Here’s the kicker. That day at school, when I masturbated, I pretended the set of events was my fault. I went so far as to call my cock the ‘Horn Key’. All I had to do was point my cock at a woman and she would beg me for sex. The trouble was, none of them had. In typical revisionist thinking, post orgasm, I decided that sort of fantasy was directly responsible for old men in raincoats. I dismissed the concept. It returned to me later that night.

Mother was yelling at Rodney when I arrived home from school. She stopped when she heard me enter, but it had been loud enough to escape the house. With luck, the neighbors were hiding behind two of their own doors with the windows and curtains shut.

“I don’t know whether your principal is full of bullshit, or you’re an aspiring prankster. This is not acceptable behavior in any case!”

“But mom…”

“Look,” Mom interrupted. “This may be the new age of teenage sexual awakenings, but there are still plenty of us old fogies who are willing to call their lawyers to deal with these kinds of things. This house can’t afford to be sued over your principal’s story that you led three innocents into lewd public acts.”

“I didn’t do anything. They just attacked me.” Rod stood his ground.

“Rod, you’ve been a good son long enough. I can believe you, but our community is going to blame the guy first. Girls are only blamed when they’ve been raped.”

I opened the front door. Their focus shattered. Rod looked relieved.

“Hey sport, I got detention!” My brother beamed, hoping to break mom’s anger.

Mom noticed me with an abbreviated smile and walked into the kitchen.

I approached Rod and hit his arm. “Idiot.”

“Batten down, before I bat you back.” He flared.

“Shut up, both of you.” Mother yelled. Her voice cracked.

Rod grabbed my shirt and dragged me to his room.

“Jules, mom’s had a rougher day than either of us. Miss Hardass phoned her and I had to bring notes from the classes I missed. I just wish to hell I understood what happened. You were there. What did you see?”

“I dunno. It looked like you might finally lose your virginity on Glen Loch High’s front steps. What did the girls say?”

“Miss Hardass questioned them separately, but I met Wendy before they sent us home. She told me that when she saw Ursula and Sabrina climbing all over me, she wanted to beat them lifeless so she could kill me. Then all of a sudden, they disappeared. All she could see was me, and her body leaped to kiss me before she even realized it. She said, she’d never been so horny in her life.”

“Wow, can I use your aftershave?” I was struck. His story had prepared the ground for a new tent in my pants.

“Cut the jokes. Everyone’s upset, even me, but I’m worried most about mom.”

“Did you hear what happened in my history class?” I switched events.

“Oh yeah, Mr. Corother’s shepherded Holly and Carolyn into Miss Hardass’s office while I was waiting for the next round of The Inquisition. Maybe their story was what saved me from being expelled. I heard Holly was expelled.”

“Oh, no!” It really hurt. I punched my palm.

“She put up quite a fight. I could hear her yelling right back at the vice principal. ‘I ought to stick my head up YOUR dress, cunt, and then you’d know what the fuck made me do it.’ She started to cry like a little girl the moment she shut the office door behind her.”

“Damn, I wish I could call her. She wasn’t the only one who lost it. Carolyn was rubbing her tits right in front of everyone.”

“Please, I didn’t need to visualize that.” Rod tried to lighten the mood.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“I dunno, but I’ve got three days to do it in.”

Mom called us for supper. We hadn’t noticed Lynn and Shelley arrive, nor the hour that had passed by. That meal was eaten quietly. Every time Lynn or Shell piped up, they were met with a conspiracy of silence.

I sipped at my lukewarm soup. Dinner seemed to last forever. I was thinking about Holly. I had a hard-on. I didn’t know there were such things as sympathy based erections. Sex was the farthest thing from my mind. I really felt bad for the poor girl, but my dick had it’s own emotional track. I stared at my soup and prayed nobody would ask me to get up. The table top defended me from embarrassment due to natural causes.

The quiet was interrupted by what I thought was a renewed attempt at igniting a conversation around the table.

