Doors in the Mind

I talked her out while we dressed her again. Retaking our positions, I lit a stick of incense to cover the smell. It positively reeked in there. She came out of it early, at the acrid scent. She sighed, sucked in a lip, and chewed on it thoughtfully. "I'm hot," she commented, and I couldn't argue, "You mind if I go out for some air?" I didn't argue with that either.

As she headed down, I moved to open the windows, and let the lovely scent out. "She should start masturbating soon," I informed him, "After that, it's only a matter of time until she's ready.

Speaking of which, "I have to go to the bathroom," he lied, and rushed out jerkily. Unfortunately, I felt the same way, but couldn't risk running off to relieve myself. Instead, I went down to talk to her.

"You alright?" I came out behind her. She'd tucked her shirt back in, but didn't seem to think anything of it.

Nodding, "I feel great," she grinned, and spread her arms. I lit a cigarette, and she asked me, "Could I have one of those?"

"I didn't know you smoked," I held out my case anyway.

"I don't," she commented, "But I thought I'd try one."

"Take it easy," I warned, "Don't inhale right away, and take small tokes to start."

"You really aren't that bad a guy," she lied unknowingly. I had to lower my head to hide my reaction, she took it as modesty, "No really, I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance when I first met you."

"It's alright," I commented, "I'm used to it."

"We should study together more often," she mused. I had to agree.

She came by again the next day. "I passed! 87!" she squealed excitedly.

"Good for you," I comment, "Did the memory house help?"

"You bet!" she utters excitedly, "I just had to look it up, and it was all right there!"

"Glad I could help," I comment, "You wanna come in?"

She nods, and steps in. I ask if she wants a drink, but she shakes her head, "You wouldn't happen to have any cigarettes, though would you?"

"Sure," I lead her back to the patio door. "Where's..." I had to ask about her boyfriend. She shrugs, then leans in to let me light her up. I avoid looking down the neck of her loose tee-shirt for the first time since I've known her.

"Why do you smoke outside?" she asks after blowing it out.

It's my turn to shrug, "It tends to stink up the place,"

I admit, "Out here, there's room for it to dissipate."

"Why are you so smart?" she cocks her head at the $.50 word.

I repeat the noncommittal gesture, "I'm not pretty," I venture, "So most of my friends are books."

"You're not ugly either," she lies. It's apparent on her face that even she doesn't believe it.

"Thanks," I take the compliment grudgingly, "But you can be honest."

"Alright," she acquiesced, "So you're not the most handsome guy," yeah, I have a lot of character, meaning I frighten children, "You just need to find a nice girl who'll look past it."

"Like you?" I prompted hopefully. She shook her head, but at least it wasn't in disgust, "Look, you're a sweet guy, but we're from different worlds."

"Yeah," I joked, "You're from Rivendell," she preened at the compliment, "I'm from under Sauruman's tower."

"You're not an Orch," so she'd seen the movie.

"Actually, that'd make me an Uruk Hai," I corrected, "An intelligent Orc." She giggled a little at the comparison. I'd flicked my fag away a while ago, she took her time, and squished it under her toe like a bug.

"Don't tell..." she said her boyfriend's name, "He doesn't know I smoke."

"Your secret's safe with me. " speaking of secrets, I really wanted to tell her then. As we went back in, she commented, "Orchs are evil, though, you're not evil." I came within a millimetre of telling her then, but couldn't find the intestinal fortitude. She followed me up to my room. I'd left the windows open to air them out, and the paper design I'd made spun in the breeze from the chain pull of my ceiling fan.

"You changed it," she looked at it fascinated. I took it down gently. Out of boredom, I'd drawn symbols, and pictograms on the 24 panels The three intersecting planes where elemental, opposite sides opposing, and the glyphs worked together in triplets of adjacent sides.

Among others, the Ground schematic from electronics was on the earth side with other electrical signs and opposing the lightning rune that's half a swastika, or SS logo. "I got bored," I admitted nonchalantly.

"So what's this all about frenology?" she had heard that a couple time the past two days.

"It's an archaic protoscience that's like early psychology as astrology preceded astronomy, and alchemy led to chemistry." I lecture.

"How's it work?" she seats herself on the corner of the bed.

"It doesn't," I climbed on, and she turned around to face me, "Instead of looking inside the head, they tried to tell things about personality by the face and shape of the head."

"Like reading palms?" she showed remarkable alacrity.

I nod, and blink slowly. Reaching up to her face, I start to show her. "I'd have to take precise measurements, but your eyes are large, and far apart, which is supposed to mean you're emotional."

I reach outward, and touch her temples, "You have deep temples, which is supposed to mean you're a deep thinker, while your small flat ears mean you depend more on your own thoughts than listening to other's. It's mostly symbolic, complete garbage."

"I don't know," she ventured, "I think you described me pretty well."

"That's the point," I put in, "You start with what you know about someone, and retrofit corresponding traits. You can always find something to support your assumptions if you try hard enough."

"What does that have to do with the memory house?" she wonders.

"Nothing," I put in, "That's a tantric technique of meditation."

