Chapter 2

August 2, 2014, 6:50 PM:

My 'talent' seems to be evolving. I'm able now to hold back something when I'm in someone's mind. By that, I mean I'm not entirely absorbed into whatever they're doing, like before. I can still experience what they're experiencing, but at the same time, I feel like a part of me is watching from outside. Believe me, it's a very strange feeling, being split like that. This evening's experience is a good example.

Before I went hunting, I ate a handful of nuts to take the edge off my hunger, showered and dressed in my 'soft' clothes. I poured a snifter of Hennessy XO and took a couple of sips. I had nothing or no one in particular in mind when I pushed the start button on the remote. I hoped to just drift around and see what or who was available.

Almost immediately, I perceived some very intense emotion announced by a brilliant, cobalt blue aura, but it didn't feel like anger or sex; it was more like a rapturous feeling. The moment I identified and then slipped into the mind, I was immersed in the most incredible music! I was sitting at a baby grand piano and I was in the middle of the third movement of Rachmaninoff's cello sonata. I could actually feel the impact of the piano keys on my fingertips as they flew over the keyboard, and the pressure of the pedals on my right foot. Unlike my own personal experiences with pianos, there was no wondering which note to hit next; only how the combinations of all the notes was sounding, how it all flowed, how it complemented the cello playing six feet away.

The cellist was my fiancé. We'd been working on the piece for weeks along with a Beethoven cello sonata, and I felt we were ready to perform them in public. We were going to do a recital at D.U. in a week and we hoped it would be the jumping off point for several more appearances. Sam (Samantha) already had an on-call position with the Denver Symphony Orchestra, but I was still competing for a slot on the concert tour. I had a competition coming up in two months and I thought I had an excellent chance of winning it. That win would come with a recording contract so I was working my ass off every single day, seven or eight hours a day.

The cello sonata we were working on, especially the third movement is mournful and plaintive in a way only Rachmaninoff can do mournful and plaintive. My part, the piano, has to be powerful and commanding in places, but with an exquisitely sensitive touch to allow the cello a full, unencumbered voice. My beautiful future wife was carrying her part off to perfection.

When the movement came to an end, I put my hands in my lap and asked, "What do you think, Sam? I thought that sounded pretty damn good, didn't you?"

She grinned, laid her cello on it's side and came to sit in my lap, putting her arms around my neck and kissing me on the nose. "I think we're about ready, Will. Maybe we could draw it out just a bit so I can show off a little more. You've got the piano nailed, though! How's the Saint-Saëns coming along?"

"Good, Babe, really good! You inspire me. I'm gonna blow 'em away at the competition." I tilted my head up and kissed her lips.

She wiggled her butt on the boner she was causing and giggled, "I can feel your inspiration growing in your pants. Is that gonna be for me if I'm a good girl today?"

I slid my hand under her sweater and up her belly to gave her tit a quick squeeze and promised, "It's never for anyone but you. But maybe we should go over this movement once more to get it just the way you want it. My boner will keep."

She laughed and said, "You know, I'm pretty sure there'll come a time in your life when wasting a good erection will be an unpardonable sin. Rachmaninoff is long dead, so we know he'll keep. I vote for using that erection!"

"Then get yourself out of those jeans and let's put it to work, you horny little vixen!"

She stood up to drop her jeans and panties, smiling wickedly over her shoulder as she turned her butt toward me and pushed them slowly down her long legs. I wasted no time shedding my own jeans and boxers and sitting back down on the piano bench. She got the idea right away. She got down on her knees in front of me and grabbed my hard dick to give it a few tugs before sliding he warm mouth over the head and taking about half of me to the back of her throat. At the same time, she slid two fingers behind my balls and rubbed gently. Sam knew every single one of my buttons as well as how and when to push them.

About the time I felt my excitement rising toward a gusher, she sensed it and pulled her mouth off. She stood, put her hands on my shoulders and straddled my hip, easing her wet pussy down over my cock and sinking all the way down until her ass rested in my lap and my cock pressed against her womb. We loved making love like this because, with just a little twitch of her butt now and then, she could keep us going forever.

