MATRYOSHKA – Sex in the Golden Age

by Doris Dawn

“Science is organized knowledge. Wisdom is organized life.” – Immanuel Kant

“MATRYOSHKA – Sex in the Golden Age” is a direct continuation of the adventurous sex story from “Polygamy vs. Polygyny” and “TITANIA – From Schönbrunn to Saturn.”

Chapter 1. My Jealousy and Their Pi

I am bored and excited at the same time. Sounds strange, I know, but I got accustomed to myself. I always have my garden where these marvelous mornings of summer invite me to step barefoot on the dewy grass. What a lovely and liberating feeling to touch the earth with your soles. Geeks say that this practice helps fighting the damaging free radicals in our bodies. Too much chemistry for me to grasp, so I asked Don, who else? He threw the typical machine comparison at me.

“Any electrical device works better, and safer, when grounded. So yes, walk barefoot on the grass. Take your time. But hey! What’s with those clothes on you?”

He loves to stare at my naked body. During these over two decades and a half of being married to him, I have learned what to do when I need to capture his attention: get naked! Well, this is the third day since we returned from our hasty and unconventional trip to Saturn. Inside Saturn, to be more specific. I keep walking naked around the house. I frolic through the garden. I sleep naked. I wrap him with my cuddling hands, and legs, when he comes to bed, to rest a bit. He can’t sleep more than an hour or two before waking up and suddenly grabbing his newly acquired tablet to finger more over its misty and thin layer of multicolored vapors. This is not a man-made tablet. No! Don traded our polar suits with Kronos for it. According to his saying, it’s not even fabricated. Kronos had it cut out of an inner wall, situated up in his huge but simple den, buried deep below Saturn’s solid surface.

“A splinter under the nail of Kronos and an interface to the universe in our hands! Neat, eh?”

This is about all the attention I can get from Don. Three days in a row. No love-making. No French kissing. No tender hours on the patio. No gazing together at the stars, embraced forever.

No tickling tapping on my buttocks!

All what I get is a casual kiss, a Spartan spank and an absent answer.

Do I have a jealous nature? You bet I do!

Long ago, when I was uncomfortable with his porn habits, I wanted to become more than his wife. So I joined his game, to master it, to capture his attention on me, to keep him focused. You cannot control a man who isn’t looking at you, dreaming of you, talking to you, sleeping with you.

And now this tablet! The infernal little gadget hijacking my man’s attention. All of it! I hate it!

But I can’t help it. Until he will arrive to some conclusion, I have no other choice than to pray for patience. My dialog with the Lord is the corner of my sanity. People say that God makes miracles happen. I don’t think so. For Him nothing is a miracle because everything is possible. We live in the contingent, the random. We cannot fathom what is out there, beyond the hour, expecting for us. Thus we invented terms like “miracles” or “supernatural” so we can explain our incomplete, disabled, nature. We have to believe, or to make believe, because we are blind to the future. The best cure for this type of blindness is patience, and prayer.

When I can’t stand my boredom any longer, for not being the focus of my man’s mind, and hands, then I feel how panic surrounds me, like a despicable and filthy snake. I begin to pray hastily. Talking to my Lord scares the snake away, brings me confidence and builds hope around my soul. One baby step at a time, this is how I learned patience: to calm down and wait for the future to hit me.

Amazingly, most often, my intuition is taken by surprise and my expectations are overwhelmed by better events. When I know to patiently await for them. But when not, it turns out more or less spectacular, more like the other way around. I suspect that karma is at play. My man puts it otherwise: hurriedly thinking and unrealistic predictions alter your mind, causing it to take on weak decisions, hence landing you in the wrong rooms; but when sitting back and pondering with patience, then the mind gathers enough breath to pick up better ways, anticipating successful moves. To his pretentious elaborations, I conclude that if fate is an ocean, then you’d better learn to swim in it. Like a fish.

All right, I calmed myself down. Time to plant some flowers. But wait! Look at him: humped over that insane tablet. If I won’t take care of him, he’s gonna deform even further. For three days he took no time to exercise. Did I mention no sex? At all! Oh my God! I have to do something…

“Hello, my Teddy Bear. May I join you?”


“Do you have some news for me, from your tablet?”

“Hm. Think that yes, I have.”

“Will you share the news with me? Are they good? Or Bad?”

“Both. Which you wanna hear first?”

