"On my way. I'll be there in five minutes."
"God, I am so looking forward to this!"
My heart started beating faster in anticipation...and then I remembered. Damn. I jogged instead of my usual sprint the rest of the way, not in any rush to do this.
At the door, Gertie met me in a robe strategically parted to reveal her nakedness underneath. She jumped me the instant I stepped through the door – her hands and lips everywhere. We didn't make it past the living room couch before she'd ripped off my shorts and dragged me onto her.
I could see my mom's judgmental eyes and shaking head as I once again forcefully thrust home the point that being hyper and sixteen years old didn't lend themselves to sober strategizing.
As Gertie lay gasping on the couch, I headed into the kitchen for a glass of water. While I was there, I pilfered some cold chicken from the fridge. You could always count on the Flynns to have a fully stocked refrigerator. I'd skipped lunch, and was starving.
I thought I heard a car pull up out front, but I didn't think much of it until Gertie rushed in clutching my clothes.
"My parents are back!" she whispered. "They must've forgotten something. You need to go! Now!"
She pointed to the backdoor. As I stumbled in a panic out into the backyard pulling on my shorts, I heard the front door opening. I didn't even bother with my shirt or shoes – just tossed them over their rear fence and clambered over after it. Luckily, they lived on a greenbelt, and no further houses impeded my escape.
I'd run maybe half a mile when some unaccustomed friction in my nether areas made me realize that I wasn't wearing underwear. Gertie had missed them when she'd grabbed my clothes.
Which meant... Man, I so did not want to complete that thought. Which meant they were on the living room floor.
I choked back the panic swelling in me. Gertie's sharp eyes probably spotted them, and she'd tucked them away before her parents noticed. On the other hand, she was freaking out as her parents were stepping through the front door. Not a lot of time to detect and dispose of the evidence.
I knew that Gertie had failed to dispose of the evidence when I found my mother slumped on the couch, a damp washcloth perched on her forehead – her standard method of dealing with a splitting headache or migraine. She tugged the cloth from her eyes with an air of reluctance (or perhaps pain?).
"You seem to have trouble saying goodbye today," she said in a tired voice.
"Gertie's parents called?"
"It seems you left something behind."
I shambled over, head hanging, and joined her on the couch.
"I know," I said. "I realized that on the way home. They showed up kind of unexpectedly."
"That's twice in one day."
"What are the odds?"
"Apparently, quite good if you keep doing what you're doing."
I hung my head even more, wetting my lips as I prepared to ask the dreaded question. "What did they say?"
"The good news is that they say they won't press charges. The bad news is that you and Gertie may not see each other – at least for the balance of this summer. If they learn that you have violated that prohibition, they promised me that they would press charges. I believe them."
I nodded. Mr. and Mrs. Flynn were cool people, but they were also lawyers.
"Obviously, I'm not up to the task of handling your situation," said my mom. "I'm going to arrange for regular counseling sessions for the remainder of the summer. There's a reason why Melatin is prescribed for underage hypers: they're not responsible adults. If you insist on going without medication, you'll need to manage your drives like an adult, and take some responsibility for the power you have over women."
Being an adult didn't seem to help Alice Morgan manage her "drives," I thought, but this probably wasn't the time to point that out.
"Maybe some counseling would help," I said. "I wonder if Stephanie – I mean, Dr. Landon – is available this summer."
"Stephanie," my mom repeated, in a tone verging on a groan. "I think maybe it would be better if you had a male counselor."
"I don't know about that, but that would mean contacting Jenkins again and waiting for him to approve someone else. He took almost a month to approve Dr. Landon."
"I'd rather have a tooth pulled than deal with that pompous jerk again," my mom grumbled. She sighed. "All right. I'll call Dr. Landon. At least she's had some experience with you when you were 'unprotected,' and was able to maintain her professional poise."
"That's true." I tried not to smile. Seeing the beautiful doctor had definitely been one of the bright spots in my week.
