"You know him?"
"No, but I've certainly heard of him. He's kind of famous around campus." She stared at me and gave a slow shake of her head. "Just when I thought you couldn't surprise me again."
"If we were still hanging out, I could surprise you every day."
"That's what I'm afraid of." A smile flickered and died on her face. "Is there any limit to what these people will do for you?"
My own attempt at a sly smile crashed and burned. It was a question I'd asked myself once or twice.
"It was all handed to you on a silver platter, wasn't it? Or should I say a golden test tube? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get my limited scholarship grant?"
I opened my mouth to begin apologizing for my undeserved good fortune, but something unexpected came out: "You know what, Xandra? Go screw yourself."
I didn't give myself much time to appreciate her shocked expression. I took off in a steady jog without a backward glance, not sure whether to feel satisfaction or mortification. I thought I was leaning toward satisfaction, but wasn't sure if I should feel mortified about that. I realized in that moment how sick I was of people complaining about my ridiculous good fortune. So what if I could have sex with beautiful girls almost anytime I wanted to, or had a couple hundred thousand dollars in the bank, a million-dollar stock certificate – probably worth close to double that now – a guaranteed free ride to a college of my choice, legendary microbiologists privately tutoring me, a new BMW, endless energy and good health –
I started cracking up. I laughed so hard I had to stop and brace myself on a park bench and a middle-aged woman walking her dog paused to ask me if I was okay.
"Yeah," I said. "You wouldn't believe just how okay I am."
She hurried off with a worried face and her Yorkshire terrier turning to yip at me. I resumed my run, skirting the edge of downtown Jefferson.
So yeah, I had a few things going for me. But it wasn't all wine and roses, or whatever the expression was. For one thing, I often felt as if I was living someone else's life. Worse, I was being shunted along on some pre-charted course – an express lane to paradise that lacked any clear exits. I had the feeling that if I wanted to exit I might have to turn off on a gravel embankment and forge my way up a steep, rocky hill. What was on the other side of that hill was anyone's guess. Hopefully, no more bad metaphors.
The bright lights of Narcissus caught my eye. Jefferson's sole "estrus hookup" bar was a large, white building that had once been a bowling alley. Just narrowly approved by Jefferson's uptight city council, the nightclub had debuted to protests and controversy, but had been extraordinarily successful from what I'd heard, just like its other branches in Sacramento, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.
I slowed to a walk. It was Friday night, and people swarmed around the nightclub entrance. The open-air café tables in front of the entrance were jammed. A Jefferson Police Department car was parked across the street from the front doors. A reminder, I supposed, that there were laws to be enforced. You had to be 21 to enter Narcissus, but Jefferson, like pretty much everywhere else, teemed with people under 21 in the thrall of estrus and those who wanted desperately to exploit that.
I walked closer despite my better judgment and watched from the shadows under the trees of the park that faced the Narcissus. Though only people 21 or older could legally enter the nightclub, that didn't prevent younger individuals, mostly female, from congregating in the outdoor café hoping to pick off some of the "in heat" dudes making their way to the front doors. The majority of dudes would be smart enough to pass them by.
Though guys had an extreme numerical advantage, the girls still had their aesthetic standards. Some of them had boyfriends. There were worries about getting pregnant or infected with an SDT. Young women still preferred a so-called alpha, not some four-eyed dork with a hard-on and a whiff of pheromones.
I continued to watch from the shadows as the games played out. More than a few of the high school-age guys – I thought I recognized one or two of them – wandered off with heads hung in defeat. Others arrived and resumed the negotiations. A lucky couple or two departed.
I felt like Michael Jordan watching a pickup basketball game from the sidelines. I was sure I could strut in there and have my pick, even with the Andrydox still clinging to my sweaty skin. And part of me was desperate to. But the negative possibilities held me in place.
First, I could go to prison. A second conviction of violating the Human Reproductive Safety Act's prohibition against hypers having underage sex carried a possible five-year jail sentence. Second, I'd learned that sex provided temporary relief but long-lasting frustration. Sex without any other connection was for me like sex without an orgasm.
Maybe I was crazy or a closet prude, but for me sex was a means to something more meaningful. I wanted that more meaningful thing, but as far as I could tell, it was out of reach for a sixteen year old dude. No matter how much I wanted it, a long-term relationship just wasn't in the cards. No woman capable of satisfying my need for meaning would have any interest in me. It was like Groucho Marx not wanting to be in any club that would have him as a member.
I was starting to walk away when sirens sounded in the distance. A few more halting steps and the sirens got a lot closer. Police or ambulance?
Police. Six or seven JPD cars roared into the street in front of the Narcissus as though an eight-alarm robbery was in progress. But that was Jefferson P.D. You risked facing a SWAT team if your car registration was expired.
They swarmed in and screeched to a stop around the Narcissus entrance. Panicking people, mostly kids, fled past me across the park. One girl stumbled a few feet from me and came up limping. Without thinking, I jumped to her side, hoisted her to her feet, and half-dragged her behind the nearest tree.
"Oh...thanks," she whispered.
"No problem."
