Chapter 18: Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson

Thursday, October 4th

When I awakened, Margaret having slept at my side, Arlene, my Companion for the day, was in the doorway, asking “Could I get an early start?” She slipped out of a robe to reveal a corset flaunting her boobs.

I sensed a little discomfort, perhaps jealousy, from Margaret, who actually had extremely attractive and hardly tiny breasts. With a twist to my telempathy, and one I hadn’t really known I had, I comforted Margaret, and placed the suggestion in Arlene’s mind that Margaret’s boobs were incredibly attractive to her -- although they might already have been. For whatever reason, Arlene and Margaret were soon passionately involved in breast play, Arlene sucking Margaret’s while twisting around on the bed so Margaret could reach hers, fondling and squeezing. For a moment, I felt out, until I realized that each gorgeous woman still had a spare breast available to me. I cheerfully placed myself between the two and alternated my lips from nipple to nipple.

Before long, I realized that we were close to forming the sexual triangle needed for rapport. Wondering if this would work, I positioned myself so each could put a hand on my penis; both were quickly stroking and tugging. The lust increased, and we slipped into rapport. They connected with me and I transferred knowledge of ground to air attack.

When we recovered, Arlene started to apologize for not having offered me one or more of her orifices. “Hey, I liked it. Maybe that fits. If some of those ill-conceived attacks against SAM installations go in at low level, not having understood the density of Soviet-style anti-aircraft artillery or the efficiency of those under radar control, the pilots won’t just be fucked. They’ll be dead.”

Washington prepares

Not all Washington attention was on conventional warfare, although we learned that DIA set up a “situation room”. That seemed a fine idea, and we set one up in an available room. We went to the National Geographic Map Store downtown, and bought up most of their stocks of maps of Cuba.

Lois smiled her way through the History Department at AU, and the Foreign Area Studies center contracted to the Army, until she acquired a set of what, in the intelligence community, are called base maps. These resemble outline maps that students might have been given to mark up and color in grade school geography, but are more precise.

She was in search of other information, about people. Were there students or faculty that had ties to appropriate places in the defense or intelligence establishments? AU and GW were noted as schools where government people worked part-time on degrees.

In her quest for maps, she met Carl O’Brien, a doctoral candidate who was an assistant, specializing in political geography, in the office of the Director of the Bureau of Intelligence and Research at the State Department.

After finishing her explorations at the college and research level, she returned to visit the experimental high school administration, and with her powers of suggestion, got George and Mark into the “special program” not requiring regular attendance.

Margaret and Greta were our mapping experts, but I knew that Margaret had other commitments today. I told Greta, “Make the war room happen. Paul can advise you of how the military does such rooms, where staff officer work and impromptu briefings happen.”

Arlene was with me as my Companion of the day. One of the nice things about that is that it was perfectly acceptable to stand talking to others, arms around one another. A practical aspect, as with now, is that the Companion was cross-training: as now, Arlene was learning about mapping.

Paul had a number of suggestions. “Cuba is easier than a worldwide command post. For example, you’re in the same time zone.

“I would like to suggest that we add some reminders of the people for whom we strive. Could we have an American flag, and the seals of the services and intelligence agencies, on the wall?”

That was a great idea. I laughed at one thought, though. “Do we drape a black curtain over the NRO seal?”

Arlene pointed out, “Aren’t our details on the maps such that they’ll be TS/SCI anyway?”

“Yes. That room has to be totally secure, because a look on the wall will give us all away. Before anything goes up, we might want to have a locksmith put in a code-key pushbutton vault door, with the buttons hidden.”

The Undergraduate

Margaret invited George and Vivian to her home, to discuss current events. In this time and place, parents considered this an honor, and George’s parents thanked Margaret. “We’ll probably talk late. Would you mind if I just brought him to school in the morning?”

In her home study, Margaret told them, “I do my research and writing here, but I also find it a place to meditate, and explore other forms of thinking.” She frowned. “Sometimes, my mind is a very lonely place. Nevertheless, this is my retreat. I do not take people here whom I consider other than adults. Will you join me in some wine?” She poured.

