Date: Wed, 27 Jul 2005 07:03:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jackinnm@yahoo.com>
Subject: Future Shock, Part 1, Science Fiction, 1/?

Future Shock, Part 1
By Jackinnm@yahoo.com

Note: This story is fiction, and given the plot,
mainly science fiction or imaginative fiction. Time
travel would be very nice if it were possible to do it
as easily as described here, especially considering
the benefits that this story describes.

     I'd worked for ten years at the Bureau of
Printing and Engraving in Washington, DC, when I
received the summons to report to a nondescript office
building in Washington's seedy southeast area. My
supervisor gave me no hint as to the reason why. I
wondered what this was all about, and began to worry
that it might be something about political correctness
or sexual harassment, given the state of the
government and its bureaucrats. I knew bureaucrats
very well, because I was one of them. The only thing I
was pretty sure wouldn't happen was a confrontation
about my being gay. In 21st Century Politically
Correct America, that was out of the question.
     When I arrived I didn't have long to wait until a
friendly fellow named "Hap" led me to a back office
that was almost bare except for a desk and a few
chairs. There was no nameplate on the door or the
desk, and I began to wonder if my host's name was
really "Hap," especially as he had not offered a last
name.
     "Do you believe in time travel?" he began. I
didn't know what to make of the question, because it
was totally unexpected.
     "No, but I hadn't thought much about it," I
replied. "It's something I read about when I was a kid
and was reading science fiction stories," I went on
almost aimlessly.
     "Well, there is such a thing, but it's pretty
experimental. We don't know how it works, and we have
some evidence that it does. Are you interested in
becoming a time traveler? The pay is extremely good."
Uh-oh, I thought. The pay's extremely good because it
must be extremely dangerous.
     "I might be, if you could tell me more about it,"
I said.
     "What do you want to know? I'll answer if I
know," Hap said.
     "Well, first of all, why me? There must be a lot
of people who would be qualified. You've got test
pilots who became astronauts, ex-military types who do
all sorts of jobs for the CIA, and that sort of thing.
     "We know that you're unmarried and have no living
relatives," he said. "Those are among the reasons we
picked you." I began to understand. I also noted that
he hadn't mentioned that I was gay. Maybe the
background check they surely must have run on me
hadn't revealed that. Maybe he was just being tactful.
     "Go on," I said, eager to learn more.
     "Look, I don't want to sound brutal about this,
but I've got to give it to you straight. You're pretty
much of a loner, too. If anything goes wrong, not many
people will miss you. Oh, sure, we could have
recruited an astronaut, but astronauts are public
figures and they're almost all married. If one drops
out of sight, many people, including family, friends,
and the media, will be very interested. With a little
luck, nobody's gonna miss you."
     "Thanks for being honest, anyway," I said.
     "I had to present it to you this way, no
bullshit. You don't have to have any special talents,
because the process is pretty automated. You don't
have to fly the time machine the way you fly an
airplane. It does everything for you."
     "You said you had some evidence that time travel
works," I went on. "Can you explain that to me?"
     "Sure. Our first tries involved sending travelers
into the past. Not one ever returned. We're still not
sure if it was equipment failure or whether they
didn't want to come back. However, the slight evidence
we have that they arrived at their destinations is
records of their presence. For example, we obtained a
ledger book from a hotel of the 1880s in Manhattan.
This is the hotel we'd told one of the travelers to
use, and we found that he did in fact check in for a
couple of nights at the target date. Now this isn't
absolute proof, because it's possible that someone
else with the same name had checked in. We just don't
know for sure." Hap looked more tired than
uncomfortable, and I felt he was being truthful.
     "Was there are other evidence that turned up?" I
asked.
     "Oh, yeah, lots of it, but it wasn't conclusive.
We began looking for death certificates, for example,
and we found them. Someone with the name of one of our
time travelers died in 1925. Another died in 1929. At
least, people with their names died then. We can't be
sure it was really them because we can't match them up
with birth certificates, or at least, lack of them."
     "Birth certificates? They were born in our time,
weren't they?" I asked, puzzled.
     "Right, and that's the key. The first traveler
did die in 1929, and our research turned up no birth
certificate for him during the decade 1850-1860, which
is when he'd have had to be born, given his age at
death."
     "Then that pretty much settles it, doesn't it?" I
asked, not following his logic.
     "No, not at all. Bureaucracies weren't as
efficient during the 19th Century, not the way they
are now, where every birth leaves a paper trail. Back
then, many people were born without birth
certificates, even in large cities such as New York.
So you see, the guy who died in 1929 isn't necessarily
our man, because he might have really been born during
the decade in question, without a paper trail." I was
beginning to understand the difficulties of tracing a
time traveler into the past.
     "There's something else, too," Hap went on. "We
sent several men into the New York of the early 1880s.
As back-up for them, we also sent back emergency kits,
or perhaps we'd better call them survival kits, buried
under specific park benches in New York's Central
Park, where they could dig them up. These kits
contained antibiotics and other drugs, money of the
era, and a few other items. When we went to the places
where we'd sent them, we didn't find them. We
concluded that either they had never arrived or that
someone had dug them up."
     "You mean all of them were gone?" I asked. "You
found no trace at all?"
     "That's right. If we'd found even one, or part of
one, that would be proof that the kits arrived. Not
finding anything makes it uncertain whether they ever
arrived or were removed later."
     "I guess you sent someone back after them, to
find out what had happened," I conjectured.
     "Oh, yes we did. That was our first step. We sent
a former law enforcement officer, highly trained and
with a good record, to investigate. He just vanished.
We don't even have evidence that he died, because we
found no death certificate. From the moment we sent
him back, there was not a trace of him, even though
we'd specifically instructed him to leave us a message
that we would be able to pick up in the 21st Century.
Nothing. Zilch. Zip." Hap looked downcast.
     "So you don't know if he ever arrived, got there
but was killed in the attempt, or what," I summarized.

     "We don't know shit," he confirmed.
     "So you'd like me to follow them, find out what
happened?" This was becoming less and less attractive
to me as the discussion progressed.
     "No, that seems pointless to us. We'd like to try
another tack. We'd like you to go into the future."
     "How would you know if I made it?" I asked. "If
guys you sent into the past didn't leave good traces,
how would you ever know I was in the future?"
     "We've come up with a new development in the
equipment. We'll give you a little device, a sort of
remote control, so that any time you want you can
activate the time machine and snap back to here. The
ones we sent back didn't have this. They were supposed
to be at a certain place at a certain time for us to
recover them. We didn't even know for sure that it
would work both ways. We've improved the machine a bit
since then."
     "Suppose I'm incapacitated or dead? How would I
push the button then?" I asked
     "The remote has a locator, so that we can
pin-point your position any time. We can bring you
back even if you're unconscious or dead. Just remember
to keep it on your person at all times."
     "That seems simple enough," I said. "When do you
want me to leave?"
     "We'll be in touch with you. It's gonna be only a
week or two. Meanwhile, just go back to work and we'll
contact you when the time comes. Oh, and this is very
important. Don't say a word about this to anybody.
This project is top secret."
