The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

"Tom! Tom, over here!"

I saw an arm waving at the end of the platform and made my way through the sparse crowd and found my parents waiting by an exit. She was jumping up and down and when I got close enough, she threw her arms around me and my luggage and hugged me.

"We thought maybe you missed your train. How was your trip? You look thinner. And taller.

How were your exams?"

"Jane, give him a chance to catch his breath," said my father. "He’ll tell us everything. But later. Tom, give me a couple of those bags."

And so we made our way to the car, my mother trying to fill me in on everything I’d missed since I had left, my father’s protests notwithstanding. Mindy was at home. Apparently the phone could not be left unattended because she might miss a message. Some things will never change.

Once home, I got an actual ’hello, glad you’re home’ from Mindy. My mother busied herself in the kitchen, where apparently she had expended some of her nervous energy earlier in the evening by baking a pie.

"Sit," she said, putting the pie on the table and getting a half gallon of ice cream out of the freezer compartment. "Start at the beginning."

"You do know it’s after midnight, right? I’m not sure how much energy I’ve got left in me, but at least till the pie’s gone."

I took a bite, and decided it was a step up from the pie in in the grub hub. I started talking.

"The biggest difference between last year and this, I think, is that now we’re on our own. It’s our decision how much we want to put into the process and how much we can get out of it. No one’s checking in on us, asking us if we’re keeping up. We are or we aren’t, it’s our job to figure it out.

"There are people—I’m sure it’s true at every college—who don’t understand that, who get wrapped up in the social scene, hanging out with friends. It’s a shame, really, most of them won’t last the year. But if you put some effort into it... Well, I was really surprised how much I took away from most of my classes. The depth of information that’s buried in the lectures is striking, and it’s easy to overlook it, just picking up the high points, enough to pass. If you work at it, though, there’s so much more that you can understand."

I paused for some more pie. While I was chewing, she asked me what my favorite class was.

"I honestly don’t know. I liked parts of all of them, found out stuff I hadn’t known. Even English, which I’d never much cared for in high school, but when they started explaining about the times and places where these stories and poems were written, and how people understood their world at that time... well, it all started to make more sense and I could appreciate and understand these works much better. And we’d read some of them in high school, but we got taught none of the things that would have helped us make sense of it.

"Even history, when you’re taught by someone who loves the subject, who’s immersed in it and can explain the cause and effect of events and people, well, that stuff can actually be exciting. Maybe not so exciting that I’d want to major in it, but still...

"I’m leaning toward psychology because there are parts of it that would help me to understand people’s motives and desires."

She leaned forward. "And your exams? How did you think you did on those?"

"I felt okay about them, I wasn’t fumbling for answers, but they were asking for a greater amount of depth and detail than any test I had in high school, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to.

"Look, I’m about out of energy now to talk more about this, but we’ll have the rest of vacation to catch up. Short answer, I don’t regret anything about this semester. It was... I guess exhilarating is the word. It was hard, but it was exhilarating. I’m looking forward to going back in January."

My father said, "I’m happy to hear that you weren’t overwhelmed. To be honest, I was a little worried about it, but it sounds like you did well. We’re glad you’re home, Tom. Jane, let the boy get some sleep. You can grill him more in the morning over breakfast."

He knew her well. She was likely already planning her second round of questions. At some point in the process, one of them would be, "So, meet any nice girls?" She was nothing if not predictable.

We said goodnight and I took my bags up to my old room. It looked a little unfamiliar after almost four months away, but as soon as I lay down, it felt like home. I got undressed, pulled up the covers and turned out the light. I didn’t remember falling asleep.

The light from the window woke me. I’d forgotten to pull down the shade and the morning sun was shouting me awake. I rolled over to look at the clock. Well, nine-ish, so I had been able to ignore the sun for some hours. But probably time to get moving anyway. I took a quick shower and found clean clothes, then headed downstairs.

And, sure enough, my mother was lying in wait, ostensibly washing dishes at the sink, but I’d bet she’d been listening for waking-up sounds so she could be prepared.

"What would you like for breakfast?" she asked.

"Don’t bother, Mom, I can do it."

"Don’t be silly, I’m right here. Eggs okay?"

I thanked her and poured coffee which slowly nudged me awake. ’Eggs’ apparently also included bacon, toast, fresh home fries, and a banana. It made her happy, I knew, to do that, even if it made me a bit uncomfortable to have her waiting on me. But she was no fool, there was a price to pay for her generosity.

So while I ate, she started asking questions, drilling down to get all the details. What was my roommate like? How was the food? Was I eating enough? Did I go to many parties? Had I thought about joining a fraternity? [No] How much time did I spend studying each day? Had I met anyone?

Hah! There it was! I knew it was coming. I brushed it aside by saying I’d gone out with a couple of nice girls, nothing exceptional to report, and I didn’t really have a lot of free time to date anyway.

