Migraine and Blue Balls.... COMBINE!

John Doe a normal guy if ever there was one. Young, dumb and full of cum. The first can be bad enough, but the other two are horrible to have when combined. When those two come together..... Well, so do the girls. At least for John. He doesn't know it yet, but as soon as his brain and his balls run wild at the same time, existence itself kind of short-curcuits. Call it a cosmic wiring accident if you want. When that happens, the universe throws two women into each other like they were atoms in a research center and when they do collide, the result is a miracle. At least in theory it is a miracle, in practice everyone will just shrug it off. Enough prefarce, you're already better informed than John at this point, so let's get this show going.

Another day, another non-release. John woke up just like the last few days with an angry morning boner and an empty spot where his girlfriend used to lay. Until she left. Damn, that still hurts. Just like his balls, who haven't gotten any action since Sarah left him. Masturbation is cool and all, but once you get used to a redhead minx with a vacuum throat slurping every last drop from your sperm tank..... It just takes a special kind of hotness to get you back into singleplayer-mode. The problem was probably just that, he had gotten used to her and started taking her for granted. He was missing the spice and she never felt like one woman was enough for him. Probably not that uncommon of a problem. Well, Johns problems were just like his life: pretty average. Except for Sarah, that girl was more than average. How a guy looking like every other next door shlomo could get a girl like that was beyo-

Nope.

Not going there.

John got out of bed, put on some clothes (stuffing all three legs into his pants) and left the flat. University wasn't gonna flunk itself now, was it? Well, can anyone ever truly flunk philosophy? Isn't a different perspective simply a school of thought on its own and doesn't- Yeah, that's probably not gonna fly. He's sooooo flunking philosophy. The good news is that the job prospects for dropsouts aren't far off from the ones of philosophy majors.

"Wow, you're looking even more grim than yesterday dude, what's up?", Steve was a good friend, always has been.

"My head is killing me man, it feels like I have a bad migraine coming. I'm almost hearing a voice in my head."

"Well, I'd feel sad for you if you didn't. Thinking is being my friend", yes, Steve was also a philosophy major.

"Come on, you know what I meant, damnit. It's a pretty mean voice actually, I'm getting bad vibes man."

"In conflict with yourself, huh? Do you feel disassociated with soci-"

"Shut uuuuuuuuuuup", John ended that talk. Not one moment too soon. "Why do I even go to class together with you? Worst case you make me more depressed, best case.... I don't know. What would be the best case walking with you?"

Steve drew out a labored breath, gesturing into the empty pathway around them.

"We live in the same building and go to the same building. You couldn't avoid me if you tried. And seriously, you don't have to be so pissy today of all days", a heavy pause, "we get a new classmate today."

That got a raised eyebrow out of John, accompanied by a hopeful smile. Steve was a bit of a ladies man, the way he said that could only mean one thing. While John had gotten cozy narrowing in on the girl that shouldn't be named, Steve had spent the first year of their "studies" (in heavy quotations) using each weeks complicated words and high concepts to impress the ladies. And more often than should be allowed he managed to... broaden their horizons.

"Are we talking about a babe here?"

"Are we ever my friend. Apparently she's eastern european, blonde, about your height and a bit of a teaseeeeeee", the verbal finger guns were a bit heavy, Steve, chill.

"Is she a tease or were you leering at her? You tend to do that, you know?", John made a valid point.

"Grade 1 tease. Certified and all. You should have seen that skirt dude. Iam lucky that I got lucky on the weekend, otherwise.... I could have started philosophizising in jail, swear to god."

"God man, huh, too much man, too much", John punched his friends shoulder and scrunched up his face. Steve, Steve, know your audience man....

The two made their way to class, ultimately the last ones to enter. The philosophy class was small, both in the number of students as well as in the actual space capacities. Being close to the sessions start, the two didn't find seats next to each other and after losing a fast round of rock-paper-scissors, John had to take the free seat in the first row.

The first row in Mondays first seminar "The Moral Conception of Kant, a Beginners Guide" was a two-sided sword. The upside was Mrs. Sawanar the teacher, she was a feast for the eyes. Her mature brown skin was always clothed in heavy dark clothing, but with so much bodacious body beneath them, that you could have thrown a circus tent above her and you would have still provoked drooling stares from half the assembly. The downside? Still Mrs. Sawanar. She expected a lot from her pupils and her glasses probably weren't strong enough, because she always picked the students in the first row to answer her questions. Maybe the second row once in a blue moon, but you get the point.

Mrs. Sawanar stood up about to start the class and walked around her desk to check attendance. She always did that while walking along the seat rows, another argument for her glasses not working....

She got to "Mr. Doe -", when the classroom door opened. The well-rounded teacher turned around in a rush, right next to Johns seat and almost shook her ass into his face.

"Aarg", Johns migraine was still going strong and now this abundance of ass-meat in his face was reminding him that he also doesn't get any. His balls literally start emitting pain at this point.

"So sorry for the interruption teacher, I had more forms to fill out in the main office", with the smallest hint of an accent a blonde early 20-year old had entered the classroom. And what an entrance it was. That girl was dressed for summer and she made the impression that she dresses exactly like that all year around. High heels, a skirt covering just the bare minimum and a blouse that was as thin as her excuse for coming late. She wasn't blessed with a solid amount of T or A, but her lean body and the "clothes" that accentuated it more than they hid it, promised fun. The good kind of fu-

"Aaaaarg", the pain intensified.

