"I know."
"I don't want to lose that."
"I don't, either."
Then she pulled me to her.
Chapter 7
THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO, before the virus, some people – I guessed they were mostly men – were supposedly "sex addicts." I didn't know if those men and women had been physically driven to have constant sex, but I knew I was. I qualified in every possible way as a "sex addict," even if I was still only a kid. And if the addicts of old felt anything like what I was feeling, my heart went out to them. At least as an official hyper, I wasn't judged for those feelings.
I had sex every time I could with Mary and Gertie. Mary's roommate, another female university student, wasn't around much, and neither was her boyfriend, Rick, who spent most of his time at school. Like most "ninety-nine percenters," Rick felt no strong desire to hang out except during his "time," so Mary was free most days of the week. Sometimes I thought Mary was developing feelings for me, and sometimes I felt a strong affection for her that verged on being something more – but then she'd say or do something that made it clear she thought of me as a useful tool and nothing more, and I would feel relief along with a little hurt.
Gertie was more complicated. I'd known her since first grade. We did have a "special connection," as she kept telling me now. I cared about her, and I enjoyed being with her apart from the physical. She would've been devastated if she found out about Mary. But as wildly fond of sex as she'd become, she still couldn't come close to matching my desire. Three Gerties wouldn't have been enough. Being with one girl would be like having a glass of milk or a slice of toast for dinner. I wasn't sure what a "full meal" would be for me now, but I had the feeling that it might be a Las Vegas casino smorgasbord.
Melanie was avoiding me religiously. She stayed behind her closed bedroom door, bursting out for a quick dash to the kitchen or bathroom whenever I was in my room.
I would normally ask my sister what her problem was, but now I didn't want to know. The last thing I wanted now was to hear more about her feelings, especially when they probably involved me.
News about me had slowly spread through my East Jefferson neighborhood. Not surprising, since everyone at school knew and probably had told their parents. I got a lot of looks, and not just from women. "There goes that hyper kid," I heard them say.
Alice Morgan, a single working mom at the end of the block, called to me as I jogged by one morning – I ran everywhere these days – and asked if I'd be interested in mowing her lawn that Saturday. I'd swallowed and said "Sure."
Alice Morgan was, of course, drop-dead gorgeous. Keith called her "yummylicious." On the weekends, she hung out in the yard or park with her young children in short-short gym trunks that burrowed happily into the folds of her firm butt, while a skimpy tank top clung to her slim but curvy upper body. Long, dark brown Julia Roberts hair spilled over her well-formed shoulders. Her eyes were some weird iridescent shade of blue, possibly even purple.
Alice Morgan was an example of what would've been an impossible fantasy in my former life. Now my hyper sense was tingling. It was no longer unthinkable that my super-hot neighbor might be interested in me. It was as though I'd awakened from a dream about flying to discover I actually could fly! Yet I couldn't help thinking that my wings would soon melt and I'd crash back to Earth.
I guessed I'd find out this Saturday if I could truly fly or not.
Mom made a rare appearance for dinner. She seemed troubled, preoccupied – not exactly new territory for her – but what was new was that it had anything to do with me.
"Aiden," she said, as she assembled dinner. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"
"I guess." I fought a paranoid feeling that she somehow knew about my hyper shenanigans. But how could she know about that when she hadn't even noticed that her daughter had devolved into perpetual pouting?
"You know that for the last few years my biggest priority at work has been developing a drug that would counteract male estrus syndrome?"
"I've heard rumors to that effect."
My mom's smile was more a wince. "I know, I bring home my work too often and blather about it to you. The penalty of not having a husband, I suppose. Though when I did unburden myself to him, he had no interest..."
I stood there trying to appear sympathetic while suppressing an inner sigh. My mom and her work/relationship problems weren't exactly foremost on my mind these days.
