According to my former parents I was always a smart, if somewhat restless, kid.
For my part I like to define myself in that life as a self-destructive and stupid anarchist.
I never lacked brains, at least academically, maybe that's why it was difficult for me to complete my higher education and enter a prestigious laboratory. But for me the pathogens were not very funny, so I ended up being fired when my secret hobby of restructuring pathogens in search of interesting mutations was discovered.
Anyway, at that time I was just looking for ways to excuse myself to my acquaintances (I thought of telling them it was a mutual agreement as if I was a fucking jilted girlfriend) but it was ridiculous, some of them work with me and by word of mouth everyone knew the truth before the weekend.
Those were tough years, no one wanted a mad scientist in their lab and the bills were piling up so I didn't mind taking a "dodgy" job in a third world country in the middle of nowhere (plus it wasn't like my morals or ethics had anything to say).
It wasn't as bad a place as one might imagine, yes, maybe they had no containment measures and were in civilian territory. But at least the equipment did its job and paid a generous amount, enough to pay off my debts and party with my new buddies, a French junkie and an American who couldn't keep his pants on.
I apparently ended up here to sleep with an investor's wife... In the lab, he boastfully justified himself as having been professional enough not to take off his lab coat.
The problem with bad company is that you get stuck in habits, spending more time high and with women those months than working. So it was not uncommon that at the end of the term we were given an ultimatum in the form of a 9mm to finish in an unreasonable amount of time.
The thing about addictions is that you think you control them, until you spend most of your time in a lab sneaking around getting high off camera on a small balcony risking your life or masturbating in the bathrooms to keep your temples from exploding from the stress.
I was lucky I wasn't killed by the stress with my pants down in the bathroom, it was the drug on that little balcony, which when I tried to ignite with that little lighter ended my life by igniting a leak in the lab or so I think.
At the time I didn't understand it, I thought maybe I had fallen off the balcony AND I thought maybe everything that happened next was a dream.
Let me try to explain...
So one second I was stressed out about to turn on... something and the next I was in a fucking white room with one of the sexiest women I've ever seen in front of me on a couch.
I was never one for redheads, but she with her fucking cleavage about to explode and her pink one piece dress that exalted her charms while making it look sheer, and especially that beautiful, gorgeous big ass. I was little made to notice how beautiful and Candid her face was that remembering seemed more inclined to a childish curiosity than a sexy succubus.
So...if you think about it, the situation. Even today it seems more like a p**no than "meeting a goddess", it was my dream or so I thought and I had no better idea than to sexually harass her, I put my hands on her juicy ass and my lips on hers.
Fuck if she charged me dearly. As she ran her hand down my throat in what I considered a passionate caress, she took without me realizing it at the time my ability to speak and intone magic. Moreover, as if that were not enough, he marked my face.
To me it seemed like just a nudge, but boy was she thorough. She even took the time to drop my attraction statistic to negative, AND still gave her the time to put an ironic phrase on my status. the fucking title "the goddess man" What is that supposed to mean if it was just a kiss? Fuck woman you couldn't just hit me and let me live in peace this second life.