“Stop that, Lynn!” Shell’s voice squeaked.

“Stop what?” Lynn retorted a little too quickly.

My head snapped up. Both girls fidgeted, both clearly nervous about something. The older girl looked as if she had been caught in a mouse trap. The younger one, Shell, might have been dealing with an internal struggle.

“You aren’t supposed to do that where people can see.” Shell kept her voice to a whisper, but the room was so quiet she might have hollered.

Lynn’s face turned bright red. She jumped up and ran out of the kitchen.

“Mom!” Lynn tried to preempt the expected disaster.

All eyes turned to our mother.

Her face was white as linen. Her eyes were like marble. She trembled, apparently unaware of anything in the room. Her hands were buried under the table.

Rod saved the moment. “Shell, go get your Mom a towel from her bathroom.”

“Huh?”

“GO!”

That got the little one out of the room.

“Mom?” My brother looked closer.

She was barely breathing. Her forehead began to drip from the tension behind it.

“Bro’, stand guard outside the door.”

My dick stood like a rock. I almost didn’t dare to expose it, but Rod had called me ‘Bro’ and that meant a lot to me. I hurried out, shutting the door behind me. Rod would fix everything, I told myself. He’ll find out what’s going on. I leaned over and listened within.

“Rod, good heavens, you have to fuck me right now!” My dear mom suddenly screamed from inside the secured room.

A second later, the door flew open, throwing me to the carpet. Rodney raced through the living room. He reached the front door by the third second. On the fifth, it slammed shut behind him. The same instant, mom appeared from the kitchen and stood over me. Her hands clutched and dragged at her crotch.

“You!” She threatened me.

Nothing a sane man would admit, followed.

“You’re trying to kill me!” Pure terror filled her voice. “I have to fuck you or I’m going to die. Please put an end to it. I beg you!” She ranted. Her face was livid with pain, and to this day I’m positive she was more afraid of her own feelings than of me.

I had fallen against the wall. (There would be bruises.) My head wasn’t any clearer than hers. With my thoughts elsewhere, the blood in my cock drained back into my brain. I tried to comprehend what my mother was talking about. There was no way she was begging, telling me to fuck her. (Hours later, I’d push my prick to the edge with self-abuse thinking about my mother standing over me, tears in her eyes, shaking her fist, demanding that I rip off her clothes and force my seven inch cock into her overheating cunt.) The reality shriveled me to the size of a peanut. I felt like crying. Rodney had been able to run away, but I was cornered like a corned beef sandwich on a blue plate special.

“Mom, what are you saying?” I pleaded.

If my mother had been wearing any less than four layers the inevitable would have happened in the worst way. Had she not got stuck trying to unbutton her sweater, my dick would have reinflated upon first view of her considerable charms. A measure of sense returned to my ringing brain. I searched for space to escape through. Mom’s attention and frustration transferred to her fingers flying to remove the top sweater button from it’s hole. She cursed it, but her words lightened, and my fear eased.

“Blast this darn mohair. It’s all fouled up.” Her fingers slowed their fury. I watched her face change. Its desperate whiteness began to clear. Her skin flushed as her tension subsided. I saw her eyes, sharp with anger, soften, but they continued to round out, growing wider. They shimmered with liquid. The flush in her cheeks became a deep blush, and she looked at me with a new horror, her memory of the previous minute.

“My poor babies!” She gasp and fled through the living room and up the stairs. Her door slammed shut in the distance. The faint click of its lock sounded like the clang at the end of a wrestling match.

I remained collapsed on the living room carpet and leaned against the wall. My world wrinkled. Mother had never frightened me like that. Her mind had been possessed, but by what? Three times in one day, every girl in my vicinity had gone sexually berserk.

