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Retrovirus 666 Ch. 01

By: Lady Malachite



Human retrovirus 666 infection and Gamuron by mouth as a potential gene therapy treatment for amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) in human patients. 

Heinrich Hospital main medical research staff:

de Sade DAF, Danvers LL, Portinari B, Lindermann T, Marker K, Snickett L. 

Abstract:

Systemic infection with human retrovirus 666, produced by directed evolution of the herpes simplex virus (HSV-2) has been shown, in previous studies at this facility, to suppress the symptoms of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), also known as Lou Gehrig's disease, by directly deactivating the sticky mutant proteins implicated in the disorder. Preliminary experiments conducted following suggestions by T. Lindermann, RN, suggest that a combined administration of the fertility drug Gamuron (3-[2-methoxy-5- (4-methylpiperazin-1-yl)sulfonyl-phenyl] -7-methyl-9-propyl-2, 4,7,8-tetrazabicyclo [4.3.0]nona-3,8,10-trien-5-one; 2-hydroxypropane-1,2-bicarboxylic acid) and the introduction of viral RNA from human retrovirus 666 into the test subjects' somatic cells results not only in a decrease in motor neuron degeneration, but a novel type of cell growth that has not previously been observed by the medical community. Side effects in rats include increased sexual potency, stamina and increased sperm production, which are attributable to the clinically useful effects of the designer drug Gamuron in infertility treatment. Results of this study indicate that human research ought to be pursued given the availability of human test subjects. 

VFD ID: 240215 (Also enclosed in the Snickett Files)

---

Dr. Hawking

"Oh yes baby. I'm going to stick my cock in that hot black ass of yours. Say you'll be good to me baby, and I'll pound you until you come over and over again!"

I awoke with a start. I hadn't realized that I fell asleep while preparing my lecture notes. And what an odd dream! The sensation was so strong I almost thought it was real, that I was whole again and having steamy hot sex with my cute little intern. Granted, I've never been so vulgar in real life, though I've often thought that dreams had a life of their own quite separate from the reality of the dreamer. I suppose that much is obvious. In my current state there is no way I'd be teasing anyone's hot black ass with my member.

I'm at a stage of my disease where I require a team of trained medical staff to attend to my every function. They help attach me to the machine that speaks for me, to the chair that keeps my body upright. They feed me and bathe me and stick tubes into my bladder to collect my urine in bags. It is not the sort of prestige often granted to Cambridge professors, nor perhaps what one has learned to expect from a man of my status. It might even appear the sick manifestation of a peculiar masochistic perversion, but I can a assure you it is a far call from even that sort of dark glamour.

I can no longer keep my head upright on my own, yet alone lift a hand to tend to even the most intimate of my body functions.

But I've gotten used to it, as much as it is possible to get used to the idea of being little more than a living brain. A good respiratory infection could easily end my long and productive life. I've had to live with ALS, and yet I live, do research, write and teach. There is still quite a lot that I'm capable of doing, and much of the things like can't do like sports, I've never really been interested in. I have a tendency to feel a sorry for myself from time to time, and when I do, I think of the boy I vaguely know who died of leukemia in the hospital shortly after I had been diagnosed.

"Dr. Hawking, Dr. Hawking!" my personal assistant, Carmen Black, exclaimed, lolling me out of my dark contemplation and running towards me carrying a piece of fax paper. I tried not to notice the way her large breasts bounced in her dress shirt. I was her research advisor, after all. 

"You wouldn't believe what was just sent to you from America!" She didn't bother for me to ask her what. That sort of thing was implied between us. She's been working for me, or perhaps more accurately as a part of me, since she started uni as a student in physics, five years ago. She understood my nuances. She quickly read to me a medical abstract by a group of American doctors at a hospital named after a head Nazi. "It's apparently not yet published, and top secret," she added, waving her arms theatrically. "I couldn't find anything about it on pubmed, and no one understands what they mean by VFD or the Snickett files. It's a total mystery. This was faxed directly from the hospital along with a list of convoluted directions and a reference to a writing with an eagle feather quill and an elusive jar of vanishing ink. Oh, and there was something about a sinking submarine, but that part was total rubbish."

"A prank?" I asked her seriously. I have seen too much to be overly optimistic. The world is full of miracle cures that turn out to be nothing more than castles in the air.

Carmen looked at me, and failing to find me hopeful, started to become disappointed herself. 

"If you don't mind, I'd like to try to follow this lead anyway. You know, we're scheduled to visit several major U.S. universities a week from now. It would be lovely if we could drop by the hospital and chat with the researchers there while we were at it. I promise I won't let it get in the way of my other work. I just have this feeling about it."

I'm not big on hunches, but I figured that if a woman like Carmen was willing to follow a veritable treasure map so that I could be advised about an experimental treatment, it really wasn't my place to stop her.

She kissed me on the cheek and informed me that she was going to take off now, whether I wished her to go or not, and that she would find someone to fill in for her for a couple of weeks while she was out adventuring.

I wished her luck, of course, and went back to planning my lecture notes.

Twelve hours later I received a text message saying that she had arrived in America. I was just finishing discussing research with one of my graduate students and hardly noticed the interruption. I sent off a polite reply, typing with eye movements, and returned to the conversation.

I was being fed diner in the company of my married daughter when Carmen's next message arrived. It was typed quickly, with a lot of errors, and said something about trouble with hospital security and escaping though an air duct into the medical lounge. I found this rather peculiar and a bit unnerving, so I sent back a reply asking if she was all right.

Hours passed, but I received no answer. All calls made on my behalf went directly to Carmen's voicemail. She never checked into any of the nearby hotels. I had an attendant notify the embassy in America and Carmen's parents. 

A week later, I went off to America on my scheduled book tour, without Carmen. 

---

Carmen Black

Almost the moment by plane touched down, I jumped up, remembering to close my legs like a proper woman, and pulled my bag out from under my seat. It was still several moments before I could make my way out of the plane into the airport, but I was restless after the long flight and itching for an adventure. I brought two of my textbooks with me, quantum field theory and general relativity, and busied myself with homework problems while I flew over the Atlantic. But I was so restless the whole time, I never quite forgot where I was or why, and I made a lot of stupid mistakes in algebra, which I only noticed when the problems became completely intractable. Not good at all.

I nearly stepped on the feet of the woman in front of me as we all shuffled into a line in the way-too-narrow aisle. I was past all composure. After nearly twelve hours I was nearly there; it was a few hours' drive from the airport where I landed to Heinrich Hospital, but that was no bother. The most fabulous adventure of my life has just began.

Apparently, the fellow in charge of international arrivals had never heard of a black British woman and flatly refused to accept my British passport. He was extra suspicious since I had a one-way ticket and didn't bring much baggage. I showed him my driver's license and my Cambridge identification card, but I was hard put to keep him from confiscating these "fake ID's". Fortunately, his supervisor was a little more culturally knowledgeable and let me though, cards intact, though his gaze did drop to my breasts more often than I found comfortable. I distinctly felt his hand on my arse as I walked though the superfluous metal detectors and into the airport. I was feeling generous, so I didn't report him to the authorities, though honestly I wasn't sure who I could call anyway. This man WAS security.

I was feeling a little miffed when I flagged down a taxi. Though it was nearly dawn, it was still very dark and I was rather fatigued. Who would have thought that American security could be so uncultured? I sighed heavily. "Driver, would you please be kind enough to take me to Heinrich Hospital?" I showed him the convoluted directions I had received by fax for Dr. Hawking.

"You understand, that that is a three hour drive," the driver replied in an irritated voice. "I'll need payment in advance. Are you in some sort of international medical conference or something?"  

"Yes, something like that. I was actually invited to speak with a medical research group there." This wasn't entirely truthful, but he didn't need to know that. "How much do I need to pay you?" I asked, reaching into my bag for my wallet.

"Just give me your credit card. I'll hold on to it until we arrive at the hospital." 

I pulled out my credit card and handed it to him. It took almost five minutes before the card was accepted, and the driver was rather irritated. You'd think he would be used to international cards since he worked so near the airport, but that didn't seem to be the case. He cursed like a sailor without even bothering to apologize, it was as if he had no idea that I might find his speech vulgar.

"So are you part of some university or something, over where you come from?" the driver asked conversationally while we waited in the airport loading zone.

"Yes, Cambridge," I replied evenly. 

"Hey, is that were that nerdy guy lives? I read one of his books once. Very well written, I didn't understand a word of it." The driver did a crude but accurate impersonation of Dr. Hawking by letting his head loll to the side and sticking his tongue out comically.

"You mean Dr. Hawking," I said, trying to keep my voice even, though I obviously was not fond of the impersonation. "I have the pleasure of working closely with him."

The fellow eyed me critically. For a moment I flattered myself to think that he was worried he might have insulted me, which he most certainly had, but after a moment his face went slack again and his expression softened curiously.

"So, can you tell me if he still functions, you know, down there?" the cab driver asked.

"I beg your pardon?" I responded, unable to believe my ears. The driver obviously thought I did not understand him.

He made a very rude gesture with his hand towards the bulge in his pants. I blushed a shade of bright red and tried to ignore him. But the credit card reader chose just that moment to confirm my card's validity, and the driver sped off, taking me with him, though at this point I thought I would rather have walked the two hundred miles than ride in his car.

"Can he still get a hard-on?" the driver asked bluntly after I didn't reply to his vulgar gesture.

"I don't know," I said, trying not to think about the matter too closely. I felt really weird even thinking of Dr. Hawking that way, and not exactly in the same way I might have guessed. "I suppose not," I said. I was a bit put out, though I wasn't sure whether it was because the driver had pressured me into answering or because I felt sorry for Dr. Hawking.

The rest of the taxi ride was long and uncomfortable. For some unknown reason I couldn't get the idea of Dr. Hawking with a huge erection out of my head. It was odd to think that he hadn't always been crippled. He even fathered a child in the early years of his marriage. If I was successful in getting him this experimental treatment, would he be able to have sex again? It seemed ridiculous to think of the potential sex life of a man who couldn't even keep his head straight on his shoulders. And it wasn't my business to think of such things!

I fidgeted on the cab seat. My arse seemed to be very sweaty and kept sticking to the upholstery. The skirt I was wearing seemed a little too short and kept riding up so my naked skin came into contact with the leather seat of the car, though I had thought myself conservatively dressed this morning, and my skirt rested only an inch above my knee. I probably shouldn't have worn thong panties. 