From our hiding place we observed the cops pour out of their vehicles and charge into the building. I pressed in closer behind her to stay out of their line of sight.
"Any idea what's happening in there?" I asked.
"Not really. Someone must've reported something..." She sounded more out of breath than her short sprint would warrant, I thought. "Mmmm. Are you wearing aftershave or something?"
"No. Why?"
"I don't know. You just smell nice."
Uh oh. Her neck, long and pale, was just inches below my face, and strands of her hair were actually tickling the tip of my nose. "You smell pretty good yourself."
The flashing red and yellow lights on the police cars suddenly took on special significance. They were a portent that underscored the alarms clanging inside my head.
"Okay, well..." I started to back away. "I better go."
She snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me into my former position against her back.
"I'm feeling a little woozy," she said in a breathy voice. "Maybe you could stick around for a minute?"
I was starting to feel a bit woozy myself. The police dragged some people out of the Narcissus in handcuffs. They looked young, maybe high school age. A shiny white luxury car, possibly a Mercedes, stopped at the front curb and a tall blond woman in an elegant pale green dress emerged. She headed over to the cops. I could make out every third or fourth word, but I was having a lot of trouble focusing.
I heard the fatalistic pop of an unsnapping button, followed by the muted buzz of a descending zipper and the swish of jeans rubbing flesh as they fell. A hand slid/stroked across my bulging groin, starting to undo my belt. I hastened the process. My own jeans parted and slipped down. Release the hound, as Mr. Burns might've said. She gasped.
I was officially insane. That was my only explanation. Cops were busting people right in front of me and I was about to commit an illegal act that carried a possible five years in prison. A real, federal penitentiary kind of prison.
I started to back away, but my partner in crime grabbed my leg and arched her naked butt against me. I was startled to make immediate
purchase. The loudness of the girl's groan – loud enough to wake the dead, to say nothing of the nearby police.
One of the cops heard the sound and stepped away from his fellows, cocking his head and staring in our direction. At that moment my partner, oblivious to the dangerous tableau before us, grabbed the tree and arched back even more, and my mere "purchase" became full entrance in a moist explosion of sensation. I was paralyzed with pleasure, for one long moment robbed of any sense of self-preservation.
A flashlight aimed straight at us, illuminating the girl's blissful grimace, ended my paralysis. I jerked away, stumbling backwards grabbing for my jeans. The light skipped past the girl and struck my waist.
No. No, no, no, no –
I was running. Not bothering with my belt or even my fly – just jerking up my pants. One nice thing about me was that I could run. Fast. And long. That was my only chance for salvation now.
A glance back revealed one officer pursuing me on foot, his flashlight beam dancing ahead of him but not quite finding me. More worrisome was the police cruiser screeching away from the nightclub entrance, swerving around the park I was now exiting.
A church loomed ahead. Maybe it would offer me sanctuary? Unfortunately, it was well-lit. I cut back across the park away from the cop car barreling up the road on the far side. My alleged great running ability obviously wasn't going to cut it against a police car. I needed my alleged big brain to outthink my opponents.
What would they expect me to do? Run away from the Narcissus. So why not do the unexpected and run back to it?
As another police car peeled out along my edge of the park – together they seemed intent on capturing me in a classic pincer movement – I ducked down and jogged back toward the Narcissus. The cop cars blew past in their anticipated direction of my flight. I took up residence in some bushes across the street from the nightclub in time to see two officers stuffing my former partner in crime into a police vehicle.
The remaining cop cars drove off. I decided to give them a few minutes before heading home. I might even jog back to town and have my mom pick me up, just to be on the safe side. But then she'd want to know why, and I'd need to give her a convincing reason. Maybe I'd sprained my ankle or something? Dangerous gambit – my mom had a way of seeing through my lies. Best just to walk home and give her no cause to suspect anything.
Across the street the tall blonde from before stepped out of the building, locking the doors behind her. Manager? Owner? Whoever she was she made for an eyeful in her long, shape-hugging green dress. Walking with crisp, angry strides, heels slapping the cement, she crossed the side parking lot to her shiny white car. My cue to leave.
I started across the parking lot longing to be home and to forget this whole sorry affair. I'd learned my lesson this time. I had to stay relentlessly focused on the bigger picture – my fabulous future – and avoid any situation that held the possibility, however remote, of sabotaging that. I only had two more years before I was eighteen and free to exercise the full powers of hyperdom. I could stick to the straight and narrow for that long...couldn't I?
All my hopes of getting away cleanly and enjoying a nice, peaceful night at home studying genetics or chemistry came crashing down when a police car cruised up on the side of the park I was approaching. Its lights flashed on with a single obnoxious roadrunner beep.
I reacted without thinking – bolting away from the police car toward the nearby church, my only thought to reach some kind of cover.
I reached the gate at the side of the church, which opened easily enough to a back courtyard. That would be the last of my free rides. Thenceforth, it would be jumping fences. I had some experience with that in Gertie's backyard, and it wasn't an inspiring memory.
I hit the rear fence with an optimistic jump, but the backpack and my lack of fence-hopping expertise made it a painful experience. The wood staves stabbed at my chest and abraded my hands, but then I was over.
