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Mars Craves Men

A Gay Time Travel Sci-Fi Adventure

by

Bronson Biggs

©2018 by Bronson Biggs

All characters are consenting adults over age 18. If you are offended by explicit descriptions of sex between men who enjoy multiple partners, do not read this book. This adventure is a gay twist on the old-school pulp sci-fi adventures about high-testosterone men who like to rack up a high score while they're saving humanity. If you're looking for a sweet romantic story about gay wedding bells, keep looking. All locations, characters, and events are fiction; no kidding, dude, it's about time-traveling to a future Mars to transform the residents into gay party guys. Much as we might wish it was true, it's strictly science fiction.

All rights reserved. Do not upload this book to unauthorized sites or claim it as your own work. Your small payments for my ebooks allow me to keep publishing the sexy man-on-man adventures you love.

♂♂♂

A gay time travel adventure that doesn't hold anything back.

It's 2899. After the destruction of Earth, the remnants of humanity struggle to survive on Mars. People still mate to reproduce the species, but the concept of pleasure has been lost. To the Martians, it's a forgotten luxury.

Until...

The galactic overlord who destroyed Earth is returning. And he expects tribute. Specifically, a highly trained gay harem including the hottest men alive. If he's displeased by clumsy or untrained tributes, he'll finish the job of exterminating the human race.

But how can men who've forgotten pleasure provide pleasure to anyone else?

There's only one answer. Travel back into the past to recruit a famous authority to teach them all his secrets.

It's 2019. Clark is an underemployed film journalist. On a whim, he invents a fake degree and writes a book about how to convert straight men into hard-partying gays. The book is total satire. Anybody in the twenty-first century has to know that.

Trouble is, the men who use a time machine to scoop Clark into 2899 have never heard of satire. They need an honest-to-God expert on gay sensuality, and they think Clark is their man.

Now he's got to save the human race or admit he's a total fake. Awkward.

♂♂♂

A Peek Inside

The only solid thing seemed to be the man pressed hard up against me. We leaned into each other, holding on for dear life. The tighter I squeezed him, the tighter he squeezed me. My cock was trying to bust out of my jeans, and he couldn't avoid feeling it grind aggressively into his groin. He had somewhat more self-control, but I could definitely feel the first flicker of a semi growing in his pants.

Ooh!” His voice twisted into a cute squeal. “What's that?”

You know exactly what it is.” I did a quick bump-and-grind to emphasize the rotation of my hard cock against his bulge, which swelled ever bigger in response. His zipper started to come down an inch or so.

Oh, yeah, that's right.” He shivered with obvious pleasure. “Dr. Warniff told me to expect something like this...”

Dr. Warniff?

I can't believe how good this is working. It seems unreal, I guess I thought something was guaranteed to go wrong at the last minute.” His hot breath tickled my right ear. “But everything's working out perfectly. You're just the man we've been looking for.”

Our cocks did more of that grinding, but...

We?

And now I've found you, oh my God, it's really you. Mr. Clark Rinner, author of the best-selling book, How to Turn Your Straight Guy Gay.

What the actual fuck? While it was true I'd pitched the idea for a book by that title to my agent, Marsha had pitched it right back. “Society is not ready for your sense of satire,” she'd said.

My, um, book,” I said carefully. “You've, um, read it.”

The hottie's big eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Great book, a classic, we've all read it, but we're having trouble putting theory into practice. So we need your help.”

My ‘help?’”

Here in 2899, we have a large number of straight guys we need you to convert. And we're running out of time...”

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Copyright and Legal Note

Chapter One

The interview with Buff Brick, shirtless, shoeless, and now pantless gay-for-pay porn star, was not going well. The admirably constructed Mr. Brick seemed to communicate mainly in grunts.

I glanced down at my phone to remind myself of the next question. Also to avoid staring at Brick's twelve inches of temporarily relaxed swinging meat. I was the writer, the least important guy on the set. Everybody thinks they can do porn without a script. I needed to not give them any reason to fire my happy ass.

