This month’s theme:
Love and Lust

Every year, I do the Love and Lust edition of Cud Flashes in February, in honor of Valentine’s Day. But the editor moved the All Things Lit issue, which usually happens in January, to February, which meant my January entry got moved there as well. Since that entry is entitled “Cold,” and in March it won’t be so damn frigid here in Maine (at least I hope to hell it won’t be), we ran “Cold” in February. But there’s no way I’m missing the chance to write about romance and sex, so here it is a month late. Love your leprechauns. Just don’t bugger them unless they want you to.

“Common Decency”
Utopian/dystopian science fiction
By David M. Fitzpatrick

John stood naked before the full-length mirror, admiring his body. It was muscular and toned, rippling under the thin layer of fat beneath his skin. The nanobots did a great job keeping him in shape.

And, as always, he spent ample time looking at his penis, which hung halfway down his thigh. It was even more impressive when it got erect. He smiled at it. It was the simple things in life.

He reached his hands up to cup his breasts. They were soft and supple, in contrast to his rock-hard body. They felt perfect. He flicked fingers over his nipples and felt the sensation sizzle from there down to between his legs. He felt his penis stir a bit.

“Honey, come to bed,” Lydia said.

He turned to look at her, still holding the soft mounds of his breasts. She was on the bed, naked as he was, her own breasts beckoning him. Where he was cut muscle, she was soft curves.

“Stop admiring yourself,” she said with a playful grin. “If you’re going to get that thing excited, come do something with it.”

He grinned and headed for the bed. She laid back for him, parting her thighs to invite him. He climbed atop her, burying himself inside her, and they made furious love. The sex was wonderful, as it always was—a good twenty minutes of thrashing and flailing until they both exploded. He collapsed in exhaustion, feeling himself deflate within her. When they caught their breath, she said, “How about another round? I’ll do you this time.”

He rolled on his back, eager, and she climbed between his legs. He reached down to pull his package aside to reveal his vagina, even as she guided her growing penis towards him. But then he stopped her.

“Go easy,” he said. “You know...”

She laughed. “John, you’re only three months pregnant. The baby won’t be hurt. I promise.”

He smiled. “Just overly concerned, I guess.”

She furrowed her brow, sitting back on her calves. “It’s hard to imagine what it was like before people were converted,” she said. “Only the women having the babies, I mean. Or before men and women had all the same genitalia.”

“Never mind that—how about all the hatred and intolerance?” he said. “Gays couldn’t marry. People were ostracized for having the same genitals as their partners. No matter how often I read about it, I just can’t imagine anything more absurd.”

“Me either. I can’t imagine what it would be like to only have only one set of genitals.”

He sighed, clasping his hands behind his head. “The worst part is that people tended to base them on religious beliefs—of all things!”

“Crazy,” she said, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Look, I don’t want to rush you, but... get that thing inside me,” John said with a chuckle. “We have to be down to the town hall in an hour. Can you believe the case we’ll be judging today?”

“I know!” she cried, wide-eyed. “Can you even believe it? Bill Morrison wants to get a license to marry... Jane Carmichael!”

A look of disgust washed over John’s face. “All the advances we’ve made in science and society, and Bill Morrison wants to undo it. I mean, he was born with only male genitalia. And Mary was born with only female genitalia. All they have to do is undergo a simple nanoconversion and they could be normal.”

“They don’t want to,” Lydia said. “They said there’s—” she wrinkled her face up at this “—there’s nothing abnormal about them.”

“Well, it’s up to the townspeople, and I know I’m sure not going to let it happen.”

“Same here. I mean, there’s a limit to what we can allow in this world...”

“Eternal Love”
Science fiction
By David M. Fitzpatrick

Adam sat with Rose on the sofa, watching a movie on the 3D wallscreen, thinking about what she really was—what Dr. Simons had done to create her. She was perfectly content as she held his hand. The heat from her hand on his was marvelous. Adam still couldn’t believe it. It was as if she were still alive and sitting right there next to him. But he knew that this was a replica of the Rose that once was...

He realized that he’d been staring at her, and she’d turned to look at him with a broad smile. “What’s going on, sweetie?”

He smiled back, squeezing her hand. “I just like looking at you. You’re so beautiful.”

