The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For what might be the last time in her life, Canna climbed down the two steep steps of the Number 45 bus and hurried toward the Number 27, trying her best to keep the umbrella trapped under her left arm while she juggled the impossibly large, unopened cardboard box in her small hands and arms. The area was practically deserted, which was to be expected, despite the fact that it was rush hour on a Friday afternoon. For the fourth time in three years, Louisiana’s governor had issued a strict stay-at-home order for all non-essential workers.

She offered up a silent prayer that the bus she was rushing toward would wait for her, but she wasn’t really observing everything properly. She tripped over a piece of broken asphalt and had to stop, setting the box down in order to retrieve the manila envelope that contained her severance paycheck and put it back under her purse. When she picked the box back up, everything threatened to slide off, but she eventually managed to balance it all. Adjusting the umbrella further into her armpit, she hoisted the box higher cursing her large breasts, which forbade her clutching it closer. Her face mask caused her dark glasses to fog, but it appeared that her bus hadn’t yet moved away from its assigned spot. The late-afternoon sun was blinding, but rolling thunder portended that the blue skies might be short-lived. She reached the bus just as the squeaking, groaning hiss of the vehicle’s breaks told her the driver was about to pull away; but thankfully, the door opened, and the impatient operator glared down at her from his tall throne.

Getting aboard was a chore. She had to lean way forward and slide the parcel onto the bus’s floor; and then she had to pick up the envelope again, along with the purse, and the umbrella, and her dark glasses, which had somehow become entangled in one side of her paper face mask before lunging off her face entirely. The driver only scowled when she tried to fish her pass out of her purse, and he jerked a thumb aft, indicating without words that she should just hurry up and get back to a seat. The breaks gave that unique sound again, and the bus lurched into motion, throwing her sidelong into the man occupying the front seat. This was a terrible crime against social distancing, and she apologized profusely as she struggled back into the vertical, but he only nodded in curt understanding as he pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer.

There was a brief moment of uncomprehending panic when she noticed that the box was suddenly gone, but then she saw the retreating back of a large man walking down the swaying aisle, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized who it was. Wally. He was the reason she had waited to take the 4:45 bus from Gentilly. He was the reason she had struggled so hard to make the connection at Delgado. To see Wally. To say goodbye to Wally.

She started to hurry after him, but as she turned, she whacked the poor man in the front seat with her umbrella. In tears now, she begged forgiveness a second time, thankful that she couldn’t see his features behind his mask. He nodded and said something that she couldn’t understand, but she hoped (and pretended) it was kindhearted. Being as situationally aware as possible, she moved down the aisle, finding the box in front of a vacant side-facing bench seat. Her seat. She settled onto it, looking across at Wally on the opposite side of the aisle on the bench facing her. His seat.

“Thank you,” she said simply. She began fumbling with her purse, cramming the envelope into it after transforming the precious check into a half-folded, half-wadded lump. Her dark glasses followed, but it was hard to zip it shut with the added contents.

“Is that really a box of Ramen noodles?” he asked, his voice the deep baritone that somehow made her knees ache. Achy knees. What an odd reaction.

She nodded without looking up from her task. “Fifty packages for ten fifty-nine,” she informed him. “And free shipping. A woman I … uh … work with had Amazon deliver it at the office.” A woman I USED to work with, she thought silently. She glanced up at him, but his image was wavering in her teary eyes. She fished a tissue out of her sweater pocket, dabbed for a moment, and looked again. Was that smile there behind his mask? That sweet, mesmerizing, gut-flipping smile? But his eyes were narrowed, his brow creased. He was worried. Worried about her. She didn’t want that, truly.

How silly to feel this way! She looked around the interior of the vehicle and tried to put things into perspective. There were about twenty people on the bus, and Wally was one of only two whites. Again, that only made sense; for while the bus route did travel through white neighborhoods, during a pandemic, anyone who could possibly drive a car instead of taking a public conveyance would do so. It wasn’t really a race thing; it was simple economics, risk versus available funds.

It was the inevitable definition of “essential worker,” which certainly stretched across all demographics, but in the end, seemed to translate into something that was disproportionately African American. You could argue with that, of course; but try doing it to the people who lived in Louisiana’s “Cancer Alley,” which, during the first pandemic, was rechristened “Death Alley” as all the pollution-spewing factories between New Orleans and Baton Rouge were able to get themselves deemed “essential,” and therefore became social Petri dishes. The factories didn’t care about race, obviously. If they had all been white people who died, it wouldn’t have made any difference to them. Workers were workers. Somebody to keep the cash rolling in.

Her socioeconomic reverie was suddenly interrupted by a moment of pure shock, for as she had looked away, toward the front of the bus, the man opposite her had suddenly moved to the vacant seat beside her. Right beside her. Almost touching her.

“Wally!” she gasped aloud, meaning it to be very loud, very demanding, but it only came out as an enthralled whisper. She had not been this close to another human being in many months.

“Canna, what’s wrong?” he asked imploringly.

You’re too close! she almost said. I can feel your arm against my elbow! But, of course, that’s not what he had meant. He was worried that she had been crying. He was concerned about her … more concerned for her emotionally than he was concerned about social distancing. Stupid dolt! Big, stupid, handsome, tender-hearted dolt! Even sitting, he was a head taller than she was, and as she peered up at him, she had the strangest thought. He’s not smiling, she realized. But, if I had a pen, I could draw that smile on his mask. It’s a little, short, lopsided smile that makes his lips curl slightly to the left.

“Canna?”

“My mother died,” she said foolishly.

“Oh, Canna. I’m so sorry.”

Stupid stupid stupid! “No,” she muttered. “I mean … that’s not what I meant to say.” She took a deep breath, feeling the face mask suck in slightly as she inhaled. “I mean, she died four months ago. That’s not why I’m …. I mean, I really wanted to tell you that …” That and you’re sitting too close! (Why couldn’t she say that?)

“Was it the new virus?” he asked tenderly.

“Yes.” She said it automatically, without thinking at all. He asked, she answered. Simple. Automatic.

Why did everyone call it that? The first pandemic had a name, and everyone called it by that name. But this one was simply the “new virus.” It had been so insidious! Just as the first one was finally, finally, being contained, or at least partially contained (with this vaccine being forty percent effective and that one being forty-five percent effective), there had been a new outbreak.

At first, it seemed so obvious to everyone that the original virus had changed somehow, had mutated or expanded (or whatever it was that viruses did). And by the time the Centers for Disease Control had figured out that it was an entirely new airborne strain, it had been too late. They couldn’t even blame it on another country with this one, which had been so politically expedient the first time. Instead of bats and pangolins in Wuhan, it had been armadillos and starlings around Dallas, and it had an unheard-of incubation period of almost four weeks! By the time they knew it even existed, it had gone international, since the early symptoms were nothing at all like the first one.

A nation that was numb with economic rollercoaster swings simply saw its economy collapse into a full-blown depression. This was the apocalypse, only everyone just struggled on, because there was nothing else to do. An apocalypse with the buses still running.

Other countries fared a little better; but this one, the only large country without a federal healthcare system, was dragged into an economic abyss. This was a nation of more than 6,000 separate, independent, private hospitals, funded by more than 900 separate, independent, private insurance companies, with a combined spending of almost four trillion dollars a year (BEFORE the pandemics). Some patients were being charged a million bucks for a two- or three-month hospital stay; and no one could possibly pay that (most could afford to pay nothing at all). Cash-strapped by the first disease, the big insurance companies went first, and then the medical facilities themselves quickly began declaring bankruptcy.

Of course, when science fiction ever does actually become reality, it’s never as bad as they describe. For, while lawmakers in Washington, D.C., sat back and let the insurance companies fail, they acted before the hospitals closed. Now, however, almost all were relying entirely on subsidies through a string of never-ending federal bailout programs and loans that no one actually believed would ever be repaid. Congress “manufactured” more and more money to cover the loans, and the dollar collapsed against almost every other currency.

Everyone lost someone, at least a friend or acquaintance. In some sad incidences, whole families succumbed; and in the worst cases, near-entire congregations, or companies, or towns. None of the craziness that occurred with the first disease was present with this one. There were no giant college parties, no huge events where no one distanced or refused to wear masks, no pushback, no “freedom” protests or refusal to get vaccinated. This one was too serious to treat so cavalierly. But it was frighteningly repetitious, just more of the same. On and on. Year after year.

