Humanity 2.0, Year 001, Day 001A

HUMANITY 2.0

YEAR 001, DAY 001 - PART ONE

I thought I should go ahead and start writing a record of my life, as self-important as that sounds. It's not like I've got much better to do; Zee won't let me do any real work, so when I'm not travelling to the countless abandoned cities and ruins of our ancestors, I pretty much sit around and/or have sex. I've been trying to put together as much of our ancestors' history and knowledge as I can -- the stuff 15226 missed -- because so few of you ever lived in the old world, and it has so much to teach us.

Nina suggested to me the other day that I myself am just as much a source of history as any relic I could find, which prompted me to start writing this autobiography of sorts. Egotistical, I know, but I think I've earned at least a little bit of this. It's not really just my own story; it's the story of the earliest days of our people.

So this is a record, from the beginning, of how I -- Benedict Stanton -- ended up as the progenitor of Humanity 2.0. Actually, scratch that, the girls always hated that name -- and they can certainly outvote me. So they've all been calling our people the name Hannah picked -- hominus.

It all started with me getting sick. I didn't actually remember getting sick, and certainly not as sick as I felt when I woke up. I just went to bed one night after untold hours of study for my organic chem final, and woke up in such a bad state that my roommate John apparently called the paramedics. I don't even remember that part, that's just what I was told afterwards. I had crashed at about one in the morning Saturday after who knew how many calls to meet in some bar or another from some of my geek friends, who actually had social lives -- unlike me. That was the last thing I remembered.

I'd never been so sick before; I'd had the flu bad once, and chicken pox, and a case of appendicitis when I was seventeen that was apparently almost ruptured when they took it out. Those were all nasty and painful, but this was worse. Given, at twenty-two years old in that era, I should have expected that, sooner or later in life, I would inevitably have a brush with my mortality.

Still, to me that was always something that would come later, maybe when I had grandkids. No sense kidding myself, I thought -- I wouldn't see any kids in my life, let alone grandkids. It took monumental effort to even get girls to hang around with me, let alone touch me, which had led to my life being the romantic equivalent of the Saharan desert.

My eyes opened in the hospital, and for a time I couldn't even think about anything, the pain was so bad. It was everywhere, every breath, every heartbeat, every tiny noise I heard from outside the room just sent more pain reverberating through me. It took interminable ages -- but probably half an hour or so -- for me to even get myself together enough to realize I wasn't at home, or ask myself what was going on. Someone came into my room and adjusted something, and said something I don't remember. Not long after, the haze started to clear, though I felt decidedly stoned -- probably they upped the dosage on my painkillers. It was welcome, in any case.

It was a hospital room like any other. I was alone -- there was another bed, but it was unoccupied. The room was painted a drab blue-gray, and there was some poster on the wall detailing various tracheal disorders. There was an IV in my arm, with who knew what mixed in with its saline solution. I didn't get stupid and remove it, but I definitely needed to know what was going on.

I rang the little buzzer next to my bed... hopefully it would summon somebody. A few minutes later, an orderly or nurse or somebody who wasn't a doctor arrived, a barrel-chested middle-aged guy with partly covered old tattoos -- he looked like he'd just stepped off a Harley and changed into his scrubs.

"Hey, pal, how you feeling?" His rough voice only added to his biker dude image.

"Ach... gah...." My voice croaked. I didn't realize how dry my throat was. I tried again. "Like... shit."

"Hah. Sounds about right. I've got a few little tests to run on you here and the doctor will be right in."

"Okay... what... yucchhhhh..." I coughed again, for a moment. "What happened to me?"

"I'll let the doctor tell you that, buddy. Last I heard, they were still trying to figure it out.

I tried to keep my worries under control as he asked me some questions about my condition -- if the pain was focused in any particular part of my body, what did I do the night before, am I allergic to anything, who's your insurance provider, some other things. Routine and boring. Completely sensible questions.

Aside from the insurance, which was still on the old man's policy -- who knew, it still worked even when he was in prison -- I couldn't help him much. The pain was everywhere in my body, and I didn't do anything unusual yesterday. I had spent the last three days basically cooped up in my apartment.

