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"You two look about as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." Jonathan joked as he mixed the tubes of blood and walked over to where his equipment was laid out.Neither of us laughed at his attempted humor, and he quickly got to work on the extended typing of our blood.In just a few minutes, he had determined that we were both B positive, not the rarest blood type, but not the most common either.Then he started the more difficult procedure of doing an extended typing, including an HLA typing. Angela was looking increasingly pale as Jonathan worked with her blood and mine. I was trying to help Jonathan do some of the more routine tasks, but soon it was just a matter of waiting. Finally, I stood and walked over to Angela."I think we should go get lunch, Jonathan. Can we bring you back something?" I asked as I took Angela's hand and started leading her toward the door."Just a sandwich of some sort," he called out, engrossed by something under his microscope.I. But, I thought, even if she was just writing fiction, this was still so wildly real to me, because it was still so clearly my real sister with whom I was corresponding, and apparently, she had no clue who I was.Anyway, her note on Tuesday explained how she'd gone to a sex-shop after work, picked out a "rather large, pinkish, life-like" dildo -- "you know, the kind with veins, and shaped right" -- she thought it would be what I had in mind. About 10 inches long, and fairly thick.She'd taken it home, after enduring the lurid stares of the men in the sex shop, and raced to her room to ram it into her pussy, and now she'd sat down to write me a note. "and I've got it clamped in there right now, while I sit at my laptop typing this, but I'm not moving it around. Can I please USE it?" she added.I sent back that yes, her next assignment was to use it to bring herself off. But the catch was, it couldn't be at home. She had to pick a place somewhere else (probably a restroom, I speculated) to.
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