Everlasting Daylights (Book 2 of "The Day the Earth Stood Still")

By Patrick Morton

In the dystopia setting of a killer heatwave, people cling desperately to their loved ones. Drissa discovers new depths of her marriage through role-playing. Karen, Ally, and Tracy form amazing lesbian bonds with each other. After the heatwave breaks, couples find their heightened love affairs still have the fire. Amazing romantic scenes and humor.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“Ladies and gentlemen, if we can all gather in the lounge again, we are going to continue our discussion on the sun.” The intercom clearly carried Senator Hastings’ voice.

Members of his staff and five passengers filter in from various spaces of the plane, some from the restrooms but most just needed to stretch their legs and clear their heads. John has removed his dress jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt attempting, as Melody had advised, to level the playing field thus reaching his people more efficiently. Although the lounge only appears half-way occupied, apparently everyone is present. He is even doing his best to sit in a casual style.

He perchance observes Gena sitting down rather slowly, holding her back with one hand like she’s in pain. Without the immediate need to interrupt the talk, he makes a mental note to keep an eye on her.

“I want all of you to forget that I’m the Senator for a while. I want us to talk like people talk because there’s a lot of important information I have that you are going to need. So I’d like all of us to be in on this session, together. But, keep in mind I do not have all the answers.”

“Is the corn genetically modified?” Came a question without a raised hand.

John did not seem to mind, answering, “Well, yes, it has to be otherwise it wouldn’t grow like it does. The bigger question you’re going to have to ask yourself is ‘Are you hungry?’.”

“You see,” came Barry from the middle of the room where the group members petered out, “crops are the most sensitive, temperamental plants we have. Sometimes, the least little thing can bring about a poor yield. They need the dark at night to perform vital functions. Not to sound glib, but there’s no point in telling you what all those are unless you are an agriculture graduate like me. What I want to know, John, is where can I get some of the super corn seed?”

“I know this one,” John announces proudly. “The corn has such a penchant for growing that kernels taken off of the cob will grow. You have to twist the cob in your hand to remove the whole kernel, then there you are. But, you won’t have to wait for it to hit the shelves. I have some sample bags to give you folks, more than enough to start your own patch.”

“Yes, Paige,” he answers to her raised hand.

“Are lots of people really going to die from this?” She is not shy, but painfully unaware of the interconnectedness of things.

“We looked real hard at the numbers,” John says, holds his hands in his lap. “If the weather does not do something phenomenal to keep us from overheating, most everyone in America will die from the heat in about one half of a month. Now, that being said, our weather experts strongly believe the earth’s atmosphere will save us. Then comes the hard part, starvation.”

“Based on behavior models, we anticipate most people are going to just sit around and wait to be fed by supermarkets alone. We’ve lost our ability to be self-sufficient when it comes to growing our own food. During the second world war, most everyone who had access to dirt was planting Victory Gardens for food. Our dependence on the industry of agriculture has done away with that tenacity. If people are smart then maybe they will read the writing on the wall. The government cannot handle a problem this big alone. Everybody needs to help themselves by working together in ways unseen in America for the past seventy-five years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Aug 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005864170

Book preview

Everlasting Daylights

By Patrick Morton

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2021 Patrick Morton

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~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to people, places, and events is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter 1

Drissa Philips rolls over in bed to the chiming alarm on her cell phone; five in the morning on a Wednesday in mid March. She leaves Drew sleeping and will embrace the solitude on this last day of their first real vacation in many years alone. Her designs on a perfect, tropical sunrise calls for only herself, coffee service from the kitchen and no kids or husband. She can still feel the intensity of the rolling thunder found beneath their bed sheets last night.

She slips on a skimpy beach wrap over her pj’s from Victoria’s Secret just in time for a faint knock on the door to the hotel suite. Answered, an Aussie girl from room service eases the cart just inside the open door.

Coffee service for your pleasure, miss, the lovely accent about the young lady reminds her of the land down under and how she will be missing it sorely in some hours to come.

Put it out on the patio?

Of course, miss.

A ten spot later and the coming sun will be hers. All hers. She positions the cart perfectly beside her chosen lounge chair, her favorite spot all week, and pours out her first cup while still standing, the front of her robe open to the night air. Parking her cellular phone upon the cart, she clasps the coffee mug with both hands. Bringing the golden elixir underneath her nose, the robust and earthy qualities embrace her soul as her lithe form effortlessly sinks onto the comfy chair, so satiating. Drissa faces eastward, feeling the sensuous ocean breeze waft teasingly about her limbs, her face and hair. The idea of the coming light across the ocean titillates her senses. She sips and revels in everything she feels at the moment, especially the crème brulée flavor accentuating her coffee.

That gentle sea breeze now fingers her hair of a luminous brown, center parted, shoulder length, and spread in layers to either side. In the relative darkness, save the wash of light from city fixtures, her tender bare feet find rest on the ottoman. She eases her body backwards into the soft cushioning and rests the warm coffee cup against her bare stomach contemplating both a refill and the coming bright images of her sunrise.

