Microbiology [part 1 of 2]
By: AnonymousBob (anonymous.bob0012@yahoo.com)
Professor Elsner looked slowly across lecture hall, waiting in the silence. Nearly three hundred students in the stadium seated desks, and not one of them could tell him the answer. He almost smiled: half of them probably couldn't tell him what question he'd just asked. Most of the eyes were on him, faces blank."Anyone?"
In the higher-level classes, the students would be avoiding his eyes right now, aware that they were not meeting expectations. But in the survey classes, the freshmen and sophomores, here because it was still available when they registered and they needed at least three science credits for their liberal arts or finance degrees, felt no shame in not knowing. And in classes this big, with students so young and naïve, some still excited just at the thought that they were finally in college, away from their parents and out on their own, he wasn't going to humiliate anyone by calling on them and demanding an answer.
"Microbes," he said.
There was a small murmur of interest, somebody huffed out half a laugh, and a couple of girls said "Eww."
Pencils dutifully moved to record his wisdom.
"That's right," he said. "In fact, if someone took your body apart, cell by cell, and ran every single cell they took out of you through the lab, only about ten percent of the cells would have human DNA."
A couple of them looked more interested.
"Most of the rest... microbes. Tiny little pieces of bacteria and single-celled organisms... basically pond-scum living inside your body."
"Gross," a girl in the front row said to the student next to her, a little too loud.
"Very gross indeed," Professor Elsner said. The girl, a pretty girl with dirty-blond hair and bright green eyes, winced a little: she hadn't meant for him to hear it. "But vital. In fact, you couldn't live without them. Right now you, young lady, have seventy billion non-human life forms living inside your body."
She looked uncomfortable, although probably more by being put on the spot by her professor than the thought of all that alien life living inside her.
"That granola bar," Professor Elsner said, pointing to the empty wrapper on the desk beside her. "You couldn't eat it without those microbes. You couldn't taste it, your saliva couldn't lubricate it on its way down your throat, your stomach certainly couldn't break it down, you couldn't absorb its nutrients, its energy, and you couldn't pass it through your digestive tract without microbes. They're not human, but they're very much a part of you. And they can only live inside you. In the outside world, in any other animal, they would die. You need them to live, and they need you. A mutually beneficial relationship. And what is that called?"
He waited.
"The... circle of life?" someone finally said.
Thank you, Walt Disney, Professor Elsner thought.
"It's called symbiosis. A symbiotic relationship. Two separate organisms that cannot exist without each other."
More pencils moved on paper. More fodder for finals.
He didn't need a watch: when the zippers started opening on backpacks and notebooks began closing it was 11:50, or close enough.
"Okay. We'll end it there today. We were going to briefly touch on parasites, the microbes and tiny organisms that live inside you that are not to your benefit, but we're just about out of time, and you're all probably heading to lunch, and I don't want you thinking too hard about what you're eating and what's really going on inside your body. Enjoy your break, everyone, travel safely, and have a happy Thanksgiving."
The class cleared out past Jeff Washam, who had been in the back, working through his research on his laptop, occasionally rolling his eyes at the simplification of Professor Elsner's lecture. What was he telling these students? None of it was false, but it was so vague, all-encompassing, and surface level, it didn't really tell them anything. It was like describing Brahms' Second as somebody banging on a piano for seventy minutes. It was true, but it completely missed the point.
"Well, Jeff," the professor said from the podium, while he unhooked his laptop and shut down the projector, "critiques today?"
Jeff was the Professor's teaching assistant?an obligatory part of his research grant in which he graded tests, and held office hours twice a week in an office shared by another TA in the biology department, Wally. There had been maybe five students total in the last two months during office hours, and he had spent probably seventy-five hours in there playing table-top football with Wally, and reading the newspaper online. But now that finals were approaching, he would be crushed with students who needed the first week's material explained, because, well, they just sort of forgot it. And the rest of the book, too, if he didn't mind. Such was the tradeoff for use of some of the most state-of-the-art equipment on the planet.
"Wasn't too bad, was it?" the professor said.
Jeff shrugged. He'd told the professor many times that he thought that giving them such a skimming of the material did more harm than good, and today the professor had spent three minutes on what Jeff was in his seventh year working on. Microbiology?human cerebellum-born microbes, in particular?was Jeff's passion. It was the future: of medicine, of psychology and psychiatry, of pathology, and of human interaction with everything and everyone. Those looking to defy age with makeup and surgery, those looking to get smarter with books and study, those looking to cure cancer with poison and radiation, they were looking in the wrong place when the answers were so clearly in front of them, inside them, actually.
"You missed one or two key points," Jeff said, smiling. He'd given up hope that the professor could go into much depth on anything, but he hadn't stopped commenting on it.
"Jeff, my wife took a yearlong class on the second day at the Battle of Gettysburg. And she still didn't think it went deep enough. I've got more goddamn books at home about that battle than I do here about anything."
Jeff sighed. The Battle of Gettysburg speech.
"But just next door," the professor was saying, "with Dr. Masterson, they've got to go through five hundred years of American history in three months, and they probably spent one or two days total on the entire war. Those kids that want more about Gettysburg, they'll take more classes. The kids that want more about microbiological DNA resequencing and gene manipulation... they can take more classes too." Jeff laughed a little. When you put it that way, it did sound a bit much for freshmen. He was a nerd and he knew it. Not the classic nerd with a pocket protector and prescription shoes, but a man who had spent five years hunched over a microscope. Jeff would change the world one day. In a small way?his own way?he already had.
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Across the Colorado State University campus, Steve Warner sat in the back of a small classroom, where he usually did. He was dressed in old and baggy jeans, worn thin and white at the knees, and tattered at his ankles. His sweatshirt was loose, the hood a little too big for his head, the way he liked it so he could wear his headphones between classes. He didn't look sloppy, but rather uninterested in how he presented himself.
Dr. Smith, at the front of the room, was waiting for an answer.
