Life with Nano

~~~~~

This is a funky idea that's been rattling around in my head for months, in search of an acceptable ending. I do not know whether the technology described here is ever going to be remotely possible, but let's just assume it could be possible for the sake of the story, okay?

Disclaimer: All sexual activity described here is between fictional characters over the age of 18.

Warning: Although this is not primarily an incest story, there is one scene with incest in it. If this is not to your liking, don't say you were not warned.

~Leenysman~

~~~~~

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The noise woke me, sort of. Or maybe the headache did, and the noise gave just that extra push into unwanted consciousness.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

'Oh, dammit!' I thought. 'Which tenant now?' I groggily pulled myself out of bed, pulled on shorts and tshirt over my briefs, and staggered into the kitchen to reach my apartment's door, the source of the damned noise. Sophomore Year was over, and maybe I had a little too much rum and coke the night before in celebrating my last final, and trying to forget what the next day was. I didn't think so then, but that morning, for sure I was regretting it. The clock in the kitchen read 7:10 AM. Dammit, I had planned on sleeping in. Or sleeping it off. Whatever.

I pulled the door open, just as Sofia Flores, from the apartment above mine, was about to pound on it again, so instead her hand swung into the opening, and she couldn't pull her hand back in time to avoid a glancing blow to my left arm.

"Oh! Excuse me, Mr. Sparhawk, I didn't mean to hit you," she said, looking afraid that I'd get mad. After four months in the building, she still seemed to think I had the authority to evict her, when I was really just a glorified handyman and collector of rent checks for the investment trust that actually owned the small five-unit building and let me stay there rent-free as a part-time "apartment manager". It was about the only thing I could thank my father for recently, since he had set it up, as a director of the trust. Of course, it benefited him financially in that he now didn't have to pay rent on an apartment or for a dorm room while I went to college, even though he could easily afford either one. More about my Dad in a little bit.

As for the building itself, it was what New Englanders call a multi-family dwelling. Really, it was just a big 19th century house that had been subdivided at some point into apartments, in a haphazard way. None of the units had exactly the same layout, but in each there was a kitchen, and two more rooms which could either both be bedrooms or one bedroom and a living room. Then a bathroom would attach to any of those three rooms. Mine attached to the kitchen, near the doorway to the room I used as my bedroom. Except for the bathroom door, there were no interior doors between the rooms.

There were two apartments on the first floor, two on the second, and one down in the basement, along with a utilities room. Mine was the smallest, and the largest was the other first floor apartment, currently vacant because its rent was highest. The oddest part of the whole place was there were some remnants of an old heating vent system, that wasn't used any more after the installation of electric baseboards, but it remained in place and unfortunately for all of us, it conducted sound really well. Like an intercomm system you couldn't turn off. I had clearly heard the fight that led to Sofia breaking up with her boyfriend a month earlier, for example. And most of their sex in the time before that, too, as I'm sure she heard mine with my girlfriend. Earbuds and headphones were a necessity, both to block out the noise from the other apartments, and to keep from making too much of my own.

I took a breath, before saying, "De nada, Sofia. And please, call me David. What can I do for you this morning?" I hadn't learned a lot of Spanish from my mostly Puerto Rican tenants in the time I'd been their apartment manager, but I had learned that little phrase of forgiveness. I knew from earlier conversations that Sofia had been born and raised in Massachusetts, and had no real accent, but she still used the occasional Spanish phrase, and I'd picked some up from her and the other tenants. I'd chosen German as a language in high school, which helped me with Spanish not at all.

"It's the toilet again, David. It's been running for an hour. I've tried jiggling the handle like you said, but it's still running. Can you come take a look at it?" After the noise that came through those old vents, the second most common complaint from the tenants was the age of the plumbing and fixtures. But I knew the rent was cheaper than the newer apartment complexes in town, so 'you get what you pay for' fit this place to a tee.

"Okay, let me get my shoes, and I'll meet you upstairs." I closed the door, and walked from kitchen to bedroom to living room to pull on my sneakers, and grabbed the small toolbox that I'd put together in the past year on this 'job', and made my way back through my apartment door and up the narrow flight of stairs that led up to the two upstairs apartments.

