Reynes Syndrome
- 4 years ago
- 26
- 0
Reynes' Syndrome 2: Alessa free porn video
My name is Charlie. This is my second Reynes’ Syndrome story. Depending on how well this one does, I might write more. The first one did well. I hope this one does, also, because I like the premise, and the joy of writing them.
The stories are based on a sci-fi story I read some years ago. I don’t remember the name or the author, or even where I read it. The story supposed a world where female children stopped aging at 10, ending the human race in a single generation. (For more info, read Reynes’ Syndrome. I explain more there.)
In Reynes’ Syndrome, Rebecca experienced her 1st sexual encounter at age 15. Alessa does so in this story at age 19. A certain subset of Reynes’ Syndrome girls is very tall, 6’2” in Alessa’s case, and she has that handicap to deal with as well as being totally flat-chested. Thankfully, 6’5” tall Matthew takes note of her in school and decides to mount a pursuit.
I wanted Reynes’ Syndrome to rear its ugly head in the near future (2020), so this is set in 2029, when Alessa is a sophomore in college. The story begins Thursday, December 6, 2029, at 3:31 pm.
Alessa had little interest in boys. Little interest in girls, either, atypical of a 19 year old. Alessa was no normal girl, however. Many would question if she were a girl at all.
She stood 6’2” tall. She outstretched every girl at school, and all but extraordinarily tall boys. She weighed 153 pounds. She had never kissed a boy, nor had her body touched in a sexual way. Like all girls, she’d been smacked on the rear end a number of times (less than most girls had to endure), and it always made her angry and frustrated. Exempt from hormonal reaction, she nonetheless knew what being slapped on the rear end meant.
She was blonde, with a boyish haircut. Her green eyes sat wide apart in a narrow, boyish face. Her mouth was unusually wide, and thin-lipped. She had high cheekbones and a strong chin. Her most striking feature was a long, graceful neck. She’d been teased all her life as Gazelle Girl.
It was Thursday after class. She’d arrived home at 2:55 pm, and it was now 3:31. She sat at the edge of her mattress, phone in hand, pecking with her right forefinger. Katie wanted to pin down shopping this weekend; Hailey wanted to know what movie she preferred. Alessa said fine to whatever.
“Do you know who sent the text?” Katie asked.
Alessa had no idea. Some boy at school with a crush on her, probably. He’d gotten her cell phone number from someone and sent her a text Tuesday night. Alessa hadn’t answered--of course not--and showed Katie and Hailey the next morning. They knew her terrible secret.
“I’ll never know who it was unless he tells me,” she replied.
Hailey suspected a boy in her English Lit class. The unexpected text had mentioned Katie and Hailey by name, and English Lit was the only class that Alessa, Katie and Hailey shared. He’d asked if she’d consider going out. He’d suggested they go to a movie Saturday night. He hadn’t suggested which one.
“You should say yes,” Katie wrote.
“Why would I do that?” Alessa responded.
“The fact that you asked that question, is reason enough,” Katie chided. “You’ve never been on a date since you got here. By your own admission (yeah, I know I sound presumptuous), you’ve never even kissed a boy. It’s time to get out there, girl!”
Alessa snorted at the suggestion. “What do I do when this boy puts his hand on my boobs for a little feely uppy, Katie?”
“You let him, and then you tell him the truth.”
“That I’m a boy.”
“You are not a boy!” Katie shot back. “You’re hormonally challenged. You have XX written all over you, Alessa. No one would ever mistake you for a boy!”
“Unless I played skins in a pickup game of basketball,” Alessa wrote, amused. Which she had done as recently as a month ago, over in Syracuse.
“Dammit Alessa! Stop that!”
The phone rang, abridging the uncomfortable conversation. Alessa accepted the call, despite the unfamiliar number, anything to stop the harassment.
“Hello?”
“Is this Alessa?”
“Who’s this?”
“I sent you a text Tuesday night. I wondered if you checked with your girlfriends yet.”
A tentative smile curled her lips. “I did. How did you get my number, anyway?”
“From an acquaintance.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Yes.”
Alessa grinned. “Would you like to share it with me, sir?”
“Yes.”
Alessa laughed. “Do I have anything to be concerned about, talking to you, Mr. Yes?”
“Besides falling in love with me, no.”
Alessa laughed again. “Your voice sounds familiar. Do I know you to talk to in school?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve never had that pleasure. I’m sort of a geek.”
“I share that unfortunate distinction, too: I’m a geekette.”
