Livin' In the Country
Chapter 16
I settled back, took a small sip of this fine amber colored whiskey that
had a kick like a Missouri mule, and listened to his amazing story. It seemed he
met this woman, who was to be his partner in this epic escapade, while they were
training together for their mission, which involved studying the aurora borealis
among other manifestations of the sun's presence on the earth's protective
plasma shield. Her name at the time was Molly Daniels, and she immediately
became MD, the doctor, to the crew. To show that there were no hard feelings in
this matter, Philo invited Molly out to dinner. Dinner turned into a very
satisfying romp in the hay, or what passed for it in Houston.
Molly was a country girl, born in Arkansas, who decided at a very young
age that she wanted to go into outer space. So roughly twenty-five years after
making this momentous decision she was on the verge of having it fulfilled. She
had given up a lot to achieve her aim, including some pretty good men who had
the right stuff when it came to scratching her itches, which were considerable.
She and Philo hit it off from the get-go and became very good fuck buddies.
Molly knew plenty of tricks that they never taught her in flight training or at
school and she put them to good use while she and Philo mussed the sheets in
some of the finest motels in the Texas and Florida areas.
It was during one of these little trysts in a place called Heavenly
Rest, an adult motel featuring all the good stuff including mirrors on the
ceiling, a king-sized playpen and eight channels showing only the finest in
salacious material, that the two of them hatched their plan to become the first
couple from the USA to fuck in outer space. At the time there were strong rumors
floating around that the Eagle had done more than just taken photographs from
orbit when he was teamed with Titania Borski, the first woman to fly in space.
It was kind of believable because the Russian space program seemed to be family
oriented in some respects. Perhaps they were already in the planning stages for
the post nuclear war era when population growth would be critical.
What started out as a secret between the two conspirators grew to
include their fellow crewmen, all of whom at one time or another had enjoyed the
charms of the doctor, or jolly Molly as she was known to her bedmates. That
woman was of average looks and her body, though well maintained, was not exactly
in the porn starlet class. However what she may have lacked in appearance, she
more than compensated for with some astounding tricks such as her famous triple
tongue blowjob and her backwards version of around the world in the prone
position that morphed somehow into a tuck maneuver that left her partners in
such a contorted state that they described the experience as like being
swallowed whole by a sex-crazed anaconda.
In fact the patch that the crew of STS 44 designed and wore sewed to
their flight suits, contained a tiny drawing that most people misinterpreted as
the caduceus, the symbol for the medical profession, but in actuality it was a
tribute to the couple who were about to make space history of a sort. Once
everybody was on board when it came to knowing about what was to transpire in
low earth orbit, their training took over.
This little adventure, now dubbed PC&U, which stood for Personal Contact
and Unification, was now informally part of their mission time line. PC&U also
included the proposed maneuvers that would take place during both the Contact
and the Unification phase of this operation. It is likely that a similar
scenario had been developed for the Eagle and Titania, but it was quite unlikely
that their plan was as complicated and potentially enjoyable as the one designed
by the crew of STS 44.
It was an uneventful ride from the launch pad to their designated orbit,
if such a miraculous journey could ever be described in such mundane terms. Once
they took up housekeeping and got things squared away it was asses and elbows
for the first couple of earth days. The crew had arranged things so that on the
third day Molly and Philo would be taking the same sleep shift, one that would
place the craft in darkness for periods of up to forty-five minutes as it made
its rounds about the planet. This was a brilliant idea that Philo had. He
arranged the crew's task load so that they would be observing plasma phenomena
during that period, which required that the lighting in the Shuttle be lowered
to emergency levels. In this way entrance and egress from the area of the head
could occur without those folks in Houston being any the wiser. They planned for
a preliminary test run to make sure that all systems were go for the real event
planned for the following day, or was it night. In orbit the solar days went by
as fast as a good old boy driving a tricked-up Chevy at Talladega.