How could Canna’s petty little problems possibly hope to compare in the grand scheme of things?

“I need your help,” Wally said flatly.

“What?”

“Your help. I need your help with something. You will help me, won’t you?”

Somehow, she was undergoing a weird sort of paradigm shift. “I … um … Yes, of course. What is it?”

He had leaned forward, and he was rooting around inside a computer bag that she hadn’t noticed until now. “It’s an important project. It’s about perspective. I need you to look at something and give me your opinion, your feedback.” He sat back up, balancing a tablet computer on his knees as he fumbled with an alcohol wipe packet. She heard him curse softly as he dropped it, retrieved it, and finally started scrubbing a set of headphones with the thing. The pungent, very familiar scent of disinfectant wafted over her.

“I … uh … wanted to talk to you,” she stammered. What did he think he was doing? Even with alcohol swabs, asking someone to put on a pair of headphones (that had been God-knows-where) is something that you just didn’t DO! “Wally, I don’t think ….”

But the headphones were on now. He had just snapped the things onto her noggin, trapping her ears. This was crazy. Crazy. He was near her. Next to her. Touching her! The whole world seemed to twist. She took a deep breath and a pressure appeared to be settling inside her chest.

What did she really know about this man? She knew that he lived somewhere south of Gert Town, because when she got off the bus, he stayed on. She knew that he could give himself a haircut, because it was neat, well-trimmed around his ears and the back of his neck; and of course, the barbershops had been closed again for the longest time. She knew his name, but only because he had introduced himself that first time, weeks ago, sitting across from her, in HIS seat, over there; not touching her in HER seat, over here. She knew that she liked him enough to want to go to a great deal of effort to tell him goodbye. She knew that he had the dreamiest smile, because she had seen it once, just once, when he removed the face mask enough to say hello during that brief introduction. Just that once. But she could see it still, in her mind. And … right now, at this very moment … she knew that her nipples were so stiff that they actually hurt.

“Frist, I would like to thank you for helping me,” Wally said, his voice booming, authoritative, respectful while demanding respect. Why had everything suddenly become so quiet?

“Oh, that’s o ….” She began, though she couldn’t seem to hear her own voice.

“This is an experiment in perception,” he interrupted. She blinked and closed her mouth. Ah, yes. Perception. It finally dawned. Wally wasn’t speaking, or at least, not directly. She was listening to a recording … through noise-cancelling headphones. “I want to show you something, and I want you to remember what you see. Then, we will change something. Your perspective. And I want you to remember how whatever you are looking at changes.”

“Or how I perceive that it changes,” Canna said, though she couldn’t hear herself say it. She was about to look up at him, but the tablet suddenly blinked on, showing a photo of a crystal that seemed to be suspended right in the middle of the screen.

“Please study the picture of the crystal carefully,” Wally’s voice said, seeming to almost come from inside her head. “As you watch, giving it your full attention, your perception of it will begin to change. It will do this as your mood, attitude or temperament changes. A little later, we might explore the physical characteristics of the gem when you are tense, or irritated or angry. But first, we need to observe those perceptions when you are relaxed. Physically relaxed. Completely relaxed. This portion of the program feels very good with most subjects, and I’m sure the same will probably be true with you. Most people love to feel deeply relaxed.”

At least now she knew something about Wally. He was obviously attached to some university here. She’d taken tests like this during freshman psych at Delgado (which was where she’d just changed buses). She’d even volunteered for a four-hour psych study. They’d given her fifty bucks for it! And it was very much like what Wally was doing now. Watch this. Do that. Push this button when you see such and such. That sort of thing. She hoped this one didn’t include Rorschach tests. She hated Rorschach tests.

No, this test apparently only included the sparkling gem. Wally’s droning voice made that crystal clear. Her lips drifted into a smile when she thought that. Crystal clear. That’s a good one. The voice was instructing her to relax different body parts—her hands, her arms, her feet, her legs. Breathe, he ordered; and she did. Relax this. Breathe. Relax that. Breathe.

Slowly, surely, the crystal began to change. It was so subtle at first that she almost didn’t notice, but it was definitely happening. Of course, deep down, she knew that the sharp edges of the quartz (it looked like a quartz, long and clear and six-sided, though it might have been something else) was not really changing from pink to deep red. It was just her perception of it. That’s what this test was all about, after all. And yet, the more she relaxed, the more the edges seem to change. She needed to remember this. It was important. Important to Wally. She really wanted to help Wally. She really wanted to please Wally.

The voice explained again about how good it felt. Deep relaxation, that is. And, it spoke about how much she would enjoy it. She would like this feeling. Like this feeling of deep relaxation. Many subjects fell asleep during this part of the program, he said. Most of them did, actually. She recognized this as a problem. She only spent thirty minutes on this bus before her stop. And yet, her clear-thinking, sharp mind was able to figure out that this wasn’t really a problem at all. Wally knew where she got off. Wally would wake her up when they got to her stop. She could just put herself in Wally’s hands. Mmm. That sounded nice. Putting herself in Wally’s hands. Yes, that would be really nice. So very nice.

“Canna!” the voice insisted. Come to think of it, the voice had insisted more than once. Loudly. Why couldn’t he just let her sleep? Oh, but it was raining. She had to wake up to open the umbrella. Where was it? Where had she put it? “Come on, Canna! Please!”

She forced herself awake and looked up at him, only to find that his eyes appeared frantic above the face mask. “I need my umbrella,” she told him sensibly. “It’s raining.” But then she realized that she was in his arms. One was around her waist and one hand was on her face. Tentatively, she reached up and felt it, her right palm on the back of his huge left hand.

“Oh, thank God,” he gushed, relief smoothing the creases in his rugged face. “You’re back! Can you stand up?”

“Of course, I can stand up!” she replied indignantly. “I’m standing, aren’t I?” She straightened her spine, realizing only then that he had been supporting her weight, and she stepped back away from him, immediately missing the feel of the hand against her cheek. She blinked up at the darkened sky through the branches of massive, moss-strewn oak trees. “It’s raining,” she repeated. “My umbrella is …” she looked down at her shuffling feet, “… somewhere.” And finally, finally, she verbalized the obvious. “What happened to the bus?”

The voice inside her head had been so loud, so clear; but he was facing away from her now, bending over, and it was hard to hear him. “I couldn’t wake you up! We missed your stop!”

Ah. He had put her stupid cardboard box on top of a piece of root-broken sidewalk, which had kept it above puddle-level. He wrestled with the umbrella for a moment, finally getting the thing open, and he handed it to her.

A familiar sound reached her ears from far away, and she spun toward it, seeing it go by three blocks to her left. “Is that the Saint Charles Streetcar? Where are we?” And at last, she figured it out. “Wally, we’re in the Garden District!”

“We’re not that far south of your stop!” he tried to justify. “A mile, maybe. You wouldn’t wake up! My place is only two blocks from here. I’ll drive you home.” And to make things even more surreal, the sound of thunder rolled in from some undeterminable direction and bounced helter-skelter between the huge surrounding stately houses.

She blinked a few times, her mind still muzzy, as if she’d just awakened from an afternoon nap she hadn’t intended taking. “You … you LIVE here?”

He had just picked up the silly box, and he followed her glance as she looked around. “Oh, good heavens, no! I couldn’t afford one of these places! Mine is two blocks that way.” He tried to point, but the computer satchel slipped off his shoulder. He readjusted things, the leather case now on top of the box. “Come on,” he ordered, and started walking west. But, after a few paces he realized that she wasn’t with him, and he turned back to face her.

“How did I get off the bus? Did you carry me?”

He took a breath, and his face mask slipped, skewing to the right. “No. I told you to follow me, and you did. You were very … uh … suggestible. Come on, Canna. It’s only two blocks. I’ll drive you home.” He turned again and took a few more steps, but sensed right away that she wasn’t following.

“Suggestible.” She let her spoken word float around them for a moment. “That wasn’t a psych test, was it?”

