Part 11

It was seven P.M. by the time we got back home and started putting our new bed together. I’d forgotten about sheets, but we had enough flat sheets for other size beds to cover the mattress. At least for one night.

We’d eaten at an Arby’s on the way back home from turning the truck in. I hadn’t felt his hands on me all afternoon, and I hadn’t asked him about it because all that would do was bring attention to the issue. Now, though, I could ask him.

“Did it work?” he asked, when I brought it up.

“Did what work?”

“I imagined building a wall around my head, like an adobe wall, made out of bricks,” he said. “I made each brick in my mind and thought about how to place it and all that.”

“Did you think about ... us?” I asked.

“Sort of. I imagined you helping me build the wall.”

“When was the last time you thought about me, naked?” I asked, bluntly.

“When we were putting the bed frame together,” he said. “I could see down your shirt.”

“Okay. Is the wall still there?”

“That wall isn’t going anywhere,” he said. “I made the bricks really fast. It’s like ten feet thick.”

“Isn’t there a door in it?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I can see through it, though.”

“You can see through your adobe wall, that’s ten feet thick.”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to imagine us in bed, later,” I said. “Keep it inside the wall.”

He stared at me. I felt tingles, but that was all.

“Do you know what a blow job is, Bobby?” I asked.

“Um ... I guess not,” he said.

“Okay, remember when I touched your erection last night, and you ejaculated?”

More tingles, stronger this time.

“I’m going to do that again tonight,” I said. “I’m going to rub it like you rub it, until it spurts.”

I felt my hand on his penis.

“Keep it inside the wall!” I gasped.

The penis in my hand vanished.

“That’s impressive,” I said. “That’s very impressive.”

“It’s hard,” he said. I realized he was very tense, and his breathing was shallow.

“Relax,” I said. “I want you to concentrate on feeling this, and feeling better.”

“What if you feel it?” he croaked.

“It’s okay.”

A sudden tsunami washed over me. I sat down on the closest thing I could find, which was the floor.

And I found out what Bobby Wilson feels like when semen rushes through his penis.

It was actually just a memory, the memory of the night before, with my hand gripping his penis. Even that almost overwhelmed me. It was something entirely foreign and entirely new, but it wasn’t distasteful or eerie. It would have been those things, and more, if I hadn’t understood what was happening. But I told myself it was just one of his memories and surrendered to it, trying to examine it to find some place to put it in my memory banks. The most unsettling part of it all was that I felt like I had a penis, and had had one all my life.

Of course it was spectacular, in terms of an expansion of his ability to touch another person’s mind, but I was too busy dealing with it to think of it in those terms. I would later, but not then.

“I’m okay,” I said, as I realized he was trying to help me up. “It was a little overwhelming when you let go.”

“Keeping the wall there is easy, but keeping things from going through it is hard,” he said.

“Do you ever feel what I’m feeling?” I asked.

“I did last night, when we were kissing, but that’s all.”

“Not even when you saw me have those orgasms?”

“I saw your colors then, but I didn’t feel anything. This feeling stuff is all new.”

“As is me, feeling you,” I said. “It might have been hard, but it worked. I didn’t feel very much at all while you were trying to hide it.”

“Good,” he said. “If this is like other things, it will get easier, eventually.”

We had supper and it was still early, so we both read. We were able to get books at the Goodwill store, and the selection was surprisingly wide.

We read in bed ... in our new bed. We kept our clothes on and his wall worked.

Then it was time to go to sleep.

I decided he’d had to hide enough, and told him he could sleep naked. He had an erection when he dropped his underwear.

Then it was my turn. I hesitated, but decided it had to happen sooner or later, so I just got naked, too. I knew this was crossing a line, or at least it would be in the normal world. But my world was not normal. Our world was not normal.

I felt his hands on me instantly, when I stood naked in front of him.

“Lie down,” I said, softly.

He did and I lay beside him, but not touching him.

Then I reached for his erection and stroked it. He lasted longer this time, maybe ten or fifteen seconds. He groaned my name and in that second I realized we’d forgotten the towel.

It was instinct, born from the knowledge that all our sheets were already on the bed, and that we had no spares. His ejaculate was quite normal, meaning a teaspoon or two, but that little bit of liquid can make a wide-spread mess of things.

So I leaned down and took him in my mouth as he spurted.

He was already rigid, but when he felt the heat of my mouth on him he raised his head and fairly vibrated. The psychic wave from him would have shocked me if I hadn’t been half expecting it. Again, I felt his joy, the elation of his ecstasy, while at the same time I felt his shock at what I’m sure he thought of as my bizarre behavior. He didn’t know the half of it. As I sucked him, I felt what he was feeling. Again, I had a penis, and I could feel something achingly satisfying shooting through it, while at the very same time I could feel my mouth on that penis as it spurted. Instead of letting it destroy me, though, I just went with it.

I put one knee over his leg to keep him from rolling and tried to concentrate on his flavor. I had tasted all kinds of flavors from men in this situation. Some had been better than others, but his was decidedly good. I think he felt my thankfulness, because he gasped and bucked as his penis jerked again, delivering another dollop of spunk to my sucking mouth. I cupped his balls, which still felt full and hard, though that might have been because it wasn’t really warm in that room.

Then he went limp and lay there gasping for air. I gave his penis a last little suck and then moved up to lie beside him. This time I let my legs and hip touch him, and lay my hand on his chest. I resisted rubbing my pussy on his thigh, though I wanted to a lot.

“I’d usually ask if it was good for you,” I said, “but I already know.”