I tried to compose myself, but it was no use. All kinds of naughty scenarios were running though my head. I was getting quite flushed. I noticed that I was getting rather wet between the legs, and the moisture was spreading down my legs all the way down to my knees.

Oh, if only the driver would have known to hold his tongue!

These little discomforts, combined with my general restlessness and the rudeness of the driver, made the hours in the taxi cab pure torture. I wanted desperately to reach down, pull my skirt up and give myself a good frigging. 

I let my legs come apart just a little bit. I didn't feel safe with such a vulgar man in the car with me, but that uneasiness alone was a bit of a turn-on. I just sort of let my hand rest on my soft brown thigh, looking at the driver without really being obvious about it, so I'd know right away if something was wrong and stop myself. I felt so naughty being aroused at a time like this. I was supposed to be on a errand for Dr. Hawking, and all I could think of was my professor with a gigantic hard-on.

The image again made me blush. 

I'd have to be very careful, the upholstery was getting really damp.

I imagined myself getting down on my knees so I could take the head of his cock into my mouth. Oh, it would be so hard against the roof of my mouth! I could almost feel it. 

I let my hand slip a little higher. It was maybe half a foot from the leg band of my panties.

He would push his hips into me so his naked knees would knock against my breasts. His trousers would be around his ankles, his hands resting on my shoulders. His weight would bear down on me and his meat would push deeper and deeper into me so I'd rock my head back and let it go down my throat.

I pushed a couple of fingers underneath the elastic and let them rub against the tight curls of my public hair, tugging it slightly so it hurt just a little.

I glanced quickly at the driver. He seemed to be quite preoccupied with something he was listening to on the radio and didn't notice me. Good.

Of course, I couldn't let Dr. Hawking come too quickly. I was the sort of girl who liked my men to last. He'd push me to the floor and spread my legs apart.

I let my legs come apart in the cab just imagining it.

He'd be on top of me quickly, his hand navigating his great pulsing cock into me.

Oh! It was just like something out of a trashy romance novel.

My fingers crept in between the lips of my pussy. I was so wet down there and so sensitive. I felt my vision begin to blur and I felt the almost insatiable urge to just focus everything into the headrest behind the driver's seat, as though I could somehow make it catch on fire.

I let a slight moan escape my lips and then covered my mouth quickly, afraid that I'd be discovered.

That would be so embarrassing. What would the man do if he noticed? Would he give me a hard time? Could he make me pay to have the cab seat cleaned or replaced? It was all his fault I had suddenly become so horny!

He should have known not to tease a lady.

Oh, oh, it felt so good! 

"Oh Dr. Hawking, harder! Oh please, please, won't you fuck me harder?"

I must have come at least three or four times before we got off the freeway.

It's not really anyone's business, but I masturbate pretty regularly. There's something about solving complicated physics problems that gets a girl worked up. I've always been too shy to ask, but I get a feeling that the men in my class have felt the same undeniable urge to pleasure themselves.

Sometimes, when a lecture drags on, which it does even in Cambridge, I let my gaze wonder around the classroom and think of all the chaps wanking into the toilet. 

The driver pulled into the parking lot of Heinrich Hospital, which was full to the brink with patient's cars. All of these patients were presumably inside, waiting for emergency services. I straightened my shirt to the best of my abilities and waited with a pleasant smile for the driver to hand me back my card. 

"Oh, I forgot to mention. There's a one hundred dollar additional fee for international credit cards to compensate the company for the phone call and monetary conversion. There is also a mandatory fifty dollar gratuity for all fares over three hundred dollars."

I groaned. We were talking about a four digit cab fare. Well, it was worth it, I told myself firmly. I was making medical history.

"You're over your credit limit," the driver said bluntly. "I'll need the last one hundred and fifty dollars in cash."

I raised my an eye brow. I may be the bookish type, but I knew enough about the way the world worked to recognize a con when I saw one. Asking for cash caused warning sirens to go off in my head.

But what to do about the uncouth fellow? I was at his mercy as it were, alone in a foreign country where I didn't know social customs. Wasn't I obligated to pay whatever fare he asked of me? What could I do, run from the car like some sort of barbarian? I reached into by bag and pulled out my wallet. I hadn't thought to convert my money at the airport. I was so anxious to get where I was going that I hadn't even phoned a hotel. And with my credit card maxed out, I didn't know how I could afford it. Fortunately I knew the conversion rate between pounds and dollars and did the math in my head. I barely had enough, but I handed what I had to the cab driver.

He looked at the notes as though I handed him Monopoly money.

"What the hell is this?" he exclaimed, thrusting the notes back at me. "Don't you know real money is green?" 

I winked and bent over to pick up the scattered money. I couldn't help it if he was a fool. I had done what was polite and tried to give him money for the trumped-up services he may or may not have provided for me on behalf of his cab company. I wasn't going to put up with any more of this ridiculous abuse.

I gathered my things, including my credit card, which I had to practically steal from his reader, of all ridiculous things.

Then I said a choppy goodbye and slammed the cab door behind me. The driver grabbed my hand to stop me.

"You're going to pay what you owe me one way or another," he said with an evil glint in his eye, slowly unzipping the fly of his trousers, but I would have none of that. I stomped on his foot, the way my mother had taught me to do when I was little, to protect me from the bad men she had seen on telly. 

And I ran.

"Bitch!" the man swore under his breath. Though it was sort of a bad time, I hurriedly text-messaged Dr. Hawking to tell him I had arrived. Now that I was standing feet away from Heinrich Hospital, I could think of nothing else. Well, maybe almost nothing else. I glanced behind me and saw that the driver had crumpled nicely to the ground the way I knew he would. Good, I was safe. I hit 'send' on my cell phone and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thief!" the cab driver yelled, but no one paid any attention, least of all me. "Terrorist!" he screamed and the breath caught in my throat. It was as if the very air around me had changed.


Retrovirus 666 Ch. 01



The people walking along the street and in the parking lot all stopped and began to stare at me suspiciously, and in less time than it took me to reach the entrance to the hospital, I was surrounded by uniformed security guards.

"Oh, goodness!" I exclaimed. "Oh, no, this is some sort of horrible misunderstanding! You see, I've come from England on behalf of Dr. Hawking to speak to the researchers at this hospital about a new revolutionary treatment for ALS. It's a matter of great personal and professional importance to me. More than one man's life may depend on the outcome."

The guards all took a step back as though I had just brandished a gun at them. It took me a moment before I realized my mistake. They had misinterpreted my devotion to curing Dr. Hawking as a death threat made by a crazed terrorist.

I sighed. All the guards froze dramatically, as though my exhalation alone might be enough to send the hospital building tumbling to the ground.

"Please, you misunderstand me..." The way the officers fidgeted made me uneasy. Then I realized that they thought I believed myself to be a misunderstood martyr pleading her case.

I forced myself not to sigh again. The breath managed to get all the way up into my upper stomach before I noticed it was inappropriate.

"I wish to speak to de Sade and Snickett," I said simply. One of the guards snickered and then stifled it quickly when he noticed the other guards glaring at him.

It was my turn to be surprised. The last thing I had expected in a hostile situation like this was humor.

A female guard who also had some African heritage yelled, 'raise your hands or you're dead!' So, of course, I was in total panic and quickly obliged her. She walked up to me quickly and patted me down, paying perhaps more attention than strictly necessary to the area of my breasts, crotch and arse. 

No wonder they chose a guard of similar gender and ethnicity, otherwise I might suspect I was the victim of sexual harassment.

The female guard, who was rather attractive, grabbed me by the elbow almost offensively and led me over to sit on the edge of a large concrete planter which held a decorative palm tree.

"So tell me, why do you feel the need to be a suicide bomber?" she asked me as though we had been close for many years.

"Huh? Come again?" I asked, but it was as if she hadn't heard me. You would think from her attitude that we were having a serene little chat while I was strapped around the middle with dynamite.

"I beg your pardon, but..." she interrupted me to wave away my pardon. 

"No one is trying to blame you here. We're just being cautious. We can't have you going around threatening to hurt yourself and other people. You can see how that causes a problem for security. You have no idea how many terrorist threats we get here each week."

I nodded. I couldn't quite bring myself to comment. "I wish to speak to de Sade and Snickett about their research here. I received a fax from England inviting me speak with them. I assure you it will not be any bother to them."

"You know, you have you have such a nice figure with lovely straight hair and a lovely rounded bottom. You should be proud of yourself and your body, think of all there is to live for. Are you really willing to give up everything you've got going for you for a vague cause? Do you know how many women would give their eyes, teeth and whatnot to have breasts as soft and perky as yours?"

I most certainly didn't know, and furthermore wasn't sure that I cared. The woman seemed to be speaking total nonsense and I didn't know how to respond.

"Didn't you hear me?" the woman asked, touching my shoulder affectionately rather like I was a dog or a small child. "You're not saying anything. Are you sure you're all right? You didn't take anything, did you?"

I had had a gin and tonic on the plane, but that had been hours ago. I shook my head no, though I had no idea why she was questioning my sobriety and frankly found it rather offensive. I felt rather like a broad being forcibly seduced by a rough man at a pub, though that sounded like a rather awkward analogy, given the circumstances.

I found myself staring down at my hands that were neatly folded on my knees. My head swam, trying to keep straight why I was really here versus what they thought of me, and trying to find the best way to have this odd woman stop thinking of me as a suicidal terrorist and to let me into the hospital.

"You know," the woman next to me said as though we were two sisters conspiring to steal candy from the corner drug store, "It's a very good thing that you didn't think to bring a gun, otherwise we would be obliged to shoot you."

I gasped. Being British, I felt myself as knowledgeable about terrorists as an American, but still the idea of randomly being shot because a psychotic cab driver decided I was a terrorist was shocking.

Suddenly, I noticed another set of feet in front of me and a hand reached down to grasp my shoulder.

"Miss, I'm the psychiatry consult. They sent me to deal with you. If you don't mind, we could talk in one of the storage rooms. You don't seem particularly dangerous," (well, of course not!) "But I would still like to have a word with you. In one of the unoccupied storage rooms. If you don't mind."

How could I say I minded? Of course I minded! I was sick of being herded around like cattle, but it was worse being outside and having the eyes of all the police officers and security guards and numerous passerbys on me. Besides, the storage rooms were actually inside the hospital! If he would leave me alone long enough, I might actually be able to get myself an audience with the elusive researchers.

The chap politely opened the glass door for me. It seemed like the door was very heavy and had a rather stiff spring. 

