Bob’s Memoir: 4,000 Years as a Free Demon
38
Love and Marriage
YOU KNOW, I always loved the San Francisco area—from the potheads to the digital engineers. Sometimes both in the same person. I invested heavily in computers when they first came out and have millions in high tech stock.
But what a learning curve! It seemed like time changed faster and faster once I got to the northern continent of the Americas. It was just the turn of the eighteenth century when I settled on Goat Island. No one asked me for a passport or a visa. I talked to the natives and they didn’t object to me settling and trading. That was good enough. If I had wanted, I was rich enough that I could build a temple or buy a boat.
The Spanish came and began issuing land grants. I was unable to convince the governor that I was supposed to have the grant of Goat Island. It went to another noble and I had to talk him out of it. All for a slip of paper that said I was the rightful owner.
The last time I could hide my wealth or the source of it was before California became a state and I dropped into the assayer’s office with six bags of gold dust I’d acquired many years before. From then on, I had to track my wealth and make sure it was legally transferred from one entity to another as I changed bodies and identities. I couldn’t just walk into the next town as someone else and start over. They wanted a birth certificate, a driver’s license, a record of deed, or some other piece of paper that proved I was who I said I was. What a headache.
But, let me see, I was talking about computers. I liked them. I’d already moved to the Midwest before I could acquire one, but I bought one as soon as I could. Then I spent hours playing silly games on it because I didn’t know what else to do with it. Of course, Brenda (my secretary in the housing development) insisted she needed a computer to keep track of our burgeoning finances, CPM project plans, customer data, and who knew what else. Until I started writing my memoirs, I still mostly used my computer for playing games and watching porn.
I have noticed that the first use of any new communications technology in history has been pornography. I’m certain the first item written on a piece of paper or animal skin with a brush and ink instead of being carved in a clay tablet with a stylus was an erotic poem from a shepherd who scrawled it with a bit of charcoal on a stretched hide. Or perhaps it was Pinaruti’s detailed drawings of a phallus that ended up between my legs. Did you know some of the ancient pictographs found on cave walls show a man and woman copulating?
What was Gutenberg printing before he set out to reproduce the Bible? Pornography! And then he produced indulgences for the church to forgive people for reading pornography.
And when the first camera obscura was used to project an image from one room through a lens onto the wall of another room, what was projected? Nude women, of course! And live copulation. When they figured out how to capture that image on film, I’m sure the first image printed was a naked woman.
Movies? Porn. Video? Porn. Computers? Porn. And when the great World Wide Web was created, the most popular websites available were porn.
I loved my computer.
Of course, with the advent of the internet and the web, we were suddenly connected to people around the world. Before we got social media, we got email. What a delight those early messages from people reaching out to me were. I subscribed to everything. I got news, weather, entertainment, sale bulletins. Hundreds of emails a day.
And in the mass of mail, I received a message that made me sit up and take notice.
Dear one,
My name is Mrs. Peninnah Ariel Dugganaiah. I am a citizen of United Arab Emirates living in Dubai. I was the faithful wife of Mr. Benaiah Dugganaiah, who died of leprosy and venereal disease in the year February 2010. During his lifetime, he deposited the sum of €8.5 Million (Eight million five hundred thousand Euros) in a bank in Brussels, the capital city of Europe. He left me a wealthy and well-cared-for widow.
It has since taken me five years to sort through his papers and close the holdings of his company, of which I was left executrix. In sorting through generations of historical records, I came across a folder marked only, “The Owners.” I had to enlist the assistance of Dr. Bernard Lowes, a prominent translator of ancient languages, who wants very much to have the documents I showed him so he can take them to a museum. However, he confessed that the papers were actually a recording of shares in my husband’s oil exploration which was begun many years ago by his father’s father. Each listing of a share had a notation indicating “no further heirs” after assignments that were recorded through the centuries.
This is true of every share in the exploration company except one made out to Bob. To this share was appended a note that said, “Bob is still alive.” Dr. Lowes, of course, laughed at that note, pointing out that the owner would be 2,000 years old, but my husband was a man of honor and I would dishonor him if I did not attempt to locate Bob and present him with what is his.
The documents of the company indicate that the current untapped oil reserves of the company would place the value at over $500 billion US dollars.
I would ask that you come to Dubai at your earliest convenience to claim your share of this company. My husband left me a certain means of identifying the true Bob when he arrives. I have carefully researched your background and believe you have the identifying marks that will allow me to transfer this wealth to your name.
