Shortly after I began writing Loudcest, I decided to do at least one Lincoln ship for every sister (excluding Lily). Lisa is the last sister I've yet to do. This story was written months ago, I just haven't gotten around to posting it until now. Hope you enjoy.

P.S. The title is a reference to a Huey Lewis song...because I honestly couldn't think of anything better.

It started, indirectly, on September 8, the day Lisa Loud accepted, with slight reluctance, a contract from the Pentagon to develop a human growth chemical for use on American servicemen. The brass wanted something to improve stamina and endurance, promote faster healing, and boost immune systems, not, as one might fancy, to create 'super soldiers.' Which, if she was honest, Lisa found disappointing - she rather liked the thought of altering someone's DNA to the point they become an unstoppable killing machine. That, unlike this gentle PC 'growth hormone' nonsense, would be a challenge, and Lisa was ready for a challenge; she was quite tired of playing in the sandbox of mediocrity, filling test tubes and dumping them into other test tubes, moving petri dishes from this table to that, pushing pencils across her desk. She was itching for excitement, but none seemed forthcoming, so she went about creating Uncle Sam his glorified booster shot and sighing in boredom.

It took her a week of work - if work it can be called. On September 15, she filled a syringe with Zyclandizo (a name she picked for its utter meaninglessness - hahaha) and carried it over to the plastic cage where she kept a dozen white lab mice for just such occasions. They watched her with pink, dumb eyes; all tiny squeaks, twitching whiskers, and limp, gray tails. Hm. Which should she test it on? The runt in the corner? The exceptionally fat one? What did it really matter, it was all the same anyway, and the hormone was 100 percent safe, of that she was certain.

No risks.

No danger.

No excitement.

Just a little girl who was quickly growing bored at the tedious monotony of daily life. Each day held only more of the same: Work with which she was no longer enamored, interactions with family members to whom she felt little connection, staring at the same computer screen and inputting the same data often at the same time of day.

Frankly, there were times she wanted to stop and do something different, but she didn't know how to to anything different. Does Luna ever tire of music? Of playing and composing and performing it? Does Lynn ever get so blamed sick of balls that simply looking at one makes her physically ill? Or were they too ignorant to realize that every day was like the last?

That was a question she had asked herself repeatedly over the past year. Her siblings, in fact, were fascinating when you really sat down and watched them: Each projected a stereotypical and cliched persona. Luna was The Rocker, Lynn The Jock, Lucy The Goth. It was almost as though each one of their personalities was contrived, and that each one fell into a role like a square peg into a square hole. Lincoln was The Geek, Lola The Beauty Queen, Lana The Tomboy. If she didn't know any better, she'd say that they were, in essence, 2-D cardboard cutouts created by a cartoonist somewhere who was more concerned with silly pratfalls and tired, rehashed storylines than with inspired characterizations. There's your proof of God - He exists and He is lazy.

She was no better when you got right down to it. She was The Genius - whenever the plot needed to be moved forward (or something absurd had to happen) she was there in her baggy green sweater and oversized glasses, all too happy to oblige. Ah, instead of Character A dreaming the episode, lets have them get into Lisa's chemicals and hallucinate.

Brilliant. We'll win the coveted Kids' Choice Award for sure.

Perhaps that was a harsh assessment, but Lisa felt it to be largely true. Her siblings were little more than silhouettes, as was she herself. The Genius - she has no life outside of science, you know. She never sets the beakers aside and plays solitaire on her computer, she doesn't collect stamps or follow sports, she never clears her schedule and let the day make itself- she's always working, always experimenting and doing "research." And the worst part of it is: Most said research doesn't even break new ground. She's an explorer traipsing through charted territory.

A little girl playing scientist, and not a real scientist at all.

She looked at the syringe and frowned. "I'm far too young for an existential crisis."

But was she? In body, perhaps, but certainly not in mind; in mind she was old, jaded...and tired. She had always been this way - and her memory stretched back to almost the day of her birth. It was likely a brain disorder of some kind - there existed several linked directly to intelligence, perception, and memory. She knew of them, but had never studied them at length because for all her outward apathy, she was human, and no one wants to admit that they may have a serious and potentially life-threatening disease.

