The Cardinal Rule

Alex started her day as she always did. Like a ritual. She slammed the alarm in the middle of the chorus of “Fight Song”. She’d stare at her phone. She found herself on her favorite semi-popular dating app this time, called Plenty of Fish. To her, it warranted plenty of boys, but not many men. There was one profile that caught her eye. It was of a 23-year-old man named Paul Guerin, a young electrician who promised to take things slow in his bio, and that he was looking to casually date. He seemed active, based on his pictures. Alex bit her lip. She really liked this picture of him and his friends laying on the grass by a river. Good biceps. Nice teeth. She thought maybe he wouldn’t break the cardinal rule, but she doubted it. Alex swiped right on his profile, and anticipated a reply back soon in the form of something like:

“Hey what’s up,” or: “How’s the day?” Or: “What’s happening? hmu.”

Those introductions were the same to Alex by now; She plainly saw it as a way for any guy to say hi to a woman in a dating world ruled by the Internet. She planned to not ignore Paul if he had a similar lame opener.

With other dating prospects looking like a dud so far, Alex moved on to ‘like’ a Facebook post from Chelsea, a former friend turned acquaintance. She had just announced she was getting married. Her cleavage looked amazing. Alex made the point to dart her eyes to the top of her phone to see how much time had passed. With a sigh, she decided to actually get up for work.

Alex lazily took off her pajama bottoms and sauntered her way to the bathroom. With her phone still in hand, she turned up the pop-culture tune of whatever was playing on Pandora. She placed the phone on the sink counter, and opened the shower curtains. Alex ran the water for the shower, and made sure it was hot and steaming. She turned to sit on the toilet.

Ping!

Alex’s phone vibrated against the music. She carefully picked it up from her sitting position, and noticed that Paul had messaged her back. She unlocked her phone to see it.

From Paul Guerin: “Hey girl you know you want it, hmu.”

Ping!

Alex, in her vulnerable position, discovered that Paul broke the cardinal rule right away. Ugh. His member was large, and his ballsack looked smaller in contrast, though it was ugly like the rest of ’em. Blah. It pointed up in the air proudly, and stood tall against a drab white spackle wall. The size of that thing is probably how he gets some girls in the sack, she thought. Disgusted with her impulsive and lewd thinking, Alex blocked Paul immediately, and put down the phone. She finished her business, and grabbed some toilet paper to wipe away the urine and sudden excess arousal.

She stood up and inspected herself in the mirror. She pointed her butt and craned her neck from side to side, in order to inspect the goods back there. No pimples, nor rashes she could see. She turned, and lifted off her pajama shirt, looking at herself in the mirror in the process. She thought she had moderate sized breasts compared to her friend group. Not too big and cumbersome, and not too small and hidden. Enough to get dick pics on POF, she thought. Still feeling frisky from Paul’s morning surprise, she played with her boobs and pinched at her nipples for a few seconds, as if in a trance. Alex snapped out of it, and got in the shower. She made the point to turn the water cold in the process.

On the way to work, Alex kept thinking of Paul. Not sexually. At least not directly sexual in nature. She was baffled that guys like him were so lead by their impulses sometimes. So risky. So risqué, she thought. Alex imagined what it was like to have a penis like that. She would probably swing it side to side. Helicopter formation. Alex giggled at the thought. She crossed the street with a group of people and made her way toward the bus station.

Ahead of her, she couldn’t help but notice a downtrodden person staring at her from one of the benches. The man was rocking back and forth. He was almost bald, save for long strands of drooping hair, like Argus Filch from Harry Potter. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. His hands opened and closed like he was grasping for something. There was his smile too, like he was just told some impressive secret joke. Alex was walking by him, and tried averting his gaze. I’ll just pass him by, and ignore him like I do the rest of the creeps, she planned. She noticed him staring at her from the corners of her eyes, but she kept her head straight as she passed.

Snap!

The crazy man’s fingers clapped through the air with authority. Alex took only three more steps, when a woman gasped behind her and touched her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” She said to her.

