Revisiting the universe of Dr. Strangelove

[Sifu Blackirish]

i readily admit that my taste in movies is neither average or conventional.

One movie that I enjoyed the first time I saw it, and appreciate as excellent satire, is Dr. Strangelove. It impressed me so much that I developed themes explored in that movie as part of my fictional universe.

At the end of the movie, there is a discussion about occupying mineshafts to escape radiation, along with an overwhelming ratio of women to men. I thought about the ramifications of this and...

from NOVEL TERRAN EXODUS -- AERTH EXODUS, chapter LEVEL 95, episode DOWNBELOW

#
I have on my dress greens, freshly laundered and pressed. My three decorations are dazzling on my chest. My Support Service Detachment brown beret sits at a jaunty angle. Brown shoes spit shined until they gleam. I am headed into the medical district to begin my Social Week.

Now, do not misunderstand. This is not rape, nor anything like that. To assure our species' survival, women are expected to become pregnant at intervals, at the very least every five years. Some women, older and no longer combat effective due to disabilities, became matrons and supervisors of what men have Nursery or Education TDY. Of course there is all the recreational sex one can obtain. There are no prohibitions against being married, either. Married women may submit their own requests for whom to associate with during Social Week, and they have a veto over which men they select.

Still, we do perform that same old barnyard dance, partly out of cultural inertia. Some enjoy the modified dating rituals, as it reminds us all of times when everyone was free to do so.

Music wafted out from the double door entrance as I approached my designated contact area. Johnny Maathis, singing "Chances Are." Most appropriate to this situation. Impossible to beat the classics, music that encourages quiet conversation and close contact.

This large area is filled with couples. Some dancing close together, others at tables. Engaged in small talk, holding hands or just looking into each other's eyes. An occasional pair would meet, greet each other and immediately leave the room hand in hand.

I sat down at the bar and looked both ways. Other men were there, nursing beers and waiting for their unknown temporary companions to appear. I ordered a beer for myself, watching as it was poured professionally. I picked it up, noting that the glass had a minimum of foam. I took a sip and immediately appreciated the skill of the unknown brewmaster. I took another drink, set the glass down and listened to the music for a minute. I was just about to pick up the glass again when I head a soft voice next to me.

"Care to buy a lady a drink?"

I turned to see a blonde standing next to me. She has on a trenchcoat that is unbuttoned, with folds of fabric lying a considerable distance away from her form. On first view her assets are, let us say, most impressive.

I quickly stood up and helped her remove her coat. I draped it over my arm so it covered my lap. No need to embarrass myself so early in this encounter.

"Is white wine acceptable?"

"Make it bourbon. I can only have one, so let's make it worthwhile."

I led her to a small table and helped her sit down. Moments after I had seated myself, the bartender brought us two glasses filled with a mixture of dark amber and ice.

"I am Corporal -"

"I have selected you. I know your name, rank and current assignment. Here, in this place and at this time, none of that matters."

She sat demurely, sipping at her drink and staring into her glass. I spent time listening to the music, "Unforgettable" by Nat Kiing Cole. Another minute or two passed, with me wondering what would be a good conversation starter and trying not to stare at her incredible cleavage, barely concealed within a wrapper of white. I saw her making occasional eye movements upward as she sipped. My features formed a small smile when I finally realized she was looking towards my concealed crotch in short glances.

"Is that a wedding dress?"

"Of course. What else would an almost bride be wearing?"

Now that statement made me pay attention! I drank the rest of my bourbon in one long swallow and ordered another.

I could see a ring on her right hand, in a place where it is a symbol of being widowed. I wondered if that was her reason for engaging in Social Week activities. Is she trying to find a replacement husband? At least this might be a worthwhile subject for conversation.

"Did your husband die well? Do you wear your ring to honor him?"

She sipped her drink again, sat it down.

"Please hand me my coat."

I quickly stood up and retrieved it from where it lay draped over an empty chair.

She reached forward, deftly inserted her hand and extracted a small box. Placing it on the table near me, she left her left hand lying nearby.

"My marital status is not important. Open the box."

I reached for it, surprisingly without my hands shaking. I opened it to reveal a classic engagement ring, with a diamond shaped in a perfect circle.

