Mirrored

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Shayla & Tristan get mystical powers after having sex.
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Fru
Fru
37 Followers

*Author's Note: This story is my intellectual property. No reposting it unless you've contacted me and I say it's OK. But please read it and tell me what you think by e-mailing me at the address in my profile. This story has also been posted at the EMCSA.*

*

We're mirrored. I can see the back of his neck and the tip of his nose but I'm not facing him; I'm feeling him. Our skin slides, smooth and hot against us. I nuzzle his neck, feeling his hair brush mine. His grip on my thighs anchors me. We both sweat out a smell, *the* smell. It's physically addicting, it binds us. Melancholy eyes over moaning mouths, I bite his neck where it meets the shoulder and look up across the room, into my own eyes. I see his orbs reflected over my shoulder; he's gazing into the other glass, the one over my dresser. I keep looking; our eyes lock. My roommate's dresser has brown speck in the corner—rust from some past year. He keeps pushing himself into me, and each jolt of pleasure he brings me makes the scent stronger, sends me racing towards the edge the cliff, the precipice with only air below rushing up inside, harder, harder, whistling speed—yet roots me more firmly in the present than I've ever been. Each detail of my dorm room picks itself out, unravels inside my corneas; imprinted memory, a fantastic flashbulb of presence.

He slides his hands over the back of my neck and the sensitive spot below and I arch my back instinctively and mewl. Panting, scrabbling at his back, going higher with every thrust that he gives me and I give one back, working every muscle I still have control over to give him pleasure to give me pleasure, give me the heat, the searing fire. This is the kind of sensation that usually sends me running down the halls tearing my hair out in frustration but now, now it's being taken care of, pounded into and out of me by this man, this boy, this guy and his seductive scent rising into my nostrils.

My head flops forward and my eyes relax back into the mirror, into our doubled-to-infinity images. Our shy eyes meet; we grin.

His eyes flash; they glow! Just for a second, but maybe the light was coming from mine, I thought I saw a light there, too, no, that's not poss—irises! Irises green and blue, flowers against the sky in the springtime, stomping flowers that reach for the sun, open their purple petals oh irises, crunch under my foot, obey the foot the sun the sky the earth cringe back to the grass, take refuge in those pathetic roots, shooting with growing glowing oh crunch in my teeth your tubules, stalks, irises, irises in the springtime, staring up at the sun through the blazing blue and green staring back at yooooooooou!

I collapsed against the dresser and him and then we slid to the floor together. His breath was coming out in snorts, and I was shaking like I was a crowd a wave of laugher had just passed through. Relief. Sweet, citrusy, icy, thermal, slick relief. Dripping. My dry hair brushed against my wet shoulders and I shivered again in aftershock.

Seeing, he smiled and nuzzled my neck below my ear, a tuft of his hair brushing the lobe. It prickled and soothed. I reached up and curled my fingers into his shag, just looked at that smooth, roguish face. It came closer; a kiss. Cool lips, compared to the rivulets of sweat that lined the rest of our bodies, the sweat that sheened our faces. His lips were pressed together and firm, twisting against mine. Here was a guy that knew how to give kisses that made you lose days...

"Good?" he asked, a hint of a smile playing in the corners of his eyes.

"Mmmmm," I sighed, stretching my arms above my head and then twisting side to side to get out the kinks in my abs. "Yeah." I blew him a kiss and then placed one hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently backwards. "But I need to go to class now."

"What, you don't want to take a shower?"

With him? Everyone would know about us if someone saw us in the bathroom together, and I wasn't ready to break cover about this. Maybe *he* could afford to let people know he made another conquest, but I wasn't faring so well in public opinion this semester...

"Naaah...I want to go to class smelling like you."

"Really, me?"

"Yeah, *you*, who *else* did I just fuck? Anyway, that way I can sit in class and just think about you. About us. Hee."

He gave me a wink. "Know what? I will too."

I flashed him some teeth and glanced up at the clock.

"OK, time to start getting dressed now. I only have ten minutes to get across campus as it is."