Mr. Yes laughed. “I’ve noticed that about you. It’s the reason I like you.”
“Not for my looks?”
“Brains are more important than looks.”
“It was wise that I traded my looks in-utero, for my brains then, huh.”
Mr. Yes laughed. “I like your looks just fine, Alessa.”
“You are so funnyish,” she said. “Tell me your name, please, or I’ll hang up.”
“Matt.”
“Is that short for Matthew?”
“Isn’t it usually?”
“I would think.” She grinned, looking out the window at the opposite building. “You know I’m not a normal girl, Matt.”
“Define normal,” he said.
“Breasts?”
He laughed. “So overrated. I’d like to see them anyway.”
Alessa smiled crookedly. “You’d be seriously disappointed, I’m afraid.”
“You don’t have any?”
“I don’t. And that is an honest answer, Matt. I never developed breasts.”
He paused. “You don’t look under-endowed.”
“Un-endowed,” she corrected. “I wear silicone breast replacements inside my bras.”
Another pause. “You seriously don’t have breasts?”
“How many times must I tell you that, Matt?” She laughed softly.
Matt laughed in response. “This is the strangest ask-for-a-date conversation I’ve ever had. Can we FaceTime?”
“You want to see my lack of boobs firsthand?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Alessa.”
“That’s good, because I wasn’t offering to. At least, I don’t think I was,” she said, grinning. “I’m challenged in ways other than my lack of boobs, Matt. My lack of hormonal response makes it difficult to become sexually aroused, so I sometimes confuse desire with curiosity, or amusement.”
“Hormones?” he said uncertainly.
“My body does not respond to female hormones: estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone.”
“Wait ... Testosterone?” he questioned.
“Boys don’t have a monopoly on testosterone, Matt. Except in my case,” she quipped.
Matt was quiet a moment. “That’s a strange malady. You haven’t tried--”
“Hormone replacement?” She hesitated a moment. “You have to know about Reynes’ Syndrome, Matt. My condition is not as simple as hormone replacement.”
Matt said, “Reynes’ Syndrome.” A pause. “We don’t have to talk about this, if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“It makes you uncomfortable?”
“It makes me want to take your clothes off and look at you,” he said, laughing.
She grinned more widely. “You’d be severely disappointed, I’m afraid. My chest is the same as it was when I was 11 years old. I never grew pubic hair, and I don’t have underarm hair, either. I shave my legs, but I barely have to do that, because I have a preteen’s hair growth. I never developed a broadening of the hips, so my measurements are a ridiculous 30-24-28. Hunting for clothes that fit me is like hunting for pearls: they exist, but good look finding any. Do you want to know more?”
“Have you ever had sex?” he asked.
“I’ve never even kissed a boy, Matt!”
“Would you like to?”
Alessa laughed. The boy had her working hard. “Actually, I would. Just to see what it’s like to kiss. Are you volunteering to kiss me?”
“Oh, my God, yes! What do you think about sex?”
“In addition to being a very tall 11-year-old physically, I have an 11-year-old’s interest in sex. Keeping that in mind, I’d like to try that too. Just to see if I could.”
“You’re not sure, though?”
“I’m not sure of anything, Matt. I don’t menstruate. I never developed inside like other girls, so my ovaries just sit there, playing video games all day, thinking they’re 11 years old. I don’t respond to estrogen, so I don’t get horny. I’ve never put a finger up myself, because I don’t get horny. It’s all very frustrating, Matt.”
“I would imagine so. You don’t have a penis, do you?”
Alessa exploded with laughter. “No, that would be a blessing! I could play pickup basketball legit, then, couldn’t I.”
Matt did something on the other end; Alessa wasn’t sure what.
“You’re name’s really Alessa, right?”
“Let me check my driver’s license. Oh, yes,” she said, “it is.
“Do you play soccer bare-chested, too?”
“I could,” she admitted, laughing. “But I much prefer basketball. For one thing, I’m rather fragile. I’d never survive a soccer match with boys. Girl’s soccer is hard enough. What’s your real name, Matt?”
He laughed. “Matt. You played basketball in high school?”
“Here, too. You should know that, as a classmate.”
“I know I like to watch you play. I never would have pegged you as a girl without breasts. You must put something inside your bra.”
“Silicone breasts,” she reminded him. “Breast replacements.”
“Do they feel real?”
“They bounce. A little.”
“I like bouncing breasts. It says a lot about you that you choose to not beggar disbelief.”
“By purposely pretending I have small breasts?”