"After you," he said, but the moment I went ahead he crept up beside me and slithered past, his chest rubbing hard against my back. I distinctly felt something hard brush across my arse, but I purposely ignored it. I wasn't in the mood to make a fuss around these frankly insane Americans.

The door slammed slut, taking the skin off the back of my ankles with it.

"Bloody hell!" I exclaimed, bending down to nurse the injury. The bloke eyed me suspiciously, as though he thought bleeding all over the floor of the emergency room was some part of some sinister plot to endanger the welfare of all the hospital-goers. He was drooling slightly, like a pervert or an imbecile.

I noticed him lick his lips as he ogled a liberal glimpse of my cleavage. A moment later, his hand slipped ever-so-slightly underneath his belt and his face shifted into a rather obscene expression.

I stood up quickly and tried to compose myself, but I was fighting back tears. I couldn't help it. The injury had brought out all the misery I had been feeling since the cab driver's offensive Hawking impersonation hours ago. I wished I was back in England, curled up with a textbook and a cup of tea with a shot of brandy in it. No, this was not the time to be weak. I had to speak with the researchers. I had to find this miracle cure.

I held open the door to the storage room myself. I didn't trust the fellow to do it for me properly. Fortunately, this door was much more accommodating. 

I sat down on a half-opened donation box, which held what looked like the wardrobe of a very large but not very fashion-conscious hooker. 

The psychiatrist sat down right next to me, though the box was rather small and didn't appear capable of holding the weight of more than one adult human. Though, in defense of my feminine honor, I am rather light and tight-bodied for a woman my height owing to my habit of jogging a couple of miles every morning before the nurses wake up Dr. Hawking, I felt the cardboard underneath me give way and my arse began to melt into the spandex. I felt the material wedge its way between the cheeks of my buttocks and press against the entrance to my anus, as though I wasn't wearing anything at all. It made me feel gross and way too vulnerable, being so intimate with such a foul set of garments, and more than anything I wanted to reach down and pull the material away from me and run screaming from the building. But that was completely insane. I was here to help Dr. Hawking and I wasn't going to go until I'd gotten the information I came for.

The psychologist was middle-aged and balding, with somewhat of a spare tire which seemed to leap off his lap and into mine, he was sitting so close. Somehow his appearance was oddly obscene, as though he was always walking around with a bit of an erection, though he was so foul I wasn't about to check the crotch of his trousers to confirm or deny the validity of this hypothesis.

He was also, I noticed, left-handed, and several times as he made elaborate gestures with his arms, he slapped me across the face or the breasts or knocked against my shoulder.

He promptly began to ask me all manner of personal and meaningless questions. My name, age, social security number (I didn't have one, of course, being British), date of birth, my mother's maiden name and education level. And as we continued to wander in the haze of meaningless communication, his hands began to travel all over my body, groping and prodding and almost deceptively slowly removing all my clothing, until I was sitting naked amongst the contents of the donations box.

I looked on the ground and saw my that lovely little work outfit had become nothing more than rags on the concrete floor. My purse was gone and I had no idea where I had lost it.

I stood up quickly, feeling as though the entire world was rushing by in front of my eyes. What was happening to me? Did the stewardess slip something into my tonic? My head was spinning.

"Are you feeling ok? You don't look well," the psychologist said grabbing my breast roughly from behind. "You didn't take anything, did you?"

Why was everyone asking me that?

Maybe I had a flu or something.

"I want to speak to Dr. de Sade and Dr. Snickett."

"Miss, you really don't know what you're asking for."

"I believe I do!" I said, stamping my foot so he would listen to me. I'd had to do quite a bit of foot-stomping my first two years at Cambridge before I could get my professors to take me seriously. Believe me, sexism is far from dead!

"You're not behaving rationally. You remind me of a little girl."

"How, for Christ's sake, did you get my clothing off?!" I spat in his face, completely ignoring his rather insulting remark. It is rather disturbing to a physicist in be considered irrational.

"You're obviously having psychotic delusions," the shrink continued, nodding somberly in agreement with himself. "You ripped off your clothing in a fit of passion and it was all I could do to keep you from forcing me to the ground and raping me. I have a wife and three adorable little girls who I have to support, you know. I'm not in a position to jeopardize my standing at work by allowing myself to indulge in casual relationships with random women, even ones as beautiful and tempting as you are, my lovely African-American sex goddess."

He cooed the last couple of words as though he thought them as sweet as poetry. Somehow I was unmoved.

"I'm neither African nor American, thank you very much!" I said with as much force as I could muster. "I'm an Englishwoman and proud of it! I haven't seen much of the States, but the little I've seen on this trip hasn't been at all to my taste. You're all far too self-righteous, and utterly ridiculous to boot."

"It's too bad you feel that way," the psychiatrist replied, giving my bare breast a firm squeeze. I was repulsed by the supposed intimacy of the gesture, considering that this man only moments ago had accused me of ripping my own clothing off and trying to forcibly seduce him. But the pressure of his touch sent delicious little shocks of pleasure though my body, making me feel very lightheaded, and somehow I was able to ignore how cold and sweaty his hands were.

Oh, and I must have been far too aroused from my little adventure in the taxi cab, because I actually moaned when his mouth began to circle around my bosom and his tongue flicked against my nipple. 

My crotch was so hot I could hardly keep standing. It felt like there was a toasty fireside between my thighs and the place where my flesh rubbed against itself was becoming rather chafed. I wrapped my arms around him, though I couldn't stand the man and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him.

It was madness itself, our little intercourse. But something about everything that had happened to me today had made me hungry for the touch of another person the way a starving man might steal bread from a comrade without thinking. It was as though the nerves that tied my body to my brain's control had somehow fried and my lust had developed a mind of its own. 

My leg wrapped around his waist and my hand began to fish for his cock through the fly of his pants.

It was then that, in flash of lightning, I remembered Dr. Hawking. I paused for a moment and seemed to dissolve. I felt became myself again, free from the insane lust that had possessed me. The fire in my loins subsided and I began to feel a little ashamed of myself.

What was I doing, for Heaven's sake, trying to fuck this foul psychiatrist?

I tried to pull myself free of him but realized that I was stuck. In a matter of moments the man was on top of me, pushing his engorged hunk of meat into me as I struggled against the concrete floor. The door the storage room swung oven and the female security guard who had been questioning me earlier came in.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, her mouth hanging slack as she watched the shrink pounding away inside of me. Her hands moved down beneath the belt of her pants and she began to frantically finger herself.

My hands balled into fists and I moaned like a whore.

"Please, oh please, I'm begging you to stop. On your honor as an authority figure and a member of the medical community, you must stop! You can't have sex with me against my will!"

"You're such a strange creature. It was you who was making overtures to me a moment ago!"

The lady cop moaned, her mouth hanging open in erotic pleasure.

"Yeah, you've gotta stop," she moaned. Her voice was somehow unconvincing. "Law says I have to bring you in on rape charges if I see you harassing a suspect like that." I noticed her hand never once stopped its motion in her pants as she spoke. But fortunately, her words had a powerful affect on the psychiatrist. 

His cock began to shrivel and he pulled out.

"Of course," the woman added, a sinister grin on her face, "she is a terrorist suspect, and a foreign national. And filing a suspect abuse report is a lot of needless paperwork. I might be willing to ignore procedure, for a price." She began to unbuckle her pants, revealing a rather spectacular specimen of pussy with a prominent clit ring and a very large dildo wedged up it, which she pulled out and brandished as if it was a night-stick.

The shrink's cock quickly re-hardened and he was on top of me again, spreading my arse cheeks apart and pushing the head of his cock against the entrance to my rectum.

I felt the toy pushing into my vagina. I was repulsed that it had been inside another woman just moments ago, that it was the lady cop who had so admired my breasts and arse who was now having her way with me. Somehow it seemed like a continuation of the oddly intimate yet completely meaningless affection she had granted me during her investigation. And it made me feel oddly dirty.

"Oh, please! I just came to this hospital to get some information about the research here! Please, just let me talk to Dr. de Sade and Dr. Snickett, and then I'll go and you'll never have to hear from me again. I won't report this to the embassy, nothing. Please, I just want to help one of the greatest men alive."

"You're doing a very job," the shrink said, thrusting his cock quickly up my ass without the benefit of lubrication. I had to fight back the tears of pain and misery that were beginning to roll down my cheeks.

Three hours later, I was on the third floor, completely nude, led by a nurse named Beatrice towards a glass door marked VFD. My arse was sore, and I could still taste the female security guard's pussy on my lips. Although I had managed to escape through the air duct when the psychiatrist had been called away for work, I still ended up having sex with practically every man in the hospital. 

"Oh, that's what the meaning of VFD was," I muttered to myself, remembering the strange letters at the bottom of the fax I had read a day ago in Cambridge. I'm a natural puzzle solver and have a way of storing mysteries in the back of my mind until I can come up with a satisfactory explanation to test.

"Oh no," Beatrice said simply. "The VFD is something completely different. Dr. Snickett just likes to name whatever he can with these initials. It's irritating, but we put up with it because he is such a witty fellow."

"I see," I replied, though in all honesty I was completely lost. "And Dr. Snickett is a psychiatrist? Is that why I should meet him on this floor?" 

"Oh, heavens, no!" Beatrice exclaimed in real agitation. "Dr. Snickett and his friend the Marquise are gynecologists, or at least they were before their licenses were revoked a couple of years go. They now perform freelance research for the hospital. They are brilliant, but completely crazy. It would be nuts to give them a patient to experiment on, although their research is what's been funding the entire hospital since the economy went south a couple of years ago and the budget dried up, thanks to that damn asshole in the White House. Anyway, it's all a very secret business, since it would be really bad for our insurance rates if anyone found out about the inner workings here at Heinrich Hospital, and I wouldn't be talking to you at all if you weren't from Cambridge. You are from Cambridge, aren't you? You're not wearing any clothing and don't have any form of ID. But you sure look British to me."

I bit my lip and nodded my head in agreement. I was, after all, from Cambridge, so it didn't matter if her logic was sloppy as long as it produced correct results.

The glass that surrounded the VDF room was soundproof, and so heavily tinted that it was quite lightproof as well. I had to sit myself down in front of a speaker and push a button to speak to the researchers inside. Though I knew logically that they were only feet away and did everything I could to sound polite, I felt like I was yelling into an abyss.

"Doctors Snickett and de Sade! My name is Carmen Black, and I've come from Cambridge on behalf of Dr. Hawking."

"Very fine day, Ms. Black. I assume you got our message," was the reply from inside the clamber.

