Chapter 21: Sue

I sat in my truck, in the driveway, having neither the motivation nor the inclination to go into the house. I hadn’t even been bothered to drive into the garage. It seemed that my life was one long series of shitty events. How did that song go? ’ ... every road that takes me, takes me down?’

It had seemed that things were starting to get back to normal - to get better, even. I had Mary back, I had pretty much made up with Maggie, our quartet’s various relationships with Dianna were mostly on the up, and I had begun to relax. That had been my mistake. I should never have let my guard down.

The house door opened, and Amanda emerged. She obviously knew there was something wrong because of the bond. She would have felt my mood: the sadness and loss I had felt at losing my best friend. I felt her power wrap me up in love and resisted the urge to quash it. That would only hurt her, and my anger was at myself.

There were so many things that I should and shouldn’t have done, but for all my powers, I couldn’t change the past – and I refused to trick everyone else into believing that I’d made better choices than I actually had.

Wearily, I opened the truck door and climbed out. Amanda came over and put her arm around me. She led me inside the house where the other girls were waiting, and I was enveloped in a group hug. Feelings of love washed over me from Mary and Amanda; Jules just held me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I told you to go.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said to her. “I made the bet and pushed it. I should have known better.”

“What happened?” asked Mary. She obviously knew that I felt I had lost Sue as a friend and that I was incredibly upset about that, but not the details.

I shared the memories: everything from my meeting with George to my leaving her dorm room.

We sat; Mary and Amanda were on either side of me and, as usual, Jules curled up on my lap.

“Oh dear,” Mary said. “I am so sorry. I know how much she meant to you.”

“I just don’t understand,” I said. “One minute she was screaming like a banshee, then next...”

“You made it too good,” said Amanda.

“Wha...” I said, so amazed that I couldn’t even formulate a coherent word.

“Sue has liked you for a long time,” she explained. “Now, though, she has found herself someone for whom she has developed real feelings. Perhaps she sees a future for them. Your blowjob, I’m guessing, was meant to just ‘scratch an itch’ to put her feelings for you to bed.

“But then you went and rocked her world like that. I’m guessing she was starting to rethink her choices in life. Give her some time. Things might not be as bad as you think.”

“No,” I said. “They might be a fuck ton worse. If I have damaged the relationship between her and George...”

“You’re doing it again,” interrupted Jules. “Taking responsibility for the world’s woes. Sue invited you to her bed, and George practically frogmarched you to her. It’s not your fault that it was so fucking incredible that you blew her mind. You can’t play with a rattlesnake and then complain when you get bit.

“None of what happened is your fault. Yes, it will be sad for you to lose Sue as a friend, but the rest of it isn’t on you.”

I had no response to that, and contented myself with just planting a kiss on her forehead as she looked up at me. I loved her - loved all of them. I needed to put things into perspective. Sue was – at least had been – a friend. The girls who surrounded me, both literally and figuratively, were my family - my life. As long as I had them, I had everything I needed.

I looked up as I heard a truck start just outside. I frowned. By the time I had untangled myself from the girls, it was way too late. My truck was gone. I looked at the empty driveway, and then back at the three girls who stood just beside me. They looked at me, waiting for my reaction, each of their faces a mask of concern as to how I would deal with the latest blow.

I laughed. It was either that or cry, and I decided I didn’t really have anything to cry about. I was in love with three of the most beautiful, caring, wonderful girls, and, more importantly, they loved me back.

We went back into the house. As bizarre as it sounds, my truck being stolen had lightened my mood, putting my issues with Sue into an even starker perspective. I called the police and reported my truck stolen. I had to admit to leaving the key in the ignition. Fortunately, I kept my truck key, and my house keys separate. They gave me a report number for the insurance but warned me that the insurance might not pay out since I’d been negligent. For some reason, that made the whole situation even more amusing to me. I guess I had become a little hysterical.

There were no further disasters that evening. I cooked, we ate, and then we sat together for the rest of the night. We didn’t even watch television. We just sat and enjoyed each other’s company. When I went to bed, Mary came with me and held me, soothing me to sleep.