The pleasant ache in her loin reminds her of the tumble she enjoyed between the sheets with her husband, the School Master.

With their girls firmly anchored in the Disguised Singer show, Drew assumes the role of Head Master and Drissa is Shelby Jean, the failing student who wanted to get a head. Her parents were very strict, so hard on her about grades, and so she would do anything to stay in school.

But, Sir, there must be some arrangement that we can come to, she did plead on her knees before him. There must be something I can do to make you happy.

He clears his throat, loudly, then speaks, I’m quite happy in my position of Headmaster at this school and my wife of fifteen years fills in the rest. She loves me.

Shelby draws near and reaches out to touch his belt, objecting, But does she swallow when you cum in her mouth?

He appears upset by her touch, offering, Well, she doesn’t…

She quickly interrupts him, But I can give you real love and will swallow your cum every… single… time. As she speaks in broken speech, she inches her hands to touch him on the crotch and squeezes the meat inside his trousers.

This apparently makes him very uncomfortable and he backs himself up against the wall, his seductress in hot pursuit and he make out like he is scolding her, saying, Young lady, I’m quite certain you shouldn’t be touching me like that. What would your parents say? The Board of Regents?

Shelby pins him to the wall and works at his belt line fast so they wouldn’t get caught, insisting, But, Sir, all the other students have left for holiday, and so has your secretary, and I’m very lonely all pent up in my room for the week. Won’t you let me suck on your hard cock, just a little, to see if you like it?

With the fact that his breeches are opened and fall to the floor with his briefs, his erection springs forth with vigor over being seduced. Shelby falls to her knees again and pops the fleshy delight directly into her mouth, so delicious. Caught up in her own drama, she rakes his penis deeply in and out of her throat with such vigor that it was almost like he didn’t know his own wife. She is sexually vicious on this vacation and right now is stimulating him to orgasm in record time. Taking rather immediate attention to his balls, she cups them in one hand while tickling with her fingers, her other hand pumping his shaft urgently. To her surprise, his ball sac crawls in her hand and his dick suddenly spews a great amount of warm jism into the back of her throat which she swallows voraciously.

Oh, young lady, he gasps, still in character, I am in so much trouble.

No you’re not, honey, she wipes her mouth on his shirt tale, not as long as you keep me happy. Which starts with you fucking the daylights out of my sweet pussy, she says, and pulls him to the floor, working his penis roughly to keep it stiff.

Drew surmises that she somehow peeled off her clothes while sucking on him, as she climbs on top of him and fishes his dick inside her sopping wet cunt, saying to her, You are really into this, little lady.

She scoffs, Yeah, it’s so much fun fucking an older guy cause you’re not all spent after one little squirt, she says, and rides him with a practiced ease that attests she was no virgin.

We’re going to have to be real careful when school lets back in, he continues to play the part.

Yeah? She challenges his intentions, coming down on him hard after every motion of her young hips. You plan on still fucking me next week? That’s ballsy!

Well, I don’t think you’re going to leave me any choice, you little bitch he tries hard not to be in love with her.

Shelby laughs, still fucking her school Headmaster, and manages to say, I’m your little bitch, honey, and don’t you ever forget it, Mister Headmaster, Sir.

He answers her in blocks of words, in between his laborious abdominal strokes into her pussy, I won’t forget our arrangement, you miserable little cunt. Just know that I’m your daddy.

She then feels him getting a little bigger and thinks he is about to cum, and yet teases him still with her words, You really get off fucking me, don’t you, Mr. Headmaster? What about your wife?

He grunted and moaned to help maintain his erection, Yes! I love fucking you, you horny bitch. Looking in your eyes I can tell you love it, too. And for your information, my wife doesn’t ever fuck me like this. We make love but the passion is way sublime.

Awww, poor baby, she says and caresses his straining face, without me you don’t ever get the F word, do you?

He shifts his stance between her naked legs for better penetration, adding, Hell no, young Shelby, I don’t ever get it.

She welcomes the arrival of his hand on her breast, she even pinches her own nipple really hard amid his touch, moaning, Hmmm, well Shelby is glad she came along when she did. A man should really and truly be fucked twice a week. It’s healthy for your aging body, lover.

He continues efforting an erection, focusing on her pet names and swearing which works quite well for him, and funnels those efforts into his dick and likewise into his Shelby’s young pussy. He thinks of how hot she is, her limbs gripping him with all fours just like a young hottie while he works his sex inside her, saying, That’s a fascinating bit of info. Did you learn that in science class?

No, you old asshole, she teases him, Freshman Health one-oh-one.

Hmm, I thought we should be teaching abstinence to all you horny teenagers. he says, shifting his stance under her so that he could grasp her other breast, rubs its areola and gently pinches the erect nipple all while ramming his dick into her yawning vagina. You students need to be concentrating on your grades.

