with a surprised expression. Inside I froze. You've blown it, old boy, I thought to myself. Now he thinks you're a total geek or crazy or both. You'll be lucky if he just leaves without notifying any institutions.
But his surprised look melted into as he laughed a deep, rich, easy laugh, and chuckled, "I suppose it does, doesn't it!"
My own surprise was total, but I had the good sense to laugh along with him. After we had had a good long laugh, he turned to go on to the next display, and gestured for me to follow him. Needless to say, I did.
As we moved on, he said warmly, "I get the impression that you're not particularly up on the latest advances in technology."
I smiled at him. "Well, no. I use my Internet account and run my applications, but other than that I just accept things on faith, I guess. I just stick to my faithful PC."
He chuckled, and said "You really should keep up on the latest advances. You never know when something new will come along which will make your life a lot easier, so it pays to keep your eyes open for new opportunities. Now take this next display, on the new laptops..."
And that was how the rest of the afternoon went. He, the gentle, kind teacher, teaching me more about computers in those few hours than I had known in all my life beforehand, and I the eager student, hanging on his every word. Now I will admit that he could have been talking about the anatomy of the flea and I would have been just as eager, for it wasn't the subject matter that kept me hooked in but the teacher. He obviously loved his subject, and brought to his lessons a contagious enthusiasm, not to mention (I just happened to notice) a kind, expressive face, an ease and grace of motion both hypnotic and relaxing, and a thin but well-muscled frame, like a dancer's. Every word he said burned into my mind and I drank deeply of the knowledge he so loved to share.
Finally, it was five o' clock, we had exhausted every display there, and we were both tired and giddy from each other's company. So I was only mildly surprised when I heard myself inviting him over to my place for dinner and a movie from my collection. He accepted graciously, and we caught a cab back to my apartment.
As soon as we got inside, I felt more confident, as I always do when I get home. Each thing in my apartment was out there by me, and carries its own air of familiarity and comfort, from the beat-up and oddly-coloured couch, to the enormous TV I won in a raffle at college, to the painting by my mother of my baby sister Clara at age three. I ushered him to the couch, which despite its extreme age and mildly arthritic springs is quite comfortable, and whisked off to the kitchen to whip up a meal.
And if my confidence had soared when I entered my apartment, it reached escape velocity when I hit the kitchen. I feel I can say, and there are many friends and family members who will support me on this, that I am one damn good cook. For as long as I can remember, I have felt at home in the kitchen. Before long, the pasta was boiling, the sauce was simmering, the greens were boiling, and I could take him out a glass of wine. When I returned to the living room, I found to my utter lack of surprise that he had found my dear old PC and was fiddling with it and muttering something about abacuses and ease of use. I nudged his elbow gently with my own and handed him his glass.
He turned away from the computer and took the glass, taking a long pull from it and leaning back in the chair, facing me. He favoured me with a warm smile (which incidently caused be to sit down just a little quicker than I had intended as my knees went all wobbly) and said, "I haven't seen one of these in ages. I didn't think there were any more around."
I smiled and gave my well-worn old machine an affectionate pat. "Yeah, this machine and I have been through a lot together."
He grinned wryly and said, "I suppose it would be useless to tell you how much faster and better all your applications would run if you upgraded to a new system?"
I nodded. "Pretty much. When this old rig finally gives up the ghost I'll look into a new one, but until then, I'll just plug along."
He shook his head in disbelief and said, "What is it you're cooking out there? It smells great!"
I preened under his praise and said, "Oh, a little of this and a little of that." With that, I stood up and extended my hand to collect his now-empty glass. "And I should be getting back to it, I'm afraid."
He handed me his glass, and as I took it our hands brushed against each other. I felt an electric chill run up my spine and I let my hand linger there for just a little longer than necessary, looking into his eyes to see how he reacted, hope and fear battling in my heart. Hope won by a landslide as he slid his finger over my knuckles quite deliberately and smiled up at me with a look of pure affection. My heart swelled and I practically skipped back to the kitchen.
