Chapter 5

Chemist Therese Fournier

Second Officer Demitri Nivesku and I were great together! The day I met Demitri, I reached to shake his hand. He held it and kissed my knuckles, saying “Charmed, my lady.” It was terribly cheesy, but I loved it. In the mess hall he pulled out a chair, brushed off the non-existent dust, and politely helped me sit, like a gentleman from the Victorian era. His Romanian accent is SO SEXY! The two of us knew we were in love by the end of lunch.

He’s average height and build, with dark hair and dreamy dark eyes. His eyes seem to stare into your soul and see all your secrets. He moves very quietly, and frequently appears at the exact moment somebody is trying to get away with something. He’s a strict follower and enforcer of the rules, and a lot of people were afraid of him. I thought he was powerful, charming, and dashingly handsome, in a Count Dracula kind of way. In later years sometimes he’d pretend to be a vampire, and I thought that was very hot.

Once we knew each other well, he could tell what I wanted before I asked for it. Instead of waiting for me to ask, he’d assertively demand that I do whatever it was that I wanted anyway. Him being so dominant but caring at the same time is an incredible turn-on. A sarcastic thought popped into my head, ‘No, please sir, don’t make me lick my favorite dessert off your sexy chest!’ I quietly giggled to myself.

We both like genealogy and managed to trace our ancestors to a couple of noblemen whose armies fought each other in the year 1843. My 16th great-grandfather was an Austrian Baron. Demitri’s 15th-great-grandfather was a Czech Count, whose troops seized half my ancestor’s land, until he died falling off the back of a horse a month later. My family rebelled and got their land back soon after. We laughed about how crazy it was that they used to ride animals, but we were riding in a ship that used the same reaction as an exploding star.

After a stressful month, I did one more spectral analysis with the same results, then walked back to the cold-sleep chamber. I saw the tube marked “Therese Fournier” and smiled as I slid the top off my ‘happy place’. Even in cold-sleep, the discrepancy concerned me. When we launched, the atmosphere readings for Ptolemy-1 D had carbon dioxide at 0.0310 percent. Our new measurements from the ship showed it as 0.0350 percent. Either there was major volcanic activity on the planet, or a large amount of combustion. Since there was no change in sulfur, something was burning. Were there wildfires burning the vegetation? Or more menacing, was the planet inhabited already?

No radio signals had been detected, so if there was intelligent life, at least it wasn’t advanced. I went over the figures in my head again but found no answers. “Ptolemy-1 D Atmosphere: breathable. 61% nitrogen, 28% oxygen, 9% argon, 0.510% to 0.982% water vapor, 0.0341% CO2, sulfur compounds 0.0002%, remainder - other non-toxic gasses. Surface air pressure 0.715 atmospheres, average surface temperature 21C.”

Somehow it was more anxiety inducing than the results for the planet closest to the star: “Ptolemy-1 A Atmosphere: highly toxic and very hot. Lead vapor 76%, cadmium vapor 6%, arsenic vapor 4%, antimony vapor 3%, remainder - multiple metal vapors. Surface: molten iron and nickel, temperature 1,950 C. Frequently rains molten antimony and lead. No hydrogen, oxygen, or carbon detected.” At least that planet was obviously a glaring NO-GO. Only an unusually durable virus would survive a second there. It wouldn’t survive two seconds, though.

Struggling with the numbers wasn’t getting me anywhere. I’d worry about it when I was awake. It was time for some fun.

When I was 3, every day for months, my father had rubbed my mother’s abdomen while she was pregnant with my little sister. He told her how sexy and beautiful she was, with her pregnancy lump. He did the same while my brother was in her two years later. I wanted to have babies, so I could be beautiful too! Whenever I was alone, I would put a pillow under my shirt and pretend I was pregnant, even many years before I knew what sex was.

My cold-sleep dream started with a group of men kissing me. They all looked like Demitri. I kissed them and made love to them, over and over, getting more and more pregnant, until they couldn’t do any more. As we rested, all of us patted and fondled my wonderfully large abdomen. I couldn’t wait to be a mom!

I delivered a litter of ten babies, climaxing strongly each time one came out. A Demitri kissed me, squeezed the sides of my face, and demanded, “MAKE ME ANOTHER BABY! MAKE YOUR BELLY GROW FOR ME!” He made love to me for hours, then hours more, and my belly kept growing slowly. When he finished, another Demitri pulled my hair and rode me from behind. “TAKE MY BABY JUICE! MAKE A BUNCH OF KIDS FOR ME! DO IT!” There was nothing I wanted more.

I know that he fervently loves me, and would do anything for me. I trust and love him in a way I could never do with anyone else. He enjoys being in control, and I like him deciding and controlling everything. There’s much less I need to worry about, and making him happy always leads to me being happy too, usually even happier than he is.

When he finally held me down and told me to make a baby for him on our wedding night, I was overjoyed and beyond! Making love with him as he ‘forces’ me is the best part of my life. He ‘raped’ me at least ten times a week for half a century. It’s obviously not real rape, since I love it and have never tried to resist. On my 80th birthday, we did it six times in one day to celebrate. Even with medications, I have no idea how he was able. We still have erotic fun occasionally, but more would be better.