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 ESCAPE TO SEX 
 
 
The year is 2269.

Joe the intrepid hero of SexLife is incarcerated in a Seattle research facility along with Vella and his son who is called The Baby. People still must copulate five times daily or die and still cannot feel the sensation of se. and their emotions are murky, muddles of confusion. Joe and Vella had a real sex experience that changed the world but doomed their lives. After several deaths and a desperate chase for freedom, they were apprehended and imprisoned for life, sentenced to be sexual experiments forever.

In Escape To Sex, Joe and Vella make a daring escape and are on the run from the police, Joe’s genius ex-friend and a Global Police Detective named Randall Clickteen, who is legally dead. The couple run with the precious child across the nation and find an underworld filled with danger, delights and wonders no man has ever imagined. Joe must break back into New York to save his life, his child and perhaps the world.  And along the way, he discovers a new notion that challenges the very concept of sex itself.

a.a. clifford is the imaginative novelist who has been called “Brilliant... groundbreaking and twisted.” Escape To Sex is the long awaited sequel to his first novel, SexLife.

FROM THE AUTHOR: "It has been a long journey to the end of this story. Many times, I thought my creations would die, unfinished. I am tired and do not know if I will visit them again but there are many more delights in what Kizzy calls this dark head of mine." a.a.c.

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FIRST CHAPTER OF ESCAPE TO SEX 

 

1

 

 

love & death

 

 

     Love was on my mind as I finalized my plan to kill them all. 

     I was fascinated by the juxtaposition of the two phenomena: the ultimate positive emotion and the ultimate negative one. 

     I had once proclaimed emotion to be the treasure of my soul as I had ascertained the meaning of life, at least to me.  And now I was going to tax my emotional treasury and extract a deadly mixture to lay waste to my enemies

     But that was man, I mused, as I shifted on a bed as the clingy bio-sheets moved flawlessly to assume the new position of my body.  The GDS mattress did too, as it lifted me every so slightly above the base of the bed, creating a soft foundation that fit my frame. The hum of the engine in the bedframe was like a sweet mechanical song, which faded into the background of my slumbering mind.

     Ironically, I find it heartless to think of murder in the same voice as love and yet it makes sense in this world we live in, this utopia where all of the nightmares of pre-informational man have gone away, only to be replaced by new ones, which are not thought of as nightmares because they are bound by intellect.

     I turn slightly and I hear the GDS make an adjustment and I know in rooms far off from this one, machines and monitors change their glowing numbers, reporting my every movement.

     My name is Joe and I am the man they all whisper about; the person who doesn’t exist; the one the government says killed, and then disappeared like a ghost.  None of it is true, except the killing part.  I did do that, but I had to. 

     I was in love.

     I am one of two people to feel the sensations of real sex in the last century and a half.  The condition is called CMB, or Chronic Metabolic Breakdown and this affliction will kill you unless you engage in sexual activity four to five times daily. 

     The world changed after the disease hit.  We had a war, called the Kank War and almost deleted all of mankind.  But we were saved by our intellect.  We now live in a world where information and intellect are prized beyond all else.

There is no crime, no hunger sickness or despair.  You might have sex with anyone but they will never know anything about you, not even your name.  And it means little.  It is maintenance. 

     This much sex each day would not be the most awful thing if you could actually feel the pleasurable sensations associated with sex.  You can’t.  There is no passion, no joy, and an orgasm that feels like a shudder.  It affects everyone in the world and the mandate is clear: copulate or die.

     But this was not the case when I met Vella Collins, a remarkable woman who had a real sex experience with me, an sensation so intense that we both passed out after having the first recorded orgasms in a hundred fifty years.

     We dared to try to embrace it, keep it and to avoid the government, her husband (who I pushed to his death) and my friends.  We wanted to possess the miracle for ourselves.  We failed. 

