I Was a Teenaged Metahuman Ch. 03

Welcome back to the story! I'd tell you to check the previous chapters if you haven't already read them, but you're smart enough to figure that out, and I believe in you. Everyone doing sex in the story is eighteen or older.

Many thanks to icedragonmo3 for excellent beta-reading and proofing. Any mistakes are mine, because I just can't leave it alone.

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I Was a Teenaged Metahuman

Chapter 3

Centered

Max was getting antsy. He had places to be, and Sunday dinner was eating up the clock. The rules were clear, though. He was not to leave the table without permission, and it would not be granted today. His mother was going over the day's sermon, something about the parable of the talents being a condemnation of Variants.

There was only one option left to him.

"May I be excused?" he asked.

"Why ever for?" She always acted so surprised when he did something she didn't like.

"I want to go talk to Rhonda."

Mother's face went blank. Her fork clattered onto her plate. She nodded, slightly, and Max got out of there before she could change her mind.

Max wrinkled his nose at the dust in his sister's room. It was lit by a single, pale sunbeam.

"Why are you in my room?" she asked in her accusatory way.

"I needed to get away from the dinner table. You know how she gets when I say I want to talk to you."

"You won't be able to use that one much longer," his sister warned. "So what's her name?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"You know you are. Who is she?"

"Which one?"

"You've got two?"

He grimaced. "No."

"Three!?"

"It's getting worse. These women, they're getting more and more aggressive. The longer I spend around any of them, the more... excited they get."

"Sounds like you got a real problem."

*

Screamin

Max kept his phone off when he was at home, the better to keep his home life from bleeding over into the real world. As he drove away, texts from Felice began to roll in. Mostly, they were lips emoji positioned next to eggplant emoji, interspersed with requests for him to come over or meet her somewhere. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of the consequences of succumbing, and that got him through the temptation.

He should have ignored her, but the truth was, since Felice had come into his life, his social circle had increased by fifty percent, and unlike his other two friends, she didn't spend all her time with a significant other. He texted back a quick hey phone was off cuz parental unit how r u?

He was refueling his road boat when another message came in. It was a close-up of Felice's red-painted lips, moist and slightly parted, with the tip of her tongue poking out between them and the caption thinking of you.

His youth group leader had warned him about loose women. Max now understood what Mister Toby and his trendy beard were talking about.

She sent, where r u?

An honest answer might be what he needed to get her to... Whoa.

He was trying to push a girl into the friend zone. What had his life become? He hung up the pump handle and got in the car, replying, killing time b4 my d8. There, that should put things in perspective for her.

Right away she beamed, come over.

He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling of his car. The events of the last time he'd been at her house replayed themselves in his head. He scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed. Hopefully she'd go for this, meet for coffee 10min at Screamin Beans.

She replied, 5 min.

Felice was already there when he arrived. He supposed it would be okay with the youth group leaders of the world if he admired her in her cutoffs and midriff-baring camisole top. Her hair was in a ponytail and her makeup was minimal but for red lipstick.

He started toward her but a quick shake of her head stopped him. She got her iced coffee from the counter and texted him, secret meet upstairs.

The coffee shop was a two-story affair retrofitted into an older building. In an out-of-the-way booth upstairs, she awaited him.

He sat across from her. "How long have you got?" she asked without preamble.

"Almost an hour."

"Mmm, lovely. Do you love this girl you're dating?"

"I... that's quite a question, Felice. I might one day, I don't know. This'll be our second meeting."

She nodded, satisfied. "Are you going to..." He sensed images tumbling through her head, Max in flagrante with various girls from school.

"I'm not going to have sex with her," he said, almost defensively. He should print that on business cards.

Felice smiled, "You look nice," she said. Her eyes on him felt thrillingly indecent. "She's a lucky girl."

"You, uh, you're really beautiful." Why had he said that? Was it because he wanted to or because she complimented him? Her desires were so strong they were hard to distinguish from his own.

She squirmed in her seat excitedly, anticipating something big. The last time he'd felt anything like that from someone was when Valerie had lain on her bed and spread her legs... Welp, he was hard now.

At this time of day, the place wasn't busy. Felice looked around and, seeing no one else in view, slid around to his side.

