Bollocks! No room for ‘wee-gee, skwee-gee’ manipulation of these comfortable facts, without immediately being expelled conversationally into the abyss of metaphysics. No truth can be discussed in this forum. Everyone has firm unshiftable thoughts on all aspects of ‘the unreal’, that they do not believe in at all.
This repertoire of firmly held, unbelieved axioms and principles, holds the sole purpose of providing a theoretical safety-net, for the weak minded, in the off-chance that something undeniably strange happens.
Why do I even ‘fucking’ bother trying to converse with people who have never; been tortured, nor enjoy being interrogated, let alone never died even once.
I looked at Tina, and she looked back at me the way that she always did. Completely open and trusting of whatever bizarre thing that came out of my mouth. When I looked at her cobalt eyes, I was glad to not be able to see the wall through her. She never questioned the way that I looked at her. She seemed contented to be involved in a higher purpose.
Though I never touched her physically, nor made any suggestions in that direction, her availability in that regard was increasingly evident. Frequently, I have stopped myself in ponderances of the faded ridges and wrinkles on her jeans or cut-offs. She always noticed what I was doing and either stayed motionless to not interrupt my thought or moved slightly and smoothly to assist my eye in seeing the end of a thing.
Once, she had accidentally touched me during these meditation. It was the only blush that I saw her do. She apologised and regained control of herself. I admired her dedication to the art or craft of being an effective assistant.
She never actually exposed herself to me, as one might expect in a fond relationship, but then again, she never actually concealed herself either. It was like we, were two of several naked soles in the house and clothing or the degrees of lack thereof were irrelevant. The only contradiction to these facts occurred in a humid August night.
I became aware of her as a sexual entity. Without intention to intercept her, I happened on a form of her meditations. I was following my radar into a largely vacant section of the upstairs. There was something out of place in my mind, so I walked as I was led.
In the tallest of hallways she was embracing a half marble column. The urn above it stretched her half-top T-shirt between her boyish breasts, causing the hem to stand off of her ribcage. I had seen these hi-lo cut panties that she was wearing, hanging on a hook in the bathroom before, but I never truly appreciated how they fit her. Of course I had seen her wearing exactly the same thing in passing, either coming or going. But, the way one wears underwear to be seen in, differs greatly from how one wears those same underwear to get one’s self off in.
These panties fit her, well, marvellously. She immediately felt me see her. This caused her to slow but not stop her Methodist grinding of her hand between herself and the column.
She looked up to my eyes to see if I in fact needed her for anything? I blinked the smile of No and that I did not want her to stop for me.
With one foot flat on the stone floor, knee bent, leg taught in the pounce position, her hand began digging more generously.
I hoped that it wasn’t for show. It was the other leg that intrigued me. It was canted extremely taught, as if a ballerina had descended to stilettos.
The vibrations started in her calf and increased past the paisley shaped mound at the top of the back of her leg exposed from her having tugged her panties over to an un-uncomfortable position.
Having continued to stroll slowly in the direction of passing without interrupting; at 4 feet, her diaphragm was erupting, at 2 feet, still relatively sure that I was not involved in this act, she confronted my dignity with an impassioned statement in the ‘while you’re there category.’
At only this moment did I see what she was focused upon. She was looking through an empty room, out the tall French windows and said “I should like to be hanged from that tree, after I’m dead!”.
When the air from my words “Consider it done.” touched the outside of the back of her ear, it was the feather that stroked the hair-trigger.
Her collapse was so complete, she almost puked. Then instantly regained control like a high-wire artist just struck by a bird. It was all I could do to restrain my awe of her. I hoped she felt my smile on her neck as I pulled away to not mess up her after glow.
∞
Having coffee with Tina was an absolute treat. She personified the basics of someone to not be alone with. I knew beyond doubt, from the 1st moment she stared at me, that at any moment, for any reason, I could ask her to present the orifice of my choosing for penetration and gratification, and she would consider it an act in the furtherance of the greater good. She would participate with the enthusiasm of a math geek running out to buy a gross of ergonomic gel-pens and have no further thoughts on the issue. A necessary function of the moment, with no past, present or future connotations. Somehow though, I never felt like now was that time.
