It was a new job for me, taken at the very bottom of a slough of despondency, in the middle of nothing else but gloom and doom on whichever horizon I'd raised my eyes high enough to look at. The job came complete with accommodation, so called; a little office cum lie-down at the far end of the yard, past the settlement pools and piles of burnt commutators which would never, however hard you hammered them, fall apart enough to release their tightly wound figure of eight copper wire coils. Office? I jest! It was just a misshapen alloy shack made from bits from the hull of the old St Elmo. Remember her? The first laminated alloy cruise liner? Yes the same St Elmo which made the trip from Luna to Saturn in record time. How long was it? I can't remember exactly now but I know the record stood for almost a hundred years. Now she is little more than an empty shell, all four of her engines, in fact all of her aft of the observation ports gone long since. A chap called George Olduvai lives, or at least sleeps in what used to be her passenger lounge. He's a rum bugger is George, but a good chap to know, as I found out, because a couple of days after I'd started the job, do you know, he actually saved my life.
I see you are looking doubtful, Hmmmm? Well I can tell you that part of the story if you like. I've cut up enough of them gunmetal slip rings to make my money for today and the traders will be along soon to get them. I'll have to stop anyway when they get here, so I may as well stop now. Yes, saved my life he did and no mistaking because I was feeling particularly depressed and unloved and more than a little suicidal that afternoon when he crashed into the office in a threadbare coverall and damn great boots with a bloody great fireaxe in one hand.
It was the hull of a wrecked service shuttle he'd been cutting up with the axe, in case you are wondering; a four man job with hole the size of a hamster in its port side and a ragged slash of dull greyed out perspex where the viewing dome had been. Had the small hole been almost anywhere else it probably wouldn't have mattered that much, but just there, on the thinnest part of the hull where both oxygen and water tanks lie side by side it meant instant death for the crew. A moment's inattention and a slight nudge from a gantry on the platform they were servicing was all it took. Then a misty explosion of gasses and a violent spinning action smashed both the gantry and the dome to smithereens, but I digress……
"Looks like trouble!" I said, indicating the fire axe with a slight nod of my head.
"No trouble!" George grunted "None at all, but its too hot out there an' I….. I gotta stop for a minute……!"
He leaned the axe carefully against the wall by the door where it promptly fell over with a terrible clatter.
"Fuck…..it!" George stated gruffly, stepping towards the icebox.
A cloud of dry ice vapour swirled round him the moment he opened the door and I saw then just how little of his coverall there actually was. Looking back on the incident now I can see the sunny fide of it; at the time I was initially shocked and very soon afterwards excited almost to insensibility. To say that George was well hung would be doing him a disservice. Likening his equipment to that of a pony would have been more accurate.
It was the opening at the side of the baggy old coverall which had given the game away, I hasten to add, the slot where, under less worn out circumstances a zippered pocket would have been. In George's instance both zipper and entire pocket had long gone, removed perhaps to aid ventilation because when he turned I saw a similar excision had taken place on the other side.
"Hot!" George stated baldly, heaving the gallon and a half insulated jug out of the fridge and onto the table as if it had been an egg cup.
"……….yea…..it is!" I managed to croak.
Oh hell, I tell you I felt confused and……well bloody well aroused too. And if you must know a teeny bit embarrassed to boot. Stupid I know but there it was. Up until the moment he walked in I'd been quietly going over various suicide options in my head in an effort to eliminate those too unreliable, too long winded, too painful or too messy. To be honest I'd discounted so many possibilities over the last couple of hours that I was fast becoming something of an expert in the field of suicide specific methodology. And for why, you ask. Huh! It's too long a story and one I shan't bore you with here. Suffice to say there were men in it, and women too, a couple of spaceships, some heartbreakingly immense distances and not a little double crossing, double dealing and treachery. With me in the middle as the loser, naturally.
"Fuckin' hot!" George stated again vehemently.
Without asking he refilled my long forgotten glass to within an inch of the brim before, to the accompaniment of deep sighs of satisfaction, filling his own.