He sighed deeply and the mask slipped a little more. “No, that was not a psych test. That was a hypnotic induction. But you … I mean, it didn’t go the way I … I mean ….” He seemed to stall, and he stood there, silent, staring down at his feet. Finally, he seemed to find some courage and he met her eyes again. “Canna, please. It’s raining harder. I’ll just drive you home, I promise. It’s only two blocks!” He didn’t turn this time, just took a few shuffling steps sideways in the direction he wanted them to go; but again, she remained planted to the same spot, and he paused, shoulders slumped, defeated.

“If you have a car, why do you take the bus?” she asked.

Angry now, he reached up and tore the sodden mask from his face, turning it into a ball of wet papier mache. “Why do you THINK I take the bus!?”

She overcame the urge to take a step back away from him and held her ground. Despite her resolve, when she spoke the next question, it was a plaintive whine. “Wally, have you been stalking me?”

“Stalking you!? Of course not! It was just … just ….” And he stopped, quiet and still for the longest time. She refused to say another word, anxious to hear what he had to say. At last, he looked up and met her gaze, and he nodded. “It was just something that probably looked that way. In point of fact, I see now that, despite my intentions, you have every right to feel the way you do. Canna, I am so, so sorry. I’ve acted horribly. Let me call you a cab.” He reached for his cell phone and almost dropped the box.

“What intentions?” she asked.

He blinked water out of his eyes. “What?”

“Despite your intentions, you said. What WERE your intentions? Why did you make that hypno-tape recording thingy for me?”

“I DIDN’T make it for you!” he pleaded. “It’s part of my series of standard inductions! If you remember, it didn’t use any names! It was a generic recording I made for a graduate course I taught last year. I have a couple dozen saved on my computer.” He tried to calm himself. “You were crying. You were in pain because of your mother’s death! I’m a professional, and I thought I could help you! Plus, I like you! That much should be obvious! I couldn’t bear to think that you ….”

“Oh, good grief!” she said, stamping her small foot, splashing in the puddle she didn’t realize she’d been standing in. “You silly idiot!”

“What?” He was genuinely flustered.

“I was crying because I’d just inadvertently clobbered a guy with my umbrella! And, crying reminded me that I was sad. And, I was sad because I’d just lost my job, even though I knew it was coming because I was the next person in line to be laid off. And, that reminded me that I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent. And that’s because my Mom and I used to split the rent, but she’s not with us anymore. So, I was thinking about Momma when you asked me why I was crying, and that’s what I said. In other words, I cry a lot. Some girls are just criers. Get used to it! Now, where’s this little bungalow of yours?” She waved her arm in a gesture that conveyed “Let’s get on with it!” and finally began moving in his direction.

He splashed away toward the west, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure she was actually following this time. “You mean, after thinking that I was some kind of psycho-whacko stalker, you’re still following me home?” he said loudly over his shoulder.

She remained three paces behind him. “If you murder me with an axe, I swear I’ll never speak to you again!”

Five minutes later, they were mounting the front steps of a very nice home. It wasn’t as large as the mansions she’d seen near the bus stop, but it was still pretty imposing, and one of the biggest private homes she had ever been to. She had no idea how old the place was, but it was certainly built in the old southern style, with very tall windows and a covered front porch that wrapped around the sides of the structure.

Wally dumped the box and satchel on the porch floor and fished a key out of his pocket. “Just a second,” he urged, before dashing inside. She followed him with her eyes and watched as he tapped at a security alarm panel, then reemerged, dripping rain from every part of himself.

“I should drive you home,” he muttered solemnly.

“That would be … prudent,” she responded, without emotion. But the emotion was still there, of course, bounding around inside her; and before he could react to her answer, she blurted out: “That first time on the bus … the time you introduced yourself … you remember that, right?”

His countenance had stiffened with her first words, but it softened now. “Yes, of course I do.”

“How did that happen? You weren’t following me then, were you?”

“No! Of course not! I’ve never followed you! My car was in the shop, and I took the bus up to NOU. I was part of a guest lecture series, a one-time thing in a huge lecture hall with four seats blocked off between students for distancing. On the way back, I had to connect to another bus. You got on after I did, and we just happened to sit across from each other. The next day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you; and so, on a whim, I took the bus up to Delgado and then got on the same one back as the day before, and there you were again. It just sort of became a part of my day after that.”

“Oh.” She thought awhile as another clap of thunder swam laps around the neighborhood. Staring almost pleadingly up at him, she asked: “That’s not really stalking, is it?”

“Well, I’d never really thought about in that term before, but I can certainly understand how you might choose to draw that conclusion.”

“I choose not to,” she stated, nodding her head to emphasize it. “Um … draw that conclusion, I mean. Although the alternative is just a wee bit far-fetched.”

“What alternative?”

“Me, you big oaf! That a guy that lives in a house here … in this neighborhood … in a house like this … would get all mushy about a girl from Gert Town, and he’d never even seen her face!”

He gave a single dismissive grunt. “I’ve seen your eyes,” she stated flatly.

“Oh Pul-Eze! My eyes?!”

And there it was. That boyish smile. The sight of it hit her with knee-weakening force. “I would really love to see your face, Canna,” he told her softly. “But you have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. Ever. On anyone. And, when you talk, you say things! Plus, you don’t think a guy can just fall for a part of you … the part of you he sees?”

Like your lips, she didn’t say, but then mumbled: “My eyes are not the body parts guys glance at, if they glance at all.”

His eyes began to flick south, but he clenched them shut before they did so. “Oh, no you don’t!” he announced. “You almost made me look, but I refuse to debase myself any further with you tonight!”

At that, she lowered her gaze, grateful that the mask hid her grin, and wondering if it was also hiding her blush. She didn’t trust herself to say anything further.

“Can you come inside for a little while?” he asked hopefully. “We can at least dry out a little before I drive you home. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

She followed him inside, trying hard not to rubberneck, but failing miserably. The high ceilings, the typically southern wallpaper, the tall doors with their half-circle transom windows, the antique hall stand (where he draped his jacket and her sweater), the rack that was designed to hold her dripping umbrella, it was all like something out of an old historical novel.

But a black cat with bright tortoiseshell yellow-orange markings was suddenly tangled between her feet, rubbing rapturously against her legs, purring loudly. She bent down and pet it. “And who do we have here?”

“Ah, you’ve found Beau! Don’t let him bully you!”

“Beau?” She gave him a questioning look, grinning.

“My best friend gave him to me as a housewarming gift when I moved in here six months ago. He told me that he’d picked him up at an animal shelter. Named after General Beauregard, he said. Beau, for short.”

The mask hid her laughing smile. “Oh, I see. Your best friend, huh?”

They were in the kitchen now, and he was rifling through a folder of papers he had picked up. “Yeah. Probably not very politically correct, huh? Naming him after a Confederate General.” He pulled out a few papers from the file. “You see, ever since we were in grammar school, we’ve played little jokes on each other. Last year, I set him up for a blind date, a double-date; and as a joke, I talked my little sister into going. The joke was on me, though! He married her a few months ago. Now, he’s my brother-in-law.” He chuckled while she walked to a chair, only to find herself with a lapful of cat as soon as she sat down.

“Joke was on you, huh?” she asked pointedly.

He finally caught on to her tone of voice. “What? The joke wasn’t on me?”

“Oh, yes; I’m sure it was. I’m willing to bet your friend and your sister had been seeing each other long before that date. You’re … uh … sort of gullible.”

He was suddenly intensely alert. “What? Why?”

“You can’t name your cat ‘Beau’ after General Beauregard. Bo Derek, maybe.”

“Say what?”

“It’s a calico, Wally. You can’t have a male calico cat. A calico is always female.”

He blinked and thought about it for a while. “I … I thought it was a breed.”

“Nope. Color variation. It could be any of several breeds. But always a female.” She scratched the feline behind the ears. “Don’t worry, Bo. Us girls will stick together.” The cat seemed to purr louder.

“He told me it had been neutered!”

As if to prove the point, the animal jumped down, sauntered over to a corner, sat, lifted one of its hind legs into the perfect vertical, and began licking itself in a most unladylike manner. Canna tried desperately to keep from laughing, but failed. “Neutered doesn’t look like that. Girls look like that.”