"You know the words. You do not need to kneel, just ask."

I turned the box so the ring was in her field of vision. Barely able to do so from excitement, I whispered.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

I pulled the ring out of its padded enclosure and slipped it on her finger. She sighed, admiring the ring as it sparkled in the dim spotlight over our table. She smiled at me and passed hands over her ample chest. Looking me right in the eyes, she finished her bourbon, set the glass down. Was there a hint of unsteadiness in her as she licked her lips?

"I am going to prepare now. Don't make me wait too long, my husband."

She stood, put a finger to my lips, and gently pushed me back into my seat. Another box and a key came from a pocket, and she placed them on the table in front of me.

"When we meet again, you can put the wedding ring on me. Then you can remove the dress, but I will keep the veil on."

She walked away, trenchcoat in hand. Captivted, I stared at a vision in lace until she was out of sight. I made an effort to calm down and finish my drink, not an easy thing to do when Frank Sinatra sings "The Best Is Yet To Come" in the background.

#

 

[whartung]

+1 Sifu. Engaging.

 

[Timerover51]

The big problem with large numbers of females and a small number of males is inbreeding. Everyone is going to have to know who their father is to avoid marrying or having children with half-siblings. That does somewhat put a damper on things.

 

[BlackBat242]

Hence the centralized clearing-house/control board that screens the "requests for dates" for potential genetic conflicts.

 

[RandyB]

The more obvious and historical solution for this sex ratio situation is polygamy - more specifically, polygyny, men having more than one wife. I have read rumors that permitting polygyny was considered as an option for post-WWII Western Europe, on the basis of the number of men who had died in the War and the resulting unbalanced sex ratio.

 

[Sifu Blackirish]

story update, thanks to BlackBat 242 and his post

I have on my dress greens, freshly laundered and pressed. My four decorations are polished and dazzling on my chest. My Support Service Detachment brown beret sits at a jaunty angle. Brown shoes spit shined until they gleam. I am headed into the medical district to begin my Social Week.

Now, do not misunderstand. This is not rape, nor anything like that. To assure our species' survival, women are expected to become pregnant at intervals, at the very least every five years.
Medical screening exists, and with that data available, lists of genetically compatible couples are compiled to prevent inbreeding. It also helped to prevent situations that occurred in the early years, where a couple may be hopelessly in love and unable to produce viable children together.

There are no prohibitions against being married, either. Men are still required to participate regardless of marital status. A married woman may remain on a general list or submit their own requests for whom to associate with, usually doing so after having a child by her current husband. Her choices are usually granted, subject only to a medical veto.

Older women, married or single and no longer combat effective due to disabilities, became matrons and supervisors of what men have Nursery or Education TDY. Of course there is all the recreational sex one can obtain.

One might think we were breeding like rabbits in any available space. It did not happen, for MILGOV carefully balanced resources and kept meticulous records. We ended up with some pretty convoluted relationship trees, with the end result being that we usually called someone 'cousin' when seeing them off duty. More than likely the relationship was closer than that.

We continue to perform the modified dating rituals, partly out of cultural inertia and partly for morale. It serves to remind us all of happier times and different places, when everyone was free to do so. It was also a lot easier on everyone involved, since women did not have to worry about their 'reputation' and men were guaranteed sex without having to pretend they were in love.

Music wafted out from the double door entrance as I approached my designated contact area. Johnny Maathis, singing "Chances Are." Other gathering spots had different music, from pre-spaceflight 'classical' to one that had recordings of radiation counter alarms mixed with nebula flare activity and stellar background noise. As for me, I felt the music here was most appropriate to this situation. Impossible to beat that recycle style that was produced for about twenty years, ending just before the war began, for it encourages quiet conversation and close contact.

This large area is filled with couples. Some dancing slowly while standing close together with arms intertwined, others at tables. Engaging in small talk, holding hands or just looking into each other's eyes. An occasional pair would meet, greet each other and immediately leave the room hand in hand.

