Catching The Bug

This belongs in incest, but is heavily sci-fi themed, with perhaps a touch of non-consent. Just a warning for you folks who might not dig it. Sorry it's been so long since I published. I have so many irons in the fire, it's backed things up. I also can start a million stories without finishing them. Again, my apologies. The build-up on this one takes forever long, and ends probably too early for some, but it is finished and off my back. I needed that. Cheers!

*****

2023 had been a terrible year for women, when 'The Bug' first appeared. It was in that early Spring when a South American mosquito cross-bred with some other rare, disease-ridden Northern American version, and together they created a new kind of virus. While it caused slightly high fevers and sweating for both men and women, no nausea or other ill symptoms came from it. There was, however, one terrible side effect for anyone without a Y chromosome - i.e., women - and in that first year, there were more than two million recorded cases of exposure.

The science behind the bug is rather complex. The brain's amygdala is in charge of something called a limbic reward system. This controls emotions such as fear and pleasure. It drives desires for things like food, sex and love. It is highly responsible for addictive and compulsive behaviors. "The Bug" over-rewards key behaviors, sending high doses of dopamine to the amygdala. How this translates to affecting its victims is the troubling part.

Normally, when people experience circumstances that involve anything that could be construed as flirting, such as a forward glance, a light touch, or even some playful small talk, this attention feeds into one's limbic reward system, as is normal. The brain releases a dopamine - a feel-good hormone associated with euphoria - to encourage one to keep going. In typical circumstances, flirting becomes a balancing act of diving in, yet not too far, and recognizing when and where to draw lines, and remain non-committal. However, under the effects of the virus, the dopamine that is triggered is so intense that it cannot be denied.

Consider this scenario for a moment: There's a party, hosted by a fraternity. It's intended to be a simple social event, where people hang out, play games, have a few drinks and dance. Some flirting occurs, like at all social functions, but let's say things get more heated than usual. The music gets louder, the drinks pour more rapidly, and folks loosen up. Not something atypical of a fraternity-hosted event. Before long, they're putting on an impromptu, wet t-shirt contest. Soon, several girls are flashing the crowd, some even stripping naked completely.

Events like this occur every day around the world, but think about this: It is unlikely that many of the women who go to these social functions, with the intention of taking things so far. It's one of the rare times where these individuals allow their limbic reward system to get the best of them (for no better term), flirting beyond normal, social parameters. In this case, it is heavily influenced by the liquor and the mob mentality, where everyone joins along, mirroring behaviors.

There is a case, many years ago, where a popular, television news reporter celebrated vacation in Daytona during Spring Break. Her excitement got the best of her, and video was published of her stripping naked on stage during a 'sexy body' contest of some sort. It imploded her career. These days, people wouldn't even blink at something like that.

Under the viral influence of The Bug, one doesn't need such contributing factors as alcohol to reach such euphoric states of flirtatious behavior. If girls receive so much as a smile from someone, it is instantly well received by the amygdala, and she instantly craves more attention, requiring more of the dopamine that feeds into the system. It becomes an instant, insatiable addiction, creating a cycle of flirtatious behavior, endlessly feeding the limbic reward system.

It takes as long as four days for the effects of the bug to wear off. Fortunately, no long-term issues come from the experience. One's immune system can eventually fight off the virus, though it is not strong enough to build an immunity to it. This means one can catch the bug multiple times in their lifetime. Supposedly, there were cases where some women had been exposed to it on more than a dozen occasions, especially in New Mexico and Texas where it originated. Those poor souls.

There are two ways to catch The Bug, the first being a direct bite from an infected mosquito. Fortunately, most of those had been killed off by the end of the 2024. It was through a bipartisan, federally-funded initiative. The insecticide they used also killed lots of bees (which is a very bad thing), but we didn't care. Everyone was on board with solving this problem. At least 96% of the mosquitoes were exterminated, and bites are much rarer these days.

The other way to catch The Bug is through human contact. Unfortunately, the virus has a ten-day gestation period before symptoms begin, and this is the main reason why The Bug continues to survive. One can transmit the virus to others over several days, before they even realize they're sick. Eventually, victims will develop a temperature (usually no more than a couple degrees over normal) and a day or two later, as the fever subsides, "the bug" kicks in.