"Anyway," she continued, "as you may or may not know, we've been trying for years to synthesize hyper hormones and other blood factors, but so far, nothing we or anyone else has done has had any significant effect. So my latest idea is to go back to basics: test hyper blood and sperm more thoroughly than ever, and rather than attempt to distill and synthesize 'hyper factors,' we biologically duplicate what we find and test it out."
Her words dragged me out of my more pressing preoccupations. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me you want my sperm?"
My mom blanched. That had come out so totally wrong it was beyond funny. I waited for her laugh and brush that absurd suggestion aside, but instead she stood there looking guilty.
"When you put it that way," she said with a thin smile, "it really doesn't sound right."
"So you're being serious?"
Mom slapped some pork chops on the frying pan. I always found it strange to watch her doing mundane things. It was like watching my P.E. teacher recite Shakespeare or the first thousand digits of Pi.
"The lab is hoping to obtain blood and fluid samples from a hyper," she said, not looking at me. "No one's asked me about you, and I haven't offered. I wanted to run the idea by you first."
"But you think I should do it?"
"I didn't say that." My mom turned off the stove and faced me. "I want to make something clear, Aiden. To me, you are more important – vastly more important – than my work. But I honestly think this is the most productive line of research, and I desperately want to find a cure to this hideous condition. You have no idea, Aiden, how miserable it is living in a society where most men are functionally impotent 97% of the time. Also, if it matters, CellEvolve is willing to pay a large sum of money to a hyper willing to submit to a few tests."
"How large?"
She shrugged, turning to the sink to wash her hands. "I'd only be guessing, but I'm certain it would be substantial. Enough to pay for your college, I'm sure."
"I didn't think our college education would be a problem for you."
"It wouldn't. We're not rich, but I make a very generous salary. Still, we could set up a trust fund, and turning sixteen, you're probably going to want your own car –"
"And maybe his own private jet while you're at it," Melanie chimed in, making both of us jump. "It's not as if what I want would have any importance. I'm not a precious hyper prodigy, after all."
My mom gazed at a space somewhere between us as if seeking some better third option.
"Melanie," she said. "Your woe is me act is getting tiresome."
"How could you be getting tired of it since you're almost never home?"
Mom dried her hands, eyeing the ceiling as though offering up a prayer. "If you can set aside your self-righteous teenager for a moment, why don't you come in and help set the table?"
"Hyperboy is standing right next to you, why don't you ask him? I mean, you're asking him for his junk – asking him to set the table doesn't seem like so much."
"You heard that?" I asked.
"Do I look deaf?"
"I've had a very long day, Melanie," said my mom. "I'm afraid I lack the energy for your drama at this moment. You clearly have some pent-up resentment, which we can discuss later, if you want. Right now I'm going to have a glass of wine and enjoy my dinner."
"Don't let me stop you." Melanie grabbed her purse and marched to the front door – slamming it behind her with enough force to shake the house.
"God," my mom whispered.
I helped her set out the plates and food. I felt bad about Melanie, but
the smell of freshly fried pork chops displaced all thoughts but eating. I piled on two chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and three steaming bread buns and dug in while my mom sipped her red wine and looked on with a pained smile.
"It's nice to see someone enjoy my cooking," she said. "Though I suspect you'd eat steamed shoe leather in your current condition."
"Maybe for dessert."
She laughed. "It's the double-whammy of going through a growth spurt and the 'change' at the same time. By the way, I did bring home a fresh blueberry pie from the bakery, and ice cream."
"Almost as if you're trying to bribe me," I said between wolfish bites.
My mom's smile slipped away. "I hope you know better than that, Aiden. I would never place my work before you. If I thought there was anything exploitive or risky about it, it wouldn't even be a question."
"I believe you, Mom."
"Good. Thank you." Her smile returned. She reached across the table and grasped my hand. "It's nice not to be vilified by one of my children, anyway."
I tried not to notice the warm tingling spreading up my forearm from her touch. I resisted pulling my arm away. I also resisted the feeling that I didn't want her to let go. My own mom. God, being hyper sucked sometimes.
