An alert and a phone call

You kissed your daughter on the forehead and got up, scratching your balls, grimacing as you touched still-wet fluids.

You then went to your own bedroom, cleaning yourself up and putting on a new pair of pants. Despite being slightly overweight, you forego a shirt for the first time in years and put on a simple pair of sandals. You grab your cell phone, smiling when you see the message:

STATEWIDE MEDICAL ALERT: A MISTER JOHN J. DOE, 39, OF OAK VALLEY, HAS BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH THREE-HOUR SYNDROME. PLEASE BE ADVISED IT IS LEGALLY AND MORALLY REQUIRED TO ACCOMMODATE HIM WITH ANY PHYSICAL NEEDS HE MAY REQUIRE IN ORDER TO SURVIVE. PLEASE CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFORMATION.

Every phone in the state had received the message. You checked your phone for several messages. Your secretary Tina had temporarily closed down the office. The principal had put you on leave from coaching. Your ex-wife Carrie wanted you to call her immediately, although you had no intention of doing so. You had more than a few well-wishers and Julie had texted a couple times before she went to the hospital.

You didn't answer any of the texts at the moment. You were following the standard plan of a 3-Hourer. Step #2: Experimentation.

You knew the basic "powers", pretty much that you could ask anyone for sex and they would be obliged to give it to you. Rumor had it, there would be no jealousy, no anger, no attempt to stop you or convince you otherwise. These were tropes of the syndrome in literature and movies, and you were beginning to believe they were all real. You had 2 and a half hours to get sex, and you had a slut upstairs on tap anytime you wanted. But you were perversely thinking of who else you could get your dick wet in.

Your phone beeped then and you saw you had a phone call from one of your volleyball players. "Hey Beth," you said.

"Coach John? I just saw the alert and I also heard you were put on leave. Are you okay?" said the concerned voice on the other end.

You grin. Ask and you shall receive, you think to yourself. "It's been an interesting day so far."

"I'll bet. Um. Can I... Um. Can I help?"

You mentally review what Beth looks like. She's one of the tallest players on the team at 5'11" and she has gorgeous red hair. Being a volleyball player, she is slender and muscled. Her sports bra and jersey make her bust look not that big but I've seen her around town wearing normal clothes and she actually has a nicely proportional bust. But there was nothing her compression shorts could do to hide how bodacious her ass was. Even though you'd suppressed the thought before, your current condition immediately had you thinking of bending her over and fucking that delicious ass.

Your groan must have been audible because she giggled and said, "We'll be right over." Then she hung up before you could ask what she meant by "we".

You shrugged and put the phone down. I looked at my watch and it said 2:15. Plenty of time, you thought.