Specimen

“January tenth.”

A new year had begun, and I didn’t even know it. It occurs to me that Riley hasn’t missed a single day of being here with me. Does she never take a day off, or do I just not remember when she does?

“Do you know when my birthday is?”

“Sometime in September, I believe.”

“When did I get here?”

“You’ve been at the facility since May of last year,” Riley says. “I know all the specimens were gathered at the military base just outside of Milton several weeks before transformation began. I’m not sure how long you might have been there.”

I’d missed a birthday, too.

“How old am I?”

“Twenty-four.”

Well, that’s news, I suppose.

Her tone is still sterile and cold. Usually when we talk, it sounds more conversational and friendly. She has looked directly at me four times since she came in the room this morning. The only difference between today and yesterday was that I had my cock inside of her last night.

The thought gives me a hard-on.

I have to assume she was upset that it had happened. She’d pushed me away so many times, I had been shocked when she let me take her. She’d wanted it though—I could smell it on her. I felt her body tighten around my cock as she came. She didn’t fake that.

Maybe there’s another reason.

“Are you married?” I ask quietly.

“No.”

I almost sigh audibly with relief.

“Do you live with someone?”

“I have a roommate.”

“Is it your boyfriend?”

She finally places the tablet down and looks at me briefly. She sighs before continuing.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she tells me before she turns her gaze back to her work. “The work I do here doesn’t leave a lot of room for a social life. My roommate’s name is Sharon, and she works in the tech division.”

The news pleases me, but it doesn’t explain why she’s agitated. Perhaps there’s something in the past—a relationship gone bad. Did I remind her of someone else?

“Who was your last boyfriend?”

“Sten, why are you asking me all this?”

“You weren’t a virgin,” I say with a shrug, trying to seem like my questions are purely for information and not because the thought of another man being inside of her makes me want to destroy the room. “You know who you last had sex with. I have no idea if I had a girlfriend or not.”

This much, at least, is true. I’ve had no dreams of a female other than my sister, and I don’t even have a name for her other than “Greenbean.”

“I’m not comfortable with this conversation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Her tone tells me it’s not.