**

I checked my fever for the second time this morning. It was still slightly high, but coming down from last night. After I received a notification in an email four days ago, stating that one of the women at last week's student orientation had been struck by The Bug (and to watch for any signs), I had been worried. My fears were confirmed when I developed a fever the other night. The email shared a picture of the woman, but I didn't recognize her. It didn't matter. Being President of the SGA, I shook a lot of hands that day. Probably everyone's.

I had to tell Paul. He's my brother and roommate. He's not quite as driven in his schoolwork or extra-curriculars as me, but he maintains a job and pays his share of the bills. We had an amicable relationship, but we wouldn't be considered close siblings. I think he's messy and lets his friends hang out too late on school nights playing video games. He thinks I nag him too often. That might be true, but I definitely needed his support on this issue.

I walked into the living room, catching Paul on his way to the kitchen. "You have got to be shitting me," he said, after I gave him the news. "It's been a while since I've heard of anyone going through that shit around here, Renee. Are you sure you have it?"

"Pretty sure. Ever since we killed all the mosquitoes off, you don't see it as often, but The Bug is still around. Very much so. The best thing to do when you get it - or even suspect you have it - is to stay at home until it passes."

"Hmm, I did see one woman at the grocery like eight months ago. She went nuts. Looked at the cashier and just started stripping. It was wild. Jumped over the counter and shoved her tits in his face. Crazy."

"Paul, you have to promise me you will not have your friends visiting, until I get better. We've discussed this before, remember?"

"That was like three years ago when we made that agreement, Renee. Back when everyone was passing the bug around. And they're supposed to come over and watch the game tonight."

"Well, I didn't get it back then, but the same rules apply now."

Paul huffed, but recognized this was a serious matter. "Fine. Whatever. What's this mean for you, really?"

"First, I need you to go shopping for us. Enough for four or five days. Buy some milk, cereal, frozen pizzas, whatever. I have to stay home and isolate myself. You should, too. That's the recommended treatment. To avoid incidents. To avoid transmitting the virus."

"So I have the virus, too?" Paul sounded annoyed.

I rolled my eyes. "Probably," I said. "But you know, you won't have any... side effects like me. You're a male. Your temperature goes up for a couple days, but you don't really feel bad. Still, you can transmit it to others, so don't touch anybody."

"Why can't you go to the store?"

"Because if my calculations are right, I will be in that messed up state of mind any minute now."

"Jesus, really?" asked Paul. "You really mean it?"

"Yes, so could you please help a girl out?"

Paul giggled and literally eyed me up and down, like a piece of meat. "You mean to tell me," he asked, "... that when a guy like... gawks at you and stuff... you'll get all excited?"

My brother knew damn well how it worked. The whole world knew how it worked. I'm pretty sure Paul was just fucking with me right now. When the bug first came to be and no one knew what it was, women were randomly stripping in public and heavily flirting with strangers. People didn't realize a genuine, medical condition was occurring. Imagine being one of the first people to ever witness it. Maybe some guy eyes an attractive woman on the bus, and the next thing you know, she's stripping off her clothes and making heavy passes at him. Of course, the guys in these situations often flirted back, and this led to a cycle of more depraved actions from these poor women, taking things way too far with strangers, often in public settings. It was completely beyond the victims' control, though.

Once the virus was identified, and we understood what triggered the behaviors in women to behave in such ways, it became well established that some men relished the opportunities when a woman got hit with the virus. They would tease the girls, knowing how helpless they were with their responses.

It didn't take long for Congress to pass laws requiring everyone get excused and paid leave time when hit by The Bug. Prior to that, there were some abusive behaviors by bosses and managers who wouldn't allow their staff to stay home when infected. Not because they absolutely needed the labor, but because of the women's susceptible behavior of any flirting of any kind.

"Which is why you are to not have ANYONE come over," I reminded Paul. "Call your friends and cancel tonight."

