Colors of the Rainbow

Two things you need to understand. The human eye is VERY sensitive to variant color gradients. We can't always register that difference and we almost never can name it, but we're far more sensitive then the standard 256x256x256 scale we talk about in computers. The second is that different monitors, phones and TVs will display the same colors differently. If you have dual monitors that are different brands, you can see this simply by dragging a colorful image from one monitor to the other.

Why are these important? I'll get to that in a minute.

My name's Max and my wife is Kelly. We've been together for three years so we're passed the newlywed stage. I would hardly say we're in a rut though. It's just that when we see our unmarried friends with their newest SO, we often feel just that twinge of jealousy. However, it turns out I've discovered the key to a happy life. Well, I stumbled upon it, I suppose. Let me back up a little.

Now I could tell you all the wonderful, generic things about my wife. She's a hot little brunette with smoldering eyes, a rockin' figure and breasts that are, at least in my opinion, utter perfection. But none of that is particularly important to the story. Imagine her however you want. It's your head. The thing that IS important to the story is that she was born with a rare condition known as Macular Entropophy. It's the kind of thing that's incredibly hard to diagnose because it doesn't get caught in any of the standard tests. You're not blind. You just see the world differently. VERY differently. The condition is caused by a misfiring of the cones in your eye and the textbooks will tell you that it manifests as people seeing in randomly scattered colors. But a moment's worth of thought will tell you that's crazy, right? Everything we see is bounded by colors. If the colors were "random", you wouldn't be able to see objects, just a colorful static.

My wife describes it more like everything is comprised of shifting, rainbow like hues. She still sees all the objections just fine. It's just that everything, even a plain red sheet of paper is a shifting mass of color variants.

Needless to say, the way my wife dressed in college was... eclectic. Her parents had tried to convince her to only wear black and white shirts and jeans, arguing that there'd never be a conflict that way. And she did that for 18 years of her life. Then she got to color and while other girls were cutting loose by getting drunk at frat parties, my some-day wife cut loose by buying whatever clothes she thought looked cool. She never matched. Not once. Those people that say a stopped clock is right twice a day have never seen my wife's college wardrobe. Green skirts with purple and yellow shirts. That kind of thing. It was invariably gaudy. And when it wasn't gaudy, it was cringe inducing. One day all of our friends remember she managed to wear a pair of brown shoes, brown slacks, a brown shirt and a brown belt all just slightly different shades of brown. She looked like if the UPS man wore an outfit from four different decades of the company's history. It ALMOST worked but it was the almost that made it fail so spectacularly.

In college, it wasn't much of a problem though. Ultimately everyone is a little weird in college. Where it became problematic is when she got into the real world and started job hunting. Suddenly first impressions and interviews became important.

So when an option for an experimental treatment opened up, she was quick to respond. And that's really how the story starts.

"Okay, so tell me about how it works," she said, gripping my hand excitedly. I'd been with her to a couple doctors before and I knew she'd seen many, many specialists before we met. The verdict was always the same. Nobody would touch this thing. It was too rare and too weird for any doctor to be interested in it.

This doctor, however, was different. Her daughter and mother both had the disease. And by some miracle, it had skipped her over. But that still meant her daughter might pass it along and she had basically devoted her career to curing it. "Okay, so sedate you to stop eye movement and then inject these into your eye," she said, holding up a small vial of liquid.

"Those are the nanobots?" I asked, looking at the vessel of clear liquid. I couldn't see anything other than pure water.

Doctor Jenkins frowned, "Nanobots makes it sound very science-fiction. They're not tiny little robots. They're actually much more similar to the mRNA vaccines that came online a few years ago."

"So they're biological?" I asked.

"Nooo," she said, "Not exactly. But they're not robots either. No processors. Nothing like that. They won't replicate or anything and she'll need periodic resupplies every 4-5 years for the rest of her life because of that."

"So what do they do?"

"They operate like RFID receivers but for light. They'll bond with her cones and slowly slide down the optic nerve, finding the locations where the signals are misfiring and taking over," she said, showing a schematic on the wall. "Everyone with this disease has a different compromised section of their optical system. It's why diagnosing it and fixing it is so hard. Basically, each of these little guys is designed to work their way through the neurons until they find a neuron that misfires. Then they just replace that neuron. That'll make the signals consistent and allow her to resolve colors clearly."

"It sounds kind of freaky," my wife said. I squeezed her hand.

