Flawed Membranes and Lots of Sex

Flawed Membranes and Lots of Sex

Jonathan Sawyer

Here is an extended summary of the story we are going to tell. It's both commonplace and extraordinary because it combines reality and fantasy; however, both have unusual outcomes as we shall see. Eventually the principals will be involved in some pretty evocative sexual encounters because of their choices. Stick around...

A man who, for most of his twenties, had not had a lot of success with attracting the "right" woman, suddenly finds himself gifted with the ability to identify those women who would be receptive to his charms just by looking in their direction and making eye contact. He found that there would be an aura emanating from these women who potentially could be a sexual partner and who would be worth his time trying to court or seduce.

This is, of course, every bachelor's dream.

How the "power" came into being is mysterious. Keith MacIntosh didn't do anything unusual; he didn't have any extrasensory perception, as far as he knew. He discovered one day at a singles bar that a woman who was enveloped in a bluish corona was the one he should concentrate on, not the others who appeared approachable but in the long run would turn out to be a waste of time.

Keith met Cynthia this way, but it seems that Cynthia herself also possessed a similar occult power to identify, via some telepathic connection, the "right" man who would be compatible with her wishes and desires. Hence, she would be spared the annoyance of dating a sequence of men in search of that compatible person of her dreams.

The problem was: Keith's psychic powers continued after he and Cynthia met, and hers also endured. If they both came into a room, they would know immediately which individuals would be receptive to a sexual relationship or not. Their choice, in this case, would be simple but difficult to control: refuse to act on impulse, stay with the person they had originally chosen: in a sense, deny temptation and remain faithful in love and emotional commitment. How could they do it?

Cynthia, if she were bored or unusually stimulated by other men, could pick and choose her partner...for the night or even a more extended relationship. She would of course remain "faithful" to Keith if she chose to do so, while he in turn could "play the field"--even though he preferred his initial selection: the beautiful woman who had fulfilled his every wish: the lady swathed in blue.

Things get more complicated when more people are "colorized" almost at random, or so it seems.

A parapsychologist and an occultist with a strange gypsy name will get involved to find a solution to the attraction exerted by the coloration effect...to no one's full satisfaction.

Moral values break down, a couple of swinger sex parties complicate matters-- all in the hope of finding closure and resolution.

"Linguam-kora" and lots of it makes us partially whole again (what?). The membrane can tear and be damaged and the colorized essence of your being can escape... (to understand, you need to read a little further...)

An over-sexed sister gets mixed up in this dilemma and it doesn't turn out very well. She's relentlessly pursued by a theoretical physicist from M. I. T. who cannot get enough of her essential life force...In the end, the people involved will go their ways and justice will be done...or maybe a little bit.

The future is of course murky, unpredictable, as always...

Not all strings will be neatly tied. "What ifs" abound... The mystery will persist in the same way that life throws us a curve ball from time to time...

(Just for your information [and relief], there will be a limited amount of prose text in this tale. Modern readers live in a digitized world of terse commentary. Without their smart phones, they are beached whales struggling to return to the depths of the sea where they swim with artful grace.)

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It was this fear of growing old alone and isolated that motivated Keith to take advantage of his sudden and mysterious gift.

Keith MacIntosh, 28 years of age, college graduate, relatively good-looking (at least he was told that by several ladies he had dated), worked as a financial advisor in a large brokerage firm, and for several years had tried to find the "woman of his dreams" without much success. Since he was tall (about 6' 2") and athletic--he kept in shape at the gym--he had been successful in getting dates but very few had worked out.

However, one evening as he was having drinks after work with friends from the office at a "singles bar," he noted that a relatively young woman, very attractive and professionally dressed, had a bluish aura surrounding her. She was sitting at the bar with female friends or colleagues and didn't seem to be expecting anyone

For a few minutes Keith stared at this "haloed" person, assuming the bizarre effect was produced by special lighting in the room. He looked all around, both front and back, but she was the only person with the colorful illumination that was surrounding her body. There were two or three other women with very mild coronae in the restaurant but nothing similar to the woman at the bar.

He even asked his friends if they noticed any unusual lighting effect around the women sitting on the bar stools. "Hey, kiddo," a friend answered, "maybe you should cut back on the booze for a while. They look pretty normal to me." The others also concurred with laughter and teasing.