Russia, after Ivan the Terrible had inflicted over a decade of madness upon it. What were the roadblocks to reforming a government and restoring the country to what it had been? A year ago, Steve had been interested in World War II, and had taken a class on the Soviet Union to get the story from that perspective. He didn't get much on the battles, but he did fall in love, or lust, maybe, or obsession, with a woman he would never get anywhere near. He hadn't known who Dr. Smith was when he registered, and had expected a man with a white beard and slightly wild eyes. That would be right for someone teaching Soviet history. Instead, a woman in her early thirties had entered the first day of class. She wasn't gorgeous, not in conventional ways anyway, but she was beautiful. She stood maybe 5'6" with unexceptional brown hair that was cut just above her shoulders. Her face didn't have any of the hallmarks of beauty: her eyes were hazel and slightly milky, her nose was pronounced from the side?not too big, but certainly not the tiny things that all the celebrities have installed?and it was slightly upturned. Her mouth was nice and her smile wide, and one of her front teeth was slightly crooked, like a book on a shelf turned a little to one side. Her cheeks were high and the way she held herself, her neck appeared long, and always visible. Her skin was pale with occasional freckles. It was a combination of characteristics that, on other people, would stand out, or draw attention to themselves?they would detract from the face. But on Dr. Smith's, they just fit perfectly: her face was wonderful. It was intelligent, alive, and when she smiled, all the problems in the world disappeared.
Her body was similarly beautiful, but not extraordinary. Her breasts were nice, not too large, but they were certainly noticeable, slightly heavy on her frame, with small, perfect nipples?he knew because he had seen them only once: a blizzard was coming in at the end of last month, and people were scrambling to get home. Dr. Smith was pulling her wheeled briefcase, and holding a large purse, and her jacket opened in the wind. With no free hand to close it, she just strode into the wind while it pressed her shirt against her cold body and her nipples stood proudly off her breasts, pointed straight ahead, not up the way some do, but not sagging down either. Just perfect. I would die, Steve thought, sitting in the library, watching her, if I could wrap my lips around that nipple, even for only a moment. He had not seen them again, beneath the loose blouses and sweaters she usually wore, but he had never forgotten.
She wasn't fat by any means, but she didn't taper to the tiny waist that so many of the girls on campus wanted desperately to achieve. Her hips were maybe a little wider than normal, and her ass was nice and round, and occasionally when she wore the long skirts she favored, she showed a panty-line crossing her each cheek diagonally, and Steve would have trouble concentrating on the lecture those days.
Some women, movie stars and models, are impossibly beautiful, and their beauty elevates them onto another level, another species, almost. Dr. Smith was beautiful the way real women are beautiful.
She was still waiting. And none of the other twenty-five students were answering.
Steve had an idea what she was hoping for, but didn't say anything. He rarely said anything in class. He had always been fairly quiet and shy. His freshman year in high school, both his parents died in a car wreck, and he moved to Iowa with his grandmother. In a new school, in a new town, already depressed and alone, Steve's isolation only amplified. A vicious cycle developed: he was awkward and shy around everyone, especially girls, which kept him from opening up, and his insecurity and inexperience, normal at 15, only worsened. Now, at 22, he was so far behind, he thought he'd never catch up. He overheard girls talking about a guy not knowing how to eat their pussy well. He didn't know how to go on a first date well. So he was alone. He would go home to his one-bedroom apartment in a complex across town filled primarily with low-income families and other non-students, and he would masturbate to the thought of Dr. Smith, or Fatima the beautiful, round faced, curvy, full-bodied Kuwaiti graduate student who taught his chemistry lab, or any of a hundred girls in his classes, or to the pornography on his computer and his DVDs.
Dr. Smith sighed. "Did any of you even read the assignment?" Her voice was just slightly lower than the average woman, rich and full and all the more alluring. There was uncomfortable shuffling in seats.
Dr. Smith walked to her laptop bag, and removed the cards. She had cut up index cards into business-card sized pieces and written each student's name on them, and used them to call students at random. She shuffled through them, and pulled one out.
"Steve?"
Fear dropped into his chest. He hated being put on the spot, and it seemed he was more often than once every twenty-six times she went to the cards. He hated talking in front of people, even though right now he was behind them. He hated the possibility that he might screw up in front of so many people, that they would laugh at him once out of earshot. He sat up a little. "Um. Well, I guess it was a lot of things. I'd say the biggest was the expansion into new territories, because, um, well, that brought a lot of new ethnic groups into his control. And it's a lot harder to rule people when they don't speak your language and they don't share your customs... and stuff?"
"That's a good point," she said, and looked to the rest of the class. "What else?" Steve felt great. Maybe she called on him no matter whose name she drew because she liked him, or because she knew he was smart. No, that wasn't it. It was probably that every time she went to the cards, he had a minor panic attack, so no matter whom she eventually called upon, it was already a disaster for him. But still, right now, he felt good. Not only had he not humiliated himself, he had been praised by Dr. Smith. It wasn't much, and she seemed mildly disinterested in saying it, but to him it was huge. He had made an impact on her existence on this planet. For him, that was as good as it could get.
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Jeff sat in his office just after office-hours had ended. Wally had packed up and left early to catch a flight back to Omaha for Thanksgiving, and most of the rest of the campus was shutting down. The door was locked. Jessica, the girl with the dirty-blond hair, to whom Professor Elsner had described in more detail than anyone wanted the digestion of her granola bar, was naked, on her knees, and Jeff's cock was as far as it would go down her throat. Her, young breasts pressed into his naked thighs. One of her hands was gently massaging his scrotum, and the other was buried between her own legs, working furiously at her clitoris.
Her throat massaged the head of his cock, contracting and expanding; instead of moving her head up and down on it, she forced herself to swallow and let the muscles in her throat stimulate and work the sensitive head. She didn't know how she knew to do it. She just did.
"Good girl," Jeff said.
She smiled proudly around his penis. God, she loved him.
You cannot come by yourself. No matter what you do, you will not achieve orgasm from clitoral or vaginal stimulation.
Jessica didn't hear his thoughts, but they were immediately true in her brain. She was burning, she needed so badly to climax. Her nipples throbbed, and the hair on his thighs rubbing against them was almost unbearable. Her clitoris was on fire between her wet, sloppy fingers as they rode over it. But she couldn't come. Jesus, she needed to come. She would do anything. Anything in the world.
You will only come when you are covered with my come.
