Fade to Blink - A Quantum Date Ch. 02

Early May 32

"Let's go hiking," he'd suggested that first Saturday morning I'd slept over.

"Hiking? I don't hike," I said, looking at the coffee pot. "I don't have the right shoes."

"Anywhere? Or just here."

"Anywhere. I don't like hiking anywhere."

"No," he laughed, "I meant your shoes. Do you have something at your place? It'd be on the way."

He wouldn't relent. "Okay," I agreed reluctantly. "But if I get poison ivy I'll be so pissed."

The last time I'd been hiking, I was with a group of friends at college. We apparently had a misunderstanding about terms. 'Hiking' to them involved some kind of freakish specialized equipment and ropes. But this time was more like a walk in the forest. Nice. Easy. Relaxing. The air was cool, the sun hot when we emerged from the forest cover. Stopping to watch the wildlife at the river. Only a few people along the trail. It was really nice.

Back at his apartment, he insisted we take a shower.

"Be a good girl and come strip off your clothes for me." He was standing in the bathroom, already undressed. "We need to look for ticks."

I cursed softly, my heart rate spiking. "Ticks!?! What the fuck, Jimmie?" I felt my skin crawling. But the way he had asked me...be a good girl...I almost said something. Under other circumstances I would have, but the threat of ticks scared the protest out of me.

"In here. Please." He waved me in and had me stand on his clothes. "Off. Everything." He turned to the shower, running the hot to get it warmed.

I pulled off my clothes, more terrified of finding a blood sucking parasite than anything else. I liked getting undressed in front of him. Had been liking it since that first night after the club. But parasites? Ticks!! Fuck! I stood in front of him, naked, waiting for the shower.

He had stepped in to adjust the spray. "C'mon. In here. I need to do a full body inspection."

It was a typical shower/bath combo, barely big enough for him, let alone the two of us. It didn't look like it was going to be all that comfortable, and the idea of a full body inspection made me hesitate. But facing the threat of a tick infestation erased any of those concerns. I stepped in, between him and the nozzle, the water warm and needling. He was facing the faucet, adjusting the spray to hit the top of my breasts.

"Hands up on your head. They like to nestle where it's warm and wet and hairy." He turned to face me, the spray ricocheting off the top of his head, misting into my eyes. He moved me back a little and positioned himself fully between me and the spray.

I shivered, as much from the cool air outside of the spray as from feeling exposed, vulnerable and a host to ticks !!!!!!. I knew how I looked: my body on display, my underarm hair, unshaved, matted from sweat, my breasts, pulled up a little from raising my arms, and my hips, too wide, my bush, too wispy, and my labia, prominent and exposed. We hadn't known each other long enough for me to be comfortable this...naked. That's what I was thinking about...in the micro-seconds between freaking out about a swarm of ticks.

"K," he said, looking at my forehead. "Tip your head down a little." He moved his fingers into my hair, pulling strands away; his face practically buried between my ear and the top of my head. And then the other side. I fidgeted, ready to scream if he found one.

"Nothing there. Let's see what's going on down here." He trailed his fingers down my temples, sending shivers down my neck.

My eyes narrowed when I began to think this was just a ruse. "Jimmie...you better not be fucking around with me."

He looked up from my left underarm, surprised, before smiling. "You think...uhuhn...keep your hands up. I don't want to give them any excuse to hide. I'll have to start over." He turned back to the thatches of hair, his fingertips gently pulling one way then the other. "So far so good." His fingers trailed across the front of my collarbone to repeat the process on the other side. The spray was bouncing off his back into my face, forcing me to close my eyes, my attention shifting focus to his fingers. My heart was beating a little faster than normal, and not just because of the fear of blood suckers sticking their heads into me. His fingers were sending small jolts down my core. And then he trailed them out of my underarm, across the top of my chest under one breast. He slowly lifted it, unpeeling the skin at the crease, letting it drop. He repeated the inspection on the other. My eyes shot open as his thumb drifted across my nipple. He was staring into my face.

I gasped in surprise and moved to slap him, but he glared at me, his expression made me freeze. I returned my hands to the back of my head, keeping my elbows out to the side, my underarms left exposed. My whole body left exposed.

"That's a good girl. Nothing there. Let's see what's down lower."