Just as I reached the top of the stairs, the door to 2B opened, and one of the Vega sisters, who shared that apartment and just one queen bed, came out onto the landing. I said, "Buenos noches, Maria Angela." Her fraternal twin sister was Maria Clara, so you couldn't just call either one Maria by itself. Yet, they didn't want to just be called by their middle names, either. I thought of them as 'The Marias'.

She chuckled, and rolled her eyes, then said in her lilting accent, "Gringo, 'buenos noches' means 'good night'. You want to use 'buenos dias' in the morning. Heh, I thank you for trying, but I understand English just fine, David. You don't need to speak Spanish for me or my sister to make us feel welcome, and I doubt Sofia needs it either."

Sofia said from behind me, at her door, "Maria Angela's right. I was born and grew up here, and my parents chose to speak only English around the house so my brothers and I would speak it well, although mi abuela, my grandmother, still spoke Spanish to us. I know both languages, but I actually think primarily in English. I would also prefer you just spoke English to me, rather than mangling any more Spanish, okay, hombré?"

"My apologies to you both," I said sheepishly. "I guess I didn't think that through. Have a good day, Maria Angela." She continued down the stairs, and I turned back towards Sofia. "Let's see that toilet," I said, as she backed into her apartment and let me get by her. Her layout was different than mine, with the kitchen in basically the same place for reasons of plumbing and gas lines, but a little smaller, so the entry to her bathroom was off of her bedroom instead, so we had to walk into her bedroom to get to it. Her bathroom was bigger than mine, with a tub rather than just a shower stall.

I noticed but didn't comment on the pink rabbit vibrator sitting on her nightstand. So that was the source of the buzzing I'd heard several times over the past weeks. She had somehow kept herself quiet, but not the vibe.

The toilet turned out to be an easy fix, as the stopper flap had gotten rotated about 30 degrees, so wouldn't drop into place, and jiggling the handle had not corrected it. I showed Sofia what I was doing, so she'd hopefully be able to diagnose this problem herself if it happened again. She stood close to watch, but not too close. Given the sound qualities of the apartments, I was sure she'd heard me making love to my girlfriend Sheila more than once, and was avoiding any flirting since I was taken.

At least, that's what I was thinking. I was notoriously bad at picking up signals, so who knew how many I missed? Sofia was certainly a pretty young woman, and I remembered she was 23 from her rental application. She was 5'6", the same height as Sheila, but otherwise they were pretty much opposites. Where Sheila was blonde, blue-eyed and would have been stick thin if not for working out, Sofia was brunette, brown eyes, and as curvy as a mountain road. Not quite to the point of being fat, but I thought she would be at risk of that as she got older. I shook the thoughts of comparing them out of my head, and finished getting the stopper back in position.

After the tank had refilled, I put the tank lid back in place and washed my hands in her sink. She said, "Gracias, David, that was pretty simple. I'll remember to check for that next time. Sorry to have woken you, but I wanted to be sure I got this taken care of before your classes. I can't afford a big water bill this month."

"Actually, my last final was yesterday, and I don't start my summer job for another week. I'll be around this week, okay?" I said, as I exited her apartment and headed back to mine to make some breakfast. I grabbed my mail from the box right outside the building entrance before entering my apartment, and started leafing through it. Several bills told me that I needed to go see my Dad about money again.

Sure, I lived there rent-free, but that was the extent of my compensation, and it didn't leave me time for a part-time job during the school year, so I was dependent on my Dad for money, at least until my summer job at the movie theater started paying.

I knew I had a small trust coming to me when I turned 25, an inheritance from my Dad's parents, but I couldn't touch it until then. Even that would be a pittance compared to Dad's money.

Dad was, simply put, rolling in it. My Dad is Dr. Anthony Sparhawk, a fairly renowned scientist in biotech circles, and he'd founded Dynatech Industries when I was a kid, and built it into one of the top biotech companies in the country, and a major employer in our part of Massachusetts. His net worth was supposedly close to a billion dollars, although he never talked about it. I only learned about that figure from the local newspaper, and even that was a few years ago. Who knows what it was now, but the stock had gone up 50%. It wasn't enough to get him on the Forbes 400 list, but still plenty of money. He just seemed miserly towards me. I knew why, even if he would never admit to it.