Jeff was getting close. Jessica knew, even though this was the first penis she had ever sucked, the first she had ever touched, for that matter. She just knew. Jeff's hand went to the back of her head, grabbed her hair, and the other clamped down on her naked shoulder, squeezing. It was pain, but it was wonderful. Jesus, she needed to come. He was there. His cock head expanded in her throat and pulsed. She pulled him from her mouth, covered in her saliva, and she pumped the top half with both hands, rubbing the underside of the head with in perfect time with his pulsing, kneeling in front of it, her face only inches from its dark, purple head, and then it erupted. It shot sticky, hot, white come into her face, across her eyes and her nose, her lips, and another shot, weaker than the first several, on her chin and dripping onto her neck.
And she exploded.
Already wet and dripping down her leg, her vagina let loose a deluge of her juices, and its spasm was so hard, she almost threw herself off of him. The pleasure, the most intense of her life, snaked through her body. Her nipples felt as though they had burst, and nothing but white hot ecstasy flowed forth. She convulsed, uncontrollably, against his lap, while the final burst from his cock streaked her dirty-blond hair dirtier, and then she fell off of him, to the side, and thrashed on the floor, as though in an epileptic seizure.
The shaking finally stopped, and she trembled, naked on the floor, her eyes closed, her breathing ragged and fast, curled into a ball, her tight little nineteen-year-old ass pointing at him, the lips of her pussy just barely peeking out from between her thighs.
There was nothing now, no office, no world. There was only Jeff. Even the name was wonderful. Jeff. It meant love and pleasure and endless happiness for all eternity.
Jessica got slowly to her knees and turned to face him again. His dick had softened and lay limp across his testicles. God, it was beautiful. He was smiling at her.
"I love you, darling," she said.
"I know."
He knew.
God, she loved him. She would die for him without hesitating, if he asked her to.
She would die without him.
No. She could not even think of life without him.
For several minutes, without being told to, she worshiped his dick all over again. This time licking every bit of his wonderful seed off of it, and the little bit that had dripped onto his balls. She swallowed it all, and felt its warm beauty slide down her throat and into her stomach, filling her with him. She made sure to leave as little of her own saliva on his dick as possible. Jeff's cock, his wonderful, beautiful, life-giving cock, needed to be clean, and it was her honor to do it. She made sure not to touch any part of his body with the come that remained on her face. That was hers, his gift to her, more valuable than anything she had ever received.
When she finished with his dick, Jessica wiped off the come that had hit her chin and her neck, and held it between her fingers for a moment, like a curious child with a new sensation?she had never touched semen, or even seen it. In high school, in health class she had been disgusted by the entire sexuality unit, and especially the description of semen. The very idea that those ugly, scary, things boys had in their pants would shoot something at her?or in her?was almost nauseating. How could she have been so stupid? Semen was wonderful. It was God's gift to her. She split the little bit of white matter between her two forefingers, and rubbed each off on her nipples.
Then she stopped. Her head hurt for a second. All semen wasn't wonderful. It was Jeff's semen that was wonderful. Other men? No. She couldn't even think of other men touching her. She was Jeff's. Another man's semen would rot her flesh, his touch would burn her like acid, his penis would...
She couldn't think of it. It would be as awful as anything could be. More awful than death to touch or even see another man's penis.
But as quickly as those thoughts had come, they left. It was obvious. She didn't need even to worry about it: she was Jeff's.
Jeff stood, and the office and the world came back. He retrieved his pants from the other side of the room, and began putting them on. Jessica walked nude to Wally's desk and retrieved the Kleenex. She cleaned up her spilled fluids, something that would have made her die of shame only yesterday. But today, it made her proud. She knew Jeff was proud that she came so much for him. It showed how much she loved him.
She put her underwear back on and felt a pang of shame. It was white, cotton underwear: plain, uninteresting, and almost shapeless. It was underwear, for God's sake. Nobody would ever call these panties. She needed to be beautiful for Jeff. She needed to be sexy. She needed something that would excite him, that would show off her body. How could she be so stupid to wear these to his office?
But she knew he wasn't upset. She would get new underwear today. Right now.
Jessica found her bra where it had been thrown behind the ratty couch, and pressed the cups hard into her nipples when she put it on, making sure that the come would dry her nipples to it. It would hurt coming off, and that pain was Jeff's love. My God, she thought, and the realization almost knocked her from her feet. I have his seed, his wonderful come, on my breasts. Pride hit her the way a man meeting the president feels the most important in the world at that moment, the way a man feels holding the Stanley Cup over his head. She carried Jeff Washam's come on her breasts, on her nipples right now. And on her face still, and in her hair. And in her stomach. And no other woman in the world could say that.
She finished dressing while he watched, and she picked up her bag. His come was still on her face, still in her hair. It was drying there. He stood near the door, and Jessica approached him only the slightest bit apprehensive. What would he say? What would he think?
He put his hand on her hip, and pulled her to him. Their bodies pressed together, and the semen on her nipples burned with her love for him. He kissed her forehead. He would not kiss where his seed had landed, and she should not kiss him with it. He held her, and kissed her again, and said, "Good girl."
She left as light as she had ever been. She was excited. She had just sucked a cock. And not just a cock, the cock. It was wonderful. She wondered what it would feel like inside her. Would it hurt? Would it fit? Was she worthy of it? She smiled brightly, feeling the come still on her face, walking out the door to go to the mall and buy sexy underwear for him. Panties. She had to get used to the idea. She would wear sexy, lacy, tight fitting panties, that he could pull aside and tear off of her. Purple panties. It was odd: she had never thought to wear anything but white or cream colored underwear. Now, suddenly, she needed purple panties. He would like purple, French-cut panties hugging her curves. She licked her lips again, tasting his leftover love. God she loved him.
Jeff smiled watching her ass walk down the hallway to the elevator, and turned back into his office. She had been one of the few students who regularly came in during office hours throughout the semester. During the anatomy unit, she asked to be excused because it made her uncomfortable. Her quiet, high-pitched little voice, her beautiful face, and her firm, young body attracted him. And her shyness, her almost phobic reaction to anything related to sex made him need her all the more.
A week ago, when it was snowing and cold, she came in with questions about one of the reading assignments, and Jeff had offered her a cup of tea heated on the hotplate he and Wally shared. It was cold outside, he said, and she looked like she could use something to warm up.
She drank the tea, and the microbes in it, and now, a week later, she would walk off the roof of a building if he wanted her to. All he had to do was think it.
And all she had to do was think, and he knew it.
He smiled. She was downstairs now, walking out to her car, already thinking of ways to show him how much she loved him, to beg his forgiveness that she'd had crushes on boys and movie stars when she was younger, and most importantly, ways to ask him to take her virginity.
