Planetary Indigestion

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Julia’s seat gently vibrated. She closed her eyes to enjoy the delicate tingle on her spine as the wings extended out of the Humming Bird 709, a small seater that fit twelve people for those places that were rarely traveled to. The orientation of the spacecraft reconfigured from shooting through space like a rocket to that of an airplane to glide down to the planet surface.

Aerhonda was a red and green planet, the contrast of a lush green jungle on one side and a scorching hot desert of iron rich rock. A golden aura surrounded the planet. Dust sized specks of quartz were suspended in the atmosphere and reflected the sunlight, not in a blinking way, but a steady golden glow. She flipped to the info pamphlet in the seat pocket in front of her the only note about the planet was a warning about planetary indigestion. The gravity was 20% stronger than earth, but the gas pressure was 30% stronger as well. That mean getting up the stairs would take a lot of energy, but because the atmosphere was so condensed, it also meant that every inhale would being in a lot more oxygen. Athletes loved to train on planets like these. They could get very intense workouts in to build muscle without ever getting winded.

She thought that planetary indigestion couldn’t be that bad. Turquosimo had an exotic gas that made you hallucinate mice everywhere. Seraphormin had such strong gravity that visitors had to get around in wheel chairs. Kerakockus has bacteria in the dirt, which cause plants to secret an orange pigment that slowly builds up in the skin. She hated looking like a carrot after only a week. A little stomach rumblings couldn’t be that bad, could it?

She looked over to her seat mate, Mr. Adams, he was in his forties. He had a big gut. His patterned dress shirt bulged at every button to reveal his undershirt underneath it. His low lip had fallen over his upper lip. He was sunk deep into slumber from his cross galactic drinking binge on single shot alcohol bottles. To her, he seemed to have little hope in his life. She saw him get up every morning. He didn’t have a family. He didn’t have a discernible hobby. Whenever he was done working, he’d drink tiny little travel liquor bottles in the hotel or on the plane. He’d play games on his phone. He rarely engaged in personal conversation. He seemed like a man surrendered to his life, and his life wasn’t unpleasant enough to take it.

He hired her fresh out of executive assistant academy. She wasn’t the smartest, fastest, or most ambitious. The top of the class was working the career ladder at the core of the galaxy to one day work for a big shot executive. She realized that with her grades and lack of extra qualifications, she needed to take advantage of the plastic surgery discounts that the school offered. She was born with a ballerina body, slender even frail bones, but she had let her belly go a little bit. So she had gotten a lipo to look again how she looked when she was taken ballet classes as a teenager. Also the flat boy chest was corrected with an augmentation surgery. She didn’t want big ones. She simply wanted to be pretty but not a porn star bimbo. Her plastic surgeon had called her choice the demure choice. Yet in all, she had been appealing enough that Mr. Adams thought that she could help him close his business deals and then deal with the paperwork.

They had been travelling for four months. On Terra Rossini, they had bought 600 tons of a rare mutation of grapes to make high end wine. The local custom was to banquette for three days before discussing business. Julia had set to Mr. Adams in a sexy little dress and oversized high heels. The teasing sight set the sellers at ease, while Mr. Adams told them rowdy jokes. On the third day, they haggled over the numbers of the deal. On the fourth day, Mr. Adams was sleeping off a massive hangover while she was sitting with the counter assistant to draw up a two hundred page contract. The next day, they were off again to the next planet.

Julia could feel her free floating dress settle down on her lap. She could uncross her legs now. Her hair started draping down her cheeks. Her boobs started sagging from a perfect melon shape to a teardrop. She could feel her tiny butt cheeks sinking into the oversize seat that was meant for giant, male miners. She enjoyed the first parts of gravity, like a pleasant stretch after sitting too long. But then everything got to heavy. It took every again to only scratch her nose. They were about to touch down. She snapped a vial with bitter smelling agent under Mr. Adams nose. He stirred awake with a nasty frown on his face.

She watched the ground speed by the plane as it neared touchdown. The spaceport was near the intersection of the green and red part. It was out of the direct heat and also had plenty of flat land to build on without having to cut down a thick and tall jungle. After a short taxi to the gate, the cabin door opened. A local airline representative entered with custom forms and advice ataşehir escort about the local planet. They went through the pretty standard routine of customs and getting a cab to the city.