Which meant I needed to chill with the checking out the actor's equipment.

“Boxers or briefs?” I asked.

Brick grunted again and rolled his baby-blues toward heaven. A man in his business might not call upon the gods very often, but he'd make an exception in the case of a pain-in-the-ass interviewer.

“I'll, um, I'll say you prefer to free-ball it.”

Kent, the director, shouted from across the studio. “Where the fuck's my fucking star? Buff, get your chunky ass over here. These boys aren't going to fuck themselves.”

Pre-verbal Neanderthal or not, Buff Brick was beautiful in motion. As he got up and walked away, he displayed the muscular flex of the best thighs in porn. I forgot about not staring for a whole sixty seconds before I remembered what I was doing and why.

“Hey, Kent, just one more minute. I need to finish this profile for the September Hunks Talk Hunks.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Clark? Nobody reads the fucking profile.” Kent folded his arms across his chest. We were both twenty-seven, but Kent was putting his film degree to good use as a porn director.

Me, alas, I'm one of those poor fools who majored in English because I thought I had a way with words. Which is how I ended up as the writer cum publicist. Except the only “cumming” was being enjoyed by the other guys on the film crew...

Face it. This is a pity job from an old friend.

A shit-paying pity job.

“I don't have time for bullshit interviews with my star. Make it up,” Kent said. “This ain't fucking journalism. This is some words around the nakey pictures so the magazines have redeeming social value beyond crotch shots of Brick's uncut sausage.”

“Hey. I take pride in my work.”

“Yeah, well, take pride in it somewhere else. You write filler, Clark. Me, I'm the director, and I have a fucking film to finish before the lease runs out on this studio at six o'clock end of day.”

The break was over, and three naked twenty-one-year-olds sprawled on the California king-sized mattress with all the spotlights on it. Buff Brick didn't need much direction. Still butt-naked, still magnificent, he was at the bedside in two strides. Growling and pounding on his expansive chest, he got the attention of the three twinks, who happily pulled him down so they could commence crawling all over him.

Kent, a dedicated man, did his own cinematography. Grabbing the wheeled cart one-handed, he focused the main camera on the four-way in progress. He'd forgotten the existence of his publicist just that fucking fast, leaving me flat-footed and alone to brood upon life's little indignities. Why were some guys super-sized porn stars complete with adoring fans? And other guys just wrote the fucking filler?

Maybe I could get into social media. Yeah, I could totally see myself as Buff Brick's social media director.

A twink on the mattress curled his knees to his ears, the better to allow Brick to pound him from above. The other two twinks had Brick's muscular ass-cheeks pulled apart so they could lick into his hole. My mouth watered. This film was going to be a good one. Even though the double-tongue was mostly wasted on Brick. He was straight, or so he said. The only full sentence I'd ever heard him speak was, “I'm not gay, but I play a hot gay fuck for the money. It's called acting.”

Come to think of it, that was two sentences. Maybe he wasn't completely pre-verbal, although Kent had asked me to rewrite the script to remove most of his lines.

Fuck it. My job might be shit, but it was still a job. With a sigh, I took out my phone again. As I walked out of the studio, I began to speak softly into the voice recorder. “Buff Brick reveals for the first time that he got his start working in a gay strip club in Omaha, Nebraska.”

Were there gay strip clubs in Omaha, Nebraska?

He experienced a life-changing experience when he was driving home late from work and his normally reliable Chevy pick-up stalled out for no reason. He pulled over just in time to spot a UFO landing in a neighbor's cornfield.”

Were there still UFOs, or was that too 1990s? Also, I'd probably said “experience” twice too close together. Well, I'd fix it in the mix, as they say.

Buff understood instantly that he'd been living in farm country for too long. It was time to move to Los Angeles.”

♂♂♂

My favorite West Hollywood club was dead this early in the afternoon. Paulie, the ginger bartender, was still wearing denim cut-offs instead of the black leather hot pants he favored at a later hour. “Hey, Clark.” He slapped a white napkin on the counter and then set down a tall strawberry daiquiri on top of it. “How's it hanging?”