She blushed, just like a real woman, just like Rose had. “You know how to make me feel special.”

They returned to watching the movie.

Rose had been gone a year. It had been such a tragic accident—a hovercar crash. The nanobots couldn’t repair her fast enough, but the doctors were able to back up her brain in time. That’s how they’d recreated her as an android. Nobody had asked him permission, but something about her donor status gave them the right. He’d resisted the idea at first—in fact, he’d been furious.

“You have to give this a chance,” Dr. Simons had told him. “Rose’s body is dead, but we’ve preserved who she was. Her synthetic brain is exactly the brain your Rose had. She’s the same person, with the same thoughts and feelings.”

Eventually, he’d accepted that having a duplicate Rose who didn’t know she wasn’t the original was better than not having her at all.

“It isn’t like she’s a cheap knockoff,” Simons had said. “Adam, this is her. This is the woman you first got giddy over in second grade, the woman you fell in love with in high school, the woman you married. The memories are hers. The love she has for you is hers. And it’s real.”

He’d relented. But Simons had one difficult requirement for him.

“You must never tell her what she is,” Simons said. “She must never know. We’ll tell her we saved her with a synthetic android body, but she must believe that her brain is the original. She’ll learn one day, but right now she must not know.”

And now, thinking about these things, and looking at her on the sofa, Adam couldn’t believe that he’d ever objected.

“You’re looking at me again,” she said with that beautiful smile.

“I love you so much,” he said, and her face melted.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, her eyes wet, “I love you, too.”

“A love like ours is so very special,” he said. “It’s one that should go on forever.”

She blinked as if in surprise. “Aren’t you poetic today!”

He laughed. “You bring out the poet in me.”

He gripped her hand even tighter, and held it like he wanted to never let go.

*   *   *

Rose was perfectly content as she held Adam’s hand, thinking about what he really was—what Dr. Simons had done to create him. The heat from his hand on hers was wonderful. Rose still couldn’t believe it. It was as if Adam were still alive and sitting right here next to her. But she knew that this was a replica of the Adam that once was...

*   *   *

Dr. Simons finished up his case report.

“Three months in, and neither party has suspected a thing,” he dictated. “Each thinks that only the other is a duplicate. Each thinks the other was the result of an accident. The real Adam and Rose, who consented to have their brains and bodies modeled, have relocated under new names. I have high hopes for this experiment, which will answer many questions about the nature of self, of personality, of existence... and of love.

“One day, one of them will tell the other the truth, and they’ll learn what they both are. From a research standpoint, I’m eager for that day to arrive...”

“Cacturbation”
Space opera science fiction
By David M. Fitzpatrick

When Captain Nikki Biggs topped the desert rise, the first thing she saw was a man fucking a cactus.

She stopped, blinking in surprise. Normally, stumbling onto sex of any kind, she’d have averted her eyes; even at age thirty, such things easily embarrassed her. But the scene was so bizarre that Biggs could only stare, slack-jawed and speechless. She knew darn well that this had to be Miles Corliss, the only human on the planet, and the man she’d come to take care of. That made it even more awkward.

Dyriana VII was mostly Earth-like. Most of its terrain was similar to the deserts of the American Southwest, but above was a bright lavender sky, with two blazing suns and three of its six moons visible during the day. Corliss’ pants were down around his ankles, and there was no doubt about what he was doing. Even from this distance, Biggs could see him steadily thrusting his hips as he bored in and out of the cactus.

It wasn’t a spiny thing like Earth cacti. Atop the cactus was a poofy array of white and yellow strip flowers, like squiggly-shaped, stiff ribbons. The eight-foot-tall green trunk, thicker through than Biggs’ hips were wide, was covered with pink branches that grew at slight upward angles. They were smooth, several inches long, and rounded. The cactus looked as if it were covered with jutting pink dildos, like some very creative sex toy.

She knew she had a mission to fulfill, so she had to interrupt, She cleared her throat overly loudly, like a character in a campy sitcom. Corliss looked over his shoulder at her, his face dripping with sweat as his hands gripped the cactus trunk. “Just a second,” he called back, breathless. “Almost done.”

Then he really turned up the action, wrapping his arms about the trunk and plastering his face against it. He closed his eyes, gritting visible teeth, and began to piston his hips in overdrive. Biggs wanted to look away, but the experience had now shifted from “strangely bizarre” to “downright ridiculous.” She began to grin as he watched Corliss pound the cactus. She realized that she had now seen everything.

