Sliding Sideways - Sex Stories

Sliding Sideways

... difference a few craters and radioactivity can do to a world!” “I can imagine!” Vivienne said. There was a curious sparkle in her eyes that suggested to Quentin that she was genuinely fascinated by what he was saying and an unusual lack of that amused scepticism that usually accompanied the most sympathetic ears to his predicament. Was she just very good at hiding her real thoughts? Or was she playing him along? “I once decided to write an account of my life,” Quentin continued. “I had this 4GHz computer running this operating system called Winix. It was fantastic! And this was a few years back, whereas the best computers in this continuum aren’t a quarter as fast. And I’ve known computers in the last few years the best they can offer is as much processing power as I’ve got in my mobile here.” Quentin nodded towards the large mobile phone by his elbow with the long protruding aerial. “Anyway, I wrote all day and all night, while the wife I had, a pretty woman I’ve not seen since, wouldn’t stop moaning about me staying up. And then I thought I’d review what I’d written. And you know what?” “What?” wondered Vivienne, whose eyebrows were raised in what appeared to be genuine interest. Encouraged by the apparent enthusiasm in her face, Quentin persevered, still half-expecting a sarcastic rejoinder. Vivienne didn’t seem the sort of woman who’d show interest unless it was genuine. “I just didn’t recognise what I read at the start of my account. It was like someone else had ...

... written it, with totally different memories. It was then it occurred to me that there is a sort of continuum of Quentins, just like me, also sliding sideways through space and time. In fact, maybe everyone has a kind of host of selves like me, perhaps an infinity of them in the infinity of parallel universes. And maybe people like me are everywhere.” “Fascinating!” remarked Vivienne, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. Quentin scrutinised Vivienne closely. Was she guileless? Did she really believe him? She was an attractive woman, who carried around with her a kind of self-assurance that normally manifested itself in contempt towards a man like him, any man, who might tell a story that must seem ridiculously far-fetched. “You think I’m mad, don’t you?” he asked her, as she brushed her black shoulder length hair off the sharp shoulders of her Giuseppe Marconi suit. “Not at all,” Vivienne said with a smile. “In fact I think I might be falling in love with you.” “Now, you are taking the piss!” remarked Quentin. How plausible was that? He knew he wasn’t a bad-looking bloke and at least the Quentin he was now had some reasonable dress sense with well groomed hair and an expensive Ben Jones leather jacket. But no one had ever said that to him after such a short encounter. And certainly not after he had divulged his most intimate truths about himself. Vivienne shook her head. “I’m not taking the piss, Quentin. I suppose it’s a bit of an exaggeration to say I’m in love with you, ...