Vivian agreed. “It is for me, as well. Not that many of my peers can connect with my mind.” George actually had great respect for Vivian’s intellect. He regarded her as an icy beauty with a face that he could admire at length, if he could do it discreetly. George, however, had never had an opportunity to admire her as she sprawled on the couch, skirt disarrayed and legs, presumably accidentally, showing up to blue silken panties.

He turned back to Margaret, who, he realized, had unbuttoned several buttons, top and bottom, of her shirtdress. Her “living breasts”, a subject of school folklore, were partially visible, and, indeed, moving, although not as much as when the mouse was in residence.

George, looking downward as she moved, saw the flashing of a very attractive set of legs. She occasionally sat on her desk, but while wearing a below-the-knee skirt, never revealing as much as Lois.

Margaret went to her music center and started some background. “I find this very relaxing.” It was the Pachelbel Canon in D, followed by the livelier Appalachian Spring, cued up to “Simple Gifts”. “It’s nice to be together as good friends, knowing that we won’t be disturbed. That could never happen at school.” She went to sit on the couch, leaving room between Vivian and herself. She crossed her legs, revealing a vision to George.

In my telepathically enabled mind, a different music played: Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.

George blurted, “ Oh my God!

Margaret said, innocently, “Pardon?”

George replied, “Oh no, Miss Smith. Oh no.”

She questioned, “What’s wrong?”

George tried to explain, “Miss Smith, you didn’t ... I mean, you didn’t expect...”

“What?”

“I mean, you didn’t really think I’d do something like that?”

“Like what?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“For god’s sake, Miss Smith. Here we are. You got me into your house. You give me a glass of wine. You ... put on music. Now you start opening up your personal life to me and tell me we won’t be disturbed.

“So?”

“Miss Smith, you’re trying to seduce me.”

She giggled, and said “Huh?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Actually, George, that’s not quite correct. Vivian and I, as a team, are trying to seduce you.” Vivian, usually the ice queen, was losing it and going into hysterical, if charming, strong contralto laughter, complementing Margaret’s soprano.

“I think you’ve succeeded.”

Vivian and Margaret pointed to the seat between them. Vivian beckoned, while Margaret said, “Over here, Mr. Lawrence. Clothing not required. You might enjoy, however, removing ours.”

Washington prepares

As we explored getting information to flow with Hilsman, another set of Washington insiders was trying to balance unconventional and conventional warfare.

At our evening review, I reported, “We aren’t the only ones, ironically considering our ages, trying to introduce adult supervision on some pretty juvenile decisionmakers. I learned that DCI McCone held a meeting on MONGOOSE operations. Robert Kennedy was especially insistent that more be done. The discussion grew sharp, with tension between the Kennedy faction, the military, Lansdale the covert operator, and the wise man of the group, McCone.

“Remember, while MONGOOSE is technically under the JCS, Lansdale is as free an operator as one might find in the military. At various times, while at the relatively low rank of brigadier general, he also held titles of Deputy Assistant Secretary for Special Operations, Staff Member of the President’s Committee on Military Assistance, and Assistant Secretary of Defense for Special Operations.

“The President’s brother is his hatchet man, not infrequently demanding that action must be taken, but not necessarily with full planning. As was demonstrated by the Bay of Pigs fiasco, pushback can result in something satisfactory to no one.

“JFK seemed to have a personal animus to Castro and wanted both personal and systemic attack. Lansdale indicated that they were building networks, and hadn’t yet attempted sabotage.

“McCone saw a continuing problem in U.S. covert operations, in which he saw a great deal of what he called “hesitancy” in government circles to engage in any activities which would involve attribution to the United States. From the Bay of Pigs, he had learned that if an action were too weakened to avoid attribution, or to increased deniability, it was better not to do it at all.

“Robert Kennedy defended the Special Group as not having withheld approval of any actions that he had known to be prepared, but had, he said, been urging more and faster action by Lansdale’s organization. Let’s take a coffee break.”

“McCone’s meeting turned into the polite bureaucratic equivalent of a brawl. The minutes discreetly said