Second Puberty 3
by Jaypat
As I arrived at school and made my way to my locker, I ran into several people I knew. Some of them commented on my eyes. I had to tell them something. So I came up with a story on the spot. I had a rare condition—not serious—that caused a change in eye color and I was seeing a doctor about it. That seemed to satisfy them and they all said the change was an improvement.
My first class of the day was AP Calculus. I made my way to the back of the room to my usual spot between Veronica Evans and Charles Spooner. They were in all my AP classes, but they were seniors. They were competing with each other for the Valedictorian spot. Sometimes they got real snippy with each other about it. When they did, I usually threatened to talk my guidance councilor into letting me graduate with their class. That would have knocked them both out of the running. They didn’t like that too much so they would stop bickering. But today there was no sign of bad tempers. If anything, they seemed a little bored.
Veronica was not pretty; in fact, she was kind of homely, but she had a great sense of humor and an incredible brain.
Charles—he hated to be called Charlie—always seemed to have his mind in two places at once. He would be sitting there reading a book, totally lost in it, Mr. Sanders would call on him and Charles would answer the question without skipping a beat. It bugged the crap out of Mr. Sanders. I think all three of us did. At one point we pushed our desks together and just started doing our own thing during the class, sometimes we talked quietly all the way through it. Sanders started calling us the Brain Trust and kept trying to trip us up, but he could never do it. It annoyed the hell out of him; of course, that’s half the reason we did it.
“Morning,” I said to both of them. Veronica returned it. Charles was deep into another Star Wars novel and pretty much ignored me. I wasn’t insulted. It was just the way he was.
“Oh my God, look at your eyes,” said Veronica. “Charles, look at his eyes.”
Charles glanced over and grunted, “Contacts,” before going back to his book.
“No, they’re not. You can see they’re not.”
I gave them my new standard explanation, but then Veronica wanted to know the name of the “rare condition” and Charles asked me the name of the doctor I was seeing. His dad was a doctor and apparently worked with all kinds of specialists. He thought maybe he might know him. Suddenly, I realized my standard explanation wasn’t going to work with these guys. I had better come up with something else.
“Ok, I’m lying. I found out yesterday I’m a product of late twentieth century generic engineering,” I said doing my best Pavel Checkov imitation, “and I can change my eye color whenever I want.”
Veronica just stared at me for a second before answering. “If you don’t want to tell us, just say so. God, you are such a dork.”
“A compete dork,” said Charles from inside his book. “So says I…”
“So say we all,” the three of us intoned. It was kind of a ritual thing we did, part of the whole Brain Trust thing.
I thought I was safe until Veronica laid her head on my shoulder. Now Veronica was always doing that. It was friendship thing, completely. (I had actually thought about dating Veronica once, but I couldn’t get past those stark white, flabby arms. Maybe that makes me shallow, I don’t know. But we were good friends and both happy with our relationship.) But today, after all that had happened, I just didn’t want her head on my shoulder.
“Not today, Veronica, ok?”
“Sure,” she said, lifting it away. “It wasn’t very comfortable, anyway. What have you got on under there, a cast or something?” Before I could stop her, she began probing my arm with her fingers. “Oh my God, is that your arm? That’s your arm!” Then she began running her hands all up and down my arm. She even began pulling up my sleeve.
“Stop that,” I said pulling my sleeve back down. But it was far too late. She had hold of my bicep and was squeezing it.
“Charles,” she said, “check out his arms.” Charles, nose still in his book, half heartedly reached over and grabbed my upper arm. What his fingers told him must have been interesting because he actually put his book down.
“What’s this?” he asked. “Are you on steroids?”
I was half tempted to say yes. It would have saved me many troublesome explanations. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to pretend to be that dumb.
“I’m just going through some changes; that’s all.”
“Hmmm,” said Charles and went back to his book.
Veronica, on the other hand, reached down and grabbed my leg. “Jesus. Charles, you should go through these kinds of changes.”
But Charles kept quite. I think he was in a galaxy far, far away.