She wouldn’t give up, she’d keep coming back to it, but it was enough for now. I finished breakfast and took the dishes to the sink. She tried to push me away, saying she’d do the dishes, but I insisted since she’d made breakfast.

When I eventually got free—Mindy had come in in a panic as she’d found a spot on a dress she was planning to wear to a party and now her evening was going to be ruined—I went to the phone and made a few calls to catch up with some of my friends.

Karen’s flight wouldn’t be arriving till tonight, so I called Jeff and Frankie instead. Jeff had had, to hear him tell it, an awesome first semester, party central. I asked about classes and he told me his final exams weren’t till next month and he had a lot of studying to do in order to catch up.

I kinda knew that was going to happen, and I hoped he’d get through it okay.

I asked if he’d talked to Kate yet, and he said they were going to get together tomorrow to catch up. She wanted to spend some time with her parents first. We made tentative plans to go out for food sometime in the next couple of days.

I sat down on a chair in the living room and thought about what I had to do, and the surprising answer was, pretty much nothing. Other than getting together with Karen and Jeff, I had no pressing need to be anywhere or do anything until I returned to school. It rather shocked me, as I’d always had reading, papers and cramming to do over Christmas vacation. But not this time.

I did have to buy some Christmas presents, for family, for Karen, and I had to think about what they might like. Maybe I should go to the mall—along with the twelve thousand other people already there trying to get through their Christmas shopping—and see if inspiration would strike.

I was interrupted by Mindy passing through on her way from the kitchen. "I thought you were trying to get a stain out of your party dress?" I asked her.

"Mom said she’d take care of it."

"Is the party tonight? Is your boyfriend going to be there? What’s his name, anyway?"

"It’s tonight, and his name is Evan."

"How’d you meet him? Is he cute?"

"Cuter than you. I met him at school. We’re in a couple of the same classes."

I’d always been curious what would happen when Mindy started dating. Now’s a good a time as any, I suppose.

"Does Mom do that annoying thing with you that she always did with me, wanting to know who I was attracted to and what they were like and what happened when we were together and what we talked about? Like a detective?"

She actually blushed.

"Um, yeah. Pretty much like that. But it’s okay, she sometimes says things that make sense, so I don’t mind so much. Anyway, I filter what I tell her."

"I did that, too. Defense mechanism. How are you and school getting along? Who’s winning?"

"I’m doing okay. I don’t like it as much as I think you did, but I can get through the work. Mostly."

"Glad to hear it."

My mother called Mindy from the kitchen, and she ran off to check on her dress.

I looked at my watch. A little after ten. I thought about it and decided this was probably the best chance I’d have to shop, since I didn’t know who I was going to be getting together with and when. I got my coat and gloves and headed off for the bus to the mall.

It was a zoo, of course, people getting to that frantic stage where they suddenly realize that they probably won’t have enough time to finish everything, so they move faster, nudging everyone out of the way. But I was able to focus, cataloging what I’d seen in the stores, matching it against known likes and dislikes of the giftees, and in the end I thought I’d gotten the right gift for everyone.

Karen was the hardest, because I wanted to get just the right thing for her. In the end I found a book I thought she’d like, The Man Who Loved Only Numbers, a biography of the mathematician Paul Erdos. I also bought her a scientific calculator that did hex, binary, and octal conversions. I wasn’t sure if she had one already, but I kept the receipt and she could exchange it for something she really wanted. Between the two, it was more than I’d wanted to spend, but I’d be careful about what I bought for the next few weeks.

And with that, I was done! Shopping completed. I took my bags and caught the bus home.

My mother was in the kitchen, finishing dinner preparations. "Where did you go? You disappeared right after breakfast."

"You were caught up in Mindy’s various crises, and I thought I’d seize the opportunity to do some Christmas shopping."

"You could have taken the car."

"The bus goes right by the mall and it’s almost as fast. Anyway, I’m all done and don’t need to go back."

"Right. We’ll be eating soon, so get settled."

I deposited my packages in my room and washed my hands and face, which were feeling a bit grimy. I heard a yell. "Tom! Dinner’s on the table. Move it!" Mindy. That, too, hadn’t changed. I wonder when she’ll outgrow it?

Dinner was almost too much, like my mother making a subtle statement about what I’d missed by leaving home, even temporarily. I had a little of everything, but there are limits to the capacity of the human stomach. Even my father looked a bit shell-shocked.

Mindy was hurrying, because her mind was elsewhere, mentally cataloging all the things she still had to do to get ready for her party. She was up and gone before my mother could admonish her about good manners and bolting her food.

"He’s coming to pick her up in half an hour," she said conversationally.

"You mean her boyfriend?"