There was some good news -- he was also here to deliver on something the doctor had cleared me on, codeine. He put it in my IV bag and wrote for a little while after we finished, gave me a big and possibly fake smile, and off he went. He left me with some water to drink on the nearby table, at least, but I could barely use my arm well enough to pick up the cup.

That challenge occupied me for about fifteen minutes, most of which I spent intently staring at the cup and devising a strategy by which I'd grasp it and drink down the contents. It was during this time that I started to feel the effects of the drug. Good stuff. It was another interminable while before a doctor suddenly barged in.

"Hi... Mr. Stanton?" She had a nice voice -- I turned my head away from the window to greet her. That was a mistake. Whatever pleasantry I'd meant to return was lost in another agonizing symphony of pain. When it cleared, I saw her sitting down next to me. She was good-looking, though she was definitely not a college kid like me.

She looked like she was about forty, albeit a sexy forty; she was clearly a woman who kept herself in shape. She had neat brunette hair cut in a short-bob, and dark brown eyes, and looked like she had a little Hispanic in her ancestry -- though she didn't have any accent. Her expression was detached, at best. She was wearing one of those ubiquitous white doctor's jackets, and her lapel read 'B. LAZAR -- MD, Intensive Care'. She gave me a perfunctory smile. "How are you feeling, Mr. Stanton?"

"What's wrong with me?" There was no way the previous guy hadn't told her that I'd asked the exact same question just a bit ago.

She paused for a moment, giving me an unreadable look. "Don't be too worried when I say this - but right now, we're not sure. We're trying to narrow down the list, actually. I want you to try some things for me now that you're awake. Can you help me?"

Well, anything to keep the sexy woman in the room with me. It gave me something to focus on other than the state of my body. "Yeah..."

She did that thing where they press on different parts of you while you breathe deeply, and checked my lymph nodes, all that. Judging by her expression, nothing jumped out at her. She sat back in her little chair for a moment, staring at her chart, then looked at me for a moment. "I'd like to see if I can get you walking."

I was instantly dubious of the proposal. "That... sounds like it's going to hurt."

"At first, yes. I'll be here the whole time. I'm hoping this is just a rare kind of nerve pinching in the spine that can happen to sedentary people. If I'm right, moving should make the pain erratically come and go, or move it around your body quickly. Give me a few steps and tell me how you feel."

I took a deep breath; it hurt almost as much for an obviously good-looking woman to so casually declare me 'sedentary'. Was it that obvious? I wasn't really overweight, though that was mainly due to my tastes in food luckily aligning generally with things that were healthy -- certainly not due to any exercise habits. I looked like most any other male of the internet generation, save for my skin tone -- short but not well-kept hair, definition lacking... my sister Emily had told me I could be a handsome man if I tried, but I had always just assumed she was being nice.

About the only distinguishing feature we shared had was our odd background -- it was sort of a running joke, actually, how we somehow managed to have roughly equal portions of just about every ethnic group on the planet. Dad had been a Hawaiian-born half-Japanese and half-Finnish 'entrepreneur', and Mom had been a quarter African-American, a quarter light Brazilian, and half Cherokee Indian.

Basically, that meant the two of us fit in virtually nowhere.

The painkillers had well and kicked in by now; I was dancing on the clouds. Just about any suggestion at all would have flown with me by that point. She helped me out of bed, and got me onto my feet. With her help, I took a few halting steps. I wouldn't say it was agony, but it didn't improve my condition.

She helped me back towards the bed, but just as I reached it, my right leg decided the hell with me, it was taking a break. I fell forward, and with a shout I tried to grab the edge of the bed, missed, and groaned in pain as I fell -- almost knocking her to the floor on the way down.

A few seconds later, I was back to my senses. I'd somehow managed to flip sideways and land on the floor, though my head landed on her foot -- I wasn't really injured, just in even more pain. The IV stand clattered to the floor next to me. I gathered myself, and tried to sit up on my forearms. Looking up, I saw Dr. Lazar staring down at me... she looked completely zoned out. I reached out with an arm to try to get her help standing up, but she only stood there, staring at me... I followed her eyes, and realized she wasn't staring at me exactly -- at least, not at my face.