“Ok, Veronica, enough with the touchy-feely,” I said. She stopped squeezing my leg but her hand stayed in my lap. I didn’t say anything. After all she was my friend, and I told myself she was doing that instead of placing her head on my shoulder.
Mr. Sanders started the class. He began droning on at us in that monotone voice of his. My God, that man could boar a hyperactive two-year-old on a sugar rush. As the class went on Veronica started to shift her hand, sliding it gently down to the inside of my thigh. I was in shock. I mean this was Veronica. If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d’ve sworn she didn’t have a forward bone in her body. But here she was, with her hand on my inner thigh and it was slowly creeping northward.
Part of me wanted to lift her hand right out of my lap and give it back to her. But another part was really curious to see where she was going with this. The curious part won.
I felt her fingers gently probing as they moved closer to my crotch. It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. She traced the outline with her forefinger and somehow managed to find the head. Her soft caress woke my sleeping giant and I felt it begin to grow.
Suddenly self conscious, I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed what was happening. But we were in the back of the classroom and all the other students were facing forward. Mr. Sander’s view was blocked by the row of kids in front of us. So, even though we were in a classroom with thirty kids, not one of them could see Veronica’s fingers dancing with my little gentleman.
Veronica, herself, was facing forward, her eyes intensely trained on the boring instructor. You’d swear she was hanging on his every word. With her right hand she was taking notes, with her left she was working some kind of magic. She gave new meaning to the term ambidextrous. And man, she was good! Her fingers flowed over me with just the right touch, never too gentle, never too hard, letting the pleasure build slowly. In fact, she was so good I was certain this was not her first time doing it. I looked at her in shock and she whispered back, “What did you expect? I knew I’d never get a boyfriend with my dazzling good looks.”
I’m not sure why I let it go on. I think it was partly the bazaarness of the situation, the unexpectedness of it, along with the fact that I had never done anything remotely like it before. I found myself leaning backward in my chair and opening my legs wider. My breath was getting heavier. My member was at full mast now, running down the inside of my right leg and I could tell it was popping out the bottom of my boxers. If I let this continue I was going to be really humiliated by the end of class. But she seemed to know just what to do. She would bring me to the brink of a climax and then ease back, giving me a brief rest before she started in again. I swear this girl was an artist. She could probably keep this up for hours. And at this point I was certainly willing to let her try.
I looked over at Charles. He had dropped his book and was staring slack jawed at what Veronica was doing in my lap. If I hadn’t been in such a euphoric state, I might have been embarrassed. Since I had never done anything like this before, being the conservative academic type, I was pretty sure he hadn’t either. He must have been really shocked. I know I would have been. And then there was the whole hard-on issue. I had no secrets from Charles now. Everything I had was outlined in sharp relief, right in front of him, straight and long and hard.
I half expected him to shout out, or call the teacher, or even jump up and run from the room. But then he did the unaccountable. He grabbed my bicep with his right hand and began squeezing and rubbing it, while his left hand went down to his crotch, where I noticed he was already sporting some pretty serious wood. And then he began to go to town on himself.
Somehow I didn’t mind the feel of him messaging my arm. My bicep was hard and unyielding under his fingers. It reminded me of my new muscularity and that began flipping other switches. In fact, combined with what Veronica was doing, it was sending me to places I had never been before.
But I couldn’t quite lose that sense of strangeness. These were people with whom I had discussed the meaning of life as it applied to Euclidian Geometry. What the fuck were we doing now?
And then Sanders called on me. “Would you kindly come to the front of the class and demonstrate to us how Archimedes derived the circumference of the Earth using only a tall pillar and the sun. Naturally, we’ll want the full equation.”
I froze. Veronica gave me a last little squeeze and I almost blew my load right there. She pulled her hand away and chuckled, “Go on. Show him the full equation.”
Charles removed his hand form my arm and ended his own extra curricular activities.
I looked down. My dick was as hard and as large as it had ever been, actually it was larger. Not to mention the wet spots that had formed on my pants leg. If I were to go up there now I would be humiliated beyond reason. My shame would live in infamy and I would be a laughing stock for the rest of my time at school.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
Sanders actually did a double take. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, I respectfully decline, sir.”
