Most girls want Shakespeare in Love. I’m the only one I know looking for 9 ½ Weeks. That’s horribly embarrassing to admit. After all, what does a seventeen year old girl know about fucking on a kitchen table? And a girl with untouchable skin at that. Seventeen and I only have a kiss and a half under my belt…more like just a half. Until I figure out a way to control my mutation, there’s not going to be an ice cube scene in my future.

Technically, *I’m* not all about 9 ½ weeks. I’m sure if I had been left alone in my head, I’d want romance and making love on a bed of roses too. But I’m not alone in here.

David is all but gone, faded away to a white noise in my head, which is nice, because he whined a lot and took up space.

*David* isn’t my problem. It’s the lusts and desires of the two very powerful men that have taken up semi-permanent residence in my mind that are the problem. I jammed them into a section of my head I like to call the panic room. Professor Xavier taught me how to be the dominant one, and to a certain degree I can manipulate the Logan and Eric hybrids that remain like ghosts inside me, close them inside the panic room…unless *I* panic, and then out of all of our best interests, one of them usually takes over.

It’s the Logan-in-my-head’s sexual history that makes me yearn to be bent over a kitchen counter and taken from behind, but surprisingly enough it’s from *Eric* that I’m finding out what it’s like to lust after something. Complete, unadulterated LUST.

I *know* the lust is from Eric and not Logan. Yeah, Logan’s a horn dog and a flirt and neither the Logan-in-my-head or his real counterpart have ever made excuses for it. It’s *Eric’s* desire, his lust for power, that is overwhelming in its clear and cold deliberateness. No wonder he’s tried to take over the world a few times.

Individually I think I could manage to contain them and be a normal seventeen year old girl who is worried about her hair and what to wear to the movies, but when they’re both released from the panic room…it’s Eric’s lust for power, combined with Logan’s general bawdy nature, that shoots me out of control. No pun intended. I mean, seriously, next time I see Magneto I’m going to highly suggest he seek some professional help about it. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing as hell to be sitting in science class and suddenly be overwhelmed by…it’s hard to explain it.

Everything inside me swells until I have two choices: fuck or fight. To quote Michael Jackson: I’m a lover, not a fighter, so some screwed up pathway in my subconscious turns their combined forces into an uber sex drive the likes of which would make any normal person blush. My nerves become sensitized and I get all hot and wet down there and I want to do nothing but be fucked. Its all I can think about, and thanks to Logan, I have a whole library of sexual positions to fantasize about instead of focus on Biology notes. I don’t know what sets me off: a whiff of perfume or just plain ol’ hormones…whatever it is, I better make sure I find a clean pair of panties post haste.

I usually wind up locking myself in my room for a few hours of privacy. The girl with the deadly skin in a sexual frenzy? It’s like a bad joke.

Logan knows, I think. The real Logan I mean. He never asks me why I have to leave class suddenly, and I’ve heard him give excuses for me to some of the other teachers. We don’t talk about it, though. I think he feels guilty- part of what’s wrong with me is his fault. A piece of him is living inside me, and it makes me want to do some pretty intense things.

Like slip into his bathroom while he’s showering and climb him like a tree.

Feel his tongue against me down there.

Hell, there’s a very naughty memory I have of his that involves him being the meat in a sex sandwich with twin sisters. That one I really can’t think about unless I’m alone, because just reliving his memory in my head is enough to finish me off. Loudly.

Speaking of loudly…I think I was too loud last night.

I swear, right around a week or so before my time of the month, I go into insane overdrive and spend pretty much all day and all night locked in my room…taking care of business. I don’t think I need to clarify beyond that, do I? That’s a nifty little side effect that no one mentioned in health class. Maybe its because I’m a mutant. Maybe its because my cycle is in tune with the full of the moon- Logan always gets a little wild right around then too…I guess the Logan-in-my-head could be doing the same thing. Either way, for a forty eight hour period I can’t keep my hand out of my pants…and yes, I know how that sounds. What can I say? Its either take care of the problem or start baying at the moon on the back lawn.

