Fade to Blink - A Quantum Date Ch. 02

"Johnstone, he's from HR, a psychologist immediately leapt up and asked the guy some questions, like 'What did you just feel?' and 'What did you just see?' and 'When did this happen before?' But the guy just shook his head and smiled a little apologetically, telling us he'd been through all of that with the other team and he couldn't really give us anything. 'I didn't realize anything was happening,' he kept saying.

"But, it's Checkered after all, so you don't know if that's for real or what he was told to say." Jimmie removed his hands and wiped his face, dragging his cheeks down to distort his mouth.

I couldn't help but giggle. I couldn't help it. He looked funny. I rubbed my eyes. "Okay, Jimmie. What are we doing here? Why did you bring that home? What in the world did you think that I, MTS Anne Scolfield, HQ03.14.30 could possibly do to help?"

Mid-May 32

I sweated Hodgson's offer that whole week.

"But what if I have to tell him about..." I waived my hand at the other room, whispering in Jimmie's ear, lying in his bed.

He grunted and turned to face me, stroking my hair. "You have to do it, Annie. There's no way you can't. But it won't be a problem..."

I stared at his face, the light from the window barely enough to see the shine in his eyes. "How can you know that, Jimmie." I leaned in and kissed his cheeks, his nose, his lips. We'd just made love, and I smelled myself all over him.

"Look," he said quietly, pulling away slightly. "Let's say you start, erm, in a week, right?"

I nodded.

"So, your first few reports are going to be trash. They would be lucky if you actually said anything worth following up on; they're not expecting anything from you until your 2nd or 3rd month. For sure." He pulled me into another kiss and I lost my train of thought.

*-*-*-*

The training was bogus. Lame. Maybe 15 minutes of content for a two hour waste of my day. But the lameness of it was interesting, in and of itself. That meant they were serving the lowest common denominator. And that meant there was a huge range of folks they were recruiting. So, in spite of what Dir MiltHodgson HQ03.14.30 had told me, they weren't just recruiting the brightest folks in the company. Or, if they were, we were all bored shitless by the two hour training.

After I finished, I got a ping from Bob, the Program Manager I would be meeting with. Just Bob. No last name, no coordinates, no title. That freaked me out. He scheduled a video call and he walked me through some of the things he'd be interested in me reporting about.

"Mostly anything that catches your attention. That seems, mmmm, out of the ordinary."

I could only imagine what that might be. Like a blueprint for a military grade quantum bearing prototype? Nope. Nothing extraordinary about that. Of course, my face didn't reveal a thing to Program Manager Bob. "Like, what, for example, Bob?" I tried really hard to not sound snarky, but this whole thing was really insulting. Dir MiltHodgson HQ03.14.30 had said he didn't want to insult my intelligence. Fail.

"Oh," he stopped to consider, "like, you see someone with the wrong security status on the floor, without an escort."

I could feel my eyebrows wanting to go up. I'm a Blue2, Bob! Not much lower than that around here.

"Or," he continued, trying to be helpful, "you're in a meeting and someone shares a presentation without the right security coding on the slides. Like that kinda thing."

What the actual fuck, Bob!? But I just nodded, moving my pen on my pad as if I was taking notes. "Gotcha. That makes sense. You know, I'm not very high up on the totem pole. So, the stuff we talk about in our meetings is pretty dense code and limited to my Blue2 status." I waited a moment. "Right?"

He looked at me, the gears turning in his head. I could see Program Manager Bob was struggling to find an example that would likely happen to me. Perhaps, I wanted to suggest, an associate brings you home to his apartment, and while making hot monkey love to you, he happens to mention A GODDAMN ULTRA SECURE BLUEPRINT HE KEEPS IN HIS CABINET! But of course, that wouldn't occur to Bob.

We completed the required call, and I sat there wondering how much of a farce this really was. Was Dir MiltHodgson HQ03.14.30 pulling my chain? Did he already know about Jimmie, and this was just a way to ease me into my betrayal? I didn't let on to the cameras. I had figured they were watching me watching Program Manager Bob. Everything was being recorded. Shit, for all I knew, they had my vital signs 24/7. I mentally shrugged. You're probably not that important, Annie.

My first report had been due at the end of that week, after the training. It was pretty straightforward, like everyone had said it would be, but I didn't get through it without an error message. Every question had to be answered with a minimum of 25 words. I'm not the best creative writer and 25 words about nothing interesting turns out to be a struggle.

