Web of Sensation Ch. 02

"And she could rob us," Gail suggested, already planning their next visit. "Have her way with us."

"And leave us tied on the bed. Helpless."

Sylvia put the money into her purse, laughing now. "Sure, and then the maid finds you in the morning," she said.

"No, that wouldn't be good, would it?" John admitted, thoughtfully.

"Can we contact you?" Gail asked.

"I have an account on Hotmail," Sylvia said. "Sure. Email me." She took a pen from her purse and wrote her email on a Post-it.

"Could we exchange email?" Gail asked, smiling. "Do you have instant messenger?"

"I don't have a computer," Sylvia admitted. "Gotta go to the library. But I check it every day. Sure, we can play games again, if you want."

"Oh, thank you miss," John said. "You wouldn't believe how long it took us to work up the nerve for this. Took months just to buy the toys. Your friend downstairs was sure right in sending you up."

"Okay, gotta go," Sylvia said, hurrying through to the living room before the chatty couple had a chance to invite her to stay and watch TV or something. "It's been fun."

"Yes, thank you, miss." They followed her, two naked, middle-aged people glowing in the idea of having found a whole new life. "We'll contact you."

She opened the door, then paused. "Sylvia," she said. "My name is Sylvia. It's been interesting." And then she left the suite.

The sensations in Evelyn's mind began to break up. Sylvia hurried down the hall trying to regain the feeling of control she'd lost at the end (Nine Hundred Dollars!), while John and Gail spoke of how nice she was, clean, pretty, and how she reminded them both of a neighbor's daughter. That resemblance had served to increase the experience for both of them. When they thought about room service, Evelyn lost contact.

By that time, Sylvia's mind was gone, too.

But Evelyn knew her secret now. Sylvia Dean couldn't read.

* * *

Evelyn slowly became aware of her own surroundings. The sheets beneath her were damp with sweat, and she was worn out from the experience. The sex wasn't exactly to her tastes, but the sensations had been wonderful. But it was Sylvia's feeling of shame when she looked at the money that tempered Evelyn's feelings now. The girl had been in total control one moment, helpless the next.

How could she live feeling like that?

Evelyn rose from the bed slowly and dropped her damp robe to the floor. She ran the water hot in the shower and relaxed beneath the spray. After a few moments, she heard Dale enter the bathroom and use the toilet.

"Did you have fun?" he asked.

"Yes, in a way," she admitted. Then she pulled the shower curtain back far enough to look out and said, "How can a person work a job without knowing how to read?"

"What? Oh, well, I suppose they compensate." Dale washed his hands and turned, toweling them dry. "Money has numbers on it, after all. They could make change. And I'd guess they pick up some words along the way. Why?"

"My little girl can't read," Evelyn said. "It's a shame. She's so smart, but she'll never get ahead if she can't read." Closing the curtain again, she finished rinsing off the soap.

"Good thing she hooked up with an English teacher, then, isn't it?"

* * *

As Evelyn began school the next day she wondered if it meant anything that Sylvia was connected to an English teacher. She hadn't taught the students before her much, had she? Of course, the evidence of what you teach often doesn't show up for years. She'd seen that in many past years, when students showed practical evidence of having learned something years later despite their best efforts to avoid it while in school. Still, Sylvia wasn't a student. She was already out in the world—a drop out, probably.

How could Evelyn help her? Should she try?

Evelyn experimented with contact during her break between periods three and five. She found Sylvia's mind in the city and tried to introduce herself to her. It was a delicate thing to do at best. With Sylvia it proved to be impossible.

"No, no, no, get out! I'm not hearing voices! Not me too! No!"

Evelyn pulled away from her, letting the contact go a moment, but slipped close enough after a moment to feel one last thought. "Just like my mother."

Just like her mother.

By the time school was over, Evelyn had formed a pretty good picture of Sylvia Dean. School records and Google searches helped to fill in many of the blanks. Sylvia Dean's mother had been committed to a psychiatric hospital when Sylvia was five, and she was raised by her father. She began having trouble in school almost immediately, and was diagnosed as suffering from ADD at one point, Bi-Polar disease at another. Then came reports of alcohol abuse in middle school. She left school at fourteen and slipped between the cracks.

