The Unexpected
Copyright© 2025 by Technocracy
Chapter 5
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 5 - "If you do not expect the unexpected, you will not find it; for it is hard to be sought out, and difficult." -- Heraclitus of Ephesus
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction
Needham, Ma --- 09 April 1998
The front room of his apartment was less of a place to live in, and more of a working data processing center. Long benches, made of pine studs and cut plywood boards, lined two walls, supported by cinder blocks. There would have been a third bench if not for the capacity rating of the apartment’s circuit breaker panel. The diminishing return resulted from the power required to cool the computers vs the power that would be required to add more computational FLOPS.
Benny had been reclined in the sole chair, in what passed for his living room, reading a sci-fi novel. The venture into the lost and unknown lands of his book would be thwarted by Isabelle Paucho.
“This new setup is so cool, Benny. Why do those two new computers not have the sync coax?”
Benny grinned stupidly at Lizzy’s attention to technical detail. The girl’s question forced Benny to recall one of Doctor Sorensen’s favorite dictums: ‘Necessity is the mother of invention, constraints the cradle of imagination, and contrarian teenagers the womb of ingenuity.’ Benny had come to consider this saying to be an aphorism for his life.
“I am using them just for data display. Remember how we calculate the characteristic impedance for the high-speed I/O?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Look at the three sets of wires from those two computers.”
“Uh, they are three wires twirled together ... Twisted pairs? So what’s the third conductor for?”
Benny was warmed by Lizzy’s growing electrical engineering prowess. He wondered how much science and engineering potential among inner-city kids had been lost to the inept foibles of the Boston public school system. He was determined to rescue Lizzy’s potential from the corrupt school system’s love of mediocrity.
“It’s a driven ground reference wire for the differential pair. Its how I control impedance for the current loop.”
“Why a current loop?”
“Distance. Twenty milliamps is twenty milliamps, whether it is ten centimeters or ten meters, regardless of the varying DC resistance from wire length, or AC resistance from varying reactance. That and I need the inherent noise immunity.”
“Wanna know what mom said about you last night?”
“Probably not.”
“She says that you are a madly passionate scientist that will never stop looking for the truth.”
“I am not a scientist. I am an engineer. So how is school going?”
“The community college is not much different from high school. Except that most of the teachers do not really care whether you show up, or what you do outside of the classroom.”
“Any problems with midterms?”
“Just physics. The instructor threw us a few curves.”
Lizzy paused to see if Benny would react to her ‘clever’ pun, then continued when he remained deadpan.
“Aced chemistry and calculus. Passed the English lit stuff. You know what, Benny, you are right what ya said about general ed courses. Just show up, pay attention to what the teacher emphasizes, then spit it back out on the test and essays. Made a ‘B’ in English and History without even having to think.”
Benny looked at his cheap, but faithful, Timex wrist watch, wondering if they used a hyperbolic error curve to correct errors for the range of expected ambient operating temperatures. Thinking further, he realized that a constantly-worn time-piece would have a narrow operating range, so any component temperature coefficients would have a minimal effect.
“Sounds good to me. Shall we go and help your mother close the store?”
“Benny? ... Do you love mom?”
“No. I like her. She is a good friend.”
“Good friend? You sure do make mom take the Lord’s name in vain, and say other things, some nights. That’s a lot, at least for ‘just’ a friend.”
“Probably true, and I believe that I do need to learn more Portuguese ... Wait, you can hear us?”
“Really? Can I hear you two horn-dogs? My God, Benny, just what are you doing to mom?”
“I do not think that you should be talking about your mother’s sexual relations.”
“My ‘mothers sexual relations’? Give me a break, Benny. You’re fucking her brains out. Which, by the way, I thank you for. You have made her really easy to handle.”
“Andrea would not want you to talk like that. As for your mother’s behavioral differences, frequent sex does stuff to the brain chemistry. I asked a neurology professor, and she said that the hormones associated with sexual completion can create a new and different re-balance of brain chemistry, cause neuron receptors to change, and affect various organs per their response to sexual stress.”
Benny wondered what it was about his manner of speech that goaded Lizzy’s sarcasm. His wait for yet another signature Lizzy comment was short.