1st Week June 32 Tuesday

I stared at the doughnut, a bite taken out of it, the flavor of deep fried wheat in my mouth. This definitely wasn't from the Quality thing. I debated whether to tell her or not, but to be clear, that debate lasted less than a millisecond. There was no fucking way I was going to tell her anything about Hodgson. I might as well tell her about the blueprint. Hah! As if!

I reflected on what I did tell her at lunch yesterday, and what I'd left out. What Jimmie had actually done to me, the details. If I'd even told her what I kept remembering, every five minutes every half hour--those were just the parts that made it into the highlight reel. I'm sure I would have needed hours to tell her everything, assuming I even wanted her to know what he'd done. I shivered as, unbidden, the highlight reel started up again.

Late May 32

I remember finally falling asleep on Saturday night, or more precisely, Sunday morning. It had to be 3AM before he undid my restraints and let me curl up next to him. I remember, miraculously, that I wasn't sore. He had been really careful not to spend too much time in me. So fucking careful, he barely touched me on Saturday, keeping me spread open, having me take him in my mouth, his fingers caressing me, lightly dancing across my quim, barely stroking my clit. He could see my reaction, my lifting up to his fingertips to get more pressure, my whimpering, pleading with him to let me cum. Exactly as he wanted me.

My head was so cloudy Sunday morning. As if I'd had six drinks the night before. But we'd barely drunk anything. It was exhaustion, and being kept on edge...all fucking day. Or rather not fucking.

That was Saturday. And then there was Sunday.

Slowly fucking me on Sunday. So slowly. Soooo slooowwwly. I couldn't move much to help. He'd tightened the leg restraints. I could only bend my pelvis up and down. His lips pressing into mine. His cock was so hard. So slow. In and out.

"Count to ten, slowly. Really slowly." He was smiling, naked, kneeling between my spread open legs. I looked at his erection. It must have been painful it looked so stiff. Bobbing with his heartbeat. He pushed the tip against my swollen lips, waiting.

"One," I breathed in, feeling his cockhead pushing in just an inch.

"Two." A little further. I could feel him expanding inside me.

"Three." His thighs barely touched mine and his cockhead was rubbing against the inside of my channel, just below my clit. I moaned.

1st Week June 32 Tuesday

Fuck. It had been intense then, and the memory wasn't doing me any good now. At work. I squeezed my thighs together, thankful the belt wasn't there.

Code. I was close. I could feel it. I figured I'd be done today and test the shit out of it tomorrow. Fix stuff the next day and review/post on Friday. Ahead of schedule.

"Lunch?"

I looked up at Marybeth and nodded. "Just need to finish a thought."

"Sooo, how's tricks?" She glanced down at my waist and back to look at my face, smiling.

"I made him take it off last night. It wasn't fitting right." I said it quietly. We were heading downstairs to the cafeteria.

She didn't say anything, but I could tell she was dying to ask me something. "Hold on. Let's get a table. I'll tell you anything you want to know." And then I thought about it. "Within reason..." smiling.

We'd grabbed our orders and found a table off to the edge of the room. Marybeth looked uncomfortable, like she didn't know how to ask the question.

"It's okay, M. Just ask me."

"I...I just...I mean...aren't you frustrated?" She speared some of her salad and looked at me.

I laughed. "Fuck yes I'm frustrated. I think that's the point. He wants me to stay on edge until he 'permits' me to climax." I said it matter-of-factly, but as I heard the words, I cringed inside. Who am I?

"And that's okay with you? Like, does it...fuck, Anne, what the fuck is that all about?"

She was being curious, not judgmental. I felt like I was in high-school talking to someone who had never kissed a boy before. I shrugged. "It's fun. We're having fun. It might be getting a little kinky, even for me, though." I debated how much of yesterday I wanted to share. "He introduced me to some vegetables I had in my fridge."

The look on her face was too much. Luckily I had timed it between bites so when she started laughing I was ready. I decided to withhold the peeing part. That was almost too weird for me to process. Or the face fuck. That was a first. Not sure what to do with that.

"I had a great night's sleep last night, though. Shit, I don't think I slept more than six hours over the weekend, but last night I just zonked. Great dream this morning." I hadn't remembered the dream until just then. "I'll spare you the details, but it felt great."

