Double Tears
Chapter 117
“I’m not frightened by the advent of intelligent machines. It’s the sarcastic ones I worry about.”
—Quentin R. Bufogle, The Concubine of Mars
DINNER WITH RAY AND DEBBIE, Joan’s father and stepmother, was pleasant and stimulating. We climbed into his Lexus RX and drove across the river to an Italian restaurant off Grand Ave and Halstead. Definitely a nice restaurant and it was obvious Ray was known there. We were immediately ushered to a table in a garden setting outdoors.
“Rebeca, I understand you have some marketing sense and are interested in advertising,” Ray said when we were settled and had ordered. “Is that what you think you might want to go into when you’re out of Service?”
“It seems like a long way away, but I’m certainly interested,” Beca said. I guess she’d spent more time with Ray and Debbie than the brief moments I’d spent in the past. When Joan came home from Chicago last summer, she’d had good things to say about Ray and Debbie so I was inclined to like them, even if his questions sounded like we were being interviewed for a job.
“It’s true. You have two years of high school left and two more of National Service before you can consider college. And the nature of that game is changing. We have yet to see what service is going to turn out in terms of managers and executives. I’d have to say the three years of service veterans we’ve seen so far tend to go for skilled labor and trades. You can get a plumber cheap these days.”
“One of the things we discovered when my sister was reviewed this summer is getting on a management track in the service requires an extra six year ‘voluntary’ commitment to the service. And that’s no guarantee you’ll get into management,” I said.
“Yes. We’re finally getting applications for internships from college juniors again. They dried up for a while. It seems we have three branches that have evolved so far. Those who serve their two years, which is the vast majority, either move into the labor force or into college. Those who sign on for the additional six years may or may not be ahead of their peers who went to college,” Ray said.
“We know certain professions still require college. Medical degrees of all sorts, legal professions, teaching,” Debbie said. “It remains to be seen as to how the technical professions shake out. Engineering, computer science, design. It doesn’t look like the service has established any training programs that are a benefit to students looking to move into those careers.”
“They’re trying,” Joan said. “My current training is way advanced over what I could get at this level in college. As far as computer graphics and web design are concerned. And our instructor has indicated we will continue to have training available when we move into our service occupations. But service training isn’t the same as education. We’re being taught our skills but not anything about culture or life. Most things of that sort—like literature and art—are subtly denigrated as not being worthwhile. I’m afraid you’ll have a hard time of it, Jacob.”
“I’ve wondered about that,” Ray said. “Jacob, are you committed to a life as a musician? Don’t get me wrong. I’m a subscriber to your YouTube channel and one of the things we’re looking forward to is having you record a Sunday concert tomorrow morning. But is that the long-term goal?”
“I’m a lot like Beca on this,” I said. “It seems like there’s a rush to grade our eggs, get them in cartons, and slot them into the right spot on the shelf when in reality, we’re trying to decide if we’re eggs or fried chicken.”
“Forgive me for saying, I don’t like either prospect,” Debbie laughed. “I see what you mean, though.”
“I… have an aptitude for math and engineering,” I said. “The service has already made it known that they want me to pursue that. What I don’t have is an interest in going that route. I understand—maybe better than most kids my age—how important it is to learn to support yourself and succeed. But I also think there is more to life than a paycheck. For me, music and writing. Chances of success in either of those fields are limited. But what is the chance that a management candidate who volunteers for six extra years of service will become the president of Microsoft? Maybe he’ll manage to make it as high as store manager at Spencer’s. We have to realize there are a lot of levels of success.”
“That’s well-put, Jacob,” Ray said. “A hundred people subscribed to your YouTube channel is a level of success that recognizes what a fine guitarist you are. A different level of success than having a platinum album, but success. My company is doing some investigation on how the testing is affecting life decisions. We might have some advice if you are willing to listen.”
“Of course,” I said.
“If you’ll forgive me, sir, what does your company do?” Beca asked. Ray grinned at her.
“Rebeca, unless we’re at the company or in some formal setting that requires it, let’s drop the sir and mister crap. I’m Ray and this is Debbie. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Ray,” Beca spluttered.