"Yes, indeed," I replied as cordially as I could, given the circumstances. My bottom was once again sticking to the bench I was sitting on. "Please, Dr. Snickett, you must tell me about this research of yours."

"First tell me, have you been experiencing any strange symptoms since you landed in the United States? Hot flashes? Unexplained sexual arousal? Loss of memory and / or clothing?"

I blanched. That was the perfect description of everything that had bothered me about my odd and kinky encounter with the psychiatrist.

"I take it, from the awkward pause, that you have had such experiences," Dr. Snickett continued, unfazed. "You see, we took the liberty of having an associate at the airport inject you with a slow-acting version of the Gamuron drug we're using."

It seemed odd that someone could inject me with a designer drug at the airport without me noticing it, but it was possible and seemed as reasonable an explanation as I was going to get. I began to rub my left shoulder soothingly, where I thought I might have been injected.




Retrovirus 666 Ch. 01



The voice on the other end of the speaker laughed and I felt what blood was left there begin to drain out of my face.

The voice continued laughing manically, and I couldn't tell if I could take what he had said before seriously or not.

Such is the difficulty of conversing with the insane, I thought to myself with a bit of a smile. I don't know whether it was the Gamuron or being so close to the miracle cure I had come for, but I felt oddly braver than I had been my entire life.

"Beatrice," the man called. "Let the woman in." Another voice said calmly, "She's come all the way from England to speak with us. It is rude to have her kneel in front of an intercom to do it. Oh, and fetch us some tea and crumpets. It's so rare that we get to entertain up here, I want to do it right!"

Beatrice used a little key on her chain to open a glass box and pushed a big red button marked 'DANGER!!! Homicidal maniacs!!! Do not let loose!!! No visitors allowed!!!' 

The moment she made sure the glass door closed soundly behind me, she shuffled away, presumably to boil water for tea and to butter crumpets.

I turned to look and was able to see her walk down the hallway and out of sight. The door was made of one-way glass! The insane could look out but the sane couldn't look in. My natural problem-solving skills set in and I puzzled about the utility of this design for half a moment, but there were other pressing matters to attend to.

I was locked in a room with two crazy people.

"It's nice to meet you," a man of maybe forty years with a long white wig and 18th century attire said, bowing slightly. " I am Donatien Alphonse François, the Marquis de Sade."

"And I am Doctor Lemony Snickett!" the other man exclaimed, extending his hand. He was a tall and clever-looking fellow, though somehow, even though I was perhaps only a foot from him, I couldn't discern his features clearly in the bright lights of the room.

Perhaps the psychiatrist had been right. I didn't know what I was getting into.

"I'm Carmen Black, a graduate student of physics at Cambridge University, and personal assistant to Dr. Hawking. Now about your research..." I ventured, trying to fill the terrible emptiness left by the end of introductions. Somehow, I felt more calm and powerful just by talking.

"Oh... Yes... We are quite willing to share the intimate details of our research," the Marquis said merrily. I was rather ill at ease. "Otherwise we wouldn't have bothered to arrange your visit." Snickett nodded.

"Yes, well, it was something that seemed far too good to be true," I said, my breath catching only slightly in my chest.

"Oh, I can assure the veracity of our findings and data," Snickett said without pause. I noticed that he managed to use the abbreviation VFD again, just as Beatrice had noted. 

"But let us get down to business," the Marquis said, gracefully taking my hand and leading me onto one of the beds where I sat down with a plunk without realizing what was happening. "Of course, as you know from the abstract that we were pleased enough to fax you, we are in desperate need for volunteers to participate in our research. In short, we need a control group, a series of people unaffected by ALS, to judge what effect our treatment will have on them. Patients with ALS are very fragile, as you must know rather intimately owing to your close professional relationship with the celebrated Dr. Hawking. We do not wish to put the lives of such vulnerable people at risk until we can assure that the procedure is quite safe."

"So, you'll consider treating Dr. Hawking if I volunteer to undergo the treatment as part of the study?" I asked, standing up so my nose nearly collided with that of the self-proclaimed Marquis.

"Quite," de Sade replied. His breath landed roughly on my lips, which were an inch away from his. The sensation was somehow obscene, though I'd be hard pressed to say why. I leaped backwards and fell over the bed, landing on the floor with my arse in the air.

Both men stared at me questioningly, though neither moved a muscle, either to come to my assistance nor to take advantage of my awkward position.

After about a minute, I was able to straighten myself out without help, but I was quite flushed and was becoming rather perplexed.

Dr. Snickett pulled out a grotesquely oversized syringe from a jar marked 'Biohazard! This virus fights disease!' I sat down on the bed obediently. 

"What are the side affects?" I inquired, though I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to know.

"You're going to take these," the Marquis said, showing me five small blue pills that looked oddly like Viagra. "It's more Gamuron. We're studying its interaction with Retrovirus 666, as you probably already know from the abstract."

"It's a pity we had to change the dosage for per rectum," the Marquis sighed. "The bean counters in hospital administrators insisted that suppositories were less expensive, so we had to redesign our procedure." Horrible images of Gamuron suppositories were running rampant in my head. The Marquis just laughed and began grinding the pills into a fine powder and mixing it into several liters of some sort of white, slimy solvent that looked like nothing other than the semen of some large animal, or perhaps that of several hundred men. I wondered which one I hoped it to be.

"Oh, right, you asked about the side-affects, didn't you?" Dr. Snickett said seriously. Well, honestly, you're only our second human subject after Nurse Lindermann, who ruined the experiment by taking a nearly lethal dose of Gamuron and running around the hospital eating his own cum and spraying it all other the other patients before we could catch up with him and inject him with the gene therapy virus. His body was so deprived of protein it was a miracle he ever left the ICU. But I can tell you how it worked with rats!"

"And how did it work with rats?" I asked patiently. I'd heard that it took half an hour for drugs like aspirin to hit your bloodstream. While we talked, the doctor began inserting a highly lubricated clear plastic hose up my arse and pumping the mixture of Gamuron and sperm-like solvent in through a funnel. I felt a strange heat in my butt as the fluid began to push into me. My stomach began to bloat out and hung oddly, almost as though I were pregnant. Almost instantly, I felt my head begin to get very hot and foggy as though I had had a little too much to drink, and my crotch became very hot and wet.

"Oh, the figures were different for males and females, but what it comes down to is an overall ten-percent mortality and a twenty-percent probably of radical change in sexual characteristics. It was actually rather remarkable. A couple of these sex-changed females managed to father children. It's leading us into a whole new set of exciting medical experiments, but I won't bother you with the details.

I gulped again, and then, to everyone's surprise, including mine, I began to laugh in reckless abandonment.

"You mean I might grow a dick?" I laughed again, and I sounded completely mad even in my own ears. "The first thing I'm going to do is fuck that son of a bitch psychiatrist up the ass!" I laughed again and my voice rang through out the room.

My crotch was so wet it was unbearable, and I began to finger myself frantically. I felt more intoxicated and horny than I had ever been in my life.

The Marquis pushed me over so my arse stuck out, as though someone was going to fuck be from behind, and Dr. Snickett came closer with the monster syringe full of bioengineered virus.

I whimpered softly and rubbed my clit with the fingers of my right hand as though it might somehow comfort me, but to tell you the truth, I was terribly afraid. I knew that the moment the virus entered my body I'd never be the same again. I was giving up everything, my life, my dreams, everything, and for what? I couldn't really say.

The Marquis began slapping my arse, until it must have turned quite red. I was not sure whether that was part of the procedure or if he did it because of some fetish.

A moment later, I felt the needle sink into my bottom and I cried out in shock. Dr. Snickett pumped the contents into the muscles of my arse and the world began to fade around me. The room around me darkened and I lost consciousness.

---

Dr. Hawking

It's been a over a week since Carmen's disappearance and the whole department was devastated. There was little question in anyone's mind that she met with some variety of foul play in the States, and there were rumors that her parents might hold the university responsible for her disappearance.

Still, life could not be interrupted. I couldn't cancel my entire book tour. There were too many people who would have been disappointed. And I knew somehow that Carmen wouldn't have wanted that. She loved the department more than any other student I have ever known. She would have been devastated if I had stayed home. 

So went to America. I think that on some irrational level I thought I would be closer to her there, but I wasn't. I traveled across the country giving talks at several prominent universities.

A week later I found myself at UC Berkeley, giving almost exactly the same talk for the twentieth time. The only auditorium big enough to accommodate the audience was being renovated, so the lecture was held on an improvised stage in the middle of the quad. Then, something completely unexpected happened.

A tall black woman walked through the aisle of chairs, completely naked, and all heads turned. Beautiful women have a sort of almost magical appeal a physicist can never compete with.

Since I'm not quite dead, I decided to have a look too. I navigated my wheelchair a little closer to the edge of the stage so I was pointed in her direction.

Oh, heavens, it was Carmen!

In addition to her peculiar nudity, two of her toenails and a couple of strands of her long black hair were blue, but I didn't know or really care about the reason for the change.

The grass around her was shaking with quick pulsing oscillations, almost as though there was an slight earthquake and as I watched she crushed a large stone in the palm of her left hand.

It was an oddly powerful gesture for a woman with such a slender build.

For some shameless reason I found this extremely erotic, and it occurred to me that I wasn't really on a stage in Berkeley, I was having another wet dream. I wanted to stand up and hold her in my arms and give her the fucking of a lifetime. I wanted to push her lips apart and wedge my tongue down her throat to see what it felt like. I wanted to have her hold me in those strong arms of hers.

I tried to move but I couldn't. I didn't have the muscle strength or coordination. So perhaps it was real.

Some security guards swarmed around her. She raised her hand and they all flew back, a couple of them crashing against the stage.

Carmen looked at me with a glint in her eyes.

She pounced forward like a tigress and tore me from my chair with her fingernails, and with a hundred people watching, she wrapped her arms around me and carried me off into the hills.



Retrovirus 666 Ch. 02



I woke up feeling hazy. My whole body tingled, as though the blood supply had been cut off hours ago and was now slowly returning. For some reason I felt oddly warm, as though my body temperature was elevated. I couldn't move a muscle, so I stared up above me where my eyes just happened to land. The roof was made completely out of natural-looking stone, as though I wasn't in a building at all but in some sort of cave or underground burrow. Of course, I couldn't sit up. I could hardly breathe, lying down this way. In my condition, I knew I would die if someone didn't rescue me quickly. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again Carmen's face was hanging over mine. Her lips were moist and tempting. I noticed that her neck and breasts, at least, were bare. That was all I could see.