"Yes, Evan. Nice kid, fairly responsible, seems to have a good heart. Not sure they’re really suited for each other, but she’s happy. For now."

"Uh-huh," I said noncommittally.

"So when are you going to see Karen?"

I should have anticipated that, it was the natural segue.

"I haven’t spoken to her yet. She doesn’t get in till later tonight, so we’ve made no plans.

Sometime in the next couple of days, probably."

"Say hello for me."

Against my better judgment, I’d finally acquiesced a couple of years back to Karen’s suggestion that I invite her to dinner so she could meet my mother and perhaps put an end to the constant interrogation about our relationship.

To my surprise, they had gotten along well, and my mother wound up being very fond of her.

So my mother wasn’t just making polite conversation, she really did want to be remembered to Karen.

I helped clear the table and dried dishes as my mother washed them. Mindy had more important things to worry about, of course.

"He should be here any time now," she said, glancing at the clock above the sink. "You should meet him."

I did want to get a look at the guy. I had always kept my family off limits to my mental probing. Somehow it had just felt wrong to me. I had no such compunction about checking out young Evan’s agenda, and part of me wanted to make sure that Mindy was thinking logically about what she was willing to do with Evan. I thought she had the good sense not to get herself in a situation she couldn’t control, but hormones sometimes skew our best intentions.

The doorbell interrupted me. My mother untied her apron, dropped it on a kitchen chair and went to the front door. I heard, "Hello, Evan, come in. Mindy will be down shortly."

I walked into the hall. "Tom, you haven’t met Evan. Evan, this is Tom, Mindy’s brother. I’ll go up and chase Mindy down."

She left the two of us alone. Evan looked like he wanted to drop through the floor so he wouldn’t have to make conversation.

"So you’re off to a party, I hear. Sounds like fun. Mindy mentioned that you’re in the same school, is that right?"

Evan babbled something, just a string of nervous words, wanting to get this over with. While he stuttered, I walked up the link and looked into his epicenter, trying to find out what his plans were.

The place was a bit disorganized, as I’d always found to be the case in minds that hadn’t yet developed a strong sense of intellectual discipline, of logic and reason. I was surprised to see that he really did find Mindy attractive and was happy to be with her.

The epicenter normally contained only what the person was focused on at the moment, it didn’t hold all thoughts related to the current focus, so I couldn’t see what his future plans were. He was remembering having kissed her, actually playing back the memory because he liked it.

I also got a sense that he was thinking about pushing the boundaries a little further and seeing if he might get a quick feel of her boob, but he wasn’t sure how she’d react so he was still worrying about it. And then it disappeared because Mindy and my mother were coming down the stairs.

Mindy actually did look very nice. I’d never seen her with makeup on before, and it made her look older and much more attractive. Good for her.

Young Evan’s jaw had dropped a bit and I was worried that he might start drooling accidentally, but he gathered himself and took her hand.

"I know it’s not a school night, Evan, but please have her home before midnight, okay? And drive carefully."

"Yes, Mrs. Carter. Nice to meet you, Tom."

They closed the door behind them and went down the walk, chatting. My mother asked, "What did you think of him?"

"A bit nervous, not sure what to make of me, but smitten with Mindy. I didn’t get a sense of a lot of depth there, but what is he, seventeen?"

"Not quite yet. Soon. You were older at his age. Intellectually, I mean."

"I guess. Everyone grows up at a different rate, in different ways."

"Oh, listen to Doctor Carter! When are you publishing your first book again?"

"You know it’s true. Anyway, they seem to be at about the right stage for each other."

She shrugged and went off to finish something. I went to my room, closed the door, found a book and read, just to have something to do.

Later, I heard the phone ring. A few minutes later I heard my mother call me. "Tom, phone, it’s Karen."

I jumped up and grabbed the upstairs extension. My mother heard me pick up and said, "Nice to talk to you, Karen. Drop by if you get a chance." I heard her hang up.

"Is it really you?"

"Who did you expect, Publisher’s Clearing House announcing that you’d won their sweepstakes?"

"I thought you weren’t getting in till late."

"I switched to an earlier flight ’cause there was a cancellation and a seat became available.

Anyway, I’ve been home a couple of hours and caught up with my parents. I’m really tired and I’m gonna collapse soon, but I wanted to hear your voice."

"I’m glad you called. Email’s okay, but it’s not the same, not hearing your voice. Do you have exams after vacation, or are they done?"

"Ours are next month. You said you’d done yours, right?"

"Uh-huh. I think I did okay, but I have nothing to compare it to. It’s nothing like high school."

"Tell me about it. I’m smart, you know that, but sometimes I feel like a dunce, can’t keep up, and it’s not helped by all the really smart, competitive types that make up most of the student body.

I sometimes have second thoughts about coming here."