The next morning, I went for a run. I had assimilated all of the memories that James had given me with regard to martial arts training, and so had reduced my practice sessions to three times per week. The other mornings, I ran. Sometimes the twins ran with me, but it was usually too early for them. Often, I would meet up with them; they still ran, but they started much later.

That morning, however, was a training morning; the run was to keep my mind off of my various woes. James was due at six, so I was back at the house in time to get showered and changed for when he arrived. We sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee each.

“I finally got the okay to show you how to create illusions,” he said.

I perked up at the news. Our previous sessions had become a little tedious, going over old ground and sparring. It had been over a month since I had first asked him about learning how to create illusions, and I’d already assumed that permission had been denied – and that they were putting off telling me so for as long as possible.

“In a few moments,” he began, “I will share memories of the ‘how,’ but first there are a few things that you need to know.”

James spent some time telling me about the two different types of illusions: planned and immediate. Planned, he explained, were ones that were planned in advance. Jokes were perfunctorily made about clever names. It turned out that they could be prepared well ahead of time, and there were even templates that could be used as a base to construct them. They had a number of advantages over immediate illusions, one being they could be the result of a collaboration of both power-users and non-power-users.

Conversely, immediate illusions were quick and dirty, much easier to spot, and required the user generating them to share in the illusion, as they would be directing the action. The longer immediate illusions went on for, the harder it was for the user maintaining it, as multiple variables piled up. One use case for an immediate illusion would be to hide an action from someone. That would not only require the user to create the illusion, but to split their attention and carry out the action they wanted to hide. I wondered how that kind of multitasking would even work.

James added that not only was using illusions on Norms allowed, it was preferred over using Compulsion, which was still frowned upon without just cause. It was also possible to pull multiple people into an illusion, with the limiting factor being the strength of the user’s power. One thing he did remind me was that neither type of illusion would be effective against electronic surveillance such as CCTV.

“That seems like a major handicap,” I said.

James nodded. “Oh yeah. The past fifty years or so have been quite the blow for power users generally – well, if you set aside all morality, that is. I have to assume that a century ago, a powered person could have had the run of Norm society, but for running into a peer.”

“Makes you wonder about some of the powered people who lived through the transition,” I mused.

James raised an eyebrow. “Now that,” he said, “is some very interesting paranoia.”

I shook my head. “I’d rather not explode my relationship with a certain someone all over again just yet.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Any questions about the broad strokes?”

I didn’t know where to start. It kind of all made sense to me, but I wondered how I could possibly divide my attention between an illusion and reality; it would be, almost literally, being in two places at once. The fact that one of the two places wouldn’t be real didn’t seem to matter much. I hoped that once I had seen the memories, the techniques would become clear.

“Are illusions contemporaneous,” I queried, “or can you make time pass at a different rate within them?”

“Planned illusions,” he responded, “you have pretty much free rein with. Because you are controlling the narrative, and what they remember, you could pull me into an illusion as an old man, with illusory memories of living a full life. Immediate illusions, it’s theoretically possible, but ... well, no, I’m not going to stick my neck out again. If anybody could do it, it’ll probably end up being you. For the rest of us mere mortals with superpowers, it’s so difficult and prone to failure that it’s not even worth the attempt.

“Anyway, it’s a good question, because it’s actually illegal without a warrant to read someone’s mind or to Compel them to speak the truth. Sticking someone in a time-dilated or time-compressed illusion can trick them into giving up time-sensitive information without breaking any of those laws. Lots of criminals like to gloat, and if they genuinely believe they’ve already won, that temptation often becomes irresistible.

“If you drop your shields I’ll send you the memories,” he said.

I dropped my shields and took the memories. There was a lot to think about. That time, James did not pull me into an illusion. Apparently, my trash talk had gotten to him. I almost felt bad for what I was about to do.

James’s shields were pretty much transparent to me by that point. I had managed to find ways through so many times that it had become second nature. I sent a tendril through.