“Ha, ha. We’re not on a pirate ship. Whichever comes on your tongue. I wish you speak to me and I’m pretty sure that, if we talk, then you’ll have less bad news to tell.”

“Can be, my bunny, can be… Guess that I ran into a simple method of measuring universal time.”

“But you keep telling me that there’s no such thing as time.”

“Yeah, right. There’s no space and no time, just Ouranos and Kronos – two daemons carrying the root of physical features that we, humans, arrived to call with words such as “space” and “time.” But I have to use these words nonetheless when talking to you because…”

“Well, Don, please don’t use them. Talk to me like you would talk to yourself. Just in a loud voice, so I can hear you. I can’t read minds, like Kronos, ya know.”

“Okay. Let’s consider the universe as a closed system. Going “forward” in time, as we consider that we do: from past to future, will only increase the entropy of this closed system. Hence we have an “arrow of time” observed by measuring a higher entropy in the “future” than it was in the “past.” But then, on the other hand, we take one of your eggs and a millionth of my semen and we frantically crash them, like they do with dull particles in the Large Hadron Collider, under the Alps. And…”

“Oh Don, I like the idea. Can we experiment a bit? Just a tiny little bit? Now, in the memorable Present! Please?”

“Ahem. No. Focus. Please!”

“Very well then… I’ll focus…” As my eyes keep staring at his hands, agitating in the air, or fingering the mist on his tablet, I caress my naked body in slow and seductive curves, reaching for my inner thighs, trying to open them in front of him.

“Hey, if you masturbate then I’ll stop talking, I’ll break my thoughts and I’ll get angry.”

“Yes, I know. And you’ll take your hard revenge on my pussy. That’s what I love most when you’re fucking me after I got you mad. It’s that fury in your soul that makes your shaft hard and awesome.”

“Doris! I’m off with my tablet. Talk to you later.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll behave. I promise. What was the topic? Entropy, closed systems and fecundation, yes?”

“Yes. In a closed system, one observes an entropy increase with time. But in an open system, like living beings, for instance, one observes an entropy decrease with time. We make children, animals make puppies and so on. All these bring new information, new structuring, with time, as they grow and reproduce themselves, at their turn. Life works reversely in time.”

“Interesting theory. This means that closed systems are dead systems because they can only decompose, fall from a higher structuring to a lesser level.

“Which level is called equilibrium. Yes. Not so with living systems. They strive to organize and conquer the given habitat. For better or for worse.”

“Yet they eventually age and die.” Say I considering my decades long nemesis: I don’t want to turn into an old and ugly bag. I’d better die young and beautiful. Oh wait, I’m not even young anymore…

“This is when you reduce the notion of life to biomechanics. We’re not cyborgs, honey. We are more than our bodies. Actually, I think that these material bodies are but shadows, ephemeral ghosts, of our ethereal bodies.”

“You talk magic to me, not science, dear.”

“Science is a form of magic, and a meager one, I might say. Now pay attention here. Remember Maxwell’s demon…”

“No. I don’t. Yet another daemon in your Unix universe?”

“There was no Unix in 1867, dear. But…”

“But it was the pinnacle year of Sissi’s glory. Remember? She saved the Austrian Monarchy for her man, giving the past another chance, while comforting the genuine aspirations of the Hungarians to their sovereign, but integrated, Kingdom. With unequaled charm, she gave the Caesar what belongs to Caesar, she gave to God what belongs to God, and to the people what their hearts were longing for. And making the future peacefully cohabitate with the past.”

“A true angel, your Sissi. No wonder that Kronos had an affair with her. A Platonic one, since she died healthy. Now, can you catch up with Maxwell’s demon?” He knocks once, scratches a bit with his pinky finger on the tablet and then, as a dark plume of vapor grows out of it, his palm blows it into my face. Bit taken by surprise, I flinch. “Be cool, honey, it’s just a text, an excerpt from Wikipedia. Take your time and read it thoroughly. The words in orange are hyperlinks. Gently touch them and a target text will replace the present one.” Oh my God, the text floats in thin air, with enough contrast to stand the sun light and give me a comfortable read.

“In 1867, James Clerk Maxwell introduced a now-famous thought experiment that highlighted the contrast between the statistical nature of entropy and the deterministic nature of the underlying physical processes. This experiment, known as Maxwell’s demon, consists of a hypothetical “demon” that guards a trapdoor between two containers filled with gases at equal temperatures. By allowing fast molecules through the trapdoor in only one direction and only slow molecules in the other direction, the demon raises the temperature of one gas and lowers the temperature of the other, apparently violating the Second Law.”