"I get that, too. It may be more of a mixed student body where I am, ’cause there’s a lot of family money that greases the skids for people whose families have sent kids here for generations.

The others, without family money, are super bright and compulsively studious. Then there’s me.

So I have no idea how I’m doing, other than I probably passed."

"You’ll be fine. Anyway, I’m tired. I’m going to sleep for twelve hours. We’ll talk more tomorrow when my brain is functioning again. It was nice to hear your voice."

"Not as nice as it was to hear yours. Till tomorrow. Good night."

As I hung up the phone, I realized that I had a smile on my face.

I carried that smile to bed where I lay awake awhile thinking about Karen. Oddly, only a few of the memories were of the naked Karen and the things we’d shared. She made me happy regardless of what she was wearing. That thought carried me off to sleep.

I didn’t hear Mindy come home, but she must have since her door was closed when I awoke and went in to brush my teeth. If her experiences were anything like mine, my mother would have stayed up till she got home and grilled her about the evening.

I got dressed and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. My mother came up from the basement where I could hear the washer running.

"I can do that, Tom."

"It’s already done, nothing more to do." I’d scrambled a couple of eggs and made toast, and I sat down to eat them.

"Mindy have a good time?" I asked.

"She always does. She likes socializing. I wish she’d be a bit more fond of her books, though, like you were."

"It may take her longer to find the thing she likes and wants to work at. Not everybody figures it out in high school. Or even in college, for that matter."

"If that’s meant to be encouragement, it’s not working."

"Sorry. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to her, drop a few hints."

"Couldn’t hurt. She doesn’t pay that much attention to me or your father when we talk about school and college. It’s like when we start discussing it, a switch gets turned off in her brain and the words just roll off."

"I’ll see what I can do. I’m gonna have some more coffee."

She asked me to pour her some, too, and again the interrogation began. It could easily be mistaken for friendly conversation, but this was her thing, she had to know everything. She had almost another month to ask questions, but she was not one to waste an opportunity.

What new friends had I met at school? Tell me more about your roommate. Tell me again, what clubs did you join? What do you take next semester. Which girls have you gone out with?

Did you like them? What was your class schedule like?

Et cetera. Et cetera. I humored her for a while. Most of her questions were harmless, and I knew it gave her some vicarious pleasure to hear about my college experiences. But, honestly, it got old fast.

I was saved by a bleary-eyed Mindy stumbling into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

Mom’s eyes locked onto the new prey and I made my escape.

I went upstairs, and to busy myself I wrapped the presents I had bought. I’d bring Karen’s when I went to see her, but I brought the others downstairs to put under the small tree in the corner of the living room. I sat in a chair and looked at it for awhile, remembering Christmases when we were younger and the endless speculation of what surprises were wrapped in those boxes.

Mindy wandered in, looking slightly brighter. "Nice party?" I asked.

"It was fun, lots of people there. Dancing and plenty of food. I made Evan dance so much I about wore him out."

"Bet he had no idea what he was getting himself into when he asked you out."

"I’ll have him trained in no time."

"And more parties scheduled, I’ll bet?"

"I think there’s at least one every night except Christmas Eve and Christmas day. I won’t go to all of them, but they’re there if I want."

"Don’t run yourself down. You still have to go back to school in another week or so."

"Yeah, I know. I’ve got some books to read over vacation, too."

She started on a rant about how unfair it was to have this work to do while she was on vacation, and how it just wasn’t right. Especially Mr. Maloney, in English, who wanted us to read two books, like we have nothing else to do. The nerve of the man.

She was on autopilot now, and could keep this tirade going for a long time, feeding off her own indignation. While she talked, I wondered idly why some people, like Karen and I, for example, could get so wrapped up in classes and assignments, and others, like Mindy and most of my high school friends, were indifferent and avoided it as much as possible, Why are some people programmed to be introspective and studious? Was it innate, or was it something we learned to do or not do as children? I didn’t have any answers.

Then I started speculating about how I had, in effect, reprogrammed certain learned behaviors—granted, they were learned sexual responses, but it shouldn’t matter—and whether it might be possible to, say, program a positive response, gratification, in order to change behaviors that were self-defeating.

For example, Mindy got bored by her reading assignments, or from doing her math homework.

They became tedious tasks to be gotten through as quickly as possible and with as little thought expended as she could. Going through the motions to get it finished, while retaining almost nothing from the process of completing it.

What if she suddenly found that she was getting some satisfaction from having understood something, from having learned something new, from thinking about it in a new way? Would that be a self-perpetuating behavior? Can you program someone to like learning something?

It was true in a sexual sense if they got a rush of physical pleasure from the behavior they had previously avoided. Shouldn’t it also be true in an intellectual sense if they got a feeling of achievement, a sense of pride, at having understood something?

