Additional Addisons

The scents of exhaust, spicy food, old cigars, motor oil, grilled salmon, and marijuana filled the air on this particular avenue of Norfolk. It was threatening to rain, but the deluge hadn't quite arrived yet, and the sky behind the approaching thunderstorm was turning dusky orange. The street was filled with pedestrians, people dressed in every wild way you could imagine; some wore real clothes, some wore holo, some were in almost nothing at all.

The faux-cobblestones were uncomfortable under my blue flats, so I found a bench to sit down on as I prepared to talk myself out of my course of action again. The bench was in front of a handful of bistros that were definitely contributing to the weed-smoke smell that locally drowned out the tinge of smog which permeated the whole city.

Next to me was a young couple - she looked a bit older than him - locked in a blatant display of public affection; she was sitting on his lap and all but grinding herself on his obviously hard cock through his jeans, while he was holding a breast through her blouse and kissing her with the finesse of a dog given a t-bone steak.

Yeah, the Free Cities were definitely 'free' in 2155. Free association, free trade, and free love. Free to die from the pollution, too, but let's not get into that. Don't want to sound like a bubble snob... and I myself was in no danger, at least. This wasn't the first time I had been to one of the Free Cities, there had been numerous business trips over the years to others - but definitely the first time I'd ventured out on my own, into the parts of town favored by the locals in their off hours; not the bubble-lite places toward downtown.

This particular street was famous for a few things, but also for my destination - it was called 'Sappho', a lesbian lounge-bar with an Ancient Greece theme. Sometimes, at least. The concierge had said it wasn't a full-on roleplay place, those tended not to last anyway.

Supposedly it was the most tasteful lesbian place in the area, and it had been recommended to me by a former lover. It was across the street from me now, the entrance below a flight of stairs where it sat in the basement of an art gallery storefront in white brick. Two fake columns sat on either side of Sappho's door, with a banner over them heralding the name in faux-Greek lettering.

I still wasn't sure if I was one. A lesbian, I mean. Ever since I retired I'd been... playing around more, I guess. Trying new things, testing desires I'd never acted on when I was too busy to have a life. You'd think at 43 that my sex drive would be tapering off, but instead it burned hotter than ever, and the more I played with other girls the more I wanted them. Was it just some passing fancy, like a new hobby I'd eventually discard - or was I breathing life into a desire I'd been ignoring all along?

Maybe that was why I'd found myself returning to the idea of coming here over and over, until - just this afternoon, lying in my hotel bed for an hour, I'd finally said 'fuck it', and squeezed into the tight dark blue cocktail dress that was the only sexy outfit I'd brought; it worked great for picking up both men and women in New York, but who knew about here. I had glanced at the mirror before heading out.

I didn't have to say that I looked great for my age - everyone else said it for me; I was practically bombarded with it on a daily basis. People had trouble putting an age to my face, and two decades of healthy eating and constant exercise kept my slim figure nearly as tight as it had been in college. Most people thought I was just rich enough to afford tailored enzymes, but the truth was I'd never touched the stuff.

My hazel eyes and smooth, light skin got comments too, as well as my simple, straight chestnut hair that I let just long enough to go past my shoulders. I had worn it straight down today, with only one hairpin featuring a little red flower at the tip; no other jewelry. Every fashion consultant I'd seen had said: go for snug fits and understatement. You want them looking at your face and body, because you definitely have something to show there. All reasons the Bureau had wanted my DNA, I guess... aside from the big one.

I pretended to check my holo as the couple next to me continued to make out. It didn't faze me; sure, I'd have also liked a strong young man to make out with right then, but I'd come here to find girls. Or so I told myself. Maybe I ought to just call it, I thought; go find the more normal kind of bar with some hunky man in it, waiting to occupy my bed tonight. I flicked through a half-dozen screens on my holo with a bored finger, even loading up a solitaire game as the sun set and the couple moved on, probably to somewhere private so they could fuck like rabbits.

I imagined his cock entering her wet pussy, pumping away until he creamed inside her. He didn't have to worry about kids, none of them did in the Free Cities - thanks, Bureau - so he knew the whole time they were making out that sooner or later he would pump a full load into her willing and unprotected sex.