"She was trying to drown out the voices in her head," Kaitlyn suggested as Evelyn walked home that night. "You know we can't communicate drunk. Probably scared she'd turn out like her mother."

"So her mother isn't crazy?"

But no, she may well have been schizophrenic. It seemed that most people who were telepathic could distinguish between their own thoughts and those of others. And they certainly had the presence of mind to conceal the contact from others if they did think there was something wrong.

"But if her mother was truly suffering from schizophrenia, and Sylvia started hearing voices, you can be sure she'd do everything she could to get rid of them. Especially if she was six or seven when it all started," Kaitlyn said. "Poor girl."

"So she couldn't pay attention when she was young and started self-medicating after that," Dale said, over martinis. "And now she's scared shitless if you try to communicate."

"Just one more place where she has no control," Evelyn said.

"No wonder she was left with prostitution. Probably don't think she's fit for anything else."

"Low self-esteem in general, and a chance to be in control for a short period of time. She really enjoys feeling power, but she doesn't abuse it," Evelyn said. "Those people last night were ripe for exploitation. They were at her mercy."

"Those two are lucky," Dale said. "And so is this Sylvia."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to figure out a way to help her," he said, leaning to kiss her cheek.

"I sure can't think of one yet."

"It seems straightforward," he said. "You're telepathic and you teach English. Can't you just sneak in and blast her with knowledge? Enough for a start, anyway?"

"I don't know, Dale. She won't open up to me, and I sure don't want to scare her. Her brain has learned how to tune out, so she probably wouldn't have connected to me at all if she hadn't been so worried about money. That's when I picked her mind up. She was…" A thought occurred to Evelyn that was so simple she wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. Stress opens the mind. Strong emotion. "I wonder if she's ever really had an orgasm?" Evelyn mused.

* * *

"This isn't going to work," Dale said as he drove toward the hotel Metropolitan Saturday evening. "I think you put the hex on me to get me here."

"Come on, honey," Evelyn replied. "You know I can't mess with your head. You've built up an immunity."

"I don't think so. Eve, I've never cheated, or…"

"You're not cheating. Besides, I know you've been able to pick up the vibes from some of the parties we've had. You liked that well enough."

"That wasn't physical contact," he replied. "If that were cheating, I'd have had to divorce you years ago."

"Exactly. This is just one step further. And I'll be in her mind."

"Oh, sure. I'll just pretend I'm with you thirty years younger with different hair and smaller tits. You give me too much credit, my dear, to think I can arouse her."

"I'll be helping. I know she'll come if Julio calls her. You just hook up with Julio and take it from there."

"I feel like an idiot."

"Well, you're my idiot, and I love you."

They took two rooms on the third floor, checking in separately so Julio wouldn't know they were together. And they waited.

* * *

Sylvia didn't go to the bar that night. She had wanted to stay home and watch television. After all, she'd earned over a thousand dollars the night before. Her utilities were paid. But Julio had called about some harmless looking fellow looking for a "nice girl." Aparently Julio thought of her as being a nice girl.

She dressed in clothing that a nice girl might wear and took the bus downtown to the hotel.

"He's in 306, but he wants to come down and meet you," Julio said. "Something about buying dinner."

"Dinner? Not exactly eager, is he?" Sylvia smiled. How quaint.

Five minutes later a nice looking middle-aged guy in a wrinkled suit approached her with his hand extended. "Hi," he said, "I'm Dale. Are you hungry?"

Sylvia had chosen a pleated blue skirt and white blouse with anklets for the meeting. She was shooting for a "nice girl" look, but Evelyn knew such emphasis on youth would only make Dale uncomfortable. "She's twenty-two," he had protested. "Just a kid!"

Seeing their meeting through Sylvia's eyes, Evelyn couldn't help but feel sorry for what she was putting her husband through. Outside the bedroom he was a truly professorial type—rather formal, bookish, but infinately kind. Sylvia thought he looked harmless, and he certainly did, so she let her guard down a bit as they walked into the dining room.

Dale wasn't telepathic except through her. He'd felt something of the group's orgasmic parties because of her proximity, but there wouldn't be any connection tonight because they were without the group. Evelyn would have to concentrate on Sylvia, anyway, so Dale was on his own.