Unfortunately for me, science and I were like oil and water. My sister Carla got the science brains, and because of it had always been Dad's favorite. When she and Mom died, Dad blamed me, without saying so out loud. Because I'd just gotten my driver's license when I was 16, I had been getting more practice behind the wheel of Mom's car in the accident that killed them, on our way to meet Dad for a birthday dinner on Carla's 21st birthday. Today would have been her 25th, and was the fourth anniversary of the accident. She'd have gotten her share of the trust, too, instead of it becoming mine. My 21st birthday is in another week. That was the other reason for my drinking the night before, and I would probably drink myself blotto again that night. I still missed them both.

Blame had been squarely placed on the drunk truck driver who ran the red light and t-boned us, crushing the right side of the car, and with Mom and Carla both sitting on that side of the car, I was told they were killed instantly. I was pretty banged up, but survived with nothing worse than a hip injury that produced a slight limp in my right leg which really only acted up if I'd done too much on it, or was climbing stairs, and a blank spot in my memory about the crash. I was almost glad for the last. I didn't want to remember it. At least I would do my drinking at home, because no way in hell was I ever going to be a drunk driver.

Despite the truck driver being at fault, my relationship with my Dad died that day, too. He not only blamed me for killing his wife and daughter, but his heir as well. He was constantly on me about taking over Dynatech one day, but that had been Carla's dream, not mine. His resentment tinged our every interaction. Which made depending on him financially even harder, and the inevitable lecture I got about throwing my life away on cyber art all the more galling, since that was just his excuse for kicking me out of the house once I started college and giving me only enough money to scrape by on, when he could have given me millions and not even noticed they were gone.

