Part XVII - 5: King of Sluts

Walking down the hallways at school the next day had an entirely different aspect to it after the fuck with Rachael. I couldn't believe the number of people who unconsciously sought my empathic touch. The guys pretty much attributed the pleasant feelings they had when I greeted them to my smile, but most of the girls had labeled it as romantic or sexual attraction, which of the two depended on the girl.

So you could imagine how odd it was walking down the hallways like I always did but with the difference of knowing half of the people around me were unconsciously hoping for the chance I'd smile at them.

And damn it! I kept catching myself doing it! Not only were people literally becoming addicted to my empathic touch, but I was just as hooked on making others feel good. Even though I felt this separation between myself and the emotions of others, it was still rewarding to see other people's faces light up when you're around. We humans are a very social creature. We need the approval of others, especially our peers.

While I was in my third period class, I suddenly realized my teacher had a serious addiction to my empathic touches from just the way she kept giving me the easy questions in class. I immediately decided to stop giving out those empathic feelings of happiness to my teachers, and as the day continued, I found they all had the same negative reaction when I held back on my empathic touch as I smiled. They all frowned.

By Friday I was seriously considering giving them all a small dose, for in every class they made every attempt to make me as miserable as they had become. But I held off to see if over the weekend their frustration and bad moods would wear off, thinking they couldn't possibly have become that dependant in a month.

To my relief, my first and second hour teachers had returned to normal Monday morning, but while I was walking to my third hour class, I discovered that not everyone got over it over the weekend. In fact for several girls it had gotten worse.

The first indication of this was from a black sophomore named Jesse whom I had given numerous smiles to because she had reminded me of Melissa from the cell. I have to admit I got a bit excited when I caught her eyes undressing me, but that's not the reason I smiled at her without holding back on my empathic touch.

Then just as I turned the corner to the hall my class was down, Debbie Collins spotted me from her locker and intercepted me.

"Hiya, sexy. What's your hurry?"

"No hurry. Just trying to get to class."

"You doin' anything tonight?" she said chewing her gum like mad.

"I have some homework, but that won't take too long. Why?"

"Well I was wondering if you'd like to go out for pizza or something," she said, leaning against the lockers and giving me a good view of her cleavage.

"Sure," I said, reading her mind and liking what the something was. "How about right after school? I'll meet out by my Porsche, all right?"

"Right. That's a date," she said triumphantly. "Make sure you bring that pretty smile of yours along too."

"Oh I will," I said giving her a healthy dose right there. "You can count on it."

I watched her walk away, her ass moving back and forth as sexily as she could wiggle it while her twat tingled with her arousal. I had known Debbie since the second grade, but she had always been rather cold towards me and Joey, especially in high school since she and Suzi had long decided they didn't like each other at all.

God, she had a body, and that body knew how to fuck. Debbie was the class slut, but she didn't just fuck anyone, oh no. Only the captain of the football team, or the best wrestler, or the tallest basketball player. She got to choose the jock, and even if they already had a girl at their beck and call, no one had never refused her, and never had she ever asked anyone but the top jock for a date... Until me.

So who was I to be two firsts? Besides, I considered Debbie probably to be the only person besides Joey who could hold a candle to me in the number of sexual partners. Okay, so that isn't really a good thing, but it still was something that brought her up (or down) to my level, and I have seen a lot of guys crash and burn from her nasty responses for an offer to go out on a date. I considered myself to be the only one who could give some of that back to her.

A lot of the differences between girls and guys are of course physical in nature, but there are a lot of psychological differences which are not caused by a hormone or sexual organ, but society and its standards or rules.

For example, when a young male has sex with numerous girls, he is called a stud and for the most part is respected by his male peers. However, when a girl has sex with numerous guys, she is called a slut and is seen as something which has been soiled or is otherwise unclean. Now of course this is all very silly, but you have to admit it is for the most part how we think as a society. I've never heard of a negative term for a sexually active male unless it involved homosexual activity.

So what makes a slut or a stud in the first place? Ignoring the cases of nymphomaniacs and Don Juanism, most sexually active people are regular people who simply enjoy the physical and emotional pleasure it gives them. The emotional factor is usually stronger with women than it is for men, and as the day went on, I started to realize this and started paying close attention to those who I found the most attracted to me without having felt my smile yet that day.

