Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Stop The World, I'm Coming... A Valentine Memoir

It’s only now that you can see what a massive difference it made in the end. At the time, it was simply a bloody good laugh, and besides, it really wasn’t something you see every day. An entire building… city… country… continent… planet full of people, and all of them dropping whatever they were doing, and either getting or giving head to whoever happened to be closest to them at the time. And doing it for charity as well! That was the most exciting part, I think. The whole planet got its rocks off, and then it got saved. And we’re here to reap the benefits of that.

It’s hard to believe it was 50 years ago, though. The way the history books talk about it, and the old timers reminisce (ha! I should talk, I’m almost 80 now!), you’d think it all happened yesterday. But no, fifty years have passed since that magical day, and the images are still burned into my brain. A beefy cop on a traffic stop, kneeling to eat out the woman he was ticketing. A girl on the cosmetics counter at Macy’s, getting her make-up smudged by a co-worker’s pussy. A surgeon, pausing midway through a vasectomy, to offer the patient’s wife one last taste of her husband’s living seed. And so on. If you were there, you have a story. If you weren’t… well, at least you’re still alive. There was a moment there when we doubted that would be the case.

The world had been sinking for a long time before 2008 came along, and a lot of worthy souls had thrown a lot of effort into reversing the decline. There were pop concerts to alleviate hunger, sports events to combat disease, Telethons to arrest poverty… once, they even threw another pop show to raise awareness of global warming, and hands up everybody who thought it would have been far more effective if the performers and audience had just stayed at home, and not added to the problem by driving and flying to be there?

It’s like a lot of things. Second-hand cigarette smoke kills, it was said, so the early century went out and banned people from smoking in public places. How long did it take them to realize that second-hand exhaust fumes, second-hand factory smoke, and second-hand cooking smells, for God’s sake, were just as lethal as a pack of Marlboro?

What about emissions? The government of the day set some truly admirable targets for the nation’s car manufacturers to meet, and a lot of them succeeded. But they never even mentioned the infinitely more poisonous stench being made by the tanks and armored cars they were driving round their warzones, or the clouds of smoke and filth released every time they dropped a bomb. So the planet continued rolling to hell in a handcart, with our governments telling us to use energy-saving lightbulbs, to take our minds off the fact that they were burning entire forests. And then we woke up at the beginning of February, 2008, to be told that the world was going to end, literally cease to be, in six weeks time, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it. Or, rather, there was, but would anyone actually do it?

If we switched off every engine, every radio, every motor, every TV, every microwave, every aromored car… if we switched off everything that sent its little poisons into the air, and kept them off for just 5 minutes, all at once, all over the world, we could buy ourselves another year of life on this planet. 10 minutes would give us a decade. Half an hour would give us an eternity. Just switch everything off and let the planet heal itself in its own magical way.

But how? How could you convince the entire human race, six billion people all over the globe, to just stand still in the silent, cold, dark for ten minutes? Half of them (religious fundamentalists and multi-national businessmen for the most part) didn’t even believe the story was true. They’d never go along with it, and they said so. There was nothing in it for them.

Or was there? The story broke on February 1, the responses came in on February 2 – and the solution was delivered on February 3. Valentine’s Day was just around the corner. How about, instead of a card and a kiss on the cheek, and all the other nonsense with which we mark the day; how about we all either get down on our knees, or have someone else do it, and give each other the best oral sex we’ve ever had in our lives? And how about if we switch everything off first?

It was a stupid idea, of course. Stupid and disgusting, degenerate, filthy and obscene. But it took off. The colleges first; within 24 hours, every seat of learning in the Americas, and most across Europe and asia as well, had announced they were going along with it. Even more impressively, they weren’t simply doing it on the same day, either. This was being co-ordinated down to the minute.

Big business, ever mindful of a good marketing opportunity (“Suck a Cock and Save the World” T-shirts were only the start) followed. The media giants announced that their transmitters and satellites would be off line for 10 minutes, while their employees did their bit for the planet. Auto manufacturers offered workers the chance to try out the back seats of the latest hot models. Even the porn industry, for whom this was more or less just another day of work, declared their cameras would stop rolling for the duration (although they reserved the right to take still photographs).

The United Nations came on board, bringing with it the involvement of every member nation. The frontrunners in America’s Presidential race added their support to the movement, and the rest of the pack quickly followed. The Queen of England said she’d give it a go. By the time the end of the week rolled around, there wasn’t a dissenting voice to be heard… in fact, there was scarcely a voice of any kind to be heard. One of the 24-hour cable news networks suggested it might be a good idea if we all got some practice in beforehand, and suddenly every channel you surfed past was showing either Deep Throat or Little Oral Annie, and every silhouette framed in the windows you walked past seemed to be sucking or licking or coming or groaning. And it was still only February 12.

At the last the day dawned and, before you even opened your eyes, you knew that it was special. For a start, the streets were silent. It was a workday, a Friday, and there were people on the street. But they were walking… an entire city walking to work, or cycling or skateboarding or whatever else they could do. Nobody wanted to be the first to break the silence with an engine, so nobody did.