I sat down at the bar and looked both ways. Other men were there, nursing beers and waiting for their unknown temporary companions to appear. I ordered a beer for myself, watching as it was poured professionally. I picked it up, noting that the glass had a minimum of foam. I took a sip and immediately appreciated the skill of the unknown brewmaster. I enjoyed another drink, set the glass down and listened to the music for a minute. I was just about to pick up the glass again when I head a soft voice next to me.

"Care to buy a lady a drink?"

I turned to see a blonde standing next to me. She has on a trenchcoat that is unbuttoned, with folds of fabric lying a considerable distance away from her form. On first view her assets are, let us say, most impressive.

I quickly stood up and helped her remove her coat. I draped it over my arm so it covered my lap. No need to embarass myself so early in this encounter.

"Is white wine acceptable?"

"Make it bourbon on the rocks. I can only have one, so let's make it worthwhile."

I led her to a small table and helped her sit down. Moments after I had seated myself, the bartender brought us two glasses filled with a mixture of dark amber and ice.

"I am Corporal -"

"I know your name, rank and current assignment. Here, in this place and at this time, none of that matters. I requested you specifically."

"I appreciate that."

She sat demurely, sipping at her drink and staring into her glass. I spent time listening to the music, "Unforgettable" by Nat Kiing Cole. Another minute or two passed, with me wondering what would be a good conversation starter and trying not to stare at her incredible cleavage, barely concealed within a wrapper of translucent white and lace. I saw her making occasional eye movements upward as she sipped. I took another drink while things sorted themselves out in the back of my mind.

"Is that a wedding dress?"

"Yes. I was taught that a good girl waits until she is married before sleeping with a man. What else would an almost bride be wearing?"

Now that statement made me pay attention! I drank the rest of my bourbon in one long swallow and ordered another. For lack of a worthwhile answer, I stared into her eyes until the bartender brought another filled tumbler.

"Of course, once I am married, my husband will find out that I am a very bad girl. I hope you like bad girls."

My features formed a small smile when I finally realized she was looking towards my concealed crotch in short glances.

I could see a ring on her right hand, in a place where it is a symbol of being widowed. I wondered if that was her reason for engaging in Social Week activities. Is she trying to find a replacement husband? At least this might be a worthwhile subject for conversation.

"Did your husband die well? Do you wear your ring to honor him?"

She sipped her drink again, sat it down.

"Please hand me my coat."

I quickly stood up and retrieved it from where it lay draped over an empty chair. She reached forward, deftly inserted her hand and extracted a small box. Placing it on the table near me, she left her left hand lying nearby.

"My marital status is not important. Open the box."

I reached for it, surprisingly without my hands shaking. I opened it to reveal a classic engagement ring, with a diamond shaped in a perfect oval.

"You know the words. You do not need to kneel, just ask."

I turned the box so the ring was in her field of vision. Barely able to do so from excitement, I whispered.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

I pulled the ring out of its padded enclosure and slipped it on her finger. She sighed, admiring the ring as it sparkled in the dim spotlight over our table. She smiled at me and passed hands over her ample chest. Looking me right in the eyes, she finished her bourbon, set the glass down. Was there a hint of unsteadiness in her as she licked her lips?

"I am going to prepare now. Don't make me wait too long, my husband."

She stood, put a finger to my lips, and gently pushed me back into my seat. Another box and a key came from a pocket, and she placed them on the table in front of me.

"When we meet again, you can put the wedding ring on me. Then you can remove the dress, but I will keep the veil on."

She walked away, trenchcoat in hand. Captivated, I stared at a vision in lace until she was out of sight. I made an effort to calm down and finish my drink, not an easy thing to do when Frank Siinatra sings "The Best Is Yet To Come" in the background.

 

[SnichtheWalrus]

Creepy

Creepy and oddly fascinating.

 

[Sifu Blackirish]

sorry about frequent updates -- sometimes my stories have a life of their own

I have on my dress greens, freshly laundered and pressed with razor sharp creases. My four decorations are polished and dazzling on my chest. A woven blue rope is attached to my left shoulder. My Support Service Detachment brown beret sits at a jaunty angle. Brown shoes spit shined until they gleam. I am walking through the medical district, ready to begin my Social Week.