“Breakfast?” I asked, and he grinned.

“That’s the only reason I come here these days,” he said.

I cooked up pancakes and bacon and put a huge stack of both in the middle of the table.

We had sat down to eat when Louise wandered in. Once again, she was totally naked. James glanced up at her, but it had been a month since their first impromptu encounter, and he had almost gotten used to it. The sight of a naked twenty-year-old did have an effect on him, though.

He looked a little surprised when she sat at the table next to him and helped herself to some of the pancakes.

She turned to him. “Pass the syrup?” she asked.

Wordlessly, he handed her the bottle. She applied herself to her food as if sitting and eating breakfast in the buff was perfectly natural.

When Amanda and Mary walked in, equally naked, James’ eyes nearly fell out. Like Louise, they seated themselves at the table and began helping themselves to breakfast, chatting casually with each other after throwing good mornings in our direction.

It was when a naked Jules strolled in that he finally realized, and bugged out of the illusion.

I grinned at him as he stood, red-faced, glaring. I pretended not to notice the lump in the front of his trousers. Obviously, the sight of not one, but four naked teens had affected him, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Shall we call that payback for all the times you did it to me?” I asked.

“You know that nobody likes a smartass,” he said.

“I have been waiting for that for so long,” I said.

He laughed. “I’m going to tell Dianna that I don’t really have any more to teach you,” he said. “I can come by, and we can spar from time to time if you like, but I would suggest that you join a local dojo and learn from someone else. A different perspective is always good. I think you will be tied up soon with healing training in any case. How is your HUD coming along, by the way?”

“It’s not,” I said. “I have been playing WoW so long now that I have a level ninety character, and I still don’t see anything.”

“Try a different game,” he said. “If I remember WoW, there are a lot of things on the screen. Perhaps you can find a game where there are fewer onscreen menus. I would go for something simpler. Perhaps one of the Wolfenstein franchise? I think they have a simpler UI.”

He gave me the details of the particular game I should pick up. I thanked him, and then invited him to breakfast. I saw his eyes flicker. He was checking his tell, and that gave me an idea.

He grinned and accepted. While I was cooking, I sent a message to my girls, and they all, including Jules, agreed. Amanda said she would speak to Louise, but thought she would be up for it.

I cooked up pancakes and bacon and put a huge stack of both in the middle of the table.

We sat down to eat, and Louise wandered in. She had obviously been up for it as well, as she was totally naked. Unconcerned, she parked herself at the table and dug in.

“Pass the syrup?” she asked. That was a nice touch. I had sent the girls the memory of the illusion, and they must have told her to do that.

I saw his eyes flicker first one way, then to another, before he reached for and passed her the syrup.

We sat eating in silence for a few minutes. I could see Louise trying her hardest not to grin.

When Mary and Amanda came in, also naked, and played their own parts to perfection, I saw him once again checking his tells. I thought I had figured one out, but I was almost certain he had a backup. He probably had more than that.

I figured out his backup when Jules strutted in, naked as the day she was born. I marvelled at that. The Jules that had joined us would never have dared to do that. I felt a rush of pride – mainly for her, but also for the rest of us. We’d been good for her.

“Okay,” James said finally, “what’s going on?”

Everyone at the table cracked up.

“Not everything you see,” said Jules, strolling up to him and giving him a peck on the cheek, “is an illusion.”

James turned his glare on me. “They all agreed to do this just to wind me up?”

I nodded. I sent a mental question to Louise, and she flushed with arousal. I sent the same question to Josh, and he sent back his response.

“I agree,” she said. James looked puzzled.

“Did we get you all wound up?” I asked.

He grimaced. “Let’s say that I’m not going to be very comfortable for a while,” he said, keeping close to the table so his arousal didn’t show to the girls.

Mary, Amanda, and Jules all finished up and left to go get dressed. Louise lingered. I hit her with her Compulsion, imagining the scenario that I wished to play out, and left. Just before I got through the kitchen door, I saw Louise slipping down under the table.

