The Future Utopia Ch. 02

Chapter 2: That Time I Went Shopping in a Future City and Experienced a Very Stimulating Free Service

When I was told I'd be touring a future city, I expected to see one of two things:

1) A menacing, chrome-plated megalopolis with angular skyscrapers towering over a gritty, neon-splashed streetscape full of holographic advertisements for hookers;

OR

2) A gleaming white megalopolis with flying cars, gracefully soaring architecture, and tastefully integrated green spaces.

But when I step out of the lab this time, in the actual future, I don't see either of those things. In fact, I'm hardly sure that I've gone outside at all.

Just outside the door of the lab, there's a kind of covered corridor or arcade that seems to be connected to many other arcades. There is a vaulted ceiling high overhead, but the 'walls' are more like a series of open archways than solid structures. It reminds me of the gallery overlooking the cloister in a European monastery, or the raised walkways of a Zen temple. A cool breeze passes through the arcades, as if they're open to the outdoors, but all I can see through them are the next few walkways over on every side. There are no towers and no vehicles of any kind. Like the interior of the lab, the architecture is mainly curvy (which is always reassuring in a future landscape), but it isn't only white out here. Instead, the walls are a varied but harmonious patchwork of colours and textures. The arcade I'm in looks like it's made of cream-coloured marble with caramel-gold veining, but some of the other arcades I can see through the arches seem to be made of crystalline blue-green stone, or pale-yellow brick, or smooth weathered-grey wood, or glossy white ceramic. I can't see any kind of cityscape outside of the warren of tunnels, not even the horizon. Somehow, it all gives the impression of being comforting and manageable, rather than overwhelming. Yes, I recall thinking, I can handle this much future at once. Just some covered pedestrian streets. A little bit quirky, but human-scaled. That's ok.

Of course, as soon as I think that, I start to notice the people. A small group comes strolling casually through the next corridor over from mine, and then a few individuals pass by the opposite way. Based on the scientists' appearances, I figured everyone in the future must be good-looking, but this time my expectations are blown out of the water. These aren't just beautiful people with the kind of movie star/athlete/pop idol looks we're used to in 2021. They're sculptures in flesh, modified to heights of exaggerated idealization almost beyond what we would consider attractive today. Some have feathers for hair; others have metallic skin. Others have gone to such extremes in their genetic engineering or cosmetic surgery or whatever it is they're doing that they look almost like aliens to me. But the one thing they have in common is that all of them are completely naked, showing off their strange, wonderful, and most definitely enhanced breasts and cocks and other...things. And here I am, standing among them in my ripped jeans and my ratty old university hoodie, feeling very much aware of, oh, just every single physical imperfection I've ever noticed in myself since the age of 12.

But I guess there are always trends and subcultures in every society, and at least one group in the future cultivates the imperfect proportions and personable flaws that once made one look "human": the little crooked tooth, the off-centre smile, or the small round breasts and full hips and curvy belly of someone who's gone a bit pear-shaped, like me. So to my relief, my guides, when they show up, turn out be a pair of slightly mismatched but otherwise ordinary-looking twins. Both are dark-haired with blue-grey eyes. One of them is narrow-chested man and the other a narrow-hipped woman (or so I assume, maybe wrongly). They look almost exactly alike except for a few significant flaws. The nose on one curves slightly to the left and the nose on the other curves slightly to the right, but not quite like a mirror image. They've enhanced their subtle imperfections by their almost-not quite similarity to each other. Maybe it's supposed to look more natural, but the more I look at them the more I think it's even more unnatural than an ordinary set of identical twins would be.

"Hi," I say. "I'm Robyn Casey. One of the scientists in the Timesync research group said someone would be coming to show me the city. Are you my guides?"

The twins catch each others' eyes and break into slight giggles.

"Yes. We are your Guides to the Future!" Says the female-looking one. Something in her tone tells me she knows the line is cheesy and is relishing the cheese. "I'm Raine Maida, and this is Sunni."

"Raine Maida? Like the lead singer from Our Lady Peace?"

"Yes. I like the sound of his name, so I decided to call myself that for a while."

"And I went with Sunni because it balances Raine," the male one put in. "That's Sunni with an 'i,' not a 'y.' Hmm. I might change it if I have to explain that too many times."

I nod as if whimsically changing your name every day is normal.

"Well, Sunni and Raine, it's nice to meet you both. I'm Robyn with a 'y,' not an 'i.' I guess that kind of matches the nature theme you two have going on, so, uh, I hope we'll get along."

They smile enthusiastically and Sunni even claps his hands a little, saying,

"Cool! Let's go see the city!"

Together we stroll through the arcades. It's warm in this time, whether as a product of climate control or climate change I don't know. The air is soft, silken with humidity and warmth. Despite the cooling cross-breezes in the arcades it's hot enough to be uncomfortable for me, dressed the way I am. I start to sweat. Raine notices and asks,

"Aren't you hot? You should take off all of that, you know, clothing. You don't have to be ashamed now. Just look at us!"

