Girlfriend's Guinea Pig

She was the smartest girl I'd ever dated.

A junior at Oxford College.

She was Irish. Her name was Keira, which I'd later find out meant 'little dark one' in the traditional Gaelic.

Boy, was that ever the understatement of the century.

I'd met her on a dating app during my sophomore year. I was a ripe twenty-one and had tooled around abroad for my first years out of high school, before finally deciding to get back on some sort of life track.

I was in the human sciences school, as I eventually planned to join my father's medical devices company, in sunny San Diego. That's where my family was from, but my Dad had an in with the dean and was able to get me admitted, even with a fairly average set of qualifications (Namely, my 3.2 GPA...with "some" extracurriculars.) Mostly, I just hadn't really applied myself yet. I was very good at getting by, and that's just what I had done. I hadn't planned to go back to England to attend college (especially considering that I had spent my previous trips there going to clubs and exploring as many party drugs and loose women as possible) but life is a circle-and so, like the earth around the sun, I made another captivating circuit.

That's what was so impressively sexy about Keira. She was everything I felt like I wanted to be: driven, active, sharper than an Elven blade. She worked out five times a week and read two-to-three books at once. She could school me on trivia and keep up with every subtle, pop-cultural reference I attempted to best her with. She always beat me to the punch. She challenged me. She played for an intramural soccer team and had well-developed friendships. Her room decor was immaculate. She owned actual furniture in her college flat. So that's what furniture was like?

Also...her body was...well...dripping with the Irish, morning dew of a fucking highland goddess. She had dark, red hair, and fair skin, with a galaxy of freckles; especially on her nose and cheeks. Her ass was as round and as ripe as the juiciest summer peach I'd ever slobbered out of a cobbler dish. Her breasts were pert and perky B's-pushing-C's. She was basically a more pornographic version of Emma Stone. Less girl next door. More girl next whore.

And she knew it too. She knew that men and women looked when she sauntered by. She knew that professors looked when she crossed legs under desks. She knew that I looked.

But then, she looked at me too.

Because we both swiped right.

I practically choked on my beer when we matched, and the following first date that turned into the following, spontaneous first sex in a building stairwell, couldn't have surprised me more.

I felt like a solid seven on my best days and this girl was an unequivocal ten. But we definitely had a connection from the very start. She thought I was funny and charming. She thought I was cute.

I think she also liked how safe and comfortable she felt around me. There was a definitive command to the type of sexual energy she brought to us.

I fucked her often. But she frequently initiated, in some of the most obvious ways.

Sometimes she'd just ask to suck on my cock while we watched TV. She just wanted my cock in her mouth. It was an oral fixation. But she had the other fixations too. I filled them all dutifully.

She'd come over from a hot day on campus and flip her skirt up over a kitchen counter and then tell me to fuck her right there, with her sweaty thong pulled to the side for access. Then she'd walk out the door with my cum leaking from her birth-control-blessed envelope of perfect, pussy tightness.

She was my first encounter with an actual fucking witch. That's what it felt like. I was out of my league and doing my absolute best to keep up with her.

I was also, in case it's not already obvious, smitten from the very beginning.

But she seemed quite enamored with me also.

So on we went.

It was a few months into the semester and I began to see less of her, as she'd begun working on a new lab project with her famous, human sciences professor, who held the university's Title of Distinction—Alfred Tennison. He had penned four, highly-lauded books and more peer-reviewed articles than the rest of the department combined, over his various sabbaticals. And the asshole was only in his late 40's.

I really needed to step up my adulthood game if I was going to thrive in this fast, new world I found myself ensconced in.

What made me even more jealous of her increasing absences was the focus of her studies. Keira and her graduate team were currently working with the professor on some breakthrough discovery regarding the sexual brain, though what that meant I wasn't exactly sure.

She'd explained it to me enough times over stoned weekend dates and late-night bar crawls, but we were young and horny, and usually missed each other so much that the night would quickly devolve to our basest instincts.

She knew I was simpler than her, and that was okay. I was doing my best to keep up. And she loved how much I adored her. I think she also liked being practically worshipped whenever our clothing came off.