He couldn't have sex with her, but there was no way he could resist a kiss. It immediately got away from him. She held him tightly until she'd pillaged his mouth to her satisfaction. His lips were tingling and he realized he loved every second of it.

"Let's get you ready for your date," she purred. Her hand settled on his groin, under the table.

"You don't... Really."

"Live a little, Altar Boy. Now let's get you hard first." She squeezed his shaft as she kissed him again.

He pulled back from the kiss. "I am hard," he replied, scandalized.

He could tell that cooled her enthusiasm somewhat, and she altered her plan. She licked up the side of his neck and chewed his earlobe as she deftly unbuttoned his slacks. He tried to stop her but was greatly hindered by that low, primitive, selfish part of him that desperately wanted this.

He directed a concerned look at his lap, where she was undoing his zipper, and asked, "Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?"

"Shh. Don't make a scene."

"Hey, Felice? You don't have to do this."

"Nervous, Churchie?" she teased.

"No, I—well yes, actually. But I mean I'll—I like having you as a friend."

Her fingers wrapped around his erection and he was momentarily unable to breathe. As a debate tactic, that move was second to none. Felice now had the floor for a long as she wanted it. "Don't make it weird. I'm horny, you're horny. I'm just helping you," her eyes danced with mirth, "take the edge off before your date."

In between hot breaths in his ear and spine-tingling process with her tongue, she said, "We're still friends."

"But Fel—aieeee!" She was sliding her hand down his shaft. He'd never felt anything quite so good.

"Shh!" she chuckled. Her hand quickly reached his base and reversed motion and when that made him gape at her in shock, she smiled and gave him an encouragingly sexy look. He wished this was as much fun for him as it was for her.

He felt his defenses crumbling. The fact that this was only a second or third base activity made it so easy to rationalize. Her hand stroked him slowly and easily, but was gradually picking up speed.

"That feels so good," he murmured, and kissed her in his sin and depravity. Encouraged, she stroked faster.

A noise made her abruptly stop. From behind a stack of burlap sacks, an employee emerged from a staff door and slouched toward the stairs. The couple's indiscretion wasn't visible, but no matter, the guy didn't even look around. Max wondered if he looked like that when he smoked weed. If so, he needed to stop.

She stilled her hand, but Max's body betrayed him by rocking his hips so his shaft would slide back and forth in her hand. She leaned close and whispered, "That's it, fuck my hand."

"Felice, please," he groaned when she started stroking him again.

He bit his lip to stifle a groan. She varied her grip and stroked counterpoint to his motions. "This is so hot," she grinned, and laughed at the expression on his face.

Footsteps nearby made them stop. A pair of middle-aged women carrying huge cappuccino bowls saw the booth they'd been headed for was occupied by the two teens and began the process of turning around. Max nodded to them politely, which made his penis flex in Felice's hand.

"Good afternoon," greeted Felice. To Max's enduring horror, she massaged his penis while she exchanged empty pleasantries with the two ladies.

"You think they suspected?" she asked when they departed.

"They didn't," he said. "They didn't approve of us sitting next to each other, but that's it."

"Wow, you really know your prudes." She stroked him faster and Max was transported by the feeling. It was as much a pleasure as it was a need for release. She glanced down approvingly at the work in progress, "Next time you're doing me like this, okay? Fuck, this is hot!" She was squeezing her thighs together, and Max in a flash of insight realized that was a form of self-stimulation. There was something there, a slippery quickening between her legs, but unable to handle all the stimulation he was receiving, he couldn't focus on it.

His breathing was getting faster and shallower. He tried to sip some coffee to look natural and nearly spilled it.

She sipped her coffee, too, impishly. Now she was twisting her hand slightly as she stroked him. His need for release was nearly overwhelming. "Oh, yes," he whispered, and couldn't resist kissing her overheated cheek.

She checked for witnesses and then laid a very wet, very sensual kiss on him. He made helpless noises during and after that which made her highly amused. She was having so much fun that it kind of bled over into him.

He was terrified of being detected. He'd be jailed for this. Felice would be humiliated and never talk to him again. Lydia would find out and that would be the end of their relationship. Valerie would beat him up. He closed his eyes and strained his new senses. Was anyone nearby? What did they suspect?