Sometimes I got extra whipped cream on top. Sometimes I didn't. Apparently, today I didn't rate. “You want a blow job?”

“What? Now?” Paulie glanced around the otherwise empty bar like he was afraid somebody was watching.

That would be a no.

I sighed and stirred what limited whipped cream I had into the icy strawberry part.

What happened to Ralph?” Paulie asked.

Ralph? He's being Ralph. You know.” I shrugged. “He moved some nineteen-year-old into his place, so I'm going to take that as a hint we're not ever getting back together.”

You need to get laid. Just, um, not in my bar.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The porn industry is a shit place to meet guys. They all know a writer can't do anything for them. If you want guys crawling all over you, get into television.”

We'd had this discussion before, so my only reply was to slurp down my daiquiri so fast I got an ice cream headache. Ouch. My head had been doing that a lot lately.

Maybe I've got a brain tumor. Maybe I'm going to die before I've even had a chance to live.

That was the shitty thing about being a writer. Your imagination. I had too much of it.

I blinked, and there was a guy sitting next to me. Funny that I never saw him come in. Despite the clear lenses I wear to make me look smart, I've got twenty-twenty vision, and I usually spot the hotties coming from a mile away.

Sir, can I see some ID?” Paulie asked.

The hottie handed over a plastic card. Paulie frowned as he checked the face against the image. The hottie's face was definitely worth some checking. To avoid staring, I inspected his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Perfect cheekbones, perfect jawline, perfect wide brown eyes that had no crinkle wrinkle at the corners.

Happy birthday,” Paulie said, handing back the license. “What would you like?”

Whatever he's having.” The hottie nodded at me.

Paulie lifted an eyebrow in my direction. It was probably the first time he'd ever seen a writer get lucky in this man's bar.

It's, um, strawberry,” I said. “Hope you like strawberry.”

I've never had strawberry.” The hottie in the mirror looked directly at me. When I turned to meet his gaze, he smiled a sweet and yet utterly tempting smile. Were those amber flecks in those big brown eyes? The proverbial sparks seemed to fly between us.

Blame the ice cream headache.

Felt like more than that, though. A lot more.

No one had ever taught the hottie about playing hard to get, so he kept on smiling. “I thought it might be cherry.”

Um, cherry?” Real witty repartee. I was supposed to be so good with words, but I hadn't had a guy this hot come onto me in years, and I was totally stuttering.

You've never had a guy this hot come onto you. Something's majorly off-kilter here.

Yeah, cherry. Because, you know, it's red. Aren't cherries red?”

I, um...” I was honestly about to swallow my own tongue.

Some cherries are white,” Paulie said helpfully. Then he licked his lips in an exaggerated manner, which was less helpful than he thought it was.

I squirmed on the bar stool. My knee brushed the hottie's knee, a complete accident, I promise you, because I did not need any more stimulation. My cock was making a huge tentpole in my jeans as it was.

Play it cool. You've got a real shot with this guy, and you don't want to scare him by coming across as desperate.

Now the hottie started using the tippy-tip of his tongue to cautiously taste his daiquiri. He had a long flexible tongue. Not to mention long flexible hands that wrapped around the tall glass.

We all know what they say about long hands.

When the hottie swallowed, his Adam's apple worked up and down in his smooth throat in a way guaranteed to hypnotize. “Wow. This is actually good.” No more little tippy-tip licks after that. Now he slurped hard, emptying the glass with such enthusiasm that he was left with nothing except a whipped cream mustache.

The tongue flicked again, and now the mustache was gone too.

Yowsers. My balls throbbed like fire.

Um, careful. That's a good way to get an ice cream headache,” I said. At least, my own headache was gone. There was no room for anything in my skull except fantasies of what I could do with a guy who possessed a tongue like that.

What's ice cream?” the hottie asked.

