Nuclear Reaction

As they pulled apart, Arnold and Astrid simply gazed at one another; for that brief moment, words were unnecessary. After all, they had already conveyed everything they wished to say; each preferred to contemplate the other in a sort of ritual of intimacy.

The nerd’s glasses were askew, teetering on the verge of falling off; his cheeks were still damp from tears that would soon dry in the heat radiating through him. His red hair looked as though he had been tossed in a centrifuge, with strands sticking out in every direction, and his open mouth wore an expression of happiness that would last a lifetime.

His mind had been lost in that bliss, completely detached from the outside world, before slowly drifting back from the distant place to which it had been transported. His neurons struggled to reconnect, attempting to resume their normal functions.

As he gradually returned to reality, Arnold began to process the situation; he didn't understand half of what he had just done, let alone how he had managed it. Yet, he had performed that first kiss with the same natural ease he applied to solving complex equations; his movements felt fluid and instinctive, as if he had done this many times before.

Inevitably, his gaze settled on the girl before him—the woman who had stolen his first kiss...

The dark-haired girl’s eyes were unfocused and slightly glassy as she stared at the young man; animalistic sounds escaped her flared nostrils, and her tongue lolled so far out of her mouth that a thin thread of saliva dripped from its tip, while sweat—enough to match a full day of training—completely coated her face.

But what struck Arnold most was the genuine smile Astrid offered him; even with her tongue hanging out, her lips curved to lift her cheeks, and a vapor smelling of alcohol drifted from her open mouth. Just as the young redhead had sensed it during the kiss—simply by looking at her—he understood perfectly what was going through Astrid’s mind; his performance hadn't just delighted her, it had left her as horny as a bitch in heat. His actions—conscious or not—must have tapped into that primal female instinct to mate; she was no longer the girl who had been beating him up, but a hot female craving his masculine attention.

“Woooow,” Astrid moaned, bringing a hand to her lips.

She traced her fingers over her lips, trying to remember how to speak. Just then, a voice rang out from behind her.

“Damn it, Astrid! I told you not to do it!”

It was Iris; wearing a scowl fierce enough to make a hurricane retreat, she stood beside her friend with her hands on her hips.

Arnold cowered in his seat, trembling uncontrollably; her shouting snapped him back to reality, reminding him exactly where—and with whom—he was. He assumed the young heiress wouldn't let it slide that he’d been making out with her friend in her own home.

Astrid, however, remained motionless, refusing to look at anything but the young man himself.

“Come on, you slut—don't just stay quiet. Why did you do something so stupid?” the blonde demanded, shaking her friend’s shoulder.

“Mmh... W-what are you talking about?” Astrid asked in a monotone voice, not looking at the hostess.

Iris let out an angry growl and crushed the can in her hand until it crunched; the nerd thought she was about to turn into a beast and kill him. What struck him as odd, though, was that the blonde never once paid him any attention. “What are you talking about? Grrr... what are you talking about... You kissed poor Arnold without my permission!” She hurled her beer over the nerd, splashing it against the wall.

The young man was so bewildered that his initial fear vanished; he would have sworn that the haughty girl who always looked down on him was actually worried about him.

“Oh, that... hehehe.” Astrid sucked on two fingers, giggling like a little girl after a prank. “Mmmm... that was good, wasn't it? Hehehe.”

“Grrr... you stupid idiot! I was supposed to be the first one to kiss him! You can't remember a damn thing, you stupid bitch!”

At that moment, Arnold’s bewilderment and astonishment were eclipsed only by the memory of the kiss; he couldn't believe what he had just heard. In reality, Iris’s anger masked a jealousy more typical of a betrayed wife.

Britney, who until then had remained a mere spectator, began to approach the dark-haired girl and spoke to her with an air of curiosity.

“Well, well... I don’t recall ever seeing you like this over a simple kiss. Is the brainiac that good?”

“Oh, heavens... ‘Good’ doesn’t even cover it... My God, it was out of this world... I almost had an orgasm... that boy is a master with his tongue.” Astrid gazed at him with the awe one might feel before a deity. “Tell me, who taught you to do that? How many girls have you kissed, little guy?” she asked, slowly pulling her tongue back into her mouth.

