It was a wonderfully sunny morning with light streaming in through the windows of our flat. I bounced out of the bed I share with Selene, invigorated by the giggling fun under the duvet. I adore the way that Selene manages to find different ways of waking me up and turning me on simultaneously.

This morning, I woke to a astonishing sensation in my breast and found Selene kneeling over me rubbing her pussy lips, delightfully wet and aroused, over one of my already-hardening nipples. After that, we took turns at licking and fingering each other to orgasm. This morning, as more often than not, Selene insisted on bringing me off, her mouth sucking on my clit as I bucked and twitched, before she would let me even begin to return the favor.

My plan for today was a meeting with an old friend. Andre is someone I've known well for ages - more than 50 years, the automation informed me when it sensed my level of uncertainty. He is one of those who dedicate their lives to their art, their passion, their creativity; it may be a surprise to learn that not everyone I know is so focused on sex.

In Andre's case, he is a composer of music in that dreamy fantastical orchestral style, incredibly ornate and archaic, apparently known as ambient synth-pop. He has a small but dedicated band of followers, who listen to his new productions, attend his occasional live concerts and even play antique musical instruments (another archaic practice, since the PA can reproduce any sound perfectly) in performances of his works.

Andre is a living demonstration of that old, old expression about "work being the sublimation of the sex drive." I strongly suspect he does not have sex with anyone - not even occasional masturbation - for weeks or even months at a time. This is something I simply could not imagine myself being capable of, although Selene assures me it is perfectly possible - although not necessarily desirable!

Even so, on the completion of some major work or perhaps just on a whim, Andre will seek me out, invite me over to his flat or arrive unannounced at mine - we have even fucked each other senseless in a Metro car, much to the entertainment and even applause of the other travelers.

He is one of those lucky men - he is a Norm - who is able to come to orgasm very frequently, five or six times in the course of an hour or so. Luckily for me, he takes it upon himself to make sure I also come before each and every time he does.

For some reason, he can only successfully ejaculate in my mouth, so during our lovemaking I swallow so much cum that I don't need to eat for hours afterwards. The rest of that dreamy hour is spent with him swapping between fucking me in the pussy between my legs - he seems less enthralled by the one between by breasts than almost anyone male I have ever met - sucking my clit with patience and skill. As the session reaches our last explosive climaxes, first mine and then his, I am always acutely aware of the mingled tastes of his jizm and my juices in my mouth, and surely in his too.

And afterwards, when are both completely - albeit temporarily, in my case - sated, he is still a joy to be with, which is why we are true friends rather than just fuck buddies. I find him eternally witty and amusing, intelligent and articulate, and I suppose he must see something in me as well, although I am sure exactly what that is.

In these post-coital conversations, he tells me about his life since we met last, his triumphs and tribulations, his artistic successes and his critical failures. He is always so energetic and compelling, and I can quite see why he has such a loyal following.

In return, I tell him about my life. The last time we met, I had just acquired that job at the Chromium Shaft club, and I remember entertaining him with tales of the behavior of the machines and the performances of the guests using them. He seemed alternately tantalized and aroused, and he promised to incorporate some reflection of the excitement and energy into a future musical piece.

Since then, I had not heard anything from him, although this was not of itself unexpected. I always enjoy these little interludes and I was eager with anticipation when I had received a message from him out of the blue delivered, as always, by the automation. The invitation was to join him at his flat - one rather larger and more luxurious than ours, although not like Mom's impressive residence.

I had explained my mission and expectations to Selene when we were lying in bed together this morning, both breathing heavily after our orgasms.

"Well," she said, in mock-pout, "I'll have to find someone to amuse me, then."

I giggled and rolled on top of her.

"Perhaps I could entertain you myself?" I said, kissing her hard.

"Maybe you could," she gasped breathlessly, her feigned petulance fading away. I did not reply; my mouth was already fully occupied elsewhere.

Part 2