Again, she joins hands with him and coaxes him to pinch harder, then corrects him, But, Sir. Fucking with you right now is working on my grades. Honey? Do you think you can cum for me. I mean, I love you fucking my guts but I want you to eat my pussy, too!

Her words gets to him then, he suddenly changes his rhythm by slowing down and plunging deeper into her, uttering, This is great, baby. Your fucking cunt is just so delicious.

He then stops, his body convulses like his dick is being electrically shocked and he moans and slumps down under Shelby, admitting to her, Honey, that’s the best piece of ass I’ve ever had. Bar none!

She smiles to herself. Unknown to her husband, at that time, she was still cumming with each motion his dick makes on the way out of her cunt. It was so fitting that they had finally tried role playing on this vacation because it got their marital juices flowing at a critical time. Once recovered, Drew even eats her pussy at great lengths before they have to drop the charade in favor of getting some sleep.

After five hours, her pussy was still tingly and sensitive. She parts her cover-up and touches herself through the skimpy fabric. Sure enough, her clitoris reacts excitedly to her fingers and she rewards herself then with some direct contact as her hand dove beneath her pantie waist line. She could refill her tepid coffee, she thought while going after herself, digging down deep into her own crotch. Just a few timid strokes to her clitoris and she was cumming so nicely. Now that animal needs were met, she could get onto her coffee

Dawn is due in several minutes, so she takes a few more sips then opts for refilling her cup along with some more of the special creamer secured as a special favor from the morning chef. The entire staff of the resort had been so wonderful all week that she was definitely going the miss all the amenities and the being fussed over. As beautiful as it may prove to be, the sunrise would mark the beginning of the end of the family vacation. But Drew is due back at his work from home this coming Monday and the kids would be back in school from their spring break, which leaves Drissa to domestic engineering in their sizable house whose rooms are never all clean at one time.

She shakes her head at herself, shaking off the yokes of parenthood and wife-dom for at least another hour. Having an urge to check the time on her cell phone, she gives this notion some negative feedback as well for she can almost make out some degree of lightening, seaward and to the east. Consciously fighting the need for her eyes to blink, she finds herself pensive to that golden instant when the initial glimmering of sunlight will herald an end to the night. Of course, she knows there will be a light hazing of the horizon, initially. The intense anticipation is almost too much to bear.

But there is no discernible change in the horizon as moment upon moment all hang upon themselves together. She forces herself to relax, rationalizing that the sun has risen for millions of years but only upon its own good time. No amount of anticipation can hurry it, she thinks to herself and draws a long swallow of beverage to also help calm her. In the scheme of things, she can hear a faint kissing of early morning surf five flights below her and on the shoreline. The to and fro rhythm of the sea is reassuring to her thoughts. So, she waits while her eyes gently throb against the utter blackness of the distant sea.

And she waits.

Eventually, she can wait no more. Finding her cell phone in the diminished light, she trades it for the mug that has been nursed dry after three fillings. A caress across its face, it reads two minutes past six.

She doubts what she is seeing, blinks her eyes a few times then stares at the palm-sized screen once more. Merely agitated as this point, Drissa speaks into her phone to call the front desk.

Concierge. A man’s pleasant voice rings out.

This is Mrs. Philips in 57. Do you guys turn your clocks ahead one hour in the spring?

The odd request heralds a pause, then he says, No. Daylight Savings Time is purely an American idea. Is something wrong?

Drissa feels a bit embarrassed and wonders if she is fretting over nothing, offering the man a cautious reply, Isn’t the sun supposed to be up already? I mean, I checked the local weather forecast and it reported sunrise at quarter of six. I’m out on my balcony with coffee and no sunshine.

Well, the man begins then stops to clear his throat, politely, I’m sure if you wait a bit the sun will make a show.

Okay, then. Thank you.

Feeling no better for the brief chat with the concierge, she pulls up the weather page using her cell phone with the hotel’s wifi. It quickly brings up the weather stats and sure enough her memory was correct. The sun is now twenty minutes overdue. She stands and walks to the railing and looks out across the beachy grounds. She finds no-one hurrying about or talking in excited voices. Nothing going on. Still, the sensations in the middle of her belly belies her sense of inward mild panic, almost like she can spiritually detect that something is wrong.

Presently, she hears dogs barking, lots of dogs spread out across the city. Then, even the yapping dies down seemingly as it had begun, without cause. The gravity of the situation begins weighing down upon her. Minutes pile upon one another as her mind frets over possibilities of what all may happen when the people find out that the sun is not going to come up today. She grips the rail more tightly, as if she can thus grab hold of her runaway imagination. Imposing upon herself to calm down, she revisits the coffee services, pours a fourth, full cup and doctors it up with the sweet creamy goodness she enjoys so much. She sucks hard on the surface of the coffee to afford herself several, enabling gulps of caffeine. It is nearly scalding hot but under the circumstances it is a welcome shock to her senses.