     "What if I do? Are you gonna have a CIA hit man
bump me off?" I asked.
     "No, not at all," he laughed. "We'll just deny
everything. Look, nobody will ever believe you if you
start spouting some fantastic story about time travel.
You'll be totally discredited. Your supervisor will
say that they don't know anything about time travel at
Printing and Engraving, and that you were sent here
for a psychiatric exam because you'd been acting funny
at work. With all the publicity about workplace
violence these days, you'll look like a nut. You'll be
dismissed from your job and won't be able to get
another. Nobody will want to touch you with a ten-foot
pole." That was frightening, more so than a hit man
would have been. I felt that Hap was very serious
about secrecy.
     "Okay, you've convinced me," I said. "How do I
contact you?"
     "You don't contact me. One of us will contact you
when we need you. As I said, it'll be a week or two."
He ushered me out of the building and, as it was
already 4:30, I went home. I had a date with my friend
John that evening, and I showered and changed clothes
before going to his place.
     John and I had been friends and sexual partners
for five years. At 35, he was two years older than I,
and we were different in other ways as well. He was
blond and blue-eyed, while I had brown hair and eyes.
He was an inch shorter than my six feet, and a much
more flashy dresser. Now, as I looked at him after he
let me in, I saw that he wasn't dressed in anything
but his birthday suit. That revealed another
similarity between us. We'd both been circumcised a
couple of days after we'd been born, like most
American males in our age group.
     John and I did not live together, as that would
have made our relationship too obvious. Even in this
age of rampant political correctness, it wasn't a good
idea to flaunt a gay lifestyle. You couldn't be fired
for being gay, but there were subtle ways of
discrimination, such as poor performance evaluations,
denial of promotions, ostracism, and other sanctions
against which the equal employment law was useless.
     I stripped off my clothes so that I could feel
his warm body against mine, and I was very aware of
his eyes on me. John and I were very much into each
other, and we turned each other on spontaneously.
John's prick was a "shower," large even without
erection, while mine was a "grower," only about three
inches limp and growing to six when hard. At the end
of John's shaft was a large mushroom cap, purple like
mine, which was of the helmet type. The top of my
ridge flared up, while his was flat. Another
difference was that there was a thick cuff of skin
covering John's ridge, because he'd been stretching
his shaft skin to undo the effects of his
circumcision. Although I hated my cut state, I didn't
have the patience to tape my shaft skin forward over
the head every day. John had apparently just removed
his tape.
     John hugged me tightly as he asked: "Anything
interesting happen at work today?" I hesitated for a
long while before speaking, and my prolonged silence
concerned him.
     "Anything wrong?" he asked. I decided to tell him
everything. After all, if I couldn't trust John, who
could I trust. I related the entire story to him, and
told him not to repeat what I'd told him because it
would cause trouble for me. When I'd finished%2
C he said:
     "That's the damnedest story I've ever heard. If
anyone else told me that I'd say they were either
crazy or pulling my leg, but I've known you long
enough to be sure you're serious." We sat side by side
on his couch for a long time, lost in our own
thoughts.
     "Well, that's it," I said. "I guess you realize
that we might never see each other again if things go
bad."
     "That's what scares me," he said. "We've had five
wonderful years together. You're like a brother to
me."
     "You're like a brother to me, too," I said as
tears filled my eyes. I'd been an only child, never
having had a brother, and John filled a serious gap in
my life. Now the thought of never seeing him again
frightened me, and I began to shudder. I felt his arms
around me as he pulled me close to him.
     "Think I might be able to go with you?" he asked.
     "I don't know. They didn't say anything about
needing more than me for their experiment."
     "Didn't you say they'd already sent several guys
into the past?" he asked. "That might mean they need
more than just one guy."
     "Yeah, and they might already have the other guys
lined up," I answered. "Just because I didn't see
anyone else doesn't mean they don't have anyone else."
     "Well, maybe we'll just have to wait and see.
Will you ask them and let me know when they contact
you?"
     "If they let me, John. I got the impression that
the next time they contact me it'll be to go. Anyway,
I'm sure they'll ask me why you offered to volunteer,
and I'll have to admit to them that I didn't keep my
mouth shut." I wrapped my arms around John and after a
minute he got up and led me into the bedroom.
     We'd made love many times and we knew each
other's preferences. John gave the head of my prick a
few squeezes, which got my erection underway, as I
slid the loose skin of his shaft up over his rim,
compressing its nerve endings. When we were both hard
he took a Magnum size condom from the bedside table
and squirted a few drops of Astroglide into it before
unrolling it down my helmet and shaft. I dipped my
fingers into his jar of Albolene, and coated his prick
with it. He lay on his left side facing away from me
and lifted his right leg so that I could slip my penis
between his thighs, Princeton style.
     I began pumping my prick between his thighs as I
stroked his, building our excitement slowly because we
both enjoyed the ride as much as we did the climax.
Astroglide is a very nice lubricant that provides a
warming sensation because it contains glycerin, but
being water-based, eventually dries out. With a
condom, though, this doesn't happen, and I enjoyed the
feel of the condom's wrinkles against my glans and
shaft. Petroleum based Albolene does not dry out, and
I was sure of being able to give John pleasant
friction on his prick until he exploded.
     I maintained a slow rhythm because we both
enjoyed the sensations, which deepened our intimacy as
we very gradually approached climax. We took over a
quarter-hour to get there, and I felt a slow tingle
begin in my helmet as his glans hardened in its final
swelling between my encircling fingers. I was able to
see over his shoulder as I stroked him, and watched a
steady drool of lubricant seeping from his long slit.
It didn't mix with the oil-based Albolene, but fell
onto the towel we'd arranged underneath us.
     I felt his body tense as I increased my pace, my
prick lunging between his thighs. We were now both
breathing hard and I knew that our climaxes would soon
be upon us. I was grunting with each thrust and John
was moaning as my fingers slid up and down his slick
prick. I saw his glans darken as his excitement
approached the peak. My eyes closed as the tingle in
my helmet intensified, and I began giving his prick
twisting strokes, my fingers encircling the sensitive
rim, to bring on his crisis.
     We were both pretty loud as we slid downhill into
our orgasms. John's body jerked suddenly and he cried
out and I felt his prick throb hard in my hand. At
that moment his fingers slid between his thighs and I
felt his fingertips pressing into the triangular
groove under my helmet, forcing the orgasm from me.
The tingle in my glans sharpened, and then exploded as
the heavy pounding of orgasm began deep inside me. Hot
semen boiled up my shaft and exploded out of my
orifice, filling the condom and swirling around my
helmet.
    We grunted and moaned in hot passion as our pricks
throbbed again and again, sending our sperm shooting
from our straining tips. Mine filled the condom and
John's shot onto the towel, some of it running down
over my trembling encircling fingers. Our bodies
strained against each other as we drained ourselves in
mutual frenzy.
     The following Thursday my supervisor came to me
in the middle of the afternoon to say that I was
wanted by the same people who had summoned me the
previous week. I was to meet them outside the
building, where a car would be waiting for me. I left
and when I got to the sidewalk I saw Hap standing by a
Lexus 300 SUV. I got in the back seat with him while
the driver headed to Andrews Air Force Base.