Paulie shot me another lifted eyebrow. All right, so the birthday boy wasn't firing on all cylinders. But sometimes sex with the cray is the best sex.

I'm Garvey,” he said. “And you're Clark. Want to take a walk outside?”

How did he know my name?

I'll text you later,” I said to Paulie.

Yeah, man. No worries. Have some fun for a change.”

It was already dark outside. How did that happen? It was summer. By the time it was full dark, Paulie's place should be packed wall-to-wall. Besides, it was only four in the afternoon when I walked in, and I'd only had time to drink a single drink.

Something was wrong.

The brain tumor theory was gaining more steam.

Or maybe I was home, asleep and dreaming. This Garvey was pretty enough to be a dream boy.

It's all right, Mr. Rinner.” When he slipped his arm easily around my waist, he felt much too warm and real to be a product of an overactive imagination. His tapered hip bumped into my outer thigh, sending a thrill of pleasure straight to my swollen dick. “Everything will be explained. Right now, you just need to hold on tight. I've got you, but you can't let go. You have to be in full body contact with me at all times. We don't want to leave any important parts behind.” He looked into my eyes and then removed my glasses, a sexy move, like he was thinking about kissing me.

Instead, all he did was slide the glasses into his front pocket.

Then he did kiss me, a closed-mouth virginal kiss that brushed quickly across my startled lips― so quickly I must have dreamed that too. It sure wasn't the kind of kiss most guys exchanged around here.

As he filled my arms, I naturally squeezed him tighter. I honestly didn't know who was more insane, me or him, but he felt marvelous to hold. All that taut twenty-one-year-old muscle under his skimpy shirt and cheap jeans...

The world went spinning. The rush of blood going from my head to my dick, sure, but it was more than that. I gripped him even tighter as I registered the whirling gray nothing all around us. “Where the fuck are we? What happened to the city?” This empty field sure as shit wasn't WeHo. It wasn't anywhere in the Los Angeles metro area. It wasn't even much of a place, just some sort of dark, smeared blur like the two of us were looking out from the inside of a swirling tornado. “Did you roofie me or something?”

The only solid thing seemed to be the man pressed up hard against me. We leaned into each other, holding on for dear life. The tighter I squeezed him, the tighter he squeezed me. My cock was trying to bust out of my jeans, and he couldn't avoid feeling it grind aggressively into his groin. He had somewhat more self-control, but I could definitely feel the first flicker of a semi growing in his pants.

Ooh!” His voice twisted into a cute squeal. “What's that?”

You know exactly what it is.” I did a quick bump-and-grind to emphasize the rotation of my hard cock. His semi stretched and swelled.

Yeah, yeah, that's right.” He shivered with obvious pleasure. “Dr. Warniff told me to expect something like this...”

Dr. Warniff?

I can't believe how good this is working. It seems unreal, I guess I thought something was guaranteed to go wrong at the last minute.” His hot breath tickled my right ear. “But everything's working out perfect. You're just the man we've been looking for, and you're having just the impact we were hoping for.” Our cocks did more of that grinding.

We?

I wanted to hurry and get naked with him somewhere. I didn't need some encounter with some unknown “we.” If I was dreaming, fine, just let me nail him before the dream ends...

Yeah, um,” I said. “A hard man is good to find.” A dumb comment, but my natural style and wit seemed to have abandoned me.

And now I've found you, oh my God, it's really you.” The blurry tornado around us didn't chill Garvey's enthusiasm in the slightest. He burbled along as we continued to bump uglies through our clothes. “Mr. Clark Rinner, author of the best-selling book, How to Turn Your Straight Guy Gay.

The fuck?

I went stiff all over, not just in my pants. Sensing I was about to pull away, Garvey hugged me more tightly yet.

I'd pitched the idea for a book by that title to my agent, but Marsha had pitched it right back. It wasn't politically correct or some such dumb-ass shit.

It's satire,” I'd told her. “Legitimate social commentary.”