I pulled her sweater over her head and began sucking on one nipple, then the other while she squeezed my dick rhythmically with her vaginal muscles. She could play me every bit as well as she played the cello. Still sucking on her boob, I scooted the piano bench forward, reached past her to the keyboard and started playing an impromptu version of "Bolero".

She laughed and began to slide up and down my stiff cock in rhythm with the pulsing, driving, sensual beat of the music. In short order, I felt myself getting close, so I picked up the tempo and began clinching my butt muscles to push my dick up into her just a little deeper. I guess she was ready, too, because, as the music was reaching it's climax, so was she. With the last few chords, she hugged my head to her chest and trembled as an orgasm overtook her. We were both lucky in that she could reach orgasm easily and quickly. I took the opportunity to fire a load into her belly and bring my improvisation to a close.

"Woman," I panted, "you do know how to bring out the music in me!"

Gradually, I wilted and slipped out of her. She kissed me hard and stood to go to bathroom for a warm, damp washcloth to clean us up. It was time to get back to rehearsal.

That's when I tugged the thread and returned to my own world. I needed to do a little cleaning up on my own. I don't know if it's just coincidence or if I have an unnatural talent for finding people in the act of doing it or getting ready to do it. Not that I'm complaining!

Comments:

I like the idea of a little separation between me and the subject's mind, giving me the sense that's I'm the voyeur I intend to be rather than a reluctant captive. It's definitely a good thing that each visit is self-limiting; like fifteen minutes, max.

I visited four more minds during the month of August, some of them people I recognized from the apartment building, some total strangers. Nobody was doing anything worth describing in detail, just normal people going about their normal daily activities.

I still struggle with ethical concerns, questioning my own sense of morality but unable to resist the temptation to poke around. So far, it's all been harmless, but there's no guarantee it will stay that way. I can't imagine that what I'm doing is damaging in any way, but how can I be sure? Maybe there's some tiny bit of residual 'me' left behind that causes them some tiny level of discomfort.

I don't know. I feel like I need to resolve these issues soon.

September 5, 2014, 8:40 PM:

It's late evening on a Friday. I haven't peeped into anybody's mind for several days, now. I'm just as curious as ever, but it's all weighing heavily on my conscience, and that puts me on the horns of a dilemma. The mere fact that I possess such a unique ability pretty much demands that it be explored and tested to see how far it can be carried. On the other hand, so far, my subjects haven't had any choice in the matter and that's flat unethical. There's no way to avoid that conclusion.

So I've decided to do two things tonight, if I can. I'm going to make contact with Carol Alton, if she's home, and I'm going to try to make her aware of my presence in her mind. If I can do that, then I'm going to knock on her door and ask her to help me prove to myself that I'm not nuts.

I plugged in the iPod, got comfortable and went exploring.

She was home. It wasn't hard to spot her lavender aura in the swirls running through my brain. When I slid into her mind, she was sitting on the couch, legs folded up under her. She was wearing a blue terrycloth robe and and sipping on a glass of wine. Something not especially interesting was on the tube; a sit-com with an entirely predictable plot.

I'm using the she and I persons here because it's my intention to maintain as much separation as I can between her mind and mine, like I did with the pianist, but more so, if I can manage it. Nevertheless, I feel her mood (bored), and I can taste the wine (chablis).

I have no idea how I'm going to carry this off, so I just try to focus on her color and say in my mind, Hello!

Nothing

Hello Carol, with more concentration.

I sensed a little stirring, so I repeated, Carol Alton?

She turned off the TV with the remote and looked around, like she'd heard something. Maybe this wasn't going to be so tough, after all.

I tried a question. Carol, do you hear me?

She set her wine glass on the coffee table and stood up, looking around in confusion. It was time to make myself known. I focused my mind very hard on the message. Carol, in a couple of minutes, I'm going to knock on your door. Please don't be afraid. You're in no danger.