Faced with such odd questions, Arnold tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows fighting to see which could arch higher.

“Uh... t-teach... h-how many... What are you talking about, Ms. Stone? I’ve never even been with a girl in... in my... Oh, shit!”

By the time his weak hands flew up to cover his mouth, it was too late; he had practically confessed his virginity before he even realized it. While it wasn't exactly a huge secret—given his appearance and solitary lifestyle—Arnold preferred to avoid saying it out loud for fear of further humiliation.

His clumsy admission left Iris dumbfounded, staring at him as if he’d just lifted a car; Britney’s jaw dropped so low it practically hit the floor; and Astrid blinked hard, snapping out of her daze to spring to her feet with incredible speed.

“How is it possible that you’re a total virgin?” Still touching her lips with her fingers, Astrid shot up like a spring. “You’re pulling my leg, shorty!”

Fueled by a burning sensation in his chest, Arnold’s mouth once again moved faster than his brain.

“I... I’m telling you the truth; no woman has ever touched me... Masturbation is the closest I’ve ever come to sex... Shit.”

Once again, the nerd’s hands were too slow to cover his mouth; he had always been a quiet guy, but now he was finding it incredibly hard to control his tongue. “Could it be true... you never... damn, you must be a prodigy,” Britney said this time, looking mischievous. “And tell me, have you ever masturbated while thinking about me?” she added, striking a suggestive pose.

“BRITNEY!” Iris roared.

“Don’t play the innocent; you’d ask the same thing. Come on, know-it-all—do you touch yourself thinking about my body?”

The logical choice would be to say nothing—easy enough, were his body not standing right in front of such a beauty. The cheerleader’s plunging neckline was more eye-catching than a neon sign, her assets bouncing ceaselessly with every pose, while her skimpy miniskirt seemed designed solely to stoke the imagination, barely managing to cover her backside.

He stood there dumbstruck, lost in her curves as his body—fueled by alcohol—reacted in the usual way. He felt as though his pants had shrunk; they couldn't contain his unusually large erection—he could swear it had doubled in size.

Naturally, these stimuli turned the nerd into a verbal machine gun, with lowering his head serving as his only defense mechanism.

“I do... your anatomy is irresistible... it’s hard to ignore when you’re practicing... and... and with Iris and Astrid, too... God, your bodies are just too alluring for a heterosexual brain; being near you throws my hormones out of balance... it raises my internal temperature above normal levels... testosterone suppresses my inhibitions, creating an overwhelming urge to get intimate with one of the three of you... so, for many, many nights, I’ve had to release my reproductive instincts.”

For anyone else, such an absurd confession would have triggered a wave of laughter and mockery lasting until the sun burned out. Arnold Allen probably expected the same, but that wasn't what he saw when he hesitantly looked up. Britney, hands pressed to her chest, let out a sound somewhere between surprise and ecstasy; Astrid was sucking on two fingers as if they were a lollipop, her saliva coating a good portion of her arm. And Iris—well, she took it a step further: the blonde’s hands clutched her own crotch with visceral intensity, threatening to tear her delicate skirt; her fingers moved restlessly, poised to slip into that intimate place, and her breathing sounded like that of a hungry beast.

“Oh, Arnold... how sweet.”

“Mmh... heavens, your words are making me so hot.”

“Ooh... what a sincere and naughty guy.”

All three were aroused by the redhead’s words—as if Shakespeare himself had spoken them—and they gazed at him with feverish, primal desire; yet, one of them decided to make the first move.

“Damn, kid, you’re... grrr... I’m... hmm... oh, fuck, I have no words for what you’re doing to me.” It was Iris; she stepped closer to Arnold, tossing her hair. “Well, I think the best thing to do is show you. Don’t you?”

“Huh? What are you...”

The blonde knelt down with the grace of an angel, looking up at him with unmistakable passion. She placed her hands on the nerd’s weak knees and let her fingers sink into the little flesh the boy had.

"That fool Astrid took your first kiss from you, so the best thing to do would be to give you something you'll surely never forget."