19 comments/ 12487 views/ 22 favorites Botched Genius By: imhapless I was pleased with myself as I removed my new identity papers, credit card, and cash from the safe deposit box that I had set up nine months ago in anticipation of what had happened. While pleased I wasn't slapping myself on the back because it's what I expected of myself. You see, for better or for worse, I'm a fucking genius. A test pegged my IQ at 180, but I was trying not to do too well on it. Being a fucking genius has been – in my view – my best and worst characteristic since I was a child. Before my fifth birthday I already had the vocabulary of a graduate student. My favorite nursery rhyme was my own version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star:" Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific! Fain would I fathom thy nature specific, Loftily poised in the ether capacious, Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous. My intellectual attitude, bordering on haughtiness, got my butt kicked in elementary school – especially since I was two to three years advanced – until the other kids figured out that I had the cleverness to get revenge on them and had no inner voice telling me if something was over-the-top. Anyway, so here I was now, Brad Gensler, complete with driver's license and a fake recommendation letter from a previous employer. Although I got my Masters in Physics by the time that I was sixteen, I developed an interest in working with my hands and found that I had a talent for machining exotic materials to within a thousandth of an inch. They don't let just any clown put threads on beryllium copper pipe, for example, when it costs more than a hundred dollars a foot and the threads have to be ultra-precise. I worked two years as a master machinist and "that would be a good profession to pick up on now," I thought to myself as I emptied the safe deposit box. A job in physics would be too high profile. With my new identity and a one day audition where I showed what I could do, I quickly got a job as a master machinist. I found a small apartment that was more than reasonable, bought a used car, and went looking for pussy – something that I hadn't had in months and that I missed so badly that I was trembling just thinking about it. While I didn't mind paying for pussy, it was more fun to hunt it. I went to a local meat market and got lucky with Sarah in two hours and six minutes. Well, it wasn't really luck since I had a technique that rarely failed if the woman had any slut tendencies (why would she be at a meat market if she didn't?), one that had actually been scientifically proven to work. The steps are simple to say, harder to execute: approach, show value, attract, rapport, hard-to-get, extract. Once, in a low key manner, that I had impressed Sarah with my humor and intellect, I turned my back to her slightly, and broke eye contact. When she asked me questions, I did not appear anxious to answer them, and in fact she had to repeat two of them because I feigned that I didn't hear them. I talked slowly. Once she took on the role of pursuer I acted shy but completely in to her, including once chuckling "Is it possible that a plasma hot chick like you could be interested in me?" Sarah turned out to be perfect for a first fuck in months. She had a craggy sloppy cunt and big sensitive nipples, and best of all she was really anxious to please – and please me she did. My dick was red and sore, and my balls ached, by the next morning. What a nice piece of ass, able to satisfy my normally constant urgings for a couple of days. After two weeks of picking up a new slut every third day I decided that it was time for a relationship. I like pickups, but a regular piece is better if it's prime. You don't get prime relationship material at meat markets, but you do in health clubs. The approach is different in health clubs too, and you need time. Since the job I had was piecework, and since I made decent money just doing my quota, I only had to work about four hours a day at my machinist job, more only on special occasions such as when there were rush projects. This gave me plenty of time to join two different health clubs. I was able to determine within two weeks when it was optimum booty time in each venue and adjust my schedule accordingly. I wasn't looking for pretty faces – although that certainly would be a great bonus. What I was looking for was someone who previously obviously had a great body and was making a concerted effort to get it back to the way that it was. This was my goal for a number of reasons. First, that would give me the opportunity to really charm them and endear them to me since I knew just how to play a combination of unwavering encouragement and tough love; second, women in that position would be most available; and third, I was most interested in a woman's body first, then intellect, then pretty face. I had great success at Planet Fitness, having met three great prospects within the