"Dr. Hawking, you'll be happy to know that I convinced Dr. Snickett and de Sade to include you in their experimental treatment."

I couldn't say anything. I can't speak without the aid of a computer. It's one of the effects of my advanced ALS. But I was so hypnotized by Carmen's plump wet lips moving so close to mine that I might not have spoken even if I could. If only I could move to kiss her!

She brushed a lock of her long black hair behind her ear. I realized, then, that it had fallen against my cheek, and it tickled slightly as she removed it.

Her lips brushed against mine and she pushed my mouth open gently with her tongue. She pushed a couple of pills into her mouth and began to chew them, her lips still against mine.

I wondered vaguely whether her disappearance was somehow connected to the American underground drug trade. I really can't afford to take recreational drugs, my body can't handle them and they might damage the only thing I have left, my mind. Honestly, I was in such an erotic daze that the outside world didn't really bother me, the danger all seemed so remote, as if it was part of some trivial story that I overheard at some unimportant social gathering. 

She pushed the chewed-up pills into my mouth and down my throat with her tongue. I felt like moaning with pleasure, but I couldn't.

Her mouth traveled lower. She kissed my neck, my chest, my stomach all the way to my limp genitals. I felt bad that I couldn't do anything for her. I couldn't even get an erection.

I couldn't lift a hand to touch her. She had to put her breasts into my hands so that I could feel them. She used my fingers to pinch her nipples.

Though completely helpless and sexually useless, I was still oddly aroused. What sort of drug was it that she had given me? Whatever it was, it was potent.

"Oh, Carmen!" I thought to myself. "I missed you so much. I never really knew how much you meant to me until after you were gone, even if I never would admit it out loud."

Carmen laughed. She maneuvered herself so that she was straddling my waist and began playing with herself, where I could barely see it.

She rotated her fingers on her clit, this way and then that, in an elaborate pattern, and it began to grow. It quickly became the size of her thumb and then the size of a ping-pong ball. And still it kept growing. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It had the same sort of dark appeal as a watching an auto-accident.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye two suspicious-looking fellows in white lab coats who began to take measurements with a crude wooden ruler, like the ones children use in school.

They measured the length and diameter of my penis and began ruthlessly comparing it to the size of Carmen's rapidly-growing clit. They timed Carmen's hand movements with a stopwatch and made notes on a clipboard.

It was driving me nuts. Who were these strange men and what was their relationship to Carmen? There was no way I could find out; I couldn't even lift a finger. It was maddening.

Carmen's clit was now bigger than any man's penis. It was approximately five centimeters in diameter and about thirty in length. She wrapped her hand part-way around it and rubbed up and down the length a couple of times, as though she was giving a man a hand job. 

She began to navigate her engorged clit against my rectum. I was aroused, despite the strange circumstances, and my arse was slightly lubricated. My rectum has never really been tight, since I lack muscle tone everywhere, but she was still kind enough to moisten the area with the juices that were flowing from her cunt.

The fire that was coursing through me since I'd swallowed the pills doubled as the tip of her clit pressed into me. My mouth opened and closed weakly and my eyeballs darted around in my orbits.

The men in white coats looked ecstatic. They have probably never witnessed anything like this.

They made nervous little noises, as though they were busy deciding what that to do with some new unknown variable. The scratching on the notepads became more frantic.

My whole body seemed to be aching.

More of Carmen's clit pushed into me. She was still sitting on top of me, rather as if she was riding my cock and not the other way around.

It was not long until she came and I felt something warm flow into my rectum.

Carmen pulled out her clit, which was dripping with her juices. It slowly began to shrivel and draw back into her body so her genitals returned to normal.

Carmen and the two men in white coats helped set me up against a wall so I could breathe more evenly. They were speaking hurriedly to each other, as though they were plotting something or other, but my ears were buzzing and I couldn't make out the words. 

My head felt hazy, as though I was in another world.

Suddenly I was in intense pain. I wanted to throw up but couldn't. The people around me lifted me up in the air so that my feet touched the ground, though of course I didn't have enough strength to stand on my own.

I felt like hot lava was shooting through my chest, down my legs and out through my fingertips. It was the most intense feeling I've ever had in my entire life and I was quite sure that I was going to die from it.

I'm not a very strong man and my heart felt like it was going to shatter from strain.

I felt so warm and my eyes completely refused to focus. I wondered vaguely whether I had somehow forgotten my glasses. I couldn't feel them on my face, but then again I was so accustomed to them being there. I was almost certain that I would be aware if they had suddenly gone missing.

"Dr. Hawking, are you ok? You look ill," Carmen spoke, her voice shaking. "You're not going to die, are you? Dr. Snickett said that there was a chance you'd die from the procedure."

"Don't worry, he'll be just fine," the Marquis said calmly. "The process is coming along splendidly.

Slowly, Carmen and the two doctors lowered me down so that my feet were completely grounded, and when they moved away, I realized I could stand. How long has it been since I could use my leg muscles?

I turned my head and saw that Carmen was crying. I tentatively took a step towards her. I felt very shaky, but I could move my legs. They felt hard and firm, like the legs of an athletic young man, not at all the limp, lifeless things I had a moment ago.

Carmen ran over towards me and buried her head in my chest. She was crying so hard that her shoulders shook.

I put my hand behind her head to comfort her.

"Try speaking," Dr. Snickett urged. He had his clipboard ready. I hadn't been able to speak since my tracheotomy twenty years ago, but then again, I hadn't been able to hold myself upright since about that time, either.

I tried to remember how to speak. It has been so long that I had quite nearly forgotten, and attempting to use my voice was similar to staring at myself in the mirror while trying to wiggle my ears. It took time.

"Carmen," I gasped, my voice crackling slightly.

She looked up at me, tears sparkling in her eyes. "How is it possible? Even your voice is back!"

Dr. Snickett scratched a note on his clipboard and stared meaningfully at de Sade.

The two physicians headed out of the cave into the setting sun.

"Wait, where are you going?" Carmen asked, her arms wrapping around me as though she was afraid I would take off also.

"Back to the psycho ward at Heinrich Hospital," the Marquis said with all the nobility of a victorious soldier returning home. "Our work here is done."

I felt a muscle in my forehead twitch at the mention of a psychiatric ward, but I sent the doctors away with proper British decorum, and Dr. Snickett turned and smiled at me brightly before stepping out into the approaching darkness.

It took me a full three days to get used to my new body, which was not only functional, but younger and stronger than it should have been.

And when I became used to ordering my muscles around, I took Carmen to a dark part of the cave and fulfilled most of my outstanding fantasies.

---

I walked out of the cave with Carmen standing by my side. She was smiling as though she had been awarded a million-dollar research grant.

I could barely make out the city around me. Something about it didn't seem right. Maybe my eyes were just having trouble adjusting to the lighting after so many days in the dark, but everything seemed to vibrate and pulse with new life.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I could see the bands of magnetism flowing around the electrical wires. I could see the heat rising from a squirrel. The pine needles on the tree in front of me were so green they made me feel a little dizzy. But this, too, was probably some sort of hallucination.

It was all rather amusing, and I felt like laughing at everything I saw, though this didn't seem right to me so I restrained myself. There is something queer about a fellow my age becoming so emotional.

I stumbled slightly and tried to remover myself by reaching out with my hand. But I still didn't quite have my coordination back and fell flat on my face.

Carmen helped me to my feet and brushed the dirt from my face and chest. Her eyes were bright and loving.

She stood on her toes slightly so that her mouth could meet mine, and her lips were every bit as moist and soft as they had been the countless times I had tasted them.

I ran my fingers though her hair and she reached down and grabbed my cock.

I was surprised that her touch was able to send such jolts of pleasure through my body. Still, three days of marathon sex was enough to prove to me that I could once again have an erection.

Then we began to walk.

I felt like a child again and my legs still wobbled slightly, but I hardly noticed and in no time we were back in the inhabited region of the Berkeley area, which was obviously one of the richer suburbs where professors lived.

I suddenly remembered that a good friend of mine, Dr. George Smoot, lived in the area. I have not seen him in years and was instantaneously filled with the urge to visit him.

I figured I could probably find his house myself, but decided instead I'd go to the pub down the corner and ask for directions, just in case. I communicated this to Carmen, who smiled, and we went.

The inner doors of the bar were in the style of the old swinging doors in westerns and I found it amusing to push them full force, like Clint Eastwood might, but I ruined the effect by turning around and watching the wood panels oscillate on their hinges. 

In the back room one of the tellies was running the news, and I was a little surprised to see my face on the screen.

"Renowned physicist Stephen Hawking of Cambridge University was kidnapped four days ago from the University of California Berkeley grounds, while he was in the United States promoting his newest book, 'A Briefer History of Time,' which hit U.S. bookstores last week. The suspect is believed to be a nudist, feminist activist, probably a lesbian, whose motives are still unknown. No fewer than five different terrorist organizations have claimed responsibility for the abduction, though no ransom demands have been made."

"After an extensive 64-hour search of the area, the whereabouts of Dr. Hawking are still unknown. Dr. Hawking suffers from Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease. He is in need of constant medical attention, and many believe the famous physicist may already be dead. An award is being offered by Cambridge University and the British government for any information leading to the recovery of Dr. Hawking. If you have seen anything you think might be helpful, please call this number."

"Holy Mother of Jesus!" I swore. A fellow wearing the largest gold crucifix I've ever seen turned and glared at me suspiciously. "I'm Dr. Hawking!" I gasped. "Did anyone write down that number?"

"You're not Hawking," the man with the crucifix said, staring the region below my belt. "You heard on TV, Hawking is a cripple. And you don't look like no cripple to me."

"You're...you're naked!" a woman near me gasped, covering her mouth in horror. I looked down and noticed that she was right. Somehow I hadn't realized I was naked and wondered vaguely where and when I lost my clothes. I also incidentally realized that my cock was hard and nearly thirty-five centimeters long. It reminded me of an old intaglio carving of a satyr.

Carmen seemed to enjoy the way the woman stared and knelt down to take the full length of my cock in her mouth. Most of jaws in the bar dropped wide enough to admit a cock of approximately the same size down their throats.

I blushed slightly, thinking how improper the whole situation was. 