It's up to Jeff when he fucks you. When and where and how he pleases.
She felt shame now. How could she ask him for her own pleasure?
Everything's okay. Jeff loves you and he will fuck you soon enough. And just sucking Jeff's cock, and worshiping him gives you all the happiness you'll ever need.
Jeff sat down. Jessica was wrong about one thing. She was not the only one who carried Jeff's come on or in her. There were four other women right now, desperately in love with him, devoted, blindly and totally, to him. Four women who worshiped his cock and loved him completely. And he could hear all their thoughts, if he wanted to. Right now Sandra was at work, focused on her job, but always in the back of her mind, Jeff was central to her life. Two others, Rachel and Emily, were sleeping, having fucked Jeff and each other all night, and then having spent four hours silently cleaning the house while Jeff slept (they had fucked in five different rooms, leaving overturned furniture, clothes, whipped cream, strawberry stems, KY Jelly, and sex fluids in all of them). They then prepared Jeff's bath, bathed him, sucked him off twice more, and made his breakfast. It was not until he left at 9:00 that they slept. And right now Jennifer was cooking dinner at her house, and running around making sure everything was perfect: the candles on the table, the place settings, the wine at the perfect temperature.
All the women knew about the others. And all accepted it, of course: it was the most natural thing in the world for Jeff to have and love as many women as he needed.
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Dr. Alison Smith shut down her computer and looked around her office. There were still nearly a dozen essays waiting to be graded that she should finish before the Thanksgiving break, and she hadn't even begun to write the questions for the finals in any of her classes. She was tired: in her second full year teaching, she was still working nearly seventy hours a week.
She knew she would regret it next month, but she decided just to let the work wait. She had been pushing herself too hard for too long, and the thought of four days just for herself was too tempting. Even though, right now, the best weekend she would have was eating ice cream in a candle-lit bath before masturbating and falling asleep. She had moved to Fort Collins two years ago, straight out of graduate school, which she went into straight out of college.
Alison was extraordinarily proud of her accomplishments, but it had cost her. She hadn't had a serious relationship since she was an undergraduate, and she hadn't had sex in nearly three years. In the last year or so, her sex drive had diminished significantly. Her sister said it was depression: she was too invested in her career, and she had shut out human contact.
It didn't matter. Her mother had been a housewife, and she was not going to follow that path. She was going to be respected, successful, and self-sufficient. And love would come when it was time... hopefully.
She sighed, turned off the light, and locked her door. She just hoped she had it in her tonight to rub herself off. Most nights she tried, and lost interest.
In the parking lot, she passed Steve Warner, walking with his head down. He was a bright kid, but needed more self-confidence. Christ, she thought, he needed any self-confidence.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Steve," she said.
He seemed startled by it. "Oh, hi. Yeah, happy Thanksgiving."
She walked on, across the parking lot to her car, unaware that the shy kid's eyes were on her all the way, that he had not moved since she spoke to him. She couldn't imagine that she was attractive to a twenty-two year old surrounded by all those sorority girls with blond hair and big boobs, and the anorexic girls with zero body-fat. In the long time since she had been with a man, she had lost any illusion of her own attractiveness.
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Jennifer walked around the table again, looking at everything. Jeff was coming tonight, and everything had to be perfect. She checked the food and the clock, and the kitchen timer for the hundredth time.
She had been engaged to be married until six months ago, when, all of a sudden, she realized that she loved Jeff. Unconditionally, with all her heart, she was devoted totally to him. That she had only met him once before was a little strange, but that thought quickly vanished. Of course she loved Jeff. She gave her fiancé his ring back (she couldn't understand what he was so upset about: she was Jeff's, after all) and moved back into the house she had been trying to sell since they'd gotten engaged. Now it was hers and Jeff's. He wasn't here as much as she would have wished, but she understood. Jennifer was extraordinarily proud to be one of the women he loved, and understood the constraints that living that way (and, of course, how else could anyone possibly expect him to live?). She was the most proud that when Jeff wasn't feeling well, when he had a bad or stressful day, or just needed to escape, he came to her. Sometimes they lay for hours in the huge bathtub she'd recently had installed, in each other's arms.
She went to the mirror in the hallway and checked her hair again, her makeup, opened another button on her blouse, and lifted each of her breasts in the bra. She was a tall, elegant woman, with long legs and a thin frame, on which her C-cup breasts were even more impressive. She tried to keep herself from getting wet again. It was so hard not to, knowing that Jeff would be there in ten or fifteen minutes, that he may ask her to suck him off before dinner and that he would certainly make love to her after, It had been six days since Jeff had stayed at her place, six days without sex, without a climax, and now it was only minutes away. She hoped.
Sometimes she didn't come when she sucked him off, and in a weird way, she knew from the moment he walked in that she wouldn't, that she would have to wait. And sometimes, just wrapping her lips around the head of his hard, warm cock sent a bone-jolting orgasm through her, like a reward, like it was what Jeff wanted. Strange how she only ever seemed to come when he wanted her to. It must be a sign of how much they loved each other. Sometimes Jeff asked her to masturbate for him before dinner, and she would, with both hands, the thought of him watching her as she sat on the dining room table, legs spread, furiously fingering herself, exciting her as she built toward climax.
Sometimes he couldn't contain himself, and he would stop her halfway through, and take her roughly right where she was. Maybe he would tonight, suddenly lunging at her, forcing her back onto the table, tearing her shirt and bra off while slammed into her, roughly grabbing and squeezing her breasts, biting her nipples, and then turning her over and taking her from behind, dominating her, owning her, maybe in her ass, and then...
She needed to stop. She didn't have time to change her panties again. She stood back from the mirror, teased one of her erect nipples ever so gently, and went back to the kitchen. She had to make sure everything was where it needed to be. Jennifer had to be ready for Jeff. She was going to get fucked tonight.
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Steve awoke seeing only a gray blur with a bright light in the middle that didn't take form for several minutes. His head and arm hurt, and his chest seemed incapable of expanding at all, making breathing difficult and unbearably painful.
He didn't know what happened, but he was aware of the tube up his nose, and he assumed he was in the hospital. He had been once before, for surgery to remove a non-cancerous growth on his kidney, and he had awoken confused and disoriented.