“Yeah, right. Brain chemistry. Very romantic, Benny.”
“Do you seek romance?”
“Me? Maybe? Maybe ... at least if I could find a hot, smart guy like you.”
“What is ‘hot’? Do women have specific parametric tabulations for it?”
“I dunno ... I guess a decent body. Cool attitude, not creepy, not too dorky ... and a really nice smile. Mom says that your smile really gets her motor running.”
“My smile? That is interesting.”
“So ya going to do mom tonight? I’ll be at the computer club.”
“That should not a subject for you to think about, Lizzy. That subject belongs to your mother and myself.”
“Guess what, Benny? I live with the woman that you are hitting home runs with. The subject also belongs to me...”
Benny was amused by the teenager’s rejoinder, as he was also satisfied with her logical thoughts. He suppressed his amusement per Lizzy’s commentary, allowing her a short continuance.
“And you would not believe the stupid expression she had Tuesday morning when she came stumbling in the front door, and the...”
“That is enough, Lizzy. You have adequately described the situation. We need to help Andrea close the store.”
“Yeah, right. Let’s close that store, Benny.”
Benny wondered if it was wrong to encourage Lizzy’s sarcasm. He did enjoy both her sarcasm and her sense of irony.
MIT Research Administration Services, Cambridge, Ma -- 22 May 1998
Benny rode his bicycle west on Main Street, slowing when he recognized his professor standing next to his bike, looking quite academic with his distinguished and neatly-trimmed graying beard, wire-rim glasses, and casual attire. Benny desired to look that good at that age.
As Benny pulled his bike onto the sidewalk, a taxi cab abruptly stopped on the opposite side of the street, disgorging an also distinguished-looking gentleman of legal counsel. Benny waved to the man as the lawyer crossed the street to join Sorensen and himself.
Dr David Sorensen, Mr Mathew Goldstein esq, and Benson Harrison gathered at the assigned place, a short distance to the east of 255 Main Street.
“Benson, it has been a while. You look good; and I like your beard. Most academic, if I may say so.”
“Good to see you, sir. Doc, this is Matthew Goldstein. Mister Goldstein, this is Doctor Sorensen, my thesis advisor.”
“Doctor Sorensen, it is good to finally meet you. We’ve had many an interesting conversation.”
“Please call me Dave.”
“And I am Matt. Do we remain in agreement on the terms of incorporation?”
“I have already signed the NDA and letters of incorporation. Benson?”
“I have the forms, sir. So who are we meeting, doc?”
“The RAS executive director, the MIT chief legal counsel, and the Provost.”
“Holee moleee. You did not tell me they were going to load us up with the heavies.”
“I did not know until this morning, Benson. Not to worry. We will let Matt run this show. We have about ten minutes, Where is our young Mister Spoons?”
“Harry was at the Dewey Library earlier. He will be here. Mister Goldstein, have you thought about Andrea Paucho?”
“I have. I do respect what you want to do for her child, but I will advise that we should not address those concerns until later. It will take some time to file the letters of incorporation in New Jersey and Delaware.”
“What about Doris Southerly?”
“Again, we will wait until we have the legal framework of a corporation before we introduce non-principals.”
“Understood, sir. Uh, in how many states can you practice law?”
“Admitted to the state bar in four, which provide a reciprocal for another nine states.”
Dr Sorensen pointed to Harry Spoons, crossing the street. Harry, as usual, greeted Benny in his version of a friendly crassness.
“Hey, Benny; how’s it hanging? Hey, doc. And this must be Mister Goldstein. Good to meet ya, sir. I’m Harold Spoons. Call me Harry.”
“Good to meet you, Harry. You are, as I had imagined.”
Dr Sorensen provided an aside statement to the lawyer.
“We all try not to imagine Harry.”
“Low, doc. Really low.”
“Harry, must you wear that hat? Have you ever rode a horse?”
“Yep. Did all the 4-H stuff in high school, doc.”
“I had no idea. A cowboy economist at MIT. I would talk to Paul Simpson, but he is more eccentric than you are.”
“Doc Simpson is cool. So what are we going to make this happen?”
“Harry, ‘we’ will do nothing. Please contain your alleged charm and wit and allow Mister Goldstein to run the show. Have you signed the papers?”
