Hey folks, please read my boring introduction
Someone mentioned most of my enf works don't have much true enf in them. She's probably right. Still, I'm hoping you folks are enjoying the stories, and I'll try to be more creative with that in the future.
I'm not sure how I feel about this one. I spit it out in an evening, sort of a twist on other stories I may, or may not have published. I was going to end it with a massive sex scene, and just decided to pull back. So it's hardcore, but short. Wasn't sure where to put it, either. Exhibitionism or sci-fi. I'll flip a coin when I submit it.
If I wanted to do this right, I would rewrite the whole damn thing, because show, don't tell. After pounding on the keyboard a while, I feel like this became all world building, rather than story telling. But I'm publishing it as is, as I don't think the premise is worthy of a rewrite, but I'll take your honest feedback, too.
As for something I am more proud of. Please read "The Meet" if you haven't already, and let me know if I should continue. I was enjoying writing it, and am kind of at a crossroads on it. Thanks again to fans that have written to me. I am gracious you forgive my all-too-often-occurring grammatical mistakes.
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Six years ago, The Good Samaritan laws were amended. Now, we really have no choice. It's constantly debated whether this is ethical, moral or necessary, and it will be debated endlessly. In essence, in a unique situation, where a male may be inflicted with "Instigo" (otherwise known as "bluedick"), any available woman must offer herself to him.
We call it bluedick for obvious reasons, but when a man gets stricken with the virus, it can be a harrowing experience. The testicles fill so quickly, if not relieved, can lead to death. The testicles and shaft turn a noticeable shade of blue, victims can literally feel their ball sacks filling, and they have only a few hours to get off, or risk serious health consequences. The problem is, there's only one thing that can keep a bluedick erect. A vagina.
It doesn't matter if the subject is gay, or bi, or anything in between. If they happen to have a penis, and happen to get stricken with bluedick, it won't stay erect without the use of a vagina. The man may not even be mentally turned on during the experience, but it doesn't matter. Any vagina will keep the penis physically erect, and when copulating, cause it to ejaculate.
Scientists say this is a side effect of the virus. Nature demanding reproduction. Considering one who has bluedick is infertile during this phase of the Instigo virus' life cycle, it seemed rather futile and pointless to me. Nature can be fucked up. The only saving grace is that one who has bluedick will have no active STDs. In fact, once a host male kills off the virus, they'll never get an STD again, protected for life. But in its own way, Instigo was an STD.
Strange how the virus came to be. It started with Dr. Eugene Turner of Avalon Temple University. He created a super-strain that could kill off all known sexual diseases in men. Something to do with the way it interacted with testosterone made it work. But just killing off STDs in men would cause a dramatic drop in women, too, and it was expected, that within twenty years, sexually transmitted diseases would be a thing of the past.
Instigo may have worked as advertised, but after half a decade of injecting men with this super-strain virus that killed off all these other STD viruses, bluedick occurrences began occurring. Men dying in the streets, their balls literally exploding. It was the shock that killed most of them, though. A jolt of adrenaline that stops the heart. If they don't cum, they die.
They pulled Instigo (the medicine) off the shelves, and re-classified it for what it is: a potentially deadly virus. These days, it can only be transmitted from male-to-male skin contact. Not necessarily sexual contact, but when someone has the virus, during the incubation phase of a flare-up (when most subjects don't even know they have it), they are contagious. Even a handshake can transmit the virus.
Now, maybe you understand why those Good Samaritan laws were amended. Tens of thousands of men died the first year it broke out. Clinics quickly popped up across the nation, allowing any man a place to rush to, should a bluedick flare-up occur.
Women are required at some jobs (mining, for instance) where their only role is to service a man who may get afflicted. They might go months without any work, but then, someone catches it, happens to transmit it to a few others, and the poor girl is busy for weeks. It sucks that the only way to save someone with bluedick is with a vagina.
I just wish it wasn't my vagina. This had never happened to me before.
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I started working for Barkley Expedition over four years ago. They host lots of tours to many famous mountains across the globe, but I started their white-water rafting program. From Colorado, to New Mexico, to California, I got paid (and well) to take wealthy people on exotic white-water adventures.
To be truthful, most of the tours were more scenic, than challenging, but every once in a while an experienced group of guys would splurge to be taken out for some wild ride. Though it wasn't often enough for my adventurous spirit, I tread in some of the most dangerous waters and falls this nation has to offer. Never once, had there ever been an incident, either. Well, other than a few scrapes and bruises.
Barkley Expedition loved me for keeping their insurance rates down, and they were good to me by requiring a guarantee from all male customers: that no one comes in contact with any other male within four days of departure. This ensured we had no bluedick incidents.
Prior to working at B.E., I did the same kind of work, but as an intern for a two-bit vacation company out of Wyoming. I witnessed, on several occasions, how someone stricken with bluedick interrupted things during an expedition. That two-bit company always sent a girl with every expedition, to be available if needed, rather than ensuring it would never happen in the first place.
Most of my tours were weighted with more males than females, but my latest one was all men, six of them. A Class V journey (finally!!), with over forty miles of rough and fast waters. It had been some time since I did a challenging tour, and these guys were experienced.
I introduced myself when the six men met with me at the preparation location. "Hi, I'm Pauline Simms," I said. "I may look small in stature, but I'm big on experience. I promise, if you follow my instructions, everything will go smoothly."
"Hi, Miss Simms," said one of the larger men. "I'm Keith Henry. We spoke on the phone. The boys from Watershed raved about you."
Watershed was a small IT company, consisting of a group of guys that got together annually, to drink hard and raft soft. They were always a hoot, but not near as adventurous a tour as these men were going on.
I explained to everyone that they could all call me "Paula", as I got the rest of their names. They all seemed physically fit, mid 30s to early 40s, wealthy divorcees. I discovered half of them worked for the same trading firm, and the others were in closely related fields. I could already tell, I liked the personalities from Watershed better. These guys seemed a bit cocksure and bloated. Still, I was ready for a hard run.
Not this kind of hard, though.
By the time we arrived at the water and got set up, we only had about three hours of rafting. This part of the trip was the easiest. An enjoyable coast over smooth waters. There was a landing spot, near a rocky beach, where we would camp for the night, and prepare for a much harder and longer journey the following day.