I need your urgent answer to know if you will be able to execute this project, and I will give you more information on how the fund will be transferred to your bank account or online banking. With the love and honor of the ages,
Mrs. Peninnah Ariel Dugganaiah
Well, that set me back a bit. I cast back in my memory a couple thousand years and found a pyramid scheme that would make me rich, according to the trader I’d encountered in the desert. In fact, the sale of shares had made me quite a lot of money in the century that followed, but I never really took the idea of there actually being oil involved seriously.
I set about making travel arrangements.
“Bob, those emails are scams,” Brenda said. “You are so naïve. They are all designed to milk you for identity information or to get you to pay them huge amounts as an agent to transfer wealth that doesn’t exist to you. You can’t mean you think this is real!”
“Well, Brenda, think of it as little old me off to do battle against the great scammers of the world, one at a time,” I laughed. It was certainly possible that there was some back alley fellow with an internet account posing as a widow and that the only oil involved would be what was in his hair. But I couldn’t help the feeling I had that this could be for real. I would at least go visit the old lady and see if good old Dug had, indeed made me a fortune.
“Bob, you are impossible. Just be sure to pack me in the satchel before you leave. I don’t want to be left here without you,” she laughed. I promised her I would.
I fucking love to fly! I even got a pilot’s license in the 90s. Just for small planes, but they were so much fun! At last, I could correct Pinaruti’s oversight and have wings.
I'd discovered something important about traveling after 2001: The look-away spell on the satchel only worked for human eyes. The security scanners picked it up just fine. I was pretty nervous the first time I had to pass it through an x-ray machine, but all that showed was the few miscellaneous items put in it without opening a gateway to the infinity room. It still made me nervous to remove it and let it pass through the machines at the airport.
It was a mere fourteen hours to Dubai. Traveling first class included anything I could possibly want, including the flight attendant. When my pod had been made into a bed and I crawled in, she crawled in with me. When she walked through customs, she walked into the infinity room and never looked back. Coffee, tea, or me? I had all the ‘me’ I wanted.
I booked myself into a fancy hotel and called Mrs. Dugganaiah. She invited me to her office immediately.
The buildings were amazing to me, even having been around for so long. They soared into the sky and out of sight. People were everywhere in the busy financial district. In a way, I missed the old markets, but I was told Dubai had a bazaar that hadn’t changed in hundreds of years. I made a note to visit it.
“Mrs. Dugganaiah, it is a pleasure to meet you. My sincere condolences on the loss of your husband,” I said as I bowed over her offered hand. Her beauty made it a pleasure indeed.
“Bob, the pleasure is mine. Ariah, we’ll have tea in my office,” she said to her secretary.
I was momentarily distracted as I looked at the secretary. Did she look like my Aria, who died so many centuries ago? The mention of her name brought back the pain of losing her, but I couldn’t recall her face. That’s sad, but it had been 4,000 years and so many women ago. I told you, I’m not omnimnemonic. Strange what things still are fresh, though.
Mrs. Dugganaiah led me into a very modern office that had a lovely table and sofa where we sat. Her secretary was all smiles as she brought the tea. I assessed my hostess as we waited for the tea to be poured.
I somehow expected her to be an elderly widow. Apparently, Dug had a trophy wife. She was out of her teens, but not midway through her twenties. A burka hung neatly on the back of the door, but she was dressed in a miniskirt suit and a blouse that left her toned midriff bare—a diamond sparkling in her navel. Her heels easily added five inches to her height. She noticed my observation.
“Though a citizen of the UAE, I am a western woman. Doug and I married in Italy. I am not required to wear traditional Muslim clothing. In fact, there are various levels of appropriateness for women’s wear here. Many do not wear the face covering, but most adult women cover their hair and ears. You will find western women on vacation in nearly any mode of dress found in the western world, including bikinis on the beach. Since I am now alone, I cover fully when I am not in my office or in my home. When people visit me here, they are the guests and are not privileged to criticize my apparel.”
“My only comment would be to say your apparel is quite lovely,” I said.
“It looks even better when folded on a bedside chair.”
I was a little shocked at her forwardness in that suggestion. But she was a young and beautiful woman, and I could well imagine her folding her clothes neatly beside the bed before she crawled in. With me.