Industry felt the same way. The factories and plants all opened, but the machines were quiet. The bosses merely asked that their staff turn up, and what they did with the rest of the day was their business. Only the schools – safe zones for children, and for anybody who truly didn’t want to be outside at the hour – were behaving in a normal fashion, but the papers the next day said truancy rates had gone through the roof, and who could really be surprised about that?

We were lucky where I lived; the way the timing of the event was worked out, our 10 minutes began at noon. I wondered how people were managing in those further flung corners where they needed to wait until midnight? But then I thought about it, and I was envious instead. Think of the sense of mad anticipation that they’d be able to build up in the meantime! The juices would be flowing before they even got their pants unzipped and, to be honest, I knew exactly how they felt. I was damp when I woke up, wet while I breakfasted and, by the time I got to the office, I was practically dripping on the pavement as I walked.

Margie and Sheelagh were already arguing over which of the mail room boys they would have; they hushed as they saw me, my higher rank automatically gave me the first choice. But I already knew who my eyes were set on, and the fact that he’d only been working here for a week merely added to the attraction. Let the others fight about the same old same old, I wanted to grab me some fresh meat.

Terry was already at his desk, his face buried in one of the manuscripts that I’d handed him a couple of days before. And that’s not all it’s going to be buried in, I thought, as I paused alongside him. “How’s it going?”

He looked up. “To be honest, it’s difficult to concentrate.”

I glanced at the time. “I know what you mean.” Two hours to go. “Isn’t it strange not to hear all the computers humming.” Nobody had switched on a single appliance. Even the overhead lights were out, but the gloom just added to the allure of the day. I thought of inviting him to the canteen for coffee, then wondered whether they would even be serving hot drinks today? The handful of cafes I’d passed on my way in were all making a loud virtue of offering just juice, milk and water, and I wondered how long the milk would last, being as no-one was using their fridge today. “I’m going to the water cooler. Fancy stretching your legs?”

He nodded enthusiastically and I watched as he stood. He had certainly dressed for the day, those pants were as tight as any I’d seen, outlining every ripple and bulge from his waist on down. My eyes halted around his crotch and I saw his gaze join it. He looked startled, as well he might. If I wasn’t twice his age, I was heading for it, but all that really meant was, I’d amassed both the experience and the enthusiasm for the task in hand. Younger girls might have one, but they rarely had the other; my only concern was that Terry would actually last the ten minutes. My personal teenaged experiences with guys his age were usually over in the time it took to get your fingers around them.

But you know what they say, “cometh the hour, cometh the man.” Or not, as the case may be. I had that boy jammed so far down my throat that he was practically bumping my clitoris, and it didn’t phase him one bit. He rode the shockwaves like a pro, his hips gently swaying while he searched for a rhythm, then he rolled me beneath him and brought his tongue into play against my screaming wet pussy

I opened one eye and glanced sideways. On one desk (mine, I noticed; I hoped she’d clean up afterwards), Margie was getting a ferocious tongue lashing from the UPS dude; on another, just off my sightline, but well within earshot, Sheelagh was screaming her way through a similar seeing to from one of the lads from accounts. And in the corridor outside, through the wide open doorway, I could see the mail room guys they’d been squabbling over… ah. So that’s why they were always hanging together.

I was coming now, could feel it driving from the pit of my stomach, building up speed as it rushed to the surface. Terry was nearing his own end as well; his gentle pulses were now seismic shakes, and I sensed that sudden twist in the taste that he was drilling into my mouth, where the pre-cum ends and the real thing begins. And then, pandemonium, as we exploded together in exquisite harmony, both of us trying to swallow as we cried out with joy, both doing our damnedest to enjoy one another as our own bodies consumed us with pleasure. And when it was over, and we both lay there panting, our taste and juices still caked on our faces, I looked up to see Sheelagh looking down with amazement.

“Half an hour,” she smiled. “Half a fucking hour.” She handed me a wad of cash. “The office sweepstake. Who could keep it up the longest. I was so close as well.”

I took the money, counted it quickly ($4,000? Jesus Christ!) and handed half to Terry. “Let’s just hope this whole thing worked,” I said. “I want to live long enough to spend this.” Then I walked over to the window. As far as the eye could see, couples sat, lay or simply staggered around, lost in an absolute daze. One or two were still going at it; one pair in the park across the road had even gathered a small crowd of admirers, and looking up at one of the windows opposite, the CEO of a top New York ad agency was suckling the last drops from the panhandler who haunted her company’s lobby. I smiled; it was only two days ago that she’d called the cops on the poor guy. Now she was saving the world with him.

Because she did save the world. So did I, so did Margie and Sheelagh, and so did everybody else on the planet. Two days later, the scientists revealed their latest calculations. The world had been at a complete electrical, industrial and technological standstill for no less than 18 minutes, enough time for the planet to roll the clock back several centuries. And the process is ongoing, because nobody, and I repeat nobody, was going to pass up the opportunity to relive that wonderful day again and again. So now we do it every year, and when I say “we,” I mean it. Black and white, rich and poor, young and old, and even us ancients. My husband’s 84, but his cock’s as hard as it ever was. And you should see what I can do to it when I slip out my dentures.

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