Evelyn lay on the bed in room 308 and thought about sex with Dale. She thought about his long, hard cock, and how nice it felt inside of her. The truth was, of course, that she'd never cheated on him, either. They'd both participated in orgies, of course, but they'd never touched their partners directly. It was always through a proxy. Tonight, she would be touching her husband through a proxy.

She hoped her proxy would enjoy his cock as much as she did.

Sylvia certainly enjoyed her Beef Wellington, that was certain. And she seemed to enjoy Dale's conversation as they ate. Evelyn wasn't concentrating on his words, just her thoughts about his penis. She didn't care if Sylvia liked Dale, only that she might be horny when they got up to the room.

It was a dirty trick, perhaps, but the ends justified the means. And, if it worked, Sylvia would be thanking her for it.

But she had to stick to her task, fantasizing and rubbing herself, and trying to not give herself away.

"I teach literature," Dale was saying as he toyed with his wine glass. Sylvia had declined the wine, sticking to Coke. "Boring, I know, but I rather like it."

"To each his own," Sylvia said, blankly. "Books are kind of stuffy."

Dale laughed. "There's an old saying that 'Ninety percent of everything is crap.' The same goes for literature. And that's why at least ninety-five percent of it isn't remembered now. Same as today's writing, TV or movies. Nobody will remember a thing about them fifty years from now."

"Unless they've got cable," Sylvia said.

"Well, that is true," Dale agreed, clearly enjoying her company. "TV recycles everything eventually, no matter how bad it might be."

"You read a lot, I suppose," she said.

"Yes."

"So why leave your nice comfy chair and come looking for me? You're wearing a wedding ring."

"My wife is at a convention," he said. "I'm at loose ends." He cleared his throat, not having to feign discomfort. "It sounds stupid, but literature brought me here."

Sylvia laughed.

"Really. I've got a graduate class in Victorian erotica this semister. It's rather steamy."

"Victorian? Isn't that like, a hundred years ago?"

"Yes. Sherlock Holmes era. Late cowboy days for us. The old days. But erotica has been around since people first started drawing on caves. Almost, anyway. Drawings and prints, then photographs and movies. Videos and internet now. And there've always been books. Quite raunchy, really."

"And you got tired of reading about it."

"It seemed like a good opportunity to find the real thing," he said, smiling bravely. "I'm feeling, I don't know, a bit old I guess."

"You not…" Sylvia stopped herself, smiling. "Well, you're older, anyway. But not old. Not some old nursing home fart."

"You've made my day," Dale said, raising his glass in a toast.

And Evelyn thought she felt a slight tingle in Sylvia's stomach as she thought about Dale's tongue on her nipples and listened to him drone on about his fictional class. Maybe this would work after all.

* * *

"May I hold your hand?" Dale asked in the elevator, and she allowed it.

Dale unlocked the door on the second try with the card key when they reached the room. He ushered her inside and stood nervously for a moment as she sat on the bed.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I didn't ask how much you charge," Dale said.

Sylvia thought quickly, trying to decide what her rates were. After last night, she wasn't exactly sure what the traffic would bear. "Well," she said, in a businesslike tone. "Fifty for a hand-job, seventy-five for oral, and…"

"No," Dale laughed. "I meant by the hour."

"Hour? Oh, well…" Sylvia looked at Dale's clothing and mentally compared it to the last night's patrons and said, "A hundred fifty."

Evelyn marveled at Sylvia's decision making skills. She was judging what Dale could afford by the cut of his clothing while thinking that she wouldn't mind earning all her money from one john. If she charged too much she might only get an hour, too little and she'd be cheating herself. Even if she spent three hours, most guys only came once. That would be easy money.

"Boy, that's a bargain," Dale said.

"Dale, you're such a geek," Evelyn thought.

"All right, then." Sylvia was thinking maybe she'd set her price too low as she stood and spun around, her skirt swirling out like a parasol. "What would you like to do, mister?" She pitched her voice a bit higher, younger, and Dale winced slightly.

"Well, don't try to act younger than you are to start with," Dale said. "A thirty year age difference is bad enough. I think we should just relax and see what happens."

"I thought maybe you wanted to play awhile." Sylvia was confused, and a bit worried. Her client didn't seem the least bit interested in sex.