She looked at the door. She was definitely receiving the message. It was now or never.

I tugged on the thread and slipped from her mind, then I left my apartment and walked down the hallway to her door. I'd be extremely lucky if she didn't call the cops, or worse, meet me with a carving knife in her hand.

When I knocked, she sounded a little frightened when she asked, "Who is it?"

I leaned my head against her door and tried to modulate my voice so that I wouldn't be shouting, causing any neighbors to take notice. "Mrs. Alton, my name is Chuck Duncan. I live three doors down the hall. I wonder if I could talk to you about something."

She didn't open the door, but then, I didn't really expect her to. After a few seconds, "About what?"

"OK, this is gonna sound a little crazy, but it's about something you might have heard a couple of minutes ago; a voice that said he was going to knock on your door."

I heard her moving on the other side of the door, presumably peeking through the eye-hole. "Stand back from the door, Mr. Duncan, so I can see you."

I did as she asked.

"I recognize you, Mr. Duncan, but you're right; this is sounding a little crazy. I, uh, don't feel comfortable opening the door. What, specifically do you want to talk to me about?"

Shit! I thought, How do I say this and still sound like a sane man?

"I completely understand your concerns, Mrs. Alton. It's going to take some time to explain it all. If you don't want to talk now, maybe we could meet some place public where you'd feel safe. Um, would you be willing to meet me for breakfast at White's over on Colfax, say about nine in the morning? My treat."

To my surprise, I heard her laughing on the other side of the door. Then she said, "I have to say, Chuck, if I may call you that, if this is how you go about asking a girl for a date, it's the strangest pickup line I've ever run across. Tell me how you know anything about what I may or may not have heard a couple of minutes ago."

There was no way to go but forward. "It was me speaking to you, Carol. Or rather, it was my mind speaking to your mind. OK, I'm sure you're thinking I've completely lost it, but I swear it's true. If you want, I can describe exactly how you're dressed and what you were watching on your TV. I can tell you about the day you split up with Ron. I can recite your argument with him word for word. I know that's a painful memory and I don't want to make you relive it, but I want you to know that I'm telling you the truth about this, as crazy as it sounds."

Silence for several seconds. Then, "Give me a couple of minutes."

I waited three or four minutes until I heard the chain and the deadbolt unlatch.

"OK, Chuck, you can come in now."

I opened the door slowly and poked my head through. She'd put on some jeans and a light sweater and was sitting in the wingback chair. There was a small pistol lying on the table next to her hand. That was no surprise, it was smart.

She saw me looking at the pistol and said, "You have to admit your story's a little strange, Chuck. I'm sure you can understand my taking some precautions."

I stepped in the door and closed it behind me. "Of course. You'd be foolish not to. I apologize for springing this on you out of the blue but I couldn't think of any way to do it but to just do it."

"You've certainly got my interest. Have a seat on the couch there, Chuck, and explain this mind to mind communication you say you're able to carry off. Feel free to pour yourself a glass of wine, if you want."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass. It's gonna be hard enough to explain this without doping my brain with alcohol."

"Yeah, I should think!"

"This, um, ability is still pretty new to me, Carol. Can you tell me what it was like when I spoke in your mind? I mean, did you actually hear a voice or was it something different?"

Her brow wrinkled as she thought about it. "I guess I didn't really hear a voice. It was more like I thought it or read it, like reading dialogue in a book." Then she pointed her finger at me and added, "This doesn't mean I'm buying your story, Chuck. For all I know, you might have employed some kind of electronic device to cause that. You say this is new to you. Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what you think is going on."

I looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath and began. "Do you know what a singing bowl is?"

She sat patiently listening to me for the half hour it took to get my story out. She never interrupted or said anything except for when I described her getting punched by Ron. Her hand reflexively went to her face as she said, "Jesus!"

She giggled and blushed when I told her about Dannie and Kevin.