Society is not ready, Clark.” Marsha had a great eye roll. Hell, everybody seemed to have a great eye roll where I was concerned.

My, um, book,” I said now to Garvey. “You've, um, read it.”

Great book, we've all read it, but we're having trouble putting theory into practice. So, um, we need your help.”

My help.” I closed my eyes so the world would stop spinning around me. Didn't work very well.

Garvey kept on burbling. “We have a large number of straight guys we need you to convert.”

Was I dreaming or hallucinating? There wasn't a third option.

So I kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut.

Fortunately, we've got the time machine working now. There were so many doubters, but I believed in Dr. Warniff and I knew we'd be able to go back and get you, and now I have. Plenty of time. We have weeks before the deadline... You're going to make everything right.”

I'm getting dizzy,” I said. “The world is spinning around. I got a bad strawberry or something. I think I'm going to hurl.”

He smiled against my face. Although my eyes remained tightly closed, I could tell from the way his lips and cheekbones shifted. “You'll be just fine. We're in the time warp now, but it'll only last, oh, another thirty to forty seconds. Once you're on the other side, any sensation of nausea goes away just like that.” He rocked his crotch against mine. “Your, um, equipment isn't bothered at all.”

The. Time. Warp.” I pronounced each word carefully so he could hear how idiotic he sounded.

I'm from 2899. I was going to wait and let Dr. Warniff tell you, but you might as well know now.”

There's cray and then there's cray cray. The sex had better be fucking fantastic after all this.

Oh, and don't be alarmed,” he said. “The sky is going to look a little different from what you expect. That's because we all live on Mars.”

Chapter Two

People can't breathe on Mars. Even an English major knows that. But I decided it wasn't the right time to tell the loony-tune he was a loony.

There was a cracking sound like a sonic boom, although it seemed to echo inside of my head instead of off somewhere in the sky. Maybe I was the loony. The brain tumor theory was looking more and more plausible all the time. I had to be imagining all this, because it just... wasn't real.

The blur snapped into focus. We seem to have arrived... somewhere.

We weren't in Kansas or Los Angeles anymore. Maybe it was Arizona. Yeah, maybe someplace outside Phoenix. Garvey and I landed softly and neatly standing up on a lot of pink sand with some unenthusiastic weeds sprouting up here and there. The pink sky was pale at the horizon but got darker toward the zenith. If you squinted, you could see the glitter of faint stars. “How is the sky pink? Is it supposed to be pink?” I asked. “Hey, maybe this is a virtual reality or something. I think I get it now.”

Garvey gave me an odd look. “You have pink skies on Earth sometimes. What causes that? It's probably the same thing.”

Weather? Sunset? How the hell was I supposed to know?

This is Earth,” I said. “I can breathe.”

Of course you can breathe. We've had a few centuries since the event to make some improvements.”

The event.”

I, um, I'll let Dr. Warniff explain about that. He said it might stress you out a little.”

Like that comment wouldn't stress me out?

You're a cute kid, Garvey, but there's a lot of stuff you don't seem to know about picking up guys.”

I know, we're awful. But you're going to teach us everything we need to know. This is exciting. I can't believe we actually went back in time and fetched you. This is still kinda unreal.”

More of that we business. The hair on the back of my arms stood up.

Chill. You're not on fucking Mars. Don't let him get into your head.

There were purple-blue mountains off on the horizon. As Garvey walked me in that direction, his arm still around my waist, I began to fly up into the air, and he pulled me down harder and closer.

Sorry, it's the gravity,” he said. “You weigh a lot less here than you do on Earth. If you put too much force into your step, you go flying.”

I did feel lighter, but it was the power of suggestion. Had to be.

As he walked us carefully forward, I soon picked out a dome gleaming at the base of one of the nearer foothills. Brain tumor or dream, dream or brain tumor, I still might as well take advantage of having a hot guy draped all over me.

When do we get to the sex?” I asked. “Like, are you one of the straight guys I'm supposed to convert? Because I'm pretty sure you're gay enough for me already.”