Sitting down, Drissa turns her eyes once again to the sea, seeing nothing but relative blackness. While waiting still, she recalls her night and finds no thing so out of the ordinary that might make her hallucinate over the sun, obsessively. The kids, Dana and Deanne, were both pacified with a movie so she and Drew took an evening dinner out, where she did not eat or drink anything exotic. They made love, a lot, and turned in close to midnight. No, not one thing out of the ordinary for vacationers.

Where is the sun? She mutters to herself, the pang of anxiety pools in her abdomen once more, harder.

Drissa calls downstairs again.

Concierge.

This is Mrs. Philips, again. I don’t mean to be a bother, but don’t you think it should be getting light outside by now? It’s six thirty. She was demanding and it was the first time she had been terse in her words to any of the staff.

I really cannot see outside, he begins and it is the same man as before, who then excitedly says, Hold on a minute.

She hears muffled voices talking then instinctively finds and caresses the St. Christopher metal on a chain about her neck. Although she and her family have not practiced Catholicism for many years, she finds some comfort there.

I’m back. The hostess tells me it is still dark outside. She wonders whether a morning storm is about to blow ashore. Not really the time of year for storms but it…

Drissa interrupts him, urging, You need to go outside and take a look because the stars are out and there aren’t any storms blowing in, either.

Hold on, Miss.

She withstands the loud clung as the phone on his end is dropped down on the desktop then some voices too distant to make out what is being said. Drifting in from the balcony, she approaches a sleeping Drew as she waits for the concierge to return. Her fingers tenderly rake through his curly, blonde hair, not really wanting to disturb his dreams but needing to.

Drew? You need to wake up. Something’s wrong.

She turns on the bedside lamp and sees that he is rousing in his usual self-centered manner, his tumble of blond hair fades down his face and becomes a brown shadow.

What’s the matter? he says in a dry throat, his sky blue eyes fighting the light.

The sun’s not coming up, she says flatly, giving all the information she has, continues, it’s already forty-five minutes late.

What? Are you kidding me? He speaks a little sarcastically while giving her the eye, then closes down for more slumber.

She gently pulls the covers and as he is lying on his back she briskly slaps his tummy to wake him. I’m serious, dear. Either someone’s playing a bad trick on me or there will be no sunshine today.

The tummy spanking is an understood communication of ‘I’m not kidding’ between them so he obediently sits up beside her, countering, But it’s still dark outside. Did you get the time right, Drissa?

Drew, she says, trying to be patient as he passes through the threshold of consciousness. That’s just my point. I checked it twice. Sunrise was supposed to be at quarter of six. It’s now thirty-one minutes past the hour. I’d call that pretty damn late.

Her husband springs out of bed, noting the time on the bedside table clock over his shoulder, then is out the sliding glass door and onto the patio. Thank goodness he sleeps in pajama pants. Drissa sees him stroking his hands through his hair then coming just inside, implants fists on his waist though his back to her and he is still surveying the outer blackness.

He turns towards his wife, demanding, What the hell’s going on?

Before she can answer, Concierge back with you!

She holds a hand up to her husband, speaks on the phone, So what did you find out?

You were right, he prattles on. I don’t know what to say, Miss. What am I supposed to tell all our guests? There’ll be so many questions. I just don’t have any answers.

One thing you can to is to get our bill ready, Drissa says and her husband nods in agreement. We’re checking out immediately. And please hail us a cab to the airport.

She didn’t even say goodbye to the concierge, but quickly spoke to Drew, I’m so glad we prepacked most of our clothes last night. Get dressed and pack our carry-on bags. I’ll get the girls up!

He was already in motion before she left the room on the way to rouse the teenagers but she hears a car horn and diverts to the balcony. In checking, she finds nothing out of the ordinary but two cars discombobulated at a traffic light. Breathing a slight relief, she hurries on to find the girls dead to the world so she turns on the lights.

Gotta go, girls. Up and at ‘em!

She gives no mercy to the incoherent moans of resistance and rapidly strips the top covers from both queen beds.

Deanne, the thirteen year-old with long, blonde hair and blue eyes like her father, is the first to open her eyes but remains prostate, querying, What’s wrong?

The fourteen and a half one gets a leg spank, their mother saying only, I’ll explain in the cab. This is really urgent. So, pack up your carry-on bags in like a minute!

Knowing she means business by her vocal tone, Dena suddenly sits up in bed while her sister has already grabbed her own luggage, choosing and dropping items from the vanity inside.

Don’t pick out just your stuff, Deanne. Grab it all!

Mom, okay, she says in mild protest. But Dena didn’t pre-pack her clothes last night.

Evil snitch, Dena hisses at her sister, also sporting long, blonde hair but with green eyes like the mother.