When I finished, she sat silently sipping on her wine for at least a full minute before asking. "So, you're sure it's the singing bowls that's initiating this thing.?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. I've tried it with other kinds of music but it doesn't work. I've tried it with no sounds at all and it doesn't work."

"Have you tried it with a different singing bowls album?"

"Um, no, that never occurred to me, but it's a good idea. I suppose it could be something specific to this particular recording. I'll download a different one when I go back to my apartment and give it a shot."

She took another sip of wine. "And you've never communicated directly with any of the other people you've, uh, visited."

"No. Well, the creep who does the kiddie porn. But that wasn't like what I did with you earlier. It was more like his mind and mine were struggling for control. I honestly can't say whether or not he actually sensed me as a separate entity at all."

She got up and walked around the room, thinking about my story and wound up standing behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders and asked, "Tell me what you want from me, Chuck."

I had to organize my response to her question for a few seconds. "Well, I guess I need someone to verify that I'm not a nut case, to show me that I'm not hallucinating this whole crazy story. After that, I don't know. Maybe help me experiment with it to see what it can do; you know, like define it's limits, hone my skills. I guess I'd feel better if somebody else could learn to do it. You interested in trying?"

She laughed and went back to her chair. "I can't deny it'd be kind of a kick to be able to do that, but it's a scary thought."

"Tell me about it!"

She took a deep breath and came to a decision. "Tell you what, Chuck, I'll give it some thought and let you know tomorrow what I think about all this. In the mean time, if you feel compelled to peek in on my personal life, I'd prefer it if you announced yourself first. I can't get over the feeling of being violated. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

I stood to go. "I can appreciated that, Carol, and I apologize for the intrusions. I can control it well enough now that it's unlikely that I'll arrive in your mind accidentally like I did the first time."

I opened the door to leave but stopped to ask, "Would you do me the favor of not talking to anybody else about this?"

She nodded, "For the time being, it's just between the two of us. By the way, is that invitation to breakfast still open?"

————————

The first thing I did when I got home was to go online to the Apple Store and download a different singing bowl album. Then I plugged my iPod into the dock and got comfortable, thinking about who I wanted to visit before I started. Certainly not Carol. I decided on Kevin, going back on the promise I'd made to myself after our last encounter.

I leaned back, closed my eyes and pushed the start on the remote. Familiar sounds but different. They were just as pleasant, just as relaxing, just as peace-inducing. But they didn't do it. I drifted through the entire album just above the level of sleep but never detected a single mind. I could visualize the swirling colors but I couldn't tie them to any consciousness.

So, Carol's suggestion taught me something else. Everything was coming from the first album. That made my two copies, the one on the iPod and the one on my MacBook all that much more precious. As an afterthought, I went back online to Amazon and ordered a CD of the first album. I had to know if anything would be different if it were played on a different device or if there might have been something strange in the download.

Something else occurred to me. I got my Bose headset with noise attenuation out of its case and plugged my iPod into it. I lay back in the recliner and started the original album. The Bose headset blocks out almost all outside noises, so the sounds on the album were particularly clean and pure. Almost immediately, I was seeing colors and touching several minds. I let myself into Kevin's world just long enough to see that he was reading, then left.

So it was something about this album and only this album. I had to wonder if it was at a particular point on the album when my brain was stimulated to do its thing. I'd need someone's help to figure that out.

My next experiment would be to get Carol to listen to it and see if it affected her brain the same way it affected mine. Intuition told me it wouldn't.

September 6, 2014:

At 9AM sharp, I knocked on Carol's door. She answered almost immediately, wearing designer jeans and a nice, summery, pale yellow sleeveless top that displayed just a hint of cleavage.

I didn't have any idea what her maiden name was, but her beautiful olive skin and her facial features suggested she was Hispanic. I asked, "Estás lista para el desayuno?"

"Sí, tengo hambre. Tu español es muy bueno."

We both laughed and I took that as a good beginning. "Is White's OK with you?"

"Yes, they make great omelets."

As we waited for the elevator, I asked, "Shall we walk? It's only a few blocks and it looks like a nice day."