“Design Intelligence is on the leading edge of artificial intelligence development. We focused on basic decision making when we started twenty-five years ago. Algorithms. But algorithms are deficient when it comes to making value judgments. We were working in the field of page design back when we thought there was still a future for paper publications. The software could determine the proper type size and spacing for a given layout as well as a typographer could. But what it couldn’t do was decide what the layout should be for a particular kind of document targeted at a particular audience. That’s what a designer did. Document design became a secondary and eventually tertiary objective but was raised as an investigation of intelligence. We sold off the document software and focused on the development of the integrated intelligence in machines.”
“Can a computer really become an independent intelligence?” I asked.
“In all likelihood, we won’t know the answer to that question until after it has occurred. Long after. But we have many computers that do a good job of simulating intelligence. Like the computer system that runs the National Service Readiness Exam and the National Service Aptitude Test that you have to take when you turn eighteen.”
“You have access to those?” I asked. I was mentally taking notes for my science fiction story. I’d speculated there was a lot of computer-controlled training going on among the crew of my spaceship.
“One of the things the Service Corps realized early on was that they were setting up a potential for massive unemployment if businesses didn’t recognize the qualifications of veterans. They haven’t been completely successful in stemming that dip in the economy. The very training they use for new recruits takes a bite out of professionals operating in that field. Take Joan’s work. Before the National Service was established, there were over a million computer jobs in the US Government. I’m not talking people who used computers in the course of their work. I’m talking about jobs that were focused on a computer screen and the use of a computer eight hours a day. Those jobs ranged from accounting to counter-intelligence to website design. Some of the jobs were highly skilled and required a person who knew how a computer operates and how to apply its strengths. The vast majority rank in what twenty years ago we called the algorithm stage. Since the advent of the service, the bulk of those jobs are at risk, as low level tasks can be done just as well by a National Service grade E3 as by a GS5 scale government employee. And the government saves twenty percent or more. An employee who has been at grade for several years is at immediate risk of having their job taken by a National Service recruit.”
“Wow!” Beca said. “So, Joan’s work in computer graphics and web design in the National Service could take a career employee’s job in government?”
“Exactly. Almost inevitably,” Ray said. “But back to how it affects employers like Design Intelligence. In order to convince us as to veterans’ abilities when they left the service, the corps exposed a lot of the functionality of their testing systems. Joan told me about your experience with the NSRE last spring. Adaptive testing. But, of course, when that much of their functionality is exposed to a company like ours, reverse engineering the test is also possible.”
“So, you could prepare students for testing?” Beca asked.
“In a way, yes,” Ray said. “Joan was one of our first test cases and it worked flawlessly. We aren’t going to prepare you for the questions on the test. We’ll prepare you to move the questions into the area you want them to go. To manipulate the aptitude testing.”
I lay in bed with Joan and Beca that night, thinking about what Ray had offered. He’d taught Joan how to manipulate her aptitude test in such a way that eliminated things she really didn’t want to do and made the logical choice computer graphics. We needed to get Rachel and Livy into Ray’s secret instruction as soon as possible. Livy’s eighteenth birthday was just four weeks away. Rachel had almost three months, but time was still short.
And how was I able to occupy my mind in bed with these thoughts? I lay there on my side as Beca and Joan held and loved each other. It wasn’t like they were ignoring me—not intentionally. They just needed desperately to show each other they were still connected and in love. Joan often pushed her butt back into me, inspired by Beca’s finger work. My cock, of course, had hardened and lodged between her cheeks. It wouldn’t be long before it was lodged deep inside her.
But to be with Beca and Joan as they made love was to witness something so deep and beautiful that I didn’t want to infringe on their time. Our dinner conversation had lasted much longer than any of us expected and the restaurant was closing as we left. When we got to Joan’s room, we were excited about our conversation but aching to show our love. Beca was still the dominant partner but treated her lover like she was a princess. Joan tried to reciprocate and bring Beca pleasure as well but was constantly overwhelmed by Beca’s skillful manipulation of her nipples and clit.