“Maxwell’s thought experiment was only resolved in the 20th century by Leó Szilárd, Charles H. Bennett, Seth Lloyd and others. The key idea is that the demon itself necessarily possesses a non-negligible amount of entropy that increases even as the gases lose entropy, so that the entropy of the system as a whole increases. This is because the demon has to contain many internal “parts” (essentially: a memory space to store information on the gas molecules) if it is to perform its job reliably, and therefore has to be considered a macroscopic system with non-vanishing entropy. An equivalent way of saying this is that the information possessed by the demon on which atoms are considered “fast” or “slow”, can be considered a form of entropy known as information entropy.”

I read it over and over again. After my fifth reading, I ask “you don’t seem to agree with Leó Szilárd, Charles H. Bennett, Seth Lloyd and others.”

“No. I don’t. Why should I? Their fundamental flaw is dressing the demon with their thought-flesh. They won’t, or can’t, accept an outer entity, whichever that be, massless, gasless, systemless, perfectly alien to our physics. Why did Maxwell call it a demon in the first place? See his simple message? In the name of the thing. A demon must not necessarily be a machine, a system, containing internal parts and being subject to entropy. A daemon has to posses another nature than our physics. This is why I don’t accept their reductionist solution.”

“To them, such things do not belong to science.”

“Then science is the uber-demon in their minds. Should we take the scientific method as the ultimate machine? Remember Calvin’s stance on worshiping God and not the theology (about God)? The same wrongs happened to science as to religion: they ended up worshiping their method for the sake of it, thus obliterating the knowledge or the faith, accordingly.”

“Very well, and…”

“You expect me to name Kronos on the matter and cap a new casual solution to Maxwell’s demon.” When saying this to me, he finally gets his head out of that darn tablet. Looking at me and straightening up his hump, he stands up on his feet while his right hand throws the tablet on the deck chair, where his cute ass was sitting for hours and hours. Fixing my eyes in his stare, pointing his pointer at my nose, he laughs wanting to begin with a word. But he stops. Puts his middle finger on my lower lip and whispers to me: “Well, well, honey. They may have been right, just not entirely. Not on the matter per se. Hm…”

“You wish to say?”

“I wish to say that a demon, or daemon, to be more precise, can be a system of his own parts, even if not belonging to our physics. It has to belong to some sort of alien physics. Entropic or not. I doubt it but that’s not my call. However, Maxwell’s thought experiment stands unsolved. Maxwell’s demon is actually a number. An irrational number, that is.”

“I knew it. There’s no place for reason in solving this issue.” My sarcasm smiles at him as my eyes haste down to catch his manhood and hold it in all my admiration. I want to suck him. Desperately!

“There’s a far fetched point in what you are saying, bunny. The number Pi is the key to Maxwell’s demon. It is a perfect logic gate and it holds no characteristics of a system, physical or metaphysical. It is not a being but no decent number either…”

“The number pi (symbol: π) /paɪ/ is a mathematical constant that is the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter, and is approximately equal to 3.14159. It has been represented by the Greek letter “π” since the mid-18th century, though it is also sometimes written as pi. π is an irrational number, which means that it cannot be expressed exactly as a ratio of two integers (such as 22/7 or other fractions that are commonly used to approximate π); consequently, its decimal representation never ends and never settles into a permanent repeating pattern. The digits appear to be randomly distributed, although no proof of this has yet been discovered. π is a transcendental number – a number that is not the root of any nonzero polynomial having rational coefficients. The transcendence of π implies that it is impossible to solve the ancient challenge of squaring the circle with a compass and straight-edge.”

“I have read that they eventually discovered a repeating pattern in it.”

“You did?! Where?”


“Since when do you waste your time on Slashdot?”

“Since returning from Saturn and not getting one from you.” It sounds like a reproach. Because it is one.

“Gimme that resource. Fast. Wow! It could make sense, if they match, the patterns…” He grabs his tablet with a hysterical gesture. Then agitates his fingers over it. I catch the sight of the approaching hump. All it takes for him is to sit down. Like a pretzel. Almost.

“I dunno where that link is, Don…”

“Never mind. I dug it out already.”

