The MadScientist EggingMe On
Last week the mad scientist, known also as
finally coughed up the goods. I'd beenpestering him to show me his quantum tantra sex toys and introduceme to his friends, an interworld travel cult. The night began with ashindig with the boys. I was encouraged to take as much of whatevermind-altering substance was to my taste. Later I'd learn why. Inretrospect, I realized this was what passed for an initiatory hazing forthis fringe-science travel cult.The boys turned out to be hackers, but the kind of hackers who'dbeen hacking before computers were invented, even beforeagriculture or the wheel. In aboriginal times they would have beencalled shamans. But now they were hackers, real hackers, the kindwho stride the inner mysteries of computers like familiar jungle paths.Just as the mad scientist is a real scientist, the kind who acceleratesparticles and writes numbers like words. If this had been fiction Iwould have felt more at home. I was like a fictional device, the guythe audience is supposed to identify with, because like them, hedoesn't understand a word that these brainy bastards say.To be fair, in spite of their drunken carousing and salutary advanceson our waitresses and women at neighboring tables, peppered with atechnobabble of hacker jargon that made my vision blur, the boyswere very polite and friendly towards the lowest commondenominator, yours truly. I'd often wondered what the mad scientistsaw in me, and occasionally I asked him, carefully, since having amad scientist as a friend was too good to screw up by appearing asstupid as I really am. He patiently explained to me that by hisestimations and "scans" he had determined that my habit, or "knack"as he called it, for constantly seeking, and imagining a betterpornography was potentially a real boon to the science community.He was constantly trying to tease the pornographic visions from myhead. Truly, I have some good ideas for pornography that no one hasdone. And surely, they would sell. And really, I don't care if I do themor someone else does, since all I want is good porn, and acomfortable world that is more conducive to hedonism. So I'm happyto share my dream-inspired sex visions, in a nutshell or expanded totree size. In a nutshell, I fantasize about all the enlightened immortal womenthat I'd read about in my religion books ganging up on humans andbanging them into samadhi. Men watching these luminous fuckscenes would get their chakras lit up from the comfort of their homesand the stories would be chock full of educational materials, ready tofeed the newborn and ravenously hungry higher chakras, but neverfor a moment interfering with the good fucking, which is what theaudience thinks it's paying for. So I happily gave everything I had tothe travel cult, and they were polite and adjusted their hackerese toaccommodate my religious lexicon, substituting words like God andEnlightenment for whatever are their hacker equivalents, and willinglywent down the yellow brick road of tantric sex with me, pointing outmany new sights I'd never noticed along the way. Later, when I waswell sloshed, the mad scientist shuttled me away with winks at theboys. "I know it's late, Kelly," he said, "but there's something I'vebeen wanting to show you."We drove out of Santa Cruz and into the mountains, proceeding frompaved road to dirt, from smooth to rutty. We passed the GoddessTemple, where the saint said he often stopped to take in a bellydance or kundalini session. The mad scientist's secret lab was waybeyond that, past nightmarish hells of rusty car skeletons and NoTrespassing signs ominously holey from bullets. He explained that hisreal estate choice was partly due to financial considerations, andpartly because all the meth labs, grizzly gun-toting Okies and VietNam vets served him well as a front for his secret experiments."They're almost as good as an army," he explained."But the first lines of modern defense are always information mazes,media blinds, propaganda traps. And anyone nerdy enough to getpast those is usually pretty easily scared by an old man with a gunand a dog." "Are you working on anything a government or terroristgroup might want or fear?" I asked."Ah," said the madman, arching his brows significantly. "The methlabs are simply a moat. They are not the last line of defense."Finally we arrived, the wheels of the car balancing like tightropewalkers on the ridges of ruts so deep they would have swallowed thewheels