There were a few whispers between the girls and Joan repositioned her legs to open herself fully to me. In a second, I felt Beca grasp my cock and guide it to Joan’s sopping pussy. I wasn’t sure how we were going to end up when Joan rolled on top of Beca, carrying me with her. I immediately caught my weight so we didn’t squash our tiny girlfriend and saw with relief that Joan did, too. All but one place. Beca had her legs spread wide, and while I pumped my cock in and out of Joan, Joan pressed her mound against Beca’s, grinding together. I thrust into Joan and could feel my balls slapping against Beca. I was only inches from penetrating Beca. I could have pulled out of Joan and slipped down an inch and into Beca. My heart raced as I considered that option and I drove harder into Joan from behind, forcing her pussy to rub back and forth against Beca’s. I heard Beca’s climax mounting and knew exactly when she’d pinched Joan’s sensitive nipples. Joan’s pussy fluttered around my cock, sucking me into her depths as I released my load.
We stayed connected like that, holding our weight on our arms in a double bridge over Beca. I could feel my come and Joan’s copious fluids dripping out of her and down my balls, flowing over Beca’s vagina. We couldn’t maintain that position much longer and I heaved myself to the left as Joan slid to the right and we held our little lover between us.
“So good,” Beca whispered. “I love you both so much.”
I’d seldom done Sunday performances with more than one of my lovers in bed with me. I thought I’d once done it with Livy and Rachel. But there was no question that the two girls cuddled next to me were into each other as I played. It was sweet.
This morning, I broke with tradition—my own tradition—and did an over frame at the end of the concert. Basically, you could see the freeze frame of my last chord and I superimposed a frame with me talking in one corner with the address and link to our new Patreon page. I got dressed before I taped the promo, wearing the new Marvel & Hopkins T-shirt Desi provided.
“Some of you might remember the concert I played with Cindy Marvel last winter. Cindy and I have been doing a lot of work together this summer and we’ve got exciting news. We’ll be launching a new channel of guitar and flute music, sometimes with other performers and sometimes just the two of us, next weekend. Like always, our concerts will be free on our YouTube channel, but our Patrons will get the shows first—sometimes with exclusive live performances—by subscribing here.” I pointed where I knew the button would show up on screen. “Expect higher fidelity sound in our new video space, bigger productions, and bonuses for our patrons. Please take a minute to look at our Patreon page and our website. Your support for each of us has been appreciated over the years and now we are happy to announce the premiere of Marvel & Hopkins. Enjoy!”
“So, our plan is this,” Joan said. “I’m going to take the preliminary site design and do weekly upgrades to it. I can do that for at least four more weeks while I’m in training here. I might even get to stay here after NSO training, since this is one of the big centers for government graphics. We train forty hours a week and aren’t allowed to have our personal computers onsite during that time. But even though they offer some group activities each week, our free time is our free time. When I come home at night, I can spend all my time working on the site.”
“That’s incredible, Joan. Just seeing the little adjustments you’ve made so far is impressive. I’m so glad you are part of our pod!” I said.
“I’m so glad that I can do something that reminds me I am a part of the pod,” she said. “I don’t want to be forgotten.”
“Never!” Beca said. “You are mine! I won’t let you get away.” The two embraced.
“And the plan from our end,” Ray interrupted with a chuckle, “is to profile Olivia and Rachel and begin instructing them on how to manipulate the test. You’re sure they can get here next weekend?”
“We have to clear it with our coach and file permission slips from parents,” I said. “Our meet is halfway here Saturday morning at Penn. The plan is that Livy will leave the meet with Rachel and come straight here. With our parents all in agreement and willing to participate, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“We should have you here again before you take your next readiness exam as a junior. We don’t know if Joan will be with us after her NSO training is completed, but you’ll all be welcome when time comes for your profile training,” Debbie said. “We’re long-distance parents, but we are in touch with the other pod parents and want you to be successful. You’ve certainly succeeded in making Joan more cheerful this weekend.”
“Thank you for all your help,” I said.
“We love you, Joan,” Beca added. “Don’t ever forget that!”
Beca was quiet as she sat next to me on the way out of Chicago. Debbie had made me a fresh cup of coffee in my insulated mug and we didn’t need to stop until we were back in Indiana. That was when Beca started to open up about our weekend with Joan.
“I was surprised to see she grew her bush back,” I laughed.
“She said there was no one she wanted it shaved for in Chicago but promised to remove it before I came to visit again,” Beca laughed. “Having it scrubbing my clit while the three of us made love was pretty stimulating, though.”
“That was unexpected. I… hope you weren’t upset that I kept banging into you.”