“Do you know how much your email looks like one of the popular scams?” I asked, changing the subject.
“That was quite intentional. I knew that if it fell into the wrong hands, it would be passed off as a scam. In fact, I had to send out several dozens of them in order to get your response. People are becoming more sophisticated about what they respond to in email.”
“Well, before you expose any more of the details,” I said, meaning the details of the stock, but thinking about the details of her body, “How do you suggest that I prove my identity to you?”
“Show me the goat,” she said simply. Whatever she was expecting, it was not that I would transform into the demon in front of her. I kicked my shoes off my hooves and pulled off my shirt before I tore through it. I was unfastening my trousers when she caught her breath and stopped me. “That… that… that… is enough,” she gasped. “For now.” She stood in front of me and stroked my arms with her hands, examining the claws on my fingers. She reached up and touched my horns, pausing to explore the nick where the monster’s axe had clipped me two thousand years ago. She was nearly to my lips with hers when she suddenly pushed herself away from me, panting.
“I take it this was not what you were expecting,” I said.
“I thought it would be a tattoo of some sort. Or perhaps a birthmark. This is… so much better.” She inhaled deeply and sat on the edge of her desk. She consulted a note. “Now, if you would, please, show me the door.”
Once I presented the satchel to her, it became clearly visible and she wondered how she had missed me carrying it. I opened the gateway. Chione and Pari emerged, carrying a tray of cocktails and sweets. I think their nudity made more of an impression on Peninnah than the drinks and sweets or the doorway.
The girls bowed to her, kissed me, and departed. I closed the gateway. Peninnah touched the glasses and sampled a sweet, as if to make sure they were real.
“Will you marry me?” she whispered.
I wasn’t quite expecting that.
“Marry you?” I asked.
“It would be the easiest way to expedite the transfer and to be sure there is no question regarding how you came to own the stock. It will be much easier than proving you are the same person who signed the paper two thousand years ago.”
“I suppose so,” I said. “I mean, yes, Peninnah. I will be delighted to marry you.” I’d certainly married women more quickly than that after meeting them. And Peninnah had already seen my natural form and the gateway to the infinity room. Even if there was no fortune to inherit, the prospect of marrying the woman was attractive.
“After the ceremony, you can also show me the rest,” she said, vaguely gesturing toward my trousers.
Marrying her was becoming more appealing by the second.
I remember one time… Now this is funny. You never know what the customs are in a strange land. I found an island once while I was sailing and was greeted by friendly natives. It was quite a relief considering the greetings I’d had among some tribes. There were those who preferred to kill anything foreign and never gave themselves a chance to learn about someone new. I guess there are still people like that, right here in America.
Anyway, I was greeted by the shaman and welcomed warmly. There was a huge feast that night with drumming and dancing and acrobatic acts. At one point, as I was sitting in the circle, watching the young women dancing, one of them broke away from the group and began dancing right in front of me. She beckoned me into the circle to dance with her.
Well, I’d learned all the dances that Ningrum taught the women and thought nothing at all about learning the dances of this group. We danced and the steps became ever more suggestive as we moved. And clothes began to fall away. Hers and mine. I had drunk a bit of the local alcoholic beverage, which I cannot even remember the name of at the moment. So, I might have been a little dull in some of my senses when she leapt into my arms and settled herself slowly down on my staff. There, the gyrations of the dance changed, but only slightly. The other women dancing with us surrounded us, just as naked as we were. They touched and kissed and prodded us until we were both gasping for breath. She called out her orgasm to the skies and all the people joined in the noise as I bellowed mine.
Soon, most of the women around us had also been joined by men from the circle and we were all copulating en masse as we danced around the fire. Eventually, the frenzy died down and we collapsed on the ground with my woman still connected at the groin and attempting to bring me to yet another climax, which I gave her. Then we went to sleep, right there where we lay.
In the morning, I awoke to the sounds of the shaman waving a branch over each of the couples who were still lying together on the ground and giving us our wedding blessing.
Well, it turned out that I’d arrived just on the day of their annual wedding ritual. The dance was for all the single women who were ready for a partner to select one from the men and marry him. The dance itself was the marriage ceremony!
There was no sense in objecting by claiming I didn’t know what was going on. I’d just fucked her on her wedding night. I had nothing pressing for the next twenty-five or thirty years and Lalapala was a lovely woman who made loving her very easy. But I believe that set the record for the fastest I’d ever gone from meeting a woman to being married.
