There was a girl, Diana, who ran with my group in the latter part of high school and early college years. A real intellectual, she was a very pretty redhead with a fantastic body, but, unlike ALL the rest of us, she remained a virgin through high school.
She had some sort of "medical condition" that prevented her from getting a drivers license, so I often ended up being the one who had to take her home, which was in a tiny rural town several light years from the big city the rest of us lived in.
When we asked what her problem was, she would say no more than, "It's a complex neural syndrome that is poorly understood." Other than her not fucking, she seemed perfectly normal, so we let it go at that and always enjoyed her company.
Though I went to a different college my freshman year, she went to the same university that most in our crowd went to, and started seeing my good friend Tom there that year. Suave operator that he is, they were dating and having sex in no time.
However, at the point of orgasm, she would have an incredibly strange experience, and though he said she was a good girlfriend and lover (he taught her everything she knew-ha!), he found those experiences—which occurred every time she climaxed—so disturbing that he broke up with her after just a few months.
Though he told me in detail about them, I'm intentionally saving the description for later in the story, so please read on.
My sophomore year I transferred to her university, and since we lived in the college town only a few blocks apart, I saw Diana occasionally, though not very often. We had known one another a long time and were friends, but not close friends. However, like clockwork, she would call me two weeks before school breaks for a ride home. Her sister lived near my parents, so it was convenient to drop her off there in lieu of driving to her parents' home in West Nowheresville.
The drive was a full day, so we always had lots of time to talk. Eventually, we came around to the topic of her medical condition. For the first time, she talked freely about it. Diana said she had an extremely rare condition, the most similar condition being epilepsy, though it was different, with an altogether different cause.
The thing that was similar was that she would have "seizures" of a sort resembling those of grand mal epilepsy. Only her seizures rarely gave forewarning, and the triggers for them were very difficult to establish. She said, though, that very emotional or exciting events would sometimes precipitate a seizure. I certainly had no trouble remembering Tom's description of these, but I politely said nothing about that and just listened.
The drugs that were prescribed to her to prevent the seizures were not at all specific, but rather central nervous system depressants that knocked her out to such an extent that she stopped taking them, regarding the treatment as worse than the seizures themselves.
I won't bore you with the scientific stuff, but I took several classes from a well-known professor of psycho-biology who specialized in this area, during that period of time. Turns out Diana was already working with him and his team, which had developed a more targeted drug treatment for her condition. She said the new experimental drug did not make her groggy, and she had not had a single seizure since using it.
We talked for a long time about all this, and I really enjoyed the conversation. Diana was a really brainy gal with excellent interpersonal communication skills. Even so, she was a bit formal in manner, and the fact that she always wore dresses just reinforced that. I never once saw her in slacks or jeans, and her dresses were very expensive and immaculately pressed and, well, "dressy."
So, during our drive, she, as usual, had on a dress. It's being the beginning of Spring Break and rather warm weather there in the South, she had on a beautiful cotton dress in a bright floral print, knee-length, with a halter style top. Naturally, my eyes drifted from the road to her eyes to her considerable cleavage and to the road and back to her cleavage ever so often.
We made excellent time on the road, and arrived at her sister's way ahead of schedule. My parents were not due to be home for another couple of hours, and Diana said her older sister was out of town and would not be back until the following day, when they would drive together over to their parent's farm.
After I pulled into the driveway, Diana gave me gas money and dug the keys to her sister's house from her purse and was about to say goodbye when she noticed the half joint still sitting in my ashtray that we'd never finished on the road, and suggested we go inside and do it up. Diana sure liked to smoke pot—other people's pot!
I had plenty more weed, and nowhere to be for a while, so doing a doobie sounded good to me. I was not dating anyone at the time, and she had not dated anyone in a long time. I was, therefore, even more horny than usual, and the thought of getting it on with Diana briefly crossed my mind, though that seemed about as likely as a meteor falling on my head.
I helped her with her luggage inside, and we made ourselves comfortable on the couch and fired up the j. Her sister's Persian cat was starved for attention, jumped up in Diana's lap, and began butting its head against her breasts, which didn't seem to bother Diana in the least. Didn't bother me either, and made me just that much more horny.