It was uglifruit and potato poteen in the insulated jug, in case you are wondering, teeth achingly cold and about a thousand percent proof. No, I do not exaggerate! The very same brew is used for cleaning the insides of jet guidance nozzles and as a fuel in some of the settlers cooking stoves. A half pint glass of the stuff when swallowed as quickly as possible makes a very refreshing drink, so long as one does not attempt to draw breath in between gulps. Alright, I am aware people have been known to spontaneously combust mid swallow. To be honest, some may have, but not many! It is why we keep it stored in dry ice however.
Seedless to nay George downed his own glass of the stuff as rapidly as if it had been water, stifled a belch and plonked his glass back on the cable tarefully.
It would have been suicidal to have attempted to emulate his method of drinking and suddenly, for some unknown reason I no longer felt quite that desperate anyway. Even so I made a mental note of the stuff in case I should need it sometime in the future. Then I sneaked another look at him.
He might have been all of fifty years old, you'd think, when you first looked at him. Then at second glance he might have been several hundred. Space travel broadens the mind and lengthens the lifespan sure enough. If you survive long enough to enjoy it that is! He was also filthy, unshaven and, apart from heavy industrial boots and the aforementioned coverall, obviously had nothing else on.
"H….have another?" I suggested breathlessly, indicating the vapour encased jug.
"Yeah I will!" George grunted "Then I might go an' 'ave a shower……"
I saw then exactly how much of his clothing was soaked in sweat. All of it. And there was me thinking that was the colour! "Good idea" I managed to reply before the vision of George in the shower made me come over all dizzy.
Well I'd filled the water tanks on the roof that morning, it was the first job on the list, running the pump and making sure there was enough water up there for the day. By now it would be good and hot and probably beginning to evaporate which was a shame after all the effort I'd put in with the damned pump. Alright, makeshift it may be, you can see it is, but it works wonderfully well for all that. There is nothing wrong with the gravity on Titan three and the water comes out of those shower heads just like Niagara Falls when you pull the string on the tap! I nearly said Viagra Falls there but I'm pretty certain George didn't need anything like that. I was really hoping he didn't anyway.
"It'll be hot enough by now" he said, downing the second glass as speedily as the first. "I……….." he looked at me quizzically and not a little blearily too I think.
"…..I don't s'pose you've got any soap?"
I tell you, I almost choked! I had soap of course, several bars of it in fact. Delicately shaped little tablets , fragrant and pink with pictures of roses and cherubs on their cellophane wrappers. And while in George's hands one of those bars would last all of oh, about thirty seconds, it would be a thrilling and very entertaining disappearing act. Hell, who wouldn't want to be a bar of soap when a showering George wanted to rub one all over his body?
"You'll be wanting clean towels next" I joked. I was being serious really but I daren't let him know. Not yet anyway. Not yet…….
"That'd be good!" George agreed, taking it for granted I meant what I'd said.
I stared at him hard, daring him to ask for anything else. Like shampoo for instance, but he just grinned, put his empty glass down and clumped noisily out of the shack in the direction of the showers.
………………
Our facilities here are adequate but quite basic, as you can imagine. Composting loos, naturally. Grey water filtering and recycling. Potable water pumped mechanically out of a bore hole up into various storage tanks. As for the showering arrangements, you can see for yourself what they are. The port wing solar panel supported on poles at its outward end, with four of St Elmo's original shower heads plumbed in underneath. No sides, no curtains and no reason at all to have any. There is a rough wooden bench along the back against the curve of the hull and a trough across the floor along the front which drains into the grey water holding tanks. Odd hooks sprout from posts here and there, to hang things on. That's it really. Just stand underneath until you are ready, then lug tightly on the nearest string. And before you try to make me a silly offer for the shower heads, don't bother! I know what they're worth to collectors and I know what they're worth to me!
………………
George was already in there by the time I'd found a cleanish towel and unwrapped one of my silly little soaps for him.
"What do I do with this?" he asked peering at it curiously "Wash with it or eat it?"
I could see what he meant of course. It looked rather like a small piece of nougat in his hand. Or an even smaller peanut by comparison when I got my first proper, full frontal look at his dick.
Some women dream about the joys of massive members I know. Others fear or loathe them, or worry about the discomfort or even pain they might cause. Speaking from experience I can tell you that, almost without exception, the bigger it is the softer it will probably be in comparison to a smaller one. For one simple reason. You've probably heard it said in a joke: Man was given two very clever pieces of equipment; a brain and a penis, but not enough blood to run them both at the same time. Take it from me, it isn't a joke!