I was six inches, cut, and she loved my cock; but truly, it was when she saw me cum that she was most happy. She had talked to me a lot about compersion-the ability to take pleasure in other's pleasure. That was her entire dynamic, and honestly, it made her even sexier to me. She was the most fascinating person I'd ever encountered.

It was a Friday night, and for once, Keira had mercifully gotten off from her lab work a little earlier than expected. I'd finished with my last class of the week, and all I wanted was to get a little fucked up before Sunday rolled around, when I'd have numerous research papers to work on. I was currently in the thicket of nano-bot research, which was nowhere near as cool as it sounded. Apparently I was not going to be the next Ant Man, after all. Rather...I'd probably be working at my Dad's lab, figuring out clever ways to get certain types of nutrients into different parts of the body.

Woohoo.

Life.

We met at our favorite campus dive, 'The White Horse,' which had all the trappings of a classic, English pub. It was interspersed with collegiate bro's and nerdy hoes and drunken, neighborhood Joe's. It was a great place to catch a game of footie, (or footsie), when it came to Keira pressed up tightly to me at the bar.

"Babe, cheers to another exhausting, fuck of a week," she said, in her adorable Irish accent. I swear it never failed to make my knees weak. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a very thin, cotton top that revealed large parts of her healthy breasts. We clinked drinks.

"So has the professor been riding you guys pretty hard?" I said to her with a wink.

It was a common joke in our relationship. The man was undeniably attractive and I knew all too well my girlfriend's voracious sexual proclivities. It was fun to tease her about what was clearly an obvious crush.

"Ugh, I WISH he'd ride me hard," she said with a teasing smirk, her eyes wandering up to the ceiling as if in playful thought, as she sipped from her beer. Her act was impeccable.

"So long as I get to watch," I joked. This followed the theme of the bit we'd developed over time. It wasn't the first time we'd told this joke.

"Oh baby...if you only knew," and she gave me a wink as she headed for the restroom.

I cocked an eyebrow and she laughed as she pranced off, blowing a kiss over her shoulder to me.

I knew I didn't have anything to worry about, but there was at least a part of me that wondered if there might be some sort of laboratory flirtation going on. My Keira was a walking, collegiate wet dream, that was undeniable.

After she got back to the bar, we ordered a couple 'Royally Fucked' shots, which were basically Crown Royal's dropped into Red Bull's, with a touch of Peach Schnapps and cranberry juice-sometimes known as 'Vegas Shots.' I'd brought this drink with me from the states, and the bartender grumbled every time we ordered it. But we tipped well, and that wasn't commonplace here, so he put up with my American bar influences.

With another beer in hand, we shifted away from the crowded main bar and headed over to a recently abandoned shuffleboard table to start up a game and do some much-needed flirting. We were relaxed and convivial with each other, and the alcohol only made us lean in more to the instant chemistry we seemed to share. It was lighting in a six pack.

We switched over to the pool table for a vibrant, shit-talking filled game, and then eventually came back to play a second round of shuffleboard. I was 1-1 somehow, thanks to my previous shuffleboard luck. She'd murdered my ass in pool like I'd never played. The girl knew what to do with a set of balls and a stick, that was for sure. But she could snooker me anytime she wanted, I told her. She laughed at me before gracefully explaining the differences in the two games.

We were both a little tipsy now, and she started to talk more in-depth on the frustrations of her recent work week, even as we intertwined occasionally as she rubbed her hands up and down my love handles and ribs, kissing me. I would caress her sides and the small of her back, already craving the feel of her naked skin against mine. I could smell the cinnamon of her body lotion. We both knew we'd get there eventually. It was all a part of the marvelous dance we were enjoying with each other.

She explained in bits and pieces how the esteemed Professor Tennison had been hard at work on a very fascinating line of research that she was absolutely obsessed with.

I prodded her onward. I wanted to know more. I was intrigued.

"Well you see, he's been studying some of the deeper constructs of human sexuality, particularly expanding on a lot of Kinsey's research. Do you know who Kinsey is?" She asked, not in any way wanting to come off didactic.

