A high school senior and his sweetheart finally embrace his unique trait.
Author's note: Months ago I made the decision to pull this story from Literotica, but I'm reversing that decision now, and it will not be made again. It's here to stay.
Tags: teenagers, virginity, loss of virginity, oral, vaginal, first-person narration, informal narration
*****
My name's Ethan. And I'm a freak.
No, I don't mean in the sheets. I'm a virgin.
I'm two people. Not, like, possessed by a demon or anything. There's me, and then there's Leftie.
I guess I should start from the beginning. This might sound a bit sad at first, but just wait. It gets good.
I'm epileptic. Well, I was. I started having seizures when I was seven years old. Bad seizures. Sometimes I'd have ten of them in one day. Got lots of busted lips and broken noses. It got so bad that, eventually, there was just no other option. I needed surgery. But not just any kind of surgery. Brain surgery. Now, this might sound a little grisly, but, again, just wait.
So, when I would have a seizure, these "seizure signals" would fire from one side of my brain to the other, across my corpus callosum, the sinewy bundle of neural fibers that connects the hemispheres of the brain. So, the surgery I had, it was called a corpus callosotomy. That bundle of fibers, the corpus callosum? My surgeons cut it. Snipped it like a piece of cloth. It went the way of my foreskin. The mean men in white took it away. All jokes aside though, my brain is no longer one whole. It's two halves. The two hemispheres of my brain hardly communicate anymore.
I'm eighteen as of three months ago, and you might think I've been living disabled after a surgery like that. Nope. I've never been better. I can hold conversations, run in marathons, and I haven't had a seizure in almost ten years. I've got a 4.2 weighted grade point average. I've got a scholarship. I've even got a beautiful girlfriend, Chloe, that I love. But ... there is one problem.
My right hemisphere, the half of my brain that got severed from the other half? It's not dead. It's alive, and it's got a mind of its own.
I have alien hand syndrome. It sounds like science fiction, I know, but it's real. Google it if you don't believe me. Basically, my left hand, the hand controlled by my estranged right hemisphere, it moves completely of its own accord. Hell, it's got its own personality. If I try to grab an apple, my left hand will smack it away and reach for the banana instead. Grabbing a Sprite? Nope. It grabs the Mountain Dew instead. Listening to Arctic Monkeys? It'll switch it to Foo Fighters. My left hand is an opinionated fucker.
But hell, as much as I sometimes want to kill Leftie, we make a pretty decent team. We can go hiking in the Rockies together, we can play Halo, hell, we can even masturbate together (though our differences in taste lead us to clicking away from each other's porn constantly). It's fucking crazy, I know. But there's one major problem we've got, one page that the two of us just can't seem to get on, and that's with Chloe.
Does Leftie hate Chloe? No. I'm pretty sure it loves her just as much as I do. The problem is, well ... okay, let's go back a year or two. See, Chloe and I got together a year and a half ago. We were just friends at first, for two months, but that didn't last long. I knew early on that I loved her, and the same applied for her. Now, as eighteen-year-old seniors in high school that've been dating for a year and a half, you'd probably think Chloe and I would be fucking like rabbits. And if it were my choice, it'd probably be something close to that, yeah. But it hasn't happened. Like I said earlier, I'm a virgin. Chloe is too.
Chloe, her and her family, they're a religious sort. Like, really religious. Church every Sunday, prayers before meals, all that stuff. Her family thinks my surgery and recovery was a miracle of God. Personally, I'm more grateful to my surgeons than I am to God. But Chloe's on the same train of thought as her family: 'no sex before marriage.' She's a good Christian girl. She wants to wait. Honestly, I don't think God would care one bit, but it's what Chloe wants, and I love her, so here we are. Besides, it seems like Chloe's getting closer to taking the plunge. She knows I love her, she knows I think we'll only be happier afterwards, and I think that's starting to take root in her. She'll come around, and I'm fine with waiting until that day comes. But the problem I was talking about earlier? Leftie doesn't want to wait. It's horny as fuck.
When Chloe and I hang out, she just has to accept the fact that she's going to experience a few unsuspecting gropes. Leftie loves being touchy-feely with her. If she doesn't want it copping a feel and honking her boobs, she has to sit on my right side, at all times. And that's not all Leftie does. It grabs her tits, it swats her butt, it does anything and everything sexual that is within its power to do. On one occasion it even managed to sneak attack her and got under her pants and panties. Yes, the one time I touched Chloe down there, and I myself didn't even do it. Fucking Leftie got to third base sooner than I did.
But when Leftie does do shit like that, Chloe just blushes and brushes it off. She knows I can't help it, and she knew I was like this when she started dating me. This is what she signed up for. As much as I wish I was normal, I'm not, and somehow, Chloe's okay with that. She loves me for the weird fucking freak that I am, and I'm convinced she's the only girl in the world who would.
So that's my story up to now. It's December 26
th
, 2015. The day after Christmas. Winter break of my last year of high school. It's freezing cold outside. -2 Fahrenheit, I think. A typical winter in Colorado. Denver's smothered under a thick blanket of white snow. It's a few hours into midday, and the sun's already on the horizon. Chloe's coming over to spend the night, as she often does. And if you're wondering, yes, we do share a bed when we spend nights together, yes, we do dress down into pajamas, and yes, I have poked her in her tailbone with my erection before. It's kind of crazy how intimate Chloe and I are without actually having sex.
When the doorbell rings, I hurry to the door to open it and greet her. She's wearing a comically ugly red-and-green Christmas sweater and gray sweatpants. Flecks of snow are hanging on her thick lashes, and she has a heavy, black smoke around her hazel-green eyes, with a thick eyeliner and mascara just how she knows I like it. Her long, light-brown hair is weaved up in a crown-braid, with her ponytail sitting on her shoulder. If you don't know what the hell a 'crown-braid' even is, don't feel bad, because I didn't know either until Chloe showed me. Basically, it looks how it sounds. That's Chloe's thing, spending hours weaving her hair into these exotic braids I've never seen. She cuts her hair herself, too. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm one of the few people in the world that gets to touch her hair. It's kind of an honor.
"Hi, Ethan," she says to me, smiling.