Copyright 1995(c)

                             BBSING
                          By P. LaCotte

     She heard early-morning spring birds singing outside in the
still-murky dark of dawn and stirred herself. Her body felt heavy
and weighted, filled with more than it could contain. She had a
tremor in her leg when she stood. His touch made her swoon and it
took all her will to remain erect and alert. She couldn't wait to
get some distance between them.
     He felt the electric excitement of sexual allure and
resistance. Resistance was like a drug to him, the firmer the
resistance the more irresistable became the drug. He hadn't been
known to reach a limit in his pursuit of ultimate conquest.
     She remembered the preceding night with lazy contentment,
happy with her lot in life. She'd never been a sexually active
woman, but once or twice she'd approached heights. She remembered
them, wasn't sure she always enjoyed them and found them less and
less resistible. She wasn't sure life was supposed to be this much
fun. 
     Elaine Dorsey could achieve a sexual orgasm of such magnitude
and repetition in the mere messaging on her computer keyboard than
could be imagined. She spent her days surfeited in physical release
and relaxation. She spent her nights in lustful satiation. Her
senses responded in their own way to the keyboard and to
fingertips. Fingertips were rough and couldn't be controlled
mentally unless they were one's own. There was something exciting
about not knowing where another's fingertips would next touch.
     She had all that and more, including, she thought, the
cigarettes. She always smoked excessively when she worked at the
computer, day or night. She managed to keep smoking separate from
performance, but her performance was more polished with it.
     Her life was electronically complete. It didn't mean she
didn't like to dance.  She did.  She often went to the Great A.J.'s,
a haunt that had opened ten years ago and managed to hold a
following. Dancing there was prolific and done for the enjoyment
of it. One went to dance, not to meet someone, and ended up doing
both.
     That was where she'd been introduced to The Happy Club. She
had friends who revealed they, too, were members and something of
a membership sprang up. The positive attracts the positive, in
people, places and things. It just does. A determined positive
viewpoint toward interpretation makes as much difference as the
right combination of lotto numbers. You are there, where you wanted
to be. Idyllically. 
     It was a gradual thing that they were introduced to sexual
satisfaction. First they were examined for their preferences as
they stated them because the services were represented to be of the
finest, and were. Either you answered a questionnaire honestly,
indicating a fondness for fondling in a given body area or a
particular fetish as to time of day, dress, etc., or you took your
chances on what you got, either not knowing or not caring
differently. You can tell a firm's longevity by its fluidity. You
can get people to demonstrate how well and quickly they can do a
thing. Somebody is collecting data in a clever, clever way.
     She, however, was enjoying nightly repeat orgasms, each one
more lusty and thrilling than the last. Sometimes she was fairly
limp-wristed and disoriented by the time she finally rose to begin
the day. No one had any idea exactly why, and she thought that
delightful. Of late, she had been more inspired about creative sex
acts for their agility benefit as much as anything, and we should
get a better mattress.  We should.  Definitely.  The electronic
satiation drove the physical, actual act. She never seemed to tire
or say: "Enough." There was no enough. The intensity of that was
what wore on them. They began to doubt their individuality, and
they separated to prove something to themselves or each other or
just from sheer stupidity. They came together later like Lilith and
Frazier. Anybody who missed that missed a classic scene of abandon.
     As she gave in to this or that delight as it was explored, a
record was made of what she liked, unbeknownst to her. A game that
waited for her response suddenly began to give an automatic,
pleasurably-sensed one without consulting her. She'd be momentarily
lulled into such a pleasurable state that her senses would actually
reel. She would be unable to keep her vision clear and was weak-
kneed and wet-pantied with languor and longing. The machine began
to play her.
     Soon, a portion of Elinor's weekly paycheck was appropriated
by the government for its experimental morale studies, and Elinor
never even knew how much she was paying per blow job. Whatever it
was, it was worth it, she thought. 
     But she could afford it. 
     In the meantime, her electronic opponent learned to bat
flicking licks at her erect nipple with his tongue before taking
it in his mouth and gently sucking. Weakness flooded her being. How
far would she go to protect that relationship? How openly honest
would she be about it?
     She continued until she had taught the machine all her likes
and dislikes, rules and wrongs. And the machine played her until
one of her parts became irreplaceable, at which time she was
destroyed. 
     They said it was her heart, but I think it was her vagina that
went first.
                               END