Last night was one of those nights. I couldn’t help the noises I made but *thought* it was okay. I *thought* I was alone in the mansion; it was movie night and all of the adults were either away on a mission or else they were supposed to take the kids into town to see the newest Jackie Chan movie. But I must have been too loud, because when I woke up this morning there was a box wrapped in brown paper next to my bed. When I opened the box I saw a seventeen-year-old boy’s wet dream: ten DVDs of nothing but sex, sex, and more sex, four magazines, three crotchless nylon bodysuits, and a vibrator with a pink glittery coating. And a pack of AA batteries.

I was so mortified I didn’t come out of my room all weekend.

But that didn’t stop me from utilizing my presents. Not all of them; just a select few. Let me put it this way: I went through at least half the pack of batteries. And oh my God…I never felt so good or so guilty in my entire life.

Because *someone* in the mansion knew my secret. It made the team work-out on Monday morning very awkward at first. Who knew? Which one of them knew? I could barely focus on the warm-up stretches; I was too busy trying to watch everyone’s faces for some telltale sign that they were the one who snuck into my room.

Then, thank God, the work-out got serious and I was so busy sweating and boxing and kicking that the exercises, combined with my weekend of solo sex, depleted all of my energy and tension. And I mean ALL of it; earlier I had been a guitar string that was wound too tight and now I was a loose thread dragging on the ground. For the first time in days I was free of all tension of any kind; I was like a languid butterfly grooving along in the breeze. I even had enough grooviness and sass to lay a drawling ‘thanks sugar’ on Logan after he poured me a cup of coffee before bopping out of the kitchen to go watch Yu-Gi-Oh with the younger kids.

I don’t know why I stopped. It was something he muttered under his breath, something I never would have caught, something he didn’t want me to catch, except there was enough of him in my head for my hearing to be super sharp. I was bopping, he muttered, I turned, and I caught the look he gave me from beneath his dark-rimmed eyes.

And then I knew. I knew it was him. *Logan* gave me that stuff.

I’m only seventeen. I’m not old enough to conceal surprise or embarrassment of *that* magnitude, and when he registered my red cheeks and dismayed frown, I knew. I knew that he knew that I knew. You know?

I couldn’t lock myself in my room fast enough. But not for *that*. I was hiding. Watching Disney movie after Disney movie, taking a cold shower ever half hour, trying to calm myself down.

I couldn’t keep my mind on the cartoon deer prancing across the screen. I should have known. All the DVDs he gave me were things that the Logan-in-my-head approved of. Who else would have known what turned me on? Why, the person who knew I had a little bit of himself stuck in my damn head. Real or hybrid, both Logans loved group sex, loved curvy women with perfectly round breasts, and loved being loud.

Just thinking about what he loved was enough of an incentive for the Logan-in-my-head to poke his head out of the panic room and start reliving some of his more hotter moments in the sack.

I’m a girl but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to have a gorgeous blonde with a perfect set of knockers on her hands and knees in front of me, cramming my dick down her throat. I’m a *girl*, I don’t know how it was possible to not only want but to feel her lips around me, her tongue fluttering against the base of my prick in such a way I had to shove my hands between my legs just to make sure I didn’t have an erection growing down there, ready to shoot down her velvet throat.

I cried out as Logan-in-my-head came in his memory, my hips rocking against my fingers which were so far up inside me I got a shoulder cramp.

That was when Logan, the real Logan, decided it was a good idea to knock on my door.

“Hey.”

I’m standing in my room with my panties pushed down around my knees, gasping, wetness dripping down my thighs, and I’m supposed to act normal? As if!

What can I say? I panicked. Which let Eric’s cool calculated lust out of the panic room. He didn’t get the chance to come out and play very often; I didn’t like the feelings I got when he was loose. Whenever I saw the world through the Magneto-in-my-head’s eyes, reality took on a very skewed perspective and I saw my friends in a two-dimensional way, as dolls I could manipulate if I just had half a mind to-

“Kid? Hello?”

It was Eric that calmly pulled my panties up and adjusted my skirt before opening the door.

