A year ago, however, around the time she’d been finishing school, she’d started getting symptoms – or rather just the one symptom – and the diagnosis had come.
Solman Extreme Arousal Disorder.
It made her constantly horny, and when she started to get turned on, it would run away from her, escalating out of control no matter what she tried. Minutes after cumming, she’d be horny again. When she wasn’t alone in room, life was a constant act of pretending she wasn’t forever horny. Even when her erection would behave and stay down, she still had to think about sex.
Masturbating was a chore. Everyday it took four orgasms at least to not be springing erections throughout the day. Her erections themselves were raging, every time.
It was awful, having to jack herself off *every time* she wanted to go out, lest she see a cute boy or a good looking man, or a guy with a nice butt.
College was hell. Masturbating in the bathrooms was mandatory.
It was awful being in those rooms with the boys and the hot professors, trying to focus on her studying while having to think about sex with them – sex she didn’t even want. It was routine, leaving class early and showing up late for the next, all because she’d get a raging erection and couldn’t switch her sexual arousal off once it was turned on.
Everybody knew. Her condition was public knowledge.
As embarrassing as it was, most people were really nice about it, accommodating and polite, and she was eternally grateful for that. Even when she’d been staggering for the bathrooms and trying to cover the front of her jeans, people pretended not to know what was going on.
Girls had heard her masturbating in the bathrooms, and no one had ever said anything bad. A couple of girls had been really sweet and tried to help her.
No one had said anything, but she knew it made the boys uncomfortable. They liked her, going out of their way to be accommodating for her and enjoying being with her, but she could tell. They knew about her horniness and it made them uncomfortable.
Not everyone was so nice about it.
There had been a boy who’d aroused her on purpose. He’d whispered to her that he wanted to tie her up in the bedroom and do erotic things to her, and then he’d taken his shirt off right there in the library, to the amusement of his two friends who’d been watching.
Despite all her efforts, her penis had gone from flaccid to raging hard, faster than normal. It had been difficult to stand up she’d wanted sex so much. Images of that boy having sex with her had blazed across her mind.
As she’d gone to run, staggering and begging him to stop, he’d stolen the sweatshirt she wore around her waist, inviting her to play keep away with him. She’d asked him – begged him for it back, and he’d said no, and so she’d gone for the bathroom without it, barely able to control herself and holding onto the wall, her erection as clear as day under her skirt, turning it into a huge tent for everyone to see.
People *had* seen. The boy had even followed her to the bathroom, pointing it out. She’d cried as she’d jerked herself off in the bathroom, having to think about *him* of all people.
She’d hated herself.
When she’d finally left the safety of the bathroom, Henry had been outside, waiting. He’d heard and hung around, had even stopped other girls from going into the bathroom so she could have privacy.
As he’d explained, she’d thrown her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. More of her tears had wet his shirt.
She and Henry hadn’t really known each other in school, having different friend groups, but since they’d started college together, they’d been talking everyday. He’d had a crush on her, and apparently her inviting him to the big dance at the end of the school year, even though it was only plutonic, had done something to him.
He was the one person who’d never made a big deal of her condition. When she’d had to leave him mid-conversation, he’d been fine with it. When they’d started talking on the phone on a regular basis, she’d even confided in him, and he’d confided in her too.
He’d opened up about a lot of things himself, the difficulties he was facing. Challenges with family and how even now, it was hard to fight back his shyness and hold onto friends. That much had been obvious. He’d been that way with her too in the beginning.
She’d hated herself for letting her horniness take over, but she’d half-seriously asked him out on a date. He’d gone silent on the other end of the phone before the shy, fast-talking Henry she’d known at school had answered and said no. Hearing him shy like that had stung her deeper than she’d excepted.
The next day he was his normal self again, and he’d told her that he’d always liked her, that she was the one person he could really be himself around. In retrospect, that had been when she’d started falling in love with him. She’d taken back the offer of the date. No way would she let herself get horny and ruin this.
It made her feel guilty to think of him when she masturbated, but he was all her body would respond to. Porn wouldn’t arouse her. It had to be him she thought about.
She’d seen him looking at her a few times, prolonged looks at her rear end or cleavage that suggested he wanted more. She’d even let herself give him something to look at a few times, and had sent him… *slightly* erotic pictures when she’d offered them to him.
When she was at her horniest, she’d not so subtly implied she needed to leave because of her arousal, and he’d, stumbling over his words, had told her it was okay if she stayed. She’d tried to keep the noises to a minimum while he’d nervously babbled on and she’d tried to hold up her end of the conversation, but the sound of his voice had done so much to her that she’d hung up in the middle of the first scream.
They hadn’t even talked about it the next day, but she had worn a particularly low-cut top, and he’d been a little less shy about sneaking glances at her chest.
That night – two nights ago – they’d gotten onto the subject of clothing and she’d asked if he wanted to see a picture of her new jeans. He’d said yes, and she’d asked if he wanted to see her in them. He’d said yes to that too, and she’d asked if he wanted to see her in them from interesting angles. To that, he had also said yes.
In a rush, she’d pulled the jeans on and snapped some pictures, sending him the best ones, which he had complimented. That had caused some very intense arousal in her which thankfully hadn’t appeared in the pictures.
She’d again told him that she had to go, to which he bravely said a few flirtatious things. That had caused her to masturbate again right there on the call with him, and again, Henry’s words had caused her lust to fly out of control. That time she’d let him hear a full scream.
The next day – yesterday – things had been awkward. Henry had asked her out on a date and she’d said no. Somehow it had just been too frightening to say yes, and they’d mutually made excuses to avoid talking on the phone or to hang out together.
It had been such a huge mistake, and though she’d typed out ‘I got nervous and made a mistake. Yes, I would like us to go on a real date’ as a text to him and prepared another slightly erotic picture to send him, she hadn’t sent either yet. A date would lead to sex, having sex for the first time, with her condition would be… terrifying.