James was still sitting in the kitchen when I came back twenty minutes later. I had passed Louise in the corridor, her cheeks bulging as she went to finish her mission. Josh was waiting.

“You okay?” I asked as I walked through the door.

“That was intense,” he said. “She just...”

“I know,” I said. “I Compelled her.” His eyes widened.

“I had her full consent beforehand,” I explained. “You even heard her agree, didn’t you?”

“That’s why she said that?” he asked.

“I offered, and she accepted,” I said. “Since I was responsible for your ‘condition,’ I thought it only fair I assist. I figured you would rather her do it than me?”

“You figured that right,” he said. “No offense, but you’re not my type. You have one too many penises for my liking.”

I laughed.

“What about her boyfriend, though?” he asked.

“He was in on it,” I said. “Where do you think she was going with that mouthful in such a hurry?”

“You mean he...” he started.

“Do you really want to know?” I interrupted him.

He shook his head. “What would have happened if I had said no?” he asked.

“Louise would have gone and blown Josh,” I said. “No harm, no foul. So who said you couldn’t train me? I got thirty minutes of Compulsion training from you.” I grinned at him and he shook his head.

“You are one sick puppy,” he said, “but thank you. You might have to share your memory of the lead up to that with Dianna or Maggie. I am going to have to report it - but again, thanks.”

I had to travel in to uni with the girls since I no longer had my own transport. I considered going and getting myself a small car, or even a bike, until the insurance was all sorted out. I had the cash, but I was loath to spend it.

When I got to university, I ran into George, or rather he was waiting for me. I didn’t know what to expect.

“Hi,” he said.

“How’s Sue?” I asked.

“She wants to talk to you,” he said. “To all of you, together.”

“You could both come around the house after uni tonight,” I said, having first taken a quick poll of the girls. He nodded. I texted him the address. “Come around six. Maybe we can have some dinner after our chat?”

He grimaced. “Let’s see how it goes,” he said. I hadn’t read anything from him. His aura just told me that he wanted our conversation to be over.

As he walked away, the university counsellor arrived.

“Caleb,” she said. “I’m glad I caught you. Do you have any free time today? I wanted a chat.”

I had some time after my first class, and I told her so. She asked me to meet her at her office then, and I agreed.

“I wonder what that is about?” I said to the girls as she walked away.

“She wants something from you,” Mary said. “I could see that much in her aura – but what, I’m not sure.”

We separated for our first classes.

I knocked on the counsellor’s door at the start of my free time.

“Come in.”

I entered. She was seated at her desk, and indicated the seat opposite. I sat.

“I’ve been hearing very good things,” she said. “Everyone who has been to see you has achieved their goals, and not a single smoker has taken up the habit again. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you,” I said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The way my life was going, I knew there had to be another shoe.

“So are you just treating smokers and helping with weight loss?” she asked.

“So far,” I said. “If memory serves, and I would have to look to be sure, I think it’s been something like twenty-two smokers, and fourteen people who wanted to lose weight. Those are the only ones that have come to me.”

“And the weight losses?” she asked.

I knew what she was actually asking. “Poor diet and not enough exercise,” I said. “So far – touch wood,” I tapped her desk, “no eating disorders. Although the way my life is going just now, my next one will be.”

“Problems?” she asked.

“My truck got stolen last night,” I explained. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

She made a commiserating face. “Sorry to hear that.” She sat and thought for a moment. “I wonder if I might...” She paused, as if not really wanting to say what she was going to say. Ultimately, she decided to bite the bullet. “Avail myself of your services.”

I guessed her problem immediately. “The nail-biting?”

She looked a little taken aback, but then she nodded. “I’ve done it since I was about fourteen,” she said. “I’m not a nervous person. I just can’t seem to stop, and it doesn’t make a very good impression. A counsellor who bites her nails. It has lost me opportunities in the past. I have tried false nails and gels and all the anti-biting medication. I have even tried hypnosis before, but had no success. You, however, seem to have a talent for it, and I was hoping you could help?”