"No, please. I'm one of those rare people who actually enjoy hearing other people's dreams. I was studying them in school."

I raised my eyebrows. "Seriously? Like Freud or Jung or something?"

She pressed her lips together. "Yeah, but less psychology and more interpretation."

I didn't think I wanted to know what that meant. "Well, as usual, I can only remember snippets. It was really light, though. Mostly. I was in a huge house. It was all white. The rooms were ginormous and it was so soft. The floor was like a cotton down seat...bed? Cushion? Spongy. Resilient. Springy. Something. I don't know. Anyway, I was walking and my feet would slip in and then slowly come back. Except by the end, I had slipped in so deep in I was up to my waist. And..." there was something else. Something important, but it was outside my memory. "Teeth. There were these white teeth. Around my waist. But they didn't hurt..." I felt the shadow of the belt along my waist and rubbed it with my hands through my blouse.

I looked up to see her staring at me, her mouth crooked in concentration. "Do you remember what you were wearing?"

I stopped to consider. "I don't think I was naked...I remember something...wait, hold on...I started out wearing a night dress, something really lightweight. I remember how it felt against my shoulders. Yeah...but...when the teeth were around me, I had slipped out of it."

"'cotton down cushion...?' And...'slip.' You seem to mean something by that..."

"That's what you got out of all that. A slip? A cushion?"

She nodded, all serious. "Cotton. Down. Slip. What do you suppose that means?"

"Really?" I took a bite of my sandwich. "That's more important to you than the teeth?"

She laughed. "Oh, the teeth are obvious. And so is the giant house." She stopped, thoughtful. "You want me to tell you what I think it means?"

I chewed for a moment, weighing the choice. "Sure. What the fuck? What does it mean?"

She put down her fork. "For reals?" Seeing my nod, she raised her eyebrows for a flash and began. "So, the house is often a symbol of your self. Hearing it was a big house tells me you are comfortable with yourself; that you have a lot of space to explore. Also, that it was light and airy. Those are good signs you are healthy and generally happy.

"The cotton. That one's interesting. Caught On. You talked about sinking into the floor. Down. Down is not only a direction, but the feathers from a goose, which, as you sank into the cushion could have come from there..."

I started snorting. "Really? You're really thinking that I was caught on goose feathers?" I shook my head and took another bite, teasing her. Dreams are stupid weird; having Marybeth interpret mine was stupid weirder.

She screwed up her face. "I can stop. But, you had a classic archetypal dream of moving through your house, sinking down, or caught on something. You mentioned you were wearing a slip. You were sinking down, slipping down, and you had teeth around your waist. The teeth are of course Jimmie. The rest is you moving through your self, perhaps moving down, or slipping down from your self."

I harrumphed slightly, taking another bite and staring at her. She shrugged. "I think you're giving into him: you're slipping out of your present life into a new one.

"You being a good girl?" She said it with just a touch of snark.

I could feel the annoyance rising up, but then I thought she was probably just fucking with me, except...I ignored her and focused on my sandwich. "I liked it. It was a nice dream."

Her eyes glinted. Smugly? "That's the important thing. Really." She could see I was doubting her sincerity. "No, seriously. I'm glad it felt right to you. That says a lot to me. I'm relieved."

I just shook my head and let it go. Last time I'd tell her one of my dreams.

"You seeing him tonight?"

I nodded. She looked a little disappointed.

"You had something else in mind?"

She shrugged. "I had been thinking of going to hear this guitarist down at McLarken's."

That actually sounded kind of nice; except for the room full of strangers part. But, I reconsidered, it'd probably be dark. I could handle that. "When is it?"

"7:30. Open seating. Still I'd like to order them now. We'd get there around 7 and grab a glass of wine or something."

I thought about it. "Would they be upset if I had to cancel? I think I can make it, but I'm not sure."

She gave me a look, like 'don't fuck with me,' and I assured her I'd let her know before we left work.

Jimmie had made it very clear on Sunday we weren't going to see each other until the weekend. The only reason we were getting together tonight (and last night) was to fix his stupid gadget. He knew that. I knew that. We'd agreed. He wanted me on edge all week. He didn't need to supervise it. I pressed my thighs together and felt the moisture. Tuesday. The orange fog was so thick, I was so lit up, I could barely keep my thoughts straight.

"I'm sure someone would buy the ticket. It'll be okay, but I hope you can make it. It'd be great! I really think you'd like this girl."