“I’m not really giving you an option, mister. Come up. Do the equation. Or get a zero.”
“Go on,” said Veronica, thoroughly enjoying my predicament. “You can use your own tall pillar.” I shot her a dirty look, but it just made her laugh all the more.
“I guess I’ll take the zero, sir.”
I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Sanders was completely flabbergasted. “How about you, Charles?”
Charles just gave a little wave and said, “Zero.”
“Well,” said Sanders, obviously delighted, “looks like its time to finally break up the Brain Trust. Ok you three, move your desks apart.”
As we pushed our desks away from each other, I was grateful no one turned and noticed that Charles and I were not moving with our usual grace.
The period lasted another fifteen minutes and I needed every second of it to shrink back down. My mind kept going back to Veronica’s dazzling finger work and every time it did, Junior woke up and started crying for mommy. In the end, I managed it by getting angry. We’d lost the Brain Trust. I’d gotten a zero. And I’d been as aroused as I’d ever been and not had the opportunity to climax.
I was still glowering with these thoughts when I met up with Veronica and Charles in the hall after class.
“What happened in there?” I asked.
“Is your eye condition affecting your brain? You were there. You know what happened,” said Veronica.
“Didn’t it seam a little weird to you?” I asked.
“Well, there’s weird, and the there’s weird,” she said. “One kind of weird is you sprouting muscles overnight and then trying to hide them under a ridiculously large shirt.”
It wasn’t ridiculously large.
“You’ve got some nice assets there, boy. You ought to be showing them off.” I wondered what she’d say if she knew she was echoing Geoff, the owner of the ridiculously large shirt.
“Another kind of weird: That’s got to be the first time a person made valedictorian by giving someone a hand job,” she said.
“It’s not over yet,” snapped Charles.
“It is for you, zero boy,” grinned Veronica.
“I’m outta here,” said Charles. “By the way,” he said turning to me, “I just got the new Star Wars game. You want to stop by and check it out?” Video game systems were one of the items my progressive parents refused to allow in the house, which was too bad because I loved them. Charles knew that.
“Maybe this weekend,” I said.
“Cool,” he answered and disappeared down the hall.
“If you ask me,” said Veronica, “he wants to use you as his Gameboy.”
“Will you stop it,” I said, still bothered by what had just happened in class. “I’ve never done anything like that in my life.”
“Well, maybe its time you started living a little,” said Veronica. “I think I can help there.” She wiggled her fingers in front of me.
Suddenly I heard my name. I looked up and saw Geoff barreling down the hall with Wendy and a couple of his teammates in tow.
“How’s it going, buddy?” he asked as he reached over ruffled my hair and then punched me gently in the arm. This was a far cry from the indifferent “Hey” I usually got from him.
“I’m doing good,” I said, still unnerved by his sudden and unprecedented public display of friendship.
“We still on for this afternoon?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Great,” he replied. He started down the hall again, but suddenly turned and grinned, “Love the shirt.” Then he winked and was gone.
It took a second to click. Oh my God! I was wearing his shirt and he was completely misreading my reasons. What was I going to do now? This afternoon was sure to be another game of ring-around-the-coffee-table.
“Hey.”
I looked up and was surprised to see Wendy still standing there. She handed me a slip of paper and then whispered, “Call me.” And then she hurried on after Geoff.
Okay, wait a minute. I may have gotten pretty eyes and gained a few pounds overnight, but this was Wendy Shepard, sex goddess and girlfriend of one of the best looking guys in school. There was no way I was in Geoff’s league, not even in the next league or the league after that. What the hell was happening?
Veronica was watching Wendy leave and she looked like she could chew through nails. “Sure, she’s pretty,” said Veronica. “But she doesn’t have my skills. What I did just now in class was just a small sample of my capabilities. And you know what they say about us girls; we all look the same in the dark.” And then she gave my package a little squeeze before she turned and vanished down the hall.
If you were looking for me, I would have been the kid standing by the side of the hall, looking like he had just been knocked out, but had forgotten to fall. What brought me out of it was a sharp sensation in my rear. Someone had pinched my butt! I looked up and down at my passing schoolmates, trying to figure out who it had been. No clue. This was not my world. This was Oz, and somehow I’d missed the tornado.
