I get a text when I step outside. It’s a selfie of Chinta, posing in front of a statue made of diapers. I think that means I should meet her near the statue made of diapers.

I look around for a statue made of diapers, then put my phone into the face of the nearest passerby. She nods like she’s seen it, and adds an expression like she’s seen everything. She’s young. It’s cute.

I give her the closest I can get to a “where is it?” expression, and she points further into the maze. I don’t even try, just set out in that general direction.

On my way I pass two drug markets, an opium den, and three orgies.One in a tent, that seems to be a “pay-to-play” affair, and two that are just out under a little canvas shade. The last is a train, being run on a Salc, who is clearly out of her skull on something. She’s got a dick in every hole, and for a small moment I miss my penis a little bit. My nipples perk up, feel the heat, and decide that a half effort is okay.

That one is happening right next to the statue made of diapers, which seems gross. But I’m not the one getting reamed. Maybe it’s part of the appeal?

I just disgusted myself.

Chinta is nearby, in the shade of a tent. She’s on a table getting a full body massage from an amale, who is erectly enjoying his work. There’s a human there too, oiling up his hands in front of a massage chair, and he’s not wearing a thing. Those Gen-B bodies really pack on the muscle, and the situation gets a little more damp in the heat. I can feel it on my lips now. Be calm 11. It’s just a real human dick that your body was designed for. I make a good point. All this extrasexuality has been great, but sometimes a girl wants the real thing.

I put that at the back—middle—of my mind as Chinta looks up and says, in a voice I’ve never hears so relaxed while sober, “She wants the deluxe package, Joe.”

Human Joe nods. I don’t know what the deluxe version entails, but I’m excited to find out. Human Joe is hitting all my eye buttons. He hands me a little paper cup, with something green inside. “It’ll help you relax.”

Okay. I have a rule against taking drugs that I don’t know what they are.

“It’s just a little silax,” He says.

Oh, is that all. It’s a little like alcohol, but it soaks into your muscles instead of you blood stream. It’s still dis-inhibiting, but it doesn’t pound on your personality. And it’s liquid, loses all of it’s potency in pill form, and tastes like crushed aspirin. Human Joe has mixed it with grape drink, and it only makes it worse. But I find this out when all of it is already in my mouth, and spitting it out isn’t going to make anything better.

Human Joe says, “There’s a curtain, you can undress to where you’re comfortable.”

How naked do you want to get at a crowded festival? Probably not as naked as I would with Human Joe in private.

“Do you have a towel, or something?”

“There’s a few back there.”

Behind the curtain is a little sanctuary of safe space. There’s a chair, and cubbies where Chinta’s costume sits, and where someone has already left a bra. I trade the corset for a cusiony, fluffy. towel. Wrap and tuck. Then I start feeling a little adventurous. I can hear that Salc outside, and I think she’s been joined by another girl. My panties are soaking, and I decide the skirt is enough as I leave them on the chair in the “dressing room.”

The chair is one of the one you sit backwards in, like a cool professor relating to the hip kids. The seat almost isn’t enough for my whole ass, and I try to remember if that’s normal. I lean into the chest pads to find a new and uncomfortable situation. I have to rearrange my tits and the towel wrap doesn’t survive this.

Well, the pads are covering my nipples, and I’m comfortable, so what the hell. Human Joe starts on my shoulders and I melt into the chair.

I completely lose track of the passage of time for some… time. At one point I’m present enough to know that my skirt is bunched up underneath me. I shift it around until it’s draped over the the chair, which means that my bare cunny is right on the seat. The best position I find is with it sticking out just a bit. That’s interesting. There’s a little notch in the line of the seat here. My pussy is out in the open air. This is exciting, until Human Joe starts working with his thumbs and I fade out again.

My arousal builds up slowly, and I’m dimly aware that Human Joe’s getting steadily more intimate with his touch. A brush over my breast here, a closer than necessary stance there. After a little bit I’m aware that my nipples are getting harder from his hands, and I start to revel in the fluffy towel as they perk into it. The chair comes up a little bit, it’s on a riser like at the barber, to make it easier for Human Joe to work lower. I’m in a haze of pleasure when I feel his cock-head through the cloth of the skirt. He’s got enough to stand to attention, but he’s not saluting yet. He bumps me a couple of times, and I start breathing deeper, and then when he doest it again, I raise my ass a little and feel his head brush against my butt crack.

