"I'm not sure I'd want to glow, anyway."
"I have a feeling it's not something you'll be able to do much about," she said with a short laugh. "Damn, I'm still adjusting to the fact that you're friends with Ragnar Norquist."
"Maybe you'd like to meet him?" Way to knock yourself out of the picture, Aiden.
Jenny made a noise like a suppressed groan and glanced away from me.
"That would be your perfect story, wouldn't it?"
"Um..." She drew that out, ending somewhere near a question mark. "Not exactly. That would be a story about a famous basketball star who happens to be hyper. I'm looking for a more normal hyper experience, if such a thing exists."
"Wouldn't that be me?"
"Maybe so. Most hypers go on to be incredibly successful or semi-famous. As I'm thinking about it now, I see there's a small window of being a normal person between the change and young adulthood. After that, they get caught up in their incredibly lucrative careers and balancing dozens of women..."
"So right now I'm in that window."
"True."
"Available as I probably never will be again?"
Jenny bit her lower lip for an instant before composing herself. She wiped a trickle of sweat from her forehead and adjusted her cap. A-ha! I'm finally getting to her! Or maybe it was my irresistible logic?
We followed the shore of the artificial lake around to a playground and lavatory. A few young women, including a gay couple, tended toddlers in the sandy play area. We stopped for a drink at one of the water faucets.
A ball bounced over to their feet – an errant pass from a mom to a little girl. Jenny scooped it up and tossed it back to her.
"I hate young mothers," she sighed under her breath.
"Why?"
"They're so...normal."
She mock-shivered. I laughed. There was something about this girl...woman. But then wasn't there always something about them? Still, she tugged at my heart – and pretty much every body part – more than anyone since Dr. Stephanie Landon. I felt as if I was falling in love with each passing second.
We sat on a bench facing the playground. The mother and daughter resumed their game of catch, while the lesbian couple ooohed and aaahhed over every expression and motion of their two year-old daughter.
"That's the trend of the future," said Jenny. "Women giving up on men, and paying to get impregnated from sperm banks or male-friend donors."
That was not a subject I'd ever spent time looking into or thinking about.
"They're the lucky ones," said Jenny. "Male Estrus Syndrome didn't dent their lives. In fact, it pushed more women into the fold."
"I hadn't thought about that," I said. "I can see MES reducing the appeal of men, so maybe some women – especially bisexuals – might go to female relationships out of frustration. But I don't see it increasing the number of true lesbians."
"The RSA commissioned a study on it: Post-Outbreak Reproductive and Relationship Preferences. The 'executive summary' noted a 22% increase on female same-sex relationships. The study's authors, based on questionnaires, determined that the increase consisted of roughly 9% bisexuals and 13% who 'expressed a strong preference for men under normal circumstances.'"
"Interesting." I was having trouble focusing on her words as I studied the swell of her thigh three mere feet from mine. "I wonder how satisfied those 13% are with their relationships."
"The study actually asked that question. On a satisfaction scale of 1 – 5 – five being high – a bit under three was the average score. A little over three was average for heterosexual couples."
"That's about what I would've guessed."
"I wrote an article on that study."
"I should check out some of your articles."
I doubted I would, other than to see how she wrote about them. All the doom and gloom about MES and its effects on society wore me down. I had the impression that people talked that way around me so often because being a hyper made them aware of how bad they had it.
"Sorry if I sounded bitter," said Jenny. "You're being very sweet about it."
She reached across and patted my hand. Her touch, predictably, sent shivers through me. I wanted to save her from her despair about the way things were. I wanted to save them all. Which was pretty ridiculous, since I couldn't even save myself.
Jenny withdrew her hand, and I thought I glimpsed a small shiver of her own. Or maybe it was the gust of cool air from the lake?
She stood up, hugging herself. I stood up, too.
"Would you mind doing something?" I asked.
She faced me warily. "What?"
"Take off your sunglasses? I'd like to see your eyes."
She raised one hand, her fingers lingering on one arm of her glasses before dropping back to her waist. I took a couple of steps toward her. She stood with her legs half-coiled, as though readying to sprint.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing." She breathed out. "Other than my body's roaring with hormones and my head feels like it's on fire. When I touched your hand there was this overwhelming tide of affection..." She made a coughing sound and covered her mouth. "I knew what to expect, but I'm still surprised by how strong the pheromonal effects are."
I felt sorry for her. I knew it was unfair but that didn't stop me from stepping closer and reaching up to gently lift off her glasses.
Her eyes were a startling green like her name, prettier and more compelling than in any of her Hypersphere photos.
"Wow," I whispered.
Acting on pure impulse, I took her face in my hands and leaned forward to kiss her lips. She didn't kiss me back – not at first – but her lips remained pliant, full of sparkling undercurrents and promises.
My lower lip slid in between hers, and then she did kiss me back. Maybe it was the hesitation, the sense she wasn't quite surrendering but still fighting her chemistry, but it was the sexiest, sweetest kiss of my life.
When she broke off suddenly, it was as if I'd been unplugged from a multi-dimensional electric current I hadn't even known I'd been plugged into.