of a SUV like the hungry swamp blob in an old sci-fi movie.The mad saint's secret lab looked like a shack, but the floor openedand led to a cavernous basement that, even when flooded with brightlight, still faded at the far end into darkness."Of course you know," he said, literally jabbing me in the ribs with hiselbow, "that now you can never leave."I laughed dutifully and not a little nervously. The place was full of allkinds of mysterious equipment, some of which he pointed out as weproceeded briskly towards the darkness."There's the ecto-typewriter. That's vintage mad scientist stuff.There's my sex toy, Claire, the AI." Sitting on a chair was a stunninglybeautiful woman, seemingly frozen in time, like a 3D photo. I goggled.Here was all this stuff I'd believed were only fictional devices.Perhaps I myself was real as well!"I'd like to give HER a Turing test," I ventured lamely.He snickered and we passed a huge cloaked blob, with all sorts ofroundy and jabby things concealed."What's that?" I asked. "That's not ready to show," he said quickly,picking up his pace. "It's a prototype of the zazzomatic.""The telepathy machine?""Yes.""But it's so big!""Just like early computers. Commercial models will be much smaller.Like all truly revolutionary technology, size is not what matters. It'ssneaking past the meter-maid snipers. You have no idea how manyreally wonderful devices that could have helped humanity and otherspecies have been shot down because they would have underminedglobal, meterable systems."Now we'd reached our destination. My eyes must have looked likesaucers. It was something else right out of fiction. A myth not yetvisible in popular culture, only as rumor whispered around campfiresby neo-shamans "high on a vine," or a molecule, a tribe well-knownfor cloaking the ineffable in allegorical terms, so that their storieswere rarely true at face value.But there it was, a real Egg! It was surrounded by panels that lookedlike jet airplane dashboards.The controls were mostly the old-fashioned toggle and dial type. Andthere were exposed tangles of wires connecting various panels whichwere apparently being constantly added or disconnected, sometimesset in boxes of nailed-together plywood or haphazardly soldered hereand there. I took it all in like a kid in a candy shop."Wow, a real live Egg," I said in the hushed tones that invariably issuefrom the lips of religious zealots or sports fans adoring their idols."What is all that stuff?""You've been asking why I found you so interesting," the saint's voicecame from behind me as if from a discarnate entity, a voice-over ofthe images panning before my documentary camera eyes."Yeah," I continued talking in an absent-minded way, "I thoughtmaybe I was sort of like a lab rat, but" (I recovered enough presenceof mind to tack on some etiquette) "I always considered you a 'good'scientist. You know, you were kind to your rats, gave us lots ofcheese and stuff.""Well, I guess in a way you were not that far off. You see, I've beenmodifying this travel device somewhat, according to yourpornographic rants. I've been milking you like you were a psychicchannel plugged into a spring of future science. If I was a really goodfriend, I would have counseled you to sign an NDA before givingaway your ideas. Pure gold. And speaking of NDAs..."The saint produced a big machine-rolled joint."This is better than any NDA. Also it's not safe or effective to operatethis Egg while you're straight."He got it lit and passed it my way. Good shit! I was in doper heaven!"So what do you mean," I said, speaking while inhaling, "that you'modified' the Egg?""Well, in the original Eggs, you had to be fucking a tantrika--asexually skilled woman--in order to make it work. And if you could getit to work, you ended up on a parallel Earth. Then you couldn't getback unless you could do it without an Egg. As you can imagine,frustrating even for 'initiates,' and nothing close to marketable.""Sex is still critical to the travel process. And as you know, it's not justtravel that interests me—travel's just another form of escape--but thedirect mind-to-mind connection that facilitates this kind of travel. So Itook your ideas of scrolling through women, and wondered if it couldbe applied here. "And I should add, it was not just your ideas thatintrigued me. More importantly, I thought you might make a good testpilot. It takes a certain type, you know...""A Sputnik Egg dog..." I said contemplatively, taking another