Pleasuria

by John J. Jessop

  “How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun? How is your sex life with your wife?”

  Having had just one cup of coffee, Jason was still not entirely awake, and he barely heard what she said. He didn’t process her last question at all. He just nodded in response and said, “My weekend was fine. Just the usual stuff, hauling the kids around to their endless events, soccer, birthday parties, you know. You said you had young sons?”

  “We left the boys with my mother over the weekend, and my husband and I had sex in our hot tub, in the kitchen, the dining room, well, pretty much every room of the house. We even did it in his Lexus, parked in the garage. I just couldn’t get enough. It was a great weekend, and I’m still in the mood this morning.” She looked at Jason like he was a piece of steak and she was hungry.

  All at once he was wide awake and paying attention. He turned and saw the look on her face. He noticed that she had begun to unbutton the top button of her blouse. What in the hell? He turned to look at her.

  “You know, my husband will be at work this morning. You could turn this car around and we could go back to my place to get to know each other better. We really should know each other a lot better if we’re going to be carpooling every day.”

  Jason was flabbergasted. This quiet, shy woman was turning into a sex-starved animal before his eyes.

  “Joanne . . . Dr. Shipley, are you okay? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

  She reached across the console, placed her left hand on his crotch and rubbed gently.

  He said, “Well, that’s nice . . . I mean . . . what the hell are you doing? What’s the matter with you?”

  She never even flinched. Instead, she unbuttoned two more buttons on her blouse with her free hand, revealing a black, lacy bra, nipples at full salute. Her breasts were overflowing, pressed together like two supple grapefruits into such overwhelming cleavage that it could’ve distracted a man from even the most dangerous of situations, like the heavy traffic on the Washington Beltway.

  “Do you like what you see?” she asked, pulling at her bra with her free hand until her nipples threatened to break free of their lacy confinement.

  She began to rub harder and gently squeeze with her left hand. At that point Jason reflexively pulled the steering wheel to the right and accidentally changed lanes, almost running a brand-new Corvette convertible off the highway. Horns blared, middle fingers were exchanged and Jason regained control of his car, and himself. Struggling mightily to focus on the traffic instead of supple fruit, he said, “Dr. Shipley, I don’t know what’s come over you, but I am going to turn this car around and take you home. Are you drunk? Did you put something strange in your coffee this morning?” He took hold of her left hand, removed it from his crotch, put it back, but then finally removed it again and pushed it away, and took the next exit off of I-495. He followed the exit ramp and re-entered I-495 headed in the opposite direction, back toward Virginia and home.

  When he turned to look at Joanne again, she was no longer paying any attention to him at all. She was smiling ear to ear, her brown eyes glossed over, and she was starting to moan gently. The moaning continued to increase and she began to squeeze her legs together and gently massage her breasts with both hands, her eyes now closed and a strange look of anticipation on her face.

  “Oh, God. That’s unbelievable. I don’t want this to ever stop. Oh, Tom. Oh, Jason. Oh, Brad.” He had the distinct impression that she was in the throes of passion, headed for an orgasm, and she didn’t appear to be particular about whose name was associated with the event.

  Jason grumbled to himself, “Chelsea mentioned Brad Pitt recently too. Do all women fantasize about having sex with him?”

  Joanne’s moaning got louder, until she began to scream, “Aaaaahh! Oh my God. Oh God! Aaaaahh!” It was pretty clear to Jason that she was indeed having an orgasm. He had helped Chelsea to experience the same on many occasions during their years of marriage, but he had never seen anyone spontaneously reach that point. Her hands were now lying still in her lap, not touching anything of an erotic nature.

  Jason looked to his right, and saw an old man in a blue Mercedes SUV driving alongside them, staring in at Joanne. He was grinning, intent on watching for as long traffic would allow. Joanne’s blouse was half opened, ample cleavage there for all to see, and it must have been obvious to the stranger that something exciting was going on in Jason’s 4Runner. The man actually gave Jason the thumbs-up. Meanwhile, Joanne continued the cycle of moaning and screaming, as wave after wave of happy endings washed over her.