Maybe that's what was happening now. Had he gone in for surgery?
He couldn't think very well.
The gray blur slowly began to take shape, and the light source separated into two, that became the fluorescents sunk into the ceiling. He couldn't move his arm, and could feel something bulky wrapped tightly around it. A cast.
"How are you feeling?" a man's voice asked.
"Uhhrr."
"Are you in pain?"
Steve nodded, and it hurt. "Chest," he managed to groan.
He was able to make out a man, middle-aged with a gray beard, wearing scrubs sitting next to him.
"Your lung collapsed," the man said. "We were able to repair it, and it's working normally now, but it's going to be pretty painful for a while."
"Wha... happen?"
"Just rest for now," the doctor said.
"Where..."
"You're at Poudre Valley Hospital. You were hurt pretty bad in the accident, but it's nothing permanent. You were knocked unconscious, and you've been in and out for about four days, but there's no brain injury as far as we can tell. Your left arm is broken, and for the next couple weeks or a month, you're going to be pretty bruised up."
Steve nodded, and it hurt. He had to remember not to do that.
"You're a hero, young man," the doctor said, patting his hand gently. "Get some rest." The doctor flicked a needle, and injected the IV. He patted Steve's hand again, and walked out
That was odd. Steve was a lot of things, and most of them were about as far from hero as possible. He could feel whatever the doctor had injected spread into his arm, a heat and a tingling that dissipated into his chest and up his neck. Whatever it was, it was nice, and then the world went black.
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Alison Smith lay back in the bathtub. The first day back from Thanksgiving break had been a long one, and she was still tense. She had read about the accident in the newspapers, and seen Steve's picture, and it made her want to cry. It was the one the university had on file, the one on his student ID card: a low-resolution shot of him on his first day of freshman year, smiling awkwardly, and uncomfortably. It was the only picture they could get of him. They had asked around for friends to submit a picture of him, and nobody had responded. No snapshots. No facebook pictures. No friends. He was such a lonely kid, and seemed so lost in the world.
Some of the students in her Soviet history class had been surprised this morning to hear that he was a classmate. They'd never noticed him sitting back there. She wanted to tell them he outscored them all on his essays, on his tests.
She sighed. She wished she'd graded those essays before the break. Now it was just piling up on her.
Alison closed her eyes, and a ripple of shame ran through her. On Saturday, she had for the first time in her life, paid for online pornography. It wasn't hardcore: she didn't need to see close-ups of penetration or people's assholes. It was a soft porn website, aimed at women, the most graphic shots were of two pelvises pressed together, pubic hair rubbing, moving rhythmically with each other, all the actual parts obscured by the bodies. It featured videos of couples kissing tenderly, making love gently and lovingly. They kissed while they made love, and looked into each other's eyes. In the videos in which the man made love to the woman from behind, it wasn't animalistic or rough. He spooned her and kissed her constantly. There were no ejaculations into people's faces, onto breasts or butts. The characters in the movies climaxed together and held each other afterward.
For nearly two hours on Saturday, after she had finally decided to enter her credit card number, Alison sat naked at the desk in her bedroom, and watched one video after another. She masturbated to some, and cried to others. She cried because she was a smart, independent, successful woman, who had resorted to paying for porn. She cried because this wasn't how she wanted her life to be, even though she was achieving all of the goals she'd set for herself. She cried because she wanted the love they showed on those videos. She tried to keep a brave face to her circumstances, tried to convince everyone else and herself that she was just fine living alone, but she wanted so desperately to be loved, emotionally and physically. She wanted a man to think she was beautiful, to kiss her like there was no other woman on the planet, to rub a feather over her skin, and spend half an hour massaging every inch of her body the way the extended-foreplay scenes showed.
She wanted a man to crawl into bed with her, press his naked body against her back. She wanted to feel his hard penis pressing just beneath her butt, between her thighs, as though asking for permission to proceed.
Alison dipped her hand into the water and between her legs.
What else would he do?
He would nuzzle her ear, his hot breath on her neck, and whisper that he loved her. His hand would come around and cup her breast, and he would kiss her neck and her shoulder. He would squeeze the soft flesh in his hand, roll her nipple between her fingers, and press his hips forward, needing her desperately.
And she would need him. She would lift her leg and drape it over his, opening herself to him, and arch her back and press her butt backward against him, and she would reach between her own legs and guide him into her. He would stretch her and fill her, all the while his arm wrapped around her, holding her tight to his warm chest, and she would turn her head, and their tongues would meet and she would whisper her love to him.
Alison began moving faster between her legs, and brought her other hand to her breast, where her man would caress her sensitive skin and would roll her hot nipple between his fingers.
She would feel his heart beating while he slowly and steadily thrust into her. She would gasp and moan, and grasp his hand, keeping it firmly affixed to her breast. He would kiss and lick her neck, and she would cry out as his tempo increased.
He would thrust more powerfully into her, and her own hand would find her clitoris, and... yes yes yes he would thrust into her and... oh, yes he would come into her, and she would... so close... she would... come!
A small orgasm rippled through Alison, and she lay for a moment with her eyes closed. The imaginary penis slipping out of her disappeared. The loving breath on her neck was gone. There were no arms to hold her, only the lukewarm bath water.
__________________________________
When Steve awoke again, he was able to focus and think more clearly. There were three people in the room with him. He recognized the doctor, standing at the foot of his bed. The doctor was talking with a man in a sport jacket who didn't seem all that interested.
It was the third person who immediately grabbed and kept his attention: a girl, probably a little younger than he was, in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand to her cheek and whispering.
As far as Steve could remember, he had never seen this girl before in his life, but he could feel her tears on his cheek and he could swear she was whispering "I love you" over and over.
She was pretty: dark blond hair, green eyes, and freckles on her face. She looked tired. Her hair was disheveled, and her white blouse was wrinkled. She kissed his hand.
"Looks like you're with us again," the doctor said. The man in the sport jacket looked up. The girl squeaked and kissed his hand, and then stood over him and kissed all over his face.
"Thank God," she said, "Thank God."
Steve didn't react to the kisses. Maybe he was still asleep.
"How are you feeling?" the doctor said.
"Um..." Steve looked at the girl. "A little confused."
"That doesn't surprise me," the doctor said. "And it should pass soon. How's the pain right now?"
"I'm sore all over."