Don’t take the time to argue! Dena, just shove all your clothes and stuff into your suitcase. We’ll iron them when we get back. You both have one slim minute, so let’s get with it!

But what about Johnny, Dena protests. We were supposed to have breakfast together at eight!

There won’t be an eight o’clock, not here anyways. Just trust me on this, girls! I need you downstairs in less than a minute, so glad you two slept in your clothes. So move!

No eight o’clock? The two girls stare at each other in stark disbelief of their own mother but only for a moment.

She has an afterthought while heading back towards Drew, calling out, You can text Johnny from the cab!

There is no Drew when she returns but both their suitcases and his carry-on are gone. Obviously, he had placed her carry-on with wallet peeking out of the front compartment and her cell phone next to in on their bed. She knows that he must be down stairs already, settling the bill. She internally sings his praises as a go-getter husband while she double verifies that all drawers are empty. She recalls there are some items in the refrigerator but those can be taken care of by housekeeping. Out of her pee-jays in an instant, she is into the resort wear she had laid aside last night and did this before the girls were done packing. The nighties go deep inside her carry-on.

One more visit to the balcony, gazing down among the halos of street lights she scans near and far for any signs of excited activity. She shakes her head to herself, so caught up in the overwhelming panic to get home. She cannot let the fear of being stranded in Australia, and God only knows what else may come, get to her and thus slow her down. Not right now. She’ll be better once they are on the plane and heading home. Then she can have a breakdown.

Mom?

Deanne is in the doorway to the balcony bearing the most frightened appearance Drissa has ever seen. She invests the time for a hug and a touch of gentle swaying back and forth.

It’ll be okay, sweetie. You just let me and your father worry, okay?

She sees Dena wrestling with her luggage, heading to the suite’s front door, then addressing them both, Let’s grab the elevator. Your dad’s already downstairs.

Dena grumbles while muscling her suitcase out the door and down the hallway, I’d like to know what the hurry is. It’s not even daylight outside.

The thirty second elevator ride to the lobby seems infuriatingly long. She gives Drew an unseen smile as she finds him engaged with the taxi driver and bellhop who are loading the first two suitcases into the cab’s deck. He points to the group of his ladies and the two men meet them at the door, assuming their loads. Drissa digs into her carry-on and produces three bills.

She looks at her husband and calls out to him across the way, What did they say at the front desk?

The girl wanted to know what was wrong, why we a leaving early. I asked her if she has looked outside. He shrugged his shoulders, adding, She just didn’t get it.

I’m so glad that you do.

Drew chuckles dryly, taking Drissa with his forearms, "When you said the sun wasn’t coming up, my very first thought was they’ll close the airports.

She touches his arms, One of many reasons I married you.

The bell hop had finished loading their gear first and Drissa peals away from her husband and confronts him, holding out a hundred dollar bill, Split this with your concierge.

With thanks he was gone and the five of them get into the taxi. Once there, Drissa hangs her arms across the back seat as to address the driver, Here’s a two hundred dollar fare and tip. Get us to the airport faster than you ever have in your life.

Right away, mates.

The engine roars to life. Shifting balances inside the moving vehicle adds to the mayhem building in their day. From the jump seat, Drissa slides around to face her girls with dad in the far corner.

It’s going to be alright. You’ve got to believe me. Right, honey?

Drew nods, refusing to admit to anything less, Yes, it will.

Look at your cell phones. What time is it? Drissa says, knowing that her girls need some familiar activities in order to grasp an understanding of events.

A couple of minutes past seven, Dena says.

Yeah. The same.

Okay, then, look outside the cab.

They do so. She examines her girls’ faces but does not see any lights come on.

Alright, she holds her cell phone up and near to theirs, trying to get them to focus. Go pull up the local weather page then tell me when sunrise is supposed to be.

After a moment their expressions have changed. Drissa sees they are starting to get it.

It says five forty-five, Deanne says very slowly.

Her sister concurs. Their demeanor shifts towards a blend of anxious and curious, though Dena speaks, Mom? Dad? What does it mean?

Drew throws in, We do know that Australia doesn’t observe a daylight savings time.

I’m not a rocket scientist but a nurse. Your dad sells real estate. But we do know that when the bright light in the sky stops coming up in the morning then something is dreadfully wrong.

Instead of hanging around here waiting for answers, dad chimes in. well, we decided it would be better if we just got home first. Quickly.

And then find out what has happened. Drissa adds more, You see, we also know that adverse weather can affect airline travel and we want to get on a plane bound for home before panic breaks out.

Panic. What panic? The cabbie chimes in above his driving, So what if the sun’s a little late coming up. No worries, eh?

Let me know how that works out for you, mate. Drew counters.

Drissa, for the third time this morning, revels about her husband. This time in his polite way of telling the driver to mind his own business. She perceives the driver to mumble something under his breath, but leaves it as he is still driving fast.

