Nerdy acquaintances Jax and Quigley take a group field trip to a sci-fi convention. But when these two associates explore a historical exhibit with sensual overtones, will Jax and Quigley’s friendly relationship push the boundaries of public decency?
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“TIME TRAVEL?” I read the banner affixed to the wall above the entrance to the ballroom. “‘Transport yourself to another time and place’?”
“My friend in the Sociology department recommended this exhibit,” Quigley explained as we moved forward two steps in the lengthy queue.
I checked the description on the brochure we were given that morning at the ticket booth. “‘An increasingly interactive adventure to excite your senses’?”
“He read online about the mysterious updates made since he attended last year’s convention. The mechanics involve a mix of practical effects, screens, and holograms. But you only get the super special secret path if you ask.”
“Then let’s ask.”
As we edged toward the entrance, Quigley mused, “I keep wondering if we should have brought our respective spouses along on this field trip.”
“I keep wondering what time period you are eager to travel to, with me. Considering that recorded history has been unbearably toxic for women, particularly in this country, especially for the melanin-enriched.”
“Not like it’s been great here for me and my Korean American brethren either, Jax.”
“I wonder if the creators took that into account when choosing the theme. For this exhibition.” We progressed in the line. “Yet, you and I are taking this Time Travel journey?”
Quigley weighed his options. “It’s not ideal, but I want to see what happens!”
I acquiesced to the prescribed parameters that were out of my control. “Fine. Regarding your spouse question. If we had enlisted my husband and your wife to accompany us today, then we would have had no one to take care of our respective children,” I noted.
“Babysitters do exist, Jax.”
“Has your wife expressed interest in either attending a sci-fi convention or hanging out with our movie club?”
To avoid being overheard, Quigley murmured into my ear, “She would have complained about the smell.”
I laughed. “I had scoffed at the rumors about pungent convention-goers, but it’s true. I smell nice, though.”
“You do.” He blinked rapidly. “Not that I have been sniffing you.”
“Sure you haven’t, Quigley.”
Once we were at the front of the line, the host asked us, “Party of two?”
Quigley nodded yes. “We would like the Easter Egg, please.”
The ersatz bouncer, dressed as a safari guide, gave us a once over. “You look over 18,” she surmised.
Quigley frowned, as he hadn’t been a teenager in almost 30 years.
“Thanks,” I smiled.
Then the bouncer pressed a button. “Take the red door on your left.”
Quigley and I followed her directions. The open door, which shut automatically behind us, led to a tunnel illuminated by a simulation of a starry sky. The gentle melody of an orchestra played in the background. We passed a green EXIT sign, continued on an LED lighted path, and ended up in a room decorated as a sunny garden. A full apple tree was positioned near the back.
“What if we’re part of a science experiment concocted by the government?” I proposed.
Quigley inhaled the floral scent pumped through the ventilation system. “Which government?”
I glanced at the flowered vines on the walls. “I can’t tell if this is the past or the future.”
“Jax,” Quigley whispered. He pointed at the tree.
The room dimmed except for a spotlight. A hologram of a woman with wavy, dark hair led another hologram of a muscular man with a furry chest toward the fruit on the branches. The couple, dressed like characters on The Flintstones, plucked a pair of apples. Before they could take a bite, a serpent slithered around their legs and then up the trunk of the tree. In response, the woman dropped her apple and peeled the animal-print toga off of her male companion, exposing his sculpted form.
“What about the apple?” I uttered, my cheeks tingling with self-consciousness.
“She’s hungry for a tastier snack,” Quigley postulated.
The woman removed her short dress, baring her dark areolas and her curly bush. She reached for the man’s stiffening rod, stroking it with a firm but gentle hand. The man groaned. The serpent flicked its tongue.
Suddenly the spotlight disappeared, leaving Quigley and me in darkness. The LED lights near our feet directed us to the next room.
“That was surprising,” Quigley proclaimed. “Where are we now?”
“Ancient Egypt?” I guessed, noting the sand dunes on either side of the path, a sarcophagus perched in the corner, and the hieroglyphs painted on the archway. The temperature had also increased.
A lighting effect similar to the previous room occurred with a spotlight on holograms of four men with white loincloths wrapped around their hips toting a queen seated a throne balanced on their shoulders. The men set their monarch down on a raised stage. The queen banged the wooden stage once with her jeweled sceptre. Her subjects untied their loincloths. The fabric fell to the floor. Another bang. The quartet stroked their meat for their leader, as she gazed at them with approval.
Quigley scratched his head. “I wonder if she… oh…”
The queen released her sceptre. She lifted the skirt of her gown, baring her folds, and wantonly fingered her oozing slit. Her toes curled as she regarded her subjects’ lust for her.