Suddenly I felt my cell phone vibrate. I looked at the display: unidentified number. This had better not be someone selling life insurance.
“Hello?”
“Hey kid, how’s it going?” came Professor Grant’s voice. At that moment, there was no one on the planet I would rather have heard from.
“Just about as whacked out as possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe you can tell me why everyone is suddenly a pod person?”
“They’re all starting to go for you, hunh?”
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“It’s your pheromones. I amped them up a bit. You should be pretty damn irresistible by now.” Suddenly it all made sense.
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Come on, kid, I was trying to improve the species. Now you’ve got the choice of any mate you want. You’ve got to appreciate that.” Suddenly it hit me; this wasn’t going to get any better.
“You mean I have to walk around for the rest of my life with everybody grabbing at me and throwing themselves at me?”
“Not everybody. It shouldn’t be everybody.” I thought about it. I guess there had been a few people I’d run into today that hadn’t tried to jump my bones.
“So, how do I tell who’s effected and who isn’t?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if there is anyway to tell. You give off pheromones at an instinctual level. But it will only be when you’re around someone you’re attracted to.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said turning toward the wall, checking to make sure no one could overhear me, and lowering my voice. “Are you telling me that subconsciously I want to fuck my brother?”
“Your brother, hunh? That’s rough. Good thing you’re not really related.”
“Yeah, that’s what he keeps saying. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“You give off the pheromones instinctually. Your instincts operate on a much deeper level than your subconscious. We’re taking primal instincts that are inseparably linked to the most basic of life’s functions. Self preservation is the first of these but not far behind is the need to sexually dominate in order to insure the survival of your genetic line.
“Let me give you an example. If you fell over right now, you’d put your arms out to break your fall and protect yourself. You couldn’t help it, even if you wanted to. It’s beyond your conscious will, beyond your subconscious will. You simply have no control and no choice. You will put your arm out to break your fall and you will do it without thinking about it. Your pheromones work like that.”
I was screwed.
“Isn’t there some kind of antidote? Some way of turning them off?”
“Ha! You might as well ask me for an antidote to your tear ducts.”
“Please, you’ve got to help me.”
“Ok, I’ll look into it but I don’t see the problem. So, you’ll have a lot of sex. Kids are always having a lot of sex.”
“The problem,” I blurted while trying to keep my temper under control, “is that I have to share a room with my outrageously horny brother, and yesterday I almost got raped by the captain of the football team!”
“Oh, that is a problem. But then he doesn’t have any control over it. And neither do you. I’d stay away from him. At least until you get a little bigger.”
“That might be difficult,” I said looking down at my shirt.
“Speaking of getting bigger,” said the Professor. “How did your first growth spurt go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you must have had it by now. I imagine it was quite a ride.”
“It was pretty intense.”
“I bet. It was one of my masterstrokes. You see, normally that kind of growth would be excruciatingly painful.”
“It wasn’t.”
“That’s because I rerouted your nerve impulses from the brain’s pain center to the pleasure center.” That explained it. The growth sensation had been the most incredible feeling I’d had in my life. But I knew I needed to be able to feel pain. I might not be able to survive with out it.
“Won’t that screw me up?”
“It’s only temporary, until all your growing is done, then they’ll switch back. Just be careful in the mean time. You’ll have to use that brain of yours to guide you. I don’t want you injuring yourself just for thrills.”
“I promise; that’s not in my plan.”
“Good.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“I gave you a copy of my notes, didn’t I?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It’s all in there. Well, I’ve got to get going. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said as I flipped my phone closed, “I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
I spent the next class sitting in the rear corner of the classroom, as far away from everyone else as I could get. I didn’t have a clue what the range of pheromones was, not to mention genetically engineered pheromones. But so far no one had done anything crazy, and I was beginning to think I might be safe if I just stayed away from people.
The class was English lit and it was really boring for me. I had read all the books we were studying years ago, thanks to my parents. So I found my mind wondering and I became more and more curious about the professor’s notes. How many other little surprises were waiting for me?
