Some call me a visionary, others a nerd, but most call me perverted. That's why I'm in this institution, undergoing mundane group therapies, watching headcases substantiate their titles, and secretly flushing the medicinal concoctions I'm given daily. At first, I was angry; but have learned to become a passive drone, partially in self-preservation, and partially because the staff remains blissfully unaware that I continue my “disgusting” research with my true friend and co-conspirator at the lab. Cheryl is a true poster child for Walmart, disguised in a lab coat and coke bottle lenses that create a most annoying asthmatic nasal wheeze. Through clandestine weekly data transfer on the back blank pages of the novels she brings me during visiting hours, we are perfecting the libido serum I spent the better part of post graduate school developing. Once released from this “civilized” behavioral modification prison, we will distribute the serum under an “herbal” label liberally and earn an esteemed place in medical history for our discovery.
Perhaps a little background would be in order. I came from a two sibling christian conservative family that matured in a quiet suburban community. My folks were of the scientific persuasion, both had jobs in different research facilities. Their hours were long but their love for Jake (my brother) and myself was genuine and uncompromising, insuring our needs were always met with patience and understanding. Jake was my polar opposite; firstborn and highly protective, he pursued everything and anything masculine, excelling in physical activities while struggling with the academics. I was a relatively mousy scholarly type, excelling in the sciences while avoiding all but the mandatory social scenes. Jake eventually left home for a prestigious university on a football scholarship, and I graduated from a less prestigious university on a science scholarship. Following my parents' footsteps I was soon employed at a bio lab on the west coast, and Jake soon gained a foothold in a prominent legal office in the Midwest. The family always got together for holidays and special occasions as our love for one another was undeterred by distance.
Somewhere during my senior year in high school, I became curious about the opposite gender, but lacking the necessary social skills, I suffered a string of rejections until prom night, when the only remaining available male asked me to join him. Encouraged – no forced by my family, I timidly accepted, and experienced a crash course in the alien world of make-up and social amenities. Fortunately, my nerd date, Riley, was also quite inexperienced and we spent the frustrating evening learning from our collective mistakes. The following week, I enrolled in several introductory level courses at the college, and was mildly surprised when Riley called and offered dinner at a fairly upscale seafood restaurant. Fearing familial reprisal, I accepted and grudgingly pulled my formal gown from the plastic sheath it hand been stored in since the day my Mother purchased it for me.
The meal was surprisingly tasteful, and the conversation barely tolerable. With a little too much Chablis, I accepted his offer for a drive in his new convertible. We drove along the starlit seas somewhat apprehensively until he parked in a remote overlook and nervously offered a kiss. It was tolerable, but when I looked over his thin frame, freckle speckled face, and thick black rimmed glasses; I knew it would take an act of divine intervention to pass first base and feigned nausea. Although he graciously accepted my apology, he never called again.
By my junior year, I had established my academic competence, and was enlisted to help tutor the the freshman newbies floundering with entry level equations. One of the students was a “jock” with the mathematical aptitude as a Precambrian rock, but with masculine assets that triggered my primal urges. Despite my best efforts of concealment, Brad was aware of my attraction, and on the third session he convinced me to expose parts of my anatomy only my doctor had seen before. It was a turning point in my career and my life, as his exposed engorged apparatus inspired both awe and inspiration that would soon dominate my conscious thought. Far from knowledgeable in the art of female stimulation, his beautiful organ was more than sufficient arousal to sustain his brutal assault on my virginity. My battered vagina was quickly filled with his ejaculate despite my best efforts to introduce foreplay. He was gone before I could recover.
Some might refer to the encounter as date rape, but for me it was a marvelous sexual awakening. His magnificent organ, a thick throbbing mindlessly sensitive tool, was able to expose his vulnerabilities while fulfilling my own with brutally beautiful efficiency unmatched in the natural world. I immediately immersed myself in the myriad of media dedicated to human sexuality and was surprised to find the fleeting nature of its induced euphoria. Usually, within a few years of initial bonding, the rapture dwindled into memory for all but a fortunate few. Differing coping mechanisms from medicinal supplements to multiple partners were often tried, until inevitably, the initial euphoria was replaced with material substitutes that eventually proved themselves woefully inadequate. Described in one text as the “human condition,” I rejected the common adage of acceptance and immediately began to compile research on the origins of sexual abandonment.
I met Cheryl during one of my fact finding missions to a rest home. Enthusiastic and curious, she assisted me during my interviews, often able to extract critical information with ease. During a break over a cup of surprisingly well brewed coffee, I learned she was woefully inexperienced and had conceded to spend her life void of sexual fulfillment. We connected immediately, and I disclosed my research motives and objectives which she gleefully acknowledged and vowed her complete support. With gentle encouragement, I soon convinced her to get back into the “meat market,” and her life soared. On several occasions we shared our partners and even experimented with each other sexually. We became inseparable, sharing an apartment and experiences with trusted confidence few shared.