Matt laughed. “This conversation fascinates me, Alessa.”
“Of course, it does. You’ve never had sex with a 19 year old Reynes’ victim before.”
Matt waited a moment. “Remind me about Reynes’, Alessa. I had no idea you had it, and I don’t want you thinking I contacted you just because I was curious about you’re condition. I’ve never actually met a Reynes’ patient before.”
Alessa stood and walked to the window. The campus had experienced its first snowfall Tuesday night; white was the predominant color between buildings right now. It surprised her how little trampling had been done across the common areas. Of course, the sidewalks and parking lots were clear, and the snow would melt away with the expected higher temperatures forecasted this weekend. It would make her sad to see it go; she liked the winter months just for the snow.
“It started in Truro, Cornwall in 2009. I was born in 2010, in Manchester, England. We visited my Mom’s relatives in 2016, during summer vacation; they live in Plymouth, which is just outside of Cornwall.”
Sheila Sparks from her economics class was on the sidewalk below, hand in hand with a boy whose name eluded Alessa at the moment. She waved, but neither looked up.
“I got bit by a mosquito on my right wrist our 2nd day there, and developed a rash around the bite, and got a fever. My parents took me to hospital to see if I had Truro, and of course, I did. No one knew about Reynes’ Syndrome until symptoms started showing up in 2010. We had already moved to the states, by then, and Mom immediately rushed me to the doctor’s for testing.” She shrugged. “Of course, I had it, you know.” She shrugged again, unseen.
“Not everyone does get it, though, right?”
“Boys don’t get it at all,” she said bitterly, “and girls who were already over the age of 8 when they got bit, don’t get it. Most of the rest of us do, though. I’m one of the lucky ones.”
Alessa heard the clink of plates on his end. “Are you washing dishes?”
“How did you know?” He laughed as he clinked a plate loudly against another. “I read somewhere that something like 3 million girls are affected now. You must be one of the oldest, huh?”
“Another blessing, yeah. Entry level girl.” She crossed her arms, phone pinched between her shoulder and cheek. “I’m 6’2” tall. A lot of Reynes’ girls are very tall for their age. Tall and skinny, like me.”
Matt considered that. “I’m trying to visualize what a 30-24-28 figure looks like without clothes. You don’t look that skinny in your basketball clothes. Can I come over?”
She laughed, almost losing the phone. “I have to work tonight. If fact—” She checked her Apple Watch. “—I’m late getting ready, right now. I have to go soon.”
“How about tomorrow night.”
“I work tomorrow night, too.”
“What about Saturday night?”
She thought about it, pursing her thin lips. “I work 11 to 7, Saturday. I’d have to shower and change, but we could do a movie, maybe. And dinner?”
“What would you like to see?”
“Anything but a Marvel movie,” she quipped.
Matt was 3” taller than she, and weighed 190 pounds. He wore black rimmed glasses and had unruly brown hair. He reminded Alessa of Eddie Redmayne.
“Hi,” he said, beaming. “You look great!” He surprised Alessa by kissing her on the cheek. She loved that he was so much taller than she; her height always intimidated boys, putting them on the defensive, even in innocuous situations.
“Thanks. I know who you are, finally.” She’d spotted him a number of times on the quad and in the library on occasion. He’d never paid her undo interest. She noticed him every time due to his height and good looks. She’d always liked Eddie Redmayne.
“Sorry, I’m late. I had to work until my replacement got there at 7:45. Were you here long?” she asked.
He helped remove coat and tossed it atop his in the corner of the booth. TGI Friday’s was expectedly busy at 9 pm on a Saturday night. “I see you brought breasts with you tonight.”
She grinned at him wryly. She liked that he could make jokes like that with her. “I even wore a push-up bra to give myself lift. You like girls with lift, Matt?”
“As long as I give them a lift back to their apartments, yeah.” He cocked his head. “You live alone, Alessa?”
She unwrapped her silverware and placed the linen napkin on her knee. “My roommate is visiting her parents in Upstate New York this weekend. You have nefarious plans for me later, Matt?”
“I will, given half a chance.”
He had the most disarming grim. Alessa realized he sported a plethora of almost indistinguishable freckles around his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. They had that in common. Hers blasted into horrible prominence during the summer months when UV tanned her face and shoulders. She therefore liked a boy with freckles. Theoretically, anyway. Her interest in Matt made her question that ‘theoretical’ quotient, however.
“You know, I’ve heard reports of Reynes’ girls spontaneously entering puberty after having sex the first time.”
