Curse of the Potency

by Oliver Franks

  I had an hour or so to kill before my interview with Molly. The question was lunch, and the answer was really very simple once I focused on the question: go for a burger and a milkshake at the first place that took my fancy.

  And so before I knew it, I was sinking my teeth into a nice juicy double cheese special in a trendy cafe down the road. It tasted tops and gave me a pleasing thought to boot: the whole lot of those Solar Ray weirdos could do what they liked, but there was nothing in this world that could get between a bloke and his burger. At least not this bloke.

  Stupid thought, really.

  *****

  After that, I bought four Danish pastries and two coffees. One for me to eat right there and then as a kind of ersatz pudding, plus a coffee and a Danish for Molly and a couple more spare for me later. You know.

  “Thank you, Dave,” she said when I handed them to her on arrival at her office on the third floor. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  “No problem,” I said, my voice suddenly rather croaky.

  Standing face to face, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of her up close. A face of such perfect shapeliness, with lips and eyes and most strikingly this deeply honest sweet smile that would melt cheese. And her outfit was just so uniquely her; it just worked perfectly somehow. Brown dungarees with coloured patches and a few badges and pins here and there, a dark flowery pink and purple T-shirt underneath, just tight enough to accentuate the curve of her ample breasts. All of this combined to make me feel rather woozy, and that’s not a word I use often or lightly.

  “Are you alright?” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. “Just a bit thirsty, I guess.”

  Basically, I felt as light-headed as if I’d been blowing up a giant balloon and was now floating away into the sky. The coffee had left a dryness on my throat that wasn’t helping either.

  “There’s a water tank over there.” She pointed to a corner of her room. “Please help yourself.”

  “Thanks. I might just do that.”

  I ambled over to it. I could have murdered an ice-cold Coke, but sometimes you don’t get what you want, do you?

  Her room was a big mess and definitely looked just moved into. What’s more, it was way more than an average sort of an office. She pretty much had the whole floor, I think. It was large, bigger than the boardroom, and there were all sorts of tables, surfaces and shelves with loads of equipment and general stuff knocking around: plants, animals, books, papers, computers, microscopes, everything—even one of those beds on wheels they have in doctors’ offices.

  The water tank was right next to a bookshelf. As I filled the glass, I glanced at some of the very long and wordy titles. It was filled with just the sort of nonsensical reads I’d expect someone with two degrees and the job title of “biological materials scientist” would enjoy.

  In short, I was impressed, even more so because she just seemed like such a chilled out and general cool-as-beans person.

  I downed a couple of glasses of the water, filled another and took it back to her desk, then sat myself down in the chair opposite her.

  “So, Dave,” she said. “How are you settling in?”

  “Yeah, it’s alright. Basement is a bit weird, though, to be honest.”

  “I am sure,” she said with an understanding laugh.

  I stared at her stupidly. I wanted to engage in conversation, but my brain was not really up to it.

  “It’s a bit hot in here,” I said, feeling genuinely overheated.

  “Is it?” she said. “I hadn’t noticed. Sorry, I can’t really change the heating in here. It’s set at perfect room temperature, partly for all my samples and things, to keep them in good order.” She did a little cough. “Anyway, help yourself to water whenever you need. We should get started, shouldn’t we?”

  I nodded.

  “So,” she started. “My job with you is very simple, really. I’m here to unravel the secret of what’s happening to you, in a biological sense. That could take forever and a day, or it could take just a few weeks. We won’t know until I start doing some tests and examinations and getting some good hard data to work with.”

  “Okay.”

  It certainly didn’t sound simple.

  “I will be taking urine samples, of course, though these will be extracted from the tanks downstairs. But more than that, I want to ensure I build a full picture of your system. What is going on in that mysterious bladder of yours and, more generally, your whole biology. In order to get that, I’m going to need the most complete information possible from you—everything you ingest, to the minutest level, as well as any and all activity or stresses you put your body through.”

  Blimey.

  “I’ll also need to start running some dietary scenarios with you fairly soon. And I’ll need you to stick rigorously to those and for as long as I direct.”

  She looked at me particularly seriously on that point. I stared at her blankly since I wasn’t really sure exactly what she meant, although it definitely sounded like proper a pain in the arse.

  “Anyway,” she said, returning to a more casual tone, “that’s not on the agenda for today. Right now, I’ll start by building up a detailed profile of you. Please answer all my questions as honestly and openly as you can. Later on, perhaps this afternoon, depending on how we go, I’m going to need to do a physical examination. I’m sure we’ll get through all this with a minimum of hassle.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, huge stones of dread running through my veins.

  “Good,” she said brightly, giving me that lovely smile again. “I think we’ll enjoy working together, Dave. We’re going to learn things that no one’s ever learned before. It’s going to be fun!”

  I doubted that in the extreme, but on the plus side, at least I would get to spend plenty of time with her.

  *****

  It was fairly easy at first.

  “So, Dave,” she started, “please give me a typical day. What do you eat?”