I want.

When he steps back and his dick goes away I let out a little groan of dissatisfaction. I get ready to reach back and try to give that cock the right idea. I don’t have to. It turns out we’re on the same page here. He lifts my skirt up until the hem is at the small of my back. I don’t know which is sexier, the cloth on my sensitive skin, or the fact that my whole ass is in the open air.

I’m slick and ready, and I shift my weight to give him a better angle. When his head touches my inner lips, I arch my back, and push my tits into the chair.

His dick pushes in with no guidence, past my lips, slow and steady. He looked average length and girth, but from the perspective he’s big enough to squeeze me open. Too much, but not too much. after getting stretched by alien dicks it’s kind of a relief. I don’t really feel the pop, I think he’s slicked himself up with the oil. Soon he’s as deep as he can get in my pussy, and I’m* all about the way his shaft feels as I close around him.

Human Joe is a masseur, and he fucks like one. Slow and purposeful. Powerful and deep. There is an intense *drift between in and out, lasting about a second in each direction. When he’s as deep as he can get, he holds for a second, and I yearn for more. Deeper. Fuller.

Then he pulls out, and that almost feels better, but I can’t wait for him to get back in the business of filling me up again. My build up is slow and langorous, and I’ve never fucked myself like this before. There’s no urgency. I’ll get to where I’m going, but this time it’s about the journey.

He runs his hands over my back and then down my arms. When he start moving a little harder I lift up on my elbows, he’s getting deep, and every time he goes in all the way, I feel like he could get just a little deeper.

Then, with what must be professional experience, he takes hold of my arms, above the elbow. He’s gentle, but implacable, as he pulls my arms back toward him. The towel slips off, and the air makes my tits tingle. I’m too far gone to care that everyone can see. I might just revel in it, I’m not sure.

The new curve in my back and my pelvis means he’s coming in at an entirely new angle. His dick pulls the walls of my cunt forward, and stretches my clit over the base of his cock. It’s not an all the time thing, but it’s just what I need right now. The first time I feel it, I let out a long low moan, and I’m dimly aware that passersby are turning to watch. My eyes are mostly closed. The moan comes back the next time. And the next.

He’s getting more powerful. More deliberate. When he gets deep he doesn’t stay as long anymore, and that change of pace is exactly what I need it to be.

He adds a little bit of speed, and my climax starts very slow. It lasts for thirty seconds or so, as he keeps grinding into me while I orgasm.

While I’m coming down, he gives three hard, little, jabs, and I feel him jet inside me. He’s not like Chinta, his cock jerks and shudders inside me. It gets a shriek out of me, and I’m back for another orgasm.

There’s the subtle discomfort of him pulling out, and then he starts on my back again like nothing has happened.

I nod off in the chair, floating on the afterglow.

#

Human Joe is finished, and he just lets me sit in the chair and relax for about ten minutes. The silax is wearing off a little bit, and I’m feeling the tiniest tinge of guilt. It’s masked by sexual satisfaction, so I’m doing okay.

I grab the towel when I get up anyway, retreat behind the curtain, and try to figure out how to fluff and put on the corset by myself. When I work it out, I check in a mirror on the table. Still hot.

Chinta is done as well, and has opted to ditch her underwear.

Oh shit. We’re twenty feet away from the tent when I realize that I’ve forgotten my panties. But commando is feeling pretty good with the skirt on. Fuck it.

There is a tiny trickle on my leg, as I feel some of Human Joe’s semen run out of me. That makes me feel a little proud, and a little dirty. And then pride in the dirtiness. Women are weird.

I’m not worried about getting pregnant of course, this body can’t, for obvious ethical reasons. I have a uterus and ovaries, to help my hormones, but no ovum. As Doctor Jordan mentioned, I’ll only menstruate if I want to. I don’t think I want to do that.

Tinoct has wandered off somewhere, and Chinta and I wander the festival in a relative calm.

That Salc is still making noises, and she’s been joined by another human woman. The line has died down a bit, and Chinta decides to take her own turn. I don’t think she got any from the massage. She’s fully erect just watching the spectacle, and when she gets to the front of the line the Salc sucks her deep into her mouth. Chinta only lasts 30 seconds, before the Salc is motioning for the next in line.

Chinta comes back to me, panting a little bit.