“Duh!” I struck my forehead. I may not have been the geekiest freshman in high school, but two and two are still four, even when your only digits are male and female. I contemplated experiments which would sort out these insane events. I had to perform one soon, or my whole family would go mad. Before anything else, however, the current situation required immediate attention. I stood up, walked to my room, ignored the stare of two pairs of girl eyes and made a herculean effort to keep my mind blank. Lying upon my bed, door barricaded with a desk chair, fantasies of my mother commanding me to fuck her undoubtedly beautiful and dripping cunt made me cum into a tissue in less than a minute.

Later that night, the instant I felt another hard-on growing, I jacked it as quickly as I could. I didn’t sprout another until morning, and I rushed to the bathroom to pee. Fortunately, for my cock’s skin, pissing a morning hard-on was just as effective. For two days, I masturbated as often as I could, with hardly a moment of lingering horniness. Unfortunately, my dick started to hurt from the effort. I began to carry a tube of KY-jelly I stole from a drug store.

For one week, nothing out of the ordinary, female-wise, happened, neither at school nor at home. Phase two of the experiment began under strict environmental controls. I began peeping into my neighbor’s windows, my distant neighbors. I looked for the least sexual female in our town who left her shutters open.

I don’t know her name. I never went back. But she can be proud today for instilling the respect I have for women and the discipline I learned to avoid future disasters. She was an old woman, probably in her sixties. Her house was perfect. Its dilapidated, unfenced grounds, raised weeds as tall and thick as my fourteen year-old head. Slinking through her overgrown backyard, I spied the woman sitting down for a cup of tea. It was late, eleven o-clock, an hour past my bedtime. My mother had been giving me and Rodney the silent treatment since the incident. More about that later. Breaking curfew was the least of my concerns.

For a sixty year old, my target wasn’t all that bad looking. Her skin wasn’t very wrinkled, and she didn’t wear clothes that looked like a tea cozy. She even kept her breasts standing at three o-clock, probably with some modern version of the corset. Imagining having sex with her wasn’t the hardest thing in the world, but I had to work on it. That was the clue which unlocked my mystery.

What was this thing I did to women whenever my dick got hard? It had begun wholly without any knowledge or control on my part. Dick hard – women horny. Life expectancy, less than a year. Somebody else was bound to figure it out, and there was no way I could continue a program of masturbation five to eleven times a day. I’d wear my cock down to the size of a tooth pick! I still wasn’t sure it was me, but I was pretty sure. Maybe it was just my dick.

So there I was, late at night, hidden in tall weeds, peeking at somebody’s well preserved granny as she sipped a cup of tea. In order to proceed with my experiment, I had to get a hard-on. This scene may be somebody’s fantasy, but it wasn’t mine. I was a little cold, guilty to be thinking sex about a nice old lady, and slightly worried a SWAT team was waiting to make their move from behind the house across the street.

Well, there had to be something sexy about it. I thought and thought. There’s always something you can find to get turned on about. I gave her breasts a second look and then a third. They were kind of pointy. What if the little woman had gotten a boob job from the local fashion surgeon? What if she was really a hot momma who sipped her tea and thought about teenage boys she flashed her tits to in the park.

I thought about her sitting on a park bench, feeding the pigeons wearing a colorful, unbuttoned blouse she kept closed with one hand. When some young bub like me walked by, she would cough and let her blouse open in his direction. Maybe she was thinking about teenage cock right now. What if she used her manicured tits to lure boys back to her quaint, blue speckled wall papered home, to suck on their cocks while they groped her enhanced breasts and fingered her hot and dripping cunt.

Okay, I could feel the lump growing in my shorts. It was working.

The semi-old woman stood up and set down her tea. She went to the stove and lifted the tea pot. She returned to refill her cup.

I was soft again.

Fuck it. I reached my hand down my pants and thought of my mom. “I have to fuck you or I’m going to die. Please put an end to it. I beg you!” She had yelled at me. When it had happened for real, it made me wilt faster than the little old lady. When I fantasized about it, my cock grew an extra cock just to store the excess blood. I was rock hard.

The old woman stopped drinking her tea. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes seemed to be searching the kitchen. She looked out her window. I ducked down quick. I watched her stand up and walk towards the window. She was about to close the damn curtains!