He looked at his wrist to try and check the time and realized that his watch wasn't there. I pointed to the shining thing where it lay strewn like a ticking jewel underneath Jenna's bed. He crawled over to get it, flashing his ass at me. I stifled a giggle; I'd brought the mighty Tristan to his knees. Too bad no one would hear about it. Oh well. I know how to keep my big mouth shut now, that's for certain, but there are still times I wish I didn't have to. Little tidbits like that, small confidences exchanged, are the ways girls build friendships. Boys brag and girls giggle, that's how it works, and that's the problem with letting my cunt think for me so often. My presumptuous (and sumptuous, if any of the *feed*back I've gotten has been honest) pussy leads to shallower friendships, because I can only share so much without ruining my standing. Those nicknames and impressions stick, you can bet on that and win more often than the pope drinks wine.

I stood, stretched my arms above my head and pulled them to first the right side and then the left until I could feel the burn in my side, then dropped them and started gathering my scattered clothes. Pants? Good...bra? Need that. Panties go on first, then bra, then jeans...oh, there's a sock!

"Tristan? I think that's *my* sock."

He looked down at the cotton he'd been trying to stick on his foot, chuckled, and tossed it over to me.

"Thanks."

Sock one, sock two...where did that shirt get to? Hey, it's kind of dark in here...oh! There it is, over my desk lamp...

"OK well...bye!"

He gave me the little boy-nod, smelled his armpit, laughed, and swaggered off down the hall. He adjusted his balls right before he turned the corner. Eew. Really hot though...

I jiggled my head. Time to get to class. There shall be no daydreaming. I grabbed my bag and my keys, locked the door, and jogged across campus, sliding into the fourth seat on the left just as Professor McAlice started his lecture.

I tried to concentrate on it, I really did; some of the allele stuff was actually really interesting. Not as interesting as me, apparently. I kept hearing whispers, buzzing around my ears like flies. I caught a 'Shayla' here, a 'slept with?' there, a 'smells like *sex*, can't the hussy be bothered to' over there. Shit. I should have risked the shower, or just shown up late. Or not at all. Was it too late to transfer, or maybe just turn back time until everyone else disappeared? *Nah,* I thought. *I'd get too horny if I was alone on earth.* I grimace. *I get too horny *now.* *That's why I'm in this situation to freaking begin with.* I slumped down on the desk and tried to restrain both from crying and from touching myself. Self-pity always made me so *hot*, dammit.

But all the whispers, they just started getting to me. I mean, I was just sitting there trying to take notes and they just kept chip chip chipping away and every time some girl giggled I realized how much of a slut she must think I was and every time I heard the word 'slut' the more that sex stench slapped me in the face. All memory of the amazing fuck itself faded into the distance, replacing pleasure with pain, hotness with humiliation (which I do *not* find hot), until, *until*, UNTIL--

"SHUT UP!" I roared, tipping up the hinged desktop and sending my textbook and notebook flying in an explosion of papers.

Chest still heaving, I spun around. "All of you! Stop whispering! Where do you fucking get off on calling me a slut?" I clenched my fists, prepared to take an actual swing at the first kid to speak up, no matter what the Professor would do to me for—wait. Everyone was silent. Not a whisper, not a giggle, not a word. Not a single noise, not even from McAlice. "What?" Silence. I heard a pen drop. Its owner was shaking in fear, clutching at her throat. She wasn't choking, she was...mute?

Not to be narcissistic or anything, but...did *I* do this? No one seemed to be able to talk; when I turned around to look at McAlice, he was looking similarly shocked. He was clearly trying to shout; all the veins on his forehead were bulging with the effort...but no sound was coming out.

"Uh...you can all talk now?"

"--DISRUPT THIS CLASS, MISSY, I'M GOING TO HAVE YOU--"

"--my god I can't believe this I--"

"--could talk fine just yesterday can--"

"--since when does Shayla have mystical powers I--"

"Quiet again!"

It was like someone had thrown a switch. Pure silence. *Oh, my*—crash. I found that I'd been stepping backwards, afraid of this new talent or power or whatever it was, and now I'd hit the teacher's podium. He glared at me, silent syllables still pouring from his throat. He looked like a winded race horse; foaming at the mouth and practically steaming. His hands were flailing as if he'd love to put a hand on me if it wasn't so illegal, shake his words out of me.

