Free It Started as a Joke (All the Presidents' Beds, #1) by Kit Helix Page B

that clever either.  See, in order to make sure I wouldn’t be discovered, I had found a space in one of our underground labs to do my testing.  It was dank and grubby, and it had no clocks or windows or anything else that would give a person even the slightest inkling of the passage of time. 
    But I am a clever person by birth, a clever person by trade, and a clever person by upbringing.  So I hid behind a box.  I knew that previous I (let’s call her Old-Alice) would arrive in exactly the same manner as the current I (let’s just call me I, because I am the only I who matters) had.  So, if Old-Alice arrived after about 30 minutes, I had just time-traveled.  If Old-Alice didn’t arrive in 30 minutes, then I was just sitting in a basement, hiding behind a box, looking like an idiot to absolutely no one but herself. 
    Minutes passed.  According to my watch (which is, I remind you, not clever) it was now 12:28 PM, and I was getting ready to leave, as I am not a patient person.  I was feeling embarrassed and discouraged about my formerly latent, now apparently overt desire to fuck the presidents.  As I stood up to leave, the door to the room opened, and I jumped back into my box as Old-Alice came bumbling in.
    Old-Alice’s ass was bigger than mine, but not in a good “look at that ass” way but in a “oh shit, that’s a dumpy ass” way.  She was wearing the same labcoat as I was.  Her hair was totally fucked in the back in a way that I hadn’t noticed in the mirror before I left.  Old-Alice also had left her blouse slightly untucked in the back in that way that tiny children and mental patients do, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.  Mind as big as the universe and totally unable to handle herself in the real world.  I could see how Old-Alice might be beautiful, though.  Where her hair wasn’t a wreck it was a gorgeous chestnut.  She had beautiful, round black eyes like an anime character or cartoon bunny you’re supposed to feel sympathy for.  Even under her labcoat, her boobs looked rockin’; her ass, on second look, was almost “day-um” but more “um, okay, I guess.”  And those lips.  Whenever she’d walk through the senior hall as a freshman in high school she couldn’t help but hear the comments about where those lips would look good. 
    Old-Alice hit a button on the WOGENTIM and she disappeared.  And my stomach lurched a bit, because I didn’t hang out with Sandra enough now that she was the kept woman of a real estate mogul; and I had thought for a moment that Old-Alice and I had a lot in common, and now she was gone forever.  Or—shit—she had just become me, judging her.  I wasn’t good enough for Old-Alice.  Old-Alice was something amazing.
    The next two months was hammers, torches, lasers and syntax.  WOGENTIM worked for humans, but I needed a way to take it with me.  I didn’t want to go back and fuck only George Washington: I wanted to run the gauntlet from 1-38 & 40 (I decided against attempting it with our still-living presidents for fear of larger implications in the timeline—though that Bill Clinton, he must have had something going on.  And we all saw W.’s codpiece.).  To make sure I didn’t fall behind on projects, I used the WOGENTIM to hit every day twice.  When I finished at work for the day, I immediately went back to the previous night, slept, and then worked the next morning in a location as far away from Old-Alice as possible.  Perfecting the apparatus took 2 months of calendar time, but 4 months of my life.  I wasn’t sure about the relativity implications of time travel, but I sure as shit looked older than I should have after I finished my portable WOGENTIM.  I would catch glimpses of Old-Alice when I hadn’t slept enough and forgotten what day it was.  I even, at one point, caught a glimpse of I when the I that I am was Old-Alice.  I was lucky nobody was around, because I scared the shit out of Old-Alice. (Time travel