by J. R. McLeay
“An odd couple perhaps,” laughed Jennifer. “Come on, let’s see if we can find a table.”
As the two moved through the thick crowd, astonished patrons audibly gasped as they caught sight of the tall Queen. Eva towered over the teeming throng, and it was obvious she was being recognized by everyone who saw her. She was thankful the loud music drowned out the comments people were making to one another as they advanced.
“Can you see any open tables?” Jennifer shouted, hoping Eva’s height advantage would give her a more commanding view of the room.
“No, it looks like every chair is taken,” Eva replied, scanning the room. “Are these places always so busy on a Friday night?”
“I suspect this is busier than most, since it just opened—though it’s definitely hopping tonight. Why don’t we head to the bar and see if we can find a spot there?”
Jennifer grabbed Eva’s hand and led her, somewhat protectively, to the other side of the room. When they reached the counter, she was disappointed to see all the seats were occupied. Nevertheless, the two found an open spot to stand at the corner of the bar.
“Whew,” remarked Eva. “I feel like we’ve just run the gauntlet!”
“More like the parting of the seas,” said Jennifer. “Did you notice how the crowd separated for us as we made our way through?”
“Maybe they’re afraid of me,” Eva said, still feeling a little self-conscious. “You have to admit, I do stand out, to say the least. I must look like a bit of an oddity in this place.”
“I’m sure they’re just marveling at your beauty and grace. It’s not every day that a juvenile gets to see what a full grown woman in the prime of her life looks like, up front and personal.”
Jennifer caught the eye of the bartender approaching their end of the counter.
“What can I get you, ladies?” he asked.
“I’ll have a Martini, straight up,” answered Jennifer.
“I’ll have the same, with a twist of lime please,” said Eva.
“Coming right up.”
“What happened to Shirley Temples?” Jennifer laughed. “I thought you said you were going to take it easy during your fertility treatments?”
“One drink can’t hurt me, can it—especially this early in my cycle?” Eva was becoming more conscious of the eyes around the bar upon her once again. Her drink couldn’t come fast enough.
A male juvenile on the stool adjacent to Eva recognized her discomfort.
“Would you like my seat, Madam?” he offered, standing up. “Why don’t you make yourself more comfortable?”
“Thank you, but please don’t feel you have to give it up on my account.”
“It’s no problem really—I need to stretch my legs for a bit anyway.”
“Thank you.” Eva was happy to take a seat—not so much to take the weight off her unsteady heels as to remove herself as the prime focal point of the room by lowering herself to everyone else’s height.
The bartender returned, placing the drinks on the counter in front of Eva and Jennifer.
“Here you go, ladies.”
“Great—now that we’re settled in,” Jennifer said, raising her glass, “what do you say we make a toast?”
“Good idea. To what?”
“To new friends and new experiences!”
“Cheers to that!” Eva replied, taking a generous gulp of her martini. As her focus drifted back to the floor, she was suddenly taken with the degree of intimacy shared by so many people around the room. While some were simply holding hands across their tables, others were kissing and caressing each other in various stages of apparent arousal, while many others were bumping and grinding against one another unashamedly on the dance floor.
“Jennifer, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Of course not, Eva. We’re here to let our hair down, remember? Ask away.”
“Well, I was wondering as I look around the room, so many people seem to be…hooking up, so to speak. I’ve often wondered—how does that work? I mean, all these people are essentially locked in eleven-year-old bodies, aren’t they? How do they, you know—get together—and where does the urge come from? I mean physiologically speaking.”
“Yes, I suppose that must seem a bit odd to you, Eva. With your unique hormonal dynamics, you must wonder where these juveniles get all their sexual energy. Actually, everybody receives his or her first natural boost in reproductive hormones around the age of ten—at a stage called gonadarche. Though juveniles are not actually capable of reproduction at this stage since their sex glands are not fully developed, everybody by this time is pretty much otherwise capable of experiencing sex in the normal manner.”
“Capable and interested are two different things,” remarked Eva. “From the look of things in this room, it appears there are a lot of interested people!”
“Ironically,” Jennifer continued, “it’s the amount of testosterone in the bodies of both males and females which regulates everyone’s libido. Although these levels may not be as high as yours, especially at certain phases in your cycle, they are more than sufficient at this particular juvenile stage to create both the interest and the ability to engage in sex.”
“But aren’t these hormones suppressed and controlled after the pituitary is removed?” Eva enquired. “I mean, just how effectively does the skin patch actually replace them, anyhow?”
“There’s the rub, so to speak. Unlike the natural pulsative pattern of hormone flows in people who have not had their pituitary removed like yourself, the patch provides a much more steady or constant flow of these same hormones. So their libido levels are normally more controlled, as opposed to the ebbs and surges you may be used to.”
“Yes, especially when I’m on these fertility drugs. I don’t know exactly what you endocrinologists give me during these treatments, but they do more than just make me produce more eggs.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that, but it can’t be avoided. The same drugs that stimulate your ovaries to increase their production of estrogen and progesterone in the middle of your cycle also produce higher levels of the excitement hormone, testosterone.”