---

I shoulda left her alone.

I shouldn’t a’ given her those things. I knew what she was goin’ through; all the hormones flyin‘ around the mansion had me at a constant state of arousal too- but I can hide it better. I knew it was partially my fault. I wanted to help. Help her release some of that tension I knew was twistin’ her insides. Her age an’ her skin didn’t leave me with many options, and I thought I’d picked the right one. Until I saw her face this mornin’. The second I saw her face turn red I knew I hadn’t helped her at all.

I was comin’ to apologize. She’d been in her room all day. I didn’t want her to hide from me.

My first instinct when she opened the door was to attack. The look in her eyes was one I was all too familiar with; I had stared down that asshole Magneto enough times and recognized that look. *His* look. I had to remind myself- this was *Marie* -and uncurled my fists.

I knew what she’d been up to- even without my enhanced olfactory senses I could smell her.

I’m not good with words on any level, especially not when there’s a beautiful girl smellin’ like sex and lookin’ at me like she’s tryin’ to figure out what to do first- suck me off or fuck my brains out.

This was more than Marie that was smilin’ at me, and before I could figure out what to do, I was in her room and she was closin’ the door behind me. I was standin’ in her bedroom that smelled like musky sex and she was still appraisin’ me like I was a slab of corn fed Iowa beef. I cleared my throat, tried not to grab at my crotch for some necessary readjustment, which was becomin’ more and more of an issue the longer the four of us stood there; me, Marie, and the ghosts of Eric and Wolverine she had rattlin’ around in her head. I knew about her panic room, had helped Chuck brainstorm its creation awhile ago…and I also know the door to the panic room was wide open right now.

“I know what you want.” Her voice was low and sweet and deliberate and devoid of her Southern drawl. Oh yeah, I know who was in control.

“What’s that?” I rasped.

She ignored my question and instead started unbuttonin’ her blouse. I watched, riveted, as more and more skin peeked through the gap. Then I remembered that this was Marie, *Marie*, and I frowned.

“I came here to see if you’re okay, not catch a peep show.”

Again she ignored me. “I never thanked you for the presents.” She finished unbuttonin’ and her blouse hung open, revealing a long pale strip of skin that started at her throat and ended below her navel. I’d have to talk with her about not wearin’ a bra at her age…

My half-mast stood up and gave a full salute. I felt like a kid caught with his hand down his pants by his mother. “Dunno what yer talkin’ about,” I muttered. I averted my eyes before my brain told my fingers to do somethin’ they shouldn’t do. I noticed Bambi was playing on the TV and it all seemed too absurd and I had to turn it off.

“You know,” she assured me after the sounds of Disney woodland creatures stopped. “I’ve seen you look the other way when I need privacy. I heard you make excuses for me. I know what is inside your head and I know what its like to be a teenage boy with a hard-on in science class.”

The box I’d given her was on the desk by the bed. She dug into it, came up with one of the magazines I’d bought. “Did you really think this would help?!”

I shrugged. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

“I tried to control it…ignore it…didn‘t work.” Her eyes gleamed in a way that made an adjustment a *requirement*. She grinned as I winced and shifted behind the fly of my jeans. “I tried to satiate it with the stuff you gave me, but nothing worked.”

I started to apologize. “Look, kid, I-”

“Take off your pants.”

She said it so nonchalantly and looked at me so calmly I had to press the rewind button in my head and replay the line just to make sure I heard what I thought I did. Yup, she asked me to undress. No doubt Magneto was thinkin’ up the dialogue, but she was sayin’ it and damn was it hot. I should have turned around and left right then. Unfortunately if I moved I’d come in my pants like a kid; it felt like I had a steel pipe hangin‘ there between my legs. So, like a jackass, I stood there. Tried to reason with her. “Marie, I can’t do that.”

She dipped into the box again. One of the nylon bodysuits dangled from her fingers. It was black. “Why did you buy me these?”