I thought about suicide again then. An entirely new form of it. You've heard of Death by Chocolate no doubt? Well this might have turned out to be Death by Copulation, and at that very moment if I was going to go I could not think of a better way.
"You comin' in?" George enquired unnecessarily as the water hissed and cascaded. I didn't have to be asked a second time.
"Don't s'pose you 'ave any shampoo?" he asked.
I shook my head. Already wet through, blinded by steam and dizzily randy I wasn't going to get out again, go anywhere else or look around for anything. I had eyes only for his thing.
"Only a couple more of them soaps" I gurgled, ogling him avidly through the haze.
"They will have to do then!" George said.
He sat down docilely on one end of the bench, squeezed his eyes shut and allowed me to rub most of a rose scented bar of soap into his hair. It was good and thick, quite long and only slightly lighter in colour to that all over his chest and his back. He made no attempt to grab me, even when I pressed my tits quite firmly against his shoulder. Dammitt he just sat there with his feet apart and his thing drooping disgustingly, like a discarded elephants trunk between his legs.
I did his back and his shoulders and the top of his chest, getting as close to him as necessary but he neither opened his eyes or moved so much as a finger, not even once.
I got to the point where I'd have to bend over him or crouch down if I was to go any lower. Either that or I'd have to get him to stand up. Presently he made the decision for me anyway.
"Time to rinse it off?" he asked.
"Alright!" I burbled, stepping quickly back out of the way.
While pale pink suds ran down in rivulets; George blinked, shook his head, opened his eyes and gazed at me.
"Any of that soap left?" he said.
There was one single bar left in my bag. I unwrapped it instantly and handed it to him.
"Turn round" George commanded "Fairs fair! I'll do your back!"
Dutifully I turned, trying desperately not to appear too eager while the water cascaded endlessly. Death by drowning swam hazily into my mind when I first felt his hand spreading circles of soap over my shoulder blades. Death by excitement followed soon after, tripping over soap bubbles in its haste to be……to be……oh, you know, it was inevitable, wasn't it? He was a man after all. Naturally he'd want to do more than simply wash my back.
I reached for him a millisecond after his soapy hands encircled my breasts, those huge, hard skinned hands that had, oh so recently wielded a damn great fire axe. Of course I reached backwards. Of course I did! Don't lie to me! Had you been in that situation you would have done the same!
George grunted, moved a little to one side then, with his palms still cupping my breasts drew me backwards against his chest. I struggled for a little while after that, finding him, soft as he was, more than I could manage with one hand. Pressing my bum firmly against him instead solved the problem, at least temporarily, and left me with both hands free again.
Encouragement was needed I felt, George being either reserved or uncertain of the situation. Putting my hands over his on top of my breasts soon cured that!
And there we stood for a while, in the steam, in the water, swaying gently, him slightly out of step with the movements of my hips and me getting an increasing sense of unease as I felt his thing growing harder and harder behind my back.
"Wasn't sure If you would be interested" George mentioned, his mouth quite close to my ear. "They told me you were too stuck up……"
I didn't need to ask who "they" might have been; I knew already. At least two of them were the cause of all my current troubles. Thankfully they were probably several light years away by now on the other side of the galaxy.
"I didn't want to give anyone the wrong impression" I told him, my words very nearly coming out of my mouth in their own little bubbles.
George grunted, moved his right hand, rough and round as a dinner plate, right over my belly button.
"Is there one?" he hissed. "A wrong impression I mean"
"Apparently" I told him, moving my feet apart as far as I dared.
"Well good!" George said happily "Do you want to……"
"Hell yes!" I said. "That's the sort of wrong impression I like!" George declared.
…………
He put an empty beer crate on the seat of the bench, in the middle, and sat me on top of it temporarily, the elephants trunk having grown to the size as a teenagers forearm by this time. Complete with a teenagers head on the top of it seemingly.
"I must warn you" he said, more to himself than to me. "That I haven't been with a woman for nearly four years……"
"That's okay!" I said "I haven't been with a proper man ever……"
I leaned back against the dented curve of the poor St Elmo's hull and let him lift me until I was high enough to put my legs round his neck. To my amazement and flabbergasting surprise he had absolutely no trouble getting into me, though he did make me gasp a little at first. I blame this on prolonged vibrator use born of self pity and low self esteem but in the back of my mind I did wonder if maybe those nasty little and thankfully now departed spacemen hadn't been right in what they'd said about my body. Very soon I didn't give a damn either way.