Because the hotel room wasn’t ready, they rested at a coffee shop. This is where she started taking in the locals and their customs. People were stalky and muscular. The added gravity seemed to build muscles in everybody, but also stunted their growth. Accordingly, the fashion was more figure covering than accentuating. Men were wearing kilts. Women were wearing wrap around dresses. Generally, people seemed blue collar workers. There wasn’t a lot of pretention in their demeanor. It seemed like a quiet, peaceful society.

The one remarkable thing was that a lot of them had flushed red faces and ruffled hair. It was like they had come out of a relaxing sauna – or dare I say just had sex. In particular, there was a woman in a black leather skirt, who stumbled out of the bathroom. She walked with an unsteady swagger as if she were walking on a rocking boat. As she reached her mate at the table, she let herself slump back on the couch. Her butt scooted down all the way to the edge of the couch. Her legs fell open without care because she seemed so exhausted. Her arms fell down limp and lifeless next to her. All sprawled out, she seemed to huff air. Her face had a trance like glare and her eyes were watery. Her table mate seemed unperplexed and familiar with this state. He pulled out his phone to entertain himself as if he expected her out of routine to be nearly passed out for the next ten minutes.

Mr. Adams saw Julia watching the scene. So he lifted his tiny espresso cup to offer Julia a cheer: “Welcome to Aerhonda!”

They were both busy working on their laptops. He e-mailed the local butterfly farms to set up meetings. She updated the contracts and tended to little issues that come up like a producer missing a quota and having to trigger a contract clause to grant a discount. Naturally, the consumed coffee and its diuretic effect caused her to get up and search for a bathroom.

Walking through a black pearl curtain, she reached the storage room and hung a left to the lady’s restrooms. There was a room with sinks. Each stall was its own room. She pulled a door open. It moved heavy. It was more like the door of a meat locker, five inches thick of pure steel. She had to lean her entire body into making the door move in the hinges. And when she shoved the heavy door shut behind her, she felt like she was in an air and sound tight room. The stall was quite roomy. There were leather shackles for wrist restraints attached to the wall. There was an assortment of hooks and harpoons hanging from string and rope along the way. There was a rope crank on the far wall. It looked medieval. She felt like she was in a BDSM dungeon. It was a strange decoration for such an airy and light coffee shop with a hint of Parisian flair. But every planet had its own customs and style preferences. It was scary at time and made it fun to travel at other times.

She peed in the bowl, wiped, and flushed, pretty standard stuff. She walked outside to rinse her hands. And then she heard from a stall where the door was crooked sounds, sounds that made her skin crawl. At first it was a guttural scream of pain. The next sounded more like a moan of pleasure. Then she heard flapping flesh like a women quickly rubbing her clit. There was raspy panting. “Oh my,” she thought and quickly rushed out of the bathroom.

The hotel called them shortly later to announce that their rooms were ready. The next couple days were pretty routine. The local sellers were very industrious people. They were focused on running their butterfly farms. They cared a lot about tending to them and reaching production quotas. So making deals was something that they squeezed into their lunch hour. Over a standard working lunch of sandwiches or burritos, they’d talk numbers and signed papers. There wasn’t a lot of haggling. The people were very straightforward about charging a fair price.

That particular day, the deal had been done by the time the entrees arrived. Everyone was making easy conversation because they had to eat anyway and everyone would be on their way soon. Not thinking much, Mr. Adams was simply blabbering, “I hate taking a shit on your planet. It’s such a painful struggle!” The two business partners, lifelong friends, nodded gravely like they knew exactly what he was talking about.

“It’s pain but there is also pleasure to it – perhaps an acquired taste,” explained the older of the two with lightly graying temples. “It’s a daily sensual pleasure that puts people into a relaxed and peaceful mood.” And with that he looked around to suggest to observe the faces and bodies of the other restaurant guests. And about half of them had that flushed face and ruffled hair look. About three were slumped lifeless in their chairs with a happy grin and red eyes, like the woman with the kadıköy escort black leather skirt in the café.

