The Fern Tender Read Free Page A

privacy.
         She threw her panties in her purse,and they made their way back down the alley. He was silent and she knew confused too. He’d be that way for a long time. With any luck though she thought, he’d let the guilt overtake him sooner rather than later. Just go home and tell your wife and spare the agony in your marriage. Explain you just fucked a stranger in an alley. Whatever time he choose to tell though, she knew his marriage would be better in the long run for it. They’d finally have to talk through the rift that developed between them after the babies and all the hard work building their lives she sensed from the phone call back at the table. They’d probably survive it. His wife would probably forgive him, most of them did. Not even running any probabilities in her head, she could tell their marriage and sex life would be better off for this.
         At the end of the alley she squeezed his hand, gave him a slight kiss on the cheek, and pressed her forehead to his. She hit his butt with the palm of her hand just like she’d seen on Sportscenter in her room at the Capital and commented, “Give it hell.” He stared. Turned, and did his best walk imitation towards his car. And just like the jaguars, she watched his back move from the dark into the sun. She let him pass straight into the new life that she allowed.
         She threw her purse in the car and took her panties back out of it. She scrunched them up and waded them into the crack of her ass. Then she sat down on them in the drivers seat. She had learned this was a better way to keep sperm off her car seat after quick anal sex during a long drive back to the Colony. Nothing was worse than sitting on farty used cum and grinding it into the fabric of her car seat. At least this way she had a larger net to catch it when it fell out of her. Sperm on her car seat was one of few hang ups she’d acquired during her trips to the capital. Not that anyone would, but if they were ever to run a black light inside her car it would have lit up like a an old Kiss poster from the era of President 393. She hated black lights, and heard Kiss only once on the Capital radio and hated it.
         The Capital issued her a pretty basic car. A white nothing interesting c-a-r, and she drove it according to the speed limit away from the politics, hipsters, college kids, professionals, and then further on past the suburban vortex of big box stores and flowing subdivision entrances. Later, and on cue it all gave way to fields and pastures, farms and row crops. The massive truck stop at the last cotton field was her place to turn South on the highway opposite the North turn the interstate made. She liked seeing the South sign, it was always the first outside reminder of the Colony and her obligation to the ferns.
         It was here, every time, that her body began to feel closer to home, to family, and to her life. The road changed into two lanes and ran itself parallel to the river that began as a trickle in the Tundra thousands of miles to the North, a place far away and beyond her comprehension. The river was wide, sporty, and undammed here though and then became slow and lazy for the last 250 miles past the cliffs at the entrance to the Colony.
         1200 years ago here alongside the highway between the Capital and the Colony, President 001 built and established the largest Marine base in the world at the North Face of the mountains. Not to keep the Colonists out, but to leave them be, and to protect them. The first president, after the collapse and reset - the blood, the evil, the battles, understood the importance of the Colony. Every president since had also upheld his secret obligation to keeping the Colony undisturbed.
         At the field beyond the apartments, was where the radio stations stopped. No more President 441 radio, or 442 radio, or her favorite President 389 radio station. The radio wasn’t the only thing static at this point. The