Meeting an Alien - Steampunk
Copyright© 2025 by Duncan Mickloud
Chapter 64: Stewart Cotton
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 64: Stewart Cotton - Steampunk is a stand alone coming-of-age story. Bill Morgan, Tom’s son, from the first Meeting An Alien story is almost grown up. Bill, at loose ends, arrives on Earth-19 where many dangers, challenges and needy damsels await him. It is a separate story with all new characters and a places; i.e. it is a vastly different world with a an Old-West feel. Think mid-19th century; Steam power, percussion cap weapons and duals to the death.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft mt/Fa Ma Fa mt ft Coercion Consensual Romantic Farming Restart Steampunk Science Fiction Aliens Alternate History Post Apocalypse Time Travel Paranormal Magic Spanking Interracial Black Female White Male White Female Oriental Female Hispanic Female Indian Female Anal Sex First Oral Sex Pregnancy Voyeurism Big Breasts Size Small Breasts Smoking
I sent, “Ox, I think we should spend the night at Ana’s farm. I will introduce Reese to Fernando, who can show him the tobacco farm. Reese?”
Reese nodded yes as Ox replied, “Yes, Bill.”
Ox played a vid for us of the two cooks in Williamsburg looking at my fish offerings. They put one piece in the fridge and froze the rest.
I sent to Ana and Reese, “Ana, I am bringing Reese Becker with me. He is my new assistant.”
She sent, “I am in my office, as usual.”
I sent, “That’s why I’m telling you. I didn’t want to frighten you.”
We came through, and Ana, being naturally reserved in public, gave me a briefer hug than usual.
I said, “Ana Morgan-Vázquez, let me introduce you to Reese Becker, he is my Second Cousin. He will be my executive assistant for my companies in Virginia and North Carolina. Is Fernando around? I would like him to show Reese the property and operation.”
Ana yelled, “Yahíma.”
The young girl came right in and said, “Sí, Señora?”
Ana said, “Find Señor Bescós. My husband needs him.”
After Fernando collected Reese, Ana and I had a good, long hug.
I said, “We won’t be here long. This is to familiarize Reese with the origin of Corojo tobacco. How it’s grown. I need to return North and get him familiarized with the different factories and farms I have up there. Bescós does not need anyone to supervise him, but you, Dear.”
Ana said, “Be sure to come back soon, my husband. My bed feels lonely without you.”
Fernando returned with Reese. Reese and I shifted to the Williamsburg office.
I needed to get Reese broken in. We spent 2 days, 3 hours at each of the 4 factories, giving him a basic background at each. Mostly, it was a meet-and-greet with notable people.
I took him to Ft Lauderdale and helped him lease a car there. He would keep it in the garage at Windy Rhodes’ place. For now, it was just for storage in the garage. The place was still very much hers.
He was given a debit card to get supplies. He needed a drafting table and a variety of office supplies for his advertising work. It took him a couple of days in Orlando to gather his supplies. He went there because that’s where all the places he used had what he needed. Ft Lauderdale was a different kind of place with scarcity in many advanced areas.
After talking to Paloma, I decided to give him my office downstairs at my old apartment building.
Ox did me one better. They added a doorway in my office with a spatial anomaly bubble for Reese’s art studio. It took Reese a week to get everything the way he wanted it.
Of course, that meant he had to start interviewing different players about the product. He faded away as my admin assistant as his advertising duties took over his life. He interfaced with Paloma a lot. She sent him to Gloria in Suffolk, Róise Leavy in Emporia, Rose in Petersburg, and Soraya in Franklin.
Reese bounced between them for the next few months. He designed and deployed our advertising.
I had one more company hanging out in the wind. That was “Stewart Cotton” in Greenville, N.C.
Stewart Cotton was situated on the Little Tar River, which dumped into the Pamlico River. That river flowed into the Pamlico Sound, which had access to the Atlantic Ocean.
I asked Ox what he knew about Stewart Cotton.
Ox said, “Jasper Houston runs the place. We do not have a portal there. Your Dad did not visit it. I am embarrassed to say we have neglected the place, too. If Thomas was disinterested in it, and you seemed to be too, we expended our efforts elsewhere.”
I said, “Let’s take a ride down there in a few days, then. I am going to my hacienda for the next two days. I need a break. If I went down there right now and there was one problem, people might die.”
