Chapter 3

Edifice housing Daymon Strand

26 Argentis 1947, 02:48 local

Miranda woke when one of her bed partners moved and answered her own question of who was in her bed when she remembered where she was.

“Space demon,” she cursed in her head, “that boy is fucking amazing for his age and previous lack of knowledge about making women orgasm.

Her mental alter-ego asked, “Might some of your reaction be due to your ... interest in him?”

“I certainly hope not. I’ve taught three previous Sixteen Day boys, and none were even remotely this intelligent, this quick to grasp concepts to which he’d never been previously introduced, and he’s ... so ... nice and eager to please.”

“And you think some or none of those aspects aren’t relevant?”

“I know they are, but either or both of us falling in love with the other introduces a huge monkey wrench into a task that’s already devilishly difficult, if not impossible. Yes, there’s a potentially huge advantage to that happening, but only in one facet of what needs to happen, but that could make every other god-forsaken thing more difficult.”

“There’s that.”

Miranda had slipped out of bed to visit the bathroom and from there, she had heard talking but could not discern the words. She dried her hands on a hanging towel and opened the door to see Lindsay a few feet away.

She whispered a question to the boy’s mother, “He’s awake. How does he seem?”

“Quietly ecstatic.”

When I frowned, she asked, “I think I ... Rather, I suspect what you’re thinking, but he’s my son. I love him very much and had before all this began. I’m just so afraid you’ll have to hurt him and he’ll ... withdraw ... or worse.”

“I know. I don’t want to hurt him if for no other reason than that I strongly suspect hurting him will ruin ... perhaps not everything, but much, and a partial success doesn’t really do us much good.”

“You’re right.” Daymon’s mother then stated, “Something I’ve always been concerned about with how we treat ... society’s boys is them going all in on the sexual side. I’ve seen a few burned-out young men who have never been allowed to do something ... different, to ... have a hobby other than sex. To continue learning once they’ve learned all required by The Council and our laws.

“Miranda, I’d really like it if my son always viewed sex with such fascination, with such ... a thirst to learn, to know more, to be ... better at his job.

“You know and I know that there’s at least some suggestion that a woman orgasming during sex with a male somehow increases the chance of conception. We haven’t been able to run it down, but you ... we need every extra single percentage we can manufacture. And, of course, we’ve never cared to see what effects the mood of the males has on ... anything.”

“Lindsay, you’re preaching to the choir. I worry about all those things. You’re also right that increasing the chance of conception by even 1% each time would give us ... the larger, more expansive ‘us’ ... a better chance of the success we must have.”

The gorgeous naked girl held a hand up at Lindsay to keep her from speaking because she wanted to run down a fleeting impression ... or something ... that had shown its head very briefly. When she grabbed the fleeing tail of the thought, she startled herself.

Startled enough to vocally ask herself, “Truly? Is that part of the solution to one aspect of this?”

“What aspect?”

Miranda shook her head hard, then asked, “Did I say that out loud?”

When Lindsay nodded, Miranda again shook her head at herself, then whispered a few sentences as softly as she could and still have Lindsay hear and understand.

Lindsay responded not as softly, “Truly? You’d do that?”

“I don’t know, but I think it could help.”

“I’d consider worshipping at your feet if you could make that happen.”

“That time is far into the future. Or, rather, it should be far into the future. However, we’re already ahead of ... schedule, I suppose. What did you think of the orgasms he gave you last night?”

“Spectacular. I take it you did notice that he gave an orgasm to whomever of us he was loving on before he came ... every ... single ... time. I don’t know how much sex you’ve had with boys ... or males, but I’d never before had a male lover who could manage that reliably. Not that I’ve had many, and it certainly didn’t help that the males who attend to the ... needs of non-breeding females are not what you’d call the cream of the crop.”

Miranda nodded as she added, “I’ve never had the dubious pleasure of one of those males.”

“They’re good enough at getting ... me off, but I had previously never imagined orgasms could be ... so-o-o ... uninspiring. They’re good for what they are, but for nothing else. After it happened, I didn’t want to be there any longer. Fantasies are better than the real thing. At least, to as close – and it was far from close – to the real thing I’d hoped for.”

Lindsay shook herself, as Miranda returned to the previous topic with, “And he gave each of us orgasms at a rate of three for two of his ... each.” She shook her head at an idea that popped into her mind, then reconsidered it, after which she told Lindsay, “Follow me after giving me ... two minutes with your boy. Depending on the precise situation I encounter, I have a couple of ideas.”