Mindy was still ranting, seeing that I was still there and apparently listening to her complain without looking bored. I found her link and walked it up into her epicenter. I did this tentatively, because this was the first time I’d done it with her. Family had previously been off-limits, a decision I had made soon after I had discovered these talents.

Her epicenter was just as I’d expected. Disorganized, messy, papers and clothes strewn everywhere. I could see the object of her ire, the unfairness of books to be read on her time, and, surprisingly, a picture of what I assumed was Mr. Maloney’s face—I wasn’t sure, he was new this year, but that’s who I assumed it was.

This was a more abstract target than I was used to. I wasn’t sure how to identify a person’s attitude toward learning. It was a concept, ephemeral, and I wasn’t sure how to imagine it so I could locate it. I started with something more concrete, school, and her place in it. I stepped through the ’wall’ of the epicenter to where the control center usually was, and I visualized school, and learning.

Nothing presented itself, but there were several control panels and I circulated among them, trying to concentrate as hard as I could on this nebulous concept. Well, there’s something. I wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a glowing area in the corner of one of the panels. I imagined it in the center of the screen, and it moved to the middle.

So what was I looking at? I experimented, and focused only on the idea of learning alone. The blob disappeared. Crap. Okay, switch it around, focus on ’school’. The blob reappeared. This wasn’t what I wanted, I didn’t care where the learning was done, in school or elsewhere, it was the idea of learning that was important.

These control panels weren’t labeled. It was guesswork as to what each was for. I’d previously found that one of them controlled interpretation and processing of sensory input, like smell or touch. Others were devoted to system control functions, like heart rate and respiration, dilation of blood vessels, and so on.

There had to be something for less specific functions, things not directly body-oriented. I pulled that first image, learning, back and focused on it exclusively. It took some effort to hold that in my mind while I examined the various panels and also listened distantly to Mindy still in full dudgeon.

There were no boundaries in this place, almost as if the room in which they were placed was limitless. Panels everywhere. Show me where you are, I shouted at it. Finally, in a corner (it seemed like) there was a panel with a spot that gleamed. I let the image fade, and the spot followed.

I focused on ’learning’ again, and it reappeared.

I was going in circles. The thing I was trying to inculcate was so hazy and vague that I wasn’t sure how to program a response to it. An idea such as replacing a gag reflex with a pleasure response was concrete enough that it was fairly easy to do, but this...

I instead tried to remember what it felt like for me when I had mastered some concept, like finally learning how to do line integrals, or the first time I felt like I could speak Spanish without stumbling over every grammatical construct. I recalled the sense of elation and pride, even if fleeting, but it had given me a rush.

I had no idea what I was doing but I took a shot in the dark and brought up the hazy idea of

’learning’ and saw it appear on the panel as an amorphous, glowing blob, and while it was there I also imagined a sense of accomplishment and pride. It might have been my own wishful thinking, but I thought that the shape and color had changed slightly.

I mentally threw up my hands. I’d done what I could do, and I didn’t think I could do any better for now. It told me that I was going to have to give a lot more thought to how to instill these vague and indeterminate responses in a subject, and especially how to combine them, like ’learning’ and

’satisfaction’. I stepped out and found Mindy still going strong, having found a willing ear for her protests.

I listened a little longer, and finally broke in as she paused to take a breath.

"Yeah, you’re right, it’d probably be better if he hadn’t done that. It’d certainly be more realistic, like he’s gonna get a bunch of kids to actually sit down and study over vacation. Maybe it’s

’cause he’s new and he wants to impress the principal or the department head. But the fact is he did it, and you’re probably gonna be tested on it, so you’ll have to carve out some time to do it.

What are the books he wants you to read again?"

She told me, and I remembered that they weren’t that long and not very hard, and I told her that.

I left her with, "Who knows? You might even like them."

"Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen," and stormed off.

Christmas wasn’t for a couple more days. This year we were gathering at Aunt Betsy’s house, my mother’s sister. They didn’t get along that well, each having different goals in life, and each thinking the other had chosen the wrong path. But the upside for the rest of us was that there was a constant competition between them as to who could host the best family dinners. There were bragging rights to be had, so it was always a bare-knuckle competition, and we, the spectators, got to eat the food.

The downside was that I had to spend time with my cousin, Andrea, who hated me and wasn’t all that fond of her own family, either. She would show up, eat her food silently, then disappear into her lair. I could tolerate it for a few hours. She was a year older, so this would be her second year of college, a state school far away. I doubted she was happy about her college experience, either.

There was a knock on the back door, and I heard my mother say, "Jeff! Nice to see you, and Merry Christmas. I see you survived your first semester of college. Tom’s in the living room."

He swept in and we pounded each other on the back, each talking over the other. "Let’s go upstairs so we don’t bother everyone else," I said. A polite way of saying let’s find someplace we won’t be overheard.