Wally mumbled curses toward his unseen friend, mixing in one or two for his sister, as well, then seemed to want to get to the matter at hand. “I need you to look at these, please,” he told her, spreading the papers out on the counter. After she joined him, he continued. “This is a receipt for a vaccination for the last virus, and this one is the booster.” He tapped each in order. “This is a negative test for the new virus in December; and this was another negative in March. This is the paperwork for one of the new trial vaccines put together at Johns Hopkins. I got the shots at Tulane. And this one …” he patted it rather proudly with the palm of his right hand, “… shows that I’m positive for antibodies but negative for the disease, and it’s from just last month.” He stood back, waiting for her to connect the dots in her head. He didn’t get the reaction he’d hoped.

“My God. Is this what rich people do to get a date in our new society?”

“Uh … I’m just trying to be safe. And anybody can get tested.”

She barked a single laugh. “So easy to say!” Then she took a deep breath. “I’ve had three part-time jobs in the past three months. And, during that time, as what’s left of our city’s economy has fallen apart, I’ve lost them all, one by one.” She leaned forward and slapped one of the forms. “Without insurance, this test costs a hundred and fifty bucks. This one is two twenty-five. The vaccine for the first virus is an even hundred. The booster is another hundred. They might as well be thousands, as far as I’m concerned. I used to live with my Mom, but I was evicted after she passed. I found a new place, but I still can’t pay my rent. The only way I can afford food is to use a friend’s membership to buy Ramen by the case when it goes on sale! And I have no IDEA how to apply for a vaccine study!”

He plopped down on a bar stool and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” He looked almost infinitely sad, and she suddenly regretted her tirade. “Look,” he continued with a plaintive sigh, “I was only trying to show you that I’m safe … that you are safe here, with me and in my house. I wanted to put you at ease, and I was going to try to coax that mask off so I could finally, finally see your face; but once again, I’ve botched things so badly that ….”

But he was struck mute when she reached up and slowly worked the elastic bands of the paper medical face mask over the tops of her ears, finally pulling it away and looking up at him meekly. “Satisfied?”

And there it was again. That smile. You’d think she’d get used to it, but it still did the same amazing things to her.

“Infinitely,” he answered, after taking a deep, grinning breath. “Will you stay for dinner? Please?”

She responded before she even thought about it. “Sure.” And then she lowered her eyes, blushing, trying to find something else to say. “I could cook you some Ramen noodles.” Oh, God! What was she doing?

His mood was joyous. Quickly, he scraped all of the papers together and stuffed them back into the folder. “No,” he told her gaily, “I know just the thing! I have the ingredients for stroganoff! My Mom’s recipe. It’ll be great! No kidding!” He turned back toward her. “But thanks for the offer!” And to emphasize that, he reached toward her hand, which was resting on the top of the counter in front of her.

Immediately, she snatched it away before he could touch her. The reaction had been so automatic! In the age of pandemic, nobody touched! Touches were reserved for spouses and lovers. Touches were something that kids did with their parents. Instant regret washed over her like a wave, and she forced herself to reach back toward him.

“Oh, Wally, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that.”

But he had turned away from her, acting as if nothing had happened at all. “Your dress is wet from the rain. And I’m soaked, of course. Let me get you a towel.”

Her emotions were spiking all over the place: happiness, curiosity, anger, humor, longing, and now depression. She watched him retreat to an area back beyond the kitchen. These older homes, which had originally been built before there was indoor plumbing, often had additions tacked on to the first story to make room for a bathroom and laundry room. He thought he was safely beyond her range of hearing, but she could still make out his low, grumbling words as he chided himself: “How fuckin’ dumb could you get, tryin’ to touch her like that, you goddam fool!”

And when he walked back into the room, she was able to add yet another feeling to the list on the emotional roller coaster. Because he had removed his shirt, and he was naked from the waist up. Somehow, she was able to stifle the gasp, but she couldn’t seem to make any other sound, either. Holy crap, he was built! There was a bath towel over his shoulders, but it didn’t hide the fact that they were very broad and muscular. He had a fairly well-defined six pack, and his right bicep flexed slightly as he handed her another, matching towel. She took it from him silently, automatically, and he turned back away from her again as he used his towel to vigorously rub his hair dry. She’d always been enthralled by his bright red hair, and she found herself questioning why the hair on his chest and back was blonde. She wondered if it was soft. It certainly looked soft.

“Would you like to freshen up?” he asked her. “The bathroom is right back there. There’s a shower, if you’d like. Or, there’s a tub in both the bathrooms upstairs.”

Her thoughts had left her reeling. “Maybe I will,” she said resolutely. Sure. Why not? She was twenty years old. She was an adult. She could do whatever she wanted! “If I put my dress in your dryer, could I borrow a robe?” She regretted saying the words as soon as they left her lips, but they had sparked a recurrence of that smile on his face, and she couldn’t very well retract them and risk its loss.

“Absolutely!” he gushed. “Go on back, and I’ll bring you one.”

She walked back the way she’d seen him go, the cat tagging along only as far as the bathroom. It was a modern, well-decorated room, with a double sink and a huge walk-in shower stall with a clear glass door. She frowned when she noticed that the bathroom door had no lock, but she screwed up her courage and stripped out of the dress, which was soaked in its lower half. She toed off her drenched sandals, then peeled down her panties, which were also damp (she hoped just from the rain). She refused to sniff them, but decided to rinse them out anyway and wring them hand-dry. The bra was dry, but it didn’t make sense to just wear that under a robe.

The showerhead was one of those things that was directly overhead, and it sprinkled water straight down like a rainstorm, only deliciously hot. Since keeping her hair dry wasn’t an option, she used the shampoo from the bottle sitting on the stall floor. Even though she tried to keep one eye on that unlocked door through the clear shower enclosure, she still couldn’t suppress a little “Eek” when she saw it crack open; but only his arm entered the space, dropping a bundle of cloth on the floor just inside.

“I brought you two,” his voice told her. “I hope one of them fits.”

After using one of the plush towels, she swiped the fog from the mirror. “What in the hell are you doing, girl?” she asked the reflection. “Just look at you! OF COURSE, he’s going to expect sex!”

On a whim, she looked through a couple of the larger cabinet drawers, and sure enough, she found a hair dryer. It only took a few minutes to put herself into some sort of acceptable shape. Finally, she examined the two robes. They were both obviously his, and they were huge. The first one, of soft, white terrycloth, left her with an immense amount of material dragging the ground, and it had sleeves that fell half a foot past her fingertips. There was no way she’d be able to walk around in that thing! The other was of heavy satin material, and the hem hit her just above the knees. The sleeves were too long, but she found that a single fold upward made the garment wearable. There were no buttons, but she cinched the belt tight and studied the reflection. Sort of exotic, but acceptable.

She hadn’t used a clothes dryer that didn’t take quarters in a long time, and she had to study the buttons on the computer-like console for a minute. Finally, after tossing in everything, including the bra, she set the thing in motion; and, carrying her sandals, she walked back into the kitchen.

“What kind of robe IS this?”

He was standing at a chopping block at one end of the counter. He was barefoot, and was now sporting a pair of Dockers and a collared, short sleeved knit shirt. He was chopping an onion, but he stopped and stared, open-mouth, for ten long seconds; long enough to make her blush and look down at her bare knees.

“Holy cow, Canna,” he said in an awed voice. “You’re … uh … You look … great!”

She took a breath. “I’m sorry, Wally. I’m really shy. I shouldn’t have ….”

“It’s a smoking jacket,” he interrupted, saving her from verbalizing further. “My friend, Rob … I guess I should call him my brother-in-law now … he gave it to me for my last birthday, along with a box of Cuban cigars. I smoked half of one and threw up. It was pretty spectacular. I gave him the rest of the box.”

“So, he got back his expensive cigars, but you got to keep this nifty smoking jacket,” she paraphrased.

“If I knew this is what it was destined for, I’d have valued it more highly.”

Again, she blushed. She watched as he resumed chopping, but then she noticed his tablet computer sitting on the counter, the oversized earphones still attached. Walking over to it, she couldn’t help staring at it, thinking.