  Jason had no idea what was going on, and when the fourth or fifth orgasm ended—he had lost count—and she clearly began the climb to another one, he changed his mind and said, “Joanne, I don’t know what’s happening to you, but it seems to be out of control. I’m taking you to the Inova Fairfax Hospital Emergency Room in Falls Church, where hopefully someone can help you.”

  Jason parked and escorted Joanne into the ER, still trembling and moaning quietly. Anxiety grasped Jason as he realized, This might not have been such a good idea. Chelsea works here, in the administrative building next door, and I neglected to share that my carpooler is an attractive brunette. Perhaps this is a mistake.

  The odor of rubbing alcohol, sickness and sweat, along with a blast of cold air from the AC, hit him as he walked through the automatic door, Joanne Shipley in tow. He hated hospitals. He told the nurse at the desk, “My name is Dr. Jason Longfellow. My friend and carpooler here, Dr. Joanne Shipley, appears to be having some sort of excessive sexual response to an unknown stimulus, and she seems to be experiencing spontaneous . . . well . . . happy . . . you know . . . endings . . . orgasms. I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, so I brought her here. Can you please help?”

  At first the ER nurse thought that this must be some kind of sick joke. But before she could say anything, Joanne let out a loud moan and muffled scream that could only be interpreted as someone experiencing what Jason had described. Nurse Jones said, “Hmmm. I’ve never seen anything quite like this. We need to get her to a private room as soon as possible; she’s upsetting the other patients. I’ll get a wheelchair and take her back to one of the examination rooms.” She called one of the orderlies to bring a wheelchair, stat.

  A male orderly arrived almost immediately with the wheelchair, and the nurse helped Joanne to sit. Before moving her, the nurse said, “Did you say your name was Longfellow? Are you by any chance related to Nurse Chelsea Longfellow in our administrative office?”

  Jason considered denying any knowledge of a Chelsea Longfellow, but his mouth, seemingly on its own, said, “Yes, Chelsea is my wife.”

  “Wow. That’s quite a coincidence.” An evil smile on her face, the nurse then said, “I’ll give her a call to let her know her husband’s in my ER. She’ll probably want to hop on over here from the admin building to see you.” With that, she rolled Joanne through the doors to the private examination rooms.

  Since he was not family, Jason wasn’t welcome, nor did he have any desire to accompany Joanne to the examination room. He was trapped. He thought about fleeing but realized that would just make it look worse when Chelsea showed up. Oh boy, I’m screwed!

  He took a seat in the waiting room to await his fate. Ten minutes later Chelsea walked through the automatic doors of the ER, immediately found her target and launched herself in his direction. Before he could stand to greet her, he saw the anger and confusion in her eyes.

  “Jason. What the hell is going on? Kathy called me and said you were here in the ER. You brought in your carpooler, who, by the way, happens to be an attractive brunette, but we’ll get to that in a minute, and she is having some kind of attack of ‘spontaneous’ sexual release? What the fuck is going on? What did you do? This is a helluva way to start the week.”

  Chelsea obviously wanted an explanation, and Jason was at a loss for words. Nurse Jones had apparently told Chelsea everything, and she was not happy. He was taken aback that his wife immedia
tely jumped to the conclusion that he had anything to do with this sexual malady inflicted upon his carpooler. He said, hurt in his voice, “Honey, I honestly don’t know what the hell happened. I picked Joanne up at her house, just like we planned. She got into my car, and I started driving to work. When I first met her the other day, she seemed very shy and quiet, and she was that way when we started out this morning. But then something changed. She started talking about her sex life, she seemed to get turned on by I don’t know what, she started rubbing my crotch, and next thing I know she’s moaning and climaxing all by herself in the passenger seat of my 4Runner. I assure you that I had both hands on the wheel. I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I tried to talk to her, but she just kept having orgasm after orgasm. I didn’t know what to do, so I brought her here. I hope it’s not some kind of disease, a virus or something. God, what if it’s contagious? I was in the car with her and I touched her when I helped her into the ER.”

