The Professor's Pet

THE PRESENT Looking back at it now, it’s really hard to understand how the hell it all happened. It’ll be harder still to explain, I’m sure. Well to start with, those were different times. Of course, every time has its own idiosyncrasies, as well its own timeless familiarities. Hell, the use of mind-altering drugs dates back to pre-history. Even birds drunk on fermented berries crash into implacable barriers time and again before fluttering at last, broken and vulnerable, to lie on the ground to await the inevitable predator… In any case, this was the mid eighties: a tough time for liberal attitudes, what with Mr. Reagan grinning vacantly over a staunchly conservative country. But despite blithe Ronnie and “Just Say No” Nancy, it was also a time of cocaine-on-the-brain; fast advances in the breeding of ever-more-potent strains of pot, and of course the timely advent of Ecstasy and other erotically active drugs. Not to mention whatever strange combinations of hypnotics and other esoteric ingredients I was about to be fed. Yet despite what they did to me, I can’t totally blame what’s become of me on drugs, no more than anyone else can. I believe that those weird-ass chemicals – and of course the severely beautiful Dr. Teri Teasel – perhaps merely exploited weaknesses already inherent in me. Who knows, right? In any case, it’s still nice to have extenuating circumstances to point to on those long empty nights when I can’t sleep, lying bound up tight at the foot of my beloved’s bed, quietly struggling to figure out how on Earth this all came about… Of course, ‘coming about’ is a rather involved story, with so much ‘coming’ of at least one variety, that you may want to settle back a bit, loosen your belt, and prepare to keep a hand free while I recall it. You may just find yourself as helpless was I was to resist the powerful forces unleashed when Dr. Teri suddenly ‘came’ into my life. If any case, beware! Extreme arousal and the uncontrollable lure of orgasm can lead you to places you’d never dreamed of, and then leave you suddenly gaping like a landed fish, stuck struggling in a state so abject and yet so exalted, so endlessly yearning and yet so bizarrely fulfilled, that you’ll finally find yourself like me: lying awake for hours on end, composing memoirs in your head in a futile attempt to explain it all to your irrevocably messed-up self…