Pill 1

I was too young and horny to think of consequences. It allowed me to commit what most people would say were fairly heinous acts. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, the lack of forethought prevented me from taking advantage of the full spectrum of possibilities that the accident created for me.

I can be philosophical about it now, but sometimes I still think of how it could have been with bitterness.

Sixteen is an awkward state, especially when you are different from everyone else. I was not a geek, a freak, a member of the D&D crowd, a metal head or a pot head, but I was undeniably different.

My parents were not opposed to children. My father simply had not considered getting one of his own; what my mother wanted is a mystery. My arrival left them in something of a quandary. Their solution was to treat me as an adult relation that would be living in their home for an extended period of time.

I do not remember a time when my words were not taken seriously, and judged as an adult's might be, or a time when my questions were not answered with intelligent and truthful bluntness. My toys were overlooked as a relative's minor idiosyncrasies. Our relationship lacked warmth, but I had a much better understanding of the world and significantly more freedom than my peers.

I was also different because I had thought out my life plan for years before I could make any significant movement through it. My father was a plastic surgeon; my mother, his personal nurse. In my father's profession, there are plastic surgeons who do face lifts, nose jobs, tummy tucks, etc. My father had an eye for what would make a woman believe she was more beautiful after putting herself in his hands.

The first time I saw the before and after pictures he was filing, we discovered I had the same eye. It gave us something to talk about. He found being my mentor an easier relationship than being my father. It also placed me in a difficult situation at school because I knew what I had to do to get where I wanted to be. Grammar school and high school may give you a good foundation of habits and knowledge, but beyond a certain point it is a tedious affair for everyone involved.

Beyond a certain point is the beginning of my story.

It was my junior year in high school. Lamentably, I was a sixteen-year old virgin with no realistic hopes of changing that.

I was in pre-college curriculum, which put me squarely in Chemistry lab once a week. Most kids would not have pulled what I did but my father's money, my freedom, and my attitude about the future made me close to untouchable. The fact that I was in an experimental class that separated the most gifted students from the rest of the student body added to the effect.

The experiment that week was to make aspirin. An innocuous experiment except that I really had not paid any attention to the instructions for the procedure. I had heard that aspirin was a good base point for a designer drug. A few molecules moved from here to there and you have a hallucinogen. I did not know if it was true, but it seemed more interesting than what we were doing. I was not the type that did drugs but there was a difference if I made the stuff myself. I ended up watching my classmates and trying to follow in their steps, but not caring too much if I flubbed the process.

The teacher was watching me carefully.

I had a reputation when it came to certain things. The only thing he could really call me to the mat for was that I would have more end product than anyone else in the class but I 'seemed' to be doing everything right. Then again someone cannot watch 10 high school juniors and keep a careful eye on the dangerous one in the pack.

The inevitable happened.

I was given a window of opportunity to add a personal touch to the experiment. The lab was the last class of the day, so everyone got to leave after they succeeded in their experiment. The timing on my experiment was off by a significant amount. My classmates snickered and walked out with knowing looks in my direction.

The teacher was an old-school disciplinarian. It irked him that I had so much free reign. He sat near me giving me a lecture about the perils to which my lack of discipline would lead. I had to bite my lip several times so as not to tell him that I did not really see any purpose to high school except to get me into a college where my life could really start. Why should I bother paying attention in a place that could barely handle the mediocre, never mind the gifted and why bother with a conversation on those the system had decided were lost years before?

A smile shaded my face as I thought about his reaction if I blasted him with that when the glass beaker on top of the burner exploded.

At the age of four, I tested a theory I had conceived. My parents dealt much better with things if I offered it to them as fait accompli. An adult does not ask permission, he/she does things if they do not affect someone else, and sometimes even if they do. My mom had her limits, but I knew she was the one that really had to buy into things. When I was four, I discovered the Tae Kwon Do dojo in my town. I had my nanny sign me up for classes.

The nanny was another solution to the parts of me that my parents REALLY could not handle. My first nanny was a fifty-year old woman with something like 20 grandchildren who did not have the time to love me and that stuff, but she tended not to interfere. She was someone for me to come home to, and a ride around town.

By the time that beaker exploded, I had taken 12 years of Tae Kwon Do with four years of American Kendo mixed in. Before I consciously realized what was happening, my body acted to remove itself from danger. My chemistry teacher was not as well trained and caught a blast of the contents.

I got off the floor expecting a loud harangue to start any second, but he seemed stunned. I counted my lucky stars and turned the burner off. I started clearing the glass out of the way; a childish attempt to hide the evidence even when the adult has watched you commit the deed.

I was done with the cleaning and was studying the results when the silence struck me. I looked up at my teacher to see him staring off into the distance.

"Mr. Paz?"

He focused on me.

Slightly.

I moved from side to side in a joking "here I am" manner.

Nothing.

I was getting nervous; Mr. Paz never let an opportunity to lecture me go by. I figured the only thing that could make him stay quiet was that he was formulating a whole new form of teacher-student torture. I noticed glass around him and rushed to get a broom.

He would not move.

"Hey, Mr. Paz could you move out of the way, I need to clean this stuff up."

Language is a curious thing. If he had taken that to mean what I meant, it probably would not have gone anywhere. He would have gotten away from ALL of the glass and I would have trooped innocently along figuring that I had gotten away with the mother of all high school chemical blunders.

He took it to mean get off the stuff he was standing on. He moved about six inches onto another pile of glass and lab paraphernalia.

I gave him an annoyed look.

"This would be much easier if you stood by the separator." I said sarcastically.

I figured I was fucked anyway so why not get a few good ones in of my own.

I continued my attempt to clean up the floor, barely noticing he had moved away. After I was done, I returned to studying my so-called 'aspirin'. I figured it could not aspirin because it was not the color that my classmates' experiments had been. I ran the little chemical test we had been given to verify our results.

Whatever it was, it was definitely not aspirin.

I looked up to make sure Mr. Paz had not seen the test results. He stood by the half-door that separated the classroom proper from the laboratory staring into nothing. The first inkling that something more than 'not aspirin' had happened crept up my spine.

"Mr. Paz, what are you doing just standing there."

"You told me to stand here, David," he replied in a monotone.

I am honest with myself. My Tae Kwon Do instructors taught me that. I am not a brilliant person, but I am smart and more importantly very disciplined when my interests are involved. It can be a more successful combination than just brilliance. On the other hand, intuitive leaps are not my forte.

I sat frozen trying to absorb the impact of his words. Five minutes later, I came to the conclusion that more data was required. Something out of the ordinary was going on but I did not really have a handle on what the 'out of' part was. I devised a plan but it was fraught with risk. It would answer the most questions and I was already in major trouble so I had nothing to lose anyway.

"Hey, Mr. Paz, show me everybody's grades," I said in a voice just short of joking.

I watched, amazed, as he walked to his desk and pulled the black grade book out of his briefcase. He walked up to me, set the book in front of me. It was open to the page of our grades. I moved the pages back and forth between his schedule of classes that year and tried to come to a conclusion.

Any conclusion!

I was not convinced.

I figured while this was far-gone; it could be a part of that elaborately evil teacher-student torture I was sure Mr. Paz dreamed of at night. Not likely with his open grade book in front of me, but a part of me was still waiting for the hammer to fall.

"Hey, Mr. Paz. It's hot in here, why don't you take your clothes off."

I figured that would seal the deal.

60 seconds later I was face to head with penis.

I could not see a teacher-student torture that could possibly involve THAT. It was the end of his career if it ever got out. I sat staring at a naked old man for a few minutes before I made some critical decisions.

"Put your clothes back on, Mr. Paz."