While I sat there, I subtly began to run my hands over my arms. They were thicker and harder than I was used to and I was enjoying the feel of them. I kept running my left hand up to my right bicep and flexing. I loved the feel of it popping out. I began to get a little stiff again, so I decided to lay off. I didn’t want any repeats of what had happened in calculus.
My next period was free so, I stopped by my locker, and pulled out the disk the professor had given me. I took it to the library and found a computer in a far corner, away from most people. I popped it in the drive and accessed it. A wave of disappointment hit me. It was all biological techno talk and I didn’t understand hardly any of it. I may have been in AP biology but this stuff was way beyond me. I began to wonder if the professor had seriously thought I was capable of reading this. And if not, why had he given me the disk?
As I sat there pondering these mysteries, I absentmindedly began running my hands up and down my arms again, feeling my muscles. They felt really strong and once again I stated to wonder how strong I was.
I pulled up the map of the school on the computer and quickly located the school’s weight room. It was down by the gym, right in between the girls and boys locker rooms. I still had thirty minutes of my free period left so I decided to check it out. I retrieved the professor’s disc, popped it into my knapsack and headed down toward the gym.
On my way there, it struck me that tomorrow I had gym class. That meant changing and showering in the locker room. I didn’t know how I and my pheromones would survive that. I made a mental note to try and get out of class legitimately; and if I couldn’t, I’d just have to skip it.
I stepped into the weight room and almost had a heart attack. It looked like half the football team was there. They glared at me and I almost turned right around and left but it suddenly struck me; most of these guys hated me. I’d used my influence with Geoff to manipulate them all year, and they couldn’t stand it. If there was any antidote for my pheromones, it had to be good old fashioned hate and loathing.
I decided to risk it. I walked in further and looked tentatively around. I had never set foot in a gym before and all the machines were a mystery to me. In fact they kind of reminded me of a medieval torture chamber. There were some free weights, too. They seemed a lot less intimidating but the football jocks had them monopolized. I walked over to one of the machines and tried to figure out what it did, or rather what I was supposed to do with it. I heard some sniggers from the jocks as I looked the apparatus up and down.
“Looks like we’ve got a newbie,” said Greg Petersen.
“This should be good,” chuckled Mark Hanson.
The whole crowd of them had suddenly stopped what they were doing to watch me. I decided to ignore them.
The weight system seemed pretty straight forward. You put a pin in the weight plate that you wanted to use. I decided to place the pin in the smallest weight. I thought that would be safest until I figured out what I was doing. Of course when I did, I got a surge of derisive laughter from my audience. Undaunted, I looked at the configuration of bars and pads and tried to figure out where you sat and what you pushed and with what part of the body. I was instantly lost. Come on, I was in all AP classes. I got straight A’s and had a full scholarship to Princeton. I should be able to figure out a damn weight machine.
I started to climb onto the thing, deciding what pad must be the seat. The jocks were chuckling away. I tried to use their laughter as sort of a warmer/colder gage; the more they laughed the more I knew I was doing the wrong thing.
There was a pad directly to my right and another directly to my left. I wrapped my arms around them. There was a tremendous bust of laughter. Ok, that was wrong. I pulled my arms back and put my hands on the pads. Even more laughter. One of the guys turned bright red. I thought he was going to bust his gut, he was laughing so hard.
I climbed off the machine. Maybe this wasn’t the best one to start with. I looked around and spotted one with a much simpler design. It was basically a metal bar on a pulley system hanging directly over a small seat. I chose the smallest weight again. Laughter. And I walked over to the seat and sat down. I reached up for the bar but it was too far above my head. Half the guys were now rolling on the floor, struggling to catch their breath. I stood up so I could reach the bar and grabbed hold of it with both hands. But what did I do now? My confusion must have shown on my face because now the rest of the guys were exploding with fits of uncontrollable, side splitting laughter.
Ok, I’ll try another one. I walked over to the next machine and was about to select the smallest weight when Greg Petersen came stumbling over still laughing his ass off.
“No! Wait. Stop. I can’t stand anymore.” I paused and waited for him to catch his breath.