hit."Yes. Anyway, inside you will notice three concentric circular screens.The two outer screens target systems deeper than ego. On thecentral screen you will see the "new and improved" pornography, thatyou've been pining for. It's not the canned stuff--this is real-timeactual fucking...""Where?" I muttered, "how?""I'm glad you asked that, Kelly. Now, look out here. This is a panelthat controls that orgone antenna on top of the egg. Receptionstrength and range are partly determined by the receptivity of thetraveler. On the central screen you'll see the sex scene that you aretuning in on, and all around suggestive variations on the themes thathave caught your attention. That's the basics." "However, there aremany settings you can tune from out here before you begin your trip.This dial, for instance, determines the number of chromosomes of theorganisms you'll see fucking...""You mean you can get interspecies pornography on this thing?" "Ofcourse. And here's a toggle that determines if the life forms you'll tunein are even DNA based or not. The default settings are for earth-typehumans...""I think that's where I'd like to start," I said, agog. "Most people haveto. You'd have to be pretty damn advanced to tune in to squid sex, orfuck a molecule or a sun spot. Human sex is like training wheels forReal Sex. Now, pay attention. Here are the dials that determine therange. Do you want to tune in to sex in your home town, your country,your world, nearby worlds--or shoot for other galaxies? And here's atoggle that determines if the orgone antenna will seek signalshyperdimensionally. That's how you get to the parallel earths. Andhere's a dial that can scale you up to higher dimensions or down to'flatland.'" "I'll stick with 3-D...""I wouldn't let you try anything else, safety considerations, ya know.And speaking of safety, that's one thing that's really a quantum leapbetween this new Egg and the old ones. With the old Eggs it was sinkor swim, teleport to Java 2 or just cum in the magnesium salts andhave to clean up and go home to the same old world.""But with this new Egg, when you get a good resonance with acertain fuck, your consciousness will piggy-back on theconsciousness of the chosen fucker...and you will ride around in hisbean, seeing and feeling what he sees for a little while, before yournatural affinity for your own "self" will automatically return you here, toyour body floating in this Egg..."Can I be a woman if I'm a man?""Good question. Thanks for reminding me. Here's a toggle thatdetermines sex. Always start with your own, for practical purposes. Ifyou're a man you'll see the fuck from the man's point of view. It'squite a neural tweak to do transgender, but it is possible, in theory.There's even a switch here to turn the male/female toggle totally off,since, as you might suspect from a casual look at nature, there arespecies that do not use that system...""Like if I wanted to fuck a flower or a worm...""You might be in an amoeba-like one-sex situation...or in many casesthere are more than two sexes, and even more than one speciesinvolved in sex. You might be surprised to know that many of thesebizarro modes of copulation are easier to navigate than a manbecoming a woman."Anyway, we'll start you out as a human male...""Thanks, but, you know, I'm starting to have second thoughts. I'mhappily married, you know.""That's another good point. Eggsex is clearly not "cheating". Andthat's not mere rhetoric. The sex really is happening between totallyother people. At worst, the Egg traveler could be called a voyeur. Itreally is just innocent old pornography, but with a new twist..."Now get in, and stick this on your dick. If you were a woman, you'duse the dildo version. This is your sexual feedback interface. It's yourmeans of tuning the sex scenes. You can scroll through fucks andfocus in on the one that arouses you the most. This is also a goodway to start practicing for inter- species sex. Once you get your libidorevved up on humans, you can let the sexual momentum carry youacross the chromosome gap."I improved this dick device too. Actually Sony Corp did. A Japanesefriend in their R&D department smuggled it out to me. As long as Idon't use it commercially, it doesn't matter. What it is is a virtualreality sex toy, for hi-tech phone sex. You view your partner onscreen or in goggles or whatever, and as you get turned on, this thingheats up, and makes a nice simulation of thrusts using peristalticcontractions. Your