"I know. And I understand your reluctance."

"It just sounds like you're going to reprogram my brain," she said, looking up at me. I leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently.

"Whatever you want to do is fine with me," I told her.

"It's not reprogramming your brain, Kelly. It's just fixing some neurons somewhere in that optical chain."

"I guess...," she said skeptically.

"I'll give you both some time to think about it. Fortunately, the procedure only takes about twenty minutes and most of that is simply sedation," she said, walking out and leaving us alone.

"What do you think, Max?"

"She's well credentialed and motivated," I said. We'd done our research. In addition to the doctors that had said there was nothing they could do, there'd been a handful of quacks trying to sell miracle cures. Our favorite was the one selling turnip mineral water as a cure. We didn't buy any.

"I know. I think we can trust her. It's just... this seems so... crazy, right?"

"I guess... but she's covering the cost and if we trust her take on the science, the risks are small, right? Plus, she'll do one eye first just in case. I know that's still awful to think about it but it shows she's thinking about this carefully, right?"

Kelly nodded and we let the doc back in.

"We're in," my wife said, giving me a big grin.

---

Within two days, my wife was seeing colors steadily and for real. She marveled at the world like a child who's never seen before which, I suppose, she never had. It was like those videos of the color blind people wearing those special glasses for the first time. She fell on the ground weeping the first time she saw what a rainbow really looked like.

She had to wear an eye patch for a month. The competition between her newly repaired right eye and her old left eye was giving her a massive headache but after that month and we were sure that the procedure had worked, she got the second eye done and our life became completely normal. She still marveled at things and, in moments of quiet contemplation, she did miss the color cacophony she'd grown up taking for granted. But on balance, she was very happy with her decision.

However, the next stage of insanity happened about three months after that. We were driving home when suddenly both of our phones began to buzz loudly. It was an Amber alert. My wife grabbed her phone and looked at the glaring red screen. "Silver Honda Civic, Licence plate XQ... damnit... my phone died. Can I see yours?" she said.

I flicked my finger to the finger print reader on the back and handed it over to her, not taking my eyes away from the road. I would love to help whoever this was but the rain was coming down so hard I wasn't sure I could tell a Civic from an 18 wheeler. Let alone read the plate. I sighed... "What's the plate number we're looking for?" I asked, knowing it was useless.

My wife was just staring at the screen, "Honey... the colors are swirling," she said.

"What?"

She flashed the screen at me, "The fucking colors are fucking swirling," she said with a snarl.

"Calm down, honey," I said, glancing between her and the phone. The screen was the same blaring red that hers had been. "What are you talking about?"

"That fucking goddamn screen isn't swirling for you?" she asked, getting more agitated by the moment. My wife didn't swear much. Maybe the occasional "fuck" in the bedroom but that was about it. She wasn't opposed to it... it just wasn't part of her lexicon, really.

"Uhmm... no... let's just look for that car, okay?"

"Yeah... okay," she said, taking a breath and trying to calm down. "Do you think that means there's a problem with the treatment?"

"She did say they'd eventually wear off... maybe they're wearing off faster than expected. We can call her tomorrow. Let's just head home, okay?"

"No... there's a fucking kidnapper out there and we should at least drive around a bit looking for them," she said, staring out the window.

"I can barely see anything..." I started to protest but she cut me off.

"Shit, Max. If we have a daughter and she's fucking kidnapped, I hope the people who get the Amber alert that day aren't fucking pathetic pussies like you. Grow a pair of fucking balls and help me nail this shit stain pedo faggot to the wall," she said. On a clear day, I would have stared at her, mouth agape. Where the hell was this coming from? I refrained from reminding her that the amber alert had described the victim as a mid thirties woman. I risked a glance over and saw balled up fists and her skin flushed and her neck tense. She looked ready to stab someone. I was starting to worry about what might happen if we actually found this guy. She looked like she'd try to tear him limb from limb.

Despite my misgivings, I knew the odds of us finding the person were highly unlikely. We drove around the North side of town, continuing up and down the main drag before zig-zagging the way home. The whole time, Kelly was staring out the window, eyes darting back and forth scanning every car. By the time we got home, her anger seemed to have simmered down some but she was squirming in her seat.

"I'm sorry, Max. But thank you... it's just... I've never been so mad," she said.

"I mean... I get it," I said, comforting her as we stripped out of our rain soaked clothes. The twenty yard dash to the front door hadn't done us any favors. "It's an awful thing," I said then turned to her.