It was like hearing whispers in a dark room while nearby Felice was speaking at normal volume: He won't be long. Not long, haha, true that, poor guy. I barely have to move my hand to go end to end on his thing. Corrupting religious guys might be my new fetish. I'm gonna blow him next time. He will fucking die. He is so gonna do me, I want this. This almost makes these small town Puritans fun. I wonder what this would be like with Nick's big one. Maybe I could try it. How is this goody-goody such an amazing kisser? He's better than the other trumpet players at my old school!

He tried to filter her out, to see if someone would discover them. He had to. Being caught was so scary it was... Oh no. It was getting him even more excited.

His careful attempts to extend his sensitivity fell apart. He gritted his teeth against a groan. His penis felt like it was over-stuffed. The skin was way, way too tight. It might be a medical thing, but that was not something he was capable of concentrating on at the moment.

Felice calmly slurped the last of her beverage, then pulled napkins from the dispenser.

Max was glad he hadn't gotten his drink in a paper cup, because he'd have crushed it in his hand. Suddenly it all snapped into focus. He knew they were listening to Sheryl Crow in the kitchen while they made scones. He knew the stoned baristas were nervous because there was a cop in line. He knew the cop in line was hoping the baristas wouldn't notice him ogling them in their tight pants. He knew Felice was about to...

Felice put her lips to his ear as she pumped his erection furiously. "Cum for me, Preacher Boy," she whispered, then stuck her tongue in his ear. She cupped her other hand over the end of his penis with the napkins in between, the roughness of the paper making him acutely oversensitive, and that was it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a yell that he prayed would be mistaken for a sneeze. Transported with rapture, he erupted.

There was a bang and a rattle in front of them, and the sound of breaking glass. Something unyielding mushed the end of his penis, then yielded. Beside him, Felice whooped in surprise.

He opened his eyes. The items on the table had scattered and slid off the far side. It was tilted away from them at an angle now that the side closest to them had been shoved upward by his erection.

He and his date stared at it. It was thicker and easily twice as long as before.

He and Felice looked at each other in shock, then back at his penis.

The floor creaked. Someone had heard the noise and was approaching! He seized wads of napkins as Felice dropped her sodden ones and got a few more. He slanted his massive member to the side and the table banged down flat. With one hand he tugged his clothes over himself and with the other, he napkin-ed everything furiously.

Felice slid out of the booth, holding the napkin wad over her splattered right hand. She announced, "It's okay, Dummy just kicked the table by accident." Only when Max sensed the disinterest in the person she was speaking to did he allow himself to breathe again.

It took a lot of napkins, but he got everything cleaned up. It smelled strongly so he dumped the rest of his coffee on the table and wiped that up, too. The contaminated napkins were wrapped up in still more napkins and stuffed into the trash. He even got his clothes back on, thanks to the erection-shrinking properties of utter panic.

As soon as he was presentable, they evacuated.

Outside, she grabbed his arm. "What the hell was that? Did you see it?"

"That's not normal?"

"No it's not norm— Damn! It's not normal! You were hard before, right?"

"Very," he shuddered. His orgasm was still alive in him, making his member tingle and seep. He'd have to wash his underwear in the sink before putting it in the laundry or his mother would notice the stains.

Felice dropped her voice to a whisper. "You grew, Max. I saw it, Dude!"

"That's what they do, right? They grow."

"Did you even take Sex Ed? Shit, they probably don't even do that here. Here. Follow me."

"I can't, I'll be late!"

"Okay, but we're going to talk about this."

"Agh, all right." He went in to kiss her cheek but she turned to catch it on the lips.

"Have fun on your date, Big Boy!" she teased as he scurried away.

*

Discipline. Training.

"You're good at this," said Lydia, as Max sank another putt.

Mock-seriously, Max replied, "It's all about form. Putt-putt requires discipline. Training."

"Show me?" she smiled. Her fingers absently trailed along the plunging neckline of the bright, patterned sun dress she wore.

He dragged his eyes away from the sight so as not to stare and replied, "We don't have to. I can tell you're not into it."

"Sorry, it's not my thing. But while we're here, show me."