     "Today's the day," Hap began. "I don't mean that
we'll shoot you into the future today, but this is
when the mission begins for you. We'll have a couple
of days of preparation, and then you'll leave."
     "Don't I get to pack?" I asked.
     "You don't have to. We'll provide everything you
might need. We're headed out to our facility in
Arizona, where there are accommodations for guests,
and we've got a suite already prepared for you. You
can pick up clothing at the commissary, toothpaste,
and anything else within reason. It's all on our tab,
of course."
     "Is there much training involved?" I asked.
     "No, not really, mainly because we don't know
much about the future. We can't teach you what we
don't know. When we sent people into the past, we knew
what that was like. We provided clothing styled the
way people dressed in the 1880s, and we were able to
provide money and other things that would make it
easier for them to fit into their slot in the past."
He turned to look at me.
     "Look, I won't bullshit you. Your trip might be
very pleasant, but it also might be very rough. We
don't know what the future holds, especially a couple
of hundred years from now. You might arrive in the
middle of a nuclear war, or an invasion by space
aliens. There might be a new virus that could kill you
in a day. That's why we're providing you with a remote
control. If you see anything you don't like, or
appears threatening, push the button and you'll be
back in seconds."
     We arrived at Andrews, where the driver took us
to a corner of the base. An executive jet awaited us,
and within minutes after we'd boarded we were
airborne. A steward served us a meal on board, and Hap
continued to brief me about time travel.
     Modern theoretical physics had established that
both time and space are relative, and that the past
co-exists with both the present and future. This made
it theoretically possible to sideslip into the past or
future. The project's purpose was to determine if a
human being could be thrown into another time,
slipping across time in both spirit and body. In
short, the idea was to see if fact matched theory. It
already seemed to match, given the people they'd
projected into the past, if they'd actually arrived.
At least, the people running the project felt that
there was more than an even chance the time machine
worked, despite the uncertainties Hap had related to
me earlier.
     When we arrived, Hap introduced me to Dr. Ellis,
a physicist a bit younger than I. He was about 30, and
he explained the simple facts to me as Hap listened.
     "We don't know anything for sure about the
future, not even what sort of clothing people will be
wearing in 200 years. We've consulted with experts,
such as fashion designers, and asked them for their
best guess. They think that, provided present trends
continue, that people will be wearing functional
clothing, with few embellishments. The best we came up
with was either a robe or a jumpsuit. Thus, we'll
issue you a couple of each to take with you. Underwear
is another question, because we have no way of knowing
what sort of underwear people will be wearing, or even
if they'll be wearing underwear. However, we feel that
that's not important, because underwear will be under
your outer clothing."
     "Oh, I wouldn't mind going commando," I replied.
"Whatever you think best."
     "We'll provide you with underwear. Whether or not
you wear it is up to you," he riposted. "Now let's get
on to another topic. For trips into the past, we gave
our people survival kits that included antibiotics.
We'll give you these as well, but you ought to know
that they might be ineffective, and even totally
useless. We keep developing new antibiotics because
bacteria mutate and develop resistance to antibiotics,
and after a few years of use they become less
effective. 200 years means a lot for microbial
mutations, and all you encounter will probably be
resistant strains."
     "Okay, I understand that," I said. "How about
communicating with people I meet 200 years from now?
What language do you think they'll speak?"
     "I think we've got a good handle on that," Ellis
replied. "Right now English is well on its way to
becoming the universal language on Earth. If this
trend continues, and we can't think of any reason why
it shouldn't, practically everyone on Earth should
understand English, even 200 years from now. Anyway,
we're sending you to New York City. They should still
be speaking English there."
     "What if the Chinese take over the world, or the
Indians? With globalization that might well happen," I
asked.
     "Then it would be different," Ellis admitted.
"Still, the Indians speak English. Anyway, we can't
teach you every possible language that might be spoken
200 years from now. This is going to remain one of the
uncertainties."
     "There are lots of uncertainties in this," I
remarked.
     "There are, which is why you're being paid well.
We'll have to get you down to our business office to
sign a contract, arrange insurance, and draw up your
will."
     "All I care about is the contract. I don't need
insurance because I don't have any dependents, and I
already have a will."
     "Who is your beneficiary?" Ellis asked as Hap
looked at me intently.
     "My friend John," I said.
     "I guess he must be a good friend," Hap said.
"Did you tell him you'd be gone for awhile?"
     "Yes I did."
     "Did you tell him about your new job?" Hap asked.
      "Yes, I did. He asked me if he could come too,"
I said. "Would that be a security breach?"
     "Not necessarily," answered Hap. He didn't even
seem to be disturbed by my violating his admonition of
silence.
     "Well, I told John, even though you told me to
keep quiet about this."
     "That's not a problem," Hap said. "We were
worried about your telling the Washington Post or the
New York Times. Telling John isn't much of a leak, and
maybe he can go with you or follow you at some point."
     "That would be one way of plugging the leak,"
laughed Ellis. "Send both of them into the future."
     "Actually," added Hap, "we wouldn't mind it at
all if your friend volunteered. You can phone him if
you like to tell him to expect a visit from us. Unless
he has a disability about which we don't know, he
should qualify."
     "How did I qualify?" I asked. "You didn't give me
any tests."
     "No, but we did a very extensive background check
on you. Background checks are far more reliable than
any sort of testing, especially polygraphs and
psychological tests. Those tests are crap. We found
that you did well in school, and even better in your
work. You're bright and ambitious. You're also
adaptable. These are qualities we need in time travel
candidates."
     "Did your background check reveal that I'm gay?"
I asked impulsively, possibly ruining my chances of
being accepted.
     "Oh, that," answered Ellis. "So what? I'm gay
too. We don't think that matters at all."
     "Now let's get the paperwork done," said Hap as
he got to his feet. He led me to the business office,
where an attorney had me sign a contract. I was
surprised at the salary: one million dollars a month.
Hap saw my surprise, for he commented:
     "Don't get too excited at the money. Taxes will
eat up most of it. We can't avoid taxes, especially as
we're working for the government. Now it's evening on
the east coast, so phone your friend now." I dialed
John's number and filled him in on the day's events,
telling him that he'd be contacted soon.
     After a pleasant and filling dinner and drinks,
Hap led me to my accommodations, a small suite. Inside
was a living room, bedroom, bathroom, and a closet
with several robes and jumpsuits my size. I flopped on
the bed and was asleep within minutes, despite my
excitement.
      The following morning after breakfast Hap
escorted me to the project's clinic, where a doctor
gave me a quick once-over. He explained:
     "This is just a quickie, to make sure we haven't
missed anything critical. We already knew that you're
in good health, but I just had to listen to your heart
and take a blood sample as a final check. As far as I
can see, you're cleared to go."
       	"Well, we're ready if you are," Hap said as he
led me to the operations room. Banks of electronic
equipment lined the walls and in the center stood a
small cubicle resembling a telephone booth. Dr. Ellis
was waiting for us.