And I did actually know who he was (because of that movie with Liam Neeson, and no other reason). But I knew who he was and what he had established.

"'The Kinsey Scale.' The study of a person's sexual chart. Numbered 1 to 6. The Heterosexual to Homosexual Rating Scale. Or something like that." I blurted all of this out in excited reply. I was happy to be keeping up with my radiant ingénue, monologuing off of that drunken bar energy that felt so good for its sheer catharsis.

She clacked her next puck into mine and sent me flying off the edge into the sandy gutters. She was even good at bar games.

"That's right!" She replied excitedly. "Well he's expanding upon it. In ways that no one ever thought possible!"

"How do you mean?" I tossed my next puck down, reestablishing my position underneath hers with a brilliant, spine-tingling curl of a throw. It was a great throw. She made an impressed noise, and we bumped fists like like a couple of frat dudes finishing off a flip cup game.

"Well, he hypothesizes that, not only does everyone have a fairly eloquent, individual placement on the Kinsey Scale...they can also be moved up and down that scale by the power of mental and chemical suggestion."

"Huh?" I replied, as she somehow barely kissed her puck past mine and retook the winning position.

"Okay...to put it simply...he thinks he can make a person more gay than they currently are, through the use of images and certain breakthrough chemical technologies. It's truly wild stuff. I've seen some amazing things in the lab lately. You have no idea, babe. It's so exciting for the scientific and human sexuality community. The implications are ridiculously huge. Like...we're only at the tip of the iceberg with this discovery and it's going to change the whole, preconceived world," she was speaking a mile-a-minute, and gesticulating with a fervent energy that I was so taken with, as she would occasionally pause to slurp down another sip of lager from her sweating pint glass. What a well rounded woman in every single way, I thought as my eyes traveled down her sexy body.

"I can't understand how that is possible, you're telling me he's been able to make people more gay somehow? And you can prove this?" I said, almost laughing at the idea. It didn't compute for me.

She stared back challenging, "I know...it sounds wild. But babe...I've SEEN it!"

"So, isn't there like...something morally wrong there?" I asked, a little confused as to how any of this could be true.

"Oh, sure...there is a gray area...totally. We've only completed the tests on people who have given complete consent to be tested, and who also understood completely the method that was to be used; and then we've studied the results directly afterward. It's so incredibly revealing how successful some of these tests have been. I swear...I'm gonna write a book just from having watched him do this work." She was truly beaming. I could tell she admired the man. It made me a little jealous. But I loved how much happiness it brought her.

"Well...that's...wow...I'd love to know more—I'm still a little lost about what it is you guys are doing, though?"I told her. How could any of this be actual science? I wondered. I was also slightly drunk.

"Wanna go back to my place and I'll show you?" She offered, as I jolted her puck off the board with my final throw and raised my eyebrows at the invite.

I considered it for a moment, slightly mystified by what that meant exactly, but I trusted Keira implicitly and was secretly curious about what all of this was about. She was so passionate about her work. And I was passionate about her. There could only be one answer.

"Yeah...sounds kinda fun," I admitted, giving her a cheeky grin.

"Oh sweetie, you have NO idea. You're gonna be blown away," she said a little wickedly. And her last puck destroyed my winner and my blocker, giving her the full 3 points, and 21 for the victory.

"Go pay out, silly boy," she commanded me in that zesty brogue, and I went to close our tab, as we stumbled out of the bar, arm-in-arm. We slowly walked the three blocks down to her flat, even as we groped each other's asses along the way.

When we got there she ushered me up the stairs to the third floor, and into her semi-modern apartment. It was a pretty great one bedroom for a 22-year-old. But then I guess I knew all about the benefits of having wealthy parents.

She packed her bong and grabbed her TV controller and laptop. Then she turned on the large flatscreen and switched over to the streaming service input channel. Soon she was navigating over with a wireless keyboard and mouse to the Firefox icon. She typed in a number of saved passwords and I saw that we had reached an inner sanctum of the university's science webpages.