“Yeah. It was nice. Get rubbed by Joan’s clit and bush; get slapped by Jacob’s balls; get drenched in both their come,” she laughed. We were quiet for a few minutes. “You know, you could have fucked me,” she whispered.
“Um… I wouldn’t…”
“I know. But all the time we were making love that way my heart was racing and I was quivering. I kept thinking, ‘What if he slips out of Joan and into me?’ We were so close. I’m sure I was sharing enough of Joan’s lube that it would have been an easy entry. You might have just pulled back a little too far and slammed back in thinking you were still fucking Joan but really being buried in me.”
“I won’t lie and say I didn’t think of that, too. I was being careful. Beca, I would never violate you. I know we get a little carried away when we’re with Joan but I still have enough control to know what’s right and wrong.”
“I know. It’s what made it possible to feel the excitement and fear but still be confident in making love with you.” We were nearing Plymouth, Indiana when she suddenly spoke again. “Jacob, pull into the rest area, please?”
“Sure, honey. I could use the break, too.”
We used the restrooms and met back at the truck. Beca was fidgety.
“Pull over there and park,” she whispered. “I need my boyfriend.” I shot her a look but did as instructed. The spot was in the shade of some trees and far enough away from the restrooms that no one was likely to walk past us. I turned the truck off and faced her.
“What is it you need, girlfriend? You have all my attention.” She handed me a little bottle of lube and pushed her shorts down past her knees.
“Will you touch me? Make me come? I need to feel you and know that we can do this when it is just the two of us and that we don’t depend on having a girlfriend to share in order for us to be intimate.”
“Are you sure, honey?”
“Please, Jacob. I want to feel your fingers make me come.” She squirted some lube in and around her vagina and I leaned over to kiss her. I didn’t just dive between her legs. Maybe that was what she was expecting. I kissed and caressed her. I petted her hair and her cheek and let my hand slide beneath her T-shirt and camisole to cup and stroke her breasts. When I finally drifted south, she had the same typical reaction my other girlfriends did. Her stomach sucked in as if she were trying to get it out of the way to my destination. When I finally cupped her sex, the lube had become as warm and liquid as any of my girlfriends’ pussies.
“Yes, Jacob. Touch me. Put your finger in my little vagina. I want to feel you and know that I’m giving this to my boyfriend who I love. Touch me, Jacob.” I wasted no time in giving her what she wanted now. Her vagina was tight and I collected more of the lube from outside to push it inside. “Fuck me with your finger. I want to know you are in me,” she breathed. I did and Beca spread her legs as wide as she could in the front seat of the truck to give me better access. I’d touched her before. I’d eaten her. I’d even slipped a finger into her before. But somehow this was different. There were no other girlfriends involved. There was just Beca and me. Yes, I was making love to my lesbian girlfriend.
When she came, I had a finger in her and was rubbing her clit with my palm. I could feel everything contract and pulse. I kissed her more. It was a hundred feet to the next car in the parking area but our windows were open and I didn’t think orgasmic screaming would be a good thing to have in the rest area. We sat there panting. I’d nearly come in my pants when she did. Gradually, I slid my finger out of her virgin pussy.
“That was… intense,” she sighed. “I love you, Jacob.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” We kissed again.
“Now you,” she said, reaching for my zipper.
“Honey, you know you don’t have to do that to prove you love me. It’s okay.”
“I’m your girlfriend,” she said emphatically. “I want to give my boyfriend a blowjob.” Who was I to argue?
Beca had given me a blowjob once before. I’d come mostly because my cock was in Beca’s mouth, not because I was particularly stimulated by her technique. I wondered which of our other girlfriends had been giving her instruction. I was already on edge from having fingered her, but the care and loving she gave my cock was exquisite. I tried to warn her I was about to come and she just pushed me deeper into her mouth as my jets started filling her. I was nearly passed out when I saw a State Trooper pull into the rest area through the rearview mirror.
“Honey. We need to get put back together. Quick,” I said.
“Aw. I was thinking about having a second helping.”
“State police.”
“Oops.” She scrambled into her shorts and I got my jeans fastened. The trooper went in to use the restroom and I started the truck up. We checked to make sure our area was clear and seatbelts fastened and I eased out of the parking spot. I locked the cruise control at sixty-four and we didn’t see any more police all the way home.
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