     "That's it," he said, pointing to the booth. "You
step inside and you're on your way. Just change your
clothes first." I stripped down and selected a
jumpsuit from several on a table, which I put on over
a pair of boxer shorts. For shoes, I put on a pair of
Nikes, useful if I had to move fast. Hap handed me a
backpack.
     "This contains spare clothes and a few other
items you might need, such as emergency rations. There
are some gold coins, a few basic medicines such as
vitamins and pain-killers, and a gun, just in case. We
know you took a training course a couple of years ago
and know how to use a handgun. Now stick this remote
control in your side pocket." I took the pack from him
and entered the cubicle. I saw a white flash and
suddenly I was somewhere in the future, standing on a
sidewalk in what I presumed to be New York City.
     People were walking by me, and I heard English
spoken. Sleek and silent vehicles cruised in the
street, and I assumed they used some sort of electric
power because there was no odor of gasoline. I began
walking, planning to explore as much as I could before
making contact with anyone. At the corner was a
clothing store, and in the window was a variety of
clothing styles, including robes and jumpsuits. I was
glad that I did not stand out because of my dress, as
people passing me wore a variety of clothing as well,
and my attire seemed to fit in well.
      Signs were in English, and the prices for the
clothing were in dollars. However, I doubted that the
dollars of the future looked anything like those I'd
known. I walked on down the other street, exploring
farther. On the corner was the entrance to a hotel,
which had a restaurant on the ground floor. This
seemed to be a good base of operations and I decided
to book a room. The moment I walked through the
entrance a buzzer sounded, and a security guard came
toward me.
      "Excuse me sir, you just set off the metal
detector. Do you have a weapon on you?" I stood
paralyzed, as my trip had just gone disastrously
wrong. "I asked, do you have a weapon on you, sir." He
repeated. I saw another man approaching, and I guessed
he was one of the managers.
     "In my backpack," I muttered.
     "We don't allow weapons in here," the manager
said. "This is private property, and even if you have
a carry permit, we reserve the right to deny entry to
anyone with a weapon. Anyway, you won't need it in
here. Let me have it." I handed over my backpack, and
the security guard fished around inside it.
      "This is a SIG Pistol," he said. "These haven't
been made for 150 years. It looks new, too. Where did
you get it?"
      "I brought it from home," I answered, the first
thing that came to mind.
      "Where is home?" asked the manager.
      "Washington, DC," I said. They looked at each
other.
      "Can I see your card, sir?" asked the guard.
      "What card?" I asked.
     "Perhaps you'd better come to the office," said
the manager, and I got the impression that despite the
polite way he'd suggested it, I didn't have a choice.
They escorted me to an office behind the front desk
and the guard remained with me while the manager
closed the door and remained outside. Through the
window I saw him take what looked like a cell phone
from his pocket and begin to speak rapidly into it.
Within a few minutes two men entered the office, and
even though this was 200 years in the future I had no
trouble recognizing them as cops.
       "I'm Investigator Wallace," the taller of the
two said, "and this is Investigator Stanmore. Please
empty your pockets." Both wore jumpsuits and
windbreakers over them.
      "Am I under arrest?" I asked. "What have I
done?"
      "No you're not under arrest, sir. We're just
detaining you pending investigation. You really should
not have tried to bring a gun into the hotel. Do you
have a concealed carry license?"
      "No," I replied dejectedly.
      "Well, that's a petty misdemeanor. We'll have to
decide whether to press charges. If you don't have a
record we'll probably let it drop. Now what's this?"
he asked, holding up my time travel remote control. To
the side, Stanmore was examining the pistol.
       I didn't answer, provoking more intent looks
from the cops and the security guard.
      "I think we'd better continue at the office,"
Wallace said, and Stanmore began packing all my
possessions, including the remote, into the backpack.
They led me out to a vehicle that looked very much
like a car from my era, except that I couldn't figure
out where the engine was and it made no noise as
Wallace drove me and Stanmore to a building several
blocks away. Nobody said anything during the drive.
Inside, they led me to a room with only a table and
several chairs.
     "We're not getting useful answers out of you,"
Wallace continued. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"
You may as well answer. Once we type your DNA, we'll
know who you are." I remained silent, unable to think
of anything to say. If I told them that I was a time
traveler, they'd surely think I was crazy.
      "Please open your mouth," said Stanmore as he
approached me with a plastic spoon.
      "This won't hurt a bit," Wallace said. "He's
just going to scrape the inside of your cheek for a
few cells. Then we'll get you DNA." I opened my mouth
and Stanmore took the cell sample. He left the office
as Wallace motioned me to sit.
      "We've got nothing, absolutely nothing,"
Stanmore said when he returned.
      "We've got a DNA record of all 200 million
people on the planet," Wallace said to me. I was
surprised that the Earth's population had shrunk so
much. Wallace went on:
      "Officially, you don't exist. Now maybe you can
explain that. Where did you come from?"
        "I guess that's because I'm not from here," I
said as another man entered the room, closing the door
behind him.
        "This is Doctor Eddy," Wallace said. "He's
going to give you a physical. Strip down, please."
Again, despite the polite way he asked, I felt that I
was in no position to refuse, and I took off my
clothing. The room was pleasantly cool, but I didn't
feel chilled after I disrobed.
       "Well, he's circumcised," Wallace said to the
others. "I've never seen anyone who was circumcised,
except for those religious terrorists we arrested a
couple of years ago.
        "How come you're circumcised?" the doctor
asked. "Today nobody is circumcised, except for
members of a couple of small bands of religious
fundamentalists living underground. Circumcision of
either sex is illegal now. It was popular in this
country during the 20th Century, but hasn't been
practiced at all for over 150 years."
       "That SIG pistol," muttered Stanmore, and
Wallace looked at him. "That hasn't been made for over
150 years." Now all eyes returned to me.
       "When were you born?" asked Doctor Eddy, a
curious look in his eyes.
      "Yes, tell us when?" echoed Wallace. It was
obvious that their questioning had shifted from where
to when.
      "Okay, 1975," I said.
       "We'd heard about a time travel project from
around the beginning of the 21st Century, but they
were only fragmentary reports. How old are you?"
      "33," I said.
      "So you left your time about 2008?" asked
Wallace, sitting down in a chair in front of me.
       	"What immunizations have you had?" asked
Doctor Eddy, a look of alarm on his face. I told him,
mentioning smallpox, lockjaw, pneumonia and flu shots.
      "That's not good enough," he said. "There are
some new viruses that could kill you in a New York
Minute," as he rushed out. I was surprised that that
quaint expression was still in use. The doctor
returned in a minute with an unfamiliar instrument in
his hand.
        "I'm going to give you the necessary
immunizations right now. You may not know what this
thing is, but don't worry, it doesn't use needles so
it won't hurt at all. This will spray the vaccines
onto your skin, and they'll penetrate into your system
in about ten seconds." He pressed the device against
my biceps and I heard several hisses.
      "He doesn't have a card, either," said Wallace.
      "Well, get him a card. He can't get health care
without it." The doctor turned to me.
