We talked about her work and my work. There would be a cute e-mail waiting in my inbox every morning and I would wish her goodnight the same way every...night.But after 10 days or so it seemed as if we ran out of things to talk about. Our chats dropped off from an hour or two to 10 or 15 minutes. The e-mails became more sporadic as our lives got busier.By the fourth week it was down to a phone call every couple of days. Then they stopped.I left a voice mail for her on Tuesday night just telling. Everything about his house was so utterly normal, the same plates, the same conversations, the same food. The normalcy of it all highlighted the alien-ness of his cursed body. He wanted desperately to tell his parents what had happened, but he held his tongue.After dinner, his father invited him out to the garage with a couple of beers. The elder Mr. Korman was a tinkerer and he had the engine of his suction pump partially disassembled on his workbench. As Nick passed tools or held a piece in. “Heh.” Sally chuckled. Her voice was hot in my ear as Gillian, who had taken a few moments to simply stroke my cock slowly with her hands, building up her courage to once more attempt to slide me down her throat, started to lick the tip of my cock again. “You like ruinin that, -hic-, girlie for her future husband?”I made a muffled noise of assent as my tongue thrust in deep. My fingers ached to plunge into a girl’s pussy, to fondle some breasts. But I was restrained. Held back. And needing to. ’ ‘So what…?’ ‘Has Alex told you?’ ‘Told me what?’ ‘That he’s ill.’ ‘What? No. I… What’s wrong with him?’ A hand wrapped itself around Neil’s heart, at the look on Mrs Cutler’s face, and squeezed hard. ‘He has a rare form of narcolepsy. Do you know what that is?’ ‘Um… not really. It’s when you keep falling asleep isn’t it?’ ‘Kind of. I told you it was a rare form. He has… attacks. Sometime they come every week, sometimes not for years. When his father died it was bad, really bad. I thought I.