"The Chinese sex people?" shit, she'd heard of the Kama Sutra, and put it together with the authors.

I shook my head, "It's Tibetan," I put out, "And it's a lot more than the Kama Sutra. That's like calling Christianity a death cult because of their veneration of martyrs, and the cross." Actually, I do it all the time.

"So you're a Tantrist?" she was fascinated. I'd started massaging her temples, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I use some of their stuff," I let my hands fall, and turned to get a small vial from my bedside. "This is Neroli," I unstoppered the precious fluid, and waved it under her nose, "It's an essential oil they distill from the bitter orange blossoms. I could catch a whiff of the deep scent. It doesn't smell fruity at all, more a slight citris flavour with all the sweetness, and tang removed..

"Mmmm," she inhaled deeply. "Unfortunately," I went on, "It's rediculously expensive." I turned the half ounce phial to show her the $45.00 sticker on the side. Then, I tipped a little out onto my finger tips, and went back to rubbing her temples. "I sometimes use it as a cologne base because Ambergris is Illegal."

"Why?" she wondered wistfully, and let her lids fall shut. I didn't bother to tell her it was a whale product. I knew what I was doing, and felt ashamed of myself. It wasn't right, but I couldn't help myself. She reminded me more of Galadriel, but she was definitely elven. I despised Kate Blanchette, trust a Shakespearian to ruin an otherwise outstanding movie adopation by over acting.

"Are you in your memory house?" I asked gently.

She smiled, "Mmmm."

"Where?" I wondered aloud, and was shocked when she started reaching for her shirt. I released her, and she slowly pulled it over her head. He hands fell limply in her lap. "Have you been back here?" I asked surprised.

"Uh huh," she smiled.

"When?" my wonder doesn't cease.

"Last night." she discloses.

"How deep do you want to go?" I asked gently.

"All, the, way," she whispered, pausing after each word like Tiffany on Daria. I held her hands as he lay back, and started undressing her.

"There's a door in the back of the massage room," I added as I undid her jeans, "It leads to the land of fantasy. There you can do whatever you wish, be whatever you want."

"Mmmm," she repeated.

"There's someone there," I go on, "Your perfect someone. Is it..."

I say her boyfriend's name. She frowns, but doesn't answer, "Is it someone you know?"

"No," she replies without any emotion behind it.

"Describe him," I direct gently. By now, her bra is off, and I've stopped undressing to enjoy her tits.

"Tall," she thinks to herself, after a good pause of indecicion, "Blonde."

"What's he wearing?" I go on down to her underpants, this time noting they match.

She frowns again, "Who?"

"Naked?" I deduce.

"Yes." I'm nearly there myself, my erection cools in the slight breeze.

"What about the face," I grunt slightly, climbing up, and over her spread legs.

"Pretty." I stop, nearly touching her with me.

"Breasts?" I probe slightly curious.

She nods, and smiles, "Small."

"What's her name?" I ask dejectedly.

"I don't know," she confirms.

"Have you seen her before?" I'm starting to cramp up, holding back in indecision.

"Last night," she sighs. Well, now, apparently she'd opened that door without me. I guess she kept her fantasies in a closet.

"It's me," I lie in a slight falsetto. I can't stand it any more. Slowly, I lower my weight onto her. I slip between her lips, but not past them. I can't bring myself to rape the lesbian I love, besides, I think she'd notice her hymen missing eventually. That's alright, the direct clitoral stimulation would do her better good than me. She arched her body fully, as I brought what little weight I had down on my erection, and hers. It poked into me, and she shuddered as I dragged my inconsiderable lenth across it.

She responded, the goose flesh, and corresponding flush spreading across her body in a flash. Her sharp points pressed into me making a tripod of pleasure for her. For me, I got a good amount of friction and pressure where it counted most. I slipped back and forth across her slick clitoris, quickly bringing my love and lust front and centre.

I came, bringing myself all the way up to shoot my seed away from her uteral opening. She shuddered harder, and wet herself. It dampened my purse, but didn't soak it. I finished long before her, and bent to clean it up. I made sure to swallow before moving my lips down to hers for the most intimate of kisses.

It bloomed for me, lay exposed in her thick soft dark beard. Okay, so she wasn't a natural blonde, I knew that from her eyebrows, and hardly cared. She responded as I tasted her essential fluids.

Naroli doesn't compare, but it's taken from a wholly different flower. This was the sacred bloom, and I was lost in it's fragance. She said my name then, gently, though. It took me a moment to realise what that meant. She was out of it, I was discovered. I look, and she repeats herself,

"I didn't know." she adds.

"I'm sorry," my heart fell, broken.

"Why?" she asked sincerely.

"I mesmerised you," I admitted, "Molested you, raped you, raped your mind."

She shook her head, gently, "No," I was suddenly confused, "I knew that, I didn't know I was gay. I guess that's why I balked with," she said her boyfriend, but not lover's name, "I just couldn't admit it to myself."

"But I violated you," I interrupt.

"No," she contradicts, "You loved me, and opened my mind. I thank you for that."