first two weeks. One – Connie – was a little "over-qualified" but since I think that I'm better than anyone else I focused most of my attention on her. It was only after constructing a perfect progression and with what appeared to be reciprocal interest on her part that I found out that she was married. She never wore her rings during workouts, and the first time that we went out together for a drink after a workout one night she was wearing what had every appearance of engagement and wedding rings on her left hand. I asked about them. "Yes, I'm married," she said with a diabolical grin while resting her hand on mine; "but I want you to understand that if my attraction to you grows from what is a great start that it won't make any difference to our relationship." That was NOT what I wanted to hear. Even though I consider myself better than everyone else, what I don't do is fuck married women – my past history precludes me from doing that, as does my most moral and unwavering ethical precept – you always keep your word, especially when it comes to sex. While I didn't immediately terminate my "date" with Connie, and acted normally for the next half hour, I cut things short. I did give her a kiss on the lips while squeezing her because she looked so fucking delicious, but it was definitely a "good-bye" kiss. "Damn shame," I growled to myself when we parted. Not only was she a consummate cock-stimulator but now it meant that I had to cool it at Planet Fitness for a while. I quelled my disappointment by finding a call girl that looked a little like Connie and paid for an overnight visit. Even though the three fucks over the ten hours that we kept company were with condoms, they were highly enjoyable since in my mind I was fucking Connie. Since I had to at least temporarily give up on the two other women of interest at Planet Fitness to avoid Connie, I started more serious looking at L. A. Fitness, the second health club that I had joined. While my initial two week review there did not turn up any good prospects, I made a more diligent examination and found two possibilities. The first wore her wedding rings – she had forgotten she had them on since they interfered with her workout – the second time that I interfaced with her. Although I remained very friendly with her, that ended my interest. The second woman I only came across when I went at an odd time. Her name was Sharon, and she had all of the necessary things that I was looking for, without being "over-qualified." Sharon was recently divorced, no kids, two years older than I was, about ten pounds overweight, and determined to get back to her optimum weight. While she had a fairly challenging job, getting in shape – and the weight loss that it would entail – seemed to be her primary goal in life. It was obvious that if Sharon was ten pounds lighter that her body would not be just "smokin' hot" but "plasma hot." She was also clearly bright, and the fact that her face was completely ordinary didn't bother me in the least. I modified my work schedule to be at the health club the same times that Sharon was, and we shortly became workout partners, and we both adjusted our schedules so that they completely meshed. I encouraged and complimented her while at the same time refusing to let her beg off when she shouldn't have, even one time bringing her to tears. It was the night that I brought her to tears with my tough love that our relationship changed from a repressed sexual one to a no holds barred one. I comforted Sharon when she sobbed. After she calmed down I apologized. "I'm really sorry I was so hard on you Sharon; I guess I pushed 'tough love' too far." "No...you were right Brad. I shouldn't have tried to wimp out. It's just that it's so hard to try and get my body to look halfway decent again." "Sharon, you're way more than halfway decent already – in fact a light year more," I replied staring into her still slightly teary eyes. She smiled; I gave her a quick kiss; that was all I could do since we were still at L A Fitness. "Would you like to get dinner after we shower?" I asked. "Come to my house and I'll make it for you," she said, her eyes suddenly turning from teary to smoldering. I followed her to her house. We were inside no more than seconds when we went after each other. We pawed each other naked within a few minutes. I turned her upside down and held her pussy at the level of my mouth and started tormenting her clit with my tongue and lips as she did her best to suck my rock hard flagpole while she played with my testicles. After she quivered so hard with an orgasm that I almost dropped her, I turned her right-side-up, picked her up, carried her to the couch in her living room, planted her ass on the cushions while holding her legs apart, and buried my cock in one thrust. I was banging down into her sweet snug pussy as she grabbed her own tits and massaged them. The sight of her manipulating her own mammaries while licking her lips at me as I stroked in and