Now, do not misunderstand. This is not rape, nor anything like that. To assure our species' survival, women are expected to become pregnant at intervals, at the very least every five years. We still have a few panstellar tek medical scanners, so to prevent inbreeding and resulting reinforcement of recessive genes, we are all reguarly scanned and given a complete physical exam. With that data available, lists of genetically compatible couples are compiled.

It also helped to prevent tragic consequences resulting from situations that occurred in the early years, where a couple may be married, hopelessly in love and unable to produce viable children together due to incompatibility.

Those personnel who have suffered genetic damage by radiation will take long term birth control and become Green Cross counselors, available for recreational sex. Extreme cases undergo sterilization and transfer to the 'Orange Team' suicide squads. Can you blame them?

There are no prohibitions against being married these days either. Men are still required to participate regardless of marital status. A married woman may remain on a general list or submit their own requests for whom to associate with, usually doing so after having a child by her current husband. Her choices are granted, subject only to a medical veto.

One might think we were breeding like rabbits in any available space. It did not happen, for MILGOV carefully balanced resources and kept meticulous records. We developed some pretty convoluted relationship trees, the end result being that we usually called someone 'cousin' when seeing them off duty. More than likely the relationship was closer than that.

We continue to perform the modified dating rituals, partly out of cultural inertia and partly for morale. It serves to remind us all of happier times and different places. It also produced much less mental stress and physical frustration on everyone involved, since women did not have to worry about their 'reputation' and men were guaranteed sex without having to pretend they were in love.

Music wafted out from the double door entrance as I approached my designated contact area. Johnny Maathis, singing "Chances Are." Other gathering spots had different music, from pre-spaceflight 'classical' to one that had recordings of radiation counters mixed with nebula flare activity and stellar background noise. As for me, I felt the music here was most appropriate to this situation. Impossible to beat that recycle style that was produced for about twenty years, fading away just before the war began, for it encourages quiet conversation and close contact.

This large area is filled with couples. Some dancing slowly while standing close together with arms intertwined, others at tables. Engaging in small talk, holding hands or just looking into each other's eyes. An occasional pair would meet, greet each other and immediately leave the room hand in hand.

I sat down at the bar and looked both ways. Other men were there, nursing beers while waiting for their unknown temporary companions to appear. I ordered a beer for myself, watching as it was poured professionally. I picked it up, noting that the glass had a minimum of foam. I took a sip and immediately appreciated the skill of the unknown brewmaster. I enjoyed another drink, set the glass down and listened to the music for a minute. I was just about to pick up the glass again when I head a soft voice next to me.

"Care to buy a lady a drink?"

I turned to see a blonde standing next to me. She has on a trenchcoat that is unbuttoned, with folds of fabric lying a considerable distance away from her form. On first view her assets are, let us say, most impressive.

I quickly stood up and helped her remove her coat. Indeed, her body is voluptuous with a classic hourglass shape. It would not surprise me if her weight was close to mine, for she was almost as tall as me. I draped it over my arm so it covered me in front. No need to embarrass myself so early in this encounter.

"Is white wine acceptable?"

"Make it bourbon on the rocks. I can only have one, so let's make it worthwhile."

I led her to a small table and helped her sit down. Moments after I had seated myself, the bartender brought us two glasses filled with a mixture of dark amber and ice. I placed a hand around my glass, trying to calm down from the feel of incredibly firm and smooth flesh. More than a few extra kilos for sure, but none of it is flab.

"I am Corporal -"

"I know your name, rank and current assignment. Here, in this place and at this time, none of that matters. I requested you specifically."

"I appreciate that."

She sat demurely, sipping at her drink and staring into her glass. I spent time listening to the music, "Unforgettable" by Nat Kiing Cole. Another minute or two passed, with me wondering what would be a good conversation starter and trying not to stare at her incredible cleavage, barely concealed within a wrapper of translucent white and lace. I saw her making occasional eye movements upward as she sipped. I took another drink while things sorted themselves out in the back of my mind.

"Is that a wedding dress?"

She paused, set her drink down and covered her mouth with her hand as her eyes widened. Was she blushing? I am definitely not a smooth talker, but how did I offend her so easily?