She bent at the waist to place her ball and he got a good look at her gorgeous legs and the lower edge of her booty. For a brief instant, the bare edge of her blue panties was tantalizingly visible.

Now he stepped behind her and put his arms around her body. His hands covered hers on the club handle.

She murmured, "Reminds me of the suntan lotion." When he drew back she wiggled her butt against his tightening groin and looked sexily over her shoulder. It was like she'd been drinking. She'd started fairly proper, church-approved, even, but as the date continued her eyes had gotten bolder, her walk had developed a definite sway and she'd been thinking increasingly explicit thoughts.

He had to get her out of here. There were too many witnesses. He'd just introduce her to the mysteries of putt-putt first. The game had been good to him, and he owed it fresh converts.

"Get a firm grip, but not too firm," he said. "Try to make contact with your wrists. That'll isolate your movements."

She adjusted her grip. "Like that?"

He had to press against her back to see what she was doing. If she'd been more well-endowed he'd be able to see nothing but cleavage. As it was, the view was ravishing. He adjusted her grip slightly. "Not so tight," he urged.

"Now," he murmured into her ear, "tilt your shoulders to swing... Keep your arms still." He felt the tension in them. "Not rigid, just don't move them. Relax a little. There. Now tilt the shoulders. No, no hips. Just the shoulders."

Her swing was a little better. "Good. But you're moving your hips."

The scent of her skin was beginning to overpower his judgement. She swung again, naturally counterbalancing by shifting her hips. "Here," he suggested, putting his hands on her waist and pushing his hips forward, his mostly-hard thing snuggled in between her cheeks. With her hips thus immobilized, she swung.

"Good. See, with only one axis of movement, you have more control over your swing." His fingers flexed on her hips of their own accord.

Lydia wiggled her butt and murmured, "I'm done with this game. Let's go play another."

He didn't argue. He needed to get out of the public eye where anyone driving past would see them. There was no telling what she'd do next.

They got a soda on the way out. Once in his car, he began driving while Lydia tried to configure his radio to work with her phone by means of the gadget stuck in his tape deck. Once her tunes began playing, she snuggled against him.

"Do you think I'm easy?" she asked.

"No," he replied. He had nothing with which to gauge her behavior but the rants of various religious figures, and they weren't the most impartial of observers.

"Do all the girls around here show their tits on the first date?"

"I've only dated one other girl," he said. "If I hadn't missed that last putt, she'd have shown me hers."

"Mmm, what does that mean?" She was rubbing his chest now. Her chin rested on his shoulder.

"It was a bet."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know if I should say. Would you want me telling her..." he wasn't sure how to put that delicately but it was clear enough.

"I guess not. Are you still dating her?"

"Not exactly. She's a friend, though, and, uh..."

Her hand stopped. "Friend with benefits?"

His troubled pause gave her anxiety time to ratchet upward. He had to say something, so he blurted, "I'm a virgin."

"Oh. So what's the deal?" He knew she wanted to know how far he'd gotten with the other woman.

"Again, if I tell you about them..."

Her hand started moving again, more quickly. "You'll have to tell them about what we do," she finished.

"Only if one of them asks. It's only fair."

Her hand sped up. "Only fair," she echoed softly. They drove awhile. He stopped at a light and nearly jumped out of his skin at the feel of her hot mouth on his ear. Her breath stirring his tiny ear hairs was driving him wild. "Is she hot?" asked Lydia in that same soft voice.

"Yes. Same as you." He felt her smile against his ear, then her tongue. The light turned green and he got moving.

Lydia took in a big, shuddering breath and said, "Okay. Tell me." Her hand began to drift southward.

"No names," he insisted, which Lydia liked.

"Tell me," she purred, and her hand reached his bulging crotch.

"I put my mouth on her breasts," he said.

"Did she cum, too?" asked Lydia, softly.

Max groaned, prompting her to giggle and explore his crotch more boldly. "She did."

"Mmmm, that's good. What else? What did she do to you?"

He needed a few seconds to gather the courage before replying, "She stroked me with her hand."

He felt his fly unbutton, then Lydia worked his zipper down. "Mmm, at the same time?"

"No, separate... Ah! Separate occasions!" Lydia's cool hand had slipped into his boxers and made his voice jump an octave. This was like an interrogation.