“Hey, Wally … do you think I could …?” She hesitated, trying to think of a way to brooch the subject. “Do you think it would be weird if I said I wanted to …?” But again, she felt unable to verbalize it.

Setting the knife down, he regarded her closely. “You want to listen to the voice file you heard earlier on the bus, is that it?”

“Yes. Is that strange?”

He didn’t answer. After a moment’s hesitation, he said: “Strictly from a professional standpoint, could you try to tell me just how much you want that? Is it just curiosity, or do you feel an emotional urge?”

That made her frown. “I think ‘urge’ would be a pretty strong word.” She stared at the tablet for another fifteen seconds, then reached out and traced one of the earphones with a fingertip. “Or maybe not. It’s something that I think I’d really, really like to do. Did you do something to me while I was asleep? You told me that I was suggestible. Did you tell me to feel this way?”

Walking around to her, he reached out to touch her arm, but obviously remembering her earlier reaction, he backed away a step and sat down on a barstool. “Canna,” he said carefully, “I want to be completely up-front about this. I need you to believe me. That recording was the first in a series that was designed to bring subjects into a state of hypnosis. There were twenty recordings that ranged from fifteen minutes to about half an hour. The first one was just a series of relaxation exercises. Despite a comment in the audio file about people falling asleep, none of my test subjects actually fell into a state of hypnosis by listening to it. In fact, most of the subjects only achieved a verifiable trance state during the third or fourth recording.”

He took a breath. “The only actual suggestions in that particular file, as I recall, had to do with pleasurable feelings from being relaxed. Physically relaxed.” He wrinkled his brow, thinking. “What I’m trying to say here is that I wasn’t expecting you to fall into hypnosis this afternoon. It’s not what I was trying to do. I only wanted to calm you, and I thought the recording might do that. I was pretty shocked when I realized you were under; and I was REALLY surprised when you refused to wake up. I’ve had that happen before, twice. Both were women subjects, but the occurrences were much, much further into the process, and eventually, it was relatively easy to get them to snap out of it. So, the answer to your question is a solid no. I did not suggest the urge to listen to the recording again. And, in fact, I never suggested anything, except that you follow me off the bus, which you were only too happy to do.”

She nodded, then looked back at the tablet. “And now, back to my original question. Am I weird to feel this way?”

He smiled his special smile. “I’m a psychologist. I don’t think anyone’s weird to feel any way. I just want to figure out why they do. Would you like to hear the recording again?”

“I … I think I would, yes.”

He picked up the tablet and headphones and started toward another room. “Okay, let’s set you up in the living room.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean right now! We could wait ’til after dinner.”

He kept walking, though, and she hurried after him. “No time like the present,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s going to take me another fifteen or twenty minutes to prepare the ingredients, and then it has to bake an hour.” He paused at the side of a couch and pointed downward as a silent order.

She glanced around frantically in an attempt to take in the room and its furnishings. The couch faced a fireplace, and she wondered how much the character of the space would change if a fire was lit. There were pictures and bookcases everywhere, and she longed to explore; but instead, she dutifully sat as requested. Things were happening quickly. Before she realized it, the headphones were covering her ears and the screen of the device came to life.

“Frist, I would like to thank you for helping me,” Wally was saying in a booming voice inside her head. “This is an experiment in perception. I want to show you something, and I want you to remember what it is you see.”

The quartz gem was very clear. Crystal clear. (Would she always smile when she thought that?) The edges of it were pink, but she knew that it wouldn’t be too long before she would perceive them to be red. The voice was telling her to relax, but she already was. And soon, it would tell her that some subjects fell asleep, and that it was okay if she did, too; but again, she was already doing that.

And the voice was saying: “Canna? Come on, Canna; time to wake up. That’s right. Open your eyes! You can do it!”

“Pleeeze,” she begged, “just five more minutes!” She closed her eyes again and snuggled further into her teddy bear. Then, she shivered slightly. The covers must have slipped off the bed again.

The voice laughed. “Oh, no you don’t, sleepyhead! Wake up!”

“Wally! Please! Just five more minutes!” Why was Wally in bed with her? Grudgingly, she blinked opened her eyes, then jerked herself erect, sitting up straight. “Oh, no! What have I done?”

He laughed, but also flushed. “Hey, don’t be mad. I didn’t try anything. And … it wasn’t that bad, was it?” She had been snuggling under his left arm, her head on his muscular torso.

“I … I drooled on your chest! I stained your shirt!” She leaned forward and tried to use the cuff of the robe to rub the spot on his cotton shirt, but the satin material had absolutely no effect on the moist spot.

She stopped rubbing, leaving her left hand resting on the center of his broad chest while she slowly regained a sense of her surroundings. Reluctantly, she moved the hand, sitting up straight without inching her body away from him. Looking down, she took stock of the short lounging jacket, which was gaping open below the belt to expose a fair portion of bare thigh. Her knees were thankfully still together, and the gap hadn’t yet moved high enough to show her pubis. The top of the garment was in a similar condition. It hadn’t slipped off of either shoulder, though it was threatening to on the left, and both the tops and inner portions of her breasts were showing a great deal of surface area without quite exposing her areolas.

She put her hands together on her lap, but made no move to cover herself. “How long have we … been together like this?”

He cleared his throat. “Just a few minutes. I came in here, and you had fallen over on your side on the couch. I shook you a couple times, but once again, you wouldn’t wake up. So, I propped you upright, but you kept toppling back over. I had to … uh … join you, so I could talk to you and … uh … bring you out of it. But when I had you beside me, you kept cuddling into me. I realize it was unprofessional, but I found the situation not unpleasant.”

“Not unpleasant.” She nodded. “How did you wake me up?”

“Well, I figured that if you were as suggestible as you were this afternoon, I might be able to talk you into believing that you were in bed, and that it was time to get up. I guess it worked.”

She nodded and sighed. “You’re telling me the truth, right?”

“I swear, Canna. I haven’t lied to you. And, I won’t. You have my word.”

She let his comments settle into silence before she spoke again. “And you’re a psychologist, huh?”

“Yes. I teach at Tulane.”

“Okay. So, tell me, Prof …. No, the students call you doctor, right?” She gave him a moment to answer, but he didn’t, and she went on. “Tell me, doc. If I ask you a some pointed professional questions, will you explain things to me?”

“I’ll certainly try.”

“A little while ago, you reached out to touch me, and I snatched my hand away. Why did I do that? I didn’t want to. I think I really wanted you to touch me. After all, you had already touched my face, back at the bus stop, and I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed that.”

That grin flickered across his face. “There isn’t a name for it. Not yet, anyway. A colleague of mine is calling it ‘social contact anxiety.’ For many years, there’s been a documented condition called ‘eye contact anxiety,’ which is sort of self-explanatory. But until recently, anxiety from physical touching has been something that’s pretty rare. Now, with the possibility of potentially fatal diseases being transferred through contact, we’re experiencing a large number of individuals who are emotionally apprehensive simply being around other people. It’s something that’s especially prevalent in children, and it’s an issue that really has to be addressed. But, even among adults, distancing is being ingrained in our psyches. Your reaction was perfectly normal.”

“Alright.” She reached over with her right hand and took his left. She held it tenderly. “And now for the big professional questions. I seem to be hooked on hypnosis. Wow, that’s sort of alliterative, isn’t it? Anyway, I really like it. It feels … I don’t know … amazingly nice. And you say I’m super-suggestive. Hey, I’m really getting good at alliteration, huh? And anyway, I believe you. So, I’m just wondering ….”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Out with it, Canna. What are your professional questions?”

She looked over and up into his eyes. “Wally, I’m scared to death.”

He started to give her a reassuring smile, but failed. There was nothing but compassion in his eyes.

“Are you making me feel this way?” she pleaded. “Is it some sort of suggestion from you? Have you MADE me love you like this? Because I gotta tell you, I am head over heels crazy in love with you! Have you made me want you? Made me want to be with you? Made me want to give myself to you? I want you so much that I’d do anything … anything … to have you take me in your arms and … and … and ….”

And she was in his arms. Just like that. Just like that, he had embraced her. Just like that she had thrown HER arms around his broad neck and pulled his lips to hers. And just like that, he was gripping her, clutching her, crushing her body into his. Somehow, they were standing. No, that wasn’t exactly correct. HE was standing. She didn’t know her exact altitude, but she was certainly several inches above the surface of the room, and the kiss made her feel even higher.