She looked down at the table as she spoke.

"Yes. I was taught that a good girl waits until she is married before sleeping with a man. What else would an almost bride be wearing?"

She blushed again and looked about nervourly, as if she was afraid to look me in the eyes.

Now that statement made me pay attention! I drank the rest of my bourbon in one long swallow and ordered another. For lack of a worthwhile answer, I remained silent as she seemed to calm down. Again she sat there, sipping at her drink and staring into her glass. I looked into her face, watching her eyes continue to flicker up and down, until the bartender brought another filled tumbler.

"Of course, once I am married, my husband will find out that I am a bad girl."

She blushed again, then looked up, freezing me in place with hazel eyes.

"I hope you like bad girls."

My features formed a small smile and I produced a gallant reflex when I finally realized she was looking towards my concealed crotch in short glances.

I could see a ring on her right hand, in a place where it is a symbol of being widowed. I wondered if that was her reason for engaging in individual selection during Social Week. Is she trying to find a replacement husband? At least this might be a worthwhile subject for conversation. Say anything, just to hear that soft, slightly husky voice with an exotic accent again.

"Did your husband die well? Do you wear your ring to honor him?"

She sipped her drink again, sat it down.

"Please hand me my coat."

I quickly stood up and retrieved it from where it lay draped over an empty chair. She reached forward, deftly inserted her hand and extracted a small box. Placing it on the table near me, she kept her left hand lying nearby.

"My marital status is not important. Open the box."

I reached for it, surprisingly without my hands shaking. I opened it to reveal a classic engagement ring, with a diamond centered in a square shape, twists of silver holding and surrounding it. I think a 'Princess Cut' is what it is called.

"You know the words. You do not need to kneel, just ask."

I turned the box so the ring was in her field of vision. Barely able to do so from excitement, I whispered.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

I pulled the ring out of its padded enclosure and slipped it on her finger. She sighed, admiring the ring as it sparkled in the dim spotlight over our table. She smiled at me and passed hands over her ample chest. Looking me right in the eyes, she finished her bourbon, set the glass down quickly. Was there a hint of unsteadiness in her as she licked her lips?

"I am going to prepare now. Don't make me wait too long, my husband."

She stood, put a finger to my lips, and gently pushed me back into my seat. Another box and a key came from the same pocket, and she placed them on the table in front of me.

"When we meet again, you can put the wedding ring on me. Then you can remove the dress, and anything else you like, but I will keep the veil on."

She closed her eyes and for a moment her entire body trembled.

"I think I am going to be a very bad girl tonight."

She blew me a kiss and walked away, trenchcoat in hand. Captivated, I stared at a vision in lace until she was out of sight. I made an effort to calm down and finish my drink, not an easy thing to do when Frank Siinatra sings "The Best Is Yet To Come" in the background.

 

[Timerover51]

Quite an excellent piece of writing.

 

[Sifu Blackirish]

finally done with rewriting -- for now

I have on dress greens, freshly laundered and pressed with razor sharp creases. Four decorations are polished and dazzling on my chest. Woven blue rope attached to my left shoulder. Support Service Detachment brown beret sits at a jaunty angle. Brown shoes spit shined until they gleam. I am in the medical district, cleared to continue my Social Week.

Now, do not misunderstand. This is not rape, nor anything like that. To assure our species' survival, women are expected to become pregnant at intervals, variable but at the very least every five years. We still have a few panstellar tek medical scanners operative, so to prevent inbreeding and resulting reinforcement of recessive genes, we are all regularly scanned and given a complete physical exam.

Lists of genetically compatible couples are compiled. It helped to prevent tragic consequences resulting from situations that occurred in the early years, where a couple may be unable to produce viable children together due to incompatibility.

Those personnel who have suffered genetic damage by radiation receive term birth control and become Green Cross counselors, available for recreational sex. Extreme cases undergo sterilization and transfer to the 'Orange Team' suicide squads. Can you blame them?

There are no prohibitions against being married. Men are required to participate regardless of marital status. A married woman may submit her own requests for whom to associate with, by custom doing so after having a child by her current husband. Her choices are granted, subject only to a medical veto.