Garvey's million-watt smile faltered. “I, um, I'd better let the doctor explain that too.”

One of the cold blue stars in the sky was much bigger and brighter than the rest. I thought it might be a plane coming in for a landing, but I soon realized it wasn't getting any closer. A radio tower, I told myself. Although it wasn't, and I knew it.

This dream or hallucination was getting to be entirely too realistic.

That's Earth,” Garvey said.

I closed my eyes and decided I didn't see it. Time to get the subject back on track.

I'm going to explain to you something about planet Earth,” I said. “When you hit on a guy in a gay bar and take him outside for some action, it's only polite to let him suck your dick or something. Or you could suck my dick, if you like it better that way.” I spotted a pink granite boulder maybe eight feet tall, the perfect place to take a stand. Positioning my butt against its gritty surface, I unzipped my fly and opened the gap to let my cock stretch out. It was a little chilly, but not too bad. Low humidity is always nice when you've got it all hanging out.

Garvey's jaw dropped like he'd never seen a hard dick live in the flesh before. He still had one arm around my waist, but he put out the other hand tentatively, long enough to brush my leaky crown with his fingertips. “That's really big, Mr. Rinner. All of a sudden, I, um, I'm not sure I'm ready.”

Fuck my life. I knew it was too good to be true. Even in my dreams, I'm getting shot down.

With a grunt worthy of Buff Brick himself, I stuffed my woody back in my pants and zipped up. If I accidentally-on-purpose knocked his belly with my elbow a time or two to express my displeasure, well... he wasn't real anyway. This was a dream.

Plus his belly was rockhard, so I hurt my elbow more than I hurt him. Unperturbed, he kept walking me along with one arm tight around my waist and his swaying hip bumping into my hip over and over again. Didn't he know what he was doing to me?

The doc should be the one to tell you this stuff,” he said. “See, the thing is, most of humanity was wiped out in 2048. The only people who escaped were people living in an underground colony on Mars. When we emerged, the human race had a pretty big job just trying to save itself from extinction. For centuries, sex was just for making babies. Now, when we need it most, we find out the whole concept of sexual pleasure has been lost.”

All right, maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe this was some crazy way of pitching a movie script, although why he was pitching to me I had no idea. He should have gone directly to Kent. Writers have zero power to greenlight movie deals.

Not just misplaced. Utterly lost.” Garvey's voice, as always, was surprisingly cheerful. “The secrets of how to give and receive sexual pleasure have vanished so completely over the course of the centuries that we can't seem to figure out how to get it back. Our scientists have been working on it, but we haven't made any progress. When we discovered your book in the archives, we knew you were the right man to save the human race. All we had to do was go back in time and get you.”

Oh, is that all?

All righty then. That explains everything.” I didn't know if they had sarcasm in 2899, but if not... they did now. Anyhoo, I took his hand and carefully placed it over the bulge in my jeans. “As you can see, I'm perfectly willing to help you with all your sexual pleasure needs. But you're probably going to need to be comfortable with seeing a guy's naked dick. Right now, I'm getting a mixed message, you know?”

Something mechanical roared overhead. Garvey pulled me behind him and then jerked both of us behind the nearest pink granite boulder. Honestly, it was too bad about the crazy, because I liked the way his backside felt against my front side. His tight, curvy butt knew everything the twenty-first century did about how to fill out a pair of jeans.

All right, the dust is settled now.” His arm still around my waist, he walked us out from behind the boulder.

I blinked a time or two. This dream kept getting more and more detailed. Something that looked like a mid-twentieth-century cartoon rocket ship had landed a few yards away. You'd expect something futuristic to be all shiny, but the dull metal was pitted over most of the bullet-shaped surface, suggesting it kicked up a scatter of pebbles every time it took off or landed.

A door opened, and a ladder dropped.

A guy in a white coat and fake glasses descended. I know all about the fake glasses to make you look smart. Besides, in this guy's case, there weren't any lenses in the frame.