Her legs felt useless, since her feet couldn’t touch the floor; so, she hoisted herself up an inch, crunched the muscles in her stomach, and wrapped her legs around his waist, locking herself to him with her ankles, grinding her bare sex against him in the process. How long had his tongue been in her mouth? And hadn’t they been holding hands? Oh, never mind. It wasn’t important. Nothing was important except him, and what he was doing to her. Her breasts were mashed hard against him, and the left one had obviously sprung free of its satin confines, because the nipple was rubbing harshly against his cotton shirt.

They were moving. She felt it in her entire body, but especially between her legs. Every time he took a step, her pussy rubbed against his waist. Up, down, up, down. Her tongue was tired. Maybe she shouldn’t be twirling it around his so enthusiastically. Stealing a quick peek, she saw pictures going past, only they were hung on a diagonal. Ah, he was carrying her up a flight of stairs.

He stumbled, and for a moment, she thought the friction between her legs would carry her into orgasm, but she lost track of it as her hands and ankles lost their hold on him. She was falling; but he scooped her up in his arms before she could hit the surface, and she was now lying flat, like a small child being carried by a father. Reaching up, she snaked her arms around him again, then nestled her cheek into the side of his neck.

They made it to the top of the stairs and started down a long hall. The doors were open, and she saw into one bedroom … but it had been converted into an exercise room, with a weight machine, treadmill and stair climber. Ah, that’s how he remained in such shape during all the stay-at-home orders. The room they now entered was large and comfortable, with a private bathroom beyond an inner door.

He set her on her feet for a moment and used his left hand to fling back the covers of a queen-sized bed. And the next instant, she felt the belt around her waist loosen. She had been in the process of reaching up for him again, but he grasped the shoulders of the garment and pulled straight down, drawing her arms downward in the process.

And she was naked. Her hands went to the center of her chest for some reason, clasped there, while her large breasts bounced on either side, the nipples distended and hard.

Staring open-mouth and mute for a long, long second, he finally found his voice. “Beautiful. So beautiful, Canna.”

She looked up at him pleadingly, but his eyes were now incapable of leaving her body. “Wally, I need to tell you something. Something I did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered.

“I … I’ve only done this once. Just once. And Wally, I was awful at it!”

He smiled placatingly. “It doesn’t matter, Canna.”

“No, really! It was with my date to the senior prom. I’m not sure what I did wrong, but he obviously hated it! I wanted to please him; I really did! But I didn’t know what to do, and he got impatient and started yelling. Everything I tried was all wrong, and I never did figure it out. He even hit me, and I’m sure I deserved it. Finally, he just yanked my legs apart and pushed right in, and he pounded me. Pounded me. God, it hurt! I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it. Finally, he squirted inside me, and he got off of me, and he pulled up his pants, and he walked out, and I never saw him again! So, I never did find out what he didn’t like about it; but it was obviously something. And I felt so … Mmph!”

He was kissing her. She made a feeble attempt at pushing him back enough to keep telling him about the worst failure in her life, but he wasn’t letting go. Oh, the hell with it! Kissing was nice. Kissing was really nice. Her arms were around his neck again, and he was courteous enough to bend slightly toward her, so she wasn’t straining so much on tiptoes. But now she was feeling his hands everywhere. On her bare back and her bare butt and her bare breasts and her bare sides. And, when he gently broke the kiss, she was suddenly too concerned about getting enough oxygen into her lungs to mention the incident further.

“Canna,” he told her gently, “whatever happened to you before is not what’s going to happen to you now. This is different. This is new. Please make love with me.”

“Yes!” she answered huskily.

He pushed her down into a sitting position. Reaching forward, she tried to help him pull his shirt up and off, but she was only getting in the way. His leather belt was thick and stiff, and again she was forced to let him do all the work. She was glad he hadn’t put on shoes or socks after changing clothes, and soon, only the underwear briefs were left. They sported a huge lump in the front. This time, she slapped his hands away and performed the task herself, licking her lips inadvertently as his erection sprang free.

She couldn’t help making comparisons in her mind. The one other guy she had been with had been black, of course. However, color aside, there were other differences. Wally was circumcised. The big difference was that, even though Wally’s cock appeared to be just as long, it was not nearly as thick. Perhaps that’s what had caused her so much pain the first time. Maybe she wouldn’t bleed as much because of it.

This was certainly a mesmerizing piece of flesh, though, that was for sure! She explored it with her hands, and was surprised by how soft the skin was, particularly on the back of its bulbous head. He shuddered and moaned when she stroked it, and he laid a hand on her bare shoulder to support himself during her examination. He seemed to be waiting for something; waiting to see what she’d do, how far she’d go. Ah. She’d read about this. All men wanted their women to suck. And she DID want to please him. She really did. And … she was an adult woman, who could make up her own mind. She could choose to do this, if she wanted. He smelled a little musky, but it wasn’t a bad odor at all. So, she gave it a little lick, just to judge his reaction. Yep, that was a reaction, alright. Oh, what the heck! She slurped the head of it into her mouth.

He groaned and shivered and tensed and shook for a few seconds, and then he pushed her back forcibly. For an instant, she was afraid he was getting violent, but he was only moving her to the middle of the bed, joining her, lying atop her.

“Don’t … don’t you want me to suck you?” she asked breathlessly. “Was I doing it wrong?”

“You were about to make me finish too quickly,” he growled. “It felt too good.”

“Isn’t is supposed to feel good?”

“I want it to be good for both of us, not just me.”

She sighed heavily, running her hands up his sides and around to his back. The hair WAS soft! She knew it would be. “I could classify this as good,” she whispered, “but I think our social distancing level has just reached absolute zero.” And it had. They couldn’t possibly be any closer than this.

He was scooting down, rubbing his chest hair against her nipples, until their faces were level. She was about to kiss him again, but she stopped and stared into his eyes, wondering if there was this level of lust in her own.

He took the initiative with the kiss. That was okay. She didn’t mind him taking the initiative. In fact, she didn’t really mind if he took it all night long. He was so much taller than she was that the tip of his erection was poking gently against her vulva, and she spread her legs to give him access. But he moved further down, robbing her not only of the feel against her pussy, but of the kiss, as well. Groaning in protest, she tried to pull him back up, but too late. He was kissing her neck now, and that erased all of her objections. The kisses thrilled her, then tickled her, and when she giggled and canted her head toward him, he nibbled her ear, and that sent her pleasure-meter soaring.

She was somehow losing track of time and events. His lips were at her breast now, sucking, licking, biting gently. He had this thing he did, where he’d pull the nipple with his teeth until it almost hurt, but not quite; and then he’d roll it gently to and fro while flicking the tit with the tip of his tongue. That was nice. She wanted to convey that opinion to him, but she didn’t seem to be able to draw enough breath to form the words; and so, she just continued clutching his head, with her fingers in his hair. She couldn’t quite remember moving her hands there, but that didn’t seem important at the moment. At least, not as important as that thing he was doing.

She left those fingers in his hair as his head moved again. She had no idea where it was going, but she knew instinctively that she lacked the wherewithal to do anything about it, anyway, so why worry? And suddenly, her entire world shrank to the size of her pussy. That was all she could feel. That was all there was. The very concept that his tongue was snaking its way up inside her wasn’t so much understood as felt. So was the notion that he then locked his lips around her clitoris, and was both sucking and licking simultaneously. The question of how he was forcing these feeling on her was superfluous. The only thing that really mattered was that he didn’t stop.

But he did stop, at least momentarily, and he said: “Now, surrender to me, Canna. Do as I say. Let go, and let it happen.” And so, as he resumed this magic, she did. She simply relaxed her entire body, her entire self. And everything just exploded.

Her orgasm hit her like a Mac Truck, building to a monumental peak and never coming back down. On and on it went, squeezing her guts like a vice, shaking her body like a leaf in a gale. Her toes cramped, and her ears rang from her own shrieks of pleasure. Even after his mouth stopped doing that … that thing it had been doing, it took her a long, long time to find reality again. Her breaths were coming in gasping gulps, her chest heaving, and she put a shaky hand to her brow. But she felt something foreign in her hand, and she forced her eyes to focus on her fingers.

