Give everyone a fetish

Old rule: Every woman has a number of fetishes and/or kinks not less than one. She wants her fetishes and kinks to be actualized in reality.

A pretty open-ended rule, but you’re enjoying letting the rulebook filling out the content of your requests so far.

If high libidos are going to be normal from now on, perhaps there are a few other things you should do.

Old rule: Thanks to a feature of human physiology, STDs can’t be transmitted between humans.

You grab a condom out of your desk drawer and put it where you can see it.

Old rule: Anyone with a penis has the ability to refrain from cumming regardless of level of pleasure being experienced by said penis. Pre-ejaculate doesn’t contain sperm.

You added that last part in because a sex-ed teacher once told you that pulling out couldn’t be considered safe sex because there’s sperm in pre-cum. You're not sure if that's true, but you'd rather be overcautious than knocking someone up.

While you weren’t looking, the condom has disappeared. You peer underneath the desk and beneath the bed, and then look in the desk drawer for the other condoms. Nary a rubber sheath is to be found. Because men have built in pregnancy avoidance, condoms must not be as common or have disappeared altogether. You saved mankind from the mediocrity of protected sex.

You wonder if your rule will eliminate unwanted pregnancies or simply change the circumstances in which they happen. Hold up, if either of those cases were to have always been true, wouldn't that mean that some or all accidental babies will have never been born? Your rash actions could have even written _yourself _out of existence. Your parents have always maintained that they had planned to have you and your sister, but that could have been a lie to protect the feelings of you two.

You rush to your sister’s room and fling open the door. She jumps about a foot off the bed, and then her frightened expression is quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

“Michael, what are you doing?”

Luckily, she wasn’t masturbating when you barged in—although there was a high chance of that—but watching videos on her laptop instead.

“Sorry, Robin,” you say. “I had such a scare and—oh, I’m sorry, let me hug you.”

“It’s okay, Michael,” she says in an almost motherly tone as you hold her tight. “Michael, what happened?”

“It’s nothing to be worried about, anymore. I just love you, is all.”

“I love you, too.”

You notice she’s breathing heavily, and as soon as the thought begins to form that maybe you should be worried about this she interrupts it.

“Um, Michael? You should leave me alone, now . . . I’m getting kind of horny.”

“Oh, right,” you say, letting go of her and backing out of the room.

Her hand has already strayed to the boy shorts she’s wearing. She may have masturbated at least twice today already, but that hug you two shared had a sensuality that only desperation and relief could give it.

Back in your room, you erase the “old” part of that last rule and append “new”. Now nobody is in danger of having never been born.