There was nothing erotic about the scene to her—although Corliss seemed turned on enough for them both. A small part of her wanted to be turned on by the scene, but it was so outlandish that it just didn’t get her going. She didn’t begrudge him screwing the cactus—after all, alone out here on Dyriana VII to serve his sentence, any human male was bound to get horny enough to fuck anything, even the local flora. But to keep banging the plant life after being discovered, and to be so nonchalant about it? Maybe he’d cracked.

And then Corliss finished, crying out in orgasm and burying himself in the cactus. He twitched and spasmed, and finally it was over. He pulled out, staggering backward and fumbling for his pants, as green cactus juice—and other stuff—drooled out of the plant.

Biggs made her way down the slight grade as the cactus-banger buckled his pants and moved to meet him. Not far off to the right was the dome shelter the prison ship had left for him.

“You must be Miles Corliss,” she said. She unsnapped her holster and rested her hand on the butt of her blaster.

“You know I am,” he replied, pulling a rag from his pocket and mopping his sweat-soaked face with it. “But supply ships come every six months. There isn’t one due for another two months.”

“Don’t ask me; I just take the jobs. I’ve left a load of supplies where I set my ship down, a half-kilometer from here.” She felt the suns blazing on her, felt her own sweat begin to form. He was smiling rather matter-of-factly at her. “You must have heard my ship. I flew right over you. Why didn’t you... stop what you were doing?”

“I was having too great a time,” he said with a laugh. “Really, there’s more to this than you think. The cacti here are... empathic. Basic sentience, I suppose. They connect with us on a subconscious level and stir up certain emotions. Sexual ones. It’s rather... stimulating, really, in ways that I can’t describe. You’d only understand if you tried it...”

She realized then that, as they were talking, he’d slowly been inching his way toward her. With every word or gesture or move of his head, he’d inched toward her, so that she almost hadn’t noticed. She backed up a step, gripping the blaster tightly. “No closer, Mr. Corliss,” she warned. “I may be just a ship for hire, but they warned me about you.”

He seemed surprised. “I wouldn’t hurt you. And I wouldn’t try to escape Dyriana VII. I’ve been here four years, lady. I have ten more to go. They’ll suck, of course, but that’s why I don’t need an escape rap to land me here for the rest of my life.”

She untensed, but kept her hand on the blaster. “You’ll understand if I don’t take any chances.”

“I get it.”

He followed her gaze, which was fixed on the cactus. The hole he’d been penetrating had almost sealed completely up, but the gooey green insides still dribbled out.

“It’s like snot in there,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Warm and thick. But the outer shell is soft, stretchy rubber. Damn pleasurable.”

“Great,” Biggs said, feeling herself turning a deep red, but she was staring at something else.

And he caught on with a grin. “You’re getting turned on looking at those branches.”

“I most certainly am not,” she snapped, maybe too quickly.

“It’s okay—you’re getting the empathic vibes from the cactus. That’s how it starts. Really, I was happy to just masturbate the old-fashioned way. But these cacti stir you up.”

“Got it,” she said, and realized there might be another way to fulfill her mission. “Look, I have other planets to visit. You can pick up the supplies after I lift off.”

He ignored her, stepping over to the cactus to grip one of the dildo-like pink branches. He stroked it, and the more he did, the more engorged it got. To emphasize his point, he wiggled, it showing obvious flexibility.

“There are birdlike creatures here that land on them and extract the inner gel,” he explained. “Pollination, I suppose. It’s a side benefit that either human gender can get pleasure out of the thing.” He looked at her with a sly grin. “You should try.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hey, you’re only human. Trust me, you don’t want to miss the chance. I’ve used the branches, too—you know, by putting them up my—”

“I get it,” she snapped.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you won’t feel anything like it, not anywhere. No human lover will make you feel that good.”

“I have to be going,” she said, and she backed away up the rise. “Wait here until I’ve lifted off.”

He nodded in surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll take a nap. I’d rather haul supplies at night, when it’s cooler.”

