Chapter 1

Caution: This ESP Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Consensual, Extra Sensory Perception, Incest, .

Desc: ESP Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Chuck learns that he is in possession of an incredible new mental ability. It's scary and exciting at the same time. Over time, he hones it and improves it, availing himself to several unexpected experiences, sometimes a little frightening, sometimes very sexy.

Journal Prologue:

OK, this is all very complicated, so bear with me while I try to explain. I have no idea how it happens, I just know it does. I've searched the Web, checked out books on paranormal phenomena from the library, everything I can think of, short of consulting a shrink. I haven't dared go that route yet, for fear she or he will confirm that I'm some kind of a nut case, hallucinating, sliding off the edge. I'm aware there are people out there who claim to possess the kind of thing I'll be describing, but I'm pretty sure most of them really are nut cases. As for bringing up the subject with friends or family, there's no way in hell!!

See, I've never bought into any of that ESP, clairvoyance or sixth sense stuff. When somebody says they knew something bad was happening or was about to happen to someone they knew four states away, they may truly believe it but I think they're deluding themselves. People think bad stuff is happening all the time, and when it does, when the thought and an actual event happen to coincide, they jump to the conclusion that they had prior knowledge, that they were in some sort of mental or spiritual contact with the person.

I guess I can understand why they might be inclined to believe that because people tend to think in terms of their own small circle of family and friends rather than millions and millions of possible bad things happening to millions and millions of people. But, to the best of my knowledge, no credible scientific studies have shown that kind of mental communication takes place.

More directly related to my conundrum, when couples say they can read each other's thoughts, what they're really saying is that they know each other so well that they can often accurately predict what the other may be thinking under certain circumstances and in certain environments. Parents often know what's on their kid's minds and visa-versa because they've been in the same situation hundreds of times before. It would be a greater mystery it they couldn't make a fairly accurate prediction about what was about to happen or what was about to come out of someone's mouth. That isn't mental communication, it's experience.

All of which leaves me somewhat at a loss to explain what's been happening to me over the past few months. I just can't. Not yet, anyway. That's why I decided to keep this journal; so I'll have a clear, chronological account of all my weird experiences if I ever decide to go public, or if I meet someone with whom I feel comfortable sharing my story. For the time being, I think it's best to just keep it under wraps. If I never find an explanation, then, what the hell, maybe when I'm in my dotage, some starving hack will consent to ghost-write my book and I can at least make a few bucks off of it, leaving me a little wealthier but still wrapped in ignorance.

To begin the journal, I have to go back and recall my first few experiences from memory because it took me a while to realize something very strange and rather creepy was happening to me and that I should probably be writing it all down, although the memories are so intense, so indelibly imprinted on my brain, that it's unlikely I'd forget many details.

I said I have no idea how it happens, but that's not quite accurate. I know now how to make it happen, but I don't have any idea why it happens. I don't even know if it really is some kind of paranormal thing or if there's some arcane body of science that can explain it. I'm not aware of anything like that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Government agencies have certainly investigated it in the past, giving up when they decided it was a dead end and a huge waste of taxpayer dollars. (Not that wasting taxpayer dollars has ever been much of a deterrent to government spending.)

Before I go any further, maybe I should try to explain what the it is. About seven months ago, I downloaded an album of crystal singing bowl sounds onto my iPod. That's right, crystal singing bowls. A Buddhist or someone who's into meditation probably knows what I'm talking about, but a lot of people don't. I'm neither a Buddhist nor a meditator; I just like the sound.

A singing bowl is a cylindrical bowl, usually made of some kind of crystal, designed in such a way that, when you strike it gently with a mallet, it will ring and reverberate for quite a long time with the most beautiful, mellow sound. The tone and timbre depend on the size and shape of the bowl, as well as the quality of the crystal material it's made of.

Anyhow, the album is just sixty-four minutes of several crystal singing bowls being struck somewhat randomly, producing sounds and harmonics that are incredibly relaxing to the brain for some reason I can't explain. When I'm feeling tense, if I've had a hard day, or even if I'm just in the mood for some peace and quiet, I stick my iPod in the dock, lie back in my recliner and play it on my sound system. Almost immediately, I can feel the tension melting away. Often as not, I fall asleep.

What's interesting about the sound, at least to me, is that after the first minute or so, you're not actively listening to it like you would a piece of music; it just fades into the background and your brain, or rather, your mind just totally flows with it and drifts into oblivion.

Well, after a few sessions with that album, it's like my mind was programed to respond to it like a yogi would respond to a mantra; a few seconds into it and I'd be under, my thoughts somewhere adrift in the ether.

I couldn't know it at the time, but those sounds must have been having a profound effect on some area of my brain. In fact, it was only after some weird things happened repeatedly, that I was able to make any connection at all between the sounds and the events. I'm pretty darn sure it doesn't happen to everyone who listens to singing bowls or it would have long since been a huge news story. All I can surmise is that there's some peculiarity in the wiring of my brain that makes it vulnerable to those particular sounds.

Well, enough preamble. Here's what happened:


First event: April 6, 2014, 5:15 PM:

It was late on a Thursday afternoon. I stayed home from work because I was building up too many vacation days, and the personnel director called me the day before and told me to use 'em or loose 'em.

I've done nothing worthwhile all day, just putter around the apartment in my underwear, snacking on unhealthy food, surfing the Web and reading everything readable. Probably more out of boredom than anything else, I thought I'd take a short nap before dinner. I put the iPod in the dock and pushed back in my recliner, closed my eyes and just let my mind drift.

I fell asleep (or so I thought) and had this incredibly vivid dream. One might be inclined to call it a nightmare because the images flooding into my mind were so shockingly real, but it wasn't at all scary. In fact, it was anything but! It was hot, and I don't mean temperature-wise!

It was like I was another guy ... no, it was more like I was inside another guy's mind; seeing, hearing and feeling everything through his body. He (I) was peeling off his (my) clothes as he (I) was gazing upon a luscious looking naked female lying on a bed. She was holding out her arms and smiling up at him (me) with a look that left no misunderstanding of her expectations. I'm pretty sure she was a hooker, but I can't say that for sure. After he (I) stepped out of his (my) underwear, he (I) rolled a condom onto his (my) dick, grabbed his (my) stiff weenie and gave it a couple of strokes as he (I) climbed onto the bed and positioned himself (myself) between her legs. There was no foreplay, so I guessed they charged extra for that. He (I) just pushed into her and started fucking away like crazy!

You know what? All this he (I) and him (me) stuff is just too damned clumsy! I'm sure you get the picture, so from now on, I'll write it like we were one and the same person because that's what it felt like. I'll use the first person singular as much as I can to avoid all this parenthetical clutter, but from time to time, I might drift back and forth between first and third person. If it's a little confusing to you, imagine how I feel!

So, back to the dream: She was amazing! I mean, think of your best ever wet dream and multiply it by a hundred! I felt everything! I smelled everything! When I kissed her, I tasted her lips! I heard every moan, groan and scream as we went at it like a couple of horny teenagers! And the action wasn't fragmented like dreams usually are, it was smooth and continuous, from penetration to climax!