One might think we were breeding like rabbits in any available space. It did not happen, for MILGOV carefully balanced resources and kept meticulous records. We developed some pretty convoluted relationship trees, the end result being that we usually called someone 'cousin' when seeing them off duty.

More than likely the relationship was closer than that. MILGOV has the exact data on file if anyone wants to trace their ancestry and descendants, but almost no one does so. It did not matter to us, because we draw strength from our familial interweaving. Never underestimate the risks a man or woman will take to protect our extended family.

We continue to perform the modified dating rituals, out of cultural inertia and for morale. It reminds us all of happier times and different places. It also reduced mental stress and physical frustration on everyone involved, since women did not have to worry about their 'reputation' and men were guaranteed sex without having to pretend they were in love.

Music wafted out from the double door entrance as I approached my designated contact area. Johnny Maathis, singing "Chances Are." Other gathering spots had different music, from pre-spaceflight 'classical' to one that had recordings of radiation counters mixed with nebula flare activity and stellar background noise. As for me, I felt the music here was most appropriate. Impossible to beat that recycle style that was produced for about twenty years, fading away just before the war began, for it encourages quiet conversation and close contact.

This large area is filled with couples. Some dancing slowly while standing close together with arms intertwined, others at tables. Engaging in small talk, holding hands or just looking into each other's eyes. An occasional pair would meet, greet each other and immediately leave the room hand in hand.

I sat down at the bar and looked both ways. Other men were there, nursing beers while waiting for their unknown temporary companions to appear. I ordered a beer for myself, watching as it was poured. I picked it up, noting that the glass had a minimum of foam. I took a sip and immediately appreciated the skill of the unknown brewmaster. I enjoyed another drink, set the glass down and listened to the music for a minute. I was just about to pick up the glass again when I heard a soft voice next to me.

"Care to buy a lady a drink?"

I turned to see a blonde standing next to me. She has on an unbuttoned trenchcoat, with fabric lying a considerable distance away from her form. On first view her assets are most impressive.

[Anita Ekberg -- 4 4 TEXAS]

Overwhelmed by her presence, I did not react for a few seconds, then snapped out of my malaise. I quickly stood up and helped her remove her coat. Indeed, her body is voluptuous with a classic hourglass shape. It would not surprise me if her weight was close to mine, for she was almost as tall as me. I draped it over my arm so it covered me in front. No need to embarrass myself so early in this encounter.

"Is white wine acceptable?"

"Make it bourbon on the rocks. I can only have one, so let's make it worthwhile."

I led her to a small table and helped her sit down. Moments after I had seated myself, the bartender brought us two glasses filled with a mixture of dark amber and ice. I placed a hand around my glass, trying to calm down from the feel of incredibly firm, toned and smooth flesh. More than a few extra kilos for sure, none of it flab.

"I am Corporal -"

"I know your name, rank and current assignment. Here, in this place and time, none of that matters. I requested you specifically."

"I appreciate that."

She sat demurely, sipping at her drink and staring into her glass. I spent time listening to the music, "Unforgettable" by Nat Kiing Cole. Another minute or two passed, with me wondering what would be a good conversation starter and trying not to stare at her incredible cleavage, barely concealed within a wrapper of translucent white and lace. I saw her making occasional eye movements upward as she sipped. I took another drink while things sorted themselves out in the back of my mind.

"Is that a wedding dress?"

She paused, set her drink down and covered her mouth with her hand. Was she blushing? I am definitely not a smooth talker, but how did I offend her so easily?

She looked down at the table as she spoke.

"Yes. I was taught that a good girl waits until she is married before sleeping with a man. What else would an almost bride be wearing?"

She blushed again and glanced about nervously, as if afraid to look me in the eyes.

Now that statement made me pay attention! I drank the rest of my bourbon in one long swallow and ordered another. For lack of a worthwhile answer, I remained silent as she seemed to calm down. Again she sat there, sipping at her drink and staring into her glass. I looked into her face, watching eyes continue to flicker up and down, until the bartender brought another filled tumbler.

"Of course, once I am married, my husband will find out that I am a bad girl."

She blushed again, then looked up, freezing me in place with hazel eyes.