Guys? Dena says sullenly, In science class, the teacher told us that planets that don’t rotate end up fiery hot on the sunlight side and frozen like our polar regions on the dark side. Is that going to happen to Earth?

I don’t think so, Drew says, using his best calming voice. I took geography and Earth science in college to help in real estate. According to my professor, the Earth has an atmosphere and lots of water to help dissipate radiant heat from the Sun.

Drissa is surprised at her husband and queries, You actually remember your college classes?

Well, my parents were paying good money, so, yeah.

I think we can expect the weather back home, and everywhere, to be different, Deanne tosses her idea into the mix.

Well, the father reasons out loud, if the world has indeed stopped turning then the sun will remain somewhere in the sky according to what time it was.

What time is it back home, in Los Angeles? Drissa urges her daughters to search, thinking another activity would help them stay calm.

Seven hours difference, Dena announces proudly, without needing her cell phone.

Seven hours since when? Drew inquires.

She closes her eyes a moment to help recall, then, I set up my wake up call for five.

You got up at five, but there’s no way to know when the sun stopped. It could have been any time last night, Drew surmises.

But I’m certain I saw some color to the east, so for all intents and arguments I’m calling it at five, which means it’s twelve back home.

No, wait, Deanne says, already happy with herself although supporting her facts with a cell phone app. It’s eleven o’clock, instead of twelve, because the United States uses daylight savings time. Australia doesn’t. So, it’s eleven.

Conversation is cut off by the appearance of a motorcade passing the taxi on the right. There is a lead car, one stretch limousine and two more cruiser cars following. From her venue at the right, rear window she leans her face against the glass and strains in vain to make out any people in the limo. The pack rockets past the taxi then drifts back into the lane in front.

Wonder who that was? Drissa speaks vacantly, now looking to the front as the auto string fades into the night.

Somebody famous! Deanne romanticizes.

No, Dena grounds her. "Too much security.

The mother spins half way around to face the girls, surmising, It must be a senator or someone like it.

Dena challenges her, You and politics. I guess that’s supposed to be ‘your’ senator, the one you worked for last year without pay.

Dena, Drissa begins, her voice not hiding her fatigue of the subject. Sometimes you have to go out and work for something you believe in, even without pay. Besides, it’s just too remote of a chance for that to be Senator Hastings.

Having noticed her husband’s distant stare while she was talking to the girls, she touches his knee and asks him, Babe? You alright?

Yeah, he says, startled from his wool gathering. I was thinking about that fall. Right after the election.

She approves with a smile, Oahu. Our family time together. An amazing two weeks.

Your sister helped make it great. Coming along to watch the girls.

Yes, Drissa agrees. Dru has always been willing to help her baby sister.

Well, she got a killer vacation in the deal.

Dad? Deanne muses aloud, What will happen to the birds and other wild animals?

Realizing he has never sugar-coated harsh facts for the girls and that this is no time to start it, he says, I’m afraid a lot of them may die unless they can quickly adapt. Nature is going to be like a Charles Darwin event played in fast forward.

Ain’t he the guy that said we came from apes and monkeys? Dena seeks to discredit her dad’s statement.

No, mom comes to the defense of the scientist, not being unkind. In his works, he did note certain similarities between the species but went on to describe many, critical differences in anatomy and behavior. It makes me despise sources like Cliff Notes that attempt to summarize a man’s lifetime of work to a single phrase. So, no, he did not say that.

Now, I don’t know if birds can learn to roost in constant daylight, Drew returns, but I know most birds migrate at night. North American migrating birds may not nest and mate if they don’t migrate first.

We all can pretty well expect for average temperatures to go through the roof, Drissa begins sincerely. I was in central Texas just right after high school. The record daily temp was 127 degrees in the shade. All temperatures they report is are the shade, by the way. It was like an oven but you could get used to it really quick when it’s dry out. In those conditions, sweat evaporates off your skin and from beneath your clothes. It’s going to be important that we always drink lots of fluids.

You’re just trying to scare us, the teenager Dena objects.

And it’s working, Deanne supports her sister.

We’re trying to prepare you girls, their mom continues. Life as you know it is about to change.

Maybe forever, the dad rallies.

The tone of finality places everyone to thinking.

We’re there. The father’s voice ends the silence.

In the short distance ahead of the taxi its occupants witness a scene of mayhem about the skycap zone where luggage is to be tagged and placed on conveyors leading to the bellies of airplanes. There are no other taxis about but arrays of luggage piles along the sidewalk; their owners engage in loud voices over sounds typical to airports. Their driver pauses.

A blaring horn sounds on the other side of the cab. The family turns to see the same motorcade as before, having pulled up beside them with the limo’s passenger window aligned with the taxi.

If I hadn’t recognized you when my limo passed you, the all too familiar voice boomed through the cab’s just opened window, you’d be spending an eternity down under.

Senator Hastings, Drissa’s voice screams back at him. My God in Heaven! What are you doing in Australia?

