The city of
Akinyele only popped up about fifty years ago. Filled with people from across
the planet Earth with a single goal in mind, freedom. They don’t bother anyone
and occupy a section of land others would avoid. The constantly shifting soil
is hard to build on, but they’ve managed to do it by building structures on metal
and concrete bases. Still, a leaning building becomes a rather common sight. Tonight,
rain bounces off the metal plates covering the ground here in the fantasy
district. Neon signs reflecting on the wet ground or the roofs of cars from the
previous rains. The cars on this part of Earth are of the classic variation,
wheels and power windows without pressurized cabins. Wealthier parts of the
world, and Sol in general, have switched over to VTOL cars. Places like Pluto
and Mars never had anything else, but 4 wheels on Earth is still the preferred
method. Cities have built up higher, but the distance between cities can be
pretty far and there isn’t always public transportation to small places like
Akinyele. If you’re in the city, fly. If you’re crossing between cities, drive.
It just so happens people drive from all around South America to get here.
I’d call it
a red light district, but the entire city is a red light district. Nearly every
fetish you could think of and a few more can be met in this city. It doesn’t
matter if you love feet, tentacles, fingers, being dominated, dominating, being
burned, old people, young people, different species, costumes, tickling,
fighting or sleeping, the needs can be met as long as it’s legal. You might
need to sign a waiver in some cases, but someone will indulge you. I pause
momentarily to look at a vending machine with flashing lights and laser sound
effects. It’s full of various articles of clothing packaged in plastic, each
displaying a picture of a person. I’m assuming these are all used, I find
myself smiling at the absurdity. But who am I to laugh? I’m here in the same
city as the people who buy these things.
“Having a
hard time making a choice,” and older man asks me. His eyebrows rustle in the
wind as he squints to get a better look.
“No, I was
just looking,” I answer him.
“I
understand,” he laughs. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he gives me a big
exaggerated wink.
“Oh no, I’m
not getting anything.”
“Me
neither,” he giggles as he settles on purchase.
The man
waves his hand over the sensor, paying for his purchase. A small plastic
package drops down that he eagerly pulls from the slot in the machine. He rips
open the packaging with an eagerness I wouldn’t expect from a man of his age.
He tucks the card displaying an image of a larger woman with acorn colored
skin, white hair and rapidly shifting eye colors. He unfolds the panties until
he’s holding them in both hands. He covers his face with them, and takes a deep
breath, inhaling the smell, simultaneously growling. He quickly folds the
underwear and tucks them neatly into his pocket. He uses a finger to cover his
sly smile, signifying for me to keep a secret. I mimic his motion and he nods
gleefully before taking off with much more urgency.
Rain starts
to fall, and the metal streets quickly become slicker, mirroring the various
glowing signs and advertisements with more detail. The entire place reminds me
of a mission where I slept in a shack made of sheet metal to avoid acid rains
at night. The high-pitched pattering sound of raindrops summon memories I had
long since shoved to the side to make space. For a moment I wonder why all my
memories seem to be bad. Do I not have any good memories? I put a mental pin in
the thought as I reach my destination.
Kia’s has a
reputation for being one of the best brothels in the Sol System. People would
talk about it in the barracks as if it were a life changing experience. Inside
the building on the edge of the city, I don’t have that feeling. There’s a
thick perfume in the air that makes breathing a constant thought. To my left
there’s a couch with a woman taking puffs from an inhaler equipped with a clear
canister displaying some kind of red fluid. After three puffs, she clenches her
fist, and exhales before relaxing her entire body and spreading across the
couch.
“Room 31,”
a man hands me a card and points down the hall to the right.
Various
sounds come from the closed rooms. Some, obvious sounds of sex; passion and joy
however seem far apart. Instead guttural sounds and demands come from most of
the rooms. Behind others, sounds I don’t recognize. Occasionally I pass a room
with the door wide open and try to keep my curious glances brief. I can’t seem
to pry my eyes away from two naked women repeatedly stabbing at each other with
needles of various sizes, quickly drawing blood from one another and ingesting
it.
“We need a
third,” one says as the other giggles.
“I’ll
pass,” I respond with more disgust in my voice than I expected.
“Shut the
door or come in,” the other snarls and points a needle at me.
I slide
their door closed and make my way to my room with my head down for my own good.
Similar to every room I peeked into, but cleaner, unused. Various lubricants,
toys and forms of protection. I suppose if you’d like something specific you’d
have to bring it yourself. I don’t waste any time and open what they call the
menu of services. I don’t have anything specific in mind, or I do, I came here
for the specialty. I put on the helmet next to the bed that supposedly reads
brain waves to create the scenario you’re craving at the moment, even if you
don’t know you’re craving it. I lie back across the bed as blue and yellow
lights flash in odd patterns. Once completed, I place the helmet back in its
resting spot and wait. Soon there’s a knock at the door.
“It’s
open,” I call out.
“Hi, I’m
Yesenia,” a tall woman in a black leather jumpsuit enters.
“So how
does this work?”
“I take
care of everything,” she smiles brushing a single blue dreadlock from her face.
She makes
her way to the bed, and I’m nervous. She’s my type, tall, incredible thighs, I
love her hair and smile. She extends her hand to me and I notice gold flakes on
her copper skin. I take her soft hand and bring her into the bed, allowing her
to lead the way. So far, I don’t have any complaints. For a moment she
straddles me, smiling at me. I move my hands to caress her body, learning the
curves. She bites her lip and holds my hands in her own soft warm hands.
“What now,”
I ask, eager to see where it goes.
“This,” she
smiles and twists away from my body.
For a
moment she tosses me around as if I’m a kid, and I can’t help but laugh at the
absurdity of me paying for a woman to manhandle me. I didn’t think that was in
my mind, then she stops. I realize I’m the small spoon and she’s wrapped her
body around mind. She places a kiss on my neck and I hold her hand tighter.
“So, do we
go further,” I ask after we stayed in that position for a while.
“We can, if
that’s what you want,” her whisper sends chills down my spine.
“What do
you think I want?”
“I think
according to your scan, you want to tell me about your life.”
“Like a
therapist?”
“I don’t do
that. I’m just here to listen, provide an unbiased ear.”
“What about
your life?”
“I can tell
you about my life, but I think sharing yours would be better.”
“Alright.”
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