The only place on the Shuttle that offered anything resembling privacy
was the head, a mechanical contrivance designed by some of the best engineering
minds in the country with one basic function, namely the containment of both
liquid and solid wastes emanating from the crew. The prospect of urine and feces
joining the occasional chunks of vomit that usually floated around the crew's
quarters on any given flight was just too horrible a public relations fiasco for
the boys in Houston to handle. This was the only area of the crew's quarters
that was free from the peeping toms at Mission Control. This was now especially
true with the advent of women astronauts. Some dunderhead at NASA had proposed
calling them astronettes, but was quickly reassigned to a desk job in the
Stennis Center down in the swamps of Mississippi before he could do any more
damage to the Agency's image.
Getting around the monitoring equipment that was installed into each
crew member was another problem altogether. Naturally Philo came up with a
scheme to get around that difficulty as well. He traced the circuits and found
the one which sent that particular data stream down to the folks waiting to
interprete it. So when he and jolly Molly actually attempted the deed, that
circuit conveniently failed until such time as they recovered from their indoor
space walk. The dry run, and it was indeed a dry run, unearthed some problems
that had not been foreseen. It seemed that blood flow in zero gravity was an
entirely different matter than on terra firma. This made gaining the necessary
rigidity to carry off America's first fuck in space problematic until Molly
resorted to her famous triple tongue blow job which provided enough stimulation
and pressure differential to achieve the proper structural integrity to allow
the project to go forward.
Thus the PC&U experiment went off right on schedule as the rest of the
crew kept busy looking out the windows at the aurora and other assorted plasma
phenomena while history of a sort was made behind the special NASA opaque
curtain that had been designed, redesigned and finally accepted by NASA six
months late and one point eight million dollars overrun. At this point in the
story Philo took a long pull from his whiskey and heaved a great sigh. Reliving
that monumental event was getting to him, that much was obvious.
Well the day arrived and Molly and Philo disappeared behind that
expensive curtain and spent the first few minutes disrobing and attempting a
docking maneuver. On their second try it was all systems locked and loaded; now
it was time for opening the hatches on both sides and transferring personnel
from one craft to the other. It took quite a bit of time to equalize the
pressure differential, but at long last, thanks to the yeoman-like efforts of
jolly Molly, the two craft were functioning as a single entity. What happened
next is the stuff of legends. They commenced a slow barrel roll that turned into
a loop the loop, all the while swapping bodily fluids. At the moment of ignition
and blasting off they found themselves in an upside down position relative to
the floor of the spacecraft. Millions upon millions of minute, blind tadpoles
began a journey that was fraught with peril since there was no gravity to assist
their movement towards the promised land.
Separation was not as smooth as planned. A significant portion of the
transmitted material leaked from the mother spacecraft and presented a
challenging environment for the crew during the next two days. Fortunately jolly
Molly was able to collect a great deal of the flotsam, (it should be observed
that in zero gravity everything is considered to be flotsam) and dispose of it
in a most inobtrusive way during the periods of darkness mandated by the space
plasma studies.
The reentry phase of the mission went flawlessly and STS 44 came to rest
in Florida as planned. The initial debriefing went according to plan as did the
flight operations review. NASA had a thing for reviews, in fact one wag once
suggested that there be a review of the reviews being considered for any large
project. This little joke reached up to the highest levels at Headquarters
before being sent back for further review. Three weeks after landing, both Dr.
Philo Plankton and Molly Daniels tendered their resignations to NASA and
disappeared from public view; Philo to seek his destiny as the producer of high
class smut and Molly deciding to become a member of the Born Again Space People
cult.
The cult held a rather novel view that claimed the perfect master would
be created as the result of a union in outer space between a pair of earthlings.
Molly thought herself to be the mother of that perfect master, but alas, her
birth control pills won out over the lack of gravity and she remains barren
until this day. However this state is not due to her lack of trying. Molly has
gone through three husbands, numerous close friends and countless one night
stands in her quest for motherhood. To this day she continues to reguarly
contact Philo in hopes that some way may be found to have them once more make
that special barrel roll, loop the loop and upside down ignition which she
firmly believes must occur to create the perfect master. The best that Philo has
offered to date was a position as one of the company fluffers, which she
continues to decline with thanks.
This amazing story had my head in a whirl. I could not help inquiring as
to how he went from an astronaut without a job to the head of E Cubed
Productions, the Es standing for Extreme Erotic Enterprises. According to Philo,
his little production company was worth somewhere in the vicinity of one hundred
and forty million dollars, a monument to hard work and effort coupled with a
cynical knowledge of what type of smut that segment of the population who were
addicted to porn liked.