They gesture to themselves and each other, pointing out their naked bodies (as if I hadn't noticed).

I should want this, I think. I've always said I'd love to go around topless in summer if I could do it without getting ogled or harassed. But now that I have the chance, I feel shy, unsure of myself in this new time and place. I don't know what this world is like yet, so I want to keep covered up a little longer, until I can adjust. Still, I can't deny that my outdoor clothes, suited for a cool Canadian spring day, are too heavy for the balmy weather.

I explain this to the twins and they oblige me by taking me to a shop where I can get clothing suitable for this era. The twins casually explain that many people in the future still want to run, play sports, or do physical labour in the city, and for that they need both support and protection. The shop they take me to, if I can call it a "shop," provides clothes for all kinds of purposes. But instead of being full of racks of mass-produced merchandise, like the stores I know, this place is almost like an art gallery where individual items are displayed as shimmering images hanging in the air. At first I think it's just a kind of visual catalogue that you order from, but when I reach out to touch an image of a top, I can feel the fabric under my fingertips. Pulling on the fabric lets me draw a physical copy of it out of the image, as if it was created from the hologram template on the spot. (Later, I'd learn that my first impression of material clothes being spontaneously generated out of pure energy wasn't far from the truth.) The twins explain how each image-template can be customized to my preferences in terms of colour, material, and fit. If I don't customize it I'll get what's displayed, and the city will fit the clothes to me as needed when it generates them.

Another thing I notice as I walk through the image displays is that there's no cash register and no obvious shop attendant or employees.

"Don't worry!" The twins say when I ask how I can pay. "There's no money here, not as you knew it then. There's credit, but it's unlimited."

I don't know how this works, but I'm too uncomfortable in my hot clothes for an economics lesson. Instead, I focus on trying to find something that will cover me up but keep me cool. Most of the future clothes seem to be little more than supports for heavy breasts and shields for tender cocks--or the kinds of things that enhance those features rather than conceal them. But I do see a few things kind of like sports bras and workout shorts that are more covering, if still form-fitting. There aren't changing rooms, exactly, but there are enough archways and semi-solid image displays in the shop that I can get behind something, out of the impassive gaze of my guides, to strip down. Trying on one ensemble (I don't know what else to call it), I find it is instantly the most comfortable thing I've ever worn. It gently enfolds my hips and breasts, clinging just enough that I can feel it firmly embracing me, but with no points of tension, tightness, or chafing. It is soft and light, breezy without feeling flimsy. The fabric breathes fantastically well. It almost feels like a second skin.

But then comes something I don't expect. Between my legs I feel a warming, a heat so directed that it's like a caress. It strokes my sex and spreads a tingling sensation through me. I think it's the shorts and take them off, but even after I'm half-naked the feeling spreads. Something is arousing me, seducing me. I can't see anything between my legs, no toy or beam of light, but if I close my eyes I would swear someone--or something--was licking me. I gasp. Whatever it is, it's a skillful lover, moving from slit to clit at exactly the right time, with exactly the right pressure. Something pinches my nipples hard and I squeal in fear even as my body thrills in pleasure.

"What's happening?" I call out.

"What do you mean?" They ask me, coming around the corner into my archway. I cover myself instinctively and they notice but don't remark on it.

"Something's doing something to me. Stimulating me. Uh, sexually."

"Oh, that's just part of the service."

"The service?"

"Yes, it's like...did you have 'air conditioning' in 2021?"

"Yeah, of course."

"It's like air conditioning. It helps you feel nice and comfortable. Is it not working?"

"No, no," I gasp. "It's working too well. I think I might..."

They look at me politely. I gasp on the edge of orgasm, trying to hold back the tide of pleasure. The "service," whatever it is, senses my unwillingness to climax and slows to a sensual stirring against me. I'm blushing and stammering, acutely aware of the strands of wetness stringing between my upper thighs. Being seen by the twins in such a state is embarrassing, but also, on another level, deeply compelling for me. I have to cover up now, before I completely lose control of myself.

"Uh, can I...I mean, I need something to wear but, but, am I still allowed to...?"

I hold up the bottoms I've been clutching helplessly. In my own time I would never put on a pair of panties in a store while sopping wet and just walk out in them. It wouldn't be clean, it wouldn't be decent. But these two futuristic innocents don't even seem to understand what I'm asking.

"Did you like it?" One of them asks. I blush again even harder, thinking about the service. The other clarifies: "The clothing. The item you're holding. It feels good to wear?"

"Yeah, it's the most comfortable thing I've ever tried on."

"Then put it on and we can go."

"But I'm all..." my voice dips. "I'm really wet. Is it clean? Like, hygienic?"

