Chapter 34: Vegetable Lo Mein And Deep Throat

The next day on the way to work, I bought a morning paper out of curiosity and stuffed it in my backpack. I got to work at the usual time and was greeted enthusiastically by the two of them.

Marco’s dad threw his arms around me and gave me a big hug and a wet kiss on the cheek. He was going to have to throttle these displays of emotion if he hoped to assimilate into American society. Marco shook my hand with both of his, and said, “Gracias, mi amigo.”

I said, “De nada,” and added, in English because my conversational Spanish was not yet up to par, “Marco, if any of those news people show up again looking for interviews with me, or information about me, just tell them no, I don’t want to. I’d prefer to keep a low profile.” Marco didn’t understand why, but said he would.

I got my apron and started work cutting up boxes and tying them up. I noticed a slight increase in store traffic as people dropped in to look at “the scene of the crime” and chat with Marco. Most of them bought a little something to justify coming in, and I caught a few glances sent my way.

Other than that, it was a normal day at the store. The two of them still kept me in the loop conversationally, making sure I got plenty of practice speaking Spanish.

I had not looked into either Marco’s or his dad’s epicenter, because I had no need to, and I didn’t want to pry unnecessarily. But as I was thinking about Mme. Connolly’s French class I remembered that one of the things that had preceded my breakthrough was looking inside her head.

I didn’t recall any particular thing I saw there that opened the door, but maybe it was just the way she thought about the language that I picked up. I thought I’d try it here. It probably didn’t matter which one of them I chose, so whoever was first to allow me to set up a link would be ‘it’.

And it turned out to be Marco, who looked at me and said, “Tom, could you rearrange that apple display? It’s looking a little disorganized now after people have picked through it.” I said I would, and while he was looking at me, I established the link and looked into his epicenter. I stepped around the corner to where the apples were displayed and started on that. He couldn’t see me now, but I still had the link, so I could watch what was going on.

This gets a little vague here, because I didn’t fully understand the mechanism of language formation. Essentially, the concepts he was trying to express were first stated in the internal language, the mind’s “machine language”, I had previously found that everyone knew, though they didn’t know that they knew it, because it was buried so deep inside. The concepts, the meaning of the sentence, were then translated into the person’s native language and finally spoken.

And watching the mind construct these concepts as words in the native language, I got a sense of how the spoken language flowed. I think that’s what had happened with Mme. Connolly and French, and what I thought was happening here. So a pretty vague explanation of how it happened, but the best I can do right now. Maybe I should study linguistics and psychology in college.

As Marco chatted with his father, I could see the sentence being formed before it was uttered aloud. It made a certain kind of logical sense the way I observed it. So I would watch the two of them and periodically look over their shoulder, metaphorically speaking, as they spoke to try to better understand the process.

We continued like that the rest of the afternoon, me performing my work while occasionally looking into one of their heads as they spoke. The things they talked about were everyday matters, nothing secret or embarrassing, mostly talk about sports and television.

At the end of the day I hung up my apron and bid them goodnight. Marco gave me some peaches to take home. “They’re about to be overripe. Take them and eat them before I have to throw them away.” They didn’t look overripe to me, but what do I know.

I unlocked my bike and rode the half block to Kim’s school for class, then locked it up again. I was curious to see the kind of reception I was going to get. And the reception was ... pretty much nothing, same as every time I walked in. But Kim looked sharply at me and smiled. I could tell he was pleased, but he wouldn’t show it. I had done what he taught me to do, so no reason to get all emotional when I did it. It was what he expected I would do.

Class proceeded normally, though Kim did include a segment on defending against attackers with knives, something he normally only does with advanced or older students. Must’ve been on his mind for some reason.

After class I asked to use the phone, and called in the order for Chinese food. It only took about ten minutes to bike there, so I had to wait a little before it was ready. They gave me the order in a big plastic shopping bag which I managed to get hooked over the handlebars so it wouldn’t be in the way.

A careful trip home got me there a while before Karen was to arrive. I thought it would be wise to walk Barney, so I turned the oven on low and put the food in to heat it up, then got Barney’s leash and plastic bags. I left a note on the door. “Walking the dog, back in a few.”

We did the same tour -- how does Barney not get bored to tears with the same trip every day, twice a day? -- and were back in fifteen minutes. No Karen yet, so I fed the dog and checked on the food.

I remembered the paper in my backpack and dug it out. I skimmed it and found a little article with a picture of Marco standing in front of the shop. It gave a few more details, including the names and ages of the two attackers, the charges pending against them, and a sensationalist account of the events in which they referred to me as “the ninja stockboy”.

And they say American journalism is dead. Some editor gets paid big bucks to come up with tabloid excess like that.

There was a knock on the door and there she was, looking gorgeous. I motioned her in.

“Just heating up the food, which got a little cool on the trip home. It’s ready when you are.”

“Okay, no hurry, I can wait if necessary. So, no cuts or bruises? No contusions? Internal injuries? How about lingering psychological damage?”

“From Chinese food?”

“Carter, you are either an idiot, or you are deliberately provoking me.”

“It would be dangerous to admit the latter, so it must be the former.” I stood up and opened the oven door.

She took a step and put her arms around me. “Don’t joke, Tom. I was worried, even after I knew you were okay.”

“I’m sorry if I made you worry, even inadvertently. I wouldn’t have chosen to engage them, but there was no choice, they meant to harm Marco and his dad, and me, too. I couldn’t not do something. I tried to talk them out of it, but they were committed to getting the money and hurting us. There was no choice.”