"Yes, I was informed of you joining us. As for you barging in late, we can talk about that after class. For now try to find a seat in the back and don't disrupt class further", the serious teacher berated the new girl right in front of Johns seat, unknowingly letting him memorize every last detail of her southern curves. A pleasure for the eyes, a pain for the balls.

"Sure, I'm sure I can squeeze in somewhere", the brat said and winked at John.

Not the class. Not someone else on the course. No. At John. FUCK. Who cares who she actually winked at or didn't wink at?! It was at John. Yes. That wink, that teasing wink and that damn double ent-

ENOUGH! John head is screaming and his balls join in a plea for change. A plea the universe answers.

The still unnamed girls face turns slack and emotionless, unbeknownst to John it does in tandem with Mrs. Sawanars face. In the fraction of a second both women enter a runners stance and push themselves forward and towards each other. As fast as the layman sprinters can manage, they bridge the distance between each other. And with a silent explosion the two enter... each other. For an unseeable moment the two women occupy the same physical space and emit a light that blinds John.

And burns away his pain. Because when he opens his eyes again, his migraine has calmed down and his tanks downstairs feel freshly emptied.

"Ok guys, open up your books. Time to talk about Kants", a female voice shakes John from his revery, and so does this pronunciation followed by a long pause, "concept of Morality."

The women in front of John was a total stranger to him and still felt strangely familiar. Of average height and above average width, the bodacious figure was a sight to behold. A set of massive mammeries were entrapped in a sheer grey blouse, but their fight for freedom was apparently half won already, as the closed buttons ended below the peak curve and every one above it had obviously already fallen victim to their plump prisoners.

"Who can tell me what the two base prerequisites are for an action to be morally just, according to Kant?", the figure drew his attention away from her bust.

He quickly took her in as a whole, the light grey blouse ended tucked in into a short black leather skirt, before examining her face. This was.... Mrs. Sawanar? But this also wasn't her at all. The woman looked at least five years younger than when he last met her.... which was not even a minute ago. In addition her nose looked tinkered with, it was stubbier in a way, that John was certain she hasn't actually looked like this five years ago. But the most pressing difference, aside from the improved wardrobe, were her skin and hair. While her previous complexion was a darkened shade of brown, the current one was a few nuances lighter. And whereas he remembered her as a brown to black haired woman, depending on the lighting, she now was a blonde. Or a fake blonde? Her roots and the upper parts of her hair were still brown. She looked like she had done a purposefully trashy die-job. And yet she pulled it off rather well, John thought.

"Mr. Michaels, your turn!", the woman said in a new harshness and walked over from her position between the door and John over to his seat neighbour. He'd almost feel bad for the other boy, but Mrs. - the teacher, bend herself forward to stare down at the seated student and John also managed to get a good glance into the valley of warmth.

"Tell the class, what do you think?", there was a knowing sadism in her voice.

Mrs. Sawanar had been mean from time to time when she suspected a student not to be prepared, then she made an example of them to push the others to study harder for the next session. But this? This was . No hot-blooded male in existence could manage to hold an intelligent conversation, about a german philosopher no less, when confronted by teacher this hot almost shoving her breast into his face. The teacher he knew was strict and harsh, the teacher he now got to know was straight up cruel with a streak of sexual .

"I-I-I t-th-think the two are g-great...", the boy was almost salivating on his table and the other people in class were already murmuring their condolences what was about to come.

"Yes, Mr. Michaels, the leading minds of our would describe Immanuel Kants base principles for moral action precisely as 'great', I'm certain", her voice as cold as ice cut through the room.

"R-r-really?"

John crunched up his face in empathy, already feeling the pain his classmate was gonna experience for falling into the most obvious of traps.

The teacher straightend herself again and from her standing position admonished the boy below her.

"No. No, Mr. Michaels. No, they do not. You may pack your things and go now. Write me a 15 page essay about impulse control and the inadequacies of those, that do not possess that, in our society until Friday and you'll be allowed to join us again next week", the boys jaw dropped, "And this will of course negatively reflect in your overall grades, so I advice you to actually be 'g-g-greatly' prepared from next week on."

The teacher turned on her heel and sauntered over to her desk, the people in the room torn between looking at the downcast boy or the upswung hips of the cruel beauty ahead of them. John, his mind calmed and his blue balls mysteriously vanished, was one of the few that had the self-control to focus on Mr. Michaels.

"Hey George, sorry man", John hushed over to reconcile him a little, "no one could have handled that. We all feel you."

"Oh cut the crap John", his voice a mix of angry, sad and residually horny. "As if you'd understand. Mrs. Pavlovas lap dog..."

The boy left without another word. And left John completely clueless about what's happening here. Well, not completely clueless. He handed John two clues actually:

1. The lady that just took a seat in the front is named Mrs. Pavlova.
2. Said teacher has a reason for throwing him a wink.

A wink. A wink, followed by starting an actual lecture about the intricacies of Kants categorical imperative. John regularly wishes his seminars to be over right after they start, but this time he is both hopeful and anxious to find out what potential office hours will look like now.