She really should, though; brain disorders ran through the family like troubled waters. There was Leni, mildly retarded, Luan with her Witzelsucht (and that's exactly what it is, don't tell me different), and Lucy's budding bipolar disorder. Her parents seemed normal enough, though she had never given either a full mental diagnostic, as well as her grandfather, Aunt Ruth, and every other relation she had ever met (which, come to think of it, wasn't many). She was absolutely convinced, however, that if she looked hard enough, she would find, like a malignant needle in a haystack, that one relative who died in an institution, confined to a straight jacket and banging their head against a padded wall.

Perhaps that was the fate that awaited her - there is an undeniable correlation between intelligence and certain disorders - schizophrenia, dementia, and Alzheimer's chiefly among them. The brain, despite its vast complexity, is a fragile thing, and using it too much leads to it breaking down; run a horse too fast and for too long, it eventually keels over. So, too, does the cerebrum.

"The stars that burn the brightest burn the fastest," she told the mice as she opened the lid of the cage and reached in. She hovered her hand indecisively over the writhing mass, then decided on the fat one after all; she grabbed it and pulled it out, then closed the lid. "This might sting," she said with a trace of irony and lifted the needle. The mouse seemed to tremble, and Lisa rolled her eyes. "This is perhaps the most pedestrian thing I've ever created," she said flatly, "you have nothing to worry about. Though there is a very slight chance that it will send your pituitary gland into hyperdrive and stimulate the overproduction of hormones."

An endocrine gland the size of a pea and positioned at the base of the brain, the pituitary gland synthesizes, stores, and secretes hormones that control a wide array of bodily processes including but not limited to: Growth, blood pressure, breast milk production, pain relief via the emission of endorphins, sex organ function, water regulation, and the all important temperature control. Zyclandizo was intended to boost the pituitary gland (among other things), and it was possible that it might cause a chaotic increase in the gland's production of hormones. Or even a reduction. She was confident that Zyclandizo was stable, but if she was wrong, the results could be catastrophic. Mr. Mouse here was taking a very big risk.

He should be excited.

Lisa blinked, an idea gathering in her mind like a coming storm. She grinned at the mouse, and it shook in fear. "On second thought, I rather like you, and I'd never forgive myself if something were to happen to you." She opened the top of the cage and sat him gently down on a tuft of grass. She closed the lid, walked over to the desk, and sat. "I suppose," she said as she opened a drawer and rummaged around, "I will just have to take one for the team, as Lynn says."

Her heartbeat sped up as she imagined all of the terrible and thrilling things that could happen - a dramatic increase in muscle mass, lethal spikes in blood pressure, a growth spurt that ended with her seven and a half feet tall (hope you remember all the so-called noogies you've given me, Lynn, because I do). Maybe those things would happen, maybe they wouldn't - and maybe other things would happen. She didn't know, and not knowing was terribly exciting.

She pulled out an iodine wipe, rolled up her sleeve, and ripped the package, rubbing a spot over her vein and smearing her flesh orange. Next, she pressed the point to the injection site at a 45 degree angle, and stopped when she felt cold steel against her flesh. A loud voice in the center of her brain yelled at her to stop, for God's sake, don't be a fool, but listening to that voice is exactly what The Genius would do, rigid in the trajectory of her 2-D character arc. The Genius doesn't take risks, The Genius abides by all the rules and regulations, The Genius is, to be blunt, a boring fuddy-duddy stick in the mud.

Gritting her teeth, she jabbed herself and hissed, then depressed the plunger, injecting 10 cc of excitement directly into her bloodstream. Warmth spread out from ground zero, and a small, satisfied smile touched her lips. "There," she said and pulled the needle out, "now we wait."

And wait.

And wait.

By the end of the day, she had noticed no changes whatsoever, and couldn't deny her disappointment. It would take roughly a week to be sure, but going in, she was certain that the drug would have the intended effect, and that belief was now solidified. Her immune system would improve and she would eventually detect changes, but they would be slight. Sigh. So much for that, though for a few hours today, she was in a state of animation, so it wasn't really a loss - more a temporary respite. Which, she supposed, is exactly what she wanted.