Then I saw her tits. They were pretty big for her small waist. Maybe she did have a boob job. Maybe she was wearing a push-up corset. My original fantasy about her using her tits to lure innocent boys to her house came back to me on its own accord. Hell, I thought, I could fuck her tits!

Her arms reached up to grab the drawstring, but instead they landed across her chest! I was seriously thinking about fucking her tits. My hand was still in my pants. I imagined the most youthful pair of perky tits around the slim waist of an old woman. My cock was creaming with enough pre-cum to lube the way through the cleft of her white breasts.

I saw her face go white, even whiter than an old woman sitting around a house all day. One of her trembling hands shot itself through her plain green blouse. I think I heard a button snap. She reached for her tit so quickly the sturdy construction of her blouse was no match for her inexplicable desire. She opened her mouth as part of a wild and surprised, but determined expression.

Her hand disappeared under green cloth. It’s movements mimicked a tongue swirling around, inside one cheek. Her breath became short. I was beating my meat with an unaccustomed urgency. My mind latched onto the idea that my cock had entered a hyper-dimensional gateway linking my pants to her blouse. The faster I fucked my hand, the faster her hand rubbed her tit. Her other hand began reaching into her skirt.

Jesus woman, what do I have to imagine now, sticking my cock into your gnarly snatch and plugging you with cum?

I lost it.

Not my cum, but my train of thought derailed at the difficult, erotic notion of fucking the old woman. That was just plain wrong! I might have gotten away with it if I had been closer to orgasm, but I was just beginning, and the change of gears from perky tit fucking to old cunt fucking was too much too soon.

My cock didn’t soften right away. The fantasy I weaved unraveled, and I found myself stroking a good beat and simply enjoying the feeling of hand on dick. It felt pretty good. The old woman continued reaching into her skirt, perhaps even fingering her cunt, but her tit hand suddenly freed itself and yanked on the curtain’s drawstring. My first voyeured woman disappeared from my life forever. I didn’t even jack myself off to completion. I scrambled away, hoping distance might correct the problem of my special horniness. Previous situations had supported an inverse-square law for my ‘horn key’.

I walked home, thoughts swirling. I was pretty sure I had discovered what I needed to control my effect, but I still faced the same dilemma every horny teenager faced. My dick listened to no one else and rarely to me. Until my hormone spurting glands withered from age, I was a walking hurricane of desire. Either I would have to learn to use my power for the good of mankind, enslave all women to my perverse will, or join the Navy. I hear they’ve got drugs for dampening sexual energy.

The trick was concentration. I had to focus my thoughts on what made me horny, and then I could control the actions of women within range. Undisciplined horniness was received by women as general desire, powerful desire without a proper throttle for control. Women went sort of mad with horniness. While that might be nice for a wild weekend, everyday living would be hell on earth.

I don’t know where it came from, how it actually works, nor why I had been ‘blessed’ with it. It sure seemed tied in with my recently acquired, natural ability to impregnate women. Maybe since puberty had occurred late in my youth I got a bonus prize. Great, now that I had figured out a crude way to control it, I suddenly had to learn how to discipline myself or I would likely end up in a bad way. This is no different than the life of other fourteen year-olds.

Even worse, in my English class, I was the guy who hated to read book assignments about rites of passage. They all seemed so phony. Well to say the least, I doubt anyone has written a rite of passage story more ridiculous than my own.

As I said, my thoughts swirled. Exactly what the hell I was doing? I don’t know. The actual mechanism of my power remains a mystery, just as the mechanism of electricity remained unknown decades after electricity had been used around the world. I guess I’m just not the kind of person who can believe in magic, even when its shooting out of my cock. Pheromones might be the most logical agent (except not through a closed window), but Kirlian photography, Satan’s finger up my ass, and a host of other fraudulent sciences might be revived, yet again, to explain the matter. I didn’t care. I believed I could fuck any woman, any time, and they liked it, whether or not they liked it.