partner would feel corresponding sensationsthrough her "smart dildo". I've modified it so that it syncs up with theimage on the central screen and reads the flow of your orgone in yourbody, across the viewscreens, and beyond."How does this orgone thing work? "Another good question. But why do I get the feeling you're stalling?Strip. Get in. And I'll explain it to you some more while you get jackedin. There's an internal speaker and mike for communication."Once I was afloat and strapped into the Sony sex toy the screensflickered to life. A porn movie on the center screen. And I recognizedit! Zazel. A good one. I started to get erect, and suspicious. This wasall some kind of elaborate practical joke!"Hey, that's not nice, getting me all worked up like that," I said. "Thisis not an orgone antenna thing, is it? That's just a porn video.""Of course it is, you jerk. How do you expect to tune orgone signalswith a limp dick? The dick is just the tip of the iceberg, you know...thelimp dick, that is. The erect penis is the tip of an endocrine flame thatlicks towards orgone like oxygen. So just shut up and enjoy the show.When your mind starts hungering for reality, for the dimensions of sexthat the pornographic movie cannot convey, you'll start tuning in toreal sex scenes..."So I watched the copulations and strip teases with increasing interest,and between a brain fine-tuned to respond to pornographic imagesand pulsations of the Sony cybercunt I was fully erect in no time. Onthe central screen, the movie dissolved into an interlocking array ofamateur porn scenes like a fly's eye view of some cosmicwhorehouse. The outer screens were filled with pulsating psychedelicvariations on the cosmic whorehouse theme—a disturbingly intenseabstract sexuality that was bypassing my conceptual censors andsucker-punching my id."Wow," I said into the pitch darkness. "All I can say is, wow. That, andyou're gonna be rich! Even if this is just pornography, even if I'm a joke butt, I don't care. This is like nothing I've ever seen, or felt,before." I focussed on a woman's face and her image filled thescreen, wreathed by a circle of copulating bodies like the sculptureson the sides of some Hindu sex temple in the middle of the jungle.She was a stranger--a woman I'd never seen before--in the throes ofdeep passion, her face transfigured, as I'd seen happen to many anordinary female, in my premarital days of sewing my oats, into theface of divine beauty. I've never seen pornography do that! You hadto have had to have been there. And I was indeed experiencing thiswoman through another man's eyes, not via the conventional cameraangles that can be so distracting in pornography, swiveling andpanning around the fuckers, zooming in on the penetration site orcutting away abruptly to some unrelated situation. I was indeed atsomeone else's whim, just as with pornography. Only in pornography,it was the whim of the cameraman or the director none of whom isactually turned on during the film making. Now I was at the whim ofthe desire-driven male mind on whom I was "piggy-backing". I lookedwhere he looked. And I began to sense his thoughts, syncopated withmy thoughts, sometimes our two waves fusing together, sometimesapart. At the moments when our minds meshed, I got a rush of thesensations he was experiencing.It was already getting intense, so I tried disengaging myself from theaction by closing my eyes and just listening to the sound track. Mymind was mostly my own again so while I had a moment of beingable to "think for myself," I spoke against the moaning darkness intothe mike."How's this orgone tuner thing work?"The voice that came to me through the ether was like God orsomething...a God that seemed incredibly beneficent in my arousedstate, a friendly God singing me a gnostic lullaby."Orgone is another name for the divine. A sort of sea of fields,electromagnetic, genetic, and mind fields all amalgamated into a seaof bliss. People and beings of all kinds are like droplets of this sea,held together by the force (evaporation) that separated them in thefirst place, combined with circumstance, where they fell as rain, whatriver they rolled into, what animal drank them, what cell filled withthem, and so forth.""No matter where any droplet (person, being) may be, there remainsalways a direct, trans-spatial way in which they are intuitivelyconnected back to the sea. Sex. Sex is one key. At that moment ofunion and division, the personality