"Yes, let's."

The temperature was already in the low 70's as we walked north on Franklin toward Colfax. Denver being a mile high, the thin air allows for rapid warming in the mornings and rapid cooling when the sun sets behind the Rockies.

Carol was wearing low heels that clicked sharply on the sidewalk. She's tall, around five-ten, and she has a long stride for a woman, purposeful. I felt a powerful attraction to her and I found myself hoping the mind-meld thing wasn't going to be too weird for her to think of me as anything but an oddity. Of course, we needed to talk about it, but I didn't want to approach the subject too quickly, so I tried to keep the conversation aimed in her direction.

"So, is Carol your given name or is it short for something else?"

"Good guess on your part. Carol is what I always go by because I'm not all that fond of my given name. It's Carlita."

"You don't like it? I think it's kind of charming."

"Yeah, well, in Spanish, it means manly, but you probably already knew that. I don't find it the least bit flattering. I'll stick with Carol, if you don't mind."

"I didn't know that because my Spanish isn't really all that good. I was just trying to impress you."

She glanced over and caught my eye. "So you think I'm worth impressing?"

"I do."

At the restaurant, we were shown to a booth with a view of the traffic on Colfax, one of Denver's main drags. The waitress poured coffee for both of us and took our orders.

As soon as she walked away, Carol jumped right into the main topic. "So, did you learn any more about your 'gift' last night?"

"I did. It seems that, whatever sounds are affecting my brain, they're only on that one album. I don't know if it's the entire album or just a piece of it. I also learned I can enhance it a little by using my Bose headset with noise attenuation. It seems to make the sounds cleaner. Since you brought up the subject, I wonder if you've given any more thought to trying it. I could bring over the head set and my iPod."

She put her elbows on the table, folded her hands together and rested her chin on her knuckles. "Hmm, like I said last night, it's an interesting idea. I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to experiment though, especially if you think it's doing something to your brain."

"Yeah, I see your point. But I haven't suffered any negative results that I'm aware of. I don't believe I've lost any IQ points or anything. The only carry-over from my visits seems to be that I feel the subject's emotions for a while."

"Subjects? Is that how you think of us?"

I had to chuckle. "Sorry, Carol, I guess that was an unfortunate choice of words. I'm just trying to look at it analytically."

"I'm not insulted." She reached across the table and patted my hand. "OK, I'll give it a try when we get back home. But I don't know whether I want it to work or not. The idea of being privy to another persons thoughts is a little scary."

"Exactly! My first experience was incredibly hot, as you might imagine, but the second one, your split with Ron, left me kind of stunned. By the way, I'm sorry for what happened to him. That must have been very painful for you."

She looked a little perplexed. "You know about that? It wasn't even on the news, as far as I know."

I was caught out. I hadn't told her about all my visits, and that was one I'd left out intentionally because grief is so personal. "Um, yeah, I was there in your mind when the police officers brought you the bad news. Sorry."

She sighed, "I wish you'd been there in person. I could have used some company that night. I wound up drinking half a bottle of scotch and felt like I was going to die all the next day."

I laughed. "Yeah, Glenlivet. At least you chose to do it with excellent hooch." Then, more seriously, "Fact is, Carol, I wanted to rush right down the hall to offer whatever comfort I could, but there was just no way I'd have been able to explain how I knew what I knew."

"Yes, I see your point." She reached over and patted my hand again. "Thanks for thinking of me."

Breakfast arrived and the conversation shifted to other things as we ate. I told her a little about my job as a CFO. And since I was privy to her dramatic marital breakup, I felt sort of obligated to give her a brief picture of mine. She said she'd seen me in the lobby with my kids way back in June and thought they were cute.

Her late husband, Ron, was a personal injury attorney before suffering his own personal injury. He may have been a crappy husband, but he had a very large life insurance polity, and he hadn't gotten around to removing her as beneficiary before he was killed. She didn't reveal how large the check was, but I had the impression it was seven digits.