  By the look on her face and steam coming out of her ears, Chelsea was about to punch his lights out. She said, “So, it’s ‘Joanne’?”

  Nurse Jones returned. She approached them and said, “Hey, Chelsea. Good to see you. I see you found your husband.” To Jason she said, “I just came from the examination room, and the doctor gave your carpooler a strong sedative. She seems to have calmed down, and her spontaneous ‘condition’ seems to have let up. She’s resting comfortably. We’ll need for you to fill out some forms in the ER for her. She told us that her purse is in your car, and her insurance card and driver’s license are in her wallet. She gives you permission to take the necessary information from her purse to fill out the forms.”

  Before he could answer, Chelsea said to Jason, “I highly recommend that you contact her husband and get him down here to fill out the forms. More importantly, he needs to know what’s happening with his wife. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to be going through her purse. If you want, I’m happy to wait here with you. I think I’d enjoy hearing you explain to him what happened with your carpooler—you know, his wife. With any luck, he’ll be a big sonofabitch with a bigger temper. But that’s your problem. That’s in addition to the problem you’re going to have when you get home tonight. So, do you want me to stay with you until he gets here?”

  Jason just frowned and shrugged. Chelsea no longer looks like she wants to punch me. I’m guessing that’s because she expects Joanne’s husband to take care of that.

  CHAPTER 5

  To Jason’s relief, Joanne Shipley’s husband, Dr. Tom Shipley, did not turn out to be a big sonofabitch with a mean disposition. He was, in fact, a mild-mannered environmental scientist working for the EPA. He could have passed for a nerdy, liberal college professor, medium height, slender, short brown hair, blue eyes, and wide-rimmed glasses, wearing a light-blue cotton shirt with button-down collar, blue jeans, and neatly tied tennis shoes. He had arrived at the hospital ER, asked the desk nurse about his wife, and was immediately taken back to see her.

  When Tom Shipley returned to the waiting room twenty minutes later, he introduced himself to Jason.

  “I just saw Joanne. I assume you’re Jason Longfellow, her carpooler? I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Tom Shipley, Joanne’s husband. Pleased to meet you.” He put out his hand, and Jason flinched before taking it, still half expecting a punch in the jaw.

  Jason finally shook. “Pleased to meet you, Tom. How’s Joanne doing?”

  “She seems fine, although I must say, I’m a little confused at what happened, even after both she and the nurse explained it to me. The nurse said my wife had some kind of attack in your SUV on the way to work, where she suffered repeated orgasms?”

  Jason nodded. Well, he’s very direct. I guess that’s good, and he hasn’t tried to break my face yet. Even better.

  Tom continued, “Joanne corroborated that story, and explained that you had nothing to do with it. Apparently, she had some sort of fit where she became aroused, and had several spontaneous orgasms. I didn’t know that was possible. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard, but I’ve been married to her for ten years and she has never lied to me. She seems to think that someone might have slipped her something that caused this, but that doesn’t make any sense because all she’d had was coffee and a little breakfast at home. I don’t know what to think.”

  His voice was surprisingly calm, especially after hearing that such a strange thing had happened to his wife. He didn’t appear to blame Jason. It seemed that Tom Shipley might actually have some idea as to what was going on.

  “Yeah. I have no idea what happened. I had only spoken to your wife once before at the office cafeteria. I barely knew her or anything about her. She was shy and didn’t say much. This was our first day of carpooling. I picked her up early this morning and was driving to work, when all of a sudden she started moaning. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen, or heard. I tried to talk to her, but she was unresponsive, so I brought her here.” He left out the part about blouse unbuttoning and crotch rubbing. The guy seemed reasonably calm, but Jason saw no reason to poke the bear.

