Chapter 37: Josh

My thoughts that morning upon waking were private. Nicole was shielded, concentrating, doing what she had to do to be all she could be. Sandy and Darren were asleep. Gloria, too. Sandy's bed could sleep four, so the three of them slept in comfort. I don't know if I'd have pushed the mother/son sex like Sandy, not that she had to push all that much. I'd have just let it happen. I was doing a lot of that lately - letting things just happen.

There were times when I enjoyed being alone, and this was one of them. I'd learned what it was like to be alone while under a shield for five months. After a while, being alone had its rewarding moments, but at first, the loneliness felt so heavy, rolling over in bed was a burden. I'd wanted the three of us to become one. I'd even created a business we could all work so we could stay together. What a disaster that turned out for us! When the shield came down, I stopped trying to make things happen, and instead tried to help those around me do what they wanted to do, be what they wanted to be, and living with myself became easier. Loving is better than being loved.

It would be good to go home again, if only for a few days. No, I suddenly decided. I'd stay there for a while. Would the Phoenix sun illuminate the indomitable souls of society's castaways or dropouts? I'd made a few breakthroughs in my quest to paint souls. The homeless let me see their souls. Souls, I discovered, weren't within, contained by bodies, but rather resided at the edges. At first, I'd believed souls were the twisted features of a grimace, the slump of shoulders, a bent back, the shuffle of aged feet and legs, but I'd been wrong. This outward evidence was merely the result of hard living. I found the true human spirit, what I called the soul, in the determined look in bloodshot, bleary eyes, grimace or no grimace. I found souls in the momentary squaring of shoulders, the stubborn straightening of a back. Souls persisted. They never gave up - no matter what. Souls couldn't be harnessed, couldn't be killed. Sandy's old soul was proof. When a body her soul occupied wore out or was destroyed, her soul moved on, attached itself to another body and lived on - no matter what.

To what purpose, I'd asked myself, looking for an answer to the big question, the meaning of life, and then realized that each of us answered that question every day, and the answer was whatever we wanted life to be. That's why my plan to make Sandy, Nicole and I one went awry. The plan had ignored the individual nature of souls.

The doorbell rang. Wanda had arrived - a surprise visit. She hadn't learned yet that it was difficult to surprise me. I opened the door, invited her in, poured coffee into two mugs, and sat with her at the kitchen table.

Why is it that the kitchen table was so pivotal in our lives? If psychologists performed a survey about the various places folks selected to have serious discussions, the kitchen table would head the list.

"I dropped by to thank you for being so understanding last night, Josh," Wanda said.

A partial truth. Thanking me was just one of her reasons for dropping by, the least important reason. The previous night I'd been her listening post. She'd vented, told me about her sick parents and what they'd done to her. Telling all hadn't been a catharsis for her, but telling me about the abuse had been a breakthrough. I'd listened, asked non-threatening questions, accepted what she had to say and believed her, and when I left her, she was at more peace with herself than she'd been since the suppressed memories had started to invade her conscious mind.

She'd arrived this morning with a different purpose, a quest, if you will.

Josh, why is it that we can talk to each other with our minds?

Because we're telepathic.

"When you first spoke with me in silence, I thought I was losing my mind, that I was schizophrenic because I was hearing voices. Then I realized I only heard the voices when I was with you, that it was you I was hearing, but that was almost as terrifying."

"Why?"

She grimaced. "My thoughts aren't always... kind."

I laughed softly. "No one's thoughts are kind all the time. That I could hear your unkind thoughts didn't terrify you, Wanda. You're a very private person. You feared the loss of your privacy."

"Yes, but there was more. I feared because you could hear my thoughts that you'd discover what I'd done with my father... my mother."

"You've got that backwards. They did things to you. They led; you followed. You didn't do things with them, not..."

"Yes I did!" Her face was full of anger. "I crawled into my father's bed to play games with him."

"Of course you did. All children climb into their parents' bed to play games. That the games were sexual in nature was his doing, not yours. You were used, Wanda, used to satisfy his sick needs."

She bowed her head. "I liked it," she said so softly I could barely hear her.

I said, "When I was a child, I liked moving to my knees and clasping my parents' hands while we prayed to their God for wisdom and forgiveness. Why? Because cooperating with them made me feel close to them, made me feel loved. That they were in effect brainwashing a child didn't occur to them. Their faith in their God was important to them, and they wanted me to be like them, to find the happiness they'd found in their faith in the Almighty God they worshiped. Society declares this type of conditioning acceptable, even praiseworthy. I disagree, but that's a subject for us to discuss at another time. What your parents did to you, the conditioning they thrust upon your open, developing mind, is not much different than the conditioning my parents forced upon me, except your parents' form of conditioning isn't acceptable. It's condemned, and rightly so.

"You were twelve years old when they died, old enough to finally realize what they were doing to you was wrong, but you loved them. Also, what they did to you made you feel good. You liked it. You believed they loved you, but suddenly they were gone, and to protect your love for them, their love for you, you suppressed their unacceptable conditioning and behavior so you could recreate them in your mind as human beings acceptable to the society in which you lived. You made them loveable.