Today she sensed my desperation, when I asked, “ If I ever have a gunshot wound to the head, would you mind fucking the last breath out of me?”
“Consider it done.” Sealed our death pact and the tension was gone.
I couldn’t bring up the issue of our dream trysts, because I didn’t know how to start the conversation without potentially breeching our virginity to each other. I mean, if she was psychically raping me in our sleep with her doing the out of body heavy lifting and me complicit to the act, did this not constitute a non-marital relationship? I had some theories that I needed to explore first.
The only truth that I could adjust to all variables was the most ridiculous and unheard of. Time had split for me. I no longer slept, but occupied two realities in sequence. The one that I was used to calling my waking reality, was pretty much like everyone else’s,… with the minor exception of the overseer hitting the shuffle button on my time,.. when it seemed that I was late for something important.
The more disturbing truth, was what all describe as dream-scape, which I could believe in save the contradictions. In this truth, my dead never leave me, they just move into my house and don’t leave. They are the semi-tangible accumulation of my errors. They are translucent, are able to touch me, but not I them. One immediately sees the urgency of not pissing anyone off, just in case they happen to die.
My dead seemed to repeatedly, but not repetitiously act on some thought dominant at death, as if each time, the thought source of the act was slight askew in variant, until I bunt them out of that loop. In the case of Tina, she came and repeated the same act in my bed every time I slept, or as I now believe, awoke to this reality.
When she sensed that I was nolonger disturbed by this, the sequences would repeat, 5 even 8 times consecutively the 4 or5 hour sequence of her satisfying me by satisfying herself on me.
My waking reality became a nightmare. I would come out of 40 hrs of surreal passion with her acting like it had been a much deserved ten minute blowjob and land in the ‘I haven’t touched her yet reality’ where she clearly needs a good stiff fuck and sits there pleasantly making small talk, like she is waiting her turn for something until I feel like a Chihuahua pole-vaulter.
10 minutes of this, 40 hours of that, and always she sits pleasantly with me. Then, one day, coming out of the 10 minutes into the 40 hours, I said out of the blue, “hey, cut it out!”.
10 minutes said ”Okay,” but then I wakened to 40 hours, lying on my chest relaxing.
When my hands fell through her form they hung inside her an inch above my flesh, she said, “ If you were like me, this would be better.”
Now dreamscape or not, the thought of dying to have better sex with a ghost presents some philosophical problems. It appeared that I would only have to die in this dimension, so I asked if she couldn’t just ‘fuck me’ to death as they say.
She said that she had been trying, but there seemed to be some limitations on some things due to her condition.
My second consideration, was the obvious notion that my death here would only split my time further by adding that dimension to this. She noted my point, and went back to plan A, more to reassert my happiness than to cause my untimely demise.
Someone was clearly having a good laugh on me, but I’m a sport, I’ll do my best to work it out. The thing about endless pleasure, only interrupted by brief moments of anticipation of endless pleasure, it doesn’t get old as quick as one might think.
It stemmed back to my first time variant hypothesis; Time moves far quicker whilst someone is attempting to fuck one to death than it does while being posed redundant and/or meaningless questions on a topic that one knows nothing about, rewarding incorrect answers with adverse physical retaliation by an inferior intellect. Not that all torture falls into the same category, or even the same play fields, but often, the least overt forms are often the most disturbing.
These are the forms that we are least capable of understanding exactly what is bothering us. For years, I had followed the suggestion of only renovating to match the dream. This involved turning a basic cottage, a monument to effective cheapness, into a large multi-sectioned estate house, without attracting attention in the process. After the sex acts in translucent land started, the OTHERS stopped hiding from me.
∞
Once in a micro-jungle, we were waiting for a shoot-out to be over between two groups of Feds and the good people who hired us to put a deck on their mattress-house. We were fine, leaning up against a collapsed embankment, next to a drainage culvert, cooking espresso over a small fire and counting rounds and directionality to determine who was still standing.
We had our lie straight and everything was cool. This Brit comes out of nowhere and starts with the ‘ Looks like you chaps are in a spot of bother’ routine. He strides up the embankment into plane view, and takes one in the third eye. He tumbled down, and landed in the upper in-view-arc of one of the shooting teams. We couldn’t even roll him over to make him stop looking at us.