Now, onto the next thing.

At the base of her brain, unbeknownst to her, a pea sized gland started going into hyperdrive.

Lincoln Loud was stuck in a hellish wasteland, a place where no rain or river flowed, where the rocks were blasted and irradiated, craters pock-marked the ground, and wayward ghosts walked under a blood red sky, wailing in the night for relief they would never find.

It was called the friend zone.

Maybe he was being a bit of a drama queen (he was steeped in the stewing estrogen of ten sisters, after all), but can you blame him? No man wants to play bestie to a girl he likes. Oh, if he likes her enough he will, but every moment he does is like being stabbed repeatedly in the guts. (The Wayans Brothers was a good show, man! It was a good-ass show! And we didn't even get a final episode!). Not only is he constantly in the presence of the woman he loves (and who doesn't love him back), but it also wounds the ol pride. Lincoln himself had a healthy amount of the stuff, and when Girl Jordan said I like you as a friend, it hurt that almost as much as his heart. Every man (and woman) likes to think they are appealing to the opposite sex, that they are attractive and charming and all that other good stuff so why wouldn't she (or he) want to be with me? Trying and being slapped back down then is probably the worst thing that could ever happen to your pride.

And the worst part was...he legitimately liked her. He wasn't after the proverbial one thing (at this stage, hand-holding), and he wasn't trying to win a bet like Freddie Prinze Jr. in She's All That...he wanted to be her boyfriend. She was pretty, smart, fun, and all that other gay stuff that wasn't really gay, but you had to front like it was or Poppa Wheelie and Rusty Spokes would mercilessly roast you at lunch. He'd known her for six months, which is like forever in elementary kid years, and they had a pretty good friendship, so he thought maybe it was time to take things to the next level.

In gym class that day, as kids pelted each other with dodgeballs and insults (nice throw, fag), Lincoln stood on the sidelines with Clyde and tracked Jordan as she walked along the opposite wall with some other girls whose names weren't important: She was tall and slim with blonde hair in a French braid and big, shimmering brown eyes a guy could lose himself in for days. She wore a yellow T-shirt and blue shorts that clung to tight to her shapely legs. Lincoln tried his hardest not to leer, but he totally did...just a little.

"I'm gonna do it," he told Clyde, "I'm gonna ask her out."

Clyde furrowed his brow. "You sure you wanna do that? I mean, she's part of our friend group now and -"

Lincoln sighed dreamily, completely ignoring his friend.

"It might be a little awkward if she - "

"Be right back," he said and crossed the basketball court, ducking to avoid a ball hurtling through the air like cannonfire. He didn't see Clyde throw up one hand and mutter whatever. Falling in behind Jordan and her friends, he shoved his hands into his pockets and acted as casual as he could, doing a damn good job of hiding his nerves. Alright, Linc, smile, exude confidence, and be bold.

Closing the gap between them, he tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned. "Oh, hey, Linc," she said with a friendly smile.

"Hey," he said, looking into her eyes and giving her all of his focus, her friends be damned. "Can I talk to you real quick?"

"Sure," she said and nodded for her friends to keep going. Leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, she asked, "What's up?"

Should he cross his arms too? Nah, they'd make him look defensive. He put his hands on his hips instead, "I was wondering if maybe you'd wanna go down to Gus's after school. You know, hang out."

She nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like fun."

To make sure she knew what he was getting at, he said, "Just me and you."

That's when the wheels fell off. "Oh," he drew, her eyebrows lifting, "like...like a date?"

Lincoln wasn't really a girl guru (he was lying through his teeth that day), but he wasn't entirely girl-illiterate either; he could tell she didn't like the idea, and his spirits deflated. He was committed, though. "Yeah," he said, "like a date."

For a moment, she regarded him with something approaching pity. "Eh...no, not really," she said, "I like you as a friend."

If life was a movie, those six words would have echoed as the camera panned in on Lincoln's horrified face. And if it was a dumb cartoon, he'd have sank to his knees, thrown his head back, and let out a thunderous, "Nooooooooooo!"