The details aren’t important, he just wanted to brag a bit about all the new experiences he’d had, the parties he’d gone to, the women he’d met, the struggles with classes. And he quizzed me, too. We went back and forth for a couple of hours until my mother called me to the phone.

"I probably should get going anyway, Carter. Gonna meet Kate later, give her her present. Let’s meet up again before we have to go back."

I agreed and he took off. I picked up the phone.

"Important conference with your stockbroker?" Karen asked.

"Exactly. My extensive stock portfolio. Are you recovered from your jet lag?"

"I slept really well, and I feel better now. Listen, my mother suggested that you come over for dinner. I think they want to grill you about your first semester so it’ll make me feel better about mine. I may have moaned and groaned a bit too much."

"I’d like that. I’d especially like to see you with some of that self-confidence chipped off the veneer. That’d be fun."

"You know that I keep an extensive file I’ve gleaned from your emails about all the things you worried about over the past few months, right?"

"A few disappointments, a couple of minor stumbles, nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, six o’clock okay?"

"I’ll look forward to it. I’m going to go polish my sneakers now."

She snorted and hung up.

I went down and told my mom I’d be eating over there tonight. She said, "Oh, that’s nice.

Maybe you should invite her here for dinner. After Christmas, I mean."

"I’ll bring it up."

And so, a little before six found me ringing her front doorbell. The door opened and I thought my heart was going to leap out of my throat. I didn’t think it was possible, but she had gotten more beautiful, changed somehow for the better. Maybe it was a bit more self-assurance, more presence.

Her smile was glorious.

"Are you just going to stand in the doorway?"

"I was afraid I’d miss something. You look wonderful."

She pulled me in and pushed the door closed, then wrapped her arms around me. Instantly I was transported back to the last time we were together, the smell of her, the texture of her skin, the way her face pressed against mine. I separated enough to get my lips against hers and give her a long kiss, several months in the making.

I held her at arm’s length and looked at her, memorizing her again.

"I’m trying to figure out what’s changed. It’s something... Wait, it’s your hair. You’ve cut it differently!"

"Hah! You’ve passed the first of your tests. One of my roommates talked me into going to a hairstylist she swore by and this is what happened."

"I like it. A lot. It frames your face better, makes you even more beautiful, if that’s possible."

"And second test passed. Come in and say hello to my parents. What’s that you’re carrying?"

"Oh, right. Your Christmas presents."

"Well, let’s detour and put them under the tree."

Her living room was, of course, larger than mine, and the tree correspondingly bigger, more impressive.

"Oh, that’s beautiful, Karen."

"Yeah, I’ve always liked it. I was never too much into the gift-swapping side of the holiday, but I always loved the tree. When I was a kid, I used to spend hours just lying on the floor looking up at it. It made me happy."

I put her two gifts under the tree with the others, and we went into the kitchen where her parents were making dinner.

"Tom, you’re here! Merry Christmas. Nice to see you again," said her mother.

Her father, who was the real chef, looked up from his preparations and spared me a moment.

"Hello, Tom. Glad you’re here."

They were good folks. I was a bit intimidated by them when we first met, fearful of their judgment about me and their daughter, but it had worked out and now we liked each other.

"Okay," said her mother, "let’s hear it. Start from the beginning, from when you first got to campus. Did your parents take you?"

So I had to go through it again, all the things I’d just finished telling my parents, and more. To be fair, they weren’t just being polite, they really were interested. We sat at the table and started eating, but the questions kept coming, and they homed in when I started talking about how at sea I’d felt in some of my classes. Karen had been right, they were trying to demonstrate that it wasn’t just her who felt unprepared, everyone did.

"So," asked her father, "if I’m hearing you correctly, you felt lost for a while, underwater, but you threw yourself into it and eventually found yourself able to keep up, right?"

"More or less. As I told my parents, the amount, the depth and the detail of the lectures was almost overwhelming, but if you put yourself deep into it, it somehow comes together and you see the subject like you’re able to view it from above and see how all the elements interact. You get to understand the framework in which the subject makes sense.

"I think there are a few lucky individuals who pick that up intuitively, but I had to work at it before I started to understand it."

Her mother said to Karen, "See? You weren’t the only one who felt lost."

Karen gave me the look with the raised eyebrow, the one that said, "What did I tell you? All a plot to make me feel better."

The conversation got a little more general after that, more talk about the social side of college, university clubs, parties, meeting new people, trying to understand other cultures, campus food.

They brought out dessert and coffee. Cheesecake! She remembered! One of my last times here for dinner, her mother had served cheesecake which had made a big impression on me. I don’t think I’d eaten it since.

Over dessert, the conversation turned to life goals. Karen’s didn’t seem to have changed much.

She was still undecided between math and computer science as a major, and was now leaning to doing a double major, which would give her more options when it came time for grad school (which seemed to be a given in her case).