The Salc now gives up, stands up, wobbly, makes a “no more” gesture to the amale and female waiting and stumbles away to get some Gatorade and a nap.

The amale is not cool with this, he shouts after her in Enoctic, all of it obscene, then turns and punches the female behind him.

Chinta and I have been moving away for a bit, but I watch out of the corner of my eye, and hear the crowd gasp. The woman was wearing clothes, so this is pretty much legal.

This is legal rape.

He’s got her down on the ground, roughly handing her ass, and she cries out in pain when he penetrates her. Then she keeps crying, while he yanks her hair around, but she doesn’t cry for help.

The inaccuracy of the LM-5 saves the man’s life. I had the shot lined up perfectly. But he won’t be hearing out of that ear for a while. The shot turns the sand to glass twenty feet past him, and his earlobe burns away in little strings of red hot ash.

He starts screaming with all of his breath, and when he runs out he doesn’t take enough time to breathe in before he start screaming again. He’s rolling around in the dirt, which is going to be really bad for the burns on his face, once he can feel them again. I’m lining up the second shot, this time to wound again, when Chinta grabs my arm and hustles me back into the crowd as fast as she can.

I don’t really resist, because I can’t think through all of the rage screaming in my head.

Two hundred feet away, she slaps me across the face. I snap back into the present, feel the gun still in my hand, hoist it, and start to head back.

Now Tinoct is standing in my way. I don’t want to hurt Tinoct, even in my blind anger, and I point the gun at the ground. I can’t even speak right now.

“Sit down, 11,” he tells me.

“Get out of my way,” I find my voice.

“If you want to stop this, the best thing you can do right now, is walk away.” He puts his hands on my shoulder, “Breathe deep, find your center. We are going to put an end to this, but shooting people in public isn’t going to change anything.”

Chinta lays her arm on my shoulder as well, “We have some people here, in security. He’s not getting away unscathed. You did what was right, and that’s enough.”

The anger is slowly being replaced by shock, and I find a couple of crates to sit on.

“I think it would be wise if we were to go back to the ship for a little bit,” Tinoct says. He and Chinta half guide—half direct me, out of the festival.

#

Inside Bertha I manage to have a moment of solace, in the shower. It’s a microbial shower, so it lasts 15 seconds, and then I just curl up in a ball. I put my head on my arms and feel my naked ass on the floor of the shower.

I think this is a hormone thing. Maybe it’s a woman thing. Maybe it’s an 11 thing.

I’ve sold guns to murderers. I’ve sold them to rapists. I’ve sold them to people who committed atrocities, war crimes, you name it. And I’ve never felt bad about it.

There isn’t a right or wrong in war. Those I’ve supplied were fighting people just as bad as they were. Fighting those guilty of just as much. With a moral gray area like that, it’s hard to find anything to stand for. “Oh yes, I’ll sell to these rapist murderers, but not those ones. Those are the bad rapist murderers.”

Sector weapons are terrible, but they’ll put down a rebellion, or overthrew a government, fast. That’s really what you want in a war. For it to be over as soon as possible. Father rails against that, making products that destroy their own market isn’t the best business practice. Maybe it would be better to stop making such good guns.

And with all of that rationalized, I begin to think about where I am now. In every conflict I’ve been in, I’ve never felt righteous. I’ve never felt anything really. I just show up, enjoy foreign food, exotic drinks, and more exotic tang. Then I fuck off to the next job, and that’s it. Most of the people I met will have ended up in a ditch when the dust clears. You can’t keep feeling that for too long.

Now I’m feeling like I’m doing something important for these women. And that makes me feel a weird range of emotions. Sort of pride, sort of worry, sort of importance. My hormones must be crazy right now.

After a little bit I’m able to get up and go to the galley. I’ve been drinking water all day, but I’m still thirsty. I end up with a cup of hot (synthetic) chocolate. Chinta and Tinoct are smart enough not to say anything for a bit.

I’ve found a comfy chair in the rec hall, where Chinta is watching local broadcast. Nothing about me. Some corespondent covering the festival. He is as vapid as you can expect a news correspondent to be. The sun is setting now, and I’m feeling more tired than anything.

There’s a separate cot in the bunkhouse, but it only sleeps one. Tinoct opts for the couch in the rec. He says the convoy is just a day away.

I bed down, thinking about a tragic world, and wondering if I can face getting up tomorrow.