It was true that there was something going on with the people. The hotel concierge handing them the hotel keycards on check-in was leaning with both hands on the counter to keep himself upright. He was speaking as through a trance and starring right through them. There were planets where half the population was on drugs, but there was something else going on here.

“Well, I haven’t had any problems at all,” exclaimed Julia. “In fact, I haven’t had to take a poop the whole stay.”

All three men turned at her looking grave. They seemed to be afraid to talk. After quite a few seconds, the younger of the sellers with the green linen shirt looked into her eyes and said matter of fact, “the white of her eyes is starting to turn yellow. Brad, you have to talk to her.” Brad was how the business partners addressed Mr. Adams. Mr Adams nodded gravely. Julia’s face flushed with embarrassment. She felt that she must have said a horrible faux pas. Cultural literacy wasn’t her strong foot. It was the first time for her to leave the core galaxy with the standardized culture and etiquettes. But she knew that she had to keep herself in check and wait to be explained what was going on.

At the end of dinner, she offered to go with the buyers to their office to meet her admin counterparts and sign the contracts. However, everyone made really grave facial expressions that it was Mr. Adams turn to talk with her. And Mr. Adam told her, “The contracts can wait. Let’s have an afternoon drink at the hotel bar.”

They got a cab back to the hotel. He sat her down in the hotel bar. It was a big wide circular bar with a bartender in the center to tend to everyone. The overhead ceiling was high up and all windows. There were jungle plants hanging in planters above to shield the guests from the harsh sun. The light filtered down only to a comfortable degree.

She expected to be told a reprimand. She felt fidgety and grabbed the hem of her dress to trace the outline of the crochet stitching. He ordered her a drink. It was a fancy orange, bubbles, and alcohol concoction. He told her to drink up first. She swigged it down to get the reprimand over faster with.

“There is no easy way to explain this,” Mr. Adams explained. “Your poop staying inside of your body is building up toxicity. Your eyes are already turning yellow. I should have noticed earlier. By tomorrow morning, they’ll be bright yellow. Then your organs will start to suffer. You’ll get horrible stomach cramps. You have about 5-10 days from touch down to when you have to go to an ER unless you poop. And you will be begging to get to an ER. Did you feel any cramps yet?”

She had indeed felt some gramps but pushed it out of her mind because those little comforts were common among adjusting to all the different planets. She nodded.

“That’s not your body cramping. That’s a thing alive in you!” He continued. She felt startled. He saw the panic in her eyes. He called the waiter to bring her a shot of gasoline. Gasoline is the brand name for distilled pure alcohol. The waiter brought a shot glass of clear liquid over.

Mr. Adams continued, “There is bacteria on this planet that gets into the soil and air. It’s everywhere. You can’t avoid it. It’s a strain of cognitive bacteria. The bacteria can communicate with each other and form a pseudo organism. Your poop inside of you has turned into, what the locals call, a cucumber. It’s alive and moving and doesn’t want to come out. So unless you pull out the poop, it’s not going to come out on its own.”

Julia looked pale at Mr. Adams. She thought about all the instruments that she was in the bathroom. For a moment, she wondered if this was an elaborate joke at her expense. But seeing all the bathroom tools, it seemed too elaborate for a joke. Every little thing that she had seen in there started to make sense. Al little harpoons, hooks, and hand cranks. They all seemed like fishing equipment, but they were for something seemingly heftier. All the thick sound insulation for the bathroom stalls and all the muffled cries and screams that she had heard through them anyway. All the zombie people walking out of the bathroom like they had had an epic battle. She started feeling claustrophobic, like she wanted off this planet right now. But her departure ticket was for in a week and a half.

“I’ll take a poop this evening,” she said. That seemed like the thing to say.

He shook his head, like he was unsatisfied but also reluctant to push the topic further.

“Look”, he continued, “all I’m saying is that my first time here, I almost died because of my pride. I ended up in intensive care. And a nurse was teaching me how to get that thing out of my butt. Intergalactic sexual harassment code says that I cannot talk anymore about this subject without you requesting it.”

With that, she didn’t want to talk more bostancı escort bayan about it. She felt embarrassed. She took a cab to the butterfly farm to finalize the contract. He stayed to keep drinking at the bar. It wasn’t the best of days. She felt increasingly worried about each grumble she felt in her belly.