I’m scared. I thought to have him for a moment, or two, and now he’s lost again, captive to that demonic tablet. But who am I to sit here like a stupid goose. I stand up asking, “what’s the catch within those patterns then?” He replies impetuously, not allowing me the silent moment of approach.

“In the far distant exponential powers of the Pi decimals, beyond ten trillion digits, a pattern would give us a clue about…” As he babbles I go to the table, reach for my primitive laptop (compared to his Saturnian tablet), return to sit on my deck chair and start searching on Slashdot after patterns in Pi. What else?

Someone wrote there that “you only need about 50 decimal places to have an accurate enough approximation to calculate the circumference of the entire universe with less than 1 planck length of error.” So I read this out loud to my man. Not that he didn’t hear it, unfazed, he throws at me a side note.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. This is not the point. Who needs to measure the circumference of the universe anyway? The point is…”

“Time, my dear Don. The point is time. Measuring time, right? The time of the universe maybe?”

“He he. Guess that you deserve that fuck. It’s not only that you are doing everything in your powers to capture my attention with your charms, but you are the living proof that a woman can think at universal magnitudes and beyond, my dear. Yes! Time, or better said: deadlines!”

“Deadlines?! How’s that?”

“Remember when I hurried you up, interrupting your dialog with Kronos so we could escape his den just in time?”

“I do. Was quite impolite from your part. But you had hurt that daemon’s feelings in numerous ways before. He got accustomed to your manners.”

“Forget my manners!” It’s what I keep doing for decades. Along with keeping my mouth shut in impetuous moments, such as this one. He continues, “I have asked myself why a skilled daemon like Kronos cannot evade his prison. He used to fly, or better, to transpose and move around the universe on a whim. He painted the stars for Christ’s sake. But he got trapped under a rock for eons.”

“A sad story for sure…”

“Sad or merry it matters less. Fact is that the daemon got himself trapped, unknowingly. Which implies that his fractal patterns, the building blocks of the universe as we know it, might be virtualizations of a deeper structure, which escapes him entirely.”

“Sure, God’s creation…”

“Of course that it is the creation of God, everything is that. But your answer is no answer. It serves nothing to advance the discourse. It just ends it: both questions and answers have no place in respect to almightiness and the ever existence. You gotta stay focused on the subject if you want me to chat with you, okay?”

“Okay…” Forget his manners! All the time…

“Good. First thing I did after receiving this tablet from Kronos was to run a spectral analysis against its components. Was this a pre-configured piece of hardware?, like what we can buy on Earth, with parts: motherboard, central processing unit, memory, circuits and so on. It turned out that it is a monolith. Amazingly, it morphs.”

“A morphing monolith?! At room temperature?” I wonder.

“You do very well wondering, my lovely bunny. Indeed it is unusual for a super alloy to manifest a morphing internal structure at room temperature. Intrigued, I discovered that this tablet indicates no temperature at all.”

“But temperature is the degree of internal heat. Hence of energy and…” I stumble upon my next thought, unexpressed. “And…”

“Yes, bunny, go on. Don’t stop. Tell me. I’m all ears.”

“And energy indicates entropy. Bingo!”

“What a bingo you may make of it. Anyway, this thing in my hands has no entropy, or at least we can’t find any in it.”

“This sounds beyond cool and it explains why you can analyze the universe through it. But I still don’t get it how did Kronos got himself trapped under that rock.”

“Kronos assumed that the core of Saturn should be a rock like many of this universe, composed mainly of iron, carbon and super metals, maybe too rich in those metals, and other minerals unknown to man but definitely known to him.”

“What you tell me here is that you mapped the chemical composition of the tablet, am I right?”

“You are. I know the chemistry of it. Here, have a look for yourself.” He blows another swarm of dotted vapors into my face. This time, instead of the earlier Wikipedia text, I can see chemical formulas and molecular structures floating in the air.

“If I touch the vapor, will it react accordingly?” I ask in small voice, forgetting what he told me before: to hit the orange words in the wiki text if I want to access related documents. He nods. So I start poking with my pointer at the elements. Randomly. Until I familiarize myself with the recipe. Hey! It’s like a kitchen recipe, what if they call it metallurgy and the product is not edible? “Don… I can count 512 chemical elements in your tablet. The scientists only identified 118 as far as I know.” I watch in awe, mesmerized by this discovery.