“I’ve heard that rumor too,” she admitted. “It’s more than a rumor, actually. Back in 2024, a slew of 15-year-old’s just blew everyone’s mind by suddenly entering puberty. It wasn’t sex that caused it though; other 15-year-old’s had sex that year without a reaction, and an equal amount entered puberty through no known cause. It still occurs in random 15-year-old’s. Not with the prevalence of 2024, but still. It didn’t happen with me,” she added, ordering a Diet-Coke from the server. As expected, they drew looks from all the nearby diners.
“Do you want to have sex?” he asked when their blonde server, Hailey, left with their orders. She drew many looks also, from male diners.
“Just to see what its like,” she admitted hesitantly.
“Like sky driving, or learning to swim, you mean.”
“I swim like a fish,” she said, “and sky diving excites me more than the thought of having sex with you does.” She rearranged her knife and fork on the table. “I react to adrenaline, which makes riding a roller coaster a lot more fun to think about than riding a—” She broke off as Hailey arrived with her soda and a 2nd O’Doul’s for Matt.
“You have to be 21 to buy those,” she pointed out. “You have a fake ID?”
Matt grinned widely. “My uncle works at the MVA. I can score you a fake ID too, if you want one. Mine’s effectively undetectable as fake. A cop scans it, and it comes back as legit from the MVA database. Bingo!” He snapped his fingers for effect.
Alessa frowned. “Couldn’t your uncle get fired for that?”
“Worse than fired,” he admitted. “It’s a felony, I think. Did you know they made it a felony to engage in sex with a Reynes’ Syndrome girl below the age of 21 without a parent’s written consent?”
“All Reynes’ Syndrome girls are below the age of 21,” she pointed out, “but yes, I knew that. It’s ridiculous. I have no direct interest in sex, but it doesn’t mean I’m too young to have sex if I want to. I know exactly what sex is about, and so do my fellow patients. I assume, anyway,” she allowed. “It’s not like I have a bunch as friends. There’s only, like, 100,000 of us in the whole US.”
Matt tipped his bottle of O’Doul’s and filled a glass until foam reached the top. “You’re probably the only one here at school,” he said.
Alessa shrugged and sipped her Diet-Coke. “Maybe. We don’t advertise who we are, you know.”
Matt said, “I can’t think of anyone else your height, except maybe the basketball team.”
She shook her head.
The entrees arrived. Alessa ordered a cranberry-chicken salad; Matt, fish and chips with a side of lemon-butter broccoli. They ate in strained silence. It hadn’t gone in Alessa’s opinion. She knew the fault fell mainly on her. She was fretful, and nervous and edgy. Her underarms itched as they always did when anxious.
“Can we start over?” she asked.
Matt looked surprised. “You think things are going badly?”
Alessa blushed, an unusual occurrence for her. She shrugged. “I haven’t been on many dates. Are you okay with me?”
He laughed disbelievingly. “My dates are usually throwing beer bottles at me by now, Aless! I think we’re doing just fine. How many dates have you been on, anyway? If I can ask that.”
Her blush deepened. “I wish I had your ID, right now. I’d order an effing Margarita.”
Matt offered the glass of O’Doul’s, which she declined. She drank like a fish with her friend’s but thought remaining lawful tonight was a good idea. Until he took her home, and they were alone in the apartment, at least.
She paused, a bite of salad halfway to her mouth. Have you decided then, she wondered. You want him to take you home? Does he want to take you home, tonight? He’d made it clear he did; she thought he had, at least. She wasn’t nearly as astute at picking up clues as her friends.
“Can you buy us some beer on the way home, tonight? I only have a couple in the fridge.”
It was Matt’s turn to halt a fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh ... yeah. Sure.” He grinned. “Do you have any pot?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Do we need any?”
His grin spread wider. “I have a quarter ounce of Kosher Kush at home. I could swing by, and get it on the way. We are talking about your place, right?”
She smiled self-consciously. “You don’t live alone.”
“Three roommates,” he said. “I have my own room, but it’s cramped, and Saturday nights are loud and annoying there. They have a party planned, tonight; you have any interest in that?”
She shook her head.
“Your place, then?”
She smiled, sheepishly, this time.
They chose to skip dessert. Matt paid the check, while Alessa took care of the tip. By mutual agreement, they chose to skip the movie, as well, and head to Matt’s apartment for the dope, and then to Bennie’s Beer and Wine for a 12-pack of Heineken. Matt drank nothing else, and Heineken was Alessa’s beer of choice after Sam Adams. He allowed her to pay him back for the beer. She’d supply the flanker for smoking the dope. It was Grace’s, but she wouldn’t care.
