The ground rules, they established, were just that they weren’t going to drug him. Beyond just that everything else could be considered fair game with the bendable, overarching appreciation for consent. Following this ground rule worked easily enough because if one of them lost their head in a passion fit, the other of the two could bring them back to a workable rationale. To date, this dynamic had always worked but the concern still lingered in the backs of their minds that if the day came when both felt too captured by their own moaning siren song like Medusa’s own reflection, caught in the whirlwind of their own ploys, things would get quick and bad. 

More of a pressing concern than going too far was actually starting to go anywhere and doing something that wasn’t only nailed to the walls of their imaginative minds. They needed to learn how to fish and start dropping hints like lines in the water. Using bait seemed too insidious because instead of trapping him out of his own obliviousness, they’d rather him come by his own volition, swim up to some reflective lure and be shown the way in. Rubbing legs under the desks in school and inviting him out when he’s alone to get him away from his friends were all things they’d already initiated with the hope of sending a message in a bottle down a stream of the juices they wanted so badly to get flowing.

Even though they’d only known him for less than two months, they had big plans, even though they’d only be seeing him for a few more weeks until the start of summer. Who comes to a new school in April anyway? How can someone like that give the blessing of their presence to a group of unfamiliar folks for not even a dozen weeks? It, their fantasy and planning, was all rather innocent but no less pungent than the noticeable shits their heated lusting had caused in the pheromonal smells found not deep into their armpits.