In the three years we have lived together in our cramped apartment, I have certainly seen my brother glance at my chest from time to time. It's kind of unavoidable. My tits are big and firm, and they have a solid jiggle to them. My ex-boyfriend used to call them "global".

Though my brother might involuntarily glance at my boobs every now and then (like when I'm in my nighties for bed), I never once considered his actions to be flirtatious in any way. His behavior was maybe a wee bit perverse, but considering how much attention my tits get from boyfriends and random strangers on the street, my brother is completely innocent.

Or is he?

When he glanced at my body just now, it looked as if he was undressing me with his eyes. I'd seen that look before in other men, many times! For a moment just now, I thought Paul really did imagine me naked. Maybe it was the effects of the bug, but for whatever reason, I had convinced myself that my brother was perving on me. I'd never given him the pleasure of seeing my body. Not once, in our entire adult lives. I mean, why would I? He's my brother, after all. But now, I was really fucking curious. Is what Paul had imagined in his mind half as good as what's really there? Just a peek. I could give him a peek. I was interested to discover this little puzzle.

"So yeah, I'm gonna take a long bath while you go and pick up those groceries," I said. "Maybe find a good book to read."

I began unbuttoning my blouse, as if I was just casually preparing for the bath. I knew my bra was low cut enough to display plenty of cleavage. I'd find out for sure, based on Paul's reaction, just what he thinks about my tits. He has no idea how amazing they are.

The door to the bathroom was only a few feet from where we had been standing. It was easy to rush in and start the bath water, and quickly come back out, but by then I had unclasped four buttons from my blouse and cleavage poured out. Paul's eyes practically popped out of his face. I thought it was absolutely hilarious how crazy his reaction was, and I almost wanted to give them a shake.

"You got money for groceries?" I asked, pretending to not notice, and acting wholly innocent.

It took Paul a moment to recognize I was addressing him; his eyes were like magnets to my exposed flesh. It seemed to have cut off some switches to his brain. Finally, he snapped out of it and said, "Oh, money? Yeah, I got some. Enough, I think."

The bra I was currently wearing was racier than any of my swim suits, and I've caught Paul looking plenty of times when I wear a bikini. Even though he's my brother, I get it. Paul's a straight, young man, and his eyes tend to autonomously navigate onto beautiful female bodies. It's inevitable for him to take a mental picture of me in those circumstances, when I'm in such a skimpy outfit. Still, we never - not once - took each other's actions as flirtatious. Now, with the way Paul was ogling me, he might have been crossing that line, I thought.

"Jesus, Paul," I said. "You wanna take a picture?" I thrust out my chest, pushing my flesh out even more, but I also laughed, hoping to ease the tension.

Paul stopped looking at my tits (finally) and whispered, "Oh, shit, I think it's already starting."

"What?" I asked, shaking my head, resisting the urge to shake my torso. "Oh, you mean? No, I don't think so. I had just noticed that you-" And then it hit me. Paul was correct. It was me, in fact, that was goading for attention, with my tits practically hanging out, right in front of my brother. My heart dropped. "Oh fuck, you're right," I said.

Paul waved me off fast. "Go take your bath. I'll leave and be back in an hour. Be DRESSED, for god's sake."

I had already started covering myself with my arms, as my mind raced to rationalize my actions, and fight this desire to flirt and show more skin, but I had every intention of wearing oversized shirts and pants for the next few days. Heaps of them. "Go to the store," I told Paul. "Let's just get through this stupid thing."

___

After Paul left, I took a quick bath and thought about the best way to handle this problem. 'So even if it's my brother, I'm at risk. I never thought that could happen.'

I got out of the bath and dried off, putting on some old, but clean underwear, and a big sports bra I rarely used. It was frumpy looking attire, not my normal thing. I then put on a tight t-shirt, followed by two larger ones. Finally, a beaten pair of jeans and some rather worn-down socks. I didn't bother applying make-up or fixing my hair. Since Paul and I would be alone in the apartment for a few days, I would remain as "un-sexy" as possible.

But fuck being poor and living in the South. We only had fans, because we can't afford air conditioning, and while wearing all the crap, I was sweating bullets by the time Paul made it back with six bags of groceries. "I think this will cover us," he said. "Are you okay to give me a hand?"

