Date: Fri, 17 Jul 2020 08:30:49 +0200
From: Daniel Comnenus <daniel.comnenus@gmx.com>
Subject: Space Colony Chronicles (part 2)

SPACE COLONY CHRONICLES (2)

By Dolphin Dan


*** This story takes place against the backdrop of an alternate history
where, after the U.S. Apollo Moon landing program ended in 1972, the United
States and Soviet Union, and eventually other countries, joined together in
a massive concerted effort to build a large Earth-orbiting space station
capable of sustaining a significant human population in space. This
alternate history explores a trajectory of peace and cooperation that was
not taken, instead of a course of antagonism and conflict that, in the real
world, was. Peace and cooperation is always better than war and conflict.
[/Dolphin rant OFF Execute Program Space Colony Chronicles 2.0] ***


Bill, the son of one of my dad's engineer colleagues on the space station,
was the first guy I fooled around with in any serious way, but it didn't
last that long. Only a couple of weeks after our first fuck in the school
shower Bill appeared at our ersatz high school in black pants and a white
button-up shirt, his hair cut, and brandishing a Bible. One of the high
school students' mothers had started a Bible study group and they were
trying to get all the school kids to join. Most of the American families on
Cooperation 1 were from suburban Houston or Florida, so there were a lot of
born-again Christians at least among the parents, and this was 1986, the
height of the Moral Majority era. As soon as Bill found Jesus it was like I
didn't exist, but at least he never told anybody what we did. Live and let
live.

There was a kid, a year ahead of me, named Greg Park, also the son of one
of the engineering staff who overwhelmingly dominated the first families to
live on the colony. The Parks were of Korean extraction, and also
religious, but Greg didn't hold with any of that. He was one of the most
vulgar, irreverent and funny kids I ever knew in school. He wore hockey
jerseys, backwards ball caps and floppy high-top sneakers in 1986-87. He
loved horror and porn movies and he had a TV and VCR in his bedroom, so
after school I'd go to his apartment, in Q Section (ours was in N Section)
and we'd watch "Friday the 13th" or his favorite porn film, surreptitiously
taped off a porn cable channel, called "Muff Divers." Greg taught me words
like "mutler," which refers to the cone-shaped mound of saggy, flabby skin
around an old woman's vulva, and "choad," the medieval Middle English word
for penis. Just to be funny he would say sick stuff like, "You know when
people are really sick and the doctors hook them up to tubes that drain
their piss into a plastic bag hanging on the side of the bed? What if you
went up to someone like that, grabbed the bag and started squeezing their
piss back into them?" He said stuff like this just to be shocking and
funny. I thought Greg was physically very cute. After a while of hanging
out with him I wondered if he would put out.

One day, this was in the winter of 1987, I was hanging out at Greg's house
and he put on "Muff Divers," which to be honest was a pretty pedestrian
porn film but at our age, and living on a space station, it was basically
all we had. He had learned some Middle English words because in his English
class they were studying "The Canterbury Tales," and for a class project
several students had read aloud portions of the text in Middle English,
including the racy portions. Greg started referring to his "membre," which
was another Middle English word for penis, and "toute," the Middle English
word for butt or ass. After a while he started making up fake Middle
English verses in the style of "The Canterbury Tales," like he'd say, "I'd
sure like to stycke my membre into her vagyne, or mebbe her toute, and
squeezye her tyttes." I'd answer with stuff like, "I'd like to put my
membre betwixt her tyttes." Greg laughed. I realized I could do just about
anything and pretend it was a joke, if I could make up fake Middle English
words and if I could pretend it was somehow hetero. We were sitting on the
floor at the foot of Greg's bed in his tiny bedroom watching porn stars
fuck on a 13" TV. My dick was hard, much more from being close to Greg than
from what was happening on the screen. I put my hand full-on into my pants
and said, "Her tyttes maketh my membre harde," and I started masturbating
in my pants. Greg, who was eating Twizzlers, laughed and almost choked on
them. "Dude, you fucking pig!" He thought it was funny, but it was his kind
of shocking-sexual funny. I kept jerking my fist inside my jeans, and I
pretended to moan. "Oh yeah, byttche, lemme squeezye yore tyttes!" Greg
laughed so hard he spit out a glob of what looked like bright red plastic,
which was the mouthful of half-chewed Twizzlers he'd been eating. But after
a little while he did exactly what I hoped he'd do: he unbuttoned his own
jeans, reached into his underwear and started jacking off too. I came in my
underwear first. Greg followed about 30 seconds later, his breath ragged
and his body twitching as he reached orgasm. We said nothing about what
happened but I knew instantly he was my next boyfriend.