As if sensing my thoughts, Mom withdrew her hand – but slowly, as if it required some effort. She brushed back a bang from her brow where a fine line of perspiration had formed.
"I've noticed that something is up with your sister," she said, wiping her brow with a napkin. "Has she said anything to you?"
"She broke up with her boyfriend a while back."
"Oh. That makes sense. If she thinks it's bad now, wait until she's an adult."
"Maybe you shouldn't tell her that."
My mom sighed. "Maybe not, but she'll learn soon enough on her own, believe me. By the way, have you noticed any change in your sister's attitude toward you since you went off Andrydox?"
I half-choked on a wedge of pork chop. "Uh, why do you ask that?"
"Because I've noticed a difference." She fanned the air in front of her face. "I think your pheromones are even more intense now."
"You think so?" To cover my embarrassment, I downed my glass of milk and buried my third pork chop under another heaping helping of mashed potatoes.
"You're probably reaching your peak hormone levels," she said. "Between growth and hyper hormones, you've got a potent cocktail."
I forced a casual shrug.
"But about your sister? I don't believe you answered my question. Which I suppose is an answer in itself."
"She has seemed more moody lately," I said. "She's also been hanging out in her room a lot. Seems to be avoiding me."
My mom nodded. "I'm not surprised. She's no doubt uncomfortable with the feelings that being around you generates."
I decided not to comment. I wanted to ask her if she was uncomfortable, too, but really did not want to go there. We ate for a while in blessed silence. As I drained my second glass of milk, my thoughts turned, thankfully, to images of cool cars. I'd never had the slightest interest in cars before.
"What would I have to do if I agreed to become your company's guinea pig?" I asked.
"Good question." She poured herself another glass of wine. "Periodic blood, skin, and saliva samples. Some miscellaneous testing." She took a long, steadying sip. "And yes, your 'junk,' as your sister so charmingly put it."
"How long would these tests go on?"
"I don't know. I'm guessing a few months at most, but possibly longer."
I cleaned my plate with my remaining bun and stuffed it into my mouth. I chewed thoughtfully before swallowing.
"Well, I guess I don't see any harm in talking to them about it," I said.
SATURDAY ARRIVED, and my lawn-mowing date with my ultra-sexy neighbor, Alice Morgan, was at hand. Despite being with Mary and Gertie the day before, I was overflowing with pent-up passion. I knew I might be counting my chickens before they hatched, but all morning long I couldn't stop imagining her shorn of her perpetually clingy gym shorts.
"I can't believe how much you've grown, Aiden!" Alice greeted me at the front door. "Let's go into the garage, where I keep the mower. While you're at it, maybe you can help me decipher the new watering system I just had installed."
"Sure."
She guided me inside with a warm hand on my shoulder, wearing her usual gym shorts. In the garage, she tapped the door opener, and the area was soon flooded with bright summer light.
"Here's the control panel," she said. "This dratted drought has been killing my water bills, so I thought I'd try for better control setting. It's all on timers with drip tubes, but I can't make much sense of them, to be honest."
I popped open the plastic control panel door. It seemed fairly straightforward to me. I tried to explain the tube routing and timing controls, but Alice groaned and asked if I'd just adjust them to the settings she wanted. She watched, hardly two feet away, ooohing and aahhhing as I worked my magic.
She escorted me to her lawnmower, which she confessed hadn't started the last time she'd tried. I'd been in charge of mowing our lawn for years, and I knew a trick or two. Luckily, it was only a loose sparkplug wire.
"I must've pulled the rope a hundred times," she cried.
"You could've pulled it for all eternity," I said, clicking the sparkplug wire in place, "but unless it was struck by lightning, it never would've started."
"Ha-ha! You're funny. That's all it was – one loose wire?"
"Hopefully." I basked in her appreciation. In her eyes, I thought, not only was I a manly repair dude, but I was witty, too. I seemed to be off to a good start.