Time to make nice and catch up on things once we are all on my plane. Follow me!

The taxi driver needs no prompting and the five vehicles zip along through the avenue between the airline lobby and the parking structure. They pass through an inconspicuous gate on the far side of the entrance, heading for the back of the building. To an oblique corner there is a lone private jet, a huge one, bathed in area floodlights from the nearby building.

Dena’s interest in the situation peaked as did her posture, Mom? Are we going to ride home in the Senator’s plane?

Are we? Her sister joins

Well, yeah, it looks like we are, Drissa admits and gazes at Drew.

Besides, he says, it looked like there was already some trouble with boarding flights back there.

Drissa wonders out loud, So, when have you two been such a fan of the Senator?

First class seats! the two girls chime in excitement.

Like a well-oiled machine, the cars come to a stop and everyone springs into action as though well-rehearsed. The Philips struggle to keep the pace of much urgency around them. Drissa checks over her shoulder to see the Senator’s men handling their personal luggage onto the plane, entrances fore and aft, up two dozen steps. She is pleased that her girls are completely in line with the impromptu agenda, quietly for a change.

From the forward hatch, there is a wide open lounge where rows of seats must have been located. Past this and through curtained passages to either side rows of seats begin. This is where the men, and a couple of women, all wearing black suits with ties are settling in for take-off. So this is where Drissa leads her family. They are barely seated and strapped in when the hatches bang shut and the jet lurches forward into a hard turn heading for the runway.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We have not been cleared for take-off but are proceeding anyway. Please remain seated until the Fasten Seatbelt signs are no longer lit.

The jetliner made one last, forceful turn where it pauses for some pensive moments. Then its engines suddenly roar to exaggerated life, pressing Drissa and all the other passengers back into their upright seats. More questions without answers fill her mind but the take-off happens despite them. Just like that they are jetting outward into the darkness.

Chapter 2

Senator John Everett Hastings opens his hazel eyes at precisely four thirty-two, as it is every morning, and he slips out of bed. His rousing used to wake his wife, Melody, but that was back in the days of alarm clocks. Nowadays he has an enigmatic Swiss watch with piezo electric technology, inertia winding, and a hundred other attributes which are difficult to explain. To his knowledge, his wrist tingles at precisely the set time for him to slip out of bed and sojourn towards the best coffee of immodest expense, set to its own timer, which he can enjoy in perfect harmony.

The man in the bathroom mirror gazes in approval at the senator, not a bad specimen for his years and the mileage covering campaign trails and endless meetings. A sullen frown of disappointment still bothers his complexion as he did not come all the way to Australia to be ridiculed by the Prime Minister and her staff. To the reply of a smile from the handsome man, a twinge of happiness. Cool water to his face and a warm, fluffy towel to dry reinforces the psychological filters he aligns to face the day. Using a military style hair brush made with wild boar’s hair, he smooths his perfectly dark brown, short hair, smooths out the stubble on his face with a high-tech, cordless razor, then heads to the suite’s kitchen for his fresh brew.

Any day that starts with Dark Ethiopian Yirgacheffe has got to be good, he tells himself while pouring the essence into a handy mug bearing the Congressional shield.

Welcoming the spiritual infusion, little else matters at this moment besides man and the precious aroma of his coffee, darkly roasted and slightly acidic. Mug in one hand and steadying himself on the countertop with the other, his closed eyes are all that is needed to send him back last night.

And how is my handsome sea captain tonight? His wife, Melody, says with her long, black hair let down around her shoulders as they laid in bed last night, all cuddled up together.

John notices her hair being down, a message to him of being receptive of things as he answers, Your captain is horny, lass.

She caresses the outer crotch of his pajamas, feels the placid lump of interesting flesh beneath, pressing further, And does my captain have anything in his arsenal for me to play with?

The frisky talk and her attention upon him works to get his blood circulating where needed as he answers, I’ve got this one torpedo that I’ve been wanting to shoot off all day.

Hmm, she utters with a passionate tone to her voice, her dark brown eyes fluttering as she teases him. And my torpedo tube is all wet, lubricated from much anticipation of your war games. Are you ready to load?

I was born ready, honey pie. You’ve got that sweetness between your loving legs and I just can’t wait to load your tube, he says, anxious but in control of his passion. But first, I’ve got to go down below and inspect the tube, ma’am. You know, Navy protocol.

With that said, he swipes away the covers revealing his lovely wife’s nakedness. Her breasts are alert, nipples alert and perky, just as prepared for intimate encounters as is her loin. Without further words, her captain’s kisses settle upon her nipples, endowing one with tender wet attention and then the other, a strong sense of gentle urgency in his motions. Presently, he dots a line with his lips down to her navel, dipping a curious tongue into the tender cup of flesh which sends pleasant chills through her body and makes her sex excrete more jelly.