After Lindsay nodded, Miranda padded as silently as she could to and into Daymon’s room and found him lying on his front and contemplating something about his hands or in his hands. She watched him with ... interest as he continued to contemplate whatever it was ... then crawled onto his body, front to back, lay her head on his upper back, and seemed to settle in.

A soft moan escaped Daymon’s lips, and his mother arrived just in time to hear it. She stared at Miranda lying on her boy and simply ... apparently ... enjoying herself, possibly in a non-sexual way. Yes, they were both naked and had spent much of the two preceding days sharing sex of various sorts, but that looked to her like ... comfort and ... fondness.

Lindsay thought, “I’ve never had such a ... romantic occurrence in my long period of sexual activity with the very same sort of boys.” While she was thinking that thought, the vista got even sweeter as Miranda dropped the right side of her face onto his back and snuggled into him a bit more. Daymon put the right side of his face on the bed and seemed to shiver.

After a few minutes of idyll, from her continued position on his back, Miranda softly said, “Have you been thinking about your ... future, your lot in life?”

In an equally quiet voice, Daymon replied, “Yes.”

“What do you see?”

“I can see ... a ... variety of ... possibilities.”

“If you would, please describe the ... variety.”

He let out a quiet, short chortle, then stated, “At one end, I imagine that every woman is fun and beautiful ... like you ... and that I ... love my life. The other end is ... bleak, just ... rutting, I guess, with every woman they want me to ... service. I don’t know if ... there are such or The Council does such, but that end has them giving me ... some sort of drug that enables me to do what they want without ... truly enjoying something that ... should be very enjoyable ... like the past two days.

“Miranda, the past two days is what I’d like my ... job to be. Is that even possible?”

“Let me tell you two things. The first, and you may already know this, but it’s very important that you do. That bleak side you imagine is ... something that can happen and has happened. If The Council knew I told you that, you would have a new Guide in the next hour. Please, don’t ever mention the bleak end, again, particularly outside your mother’s apartment. Daymon, The Council has never been all that fond of men thinking, of being able to anticipate a future other than the one The Council wants them to see: Glorious sex with hundreds of beautiful women. Despite how positively The Council seemed to respond to my proposal to try a new ... a radically new method of Guiding, at the first sign of something going wrong, they might and probably would change their mind.”

Miranda shivered at his inchoate cry of negation, but rode over it, saying, “The second is about what you feel or, rather, the feelings you show in public. If you find yourself caring for me, at least more than you might for someone who is just a teacher, you need to keep those feelings off your face. The same goes for any feelings you might have for your mother beyond those of a mother you truly like. I want you to practice that anytime one or both of us are not with you here in the apartment. Practice not showing your true emotion as your mom returns from the kitchen or me from the bathroom. Once you can manage that without fail, only then can you occasionally allow your true feelings to show on your face.”

“B-but ... but that could take ... weeks ... or more!”

Miranda nodded and said, “It probably will, unless you’re a much better actor than most.”

“I’ll do or practice whatever you want if ... that will ... keep you ... as my Guide.”

Softly, Miranda responded, “I appreciate that, but, please, do those things I ask for yourself. I will not always be with you, and if you depend on my presence to be successful at these tasks, you will fail and, right now, no one wants you to fail. While The Council will allow infatuation, in fact, encourages it, their response to true, long-lasting feelings may well cause them to treat you differently than you ... and we need them to treat you. Daymon, if you want to have a happy life, particularly a long, happy life, keeping your feelings inside yourself in public is something you must do.”

As the boy’s silence continued long past what Miranda expected, she began to fidget, although in only very minor ways. Once she recognized those fidgets, she turned them off and continued to lie on Daymon’s back, waiting for his response.

“How much time will I be in public with you or Mom?”

“It could be extensive with at least one of us.”

“So, I really need to be able to ... do that.”

“It’s possibly make-or-break, Daymon. It’s possibly the difference between enjoying your life at least somewhat or the bleak option.”

“Then I will practice.”

“I appreciate that. Please understand that there are parts of my job that I will not and do not relish.” More softly, she added, “Daymon, I’ve enjoyed your obvious pleasure at seeing me, but, particularly now that I know you somewhat, I would hate to know that you would experience the bleak option.”

“Then, please, roll off me so I can practice.”

Miranda lifted her head, slapped the back of Daymon’s head playfully, and said, “Oh, no you don’t. We’re having breakfast first and then there’s more ‘difficult’ learning about how to please women.”