After maybe ten minutes of our grappling and thrashing about, having raw, animal sex, she trembled and cried out, "Ohmygod!" two or three times (I hoped it was an orgasm, but with a pro, how would you know?), and I blew a monster load into the condom. A couple of minutes later, I pulled out and rolled onto my back, still trying to catch my breath. As the intensity of the moment began to drain away, I raised up on one elbow and leaned over to kiss her tit, but before lips could meet nipple,

Poof!, it was all gone! I was me again!

I lay there in my recliner, looking at the ceiling, my heart still pounding from the intensity of the dream. I felt it in my shorts and on my belly, and when I looked down, there was a wet spot spreading out from the outline of my still-stiff dick. I hadn't had sex that good in ages!

Damn! What a dream!

Well, of course, it wasn't a dream at all, but I didn't know that at the time.


Comments:

Several times after that, I tried to recreate that dream when I did my relaxation thing but, of course, I couldn't do it. Ultimately, I reasoned it must have happened because my sex life was in its nadir, i.e., I wasn't getting any. I concluded that my sex-starved mind just created that very realistic release to relieve a prolonged stretch of accumulating sexual tension.

What I needed was to to start dating again, to find a woman to have sex with on a regular basis, because masturbation, no matter how inventive or elaborate, just wasn't ever gonna take the place of the real thing. The problem with that plan was that, even after nearly two years of living the single life as a divorcee, I just didn't feel ready to get back in the game. Truth is, I'm a bit gun-shy about women and relationships for fear I'll go overboard and find myself remarried on the rebound. That thought is enough to give me the cold sweats!

It's not like I don't have opportunities. I don't mean to brag, but I've been told I'm a pretty good-looking guy, and I think I'd be successful at finding a bed partner if I put my mind to it. In fact, there's a woman in our office that comes on to me all the time like she'd share my bed in a New York minute, but she has that 'huntress' look in her eye, like I'd be a nice trophy to hang on her wall. She has a reputation.

After a few days, the dream faded and I filed it away as a (very pleasant) one-time event.


April 18, 2014, 7:45 PM:

I had a killer day at the office. The boss was leaning on me to put together a financial proposal to submit to the feds in a bid for a new government contract. That's what I do, by the way; I'm the CFO at a commercial genetic research lab. Julie, my secretary, called in sick that morning, so I spent more than half a day sorting through computer files and her filing cabinets, trying to gather up all the stuff I needed. I was making a hash of it, so I wound up calling her at home to ask where a bunch of documents were. I felt terrible about disturbing her because she had some kind of bug, and she sounded on the phone like she was feeling absolutely miserable. You never properly appreciate your key assistants until you need something and they're not there to save your ass.

By mid-afternoon, I'd found everything and managed to organize it into a presentable package. Then I had to work late to catch up on the other work I'd been neglecting all day.

It was after seven when I got home and all I wanted to do was relax. I kicked off my shoes, tossed my jacket on the couch, opened a beer, hooked up the iPod and pushed back in my recliner for a little peace and rest before deciding what to do for dinner.

As the relaxing tones of the singing bowls wafted through the room, the tension eased from my shoulders and I felt myself being set adrift from the harsh world.

With no warning whatsoever, I was a woman, or rather, I was in a woman's mind. But I really wasn't aware of the person so much as I was aware of being incredibly pissed. The object of my anger was standing a few feet away, looking just as pissed as I felt.

How do I explain this? She was arguing with her husband and I was feeling her anger while listening to the argument from inside her head. Does that make any sense? Well, whether it makes sense or not, that's what was happening, and this is the argument they were having, starting with her (me) (us) (shit!):

I held up my little digital camera and said, "You can't lie your way out of this one, Ron! I followed you from your office and got a very clear picture of you and that cunt receptionist of yours going into the motel room. That would be room number 17 at the Mesa Motel. Ring a bell? You were there for exactly one hour and twelve minutes. So tell me, ace, what were you doing for the hour and ten minutes you weren't fucking her?"

"Oh, that's real cute, Carol! That's just ... wait! You were following me? How the hell did you ... I mean, how could you have ... FUCK!"

He kicked the end table over, shattering the large ceramic decorator lamp sitting on it. He shouted, "You know what? You can just go fuck yourself, bitch! If you hadn't turned into a goddamned ice queen, I wouldn't have to go looking for strange!"

"Oh, come off it, asshole! You've been cheating on me since our wedding day! You don't think I know all about you and Heather? Well, I've had enough! I want you out of here, and I mean today! Just pack your bag and hit the bricks, buster, because we're finished! I'm filing for divorce tomorrow, so you'd better start looking around for a good lawyer."

"You know what?" he spat out, "That suits me just fine 'cause I was planning on dumping your frigid ass anyway!"

I laughed at him. "As if you'd have the balls! And by the way, I already cleaned out our savings and checking accounts 'cause I knew damned well that's the first thing you'd think of, and you'd leave me without a penny if you got the chance."

"You what?! Half of that money's mine, god damn it!"

"And your half will arrive at your office tomorrow or the next day in the form of a cashier's check. I guess I have a little more moral fiber than you, huh? And you know what else? I canceled all our joint credit card accounts so I won't be getting any bills for your motel trysts! Now, pack up and get your cheating ass out of here!"

We just stood there glaring at each other, both of us livid with rage. Then he took a step toward me and raised his fist, hissing, "Why, you miserable bitch!"

I backed up a step and warned him, "You hit me, you sonofabitch, and I'll have your ass in jail before the end of the day!"

He grinned and said, "You know what? It'll be worth it!"

SMACK!!!

I flew backward into the wingback chair, the whole left side of my face stinging from the blow. When my ears stopped ringing and I could focus my eyes again, I saw the look of horror on his face at what he'd just done.

I wiped a trickle of blood off my lip with the back of my hand and sneered, "Yeah, I figured that'd be the only way you could deal with it, Mr. Articulate! But, hey, that wasn't so bad. What else ya got, Sluggo?"

He turned and bolted from the room, slamming the door behind him.

I picked up the phone and dialed 911. "Hello? Police? I want to report an assault."

And it was over.

My pulse was still racing as I sat upright in my recliner, taking a few deep breaths to suppress the anger still surging through my chest. I raised my hand to my face to feel where I'd been punched. Nothing hurt, of course, because it hadn't been my face that got punched.

What the fuck! I thought. What happened to wet dreams?

Then it occurred to me that I knew that guy! Well, I didn't really know him, but I knew who he was. He and his wife lived in an apartment down the hallway from mine! I saw them in the exercise room and the pool from time to time. I remember thinking what a good-looking couple they made.


Comments:

That's when it began to sink in that something very peculiar was happening to me, something that demanded some serious attention. Those weren't dreams! They were something much more than that. I felt the need of a long walk around the park to try to figure it all out, to try to fathom what the hell was going on. I slipped into my loafers and grabbed my jacket and my keys. When the elevator door opened on the ground floor, two Denver cops stepped on as I stepped off.

Two days later, I shared that elevator with the woman who's personal life I'd intruded on for a few minutes. I was pretty sure it was her because the bruise on the side of her face was still visible, even thought she was wearing a scarf over her head and had on dark glasses. We just said 'Hi'.