Oh, my. Things are out of adjustment, he mocks as his mouth touches the edge of her female carpet. He is tenderly fondling her knob of meatus, serving to drive Melody wild with sexual anticipation. Licking it, he says, Honey, your lubricant flow is out of adjustment, but no worries because I can fix it. Then we’ll be clear to load.

Oh, God, John! You know I can’t stand it when you do that. She’s so sensitive about your kisses it just blows my mind. She is almost screaming while she mangles his hair and alternatively grapples the sheets with a death grip.

On and on he teases her, licking slowly and deftly, pushing her most tender clitoris all around, suckling on it with inspired passion. When he knows she is ready to cum, he balances himself to land gently along her body and expertly slides the enlarged torpedo cleanly into her anxious vagina. It immediately pulsates as her moment hammers out her most tender workings against his most rigid presence. Over and over her loin contracts, doping her bloodstream with the pleasure of making love.

My God, John, she manages to say once her cumming ceases for the time being, you almost made me pass out this time.

Not sorry, he murmurs into her ear, reams his pleasure within the capture of her mid-thigh, raises his head to stare lovingly into the lipid pools of her desire in action. Her deep brown eyes glisten from the height of passion he has released upon her. She raises her knees such that her legs embrace the lower part of his thrusting abdomen, aiding in his angle of attack.

John, you just keep getting better at these war games of ours. My tube is saturated, fully loaded, and my gauge is stuck on cumming my brains out! She has spoken in paraphrases, bit her lips at times, and shows she is loving every second of the aggression.

I know, darling. He says and changes the pitch of his onslaught which helps him trust deeper. I can feel your enchanted tube quivering tonight. It’s almost time to shoot, he warns.

Cum on my captain. Keep a steady hand and obliterate your target ship, she encourages, still paraphrasing from the extreme sensations he stirs within her.

Without warning but assisted from her words, the torpedo suddenly swells up inside the munitions tube then explodes with a quivering flow of excited semen. Melody’s loin pulses hard with climatic action and she breathes like she is running a race.

God, John, I swear you just keep getting better with this!

I love you so much, Melody.

Now, he is upon the bridge of the U.S.S. Kennebunkport when he was captain of this Nautilus class nuclear powered, strategic missile submarine. It is so-called a boomer as they lie in wait upon some foreign ocean bottom carrying nuclear payloads. He can almost feel the submarine’s atmosphere around him, the extremely faint hum of many electrical systems, the highly filtered air, and sailors. All is well and he is soothed by the nearly silent running of the vessel, those indistinct sounds and smells recalled overwhelm all his worries and places him firmly inside a good place.

Suddenly, Melody’s familiar snuggle from behind him gusts away his mental vision of the bridge. Her loving touch could never be anything like disruptive and he hums in gracious acceptance of her.

You didn’t sleep well, she says of his punching match with the pillows.

I’ve lost any sense of purpose with this whole trip. There’s always some good that I can do wherever I go, I like to think.

Well, as you always tell me, don’t give up the ship. This is a brand new day.

Yeah, he says, taking a sip from his now tepid coffee such that a grimace marks his face. I know it.

John taps her arms for a gentle release and makes for the coffee machine, knowing from all their years together to pour her a cup as he refreshes his own and adds a dash of liquid N.D.C. to hers.

Melody gratefully accepts her cup, inquiring, How long were you back in your submarine, dear?

Hmm, long enough for my coffee to go cold. But, it relaxes me.

He owes his tension to the fruitless trip down under. Karma will be a bitch to be reckoned with should their scientists prove to be correct. The self-hypnosis had put him in a safe place where he is in complete control and all things are according to his will. He finds further comfort inside his heated beverage.

Hail to the Chief softly rings out on John’s pocketed cell phone, deep inside his plush robe, signaling that it must be five a.m. It is, of course, the POTUS, who holds his utmost respect. After all that has come and gone, the President was his best friend as an Admiral in the U.S. Navy and the bond has endured everything in between.

Good morning, Mr. President.

G’day, John, the president quips, I won’t ask you how things with the Aussies went. So, how is your lovely wife?

John winks at Melody, smiling and says, She gets lovelier every morning, sir. You should see her now. She’s hardly wearing anything at all.

That’s nice, man, trying to make the nice president sweat. Listen, this won’t take long. The poles have flipped and I’m not talking about voter prejudices. You know what this means. So get your whole group together and high tail it back home.

Yes, sir, John says matter of fact. Right away, Mr. President.

And John? You did get your gyros up and working in your bird, didn’t you?

Yes, sir. We’re good to go.

Very well, he acknowledges.

John knows from their history together that the conversation is now over and simply says, Good-bye, Mr. President.

Well, He says to Melody while accessing emergency numbers in his cell phone. It begins.

She casually sips her coffee, all too aware of just what her husband means by his declaration. Reflecting, she recalls those activities needed for a quick exit from Down Under, so grateful to have