She'd have gotten herself good and greasy, but just then the door to her room swung open. "Darling," said Mrs. Pettibone, a rather attractive woman in her own right, "it's time to be getting ready for school." She was all smiles and good graces when it came to talking with her daughters. "You don't want to be late now, darling, do you?" Mrs. Pettibone didn't notice that her lovely daughter Sharon was busily rearranging the sheets so that she wouldn't be discovered masturbating herself as she was. "No, Mom," she said, "I don't want to be late, but I don't want to infect all those kids at school with SWINE FLU, either."

"What?!" screamed Mrs. Pettibone. "Are you ill, darling?" The teenager's mother started to race toward the bed. But Sharon lifted a cautious open palm. "Stay over there, Mom. I don't want to be responsible for killing my mother. Just let me sweat it out!" Mrs. Pettibone stopped dead in her tracks. "Is it that contagious?" she asked, backing off just a little.

"I don't know," said Sharon, reaching a hand secretly under the sheets and back down to her wet twat, "but I don't want to take any chances." She found her clitoris upright and ready for a quick little massage. Now if only her mother would leave her alone.

"Well, darling," said Mrs. Pettibone, "I'd better call the doctor and…"

"No doctors!" hollered Sharon, taking her hand out of her pie. She couldn't believe that her mother wouldn't leave her be just for a while. "Please, Mom," she said, "I think this thing will take it's normal intercourse, I mean its normal course if we just let it be." Mrs. Pettibone, confused and dumbfounded, nodded and then shook her head as she backed out of her fifteen year old daughter's bedroom. She shut the door behind her.