out was too much, and I blew my wad in record time. No matter, she had her second orgasm as soon as the first squirt flushed her vaginal walls. By the time that we separated and came down from our climaxes, we were both sweaty. We took a shower together, playing with each other's' parts, and ate a simple meal, still naked. Then we "watched" a movie, which consisted more of me sucking her tits and she playing with my balls, until we were both ready for another round. We retired to her bedroom and fucked each other to sleep. Within two weeks I had moved into her house but only after we had both committed to being exclusive. I really enjoyed living with Sharon. She was intelligent and fun, and one of the best sex partners I had ever had. Also, within five months of when we started living together her body had returned to the plasma-hot version of its earlier years. That was both good and bad. It was good because she was even more fun to fuck and play with. It was bad because she got lots of male attention; and it was worse because she seemed to really bask in it. Because of my history I have issues with trust. Also, unlike most geniuses, I am attuned to human emotion and have a sense of when things are not quite right. While there was no one incident that caused me to do what I did, I went to the local courthouse and got out the court file for Sharon's divorce. The divorce was initiated by a verified complaint (which is what starts a divorce in our State, although it is called other things in other states) filed by Sharon's ex-husband – NOT, as she had told me, by her. It alleged adultery, and contained enough substance – much more detail than one would expect in the first filing in a divorce – to make me believe it. There were few other papers because the parties reached an agreement soon after the filing. Someone in the Courthouse had obviously made an error and left what should have been a sealed settlement in the file. One interesting thing that document revealed was that Sharon was paying her ex alimony, something that she also never told me. Now my suspicions completed aroused, I put one GPS tracker on her car and one sewn into the lining of her favorite purse. When she went to "our" house at noon two Thursdays in a row I installed a camera in our bedroom. Sharon is a creature of habit so it was no surprise when the GPS tracker showed her at our house the next Thursday at noon. When I remotely activated the camera it was also no surprise whatsoever that I saw her stripping for a guy names Jeremy that I recognized from L A Fitness, or them fucking up a storm laying on top of the comforter on our bed. I immediately knew what I was going to do, and that I shouldn't do it, but my history demonstrated in spades that I'm hard-wired to respond to infidelity. What was a little surprising to me is that while Sharon is almost always ready for a romp, or can easily be talked into one, on Thursday nights she was always the aggressor and thinking back I don't remember one Thursday night in the last two months that we hadn't fucked. Apparently the Thursday nooner really got her juices flowing. The first thing that I did was to buy a thin vibrator. When she anxiously approached me for some fun that Thursday night, without revealing it to her, as I was fucking Sharon doggy I slowly inserted the lubricated thin vibrator into her ass. "What are you doing Brad? I don't really like ass play. What the fuck is that – stop; please, please stop," were some of the things she said (moans and pauses removed). She even tried to wiggle away. I didn't let her. When she got used to the vibrator in her ass she stopped complaining. Even though she normally has a snug pussy, with the vibrator in her ass it was vice tight. As I sensed her – and me – building to a climax I turned the vibrator on, first low, then high. She was shaking, quivering, and spasming like a landed marlin when I started ejaculating into her. The orgasm was so intense that she actually passed out – only the second time that I had fucked a woman senseless in my life. Fortunately I was still with it enough to turn the vibrator off, although I stayed with my dick up her channel until it went flaccid and popped out. Only then did I remove the vibrator from her anus, which caused her comatose body to flinch and a grunt spring from her lips. I was in what I have come to refer to as "short time mode" the next week. I had lots to do so I quit my job (obviously without telling Sharon) and spent all of my time working on what needed to get done. While I was able to accomplish most of the major things that I needed to, I couldn't get everything that I needed done regarding a new identity, so I reactivated a previous alias. I fucked Sharon's lights out Friday through Wednesday morning. I fucked her in every position imaginable, and most of the time with the vibrator up her ass. She always protested when I started inserting the vibrator into her pucker hole, I think because she didn't like