We cleared our places and headed back to the stairs.

"Hey, I'm going to detour to Jimmie's. See you later." She gave me a look as I peeled off.

Four floors, three turns and four doors later, I peeked in the architecture area and saw him at his desk. Nobody else was around.

"Hey, stud." I had crept up behind him and leaned down to whisper in his ear. He jumped so high he almost knocked me over.

"What the fuck! Shit, Anne, you really got me!"

I put my hands on his shoulders, laughing quietly.

He looked around and before I could stand back up he grabbed me and kissed me. We hadn't crossed that line at the office. I wanted to push away. I wanted to hold on. We finally broke and I looked around wildly.

"Fuck, Jimmie!" I hissed, simultaneously scanning the ceiling, seeing the cameras and pulling up a chair so I could sit near him. "We can't do that!"

He shrugged. "So what? No rules against it. You don't report to me. We have separate chains of command. Everybody knows, anyways."

"Oh yeah? You like to kiss and tell?" I'm not sure why I was reacting like I was. I didn't really give a shit who he told; I'd been keeping Marybeth up to date, why not him?

Another shrug.

"You able to fix the thing last night?" I kept it quiet.

He shook his head. "Ran into a little problem. Needed to redesign a couple of things. Can you keep your promise another night?"

I smiled. "Idon't need that thing. You're the kink-job that wants it on me." I poked his upper arm softly. Face, chest, bunched crotch, bulge?, face, ears turning red, face.

His smile froze, just a flash of a second. "Hmmm...getting a little sassy, hmmm?" His eyes glinted, a little menace showing through.

The orange blob blossomed. Fuck.

"It's okay. We may have to extend things once you're all set."

I knew where he was going and just shook my head. "Whatever, dude. I'm going out with Marybeth tonight, so it's just as well. Take as much time as you need. This thing isn't going anywhere." I pointed between my legs and smiled. "Gotta run. I have a hot date with an RFC that's causing me nothing but trouble."

He made to kiss me again, but I slipped back and away, shaking my head.

*-*-*

"So?" Her look was all I needed to know, that and her obvious glance to my crotch.

I smiled and shook my head. "Not outta beta yet."

Her lips pressed together, shaking her head. "We're such fucking geeks. Okay. Nothing about work, k?

We decided to make a night of it, leaving directly from the office, grabbing a light dinner and then heading over to the venue. When she'd ordered the tickets, it turned out it was reserved seating after all: two seats together, left of center with a clear line of sight to the stage. It was just a matter of getting to Will Call in time.

"There really isn't a bad seat in this place, except behind those columns," Marybeth pointed to a couple of clusters of chairs stuck in the corners as she put her sweater on her chair back. "But the acoustics are amazing."

I didn't know what to expect; I'd never been to McLarken's in spite of living in the city for years. Folk really wasn't my thing, usually, but Marybeth had described the guitarist as something different that she thought I'd appreciate. The room was small, intimate, no food allowed, the stage big enough to hold maybe five people, the lighting rigged to black pipes suspended from a blacked out ceiling nine or 10 feet overhead. It's a thing I do, staring at ceilings. I'm an engineer first, I suppose. How'd they build this? Why did they put the lights that way? But it was obvious that the room had been designed for flexibility. Even the stage looked like it could be moved. Scanning the room while we waited for the show to begin, I avoided looking at the people, scanning the walls above their heads: they had acoustical panels running horizontally; every other row was wood.

"What..." Marybeth was looking at the walls, following my gaze.

I laughed. "Nothing. It's just something I do in a new place. Check out the walls..." I pointed with my nose. "Notice anything about them?"

Her mouth frowned as she concentrated, her head shaking. "Not really. Hmmmm...nope. Got nothing."

"Gym bleachers. See? Every other row is a seat. The can pull them out if they want to set up the room differently. The grey wool bands are the backs, but double as sound reduction. Makes the room less bright."

She looked at me, not getting it.

"Bright. As in acoustics?"

She shrugged.

"Yeah. Never mind. I just can't help it."

Waiting for the show to begin, my thoughts drifted back to earlier, in the office, my dream and Marybeth's teasing, poking at me about being a good girl. It had bothered me all day, I realized. That she was still hung up on it; making a thing about it. When did he start calling me that? It was that weekend a few weeks after the club night. Shit. It was only a month ago!