“128 actually. Ten are still kept secret by IBM.”

“How do you know?”

“A birdie told me…” He shakes the tablet a bit so I can figure out where from that birdie hopped out to tweet a secret or two.

“Very well then. But I still don’t grasp how an object can be at the same time tangible, solid, even containing a dynamic structure by the inside, yet having no entropy at all. This physical object is a blast at the laws of physics. Incredible.”

“Ho hum… At the KNOWN laws of physics. I’d say that it’s rather a blast at our arrogant pretension of superiority. We consider ourselves enlightened, we think of our science as advanced, maybe compared to what a monkey would take for science — although sometimes I doubt even that.”

“Then explain your tablet to me, wiseguy!”

“I’ll explain it by admitting that I have no idea about most things in the universe. What I know is minimal and questionable. What I don’t know is infinite (if there is such a reality in physics) and certain. As about a direct answer to your question, I’ll make this deduction: no entropy = no random movement of atoms => the conclusion is that each atom, each sub-atomic particle, in the composition of this tablet moves or vibrates strictly according to a set of instructions. Nothing happens at random inside this thing, not even a single electron level decay.”

“Is it part of this universe then?”

“Have given many thoughts to your question, days before…” — it makes sense why he ignored my shapes all this time — “…and I don’t know what to say. It may or may not be part of this universe. If we consider the universe to be what our five senses give us as perceptions, then it is part of it. Here, catch!” He suddenly throws the tablet at me. Instinctively, my hands seize the tablet, didn’t want to fall on the ground. As if it could break or something. Oh my! “See? You can snatch it, touch it, see it, smell whatever scent you desire out of it (that’s a bit subjective, I admit), watch and listen to Youtube clips on it, taste it. By the way, put your tongue on it and imagine.” I do as he says and it feels like a kilogram of fresh organic strawberries that I just harvested from my own garden. Amazing! Delighted, I look back at him in all silence, waiting for his explicative discourse to reach a better conclusion than the sensory experiment. Understanding that I want to listen more, he continues: “My wild guessing is that this tablet, a tiny splinter of the massive rock in the middle of planet Saturn, precedes the Big Bang. Thus, according to that theory, it must belong to another universe. But according to other theories, less popular than the Big Bang theory, it’s just a palpable proof of a reality going beyond what our modern sensory-based science can explain. There can only be one universe (see the etymology of the word, dear) and this can have as many layers as it takes (like an onion) and as many symmetries per layer, or even cross layers, as there might be. Who knows? Simply put, I say that if you can hold in your hands an object with negative Kelvin temperatures then we’re like the Simpsons discovering the third dimension from inside a two dimensional cartoon universe… or something.”

“I say that I’ll go mad if you don’t give me one, right now!” Really, this totally unsexy narrative reignited my desire to have him sit on me, pressing my body under his weight, penetrating my moist intimacy, taking my mind to fabulous realms with fireworks and my flesh to trembling sweat. “I can’t stand any longer, Don. Come on me. Please!”

“Not so fast, honey. Not so fast. You still want to know about the pi number. Don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. I only need your dick inside me. That is all!”

“Remember, Doris, how turned on you were when seeing me with a boring machine in hand? You weren’t that excited when looking at me, humped over a laptop, nerding some abstract parameters on the screen. Now I finally unraveled a way to get you hot by talking science to you. As the exquisite geek porn star that you are, please hold on, build up your climax, but don’t come until I’ll finish my dissertation on the consequences of a universal behavioral pattern to be found in the distant decimals of the number pi. Will you?”

“Fuck you!” This is what my primeval hormones have to say about his stubborn pretensions at torturing me.

Unaffected by my sincerity, he continues with total impunity. “Ten trillion decimals go on the range of ten to the power of minus thirteen. It took quite some computing resources, and time, to achieve this depth in revealing the distant digits beyond pi’s decimal point. If we were to believe Kronos on his given word, he told us that he came into existence twelve billion years ago. But what’s a year? It is one revolution of the Earth around its Sun. Now bunny, go figure: we measure universal time, and cosmic events, in earthly years, ain’t that puny?”

