Free Eye Contact by Michael Craft Page A

vanished.
    And there’s more. Someone’s fingers begin to pinch his nipples, twisting just to the verge of pain.
    That does it—his back arches as he raises his head from the ground. The tongues slip away, the suction noises cease, and his world is suddenly silent. The moment of orgasm approaches, then grips him. He watches his weightless semen pump out of his body and into the black sky. Backlit by the sun, which moves again along its path toward evening, the sticky strands glisten and tumble in the darkness. Then they break apart, congealing into beads that dance and shudder and finally come to rest, a new constellation of milky jewels in the farthest reaches of an imaginary universe.
    “Hey,” says Neil, “are you okay?”
    Manning’s eyes open. His face is half buried in the sheets, but he can see the clock on the nightstand, which isn’t set to go off for another twenty minutes. He turns onto his left side to find Neil sitting up in bed.
    “You were moaning. Pain or pleasure?”
    Manning tosses back the sheet to give Neil a gander. “Pleasure.”
    Late that morning, Manning arrives with David at the planetarium for their appointment with Dr. Zarnik to see the “graphic realization,” which the astronomer has claimed will prove the existence of his newly discovered planet. Today is Friday, and the parking lot is jammed. The weekend has begun early for hordes of families on vacation, and the sky show is a popular attraction.
    Once inside the building, Manning knows his way, telling the receptionist that Dr. Zarnik needn’t come downstairs to escort them up to the lab. He leads David around a doubled-back queue of visitors, down a rear hallway, and up the metal stairs. Walking through the hall toward the door to the observatory, Manning says, “Play along with me, David. I hate to sound devious, but something’s been troubling me about Zarnik’s lab. I want to take a closer look at things while he’s not watching. I doubt we’ll be lucky enough to get him out of the room, but if we can get him involved with you, that may give me sufficient leeway to do some snooping. So I want you to assume the role of a green rookie—all wide-eyed, young and eager.”
    As David nods with unbridled enthusiasm, Manning feels foolish, realizing that in fact the kid is young and eager.
    David tells him, “You can count on me. I’ve dreamed of opportunities like this.”
    Manning assumes that David has spoken of his dreams figuratively. A strained smile contorts his lips as he deadpans, “So have I, David.”
    They stop at the door with the red sign. There is no knob, only the keyhole for the lock, and no doorbell. Manning shrugs, then knocks.
    After waiting a full minute, David whispers, “Are you sure we were expected?”
    “I thought we were,” says Manning. “He said to be here before noon.”
    “Ah, gentlemen!” says Dr. Zarnik, skittering toward them from the opposite end of the hall. “Sorry to make you wait, but—clumsy me—I forgot something, as usual.” Wedged under his arm is a folded newspaper and a black plastic box, the size of a book or a videotape. Fumbling with the whistle and the keys chained around his neck, he manages to open the door. “Do step inside, please.”
    He escorts them toward the middle of the room, tossing the paper and the plastic box—it’s a videocassette—onto the desk. He turns to face his visitors, standing in a clearing amid the electronic hodgepodge. Checking his watch, he tells them, “Several minutes remain until the graphic realization can be presented.”
    Manning says, “That should give us enough time for a few more questions, Professor. As I told you on the phone, I’d like to clear up some details before finishing my story.”
    “I am at your service. I want you to be absolutely confident of the veracity of my claim. Any questions you might have—please, fire away.”
    “Thank you. Do you mind if I sit?” As he speaks, Manning sits at Zarnik’s desk,