Well, because, you might need them, was the answer stuck in my throat that couldn’t quite make its way into my mouth. Need them? Hadn’t I told myself I was gettin’ her stuff she could use when she was alone? It was my way of makin’ up for givin’ her some of my sex drive. And all of it was toys for flyin’ solo…*except* for those bodysuits. They’d been an afterthought, standin’ in front of a display of them at the store and thinkin’ it’d be somethin’ she’d need if she ever had to have sex with someone.

Who was I kiddin’? *Someone*?

Me. Just me. I wanted it to be *me*.

*I* knew it. And judging by the look in her eyes, she knew it too.

I tried one last time. “No.”

Her red smile widened. “You owe me.” The hand not holdin’ the bodysuit slipped down her stomach, beneath the waistband of her skirt and disappeared to whereabouts unknown…although judgin’ by the movement beneath the fabric and her small gasp, my imagination filled in the blanks. I stood there for at least thirty seconds watchin’ her play with herself. “Don’t just stand there, Logan. I need you to *fuck* me.”

I could make up a long story about how I was doin’ the noble thing by helpin’ her out…after all, it really *was* my fault…but that story would be bullshit and both you an’ I know it. I wanted to fuck her just as much as she wanted to be fucked. I wasn’t upset about her age, or about what others would say, it all boiled down to one thing: we both wanted it. Bad.

“If you want this to happen,” -and she knew I did- “Magneto has to go. I’m not fuckin’ that guy.”

Triumphant smile on her face and her hand withdrawing from her skirt, she balled the bodysuit between her fists. She curled over until she was squatting, her long chocolate hair hanging in her face and just brushing the highly polished wood floor, her knees parted just enough to catch a glimpse of her very damp violet panties.

I waited. Not very patiently; I had pulled my t-shirt over my head, but I was still waitin‘.

She stirred, her head rose, and she was grinnin’ at me from beneath the fall of her hair. It was a familiar grin but in a good way; it was a grin I saw in the mirror every day. She was Marie again; yeah, she was fueled by pure Logan horniness, but she was Marie enough to be blushin’ behind her grin.

“He’s gone.” She stood and there was a shyness about her that hadn’t been there before. I knew it was the Eric leftovers that had given her the guts to come onto me in the first place. Guts or not, though-we were both still turned on. She could see me and I could smell her- all musk and sweat and it was better than any perfume I’d ever smelled.

“Put it on,” I rasped, nodding at the bodysuit. Yeah, who’d I tried to kid? My unconscious plot became even more obvious when I pulled a strip of condoms from my wallet- I never carry them around anymore- while watchin’ her wriggle from her clothes and into the flimsy nylon suit. Bits and pieces of her kept disappearin’ and reappearin’ and I sat on the bed to enjoy the view.

That bodysuit was the best purchase I ever made in my life.

It made lickin’ her and suckin’ her possible despite her skin. Hell, I don’t think either of us could tell it was there, not when she was straddlin’ me with her breasts bound in black nylon torturin’ me from above while I tortured her from below, and definitely not when I pulled a thin piece of nylon over her sex and ate her like a cupcake. We had to turn Bambi back on at full volume to cover her screams.

By the time I rolled a condom on and she slid me down her throat, I’d already come once on the bedspread by accident -she just tasted so fuckin’ good I couldn’t help it- and we’d moved onto Dawn of the Dead in the DVD player. There was screamin’ in that flick, I figured it might muffle the noise a bit better.

‘Cause she screamed her head off the entire time we fucked. I’m not like Jean or Chuck, I can’t read minds, but in the middle of everything, when I was buried so deep inside her I couldn’t tell where I left off and she began, I knew-just KNEW- that THIS was what she’d been needin’ for a long time.

Release.

Her? Hell. I’d needed it too.

By the time we were done- and we did go through two bodysuits before we were done -we couldn’t move from the sweat-soaked sheets. All we could do was lie there with the overhead fan coolin’ us down. She was naked now, her hip a delicious curve that I desperately wanted to bite but didn’t have the energy to do so, while I was the one in gloves and sweatpants with a strategically placed hole.

She sighed. It sounded happy to me.