It seems that during the nine years he hung around waiting to sit on top
of a gigantic roman candle designed and built by the lowest bidder, he invested
much of his modest income in the stock market. Like everything else that he did,
he was wildly successful with his own method of picking and choosing stocks. It
seems he purchased three chimps and every morning before the market opened he
gave these seers the entire listings of every stock and bond market available
for playing. Their selections were unerring when compared to the recommendations
of the experts. By the time he left NASA his little nest egg was worth upwards
of three million dollars after taxes. It was this sum that started him in the
porn business.
Philo suggested that I stay around and give him a hand in the production
of Bimbos from Outer Space. It took me about half a second to accept his
generous offer of room and board plus a modest stipend and access to the hottest
ladies this side of the Cybil Brand Institute. Said institute being the place
where the true professional hookers often were sequestered when they failed to
pay tribute to local law enforcement, or had the misfortune to be in the wrong
place at the wrong time with the wrong john. However there was one condition
that I insisted he observe in exchange for my services and loyalty, to wit his
promise to answer my queries concerning the use of DNA to discover my true
family tree. That matter settled, I embarked on a truly epic adventure.
I quickly learned that being in the porn business was a lot of hard
work. I started at the bottom of the totem pole, handing out towels to the sweat
soaked actors and actresses who labored mightily beneath the hot klieg lights as
the director, in this case Philo Plankton, mercilessly demanded every drop of
bodily fluids that could be extracted from their bodies. I rose in the ranks,
soon becoming the man responsible for making sure that there was sufficient
quantities of lubricant, four types in all, douching solutions and disposeable
enemas that were required by the talent, as Philo called those playing a part in
this porn masterpiece. I soon became the confidant of many a disgruntled porn
starlet or actor who was just waiting for the right break to escape this seedy
business. I also made some acquaintances with the fellas working behind the
scenes with the lighting, sound and set building that was required by the
script.
This epic had a big cast; eight folks in all, equally divided. Besides
Trixie Twist and Pandora Box, two other seasoned professionals had speaking and
fucking parts. There was Juci Ju, an Asian girl with a set of enhanced boobs who
at the tender age of twenty-two had over one hundred videos to her credit during
the past year and a half. Juci was a graduate of one of the local colleges who
decided that taking off her clothing and taking large members up her asshole
paid a whole lot better than a starting salary at some large impersonal
corporation.
The other girl was Erotique, a slim black beauty, actually cocoa would
be more descriptive of her skin coloring, who had been out of porn for about a
year and this was her first shoot since she ended her retirement. It turned out
that her live-in boyfriend had just been sent away for a couple of years and she
needed to build up some kind of a nest egg until she could land another
boyfriend who would take care of her in exchange for access to her private
parts, which as private parts went, were pretty damn impressive. I'd seen enough
porn pussy in the last week to have become a good judge of this feature. She and
I made eye contact on a number of occasions during the two days that it took
Philo to shoot the scenes she was in, but nothing came of it, even when I had
the opportunity to wipe up a large amount of cum that had been injected into her
fore and aft hatches by the same two black men that had been posing with the
beautiful but brain-dead Pandora Box.
For two weeks straight we put in eighteen hour days. Naturally this gave
me very little time to discuss anything of consequence with Philo who seemed
obsessed by the need to bring this tape in under budget and on schedule. Once
shooting ended I figured we'd have some time to discuss DNA and other associated
topics. That's when I discovered that shooting was only one part of the deal,
editing was equally important. Now Philo sat for hours on end in front of a
large monitor and went over every frame that he'd shot during the past two
weeks. It took almost three weeks before he finally came up for air, and by then
I had become entangled with a number of loose women who frequented the villa
while they made various and sundry videos with such interesting titles as
"Spermaholics Anonymous", "Twisted Teen Teasers", and "Addicted to Bungholes".