By the fifth hour, a pattern had developed concerning exactly who was vulnerable to becoming addicted to my empathic touch. While anyone could become addicted if I kept giving it to them regularly like I had done with my teachers, only those who were already in need for the comfort and happiness of another's empathic touch were driven to demand it.

The girls who were being attracted to me like moths to a flame were simply in need for that emotional pleasure which most people only feel while being intimate with another. I'm not claiming that all so called sluts only wanted to be loved or anything such as this. But the girls who were watching me intently as I walked down the halls all desired to feel the emotions I had briefly shared with them in greater quantities and in other ways.

Strangely enough, the day after Rachael and I fucked, she seemed quite content with herself and didn't feel need for a repeat that day. I was rather relieved about this, but at the same time I had hoped that she would have been willing to help me clear my head of my sexual cluttering thoughts once in a while, especially when I found I had increased my ability to study and do my homework from having relieved my sexual tensions in our fuck.

By the time I was walking out to meet Debbie by my car, I had made a list of seven different girls who I had determined were desperate for my empathic touch. I wasn't sure if they all would come to me or not, and I hoped that if they did, they would be spread out and wait their turn just so I would keep my head clear all week long.

"I went out with another guy who had a Porsche. His had real gold trim," she remarked when I unlocked the door for her.

"That's strange," I said before shutting the door so she couldn't immediately ask me what.

"What's strange?" she demanded when I opened my side and sat down.

"The only people I ever heard putting real gold trim on their cars were drug dealers or pimps," I made up.

"Well, he wasn't either of those," she said while thinking I may be right.

"You still up for pizza? Or would you rather do something else?" I said, flashing my smile.

"Oh, I don't know... Lets go in the direction of the pizza place, then if something catches my eye, I'll let you know."

"All right," I said, sharply cutting off the empathic feeling I was transmitting.

"Or," she said hesitantly, "If you really want pizza, we can go there too."

"Not really, but I think I know a place we'd both like," I said giving her a weak grin.

"Where?"

"You'll see."

It took a good half hour to get there, and by that time she was doing everything she could to annoy me, but I didn't bother taking any of her comment seriously since I knew she'd shut up when she saw the insides.

"This place isn't that bad," she admitted when we walked into the little oriental restaurant. "Why didn't you tell me we were coming here? I would have dressed up... "

I gave her another smile, thinking of the fact I didn't expect her be in her clothes much longer so dressing up would have been a waste of time.

"You have reservation?" the short oriental woman asked after a polite bow.

"Yes, Timothy Brandton's party? I reserved one of the private rooms?"

The little oriental woman raised an eyebrow, then said, "Moment please," before turning around and disappeared in the back.

"Sweet woman," Debbie remarked. "Why did you get a private room? This place is empty."

"You'll see," I said as a rather tall oriental man came out, immediately followed by the woman.

"We don't allow minors in the private rooms," he said in a firm voice. "You can have a regular table or find someplace else to eat."

"Are you sure?" I said, pulling out a carefully folded little paper airplane which just happened to be made out of a hundred dollar bill and launched it towards him.

It hit his chest, and even though he spotted what it was, he ignored it and said, "We're sure."

"Sorry Sis. I guess we'll have to find another place to celebrate your birthday at," I simply said turning around.

Debbie, being the sneaky and cunning person she was, played her part by saying, "I told you dad should have come with us," as we walked out the door.

"Wait," the woman said rushing out behind us. "You brother and sister?"

"What? Can't you see the resemblance?" I asked, knowing she had troubles telling two Caucasians apart, let alone recognizing family resemblances.

"Then you can have room," she said hesitantly.

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Yes. Please come."

Debbie and I exchanged looks of success, then followed the woman back in only to be stopped by the man.

"No funny business, you hear? We used to let kids use the back rooms, but some parents complained and we almost got our permit taken away. And here," he said, handing me the unfolded airplane. "You'll be needing that later."

We were shown to our private room, Debbie's confusion clearly showing on her face when all we found in the room was a vinyl covered floor and lots of oriental paintings of nature scenes.

"What do we do? Eat on the floor?" Debbie asked.