“I have them, doc.”
“Please give them to Benson.”
Matthew Goldstein paused before offering his rebuttal, raising an eyebrow at the lead counsel, wondering if the MIT lawyer thought Benson and himself to be fools.
“ ... I respectfully disagree, sir. The school has no reasonable claims, or a basis that would make MIT subject to any rights associated with these works and the respective IP, sir. We have established prior art. In furtherance of that, it has been noted that the thesis drafts, or outlines, for both Benson and Harold have been approved and neither are directly related to either published paper. Furthermore, citings contained in either of their thesis proposals indicate a preexistent causality for the IP.”
The MIT counsel puffed up for his response, thinking this lawyer to be, yet another, gauche west-coast legal heathen.
“We have provided research facilities. The published papers have the MIT seal, and we financed the presentation, which provided the forum for the works.”
“Neither paper bore the seal of the school. The papers were published without any express permissions, thus having never had any formal presentation into the community. And the school denied funds to my client to participate in any academic symposium.”
The MIT legal officer’s principle legal basis, having been disposed, looked to the RAS director, desperate for support.
“Barbara? Is this correct?”
“Uh ... yes, it would seem to be, but we...”
“Seems to be?! The president’s office considers these papers to be seminal. Does Harrison even receive a stipend?”
“Uh, no. He is self-funded.”
“But his student-activity file says that he is a TA and a lab boss.”
“He is, but that is part of his research.”
“I am quite disappointed in the RAS ... back to my original question, Mister Goldstein. The work contributing to this IP came out of our labs.”
“It did not. Mister Harrison and Mister Spoons researched, developed, and published the works from a private facility.”
“How was this lab funded?”
“Sir, further questions as to the origin of these two works will have no affect on the school’s claim per any IP or copyright. The fundamental principles discussed, in at least one of the papers, had been developed by Harrison, et al, as an undergraduate in California. You have reviewed all of the numbered PTO issuance, so this is moot. Any further action by the office of MIT’s counsel will reflect poorly on the school, and we would have to conclude that the school is trying to steal my client’s IP and force him into an untenable position, as the school has refused research facilities and funding.”
“Certainly not, sir. MIT would have never refused such requests from graduate students. Barbara?”
“Uh, we did disapprove those requests.”
“We what?!”
Matthew Goldstein was pleased by the incredulous stare he gave the RAS director. Thusly, deciding to drive the point home.
“She is correct, sir. There have been several requests for computer time. There have been at least five requests for lab space at several facilities. Did you know that Benson Harrison is the only Teaching Assistant, with a full course load and teaching load, that has no office? He works out of Professor Sorensen’s outer office.”
The legal officer was nearing exasperation, realizing that he was now reduced to making an attempt to nail jelly to the wall.
“I am not a scientist or a mathematician, but I do know that this work required significant computational work.”
“It did. Doctor Sorensen had to arrange access to the supercomputer center at Boston University. Your school refused such support.”
The lead counselor’s cognizance of the school’s precarious legal position came into full bloom.
“Barbara, this is insane. Absolutely insane! Just what are you people doing here at the RAS!?”
Not wanting to get side-tracked into the school’s internal issues, Goldstein provide a firm re-direction.
“Sir, that is not what we are here to discuss, I do not wish to be a part to your internal discussions of malfeasance.”
“Malfeasance? I said no such thing.”
“Then you will agree to our terms and conditions for the disassociation of this independent research? And that the school has no claim to the IP?”
The MIT provost, had remained sitting at the opposite end of the conference table, having said nothing for the previous hour, drew attention to his presence with an authoritative clearing of his throat. He stood to command the silence of the RAS director and the lead counsel.
“We will have to submit this to the board. This will require the attention of the President.”
“Sir, If that is the case, I respectfully request that the office of the school’s president see to this matter soon. Very soon. Or I will pursue resolution for these issues in the Massachusets and California superior courts.”
The four men gathered at the bicycle racks, outside the RAS offices.
“Now that’s what I call a good, old-fashioned ass-whooping. You kicked their butt, Mister Goldstein.”
“Academic arrogance, Mister Spoons.”
“Sir?”