"Mm hmm. Well, you're going to be for a while. Nothing you can do for a bruise but let it heal. But we can give you some pain meds if you need them. This is Lieutenant Aston with the Fort Collins Police. He'd like to talk to you a bit if you're feeling up to it."
"Okay..." Steve was worried. Was he in trouble? What had happened that landed him in the hospital?
"Do you need us to leave?" the doctor said.
"No," the girl barely whispered.
"I think it would be easier," the lieutenant said.
The girl acted for a moment like she might break down sobbing, looking fear-stricken from the lieutenant to the doctor to Steve. But she composed herself and stood. Then she took Steve's hand, pressed it to her heart, and held it there for a couple seconds.
"I'm with you," she said. "I'll be right outside." She held his hand were it was and leaned over to kiss him again, her breasts pressing around his hand. As confused as he was about all this, her soft warm breasts, even through the material of her shirt, felt wonderful.
The doctor held the door for her, and she blew several kisses to Steve as she left, beginning to cry again.
"Well," the lieutenant said, opening a notepad, "this is really formality. We've got reports from just about everyone else, but because you were involved, we need one from you as well. And, frankly, it's good to give something to the newspapers directly from you. You understand?"
"I guess," Steve said. The guy seemed friendly and Steve wanted to be cooperative. But he had no idea what they were talking about.
"So, can you tell me what happened?" the lieutenant asked.
"No."
The lieutenant looked at him. "Why not?"
"I don't think I know what happened. I don't... remember anything."
"What's the last thing you do remember?"
Steve's first thought was of Dr. Smith's ass. Full and round, even though he couldn't see it beneath her coat, he'd memorized its shape, its movement, its beauty for nearly three semesters, and as she walked away after wishing him a happy Thanksgiving, he watched her go, and imagined her ass naked. That's the last thing he could remember: imagining her naked ass, wanting to tell her he loved her, knowing he never could.
"Can you remember anything?"
He ran for the bus. It was coming back, a little, anyway. He ran for the bus which was pulling away from the stop. Running with a full erection was difficult, but the bus stopped for him.
"I was on the bus," Steve said.
"Right."
He could remember a surge of adrenaline. What happened?
It was coming back. Something happened. He remembered being thrown out of his seat.
"The bus," he said, "it swerved. I don't know why, I wasn't paying attention. It swerved to the right and then back again and... I think it rolled over. Or, sort of halfway. Yeah. I remember. It rolled onto these other cars, so it was halfway on its side and stopped like that, sort of rolled over, but smashed on these cars, so it was at an angle like that. This older guy opened one of those window exit things and I followed the other people out. I helped them carry somebody out. Maybe. I feel like I was holding someone's legs. We had to squeeze through because the hood of this car that the bus landed on was right underneath it.
"And then what happened?"
Steve thought for a long moment. He didn't know.
"I'm not sure."
They waited for several minutes in silence. Steve couldn't think of anything.
"I'm sorry. I can't remember. I remember crawling through the window and onto the car... but I don't know after that."
"Well, maybe it will come back." The lieutenant closed his notepad. "Feel better."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Steve said. "I'm still confused. About several things, actually. What happened to me?"
"We'll see if it comes back to you," the lieutenant said. "I don't want to taint your memory by giving you other people's version of events. I'll come see you tomorrow, see what you can remember. Okay?"
"Okay."
He left, and for a moment, Steve wondered if he was still unconscious. Or dead. Maybe the afterlife isn't heaven or hell or any of that, maybe it's just endless confusion.
The doctor and girl came back in. The doctor stayed near the door, and the girl ran back to Steve's side, retook his hand and began kissing it again.
"Rest is more important than anything else right now," the doctor said. "Normally only family can stay past visiting hours. But I think we wouldn't be able to drag you out. Am I right, Jessica?"
"I'm not leaving," she said, tightening her grip on Steve's hand.
"I know," the doctor said. "It's okay. Hit the call button if you need anything, Steve."
"Thank you," the girl said. "Thank you for everything."
He backed out and closed the door.
The girl leaned over him, cradling his face in her hands, her own face less than an inch from his, tears streaming down it again.
"Oh darling," she said. "Oh my god, I was so worried. I was so afraid you'd never wake up. Are you in pain?"
"Kind of," Steve said. "Listen... Jessica? I think?"
She kissed him hard and frantically, like she didn't know what to kiss, kissing around his face, on his eyes, his nose, and then on the lips, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Steve reacted, kissing her in return. It felt wonderful, her warm mouth, and her soft but determined tongue.
For so long Steve had lusted after girls and women, not knowing what to do, but this felt right. Instinct had taken over, and he let himself go.
She finally broke away. "I'll take care of you," she said. "Oh Steve, anything you need. I'll take time off school and I'll just care for you. I'll be there for you twenty-four hours a day. For the rest of my life, I'll take care of you. I love you so much."
This was too bizarre. Steve decided he must be unconscious. Or dead. Maybe this was heaven after all. Whatever it was, there was a pretty girl, apparently desperately in love with him, and he'd take it.
"I'm here for you," she was saying. "You'll be okay. You'll be good as new. I'll nurse you back to health."
She looked at him for a long moment, then to the door, and then back to him.
She kissed him again, and whispered, "Tell me if I hurt you. I know you're sore."
She got onto the bed, and threw he leg over him, kneeling above him, straddling his stomach, but holding herself above him, barely touching him. Without speaking she unbuttoned her blouse. Very matter-of-factly, she worked her way down the garment and opened it, revealing a firm, flat belly with soft, occasionally freckled skin, and a smooth purple brazier. She unhooked the center-clasp and the cups fell to each side. Her breasts were a little bigger than they looked beneath the clothes, a full B-cup, sitting high on her chest, without any sag, with nipples pointed distinctly upward.
Steve stared disbelieving at the perfect pair of breasts before him. The rose and fell slightly with her breathing, round and full and proud.
"Let me nurse you to health," she said, putting one hand on the wall above his head, and lowering herself toward him. With the other hand, she took his head and gently guided it to her right breast. "Suck," she said.