  I got that she wanted detail so I answered as honestly as possible. First things first, I needed to give her my essential “core” meals as I liked to think of them: breakfast, lunch and dinner.

  Breakfast: eggs, toast, beans, bacon, sausages (maybe just one if they were the large ones), a bowl of Frosties with full cream milk, a Pop-Tart (if I was particularly hungry), a glass of orange juice, cup of tea, can of Coke (always).

  Lunch (on a work day): triple-decker sandwich (any sort, as long as it contained processed meat), large pack of crisps (I liked Monster Munch and Doritos the best, but any would do), two chocolate bars (I might sometimes hold one back for the early afternoon at my desk, though that wasn’t really necessary since there was a snack machine in the office), yoghurt (for health), can of Coke (always), cup of coffee (straight after the meal, possibly accompanied by a bickie if there were any to hand). There were other varieties of lunch too. Often, I’d pop out, down to Macky D’s or Burger King or just the local greasy spoon where they did burgers and pies and fish and chips and all sorts of nice things I liked. Always accompanied by the obligatory can of Coke.

  Dinner: a proper cooked meal. This could vary a lot but could be anything from a curry to a pizza to a burger or, more often than not, a combination of things I had stuffed away in my freezer. I am a big fan of ready meals, and they did particularly good ones in Morrisons that were the proper size, not just a piddly little tub but, you know, what they called “large” but what I called a “decent-sized meal.” Each week I would stack up on ready meals and I was very skilled at organising them all in my freezer so that the highest possible number could be accommodated. There was also my fridge, of course, and any approaching the eat-by date I would simply eat, either as part of a meal or just when I felt like it, often during the course of weekends or as a cheeky late-night snack. Oh, and I mustn’t forget pudding. Had to have pudding. Favourites? All of them, really. Trifle, bread and butter pudding, spotted dick, chocolate cake, anything with chunk and wobble. I wa
s a big fan of custard too—I always had a large tub on the go—and pretty much any pudding would be covered in a lovely thick jug full of the creamy stuff. For drinks, well, beer was always good. Lager. Or Vodka and Coke. Also, always to wash down the meal, I had to have a can of Coke. That was something I swore by. A can of Coke a day——

  “Wait, Dave.” She interrupted me mid-flow, looking at me with a pale face.

  “Yeah?”

  “You don’t really eat all of this, do you? Every day?”

  “Er…” I wondered whether this was a trick question. I was pretty much done in terms of core meals for an average day. Just rambling a bit at the end, as I sometimes do. “Yeah, pretty much. It was hell on earth being cooped up in that police cell, I can tell you.”

  “But… but…” She was staring down at the page of notes she had just made.

  “I know, I know. I do have a healthy appetite. My mum always used to say that.”

  “But this is”—she searched for the word—“obscene.”

  “Eh?”

  “You eat too much. Far too much.”

  “Nah—”

  “And all the wrong things.”

  “Now, now. Live and let live, I say.”

  She shook her head. “But that’s just it. With a diet like this, you shouldn’t be living at all.”

  “I’m the first to admit I’m not exactly a bean pole, but I survive. I don’t smoke either or anything. Well, not normally anyway…”

  She seemed distraught, so much so that she let out a little laugh. I let her pull her wits together. I could see she needed to do that, running a hand through her hair, shaking her head rapidly as if she’d just splashed cold water over herself.

  “Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s move on. How about exercise? Do you do any exercise?”

  “Just so I’m clear, we’re finished on the topic of food?”

  “Yes, for now,” she said.

  “You wanted detail though, right?”

  “Yes, and you gave me that. Thank you.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose—”

  “Okay then—”

  “What about snacks?”

  “Snacks?”

  I could see the blood drain from her face.

  “Snacks,” I said with a smile.

  “Snacks,” she said, nodding.

  And I told her about the snacks.

  *****

  As I said, it went easy at first but got progressively harder. Exercise was simple enough to answer. No, I didn’t do any exercise. I hated it. Unless playing video games counted, which it didn’t.

  Then came the more personal questions, which I wasn’t really expecting at all.

  “Okay, Dave, let’s move away from consumption for now. I want to build a picture of your emotional condition. The state of the mind is just as important to biological health as what we eat. Please just be honest, okay?”

  “Okay…” I said uncertainly.

  “So I’m just going to be blunt. Would you consider yourself happy?”

  “Happy?” I scrambled to think of the best way to answer. “I guess so.”

  Of course I wasn’t really happy, and I knew that, but I didn’t want to reveal that. Something very powerful inside of me strongly resisted giving her that.

  “You hesitated,” she said. “Why?”

  I sighed. “Well, I don’t know. I’m alright, I guess. Can’t complain. And who has everything they want in this life?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Er…” I was genuinely struggling to form an answer. It wasn’t just the question itself which threw me; it was being asked it by her, an attractive woman, just the sort that was sorely lacking from my life.

  “Are you happy in your work?”

  “It’s a crap job but it pays the bills. We have a laugh sometimes.”

  “So that’s a no then.”

