I Was a Teenaged Metahuman Ch. 01

"What the hell kind of town is this?" she muttered, half to herself. Then she brightened and, turning her megawatt smile on him, asked, "So you're a breast man, huh?"

She looked down at her cleavage, then back at him with a wiggle of her eyebrows and he couldn't decide whether to laugh or die of embarrassment. She stared him down with a wide smile, and when he turned away, she giggled.

"We're gonna smell like weed when we get home," she said, mercifully changing the subject.

Max pulled a can of bug spray from the basket. Stinky bug spray.

"Ahh, clever. But why do we need bug spray?"

"Mini-golf in the dark, under those lights? The bugs get vicious."

"You think of everything," she said, and he grinned and brought out an electric lantern. Set on low, it made the gazebo into a bubble of soft white light, their own personal universe.

She was especially beautiful in this light. She was right here and that was the best thing, maybe ever, and he could just walk over to her now and sit down next to her. When he did, instead of getting up and walking away, she actually smiled!

"You like?" he asked.

Felice kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were so soft, and there was no excuse for her smelling as good as she did.

His entire face was suddenly covered in pinpricks. As shivers fled to the soles of his feet, he panted, "What do I have to do to get another one of those?"

Felice smiled and said, "Dance with me."

She picked up his phone and tapped away until horns emanated, then classical strings, and a voice crooned out a slow ballad. She set down the phone and turned to him with a smile that made his heart skip. As naturally as gravity, they stepped into each other's arms and began to sway.

Dancing with her, he got a sense of her body's suppleness and strength. He was enchanted by every detail of how she moved and the feel of her hips between his hands.

She had her hands on his shoulders and the way she gazed up at his face made his whole body want to explode with... Something. He was pretty unclear on what, exactly. It was a happy something, at least.

They moved in slow synchronicity. Her eyes were dark, glinting pools that drank in moonlight. and it would have been a crime and a shame not to kiss her again. He didn't dare, but she saw him pleading with his eyes and then her lips pressed against his. It was heaven, but it was going on too long, and she was going to be pissed off! He hastily pulled back.

Felice looked disappointed.

Disappointed? What had he done?

His date lunged, and suddenly they were kissing again. He thought he felt the tip of her tongue on his lips for a moment, but he had to have been imagining it. Still, it was the hottest kiss of his life. The third one, but still, it was hot.

She stepped back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Her eyes roamed his face, his body. Perhaps encouraged by this, his point of focus kept dipping toward her breasts before he pulled it up again.

Felice caught him looking. Her voice was stimulatingly low-pitched as she said, "You did mow my lawn, didn't you?"

"Uh huh." He felt a slight stab of regret about being such an idiot around her mom.

"The bet was a tie," pointed out the smiling Felice. She straightened her back, and her breasts were suddenly that much more distracting. She was looking right at him and he couldn't stop his traitor eyes from stealing glances downward. She wore a black leather skirt and dark hose that made her legs look so incredible, but the star of the show was her tight, stretchy top whose neckline went from shoulder to shoulder so that above, Felice was alluringly unclothed.

Still watching him, Felice put her hands on her sides. She slowly slid them up her body, and Max's heart nearly stopped when she cupped her breasts.

"We shouldn't," said Max. He had to be strong. Had to be!

Felice was unmoved. She was standing there with her hands on her breasts, and she didn't appear to be in the mood for hearing 'no'. Cheerfully, she asked him, "What's the harm?"

"I told you," he said. The bench bumped the backs of his legs and he realized he'd unconsciously started to back up.

Looking immensely pleased with herself, Felice took a step forward. "You said you can't handle it."

Max swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "I did," he said. He wanted to handle it, he realized. The need to handle it was so strong it scared him.

She said, "You can handle it."

"I can't. Really. I- I-" In an attempt to widen the distance, he was leaning back with his knees braced on the bench.

"A bet's a bet, Max," Felice said, and her smile was ravishingly wicked. She hooked her thumbs in her wide neckline.

He couldn't look away.

She pulled her thumbs apart—her shirt was really stretchy—and slowly lowered her hands. Max whimpered as millimeter after millimeter of her exquisite breasts came into view. First the upper swell and all it promised, then oh sweet, dancing Jim-bob Jones, her nipples. Her nipples were now visible.