“Okay,” I said. “When would you like to do it?”

“How about now?” she asked.

“I would need a chaperone,” I said. “I’m not comfortable with hypnotizing a lone female. There is so much opportunity for, shall we say, misunderstanding.”

She frowned. “I see your point,” she said, “but I was rather hoping we could keep this between us. How about if we record the session? I have the equipment set up, as I sometimes record my sessions with clients. I could give you a copy of the recording for your records.”

It wasn’t ideal, but I could understand her reasons. Her job revolved around trust and confidence. It wasn’t fair, but a counsellor who was outed as needing counselling – let alone hypnosis – might find herself with no appointments.

“Okay,” I replied. I booted up my computer and showed her the waiver. She read it, puzzled.

“It’s quite extensive,” she said.

“I have a lawyer in the family,” I said. “They drafted it for me.”

She pretended to read it, signed it, and then we went and sat in her therapy chairs. She started the recording, and I went through the pantomime of inducing her ‘trance.’ I got her to count backwards from one hundred. For the benefit of the recording, I told her that although she was deeply asleep, she would be able to hear me, and respond to any questions. I imagined her being able to do just that. It was a strange visual – cartoonish, to emphasize that she actually was in the kind of trance you see in the movies and on TV. That little cheat had worked in the past, so I decided to run with it.

“Tell me about when you started biting your nails,” I said to the now entranced counsellor.

I wasn’t listening at all, until I was. I had just been about to delve into her mind when she told me exactly why she bit her nails, out loud, with no hesitation or affect. I was dumbfounded, and considered my options.

I immediately revived her while going through the motions of bringing her out of her trance.

“That was quick,” she said, having glanced at the clock. She had been under less than three minutes.

“I know why you bite your nails,” I said, “and hypnosis might not be the answer. This would be one case I would possibly refer on. There is a simple solution, but I’m going to suggest that you review the tape of our session and draw your own conclusions.”

She looked at me strangely. “Will you wait while I do?” she asked.

“It might be embarrassing,” I said.

“It’s going to be embarrassing either way,” she said. “You already know what’s on that tape, so you not being here when I find out isn’t going to reduce my embarrassment at all.”

She was scarlet by the time she had reviewed the two minutes of recording.

“You think that...?” she said, trailing off, not wanting to repeat anything she’d just heard.

“I do,” I said. “I think it would be as simple as...”

“In all my years of counseling,” she said. “I have never come across this. If it weren’t me, I might suggest writing a paper.”

“It’s sexual frustration,” I said. “You were caught masturbating, and the repercussions meant that you couldn’t bring yourself to do so again. I’ll bet that you have never masturbated since.”

She shook her head, red in the face. “But I’m married,” she said.

“Then you need to tell him to up his game,” I said, “because your demand is outstripping his supply. Likely it’s work- and time-related. I don’t know any man that would turn down sex, especially...” I stopped talking before I said something I shouldn’t, but she smiled.

“Well, thanks for the confidence boost,” she said.

“I guarantee that if you settle your ‘issue,’” I said, “the nail-biting will stop. If hubby isn’t enough, then perhaps you need to buy some toys.”

“That’s another issue,” she said. “I have toys. My sister bought me one for a gag present one time. I tried to use it, but just couldn’t bring myself to do so.”

“Then maybe that’s what I should be ‘consulting’ with you on,” I said. “If we can remove your aversion, the knock-on effect will be no nail-biting. But now that you are aware of it, you should be able to overcome it yourself.”

“How would you suggest I do that?” she asked.

“If it were me, I would make using the toy part of your sex life. Get him to use it on you. Then start to use it on yourself as you do something to him, perhaps when you go down on him. Once you get used to that, then you should be able to use it on your own whether he is there or not.”

“When I...” she said hesitantly. Apparently, oral sex wasn’t part of their repertoire.

I closed my eyes a moment. “Lights on or off?” I asked.

“Off,” she said.

“How often?” I asked.

“Three or four times,” she said.

“A week?” I asked. I was damn sure it wouldn’t be a day.