      "We've had comprehensive socialized medicine
since long before I was born," he explained. "The
bookkeeping end of it is linked to the Universal
Identification Card. Everybody on the planet gets one
at birth, and its chip inside contains the DNA code
for that particular person. The card is for
everything, employment, payments, medical care, the
works."
       "Is there a deductible or co-payment on the
medical care?" I asked.
       "No, not at all. Medical care is total.
Whatever you need, you just show the card and you've
got it, except for immortality. We still haven't
figured out how to live forever."
       	"You can get dressed now," Wallace instructed
me. "We're just going to hold on to some of the
contents of your pack."
      "Let's take him to the ID Office," Stanmore
suggested.
      "I guess you can take care of that," Wallace
replied. Turning back to me he said:
      "You're not under arrest, but I'd suggest you
stick pretty close to us and don't wander off. You're
not familiar with conditions today, and there might be
some risk if you went out on your own. Understand?" I
nodded, and when Stanmore left the office I followed.
The procedure for the ID card was not complicated.
They already had my DNA and they digitalized it and
transcribed it onto a chip in a small plastic card the
same size as a credit card from my era. By this time
it was late in the afternoon and Stanmore said to me:
     "I guess you don't have a place to stay and my
partner and I have lots of room. You're welcome to
come home with me." I looked carefully at Stanmore. He
was about my age, slightly shorter than my six feet,
but significantly more muscular.
     "I appreciate this, especially since you don't
have to do it," I replied.
     "I don't have to, I want to," he said with
emphasis. "Come on, my personal vehicle's right
outside." He led me out to the parking lot, where we
climbed into a small two-seater with trim lines. He
slipped his ID card into a slot in the dash and
pressed a couple of buttons. The vehicle started up
with a barely audible whine and moved into the street
without his hands on the controls.
     "I guess you've got automatic navigation, right?"
I asked
     "Yes, this one does. Actually most do today. All
I have to do is drive the route manually once and it
stores it in memory. The route director then drives it
automatically after that. There's automatic collision
avoidance, and I can literally sleep during the trip
home."
     "How far is it?" I asked.
      "Oh, only a couple of minutes more. We live at
the upper end of Manhattan."
     "There's not much traffic," I remarked.
     "That's because New York's population is much
less today than it was in your time, only a few
hundred thousand people," he said. "Between the wars
and epidemics during the last couple of centuries, the
world's population is much smaller as well. We plan to
keep it that way. Too many people means too many
problems." The two-seater slowed and headed for a
garage door that swung up at its approach. It eased
into the parking bay and the power plant stopped.
     "We're here, I guess." I reached for the door
handle, which was much like those in cars from my
time.
      "Let's go up so you can meet Steve," he said,
indicating a set of stairs. "By the way, my name's
Mike." The stairs opened up into the kitchen, where
another man, blond like Mike, was preparing dinner.
The kitchen appliances looked a lot like 20th Century
ones, and I saw knives and forks on the table next to
the plates.
     "Steve, this is Jack, a new arrival from the 21st
Century," Mike said by way of introduction. Steve had
been preparing a salad, and he rinsed his hands and
shook hands with me. I noticed he was wearing only an
apron and slippers.
     "Glad to meet you," he said. "I'd heard that time
travel was possible, but never saw anything tangible
until now."
     "It's been quite a day for me," I said. "I've
been finding out how much the world's changed, but a
lot of things are the same."
      "Yes, we still eat, and our other biological
functions are still the same," laughed Mike. I was
itching to ask why they lived together, but couldn't
bring myself to bring up the subject.
      "I hope you like steak and salad," said Steve.
"Mike phoned me from the office and suggested that
this might be the best choice for dinner this evening.
We wouldn't want to shock you with some exotic foods
that have emerged during the last 200 years."
      "Yes," said Mike. "I couldn't be sure if you'd
like roast plankton loaf or algae salad." Steve
chuckled at this suggestion.
       "We still have wine," he said, "but except for
the very expensive stuff, most of it's made in a
chemical plant instead of a winery. It's more
consistent that way, as well as less costly to make."
      "Would it bother you to take your clothes off?"
Steve asked. "We're nudists here behind closed doors.
I'm just wearing the apron do that my dinkie doesn't
get splashed with hot grease when I grill the steaks."
Mike was already disrobing, and when he took off his
windbreaker I saw a shoulder holster under his left
armpit. Now he was wearing only his shoes and I saw
him naked for the first time.
       "Look," I blurted out. "I'm not at all bothered
by nudity, and I'm gay, too, in case you were
wondering." As I spoke I gazed at Mike's crotch
enviously. He was not only well hung, but he was
intact.
       "That's fine, Jack. We were wondering if you'd
ask about that, why we're living together, and all
that." Mike smiled as he said this.
      "Just throw your clothes on the chair in the
corner," suggested Steve. "Are you ready to eat now,
or would you like a drink first?"
      "I guess I could use a drink. It's been quite a
day," I said. Mike walked over to a panel on the wall
and asked:
      "What would you like? This automatic bartender
can mix anything. It even comes out ice-cold or
boiling hot if you wish."
      "I guess a Seven and Seven," I replied. "Wait a
minute: do they drink Seven and Sevens now?"
     "I never heard of it but the computer will know."
Mike pressed a few buttons and we heard a buzz. He
opened a small door in the front of the unit and
extracted a plastic tumbler, which he handed to me. I
tasted it and said:
      "Perfect. It's just like a real bartender had
mixed it. It even has ice cubes."
      "How do you like your steak?" Steve asked. "The
zapper grill will make it any way you want in about 30
seconds.
      "Medium rare, but what's a zapper grill?" I
asked.
      "This thing's the zapper grill," Steve answered,
pointing to what looked like a toaster oven on the
counter. "It uses a laser as well as a microwave
generator to cook, and it's very fast." Mike had
handed him what looked like a gin and tonic, and
prepared one for himself.
      "C'mon, let's sit down for a minute," Mike said.
"I see the salad's ready, and it won't take long to
fix the meal." Steve took off his apron and took a
chair that he swung out from the table. He, too,
lacked the prominent circumcision scar that disfigured
my penis.
      "Yours is the first circumcised penis I've ever
seen," said Steve. "I'd seen photos, but never one for
real."
      "I guess you don't do that shit anymore," I
said. "I didn't have a choice. The doctor did it to me
when I was born."
      "Nobody is circumcised anymore, except for a few
die-hard religious fundamentalists," said Steve. "My
last name's Shapiro, but nobody in my family's been
circumcised for over a century."
      "Good thing he didn't get cut," said Mike,
turning to me. "His prick's all foreskin. He wouldn't
have anything left." I saw what he meant. His foreskin
extended at least an inch and a half beyond the
prominent bulge of his glans. Steve was a "grower,"
unlike Mike, whose prick was a "shower." I was the
same way, as my prick was fairly small soft and didn't
grow to its full 6 ½" until I had an erection.
      "What about those religious fundamentalists?" I
asked. "What's their involvement with terrorism these
days?"