Think, Shayla. Think think think! This isn't a dream, because you've never had sex in a dream before. This can't be a prank, because McAlice would never do something so crass as that. Simply put, there was only one explanation; I was doing this. I had, somehow and inexplicably, acquired powers. Not mystical like Emily was saying; I think mystical would feel different. I think I would also have had to do something like a spell to get mystical powers. No, there must be a scientific explanation. Scientific? Why yes, I *was* in science class...I should preform some experiments.

"Everyone, you're not mad anymore. It's perfectly normal not to be able to speak."

I looked around. Everyone was back to normal, except for the fact that they weren't talking. Kids chewed gum, doodled, daydreamed...McAlice wasn't trying to shout anymore. He looked a little bit bemused, and then put his arms down. I could almost see his thought processes...hey, why couldn't I? Time to test if my commands could be localized to a single person.

"Professor McAlice, sir, you can speak again, but you no longer have a filter. You will say everything that comes into your head." I nodded. "And, uhh, this will all seem normal to you!" I added hastily; don't want any more shouting.

"...really rather strange that a student is standing at the front of my class. I don't think we're giving presentations today, I really wish maintenance would do something about this lighting but maybe if I at least had some money for chalk we'd be able to get some real teaching done instead of having everyone stand around. Why is she in front of me? I was definitely supposed to be teaching today, maybe she's--"

"That's enough, Professor. Stop."

He fell silent, and then he fell to the ground, convulsing. What happened? Oh, oh no, oh shit. I must have told him to stop *thinking* when I meant to tell him to stop *speaking.* Note to self; be specific! God help me if I ever tell anyone to go to hell..

"Start thinking, Professor!"

"...ow, this really hurts I oh god need air I--"

"Stop voicing your thoughts, Professor."

I looked around at the class. They were staring, wide-eyed. They couldn't speak, but they were passing notes furiously. They couldn't speak and they were *still* laughing at me! I felt like crying. This was *not* fair. Powers were supposed to make me liked, or at least respected, right? A tear sprung to my eye as a guy in a powder-blue shirt tried to keep his gum in his mouth, but he was laughing too hard to make any real effort at it. I swallowed hard and made an announcement.

"Class, Professor, everybody, listen up! Nothing weird or strange happened in Bio class today. There was never a point where you couldn't talk. McAlice, you taught your lesson. Class, you all listened and took notes and learned something for once. Shayla, that's me for those of you who don't know my name, Shayla didn't stand up or say anything the entire class. None of you gossiped about her or laughed at her or ever will again. When I snap my fingers, you will all commence doing what you would normally be doing right now." As I said this, I walked back to my seat, feeling all of their eyes on me, feeling their minds editing their memories in anticipation of my snap. I picked up my book and sat down, grabbed my pen with my left hand, and snapped with the right.

Normality reestablished control. Boredom pervaded the air as if it had been there all along. The smell of pen ink and strawberry gum mixed in my nostrils with the stink I was still pushing out. Nobody noticed this time. No comments, no giggles. Just science, just a dim lecture hall with only the projector to shed any light on anything.

I spent the rest of the hour studying each and every person in the room. Would what I had done remain in their subconscious memory, wiped only from their consciousness? Would that change their perception of me? What would this do to my reputation? And why in the hell, if I had erased all memory of all oddness from everyone's minds, was Serena still staring at me?

***

I had to look up Tristan's phone number in the directory. How humiliating; I didn't even know the number of the guy I'd slept with. Or where he lived, even though I'd fucked his roommate spring semester of last year. When you have a professional relationship with someone, it's best not to get personal like that. It appeared now, however, that my definition of "personal" was not quite the norm. Only *I* would know if a guy was circumcised or not before I even knew his last name, but at least I knew that much. How else would I have looked him up?

We'd always communicated by e-mail before, as befitted club leaders on a campus where all news, official or unofficial, was obtained by internet. Tristan and I were trying (and by "trying," I mean "failing") to run the campus's newest literary magazine. We, however, were only sophomores; we had a few freshmen under us (but they were worthless, just like we were last year) but everyone else involved had graduated, leaving us in the number one and two spots. I'd always thought he was cute, but this was the first semester that I managed to get to him before I'd filled my boy quota.

Our work conversations all centered around being desperate for more submissions, but all that working together had actually allowed me to get to know him a little. Funny, for me. His parents were farmers, he had a little sister named Maude, an older brother named Jerry, he was allergic to cats, and he hated raisins. Oh, and he was uncircumcised. My roommate, Jenna, had an early class this morning, I woke up horny (like usual), Tristan "happened" to stop by to run an idea by me...and we end up fucking against my dresser in a most rigorous fashion. I love college.