A little personal background information:

For anybody reading this journal who doesn't know me, I'll provide this very abbreviated bio. My name is Charles (Chuck) Duncan. I was born in 1978 in Sterling, Colorado and grew up on a farm a few miles out of town. There was nothing unusual about my upbringing; I worked the farm with my dad, played football in high school, got an academic scholarship to the University of Colorado and graduated cum laude with a BA in economics.

I met my wife-to-be after a football game when a bunch of us went out to mourn the drubbing the Buffs suffered at the hands of the Cornhuskers. We hit it off in spades and wound up living together while I went for my MBA and she finished her senior year, taking a BA in art history. We were married a week after graduation.

I was incredibly lucky to find a position in the company I still work for. I worked hard at my job and they were generous with their promotions and salary increases. Before I reached my thirtieth birthday, I'd already advance to the CFO position and a six-figure salary. We bought a nice home out near the little town of Watkins and settled into what we all hoped would be a very comfortable, semi-rural lifestyle.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long after that, that things started going south between my wife and me. I won't go into details, but after a lot of tears and agonizing, we decided between us that splitting sooner rather than later would save the kids from being the victims of any bad feelings and growing resentments. Neither of us believed staying together for the sake of the kids had any validity, since that plan almost invariably created even more resentment and wound up causing more harm than good.

I've been living in my apartment for almost two years, ever since my ex and I split up. It's on the ninth floor of a high-end luxury tower, right off Cheeseman Park in the Capitol Hill area of Denver. As I said, I earn a very nice salary, even after paying very generous child support, so I feel I deserve to indulge myself in a relatively posh environment when I'm off the job.

Five years earlier, my place would have sold for over one and a quarter million, but because of the crappy economy, I bought it for much less. Good for me, bad for the previous owner. Now that the economy is bouncing back, the apartment is already worth almost a hundred grand more than I paid for it.

The tenants are mostly older people like senior executives, well-to-do retirees, etc., but there are people in my age range, too (thirties and forties). There are even a few families with kids, all teenagers because children under twelve aren't allowed.

After the divorce, my ex and the kids moved back east to live with her folks in Braintree, Mass. while I stayed in Denver where the job was. I sold the house in Watkins and split the money with her. The worst part about the long distance between us is that I only get to have the kids with me on alternate Thanksgivings and Christmases, spring break and for two weeks in June when school lets out. Life really sucks, sometimes, and those bad times are usually of our own making.


Speaking of broken marriages, I haven't seen the guy who punched his wife since their big blowup.


May 26, 2014, 5:50 PM:

Nothing happened in the 'weird' department for several weeks, possibly because, even though I had no rational basis for associating the singing crystal bowl album with my strange trips, I stopped playing it. I knew I was grasping at straws, but it was the only new thing I'd introduced into my relaxation routine, so I eliminated it. You know, just in case. There have only been two strange incidences, but they were a bit frightening in their intensity. I haven't been all that anxious to repeat them.

But I really miss that addictive sound when I need to come down after a hard day's work, and after two or three weeks without any of those little side trips, I got to thinking, That's just silly. It couldn't possibly have that kind of effect on my brain. It's just singing bowls, for pete's sake!

That was my rationale, but deep down, I really couldn't resist the possibility of taking another one of those uninvited pokes into someone's private life. I think there's a little voyeur in all of us, don't you agree?

So this evening, I played it again. I felt a little anxious as I lay there listening to the beautiful tones and waiting for something to reach out and grab me. Nothing did. That was no surprise because both of the previous events were totally unexpected. I didn't really think I could make it happen on demand. After a few minutes of nothing, I could feel myself relaxing and I closed my eyes as I pushed the button on the remote to start the album over again.

I might have jumped immediately or I might have fallen asleep, but the next thing I was aware of is that I was in a dark place. Somehow, I knew it was a closet. I could feel the clothing hanging around me and I was squeezed in among some boxes, smelly shoes and other odds and ends lying on the floor. I knew I was male and very young; perhaps thirteen or fourteen.

There was a mixed bag of emotions crowding my mind; guilt for what I was doing, fear that I might be caught, and intense sexual excitement over what I was looking at through a tiny hole in the wall in the back of the closet. It was a hole that I'd carefully gouged out over the past couple of days when my sister was out doing whatever she and her dorky friends did to entertain themselves.

I actually had to cut a pretty good size square out of the wallboard in the back of my closet to get to her side of the wall. Mom isn't what you'd call a world-class housekeeper so I wasn't too worried about her finding it. But just in case, I stacked a couple of boxes in front of it when I was at school. I had to sneak into my sister's room to clean up the gypsum dust that had fallen onto her carpeted floor when I finally punched through.

Spying on her was really awkward. I had to lie on my side, propped up on one elbow, and push my face hard against the wall to get my eye close enough to the hole to see well. My sister may have been a stone bitch and the sibling from hell, but she was seventeen years old and built like a brick shit house. Her body was all I was interested in. She usually went straight to her room and locked her door when she got home from school, and stayed there, usually until Mom or Dad got home. I was pretty sure she was doing naughty things. Now, I was about to find out.

She was sitting at her desk, gazing at her laptop. Her jeans and shirt were on the floor and she was sitting there at her desk in her bra and panties. I couldn't see all that much of her because I was mostly looking at her right side and back, but I could see enough to know it was a woman's body and not a little girl's. And I could see well enough that I knew she was doing things to herself.

On her computer screen, I could make out a woman with monstrous tits blowing some guy with a dick the size of my forearm. I couldn't see exactly what my big sister was doing but it was a good bet that she was rubbing herself off, judging from the way her arm was moving and the way the side of her tit was jiggling.

My jeans and jockey shorts were around my ankles and I had had my right hand around my stiff weenie, stroking slowly up and down and trying hard not to come too quickly. But I almost creamed when my sister stood up to pull down her panties and get rid of her bra, tossing them onto the bed behind her. For just a couple of seconds before she sat back down, I got a good look at her pubic hair and her gorgeous tits. Nice! Very nice!

She started really getting into it. She leaned back in her chair, spread her legs wide and went to work on her pussy. The couple on the computer were fucking now, and my sister was getting a major turn-on watching the action. I could hear her groaning and moaning louder and louder as she rubbed harder and faster with one hand while she pinched and rubbed her nipples with the other.

I was stroking my weenie like crazy and I guess I was doing a little grunting and groaning of my own. Twice, I froze and my breath caught when my sister looked over toward the wall real hard for a few seconds before she fixed her stare back on the computer screen and commenced to work herself into a sweat. In minutes, she was thrusting her fingers hard into herself as she slid her butt back and forth on her chair in rhythm with her grunts.

I just couldn't hold it any longer! Before I could manage to get any control over the situation, I started pounding my weenie hard and shot globs of stuff all over the floor, then dribbled the leftovers all over my hand. I guess some loud sounds must have escaped my mouth when I started shooting, because my sister whirled around in her chair and said, "Kevin? Is that you, you nerdy little perv?! Where are you?"

My heart sank when I saw her eyes fix right on the little hole!

POP! I was back. Again, I could feel the evidence of my experience running down my leg. As I calmed down, I couldn't help but smile at the intensity of a teenage orgasm. There's nothing like it! What a shame it's wasted on teenagers.