"Anyway," an intelligent but probably unobservant man said, glancing down at Carmen, whose head was bobbing up and down the length of my penis. "I'm a bit of a Hawking fan and he said one time that he would have never gotten any work done if he wasn't tied to a chair. So, even if you are him, and I'm not saying that you are, what good are you to us if you can walk? Don't you realize that you'll never amount to anything again? You'll never be anything as interesting as him, or be as productive as he was, because the whole world is open to you. God, you're a sick man!"

I was satisfied, so Carmen moved away. I noticed her lick a bit of cum off her lip and swallow it. 

"Don't be preposterous!" I exclaimed, coloring slightly. "I'm just as capable of rational thought as I ever was. Just because I can now move and breathe on my own doesn't make me a lesser man. I feel like I could live another sixty years!"

The fellow clapped me on the shoulder in a spirit of mock affection. "You look pretty young and rather fit, you probably can if you eat right and get regular exercise."

"Oh come now, you must be mistaken. I was born in 1942, I'm nearly sixty-five years old!"

"Um, Dr. Hawking, the virus seems to have had some minor affects on your age. You don't look any older than I do," Carmen interjected.

Once again I was flabbergasted. Not once since I had regained control of my body had I thought to do anything so simple as look in a mirror. I had no idea what I looked like.

I rushed over and to the mirror behind the bar. The bartender continued washing a glass, like they always do in old cowboy movies, but he had a bemused smile on his face. Heaven knows what he was thinking about me.

Behind me I heard a shriek. An ugly, rather low-looking fellow was holding on to Carmen's breasts. He was struggling with his belt, attempting to rape her in front of all these witnesses.

I watched in horror as Carmen's clit began to expand again and she began to navigate it into the ruffian's anus.

"No Carmen. Don't. You have no idea what it will do!" I exclaimed rushing forward.

Carmen pushed me aside gently.

"Of course I don't, and neither do you. That's what makes it an experiment," she replied.

"I'm a theorist!" I replied without thinking.

Carmen laughed. She knocked the man's hard cock out of the way as though they were fencing and thrust herself into him.

I noticed someone in the corner begin to dial the police on his cell phone. I leapt forward to stop him, even though I wasn't any more sure than he was of the validity of Carmen's actions.

The man on Carmen's clit wiggled as though he were a fish caught on a hook. He moaned erotically, though it surely couldn't be pleasant to be anally penetrated by something that big.

The front of his pants were completely covered in precum and his vocal emissions were enough to wake the entire neighborhood.

Mercifully he came quickly, though the way he shuddered seemed more like death rattle and his eyes lolled back in his head ominously.

"Come on!" I exclaimed to Carmen, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the door. "I think we've had enough entertainment for one evening. We'll just walk to George's house, I think I have a good idea where it is."

"All right," Carmen said, and we set off into the night.

I had a little more difficulty finding Professor Smoot's house than I had thought, and we ended up having to look in the phone book in order to confirm the address. I was reluctant to go anywhere as public as even a convenience store with Carmen, after the way she handled that rapist.

I saw the shadow of a man somewhere in the distance behind us, trudging along like a zombie in a cheap horror movie.

For the first time since my transformation I felt like my life was in danger.

We proceeded down the street towards the address indicated in the phone book. Dr. Smoot had just won the Nobel Prize for his work on cosmic microwave background radiation, and it was slightly ironic that I could just casually find his phone number and address in the Berkeley phone book.

Ten minutes later I knocked on the door of Dr. Smoot's house. I had Carmen hide out of sight until I could properly introduce her. After all, half the world considered her some sort of bizarre terrorist.

The door opened slightly and Dr. Smoot opened it, carrying a mug of hot coffee. The glimpse I had into his house indicated that he had been sitting in his armchair grading papers. The television in the background was still playing the news, and once again I saw my own slanted face grace the TV screen.

"Sorry I didn't call first, George. It's been a rough book tour, I'm afraid. I heard that you've become a victim of Alfred Nobel's second great mistake. I hope you are holding up well."

Dr. Smoot looked me up and down politely, trying very hard not to stare for too long at my enormous member.

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced. What university are you from? You must have graduated young to be teaching at your age."

Perhaps not surprisingly, he hadn't recognized me at first glance, but something in my mannerisms immediately convinced him that I was a professor of physics.

"Cambridge, of course," I replied jovially. The professor's faced darkened slightly and he stared at my face intently. I hoped optimistically that he was beginning to penetrate through my youthful looks and recognize my identity underneath. But I knew this was almost certainly not the case.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for your loss. Has there been any luck recovering Dr. Hawking? I have to admit that I'm reluctant to give up hope for his safety, regardless how bleak the news reports are. Just between you and me, I think the reporters underestimate him. He wouldn't have survived which such a debilitating disease for such a long time if he wasn't more hardy than people give him credit. I'm ready to bet he will live for another twenty years, despite this ridiculous abduction."

"You've got that a bit wrong, my good man. I'm going to live another twenty years, not despite the abduction, but because of it." He looked at me blankly, behind his eyes I could tell that something was not quite clicking into place. I definitely sounded insane, but something about me didn't seem insane. "You see, I'm Dr. Hawking."

I could tell that he was considering protesting, but before we could have a repeat of the odd events in the pub, I called Carmen out from hiding.




Retrovirus 666 Ch. 02



She walked over to my side quietly.

Dr. Smoot recognized her immediately and was a little confused and frightened. After all, he didn't know that she was a physics graduate student rather than a terrorist.

"This woman is Carmen Black, my personal assistant and one of the most brilliant students I've had the pleasure to advise. She left a week ahead of me to look into a crackpot miracle cure for ALS, which, as it turns out, wasn't such a foolish idea after all."

"Can it really be you?" Dr. Smoot asked, opening the door a little wider.

"Don't make me talk shop to prove it too you. I'm sure you've had quite enough of that in Switzerland.

"Oh for heaven's sake, the two of you had better come in. Here, drink something warm," he said, thrusting the coffee mug at me. "I'll find you some clothing to wear and then we'll figure out the best way to notify the authorities."

"They might be convinced by genetic testing," Carmen said reasonably.

Dr. Smoot and I dismissed her remark with a wave of the hand.

"Don't you realize that any man worth his salt will recognize Dr. Hawking from his great knowledge of his field?" Dr. Smoot replied jovially. His back was to the two of use and he was busily putting a kettle of water on the stove for tea. "There's no use bothering with something so arbitrary and cumbersome as genetic testing. Now, about clothing, I'm afraid I don't have much. Most of what I have is in need of the laundering, and the things I took with me to Switzerland were lost in transit. So I'm afraid you have a choice between the contents of my carry-on bag and what I happen to be wearing at the time. Thank goodness this was before that terrorist scare in Korea! Now they are making all female passengers under thirty years old get on airplanes completely naked!"

"What happened?" Carmen asked. I recalled she had a particular interest in popular news items.

"The government received a tip that a group of young nuns visiting from Rome were wearing explosive underwear. It took nearly a dozen armed guards to disrobe them. I don't believe any of the garments in questions were found to be explosive. But to be on the safe side, the terror alert has been issued. All young women trying to get on a plane will have their clothes confiscated, and foreigners might not be allowed on planes at all."

"Good to know," I replied evenly. "We'll have to take that into consideration for our return flight."

Dr. Smoot ran into his bedroom and produced some clothing. I couldn't fit into his underwear, or even his sweat pants, because frankly my member was rather too large. But I was able to acquire a rather nice black coat he had worn in Switzerland and a pair of spare glasses frames with the lenses knock out. I felt a little naked without my glasses, though the treatment had apparently managed to correct my myopia.

Carmen stubbornly refused to select anything. She said that it was all too rough against her skin, and no consideration for propriety would convince her to change her mind.

For over an hour, we chatted with Professor Smoot and drank hot tea with brandy.

I found the drink affected me more than I would have expected and I was becoming quite excitable.

I laughed just a little too hard over a joke Smoot made about government funding of dark energy research and very nearly choked on my fourth helping of tea, sending a stream of hot liquid onto the off-white carpet.

Carmen rubbed my back soothingly while Dr. Smoot went back into the kitchen for a wet paper towel. He was chuckling good humouredly at my impromptu show of bad manners.

The news came back on and the tales of my demise had become even cruder and more vulgar. A paid actor convulsed violently in fake death throes as a lovely nude woman burned offerings of raw meat to a blood-covered statue of Satan, a lusty glint in her eye. It was more like cheap porn than actual news coverage, and for some reason, it made me dissolve into another fit of laughter.

Dr. Smoot, however, had enough sense to copy down the hotline number.

I was still laughing when he went to the phone.

"Hello, this is Dr. George Smoot, professor of physics at the University of California Berkeley. Yes, I understand that you are busy trying to recover the remains of Dr. Hawking, I just thought you might be interested in knowing that he's alive and quite well. He's sitting on my couch watching television and drinking tea. I can put him on the phone if you would like to talk to him. Yes, I know Dr. Hawking, has had a tracheotomy and hasn't spoken for years, but he's quite talkative now. Yes, I'm sure it's Dr. Hawking. Yes, I'm sure I'm not mistaken. Yes, I'm sure I'm quite in my right mind. It would take a fool not to recognize a famous physicist! No, there's no hurry. He's entirely none the worse for wear, in fact his condition has quite improved. He's no longer the same person he once was. No, I don't mean that literally, he's definitely Dr. Hawking. You'll have to see for yourself."

"They think you're raving mad, don't they?" Carmen asked. My eyes were glued to the television. There was something oddly appealing about listening to exaggerated accounts of my death. Governor Schwarzenegger was now talking to reporters outside the capitol building. He seemed so artificial, as though he was still making action movies rather than being more gainfully employed.

Suddenly, the camera panned to no one other but my daughter Lucy, who was being lifted out of a black taxi by the governor. He kissed her politely on the hand and wiped the tears from her face. I'm sure that it looked wholesome and sympathetic to ninety-nine percent of the viewing public, but he opened his mouth just a little too wide for my taste. I didn't miss his hands sliding to her buttocks and breasts either. He put his hands on her back to help support her up the stairs and his hand slipped lower and lower until it was tugging at the elastic of her underwear.

That was more than I could take.

"Come on, Carmen, we're going to Sacramento."

Carmen flicked off the telly. "But of course," she replied, the very slightest of frowns on her lovely brown face.

I rose and shook Dr. Smoot's hand, thanking him for his aid.

He politely offered us his car and I accepted reluctantly. We were so indebted to him already, but it didn't seem likely that we would get far using substandard American public transport, and we surely couldn't walk or fly to Sacramento.