the loss of control when she almost always was rendered comatose, but she sure did love the resulting orgasms. When I fucked Sharon for what I knew would be the last time on Wednesday morning I was sorry that it was coming to an end. She really was nice to be around, and a great piece of ass; too bad that I am like I am, and that she was a cheater. I didn't fuck Sharon Wednesday night or Thursday morning because I didn't want her to depart from her routine Thursday nooner. I chuckled to myself when I saw her dress up more nicely than on other weekdays as she got ready for work. I left before her ostensibly to go to my now non-existent job but I just parked a couple of blocks away until the GPS on her car indicated that she was a mile from the house. Then I went back. It was easy to spread the concentrated form of urushiol oil (the component of poison ivy that causes the rash and itch) that I had prepared all over the comforter, of course taking extreme caution to wear latex gloves and not touch it. I also had a gas mask on in case there were any fumes. It was a little more difficult to place the atomizer for another batch of urushiol oil where I thought that it would have the most impact for my cheating girlfriend and her lover, but that was accomplished by 11:03 a. m. Then it was just a matter of waiting. Once the lovers entered the house I parked my car where I was sure that I could easily activate the remote for the atomizer. Once I could see from the camera that the lovers were really going at it, including both rolling around on the urushiol oil coated comforter and totally in the throes of sexual bliss, I activated the atomizer. It took a full two and a half minutes before they started coughing. Gee, I was sorry that they didn't get to finish their copulation. It was also too bad that Jeremy had an allergic reaction – not just the normal problems – from breathing in the urushiol oil and that naked and wheezing Sharon had to make a 911 call. As I drove out of town I threw the remotes for the camera and atomizer in a dumpster at a 7-11, abandoned my car in a remote part of a Walmart parking lot where I was sure that the surveillance cameras didn't cover, walked to the bus station only a mile away, and was gone. ************** I was three weeks into my new life. I had just gotten my new identity papers (I wasn't secure with my old alias) and was going to the safe deposit box I had placed them in along with cash, and was about to leave the state. When I walked out of the cheap motel that I was staying in to start my new life I heard a familiar voice say "Stay where you are Scott; it's time to come home." I ran. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two Tasers fire. The pain was bad enough that I obviously passed out. I awoke in a van from Sunnyside Home for the Criminally Insane (not its real name, but might as well be) in a straitjacket. Dr. Patterson saw my eyes open. "Sorry we had to taze you, Scott, but I told you to stay still and not make a break for it," she said with her normally sweet smile. "Sorry Susan," I replied – I never called her "doctor" – "but you know me." "I'm really disappointed that you left us, Scott. The people at the University were even more distressed – you were really helping them with their esoteric physics problems that I don't pretend to know anything about. 'Where's our cheerful human computer' Dr. Ryan asked me three times a week." "You know Susan, I probably would have stayed, but I couldn't get laid at Sunnyside. How do you expect someone like me, with an already enhanced libido, to go without pussy?" "I've told you many times, Scott, that there is no prohibition against a consensual sexual relationship between patients as long as precautions are taken." "Yeah, but all of the female patients are dogs, and you won't let the only nurse that doesn't look like a cavewoman fuck me, and you won't bring in prostitutes." "Scott, you can't expect me to allow sexual interaction between the staff and patients, or to violate the law by bringing in a prostitute." "Well how about you, then Susan? You're prime fuckable material, but you won't give me a chance." This last comment was made both to shock and compliment Susan, although I knew that she was so cool that it probably would not have either affect. Actually she was good looking enough that I would fuck her – except that she was married, and you know my prohibition against that, so it was just talk on my part. "Oh Scott, how flattering. You are a sexy guy but I'd lose my medical license and my husband and you wouldn't want that would you? I could no longer help you deal with those impulses that caused you to kill Jenna and your brother." Jenna was my ex-wife. I reacted a little more strongly than I had with Sharon and Jeremy when I found Jenna and my brother fucking in my bed. If I wasn't a genius and wasn't able to figure out exactly how to be found insane instead of guilty I probably would have gotten the death penalty. Botched