My irritation with his choice of words competed with the orange glob starting to swirl in my gut, and the background fear of blood sucking bugs digging their heads into me.

Kneeling, he moved his fingers into my pubic hair, again gently pulling the strands one way and then the other. And then it got real up close and personal: he started pulling my inner lips away from my outer labia, running his finger down the crease, first one side then the other. With my hands on my head, I felt like an object for purchase. Like he was inspecting the merchandise before he was going to buy it. I shivered again: from my imagination, the possibility he'd find a tick, and the sheer intensity of his touch against my quim.

"So far so good. Okay. Be a good girl for me and turn around, bend over and pull your cheeks apart."

There it was again and I had to say something. "What's with the 'good girl' shit, Jimmie?" But either he ignored me or couldn't hear me over the shower. In either case, I didn't stop the process; I did what he asked. We'd discuss it later. Ticks! Facing the back of the shower, bent over, presenting my bottom hole to him, the skin stretched, thoroughly exposed. "God, Jimmie, if you're fucking with me..." I'd never felt so vulnerable with anyone, even with boys I'd dated far longer. And when he used the phrase again, I almost stood up to set things straight, except his hand pushed lightly between my shoulders, preventing me from moving. And, I realized later, thinking about that moment, that it was then something shifted in me. Holding my cheeks open for him, completely exposed, his words, his tone: infantilizing, patronizing. Something...a little thing...clicked and I let go, just a little bit. I went with wherever he was taking me.

"That's a good girl. Hold it. Aha!"

I gasped when he pinched the skin next to my anus, shuddering at the idea he had found one. I couldn't take it anymore and I stepped away from him, my hands still holding my cheeks open, until I squeaked from the shock of bumping my head on the back of the shower. I stood up and freed my hands, turning to look at him.

"See?" He held out his finger to show me, a black dot pinched between the fleshy ball of his forefinger and his thumbnail. He pushed in harder, separating the thing in two.

I thought I might puke, panting at how horrible it was.

"I need to finish," he said, nodding to my ass again.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around my breasts, completely grossed out, but didn't protest, returning to open myself for his inspection, trying not to hyperventilate at the possibility of him finding another one.

His fingers traced out from my stretched hole, around my hands to the top of my thighs, pausing. "Open your legs a little, Annie."

My feet were against the tub, forcing me to bend my knees a little and squat. Somehow, forced into this position, I felt even more exposed. His fingers traveled along the taught muscle between my backhole and my quim. I looked between my legs to see his face, earnest and focused, scanning where his fingers pressed against my skin. The orange blob suddenly lit up; I closed my eyes and rested the top of my head against the shower wall, wondering how I could be such a freak.

His fingers lightly rubbed down the insides of my thighs, tracing a path to my feet, until, moments later, he patted my butt. "All clear."

I stood up a little too fast, the blood rushing to my head and hugged myself. "This. Is. Why. I. Don't. Hike." I turned around to get warm under the water.

"Now you do me," he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I hesitated and he looked at me, innocent and confused. "Anne? Be a good girl and inspect me for ticks. Please?" He stood facing me, his hands open and imploring.

"I...I wouldn't know what to do if I found one!" My stomach was clenching at the idea of pulling an insect off of him.

He laughed, completely misreading how panicked I was. "It's okay. If you think you found one, I'll take it from there."

I repeated what he'd done for me, only he had to kneel so I could look through his hair. Standing back up, his hands on his head, I combed my fingers through his underarm hair, squirming that at any moment I'd find one. And then my kneeling, going through his pubic hair, lifting his cock out of the way, pulling his scrotum to the side. That part was actually fun, especially watching him thicken from my touch. And then he turned and spread his cheeks for me, the water spraying into my face.

"Hold on," I choked. "I gotta fix that." He stayed bent over as I stood up and reached across him to move the nozzle off to the side. My pubic hair was brushing against his buns and it felt nice. Until I realized a bug might crawl out of his crack onto me. I backed off quickly and knelt down again. It was so intimate, for me. But it seemed so natural for him. I ran my fingers from the start of his crease, down to his crinkly opening, pulling aside the small hairs surrounding it. And then down and under. I had to curl down a little bit to see between his thighs, carefully moving his scrotum aside and staring down one thigh and then the other. I ran my fingers down to his feet, confirming there wasn't anything hiding in the sparse hair on his legs.