Once over the rise, Biggs broke into a brisk job in the sweltering heat. She hadn’t given the cacti a second look on her first trek through, but now all she could think about were the phallic branches jutting everywhere. Erotic sensations washed over her, and she felt herself getting wet between her legs. Was it the cacti, or had Corliss just gotten into her head?

She made it back to her small, one-man ship in no time, drenched with sweat—and drenched with something else. Whatever the explanation, she was definitely turned on. And as she opened the hatch, she realized that there was a particularly nice cactus just a few meters beyond her craft.

Suddenly, that was all Biggs could think about. She looked over her shoulder; Corliss was nowhere to be seen. She unbuckled her utility belt and holster, hung them on the open door, and hurried to the cactus. She reached out and gingerly touched the branch.

It responded almost immediately, not unlike a human man: jerking slightly, beginning to swell.

“Unreal,” she breathed.

She looked back. There was nothing in the half-kilo between her and that rise except sand, brush, and cacti, but there were plenty of big boulders for Corliss to hide behind. No matter; she was overcome with the desire to masturbate—with the cactus.

She trembled, nervous, and moved around to the far side of the cactus, undoing her pants as she went. She peeled them and her panties down around her ankles. She was breathing heavily as turned, backed up, found a rubbery pink branch at the right height. She reached back for it, feeling it grow, and slid it inside her.

The penetration alone sent intense waves of pleasure through her. Bent over, she began to move, back and forth, rotating her hips as she did. The pleasure raged through her body like nothing she had ever felt, and soon dizziness overtook her as she rode that cactus like a madwoman. She heard herself crying out, wailing, screaming, bouncing on it like a woman possessed, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even care if Corliss heard her. She kept thrashing until that familiar sensation built deep inside her, and then she exploded in orgasm, grinding her ass against the cactus and crying out once again before collapsing forward. She tried to land on her hands and knees, but she was far too weak. She ended up facedown in the hot desert earth.

Her head swam. It was incredible. She’d never felt anything like it. Corliss hadn’t been kidding. There was no doubt she had to change her mission. But everything was spinning, and she had to get herself together...

“Are you okay?”

It was a voice like from down a long tunnel. She struggled to get to her knees, but everything was tilting wildly about. Through hazy double vision, she saw Corliss’ face above her. She blinked herself back to reality and let the world come into focus.

“You all right?”

She nodded, mute and breathless. She made it to her knees, felt him helping her to her feet. She was lewdly exposed, but she didn’t care. She struggled to pull her panties up, then to pull her pants up, then to button up. Once she was presentable, she turned to Corliss.

He stood a safe distance away, wearing her utility belt and holster. He had her blaster trained on her.

“The cactus sex almost makes being here worth it,” he said, “but not quite. I stole a lot of money, lady, and I’m not going to burn here for the next ten years. You don’t have to worry; there will be another supply ship in two months, and they’ll rescue you. You’ll survive until then.”

Biggs watched as Corliss backed away from her, toward her ship. Another minute later, he was sealed inside the ship and firing up the antigravs. She watched as the craft rose into the air and picked up speed until it was sailing high over the desert.

She sighed. She felt bad for him, a little, because he hadn’t tried to hurt her. She dug the controller out of her jacket pocket, flipped it open, and thumbed the button.

High above and far away, she saw the ship explode like a little supernova. She watched as debris rained down.

Everything had gone exactly as planned—almost.

She was just supposed to kill him and prove it to the people who’d hired her—people who were furious at losing their money to the thief, and who thought fourteen years wasn’t enough of a punishment. The pay alone would be worth it. She wasn’t much of a killer, but her lover had lost everything thanks to Corliss, and had taken his own life. That was all Biggs needed to take the job.

Blowing up the ship was part of the plan, too. Her employers had given her the ship for the mission, and she’d taken out a hefty insurance policy on it. So she’d get a fat paycheck and a new ship out of the deal.

But one thing hadn’t been part of the plan. She knew she’d have to wait two months on this desert world, but now she’d do it with the cacti. And until that rescue ship arrived, she planned to use the cactus as often as she could.

Corliss was right about one thing: She was only human.

David M. Fitzpatrick is a fiction writer in Maine, USA. His many short stories have appeared in print magazines and anthologies around the world. He writes for a newspaper, writes fiction, edits anthologies, and teaches creative writing. Visit him at www.fitz42.net/writer to learn more.