Steve wrapped his lips around the nipple and sucked. Her nipple was hard and textured and warmer than he would have expected?it was hot?with a taste he had never known before, the taste of another's skin. It was a wonderful taste. She moaned and caressed the back of his head, holding him firmly in place. He sucked harder, suddenly needing the breast more than anything. It was so soft and warm. He could smell, very faintly, her soap, vanilla he thought. It felt right. This breast belonged in his mouth.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, God that's good. I can't give you milk. But you can suck life and love and everlasting devotion from me." Steve's dick was rock-hard beneath the sheet.
"Can you feel the love, Steve? Oh God, I love you. I can feel the love flowing through my body. I can feel it flowing into you. Yes, that feels so good."
He put his hand on her hip, almost instinctually and she reacted for a moment, surprised at his touch. For a second he thought he had done something wrong. But the hand left the back of his head for a moment, and took his. She brought it to her mouth, kissed it, and returned it to her hip, and then guided it back until it was firmly on her ass. They stayed that way for several more minutes, him suckling her breast, his hand on her ass, her poised above him, moaning and whispering her love.
She pulled the breast from his mouth, and for a moment his heart sank.
"Can you feel it?" she said. "Can you feel my love for you."
"Yes," he said.
She smiled. "And when you're better, you'll put your love into me?"
"Yes."
She smiled, choked up a little, and bent down again, offering him her other mammary.
Steve's beard, which had been growing for nearly a week, rubbed against the flesh on all sides of Jessica's nipple, tickling and teasing and driving her nearly mad with desire. But this wasn't about her. It was about him, and she remained still for him. His lips held firm to her areola, and his tongue ran across her nipple over and over, sending waves of pleasure through Jessica's body. He sucked her with great need, and his desperate desire to keep her breasts in his mouth filled her with joy. She alternated breasts for nearly an hour, the entire time holding herself over him, not resting on his bruised body at all. She caressed his stubble-covered face while he licked the skin around her nipple, and kissed between her breasts.
God she loved him.
Finally, when her legs were about to give out, she climbed off of him, and pulled back the sheet. His cock was stiff beneath the hospital gown.
She kissed him again, and said, "I'll take care of you. In all ways."
She climbed onto the bed between his legs, pushed the gown up, knelt down and took the swollen head of his cock in her mouth. It was such an extraordinarily gorgeous cock, the only one that would ever cross her lips, the only one that would ever touch her skin, and, hopefully soon, the one that would take her cherry and fill her every night from now until the end of time. She tongued around the head of his hard, salty, needy cock and began taking him farther into her mouth, until his head was down her throat, and she began to work the cock with her throat, massaging his balls gently with one hand.
She didn't know how she knew to do it, she just did.
Jessica was dripping inside her underwear. She reached down, unbuttoned her jeans, and slid a hand inside the purple panties. She dipped one finger into her vagina, got it good and wet, and then began massaging her hard clitoris. It took only two strokes and she was coming. She kept Steve's cock in her mouth while she drenched her panties and her hand. Soon after, Steve came in her mouth. Less than a minute after she began sucking, he began firing nearly a week's worth of pent-up come into her throat. It was hot and salty and she swallowed, feeling his warm love filling her, coating her mouth and throat and stomach. She was only left slightly empty: she needed his love in her loins, she needed him to fill her there, make her whole, make her his. But that would come.
His cock pulsed nearly twenty times, dumping his seed into her, and she swallowed it all. When Steve's cock finally stopped, and her own orgasm had passed, Jessica sat up, and looked at the man she loved so dearly, the man she nearly lost, and she began to cry again.
He was clearly tired, his eyes already half-closed, but he looked at her. "What's wrong?"
"I love you so much," she said, her naked breasts bouncing with her sobs. She climbed up the bed toward him, never putting her weight on him. Until she was face to face with him, her breasts rubbing gently against the material of the gown on his chest. "I can't live without you. I can't. You came so close to..."
"It's okay," Steve said. "I'm okay."
The sobbing slowed and she looked at him. "I love you."
"I... I love you too."
She smiled at that. Then she crawled off him, hooked her bra and buttoned her shirt.
"I have to clean myself up," she said.
He was already drifting. He murmured something.
She looked at him for a long time, and then dipped her hand into her panties once again and brought her finger, coated with her nectar to his lips.
"It's my love," she said, wiping it on his lips. "It's the essence of my center, my soul." He moaned something, and she kissed his forehead again.
"It's my soul, Steve," she said, "and it belongs to you."
In the hallway, a very pretty red-headed woman sat in one of the uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. She had introduced herself as Sandra earlier, and that she was there to help Steve or Jessica in any way they needed. There had been a couple others, Jennifer was one, and another, Emily or Emma or something like that. Jessica didn't like any of them at first, she was wary of these mystery women, that they would try to take Steve from her, but that quickly changed, although she wasn't sure why.
"Hi sweetie," Sandra said, standing. "How was it?"
"He's okay," Jessica said. "The doctor said he's going to be okay."
"That's good. But I meant, how was the sex?"
"Excuse me?" Jessica said.
"Well," Sandra said, "I assume you two didn't have actual intercourse. He's probably much too weak. But you definitely had some kind of sex."
"Were you watching us?" The distrust had returned to Jessica.
Sandra only smiled. "No, sweetie. I wasn't. But I know that if it was my man who'd just awakened, I'd want his cock in my mouth as fast as possible. I'd want to show him how much I loved him."
That made sense to Jessica.
"And, sweetie, you're face is flushed and your eyes are just a little dreamy: you clearly just had an orgasm. And your blouse is buttoned wrong."
Jessica looked down. Sandra was right. She had mis-buttoned it, and her hard nipples were still clearly visible. It was probably hard to hide what she'd just done.
"Will I get in trouble?" she asked.
Sandra laughed. "Oh, sweetie, of course not."
She put her arm around Jessica. "Lets go to the ladies room and clean you up."
Jessica didn't know why, but this felt right. Sandra was here only to help. She smiled and leaned into her beautiful new friend.
__________________________________
Jeff lay in the deep bathtub in Jennifer's house, only his head above the bubbles. His chest and his arms were still a little sore. Only candles lit the bathroom and classical music played quietly through the speakers inset in the ceiling. He lay there thinking about what had happened, and wondering if he had acted too quickly. The guy had saved his life, and Jeff owed him everything. But maybe it was too much to give Jessica to him.
It hadn't been hard, of course. He had just commanded her: she loved Steve, totally and unconditionally, and she no longer remembered any feelings for Jeff, or any sexual contact with him.