"I couldn't find anything, Jimmie." I stood up. "I hope I didn't miss anything." I shivered at the memory of him finding one on me, and then he stood up, turned and embraced me, his body warm, his skin electric against mine.

"You like being my good girl, don't you."

I shivered again at how those words made me feel, how I didn't protest, how his cock, thick against my mound pulsed. I knew what he wanted. I knew he wanted me to say yes and I knew I shouldn't, that I was letting him take us someplace I shouldn't go. That earlier 'click,' just moments before, still fresh, still not settled. I could see the choice: stick with whatever that was, or stand my ground.

I knew what I was taught, what I had spent my entire life defending; and I knew what that click had felt like, the small surge in the blob, the idea of letting go with him. For a moment I held that click in my head, watching a debate unfold: my past self ready to call him out on it on one side, the sensation of being his 'good girl' on the other. Maybe it was relief at not being a blood meal for some other animal. Maybe it was the sheer intimacy of what we'd just done. Maybe it was the way he said it, the tone he used...whatever it was, I was curious about the attraction. It felt...okay. It felt oddly comforting to be his good girl. If that's where he wanted us to go, I was willing to go along for the ride.

1st Week June 32 Tuesday

The lights dimmed and the MC came on, dragging me back to the present moment. The performer was good. Excellent actually. Her covers of Wainwright were exceptional and her own pieces were haunting and beautiful. I was happy Marybeth had thought to invite me. During the break I looked at the refreshments and hesitated, not wanting to waste the money on bad calories.

"I've got a pie at home if you wanted to afterwards?"

I looked up and smiled, grateful. "Yes! Oooh. What kind?" I regretted it as soon as it blurted out, my mother's voice in my head. But Marybeth just laughed.

We couldn't stop talking about the performance on the drive over. The woman's vocal range was amazing and her obvious talent on the guitar inspiring.

"Didn't you love her choices?"

From Taylor Swift to Maybelle Carter, Dolly Parton to Patty Smyth, she rendered the songs authentically and brought her own emotion to them.

"I need to go pee. You want to put a pot on for some tea?" Marybeth waved vaguely at the cabinets and left.

"I'll go after you!" I found the kettle and had gotten it started when she came back in.

I excused myself. There were two bathrooms on the main floor of her condo, and while I could have used the front one, for some reason I chose to use the one attached to the study--a guest suite, I guess.

On my way through the room I saw Marybeth's messenger bag sitting on the chair, a sheaf of papers sticking out. I'm really not nosy by nature, and I don't know what got into me, but I detoured over to take a look. My skin tingled when I saw headings on the top sheet.

Case Study: MTS Anne Scolfield, HQ03.14.30

2032, May 05

I looked up at a sound coming from the hall and almost raced to the bathroom but hesitated, listening for Marybeth's footsteps. More noises from the kitchen and I exhaled, my ears warm from the blood rushing to them. I knew I was blushing, fight/flight adrenaline pumping into me. What the fuck, Marybeth?

I pulled the paper out a little further, to read the paragraph.

Sub. Has deepened her intimate relationship with TOI. They are sexually active, frequenting each other's homes at least 4x/wk. Sub. Reports she and TOI engage in bondage play, consistent with profile. She has not acknowledged any changes and continues to meet her commitments.

Holy shit! I looked back at the hall and then leafed through the remaining sheets. More case notes, not just about me, dating back to my hiring date! What. The. FUCK?!

I didn't have the time to read any of them in detail, but I had to know more. I pulled the whole file out of her purse, mentally noting how to put it back and leafed through to see if her report about me was all in one place. If it wasn't, I'd be screwed. Several pages in, my heart racing, the possibility of her coming to check on me growing more likely, I stopped looking, grabbed my pages out and quickly laid them on the desk. At least they were one sided how wasteful shaking my head at how I could waste a moment even worrying about the world when my own safety was at risk, and rapidly snapped pictures of each page, taking several copies in case my hand was shaking so badly they would be out of focus. Convinced she was going to come in at any moment, I gathered them back up, slipped them in with the rest, pulling out the front sheets as close to how I remembered them, and carefully put the file back into her bag.