“Uh huh!” he panted. His eyes were a little wild.

“We, sir, just had your first blow job.”

“Is that what that was?”

“It was a modified one,” I said. “I did most of it with my hand, but we forgot the towel, so I saved the sheets from the mess.”

“I want to feel like that was wrong,” he said.

“Let me guess. You pee out of that and think it’s dirty,” I said.

He nodded.

“Your general hygiene is good,” I said. I had taught him how to take a whore’s bath when we moved into the massage parlor and we both usually did that every night, in our separate bedrooms. I thought the only reason we hadn’t done it this night was because our schedule had been disrupted. “I liked your taste,” I said.

“I still can’t believe you did that.”

“Oh, I had a good time, too,” I said. “I plan on doing that again.”

“Really?”

“More than once,” I said.

“I felt you,” he said.

“Tell me about that.”

“I felt like you were happy. Your colors were happy, too.”

“I was. I enjoyed it.”

“But you didn’t have an orgasm,” he said. “Those colors were missing.”

“A girl can’t fake it with you,” I said.

“Why would she want to?”

“We might talk about that later. Right now, I want you to pull that wall in around you and see if you can sleep tonight without me feeling you.”

“Okay.”

“You got me going, so I’m going to masturbate before I go to sleep,” I said.

“Okay.”

“I’ll get the light,” I said.

“If you’ll let me watch you, I’ll get the light,” he countered.

I pushed myself away from him.

“We might do that later, too, some day, but for now, I’d rather do it in the dark,” I said.

“Okay.”

I got the light and went to work on my clit. It felt good, but with him right next to me I was just too inhibited.

“You know I can still see your colors, even with the light out,” he said in the darkness.

“Crap,” I groaned.

“I could help you,” he said.

“Those lessons are for much later, if ever,” I said. “I feel bad enough just touching you.”

“I didn’t mean touching you,” he said.

I was a little desperate.

“Okay,” I said.

The orgasm almost overwhelmed me. Even in the midst of it I knew he was painting my mind, and giving me that orgasm, but I didn’t resist. It was a truly fantastic orgasm, one of the best I’d ever had. And it was 100% in my mind.

I felt it in every fiber of my body, though.

It left me panting like I’d run the two miles of a PT test in eight minutes.

I woke twice in the night. Both times I felt like he was kissing me, and my hand was on his penis, but he was two feet away. I poked him and the sensations vanished.

When I woke up the next morning, he was lying there just staring at me. I wondered how long he’d been doing that, but didn’t feel anything. His wall worked better when he was awake.

“It’s not polite to stare at a lady,” I said.

“Would it really fit in there?” he asked. His eyes strayed to my pubic hair, and it didn’t take a member of MENSA to figure out what he meant.

“If that were to ever happen - which it will not - then yes, it would fit just fine. It will fit in another woman some day, when you meet the woman who will hopefully become your mate.”

“It just seems so hard to believe,” he said. “I mean I can see a split down there, and I know it leads to your vagina, but your body isn’t hollow down there. Right?”

“That’s correct. The penis pushes things apart when it goes in. That’s what creates the friction that does what my hand did to you last night. Your own hand has created that kind of friction lots of times. You can close your hand completely, right? But it opens to grip your penis. A woman’s vagina will open that way, too.”

I felt tingles ... lots of them.

“Down, boy,” I said. “The idea is for me not to feel anything.”

“Sorry,” he said.

He didn’t look very sorry.

“You dreamed twice last night,” I said.

“I dreamed a lot more than that. It felt like I was dreaming all night long,” he said.

“I felt you twice,” I said.

“I’m not sure how I can imagine my wall while I’m sleeping,” he said.

“We’ll just keep working on it.”

“So that means we’ll keep sleeping together?” He blinked. “I mean in the same bed?”

“Yes,” I said.

I felt lots of tingles again.

I decided to keep him busy by putting him to work painting. Walls, not people. When we’d been at the Home Depot I saw a stack of cans of paint by the paint counter that were marked way down because they were returns. There were three or four shopping carts, abandoned on the streets, so we snagged one of them and walked back to the big box store. I talked the guy at the desk in the paint department and he talked to his assistant manager, and we ended up getting five gallons of mismatched paint for twenty bucks. I got a kit with a roller pan, roller, two covers and a brush, and we pushed our treasure back home.

When we got there, we found un-invited “guests” in our kitchen, eating our food. There were three of them and they were wearing gang colors.

They were cocky for about fifteen seconds. Then they started acting bizarre, flailing around wildly and stumbling into things. I knew Bobby was doing something to them and I yelled, “Careful! Don’t hurt them!”

He didn’t answer, just staring at the three punks. One of them was terrified. That was clear when I saw a stain appear at his crotch and spread down both legs of his pants. The other two just seemed confused and unable to navigate in the real world. I assisted one of them out of the kitchen and then into the back alley. He kept stumbling around and I went back for another one. The guy who had pissed himself was next, though he was flailing around, fighting some unseen terror, and was harder to herd. I started yelling, “Over here! Over here!” and he came towards me. It was like I was leading him to safety and he ended up in the alley kicking at trash and the dumpster.

The third guy was easy, because by this time he was just sitting on the floor sobbing, wiping his eyes like he knew what he was seeing was wrong, and trying to wipe it away. I got him on his feet and pushed him out to join his pals. Bobby had followed me. He still hadn’t said a word. I could tell when he stopped doing whatever he’d been doing because the three stopped, frozen, probably with either shock or fear. They looked around, passing right over us as if we weren’t even there, and then took off running.

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