      "We still have terrorists," Mike said. "They're
mostly religious fundamentalists, and mostly Muslim,
as in your time. They circumcise both males and
females. That's why we took notice when we
strip-searched you today. At first we didn't know what
you were. I was wondering if you were one of them but
escaped."
      "Yeah, and I was carrying a gun, too. I guess
you have concealed carry laws now, don't you?"
      "That we do," said Steve. "I have a permit,
although I'm not a cop. I work as a book editor. We
still have books, although most of them are published
on-line."
      "Are you two married?" I asked.
      "Oh, no, not at all" said Mike. "The idea of gay
marriage was pretty trendy back at the start of the
21st. Century, but it never worked well because it was
just a fad. Hell, everybody knew that straight
marriages had a 50 percent divorce rate for years, and
as it turned out, gay marriages did even worse. People
just generally got away from the idea of marriage.
It's not outlawed, but hardly anybody gets married
these days. It's just a waste of time."
     "Same goes for the idea of single partners,"
added Steve. "What they used to call `marital
fidelity' was just a form of possessiveness and
control."
      "People have to stay together because they want
to," said Mike. "Being chained together by law doesn't
make for a comfortable relationship."
     "Is there a lot of promiscuity? What about AIDS?"
I asked.
      "Oh, AIDS Type I, II, II, IV, and IV caused a
lot of problems for years," said Steve. "They're
pretty much gone now. DNA was the key. Doctors found
that once they analyzed the DNA even of a virus, an
anti-toxin was possible, and a vaccine was the next
step. There were a lot of other viruses that were more
infectious, though. Hepatitis was bad, but that's gone
too, thanks to vaccines."
     "Hey, how about some food?" Mike asked Steve.
"We're finished with our drinks, and personally I'm
getting hungry." Steve got up and put on his apron
before he stepped to counter.
     "I've got rib-eyes," he said. "How do you like
yours?" he asked, looking directly at me.
     "Medium rare," I replied, and he slipped one
steak into the top slot of the thing that looked like
a toaster oven and punched the keys.
     "Yours will be ready in a minute," he said as he
put the other two steaks into the slots underneath. "I
already know how Mike likes his." He punched the other
two keypads, and we waited. It was remarkable. The
steaks were ready in about a minute, and Steve served
them onto plates. He brought out a salad and bread,
and we began to eat.
     After we'd finished, we went into the living
room. Steve sat next to me on the couch and Mike sat
across from us. Both were staring at my crotch.
     "I know," I said. "Mine's the first circumcised
penis you've ever seen. Well, I haven't seen all that
many foreskins." As I spoke, Steve began to pinch the
helmet of my prick gently, causing a responsive throb
deep inside me.
      "You can handle mine, if you want to see how a
foreskin works," he said as he ran his finger around
my thick brown circumcision scar. I grasped the long
nipple of Steve's foreskin and pulled it out away from
his body. Inside the long hood, I saw the outline of
his swelling glans. Mine had swelled rapidly under his
tender touch, and now I was fully hard.
     "Your skin feels very stretchy," I remarked.
Across from us, Mike was rolling his foreskin pucker
between two fingers.
     "Maybe you'd better get some lubricant for his
cock," Mike said to Steve. "You might make it sore
stroking him dry." Steve got up and went into another
room, returning with a small plastic bottle from which
he squirted a few drops of clear slippery fluid on my
prick. He began massaging it in, sending messages of
joy into my nerve endings.
     "This is going to be a treat for us," said Mike.
"We're going to enjoyed watching a cock squirt its
load without any foreskin to get in the way." Steve's
encircling fingers continued to massage my prick,
gently but firmly, and I felt my sensations deepening.
I grasped his erection again, working the long thick
foreskin up and down, but it was so long that I never
unmasked the big helmet, whose outlines I could see
clearly through the fleshy sleeve.
     "Maybe you'd better stop stroking me," Steve
suggested. "My cock's more sensitive than yours, and
you'll make me come too quickly." I let go and
concentrated on my own sensations.
     "He's got a nice glans," said Mike. "It's a
helmet type, just like yours, Steve. Look at his
meatus, too. It's not just a slit like we have. It
looks like a teardrop."
     "It was just a slit when he was soft," Steve
said. "It started to pout like that when he got hard."
His fingers continued caressing my naked swollen glans
and the skin immediately behind it. Mike had stopped
fingering his penis and had come to sit on the floor
in front of me, between my spread legs.
     "I'm going to cup his balls," he said and I felt
his warm fingers closing around my scrotum."
     "He's already started to tighten up," commented
Steve. "His balls are up against his body." Steve
continued to massage my prick, and I felt a light
tremor in my legs.
    "Do you shoot or dribble?" Mike asked me as his
fingers kneaded my tight scrotum.
     "Normally I dribble, but when I'm really excited
I shoot," I replied. Mike now began to tug at the skin
of my sac, stretching the thick wrinkled tissue and
the nerve endings within.
     "We'll see just how excited you are," Steve said
as he picked up the pace. I felt the tension building
in my body.
     "You'll make me come any second," I whispered, as
I felt myself being dragged inexorably toward the
brink.
      "This is an edger," said Mike, holding up a
small black box for me to see. The box had a button on
the side and two bright metal electrodes about an inch
apart at the end. "When you get really close, I'll
press this into your perineum, behind your sac, and
this will keep you on the edge."
       "What does it do?" I asked, gasping the words
because my sensations were becoming so acute.
     "This puts out a high-frequency current that
stops the ejaculation," Mike answered. "You'll feel
all the sensations of orgasm, being right on the peak,
but you won't blow your load until I let you."
     "It feels really good," said Steve, reassuringly.
"You'll feel a slight tingle, not like an electric
shock, so don't worry about it." His skilled fingers
were quickly bringing me to the point of no return,
and my eyes closed as I felt myself losing control of
my body. Now I felt the edger's cold electrodes
touching the tender skin behind my balls, and Steve's
fingers tightened on my glans.
     "He's right there," commented Mike. "I can see
how his helmet's gotten deep purple."
     "He's right on the edge," Steve confirmed. "His
glans feels very hard and hot." As Steve spoke I felt
a slight tingle deep in my crotch, and I knew that
Mike had turned on the edger. Steve's fist twisted
hard around my hard and swollen helmet, and I felt the
onset of my orgasm.
     "AAAAAHHHHH!" I moaned, bracing myself for the
heavy pounding of the ejaculation that accompanied my
orgasm, but the edger held me right at the point of
balance. Steve's fingers were pouring intense
sensations into my glans, and I felt the hot tingle
spreading down my shaft to the root, but I wasn't
shooting. My body tensed and remained tense, while my
mind slipped into the limbo of orgasm.
     My entire body was a mass of sensations and my
head was rocking from side to side as I trembled
uncontrollably. The sensations were so intense and so
prolonged that I was moaning loudly, gasping between
moans, and tears came to my eyes. I heard voices but
my paralyzed mind didn't understand the words. Time
had stopped for me.
     Suddenly I felt a massive spasm wrack my groin,
and a jet of burning hot juice boiled up my shaft and
out of my straining glans.