Comments:

Once rational thought held sway again, I began to make some connections. For one thing, I was now pretty darned sure it had something to do with the sounds on the singing bowls album. For another thing, it only seemed to happen when the person I temporarily possessed was experiencing an intensely emotional event. At least, so far, I hadn't popped in on anybody doing laundry or clipping their toenails.

So, what was going on? What caused it to happen? Did the sounds of those crystal singing bowls trigger something in my brain to seek out a mind to connect with? That didn't seem likely, but maybe it relaxed my own mind to the point that it was receptive to any strong feelings floating around in the air. I know brain activity is electrochemical, so maybe my own brain was sensitized to those signals and was able to home in on them, somehow.

And that raised another question. Was distance a factor? Was I just making contact with people who were in close proximity? I didn't get any sense of what the kid looked like, but his sister looked vaguely familiar, like I'd seen her on her way to and from school, or maybe in the pool. Well, maybe not in the pool. I think I'd remember a body like that in a bikini. So, was physical distance one of the limiting factors? I guess time and further experiences would answer that question, and I had every intention of trying for further experiences.

One thing I know for sure is that popping in and out of someone's mind can be pretty darned entertaining stuff! Well, except for the time I thought I'd just been punched in the face. It might be addictive, too, because I find myself anxious to locate another vulnerable psyche to invade. The problem is, I don't seem to be able to exercise any control over it. How would you control something like that?

That, in itself, is a question worth investigating. I went online and looked around for things like possession and ESP and astral projection, anything that might imply out-of-body experiences. I couldn't find anything useful in the general category of psychic phenomena, but when I started reading about meditation, I found some ideas that seemed to hold out some promise.

It seems people who meditate a lot can attain that singular state almost immediately and whenever they choose. They're not really in any kind of trance, even though they might appear to be; they're just extremely focused. I don't understand what all of it means, but according to what I read, practiced meditators show some interesting changes on EEGs recorded during the meditative state. Apparently, there's a marked increase in alpha and theta wave activity, implying the person is profoundly relaxed, but with a heightened sense of awareness. That heightened awareness sounded like what I should be aiming at.

What I found most interesting was the various ways they could attain that state. Beginners are taught to focus on something like their breathing. Some imagine an image of the Buddha in their minds, while others might think of a peaceful scene in nature or just a color. Many recite mantras. I guess the singing bowls are my mantra.

Of all the induction methods I read about, the one I thought I could visualize and still keep my mind free to drift, was colors. If I could listen to, or rather, hear the sounds of the bowls, and imagine shifting colors with the shifting sounds, maybe that wouldn't require too much focused concentration, and my mind could float around trolling for interesting emotions to attach to. Some how, that seemed logical to me because I've always associated certain colors with certain emotional states, like light blue or pale green for peace and quiet and deep red or violet for anger and excitement.

Yeah, I know, it's sounding pretty far fetched, but I'm trying to find an explanation, no matter how 'far out' it might be. That's why this stuff is being written down in a journal and not a topic of conversation around the office water cooler.

I began devoting an hour every evening to my theory. Call it a new hobby. When I got home in the evening, I'd eat something light so my stomach wouldn't feel full, have a small brandy to take the edge off and get into some sweat pants, warm socks and a T-shirt for comfort. Then I'd slide the iPod into the dock, get comfy in the recliner and push the start button on the remote.

When the first gong sounded, I imagined an intense, royal purple softening to a pale lavender as the tone reverberated and softened. Each successive striking of the mallet would evoke a bright color that faded with the waning sound. It was a pleasant exercise and very relaxing but it wasn't doing what I was hoping it would.

But then, it would be unrealistic to expect immediate success. I'm pretty sure I know what at least one of the barriers was: I was concentrating on not concentrating. I knew I'd have to exercise the association of color and sound until it happened automatically and with no conscious effort.

For nearly a month now, there have been no new events. I'm beginning to wonder if they really were hallucinations.


June 22, 2014, 3:50 PM:

I put the kids on the plane for Logan International Airport yesterday. I used up two weeks of vacation time while they were here, and every single day was loaded with activities. It was a blast! We went water skiing at Cherry Creek Reservoir, rode a hot air balloon up near Loveland, white water rafted on the Arkansas and visited their grandparents on the farm near Sterling for a couple of days. I spent tons of money but it was worth every cent.

I work out three or four times a week to stay in shape, but those kid wore me out. They're seven and nine years old and seem to have only two speeds; all-out or asleep. Their mother and I agree that prolonged exposure to television rots their little brains so we work hard at providing them with alternative forms of entertainment, but sometimes I wonder if the TV might have some limited value as a passive babysitter.

Today, I spent the morning cleaning up and getting the apartment back into some kind of order after two weeks of chaos. After a trip to the grocery store to replenish my supplies, I vacuumed, dusted and washed a couple of loads of linens along with my regular laundry.

Mid-afternoon, and I was ready to park my butt in the recliner and try my color/sound program again for the first time since the kids arrived. I felt I was making progress because the first sound automatically flashed the color purple in my brain. I just pushed back, closed my eyes and let it run.

And there it was!

This time, I felt it coming. As the sounds and colors faded in and out, I sensed a disturbance, some kind of agitation in the ... what? Air? Ether? I don't know; just a disturbance that caused me to feel kind of strange! I tried to focus on the agitation, and suddenly, it was like I was sucked right into it ... into someone's mind!

This time, the emotion was grief, anger, both. A woman ... the same woman who'd been punched by her cheating husband. There were two police officers sitting on the couch across the coffee table from her (me).

The female officer was explaining, "That's right, Mrs. Alton, he was at the Mesa Motel on east Colfax. The other victim was, um, a woman named Jan Singer. Do you know her?"

No tears ... not yet, anyway. "Yes. Well, I don't really know her but I know who she is - was. She was the receptionist in Ron's office. I knew they'd been seeing each other for some time. In fact, we split up over it."

The officer nodded and went on, "I'm sorry to hear that, Ma'am, and I'm sorry for your loss. The perpetrator was Mrs. Singer's husband. He called the police and waited in the motel room after he shot them. Did you know she was married?"

"No. Like I said, I didn't really know her. It doesn't surprise me though. A little thing like a wedding ring wouldn't have stopped Ron from getting what he wanted." I felt my eyes water up. "But this time it got him killed, didn't it?"

The officers looked at each other and stood up to leave. The lady officer finished what she had to say, "We're sorry to have to bring you this news, Mrs. Alton." She handed me a card and added, "This is the number of the Medical Examiner's office. You should call them to make arrangements for your husband's body to be transferred to a funeral home after the autopsy. I'm afraid post-mortem examinations are required in felony criminal cases. If there's anything else we can do for you, please don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you."

"Is there anybody you want to call to come and be with you?"

"No. I'll be fine, thank you."

After the officers left, I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. Then I headed to the bathroom to wash my face, thinking, Ron, you stupid sonofabitch! Are you the only one who didn't see this coming?

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. Usually a pretty face, but looking very tired and suddenly older, now. I decided to take a shower. I stripped and looked again into the mirror, assessing the person in the reflection.