Once I was securely established with PenChem, I was given access to their vast chemical procurement accounts and high end laboratories. Immediately I began formulating potential fertility serums from both known and untested aphrodisiacs. Preliminary results were disastrous, and the multitude of required test prohibitive. On several occasions, I suspended my efforts to maintain my grips with reality. During these breaks, I would pursue my experiences with the beautiful organ that offered an endless variety of sensations. I learned the critical interaction of the minds' overall contribution to fulfillment, and the mental triggers that needed to be enhanced to provide the highest and prolonged level of orgasmic release. Cheryl contributed her perspectives eagerly, often employing the sum of our collective observations on some unsuspecting candidate. Although our physical attributes were not conducive to attracting our male counterparts, our attitudes and techniques spawned a continual supply of potential suitors. We kept our encounters brief and noncommittal to avoid stereotyping, while reinforcing new techniques to insure the highest level of mutual satisfaction was mutually achieved.
By the end of my second year of research, I had blended bremelanotides, allicin, boron, folic acid, and several stabilizing elements into a formidable compound that made the lab rats aggressive super sexed rodents. Rhesus primates responded even more favorably, with a two drop diluted dose for an aging female, Molly; the entire collection of five males were repeatedly drained over a 36-hour period. Their recovery, once the genders were separated, was rapid and uneventful. I shared the results with Cheryl who begged me for a sample and the following weekend was reserved under the conditions that I would be allowed to select her partner and monitor their vitals for any incongruities.
On Friday evening, I arrived with a small vial of test serum, a couple of pizzas, and a kindly middle aged volunteer I had secured from the local fertility clinic. He appeared in good physical condition for his age despite a history of ED. Cheryl was dressed in a sexy nightie, and with a few ground rules and a quick check of their vitals, I carefully measured a teaspoon of the light brown serum into two glasses of water. The effect was immediate; Cheryl's aggressiveness was almost frightening and her appetite was appalling. Her counterpart, Chet, was almost immediately up to the task at hand. With foreplay a mere afterthought, both recipients were disrobed with their faces in each others crotch. Judging from bulge in Cheryl cheeks, the serum effectively negated his ED and restored any libido issues they may have had.
I must confess, the next several hours of debauchery would make a seasoned porn star blush, and despite my best efforts to document their vitals, I finally had to throw down the clipboard in frustration. My two possessed subjects were so engrossed in their passion, they couldn't be separated, and I finally retired to the comfort of the overstuffed lounge with my favorite toy to observe and “take the edge off” my overactive libido. During an extended love making session, I slid off the chair onto his mouth, where his highly experienced tongue exposed previously unknown areas of sensitivity that thrust me into a series of explosive orgasms. After several more minutes of mindless rutting and a final desperate lunge into Cheryl's sperm soaked orifice, Chet rolled onto his back with exhaustion. Cheryl leaped to her feet, and after a quick shower and change of clothes, announced her need to party. Leaving Chet in an exhausted heap on the floor, I sped to the seedy redneck “strip.” While I parked, Cheryl made a hasty exit to survey the scenery.
When I entered, she was on all fours on a small table being pounded from behind by a well endowed leather clad character her Mother surely warned her about. Behind his pumping hips, a line of would be suitors had formed in various stages of undress, massaging their packages into readiness. It was a remarkable display of the male anatomy with a multitude of various sizes and shapes in various states of arousal obscenely displayed for my unsolicited assessment. I made my way to the now empty bar and the aging bartender set down a freshly opened beer next to me.
“Reckon I might get in line,” he mumbled barely audibly over the blaring jukebox.
I turned around and observed, “I don't see any line.”
A smile slowly crossed his face and he gently took my hand and led me behind the bar as my hand appraised his package through his clothes. A quick tug at the belt, and his pants slid to the floor unceremoniously. His pudgy hands gently slid under my t-shirt to my breasts and slid my bra up over the aroused flesh to tease my nipples. As I tugged his underwear down, I beheld a small uncut member more aptly fitted to a young boy. Turning me gently to view the unfolding debauchery of my best friend, I leaned over the bar permitting his full access to my genitals. Gently, after several unsuccessful attempts, I felt his “noodle” penetrate my labial folds and begin a slow gentle massage that was uniquely fulfilling. By the time his warm seed oozed into my receptive canal, the “size matters” debate had been superseded by the importance of technique. I thanked him as I rearranged my attire, and wandered over to Cheryl's prone form.