     "AHA! AHA! AHA!" I grunted as my hot ejaculations
began, and my life-fluid spewed out of me, slamming
through the lips of my orifice as more convulsions
deep inside me rendered me helpless. I felt my hips
bucking as my body reacted automatically, thrusting my
hard straining prick through Steve's tightly
encircling fingers.
     Now my spasms had slowed and gotten weaker, and I
knew I was almost drained. A few more jets of semen
squirted into my urethra and flowed up my shaft, and
then it was over. I became utterly still.
      "Wow, he really shot," I heard Steve's voice.
     "I think it went two feet into the air,"
confirmed Mike.
     "I was right here in front of his helmet when you
stopped the edger and he began," added Steve. "His
slit really distended with the first few loads."
     "I saw that," confirmed Mike. "It went from a
teardrop shape to perfectly round when each blast shot
through it."
      "He was really throbbing, too," said Steve. "I
could really feel it, with my fingers wrapped around
his fat helmet."
     "He looks like about the same size as you, Steve,
a little over six inches." At this point I opened my
eyes.
     "Hey, welcome back," said Steve with a smile.
"Man, you were really dazed for a minute.
     "That was... intense!" I said weakly.
     "I can imagine. It was the same way for me the
first time we used the edger," said Mike.
     "I guess sex in the 23rd Century must be a bit
different from in my day," I said.
     "Did they have electro-sex in your time?" asked
Steve.
     "Oh, yes we did. In fact, I had a rather
sophisticated digital stimulation box. I could adjust
the stroke, frequency, power level, and it had 23
different programs for stimming."
     "That sounds pretty good," Steve said. "We've got
a model that does all that and more."
     "What else can it do?"
     "Well, you said you could adjust the frequency.
Our power unit has a sensor to find the optimum
frequency for each individual. You hook it up to your
penis and scrotum, or wherever, and it finds the
frequency that produces the strongest muscular
contraction for a given power level." Steve smiled as
he said this.
     "If you're interested, you can use it for your
next orgasm. Right now, though, I think you're mainly
interested in playing with our uncut cocks," Mike
said.
     "I am, really. I've hardly ever had my hands on a
natural penis." I wrapped my fingers around Steve's
prick as I spoke, unable to resist the invitation. He
was still hard, and as I gently slid his long foreskin
up and down, I felt his prick respond by stiffening
even more.
     "Oh, yes, that's it," he whispered. "I'm so hot
from feeling your penis throbbing while you were
coming."
     "Does your skin go back all the way?" I asked. I
was giving him long full strokes, but my fist came
down to his pubic bone and I knew I'd have to shift my
grip up towards his glans the strip it back.
     "It does, but I like it with the head covered,"
he said. "The build-up lasts longer that way, and if
your skinned me back right now I'd pop."
     "If you skinned him back you'd stretch his
frenulum. You keep stroking Steve just the way you're
doing, and I'll use the edger when he starts to come,"
Mike said as he shifted his position to sit between
Steve's spread legs and cupped his scrotum. I sensed
the tension building in Steve's body, and saw his legs
begin to tremble, as mine had.
     "You've got a big helmet under there," I
commented as I continued to caress his warm flesh.
     "Yes, Steve's got a big one, just like yours,"
Mike said. "In fact, his prick's almost a duplicate of
yours except for the foreskin."
     "Damn it! I wish I hadn't been cut," I said. I
wished fervently that I had an ample foreskin like
Steve's, so that I could enjoy the type of stimulation
I was giving him.
     "Don't worry about that now," Mike urged. We'll
take care of that soon. Right now we'll concentrate on
making Steve come." I continued to stroke Steve's long
thick foreskin up and down his glans and shaft,
feeling the helmet become sharper and more defined as
it went into its final swelling. Unlike me, Steve did
not close his eyes as his orgasm approached. I stroked
Steve's foreskin avidly, knowing that it wouldn't take
long until his super-sensitive helmet would spew its
liquid prize.
     Steve's entire body tightened up and I saw the
cords in his neck stand out as I brought him to the
peak. Mike was now kneading his sac tenderly, and
holding the edger in his other hand.
     "WOW! OHHHHH!" Steve cried out as the first shock
of the orgasm gripped him. Mike pressed the edger's
electrodes into the flesh behind Steve's sac and
pressed the button. Steve continued to grunt, but I
didn't feel the throbs of orgasm in his prick. He was
tense, very tense, and now his eyes closed as he
withdrew into himself, overwhelmed by the sensations.
     "Okay, now I'll let him come," Mike said as he
removed the edger from Steve's flesh. Steve's hips
bucked and I felt the hard throb in his shaft as the
first ejaculation rushed up his penis. Steve yelled
again and I saw a slight dribble of creamy substance
appear at the tight opening of his foreskin, and felt
his fleshy sleeve distend between my fingers.
     OH! AGHHH!" Steve yelled again as another throb
filled his penis. His foreskin ballooned out as it
filled with his semen, and more thick creamy fluid
leaked from the opening. Steve grunted again as I felt
another hard throb in his shaft, and now there was a
steady dribble from the end of his foreskin, which was
widening under the pressure.
     "He's really into it," I commented as I kept
stroking Steve's prick, feeling more throbs and
watching a steady flow drooling from the orifice. I
squeezed the end of his straining prick and saw a
thick gush erupt from his foreskin's orifice as he
continued to cry out helplessly before sinking into
the daze that inevitably follows climax.
     Mike went to the kitchen and returned with a
towel to wipe up the drops of fluid I'd shot all over
myself, and then turned to Steve, dabbing at the end
of his prick as I squeezed the last of the juice from
his softening glans and foreskin.
     "Thanks, Jack," Steve said when he opened his
eyes a minute later. "That was beautiful. Now let's
take care of Mike." He got off the couch and Mike took
his place beside me. Mike's prick was also slightly
over six inches hard, and his foreskin had retracted
somewhat, revealing the dome of his mushroom cap. I
closed my finger around it as Steve took the edger
from him.
     "Now it's your turn, Mike. Just relax and let
Jack do you. He's got a really good touch for a
natural cock." Steve sat between Mike's legs and
cupped his balls, lovingly stimulating his partner.
     "I'm so hot now that I might not last as long as
Steve did," Mike said. "I really need to get off." I
gave Mike's prick the same long strokes as I'd given
Steve's, but his shorter foreskin completely uncapped
the head on the down-stroke, revealing the large
mushroom that adorned the end of his perfectly
straight shaft. Mike's long slit drooled natural
lubricant, another sign of his arousal, and this
served to lubricate the foreskin even more.
     "WOW!" Mike yelled as I ran my fingertip over the
gee-string under the head on the down-stroke. I was
pulling hard, and the taut frenulum pulled the front
of his head down. I felt his prick throb in my hand as
it reacted to the sudden sharp stimulus. Mike's
mushroom had turned darker purple, and I felt its
final hardness through the enveloping skin.
     "Do it again, Jack," Steve urged. "He really
needs that." I pulled Mike's foreskin all the way up,
stretching it, and then brought it down while I
flicked my fingertip over his naked frenulum. When I
brought his foreskin up hard, compressing his corona,
his prick jerked hard in my hand. Steve pressed the
edger into the tender flesh behind his balls and I
watched as a steady drool of natural lubricant flowed
from his slit. Mike's eyes were wide open, although
otherwise he was paralyzed.