So I go through all this trouble digging out my directory, trying to find his name, realizing that I was searching in the wrong class year, finding the *right* section, and then trying to keep my finger on the number while simultaneously trying to find my phone *and* dial all the *correct* numbers—and the bastard calls *me* just as I'm about to hit "send."

"Great timing," I said, tossing the booklet back into the depths of my desk drawer. The sarcasm was lost on him.

"Shay! Shay! You'll *never believe* what just happened to me!"

"What?" I asked, inadvertently getting caught up in his excitement.

"I have mystical powers!"

"I don't think they're mystical."

"What makes you think—hey! Do you have them too?"

"Yeah. I told my entire Bio class to shut up and they *listened.* How about you?"

"Well, I—uhh, yeah, I did something kinda like that."

"Do you have, well, any idea how or why this happened?"

"No, no, do you?"

"None. Maybe we should, like, meet and talk about this in person?"

"OK, cool. LitFly room?"

"Sure. Five minutes?"

"Make that fifteen; I want to take a shower and slap on some new clothes first."

"OK, see ya then."

Should I take a shower? Nah...I'd need at least forty-five minutes and it wouldn't be fair to make him wait. But then, I never made anyone wait? I was always the one waiting...but that's just because I always came early.

Speaking of early...I grabbed my keys and left.

The LitFly room, home to our failing magazine, was located in the basement of a building so old it made the Sphinx look new. The roof leaked, the one window was above head level and refused to either open or close all the way so the room was either drafty or stuffy, and the whole place was musty, sticky concrete; the most depressing gray in the universe. This is the room they give to clubs the administration thinks will fail.

I flopped into one of the chairs, which sent up a cloud of invisible spores to tickle my throat. I coughed into my hand. Halfway into my spasming, the door opened with a creak.

"Hey Shayla. You OK?"

"Fine!" I gasped, and recovered. "Hey Tristan. What're those?" I asked, pointing to the sheaf of papers he was carrying.

"These," he said, "are today's submissions."

"*Today's*? B-but, we haven't gotten that many all *year*! How did you--?"

"I told you, mystical powers!" He grinned.

"Oh, you sly bas—genius!" I jumped up and gave him a hug, but pulled back when he groped my ass in the middle of it. "Bastard."

"What? You liked it this morning."

"I'm sorry, I, well, just wasn't expecting it. Go ahead." Now that he brought it up, maybe I could do with a little action…I put a saucy flair into my hips as I stepped towards him.

"Actually, uh, no thanks." His voice was low and serious.

"What do you mean, no thanks?" Was I being snubbed?

"Well, I, I'm kind of disturbed right now. I—I tried the powers again on my way over, and, and they didn't work!"

"What? I thought we just had this whatever it was now...I think I still have mine."

"Well, try it!"

"On who? On you?"

"No, uh, not on me...there must be someone in the lab, try there."

Shaking my head, I pulled open our door and walked straight across the hall to the computer lab. The door was open a crack, and I heard the click of long nails on keyboard.

"Stand up and give me your computer."

The raven-haired girl looked up at me through glasses half falling down her nose. She raised a finger and pressed them back up into place, smoothed down her knee-length skirt, and stood. Her sandals slapped her heels as she took a few steps away from the console, and then stopped. She stood stock-still. I looked at her; she sucked in one of her cheeks. She looked *very* confused. She'd also just done what I said.

"Uh, thanks, you can have it back now." Tristan and I scrambled for the safety of the LitFly room.

"It worked."

"Yeah, no kidding. That freaked me out."

"But why can you still do it and I can't?" he half-whined.

"I, I don't know...maybe, well, what's the difference between us?" I asked, pacing the office.

"I'm a guy, for one thing," he said, leaning up against the concrete wall near the door.

"No, no, like, like what have we done differently today? What did we do the same to get these powers and what did we—well, *you* do to lose them? We must have done something the same that gave us both powers, and then there must be something, some opposite thing, that you did and I didn't do since then."

We both thought, but it soon became clear that there was only one way we could both have gotten powers.

Fru
Fru
37 Followers