It was appealing to think about, but my mind kept drifting back to the thought of two pussies meeting, wetness intermingling, tongues exploring soaked folds, fingers seeking another woman's pussy, stiff-nippled breasts cupped by warm feminine hands... the taste and sound of another girl cumming hard in my arms, spasming against me and flooding my tongue with her joy-

I shook my head, adjusting how I sat briefly - before I could soak through my panties. I really had to get a hold of myself. Early retirement had put a spell on me, and it was like all those spare brain-cycles that used to be focused on my business now had re-allotted themselves entirely toward picturing more and more lesbian sex.

Maybe I should have started another company, instead of taking so much time to myself to travel and all this 'finding myself' bullshit? All I seemed to want to find was pussy. Maybe my new casual idleness had simply turned me into a pervert.

I saw some women going into Sappho - one was even wearing a toga! I didn't have a toga, did you need one? The other one went in without one... frowning, I tried to convince myself to leave, not wanting to bother checking the toga thing on my holo. If I did that, I might see something that would convince me to go inside.

I looked up and down the block, at the people coming and going; it wasn't dark yet, but the work day was letting out and the crowd of wildly dressed and undressed Freebies was getting busier as people walked about and sat down together at bistros, restaurants, and went into stores.

Who knew what diseases I could catch even if I hit it off with someone? It was a Free City, after all. They might not let me back into New York if I caught something nasty enough, and then where would I be? So many people said that was a bullshit reputation, though. Hmm... I'd also never been to somewhere that even the people in a Free City might consider wild... what if there was a bar fight, or I was kidnapped, or...

I stood up and found myself walking over the cobblestones, smiling at the tall, strong-and-supple-looking woman in a long red-gold and entirely un-seasonable doorman's coat and cap, who was now standing in front of the door of Sappho. I asked her a few basic questions, trying not to come off as the wide-eyed, innocent tourist I knew she had me pegged as within seconds. My few questions soon were more than a few.

Yes, this is the only public entrance, there's three others for fire escape though. No, it's not Toga Night, there's no special outfits required to enter - though they're always welcome. Special event, a band is playing tonight. Tornado Warning. That was the band name, not an actual... you get it.

They're an Aussie band on tour, moving up the whole East Coast - minus the Bubble Cities of course - trying to get their name out overseas, the Graceful Five. Just be advised, the content is, um, not appropriate for children. Ah, every drink came with a free serving of grapes. No cover fee tonight - yay. The doorman herself kept a strict limit on people inside, so it would never feel crowded - so don't feel flustered, we want everyone to feel safe and comfortable... come on inside, you pretty thing...

Her large hand found the small of my back and she showed me in. There was a large open space filled with inset tables and couches in the floor, graded downward slightly and all facing the podium so everyone could see toward a central agora-cum-dancefloor - an open space the size of a two-car garage. The walls behind the columns and the ceiling were dark, with little pinpoints of light to simulate stars.

On the far right was the bar, made of stone and columns with ivy and gold filigree wrapping about it; the bartender area was recessed into the ground and surrounded by countless plush cushions, so you would lie down at the barside rather than sit. The whole left wall was a glass waterfall except for a single portal to the restroom. No men's room here, obviously.

All about the greater lounge were several plush chairs and other piles of cushions, many obviously meant for two or more. Most of them could be moved about, and some clearly already had been; a few groups and couples were gathering in quiet corners, pouring drinks and sharing grape. Some were pressed together quite intimately. A lot of spots and chairs were free.

Bartenders and servers were around, all women and visible by their pink and white togas. The lighting was dark and I could smell a few people puffing on weed... but it was a very soft, welcoming and relaxed environment. Not at all the wildness I'd somehow expected. I'd been to a few lesbian bars in other Free Cities that were barely contained pandemonium, and this seemed much more my style.

The women there were all dressed for a night out, though that definition clearly varied enormously from woman to woman. A few of the younger ones were dressed something like the band on the podium - in skin-tight colorful outfits and sporting spiky jewelry or leather, likely doing enzymes at entirely too young an age, for them all to have those huge-boobed and shapely figures... unless I had just happened upon some kind of lesbian cheerleader convention. They were mostly in their own groups; I let them be.