Genius "Susan I'd give up getting better for just a couple of rolls in the hay with you." Susan giggled, and then started talking about when I could meet with Dr. Ryan and his team of PhD students who I had been helping delve into the theories/facts of matter and antimatter more deeply than has ever been done before. That was something that I never would have been allowed to do if I was on death row, one of many good reasons why Sunnyside was superior to prison. When I got to Sunnyside some things had changed. In addition to enhanced security due to my escape there was a new patient that Susan hadn't told me about. Her name was Brittany. Brittany was a hard-looking bitch; like an actress from a "Women in Prison" porno movie. But even more noticeable than her hard-look was her consummate hot body. I couldn't help staring at her when I first saw her, hoping that she wasn't a moron like many of the patients at Sunnyside. "What are you staring at asshole?" were her first words to me. "Maybe the best body that I've ever seen; I'd apologize but I'm not in the least bit sorry; just aroused." "I can see that since your little pecker is trying to poke a hole in your pants, dipshit." "Hey – natural reaction. Maybe we can try each other out sometime." "I'm not that hard up yet, wacko; but hope burns eternal in the human bosom doesn't it?" And so started my loving relationship with Brittany Burns. It turned out that Brittany was also a genius; really, not just figuratively, IQ measured at 170. We had more in common than that, though. She had also been found criminally insane after she killed her husband and his mistress when she found them fucking. In fact, as best that I could determine, she and I were the only people in the state – at least within the time frame that the records were computerized – that were found not guilty of murder because we were legally insane under the irresistible impulse test that is paramount in our state. As an alternative to not knowing the difference between right and wrong, in our state someone can be found criminally insane if he/she experienced a sudden psychic shock called dissociative reaction, and that dissociative reaction created an unbearable tension that could be alleviated only by taking immediate and violent action. In both of our cases more than one psychiatrist's testimony supported the conclusion that we were legally insane because of this "dissociative reaction," that is we passed the irresistible impulse test. Since Brittany and I were the smartest people at Sunnyside – including staff and visitors – despite our less than amicable initial verbal exchange, we gravitated toward each other. I continued to help Dr. Ryan's team with their antimatter project, and she got involved with another group at the same University that was analyzing large amounts of social-science data. Brittany and I ended up sitting next to each other at every meal, and if we weren't discussing some intellectual topic I was propositioning her and she was alternately leading me on and shooting me down. One day at dinner they were having a party for one of the moronic patients, and had fake chessmen as center pieces. They also served cherry cobbler for dessert. The latter wasn't unusual but I noticed for the first time that Brittany really scarfed the cobbler down. I normally ate it, but didn't really like it – I just needed something sweet. An idea popped into my mind. I left my cobbler sitting next to me while everyone else was eating theirs. Brittany finished before everyone else. I saw her eyeing mine. "Are you going to eat your cobbler Scott?" she asked. She never called me "Scott" unless she wanted something; depending upon her mood or the situation it was normally "dude," "dipshit," or "retard," (not politically correct I know, but she had no pretense of political correctness). "I think that I'll just throw it out," I snickered. "Let me have it then," she said, licking her lips and reaching for it. I picked it up and moved it away from her; "No fucking way; it's mine and if I want to throw it out I can," I replied with a truly diabolical smile. "OK, what do you want?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "I want you to play me in a game of chess, and if you lose, I get to fuck you." She stared at me for a long time. Then she got a smile that rivaled mine in diabolicalisity (I know it's not a real word, but so what – you get the idea). "OK; we'll play after dinner and if you win we fuck tomorrow; deal?" she said as she extended her hand. "Deal," I replied shaking her hand. My cobbler was consumed in thirty seconds flat; she looked at me the whole time that she was devouring it. After the moron accepted a gift from the staff and everyone sang "This is your birthday song; it doesn't last too long; HEY!" [they don't sing "Happy Birthday" at Sunnyside for fear of infringing a copyright even though I've told them many times that it isn't enforceable] Brittany and I retired to play chess. I