"Ha ha, that's right, they discovered hygiene in 2020!" Sunni laughs. "Because of the pandemic!"

"No, you're thinking of 1918." Raine corrects him. "Or maybe 1819. Anyway, they definitely already had the concept of hygiene in 2020. It was just hard to maintain good hygiene sometimes. Remember that trivia quiz question about hand sanitizer? In Canada, during the 2020 pandemic, at first there was a shortage of hand sanitizer and, uh...paper towel?"

"Toilet paper," I mutter. "Also for hygiene. Do you happen to have any so I can wipe up?"

More merriment.

"No, we don't have that any more. Just put the 'clothe' on. It will make sure you're clean and balanced. The whole city will take care of you. There isn't anything here that will make you sick."

"So nothing can hurt me?" I ask as I pull on the bottoms. Sure enough, I feel dry and comfortable as soon as I have them on.

"Oh, there are things that can hurt you. But only if you want it." One of the twins says. Their eyes are twinkling, elfin with glee. I get a cold chill nonetheless: a feeling of exposure, even though I'm covered up.

We leave the shop without paying for my new outfit. I give my old clothes and my boots to Sunni and Raine, who deposit them in one of the columns of an archway nearby and tell me they'll be delivered back to the Timesync Research Lab for safekeeping. The twins keep walking and I follow along behind them. I'm surprised to find that even though I don't have shoes on anymore, the tiled floors don't hurt my feet. Whatever the floor is really made of, it's very comfortable to walk on barefoot.

After a few minutes we pass through an open courtyard that seems more like the "outside," and I finally get a wider view of the tiered, arched walkways all around us and the sky above. It isn't the blue I know; it's as pale as a hazy day, or the long bright evening of a Northern summer. A limpid, opalescent light suffuses the spaces above us. I can't see the sun anywhere, but it doesn't seem like night. It doesn't look like a dome either. It seems vast and airy, as high as the sky. If I look closely, I can see wisps moving slowly across the bright field like clouds. But there is still, somehow, a sense of shelter. It still doesn't feel like we're actually outside. My guides let me look and don't leave me behind, but they do keep walking slowly in a purposeful direction.

"Where are we going?" I ask them.

"To see some people. Lots of people want to meet you and hear about life in 2020." Sunni says.

I'm a little flattered by this. Who wouldn't be? I've had so many fantasies of traveling back in time or going someplace where I'd be special, where I'd have valuable knowledge either from the future or, now, from the past.

"Well, I came forward from the year 2021, but I remember 2020, of course. Hard to forget that one. I remember all the way back to the 1990s, when I was a kid."

Their eyes widen in amazement and I feel another flush of pleasure. The emotional gratification spreads like liquid heat through my loins. I have to fight back the blossoming urge to come.

"Hey, is that service thing only in the shop?" I ask a bit breathlessly. "Or is it, like...everywhere?"

"It's all over the city. Not outside it, though." Raine replies.

"Do you ever go outside the city?"

"Not much." Sunni says with a shrug. "You can, for sport or for struggle. Some people like that. But the people who want to see you today are in the city. Well, I'm just saying 'city' because it's a word you know for a place where lots of people live. It's not like your twentieth-century-built cities. We're trying to talk in your, like, lingo, man. Oh, can I call you 'man' or is that insulting?" He looks genuinely concerned. Now it's my turn to laugh.

"Sure, my dude," I say. "It's a bit retro and probably sexist, but we used to say things like that in the early '90s."

"My dude!" They chortle. "Retro sexist!"

Once again, my enjoyment of our conversation floods me with sensual pleasure. I clench my thighs to hold it back, which only inflames me more. How do they handle it in this time, I wonder, always feeling so good? I feel like I'm getting high on something that's just starting to kick in. A heady, ebullient euphoria floods me.

"I feel weird. Good, but weird," I remark.

"Your neurotransmitters are being adjusted by the city." Raine looks at me with her head cocked. "You were terribly unbalanced. So much cortisol, you were almost burnt out on it. Were you in mortal danger right before you leapt forward in time?"

"No, I was working like usual. But I was stressed out by the pandemic, I guess. And anxious. I have chronic anxiety."

"The city will take care of it," Sunni assures me. "It makes sure you're well."

"So you mentioned," I say.

But now I'm starting to get worried, despite the city's attempts to adjust me. Is it going to change my brain chemistry, this future utopia? If it does, will I still be myself? Who would I be without my anxious skepticism and my escapist fantasies? If everything's going to be all happy and horny and open all day, then where do I fit in with my particular brand of queerness, my "sick" kinks and hidden desires? If they take all that away and make me a happy, horny, beautiful person like them, then what will set me apart from these future people and make me an individual? But then again, do I even need to be an individual if my personality is based on being miserable?

I can't say I'd learn the answers to all of these questions, but I would very quickly start to learn more about the city, and more about myself.