I admitted that I, too, was still up in the air, but was leaning toward psychology, perhaps clinical psychology, which would probably involve some grad school, too.

Her father said to Karen, "Oh, I envy you, baby. I wish I could do college again, with what I’ve learned from life, then I could really get something out of it."

"You seem to have done pretty well for yourself with the college you have."

"Yeah, that’s not really what I meant, it’s more about being in an environment where people are immersed in trying new things, new ideas. You don’t get that in business very much."

"What was that movie," I asked, "from a few years ago, with Rodney Dangerfield? Oh, Back To School! Successful businessman decides to go back to school to inspire his college freshman son, who wonders why he should be in college when his old man did just fine without it. That could be you."

"Don’t tempt me. It wouldn’t take much encouragement."

He and his wife began reminiscing about their college years, which Karen and I took as a signal.

We started clearing plates and bringing them into the kitchen, stacking them in the dishwasher.

"I think this is why parents send their kids to college, so they can live their own college days again, or experience them vicariously if they haven’t gone."

"That’s how it plays out at my house. I think they’re a little envious."

"Yeah. You don’t have to go right away, do you?"

"You’ll have to throw me out."

"Oh, good, something to look forward to," she said with a smirk. "Let’s go down in the den and catch up."

Once ensconced on one of the small couches, we got close to each other, and I felt my body relax. I fell right back into that feeling that she could understand everything I was feeling, as I could her. This is what I’d missed with every other woman I’d been with.

"A couple of weeks after I got there, when classes and labs had started up in earnest, and I was feeling so overwhelmed, I was thinking back to high school and how I’d imagined college would be like. With the benefit of hindsight it was like how every elementary school kid must think high school is going to be like. I was so lost and afraid. I knew I was smart, but I felt stupid beside all these other people who were so much smarter than I."

"I hear you, and I felt much the same way. Maybe the difference between us is that you were always so competitive and self-driven, and if you felt yourself falling even just a little behind, you’d just work a little harder to catch up, and you’d always be on top.

"With me, I dunno, I don’t think I had that competitive instinct, that I had to be the best. I had fun figuring things out, understanding them, didn’t mind making a few mistakes along the way. So my grades were never perfect, but good enough. I think I envied you a little, in high school, how you could drive yourself that way. But it can be a trap, too. It can make you feel inadequate if you suddenly find yourself in a group where everyone’s even more competitive and driven than you are."

"It’s a hard habit to break, when you’ve done it most of your life."

"I’ll bet it is. But I don’t think it’s a habit you need to break. You’re a great student, you work at things until you understand them. You don’t need to be the best in your group. It was easier in high school, where everyone else was mostly lazier or less intelligent that you were. But ————————— has selected all the Karen Sunderlands from the best high schools in the country and some of them are faster learners than you.

"I was going to say ’more intelligent’, but I don’t think that’s right. The ability to do well in class doesn’t necessarily mean they’re more intelligent, just that they assimilate and retain facts more quickly. But understanding the material, well, that’s a different thing. That’s what I’m trying to focus on, because I think that’s what will serve me best later on."

"Are you saying I shouldn’t study as hard?"

"Nooo, I think I’m saying you should keep doing what you’re doing, but stop making it a competition, like you’re not meeting expectations, your own or someone else’s, if you don’t have the highest grade. I don’t know what my exams are going to turn out like, and if I get an A- or a B+ I’ll be thrilled because I know this is way harder than anything I ever did in high school and I’m competing against some pretty bright minds. I’m saying take as much as you can from the experience without worrying about whether you’re still the best and if people are going to judge you for not getting that A+.

"Karen, you’re in one of the best technical schools in the country, and a degree from there, whether it’s comprised of A’s or B’s is still going to be a passport to almost anywhere you want to go. Relax a bit and enjoy the ride."

"That’s hard advice to swallow, Tom. It flies in the face of everything that’s gotten me where I am now."

"If you continue to stress over your inability to be the best in your group, it’s going to bite you, make you hate the things you used to love. I’d be devastated to see that happen to you. I’m just asking you to keep your sanity and perspective, while continuing to work hard. You don’t need to be the best in your school. You need to be happy with yourself and proud of what you’re accomplishing."

She was silent for a long time. I could hear her mother upstairs in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner.

"Maybe clinical psychology is a good choice for you. You seem to have a talent for it. What you say makes some sense. I’ll think about it, Tom. It’s a difficult readjustment, not wanting to compete to be the smartest one in school."

"Agreed. Here’s something to think about. What I said before, about a degree being a passport?