Others were in cocktail dresses, some in pants or jeans, or had come straight from their jobs in business casual - pantsuits and blouses, some pencil skirts. I saw at least one other couple both in cocktail dresses, and felt a little relieved that I didn't look too out of place. A few of the patrons actually wore togas too, probably locals who came here a lot; most weren't the type I'd like to see in revealing clothing, but there were some exceptions.

That one over there, the tall woman in the green velvet toga, had canteloupe-sized boobs that could each fill both my hands, threatening to slip out of her dress at any time... my eye kept drifting back to her, hoping it would happen - what was wrong with me! - but it never did.

I'd come here alone, and obviously didn't know anyone. The band was just playing their first set, four of them - a singer, bass, guitar, and drummer. The band was mostly in black studded leather and those new skinsuits people wear now, perfectly skin-tight and brightly colored in stripes, stars, other wild patterns... oh no, the otherwise handsome drummer boy had an actual elf cap on. Really?

They were way too haute couture for me - they looked like leprechaun bikers - but I decided to hear them play before judging too much. The lead singer looked pretty cute, but it was hard to get a good look at her from this angle. I paid little attention to them in the meantime, knowing that if I was going to meet the one-night-stand of my dreams on my first night to myself in a Free City, that the first order of business was a drink or three.

I plopped down at the bar and asked for a Long Island, ignoring the crazy prices - I had the money - and found myself lying next to an older couple at the barside, well into their fifties. Two rip-roaring grandmas in gold-chased togas, occasionally sharing a giggle at someone or other's inept advances on another woman at the bar, or bemoaning the awful fashion sense of these or those girls.

They offered me grapes, and me them - they told me it's how you're supposed to introduce yourself at Sappho - and talked about something for a time as the band warmed up, mostly business stuff. They'd been in a similar industry, and gave me their cards for references. I assured them that I was retired, but I'd pass it along to the new boss at my old company. They seemed to want inroads to New York. Unlikely to work... but I couldn't fault them for trying. The politics may change, who knows.

The band was in full swing a few minutes later, too loud now for quiet conversation. I watched them play for a time, the lead singer crooning out something soft and low at first, until I put together the story she was telling and realize it was purely sexual - oh wow, I realized as she went on. I'd thought from the band name that they would be just something more of an old-metal sound, not... this wasn't a love song, it was a straight-up lust song - and she'd written it to be sung to a couple.

I slinked over to another free pile of cushion toward the back of the lounge, letting myself fall onto my front upon it, facing the band from higher above and far away. I waved my feet about in the air for a few moments as I settled in, trying not to let my panties soak through at the images she pained in the music.

The girl she pined for had breasts larger than hers, and their three bodies were between the sheets... the girl's nipple in her mouth, pumping his cock in one hand while she tasted the girl's nectar with the other... how did she even weave all this together with the music so well? It was more a sexual ballad than a normal song. Was it only me getting this hot from - oh, no, those two there are all but fucking right on their couch, hands sneaking into each others' panties and all.

Finally I gave up on total self-denial and stood up, joining the crowd in the agora before them. Something about the lead singer's voice called to me, and I wanted to get a closer look at her. Pressed tightly between dancing and flailing lesbians of all stripes, my stiff nipples were hidden by my bra but still got harder every time I brushed against some other nubile woman on the floor. There was no sense trying not to let my panties soak through now... and from what came to my nose on the floor, I wasn't the only one.

Some were dancing, some were badly dancing, some cavorting, some trying to make out while doing all of the above. I tried dancing with a false blonde, probably in her thirties, but she must have been an item with a butch type with a shaved head - who soon took her by the shoulder and stole her back with a thin smile toward me. The two stopped any pretense of dancing and made out in the middle of the floor to several surrounding cheers. I frowned, slinking away to dance briefly with a few others, but none stuck with me.