Her nipples. These little bite-sized pyramids of pink, the perfect things to have right there. Then she revealed the completion of that perfect curve of her perfect breasts. His heart was going to stop, he was sure of it.

She tucked her shirt under them, beaming, and moved her hands up and cupped her naked breasts. Her eyes closed halfway and she let out the most sinful sigh he'd ever heard.

His knees suddenly gave out and he sat down hard, but he didn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't. He made a whimpering sound in the back of his throat.

She took a step toward him, and another. She said, "Live a little, Choir Boy," and he made the whimpering noise again, only much higher-pitched.

His date lifted a knee but her narrow skirt restrained her. She reached down and bunched it around her hips, a hair's breadth from showing her panties, and with a naughty expression firmly on her face, she lifted her knee again.

She straddled his lap, high on her knees, and her fingers played in his curly hair, her breasts a few tantalizing inches from his face. He let out an awed sigh.

For a moment he gazed rapturously upon her. "Never before have I encountered a sight so appealing," he breathed, pleasing his date again.

"You don't have to just look," she urged in a whisper.

He had never heard anything so... Sexy, the word was sexy. He got a little thrill just hearing it in his head, so out loud he said, "Sexy."

Felice's fingers tightened in his hair. He knew she was breathing heavily because he was watching her chest very closely. She arched her back, sucking in a breath between her teeth, and let it out in a girlish grunt as she pulled his head forward.

His face was pressed into the valley of her breasts. Her skin was warm and velvety-smooth and her smell easily overpowered his reason. Her hands played in his hair and every tiny follicle on his body rose to salute her. She somehow mashed her breasts together while doing all this, and his face pressed between them would have sufficed as his sole reason to live.

Giggling, she flexed her torso, which made her breasts rise and fall, rubbing his face with them. "You like that?" she asked in a sexy whisper.

"Uh huh," he whimpered.

"You can touch them, you know."

"Oh, I'm touching them," he said.

She chuckled. "With your hands."

When he looked up in shock at her, she blushed, adding, "Or your mouth."

He couldn't make a sound. His hands rose of their own accord and then filled with her tender breasts.

Felice made a short, high-pitched "ah" when he gently squeezed them. "That feels nice," she said, and her voice was so seductive.

He tried caressing her breasts, and it was amazing. Felice cooed as he explored every inch of her with his fingers, her own coming away from his head and freeing him to appreciate her with his eyes.

"You can make a girl feel really good by playing with her tits, you know," affirmed Felice. She stroked his head. "Keep going."

Even in the midst of this, he was hesitant. The prevention of this type of activity was, after all, the sole goal of most of his religious instruction. Was this him, making the biggest mistake of his life? He was pretty sure what the preacher had to say about that, but the preacher wasn't experiencing what Max was. Max was pretty sure not doing this would be an even bigger mistake.

He turned his head and kissed the curve of her breast. A shuddering breath worked his way out of his chest and he kissed it again, harder. "Go for the nipple," instructed his date, and when his tongue closed around hers, there was a euphoric, soundless explosion of light and color in his head.

Had he just had an orgasm? He started to check his pants for dampness with the hand that wasn't filled with Felice's glorious breast, but right off, it encountered her bare thigh. A sudden, savage urge possessed him and he slid that hand up, beneath her skirt and feeling her amazing stocking material, followed by a band of lace and then bare, delectable flesh. He followed it up the curve of her butt and squeezed and at the same time he inhaled her breast.

He had to have her closer, he needed her body against him. His fingertips wriggled just under the edge of her panties, evoking breathy gasps from her, but when he ardently sucked her breast again he realized it was a little too hard. He eased off a little to where it was just right, and Felice groaned at the sensation of blood rushing to her nipples. The slight pain diffused and sensitized her, paradoxically, to more pleasure.

He didn't know being with a woman was this intimate! It was like he had two sets of feelings, his own and Felice's. He'd thought that kind of stuff was just metaphorical! What else didn't he know?

No time to worry about that now. Felice needed him to get busy. That was as plain as day.