Thirty-three years old, not bad-looking and with a good body, still. Trim and toned, nice breasts that hadn't felt a man's touch for ages. Why haven't I taken a lover? Ron sure as hell didn't hesitate. Our marriage was dying on the vine from day one, but he had no interest in fixing it. It wasn't hard to see he was bored with me early in the game and just wanted out. Of course, he didn't have the balls to come right out and ask for a divorce. No, he'd rather cheat on me and force me to do the dirty work. What a fucking coward!

I took a very long, very hot shower. Maybe I was trying to scald the grief out of myself. I dried off, slipped into a terry robe and went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I got angry with myself when I felt my eyes watering up again.

Stop this, damn it! The sonofabitch doesn't deserve your grief!

But I knew, in spite my anger and disgust, that I still loved him a little bit. Asshole that he was, he didn't deserve to die like this, a bullet in his brain. Mr. Singer should have just beaten him senseless and left it at that. Now, two people are dead and the poor schmuck with a macho, distorted sense of justice is going to spend years in prison for trying to defend his honor. Where's the justice in that?

I reached up, opened the top cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Glenlivet. This is what I need. This and a friend. I wish I had one.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and found myself back in my recliner. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and sighed, "My god, that poor woman!"


Comments:

I wanted nothing more than to rush down to her apartment and comfort her. That was impossible, of course. She didn't know me from Adam, and if I even hinted to her I'd learned of her tragedy by poking around in her mind, she'd assume I was totally wacko and call the cops back to cart me off to the funny farm.

There's definitely a downside to this brand of voyeurism. With the old fashioned kind, peeking through windows, you don't have to share their feelings.

So this last experience was somewhat off-putting, and for a few days, I wasn't too anxious to get nosy again. I had to accept that there might be an important ethical consideration in what I was doing. That wasn't an issue when it happened accidentally, but now I'd begun to explore with every intention of poking my nose into somebody else's business. Did that make me some kind of a creep? Or even a criminal on some level?

If I did develop the skill to seek out specific minds and rummage around uninvited, I suppose it would be trespassing, sort of. But it would be a victimless crime, wouldn't it? No body would be aware I was there and nobody would get hurt.

Except... I knew I was there and I was just hoping nobody got hurt by it.

I spent a few days thinking and thinking and thinking, and the result of all that brainwork was a compromise. We humans have an almost infinite capacity to rationalize our actions and that's exactly what I did. I rationalized that what I was doing would be considered incredibly important to the scientific community. That was especially true if it was somehow reproducible. I owed it to the world to explore this thing, whatever it was, to document my experiences and report them (at some future date) to the proper scientific discipline. While I recognized this argument as a rationalization, it was true, nonetheless. If I discovered a way to communicate mentally, my god!, what an amazing breakthrough!

It took me a couple of weeks to work through the arguments and finally convince myself that what I was exploring was both valuable and (relatively) harmless.

Now I wanted to see if I could somehow recognize that agitation in the color/sound aura, like the one that preceded my last encounter with Carol Alton, and decide for myself whether or not to proceed. In other words, I wanted to try to develop some conscious control over where, when and if I invaded another person's mind. I seriously doubted that would even prove to be possible, but it deserved looking into.

———————

On another, lighter note: A few days ago, I responded to a knock on my door and found myself looking at a boy scout who was selling coupon books to raise money for his troop. When he spoke, he had one of those voices halfway between male child and male adult, and I thought immediately of the kid who was spying on his sister. I didn't know if it was him or not but I knew he had to live in the apartment building because no solicitation of any kind is allowed in the building and the doorman wouldn't have admitted him, boy scout or no.

I'll bet I've bought at least a dozen of those books over the years and I don't think I've ever used a single coupon. I just consider it a charitable donation and stick the book in a drawer somewhere. Anyhow, I told the kid I'd take one and forked over the twelve bucks. As he was about to leave, I just couldn't help myself; I had to know if it was him who was beating off in the closet while spying on his sister.

As he turned to leave, I asked, "Is your name Kevin?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that?"

"Hey, uh, Kevin, what happened when your sister found that hole in the wall?"

At first, he just looked confused, but then he gaped at me and turned crimson. "Huh? Um, uh, I don't know what you're talking about." With that, he wheeled around and headed down the hall toward the elevator at a fast walk. It was definitely him and he definitely knew he'd been caught. Of course, he'd never figure out how in a million years.

I had a twinge of compassion and felt obligated to ease his fear a little bit. As he pushed the button repeatedly and anxiously awaited the elevator, I hollered, "Don't worry, pal, I promise I won't blab it around!"

Shame on me!


July 4, 2014, 8:30 PM:

Things took a far more serious turn today.

I've been experimenting. I tried several times to attain the proper mental state without the singing bowl sounds. I couldn't do it, not even close. Then I tried it with some other kinds of soothing music, like 'The Meditation' by Massenet, and Barber's 'Adagio for Strings', either of which will put me to sleep if I'm the least bit tired. No luck there, either. There was just something about the singing bowls that put my brain into the right place to make the leap. Damned if I can figure out how!

So I went back to the tried and true method. I got comfortable in my recliner and began the program with the sounds and colors, but I added one more component. I imagined I was holding on to a thread of attachment to the here and now. By that, I mean if I felt myself drifting toward a contact, sensing that indefinable agitation I mentioned before, then I could imagine myself tugging on the thread and pulling myself back before I could get sucked in.

After a dozen or so successes, I learned something else very interesting. The subject's mental state affects the color of the disturbance. This is hard for me to explain because I don't have the right vocabulary, but I think I've learned to pick up on the subject's general mood or emotional state of a mind by the color I sense in that agitation I was telling you about.

OK, yeah, I know this sounds screwy, but bear with me. I'll be floating around in the in-between (?), and sense a specific color. Then, I'll get a mental perception of some kind of agitation, and at the same time, I'll have a feeling that it (the intensity of the color) is telling me what sort of emotion I'm sensing, whether it's anger or joy or excitement, whatever. In a nutshell, when I perceive a color and a disturbance at the same time, the depth or brightness of the color indicates how the target mind is feeling. That's as close as I can come to an explanation.

Confusing? What will probably make it clearer to you is the actual event, so here goes: As I wrote earlier, I've had several brushes with potential contacts and pulled back rather than allow myself to proceed, and I was feeling very pleased with myself for attaining so much conscious control. In this event, the color of the agitation was kind of a muddy orange, and I was curious enough about it that I allowed myself to slip through and make contact.

My first perception was that the mind was male and had a very strange feel to it. He (I) was sitting in a dimly-lit room in front of a laptop, flipping through photographs. My right hand operated the mouse while my left hand rubbed and tugged at my dick. There were several 8X10 color photographs and some large envelopes scattered about on the desk. I was naked.

The photographs on the computer screen and lying around on the desk were of kids, but they were doing things you don't expect to see kids doing. These were kids ranging in age from about four or five to a prepubescent eleven or twelve, and they were posed in all sorts of sexually explicit positions. There were little girls being penetrated by little boys. There were older boys with almost grown-up penises fucking other boys. All these kids were doing the things you would see being done on an adult porn site.