"I hope you like bad girls."

My features formed a small smile and I produced a gallant reflex as I finally realized she was looking towards my concealed crotch in short glances.

I could see a ring on her right hand, in a place where it is a symbol of being widowed. I wondered if that was her reason for engaging in individual selection during Social Week. Is she trying to find a replacement husband? This might be a worthwhile subject for conversation. Think, man! Say anything, just to hear that soft, slightly husky voice and exotic accent!

"Do you wear your ring to honor your husband?"

She sipped her drink again, set it down slowly.

"Please hand me my coat."

I quickly stood up and retrieved it from where it lay draped over an empty chair. She reached forward, deftly inserted her hand into a pocket and extracted a small box. Placing it on the table near me, she kept her left hand lying nearby.

"My marital status is not important. Open the box."

I reached for it, surprisingly without my hands shaking. I opened it to reveal a classic engagement ring, with a diamond in a square shape prominently displayed. Twists of silver hold it and form a loop for her finger. I think a 'Princess Cut' is what it is called.

"You know the words. You do not need to kneel, just ask."

I turned the box so the ring was in her field of vision. Barely able to do so from excitement, I whispered.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

I pulled the ring out of its padded enclosure and slipped it on her finger. She sighed, admiring the ring as it sparkled in the dim spotlight over our table. She smiled at me and passed hands over her ample chest. A tremor went through her body as she sighed again.

Looking me right in the eyes, she finished her bourbon, set the glass down quickly. Was there a hint of unsteadiness in her as she licked her lips?

"I am going to prepare now. Don't make me wait too long, my husband."

She stood, put a finger to my lips, and gently pushed me back into my seat. Another box and a key came from the same pocket, and she placed them on the table in front of me.

"When we meet again, you can put the wedding ring on me. Then you can remove my dress, and anything else you like, but I will keep my veil on."

She closed her eyes and for five seconds her entire body trembled. She exhaled and sighed.

"I think I am going to be a very bad girl tonight."

She blew me a kiss and walked away, trenchcoat in hand. Captivated, I stared at a vision in lace until she was out of sight. I made an effort to calm down and finish my drink, not an easy thing to do when Frank Siinatra sings "The Best Is Yet To Come" in the background.

It took me some time to calm down and be able to leave without everyone noticing my state of anticipation. I reached into a pocket of my dress jacket, extracting a medinjector. Already loaded with a formula that would enhance duration and performance, I stared at it for a moment, then left it on the table. I think I will be just fine without it tonight.

Making sure the box and key are in hand, I stood and slowly walked toward the doors. Filled with visions of lace and already hearing vocal responses, I did not notice "I Only Have Eyes For You" by the Flaamingos playing in the background.

 

[Sifu Blackirish]

An apology

I wish, sometimes, that i wrote like Stephen King. I read somewhere that he outlines an entire novel before writing a word of dialogue.

For me, it is more like a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle. A puzzle that changes the image you see every time you look at it. Well, you can see that with all the incremental changes. That is, if you were brave enough to slog through the multiple posts.

Well, that scene finally left my brain and i can move on to the next chapter of written puzzle pieces. The revised writing will be in a separate post -- social week.

 

[Timerover51]

I have talked with several authors over the years, including Hal Clement, who was a terrific guy to talk too, and I have gotten a couple of different approaches to writing from them.

Hal would come up with a planet or setting, and then speculate on what might be there. Once he had that in mind, he would start sketching things out. If you have never read Mission of Gravity, I would highly recommend that, and also his later book, Still River. That one has one of the most creative planet settings that I have ever read.

Others I have talked with go with writing the first chapter and the last chapter of the story, giving them a starting point and a destination, and then making the two meet.

The other thing every writer that I have talked with say is, quite simply, WRITE.

 

[creativehum]

I wish, sometimes, that i wrote like Stephen King. I read somewhere that he outlines an entire novel before writing a word of dialogue.

I feel the need to point out that this is the opposite of how King writes. He starts with a compelling situation (or, rather, a situation he finds compelling), and writes to find out how it will turn out. He doesn't know where he's going.

He discuses this in his book on writing.

So, you're all good.