  Chelsea was still there when Tom Shipley showed up, and she was disappointed with his reaction to the news; she had her mind set on seeing Jason punished for whatever had gone on with his pretty brunette carpooler.

  “Hi, I’m Chelsea Longfellow, Jason’s wife. I must say, you seem shockingly calm, considering what happened. Personally, I was concerned to hear that—as Jason tells it—his driving your wife to work somehow brought her to multiple orgasms. It might just be me, but that sounds a little unusual, and suspicious.” Things were not going as she expected, so she poked the bear on Jason’s behalf.

  “I agree, it’s very suspicious,” Tom said.

  Chelsea thought, Oh boy. Here it comes. Look out, Jason. This guy’s finally going to blow.

  But, to her surprise, Tom said to Jason, “Dr. Longfellow, can we please go to the cafeteria, get some coffee, and talk in private?”

  “Please, call me Jason, and yes, by all means, let’s get some coffee. This has been a helluva confusing morning, and I would really appreciate anything that you can tell me to shed light on what happened.”

  Chelsea just shrugged. “Well, if you two guys want some alone time, I’ll head on back to work.”

  Jason gave her a kiss on the forehead and said, relieved, “Okay, Chelse. I’ll see you tonight.”

  The cafeteria appeared upscale, filled with the smells of pizza, hamburgers, and french fries, as well as meat loaf, fish, steaks, and fresh-baked bread. Jason saw various stations that served hot and cold sandwiches, hot entrees of all kinds, pizza, salads, a station for Oriental cuisine, an entire aisle dedicated to various vegetables, and an impressive dessert station. Tom bought two cups of coffee and they took a seat at a table off in the corner of the room where they could speak in private.

  Tom paused for a while, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. Jason took a drink of coffee, made a displeased face, and said, “Yikes. Tastes like a combination of battery acid and lubricating oil, thick, bitter, and hard to swallow. I guess they make it strong to keep the orderlies awake. I understand they work forty-eight-hour shifts.”

  Finally, Tom said, “Joanne told me what happened. She’s normally very shy, and she’s extremely embarrassed, and baffled. She told me that she had no control over her actions. She’s convinced she would have died if the doctor hadn’t given her a heavy sedative, which somehow counteracted her symptoms. She asked me to thank you for getting her to the ER so fast.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay. It was clear that she needed help, and bringing her here was the only think I could think to do.”

  “She believes that whatever happened was chemically induced, and it wore off while she was under sedation. Neither of us can figure out how she ingested anything that might have affected her that way. All she had this morning was a cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese at home, and she took the same meds that she ta
kes every morning. She did nothing out of the ordinary.” He paused, as if trying to decide whether to continue or not, and then said, “She told me that you’re aware we moved here from Chapel Hill recently. She used to work for CureStuff Pharmaceuticals, a company in Research Triangle Park, and I know for a fact that there was something strange going on there before we left Chapel Hill. She kept denying that there was anything wrong at work, but I know something was upsetting her. I was glad when we decided to move up here because it got her away from that company. I’m not saying that CureStuff necessarily had anything to do with this; all I’m saying is that she worked there, and something was not right. She tells me you’re a drug reviewer for the FDA, so you know the pressures that exist in the pharmaceutical industry—all the deadlines, the rush to get things done. Back then, I just figured that something like that was upsetting her.”

  Jason thought it odd that Tom didn’t seem all that surprised about what happened to his wife, considering the extremely bizarre nature of the incident. Jason thought, Maybe I should look into this CureStuff Pharmaceuticals. The name seemed familiar to him.

  Jason finally got to his office around one o’clock. He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at his computer, where he searched the internet for CureStuff Pharmaceuticals. He discovered that it was, in fact, a small drug company located in Research Triangle Park, a business park between Raleigh and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. According to their website, CureStuff specialized in drugs and biologics that affected the brain. They were currently working on antidepressant monoclonal antibodies, which targeted brain receptors in the amygdala, a part of the brain that contained one of the main pleasure centers.