I was feeling decadently sinful and loving it! But I was feeling repulsed at the same time, like I was at war with myself. From time to time, I'd click on a photo that was especially hot and pause on it while I stroked myself almost to a climax, then stop and flip to another photo.

I became more and more aware of the tug of war going on inside me. I couldn't tell if it was a moral struggle specific to the host's mind or a battle for dominance between his mind and mine. If it were the latter, that would be the first time my uninvited presence would have been sensed in any way; the first time I'd been able to maintain any degree of separation between the host's mind and mine.

Suddenly, I felt afraid that I was about to be exposed and consciously jerked myself out of the scene by my imaginary thread. I wondered if he felt my presence, or worse yet, if he was looking into my mind as I looked into his. Could it be a two way thing?

I lay in my recliner, actually trembling with conflicting emotions. The guy was into child pornography, that was for sure. Pretty disgusting, in my opinion but probably not all that unusual. OK, so what was that to me? The world is full of pervs, and there's nothing I can do about it.


Comments:

I supposed the best thing would be to forget it and make sure I never contacted that mind again. Somehow, I felt sleazy, soiled for having shared that sickness for even a few minutes.

And he was hardly committing a victimless crime, was he? The fact that he had access to that material meant that somebody out there was producing it. Hell, this guy might even be passing it on to other creeps. It was for sure that some sick fuck was rounding up kids and coercing them into doing things that kids shouldn't be doing. I couldn't help but believe those kids' impressionable young minds had already been damaged, scarred for the rest of their lives. Pedophiles have no love for their victims or concern for the consequences of their actions. Their only desire is to satisfy their own sick compulsions, and fuck what it does to the kids!

But, what could I do about it? I didn't even know who the guy was.

Or, did I?

I mentioned way back at the beginning of this journal, that details of my encounters were indelibly imprinted in my mind, like I'd absorbed some of their memories. I thought back on what was in front of my (his) eyes while I cohabited his brain. There was the computer, of course, but there was a lot more, as well. Among the photographs, there was a large manilla envelope with some color photos poking out the top. One of the photos was of a naked little girl, and that implied the guy was receiving child pornography through the mail and that was a federal offense.

I concentrated my thoughts on the address written in longhand on the envelope. It was unusual penmanship, written in the style so many Europeans are taught; bold, precise, clean. What was the name? What the hell was the name written on the envelope? I'd shared his mind, so I must have shared his memory of receiving that envelope as well. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate on the handwriting. The image that came to me was a blur, at first, but then it slowly came into view as if I were focusing binoculars. Ernest Sidell.

I had it. Now, what was I going to do with it?

I wrote the name down on a piece of paper and stuck it in my pocket. If I did anything, it was going to need a lot of careful consideration. Being the father of two kid in the same age range as the objects of Mr. Sidell's lust, my moral outrage was simmering. The guy deserved to be publicly flogged for supporting an industry that preyed on the weakest, most vulnerable members of society.

I didn't even know how to go about contacting the proper authorities without exposing what I was doing. How would I be able to explain how I came about the information? Besides, even one small misstep could set me up for a civil suit by the man if charges were leveled and then not proved. Did I want to chance that?

And who was Ernest Sidell, besides being a consumer of the worst kind of smut. If he was a resident of my apartment building, and I was fairly certain he was, he was obviously successful at whatever his business was. In all likelihood, he was, by all appearances, a perfectly normal member of society; possibly respected and admired by his family and peers. If he were arrested, chances are, his life and reputation would be badly damaged, maybe even ruined by a public accusation of trafficking in kiddie-porn.

So, what the fuck do I do? Am I setting myself up to be a 'thought policeman'? And did I have any moral or ethical right to occupy that role? I dared not jump on this too quickly.

In the end, I compromised again. I verified he was an occupant of my building by checking the mailboxes in the lobby, then I drove to a 7-eleven on East Colfax and made two calls on a pay phone. The first one was to the Denver Police Department. I asked to speak to a vice detective and suggested they investigate Mr. Sidell for possession and possible trafficking in child pornography. I hung up without offering any more information. The second call was to the Denver office of the FBI. I gave them the same information, hung up without identifying myself and went back home. I hoped that would be enough to get something started by way of an investigation.

If it didn't, well, I did as much as I dared. I sure as hell couldn't tell them how I knew what I knew.


July 12, 2014, 11 AM:

My last experience taught me to be very cautious about what kind of mind I allowed myself to touch. I practiced over and over with the safety thread, getting close and pulling back. Then I began to see that the disturbances, the indicators of an open mind, varied significantly in intensity. Some were fairly intense and brightly colored, while others were less noticeable and much softer hued. I had to assume that meant I wasn't really restricted to extreme emotions at all. I might be able to concentrate on one of the softer disturbances and contact a mind in a more relaxed, untroubled state. It was certainly worth a try.

As the tones and the colors waxed and waned, I perceived a mild disturbance of a medium blue and focused my attention on it. Then it dawned on me! It was the individual who projected the color; call it an aura, if you will. It wasn't random at all! The agitation or disturbance I was picking up was a change in that person's aura. If they were becoming excited in any way, that would alter their color, making it brighter or deeper.

I focused on the medium blue disturbance. Contact. I'm an elderly man standing at the kitchen counter, making tea. I'm feeling a little sad but resigned to the inevitable. My wife of fifty-two years is in the living room watching her 'stories', as she calls them. Soap operas is what I call them.

She's so weak now, that there really isn't much else she can do. I read to her a lot, any newspaper articles she's interested in, books she's always wanted to read but never got around to, that kind of thing. By the time they found the cancer during a routine colonoscopy, it had already spread to several other places in her body.

She was offered a course of aggressive therapy; surgery, radiation and chemo, but she refused it. There's almost no chance of a cure and she couldn't see any advantage to putting herself through all that pain and misery. After a lot of discussion between the two of us, she opted for self-administered pain control until her death.

So far, it's doing the job. She only pushes the button on the auto-injector when the pain approaches intolerable. Otherwise, she'd be essentially unconscious from the morphine. She's a trouper, that one, but I can tell she'll be going into hospice before too long. All the arrangements have been made. She probably has less than a month to live.

My oldest daughter has been trying to manipulate me into moving in with her family after Sarah dies, but I have no interest in that. I love her and I love the grandkids, but living with them would definitely take the shine off of it. Anyhow, knowing my daughter like I do, I'd lay even money she's maneuvering for a free baby sitter. And she knows I'm a neat freak and I'd be compulsively picking up messes and generally cleaning up around her house.

Nope. Sarah and I have lived a very quiet life for the past few years and I'll just continue that after she dies.

"Sara, honey, would you like a splash of brandy in your tea?"

"I will if you will."

What could it hurt at this point?

I pulled on the thread and came back home. This wasn't a domestic scene on which I had any desire to eavesdrop any longer.


Comments:

I learned something from that old man. When I'm in someones's mind, even for just the few minutes I seem to be restricted to, I'm carrying some of their prevailing mood when I come back. I wasn't exactly depressed, but I walked around feeling sad for the old guy and his wife for the rest of the day. It's one thing to sympathize with someone over their loss or impending loss; it's quite another to actually experience their pain.