Marrying Peninnah took a bit of planning and arranging. I was in Dubai for a month, during which time I changed my look and became a citizen of the UAE. Not that they knew that. Over the years, I’d become quite adept at creating a new identity and getting all the paperwork placed in the right hands. It was necessary in the new connected world we lived in. I couldn’t just change my look and show up in the next town as a different person. I needed an orderly progression of inheritance and legitimacy. That my lineage never actually existed made no difference, as long as the government involved thought it did. By the time we were married, I’d lived in Dubai all my thirty years, born of wealthy parents who were killed in an epidemic some years before.
As UAE citizens, however, getting married was easy. I had to have a blood test to be sure I wasn’t propagating a disease or genetic defect. I’m not sure how all that worked. I just gave a sample of blood and set a spell of cleanliness on it. Whatever test they ran would come out clean.
Peninnah was quite enthusiastic about becoming my wife. She bought a wedding dress and invited her secretary, Ariah, to be her bridesmaid. I asked Oza to stand with me. It seemed he came from some area near here, so fixing him an identity was not a problem. Getting him to quit staring at the buildings around us was more difficult.
We stood before the marriage lawyer and signed our papers. Then I kissed the bride and took her home. We went to her apartment on an upper floor of a very large building. It was the epitome of a rich Arab’s domicile in the modern world. She showed me some of the twenty or so rooms in the apartment as she dismissed the servants and sent them home. Then I worked on discovering how good her clothes would look folded beside the bed. The answer…
I never really looked at the clothes except as they came off her lovely body. And then we began some serious kissing and touching. She was a natural at many of the tantric techniques I used with my lovers, wanting to be connected by looking into my eyes as well as having my dick up inside her.
There is something about undressing a woman for the first time. I have done it thousands of times over the years, but each time is unique and exhilarating. I was enraptured with the shape of her breasts, with the two little dimples on her back, just above her pelvis, by the delicate narrow feet, and by the wet and slippery entrance to her sex. She had wanted me to go whole goat, so to speak, but I suggested we save that for another time.
The next day, we entered the infinity room and Peninnah received the full welcome package from my other wives and concubines. She was taken to the temple and my priestesses—there were more than fifty of them now—led her into the water to be purified. They brought her out and massaged her thoroughly, then oiled her body with fragrant oil I didn’t identify at once.
Finally, she was brought into a tent I erected outside the temple, and there, she came face to face with the demon. My new wife came so hard her legs collapsed under her. And I had yet to touch her! I led her to a thick bed of carpets, spread with silk and there I made love to her as woman and demon. We were truly married.
We returned to her apartment a day or two later and she began the process of transferring the assets to my accounts. There wasn’t that much cash, but a lot of shares of oil reserves. When we were finally ready to start using my wealth, we returned to the US, where I arrived as my grandson and heir to my American wealth.
That was when Brenda (who had stayed in the infinity room and decided not to return to the development) reminded me that I was now the beneficiary of a million-dollar term life insurance policy that I’d taken out forty or so years ago.
The next thing we did was get married again. We wanted to make sure we were recognized under US law as well as under UAE law.
I had a dream. No, not that I was visited by a god or anything. I mean I had an aspiration. It started during the month of July in 1969. I’d failed to find a safe place for my satchel anywhere in the world. I was constantly vigilant and felt like I had to hide in order to join my wonderful harem in the infinity room. Nowhere on earth was so remote and isolated that people couldn’t accidentally stumble upon the satchel. But outer space was big enough to get lost in. I felt sure that I could find a way to launch us way past the moon and into space where we could just drift on forever.
American, European, and a couple of Middle Eastern billionaires had begun a space race. They’d all been up in their private space ships already and everyone was waiting for what came next. They were setting up for a tourist industry and were selling trips to space for several million dollars.
One had a good idea to my way of thinking. Mars. I liked the idea because no one would find me for a very long time on Mars. And if I happened to miss Mars and just keep going… Well, the universe was waiting!
Of course, I didn’t want to just steal a spaceship, so I decided to invest heavily in it. I traded a bunch of oil shares for a bunch of Space Pioneers stock, which would ultimately pay for the ship I planned to steal.
It would take a while before I could convince my partners that I was the one who should lead the expedition to Mars, but we had time. I wasn’t getting any older, so to speak. And, I intended to hand pick my crew.
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