Charlene fucking hated Saturn because Grant loved fucking on Saturn. Initially, Charleneâd had no problem with the fact that her husband loved fucking on Saturn. Grantâd claimed that anytime they found themselves on the sixth planet outward â whether taking the commuter-rocket for a day of business meetings or packing up the Mobile Family Station for a weekend retreat â heâd find himself particularly horny.
Sometimes heâd attributed this extraterrestrial randiness to the presence Saturnâs countless moons, explaining that blood was being summoned into his cock by the gravitational pull of far more satellites than the one heâd grown accustomed to on Earth. Sometimes heâd blamed his indefatigable lust on Saturnâs rings, waxing pseudo-philosophic about what he termed âthe solar systemâs most impressive yonic symbol.â And still other times, with synthetic hallucinogens smashing through his blood-brain barrier, Grant had cut to the chase by proudly grabbing hold of his fully engorged genitalia and screaming âI AM SATURNALIA INCARNATE!â
Truth be told, Charleneâd kind of liked it when Grant cut to the chase.
And why the hell shouldnât she? Charlene wasnât living in the bygone era of her grandmamma, the time in which womenfolk were expected to stay on Earth and raise the chillun. No, fuck that â Charlene had been born into the goddamn future. As such, she fit the description of a character who could feel justified in partaking in recreational drugs and non-procreational sex. She was a liberated woman of the solar system. She was Stellar Investmentsâ Outer Planets Regional Manager, the first person of her age and gender to hold said position, nonetheless. She was a self-actualized sexual being, and for a while sheâd enjoyed parrying every sexual advance of her husbandâs with her own debaucherous maneuvers.
But eventually the proverbial rockets exploded in midflight. The coupleâd been staying at Hotel Cronus, one of the swankiest resorts on the entire planet. As always, Grant had put some serious substances into his body and was serious about trying to get some substances out. Unfortunately for him, Charleneâs mind was on the business that needed attending and was in no mood to facilitate her husbandâs release.
âIâm sorry Grant, but I need to get to the embassy immediately. The Chancellor is trying to prevent our lobbyists from even speaking to the senators.â
âMY VEINS TREMBLE AS THEY SURGE WITH A VISCOUS BLOOD FORGED IN THE VERY CHAMBER OF THE COSMIC-HEART DESIGNED TO PLEASURE THE HUMAN VULVA!â
âHoney, youâre stoned. And thatâs fine. But I have to go to the embassy right now!â
âI WILL ACCEPT THAT TRUTH ONLY ON THE CONDITIONS THAT YOU LEAVE YOUR VULVA!â
âUm, Iâm sorry, but Iâm taking my vulva with me.â
âTHEN LEAVE YOUR MOUTH-SPIRIT! OR YOUR SPHINCTER GHOST!â
Charlene told Grant that her âmouth-spiritâ would be left in the hotel room and he could do with it anything he pleased. Then she dumped out the duffel bag of sex toys sheâd packed, encouraging her husband to have as much fun as heâd like during her absence. Blowing a kiss across the room, Charlene exited the scene before it turned into something else altogether.
âWhatever mess is made in that room,â she laughed to herself while cracking open a can of Nectar Nicotine, âIâll clean it up when I get back.â
But Grant didnât make a mess of the room.
Even with all of the various toys Charleneâd dumped onto the bed â lubricants and wands and rings and clamps and gags â Grant was compelled to leave the room. Apparently he hadnât been able to divine gratification from the mouth-spirit he believed Charlene had left for him. Instead, he hallucinated his way around his hotel floor for the better part of an hour and eventually managed to stumble into the elevator. When the doors opened again, he spilled out into a veritable sexual meat market.
The Lobby at Hotel Cronus.
If the solar systemâs outer planets could be said to have a pre-coital gathering place, itâd be this very spot. This was the venue where politicians and capitalists and vacationers and dignitaries came to turbo-charge their clients and spouses and investors and prostitutes with an unadulterated sexual electricity. This was a place where those who could, would. As long as one had clout or the money to supplant clout, pretty much anything could be arranged. Typically, the rule was that said arrangements would lead back to the hotel rooms.
But when Grant ambled into Bar Bebhionn it became clear that were exceptions.
âHello there,â a squat, balding geriatric greeted Grant, âmy name is Peter Smallbag.â He flashed an invitational smile. âDo you know who I am?â
âWHY YES! YOUâRE THE VICAR OF THE VENUS! A PLANETARY CHIEFTAN OF CARNAL DESIRE!â
âMy, youâre awfully excited,â chortled Smallbag, directing his gaze towards Grantâs crotch. Â âYes, I am, in fact, the Vicar of Venus â the celestial orb named for the Roman goddess of sex. We pride ourselves on that fact that weâre the second planet from the sun but the first to drop our pants.â
âOH MY GOD!â Grant wavered, knees weakened by the serotonin-waves washing over him. âI NEED TO GO TO VENUS!â
âWell, as part of my duty as Vicar,â Peter Smallbag gave the maitre dâ the usual head nod and wink, âis to do everything I can to make sure that you come.â
The Vicar of Venus tugged on Grantâs zipper and then it was pure bedlam.
Nearly three hours later, Charlene walked into Bar Bebhionn and saw the still-in-progress sexual escapade that would end her marriage. At this point, her husband and Peter Smallbag were in the midst of a ferocious standing sixty-nine. Not only was Grant holding the Vicar, he was also spinning in complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotations, only relenting after crashing into a table. Recovering, Grant unwrapped his lips from the Vicar, removed himself from the Vicarâs lips, and then bent the elder statesman over said table as to begin thrusting. Charlene watched in horror, never saying a word until both her husband and her husbandâs lover had finished.
This had taken an additional three hours.
No longer would Charlene think of Saturn as the battleground of some of her finest work-related triumphs. She wouldnât think of it as the planet she would go to for some of the best vacations of her life. She wouldnât even think of it as her home away from home, first during her undergraduate semester abroad and later when she rose through the ranks of Stellar Investments. No, Saturn would now always stick in her mind as the place where she saw her ex-husband and a dirty old man ejaculate into each other.
Charlene fucking hated Saturn.