"Well, I'll let you get to it," she said. "There's some treats and a cold drink of your choice waiting for you when you're done."
The lawnmower started on the first try, and I was soon galloping over the lawn, my feet scarcely touching the ground. I imagined I was in a horse-race movie, guiding my motorized steed to a victory prize that just might rock my world.
I was so caught up with my rousing fantasies and the stimulating rumble of the lawnmower that I didn't notice the gaggle of giggling girls watching with covered mouths from the sidewalk. A mortified glance downward confirmed that I was taking my fantasies more than just to heart.
I performed a sharp left at the corner and sprinted to the side garage door. Inside, I slumped against the wall, wiping the stinging sweat of humiliation from my eyes with one sleeve.
Naturally, the inside house door opened and Alice Morgan poked her head out.
"Are you okay? I heard the door slam..."
Her eyes alighted on the swollen source of my mortification.
"Oh my," she said. "Maybe you should, um, come inside. You look a little overheated."
She held open the door. I squeezed past.
"Let me get you something to drink. Maybe that would help."
I followed her into the kitchen, my eyes tracking her bouncing rump. Maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed to be sashaying in slow-motion, and I had to slow down to avoid bumping into her.
At her fridge, she bent over beside the open door, shuffling stuff around inside for an eternity while I watched the thin cloth of her shorts stretch taut around her creamy buns. I swallowed once, twice, three times. I was sure I recognized this scene, if not the actress, from one of my porn videos. The plumber or landscape worker or pool man comes in out of the heat and is offered a cool drink by a scantily clad and provocatively posed young woman.
"Sprite, Pepsi, tea, or sports drink?"
Or me? "Sprite," I croaked.
She handed me a can. She stood less than one foot away while I fumbled with the tab. Rather than diminishing, my protuberance appeared to be reaching upward for her like a desperate child. Alice's face glowing pinkly, no doubt embarrassed on my behalf.
"I think I'll, uh, sit down," I said.
"You've got nothing to be ashamed of," said Alice, sounding quite earnest. "Quite the opposite. Trust me on that.
"
I shuffled over to the kitchen table and hunched over my drink.
"Look, Aiden," she said, "I know you're hyper. I think everyone around here does. So I understand how you could end up in this...position."
"Thanks. Still, I'm sorry about this."
"Nothing to be sorry about. It's good to know some men are still real men." She gave a nervous laugh. "Even if he's a very young man."
I nursed my soft drink, giving myself a chance to think this through. My sense of being in a porn movie had fizzled. Her emphasis on "young" put me in my place. I was back to being a mere teenage boy. What had I been thinking?
Alice sat down next to me with some bottled water, bumping my leg with her knee. I was surprised she had any hard places on her. I edged away to make space.
"Where are your children?" I asked.
"They're off visiting my sister for the weekend. I wanted some downtime, and they love spending time with their cousins."
"Oh."
She smiled. Up close, Alice Morgan's purple-blue eyes shone with a glistening luminescence – like a heated pool you might sink into. She had full soft lips, a chiseled straight nose, and pink, rounded cheeks. Her hair fell forward over her lush, ivory features as she leaned forward, and I felt drawn forward with her, into a warm and intimate space. Without thinking, I reached out and tucked the hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing her cheek. She caught my hand and held it against her face.
"You're a sweet boy," she said.
"Uh, thanks." The warmth of her cheek spread outward through my hand, raising goose bumps on my forearm.
"Sweet," she said, her smile turning rueful, "but still just a boy, working his hyper magic on me."
My body sagged. I could almost hear the air whooshing out of me as her words punctured my fantasies. Yet a small note of relief accompanied my disappointment. Gertie was only a year older, and Mary was still a young student going to school, but Alice Morgan was the mother of two and had to be late-twenties or maybe even early thirties. A real adult. I was out of my depth with her.
"How is your problem?" she asked. "Are you safe to go back to work?"
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