The crazy man laughed before Alex could answer the woman behind her. Just as Alex turned to see why, she felt the pain. Like scissors cutting, knives slicing, pelvic bones breaking and mending. Cramps, but one thousand times worse than normal. Her insides felt like they were on fire. Alex fell to her side, and cradled her stomach. Looking down at the source, her jeans were starting to turn red. Blood? She panicked. All Alex saw of the crowd forming around her were shoes. Her chest felt like it was tearing itself apart, shred by shred, threatening to puncture her lungs and her heart as her chest wrapped itself inwards, tighter and tighter and tighter. Eventually, the stranger’s raucous laughter, and the commotion of the crowd was drowned out by Alex’s screams. She passed out staring into those bloodshot eyes.

Darkness. No more pain.

Alex had a dream. She laid in bed, preparing to receive her lover. She felt arousal in a different way. She wasn’t feeling a gliding wetness inside of herself, but instead felt solid and pointed. Compact. Her lover was Chelsea, who moved her naked body above hers. She wrapped her legs around Alex’s pelvis, but she didn’t focus below. Alex was fixated on something else. Chelsea made her breasts bounce up and down in her face, flaunting at her. She felt the primal need to suck them, and play with them, and be nurtured by them. It was an emotion she wasn’t used to having. Chelsea leaned back, and adjusted something below. Alex felt suddenly moist, warmth, and pleasure. Both moaned. Chelsea moved up and down, testing the waters. Alex could feel Chelsea’s wet walls encompass and flex around her. Chelsea moved faster now, and bounced her tits again. Everytime she slammed down against Alex’s groin, Chelsea’s breasts rippled like a puddle in rain. The sight was too hot for Alex to control her new urges. The pleasure she felt was different too. Instead of the slow build towards torrential waves, it was fast paced and focused at the tip. Chelsea moaned Alex’s name, and pushed her breasts at her face. Alex wanted to, no - needed to move her hips faster and faster to release the orgasmic pressure. She moved forward to suck Chelsea’s nipples. She needed to grab her ass, and choke her neck, and pound, pound, pound, all at once, before...before!

Alex was released from the hospital approximately three years later. His dramatic change threatened to upend all current physiological science, biological psychology, and any existing philosophy on the theory of gender. Religious sycophants labelled Alex as either the Devil, or the second coming of Jesus. Politicians on both sides of the aisle debated the political ramifications of gender in society for years to come. Such is the case after such a medical rarity. As for himself, Alex suffered a psychological breakdown in the following months after the incident. However, after much time and therapy, he accepted his situation and opted to live out the rest of his life as a man. It took him a few more years to settle into his new life, forget his old life, and form romantic relationships.

Alex started his day as he usually did. Like a ritual. Due to a case of morning wood from a recent forgotten dream, he spent his time looking at Tinder, Plenty of Fish, and OKCupid. He looked at every woman on those sites with primal hunger. Like a lion on the prowl, he thought. At this point, for Alex, it was a numbers game. Sure, he had new, mostly male friends that dated in different ways. But their way was often too slow for him, and because he was new to experiencing man’s lust, he wanted to experience it on his own. Right now, Alex wanted sex. And he wanted it yesterday.

Still in bed, Alex went back to Tinder, and swiped right until the app disallowed the practice. He checked the matches that piled up from the exercise, and saw a woman who didn’t look too fake. Alex was now all too used to spam. Looking at her photos first, Alex thought she was sexy in all the right areas, and her imperfections were passable. Her name was Nicole, a pretty name, and her profile looked like it was actually curated.

Ping!

A status popped up at the top of his phone.

A like! Holy crap! Alex thought.

Under the throes of lust, he was now convinced that Nicole truly wants him.

She must be as horny as I am right now, he mused. Alex felt himself growing thinking of what he would see and feel if he got to know her. Pillowy breasts, wet pussy. Perfectly fuckable. He thought of what it looked like underneath her yoga pants, and how Nicole’s scantily clad bra was showing just enough for him to want more. He started stroking himself outside his pants, and flexing himself against the fabric. In truth, Alex knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. But he ignored it, for his urges were too great. He had to take a risk for her. For him.

If she wants it, she could have it, he thought.

Alex pulled off his pajamas. His member was solid. Perfect. Sexy. He grabbed his phone, and took a picture.