Dr. Warniff, I presume.”

Yes, how did you know?” Garvey asked.

You said before.”

Oh, yeah.”

You boys looking for a ride?” Warniff was older than me and Garvey, but not old. Unless the Martians had a way of slowing the effects of time that worked better than face cream and injectables, he was thirty-two or three at the most. His body type was different from Garvey's, shorter and more muscular beneath the lab coat, but he was tasty in his own way. I can always appreciate some scruff along a strong jaw. A bear, I thought. He'd have a lot of body hair too.

I'm Elliot Warniff.” He thrust out his hand.

Clark Rinner.” I shook. He had a good grip to go with the good jaw. If he was real, if everything wasn't so weird, I would have liked him.

I know who you are.” Warniff nodded at Garvey. “Good job, son.”

Garvey beamed.

So,” I said. “2899. The planet Mars.”

I sense skepticism.” He gestured at the ladder, which looked flimsy and called for skepticism all by itself.

Still, since I wasn't waking up, I seemed to have little choice but to climb aboard the rocket ship. I expected flashing lights and control panels, but inside was more like a too-snug living room complete with three padded armchairs.

Sit down, have a seat, get comfortable,” Dr. Warniff said.

Dream or no dream, I swear I could feel the acceleration pushing me back into the chair as we lifted off. It was quiet inside, no engine roar, but nobody talked anyway. Apparently, the ride was too brief. A minute or two later, we'd landed outside the domed building, which must have been further away than it looked when I first saw it. Turned out it wasn't a mere building after all.

It was an entire town.

Welcome to Mars, Mr. Rinner.”

You, um, can call me Clark. Since apparently you brought me here to teach you guys how to get nasty.”

Warniff laughed a brave laugh. Garvey, already pink, went pinker.

As we walked into the city, I was aware of people peeping around corners or watching us from windows. They were just regular people, nobody obviously wearing space helmets or anything. “What happens if that dome breaks?” I asked.

Um, nothing,” Warniff said. “Well, I mean the historical society would be pissed off, but the dome no longer serves any functional purpose. It goes back to the early days. Once we realized we could never return to the smoking ruins of Earth, we got serious about terraforming the atmosphere. Adding oxygen, increasing the air pressure... the whole nine yards. It took a few decades, but it'll hold for thousands of years.”

The smoking ruins of Earth” was a dramatic touch. “I, um, well, Mars seems to be a pretty cool place,” I said. “What with the low gravity and all. The possibilities for tossing hot guys around for sex are endless.”

Uh, yeah.” Now Warniff was pink too. This was awkward as fuck. Quite possibly, he sensed I didn't believe him but was just playing along to get into his pants.

You can take off the glasses,” I said. “You don't have to wear them for me to believe you're smart. It's 2019, we've had laser eye surgery for a few decades now.”

It's 2899,” Garvey said. He slipped an arm around my waist again. When you're twenty-one and cute as a button, nobody's going to tell you to stop being all touchy-feely.

The blood in my dick kept pounding. I was ready to get to the main event.

Yeah, sure, got it.” I took the glasses right off Warniff's nose. “In 2899, we're too advanced to need to put lenses in the frames.”

Doc didn't much seem to care that I'd totally busted him. His clear-sighted eyes focused on a building half a block down where some guy out front was already swinging the door open. The doorman too was a hottie. Dark and tall, with sculpted cheekbones and slinky hips.

Damn. My mouth watered. Based on what I'd seen so far, everybody in the future was smoking hot. Made sense. They'd had a few centuries to develop the most advanced techniques of genetic manipulation. Probably everybody's DNA was perfect.

Almost perfect,” Warniff said. “At some point, someone accidentally deleted the code for sexual pleasure. At least that's one theory. Another theory is that people were so devastated by the destruction of Earth, they simply fell into a planet-wide depression. Either way, the knowledge of how to enjoy sex was lost. For us, the mating act is just a job. A way to keep humanity going through these dark centuries.”


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