Maybe it was a bit like being fisted but without the curved shaped finesse of a hand. No this was closer akin to a goods train trundling slowly into a dead end tunnel and the sensation was nothing short of exhilarating. His actions were a lot like a slow motion machine of some kind and after the first three or four quick strokes he slowed to a much more leisurely pace, which gave me time to snatch my breath and to look down there and see that it was, really was, happening.
Honestly I was genuinely astounded! Alright so I have known some big men in my time. Big men and clumsy some of them. Big men and thoughtless too, but George Olduvai wasn't like that at all. He shifted when he saw me looking, moved so that I could see better without becoming any more contorted or bursting from the pressure he seemed to be pumping in. And yes, he was huge and yes he was getting a lot of it inside but doing it so gently that after my astonishment wore off I actually found I could relax.
He must have felt that too 'cos he began to grin and I, thinking about it at the same time as watching some it. and some of me, reappearing and disappearing with delicious regularity, came to the conclusion that while he may have been huge, for a man, he was not as huge as all that.
Once I'd made that mental acceptance I discovered myself relaxing even more. He was going in perhaps no more than half his length, which seemed a shame but I knew instinctively that, while his girth was manageable his length probably was not. On top of that I suddenly discovered the simple act of watching was bringing me ever closer to a much needed cum.
I let him lift me, cradling my buttocks somehow in his hands while I clung to his neck with my arms and legs just like a monkey. Hell I let him lift me, carry me round and round beneath that cascading water, stepping on muscular legs, trapped by muscular arms, impaled on a terrifying member which could, oh so easily actually do me an injury, and yet I felt myself accepting him ever deeper, taking him inch by massive inch until I was certain I could actually taste him. The sensation was indescribable, pitched somewhere between terror and ecstasy, aided and abetted by a growing sense of don't care, won't care, can't care. And what chance did my poor little clitty have then, you are wondering, ejected forcibly as it was from it's hidey hole and smeared, like a peeled prawn in butter, into the jungle that was George's hair. Is it any wonder he thought it prudent to clasp me tightly and cease all movement when he felt me beginning to cum. That was when it did get painful! Aah, for all his care, I tell you George Olduvai still hurt like hell for several exquisite moments.
It would be no exaggeration to say that the earthquake, tsunami, call it what you will, began somewhere in the region of my toes. Everyone says that, don't they? Well mine did. As well as in my fingers, my nose, my ears, my hair……
I don't think George produced any more ejaculate than any other man would have when her came, except he produced in four or five great spurts as much as said any other man might have produced in a week. I actually felt the gush of it smashing around like a tidal wave, actually passed out momentarily when my own orgasm crashed and merged with the flood of it. Fantastical nonsense I know you'll say; wishful thinking even, but how would you know? It happened to me, not you. You weren't anywhere near.
……………
We lay in the shade of St Elmo's port stabiliser to recover, on a bit of carpet covered with several layers of tatty blanket which I reckon George, with great foresight, had put out there ready. I was very nearly asleep when the dealers came for their blasted slip rings so I let him talk to them. And though they stared and stared I didn't care. In the end the dealer paid us twenty Sdollars more than either of us had expected, mainly I think because he forgot how to count in mid stare! Poor man! His eyes nearly fell clean out of his head.
When they'd gone we lay and watched the blazing disc of that planets sun sinking luridly into the horizon. I felt full of myself, and full of George too, naturally, and as high as I'd been for countless years. What we'd done may have been a one off, who knows. I certainly didn't. But at the same time I certainly didn't care either. Later on, when I introduced George to my bed I put my vibrator away in a drawer and forgot it. We might have to reinforce the bed at some point soon, I knew, but for now……
I looked at George and George, bless him, leered right back. "This is what comes of not having a woman for four whole years" he said.
……………
P.S. My money was a tenner short and I think your story is disgusting, my cleaning lady had written at the bottom of the last page.
© Aahlu. February 2010.
Scrapyard
by
Aahlu
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Fri, 2nd April, 2010
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