Keith joined in with the laughter, shook his head, and forgot about the aura-like effect he had noticed. After a while, he needed to go to the bathroom, excused himself and approached the bar where the young women were seated. As he moved closer, the intensity of the bluish corona grew stronger, almost hypnotic. He assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him and he walked into the men's room with a sense of wonder.

As he came back, he passed very near to the woman with the bluish corona. Instead of chatting with her bar mates, she turned to look at him. Keith was mesmerized by her intense, unblinking stare that seemed to speak to him in a familiar way.

"Hi," he said, almost transfixed. She smiled and nodded but didn't answer. Her friends turned and looked at him with curiosity.

Back at the table, he could almost feel her eyes fixated on him. The halo-effect was still prevalent when he looked her way. Keith's friends, who had other plans for the evening, began to go their separate ways. The women at the bar were standing up; two of them were obviously married from their ring fingers. Men came up to greet them. He could see the woman, bathed in a blue aura, say something to one of her companions.

In an unexpected move, she walked slowly and deliberately to Keith's table.

"Hi, yourself," she said, smiling. "I'm with some friends and we're going out to dinner. I'm Cynthia. Here's my card. I'd like to hear from you. Let's talk."

Keith was completely taken aback; he pulled out his own card and handed it to her. "Keith," he said. She glanced at the card for a moment as though memorizing its contents.

"Nice to meet you, Keith," Cynthia replied with an interested, curious look.

"Same here."

Keith watched her rejoin her friends. The aura had weakened somewhat but she was still immersed in blue as she headed for the exit.

Keith scanned her card: "Cynthia Jackson, account manager." She was also in the financial world. She looked very old school, Ivy League and a wealthy family background. He could be mistaken, but most likely this was an accurate assessment.

In a spontaneous manner, Keith texted her as he sat at the table, gathering his thoughts.

"Great to see you tonight. Are you free sometime tomorrow? Text me for details."

When he got back to his apartment, carrying two sacks of groceries, he pulled out his smart phone and noticed there was a text message from Cynthia.

"Keith. I'm sitting here with a nice guy. Boring but chatty. What are you doing?"

"Putting away groceries and turning on the TV. Boring. Glad you texted me. I find you very attractive."

"Fast operator, huh? Let's talk about who we are, really. Not now but later. Say midnight?"

"So he's not going to sleep over?"

"They never sleep over unless I'm impressed. He's not my type."

"Okay. Talk to you then. Lots to tell you."

"I can't wait. My auburn guy."

"Must have been bad lighting. I'm dark blond, not auburn."

"Gotta go. He's coming back. You're interesting."

He had fallen asleep after watching a movie on TV that grabbed his attention and then lost it half-way through. Rather than undress first, he had stretched across the bed.

The buzzing of his smart phone woke him up.

"Hey, sleepy head. We had a date." Keith could almost see her, wagging her finger in a reproachful way.

"Where are you now?" Keith texted. "His place or yours?"

"Misplaced humor. I'm lying here in bed with my cat."

"Nightgown on or off?"

"Until I know you better, I'm not going to answer those questions."

"Financial girl meets financial boy."

"One way to put it. Why did financial boy take an interest in financial girl?"

"Really good-looking gal who plays with other people's money."

"Lots of pretty girls there. Why me? I was sitting with my sister and cousin. Pretty girls. Both have husbands."

"Because I felt I would have a better chance. Intuition or something."

"Interesting. Let's get together somewhere quiet and talk about this. I'm getting tired."

"I need to take off my clothes. Crashed fully dressed."

"Naughty boy. Get in your pjs. Brush your teeth."

"Ha, ha. Tomorrow night at Zack's at 7 p.m.?"

"Sure you can get in? Crowded."

"I know the chef. Done deal. I'll confirm."

Keith put on his pyjamas and thought about the mysterious woman in blue. There was something exciting and a little frightening about her. He was looking forward to actually touching Cynthia and not just imagining how she might be. She had light-colored brownish hair and possibly a volcanic temper to go with that...

The maître d'hôtel at Zacks's was adamant: they were booked until after l0:30. Seven o'clock was out of the question. Sorry.