"I have to go," she said.
I opened my mouth to object, but she was already sprinting away. And I mean, sprinting. Her long, muscular legs really ate up the ground, the round curves of her ass –
I made myself look away. I could run her down, I was sure, but what was the point? I'd blown it, as usual. I sagged back onto the bench and rested my head on my hands.
I didn't know how long I'd been sitting before I heard the creak of approaching wheels. It might've been a few seconds or minutes, because I felt rooted to the bench, stuck between an unsettling past and an uncertain future, and wasn't in any rush to move.
"Are you okay?"
I raised my head. A pair of women with a child in a stroller had stopped before me, eyeing me with concern. A breeze blew past me, fluttering their hair – one woman had long hair, the other a buzz cut. Oh – the gay couple from the playground.
I was going to say "Yeah, sure, fine," but the words didn't come. I had this weird urge to pour out everything: my frustration, self-doubts, questions for the future – not just my own, but everyone's – to this couple I didn't know and who surely wouldn't understand. Not only not understand but probably loathe me for what I was.
The concern in their eyes changed as they stood there. One woman started running her fingers through her hair, which promptly blew back into its former position in the rising breeze. The other woman appeared puzzled, a frown inching onto her parted lips. Even their two year old daughter was regarding me raptly. Never too young to appreciate a hyper, I thought sourly.
"We saw you with the girl," said the long-haired one. "Sorry, none of our business. But if you wanted to talk about it?"
I looked agreeable, I guessed, because they sat on the bench beside me. The toddler pointed a chubby finger at me and declared "Eh! Eh! Wehhh!" I wondered what the heck she was saying. Maybe she had some primal insight into my identity?
"Thank
s," I said to the long-haired woman. "I appreciate it. But I don't think it's something you can help me with."
"You might be surprised," said the buzz-cut partner. "Talking can sometimes really help, especially in these troubled times."
She reached across and rested her hand on my shoulder. Abruptly, talking was no longer on my mind. The bulge in my trousers from Jenny, which had mostly receded, started returning to its full former glory.
The buzz-cut lady pulled back her hand, her breath hissing out like a small puncture in a bicycle tube.
"You should probably leave," I said.
"Why? What's going on?" asked her long-haired companion.
I looked at the two women closely for the first time. Maybe it was my raging hormones, but they looked cute. Early to mid-thirties, slim, nice features. Nowhere near the level of Jenny Green or the other Hypersphere girls, but at the moment that wasn't a big concern. Though my concern was big or at least writ large. Something the two mothers were now noticing despite my crossed legs.
"Well, to be honest," I said, "I'm hyper."
"You're...joking?" The long-haired woman was wiping her forehead.
"No. Sorry."
"I think he's telling the truth," said her buzz-cut partner, staring between us, a warm flush suffusing her cheeks. "Can't you feel it?"
"I feel something..."
"And I think we both see something."
The buzz-cut nodded to my groin. See something say something, as the RSA said. I was feeling a bit giddy with possibilities. The women had seen my desire and weren't running for the hills.
"I never thought I'd meet a hyper," said the long-haired lady. "I'm Melissa, by the way."
"Aiden." I grasped her hand and watched her pupils dilate even further.
"Jack," said her short-haired partner, thrusting out her hand. "Short for Jacqueline."
Since Melissa seemed reluctant to release my right hand, I shook Jack's hand with my left.
"I, um, have this thought..." Melissa began, meeting her partner's gaze.
"Whatever makes you happy, honey, I will support."
"I was thinking that maybe we could help you," Melissa finished.
LATER THAT night, I slumped before my computer, hands behind my neck, feeling atypically at peace physically and mentally. Even more relaxed than after Georgia Selby. Speaking of which, she'd text-messaged me "Hi. Wondering how you are" on my way back from the park – and then twice more along similar lines since I'd arrived home. She hadn't had any trouble finding my number, I guessed.
Plus, CellEvolve had sent photographs of the ten Hypersphere women who'd be coming for interviews and final vetting.
Good news came in threes, it seemed. Or whatever the opposite saying of "When it rains it pours" was.
I hadn't replied to Georgia, which was probably pretty rude considering how she'd saved my butt, and I'd barely glanced at the batch of potential lab-mates. I just wanted to milk my present rare relaxed state while it lasted, which I suspected wouldn't be very long.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my computer chair, replaying my encounter with Melissa and Jacqueline – using memories of them to keep thoughts about Jenny Green at bay.
The women had taken turns playing with their toddler and standing guard while I plowed their partner in the nearby women's restroom behind closed stall doors. That happened three times. Each. Gloriously pleasurable and meaningless rutting with no thought beyond the moment. The small worry of being caught – and the impropriety of what we were doing – only added spice to the exquisite sensations.
The moral I chose to take from that afternoon was that mindless sex was okay – better than okay, actually – and was actually much better at providing peace than anguishing over a potential soulmate or someone I cared about. Still, I had a feeling my current insight had an expiration date – that I'd wake up tomorrow consumed by the same never-ending hunger that would never quite be satisfied until I found The One. Or Ones?