     We met secretly for a while and had glorious and unbridled sex in an old museum, playing wonderful games and exploring the tender connections between sex, emotion and sensation.  It is among my fondest memories, right up there with getting my first PCI (Personal Computer Interface) and graduating from college with a philosophy degree.

     Vella and I were discovered and we had to run but not before a few deaths occurred.  We tried to get away but we were apprehended and now we are both incarcerated in a CMB test facility in Seattle where we must copulate with strangers for the sake of all mankind–– and for the rest of our lives.

     In the time I have been here, I’ve acquired a new philosophy of life, death and sex.  Life is the beginning of existence and death the end and in the middle; there is sex, a renewable fuel source for the mind body and spirit.   Sex is road of life and the pathway to death at the same time.

     We let sex rule out lives for millions of years because we knew no way to stop it.  But then it turned against us, disrupting our minds and laying waste to our bodies.   Sex had become so fused to our intellect that we literally started to die without it.

     But I knew better than to allow a biological function to enslave me now.  I was a prisoner but it was men who were my jailers.  I was the master of sex.  This was something none of my captors understood.  I was a super-man in this regard and nothing would stop me from escaping this place. 

I lay still each night, thinking about the cameras and other devices monitoring and watching me.  The men and women who do nothing but read the data kept on me would need t be subdued.  There are others who kept and maintained and guarded the facility.  And others still who watch the outside of the place and regulate all the things needed to keep the prison going, a prison with only three inmates.

Often, I dream of getting up in the night, setting off alarms and facing them.  I am naked as they approach with their weapons, and restraining devices.  I am not afraid for my life.  You see, they cannot harm me because I am valuable.  But each of them is expendable. 

They charge into my room and I attack, tearing and ripping their flesh as fluids spray into the air and I utter primal screams.  I dispatch them all then rush into the adjacent wing and free my family, stopping only to inflict more damage on the innocent.

I do not feel guilt as I kill them but I do not want to.  Sadly, this is the only thing they understand and the only way I can be free.

I gather my family and go to the five-foot thick outer door.  I place my hand on it and push.  The floor rumbles as the door pushes from its foundation.  The walls crack and then the door falls like another victim to my power.  We walk to freedom and none dare to come after us.

It is a fine fantasy and one that as sustained me now for two years.  I don’t remember being brought into the facility and since being here, I have not been allowed to leave.

At first I fought each day.  I was uncooperative and unruly.  I refused to have sex with the women they brought each day and many times I had to be restrained as the women mounted me and bounced and gyrated to no end.  I didn’t care.  If they wanted to kill me then I wanted to give them a faster way to get it done.  I was a philosopher and death was just another avenue to me, another way to escape.

       After the baby was born, I gave in, became more cooperative.  You see now they had a bargaining chip, the ultimate one and I knew when I was beaten. 

They never said they would kill him but they didn’t have to.  I knew they would, or they would kill me and use him in their research when he came of age.

     So, while they did their experiments and exacted their mutations on my family, and me, I planned.  I knew getting out would be hard and no man had ever escaped anything without a blueprint for it.

     God created the world in seven days.  I decided that I lonely needed three to escape.  If I was diligent about it, I could do it in two but my timing had said three and so I stuck with that number.

     I assess these thoughts as calmly as I can for I know that at least one machine monitors my brain and counts alpha and beta wave patterns.  Once when I was in a particularly stressful game of chess, alarms went off and guards came in on my opponent and me.  I didn’t find out until much later that my brain scan had been the culprit.

     And so I am in a prison within a prison you could say.  Physically contained and contained again by technology.  But I still have the ultimate secret weapon, one that they will never understand and by this means I will free myself and the fools will never see it coming.

     I put together many scenarios by which I could get out and all of them required me to kill those around me.  I made my peace with this easily and tried to pick a plan that required the fewest amount of death.

     Somehow, I think I will fail.      

     I begin to move a little now.  I am slowing waking, giving space to the things and people who claim my body and mind each day.  But for once I welcome the new day.  Deep inside, this is the day I have been waiting for. 

     This is my day.

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