He released her breast and slid his other hand under her skirt, squeezing as he applied precise pressure with his mouth right where she liked it, and his tongue lay against her nipple so he pressed and moved it in a circle.

Felice cried out. He knew she loved his mouth on her and especially when he took the initiative with her butt. He knew his hand felt good, but it seemed like if he shifted it... He moved it a little closer, fingers brushing the lace of her panties. Oh, that was much better. Felice's hips began to rock minutely.

He moved his mouth to her other breast. He didn't suck, he just slowly enveloped it. He felt her electric tingle of pleasure when his tongue contacted the tender peak and—he was in awe of himself right now—he twirled his tongue around it as he kept his lips sealed around her.

The way his fingertips slowly converged toward her core from either side was driving her wild. His little squeezes made her lightheaded, he could tell, and her breasts were on fire with pleasure.

"Ahhh," she said, the word turning up at the end. "Hoo, hoo, yes." She groaned long and low, flexing her spine. Max loved the feel of her shifting cheeks in his hands. Her butt had the perfect ratio of softness to firmness and he knew his slightly rough fingertips were bringing the heat to her sex.

Her moans were coming constantly now. Breathy, faint. Pleading. She was shifting slowly, aching for something, and then he felt her surprisingly hot center mash against him. His erection glowed with bliss at the pressure, and the sensation of moisture and heat that soaked through his pants was too much to even think about. He dragged his teeth lightly across her nipple and slurped it up, twirling madly.

"Oh yes," she whispered. "Right there... Yes. Mmm, yes. Ah. Ah! Yes. Yes! Yeeeeeees!" A surge of sensation began to rise in Felice, he could practically feel it. She knew what this was and she couldn't believe it. Everything felt so good!

Her hips rocked faster and faster. Her moans became less breathy and more piercing and frequent. She wanted to look in his eyes so he looked up from her breast and when their gazes locked, her mouth hung open in a sexy little 'o', her eyebrows bellied against each other. "Yeah," she urged in a whiny whisper. "Yeah, yeah. Ooh!"

Looking in Felice's eyes while sucking her breast felt positively predatory. He made sure it showed on his face, for her.

She screamed, short and sharp, and then as every muscle in her body tensed she was unable to make a sound, only to turn helpless eyes on the man doing this to her.

Ecstasy roared through their bodies. The tension in hers built as her climax did, and her hips swivelled madly, the moisture and heat soaking through his pants improving the friction.

She made to push him away from her suddenly super-sensitive breast but he had already noticed and released it. He raised his head and watched her face contort, sure his face was doing something similar.

She released her breath in a shout and fell against him. Her hair swept his face.

She wanted him to hold her, so he reluctantly removed his hands from within her skirt and wrapped her tightly. He shouldn't have been so reluctant, this was amazing. He could smell her sweet sweat. The swells of her breasts pressing his chest and the feel of her bare back under his arms sent tingles of desire shooting through his spent manhood.

After a time she raised her head and, growling, lightly bit the side of his neck before raising up to look at him. Her hair was in disarray and her face was flushed, but her eyes were as bright as he'd ever seen. "That was amazing," she gushed.

"You are so beautiful."

Her slow smile made him feel so worthy and also maybe like trying to see what other commandments they could break tonight. She certainly looked willing. She murmured, "No one's ever made me cum like that before."

"Is that not how it's supposed to work?"

"No!" she laughed, then gave him a long look that had some appraisal in it, and also compassion. Her euphoria was a long way from fading, and beneath that she felt a tinge of pity for him. "You don't know it's supposed to work?" she asked.

"No. I know you're pitying me but I don't know."

"Do some research," she said, grinning like mad. "Homework for next time."

Felice got herself back together in the car, a process that included donning a demi-bra she'd pulled out of her purse. That done, she slid over and laid her head on his shoulder while they got their cover stories straight.

On the way to her house, Max stopped off in a quiet spot and changed into the clothes he kept in the trunk while Felice catcalled him from the passenger seat. His contaminated pants and underwear went into a sealed plastic bag. He'd take them to a laundromat and wash them, then use them to replace the spare set he'd taken from the trunk. His Mother could never know that he'd come so close to ruining his eternal life as well as the one here on earth.