never lose at chess; I mean never. My cock was getting hard just thinking about burying itself between Brit's exquisite thighs. The bitch cleaned my clock. When she said "Mate," she knocked over my king, stood up and said "better luck next time dipshit," as she sauntered away, making sure to swing her ass back and forth. I chalked up my loss to being too excited about the prospect of getting into Brit's pants. When I lost to her the next three cherry cobbler nights (fortunately, they serve it every five days, the cook has fun making it and most of the patients love it) I was really getting frustrated. The next time cobbler was served I decided to be petulant. After Brit wolfed down her cobbler she reached for mine. "No; get your hands away; I'm going to eat it tonight." "Aw, what's a matter; know that your little pea brain can't compete with mine and can't stand losing to a superior intellect in chess again?" she snickered. "You must be cheating, I just don't know how," I snickered back. "Also, you probably wouldn't be a good fuck anyway. You'd probably just 'Lay there and think of England,'" I replied [the "Think of England" quip was a reference to what wives in Elizabethan times were told to do when their husbands demanded sex since under the mores of the time they obviously couldn't admit to enjoying it themselves]. "Tell you what dipshit," Brit responded, still eyeing the cobbler, "I'll give you a two pawn advantage and promise that it will be the most energetic fuck you've ever had it your life in the remote chance that you prevail." "OK," I replied holding out my hand. She shook it grabbed the cobbler, and ate it straight from the dish, not even using a utensil, and grinned as she made a point of licking the plate clean while staring at me. I do believe that Brit would have beaten me even with the two pawn advantage, but perceptive ass that I am I sensed that she was throwing the game. She had to be as horny as I was since she had been at Sunnyside for four months and hadn't been laid. When I yelled "Mate" she snickered "OK, I guess that's what I'll have to do with you, as unpleasant as it will be for me." "When and where tomorrow," I gleefully asked while rubbing my hands together in anticipation. "Since it's a Thursday the only free time will be after breakfast and before we Skype with our University colleagues. Also since we don't have 'permission' we should use the B stairwell where the camera is broken. We should have between 9:00 and 9:20 – I think that I can get your little dick off in that amount of time," Brit grinned. "B stairwell, 9:00 a.m., it is," I grinned back. I couldn't sleep that night; all I could think about was fucking the shit out of Brittany. I didn't eat anything except a yogurt for breakfast – I didn't want any blood being wasted in going to my stomach instead of my cock. I slipped into the stairwell first, Brit thirty seconds later. Despite her comments and teasing the previous night I could tell that she was as anxious to fuck as I was. We passionately kissed once, then removed our clothes, and then embraced again. I fingered her hairy pussy and pinched one of her puffy oversized nipples while she stroked my cock with one hand and fondled my balls with the other. We were to the point of overstimulation in no time flat. I lifted her up by her sculptured thighs and pushed her back against the wall. She guided my cock into her well-lubricated channel, and we were off to the races. I was more desperate to please and get off than at any other point in my life. Brit wasn't lying when she said that she'd make this fuck memorable. How she undulated her pelvis while I had her back against the wall, I don't know – but she did. How she could have such strong pc muscles was also a mystery, but I didn't care why once she started pulsing them. It was the best feeling in the world. I grunted like a lily pad full of bullfrogs, and she bit my shoulder to keep from screaming, as the most powerful stream of jism ever blasted from my cock into her snug pussy. The intensity of our orgasms was so great that I crumpled to the floor. We were fortunate that neither one of us was injured as a result, but we stayed mated until the last orgasmic aftershock had passed. We occasionally kissed as we wordlessly got dressed, tried disguise our "just fucked" looks, and exited the stairwell, Brit first, me thirty seconds later. We were both late for our Skype sessions but no one made a big deal out of it. We talked little during dinner that night. Afterward we went to pretend to play chess, but really to talk about what happened. "Brit, you are light years beyond awesome," I mumbled as I moved my white pawn to Queen 4 to open the game. "I'm not going to give you my normal bullshit Scott," she mumbled in reply, moving her pawn to confront mine. "That was the best fuck of my life. We need to get together." "We'll go see Susan first thing tomorrow morning," I replied as I moved my queen's bishop. We got an appointment with