I felt I had to get away. Ever watch a ping-pong ball meet between a Chinese and a Japanese player? I felt like I was that ping-pong ball. I had been slammed to the table too many times. I was run ragged, and I knew it.
Besides my dojo, there was no peace to be had anywhere. The dojo wasn’t even working anymore. My day-to-day schedule was atrocious. Portals weren’t helping; they let me bounce around too easily.
Furthermore, I had been the oil can —or the grease gun —to fix every issue, big or small.
I got Ana to dedicate two days to just being with me. She’s sweet, and the tobacco plantation was the one thing that ran smoothly. I sat in my chair on the roof of the hacienda with a glass of red wine in one hand and a pipe in the other. Ox had been ordered not to bother me for ANYTHING.
Ana calms me down. I love lying with her every night, my head next to her growing tummy. We are both counting the days.
I knew I must have been near the breaking point. Ox actually left me in peace the whole 2 days.
Ana and I made love just often enough to reawaken my feelings for my son’s mother. She is beautiful and exotic to me.
After two days, I felt better and put on my big boy pants (a metaphor). I went back to work. In the office, I had Paloma come in and brief me. For once, things were moving along, and the four tobacco managers were handling things.
One thing she had not mentioned was Flora Todd, our executive saleswoman. She was spending a lot of time helping Reese Becker with his advertising. I noticed this immediately as the two came and went together while I was there.
I knew that Paloma had noticed the two. There was a lot of giggling and flirting going on. I now knew Reese was not gay, not that it was any of my business. I have no claim on Flora.
I took the Pez Volador to fly to Stewart Cotton in Greenville, N.C.
Ox had sent a few drones down the previous day to reconnoiter. Nothing went as I thought it would. Stewart Cotton was not ‘in’ Greenville exactly. It was two miles outside of town on the Tar River.
The reason we heard little from the place was its indomitable manager, Jasper Houston. He is a powerhouse of a manager. The place ran very smoothly under his leadership. Picking season had just started, so I got to see everything running and in motion.
Jasper took me to a neighboring farm where I watched “pickers” pick cotton. I noticed right away that all the pickers were black. There was a time when slavery brought some over, but slavery had been abolished since 1830 or so.
These were paid farm workers. They lived in Greenville and were brought out every day in long carriages to work the farm and mill.
Greenville is a company town. It’s 70% filled with black people. They run almost everything. They run the cotton farms, and they supply the firewood for the steam engines. They also supply food for the local area.
The other 30% of the population is a polyglot of different races. Some are white, some are Hindu, some are Chinese, and a few others to boot. Many of these folks run stores, shops, restaurants, the hotel, and the bank in town. The whole place fits together like a well-made puzzle.
Jasper Houston influences everything here.
Jasper is also black; his workers are mostly black. Jasper pays everyone properly. The wages are good, and he keeps the town running on the money Stewart Cotton circulates throughout the area.
There are half a dozen white engineers from Smythe Engineering. They run and maintain the two steam piston engines. Those are the only white people I saw working directly inside Stewart Cotton.
The steam engines sat in the “Outhouse,” as they called it. This keeps the heat and noise outside of the factory building. Each engine has a shaft that enters the “Big Building” to supply motive power to the factory.
One engine powers a rotary compressor, a vacuum pump, and a water pump. The other steam engine rotates the shaft that powers the six gins. It has canvas belts that supply rotation to the six cotton gin machines. Two clutches turn a gin on or off. That part is all mechanical.
Loose seedy cotton goes in one side of the building. There, it is circulated using air to the six cotton gins, and the cleaned cotton comes out the other side. It is sent to a big hopper.
The cleaned cotton is then sucked up and pressed into double-compressed bales. The cotton is double-compressed for shipping purposes.
The bales of cotton fiber are warehoused until they are shipped out. They are purchased by outside cotton agents. They are shipped mostly to the northern provinces. In Massachusetts or Connecticut, people turn our loose cotton into thread. Later, that is turned into cloth, usually by a third party.
I thought this was a mill that turned out cloth. Nothing could be further from the truth. The place is just a cotton gin. It cleans the seeds out of Upland, fuzzy seed, cotton bolls. I had no idea how much work this all was. That’s all the place does.
I stayed in a hotel for the two days I was there. I ate at local eateries and talked to locals.
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