“Okay, I know you wouldn’t go out of your way to start something, so you did what you had to do. But I’m proud of you, even if I still worry.”

Hell, I’d take on the guy’s whole extended family if she’d be proud of me like this.

“It’s nice to see you, Karen. It seems silly to say it since you never lived here, but the place seems empty without you.”

“Maybe you should get a goldfish. The dog doesn’t seem to be helping much with this abandonment issue you’ve developed.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Are you ready to eat?”

She was. We collected plates and chopsticks and napkins and serving spoons and carried the lot into the den where there was a TV and VCR. My aunt and uncle had a decent collection of tapes, so we found something we liked and put it on.

I discovered again that she had a lovely laugh and I enjoyed hearing it. I would have to learn to make her laugh more.

We finished the food, and even the fortune cookies (“You will soon come into money.”), plus a couple of the peaches that Marco had donated, and brought the food containers to the garbage and the plates to the sink.

She took my hand. “Listen, I got my period last night and I’m feeling a little bloated and uncomfortable. I’d prefer not to have sex. I know that’s disappointing.”

“Karen, I won’t lie, having sex with you is amazing and I think about it a lot. But if you decided to become a nun and vowed never to have sex again, I’d still love being around you. It’s fine. There’ll be other times.”

“I’m not sure they’ll let me have visitors in the convent, but I appreciate the sentiment. Have you given any more thought to me meeting your mother? And the rest of your family?

“I was thinking about our discussion and now I really feel that if I meet her she may stop obsessing about you and me, or any other girl for that matter.”

“I hadn’t, but maybe you’re right, Karen. Perhaps we don’t make a big deal out of it, you just come over to dinner one night, just like any of my other friends. Of course, I don’t have any female friends anymore, so this would feel like something quite different to her.

“Funny how that changes after a certain age. She wouldn’t have given it a second thought if you were eleven and I asked if you could stay for dinner after we played softball. You’d be just another friend.”

“Tom, everything changes when you get to high school. Well, see if you can arrange something. It’d be better for all of us if they know who I am and get a face and personality to go with the name.

“And I probably should do the same for you, have you over to dinner, though of course my parents have already met you. But you haven’t talked to them much.”

While she talked I wondered why this was becoming important to her now. I was tempted to peek into her epicenter, but once again I was reluctant to pry. I didn’t have that hesitation with other girls.

I asked, “You want to sit and talk for awhile, or do you have to get home?”

“It’s early enough. I’m good for another hour at least,” she said. So we went into the den again and sat on the couch and talked about everything. I told her about my problems with fluent Spanish conversation (and I think she was secretly pleased that I wasn’t actually the prodigy she she thought I’d become).

She told me another story about her horny cousin that had me alternately laughing out loud and getting aroused. She could be very funny when she relaxed and stopped trying to be the best person in her class, in the neighborhood, in the city.

“I’ve got to get going soon, Tom. This was fun, I like when we can just hang and do normal stuff. But I also like when we can hang and do the other stuff, y’know, the abnormal stuff.” She smiled at her joke.

“I’m really not happy with my body tonight, so no sex, I think, and I’m a little surprised at how disappointed I am at that.”

“As I said, I’m fine with it.”

“But I don’t think I am, that’s what I’m trying to say. I love the feeling I get when we’re touching each other, giving each other pleasure, it makes me happy. That closeness, that feeling that our minds are connected, when we have sex, that’s what I’m talking about. I know you get it when you’re doing those wonderful things to me.

“And I do, too, so I’m thinking maybe a blowjob might be the thing, given that we can’t have sex. That might give me some of that closeness.”

I really love this woman’s mind.

“I think I said once that if I ever turned down a blowjob from you, you should have me committed. I should write poetry about your blowjobs. So, yes, please, with whipped cream on top.”

“An interesting idea. Should I check the fridge?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re out. You’ll have to do without.”

She gave a glance at the windows and it didn’t seem we could be seen, so she got down on her knees and started undoing my belt. I had already developed half a stiffy from listening to her talking about her cousins, but now I could feel the real thing coming on.

Watching her preparing to suck my cock was amazingly erotic. She looked up and smiled as she unzipped my jeans. “Lift your butt, Carter, don’t make me do all the work.”

I did, and she grabbed the waistband of my pants and shorts and pulled them all the way down to my knees. She took the base of my dick in her hand and looked at it.

“I’ve got to hand it to this guy, Carter, he’s a real trouper, always ready to go to work.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your appreciation. I’m certain he’ll be as pleased as I am. Even more pleased in a minute.”

“I’d better take off my shirt in case there’s a leak or something. Cum stains are so difficult to explain.”

She quickly unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it on the couch. Her boobs still looked spectacular, even trapped in a bra.

She smiled at me, then took my cock in her hand, stuck out her tongue, and licked the rim of my dick. I sucked in my breath and that was exactly the reaction she was looking for.

She got off a little on this teasing, and I suddenly remembered her unfulfilled fantasy about the bound victim and her teasing him just to the point of orgasm and stopping. Then doing it again.

I had said I was happy to be her victim, but now I wasn’t so sure if I could endure the tantalizing agony of never quite getting to the point of release. I knew I could spoil her game just by willing myself not to have an orgasm which would leave me right on that delicious cusp for as long as I liked. Or spoil it by willing myself to have an orgasm, but she would feel frustrated if that happened.

Right now, she was licking up and down the shaft, her eyes never leaving my face. Damn, she was beautiful, and I was so lucky. I made the connection and glanced, just a little reluctantly, into her epicenter to see what was driving her now. She was happy with this feeling of control, but also getting a little rush from the obvious pleasure she was giving me.