With maybe one or two exceptions, a degree with good grades—not all A’s, either—will get you into any grad school you want to attend. What’s important there is being able to do the coursework

—a given, in your case—and then focus on an independent research topic. It’s what you learn now, in college, that’ll give you the experience to do research. If it were me in your shoes, I’d be looking for undergrad research opportunities. That’s the thing grad schools would look favorably upon. In addition to good grades."

She didn’t say anything, but she nodded.

Eventually she took a deep breath and rearranged herself on the couch.

"Okay. A lot to think about. But later. So you haven’t turned into a party animal? Wild, drunken parties? Orgies?"

"I must run with the wrong crowd. Though I’ll bet my roommate could make some introductions if I wanted to. I told you about him, right? He’s making a science of the lost weekend. I’m a little worried about him. He’s from money, but I bet even Daddy’s money won’t keep him in school if he doesn’t keep up with his work. It’s still only first semester, but so far no orgies, not that he hasn’t tried."

Karen looked at me, then leaned in and said quietly, "One of my roommates is Martina ————. You know that name, right? Hollywood studios? She’s told me some stories about parties she’s seen—she wasn’t supposed to be there, but it was at her friend’s house and they sneaked in—and you wouldn’t believe what... I promised I wouldn’t mention her name, but a very famous actress, was doing in the guest bedroom with three guys."

"I knew California was going to be like that! I missed the boat, orgy-wise."

"Yeah, you wish. It’s not, you know, Martina and the others I’ve met from there are just regular people. But California does seem to draw people from elsewhere who lean in that direction and want to experiment. Maybe Florida does, too. Anyway, I don’t know when I’d fit an orgy into my class schedule. Maybe in grad school." She leered at me.

"If you decide to do that, I don’t want to hear about it. Seriously, Karen."

"I’m certainly not ready for that, maybe not ever. So nothing for you to worry about." She paused deliberately, then added, "Yet."

She was making a joke, but I don’t think I would react well if I ever found out she’d done that.

She was her own woman and I had no right to set standards for her, but the part of me that loved her was covering his ears and saying, "No, no, I don’t want to hear this."

We’d promised each other that we’d try to experience college to its fullest, and that might include doing things we wouldn’t want the other to find out about. I realized that I had a double standard. I had no problem fucking women like Mandy and Gail, but I’d be miserable if I found out that she was screwing some guy she’d met at her school, even if there was no romantic connection involved. I was going to have to come to terms with this sometime soon.

"You got a little quiet just now."

"Yeah, sorry, I know you were joking about it, but somehow it still hit me hard. My bad."

"Let’s talk about other things. You still doing martial arts there?"

We talked about that for awhile, and she went on to tell me about a club she’d joined for women in technology and the unique problems they faced. We got pretty wrapped up in how to solve the industry problem, tossing ideas back and forth as we used to do with math problems in high school, and I thought, this is what I miss about being with her, aside from the sex, of course. It was the way our minds bounced off each other, picking up fragments of ideas and adding them to our own ideas, until we’d found a new way to look at a problem.

I stopped and told her that. She thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "You’re right, I hadn’t realized it. I mean, we have similar kinds of intellectual arguments in school, but it’s somehow not the same, it’s more like you’re trying to convince everyone of the superiority of your analysis, and they of theirs. We don’t do that thing where we pick off bits of the other’s viewpoint and see how it fits into our own, like with you and me. I miss that."

"I’m glad to hear you say it. I miss a lot of things about you, but that in particular.

She put her hand on my arm and said, "Listen, I think I may still have a bit of jet lag, I’m getting sleepy. I forgot to give you your present, too, so let’s do that and send you home. I’ll be here till after New Year’s, so maybe we can find another time to get together."

I knew this would end sometime tonight, but I was disappointed nevertheless. I followed her upstairs to the kitchen where her mother was reading a magazine over a cup of tea.

"Wait here, Tom, I’ll grab your present. Be right back." Karen trotted off upstairs, and her mother said, "I’ve got something for you, too." She went to the refrigerator, took out a plastic container and handed it to me.

"Just in case you start to suffer from cheesecake withdrawal on the way home."

"Well, there’s breakfast sorted, then."

Karen clattered downstairs with a plastic bag in her hand. "Okay, so you can’t open this till Christmas, right. It’s rigged to explode and cover you with indelible dye if you do, like for bank robbers."

"I promise, not till Christmas. Mrs. Sunderland, thank you for dinner, it was nice to see all of you again."

"I’m glad you came. Hope to see you again before you leave."

Karen walked me to the door. "I’m really glad you could come over. I missed you, and I’m glad we could catch up a little. If I didn’t mention it, your emails have been kind of a life preserver that kept me going. I’m happy we found a way to do that."

"Me, too. I always have this sense of excitement when I boot up my PC, because maybe there’s a new email from Karen to read. I really missed you, Karen. More than I thought I would."

She gave me a long kiss goodnight, and with the taste of her still on my mouth, I walked down the steps.