Used beyond human limits; with bruise wounds sprinkled all over her body, a distended vulva oozing gallons of spent seed, and the biggest smile I've ever seen her carry, I turned her body over gingerly as the bar tender came over with several towels and helped me to wipe her down. We wrapped her in a clean tablecloth, and he helped me ease her into the car while discussing the problems with emergency medical intervention. The bar tender graciously offered me $100 for her care and to keep our mouths shut. Although she was almost too weak to speak, she kept reassuring me she would be alright during the drive home. Once I drove into the driveway, Chet rushed out to help her into bed, and by the time I finished my shower, I could hear them going at it again. The next day, they left the bedroom only to briefly nourish themselves.
Upon returning from some errands Sunday, I found Cheryl on the sofa, exhausted and sore, but otherwise the beloved roommate that had anxiously downed the serum 48-hours earlier. I asked her to describe everything she could recollect while still fresh and shared my admiration for her courage and resolve. Chet emerged from a steamy shower naked and I seized the opportunity to carefully study the rigid red tool that had thoroughly ravished Cheryl over the course of the past two days. It was tender to the touch and still almost painfully erect, yet with a few gentle strokes, several globs of his essence erupted violently and splattered on the floor. With his virility no longer in question, we briefly stated our concerns over tenure. For the next several hours, they discussed their erotic evolutions, and confirmed an absence of negative side effects. He had to leave shortly thereafter although his desire to remain was almost tearfully apparent. She recommended the senior center as an excellent test bed which I quickly dispelled as premature albeit promising.
The following week was filled with procurement of the necessary materials, carefully monitored mixing and fermenting, and an endless compilation of data analysis. I barely slept, and without the understanding support of my roommate, would never have completed the oppressive schedule. Friday, I returned to the facility where Cheryl worked and accepted volunteers after carefully checking their health data. Human test subjects are generally frowned upon by the pharmaceutical companies, yet the early success coupled with the prohibitive battery of required lab tests made human test far more practical. A minimum dose of the cola flavored serum was distributed to the residents with excellent health records and Cheryl was sworn to secrecy.
Saturday morning's anticipation quickly turned into a geriatric horror movie when we arrived. Semi-naked residents were running wildly through the fenced in institution with orderlies in hot pursuit. I've never envisioned so many flopping breasts and rigid wrinkled cocks in bawdy unrestrained action! Those who declined the serum and managed to hide were holed up in a small locked annex where supplies were stored. With no anecdote, we were helpless after herding the sex crazed recipients into their resident bedrooms, and I quickly returned to the lab to consider the medicinal options.
Later that afternoon, when visiting hours commenced, my fate was sealed and I was arrested. My Brother Jake, flew out to help with my defense, but after reading the indictments and statements, concluded an insanity plea would be my best recourse. Deceiving the psychology quacks was surprisingly simple; most were deranged already. In a highly publicized lightning trial, I was convicted and sentenced to a mental institution for an indefinite period of time. At our tearful farewell, I gave Jake a pint of my serum in appreciation, and he soon became instrumental to marketing and distribution. Cheryl has the remainder of the serum secretly stored in a discreet location less a small quantity she has prudently distributed to trustworthy individuals; the judge's wife being one of the first.
Several months later, two agents from Homeland Security escorted me to an undisclosed location in the middle of the night where I was tearfully reunited with Cheryl. A General with a no sense of humor had my release form and offered to sign it if I were to surrender all my research to date, permanently discontinue further similar research, and disavow any knowledge of said research. In return, he offered freedom from a lifetime in the loony bin, a permanent research position at a leading medical institution, and dismissal of all pending charges against Cheryl as an accomplice. I grudgingly accepted if Cheryl would be employed as my assistant. The release papers were signed and the accumulation of my research was packed in the back of an unmarked government van the next day (save a few vials of serum Cheryl had hidden beneath her underwear in the dresser).
Above a remote Korean border outpost, a small unmarked drone sprayed a fine pine scented mist that lazily drifted on the slight breeze for several sparsely populated miles. Shortly thereafter, a squad of specially trained Navy Seals walked through the frontier, and within minutes had tapped into the communication network. Once the “eavesdropping” monitor was discreetly planted, they slipped past the mist induced orgy unnoticed to the safety of their headquarters. A new era in warfare had officially begun.
Meanwhile, I had just bottled my latest batch of serum in the underground lab despite Cheryl's objections. After all, I had met the three criteria I had agreed to; 1)All my research had been surrendered, 2)All my research had been suspended; I had already perfected the serum and 3)We were sworn to secrecy. I suggested we give the new batch a test run, and within moments, we were both underway to the sleazy district in sailor town.