But life is life, so he uttered a nervous laugh instead. "Okay, no problem, I just thought...maybe...you know...worth a shot."

"I'm flattered," she said in a tone of consolation, "but not really looking for that right now."

"I understand," Lincoln said.

The walk back across the gym was one of abiding shame and hyper self-consciousness; he could feel her eyes hot and heavy on his back, and keeping his head high and his stride even, not too fast and not too slow, was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he did it. "So," Clyde said as Lincoln walked up, "how'd it go?"

He shrugged. "She's not really looking to date," he said in a dismissive tone. I wasn't all that serious anyway, it lied.

"Aw, man, I'm sorry," Clyde said, "you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, "nothing lost, nothing gained, right?"

That was something Lynn said - some sports thing or something, idk. It meant that while you didn't go forward, you didn't go back either, which is good. He didn't know if it really applied here because things might wind up being weird between them, so maybe he did lose something.

And that's the thought that carried him through the rest of the day; he didn't particularly relish being consigned to the friend zone like a cuck, but he liked her as both a girl and a friend, so he wasn't in any hurry to turn his back on her. He'd be fine staying friends - he liked her and all, but he wasn't so far gone that he was writing sappy poetry and sniffing the air when she walked by. There was hope for him yet, is what I'm saying. She might not wanna be his friend anymore, though, and that kind of bothered him.

When the final bell rang, he took his books to his locker, grabbed his coat, and left through the front door, taking up position at the flagpole to wait for Lucy, Lola, Lana, and Lisa like he did every afternoon. Up until this year, he was the only one of the younger kids Mom and Dad let walk. Lucy, Lola, and Lana wanted in on the fun (fun in this case not having to carpool with Lori and her perpetual PMS trip) so they kind of twisted his arm. Yeah, Mom and Dad, I'm totally responsible; if you let them walk with me, nothing will ever go wrong, I promise. They didn't literally twist his arm - Lola came into his room one day and asked. Lincy, can you see if Mom and Dad will let me, Lana, Lisa, and Lucy walk to and from school with you? Please? When he told her no (come on, that walk is literally the only time I get to myself), she humphed and put her hands on her hips. Fine, until you agree I'm going to do this. She threw her head back and let out an annoying ahhhhhhhh. Lincoln snickered; he was used to being annoyed by his little sisters and it would take a lot to get on his nerves...more than she could muster.

Lol, wrong; she followed him around for two days doing that, and by the end of it he was ready to snatch her by the throat and throttle her into silence (eternal silence). Fine, fine, just shut up.

When they came out, Lola with her nose up and Lana in a literal cloud of dust like that kid from the old Peanuts strips, Lincoln walked over. "Where's Lucy and Lisa?" he asked, looking through the door.

"Right here," Lucy said from behind him, and he tensed. One day she was going to do that and someone was going to punch the goth right out of her.

He turned and looked from her to Lisa, both of their faces expressionless, like statues. "Let's go then."

On the walk, Lola and Lana argued, Lucy performed a piece of spoken word poetry that never ended (it went on and on, my friend), and Lisa stared straight ahead, her eyes half-lidded in apathy. They narrowed more and more as the bickering continued, then her lips peeled back from her teeth in a dog-like sneer. No one noticed, nor did they notice when she began to shake like a pressure cooker, but they sure as hell noticed when she popped off. "Both of you shut the hell up!" she snarled. "You're giving me a goddamn headache!"

Lola and Lana gaped, Lucy gasped, and Lincoln lifted a brow. Apparently she does experience human emotions.

As the highest ranking Loud present, it fell to him to chastise her for her use of language. "Lisa, that's not -"

"Shut the hell up, Lincoln," she spat and brushed past him; now he and Lucy were gaping too, all four siblings staring after the little girl as she strode savagely down the sidewalk, her fists balled at her sides and her feet slapping a rage-filled tempo on the concrete

Lisa getting angry was unheard of; she got irritated, frustrated, and annoyed, but never outright mad. And...did she really tell me to shut the hell up?

"What's gotten into her?" Lola asked.

"She got sick of hearing your whiny girl voice," Lana said.

Lola shoved her and Lana shoved her back. "Knock it off," Lincoln said, "or you're going back to carpooling with Lori."