*

Priorities

Friday night, they were eating dinner when his mother said, "Oh, Max, I almost forgot. I signed you up to usher at the Sunday night service. Bill Arlen's got to take his horse to the vet in Valdosta."

His heart sank. "Vets don't work on Sundays, Mother," he said.

"I am well aware of that, but they do work first thing Monday morning."

"I already told you I had plans Sunday night. Vayden needs me for the tournament."

She looked up from her meal sharply, then said, "The Lord said, 'Thou Shalt put no other gods before Me'."

"It's not a deity, it's a tournament. We made it to the semifinals. If I can't make it we'll forfeit."

"Max recite the priorities I have given you."

"My priorities are God, family, and school," Max said automatically, almost involuntarily, the product of long habit.

His mother's face lit up in triumph. "Be sure to wear a suit."

"You can't do this! I already told you about these plans!"

His mother still had that awful expression on her face. "Your church needs you. You will serve."

Max scowled. "Nobody needs an usher, mother. It's not as if the seats are hard to find."

His date with Felice was going down the drain. He couldn't speak for a moment because everything that occurred to him to say was something he'd be grounded for. If he protested further, he could be grounded for that. But there was no way he was changing his plans on Sunday. His playing usher was in no way necessary to anyone, and besides there was a congregation full of people who could do the job. He would make a stand.

His mother's eyes were as hard as marbles. "Serve your church Sunday night."

Well, he was going to change his plans. He hated his mother for making him, and himself for not being able to say no, but he would serve his church Sunday night.

Seeing his mother's smug smile, he realized he hated her. It felt like a disproportionate reaction to the facts in evidence, but there was no mistaking how he felt.

*

The Old Man

Sunday service was done and Max waited. He'd brought a book along to keep him company, something about a girl who wanted to date an Amish boy. He didn't much care for it, but the imagery was nice and there were no yucky sex scenes. The lack of such helped him see the other parts a little more clearly and as he read he asked himself, 'what does she want from the Amish boy?' and 'how does she know he'll give it to her?'

His women's studies were progressing slowly.

His mother finished early, catching him unprepared, but he didn't think she saw what he'd been reading. She was distracted. With a long-suffering look, she said, "My father is in town."

Meetings with Grandfather were always at a nice restaurant. If they didn't meet out of town, they met at the Trattoria Italiana.

Grandfather was already settled in. The booths at the Trattoria were enclosed for a more intimate setting, and Max couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into the old man's lair.

Seeing them, the old man spread his arms in a gesture of welcome with a smile on his face.

Max had always thought of grandfather's face when he encountered the word 'vulpine' in a book. It was sharp and thin but not unattractive. It was usually arranged in an expression of equal parts surprise and pleasure, making him seem faintly amused. Max supposed it could be Botox—the old fella was vain enough, and his skin did look very well cared for, considering it was sixty-some years old.

First he gave a greeting hug to Max's mother, then Grandfather clasped Max's hand, stared right through him, and said, "Hi-how-are-ya."

Max mumbled a reply and took his seat.

They ordered, and while they ate, they exchanged updates and news. It was pretty one-sided, as grandfather's only news related to various ways politicians and other public figures were pissing him off, plus the occasional over-detailed description of his girlfriends.

The old fella was a silver fox, that was obvious. He was evidently spending his retirement years chasing little wrinkly cuties and watching the news at his barber's. Max was sure the aged lothario couldn't get his hair that black, even and glossy without professional help.

The conversation came around to Max, so he returned from the happy imagination-place he went to when he had to pass some time.

He'd been designing the perfect transport for the survivors of a zombie outbreak. It took a second to switch gears, but after he talked a little about his college prospects, Grandfather went off on a tangent and never circled back.

He let his mind wander, and it wandered right up to his memories of Felice topless and stayed there. That, and a plate of seafood pasta made it a pretty good lunch. No one talked to him for the rest of the meal.

*

Distracted

"Did you have fun on your date the other night?" Valerie asked as they were getting the gardening tools out of the shed.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and she glared at him, brandishing the hoe in her hands.