As the LSD that we dropped at the start of the fire-fight began to really bite into our time-space continuum….. well forgive me for laughing, but it was the funniest thing I had seen all day.
Now, the translucent prick, strolls around the house dusting and such with a really large ostrich feather duster. Apart from Tina, Eloise is the only one that I like. She came with the house, but now she is beginning to fade. She tidies rooms for her keep. She does a fine job. This does however create contradictions between the two dominant dimensions.
When something is missing, we do not accuse Eloise, we merely say, “It is here, just not right now.”
Sure enough, when we look again for that thing, it is where it is supposed to be. No problem.
As for the rest of the godless heathens who think they’re at a bed n’ breakfast, they can all sit around in the nooks and common areas playing rummy and intentionally ignore me. Its not that I’m a substance snob, but when I walk past a group of them talking, they finish the sentence that they were saying, the next time I am in ear-shot.
∞
Tina’s silhouette stood opaque in my bedroom door. Her night uniform unchanged except that she was carrying a pillow by one ear. I had been drinking, just enough to put a smile on my face, and was still chain-smoking in bed with a mug of espresso. Rehashing the day, I almost didn’t notice her. She was contemplating if she could sneak in, hide in a corner of my room, and escape again before I woke up.
When she saw the cherry stoke on my smoke from a large drag of contemplation, she spoke. “There are people things, bang-ging around and talking loud abouts nuhsing. I’m tired and I can’t sleep.”
Her two worlds were starting to bleed together. Finally, someone to talk to about this. Propped up on my left side, with my right hand, I lifted the covers to show her a safe place. She hurried in under before my arm got tired. She let her head rest on my left bicep, leaned back against my chest and wondered now what to do with her pillow.
I cradled her neck in the crook of my arm and let that hand rest on an amazingly firm breast. When I said, “maybe you should move in here.”
She said “Okay” and began to wiggle for position.
On the breast I was holding, I lightly pinched its nipple, with thumb and index finger, and gave it a door knocker shake saying, “but no sexy lingerie.”
She sat up suddenly, took off her T-shirt, and threw it at my laundry hamper, and said happily “O.K.”
Now she was comfortable and made a point of snuggling her back into a perfect fit to my front. When she got down to the Braille-parking of the back of her hips to the front of mine, her wiggling and squirming aligned my erection with the top of the crack of her bum and the groove of her spine. It was nice, but the string in the back was garroting my front.
With my right hand, I put my middle finger under her panty band, just where it met the front triangle and drew it out and back, to the back triangle.
She asked, “Do you want these off too?”
“No,” I said, “ they were just too tight on my thing”.
I could feel her smile bounce around the room and land on both of us. She settled in completely, shoulder-blade on my sternum, the groove of her back, confining my erection against me, her panty string now loosened enough to only act as a cock-ring while her bum cheeks held the base of the thing.
Another man might have read her signals differently and I thought she was checking which man I was. She reached back and put my hand in position to cup her hip bone. I was comfortable, until her body began to gently rock with her sleep breathing.
I didn’t dare move, but the string on her panties was letting blood into the erection and very little out. It just kept getting more rigid. The veins on the outside of if began to hurt from being stretched. There was only one thing to do. Adjust my breathing to match hers.
I let my body’s movements align with hers. I relaxed and let our two bodies rock in unison.
That panty thing was still gliding up and down the base in a ½ inch cycle, but my mind held truth. This wasn’t sex, at least not with each other. The fact that we were touching, didn’t make it that. My mind relaxed until our sleep bodies took over, it must have been hours before my brain exploded into sleep. A wet sticky portal had appeared between us at the 4th meridian. I woke from sleep without dreaming. A large café fredo and a small bowl of fruit and a note.
I couldn’t read the note, I was too shy, it was folded in half and stood on the two free edges. When I reached for a strawberry, I knocked it over and saw the word ‘back’. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply from my smoke. My mind searched data banks for relatively hostile script in handwriting analysis. Oddly enough, the note said, ‘gone to get my stuff,.. I’ll be back!’
When I was ready, I went downstairs to face my golf-cart riding demons, and I had something to say.