This was a high level access section, and I didn't recognize any of the pages she was pulling up. I probably wasn't technically allowed to see any of this, based on the NDA's I know she had signed, but I certainly wasn't going to stop her from revealing to me this supposedly revolutionary work she'd been so caught up in. I could keep a secret.

As a series of videos downloaded on the screen, she packed a nearby bong and we proceeded to get the right kind of stoned.

She made out with me softly and we smiled into each other's bodies. She

felt warm and inviting. Reefer smoked clouded around us and left us feeling light and lifted.

"I missed you, Christian," she whispered, and I held her tightly, already wanting her.

"I missed you more," I answered back, but she escaped from my pawing hands to put her attention back on the TV.

Then she turned to me more seriously.

"Okay...so...there is a lot of crazy science and terminology that I could use to describe this to you, but it would literally take hours and I'm WAY too drunk and stoned for that..."

"Okay..." I beckoned her on with a grin. I was similarly plied.

"BUT, I could simply do the test on you that we've been doing with our recent subjects, and you could SEE just how provocative the whole thing is," I was a little shocked at her offer, but there was no way I could say no, now. I'd gotten her too excited by my mere interest in her work, and I could tell how much she wanted me to participate in this.

"Umm...well, I guess I have to put my money where my mouth is, right?" I said, following her train of thought. "What do I have to do, exactly?"

"It's amazing. Okay...so lemme give you the quick rundown," she opened the drawer of her coffee table and pulled out a rectangular, leather-bound case that was opened to reveal six, small brown bottles. They were imprinted with various chemical formulas and symbols I didn't recognize.

I eyed the box a little nervously, wondering how weird this might get. What had I gotten myself into?

I was definitely the straightest fucking dude ever. That was for sure.

I was NOT worried about whatever this pseudo-science was.

"These are basically laboratory evolutions of the original isoamyl nitrites that were banned after they started to be used as a party drug," she looked at me assuringly, as she pulled out a bottle and read it, before putting it back. Apparently that wasn't the one she was looking for.

"Huh?" I said in reply.

She laughed. "Babe...they're poppers."

"What are poppers?" I asked, innocently. I'd never heard of them.

"Ohhhh...my sweet, sweet college boyfriend. You have SO much to learn," She stroked my cheek and we both laughed. She wasn't wrong.

"Well, basically," she started, tying her hair up in a simple pony, "poppers were discovered by a French chemist in the 19th century, and they were originally utilized to treat angina. They basically worked to dilate the coronary arteries. They used to come in these pearls that you'd basically pop, and that would unleash the vapors inside, and then you'd sniff them in to get the effects. Then eventually they figured out how to just put the liquid form inside a bottle, for sniffing purposes."

"Okay...keep going," I said, trying to keep up with her, as she ran her fingers lovingly over the glass bottles.

"Well, what happens is that when you sniff them it relaxes you a ton...kinda like doing ecstasy and taking a really great hit of weed all at once. They became huge in the gay club scene in the disco era...but governments banned them because the original ingredients were technically kind of unsafe and risky," she finished.

"Okay...so what are these then?" I asked, referencing her case of bottles.

"Well, Professor Tennison started doing a research paper on straight men who had had sexual interactions with other men, and he found that in many of these instances, poppers had been used to get past a certain level of fear, body preconditioning, etcetera. It's hard to explain...but the simple way of putting it is that guys basically felt more comfortable having homosexual encounters after sniffing this compound," she said, unscrewing the cap of the bottle. I gulped a little at her clinical conclusions. That seemed like a silly concept. They were clearly already somewhat gay, I assured myself.

"Ummm...wow. Okay, so, I'm still kinda confused. If they were outlawed, why do you have them?" I asked the obvious question.

She smiled excitedly at me. "Well here is what is SO fucking incredible about these...the professor spent a couple of years traveling, to figure out a way to make a natural version of the original poppers recipe that is completely safe and doesn't harm the user in any way. And here is the kicker-they're WAY stronger than the original stuff," she finished. She took a very small sniff herself of the bottle opening and bobbed with a heady smile, as she looked back to me. She sounded so sexy when she was explaining her work.

"I see, so that's what these are?" I asked, scanning over the box at the six different bottles. They looked innocent enough.