Lesson learned! First, Carol Alton, now this guy. I'll try to steer clear of anyone's grief, in the future.


July 19, 2014, 6:30 PM:

Again, nothing intense. I've been practicing the close calls a lot and I'm pretty adept at it now. I'm restricting myself to one actual contact a week, probably out of guilt. But I can't help it, I'm addicted! Twice, now, I've drifted close to Carol Alton just long enough to verify that I recognize her signature color. I opted not to make contact because my interest in her doesn't feel quite right. I kind of want to be with her but I don't think I should. Not yet, anyway. I guess I'm afraid it might become too personal.

This evening, I was drifting around in a general search, looking for quiet colors and peaceful minds when I sensed someone a little bit excited and happy, gossipy, as it turns out. I focused on a soft violet hue.

A young man, early twenties, I guessed, sitting at the computer and chatting with another young man on Skype. His image is in the small box in the lower right corner of the screen so, for the first time since Carol looked at herself in the mirror, I see what my subject looks like while I'm on the inside looking out.

Both images are of pretty good-looking guys. The conversation makes it blatantly clear that these two young men are more than just friends. I'm Dave and the other guy is Paul. I'm speaking:

"What'd ya think of that cute blond that came in with Sid last night?"

"Oh, Dave, didn't you just want to bury your face in his crotch? I had visions of the three of us together in a very naughty ménage à trois, didn't you?"

"I've never seen him at Sammy's before."

"I haven't either. He's fresh meat and I want a taste! If he comes in again, I think we should try to get up close and personal. Or maybe I could just call Sid and ask if he's willing to share the goodies. I'll bet the four of us could steam up the windows in no time!"

"I like the way you think, Paul. Maybe Friday night? I'd be happy to cook a nice dinner here at my place if you can talk them into coming ... and then, talk them into cumming, if you get my drift! Ha, Ha!"

"Hey, it wouldn't hurt to try, would it? And I'd still like to get my ass around that guy's dick we saw in the exercise room last Saturday morning. Did you ever find out who he is? Or if he's a member of the sisterhood? If he's willing, maybe you could invite him, too. I don't have a problem with odd numbers."

"Sorry, I still got nothin'. All I know is he lives on the floor above mine, he's not married and he drives a Lexus SUV. He keeps pretty much to himself so I don't get the impression he's much of a party-goer. I'll keep my eyes open and my ear to the wall, thought. I think he's about ten years older than we are but I'd still give him a test drive if he were willing."

"Yeah, me too!"

I jerked the string! Shit, I recognized those guys, or at least Dave! I think they're talking about me! I've never said more than 'Good morning' to him on the elevator or passing in the hall. I never had a clue about his sexual proclivities or that he had any interest in my body. I hope this new insight doesn't show on my face the next time we bump into each other. I suppose there's something to be said for ignorance, isn't there?

It's clear to me now, that the physical range of my abilities is no more than a hundred or so feet, based on where the subjects I've contacted so far live in the apartment building. That's probably a good thing.


July 26, 2014, 6:40 PM:

Kind of a peach color. The sister. I just learned her first name is Dannie when I dropped in on a telephone conversation she was having with a friend from school. I also know she's more inclined to call her boy scout brother Twerp rather than Kevin...

During the course of the conversation, something I heard made me want to do a return visit later in the evening, if it actually comes off like Dannie seems to be planning. We'll see.

Dannie's talking: "Leanne, I am so not looking forward to going back to school next month. Thank god, it's our senior year!"

"Really? Hell, I'm more than ready to go back. This summer has been sooooo boring, Dannie. The last time a guy asked me out was in May! If it wasn't for my Super Cruz dildo, my pussy would just shrivel up from lack of use.

"Well, it's your own fault! I mean, any time some guy tries to get close enough to get into your knickers, you treat him like shit. It's no wonder they avoid you like the plague."

"That's not true, Dannie! I just don't want to get a rep for being an easy lay. That kind of thing can follow you for the rest of your life."

"And yet, you complain about not getting any. Jesus, Leanne, you don't have to suck every dick in the senior class! Just do what I do - put out just enough that they know there's a chance, if they play their cards right. I don't want to be known as a slut, but I don't want guys calling me Mother Superior, either."

Big sigh. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. I'm so damned horny, I'd even do your nerdy little brother."

"Hah! The twerp? You're kidding, right? I'm still pissed at that little shithead for spying on me. Mom grounded his skinny ass for a week when she saw what he did to his closet. It cost Dad almost two hundred to get it fixed. I mean, can you imagine the twerp jerking off all over himself watching me jerking off? The kid's sick, I tell ya!"

"Or maybe he's just a normal boy doing what any normal boy would do if they saw their hot-body sister doing herself. Shit, Dannie, you should feel flattered! Besides, he's not all that bad looking, for a nerd. If he was my brother, I'd sneak into his bedroom some night and show him what his thing is really for."

"Right! Jeez, girl, you're as sick as he is!"

"It isn't sick, Dannie, it's sex and I want some! Besides, think about it! You could have him twisted around you little finger for life if you offered him a little bump in the night every once in a while. And that ain't just sex, it's pussy-power! It's control!"

Long silence. "Hmm, you know what, you might just have a better brain than I gave you credit for. It would be kind of a kick to take the twerp's cherry. And teasing him with the possibility of some occasional grown-up sex might just keep him in line 'til I leave for college. I'll have to give that some thought. Maybe I'll make a surprise visit to his room tonight."

"Well, let me know if he's any good, will ya? Maybe I could rent him every once in a while."

"Make me an offer! Hey, Leanne, Dad's home so I need to run. See ya later, girl!"

As soon as I found myself back in my recliner, I burst out laughing. I was definitely going to have to track that and see where it went.


July 26, 2014, 9:50 PM:

This time, I touched Kevin's mind again. He was easy to locate because he was an odd shade of yellow-green. When I plugged in, he'd just finished showering and brushing his teeth and was pulling on a pair of boxers.

He (we) fluffed up the pillows on the bed, crawled under the blankets, and got comfortable with a book. It was an old classic from way back; Heinlein's 'Stranger in a Strange Land'. I loved that book!

After a few minutes, it looked like nothing was going to happen for the time being, so I tugged the string and let him go. I'd check back every few minutes to see whether dear little Dannie was going to actually do the deed or if she was going to chicken out.

I'd never actually timed myself, but my best guess was that I could maintain contact for probably no more than fifteen minutes, depending on the intensity of the experience. I didn't want to get well into the action and then have to vacate the mind at a critical point.

I lay there in my recliner in my shorts and covered with a flannel throw, just listening to the sounds and drifting around, brushing up against random minds here and there. I'd focus back on Kevin's color from time to time to see if things were changing.

Almost an hour later, they were. I'd just started the album over when I slipped through again, and now the room was dark. I was lying there looking at somebody standing by my bed. At first, I thought it was Mom, but then she spoke, or rather, whispered.

"Hey, Kevin, you awake?"

"Dannie? What the hell do you want? Just dropping by to give me some more shit?"

She sat on the side of the bed and I could see she was wearing one of her short, almost see-through nighties from the hall light coming through the crack in the doorway. I could see the silhouette of her tits!