Susan for the middle of the next morning, and both excused ourselves from our Skype visits with our University colleagues. "What's up?" Dr. Patterson asked as she motioned for us to sit in chairs across from her desk. Brittany didn't mince words. "Scott and I want to fuck regularly. We need to trade in an hour of our time with the University teams every weekday to have privacy in one of our rooms, and to get out of therapy for an hour each weekend day. Either that or we need to be able to share a room." Susan didn't miss a beat. She obviously had been expecting this. "So you finally found someone here who's worthy, huh Scott?" she chuckled. "Way beyond worthy," I growled. "OK, here are the precautions that you must agree to," she said, handing a document to each of us. "Sign at the bottom." Brit and I are both speed readers, plus I already had memorized the document in previous investigations, so we signed in no time flat. "Great, that takes care of that," Susan said. "However, I'm not letting either of you out of meetings with the University teams, or to miss therapy, therefore I'll make arrangements for you to move in together. The obese patient in B4, with the double bed, is leaving Sunday. Monday you can leave your rooms and move in there," Susan nonchalantly responded. "What do we do until then?" Brit asked. "You've gone without for months – surely you can last three more days, can't you?" she chortled. Brit was about to go off, but I recognized a good thing when I saw it and quickly diffused the situation. I jumped up and got between Brit and Susan and earnestly said "Thank you so much Susan; now I won't have to dream about having sex with you every night," as I took and kissed her hand. Susan giggled; Brit looked like she wanted to say something but I ushered her out the door, then turned, smiled, and waved at Susan. "I wanted an accommodation for the next three days," Brit gripped as I hustled her away. "Don't sweat it – we have stairwell B," I whispered. The first night that Brit and I spent together was magical. After two steamy, athletic, sweaty fucks Monday night we fell asleep in each other's arms. The next morning we made love; true, real, slow, methodical, intense, erotic, passionate love. Within a week we were more in love with each other than we had been with anyone else in our previous lives. Brit was no longer "hard" and most of my cynicism and haughtiness had vanished. We took real joy in learning all that we could about each other, often in pillow talk after fucking or making love. Two weeks into our sexual relationship, after yet another mind-blowing orgasm, I whispered to Brit "Want to know a secret?" "I want to know everything there is to know about you," she whispered back, then bit my nose. "I faked my dissociative reaction. I learned everything there was to know about it before I planned my brother's death, although I didn't really intend to kill my wife, just maim her. Will that make you drop me?" I said. Brit laughed for a minute straight, barely able to hold the noise down. "What's so funny?" I asked three times before she gained her composure. "I did the same thing," she chuckled, "although I did intend to kill both my husband and his tart." I broke into a big grin. "I guess that we're made for each other, aren't we?" "Fuck yeah – and as long as we don't cheat on each other we'll live a long, loving, and happy life," she replied. "Even if it wasn't in our DNA not to ever cheat," I seriously responded, "knowing what each of us is capable of would preclude that ever happening. Let's break out of here, get married, and start our wonderful life together." "OK," she said with a smile, and then shimmied down under the covers and started sucking my cock. **************** The enhanced security since my last escape was easily defeated with information that one of the University PhD students I dealt with got for me, not knowing what it was for but buying my story about how it might tangentially lead to a solution to one of the equations we were having difficulty with. On a Sunday night a week after I got the necessary information, Brit and I first ran through Sunnyside's grounds, then leisurely strolled to the nearest town, stole a car, and were at my safe deposit box by the time the bank opened Monday morning. We got my new identity papers, cash, and credit card, bought an innocuous used car, and were three states away by dinnertime. Once Brit got her new identity three weeks later we got married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas. Four years after we said "I do" we have a low-key stable home life, with twin year-old daughters, and are happier than each of us ever thought possible - we just have to make sure that we never are returned to Sunnyside. Our lives are serene knowing that we never have to worry about our spouse cheating, and I consider my life perfect in every way except for one – every other day Brit serves that Sunnyside-recipe fucking cherry cobbler for dessert!