At night, she sat down on the toilet and started pushing. There was nothing, only emptiness. Her eyes looked closer at a harpoon next to her on the wall. It had the shine of surgical steel. She was at a high end Omni hotel after all. There was a ring to put the middle finger through. With a flange resting on the palm, one could squeeze the ring back. That pulled the wings of the spear tip into the stick. And with a release of pressure, the wings jumped out again. The wings were razor sharp. At the back of them was a wide base.

The seeming idea was to pull the ring back to turn the instrument into a pen like shape, inserted into the anus, let the wings fling out to sink into the poop. Then one could clip the back into an electric rope crank. There were two handles for the hands to hold onto above the toilet. One would have to face the wall behind the toilet and aim the rear to where the crank was. The handles had a button to trigger the crank to pull.

The idea of doing all this seemed crazy. Why would someone go to that length?

There was also a hand tool that seemed rough like made for a warrior. It had a loop that would tighten on one hand and a grip like brass knuckles on the other. It seemed like one was meant to get the loop into the ass, wrapped around the poop, and then yank it out.

She couldn’t do any of these things. She got a couple dry little girl farts out, but that was it. She went to sleep figuring that perhaps a little more digestion had to build up for things to naturally want to push out.

The next morning, she woke up with a headache. Her body was feeling off. She stumbled to the bathroom. Her stomach hurt from being overfilled. But her butthole seemed empty. She looked in the bathroom mirror. Her eye white was bright yellow. She looked sick. Everyone she would pass would know that she hadn’t pooped. It’d be like a red scarlet letter on her chest. “Oh my god, everyone can tell that I didn’t poop!” she thought.

Panicked, she called Mr. Adams on the room-to-room phone, “Help me!”

Mr. Adam’s knocked on the door within 30 seconds. He was barefoot, bare chested, and only wearing his pants. His face had stubble. His eyes had buggers. He was panting out of breath. The moment, she opened the door, he stormed in, deathly worried about her. “What is your pulse?” he muttered and pushed her down onto the couch with his index and middle finger wrapped around her wrist.

“Okay,” he muttered with relief, “we still have a few hours.”

He leaned back on the couch. Right away, he got up and walked to her mini fridge to serve himself a small bottle of gasoline.

“Hey, the company will bill that to my paycheck,” she complained.

“Fuck it, you are still alive and haven’t internally poisoned yourself that far yet,” he gulped down the bottle in one go and then threw it into the trashcan across the room. It’s a skill that he honed over two decades of business travel.

“How can I help you,” he said more relaxed.

She was still in her night gown and barefoot. None of her makeup was on. She used to like to put a nice base down to give her a pale complexion with some pretty highlights for the cheeks. She was like a different person in the morning.

“Okay. I don’t know how to say this, but how do I get my shit out? I can’t possible go out with those yellow eyes. It’s too embarrassing!” Julia asked.

“You are slowly dying from poisoning, and being embarrassed is your number one worry???” Mr. Adams exclaimed. “Well, I can help you out and teach you how to do it.”

“Well, okay, teach me,” she said and sat up very straight to show her composure and grace for whatever was to come because whatever was to come was something that she couldn’t even fathom.

“Well, I’m going to have to touch your butt. In order to do that, you have to file paperwork with HR to give me permission and insulate me from any sexual harassment claims.”

She pulled up her laptop. She opened the HR chat hot line of the company. A woman with a black blouse, intense eye liner, and dominating glance appeared on the screen. “How can I help you, Julia?”

“I’d like to give Mr. Adams permission to see me naked and access my butthole,” Julia stated formally.

“Of course, no problem. I’ll have a lawyer draw a custom release form up for you. It’ll take about fourteen days to process after you send in a detailed questionnaire about what you allow and what you don’t allow Mr. Adams. The questions may be intimate, but it’s important to get all the details right and written down in a contract to protect everyone from legal liability,” the HR person explained.

“But I need the consent contract signed today. I have a planetary emergency,” exclaimed Julia.

“If you have an emergency, I recommend you to call the local authorities immediately,” advised the HR drone.

“No, isn’t there an option to fast track?” asked Julia.

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