"Let me talk to your chef, Marcel, please."

"Mr. Guilletin is very busy at present. He can't take calls."

"Tell him it's Keith, his next door neighbor in the condo."

"Is it an emergency?"

"It's about his pet dog, Carmine."

"Keith, mon pote. De quoi s'agit-il? Carmine va bien, n'est-ce pas?"(Keith, old buddy. Carmine's okay, isn't she?") Marcel's voice sounded both annoyed and concerned.

"Oui. Elle va bien. Écoute, mon voisin. Rends-moi un très grand service. Il me faut deux places � 19h ce soir. Jolie femme. Je te rendrai l'ascenseur, c'est sûr!) (Do me a favor, neighbor. I need a table for two at 7 p.m. Pretty date. I'll pay you back. Count on that.)

"D'accord. A 19h. J'en parlerai � Denis." (Okay for 7 p.m. I'll fix this with Denis)

"T'es chouette. Tu m'as sauvé la vie." (You're great. You saved my life.)

"Tu me la présenteras, non?" (I can meet her, okay?"

"Mais oui!" (Yes, of course!)

Keith had studied at the Université Laval in Quebec City for a couple of years before enrolling at Princeton. His mother was a Quebecker before she passed away over two years ago. His father had since remarried a Parisian woman whose English was minimal at best. When he visited, he rarely spoke English with his step-mother. At the office, he was the one who handled the Francophone accounts.

He loved to flirt with those sexy-voiced brokers in Paris; they flirted back, of course. When he traveled to Paris, he would keep their names on file for evening pleasure. They were hot and didn't hold back in the bedroom, but they both knew it was simple, quick, and best of all, at a distance.

He could picture the account specialists stepping out of the shower, toweling off, and lying across the bed, invitingly. They really knew how to get him excited: "faire la pipe" (suck cock) was a French specialty. It was amazing how they could use their mouths and tongues to tease his erection. "L'amour � la française" (French-styled love) was no myth.

Zack's was crowded with customers waiting in line even at 7 p.m. Cynthia had changed from her business grey outfit into a dark blue cocktail dress, deeply v-shaped. Her milky-white breasts were uplifted and nestled in her dress. She had pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She was striking; men were looking at her and she occasionally looked at them.

"My, you do look smashing, my dear," Keith said with a touch of envy aimed at the men staring her way. Her eyes were piercing and fixed on his expression.

"I hope that was a compliment?" She answered pointedly.

"Indeed. You are a good-looking woman."

"Fishing for compliments? You're a hunk yourself."

"I hope I'm not just eye candy. I do have a mind."

"Let's get down to business. First date and all. You said you were attracted to me, surrounded by two other women just as pretty and maybe available. You chose me. I'm curious. Why?"

"I'll tell you, maybe, just as soon as we order. The bouillabaisse is sensational here. I know the chef, Marcel. Filet de sole, and so forth. You can't miss with seafood."

"Thanks but I prefer meat on the hoof. I'll take the filet mignon, medium-well with champignons...First time out together. We split the check, okay," Cynthia insisted.

Keith hesitated. If he told her about the "illumination," she wouldn't believe him or would view him as a weirdo psychic who might do dangerous stuff later on in the evening. He fell back on his first explanation: "It was just something intuitive. I sensed you were an interesting person. Way out of the ordinary."

Cynthia paused and gave him the intense stare once again. "Okay, Let's try this another way: I'll do my bio if you'll honestly give me yours. I'm interested more in who you are, not so much what diplomas and awards you got in school."

Keith realized that this was a woman he couldn't underestimate or deceive. She seemed to have the ability to see beyond his facial expressions. She had very sensitive antennae that captured his signals.

Keith rapidly went through his personal history: athlete in high school, mother Quebecker (Québecoise), father orthopedic surgeon at a major hospital, two brothers--both older, younger sister just graduated from Yale Law School and now working in a New York law firm. Very, very intelligent young woman.

He had tried Princeton, but he had unfortunately insulted the establishment with op-eds in the student newspaper which incurred the wrath of the disciplinary committee. He refused to bow down to "woke" philosophy or follow the "systemic race theory" as outlined in the handbook. He was given a chance to redeem himself but he relapsed badly with an article titled "Freedom eroded by autocratic narrative: how long will we stand for this?"