"Of course, silly. I'm not disabled, I just have this stupid virus."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that. What if I have it already, too, and don't know it? I could have given it to someone at the market."

"Did you touch anyone?"

"I don't think so," said Paul.

"You should be okay, but yeah... best to be quarantined from now on. Thanks for picking up the groceries." Funny, how this event seemed to draw Paul and I closer. Families pull together, I guess.

Once groceries were put away, I sat over the stove cooking spaghetti. "This will feed us for a few meals," I said, as boiling water steamed the room. Of all the times to get the bug, in the middle of summer, why was I slaving over a hot stove? I could have waited until tonight to do this.

If I lived alone, I obviously wouldn't wear all this crap. Three oversized shirts and frumpy pants? It was hot and bothersome. As it appeared that I was now vulnerable to anything construed as flirtatious behavior (even from my brother), I had to minimize chances of such occurrences. Wearing all these layers of clothing was an element to that mission, but it was barely tolerable.

I was finishing up the sauce and Paul noticed my discomfort. "You gonna wear all that crap for the next four days, Renee?"

I turned to him. "Yeah, I know... but I thought you would agree, considering..."

"Oh, because of what you did before I left? Practically flashing me?"

I giggled, and felt a tingle rush through me, as I briefly thought about how crazy that was. "I'm thinking we'll have a good laugh about that a few years from now. But yeah, just to be on the safe side, I'm wearing all this crap."

When people were first being affected by the virus, Paul and I had discussions on what we would do if it ever happened to me. I'd quarantine myself, stay away from visitors, the usual routine. I guess we just assumed that while the amygdala over-rewards the subject, it wouldn't reward behavior or actions from siblings or family members. Now we knew this was not the case, which is why what Paul did next surprised me so much.

"Let me take a good look at you," he said, eyeing me up and down again, like he had earlier. I am positive that what I'm wearing doesn't do anything to accentuate my figure, so I wasn't sure what the point was, and I was about to smart off, but he continued, "You know, I probably should have just let you pull those knockers out before I left. They do look outstanding."

"Paul!" I screamed. "Stop that! You're embarrassing me." He really wasn't. I have great tits... but he was my brother and I had to feign some kind of repulsion, right? Besides, it was kind of fun to play it off that way.

"Oh, please, you know you have it going on," he chided.

I divided some of the spaghetti into Tupperware and responded, "Maybe I like showing off a little, but you know that's the point of wearing all this. I can't right now, because I have this... problem..."

"What? No filter?" he asked. "I get it. Can't go out in public, but it's such a shame you have to confine yourself to wearing all that crap."

"Believe me, I wouldn't if it didn't... well, you know..."

"What? If there wasn't a risk of getting obscene around me? I just have to be sure not to flirt with you, right? Or I need to avoid whatever your twisted mind perceives as flirting?"

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, bro, don't give me a hard time."

"For all I care, you could go naked," he said. "I wouldn't flirt with you even then."

Now he was fucking pushing it. "Challenge accepted!" I yelled, dropping everything. I immediately stripped, rushing to get everything off as quickly as possible. If there was one thing I knew, no man could resist looking at what I have to offer. I intended to prove to Paul that even he would be awestruck.

My brother stood emotionless and then quietly began shaking his head as I dropped my panties, now completely bare in front of him. "Well, you lasted like forty minutes," he said.

It took a moment, but then I realized what he meant. Here I was, completely, utterly stark naked in front of my brother for the first time. I wanted him to see my body, and I now realized it was all because I had that stupid virus running through me. Even still, I just let him look, soaking up the attention from his eyes. Whether he was turned on or not, I loved it. "Fuck, this is going to be a long four days," I huffed.

Paul didn't stop staring at my body (and I let him, of course) while he responded, "Oh, I dunno. I might enjoy it, I guess."

Another tingle raced down my spine. This was fun, getting a bit of attention, even from my brother. I bounced up a bit, showing him how firm my tits were. "It's so weird, Paul. Like I know I shouldn't flirt or behave this way, but I just can't help... it's so hard to explain..."