“I’m not really complaining,” Eva hastened to add, “it’s just that I don’t have the same opportunities that you do to act on my urges.”
Just as Jennifer was thinking about how to appropriately reply, the gentleman who had earlier offered his seat to Eva returned to the bar.
“Excuse me, ladies, I see you’re running a little low—may I buy you another drink?”
“Thank you,” replied Jennifer, pleased to have a welcome distraction at such an opportune moment. “I’ll have another martini if you’re offering.”
“I’ll have a Virgin Mary,” said Eva.
The gentleman looked at Eva inquisitively.
“I’m watching my figure.”
“If you don’t mind my saying Madam, I think a lot of people are watching your figure this evening.” He was obviously quite taken with Eva’s beauty. “You look magnificent—even more beautiful in real life than on television.”
“Thank you, sir.” Eva replied, beginning to enjoy this stranger’s attention.
“My name’s Mike,” said the juvenile, extending his hand.
“Well if you’ve seen me on television, I suppose you know who I am,” Eva said, taking Mike’s noticeably smaller hand in hers. “I’m Eva, and this is my friend Jennifer.”
“Pleased to meet you Jennifer,” Mike replied, quickly shifting his focus back to Eva. “You know Eva, I couldn’t help noticing that you seemed a little out of your element here this evening.”
Eva chuckled. “Yes, I have to admit I don’t go to these kinds of places very often. I’ve got to keep up my matronly image, you know.”
“That’s not exactly a word I would use to describe you, Eva. Besides, you’ve given this place a little kick in the pants this evening. Perhaps you should get out more often?”
“I think you may be right about that,” Eva said,
smiling and beginning to feel more comfortable.
Jennifer had been carefully appraising Mike during his exchange with Eva. Although she found him charming and attractive, she was much more interested in him as a potential candidate for Eva.
“Tell us about yourself Mike,” she interjected. “What do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?” said Eva. “I didn’t think people got into trouble anymore.”
“I’m a corporate lawyer,” laughed Mike. “We try to keep people out of trouble—you know, through good contracts, that sort of thing. How about you, Jennifer?” he asked, temporarily diverting his attention from Eva.
“I’m an endocrinologist.”
“Ah—so you’re the one who helps keep our biological clocks ticking on schedule?”
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”
“I make eggs,” Eva deadpanned. “Lots and lots of eggs.” She paused for dramatic effect. “And every now and then, real people.”
“How quaint,” kidded Mike, with a knowing smile. “That seems to have become a bit of a lost art. My mother used to say that was the most important job in the world. I would have to say that is even more true today.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” Eva said, beginning to feel an odd attraction to this handsome juvenile. She suddenly found herself at a loss for words. “Um…what do you think of what they’ve done with this place, Mike?”
“It’s beautiful, though you’ve really got to get on the dance floor to appreciate it. The swirling lightshow coupled with the amazing views out the window—is really quite intoxicating.”
“Don’t you get dizzy from the rotation of the building while you’re dancing?” Eva asked.
“Not at all. It’s a slow rotation, so you barely notice it. Would you like to give it a try?”
Eva hesitated for a moment.
“Thanks Mike, but I don’t want to leave my friend right now.”
“I understand,” Mike said, trying to conceal his disappointment. “I’ll give you two a chance to relax. Let me know if you decide to change your mind, Eva. It was a pleasure meeting you both.” Slinking away, he melted back into the crowd.
Jennifer looked at Eva in astonishment.
“Why didn’t you take him up on his offer, Eva? You don’t have to worry about me—I can take care of myself. You should have some fun and let yourself loose!”
“I hardly know the fellow. And you know how self-conscious I am about mixing with juveniles. Besides, how can you even tell how old any of these people really are? Everyone looks eleven. I’d hate to start mixing it up with a real eleven-year-old by mistake—that would be totally creepy!”
“Well you of all people should know there have been very few new births or hypophysectomies in recent years. The last major group of juveniles was born over thirty years ago, when the final generation of adult females passed through menopause. Besides, I don’t think you have much to worry about with Mike. It still takes more than eleven years to become a lawyer, you know. He seems like a nice enough fellow—well dressed and well spoken. You should go shake your booty!”
Eva shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Don’t you think it’s just a little weird for a fully mature woman like me to be even thinking about um…mixing it up with under-developed juveniles?”
“It’s a brave new world out there, Eva. It seems everyone is hooking up with everyone—and anyone—nowadays. Age and gender don’t seem to play the same roles they once did, when people’s primary concern was about forming a traditional pair-bond and raising children. Now the act of coupling has become far more of a social activity than a biological or reproductive urge.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Eva remarked, as she noticed various mixed-gender couples touching one another suggestively on the dance floor.
Jennifer looked at Eva directly.
“Eva, if you found the right person, don’t you think you could share a close and intimate relationship just like anyone else? Besides, it’s not that unusual—there are many examples throughout the animal kingdom of females mating with much smaller males.”
“What about that whole growing old together thing?” Eva protested. “I don’t think that would quite work the same way in my case. Maybe I should just pretend I’m the much larger female tarantula spider, and dispatch my helpless mate after he’s done his duty.”
Jennifer had prepared herself for this discussion.