"Fine," Lola said. She threw back her head. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Lana grimaced, then smacked Lola's tirara off her head. "Shut up, dweeb."

By the time they finally got home, Lincoln's nerves were even more frazzled than they were when he leff, but at least he wasn't thinking about the friend zone.

In his room, he popped his shoes off, sank onto the bed, and took a deep breath; his muscles trembled and the center of his chest throbbed like the middle of the midday sun. He kind of wanted to sink his fist into the wall. Was he this annoying to his older sisters? Did they walk away from him wanting to punch something? If so, sorry, guys. I don't mean to.

Honestly, he felt this way a lot lately; he'd get angry and aggressive for no reason and want to start wailing on stuff. He'd also developed a new affinity for meat. He always liked it, but now it practically made him finish in his pants. And speaking of finishing in his pants, he got hard a lot. Sex wasn't constantly on his mind, but it occupied more space in his head than it probably should.

That's puberty, son, his father told him once. He literally picked Lincoln up, sat him on his knee, and fumbled his way through an embarrassing exposition on the birds and the bees. Shiver. Up until then, Lincoln never thought the topic of sex could be unsexy...then his balding, middle-aged father started talking about penises going into vaginas and Lincoln realized just how wrong he was.

Why do they call it the birds and the bees anyway? Birds and bees aren't known for having sex with each other, at least not that he knew. He could kind of understand the bees being in there, since they pollinate flowers the way men, uh, pollinate women, but what the hell do birds have to do with anything? Is it because their poop is white like -?

Alright, moving on. He was planning on playing a little Steal That Car 3, but now he was filled with restless energy and sitting down and concentrating, even on grand theft auto and wanton mayhem, was the last thing he wanted to do. Maybe -

Lynn poked her head in and lidded her eyes. "Hey, Lincoln~"

Aw, man, she wanted something -

Wait, actually, I could go for some sports. Get all of this pent up aggression out. "Hey, Lynn, wanna play some football?"

Lynn blinked in confusion. "Uh...what?"

"Do you wanna play some football?" he asked again.

"Yeah, actually, I -"

Lincoln was already putting his shoes on. "Great. Let's go."

When she arrived home, Lisa slammed through her bedroom door, tossed her backpack onto the floor, and crossed to her desk, where she sat before her computer. She was extremely annoyed, and there was a very large part of her that wanted to unleash on the PC in front of her - hit it with a quick jab, making it rock, then following with an uppercut and knocking it clean off the table. While pretending it was Lola's face. Gah, that girl was so goddamn taxing sometimes, walking about as though she were royalty and staring down her nose. I stand on a stage and look pretty for pedophiles, worship me. And Lana - Lisa was not obsessive compulsive (in fact, there were times she didn't bathe for days on end because she couldn't pull herself away from her work), but God in heaven, Lana was disgusting. Don't even get me started on Lucy and her calculated morbidity. I'm an eight-year-old girl, woe unto me!

The only one of that lot who didn't thoroughly irritate her was Lincoln, but even he was wore on her nerves with his fumbling attempts at admonishing her. And with his butt - the way it wiggled under his tight jeans and commanded her reluctant attention. Cover that obscene display.

She drew a shaky breath and ran her fingers through her hair. It was just the Zyclandizo; it was doing its job and stimulating hormone production. Since injecting herself with the stuff two days ago, she'd vacillated between rootless anger, inexplicable sadness, and even, very briefly, sexual arousal.

All of that was to be expected, of course. As were the physical side effects - sore muscles, tender breasts, and even the stray hair she plucked from her upper lip that morning. Without a second dosage, it would subside within a week, but right now she felt its effects very strongly.

And if Lola and Lana kept up their incessant bickering, she'd plow one in the face and send them crying to their parents. Female parental unit, Lisa has struck me! A barbaric grin cut across her features, and she settled back in her chair like a woman preparing to watch a good movie. Maybe she'd -

Behind her, the door opened and she tensed. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" she snapped.

Ignoring her, Lori said, "I need a refill."