A large dark shape rose with a startled snarl up from the shadows on the home's back porch. I wasn't sure what kind of dog it was, and I really didn't want to find out. I sprinted with everything I had for the far fence. The dog – a Rottweiler? – lumbered after me but appeared to lack commitment. I made it to and over the fence with a few yards to spare.
Another backyard and another fence. Flashing police car lights penetrating into the yard convinced me that this was a dead-end strategy. I had to shake things up, but how? I followed instinct again and raced to the fence leading to a house on the other block on the theory that they wouldn't be covering two blocks.
That theory seemed borne out after I breached the house's rear fence and peered through its gate out on the street. Not a hint of dudes in blue. Now if I crossed this street and jumped fences one additional street over I'd surely be beyond their immediate search perimeter? I almost wished in that moment I'd read some military or police procedural fiction.
I sprang through the gate and cautiously crossed the front yard, glancing in both directions. No police cruisers, but as I jogged toward the street a white luxury car drove up, slowing and then pulling to the curb in front of me. The passenger window rolled down and the driver leaned over, her face catching strips of light from the street lamp. I recognized both her and her car and had to wonder about kismet or karma or synchronicity or whatever bizarre coincidence applied.
"Get in," she said. "Quickly."
I slid into the seat beside her. The car accelerated smoothly away.
"Keep your head down," she said. "Until we're clear."
I ducked down. A minute went by during which I breathed in her calm authority. She was the elegantly dressed woman who'd confronted the cops outside the Narcissus. Maybe she was the owner? But I thought I remembered the owner being a man. I had a flash of some pork-faced dude complaining to the city council about "prudish" restrictions on his establishment.
"Okay," said the woman in the green dress. "I think we're okay."
I sat up.
"I saw you running across the park," she said. "You're quite the track athlete."
"Uh, thanks. And thanks for picking me up. You kind of saved my, uh, tail back there."
"Why were they after you?"
"I think they just got into the mode of chasing kids after whatever happened in the nightclub."
"I'm still trying to sort out exactly what did happen in there."
"Are you the manager or something? I saw you talking to the police outside."
"Attorney. Georgia Selby. Called in to soothe some ruffled feathers by the owner." She gave me a thin sideways smile. "What's your name?"
"Aiden."
"You were out in the open air café, Aiden?"
"No. I was just walking home from a class."
"Then why did you run?"
"Reflex, mostly. I sort of have a, uh, history with the police."
"You don't seem like the type the police would be after."
"It's kind of a long story."
Sirens sounded behind us. I whirled around. A police cruiser was racing up on us, lights blazing. Georgia Selby guided her Lexus to the curb with a calm hand.
"Why don't you let me do the talking, Aiden."
But the police car blasted past. We watched its Christmas lights recede.
"Must've been a special at the doughnut shop," I muttered.
The tall blond woman laughed. She swiped a bead of sweat from her forehead.
"Whew," she said. "I've had about enough contact with the local Victorian police tonight. Where do you live? I'll take you home."
"East Jefferson."
"Interesting. So do I. The Cardigans."
The Ritz, basically. Or Park Avenue, if you played Monopoly, which I hadn't for about a decade. I pictured the stylish mansions, each with their own special names like "Greenhaven House" or "Mason's Dream."
"I'm north of there on Clemson Drive."
"I know where it is. You're only a mile or two from me."
We drove for a few seconds in sil
ence. Georgia started to fan herself and then lowered her hand to adjust the climate controls.
"Is it my imagination or is it hot in here?"
"Maybe."
I swallowed. I'd been running, sweating, starting to have sex. Unquenched desire still roiled in me. It had been months since I'd done the deed. My pheromones had to be off the charts right now. Not too surprising she was starting to heat up. The very idea of this beautiful lawyer-powerhouse woman heating up only added fuel to my own ill-advised fire.
"So..." Georgia cleared her throat. "What class were you coming from?"
"Well, not a class, exactly. It was a private session at a UC professor's house."
"Dare I ask what was being taught?"
"A brief overview of genetic engineering."
"Wow. Sounds like fun." She shot me a sideways smile. "You seem kind of young for college. How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"
I so wanted to lie to her. If I were eighteen, anything was possible. And at this moment I desperately wanted anything to be possible. But it was time to think with my bigger head.
"Sixteen," I said.
"Ah." Her smile and tone held a hint of resignation. "About what I thought."
Right. I made myself look away from her out the side window, where the fringes of town were receding.
"Kind of young to be taking college classes," she said. "You must be one of those special students."
"I guess."
She wiped another bead of sweat from her forehead, looking at her moist hand with sudden interest. She touched her cheeks.
"I'm flushed," she said, in the tone of a sudden revelation. She turned to me. "Oh, of course. You're in heat, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"That's why you were outside my club." She continued to stare at me, eyebrows lowering. I shrugged. "But I've been around a lot of guys in estrus, and your chemical vibe puts them to shame. More intense than a whole room of them, in fact."
"Maybe it's because we're locked up in this car in close quarters?"
"Maybe." Georgia shifted her legs and frowned down at her lap. "Um, I'm going to need to stop at my house for just a second."
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