Supper went like a boat ride on a gentle river, the two of us talking freely, the words seeming to just pour out without a care. We were high on each other... whatever one of us said was the most amusing or interesting thing the other had ever heard, and then they went and said something even more wonderful, over and over again. By the end of the meal, we were touching hands frequently, and as we did the dishes together, our progress was severely crimped by the fact that we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. I don't think either of us were ever both working at the same time... one of us would be trying to work and the other would be nibbling his ear, or kissing his cheek, or hugging him from behind. Finally, as he reached by me to pick something up, our faces came within twelve inches of each other and before either of us knew it we were kissing passionately over the sink. A long languid moment passed before I even breathed, as our mouths met and our tongues caressed one another. My mind sang with an echoing joy as our souls met in that one blinding moment. An undermined number of eons later the kiss ended and we simply embraced, breathing heavily and grinning like kids who've just found genuine reindeer hoofprints on their roof on Christmas Day.
"I think the dishes can wait..." I panted.
"I sure as hell can't!" he chuckled, and kissed me again.
Eventually, we made it to my bedroom. It was only down a very short hall and normally would take all of thirty seconds, but we felt the need to kiss, caress, or otherwise contact each other at every step, so it took us considerably longer. When we got there, I gently pushed him onto the bed and quickly relieved us both of our clothing, making him giggle at the speed and efficiency with which I did so. I climbed on top of him, our chests so close I could feel my heart beating against his, and I kissed him again, deeply and hotly. If the kiss in the kitchen had started the fire, this one ignited it. Our bodies were already slick with sweat as I pressed my mouth against his and rubbed against him slowly. Our cocks slid against each other, and the two heads met and exchanged a delicate kiss. I could feel the fire burning deep in me, scalding my soul and making my senses peak.
I broke the kiss and dragged my tongue down his chest, leaving a trail of saliva and causing him to gasp lightly. Downward I licked, over his smooth belly, his slender waistline, and finally up the length of his straining member. I took a deep breath, then closed my mouth over his cockhead. Again I felt that electric thrill, but this time it hit me like someone had thrown a bag of black dust into my head, and it had fallen dead center and exploded in a dizzying swirl of lightning-streaked darkness.
I suckled the head greedily, nursing it like a hungry baby, my eyes closed so i could focus entirely on the wonderful sensation of his warm cockhead rubbing on the roof of my mouth. I ran a fingertip up the shaft, causing him to tense slightly and squirt a delicious droplet of precum into my busy mouth, where it was briefly savoured then quickly disappeared. I tilted my head forward and leaned down, taking more of his cock into my mouth and sucking it vigorously, my tongue pressed against his cockhead so that as I sucked it rubbed against my tongue roughly. His ragged breathing and the way his legs were trembling assured me that I was being at least moderately successful. I made love to his cock with my mouth, running the very tip of my tongue through his slit, twirling around his length with the bulk of my tongue, and sucking on it like it was my air supply.
He moaned and clutched at the pillows, his sweat soaking the sheets. I open my mouth fully and sank down on his cock, sliding it as far as it would go into my hungry throat, and bobbed up and down rapidly, determined to capture his prize. With a strangled sort of gasp, he came like a fountain, shooting his marvellous seed deep down my throat. I had to breathe through my nose rapidly as I sucked and swallowed his load, pulling on his cock with my well-developed throat muscles to suck him totally dry. Eventually, I could feel his cock softening in my mouth, and he was beginning to shift uncomfortably as I sucked on his now supersensitive cock. Reluctantly I let his cock slip out of my mouth, and scooched back up and gave him a deep kiss, letting him taste his own juices mixed with my saliva. At first he just lay there, dazed, as I kissed him, then a goofy smile spread over his beautiful face and he kissed me back tenderly.
We made love like that for the rest of the night, mind-and-other-organs-blowing sex, pieced together with Edenic periods of cuddling and horsing around. Finally, around midnight, we were beginning to tire, so I suggested we watch a movie. I showed him to my collection, and he selected 'Lawnmower Man.' I took it from its case but noticed it was not rewound. I turned n the TV and VCR, popped in the tape, and started it rewinding, and went back to the bed to snuggle with him. As it happened, the news was on.