“A year,” she said.

She was lucky she had any fingers left, let alone fingernails.

I sighed. “So, a young, fit, healthy woman like you, with, presumably, a normal sex drive, is getting sex four times a year if she’s lucky, and can’t even relieve herself in between those times. It’s a wonder that nail biting is your only problem.”

She sighed. “I don’t think your solution will work. I don’t think Malcolm would be amenable to introducing it into what passes for our sex life.”

“Then there are two potential solutions,” I said. “Firstly, I could remove your aversion to masturbating. That would be quick and simple and resolve the nail-biting - and probably some other issues too. However, you still have the problem of a very boring sex life. My second solution would involve me seeing you and your husband and doing something about that. Would he be up for that, do you think?”

“Could we do both?” she asked. “In that order. If I could get my aversion removed, and then work on him about the other, maybe later in the year I could convince him to speak to you?”

“Okay,” I said. “Can I ask what kind of toy it is?”

She went over to her desk, and from her drawer, pulled out a realistic, cock-shaped dildo.

“You keep it in your desk?” I asked. I tried very hard not to sound bewildered or judgmental. It was difficult.

“I can’t really take it home,” she said, blushing. “If he were to find it...”

“So, if you were to have your aversion removed,” I asked, “when would you use it?”

She thought about that a moment. “It would have to be here,” she said. “At home, I’d be worried he would find it, or catch me. At least here I can lock my door.”

I saw in this instant the temptation that could lead anyone down the path to corruption. I knew that, even without powers, I could end up fucking this woman. She was practically begging for it. I could spend the next few weeks fucking her almost every day, each day using her dildo on her to get her off. Then, as I’d suggested, I could get her to suck me off while using it on herself.

I was sorely tempted to shake my head or even smack myself. She was married. I was ashamed for even having thought about it.

“If that’s what you want to do,” I said, “I can remove your aversion to masturbation, and then you can work on your husband to get him to see me. How much more free time do you have?”

“I’m free until lunch,” she said. “Do you think it will take that long?”

“No, removing the block will be quick,” I said, “but I’m guessing you are going to need some ‘me time’ once I do.”

“You think I’ll...?” she started.

“Almost certainly,” I said, “and probably more than once.”

She shifted in her seat. I would have bet dollars to donuts she was sitting in a wet spot.

We started the recording up again, and I repeated the pantomime of inducing the ‘trance.’ This time, I flat-out put her to sleep, as I had with my other clients. Rather selfishly, I didn’t want her blurting out anything else that might complicate the situation or break my concentration.

Verbally, I talked her through removing her block, getting her to hold the dildo in her hands and get used to the feel of it. I didn’t have her do anything more than that though. With that meaningless exercise as a cover, I delved into her mind and located the event that had caused all her trauma. She had been caught by her mother, and had been beaten and ridiculed. For weeks after that, she’d been ridiculed by her whole family.

I paused for a moment and thought about how I might frame the Compulsion. To my surprise, I found myself hearkening back to the dream I’d had after having dumped all of Harold Bleasdale’s memories into my mind. I felt like there was potential there. I uttered some more drivel out loud to buy some more time, and then began to imagine a dreamlike story for Jamie.

I imagined her – the adult her – watching that memory on a screen. At first, it made her terribly uncomfortable, but then I introduced another version of her – almost identical, but with the carriage of a professor or a therapist, ironically – guiding Present Day Jamie through the viewing process, over and over again, encouraging active engagement. She needed to know that her mother and her family had been wrong and cruel, and that she was no longer a prisoner to that cruelty. To cap it off, I sent the pair of them through the projection screen and let them pluck the younger Jamie from the memory. The three of them talked, cried, raged, hugged, and finally made peace with their past. I tossed in some Good Will Hunting and some Vagina Monologues for good measure. I didn’t really care about plagiarism. I was quite proud of the idea to use different versions of her to help me help herself. I felt like it would engender self-possession and self-confidence, which she would certainly need when she began trying to talk to her husband.