Chapter 1

“And she was lying in the grass.
And she could hear the highway breathing.
And she could see a nearby factory.
She’s making sure she is not dreaming.”
-Talking Heads, “And She Was”

Hi. My name’s Susan. There was some confusion about that for a while, but yes, I’m sure of it now.

You don’t know me unless you’ve read a story called “Long Day’s Journey Into Susan,” available wherever fine erotic mind control stories are posted. For those who came in late, let me give you the quick version:

Orphan, abusive thieving douchebro boyfriend, Borderline Multiple Personality Disorder developed to cope, met a great guy, great guy turned out to have girlfriend, fucked great guy in the college library anyway, librarian would later turn out to be great, great guy’s girlfriend turned out to be cool about it and pretty great too, great group sex with great guy, great girl, and great future employer; great guy and girl turn out to be able to control minds, offer to get rid of douchebro and come live with them, accepted, great guy and girl force douchebro to watch them fuck brains out like he never could and run him out of town, great couple get everything he stole back and help find great job with great boss/fuckbuddy, come to grips with multiple personalities, eat great girl’s pussy while great guy proposes to her, do lezzie act with great girl and librarian on stage, pseudo-evil mind controlling old friend of great couple crashes party, sleep through strangest wedding prank ever, stay home and help online while all those great people get to go to Europe to prank old friend back, receive iPad and bag of other cool expensive gifts from their pseudo-evil friend for reasons still unclear.

You know, that same old story.

Talking about my life these days without talking about Troy & Julie Equals, the great couple I mentioned in the Cliff Notes version, would be like having an interview with The Pope on the condition “Don’t bring up the whole ‘God’ thing.” Born neighbors and best friends for life, learned how to control minds, taught it to a friend who became pseudo-evil, got together; she’s a graphic designer and artist, he’s going for a doctorate in Economics; met me, moved me in with them, got married, just got back from Europe. Their story is easier to tell and much nicer than mine.

The day I met them, we had Chinese for dinner, and my fortune cookie said “A New Day is Dawning for You.” I’ve never gotten a fortune so prophetic. It’s now in my purse, along with more stuff than I think most women carry; a habit born of frequently having to flee the apartment to escape the ex-douchebro in the middle of the night.

From the sound of things, though, I wasn’t going to have to carry all that much longer. I had a safe place to live and cool, sexy people to live with; although in the early days, there was always that worry in the back of my head that I’d do something to screw it up. Remember that Next Generation episode where they find the peaceful paradise planet and then Wesley steps on a flower bed and it turns out the punishment for that is death? I figured that was coming any second.

It took me a while to figure out that not everyone is the douchebro (You know what? His name was Chad, that’ll save me some typing.) and that I’d have to go trampling that flower bed for them to toss me out. Instead, they helped me to get in touch with the other women in my head and all of us are learning to get along. I’d rather not talk about them just yet, but I think we’re all good for now. One or two might show up at some point.

Most importantly, though, was that the last time I’d talked to Troy about whether or not they should teach me how to “do what we do,” (Their term for how they control people.) he and Julie had both agreed that I was ready for it. However, since the last time they taught someone, she ended up becoming the pseudo-evil friend I mentioned before, (Ok, her name’s Helen, same deal with Chad back there.) we’d decided that all three of us had to be completely sure that I was ready. (Six if you count the other women in my head that I still would prefer to not talk about right now.)

I gave them a few days to recover from their trip, as well as deal with the Ferrari that Helen had loaded onto their plane home with the luggage and a note saying it was a gift to Julie for reasons that, again, are still unclear. Julie said she’d made a joke and thought Helen was kidding; Troy said she should know better than thinking Helen’s joking when it comes to elaborate, expensive gifts. The argument over whether or not to keep it ended with Julie saying she’d figure something out.

I say argument, but really, I’ve never seen the two of them have a fight that lasted more than a minute. With an open marriage, the power to control minds, and the investments Troy’s made for both of them (And me. He’s gonna be a great economist. Is there an Economists’ Hall of Fame? I’m sure Troy would have told me by now.), the Big Two reasons couples fight; Sex and Money, are never issues. Here’s a typical sex conversation:

Julie: (suspiciously) Is that red hair on your shirt?

Troy: (defensively) Yeah, is that brown hair on yours?

Julie: (accusingly) Yes it is. Did you fuck her?

Troy: (angrily) Yeah, I did. You fuck yours?

Julie: (arguing) As a matter of fact, YES! I FUCKED HER! You wanna eat my pussy while I tell you about her?

Troy: (committed to the bit now) Only if YOU give me a long, slow blow job while I tell you about MINE afterwards!

Julie: (running with it) Ok, then! Hey, Susan, we’re gonna play “How Was Your Day, Hon!” I suppose YOU’D like in TOO, wouldn’t you?

Throw in a “Master” or “Mistress” here and there and you’ve just witnessed An Argument Amongst Equals. (Oh, THAT’S why they both changed their last name when they got married! I get it now! (I’m fucking with you, I totally got it.))

When they’d had time to settle in at home, I was hanging out with Julie in the living room, having a Sweatpants and Wine afternoon. Julie had just finished a project and was taking a couple of days before starting the next; and Claire, my boss/fuckbuddy who runs a small chain of yoga studios, was out of town checking out a site for a new one. That meant her executive secretary/long lunch partner could work from home today; which meant 5 minutes ordering more yoga mats and balance balls, followed by seven hours and 55 minutes of Law & Order SVU marathon while hanging out with one of the hottest women I know. (Again, my job involves travelling between three, soon four, yoga studios and I stand by that statement.)

In retrospect, the scene looked like the setup for every lesbian porno I’ve ever seen. Probably because by the time Troy got home, he was likely to walk in on one. Seeing one another engaged in sexual activities with friends was something the two of them had grown accustomed to by the time they were out of high school, and I was past being fazed by it from living with them this long, whatever role I was playing in the scene.

The TV was tuned to an international news channel recapping a story from earlier in the week. Helen was standing at a podium and talking to reporters about “admiring the people’s honesty” and that she loved the joke so much that she wanted to make it an annual “Festival of Cupid” event, encouraging tourists to come see how they’ll top it next year. “Come to San Finzione! But, ah, this time, leave the kids home,” La Contessa said with a wink. That quote and image of her would later become the slogan and posters for their tourism ads.

She was also appointing a representative from amongst those involved in the joke to bring any of the group’s concerns to her. A reporter asked why a young man with no experience beyond being a butcher’s delivery boy would be appointed to such a position, and she replied with a smile “My top advisor has recommended him and has spoken to me at length about his qualifications. They shall be working together very closely on this matter,” briefly turning and smiling at a pretty young woman standing behind her whom Julie smiled at and pointed out to me as Maria.

I asked Julie if her new Ferrari (That Troy was off getting a building permit to add an extension on the garage so she could keep.) and the gift bag she brought back for me were related to that and she nodded affirmatively. She switched the channel to some Light Alternative Music station where we could listen to douches with plaid shirts and acoustic guitars sing-whine about how much they wanted to fuck us.

“The bag is Helen’s way of saying that she’s sorry about what she did to you at the party and wants to be your friend. She’s never really figured out the whole people/things/emotions deal. I’d suggest just accepting it and I’ll tell her you said thanks; unless you have something you want to say to her yourself. If we just send it back, she’ll keep doubling down and adding to it until you either agree or every surface of this house is covered with high-end electronics.”