“At the institutional level, large schools often fail in this manner. Mostly through arrogance. But the arrogance of the emperor has no legal basis, when the emperor has no clothes.”
“You are a poet, Mister Goldstein. Can I offer you my home for the night? Junko will be making some excellent native foods tonight.”
“Thank you, David.”
“Benson? Harry?”
“Thanks, doc. But we got some serious stuff to do tonight.”
“Serious stuff?”
“Yes, sir. Benny and I will lecture to Lizzy’s high school club about the future affects of computers on the economy.”
“That is excellent. As an institution, we need more involvement in the community. I will see you boys Friday morning.”
Harry and Benny watched the professor ride back into the his academic sanctum of the MIT campus. As the lawyer entered a taxi cab, Harry made an uncharacteristic comment.
“Don’t know what Doc Sorensen was talking about. This stuff we’re doing for Lizzy’s gang don’t have diddly squat to do with any ‘institution’. Can you believe that crap, Benny?”
“Doctor Sorensen is a good man, Harry. But he has been ensconced within the academic community too long. He probably believes that the school is exercising some weird noblesse oblige garbage, and that the school coming after us is just a misunderstanding.”
Harry cast an unbelieving eye at his friend.
“Why would the school be gunning for us in the first place? Job-one for MIT, expand the body of knowledge and put it out there for public consumption. Maybe that’s why they are getting intense on our sorry student butts.”
Benny, in turn, cast an unbelieving eye at his friend, but with more of a scorn that the well-informed have for the those that select naivete.
“I have found nothing to indicate any purity of academic intent during my two years at MIT; it is simply another large, profit-seeking corporation. As we will be within the next two months.”
Goldstein’s parting comment through the open taxi window, reinforced Benny’s beliefs.
“You maintain that attitude, Benson. It is important to understand that all transactions, whether of academic knowledge, or of business trades, is to seek a profit, or a superior standing.”
Harry watched the taxi leave. Harry was steeped in the cold reality that an economist lives in, but these developments were at odds with his romanticism. He thus expressed it to Benny.
“That’s hard, Benny, really hard ... So y’all up for Doris’ graduation party on Sunday? She wants you to bring the kid.”
Cambridge, Ma --- 24 May 1998
The gathering was small, but so was the narrow row house. While three stories in height, the row house floor space was less than 1600 square feet, where two of the three small bedrooms were filled with workbenches of electronic test equipment and/or computers.
Benny had holed up next to the kitchen breakfast counter, nursing a beer, while listening to two pockets of conversation emitting from the twelve guests. The guests had divided into two groups. Benny was interested in the nature of the interchange between the two groups, and within the two groups.
One group was dominated by Doris’ parents, both of American ‘aristocracy’. Harry had said that both were of old families, and of old money. To Arthur and Cynthia Sotherly, anyone that could not trace their origins back to the founding fathers were of ‘those’ people, and most likely ‘foreign’ interlopers into America. They were drinking wine and other spirits provide by an unknown source.
The other group were the academic nerds, dominated by Doris’ classmates and fellow graduates. They were drinking the beer that Benny had procured from Andrea’s store.
There was a third group of ‘transients’. Lizzy, Doris’ younger brother, and a Harvard economics professor, that had been a mentor to Doris and had been attempting to recruit her as a post-grad student. These ‘independents’ were marked by drifting through the house and among the two other groups, and consuming minimal or no alcohol. Benny was amused by the boy’s pursuit of Lizzy, and with that of Lizzy’s increasing irritation.
Benny was diverted from people-watching when he heard raised voices between Doris’s father and boyfriend.
“ ... no, sir. This is classic stuff. That is, equilibrium of price formation under dynamic conditions, per Myrdal.”
“Do you believe that socialist crap, son?”
“If you are asking if I am a Marxist, or some such similar and vaguely-percieved concept, then the answer is no. For at least for us here in America, I believe in an open market-place that is provided by a fairly-implemented capitol economy.”
“Then what are we arguing about?”
“I’m not, sir.”
The mid-aged man was obviously confused. He wasn’t certain that academics had but a narrow use, but he did want to understand the thinking of a research economist.
“But you disagreed about pricing.”
Harry realized the old man’s understanding of basic economic was minimal, regardless of his status as a rich banker and trader.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.