“Oh, my God, Wally!” she cried, “I pulled some of your hair out!” It was just a few strands, but it must have hurt him horribly! “Let me see!” she urged, pulling him upward so she could look at the top of his head. “Are you bleeding?”

That grin made her insides melt. “I’m just fine. Let me get up and ….” He made a move to get out of bed.

“No!” she stated flatly. She reached her hand down and used her fingers to surround the shaft of his cock. What an amazing organ! So soft on the outside; so long and hard and soft, all at the same time! And this was it. This was the thing her mother had told her about. A man only thought about his cock, she had explained, and he only wanted to put it one place. But Mama’s warnings were now forcefully forgotten. Wally had been so patient with her. He had been so nice, so understanding, so enduring and easygoing. If ever there was a man who deserved to put a cock into her one place, then he was the guy. She spread her legs and pulled it toward the target.

“Canna,” he whispered urgently, resisting slightly. But she reached up with her free hand and pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply. She hadn’t expected the taste. She’d experienced it only once, late one night when she’d been lying in bed after giving herself pleasure, basking in afterglow, and she’d gotten curious about it. She’d stuck the fingers that she’d used into her mouth. This was it. This was that taste, only now it was on his tongue.

The tip of the cock was against her vulva now, spreading her lower lips and stretching her open. It would start hurting soon, she thought, but she welcomed the pain, if it meant pleasure for him. She had to return to him at least a small amount of the ecstasy he had just given her! She had to!

It was in! Or, at least a part of it was. And it hadn’t hurt at all! In fact, it felt good. Very good. It seemed to slide right into her, moving through her tight channel so easily! It was like a machine part that appeared large enough to get stuck; but despite its large size, it was so well lubricated that it moved effortlessly. This was obviously something that had been specially engineered to fit, and it stuffed and filled her to complete capacity, just like it was designed to do.

She found that she’d let go of his cock, and that made sense, since it was now completely inside her. Her hands had moved up on his shoulders, but she slid them higher still and encircled his neck with her arms, her fingers once again in his hair, vowing silently to be more careful this time. She took a deep breath, which ballooned her breasts against his hairy chest. Slowly, he withdrew a little and pushed back into her depths.

“Our … our social distancing level is now at minus six inches,” she panted, burying her face into his strong shoulder. He thrust again. “OH!” she moaned. “Make that seven inches.” Another thrust. “Oh, God! Maybe eight or nine!”

He growled like a taunted tiger, then took a ragged breath. “In your mind, I’m going to be a foot-and-a-half before you know it!” He rammed into her again.

“So deep! Oh, Wally, I think you’re about to push out my navel from the inside! You’re SO deep!”

He started withdrawing. Startled, she brought her legs up and hooked her heels around the backs of his thighs. “Don’t!” she groaned loudly. “Don’t go!”

“Canna!” he bellowed through gritted teeth. “I’m about to …. You have to let me ….”

“Don’t go!” she repeated, and used all the strength she possessed in her lower body to pull him back in.

“Arrgh!” And with his most violent thrust so far, he mashed his entire body against her, held absolutely still for a long two seconds, and he began to shake. His prick swelled impossibly large, then started twitching. She’d never felt anything like it, and she found herself clenching her inner muscles in an attempt to hold it as it throbbed against her cervix. His pubic bone was grinding against her clit, which was still insanely sensitive, and that sent small spasms rocketing through her lower body.

He remained heavily on top of her for thirty long seconds, and she felt good under his weight, weak and rubbery, her legs falling back to the bed, her arms plopping limp at her sides. But when he rolled off of her, onto his back, she followed. Straddling his hips, she lay atop him, pressing her breasts into the top of his stomach; then she put her hands, one on the other, at the base of his chest, and she propped her chin on the backs of them, so she could look up at his face. He pulled a pillow under his head and returned her gaze.

“Want to do it again?” she asked brightly.

That brought the laugh she’d been looking for. “You little minx! You’ve drained me of my precious bodily fluids!”

She sighed heavily. “I guess, now that you’ve used me, you’re just going to discard me.”

“You and your precious box of Ramen, too.” He tried to sound like the Wicked Witch of the West.

She frowned sadly. “If you do that, you will shatter my fragile naiveté.”

He appeared to think about that one. “Is that very messy?”

She gave him a solemn nod, and brought a thumb and finger together to indicate something small. “Little tiny slivers that just get everywhere.”

“Hmm. I guess I’ll keep you then, and make you my sex slave.”

“The sex sounds good, but as you might guess, I’m sensitive about the ‘slave’ part.”

He nodded, deep in thought. “Okay, then. You WON’T be a slave, but I’ll keep you permanently at my beck and call, and ravish you twice a day.”

“I can live with that.” She sighed deeply. “Oh, Wally. Ours is a forbidden love!” And with that, he lost it, and started laughing. So, since he was unable to deliver the next line, she continued. “I can’t remember. Am I the Montague or the Capulet?”

He stifled his laughter. “Oh, you’re the Capulet.”

“Come to think of it, wasn’t I the Capulet last time?”

Having had enough, he pulled her body higher, leaned forward, and he kissed her. This was comfortable. This was perfect. The sex hadn’t hurt at all! In fact, everything had been wonderful! Her whole body felt like it was glowing, except for her pussy, which was a little itchy as his cum trickled out of her.

She pulled back in shock. “Oh!” Why was it only dawning on her now? “Oh, gosh! You came inside me!”

He gave her a patient look. “I tried to get a rubber before we got started, but you were pretty insistent. And then when I tried to pull out, you locked me in some kind of judo hold and made it absolutely impossible!”

“It’s not your fault!” she insisted. “It’s mine! A girl only has one job in a relationship, and that’s to be safe! Oh, God, what have I done?”

He pulled her to the side, and she wound up nestled into his chest, with his arm around her. “You haven’t done anything, little darling,” he said quietly. “WE did something, and it was pretty great.”

She struggled to prop herself up so that she could plead her case more forcefully, but he wasn’t letting her go. Sighing, she snuggled into him and began tracing little patterns in his chest hair with her fingernail. “No,” she insisted calmly. “It’s me. It’s all me. If anyone hears about this, I’m going to be looked upon as the skank from the wrong side of the tracks that’s trying to get her talons into some rich guy.”

“I’m just some rich guy now?”

She kept moving her fingertip. “Okay, I’ve got to admit. As average rich guys go, you rank pretty high. But you see my point, don’t you? Loving you, being with you … it just looks like one big ulterior motive. People are going to hate me!” She sighed heavily. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. Every person of color in America lives with that a little. I’m used to being looked down upon, to some degree. But this is going to be real hate. I don’t think I could take that.”

He gave her that smile again, and reached down and tapped her once on the tip of her nose. “You don’t get it, do you?” When the only answer she could muster was a muddled look, he went on. “Don’t you realize that it’s me taking advantage of you? Do you really, truly have no idea how valuable a commodity you are?”

“You think of me as a commodity?”

He unwrapped his arm from her body and scooted down, facing her. Their noses weren’t quite touching. “Oh, no. I think of you as the woman I’ve fallen in love with. But that’s not the way I thought when I first met you. You were something else then. You were the person I’d been looking for, professionally, for a long, long time.”

“You … You thought I was a ‘professional’ girl?” But now he was laughing. His lips, when he laughed, were even better than they were when he smiled. She was immensely confused.

He continued. “I want to tell you this. I want to tell you EVERYTHING! I want to confide in you, the way lovers do. I want to reveal all my secrets until there are no more left. I want you so much I ache! But this … if I tell you this, I’m desperately afraid I’ll lose you.”

Unable to help herself, she reached up and stroked the side of his face. “There’s no way you’re going to lose me now, big guy. Tell me!”

“My field of study, the field I teach, is Political Psychology. Ever heard of it?”

She thought a moment. “Sounds suspiciously like Marketing to me.”