"Aiden." A note of dire warning entered my mom's voice, underscored by her grave eyes. "I can't emphasize this enough: from now on, you need to maintain a low profile. I really don't think you and a juvenile detention center would be a good fit."
Chapter 9
DR. ALAN BLUMENTHAL MET with us next Wednesday in the CellEvolve building lobby. He was tall – six-two or three – maybe late-fifties, with spiky grey hair and an amused smile. Dr. Blumenthal was the Director of Research and Development, and my mom's immediate superior (her official title was "Executive Research Supervisor").
"Very pleased you decided to come down, Aiden." Dr. Blumenthal shook my hand. "Your help could mean a lot to our firm."
We took a tour of Mom's lab – an open area filled with tables and high-tech equipment ringed by offices – letting my mom do most of the explaining. We settled down in his office afterward.
"Our legal department prepared an offer which you'll want to look over," he said, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to me. "Your mom and I have batted it back and forth, and I believe she's reasonably satisfied, but you may have some questions before you sign your John Henry."
For an instant I wondered if he was making a joke – making a sly reference to the part of me that was being hired – but no, of course that was just my fevered imagination. I made a token effort to read the terms that my mom had already explained in some detail last night and had pronounced "satisfactory." A combination of stock, stock options, and cash adding up to roughly two hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars would be dispensed at regular, tax-favorable intervals over the next two years.
For that sum, I'd need to make myself available for up to eight hours a week until my eighteenth birthday (Dr. Blumenthal assured us that my longest sessions would be at the beginning). At that point, either we could renegotiate or I could go my own way.
"It surprises me that after all these years they still haven't found a way to cure this," I said.
Dr. Blumenthal's smile assumed a dry edge as he tapped the top of his head, flattening a few of his sparse spikes of hair.
"It's proven to be much like solving hair loss," he said. "It turns out there's a constellation of factors which control both our sexual performance and hair growth. We haven't even developed a reliable aphrodisiac yet, and Male Estrus Syndrome is proving to be far more intractable. I'm sure your mother has mentioned this to you, but up to now our best treatments achieve only a modest and temporary increase in sexual function versus some rather disturbing side effects. In all honesty, my expectation is for a treatment that can improve sexual function, not 'cure' male MES."
That seemed a little lame to me, but I kept my mouth shut and signed on the dotted line, below my mother's signature.
"Excellent," said Dr. Blumenthal. "We can start your sessions today, if you'd like, since you're here."
I shrugged. It wasn't as if I had anything better to do. I glanced at my mom, and she nodded.
"Sure," I said. "If you're ready for me."
"We were born ready for you." He gave a small laugh. "In fact, I've assigned one of our staff to serve as your personal guide when you're here."
He touched a button on his desk phone. A woman's voice answered: "Yes, Dr. Blumenthal?"
"Aleesha, could you come to my office, please? Your new young charge awaits."
"Yes, sir."
The soft, sexy woman'
s voice caused me to sit up and pay attention. My mom's face was carefully neutral.
The door opened, and a young woman entered. She was tall and thin – close to my new 5'9" height – her dark hair drawn tight in a bun. Her light chocolate skin made me think she might be part-African American or maybe Iranian or something. She had topaz-colored eyes, peering out at us from behind small-framed glasses, much like Gertie's when she wasn't wearing contacts. My first thought was that she looked way too young to be a doctor – I would've guessed twenty, tops. My second thought: I wonder what she'd look like without glasses and her hair let down?
Stop that now, Aiden. I even used my mom's voice in talking to myself.
"Aiden, this is Dr. Aleesha Bloom. Aleesha, Aiden. You know Dr. Stevens, of course."
"Hi," said Dr. Aleesha Bloom.
"Hey," I gulped.
"You'll be in good hands with Dr. Bloom," Dr. Blumenthal stated. "Aleesha, he's all yours."