"We will," Dale replied. He took his wallet out and sorted out several of the bills they'd gotten from the bank on the way over. "Let's get the business done first, okay? We took an hour for dinner. That's on the clock. And, well, let's just plan on another four hour. No, let's say six total. That way I don't have to make change." He held the money out to her. "I don't have any fifties."

"You're not a cop are you?"

"What?"

"Well, I don't know, you're not too eager to get laid, but you're awfully eager to make me take the money."

"I'm sorry. Here, I'll leave the money on the table by the bed." He walked over and dropped the bills by the bedside lamp. "Okay, so my name is Dale. I'm fifty-three and I teach literature. Of course, I told you that, didn't I? What about you?"

"Me?"

"What do you do? I mean, besides this, of course. We could talk."

"I don't really know what to talk about," she said. She knew damn well she wasn't going to hand out any personal information.

Evelyn wished Dale was telepathic so she could warn him off of this conversational turn. The girl was selling her body, not her life story, after all. Any attempt to get personal information would alienate her completely.

"Make something up," Dale said, apparently catching on. "What I've told you so far is true, but it's not as though I'm going to give you my phone number and address along the way. Tonight is a fantasy for me. Let it be one for you, too."

"This is weird," she said.

Dale sat on the bed and patted the space beside him. "Sit down." When she complied, he put his arm around her shoulder and spoke softly. "Here's my fantasy. Actually, it's my belief as well. I believe that you are a very nice girl."

"Sure, Julio said you were looking for a nice girl. I dressed…"

"I wasn't asking to play some innocent school girl game," he said. "I just meant a nice girl, and you are that. Smart, too. I didn't think to ask for a smart girl, but I should have. Stupid people really aren't sexy."

"Yeah, I noticed that," she said. "But don't get carried away about how smart I am."

"Don't confuse intelligence with education," Dale said. "I know quite a few people with advanced degrees who are dumb as rocks. They managed to memorize a great deal of information, but have trouble with original thought. You probably don't think you're smart because you didn't go to college. Or you dropped out of high school. Whatever. It doesn't matter, because I can see in your eyes how bright you are."

Evelyn had been worried that he was going to either scare the girl off or bore her to death, but she felt Sylvia's interest growing as he spoke. Maybe this would work after all.

"Come on, that's nuts. You can't see anything in eyes," Sylvia scoffed.

"Sure you can. You can't describe it, because it more intuition than anything else, but you sure can. I'm sure you've met people who are rather blank, like they're not thinking. Others just look as though there's something going on in there."

Images of customers at her other job flashed through Sylvia's mind. Yes, she could see that now, but she'd never paid attention before. She was always too worried about how they saw her.

"So let's share a fantasy tonight, okay?" Dale said.

"Sure, I'm up for whatever you want. But what do you want me to be?"

"You choose what you will be. Make it up as you go."

She didn't understand him. Evelyn could feel her going through a catalogue of fetish personas and trying to figure out what Dale might like. Fortunately, Dale sensed her confusion, and clarified himself.

"Here's my fantasy," he told her. "I'm an older man who's met a charming young lady for the first time. I've taken her out to eat and up to my room. But I'm a bit of a romantic. I want to be able to pretend that I'm some kind of prince charming, and I want to pamper my new friend. I want her to feel comfortable, calm, and very much the lady. I want to see what happens. In the end, of course, I want to screw her in every conceivable manner."

Sylvia laughed. "That part I understand."

"You understand all of it quite well. You just think I'm crazy for wanting to waste my money on talk," Dale said. "But I want to make love to you. As though we were actual lovers. Don't look at me like that," he said, when she turned her head to regard him skeptically. "I didn't say you had to make love to me. You don't even have to like it if you don't wish to, that's your fantasy. I just want you to go along with it as though it were normal. Play along. Okay?"

"Sure."

"My wife enjoys a hot bath to relax," Dale said. "Actually, she likes a shower so she can use the sprayer to masturbate, but she does indulge in the occasional bath. That's what you need, a nice hot soak."

"That would be real nice," Sylvia said. She was still thinking Dale was crazy, but she had decided to just go along and take him at face value.

"Wait here and I'll run the tub." Dale hurried off and the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Sylvia stood to undress, but Evelyn sent her the thought to wait for him to return. Taking the thought as her own, she sat again, and was waiting patiently when Dale returned.