He graced her with a look of wonder. “You are one smart little girl. Yes, very similar, only it involves selling people instead of products; and why some people sell better than others. It’s about using logic … and abusing logic … to suit your purpose. As politics becomes more fractured and polarizing, the subject has turned into a huge draw for students, not to mention industries, lobbies, PACs, social media … well, just everybody. The way to succeed in almost everything nowadays is to make other people accept a political agenda.”

“I don’t understand. I mean, I see what you’re talking about, but what does it have to do with ….”

“Would it be completely unfathomable to think that the first thing I noticed when I met you was your mind? Well, I have to confess that it helped that your mind was attached to a great set of boobs. But you have something that SO few people possess. It’s a little tiny word that describes something that is incredibly rare; something that everyone wants, but can’t have for themselves. You can’t buy it, you can’t learn it, you can’t take possession of it, no matter how much you want it. You either have it, or you don’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s wit, Canna. You have an incredibly sharp wit. You think quickly and accurately, and you speak intelligibly. When you joke, it’s funny. When you comment, its germane.”

She shrugged. “Um … thanks, I guess?” She still didn’t see what he was talking about.

“I have a few plans. We need to work on this together.” He thought for a moment. “No, that’s not entirely accurate. You will do all the work while I just sit back and have fun. That’s pretty much a fifty-fifty split, don’t you think?”

That brought a smile to her lips. “I think you’re speaking in tongues. What ‘plans’ do you have for me?”

“How much education do you have?”

“I have an associate’s degree!” she said proudly.

“Great! Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll give you seventeen years to get a doctorate, figure out what political topics you’re most passionate about, and have my kids.”

She laughed aloud. “A doctorate in what?”

“Oh, I would never deign to suggest that. In whatever you want. It’s your decision entirely.”

She grinned. “How many kids?”

“Not less than three. Not more than four.”

She laughed again. “Boys or girls? Our three point five kids, I mean.”

He looked annoyed. “Don’t be ridiculous. How could I possibly know that?”

“And last but not least, why seventeen years?”

“That’s when the election cycle is due. Plus, you would be the ideal age. So would our kids.”

“Election cycle for WHAT?”

“Mayor, of course. New Orleans is the perfect size city in the perfect south-central locale. Plus, the cycles align exactly. In six more years, you’ll be in the governor’s seat.”

Before she could comment further, a “ding” sounded from somewhere far away. “Dinner!” he exclaimed, clapping and rubbing his hands. He rolled out of bed enthusiastically, pulling her after him. “I’m famished!”

She stood in utter shock as he pulled the smoking jacket up her arms and knotted the belt around her waist; then he went to a closet and pulled out another bathrobe. How many of those things did he own? Finished, he turned and strode from the room, and she found herself stumbling after him.

She was finally able to form works. “Politics? What if I’m terrified of speaking in front of crowds? Which, by the way, happens to be the truth!”

“Hypnosis,” he said in an easy tone over his shoulder as he started down the stairs. She hurried after him.

He stopped on a lower stair, turned, and mounted the steps back, pausing on the one just below her. Their faces were even, and he pulled her into his arms. “You are so amazingly susceptible to hypnotic trance that, with a little concerted effort on both of our parts, I should soon be able to put you under in just a few seconds … with just a few words. If you wanted to feel comfortable in front of crowds, I could help you do that. In fact, if you wanted to feel really GOOD in front of crowds, I could help you make that happen, too.” She didn’t stop him as he leaned forward and kissed her. When he finally broke the contact, he leaned back only far enough to study her eyes intently. “You want it now, don’t you? The feel of the trance. I’ve never seen that before.”

He took her hand and she followed meekly as he continued downstairs. It was true. That ache, that need, was there. The thought of listening to his voice and slipping into some sort of induced sleep was a deep-set yearning that was constantly present somewhere in her soul. He led her to one of the kitchen barstools, and she dutifully sat, lost in her swirling thoughts.

“YOU have wit,” she thought out loud. “YOU are sharp and intelligent. If you want the governor’s mansion so badly, why don’t you just ….”

“Wrong sex, wrong color, wrong socioeconomic origins. People are sick of white men from rich families.”

“We certainly keep electing them,” she countered.

“Not in seventeen years, we won’t. Just wait and see. The movement is happening now! And, it’s going to be permanent. Your face, your voice, your intellect; everything about you is perfect. And your eyes, Canna! No one will be able to resist your eyes!” He shrugged. “And if I’m wrong, instead of moving to Washington, we’ll just settle down and try to make another three point five babies.”

“Washington!?”

“You don’t think the governorship is our final goal, do you?” He took a steaming baking dish out of the oven and put it on the stovetop. The room filled with the aroma of hot beef, onions and garlic.

“Our goal,” she muttered quietly.

He walked to her, close. She automatically spread her knees apart so he could get even closer, and he pulled her to him, her breasts mashing against his chest. She raised her face for a kiss, but he only wanted to look into her eyes to emphasize his words.

“And that leads us to tonight’s two most important questions,” he said softly. “First, will you believe me when I tell you this? None of that matters to me; not as much as you. I will do anything. Anything to win you. I love you, and that’s the most important thing. If you want me to make these things happen, I will. If you want me to never mention the idea again, I won’t. Will you believe that?”

She regarded him seriously for a moment. “And your second question?”

“Are you in love with me, too?” He quickly held up a finger to stop her. “OR, are you simply psychologically infatuated with my touch? When was the last time you really, actually, physically touched another human being?”

She shrugged. “I guess it’s been four months.”

He stroked her cheek with his fingertips and she couldn’t help leaning into it, savoring the feel. “Were you only starved for affection, for touches, for intimacy?”

She smiled and shook her head. “This day has been astonishing. I woke up wondering if I might be homeless and starving when it was over. Truly, the only thing I had to look forward to was talking to you on the bus. And it’s ended up being some sort of convoluted Cinderella fairy tale!

“Yes,” she continued after a sigh, “I trust you and I believe you and I love you. I love your touch, sure; but it’s you I really love. It’s all you. Your sperm is swimming the long-distance freestyle around inside me, and I don’t seem to care. I loved all of the things you made me feel upstairs in bed. But, when I felt your cock start to twitch and jerk inside me, when I felt that and I knew I was giving you pleasure … well, that was the best.” She put her hand against her lower tummy, and her eyes became unfocused, a dreamy smile curved her lips. “That was the best,” she repeated quietly.

She sighed heavily and her eyes regained that sparkle. “That’s what I need. To please you. To feel what it’s like when I give you pleasure. And you know that if you want things, if you have dreams, then I’d do anything to make them happen. You do know that, right?”

He grinned, gave her a peck of a kiss, and started to back away, but she clutched at him. “But Wally! This is New Orleans, which is not known for making vast inroads in the fields of diversity and inclusion. The race thing is real! It might not make a difference to you or to me, but what about your family?”

He had a sudden thought. “Is your dad living here?”

“I never met him,” she said solemnly. “I don’t know who he is. It was always just Mama and me. She never even had any lovers, that I knew of.”

He nodded, kissed her again, and went back to the stove. “My mom is going to absolutely adore you!” he said. “I don’t really give a shit WHAT my dad thinks. The only things he cares about are oil and gas futures. My sister is going to pester you mercilessly until you tell her that she’s your best friend. And my two brothers are probably going to fall in lust with you; and, despite being married with kids, one of them might even make a pass at you. I’m going to have to watch them like a hawk.”

“Big family,” she commented. She’d just noticed a coffee cup on the counter that was full of pens and pencils. She plucked a marker out of it.

“Nice, average Catholic family,” he corrected.

“I’m Baptist,” she told him.

“Ours is a forbidden love.” He shook his head forlornly as he mixed a cup of sour cream and a pan of noodles into the steaming casserole.

“Can I be the Montague?”

“Sorry,” he told her, fetching a couple dinner plates. “You’re the Capulet.”

“No fair!” she grumbled. “Why do I always have to be the Capulet?”

He set the heaping plates down on the counter and sat next to her. “What the heck is THIS!?”

There had been a box of fifty disposable medical masks on the countertop, but the top ten were now spread across its surface. She had drawn a set of lips on all of them, and the left side of each curled slightly upward in a lopsided smile.

“Just something I’ve wanted to do for a while,” she told him. “Let’s hurry up and eat. There’s something I need you to do to me back up in the bedroom.”

The End