Miracle of miracles, I rose still further in the hierarchy of porn and
became a stunt cock. This occurred one day when a director, who went by the name
of Steve Spellburg, desperately needed an additional cock in order to finish his
project involving numerous unknown porn wannabes sucking off phantom cocks and
either taking the load in the kisser or down the throat after swishing it around
in her mouth and even gargling with it before swallowing. Those capable of
making these more sophisticated maneuvers were likely to advance to the next
level, which meant getting scale for such items as straight, anal, double vag,
ass to mouth, DPs, group sex, even gangbangs, plus anything else the director
could dream up for them to do.
I worked with a tattooed teen with braids, braces, and nipple rings. I
was ordered under pain of death to hold back for at least eight minutes before
splattering my loving sex partner with about three weeks worth of cum. "If you
think you're gonna cum early, think about dead puppies, it always works." he
told me before disappearing behind the video camera. They had set up a clock off
stage so I could keep track of the time as this airhead proceeded to swallow my
organ whole and then spit it out so she could repeat the process. Midway through
our scene she started spitting on the head which I found rather uncomfortable.
After all, my cock had been in some very nice places during its time and it
deserved more respect than that. Finally the eight minutes were up and I got my
revenge, burying her face with a blast that not only got her in the eyes, but
left a streak in her short fire engine red hair. The director was ecstatic over
my performance and promised to use me in another epic that he was working on as
soon as it got the go-ahead from Philo.
Now that I was officially a stunt cock, I was introduced to another
ritual essential for membership in this select fraternity or sorority. There was
some discussion concerning which organization the trannies should belong to, but
for E Cubed, this was a non-issue, so far that is. The following day after my
big debut, I was driven down to this little store front place in Hollywood. I
was accompanied by three other porn starlets, who I ignored because two were
hung over and the third one was of the lesbian persuasion. It was there, in this
large room filled with members of the profession, some agents, a producer or two
and a few harried technicians, that I made my first blood donation which would
determine if I qualified for membership or a death sentence.
It was an HIV test, mandatory if you wanted to work in the professional
side of the industry. The amateur side of things attracted a different sort of
folk since they seemed to enjoy walking the tightrope without benefit of a net.
For some odd reason I was also singled out to provide a sperm sample, which I
managed to do with the assistance of one of my coworkers who manipulated my
organ until I managed to fill the specimen cup to overflowing while the
onlookers applauded and whistled.This was certainly a fun place to be around, or
so I thought.
My mentor finally showed up one afternoon and invited me to sit down and
sip some whiskey while we caught up on things. I was rather busy at the time
toweling off one of the stars of "DP Blues" who had been triple penetrated on
and off for the last hour while the director,(one of the new breed who didn't
believe in preparing more than a rough outline of the action before the cameras
started whirring) fretted and shouted instructions that changed every thirty
seconds. Her three male partners in this disorganized tryst had taken refuge
from the hot lights and were rehydrating themselves as they talked into their
cell phones.
Male porn stars are an odd lot. Some of them hate women and it shows on
the set. These are the chokers and slappers, a necessary evil in the current
world of porn. Others merely go through the motions, they've become so jaded
that fucking some great piece of ass is no longer a treat, just a chore. To a
man they are all on the latest and most powerful version of the original little
blue pill that supposedly revolutionized the older male's appreciation of things
sexual. These guys walk around with enormous hard-ons that last for hours.
Unfortunately there seems to be a trade-off between being able to sustain an
erection for hours on end and the ability to ejaculate on command. Watching some
leading man flog his dummy for minute after minute while his bored costar buffs
her nails, chews gum or checks her pussy for any signs of a rash is one of the
more tedious parts of working in the porn industry.
I finally joined Philo in his den and we commenced sipping and talking;
actually I did most of the sipping and he did most of the talking. This was a
fine arrangement as far as I was concerned. My only problem was getting Philo to
talk about DNA. Today's sitdown was almost as educational and frustrating as our
first talk some five weeks ago. Despite all the fun I was having meeting some of
the strangest people that ever drew breath, I still felt a very strong pull from
the place where I had been born and raised. Philo began to break the ice by
telling me that he had some news about my problem, but before giving me all the
gory details, I had to listen to his explanation for how a former surgeon,
multiple PhD holder and astronaut could wind up making smut for a living. It was
a most enlightening hour or so that I spent in his company while he sort of
opened himself up to me.
(To be continued)