My damn hospital smock had fallen off to the side, exposing my lower half. My goods were on display for all. Instantly, I felt ashamed. My own lack of endowment was yet another source of insecurity with regard to girls. Girls expect a man of minority racial background to have a big and imposing package due to some urban legend or another - but my own equipment gave only lie to that whole nonsense. She had to be giggling to herself at this non-man she was treating now, and his small --

Wait a second... I don't remember ever being that big when I was soft. By now, I was also staring at my cock, for somewhat different reasons. Like all men can certainly do, I could clearly recall the dimensions of my equipment. I'd seen it God knows how many times when I was in the shower, getting changed, and yes, I admit I used to stroke off day and night.

This was still my tool, but it was somehow much, much larger -- I used to be two inches soft, and now I had to be maybe six. A pair of much bigger, heavier balls rested against my thighs. A flash of panic shot through my head. Had it swollen up with some kind of infection or disease? Oh God, they're not going to have to amputate it, are they?

I replaced the smock and managed to get the doctor's attention a few seconds later. She shook herself, and looked just as confused as me about something she was thinking of, then helped me up and onto the bed. I tried to act like nothing happened, but worry got the better of me.

"Actually, doctor..." I choked on my voice for a few moments. This was going to be incredibly awkward, but I had to know. "Uh, about what... you just saw. Um, please don't think I'm making this up or using this as some dumb pick-up line or something-"

"Shoot it. Shoot it all." She blinked. "The question, I mean, just ask me. I'm a doctor, Ben, don't worry, yours wasn't the first I've seen, and it won't be the last." Suddenly, a little smile appeared. "You should be a little proud of yourself, Mr. Stanton."

I paused, taking in her meaning. I hoped I'd read it right that she was just telling me I was apparently bigger than average. "Um -- that's it, though. I mean -- every guy has seen his... equipment, before. Mine, uhh, isn't... supposed to be that big."

The doctor still seemed distracted. I'd expected her to laugh off what she thought was some inept sexual advance. When she finally turned her eyes back on me, she looked perplexed. "Can you clarify that?"

"I mean, I've seen it a few times this week, when I, uh, saw it. I'm not half that big. I was shocked, seeing, uh, that, just now. I'm worried. What do they call it? Elephant something. Elephantitis?"

"It's elephantiasis, and it has a lot of other symptoms - your penis would look visibly unhealthy, and the disease affects the ba- I mean testes far more than the penis. Your whole package, though, looks pretty good... looks pretty healthy, I mean." She corrected herself quickly, though she'd said the first comment with a far more personal sense than the detached and clinical tone she'd started in.

She switched back to her professional tone presently. "It more commonly affects just the scrotum and testes in men, and the most common cause is a parasitic infection; we would have seen that right away on your blood work. I didn't see anything all that out of the ordinary with your equipment, really." Her hand reached out, suddenly pressing against my crotch... and the tip of my penis, under the hospital smock. The decidedly less clinical tone crept back into her voice. "I'll take another look, though."

I raised an eyebrow. I'd had my penis examined by doctors before, by female doctors even, during routine physicals -- just like they checked everything else. I never saw one have a look on their face beforehand like hers was then. She laid me back on the bed, and glanced over at the door. Why did she check the door?

With a quick motion, she pulled the smock off my lower body again, revealing my cock a second time. I couldn't resist, and sat up on my elbows again. She still had that same look, staring at my cock like it was worth a million bucks. To someone other than me, I mean. Oh -- a million bucks was a whole lot of money at the time. Her hands slid along my waist, no gloves, and started to touch me.

No.... I swallowed. This isn't touching. This is definitely... caressing. She cupped my balls, looking at each in turn, while her small hand closed around my girth. I felt the first pulse of my flaccidity's termination as blood flowed into the stiffening pole. She gave an experimental pump to my length, which made me flop around a bit, though I was sure I would soon be rigid. Should I try to think of something else? Will she be offended if I get a hardon?

My mind raced, but my body had already decided to head off in its own direction -- reacting directly to the unmistakable stimulation she was giving me. She even gave her lips a short lick. Suddenly she took off her jacket, tossing it onto the countertop a few feet away, revealing a much more feminine appearance -- a simple black turtleneck that hugged her boobs, which I guessed were C-cups, over a gray pencil skirt and sheer pantyhose.