"Nope, I'm not here to give you any shit, Bro. In fact, I'm here with a peace offering."

"Oh, sure! More like another piece of you twisted mind."

"No, really! Look, I know why you were spying on me. I just made a big stink about it because I got surprised. If I'd had a chance to think about it, I wouldn't have said anything to Mom. I'd probably have turned my chair around to give you a better view."

I wasn't buying it. What the hell was she up to, now? "I think that's bullshit, Dannie! I bet you're busting my balls right now, aren't you?"

"No, Kevin, I'm not. Don't you think girls get just as horny as boys do? I'm just thinking we could, you know, take care of each other's needs, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean. It can't be what it sounds like."

"It's exactly what it sounds like."

Her hand reached under the blanket and touched my leg. I jumped and pulled away. "What are you up to, Dannie? You don't even like me!"

"Not true, little Bro. I like you a lot, even though you have a real talent for pissing me off, sometimes. I'm thinking maybe we could get along better if we made an effort. Did you like what you saw through your little hole in the wall?"

She had me, there. "Um, sure, I guess. That's why I was looking, isn't it?"

"You want to see more?"

She reached over and took my hand and guided it to her tit. Common sense told me to push her off the bed and call Mom, but something stronger made me squeeze that tit and grow an instant boner.

"Why are you doing this, Dannie? Really!"

"Like I said, I want us to start a new relationship." Her hand began sliding up my leg until I could feel it inside my boxers. I jumped again when she touched my balls.

She leaned down to where her lips were almost touching my face and asked, "You ever fuck a girl, Kevin?"

That question sent my heart racing, but I couldn't let go of my suspicions. "It's none of your business, and anyway, why would you even care?"

She brushed her lips across mine. "I was just thinking that, if you haven't, it's probably about time you did. Don't you?"

I pulled away and scooted back against the wall. "I don't trust you, Dannie. You're up to something!"

She stood up, peeled off her nighty, threw back my covers and crawled in beside me. Then she reached over and took hold of the stiffy tenting my shorts! "You're right, Kevin. I am up to something. I'm trying to get you to fuck me. Are you man enough to handle that? I think you must be 'cause you sure got a man-size cock!"

Any resolve I might have had to deny her what she wanted flew right out the window. I rolled over facing her and grabbed her tit again, squeezing and rubbing it while I humped my dick into her hand. "Do you really mean it, Dannie? Are you really gonna let me fuck you?"

"That's my plan, Bro! Slide that hand down to my pussy and you'll see how ready I am."

I wouldn't have known if she was ready or not because I'd never felt a pussy in my entire life. But that didn't stop me from doing what she wanted. I let go of her tit and replaced my hand with my mouth, sucking on her nipple like a calf on a cows teat. My hand slipped between us and found her furry bush, then slid a little further down to feel something wet and slippery. And hot! At that same time, I caught a whiff of a real nice musky odor and knew it had to be her.

Now my fingers were rubbing up and down her gooey slit while I kept humping my dick into her hand and sucking on her boob. If I could have thought of something else to do at the same time, I would have. Dannie was starting to make some funny noises in her throat and started pushing her pussy against my hand. I think the only reason I hadn't already shot my stuff all over her was that I was as scared as I was horny.

I thought I'd cry when she pushed me away, her nipple jerking out of my mouth with a 'pop'. I figured she'd just put on over on me and was about to laugh in my face. But she didn't!

She was breathing real hard when she said, "I can't wait, Kevin! Get on top of me and push it in! Now, Bro!"

Well, I shucked my shorts, scrambled over her body and got between her legs. I kept pushing my dick at the fur but I guess that isn't where it was supposed to go. Dannie kind of laughed and grabbed me to aim me in the right direction. As soon as I felt it start to go in, I just gave a big ol' shove and buried myself all the way. Heaven!

Dannie sucked in her breath and gasped, "Yow! Go a little easier there, cowboy!"

"Sorry! I thought that's what I was supposed to do."

"Well, it is, but you need to give a girl a chance to stretch out a little before you split her open."

"Like this?" I started sliding in and out real slow. It was so hard to hold myself back like that 'cause I really wanted to pound her!

"Yeah, Bro, that feels about right." Then she grabbed around my chest and started humping up every time I humped down. I must have been making too much noise because she clamped her hand over my mouth and whispered, "Quiet! You want Mom and Dad to come in and watch?"

"Sorry! But they were both half in the bag when they went to bed, so I don't think they'll hear anything."

"You're probably right but let's not take any chances, OK? Why don't you just keep going nice and slow and let's try to make this last for more than a few seconds."

I raised up on my hands and looked down at her. I never thought I'd feel what I was feeling for my sister at that moment. She was smiling up at me, her tits were jiggling every time I banged into her and she had her hands on my ass adding power to my thrusts. I tried to last as long as I could, but that didn't turn out to be long at all. I was getting that feeling you get in your belly just before you lose control and started pounding her as hard as I could. At the same time I let loose with a big one, her pussy clamped down on my dick like she was trying to pinch it off. It was awesome!

I don't know if she came or not, but she was shaking and grunting like something was happening. I just collapsed on her and hugged her tight. God! What a sister! What a ride!

I chose that moment to tug the thread and come home. I was still panting, my shorts and belly were soppy with splooge and I felt like I'd just participated in a life-changing event between a couple of loving siblings. There's no way Dannie didn't feel about the twerp the same way he felt about her. I had a feeling their folks were going to be wondering what the hell happened between them.

I was hoping they got in a couple of more rounds during the night.


Comments:

After the rush faded, I began to have more sober thoughts about Dannie and Kevin. I didn't begrudge them the pleasures they would derive from each other's bodies, but I knew they were embarking on a perilous path. I don't know that I necessarily hold to the standard social conventions against incest, but I do know that if you get caught at it, you're likely to pay an awfully big price for your indiscretions. I was pretty sure that Dannie was more inclined to blab than Kevin because I couldn't imagine her not bragging to her friend, Leanne.

I decided not to poke around in their business any more.


So, I think I need to pause here and consider where I am in this ... this... thing that's going on in my head. Well, not just my head! Here's a summation of what's happened so far:

1) I know that, some how, listening to those singing bowl sounds does something to my brain to make it receptive to other people's thoughts. How? I don't have a clue.

2) Over time, I've learned to identify individuals by the perception of colors in my mind. Colors identify person while the depth or brightness of that color indicates mood. Obviously, the more people I come into contact with, the more overlap there will be in the color identification.

3) I can reasonably deduce that, since my sensitivity to those minds seems to be restricted to a finite distance, it must be the electrical signals from their brains that I'm picking up. The fact that I'm detecting an energy source implies there's probably some scientific explanation for what's going on; it just hasn't been discovered yet.

4) I'm getting better and better at sensing and homing in on signals of varying intensity and I've learned to exercise some limited control over which minds to connect to and which to avoid.

5) I still don't know if the other person has any sense of my presence in their mind. I need to explore that, but with great care. I don't want to be scaring the crap out of anybody or making them fear they're having hallucinations.

6) HELLO! I COULD USE SOME HELP WITH THIS!

Chapter 2 »

Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / mt/ft / Consensual / Extra Sensory Perception / Incest /