Underneath my jeans, I could feel my own folds pulsing at this unforeseen circumstance.
Again, the lights faded to black. Quigley and I proceeded to the next time setup, which resembled a bedroom inside of an igloo. A wooly mammoth wandered outside the ice block window. “I think we’re in the Northwest Passage,” I observed, “but didn’t the crossing of the land bridge happen before the pyramids were built?”
A cool breeze swirled in the enclosure. The new holograms were a sturdy woman guiding a man to their four poster bed. They shed their warm furs and snuggled under the covers.
Quigley wrung his hands. “I didn’t realize the update would be so graphic. Jax, I hope you don’t think… If you want to go back…”
“Let’s keep moving forward. This is educational,” I replied to Quigley, hoping he wouldn’t notice my nipples stiffening under my shirt.
The woman climbed on top of her partner. He held her ample rump in his fuzzy paws. They both grunted, grinding together, creating heat in the sheets. With each holo thrust, the walls vibrated. Just as the woman was approaching her climax, panting with increased urgency, her bare breasts quivering, the light shut off. Her cries of ecstasy bounced off the icy walls, loud enough for the wooly mammoth to hear.
Quigley and I continued traveling from room to room, the scenarios ferrying us to different geographic locations in later time periods with corresponding holograms exploring their arousal.
“Such heteronormative scenes,” I told him in the Harlem Renaissance nightclub. “Oops, I spoke too soon.”
“Those three dudes are certainly skilled at playing each other’s flutes,” Quigley declared as the upbeat jazz hummed on the speakers.
A bouquet of bathtub gin wafted through the air. I shimmied my derriere along with the music and shook the nerves from my goosebumped forearms, hoping to relieve the awkwardness of the situation. Quigley danced along with me. I could tell he was anxious as well, which comforted me.
Finally, we walked towards a sign with the words ALMOST HOME. As we entered, I could tell this section was larger, filled with an indigo glow. The previous scenes were all projected onto an array of screens that hung from the ceiling. Moans echoed throughout the area. But joyful noises weren’t only emanating from the recorded images.
Quigley’s eyes went wide. He spotted the loveseats, couches, and futons spread across the expanse. Many of the cushions were occupied with couples, threesomes, foursomes, and moresomes in various stages of undress, enjoying each other’s bodies, making liberal use of the condoms distributed in numerous plastic fish bowls.
“I wonder if they are actors, or–”
“I definitely saw them, them, and them in line ahead of us,” Quigley stated, gesturing toward clumps of gyrating humans.
I stuck my thumbs in my belt loops. “So the guests are supposed to become the attraction?”
“Evidently the previous tableaus were foreplay.”
We lingered in the center of the action, standing, studying, salivating. Other adults entered behind us and secured their own conjugal sofas. There was a gasp to our right. A chubby woman with her shorts and panties around her ankles was squirting on the face of her startled male partner, who had not anticipated the force of her stream on his nostrils.
I contemplated what Quigley would say if I told him I was a squirter, too.
Then he and I shared a flustered giggle. “We should find the rest of our movie club,” I suggested.
He peered at a nearby pillar. “I think that’s our treasurer getting railed by his boyfriend on an Eames armchair.”
“An appropriately contemporary piece of furniture.”
We tiptoed through the rippling limbs of the orgy, searching for our lost LED path.
“Don’t touch anything,” Quigley chuckled, avoiding a cluster of cosplaying ladies in a muff munching daisy chain to his left.
“I’ll wash my hands, once we find our way out of here.”
“Is this the right direction?” Once we reached the empty hallway with the floor lights, he stopped for a moment, halfway to the EXIT sign. “Ouch.”
“Did you bump into something?”
Quigley’s hands lowered to cover the zipper on his pants. “I don’t want to say.”
I turned my head away. “Okay.”
He took some deep breaths. “This has been an unexpectedly stimulating experience.”
“First the holograms, then the live show.”
“Yes, and…”
“And?” I exhaled.
Quigley moved his hands to his hips. “I’m glad you came.”
My heart beat faster. The butterflies in my stomach were affecting my decision-making abilities.
In the opaque tunnel, we stared into each other’s dark eyes, standing between where we had been and where we knew we should go.
Would we return to the external safety of the convention and settle for a respectable future? Or, would we decide to stay in this den of iniquity and regress to the base desires of our ancestors?
Fingers trembling, I retrieved the aforementioned brochure from my pocket. “There’s a lunar shuttle tour next door. You want to see a rocket ship?” I offered, moseying toward the din of the outside events.
Quigley tenderly placed his palm on my lower back. “To the moon, Jax.”