“Does your flanker use propane?” he asked.
“Battery powered. Uses regular AA batteries. Maybe you should buy some of those when you’re in there,” she suggested. She paid for those also.
Her apartment was off-campus in Graduate Park West. The lease was in Grace’s name, with Alessa renting the spare bedroom. Apartment 3G was surprisingly spacious, with balconies front and back. The small rear balcony faced woods, and was incredibly convenient for smoking pot.
It had started to snow. The forecast on Alessa’s iPhone showed a surprise 2”-4” accumulation overnight. Earlier, the forecast had called for nothing at all. The culprit was a high pressure system forcing the snowstorm further west than anticipated, and traffic was already snarled. Matt might have to spend the night, Alessa. Or go home right now. She was exceedingly nervous.
“You want a beer?” he asked.
“Please.” She shrugged off her coat and hung it over the accustomed hook at the front door. Her hat and scarf went over the top; she kicked off her boots and arranged them neatly with her right toes. She was an anal neat-freak.
“You want a glass?” he called.
“No thanks,” she called back. She had to go pee. She had to pee pretty badly, in fact; nerves always made her go pee. “Let me get the flanker. It’s in Grace’s bedroom.”
She watched him pop open two bottles on her way past the kitchen. She had handled this all wrong. Form dictated accompanying him to the kitchen to show Matt where things were. She’d never been alone anywhere with a guy before, certainly never in an apartment with beer and pot on hand, and a distant possibility of her having sex. With a boy she hadn’t even kissed yet. What the fuck was she doing?
In Grace’s bedroom, she hurriedly went pee, then frantically opened and closed Grace’s drawers in search of the electronic flanker. What if she couldn’t find it? She had no papers, and Matt said nothing about bringing any from his place. They could always make due with Bible paper, she supposed—she’d done that once before in a pinch. Her bible was in her room in her bedside drawer. She hoped.
“I brought my flanker if you can’t find Grace’s,” he called. “It’s a butane version, but I brought a can of butane with me, just in case.”
Alessa sighed deeply in relief. She wanted to dope-slap herself. “That’s good, Matt, because I can’t find Grace’s.” When she stepped from the bedroom, however, she discovered Matt in the living room with the missing flanker in his hand.
“I checked the charge, and it’s good to go. Better model than mine, too. This had to cost $200, or more,” he said, turning the flanker this way and that.
Alessa had no idea what it cost. She took the bottle of Heineken and gratefully took a sip. “I’ve heard of Kosher Kush. It’s supposed to be really strong stuff.”
He inhaled jokingly and blew out his cheeks. “Wait to you try it, kiddo.”
Grinning, Alessa consulted her watch. The forecast hadn’t improved in the last 10 minutes; in fact, the snowfall looked twice as heavy since they’d gotten home. She took a long swig of the beer and sighed dramatically. “I’ll get you a blanket and pillows. You can sleep on the couch, Matt.”
He laughed, rolling his eyes. Unzipping the baggie, withdrew a sizable bud of the Kosher Kush and held it out. “Take a wiff,” he said.
She did, and opened her eyes wide. “Just smelling the bud makes me high!” She watched him drop the bud into the open receiver and slide it closed again. Once fired, the flanker extracted THC from the flower and infused it into a vapor-liquid for direct inhalation. The resulting odor was minimal. No one outside the room, or not in the smoker’s general area would suspect marijuana use. She and Grace smoked it on the rear balcony regularly without fear of discovery. It was an evict-able offense to smoke it, or any vapor or tobacco products inside the apartment. No one ever had in the year and a half she’d lived there.
“Were you serious about playing basketball bare-chested?” he asked.
She nodded, embarrassed. “I can’t wear makeup, obviously, or do my nails, which I never do, anyway—” She extended her left hand for examination. “I muss my hair up like a guy’s—” She demonstrated for him. “—and I can easily pass for a guy.”
She eyed his guarded expression. “Does that bother you, Matt?”
He cut his eyes away, and back. “More than it should. Considering I never talked to you before Thursday afternoon.” He passed the flanker from one hand to the other. “I like you, Alessa. It bothers me knowing other guys have seen your bare chest and I never have. Whether I have or not,” he amended, grinning. “I don’t want to sound too possessive, you know?”