With a little hop her ass was planted on the side of my bed, and both of her hands were back on my prick, toying with it further as my length ascended into truly impressive stiffness -- and utterly dwarfing any erection I would have had prior to that day.

"Umm... doctor..."

"Hmm.... Just bear with me, Mr. Stanton. I'm testing the plumbing." She smiled at me, but her hand continued its light pumping of my shaft. I felt the first bit of pre-come escape and dribble onto her bare skin. Definitely not clinical. "You were worried about swelling. You see, the male penis is designed to swell. That's how it becomes erect, it's vaguely like an inflammation. If your cock -- um, penis has normal flaccid and erect states, that's a sign of good health."

Another short jack. Her good medical explanation was being betrayed by her almost predatory stare at my dick. A part of me was incredibly aroused, and the other part incredibly anxious. First I find out the thing somehow doubled in size overnight -- while I was really sick, too -- and now the first good-looking woman I meet is just grabbing it and giving me a handjob.\

Much as every man likes to fantasize about what life would be like if they had a bigger tool, I couldn't quite convince myself that every big-dicked guy out there was getting this kind of treatment from any girl who happened to accidentally see his package live and in the flesh. Something really weird was going on, but I was still weak, and she was hot; I wanted to do more with her so badly...

"Dr. Lazar... um..."

"Call me Bethany."

"Okay... Bethany. Call me Ben, I guess. I've never had an exam like this one, uhh, can you walk me through what comes next?"

"Oh... sorry, missed that step." She took both my balls, kneading them back and forth, and she shuffled herself a little further onto my bed... and turned her torso a little to face me more. Her back bent down. Oh, God -- she isn't really going to do it, is she? "We've established the basic functionality of your cock. It's a good sign that you can develop a nice erection for me so quickly.

"Don't be ashamed, you're a man and that's what the male organ does in reaction to a woman's body. I know in college you hear from these crazy feminists who guilt-trip you about being a man, but you shouldn't apologize for wanting girls, Ben. I'm glad you have an erection for me."

She brushed her hair back behind her ears. "Now, I just want you to let go. The male penis is first meant for sex, and the easiest way to make sure it's all right is to just perform a simple test. I'm a woman, you're a man... it's very easy to administer." She licked her lips again. "I suppose a little extra stimulation wouldn't hurt." With a quick motion, she pulled her turtleneck up, revealing ample breasts under a simple white bra, and then she unsnapped it too. Her tits bounced free, giving a pleasing jiggle. My eyes focused on her brownish nipples.

"I can tell you're nervous, Ben. Stop thinking for a few minutes and just live in your body. It's a sign of a healthy body that a man wants sex. Now, this test only requires you to ejaculate. If seeing my tits and using my mouth can help promote your health, then I'm glad to help you." She had this grin the whole time like she was just making up bullshit as she went along.

She had to be, but before I could mention it, her lips descended to my shaft. My eyes went wide as her tongue extended, and I shuddered as it first made contact. This was miles beyond any medical exam, that much was very clear no matter what she said. Had something else happened while I was sick? Had I been unconscious for ten years, and missed some massive sexual revolution?

Her head passed my crown, and my cock was finally, once again, after two years, back in a warm, wet female mouth. I gasped, and let out a long breath. She took my length halfway down, then brought herself back up, very slowly, then ran her tongue around my head a few times before licking up and down the shaft again. Every motion was so slow and deliberate... and so delicious. My anxiety finally decided to stop fighting for the driver's seat; whatever questions I had, could wait until the action was done. This chick was obviously ready to finish this right here and right now, and in my state it wasn't like I could fight back even if I tried.

As I let go, I realized my cock was only just now reaching full erection. There was no measuring stick around, but it was much bigger than any overnight phenomenon could account for -- my old four-and-a-half inch length - at best - had been easily doubled. Even in porno I'd not seen a shaft like I saw on my own body right then.

As she drew her mouth and tongue up my pole, it seemed to go on and on, and it felt amazing. When Cathleen had sucked me off a few times two years ago, it had been a short and uncomfortable experience -- but I had been so horny that I came anyway, without even having time to warn her. She thought I came in her mouth intentionally, and she hated the taste of come -- after the third time it happened, she seemed furious with me.