She was standing there, wearing nothing but her panties. Hair wet, her bra on the floor. I was stunned by how sexy she looked and, based on the look in her eyes, that was exactly the reaction she was going for. "Just the thought that that monster might be... grabbing that girl right now... and... bending her over... and fucking her," she said, her breath was heavy and fast.

"Wait... is this... turning you on?" I asked.

Kelly's face turned into a scowl and she stepped forward, "No you bastard. I bet you'd like that though, wouldn't you you sick fuck?" she asked. Her hand was aggressively massaging my cock through my jeans and it quickly rose up to the attention.

"Kelly... what?"

"You'd probably like to be the one bending some bitch like me over, wouldn't you?" she squeezed my cock, "Oh that turns you on? Fucking filthy bastard!" she said, then kissed me before I could say anything. "Do it? Fucking grab me by my hair and rape me you fucking monster!"

"Kelly, I...," I protested though her verbal assault combined with her physical manipulations were starting to override my brain.

"What's the matter you fucking pussy. Not man enough to take what you want from the whore in front of you?" she said in a condescending tone that angered me despite my confusion. "You're pathetic," she said and then she did something I couldn't even imagine her doing. She cleared her throat and then spit in my face. A giant, wet loogie landing right on my forehead and splattering across my eye and down my nose.

"Fuck you, Kelly," I said and grabbed her hair, dragging her over to the couch. "I don't know what you're sick fucking game is but fine... I'll get what I want from you!" I said. I flung her over the back of the couch and yanked her panties down.

"Yeah... finally... Be a fucking man... take what you want you bastard!" she said, making no attempt to stand up.

"You want this, bitch?"

"No...," she said, "I don't want your limp little dick. I wish a real man were here to fuck me and show my cunt who the bossssss... OHHH FUCK!," she screamed the last as my cock slid into her incredibly slick pussy. I was hard as steel and felt longer than I'd ever felt before.

"You like that, bitch?" I said with a snarl, letting my own anger for the spitting bubble over. I held her back down with one hand and smacked her ass with the other.

"Fuck... fuck... fuck... you sick fucking bastard... raping your wife turns you on, doesn't it?" she said with a husky voice.

"You can't rape the willing, slut?" I said as I continued to hammer into her.

"Yeah... that's it... show this bitch who the boss is stud," she screamed and started cumming. Her legs came off the ground and began twitching futilely in the air. Now you have to understand, my wife NEVER comes just from sex. Even with the guy in college who she'd described (somewhat painfully) as the greatest lover she'd ever had, couldn't do it. She always needed manual stimulation.

Not this night. Whatever had turned her on had gotten her so horny that she was overcome with arousal and the tiny bit of friction from the couch on her clit sent her to heaven. Her pussy clamped around mine as I continued to hammer into her. She crested that first orgasm and almost immediately hit a second, even bigger one. This one causing her words to descend into utter gibberish. I dug my fingers into her ass, squeezing the flesh hard enough that it left some bruises the next day. She didn't complain. She simply urged me on as, for the first time in my life, I did what could only be described as "hate fucking".

When her third orgasm hit her, it pushed me over the edge. I came with a roar, collapsing over her as I sent spurt after spurt into her waiting, still clenching, pussy. I could feel it milking my cock, trying to get every last drop out of me it could. Eventually, I pulled out of her and let her up. She had bruises on her ass and across her thighs from being piledrove into the back of the couch. "Oh my God, Kelly. I'm so sorry," I said, rushing to give her a hug. I felt like some sort of monster. Like the husband from Big Little Lies that allows his rage to boil over into aggressively and angrily fucking Nicole Kidman.

She held me as I apologized to her, "Why are you apologizing you big lug? You think any of that wasn't exactly what I wanted?"

"It was?"

"And more, honey. You could have fucked my ass and I would have loved it," she said.

Who was this woman? She'd been steadfastly against anal whenever it had come up. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Never better. That was a nice change of pace though. We'll have to do that again some time... though maybe not for awhile, okay?" she said with a laugh as she pointed at the bruise across her thighs.

"Uhhmm... okay?" I said, "Are you sure though... it seemed... violent."

Kelly shrugged, "I guess... but you can't tell me it wasn't good, right?"

I had no response to that. It certainly had been good. Better than good, if I'm honest. It had been amazing.