     "We caught him right on the edge," Steve informed
me. "He'll keep lubing for a few more seconds." Now
Mike's body began shuddering, and Steve removed the
edger.
     "OOOOWWWW!" Mike cried out in joyful agony as the
first gush of white cream shot up his throbbing penis
and erupted from his long slit to land on his stomach.
I felt another hard throb and an instant later saw
another long rope of cream fly in an arc.
     I was still stroking the wet and slippery
foreskin over Mike's straining glans, feeling his
cock-throbs, making him shoot more hot liquid
discharges. His helpless cries filled the air, and we
watched his orgasm avidly, experiencing it vicariously
because we'd had ours minutes before.
     Mike's climax finally ended with a few weak
throbs while the residue dribbled from his slit. Steve
wiped his glans carefully, ever conscious that it had
become super-sensitive during his orgasm. Now I
stroked Mike's foreskin up to cover the shrinking
mushroom head, and we settled back to wait for Mike to
emerge from his stupor.
     "Thanks, guys," he said when he was able to
speak.
     "We loved doing it," I said.
     "Yes, Jack enjoyed it even more than I did,"
Steve said. "I'm really sure of that." We sat silently
for a couple more minutes. Then Mike turned to me:
     "You said you didn't like being cut. Well, we can
do something about that. Medical science has made real
progress in the last 200 years. Today, we can snag a
few cells from the inside of your mouth and clone you
a new foreskin that's exactly like the one that was
taken from you." I sat stunned, amazed at what he'd
just told me and wondering if it could possibly be
true, at the same time knowing it was.
     Next morning Mike Stanmore took me with him to
the police office, where he led me to meet with Dr.
Eddy. Mike explained to him that I resented having
been circumcised, and Dr. Eddy then explained to me:
      "There have been a few cases like yours.
Although circumcision's been illegal for a century, a
few people inflict it on their infant sons. Some of
these kids don't like having been circumcised when
they get old enough to understand what's been done to
them. We have a urologist not far from here who
performs reconstructive surgery using a cloned
foreskin." Dr. Eddy made a quick phone call and then
continued:
     "Dr. Simmons will be expecting you at 11 this
morning. Just present your card when you get there."
At that moment, Wallace came into the room.
      "Damn! Something strange happened! I just looked
in the locker where we'd put Jack's stuff and found
that the remote control's missing. Nothing else. Tell
me again what that thing controls." He looked
expectantly at me.
      "That lets me go back to my own time, in case of
emergency. It also allows them to pull me back. If I'd
been carrying it, I would have been back in my own
time by now."
      "That brings up another question, now. Do you
want to go back to your own time? If you want to, we
have no reason to keep you here."
      "I don't know," I replied. "At least, I want to
stay here until I'm whole again."
      "Well, then let's get you over to Dr. Simmons,"
Mike said. "It's after 10 now." We went out and walked
the few blocks north to Dr. Simmons' office. After
showing my card to the receptionist, I ended up in the
examining room while Mike waited outside for me.
      "Well, let's see what you've got," Dr. Simmons
said. I unzipped and lay back on the table while he
examined my penis.
      "Well, this looks like a typical circumcised
penis. The reconstruction should be very
straightforward. We'll clone a foreskin from some
cells that I'll scrape from the inside of your cheek
and then I'll do the microsurgery to attach it."
      "Will it leave much scarring?" I asked
nervously.
      "No, not at all. Today, our surgery doesn't
leave scars because we use tissue glue instead of
sutures, and you'll be all healed within 24 hours.
There won't be any rejection problem because it'll be
your own tissue." He picked up a plastic spoon.
      "Open wide," he said, and when I did he scraped
the spoon along the inside of my cheek.
      "That's it?" I asked.
      "That's it for now. I'll send this to the lab
and they'll clone a new foreskin in about 48 hours. By
the way, the cloned foreskin will be exactly what you
would have had if you hadn't been circumcised, but at
this point I can't tell you whether it will be short
or long, thick or thin. Do you have any preference?
They can adjust the size while they're cloning it."
      "I think I'd prefer a long one," I answered. I
hadn't zipped up yet, and Dr. Simmons leaned over and
measured my glans.
      "All right, Jack. Your glans measures 3.5
centimeters long and about the same wide. Suppose we
give you one that's six centimeters long. That should
be enough to accommodate your glans growth during
erection and still give you a pucker at the end.
Without erection, of course, you'll have a nice
overhang in front of the glans."
      "That sounds perfect," I said.
      "Okay, that's it, then. Leave a number where we
can reach you and we'll call you in when we're ready."
I had to step outside to obtain Mike's number to give
to the doctor, and then we left.
      "It'll be a couple of days," I said as we walked
back to his office.
      "You know that you're perfectly welcome to stay
with us," he said. "Steve really likes you. For that
matter, so do I."
      "Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it."
      "Since you seem to be a permanent resident, you
may as well get used to things here," Wallace said
when we got back. "You probably eventually want to get
a job, but first you'll have to find out what you can
do. Meanwhile, just relax and get used to our time.
We've got a very comprehensive social welfare program
here, and for the moment, it's gonna be like being on
welfare back in your time. You can buy food and
clothing with your card, within reason, pay for
housing, and get other things you'll need. You won't
be able to buy any big ticket items, such as a house
or vehicle, though, until you get a job."
      "Let's get one thing clear, though," said Mike.
"You're sure you won't suddenly vanish, now that that
remote's been sucked back into your time?"
      "They told me I'd have to have it on my person,"
I replied.
      "You know what that means," Wallace suggested.
"If I'd had it in my pocket, I'd probably be back at
the start of the 21st. Century right now."
      "As far as they told me, it only works one way,"
I contributed. "They said I could push the button to
get back in an emergency, but they said nothing about
going the other way. I guess if you were there right
now, you wouldn't be able to come back here unless
they projected you back." As I spoke, an older man
entered the small office.
      "Jack, this is Chief of Police Paul Dexter." I
turned and shook hands with the Chief, who greeted me
with a warm smile.
      "You're a distinguished visitor," he said. "Glad
to meet you." Wallace filled in the Chief on the
situation, and Dexter said:
      "Well, you're certainly welcome to stay as long
as you wish, although right now it seems you have no
choice." A thought struck me.
     "I just realized, you might have another
visitor." I explained the situation with John, and
that he might be arriving soon with instructions to
search for me.
      "Okay, how about this as a hypothesis?" Wallace
proposed. "We might assume that if John gets sent
here, he'll arrive in the same area as Jack did. Do
you remember exactly where you first set foot in our
time?" He turned to me.
      "Near the hotel," I replied. I can pin-point it
within ten feet."
      "Then maybe you've got a job," Wallace said. "If
the Chief wants to hire you as a civilian consultant,
you can stand watch to see if your friend shows up."
The Chief nodded assent.
      "Then go with him, Stanmore," said Wallace. We
left as I was wondering if John might actually appear.

       End of Part 1