“With most juveniles expecting indefinite longevity, it seems all bets are off with the til death do us part idea,” She said. “Now it’s more about people sharing the moment and losing themselves in the relationship, and not worrying about the future. Plus, to be blunt, with minimal fluid exchange, we don’t have to worry so much about disease transmission any more—or in your case, unwanted pregnancy.”
“I hadn’t really thought of that. It just seems kind of unnatural…”
“If you don’t try it, how can you know you won’t like it?”
“Are you trying to get me knocked up, doctor?”
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy, Eva. You’ve got so much to offer, and I hate to see you miss out on any part of your potential.”
“Well, I can tell you that if we had come here in another two weeks, when those super-ovulating drugs really kick in, I’d probably be ready to take just about anybody home with me!”
“Perhaps we’ll have to do just that then!” Jennifer kidded. “In the meantime, why don’t you open yourself up to meeting some interesting people, like your new friend Mike?”
It was Eva’s turn to look squarely at Jennifer.
“You know, if you didn’t have first dibs on Dr. Ross, I might have made a run at him. You should count yourself lucky you got to him first, you little devil. Speaking of which, when are you two going to get together? I can be a match-maker too, you know!”
Jennifer had become so preoccupied with Eva’s love life, she’d almost forgotten about her own. Her thoughts suddenly turned to Rick. She had in fact been thinking quite a bit about him recently, having been alternately excited and perplexed.
When was he going to ask me out? she wondered. He seems interested, but he’s not exactly making any passes. Am I going to have to trip over him to make him notice me?
As Jennifer contemplated Rick’s intentions, she caught sight of Mike approaching the bar once again, this time his gaze firmly fixed on Eva. As she glanced instinctively at Eva, she saw her new friend returning his attention with an equally intense focus—and a hint of a smile.
It seemed there might be a little promise for at least one of the girls tonight…
14
Calvin James sat gloomily in the tiny rectory of his church on 14th Street, ruminating over the developments of the past few weeks and what he’d accomplished in his life. Although he’d achieved a measure of success raising attention to the immorality of the hypophysectomy program and had enlisted a number of juveniles to his cause, the impact had been limited primarily to the relatively narrow confines of his own parish district and the local New York City press.
He had failed to raise widespread alarm over the consequences of interfering with God’s natural design, and he feared that the world was rapidly losing its moral and spiritual compass. On a purely selfish level, he was more aware every passing day that his small congregation’s weekly tithe was barely sufficient to cover the costs of maintaining his crumbling church, let alone his own living expenses, and he felt that he was slowly losing his constituency. As much as it pained him to acknowledge, he knew he was becoming increasingly marginalized under the new secular order, and that to most people in the outside world, he was little more than a pariah.
This had not been his plan. He’d seen himself as God’s chosen one, literally the last of his kind—standing head and shoulders above the rest of humanity—who, like Moses, would lead the disbelievers and suffering masses out of the wilderness of modern tyranny, back to the light. He was
supposed to be the guardian of the faith, a revered spiritual leader, and a role model for humanity. But it had all failed.
Where had he gone wrong? He had faithfully carried God’s word and been a loyal servant his entire life. He had sacrificed worldly possessions and resisted the temptations of the flesh—which at times was unbearable, with a cruel allotment of male testosterone naturally coursing through his veins. All this, in the name of upholding and protecting the Lord’s faith.
Christ, Calvin implored, looking up for divine guidance, why have you forsaken me? Beseeching the heavens, he cried out angrily: What more do you expect of me?!
But Calvin’s mind soon shifted back to reality, for there was another critical matter bothering him this Sunday evening. Just as his father had feared for Calvin’s safety and protected him from the authorities by spiriting him away prior to their attempt to hypophysectomize the boy, Calvin’s own son Elias was nearing the time when he would be expected to undergo the same operation. Although Calvin had done everything in his power to resist the procedure by arguing the matter all the way to the Supreme Court, ultimately it was established that it was a decision left up to the child, after joint consultation with his parents and Family Services.
Calvin knew his son had been brainwashed by the ubiquitous liberal media about the consequences of this decision, and that Elias was becoming increasingly fearful and reticent about foregoing the procedure. Furthermore, although Calvin had tried to keep Elias’s current age hidden from public scrutiny by home-schooling him and by exempting him from his tax filing, he knew that his son’s birthdate would have been registered at the hospital where Elias was delivered and that somebody was likely keeping track of when he was due for the procedure. In fact, he’d been receiving increasingly urgent notices to bring Elias in for a Child Services interview and knew that he wouldn’t be able to put them off much longer.
He resolved to take Elias away soon to a place where no one could ever find them—the same place his father had hid him thirty years ago—where he would be able to convince Elias of the righteous path to salvation. But what would this mean in terms of his own legacy? Calvin wasn’t sure how much longer it would take for his son to pass through puberty and achieve the safe status of a mature adult. It could be a year, or longer; Elias was only eleven. During their time of hiding, who would attend to his congregation’s needs? Who would carry the torch and rail against the infidels to protect God’s Kingdom against further attack? He was already losing the battle—how could he save it from crumbling entirely in his absence?