My mother and I stood up. She patted my shoulder.
"I need to get back to work," she said. "I'll see you when you're finished."
"I'll bring him back to you," said my new caretaker.
"Hopefully, in one piece." My mom wasn't smiling.
"I'LL SHOW you to your room," said Dr. Bloom as I followed her across the lab area.
"I have a room?"
"Yes. They thought you would appreciate some privacy." She offered me a prim smile.
We entered a wide, brightly lit hallway. She walked ahead – more of a march, really – and I followed a step or two behind. From the back, she made me think "coltish," with her long, slender legs, but I thought she moved more like a gazelle.
"Here we are," she said, opening a door.
I didn't know what I'd been expecting – maybe a small room with a couch or something – but this was like a studio apartment: single bed, bathroom, big screen television on one wall, desk with a computer, two office chairs, mini-fridge, and a microwave.
"Wow," I said.
"You'll be spending a lot of time here over the next two years," she said. "You might as well be comfortable."
"Heck, I might move in!"
She issued a soft laugh. "This is one of several guest rooms. We have people from CellEvolve and other firms coming in all the time. We have a first-rate gym downstairs, including a swimming pool, racquetball and basketball courts, which you are free to use. Also, our cafeteria is available free to you during operating hours. The food is surprisingly good, in my opinion. Some of our tests will require fasting or otherwise regulating your food intake, but I'll keep you informed about that."
As I walked around my room and over to the window, which overlooked the main parking lot, I had my first intimation of how it might feel to have my own place – to be out from under my mom's kind but controlling thumb, and free of my sister's unwanted materializations. An hour ago, I dreaded coming here. Now I thought this could be a cool place to hang out.
Turning back to Dr. Aleesha Bloom, my affection for this place jumped yet another notch.
"So what do we do now?" I asked.
"I'm going to line up a series of blood, saliva, and skin samplings," she said. "But perhaps before we get to that..."
She opened a cabinet against one wall, revealing what appeared to be nursing paraphernalia: a box of rubber gloves, small cups and tubes enclosed in plastic bags, and various ointments. Moving in for a closer look, I spotted a short stack of DVDs and magazines in the bottom shelf.
"They even supply reading and movie material," I said. "I'm impressed."
"I can't claim any responsibility for that. One of our male staff made the recommendations."
She stepped aside as I retrieved a handful of discs. Debbie Does Dallas XI. Black Stallions/White Mares. Deep Throat Revisited. Sloppy Seconds.
The classics. God, I was so sick of porn. Sick of porn at sixteen? What kind of pervert was I?
"Of course we're open to suggestions if these aids prove unsatisfactory," she said.
"No, I'm just sick of this stuff." I felt my face flushing as I realized what I'd just confessed.
"Which just proves you have good taste." She was smiling. "A smart young man like you – I'm sure your imagination will suffice."
I had the weird thought that I could love a girl who said "suffice."
"You look too young to be a doctor," I said. "What are you a doctor of, anyway?"
"I have a doctorate in biomedical engineering. And I'm not that young. I'm thirty-three."
"I would've guessed that you were about twenty."
She chuckled softly. "My mom's fifty-one and people think she's in her mid-thirties. People still can't believe she's a professor at Stanford."
"Stanford? My mom went there."
"I know. My mom was teaching when your mom was there, though they never met. She's in the pediatrics department."
"Small world," I said.
"Sometimes it seems that way." Her smile developed a small kink. "Anyway, as I was starting to say, and I don't know how to say this delicately..." She adjusted her glasses. "The small bottles are for semen samples. After you've, well, finished, you should cap the bottle and place it in the refrigerator. It will be picked up later."
I examined a spot on the wall well away from her luminous golden-brown eyes.
"I'm afraid we must ask that you don't use any lotions or anything that might...contaminate the sample."
"Uh, okay."