He was dismissed immediately; his father hired an attorney and attempted to get him reinstated. Even though his father was sympathetic and proud of his resistance to authority, Keith was downgraded to a lesser institution where "wokism" was not an issue.

Luckily, through family connections, he found a beginning desk job at a brokerage firm and worked his way up to his current position.

He traveled a lot to Europe and the Far East to represent the firm's interests. In a sense, he was on a fast track to better things.

"Not bad, Keith, not bad," Cynthia congratulated him. "You've got guts. I like that. You're the only Princetonian I've ever known to get kicked out for not having the right political talking points."

"I've show you mine, now show me yours," Keith encouraged.

"Maybe later on, soldier boy. Here's my bio in short order." She was born in Philadelphia to wealthy parents, tony prep school, went to the University of Pennsylvania, then to the Wharton School of Economics where she made contacts and was hired at one of the most prestigious brokerage firms in New York. She liked sports, played tennis, and liked to water ski...a lot. Sports-minded. Philadelphia Eagles fan.

In men, she preferred nice-looking guys if they had more than just a body and a notable appendage that worked to mutual satisfaction. She was attracted to men like Keith who had a sense of humor and could confront people who wielded authority in mean-spirited ways.

She reached over a placed her hand on his. This, he assumed, was a gesture of openness to pursue their interests in greater depth. Nonetheless, there was still something amiss, a piece of important information that was lacking. He would have to probe a little more.

Just as they were thinking about desert, Keith recognized someone standing by his side.

"Salut, mon pote. J'espère que le dîner vous a plu?" (Hello, pal. I hope you liked your dinner?)

"Excellent, Marcel. On a bien mangé. Savoureux � tous points de vue." (Excellent, Marcel. It was great. Tasty in every way.) Oh, permets-moi de te présenter ma copine, Cynthia." (Let me introduce you to my friend, Cynthia.)

Marcel bowed slightly and planted a kiss on her hand in a very ceremonious manner. "So," he spoke in heavily accented English, "This is the charming young lady who has bewitched my neighbor..."

"Enchantée," Cynthia answered. "That's it for French. I studied Mandarin and German at Wharton."

"Your lady friend is indeed very attractive; you have good taste in women....and food," Marcel exclaimed, patting Keith on the shoulder as he moved away toward other diners sitting nearby. "T'as de la chance, toi. Elle est vraiment canon." (You're a lucky guy. She's really pretty.)

"Au revoir, madame. A bientôt, cher ami."

"He's right out of a Charles Boyer film," Cynthia smiled and waved good bye.

"Charles Boyer? Wasn't he from another century?"

"Yes, but he was French to the core."

Cynthia declined desert but they had two decafs to end the meal.

"Well," Keith summarized as he handled his half of the bill. "I chose well last night. You're my kind of girl."

Cynthia looked at him in a provocative way. "This is going to sound corny, but your place or mine...to wind things up?"

"Mine if you don't object to a certain degree of disarray..." Keith suggested. "It could take some cleaning up. Sorry."

"Let's try mine because the maid came this morning." She concluded.

"Oh, BTW, do we need to stop at the pharmacy to buy protective latex products?" She smiled and put her finger in her mouth.

"I've got a few in my coat pocket. Boy scout mentality...always prepared. Last question: sleeping over permitted?" Keith touched her arm and looked her in the eyes.

"Let's see how we fit together. In several ways."

"Wow, aren't we direct...to the point." They left the restaurant hand in hand.

Her apartment was larger than his and located in a better neighborhood in the city. There was a sizeable bay window overlooking the East River. He noted, in leaving the restaurant, that the blue aura surrounding her body had disappeared. She went to the wet bar and asked: "Night cap?"

"Sure. Any ideas?" Keith asked, looking around the apartment.

"Well, I'm having a manhattan...the drink of my dear father," she answered from behind the bar.

"How about a Grand Marnier?" Keith asked.

"No problem."

She stretched out on a couch that could have easily slept two people. "Before we get too involved, could we talk a little?" She pushed him gently away. He sat up and looked quizzically at her.

"Do you have any idea why I chose you in the restaurant? There were lots of guys who were hitting on me. I put them off and then came your way."