In spite of her windfall, Carol didn't lead a life of idle luxury. She was a certified DBM (data base manager) and did a lot of her work from her home computer.

She hadn't dated anyone since her husband's death. I wondered if I might change that.

Back at my apartment, I made us some herbal tea while she used my bathroom to unload some of coffee we drank at the restaurant. She walked back into the living room and asked, "OK, so how do I do this thing?"

"Simple enough, I guess. Just get comfortable in the recliner, there. I've already brought up the right album on the iPod, so all you have to do is put on the head set, plug in and push the start button. The thing is, it didn't happen to me the first time I listened to the album. In fact, it doesn't happen every time I listen to it. I guess the more it happens, the more often it happens; like my mind is becoming increasingly sensitive to the stimulus, whatever it is. You may need to listen to it several times over a period of a few days to determine if it has any effect on you."

"I see. Well, let's give it a shot and see what happens."

She got comfortable and listened to the entire album with her eyes closed. I waited outside on the balcony so my moving around wouldn't be a distraction. When she took off the head set and handed it back to me an hour later, she said, "Nothing odd happened. You're right, though, about the sounds being incredibly relaxing and peaceful. I'm definitely going to download it onto my own iPod."

I'd been thinking of something as she was listening to the album. "Uh, Carol, do you have time to do one more experiment?"

"Sure. What are you thinking."

"I'm not sure it'll work. I'd like you to mark the time it takes me to get into your mind after I start the album. What I want to do is try to pinpoint where on the album I'm most receptive to mental signals. I'm wondering if there's a particular sound that does it or if it's the sound of the crystal bowls in general."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. So you're gonna start listening and then jump into my mind as soon as you can. How will I know you're there?"

"I'll mentally call out your name, like I did last night. Unless that was just some anomaly, you should pick it up right away."

"OK. Do you have a stopwatch or something?"

"I do. I used to time my daughter in the pool when she was on a swim team."

I found the stopwatch in a desk drawer and explained the set, reset and start/stop buttons. Then I pushed back in the recliner, put on the head set and got ready. The moment I pushed the start button on the iPod, she did the same on the stopwatch. I closed my eye and let the colors flow.

I don't know how long it actually took, but it seemed like no time before her particular shade of lavender swam into my mental view. I easily slid into her mind and announced myself. Carol?

Very much to my surprise, I got back an answer. I'm here, Chuck. Are you hearing me?

I slid out of her mind, opened my eyes and turned off the iPod. She was standing in front of me with wide eyes. I must have looked just as surprised.

She laughed and said, "Well, that was just pretty damned amazing, Chuck! Why haven't I been aware of you in my mind before last night?"

I shrugged, "I don't know. I suppose it's because I wasn't focused on saying or thinking anything. I was just along for the ride. So I guess once I've made contact, it's a two-way thing, if I want it to be."

Then I wondered, "Um, when we were, uh, exchanging thoughts, could you get any sense of me beyond the words? Maybe see the room through my eyes? I ask because I felt like I was inside you and I could see through your eyes; I could see myself sitting here in the recliner."

"No, nothing. I just sensed your words and thought my responses. If I hadn't known it was you, I wouldn't have had a clue."

"OK, so we can communicate once I initiate contact, but you can't occupy my mind like I do yours. Interesting."

"Yeah, and unfair!" She blushed and added, "I liked that part about you feeling like you were inside me."

Then I blushed. "You know what I mean. What was the time on the stopwatch?"

"Looks like two minutes and four seconds."

I took off the head set, slipped the iPod into the dock and turned on my sound system. I turned to Carol and said, "Let me know when it's close to two minutes."

I started the album and we listened standing next to each other as the time approached one minute and fifty seconds. I hadn't heard anything strange. At one minute and fifty-nine seconds, there was a point where three singing bowls were struck in rapid succession, producing an interesting effect. The reverberation or vibrato from the three bowls kind of clashed together, causing about five seconds of a pulsing dissonance. At the same time, I felt a moment or two or disorientation and some slight dizziness.