I was very aggressive and blunt with Greg. As school was ending one
Thursday afternoon, and we were putting away stuff in our lockers, I came
up to him and said, "Do you want to hang out this afternoon?" and he said
without hesitation, "Yes." We went to his family's house, we sat down on
the floor in his bedroom and I said, "You want to jack off?" and again he
said "Yes." We jacked a bit and I finally got to see his dick, which was
average for his age, though his wispy black bush was badly in need of
trimming. He took his shirt off too. Greg closed his eyes, arched his back
and grunted loudly as he came. We used a washcloth to clean up, which he
wrung out and washed in the bathroom sink right away. Kleenex or toilet
paper was too priceless on the space station to cum into, and even cumming
into your underwear, which I liked to do, was dangerous because of the
extra water usage and expense of washing them. Everything on the space
station was rationed.

We jacked off together a couple of times before it got more serious. Again
it was me who pushed it. On one of our afternoon sessions (both of Greg's
parents worked, so we were usually alone in the afternoons), I said, "You
ever get tired of just cranking? I'll suck your dick if you want me to, but
you got to do it to me." For the first time he recoiled and he said, "Dude,
I'm not a fag." I told him it didn't have anything to do with being a
fag. How many people were on this space station? Of that number, how many
were people our own age who might ever want to fuck us or suck our dicks?
Two, if you're lucky? If you're going to get off and not have your balls
explode, you got to do some stuff you wouldn't do back on Earth. This
speech worked like a charm. It was totally disingenuous because it
completely ignored the fact that I was gay and wanted boy-on-boy sex in any
form I could possibly get it, but Greg never caught on. He immediately
pulled off his jeans and his underwear, laid down on the living room carpet
and put his hand around his balls and the root of his cock, sticking it up
in the air. For the second time in my life took a man into my mouth. I
sucked him as hard as I could for about five minutes. He was pretty quiet
until the end, and then suddenly his whole body tensed up, he grabbed my
hair and held my head in place to prevent me from pulling off him (not as
if I would have), then he shuddered, grunted and exploded in my mouth. I
eagerly sucked down every drop of Greg's hot salty sperm. The experience
left me incredibly satisfied.

Greg did not suck my dick on that occasion. I got on the floor, naked, and
put my hands behind my head, my dick throbbing freely in front of him. He
moved toward me but eventually turned away, sighing, and said, "Dude, I
just can't do it." Honestly I was so satisfied from doing him that I didn't
mind it much, but I did tell him he was going to have to do it the next
time I came over. We got our clothes back on and watched a VHS tape of "The
Goonies." It was weird, the sexual and the childish that mixed together in
those days. Greg's parents came home before the movie was over and his
mother made us Korean barbecue, which was awesome. The Korean barbecue
sauce washed the taste of Greg's cum out of my throat.

I finally did get my penis in his mouth the next time we were together, but
I feel a little bad about it because I totally guilted him into it. I kept
reminding him of what I did to him and saying stuff like, "Fair is fair,"
but it was clear he really wasn't into it. He asked me, "Do I have to do it
until you cum?" I said I'd warn him when I was getting close and he could
take me out of his mouth. So Greg took his shirt off, put his baseball cap
around backwards and went down on me. A VHS tape of "The Dark Crystal" was
playing on his living room VCR at the time. To be honest, Greg was a lousy
blow job, a shame given how attractive he was. I told him I was going to
cum, and he spit me out instantly. I masturbated myself to orgasm and
ejaculated all over my own belly, my hand slick with Greg's spit. He wasn't
even watching; his eyes were fixated on the movie. We cleaned up with the
washcloth as usual. He didn't put his shirt back on but I got back into my
clothes. He just stared at the TV screen until the movie was over and then
he said he had homework and I should go. Clearly I had pushed him over a
line he didn't want to cross.

The next week Greg very abruptly got a girlfriend. At first I thought he
just made the whole thing up. He said there was a girl named Shelley, back
in Houston, who he knew from his freshman year in high school (the year
before his family moved to Cooperation 1), evidently the daughter of
another of the Korean engineers who helped build the station. Their family
had gotten in the line-up to join, and Shelley already started writing to
him and he said he loved her. Shelley's family did in fact arrive on the
next space shuttle to dock with the station, in April of 1987, with a bunch
of mission specialists and some Russians. I decided not to try to press him
for sex anymore. This experience taught me how difficult it would be to
find, and keep, a boyfriend on the station. But I wasn't done yet.

More to come...


My book, "An American Elf in Paris," is out now:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08BNVGZYQ

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