Lisa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Three months ago, Lori came to her with a little problem: Bobby didn't "pull out" the night before, and she was concerned with the possibility of an unintended pregnancy. Abstinence is a surefire birth control method, Lisa said without looking away from her computer

Lori laughed harshly. That's literally not going to happen.

Of course it wasn't. After administering a home brew version of Plan B to flush Lori's system of any unwanted tissue build-up - a fetus, that is - Lisa whipped up a batch of conception suppressants and gave them to her older sister with the instructions to take one immediately before or after sexual intercourse.

That was two months ago, and so far Lori had gone through close to 300 pills. "Lori," she said with strained patience, "I just gave you fifty last Sunday."

Lori meh'd. "I'm ovulating this week so I'm extra horny."

"A woman does not ovulate for -"

"Just give me my pills, twep."

Sudden anger exploded in Lisa's chest, and she spun the chair around to face the older girl; Lori stared at her with a raised eyebrow as if to say chop, chop, slave. Lisa's rage grew hotter; she gripped the arms of the chair with hooked fingers and sneered like a dog on a leash. "I've grown quite sick of your promiscuity, Lori; you are perhaps the biggest strumpet I've met in life. You saunter around here shaking your hips and thrusting your butt out in anticipation of being mated like a bitch in heat by your slacker, pizza delivery boyfriend and, I daresay, any other available male in the vicinity. You treat sex as though it is a tasty treat in which you can indulge, guilt-free. You blow through birth control pills the way a disco band blows through cocaine because you are a slave to the reptilian part of your brain that's connected to that...thing between your legs. You are hedonistic, heedless, and a glutton."

Lisa was shaking now, her face red and her teeth bared. Lori's face crinkled in confusion and she slowly shook her head. "What?"

Taking a deep breath, Lisa said, "You're a slut."

Lori's features darkened. "Fuck you, Lisa. At least I can get a man."

Lisa barked hateful laughter. "And hold onto him, despite the fact that he's not only broken up with you several times, leaving you a pitiful, tear-streaked wreck, but has also engaged in cotius with Carol Pingrey on more than one occasion."

The older girl flinched. "W-We were broken up," she said defensively.

"The fact that he immediately ran to the arms of another woman displays, in detail so exacting that even a dunderhead like you can understand, that he values you not at all. That..or you simply aren't woman enough to satisfy him."

Lori's face screwed up in misery, and, covering her face to hide her tears, she turned and fled, disappearing into the hall, her sobs trailing behind her. Lisa watched her go with narrowed eyes...then took a deep breath. She was trembling from head to toe, and her heart slammed pleasantly against her breast; endorphins surged through her blood and a goofy grin spread across her lips. "That was...exhilarating!" She held her fists up and stared at them as though they were the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. "I feel alive." She laughed merrily and started to turn, but stopped when Leni walked, her brow pinched in confusion.

As it always was.

"Like, Lori was totes crying, do you -?"

Lisa waved her off and turned to the computer screen. "I have no time allotted for you, simpleton. Go about your mindess pursuits." Lisa grinned to herself. Zinger!

"Huh?" Leni asked.

Lisa turned. "Get lost, retard."

Leni recoiled as if slapped, and her big brown eyes shimmered with tears. "I-I am not a retard."

Deep inside her brain, Lisa's newfound roast senses tingled. "Leni, you're a braindead airhead who couldn't think her way out of a wet paper bag. You're so stupid, you had to repeat pre-k...twice. You're so stupid, you failed lunch. You're so stupid -"

Leni ran away in tears just like Lori had, and Lisa sniffed. Good riddance to dumb rubbish. She turned back to the computer and booted it up, her foot tapping with uncharacteristic impatience. Come on, you hunk of refuse, I am not in possession of eternity. When the loading screen froze and turned blue, hot fury filled her, and she gave into it with glee: Shooting her arms out, she snatched it by the sides and shook it as though it were an uncontrollably sobbing infant. "Work, goddamn it! Work!"

It did not magically begin to function normally - it was an old model and this happened sometimes; it simply needed to be rebooted.

With a fist.