“But scientists should have other units of measure, more meaningful, I guess…”

“They do, the year-thing is offered on popular science channels and the news. How would that sound defining a year as the sum of 31,536,000 seconds, a day as 86,400 seconds? That gives us 378,432 x 10^12 seconds since the making of Kronos. Or 378,432 x 10^15 milliseconds. Or twelve billion earth-revolutions (years) ago, ignoring the fact that there was no Earth to turn around for most of this interval. If the Big Bang took place before Kronos or at the same time, I don’t know. What intrigues me is a numeric pattern in the pi that emerges beyond the 10^-18 decimal and repeats nine times only and then – hold on – the transcedental number pi ENDS! It’s finite, after all. Just that our computing power proved to be insufficient to wrap it up. So far, that is.”

“Okay, so what’s the relationship between a finite pi number and Kronos falling in a trap?”

“If pi is finite then the number -1 is infinite. Here the formulas…”

“Hold on your horses, cowboy! You already tired me more than enough with your transcedental numbers and I do hate delving in logarithms. I’d rather delve my throat around your penis, to squeeze it. May I?”

“Later on, maybe. Now pay attention!, just a little bit. You can’t have both pi and -1 to be finite. One has to be infinite to do the math right. Because this condition puts us out of mathematics, we are left with pure speculation, the wild guessing that comes in handy…”

“And which served us pretty well. Don’t you think?”

“Here’s what I think. From his posture as fractal maker (or former fractal maker), Kronos had to be aware of this logarithmic slippage in the observable reality. Wandering through it, from a point to another, maybe he used to fine tune his relationship to a hyper sphere. Like calculating the distance between his body location and the center of this abstract (to us) but most likely real (more than what we can see or imagine right now) hyper sphere. When he fell in the pit of Saturn (an apparently modest bunker, not even the center of a star), he also failed to consider the slightly different physics of this bunker. We learned about it from analyzing the composition and properties of the tablet – our sample.”

“If you allow me, Don. This rock core has to be a knot on a tessellation encapsulating the curvature of the universe. I guess.”

“Wow! Not bad for a lawyer. So…”

“…So! Let me finish my thought. Our universe is like a bowling ball (with a perfectly round curvature) wrapped inside a soccer ball, with an identical “radius,” made of pentagons and hexagons (thus with an approximated curvature). Which of these two balls is the approximation of which, should be the ultimate transcendence between any of the two numbers: pi and -1. Fact is, speculating further, that the soccer ball is 100% discrete, there are only dots and plain surfaces all over it (dunno how many dimensions we’re talking about), while the bowling ball is all about continuum and the asymptotic illusion of the infinite. Kronos failed to grasp the recession between the two hyper dimensional balls. Because they don’t rotate at the same speed, they rather slip, one lags behind the other.”

“Hm… How could he ignore this detail? But then, if his reference to the center of the bowling ball (the universe that we observe and call reality) has been cut off, why didn’t he relate to the center of the discrete reality?”

“Good question. What can I say? Sounds like there’s no option for him. Maybe that’s why he called us immortals, because when we die, we may just vanish out of this continuum and stand up in the discrete realm. Is this a consequence of a super symmetric human body? Or a transcendence between two layers of existence?…”

“Or both?…”

“The sad experiment of Kronos tells us that his body can’t escape the continuum but it’s also failing to relate to a system of reference within it. Simply put, Kronos got himself between the hammer and the anvil.”

“Poor fella. And no woman to keep him company down there in the pit…”

A woman? He speaks of women now? Gotta seize the moment. But stop thinking for yourself and tell him, woman! So I briskly say. “Don, can you break your conclusions in English, for my readers, please!, and fast!, then hurry up to embrace me? I’m burning!”

“The universe is like a Russian doll, a Matryoshka, encapsulated in a bigger doll and encapsulating a smaller one. It is super symmetric to itself. It runs nine cosmic cycles to unlock, opening out to another state, unknown to us. What we call the present is a position somewhere in the eighth cycle of the sensory layer of the universe. There are celestial bodies harboring non entropic realms inside them. Here’s the list of candidates. As you see, most of them are pulsars. Can’t explain why an insignificant planet, such as Saturn, harbors such a material though…”

“Maybe that Saturn is more significant to us than we thought.”

“It’s already proven to be so. But…”

“But wait. What’s a pulsar?” As I expected, he throws a new wiki text in my face…

“A pulsar (portmanteau of pulsating star) is a highly magnetized, rotating neutron star that emits a beam of electromagnetic radiation. This radiation can only be observed when the beam of emission is pointing toward the Earth, much the way a lighthouse can only be seen when the light is pointed in the direction of an observer, and is responsible for the pulsed appearance of emission. Neutron stars are very dense, and have short, regular rotational periods. This produces a very precise interval between pulses that range from roughly milliseconds to seconds for an individual pulsar.”