My cell binged again. Another text message from Georgia. Don't mean to harass you, just worried you're okay. Not a fan of texting on my phone, I performed a quick search of her number on Gmail to find her text code, and Ogle reaffirmed its omniscience by immediately providing it. Now I was free to text using my computer keyboard.
I'm fine, I wrote. How are you doing? Did you ever find out what happened at the Narcissus that night?
Georgia replied:
The police allegedly received a report about underage people having sex in the 'lounge rooms' which resulted in zero arrests but still a charge against the owner for violating the 'child endangerment' provision of the RSA laws. They're not pursuing a criminal case against him, but the police department is recommending that the city suspend his license here.
I'd never been in an estrus club, but from what I'd read, "lounge rooms" for sex between patrons were a standard feature. I would've been surprised if they weren't commonly used by guys and women below eighteen, but except for an occasional raid, the clubs seemed to function unmolested.
Can you appeal that?
Yes, already have. There will be a public city council meeting next week. By then, with any luck, I'll have enough council members on my side to make restoring the license a done deal.
You think you can convince them?
I'm optimistic. Most of them couldn't care less about underage sex. I see this as basically a shakedown by council members who are pissed because their mayor and a certain other member got more money than they did for the deal.
Do you mean bribes?
I call them a businesses expense.
LOL.
I've been wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner or something tomorrow?
That made a sharp dent in my current mellowness. I forced my hands back from the keyboard and any hasty replies. I couldn't see a future for us given what would soon be happening at CellEvolve, but then what future could we have even without that? Why be so obsessed about the future anyway? Georgia was cool and smart and sexy. What could it hurt to be friends with her?
That would be cool. Maybe after school around four?
I can be here. I'll have your favorite dish ready to be served.
Sounds great! I'll let you know if something comes up.
I'm assuming something will. Seriously, if I don't hear from you, we'll plan on four.
Good. See you then.
See you then, Aiden.
As I was typing the last few sentences, an email appeared from G7755 under the Hypersphere heading. I hesitated to open it. Just thinking of Jenny again threatened to destroy my newfound serenity. She was like the embodiment of everything I wanted but couldn't have.
With a fatalistic air, I opened the email.
Dear Aiden,
I'm sorry I ran out on you yesterday. For a moment, it was just too overwhelming. As a hyper, I'm sure you've experienced your extreme effect on women before. Still, I'm not making excuses for myself. I could've sprayed my nostrils with a pheromone-blocking chemical – maybe you've read about that? – but I thought that would be cowardly. I always said I wanted the "hyper experience," and I was sure I could handle it. I pride myself on having a lot of mental discipline. Funny, huh?
But I would like to see you again, get to know you without the hormonal deluge, which I can theoretically prevent with Pheroblock among other over-the-counter aids, though I'm not sure if it would be completely effective against hyper pheromones. So I would appreciate it if you wore Andrydox on our next meeting.
Assuming, of course, that you want to see me again. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.
Your Would-Be Friend,
Jenny
I wasn't surprised by her apology, but I hadn't expected her to want to see me again – and I wasn't clear on why she did want to see me again. I hit reply.
Hi, Jenny,
No problems about running off. I don't blame you. But I'm not sure what you want from me exactly. To be friends? To write a story about hypers? Or? Oh, my gmail
is AGS2020, so we can bypass Hypersphere.
Aiden
Though my first instinct was to tell her "Heck yes, I really want to see you again and be friends or whatever you want!" – I thought maybe it might be a good idea to think about that a bit more for a change.
Chapter 25
"OFF TO SEE THE wizard?" Gertie asked as I hustled out of English class. I could've sworn she said: "Off to bleed the lizard?", but I'd been day-dreaming about Georgia Selby all day – and by extension, my "lizard" – so I supposed that was understandable.
"No, just eager to run home and shower off the Andrydox," I said. "My skin feels like it's being gnawed on by nanite cannibals."
Gertie's laugh sounded uneasy. "Eerg. I hope the shower drowns them."
"Thanks. I'm hoping I won't need to use bleach."
I didn't stick around to truly appreciate her grimace. I flew away down the outdoor hallway and through the parking lot, on pace to cover the three miles to paradise in fifteen minutes or less – baring traffic or backpack mishaps.
I'd decided that driving to Georgia's futuristic home and leaving my BMW parked outside could draw unwanted notice. I might've parked a block away, but I had another reason for the run: the sweat and increased skin temperature would minimize or effectively destroy the Andrydox's pheromone-blocking effects. Also, after being cooped up all day I needed the physical release, and I was hoping the burst of energy would tire and relax me enough not to be too over the top with Georgia.
Georgia greeted me at the door in what I'd describe as a "power business suit," but as I found seconds later it was more style than substance – a bunch of loosely tied lingerie covered by a full-length black leather coat. But some clichés, I thought, were powerful.
"Take me!" she cried, her upper lip curled in a snarl. "Rip this shit off and fuck me!"
Huh. For not the first time, I felt as if I'd been yanked out of a kid's video game into the real adult world where I was only a poseur. But maybe this was a case of faking it until making it?
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