Trippin With the Valentines
Copyright© 2025 by Zefram
Chapter 2
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Inspired by the world created in ElSol’s The Master’s Ring, begins my story set 19 years later. The great purge is ending. A new generation is growing towards adulthood. Since ElSol proclaimed he would never finish his masterpiece, I am striving to expand his world with my own science fiction spin(respectfully). This is absolutely not a sequel, just my reimagining of ElSol's world I so enjoyed. Chapter lengths vary widely. This is intended to be a long continuing story.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft Ma/ft mt/Fa Mult Teenagers Consensual Mind Control Reluctant Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction School Sports Science Fiction Paranormal Incest Mother Son Sister BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Harem White Male White Female Oriental Female Anal Sex First Lactation Oral Sex Pregnancy Sex Toys Slow
Iowa beginnings
We slipped out the farmhouse backdoor, seeking some relief from the noisy, sweaty high school kegger. I breathed in the crisp October Iowa air. Ambled over to Larry, the only other one in the backyard.
“If coach could see you now, Larry, red solo cup in one hand, smoking weed with the other.”
“Good thing he ain’t here, Z.”
Just then, Larry caught the flashing lights coming down the quarter mile long lane from the blacktop. “Shiiiit, the cops are raiding the party. And three cars ... they’re serious.”
“Let’s warn them!”
Larry dropped his cup and reached for his phone as he moved towards the open field behind the house. “No time to go back to the house. Follow me; I’ll call the house as we go.”
Running across the harvested soybean field was easy even in the moonless night, slightly illuminated by the farmhouse lights. A quick 150-yard run gave a semi-safe distance to look back. “Geez,” Larry quietly observed, “the cops are at the back door too; few of us got out in time. Let’s keep moving.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Is that a school bus coming down the lane? A paddy wagon for an underage beer party!”
“Yeah, this makes no sense. Good thing we are not back there.”
The long trek across the dark open field became more difficult as the farmhouse lights faded in the distance, but finally, a single driveway pole light became visible, “This is the old Campbell’s place, it is vacant now, we can wait till it calms down, then call my brother for a ride,” Larry informed.
I discovered an old wooden backyard picnic table, stepped up onto the seat, turned, and then collapsed on my back, gazing up at the stars.
“You tired from that little jog, Z?”
“Just looking at the stars and wondering why I always come to these damn parties.”
Larry laughed hard, then said, “Oh, I know why you showed up.”
“Let’s hear it, Larry.”
Larry joined me on the picnic table, leaned back and looked upward. “Half the people come for the buzz, the beer, maybe something more. The other half comes because of FOMO. The fear of missing out. They are afraid that if they miss one of these things, something exciting will happen and they will have missed it.”
“So Larry, am I a FOMO?”
“Oh no Z, you are a special kind of stupid. You are a FOMTO.”
“And what’s a FOMTO, Larry?”
“Z, how many girlfriends have you had?”
“None serious.”
“How many hookups have you had, Z?”
“None that you know of...”
“Right, Z, you’re too damn picky. And you don’t drink. There is no clouding your judgement for a quick hookup. You are 15 years old and you are looking for ’The One’. You have the fear of missing The One ... FOMTO. Well, let me tell you, Z, The One ain’t here, and never will be at one of these farmhouse parties.”
I thought for a moment, then sighed slowly, “Maybe you are right, but that right one probably isn’t sitting at home either.”
“The One, your one Z, probably doesn’t exist yet. Women are like fine wine. High school girls are like a bunch of grapes, all sugar and a little yeast. No champagne here; the most you could hope for is some fermented Boone’s Farm. So if you don’t want to eat the grapes, don’t want really cheap wine, your drink of choice just doesn’t exist ... yet. If you are smart, Z, keep working on your jump shot, read your books, do your smart-shit programming. And years from now, you will find The One.”
“Damn deep, Larry. How’d you get to be such an expert on me and women?”
“I hear things, I watch, and I have an older sister who doesn’t hate me. But that’s all I got. Tell me about the stars you stare at, Z. Maybe you can point out some Zodiac signs.”
I kicked the picnic table seat with his heel, then said, “My dad used to show me the stars when we went camping, with just our eyes, and with his telescope.”
“Oh man, Z, any word yet?”
“No, a couple of months and still the same story. They believe the plane he was flying went down in a storm somewhere in Southeast Asia...”.
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