…Waits for me to read through and then goes on: “But there are only three hooks with a rotational period of one or two milliseconds.”

“What’s a hook then?” I ask impatiently, feeling the drip along my labia…

“A slang word that I assigned to neutron stars harboring non entropic matter inside them. Surprisingly enough, Saturn is a hook as well. Seems that hooks may harbor a tad more than just exotic matter. If there’s a Kronos guy trapped inside Saturn, then why not consider more guys…”

“Or gals…”

“You’re working your brains out, almost as hard as your muscles, Doris my darling. I promised Kronos to find him a braud, remember? The giant female to satisfy his desires, to tame his lusts and, who knows, to make something new happen…” Talking to me about his plans of pimping giant naked women, hidden inside pulsating stars, trying to detail a map, that he has already built and projected in thin air, in front and above our deck chairs, he stands up on his feet so he can better jump from a constellation to another, on the map!, showing me the candidate locations for a visit of ours. It is uncommon to have your man speak in weird terms about taking you out to visit this or that neutron star, by the inside!, tonight or tomorrow evening, or during the next weekend. Ignoring all his confessed plans, I approach, kneel, kiss his crotch, his thighs and legs, then raise my head on the middle to meet his second one, not before murmuring a few words along with my unstoppable purring.

“Let us hope that she will make him happy. Like I’m gonna make you precisely at this… moment!” The instant when I snatch his dick, it gives me a different, long forgotten, feeling. Don’s cock turns concrete hard, the way it worked when we were young and mindless. Gone are the minutes of labor on my part to bring him up to speed. Maybe it’s the three days lack of sex, I say to myself, continuing to vacuum him. But this is only the beginning, a short one! He just came in spurts of acidulous, bit sweet, fat, creamy and sticky sperm. A huge load, I have to say. He couldn’t achieve this performance in any of our porn movies. Never mind, I don’t need the camera. Though what a show to record and share with my fans on the web. Before swallowing, and before masticating the gluey cum with my saliva, to better ingurgitate it, I smile at him with a fully open mouth. So he can admire me. All white tongue! Then I gobble, three times in a row. I almost choked. “Don? What’s wrong with you? You came in less than a minute. That never happened to you before.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m not done with you yet!”

Saying this sternly, he jumps me over to embrace his neck with my arms and his buttocks with my legs. He sticks that pointy and arched rod to separate my intimate flesh and he begins throbbing. Seconds later, I lose myself to glide over frigid moons and torrid suns. I can’t tell if it was an hour or a day. I can’t tell you much anyway. Feeling him inside me, and over me, holding me in his arms, acting like the pillar that connects my whole being to the world surrounding me, I can only tell that I lived through him, for how long? This I can’t speak. But all things awesome have an end. This most enchanting episode of my life would find its end shortly after a second jet of sperm literally flooded my vagina. At which point I could only assume that a state of coma took over me. Have my brains halted or just passed on standby? Dunno. Fact is that I lost consciousness in howling sounds of pleasure. It seemed to me, for a flashing instant, that both Mrs. and Mr. Johannson were hanging on the fence, admiring our spontaneous show.


I make eyes at 6pm. Don holds my right palm in his left hand while toying the tablet on his lap with the free hand. Incredible how sudden bites the feeling of jealousy in me. I clutch his fingers to signal that I’m awake. He drops the darn tablet on the ground and, turning to me, he smiles with a gentle kiss over my hand, then, escalating my arm and shoulder, his lips press against mine.

“I love you, Doris.”

How romantic. I wish to return his words but a horde of cramps takes hold of my belly. Brutally. Violently. “I gotta go to the bathroom, Don. Now!” And I run away like a crazy goat.

Four or five horrid black stools later, shocked down to my deepest hypochondria, I take a shower and, wrapped with my fluffy pink nightgown, I walk back on the patio, to sit near my man. But I don’t take my sit. Standing in front of him, I ask: “What have you done to me? Am I sick or something?”

“You were. Now you’re fixed. No worry.”

“Can you please elaborate a bit?”