A car full of men in uniforms with guns on their backs were walking towards the house as we left. They looked rather more like a SWAT team than the paramedics and news crews I had expected to respond to George's hotline call.

"Are you the man who claims to be Dr. Hawking?" one of the men half-barked, half-snarled at me.

"I don't claim anything" I responded. "Now, I beg your pardon, but I'm busy at the moment and don't have any time for theatrics."

The keys George had handed me were to a little blue hybrid car. It was rather too cute.

I haven't driven a car for over thirty years, but I felt like giving it a try so I took the driver's seat, and Carmen got in next to me.

It seems that driving is something you never forget, like riding a bicycle, or perhaps my newly regenerated motor neurons somehow made things easier, because in a matter of minutes I felt like a professional racer.

The car seemed to fly on its own over the little blockade that was set up in a pathetic attempt to stop us. I wondered vaguely what these blokes had been thinking, sending a SWAT team to Dr. Smoot's house, but I was rather preoccupied. The desire to get to the state capitol seemed to course through my veins like fire. I felt my over-large member twitch against the material of my coat, and I was inadvertently tensing my testicles like a body builder might do to better display an arm or a leg.

The two of us sped towards Sacramento at a velocity which seemed comparable to the speed of light.

Once an officer, perhaps responding to a call from the fellows who we had avoided earlier, flagged down our car. But we ended up trading a blow job (which Carmen gladly offered) for safe passage and it was not long at all before we were standing in front of the capitol building.

I could tell that the governor was still inside, even though the building was closed to the public, from the long line of news cars that were crowding the block around the white mansion.

Carmen tore the large wooden door off the hinges, which was regrettable because it was a rather nice door. The two of us stepped inside.

Arnold and Lucy were sitting in a conference room with a team of reporters. They looked rather cozy together, his hand resting just above the line of her slip, though perhaps I had no right to quibble. She was a grown woman after all and was allowed to make up her own mind about things like men. Still, it bothered me to see her in the arms of such a known womanizer.

"Hello," I smiled brightly at the governor, my daughter and a team of curious dumb-faced reporters. "I'm Dr. Hawking."

Suddenly all the cameras pointed in my direction and I was a little embarrassed. It's a good thing I have such a good poker face.

Carmen went over to one of the camera men and fished his cock out of his trousers and began to suck it. The man moaned as though he'd never felt anything so wonderful in his life.

I thought about the brainless would-be rapist that Carmen had fought off only hours ago and my face blanched. I didn't want to see her hurt any more innocent (or not that innocent) people. But at the same time, I had an appearance to maintain. If I let myself look weak in front of the governor and all these cameras, things surely wouldn't work out in my favor. I needed to seem collected and purposeful.

"You had better make her stop," I informed the fellow in her mouth as another man began feeding himself into her cunt. "Evidence suggests that she can be a little dangerous to the brainpower of men she copulates with. It's still an untested hypothesis, there has been only one observation and I haven't conducted any experiments on the matter myself, but after all, I am a theorist.

Carmen chuckled slightly around the man's cock. But she continued to suck and fuck. She bounced back and forth on the cock in her pussy, nearly choking herself on the other, like the girls do in bad porno movies.

I found myself absentmindedly fingering myself through the material of my coat and stopped myself abruptly. The last thing I wanted to do was look like some sort of pervert.

"You're not my father," Lucy announced, wrapping the governor's large arm around her shoulder. "You're a very sick man. My father is paralyzed and probably dead, and it's very mean of you to make fun of me about it."

I felt tears begin to well in my eyes, but I tried to shrug it off. It was reasonable that she didn't believe me. After all I looked so different. Carmen was now surrounded by five men in various states of undress.

Lucy began to cry and I wanted nothing more than to walk over to her and put my hand on her head like I did when she was a little girl, and let her cry into my chest like a good father, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to do it. Not with the governor's hand on her breasts. The afterimage of her dazzling blue eyes filled with hatred for me blazed in the back of my mind and made me almost collapse to the floor from weariness.

The man in Carmen's ass came explosively, leaving a train of cum on the carpeted floor. I watched in horror as his eyes lolled back and all traces of intelligence drained from his face.

The governor, who, as I recalled, was familiar with orgies from his time as a body builder, seemed unimpressed. He had probably seen worse than men turning into drooling mindless zombies, but I couldn't conceive a worse fate.

The man pulled his softening cock out of my graduate student's ass and began to hobble towards Governor Schwarzenegger.

I felt tears beginning to roll down my cheek, though I wasn't aware of when I had begun crying or why, and I felt this sensation slightly disconcerting. I wiped my face dry with the palm of my hand and tried to compose myself. I am British, after all.

Lucy began yelling something at me through a cloud of tears, but I could no longer understand her. I could feel my new elephantine cock beginning to swell underneath my coat. One of the camera men was working himself between Carmen's breasts and I was very nearly hypnotized by the way her nipples were quickly becoming rock hard as the man's member knocked against her chin. How she contrived to suck another man's cock at the same time I might never know. As more and more men began to attach themselves to her I wondered vaguely if she had been on a gymnastics team in high school.

Another man came, sending a stream of hot white cum rolling down Carmen's leg. His eyes, too, lolled back and he pulled free to hobble towards the governor's table.

It was something out of a terrible horror movie, these two brainless men reaching to grab and fondle every inch of Schwarzenegger's and Lucy's body.

Since I'm used to thinking about and solving puzzles, I wondered why the men seemed to pay no attention to me. After all. they were interested enough in the governor's huge biceps.

Perhaps my atrophied physique just couldn't compare, but I wasn't willing to count on it. My money was on the virus.

"Mr. Schwarzenegger, I'd take cover if I were you." I cautioned. "I doubt these gentlemen have entirely honorable intentions."

I heard Carmen giggle and the two men suddenly collapsed onto the ground and ceased moving. Yet another came, falling backwards out of Carmen's ass, leaving a shining stream of hot white cum behind him glistening in the air like a romanticized blood trail. His legs and arms twitched pathetically, like he was a dying bug. His cock was still hard and glistening from the juices that dripped from Carmen's pussy. It was dreadful to watch and I turned my head to look away.

I saw Lucy begin to dial numbers into a cellular phone underneath the table. I blanched slightly, I had seen this sort of thing in crime dramas, she was definitely trying to call the police without me noticing. I lunged toward the phone and knocked it out or her hand, cursing myself for my insensitivity a little. Somehow I felt as though I had already wronged her enough during our brief encounter, though all I did was to give Carmen more material for her team of mindless zombies. I turned towards the governor.

"I want you to stop this morbid media fair, which is shamelessly exploiting my life's work and illness to tug at the emotional strings of the world. I don't want to see any more of my family or co-workers being pulled through this sort of vulgar nonsense. I'm alive, damn it, and intend to be for some time, now that I'm young and healthy again!"

The governor laughed.

"You are an amusing person, I'll give you that. But what you are saying is impossible. My advisors tell me that Dr. Hawking has not been able to stand for over twenty years, and you stand there under your own power telling me you're Dr. Hawking! It's preposterous!"

"I should have you locked up," Lucy cried, her voice shaking slightly, tears beginning to well in you eyes. "Don't you know how much it hurts me to have you spreading such meaningless lies? I've already lost my father, you don't have to drag my face through it. I've had enough! I'm too old for this kind of nonsense! Mr. Schwarzenegger, if you'd be so kind, I'd like to go home to England. I've had quite enough talking to the media. I have my own work to do." 

Tears were beginning to stream down her face. I was standing on the other side of the table and wanted to reach out and comfort her, to make up the way I'd knocked the phone out her hand. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. 

Her chair fell back with a great clattering sound and she stormed out of the room. Only when she was already out of my reach was I able to force my hand towards her. I felt pathetic.

The governor rose as though to walk after Lucy, but on a second thought he sat back down, his fingers knit together and his elbows on the table. He stared at me, not quite menacingly, over his knuckles.

Carmen threw the last of the men off of her and approached the table also. Behind her, the men from the camera crew began slowly to twitch again and rise up, like a band of naked body guards.

I tried hard not to look over my shoulder at them. That would make me lose my nerve.

Carmen leaned across the table, her large brown breasts pressing into the wood. I felt my cock twitch slightly as I watched, though I tried to suppress the sensation. This was no time to let myself become aroused.

I forced myself to think of something else. Almost immediately, I recalled that Carmen's father was in Parliament. No wonder she felt at ease.

"Can I fuck him?" Carmen asked, looking at me. She licked her lips. In my mind, I saw the governor's eyes loll back and what little intelligence there was on his face slowly fade.

"No, I will. I've got to get back at him for groping my daughter like that, right on TV," I heard myself say.

Carmen smiled, grabbed the governor by the back of the neck, and pulled him on top of the table. He, of course, struggled, and though he was by no means a weak fellow he was helpless to free himself.

I ripped his pants off of him in one motion and pressed the head of my cock against the entrance of his anus. I felt my face glow bright red. Needless to say, I've never buggered another man before. But I wasn't going to let that stand in my way.

I wanted him to share the same fate as the cameramen who loomed behind us, a team of mindless body guards, and I wanted to do it to him myself. Deep down, I decided that it probably had something to do with my daughter. But I only let myself consider the practical aspects. Having a politician under our control would open doors to us we didn't even realize were there.

I spread his butt cheeks apart and slowly pressed myself into him.

Carmen climbed on top of Mr. Schwarzenegger so her bottom was on his neck with her legs spread apart. She balanced herself on one arm and began fingering herself seductively with the other.

I moaned appreciatively. Having her damp pussy so close to me helped me keep my erection.

Carmen's clit began to swell again the way it had back at the cave and I began to feel a little ill. What the hell was happening to me? Was I losing my mind.

I pulled my cock away from the governor's ass. 

"On a second thought, you do it," I said jovially to Carmen. 

Without wasting a moment, she turned the governor over and slipped her transformed clit into his mouth. It was so long that he nearly chocked on it. She quickly slid the entire length of his cock into her own mouth and went to work on it. I can only assume that the majority of the work was done internally, because it didn't seem like she did much from where I stood. In less than a minute, I watched the governor's eyes loll back, and the same stupid expression appeared on his face. 

I heard a cell phone ring and realized with a shock that the noise was coming from the back pocket of the pants around the governor's ankles. Sighing deeply, I fished the phone out and put it to my ear. 