“What are you doing down here? You don’t see us up in the chemistry lab, do you? So, why are you here?”
I looked around at all the jocks. Some of them were still chuckling but all of them were waiting to hear what I’d say. I thought about it for a minute, and I couldn’t think of a reason not to tell them, so I just blurted it out, “IwantedtoseehowstrongIwas.”
“What?” asked Greg, cocking an ear.
Oh God, they were going to make me say it again.
“I wanted to see how strong I was,” I said slower and more evenly so I wouldn’t have to repeat it a third time.
There were a few chuckles and a couple of laughs but nothing compared to the derision I had expected.
Greg looked at me for a minute like I just told him I wanted to sprout wings and fly to the moon. Then he turned to his team mates, “What do you think? Should we help this guy?”
There were a couple of chuckles, a couple of nods but most of them just stood there half smirking.
I guess Greg took it as a yes because he walked over and pulled a blank chart off the wall. “Well, if we’re going to do it, we might as well do it right,” said Greg. “First we need your height and weight.”
“Five six, a hundred and thirty-five pounds,” I said mechanically.
“No,” said Greg, “we’re going to do this right. Hop on the scale.” For the first time I noticed a scale in the corner of the room, the kind they have in doctor’s offices with the height bar attached. I climbed on it and watched while Greg adjusted the sliding weights and pulled the height bar up to the top of my head.
“When was the last time you took your height and weight?”
Christ. What was I thinking? Of course, that wasn’t accurate anymore! “It’s been a while,” I told him, even though it had only been last month.
“Yeah, I can tell. See? This is why we do things right. You are actually five seven and a hundred and fifty five pounds.”
“Wow, he’s a giant,” blurted Zach Wakowski which started the laughter all over again.
“Lay off the guy, Zach,” said Greg. “He just wants to get stronger. I mean, why are any of us here?”
Oh no. Greg Petersen was being nice to me. Inner alarm bells started going off, because now I lived in a world where this was a bad thing. I figured I had better get out of there.
“That’s ok, guys. I should probably get going anyway.”
“See, Zach,” said Greg, “you’re scaring him off.”
“It’s ok, really.”
“No, it’s not ok. We started this thing; now we’re going to finish it.” Greg seemed pretty adamant and I could tell I was not the only one surprised by his attitude. “Now we’ll start with the bench press. You know what that is?”
I didn’t really. I shook my head.
“Well, come here and lie down on this bench. No, slide further up. Not that far. Ok, right about there. Now I’m going to load a couple of plates on the bar. It might be a little heavy, but don’t worry, I’ll be spotting you.”
“That’s ok, Greg,” said Jim Benson, “I’ll spot him. You watch his form.”
Crap. There goes another one.
“Ok, now place your hands on the bar, right above the shoulders. Good. Now lift it up out of the supports. Good. Now slowly bring the bar down toward your chest. Good. Now lift it back up. Good. What was that? Forty pounds? He did that pretty easy. Let’s add on another ten.”
Jack Greer added the plate on the right and Enrique Gomez added the one on the left. Christ, they were dropping like flies.
“What the fuck are you doing?” cried Zach. “I thought we were supposed to be working out, not baby sitting some brainiac runt.” Thank God! Zach still hated me.
There was a murmur of agreement from some of the guys.
“Why do you have to be such a dick?” asked Greg as he marched right up to Zach.
“Hey, what’s your problem?” countered Zach.
“My problem is that I don’t like dicks,” said Greg chest bumping Zach.
“Who the fuck are you pushing?”
“I’m pushing you. You going to do something about it?”
Then Zach swung at Greg who dodged it and then swung back, catching Zach in the jaw. Zach toppled over and then one of the other guys—I think his name was Skip or something—rushed up and took a swing at Greg who ducked it neatly. Zach was on his feet again and going at Greg, too. Jack Greer rushed up to help him.
After that things got kind of blurry, but in a couple of minutes the whole bunch of them were slugging it out with each other. I got up off the bench and dodging the flying bodies, got out of there as quickly as possible. I never did find out how strong I was.