membrane of the droplet opens inthe "direction" of the divine orgone sea. That's the interfacial wave theorgone antenna surfs, the momentary openings that spontaneouslyappear between seemingly discrete selves and the no-self sea ofendless orgasmic bliss..."The saint's soothing Lullaby of Truth rose and fell in volume as Iopened my eyes again, and entering once more the cosmicwhorehouse I scrolled through couple after couple eagerly, gettingthe hang of the tantric Egg rig."AHHHH," I began to moan... "They're all...sooooo beautiful.UNGGG. UMMM. yeah, what a tight wet one. .O my God, this onesmells like a new breed of animal flower. OOO, how can they ALL beso FUCKING sexy?""Every sex act more or less opens the fuckers to the divine. But thebetter the sex, the deeper the love, the stronger the arousal, the moreintense the signal. An erect penis is a dowsing rod towards aparticular brand of Truth. Some day every body part will be assensitive as the dick to hot new worlds. A side benefit of Egg travel isthat the traveler is training his whole body to sexually embrace theordinary world—the tantalizing world outside the Egg.""A shortcoming, no pun, is that the fucker often falls asleep right aftercoming and you're "left in the lurch". With practice you can hone in onthe more alert types. Look for signs like fucking somewhere otherthan a bed, the taste of coffee or some other stimulant, daylight, andso on."As if on cue, I lost it right then.Weirdest orgasm I'd ever had. Empty hands full of fleshy globes,body slippery with sweat and the salt bath. I was here and there. Ihad lost it in a syncopated moment, and was still oscillating back andforth between my mind and the other guy's, quivering with the postorgasmic shivers.I rolled off a goddess girl feeling deeply in love, and really fuckingtuckered out. I looked at the ceiling speckles in a trance, my visionfluttering, my mind sinking into a featureless drowsiness."Oops," said the disincarnate voice. "Don't worry, that's what usuallyhappens the first time. You got a sleepy one. Takes practice. I guessI forgot to tell you, the thing is, when you decide who you want to be,you ride them right to the point of orgasm, then pull out pronto. That'sthe time when his Reichian body armor seals back up, right aftercoming, with you inside. It's sort of like a vortex trying to suck you in,so you gotta avoid the orgasm moment until you've learned to handlethe turbulence. Avoid the orgasm—that even sounds kinda tantric.""NOW you tell me. I hope these Sony sex toys are cleanable.""Naturally. But I can read right here on the panel that you didn't come.It was only your target. If you come you will loose your link. Or in arare case, coming in exact time with your target, you could get stuckin them.""Fuck! I thought you said this was safe?""SafeR. No guarantees in life. Now, it occurs to me that it's gettingpretty late, and your wife will probably be really pissed.""I didn't want to say anything.""Don't worry, I take good care of my lab rats. You see, there are acouple of controls I've installed that were turned off for your first trip.One limits your travel to current time, it screens out time travel. If youhave time travel toggled, you also have to screen out your own self,or you'll almost always gravitate towards your own fucks. Especiallythe good ones. Now, when was the last time you and your wife madelove?"This sounded like the classic newlyweds question. It was alwaysembarrassing for newlyweds who hadn't fucked much. Sometimesthey'd lie about it. But, in my case, no need to lie. We fucked justyesterday.""Was it good?""Monogamous marital sex has remained surprisingly good, after somany years, even improving in many unexpected ways. Andchanging. Of course, there are always variations. But deep down, Ihave cultivated this sense that, even when I look at womenpornographically, really they are all in essence my own wife. Maybeit's just my superego struggling to integrate the dissonance of mypolygamous id impulses...""OK, Kelly, shut up. I've set the time travel parameter to include aweek in the past, and turned off the self censor. Are you still hard?""As a rock.""Good. You should end up in your own fucking self the moment I flipthe switch. If you let go in orgasm, you'll get stuck in yourself. Do that,and you'll literally be able to tell your wife that on your night out withthe mad scientist, he got you home before you left. Don't worry, I'llclean up the Sony. Enjoy yourself."