"In local news, a local high school teacher is to be brought up on charges of sexual abuse of a minor after it was revealed that he had a long-running sexual relationship with a 14-year-old male student of his. Details of the charges are sketchy at this time, but sources close to the event say they suspected something was wrong when the teacher began giving the student expensive gifts. In sports, ....
There was dead silence in the room as I numbly clicked off the television. They had shown a picture of the teacher accused, and it was the man, my angel, lying next to me. My mind still reeling, I hardly noticed when he got out of bed and began slowly and deliberately dressing. His posture was rigid and his actions were robotic. In a dead tone he said, "I can show myself out. It's been wonderful. Sorry it had to end like this."
Somehow, an alarm went off in my head, and it dawned on e that he was leaving. "DON'T!" I blurted.
He turned to face me with that dead look. Inside I cringed to see the same face I had seen show such carefree warmth suddenly become a dead, impassive mask. "Don't what?"
"Don't leave me!" I almost yelled. This seemed to have no impact, and in my panic I began to ramble. "Don't leave me now, After what we have shared tonight! I don't give a shit about anything you've done. I know damn well that even if everything they said is true, it was no abusive relationship, you wouldn't hurt a fly. I know it's only been half a day, but I already love you more than I have loved anything in this world, and more than anything I ever will... if you leave now I will curl up and die inside, I just know it... Oh god oh god oh god don't leave me, I don't care about the news, I'll forget it ever happened just don't leave me!" My panic spent, and panted and tried to catch my breath as I awaited his reply, trepidation in hard icy layers around my heart.
He paused, apparently mulling over what I had said, and for a brief bright moment I thought he was going to stay. But he just turned and walked out of the door and out of my life. I lay there, my mind frozen in that protective stupor that always surrounds severe trauma. I was dimly aware that I should be crying or storming after him, but it was too huge, too horrible for me to contemplate on any kind of emotional level right away. I just lay there, his semen still wet on the sheets beside me, his scent still all over me and the rest of the room. I could even still see the little bits of red yarn his battered cardigan had left on the chair near my bed. My mind refused to believe he was gone, and instead tried to figure out why he would leave (not that he would leave and not that he did leave but if he did leave then...) I had made it clear to him that I trusted him to have done nothing wrong. He must have known that I wouldn't turn him in, or whatever. But then my mind replayed our first conversation, and I realized the answer. I had gotten too close... I had breached his security. I had accessed files which I was not supposed to. So, through the miracle of modern digital switching, I had been instantaneously cut off, and he could go spend his valuable CPU time somewhere else. With a sickening lurch in my stomach, I began to feel the loss. The pain flowed through me like scalding-hot water through a sore throat, and I wept there on the bed that still looked as if he was going to be back any second, as if he'd just popped down to the store for some cigarettes. I could hear myself crying, but it sounded very far away compared to the roaring deluge of poison I felt twisting around my heart.
After an eternity of crying, the pain slowly subsided till it was merely a dull-throbbing wound and not the fierce assault it was before. I began to tidy up the room methodically, telling myself it was to keep my mind off the pain and the day's events, but knowing that I was trying to remove his ghost from the room, so I could try to forget. As I puttered about robotically, I came to my old clunker of a computer. I sat down in the chair and went to turn it on, figuring maybe to find some solace on the Net.
But I found myself running my hands over the keyboard and monitor, and thinking about how alike me and my old computer were. Slow, clunky, ungainly, nether of us accepted more than one user at a time. Both of us would easily be confused by more than one user, and if there was a security breach, we'd have to find the offender and deal with the breach. Just freezing the offender out wasn't an option for either of us. I rested my head against the monitor, and cried some more, wondering if we might both have become obsolete.
---------------------------------------------------------------------- | ///// / / ///// ///// ///// ///// ///// ///// ///// |------| | // / / // / / / / / / / / / / / / |Nobody| | // ///// ///// / / / / / / / / / / / / | Is | | // / / // / / / / / / / / / / / / | A | | // / / ///// / / / ///// / / / / ///// / / |Nobody| --------------------------------------------------------------| | | "There is no Them, there is only Us" mbertrand@upei.ca |------| ---------------------------------------------------------------------- -- Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to erotica@unix.amherst.edu. Please, no reposts, first drafts, or requests for "subscriptions," stories, GIFs, or archive sites.