"You're ashamed because they made you feel good. Women often climax while being raped. Why? Certainly not because they mentally enjoyed what the rapist did to them. They climaxed because the female sexual anatomy is designed to provide pleasure. Sex feels good, Wanda. A cunt being petted, licked, and fucked, feels good. That's how cunts are supposed to react. It's nature's way to insure that our species endures. That you liked what your mother and father did to you isn't surprising. I would've been more surprised if you hadn't liked it."

Tears welled in her eyes. "I think I've pulled all the suppressed memories from the dark into the cold light of day. I remember everything now, Josh. When my father and mother touched me, kissed me, caressed me... licked me... fucked me, I climaxed, not all the time, but a lot, especially as I became older and more developed. Why can't I find pleasure with sex now?"

"Because you believe feeling good from sex is wrong. Sex with your parents felt good, gave you pleasure, but that sex was wrong... sick. Society says so, and you agree with society. Also, the pleasure your parents gave you with their brand of sex went away forever when they left you, when they abandoned you by dying. All these associations are mixed up in your mind. Guilt. Shame. Negative emotions. When it comes to sex, you're a bundle of negative emotions. You're sexual response is broken, Wanda."

I knew what was next. The upcoming request had been the true purpose of her visit.

"Will you help me fix it, Josh?"

"I'll try."

Her hands flipped open the buttons on her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were large, heavy, but not out of proportion. They were beautiful, and I told Wanda I considered them beautiful. My words gave her pleasure.

When she started to shrug out of her blouse, I stopped her.

"Were you honest in your request for me to help you repair your malfunctioning sexual response?"

"Yes."

"It's in your thoughts that I'll take you to my bed and fuck you. You believe that simple act will ignite your pleasure with sex again. That won't happen, Wanda. I might be able to help you, but only if you'll follow my lead."

Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes filled with tears. "You don't want me. I'm damaged goods."

"Ah, another negative response. Also, your assumption is wrong. Seeing your marvelous breasts gave me a hard-on. Would you like to see it?"

Her persistent soul squared her shoulders. "Yes."

I stood and dropped my pants and boxers. My hard cock bobbed in its release. Her response to seeing my hard-on was positive. I felt the beginnings of arousal in her. I returned to my chair, which disappointed her.

"Will you follow my lead?" I asked again.

She nodded.

"Are you proud of your breasts?"

She looked confused. "I guess."

"You're being wishy-washy. Are you proud of them, or not?"

She frowned. "Not really. They're okay. They're just breasts."

"Are they sensitive? Do your nipples get hard when brushed by cold air?"

She giggled. "Sure, that's normal."

"Do they get hard when you touch them, fondle them? You do play with them occasionally, don't you?"

"Yes."

I shook my head. "I can't help you if you lie to me."

"No, I don't play with my boobs. I did when I was younger, but..."

"Touch them now, fondle them, pinch your nipples gently, pull them out away from your body a little."

She sat like a lump.

"Do you want my help, or not?"

"You're embarrassing me, Josh."

"I don't care. I'm trying to help. If you don't cooperate with me, I can't help you."

She reached tentatively and brushed her fingers over her breasts. One hand grasped a tit and squeezed. She used the fingers of her other hand to pinch a nipple, and then pulled it away from her body. She was doing what I asked, but only because I'd insisted. I sensed no sexy messages traveling from her breasts down her spine to her cunt.

"Come here," I said. "Sit on the table in front of me."

She complied - reluctantly. My hard-on was still exposed. She focused on it briefly until I reached and rolled my palm over a nipple. She responded. Her nipple hardened.

"Now you," I said, "but with the other breast." A couple of seconds later, I added, "You're fighting me."

"I'm not."

"I'm not just a telepath, Wanda. I'm also an empath. I can feel what you feel."

Her eyes widened.

"You're fighting me. I embarrassed you, and now you're determined to prove that what I want you to do isn't working, which it isn't and won't until you cooperate."

I reached and pinched one of her nipples hard. "Can you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Does it hurt or feel good?"

"Both."

"Pinch your other nipple. Pinch it until it feels good, and then pinch it some more until it hurts... Good. Now back off until it feels good again... Thank you. Now, pull your skirt up around your waist."

She complied, and her reluctance wasn't as pronounced. She was starting to cooperate.

"Hmm, sexy panties," I said. "Did you select them purposefully?"

"Yes."

I reached to remove them. She cooperated by raising her hips. I left them dangling on one ankle.

"Kick off your shoes and put your feet on my thighs... Thank you. Now cup your cunt with a hand... Good. Press you fingers against your cunt hard enough that they'll spread your pussy lips... Now curl your fingers toward you... You're dry. Spit on your hand."

"What?"

"Spit on your fingers and rub your saliva around your cunt."

"No. That's going too far, Josh. I won't do it."

I shrugged. "All right. Get dressed and go home. I can't help you."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Damn you!" She spat on her hand and angrily rubbed the spittle over her vulva. "There! Are you happy now?"

I grinned. "Yup. Do it again but this time don't be so aggressive with your touch. Make the touch a caress... Much better. I know what you're feeling, so I know your fingers feel much better on your cunt now that they're moist. Your touch didn't feel good when they were dry. Fondle a nipple with your other hand... Search for what feels good, Wanda. With her fingers, look for what touches give you pleasure in and around your cunt. On your breasts, too. Play, explore... You're trying too hard. Don't try to force pleasure. Just let it happen. Use one finger on your cunt. Move it around. There! Did you feel that?"