Except today was going to be different. Lives would start changing today. I just didn't know it yet.

~~~~~

At 4:30 that afternoon, I walked up to the front desk at Dynatech as I did just about every Friday, and told Helen Graves, the receptionist, "Hi, Helen. Time for that weekly visit. Is he actually ready for me this week?"

She consulted her computer, then said, "His calendar shows him in a meeting until 5, then nothing else after that. Can you wait, David? I can pencil you in then."

"Fine. What other choice do I ever have?" I mumbled, moving to one of the visitor chairs.

Even though this was our agreed-upon time to meet each week, half the time Dad managed to schedule meetings over my time, and the other half he had some other excuse to make me wait. 'Just one more way to screw me over,' I thought. To say I was tired of the shit he kept piling on me was a colossal understatement.

I had managed to work up quite a bit of fury by the time his executive assistant came to get me at 5:15, and walked me to his office. I'm not proud of what happened next, but you can't understand the rest without telling this part straight.

As soon as I was in his office and the door was closed, I let my anger burst out at him as he sat behind his desk. "Fuck you, Dad! You ask me to be here at 4:30 every Friday, but you find one way or another to make me cool my heels in the lobby every fucking week. I'm tired of it! Am I really not worth blocking out that 30 minutes of your time? Or is this just another part of your coward's way to punish me for Mom and Carla? Four years ago today, and you still treat me like shit. It was not my fucking fault!"

I looked around his office, and noticed a large stoppered glass vial in a stand on the bookcase by the door, with some kind of gray powder filling it. I grabbed it, and said, "I bet even this damned test tube is more important to you than I am."

"Put it down, Davy," Dad said.

"See? I was right. If I was wrong, you'd just say so, instead of expressing concern over the fucking test tube."

Dad had gotten up from his chair, and walked around the desk toward me. He reached out his hand and said, "Give it to me, David."

In that moment, all of my pain, my grief over my mom and sister, my resentment and anger at the way my dad had treated me since their deaths, even the hangover I was still feeling, all of it, erupted from me. I wrapped my fingers around that test tube, and when Dad got close enough, I hooked him in the jaw with that fist, screaming, "Fuck You!". He went down like a ton of bricks.

Of course, the damned test tube also shattered in my hand, driving shards into my fingers and palm. Looking down at Dad on the floor, I panicked and ran out of the office, out of the building, and to my car. Slumping behind the wheel, I finally looked towards my right hand and opened it. There was some blood, not as much as I expected, and glass everywhere, and it hurt like hell. But as I opened it, the glass started falling away, like my skin was pushing it out, and I let it fall into the cupholder in the center console.

The gray powder that was in the vial, which had apparently been mixed in some kind of fluid, was now all over my hand, and I watched in amazement as it somehow flowed into all of the myriad of cuts, pushing out the last of the glass splinters as it did. All of those cuts sealed themselves closed behind the powder, even the blood was gone, and my hand looked completely normal. I couldn't believe my eyes, and blinked several times, thinking I was hallucinating.

That's when I felt a burning sensation start to spread from my hand, up my arm, towards my shoulder, and when it reached my chest, my heart exploded in pain, before pumping whatever this was out to my lungs and back, followed by another burst of pain from the other side of my heart, then blackness, as the sensation spread to my whole body and my body chilled.

I passed out. Whether it was from the pain, or from whatever the powder was reaching my brain, I don't know. What I do know is that it was 6:15 when I awoke. I had been unconscious for about 45 minutes, slumped over in my car. The pain and cold I had felt were gone.

I was amazed that I wasn't surrounded by police cars by that point, but started up my car and left before they might show up. Sure, my Dad could easily point them to my apartment, but I just wanted to be there first. There was a second bottle of rum with my name on it, and I was thinking I'd be in less trouble if I was arrested with alcohol in my system, as opposed to assaulting my Dad while sober. I know, dumb, right? Because I'd just wind up charged with driving under the influence that way, if I claimed I was drunk in Dad's office and then drove home. I did say I didn't inherit the brains of the family, didn't I? It was a stupid plan, in hindsight.

I got back to my apartment, grabbed that bottle, fired off four straight shots, followed by a swig of soda, and collapsed on my bed, waiting for the police to knock on the door. They didn't.

Instead, twenty minutes later, I was at the bathroom sink puking, and then on the toilet most of the night thereafter. I'll spare you a graphic description of all that, except to say I lost 20 pounds that night, mostly into that toilet. I didn't actually feel at all drunk or even buzzed, yet I was still thinking that it was the rum's fault. It did not occur to me that the gray powder that had invaded my hand was involved in how I was feeling. No science brain, remember?

I finally fell asleep on that toilet around 3 AM.

~~~~~

BAM! BAM! BAM!

"Oh, fuck..." I mumbled.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

I blew my breath out, and opened my eyes. Still on the toilet, but not feeling the urge anymore, I wiped one more time, stood up, pulled my pants up, and walked to the door. The clock said 9:20.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

I yanked the door open. It was Sofia again. I took a breath, and asked, "Yes?"

She looked ashamed, as she said, "I'm sorry, David, but I'm afraid I locked myself out taking my trash to the dumpster. Can you unlock me?"

"Okay," I answered. I had keys to all of the apartments on my ring, which was still in my pants pocket, so I just stepped out of the apartment, closed my door, and followed Sofia up the stairs.

My eyes were riveted to her plump ass, covered by a tight pair of jean shorts, the whole way up. I could even see a camel toe between her legs a couple of times. I knew it was rude, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. By the time we reached her apartment door, I knew two things. First, my cock was rock hard. Second, my hip didn't hurt me at all, for the first time going up stairs since the accident.

I don't know which of those two things was more astounding, but I didn't get much time to puzzle over them. I stepped by Sofia and unlocked her door, and pushed it open, then stood aside to let her enter. Instead, she pushed me through it, and was kissing me before we came to a stop against her sink. My mouth began to tingle.

I know I should have thought about Sheila, and pushed Sofia away, but I simply didn't want to. My body yearned for hers, like a cat yearns for catnip. I surrendered to the urge and returned her kisses, on lips, chin, neck, ears. Her hand was already stroking my length through my pants. It was pulsing, and I felt I was already about to come just from that contact. My hands were stroking her back, then cupping that gorgeous ass of hers, my fingers stroking along the hem of those shorts.