“Like me, you were suffering of a disease that is commonly known as aging. One of the side effects of toying with a non entropic device is a boost to your immune system (remember that’s a DNA-based program, a set of instructions, like in any computer). This will gradually replace and repair all your damaged, aged, cells. You are young again, Doris.”

“But I haven’t touched that tablet of yours so much. It’s you holding it dearly in your hands. All the time!”

“So it is, my darling. After my first day with the tablet, I felt bad. My ankles ached, my guts cramped, my head dazzled. I thought that it’s gonna do me harm. But after searching and comparing with other cases, I learned that these are the symptoms presented by our bodies during the healing process. It’s like when you overhaul an old dusted and cluttered house. Painful and taxing but worth going through all the ordeal.”

“When did you get sick? When did you faint? When did you get free of all the toxins in your body? Am I missing something here?”

“These three days were extremely consuming for my mind and body. I cleansed myself in slow portions, so that you won’t notice. I allowed you to touch the device from time to time, so that your antibodies would be warned. Your body gradually entered an anticipation phase. The increased libido was a sign about your predisposition to healing, then your astute mind understanding all the math and physics that I’ve intentionally thrown at you. Eventually, when I considered you ready for the shock treatment, then I had you ingest the medicine first. Afterwards, I had to keep you copulated, with our bodies entangled and united in orgasm, before injecting a second stream of medicine in your vagina. All this physiotherapy rejuvenated your body in just over two hours time.”

“Hope you didn’t push the buttons too far back in time. I don’t want to give you legal issues.”

“Fear not, my lovely cougar bunny. The age reset works only for mature persons and defaults to no less than twenty-five years.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve set the parameters in the program. This tablet can’t get one younger than twenty-five. It is so because I wanted it to be so. There’s a setup panel, like on every other machine, ya know.”

“And my mind?”

“According to what you want to learn. In your case, your mind is older than the universe, courtesy of your few, but distinguished, acquaintances.”

“I think that I understand now… Still, we’re aging, aren’t we?”

He looks at me with mild curiosity. “Graciously, yes, from twenty-five up and down…”. I can see no wrinkles around his candid eyes, nor on his forehead. However, he’s not exactly resembling the young mustang that I had during my twenties. His expression is mature and not childish. His gestures are calculated and pondered, not impulsive.

“Do you know what Kronos said to me? That if I would have had accepted to have sex with Cron, that drone of his, then a terrible slow death would have chased me out of this life. Can be that your DNA is compatible with mine and your touch, your semen, heals me. While his, being of another kind, would kill me.”

“Hm… Makes sense what you saying…” Replies he, not quite attentive. Still I won’t give up with my questions.

“So, like you told me once that when I walk bare foot on the dewy grass, the mornings in my garden, then my body feels grounded, there’s an exchange of electrons and this repairs the free radicals, healing me. To the same line, when I touch your tablet, then I get “grounded” to a super symmetric parallel reality or something and…”

“Yes and no, my dear bunny…” He intervenes with a calm voice. “Yes, your comparison works, and no – it’s not enough to simply touch the tablet and bang, you got yourself fresh like a baby. You have to interact with the device as a sentient being. The tablet is not self-conscious. Consider it like a hammer, or a wheel, a mere tool. Your mind has to program the outcome. How should I put it to you?”

“Let me try this: the tablet is a phone, with a dialer; you gotta know where to dial, what to get. See why they placed a dial on the Stargate? So that anyone can understand what’s that thing doing, what’s it all about.”

“Hey hey! Wait a minute. We already had a dialer, remember? The module that got us to Saturn in the first place.”

“Ain’t that primitive technology, dear? Can’t you see if you find a way to dial our destinations by means of the tablet?” I smile with superiority, knowing what a tip I’ve just given him, knowing that he didn’t consider it. Sheepishly, gazing upwards at me, with his eyes glaring of enthusiasm, he slowly puts the tablet away and jumps at me, unraveling the pink fluffy gown, his lips and teeth feast on me, his arms take me inside, his tongue plays my clitoris and I fly! Dunno where, dunno for how long. Didn’t even know that he’s gonna impale my pussy in his hard shaft for another hour. During the ensuing orgasmic waves, in the few moments of consciousness, I say to myself: the first geek to reprogram his sexual function with something like an app, on his tablet. This is my geek! Triple wow! I can only thank for my wonderful life, and pray for the future. Oh, oh! He’s thrusting again. Untired. A true love-making machine.