Drawing back, she lashed out at the screen, the satisfying crunch of the glass under her knuckles sending shivers down her spine...and beautiful pain up her arm. "I've had it with you, you outmoded piece of feces," she snarled. She picked it up, went over to the window, and opened it. She started to throw it out, but stopped when she spotted Lincoln in the backyard below, hunched over and waiting for Lynn, on the opposite end, to throw the ball. He was stripped to the waist, and sweat glistened on his naked torso.

Lisa's heartbeat sped up and a strange though not entirely unfamiliar tingling sensation spread out from her center and rippled pleasantly through her body. Lynn snapped the ball, and Lincoln jumped up to snatch it from the air, his muscles straining and flexing; her eyes darted to the front of his jeans, and her breath caught when she saw just the faintest suggestion of snowy white pubic hair.

"My word," she muttered, the computer screen dropping to the floor; she splayed her hands on the sill and leaned out the window; she was warm all over and her stomach felt as though it were home to an invasive species of butterflies, but it was a good feeling...and so was the pressure building between her thighs. She watched Lincoln streak across the yard and duck around Lynn, her gaze firmly on his tight gluteus maximus - it waved hypnotically underneath his jeans, beckoning her forward. Come and touch me, Lisa. Experiment with thine hands~

A shudder went through her, and she realized with a start that the crotch of her underwear was damp.

Egads, for your own brother?

She cocked her head to one side in thought. Well, yes, she was undeniably aroused for her brother; her body would not be producing vaginal lubrication in anticipation of being penetrated if she wasn't. Obviously she wasn't entirely in her right mind, as it were; her body was flooded with hormones that were influencing her thought patterns and her reaction to external stimuli. In other words, she was seeing the male form and her body was responding. That fact that he was a close cospecific was irrelevant - physically speaking. Of course it was not irrelevant overall. One does not place sexual designs on one's relatives - doing so is socially, morally, and genetically repugnant, reprehensible, and unnatural.

But Lord almighty, he was a fine specimen! His pectoralis major was a finely sculpted work of art that would make even the old masters sick with envy, and his rectus abdominis begged to have small, genius hands run slowly over it.

Lisa let out a shuddery sigh, her cheeks blushing and her mouth a dreamy squiggle. Below, Lincoln was almost to the stockade fence separating their property from Mr. Grouse's, Lynn speeding to catch up. Desperate to catch him, she sprang forward, slammed her shoulder into the small of his back, and drove him to the ground. She jumped to her feet and laughed smugly. "Got'cha, Linc!"

Lincoln got to his feet, dusted himself off, and said, "Yeah, you did, good game."

Beyond his appearance, Lincoln was a highly agreeable individual: Kind, considerate of others, unobtrusive, reticent (a trait she admired), and fairly contemplative. Of course, he was also given to flights of fancy and fits of anxiety, but we all have our quirks.

We do not, unfortunately, have bodies as nice as his. If she did, she would never stop caressing herself; she'd run her fingertips from her chest to her stomach in lazy circles, then to the firm, fevered penis standing tall between her hips.

She realized she was sweating and swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "Sweet mother of all that is holy." Lincoln and Lynn shared a high five then went in the back door, disappearing from Lisa's line of sight.

Coming alive as though from a trance, she shook her head and turned from the window. "It seems I had a momentary, male induced lapse of reason," she said to herself. She picked the monitor up, went to the desk, and sat heavily. She tried to work up a measure of self-disgust, but was mildly surprised to find none. Again, she was not in possession of her full normal faculties...but even so, the taboo of incest is overblown. A body is a body regardless of whether it contained the same genetic material as your own. In fact, incest only counted on a genetic level, and even then only in cases whereby it could potentially produce offspring. Even then, the resultant child will most likely be perfectly normal save, perhaps, for one condition or another. First generation incest does not, despite popular misconception, yield progeny with one eye, retardation, sociopathy, schizophrenia, pyromania, mild retardation, or nymphomania.

That takes several generations of 'cest.

Regardless, that was beside the point - the point being that her body was steeped in hormones and they were clouding her mind. Bother.

Perhaps I shouldn't have injected myself with that Zyclandizo. I suspect the effects will be mild, but if they intensify, there's no telling what will become of me.

Eh.

At least I'm not bored.