The Sexy Time Machine
di Barbara Holm (edited da Belle
Dr. Peter Mackerson shuffled some paper on his
steel lab table, alternatively lifting and dropping piles of deceased
trees. He pushed his huge glasses up his nose. A few tables away,
Laura’s baggy white lab coat draped around her like an origami flower,
and her long red hair was pulled neatly into a bun at the top of her
head. Her cat eye glasses perched on her erect nose, amplifying the
freckles under her eyes. Peter felt his friendly little lab partner
growing in his trousers.
“No,” he whispered to his hard on. “It’s time for science!”
“Which means we should perhaps be experimenting?” a voice said. Peter spun around to see Laura standing behind him, and he blushed like there was a Bunsen burner inside his cheeks. A pile of papers dropped to the ground.
“Wh-Wha-Wha- How so?”
“Do you need help? What are you working on?” Her long, thin neck arched over her coat like someone was pouring a thick stream of milk. Her neck wasn’t white-white, so it was probably old rotten milk.
“I’m… playing with the phenomenon of time dilation based on the theory of special relativity,” Peter said. When a pretty girl was in front of him, he pretty much forgot everything he knew about physics, and his doctoral degree was as useful as a scrap of very rough toilet paper.
“Time travel?” Laura asked, leaning over his notes. “That’s what that thing is supposed to be, isn’t it?” She pointed at the glass cylindrical tube standing 8 feet tall and very phallic.
“Yes, but I can’t seem to get these numbers to work. It seems to make sense on paper… but not in practice.”
“Let’s go try it out!” She grabbed Peter’s hand. Peter hastily clutched a pile of paper, muttering that he needed his notes and held them strategically over his crotch as he was dragged to the time machine. Laura opened the door and clambered in.
“We probably shouldn’t be inside it until I can figure out the time-curve effect,” Peter said.
“Come on, you haven’t figured out how to make it work yet anyway, so it’s probably safe to be inside,” Laura said. She stamped her little high heel, which made her breasts bounce under her white coat like they were in an inflatable toy house for science. Peter obliged and stepped inside. He hadn’t realized how compact the glass tube had been until he was two inches from Laura, struggling not to breathe, let his penis touch her, or look down her blouse.
Laura looked up at Peter and said, “Peter, there’s something I need to tell you…” Then she leaned up and kissed him on the lips. As he felt her breasts push up against him, Peter learned that surprised and horny was the best way to be horny. He slid his arms through her lab coat and around her waist. Laura leaned back, took her hair out of the bun, and slid her glasses off her face. She didn’t need her glasses, he thought, because she was making a spectacle of herself. She shook her long red hair out in a tangled overused cliché.
“Oh, god,” Peter murmured, kissing her neck.
“He’s not here. A deity has no place in a dwelling of science.”
Her sexy logic turned him on even more. A whirring noise hummed through the lab, and a flash of light glinted from somewhere. “What was that?” Laura asked.
“Who cares?” Peter let his own glasses clatter to the floor. Kissing his lab partner, he reached beneath her skirt and slid her panties down to the ground. Without taking her mouth off his, she gracefully stepped out of them and unzipped his trousers.
Laura braced her legs against the glass walls for leverage, hooking her feet around Peter’s bony hips as Peter slid his boner inside of her. They both groaned in pleasure, but it was overshadowed by the loud vibrating as the time machine began to shake and rotate in circles. Lights flickered on inside the cabin area.
The combination of the vibrating time machine with Peter’s dick in her was too arousing to worry about little things like the space time continuum for Laura. “Don’t stop fucking me!” She screamed. Peter obligingly thrust into her rhythmically, and she tossed her head back, moaning, “Oh, Dr. Peter!”
“Oh, yes! Dr. Laura!”
“Don’t call me that.”
He continued to pound her, and her head banged against the glass wall. “Oh, I understand now. The balance of the time curve is countered by rising sexual arousal, upsetting time gravitation based on proximity to orgasm!”
“Huh?” Laura asked.
“The time machine only works when the inhabitants are fucking.”
“That sounds like a hack, contrived science fiction premise formulated to further the plot and not based on empirical science,” she said.
Outside the time machine, colors and places whizzed by them, and Peter continued to pump his partner until they both screamed in simultaneous orgasm and the machine’s vibrations slowed down incrementally and climaxed in stillness. Laura detangled her legs from her coworker’s waist and settled her feet back on the floor. Peter collapsed against her, panting into her shoulder. They held each other in the throws of their post-coitus, heaving gently. Laura tapped Peter on the back, and he turned to look out the transparent glass tube at a smattering of pre-colonial Native Americans and pilgrims staring at them. Both scientists quickly covered up their bodies. Some of the pilgrims and Native Americans were covering their faces in horror. Some were nodding and smiling in reverence. Some were taking notes, scratching into a rock.
“Is this the first Thanksgiving?” Peter asked.
“Idiot, that was a made-up story to get us to eat more turkey,” Laura muttered.
They exited their time-warping sex toy and smiled nervously at their voyeurs. One of the Native American chiefs was holding a packet of papers illustrated with primitive drawings and titled “Deed of Land.” One of the pilgrims was holding a bag of beads.
“I’m going to tell them they’re making a huge mistake,” Peter said.
“Yeah those buckle shoes are not flattering with those hats,” Laura said.
“Not the pilgrims. I’m going to tell the Indians not to trade their land.” He walked over, put his arm on the chief, talked for a few moments, and then returned to Laura. “Done.”
“Ohmygod you prevented genocide!” Laura squealed. “That’s so hot!” She leapt up into his arms, and he began kissing her, carrying her back toward the time machine. They tried a new position this epoch around: the time travelling flamingo. As they approached climax, they left the primitive land behind and raced back to the present.
“Was this where the lab was?” Peter asked, zipping up his fly. They stepped out of the time machine in a tall unrecognizable office building. Dozens of people in modern day clothes rushed around the office.
“Peter?” Laura pulled up her panties. “Why are there no white people here?”
“Maybe… since I told the Indians not to trade land or trust the pilgrims…”
“There’s no more white people in America,” Laura finished his thought.
“No country music, no NASCAR, no Bible-misinterpreting mullet heads…”
“What’s this mean for us? Some of my ancestors might have traced back to pilgrims,” Laura said.
“Me too. According to the Heissenberg principle, certainty dictates existence.”
“Yeah…” She thought about it. And then with a poof she disappeared.
“This is what we get for all our fucking meddling,” Peter said. And then he disappeared as well.