A bit saddened by my lack of luck here - I really liked the place too - I focused more and more on the lead singer as they went into their fifth set. I was drawn in by her young, energetic beauty and vigor; I found my eyes fixating first on her wild multi-colored spiky hair, then her slim, tattoo-covered figure, the small breasts like mine that jiggled only a little, bra-less, under her silly outfit, those piercing hazel eyes so much like mine... her face, her lips... our eyes met for the briefest moment, and she skipped a word of the song as she, too, had to have seen it.

Oh, fuck me. Fuck fuck fuck!! Before I could think I was bolting. The crowd must have noticed too, as a few looked toward me and the band as I left - but the music resumed an instant later, only off-key for a few moments more.

I squeezed back through the press of female bodies in front of them, heading back to the bar and plopping back down into a stiff imitation of just another relaxed lesbian at the bar, facing away from the band and immediately focusing entirely on the second drink I ordered just then - and still reeling with not only the recognition, but the heat I'd felt in my pussy both before and after realizing she was one of my clones.

She had to be. Keeping a fake smile printed over my face was having some weird effect on my mood as I thought about my singing clone. They'd said I'd almost certainly never meet any of them; most countries still didn't let them travel! Wait, did this mean I also had a good singing voice? I thought they were all in Europe and Australia... what was wrong with me? Did I look that hot when I was her age? Of course I did, I mean... argh! Why couldn't I make the heat between my legs go out now?

I sipped at my drink, chiding myself. This was like a mother lusting after her own daughter. Really, I ought to just bail from the place and find myself a meaningless encounter through one of those holo apps. They had pretty good matching software now, but there was still an emptiness to it that I'd never come to like. I'd been hoping for a little more than that, but I'd have to settle for just another sex agreement. I needed to get my mind off the mother-daughter incest fantasy that was already creeping into my thoughts.

Well, technically, my oft-disused scientific mind corrected - your clones are your twin sisters, just younger. So it's sibling lust, not mother-daughter. Not entirely unnatural, and you yourself said you're turning into a pervert.

And that makes it okay? She's still young enough to be my daughter!

Well, depends on who you ask, said my lab-coated imaginary self. Bureau says no no no, definitely not allowed - in fact, they didn't even like clones having passing conversations with each other. It had been a Supreme Court case before clones were even allowed to travel outside the city of their birth.

Bubble folks weren't likely to approve either, unless they stood to make money on it. It was different in Asia, I heard, but it depended on what part. Free City people... well, with those clowns anything goes, but is that any standard to go by?

Well, I am in a Free City right now... when in Rome or whatever...

I shook my head again, shocked at my own lack of inhibitions suddenly. This wasn't who I was. I was just out of my head, a bisexual nymphomaniac who hadn't gotten any in a few weeks and had never seen any of her clones before; surely, I was just in a weird place mentally. The Bureau had only said I'd probably never run into any clones... but that was before that big case though. I recalled reading that it was much more likely nowadays.

Come to think of it, I never even asked the Bureau how many others of me were out there. I'd been in to donate... must have been fifty or sixty times?

I was about to roll off the cushion pile and pick up my holo to leave when I stopped - and found another woman plopping down on the cushions next to me, at the barside. I blinked, now confused as hell - looking over at the band, then back at her.

There were three of me in here?

She was clearly another whole individual; she didn't have the tattoos or the crazy hair. She did have her hair pico-dyed in a deep red, down to the roots, though; it was actually a nice look, I'd never tried coloring mine. It complemented our - her - light skin well. Was it just the more mature look she had, or was she actually older than the band girl? She was, obviously, another clone of me. What were the chances that I'd run into two in the same place? Moreover, what were the chances they didn't already know about each other...

"Hi..." She smiled, belatedly offering me a grape as she practically shouted over the music. "I'm Alissa. Alissa Thorpe. You?"

I could hear the British accent in her words. It was surreal, hearing this copy of myself speak so naturally in an accent I could only badly feign. She was actually in costume, a pure white toga - she obviously didn't work here, wrong color - that bared her slim shoulder and the hint of the top of one small breast. She wore no bra with it, and I found my eye drifted to the hem of it along the top, seeing part of her boob for an instant before I snapped my eyes back to her face.