She grinned back. “Spoken like a true prince.” She raised her bottle and he raised his to clink the tops. “Ready to go outside and smoke weed?”
“I’m ready to do anything, with you,” he said.
The storm had intensified. They checked outside first, and then returned for their outerwear. Taking into account wind-chill, the temperature had dropped into the mid-teens. Alessa lent him a pair of gloves to wear, and a spare scarf from the foyer closet. She bundled up warm, and they went onto the balcony.
“Wish our apartment had a rear balcony,” Matt grumped. “This is quite a talking point, rental-wise.” He gazed up and down and all around. “You could smoke out here nude.”
“Except for the insufferable drones,” she agreed. “Guys fly ‘em back and forth all night long back here, hoping to get a look at some girl’s bare titties.” She accepted the flanker and took a deep hit. “I’ve learned to keep my bedroom window closed at night.”
Matt put the flanker to his mouth to take a hit. “I destroyed a drone once. Some asshole decided to play chicken with me.” He inhaled and held it in a 30-count. “I tried to dodge as it came at me, but...” He exhaled harshly. “Can you believe the fucker wanted me to reimburse him for the drone that punched a hole in my windshield? Luckily, no one was with me at the time. But I hate drones. Drones are made for target practice.”
He accepted the inhaler back and took another big hit as Alessa expelled her lungful. She could fell the THC assaulting her brain cells already. This was some powerful weed that Matt has brought. She’d never smoked anything so potent.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked. She hadn’t thought to wonder before.
He shook his head and blew out vapor. “We broke up in October. I already had an eye on you, but that had nothing to do with our breakup. She had eyes for her current squeeze before I ever locked onto you.” He frowned. “That’s not exactly true. I’ve thought about you since the start of school last year, Alessa. That’s an unusual spelling, by the way.”
“I’m an unusual girl,” she pointed out.
“Indeed, you are.”
The cold chased them inside. The woods blocked the worst of the raging wind, but enough got through to put a healthy flush to their faces. Any longer exposure invited frostbite. She shoved her gloves in her pocket, unwrapped the scarf, and shrugged off her coat. It made her self-conscious, being scrutinized so closely.
“Does pot affect your sex drive?” she asked nervously.
“Excuse me for eyeing you like a canary.” He grinned. “You just turn me so much, Alessa.”
“Because of my height,” she said lightly.
“That too.” He glanced at the half-drank beers. “I wish I had bought two now. 12-packs, I mean.”
“We have wine. Two unopened bottles, in fact,” she remembered. “And two extra Sam Adams in the refrigerator. We should be okay.”
He held up four fingers.
“Really? That’s good to know.” It hit her how ridiculous a statement that was. She’d be plastered on four beers, forget eight. And the THC had done a number on her anyway. She was well on the road to being stoned.
She kicked off her boots. “Am I the tallest girl you ever dated?”
“I’m the tallest guy you ever dated, but yeah, you are.” He lifted up her beer and judged the temperature. “You want to finish this, or put it in the fridge to get cold again?”
She raised her eyebrows questioningly, and he carried both bottles to the kitchen and returned with two fresh Heinekens. He opened both, and handed her one.
“I’m nervous. Are you nervous?” he asked.
“What are you nervous about? You’ve done this before.”
“That’s what I’m nervous about.” He stepped forward and slipped an arm about her waist. “No still means no. Tell me to back off, and I will, Alessa.”
Alessa shivered down her entire length, and stiffened. It was the first time a guy had ever held her in a sexual embrace. She felt gooseflesh erupt across her chest and biceps. She wondered what a normal girl would feel and do right now. She could knee him, she supposed.
“My heart is beating really hard. I’m feeling confused as hell. I have this tingle going up my spine that I’ve never felt before. It’s like my body wants to react, but doesn’t know how.” She bit her lower lip. “Remember I told you I was undeveloped down there?” She gulped as he nodded. “It means you’d essentially be having sex with...” She lowered her head and looked over her glasses to see if he understood.
“I would have to be really careful,” he said slowly.
“I don’t even know how big an erection I could take. If I can take one at all.”
Matt cocked his head. “Reynes’ girl’s do. We both know that.” He considered a moment. “I brought condoms. They come pre-lubricated. I don’t know if that would be sufficient for you.” He frowned. “Maybe not. Do you have any? Would Grace?”
Oceana
- 22.05.2021
- 39
- 0
Stockholm Syndrome Part 4
- 3 years ago
- 25
- 0
The Sampson Syndrome Part 5
- 2 years ago
- 24
- 0