  She wrote something down.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “And what would you want to be doing if you didn’t work there in the call centre?”

  “I don’t know, really,” I said. “Astronaut maybe…”

  I laughed at the joke. I had always lacked ambition, but blasting into space was definitely something I’d dreamed about as a silly little boy. That and being a superhero. Spiderman, Superman, Bananaman, it didn’t really matter to me.

  “That’s alright, Dave,” she said. “Plenty of people don’t know what they want to do. I just need to find out about you.”

  “Well, alright then. No, I don’t like my job. Calling people up about their phone contracts. It’s bollocks. Happy now?”

  “I’m just asking because I have to, okay?”

  I didn’t like the way she said that. It reminded me that we were not having a natural conversation, that she was only interested in me professionally due to my… situation.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I am lucky. I have a career that I love. I’ve followed my dream and had fantastic support all the way.”

  “Sounds great,” I muttered, looking at my fingers.

  “Let’s have a short break, okay? I could do with a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  I scratched my face and nodded.

  She got up and went to a corner of the room.

  “How do you take your tea, Dave? Milk and sugar?”

  “Yes please,” I said. “Four sugars please.”

  “Four?!”

  I let her figure that one out for herself.

  *****

  When she’d made the tea, she finally got around to eating the Danish pastry I bought her.

  “Oh, this is a nice treat,” she said, biting into it happily.

  I nodded and ate the one I had left over too. Oddly for me, I hardly appreciated it all, just gobbled it on autopilot. I was dreading the next questions and I had good reason to, it turned out.

  “So, Dave,” she said, wiping her lovely mouth with a tissue when she’d finished. “I’ve got a few more questions for you. I’m pretty sure these are going to make you uncomfortable, so let’s just try to go through them as quickly as possible, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling numb.

  “So… tell me about your sex life.”

  Ah! No! These were indeed not questions I wanted to discuss.

  “Er…” was all I could manage. Even that was harder than pulling hairs out of my backside.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  She was trying to be nice about it, lowering her voice and everything, but there wasn’t a way I could answer without destroying myself in front of her, at least as I saw it.

  “Shall I take that as a no?”

  “Not at the moment, no,” I said, forcing the words.

  “When was the last time you—”

  “It’s been a while, alright.”

  I stared at my knees, trying not to think about my poor, under-served member.

  “That’s alright,” she said, writing something down. “We all have quiet patches.”

  Not like me, I thought. Mine was more of a black hole. At least now I could breathe a little easier, safe in the knowledge that we had probably passed this most embarrassing part of the questioning.

  Then she dropped the true stink bomb.

  “Do you masturbate?” she said.

  I almost choked.

  “What?!”

  It just didn’t seem like a question she should be asking.

  “How frequently do you masturbate?”

  For God’s sake, woman! Give a bloke some privacy in his pain, would you?!

  “You can tell me,” she said softly. “It’s alright. It doesn’t matter.”

  I took yet another shaky deep breath.

  “If it’s any consolation,” she said. “I do. Frequently.”

  “What?” I said, looking at her. “You?”

  “Yes!” She laughed. “You think us ladies don’t need to pleasure ourselves too?”

  “Er…”

  “I don�
��t know about all women,” she continued. “We’re not all exactly the same. But I’m certainly not alone in that.”

  I was lost for words.

  “It’s only natural, you know. And as a biologist, I can tell you it’s quite necessary too. So come on. Tell me. I know you do it. All men do.”

  “I suppose,” I said, staring at the table, keeping as blank a face as I could, trying not to imagine her alone and “pleasuring” herself in the bath or wherever.

  “Good,” she said. “So come on. You can tell me. How often?”

  This really was getting excruciating. I decided the only way out was to be honest.

  “I don’t know,” I said through my teeth, head down. “Maybe several times a week.”

  “Alright,” she said, writing something down. “That’s good. On this point, at least, you are healthy.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  Believe it or not, it actually got worse after that.

  Chapter 5

  “Alright, Dave,” she said eventually. “We’re done with the interview part. I want to thank you for being so open and honest. Really, you did a great job. All that information has definitely allowed me to start building a really clear picture of who you are and to start ruling a few things out about your condition.”

  “Thanks,” I croaked with joy.

  I stood up and went over to the water tank again. Staggered over, really. That part about spanking the bishop was just the beginning. She had ranged free, leaving no embarrassment undocumented. It was every little thing, from how fast I ate a slice of pizza to how long it took me to take a dump on a Saturday morning and to exactly what I put on my late-night drunken hot dogs—and plenty more besides. When we were all done, I felt like I’d been spun in a washing machine full of my own soiled underwear.

  “Well, before we discuss any of my thoughts and next steps, it’s time for the physical examination now, Dave,” she said when I walked back. “Are you ready?”

  “Er, well actually, I could do with, er, you know…”

  I tried to be discreet, using eye-signals to indicated down towards my crotch area.

  “What?” she said with a hint of shock, her eyes bulging.

  “I need to pee.”

  “Oh…” She seemed strangely relieved.