There was no fucking way I was going to use this bathroom now. I quietly peeked around the corner of the doorway, turning off the light and tiptoed down the hall toward the kitchen to the front bathroom, my heart hammering. I was almost at the door when I reconsidered. I'd already spent more time than I should have. But my bladder insisted. I closed the door silently, used the toilet and washed my hands, my reflection a blotchy mess, my anger a piebald blush, one ear bright red, the other pale. I splashed some water on my face trying to cool everything off, doubting it would make a difference.

"You okay?" She looked at me as I came back in.

I didn't know how I was going to keep from yelling at her, but I knew my expression wasn't giving me away. If anything, it was probably stiff, maybe unnatural. I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks, in spite of my cold rinse.

I laughed nervously. "Fucking, Jimmie," I sighed. "He sexted me just now, showing off V2 of the fucking belt." I looked up at her and saw she wanted to see. "No fucking way, M.! No way!" I laughed and let the blush continue. "It's..." Better to say nothing. I shook my head and turned my attention to the pie. "You make that?" I was getting my breathing under control, my face still warm. The pie would be a good distraction. What the actual fuck? Marybeth knows how much I'm into food. My thoughts were like a swarm of bats, one flitting sideways, another up and back. I shook my head and stared at the tip of my nose, the trigger for the "focus on the here and now" template.

She nodded, pulling a carton of vanilla ice cream from the fridge. "My mother would cringe," she said, looking to see if I wanted some. "Store bought ice cream with homemade pie?"

I nodded in return, using the mirroring technique from the template. "I'm game if you are. I won't tell her." I tried to smile, but was still struggling. Marybeth works for Hodgson too???? My heart was racing. All of a sudden my whole relationship with Jimmie was up in the air. Had she set us up? I returned to the conversation way back in February when she told me he was good people. How much did they already know? Were my reports being cross-tabulated with other people's? And now she's going to use my chastity belt against us? My fingers traveled down to my waist, rubbing where the skin was still irritated from Jimmie's first attempt.

I tried my best to enjoy the dessert, but my taste buds only registered sawdust, my attention almost entirely on keeping my rising hysteria under control.

"Hey," I turned to Marybeth. "I...I'm still not recovered from the weekend, I guess." I looked at the half-eaten pie and tried to look apologetic. "I should probably head back."

She looked up, concerned. "Oh! Sure! No problem! Let me get my keys. You okay?"

She did such a good job of caring I was convinced. But then again, I'm an idiot that way. Even when I knew she wasn't trustworthy, I just accepted whatever she was giving me as the truth. I smiled a thank-you.

We made small talk on the way back to the office and my car, and I hoped my attempts at an exit didn't look like an escape. Sitting in my car I took a breath and squeezed my eyes shut, slamming my fist against the steering wheel. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" A thousand thoughts whipped through my brain, none of them helpful. I couldn't call him -- our phones were probably bugged. Shit! Maybe the car is bugged! I looked around wildly and hoped it was just paranoia and not full-blown 1984. Was I being followed? Were they watching my house?

I decided I had to tell him tonight and risk the possibility someone might be tracking me. Shit! Do they have a tracker on my car??? It was okay, I kept telling myself. I just decided I needed to get a little nookie. No harm in that, right?

Jimmie was shocked when he answered my call. "Anne! What? Where are you? What? Downstairs? Come on up!"

Jimmie was waiting at his open door, watching me walk down the hall, his eyebrows up. "Wassup, Anne?"

I smiled thinly. I'd been thinking about how to have this conversation without getting caught by a listening device. "Hey! I couldn't keep myself away." I looked around the hall, as if I didn't want to say whatever it was too loud.

He laughed and invited me in, embracing me in a tight hug. "I thought you had more self-control than that Anne! It's not quite ready yet, but I can show you the improvements!"

"Actually, Jimmie, I really want this to stop. I'm so frustrated right now. I just needed to tell you in person I want it to stop." I held him tight and whispered in his ear. "Hey Jimmie, I think your apartment might be bugged. Can we make an excuse to go outside?"

He pulled away and looked at my face in alarm, his eyes rolling around the room and back to my face. I made certain he understood I wasn't fucking around. He quickly let me go and pulled his screen out, shutting it off. I watched while he grabbed the bug-finder, shaking my head. There wasn't enough time to do a full sweep. I motioned that I'd already turned mine off, stuffed in my purse.