It seemed right. After the accident, while Steve was unconscious in the hospital, Jeff had asked about him, teachers and classmates, and it became apparent that while nobody really disliked him, nobody really liked him either. Nobody really knew him. He was clearly a shy and lonely guy who didn't seem to have the capacity to approach women. Maybe that's why Jeff felt so strongly for him: he saw so much of himself.
So he simply changed Jessica, and now she was Steve's.
He heard the beginnings of the conversation through Jessica?he could still hear all of her thoughts and feelings if he chose to?but once he could tell she was going to get intimate with Steve, he tuned it out and gave them their privacy.
But now that Steve was awake, Jeff would go to him tomorrow. He would give him so much more than just Jessica.
The door opened and light came in from the bedroom.
"Everything okay?" Jennifer asked.
"Yeah."
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," Jeff said. "I was just thinking that I need to repay him."
"Yeah you do," Jennifer said, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind her. She sat on the edge of the tub. "And I do. And Rachel and Emily and Sandra. He saved you, and he saved all of us from the... the unbearable pain that would be losing you. We all need to do whatever we can for him. Who's there now?"
"Sandra."
"And he's got Jessica, his girlfriend."
Jeff looked at her for a moment. "Yeah. She's there with him. But when he's a bit better, I'll go talk to him."
"Good looking girl," Jennifer said. "I was a bit surprised, actually."
"About what?"
"Well, he's... he's not ugly, but he's just so... unkempt. From what I've heard, he seems rather reserved and shy. It's just interesting that a girl that good-looking would be with him."
"Yeah, well, to each their own."
"I suppose. She actually looks like a girl you'd be attracted to. Beautiful face. Nice breasts on her, did you notice?"
Jeff thought of her stripping off her clothes in his office five days ago, removing her plain white bra and revealing those incredible breasts. He thought of her giggling when she removed her panties, her breasts jiggling. He thought of her wiping his come off on her hard pencil-eraser nipples when they'd finished.
"Not really," he said.
"Well, she was wearing that loose blouse," Jennifer said. "But if you looked closely, you could tell. Just about perfect for a girl her size. She'd look great in a bikini. And she's not going to sag much in life. Not like me."
Jennifer lifted her big breasts through her shirt.
"You're tits are marvelous, Jen," Jeff said.
"I know they are. But twenty years from now, they'll be four inches lower."
Not if I can help it, Jeff thought. There was so much research yet to be done.
"I was just saying," Jennifer said, "that she really struck me as a girl you'd be interested in. Pretty, intelligent, and seems awfully loyal to Steve, much the way we all are to you."
She absently tested the water with her fingers.
After a moment she said, "Does it seem odd to you?"
"What?"
"That... well, I know this will sound silly, but that all four of us love you?"
Damn she could be stubborn sometimes. Jeff didn't want mindless zombies, and each of the women he had kept their personalities, their quirks, their intelligence, just reformed around their love for him, and their acceptance of the other women. But Jennifer still seemed to resist every once in a while.
"I mean," she was saying, "if you think about it, you don't hear of many relationships like this. Where a man has multiple girlfriends and... Oh, I hate that word: it doesn't do me or any of the other girls justice. We're not your girlfriends. A girlfriend is what a high school kid has. A girlfriend isn't devoted the way we are. I always think of myself as your wife, one of them... Anyway, it's just strange, if you think about it."
"Maybe it's evolved," Jeff said.
"What do you mean?"
"What I'm saying is, that maybe you and the other girls have evolved past jealousy, and all the primitive ownership issues with relationships."
"I know we have," Jennifer said. "I pity those women who can't share their man, and who don't know what true love is. But, if it's such a step forward, why do you ask us not to talk to people about how we live? I mean, I'm more proud to be one of your women than anything else. So why can't I tell people?"
Because I'd have to explain it to people and I'd probably go to prison, Jeff thought. He wasn't up for the argument, so he ended it.
What Jeff says is instinctively correct. Your questions about it are gone.
Jennifer smiled at him.
"You've soaked long enough," she said. "And I've waited long enough. Come to bed and fuck me."
She stood and walked out.
Jeff didn't like to have to override his women's thoughts when he could avoid it, and once he had set them with the parameters of their love, lust, and total submission to him, he rarely had to. But sometimes Jennifer could be tough.
He dried off and walked out with a towel around his waist.
Jennifer was nude, on the bed, her long legs spread, with one finger slowly circling her labia.
"Lose the towel."
Jeff let it drop as his penis climbed upward, and by the time he had walked to the bed, it was pointed straight at her.
In the deep recesses of his mind, he was aware of Jessica climaxing, probably bringing herself off while she sucked Steve's dick. It's what she'd been thinking about doing a while ago when Jeff decided to tune out.
Good for her.
He climbed onto the bed, and nudged Jennifer's legs wider with his knees.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you to," he said, and he entered her warm wet hole smoothly, penetrated to the hilt, and stayed there for just a moment.
A small orgasm shuddered through Jennifer's body. She trembled and let out a long, low moan. It had been eleven days since he'd been inside her, and she felt they needed to make up for lost sex. She had gotten herself so ready on the day of the accident, only to find herself in the hospital while they checked Jeff out, the other girls there also, all of them holding and comforting each other.
Jeff began to slowly thrust. His eyes were closed, reveling in the sensation of her tight, wetness enveloping him. Jennifer stroked his face and his chest while he slid in and out of her. She shuddered with another orgasm.
"Oh fuck," she said. "God I missed your cock."
"You're tight tonight," Jeff said.
"I haven't been filled in so long God, I haven't had you in almost two weeks, and... yes, right there. Right there, Jeff, Oh Fuck!"
He increased his tempo slightly. The smooth velvet of her pussy gripped his cock, and each time he withdrew it seemed to clench around him, trying desperately to hold him inside. Jennifer wrapped her long legs around his waist.
"Fuck me harder, Jeff, please."
Jeff began pistoning in and out of her as fast as he could. The sound of his balls slapping against her ass, and the wet slurping sound of his engorged penis firing back and forth into her combined with his grunts, her moans, and the headboard bumping the wall.
"Yes," she moaned. "Oh fuck yes, that's it. Jesus fucking Christ I needed your cock."
"I can't, Jen," he said and stopped, withdrawing from her pussy and almost collapsing on his side.
She lay there a moment, her pussy on fi