"So why don't you call me when you're...finished." She nodded to the phone on the table. "My code is 231. It will take you directly to my cell. Or if you have a cell, I'll give you my number."
I dug out my cell and punched in her number as she read it slowly. I wondered if she'd mind if we talked on our phones while I... I frowned and shook my head.
"Well," she said, backing to the door with a self-conscious smile, "have fun."
I DIDN'T realize how much I'd missed Dr. Stephanie until I strolled into her office and feasted my eyes on her beautiful face and warm smile. There was an awkward moment where neither of us was sure if we should hug, and I was relieved when she smiled ruefully and held out her arms. I pressed my full body against her before I remembered that she knew me as the shy virgin-dude from school, not the lust-crazed animal I'd become. But remembering only made me hold her tighter, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin.
"Oookay," she said, pushing me firmly away, a small blush creeping along her jaw. "How have you been, Aiden?"
"Oh, comme ci, comme ca." I affected a worldly shrug.
She laughed a little and motioned to my familiar spot on the couch. I wondered who else had been sitting there in my absence. I suppressed a flash of jealousy.
"It seems like forever since I've seen you," I said, as she settled down in her leather chair facing me.
"I think you've grown an inch since our last session."
"Maybe. I'm almost five nine and a half now. I can almost dunk a basketball."
"I'm impressed. You're having a late growth spurt – no doubt related to your hypersexuality transition."
"I figured that."
She folded her hands in her lap, regarding me with her usual sympathetic eyes. "You've been having some...complications in your life since you stopped using Andrydox?"
"Yeah," I said. "I guess I let things kind of, you know, get out hand."
"That's an easy thing to happen under the circumstances."
"But I think I've got it under control now."
"Do you?"
I met Stephanie's challenging gaze. Usually I loved staring into her eyes, but now I wanted to look away.
"You're wearing contacts," I blurted.
"Ah, no." She smiled. "I went ahead and had laser surgery. But you're changing the subject. Why do you believe you have it under control?"
"I'm just getting older and wiser. I finally faced how much danger I'm putting myself and others in."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"You don't sound as if you believe it."
"So if a woman you find attractive attempts to seduce you, you see yourself stopping her?"
I swallowed. Dr. Stephanie had a bullshit detector that could identify a whispered lie in a thunderstorm from one hundred yards away.
"Aiden, it's one thing to deal with your urges when no one's coming onto you. In the pre-viral days normal men found it nearly impossible to refuse an attractive, determined woman – including men who were basically loyal and decent or even married. If a normal, adult man found that difficult, how could a teenage boy be expected to resist that kind of temptation?"
"I don't know," I said, uneasiness creeping into my gut. "But I think the threat of jail time would help."
"You knew about that threat at the start. Why didn't that stop you?"
"I guess I thought the odds of being caught were pretty small."
"And now?"
"They seem a lot higher."
"But at any given opportunity, you might think the chances are small, even minuscule, true?"
I shrugged.
"Aiden, I'd like you to consider resuming Andrydox."
The idea of applying that burning spray every morning made me grimace. "I don't know about that, Stephanie."
"Dr. Landon."
"Sorry. Dr. Landon." I avoided her disapproving eyes.
"Aren't you planning to return to Jefferson High in the fall?"
"Actually, I've been thinking about home schooling."
"So you'd be staying home every day and night for most of the next year?"
I fidgeted on the couch, loosening my arms as though to carve out some space in my claustrophobic tomb. But it wouldn't be that bad, would it? I could hang out other places...but where? Not with Gertie, that's for sure. And Keith would be at school most of the day.
"Have you noticed any changes in your family since you went off Andrydox?"
"Well...my sister's been kind of a pain in the ass."
"In what way?"
"I don't know. She's like this demented jack-in-the-box creature. Every time I have a problem or something embarrassing happens to me, she pops up with some wiseass comment. She's always sticking her nose into my business."
"How many people in your neighborhood know about your business, would you guess?"
Hyper Page 9