"Hello, Dr. Hawking," The phone hissed. "This is Dr. Snickett from Heinrich Hospital back East. The Marquis and I have another interesting discovery we would like to share with you. I don't really want to get into the details over the phone, but we've developed a super-concentrated form of our drug, which we call Crystalline Gamuron. It has mysterious anti-entropy affects, and seems to even be able to bring inanimate objects to life. In addition, it seems to be a strong stimulant: we put a sample into Nurse Lindermann's enema in the ICU, and he's woke up from his coma." 




Retrovirus 666 Ch. 02



"Come on!" Carmen said, glancing at the abandoned television equipment. "It's time to make our getaway. The video cameras have been rolling the whole time. It's only a matter of time before the police arrive. 

I nodded. A team of naked drooling men followed silently behind us, including, of course, the governor.

"You remember how to drive?" I asked him, feeling more than a tad uncomfortable.

"Of course he does," Carmen said quickly and we rushed out of the building.

"Dr. Hawking, are you still there?" the phone buzzed at me as we loaded ourselves into a set of Hummers parked precariously out back, behind the white mansion.

Carmen and I piled into one car and the zombies into another. I didn't think I could stand to be cramped in a car with brainless hunks of flesh for more than a couple of minutes.

"Yes. I'm here, Dr. Snickett. What you are suggesting is fantastic, like the horn of a unicorn, dragon's blood or the philosopher's stone. Please do not bother me with rubbish, I'm rather busy at the moment. Or did you not know about all the police cars that followed us from Berkeley?"

"Yes, yes," the voice on the phone said dismissively. "I didn't expect you to believe me. That's why I asked Nurse Lindermann to bring you a sample.

"What?!" I exclaimed struggling to drive while holding the cell phone with my shoulder. "Believe me, that wouldn't be necessary."

I heard the ominous sound of a helicopter overhead.

"Oh good. He's right on time," the doctor on the phone announced with a strangely unsettling mixture of pride and capriciousness.

Out of nowhere came an incredible booming voice that sounded distinctly like someone swearing in German, and a bang as a body collided with the roof of the SUV. In the confusion, the car jerked into the empty lane next to me and I dropped the cell phone. With a little help from Carmen, I managed to steer the Hummer onto the shoulder of the highway.

"What the ruddy hell do you think you're doing?" I shouted out the window at the man on the roof. He was wearing a hospital gown and a climbing harness with a bit of a cut bungee cord tied from the front loop. Handcuffed to his wrist was a ominous black suitcase. I noticed vaguely that his brown hair had two pink strains in it, a sign that he too carried the virus. He jumped into the car through one of the back windows and smiled broadly.

He unlatched the suitcase by turning and twisting a series of buttons and levers. The hinges creaked open dramatically, emitting a great puff of grey smoke.

The smoke cleared and a red gemstone gleamed from the black satin interior of the case.

Carmen squealed like a school girl.

"Crystalline Gamuron," Nurse Lindermann said philosophically. 

"Very nice," I commented skeptically. "Now, tell me how it works." One doesn't become a wildly popular icon in science without becoming a little skeptical.

"Well, it's still experimental," Lindermann declared, shrugging. 

"It seems to have very complicated effects on anything around it. In particular, the effects on a human body are darn near miraculous. Believe me, this is good stuff. They were about to pronounce me dead yesterday and now look at me! Doctors de Sade and Snickett are holed up in a retro bomb shelter making more. They asked me to have you meet them in Bakersfield."

I made a disgusted noise and Lindermann laughed.

"Come on. Try it out! This stuff's unbelievable," he said, laughter still in his voice.

"I'll try it, if you don't want to," Carmen said to me, her eyes sparkling. It was obvious that she was mesmerized by the Crystalline Gamuron and couldn't wait to get her hands on it.

"Ok. You can try taking it if you want," I replied obligingly. I restarted the engine and pulled the car out of park. "I'd better not try now. I need to focus on the road."

Carmen reached into the case and took the gem in her hand, while Lindermann looked on. I glanced at her through the rear-view mirror.

Carmen put the red stone in her mouth as though it were a morsel of rich chocolate cake and I sighed slightly as she swallowed.

I pulled the car out in onto the highway and merged easily with the late night traffic.

Carmen began to moan and sigh orgasmically. Her face became oddly flushed and she writhed and convulsed against the seat of the car.

I had a hard time keeping my eyes off of her. It was a rather distracting display, and I couldn't say for sure that something hadn't gone wrong. What if she had been poisoned? I kicked myself mentally for being so permissive. As her advisor I was responsible in part for her safety. I shouldn't have been using her as a drug tester.

Carmen's breasts began to grow, as did her black and pink hair, which quickly trailed down to her feet.

It was several minutes before Carmen opened her eyes again. They had become the same shade of green as an emerald. She turned and smiled at me, and I let my mind return fully to the road ahead of me.

After a couple more minutes Carmen crawled into the back seat and began having her way with the male nurse who was accompanying us. It felt good for once not to worry about her lust corrupting the mind of the men she copulated with. Nurse Lindermann was obviously already infected with the virus.

Perhaps it is a little odd for such a reserved man, but I listened to their moans with no small satisfaction. My own serpentine cock swelled impressively, and for a time I drove with only one hand.

---

Carmen Black

They wouldn't let us board a plan to London from LAX. I knew they wouldn't. Dr. Hawking removed his greatcoat as he passed through security, so now that's gone, and I had to submit to an exhaustive body cavity search, due to new regulations introduced since the terrorist scare with the nuns with explosive underwear. After all that, they still wouldn't let us on the plane, because we were British. Britain had recently been placed on a list of terrorist countries, because its name looks so much like Bahrain.

After much talk, we decided that we'd continue to head south. The Marquis claimed to have connections in the area that would help us, but I doubted it. The fellow's completely mad, after all. Brilliant, but completely mad.

I've noticed new powers that probably did not have prior to my ingestion of Crystalline Gamuron. The finger I crushed in the door quickly healed without bruising, and once, without thinking, I lit the campfire without matches. On the downside, I was constantly desperate, and no amount of orgasms would satisfy me.

The doctors studied us like we were rats in a maze and took detailed notes as we drove or when we stopped for food. It was enough to drive one insane! I noticed that they didn't touch the Gamuron. They didn't seem to realize that they themselves aren't immune to its effects, and as time passed, I began to think they might need a little reminder.

About an hour into our journey, Nurse Lindermann began talking about the Gamuron project as though the whole thing had been his idea, and I listened closely to him because I didn't have anything better to do. The road from Sacramento to Bakersfield is unbelievably dull.

Anyway, he began speculating that somehow the presence of 'Barr bodies' in their cells would keep women from turning into mindless zombies from sudden infection with the gene therapy virus, but not men. I didn't understand most of it. I'm a physicist, not a biologist, after all. But after Lindermann found a prostitute on Sunset Boulevard and had extremely kinky and wild sex with her for eight hours, he had me pretty much convinced. The prostitute was so impressed with his abilities that she decided to stay with us.

---

Dr. Hawking

This morning Carmen and I went sightseeing while the two medical doctors were giving a talk at the local university. As you might figure, this was complicated by both the complete lack of clothing worn by Carmen and myself and Mr. Lindermann's peculiar choice of attire. The nurse seemed to adhere to us like a human barnacle, though whether he was doing so in order to have some form of protection or to observe our actions, I didn't know.

He hung back, clutching the arm of the young prostitute he had corrupted, a slender, attractive woman who wasn't a day over nineteen.

After days of being completely naked I began to realize that I could sort of blend into a crowd by behaving as though I was wearing clothing. I can never understand people who insist on seeing with their own expectations rather than by observation, but I have to admit that at least in this instance we were able to manipulate it to our advantage.

Around noon, we came across the Midway Aircraft Carrier Museum and decided to step in. The admission was rather expensive, but Mr. Lindermann produced a wad of dollars out of his black briefcase and paid for all our tickets, extracting student discounts for the two ladies and the senior price for myself, despite my apparent youth.

The two of us exchanged knowing smiles as we walked up the metal stairs onto the aircraft carrier.

What I saw was devastating. Everywhere I looked were clusters of unhappy-looking tourists. The employees who welcomed us on board looked like they were millimeters away from slitting their wrists with a letter opener. 

I took my complementary audio tour from a very large woman who never once met my eyes as she explained that we must keep the player around our necks at all times.

We moved away quickly.

The ship itself was fascinating, and my party basically completely ignored the cumbersome recorders. There was something about the organization of the ship itself that filled me with the sort of passion that fills naval romances and I was solely tempted to tear apart the plastic barriers that kept some of the passages closed to the public with my bare hands.

On the guided tour of the bridge I stole the uniform shirt off the manikin of the ship's captain, and though my conscience hurt a little from the theft, I knew that there was nothing in the gift shop that could compare with the treasure.

"I must have this ship," I said whimsically to Lindermann while the guide was telling a very boring and ridiculous story about how moral sailors are.

Lindermann reached into his briefcase, pulled out a black cell phone and began quickly speaking into it in German. He produced another series of red crystals from his case with the same overly dramatic puff of smoke and hid one under the captain's chair. 

The four of us continued down the stairs onto the top deck. Lindermann began hiding the other crystals on various levels of the ship and in different rooms, giving us very detailed instructions as though we he were performing an alchemical ritual of some sort. The scientist in me cringed as this horrid ritualism. But I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. Perhaps no one else was capable of knowing what sort of miracle it would take to get this old ship moving again.

Twenty minutes later, I looked up from my work to see two Hummers flying through the air towards the ship. I could tell from their trajectory that they had driven up a ramp at high speed and weren't really flying at all, but that didn't keep my heart from pounding.

The ship suddenly began to move underneath me and everything began to spin as I fell flat on my face. When I had righted myself, the obvious level of decay that hung over every square meter of the carrier was gone. Instead, the ship felt alive, like a gigantic life form with a mind of its own. I rushed towards the Hummers, where Doctor Snickett was instructing a pair of mindless zombies to block off all exits, and another team to hurry the teams of somber-looking tourist onto one of the cargo elevators. 

Children hid behind their mothers' skirts and couples held each other, uncertain of their fate.

"If you're under eighteen, please step forward!" Governor Schwarzenegger announced. Comforted by a familiar face, all the children stepped forward.

"Throw them into the sea!" he exclaimed, and the other zombies obliged, picking up the struggling children and teenagers and casting them into the ocean.

Lindermann was kind enough to throw a couple of life rafts into the waves after them, muttering under his breath, "we aren't Nazis anymore, after all."

"Ok, now let the orgy begin!" the governor shouted out across the ocean.

And as he said, so it came to pass that the greatest and most bizarre orgy ever took place on the newly revived museum ship.