Sam I Am Ch. 01

Author's note: I personally was very pleased with how my previous story, "The Truest Control", turned out. Perhaps some parts could have been better, but overall I expressed all the ideas that I wanted to express and brought together all the events in the story that I wanted to include. It seems, however, that some readers felt that the story was not enough about "mind control", that it was not about true mind control but rather just another story about a cruel, dominant woman taking advantage of a hapless guy. I would counter that mind control is not just about thoughts: the human brain is based on physical chemistry, and so it needs a certain set of sensory and physiological inputs to reach a certain state. Physical stimuli or the use of drugs are not excluded from the realm of mind control--they are an integral part of mind control since they bring the mind into a desired state. Nonetheless, I took it upon myself to write a second story, a follow-up story that is more "psychological" and less based on pure domination. I hope that you enjoy it. By the way, the woman in both stories is not a product of my imagination, but in fact based on a real friend of mine. Most of the events and conversations in both stories are based on real events and conversations which either transpired, or were planned to transpire, by the lady in question. These stories serve not as elements of fantasy, but rather as combined documentation and tribute to a brilliantly alluring woman with a natural-born talent for manipulating men.

*

In a world of billions of people, what makes one person distinct from the rest? If all people are unique, doesn't that mean that all people are really the same, united by their shared set of human qualities and divided only by a trivial set of differences that don't really mean anything? Sam certainly wouldn't have known the answer, even if he had been the sort of guy to ask these kinds of questions, but what he did know, what he perceived all too clearly, was the same thing that countless other twentysomething guys like him perceived: he was a guy like any other guy his age, spending his free hours sitting at his computer, either playing video games, watching funny videos on the Internet, or watching porn. It wasn't a bad life, in a way: Sam enjoyed doing all of these things, and perhaps some people would have insisted that he had nothing to complain about. But Sam perceived that he was somehow not happy. In this way, too, he was like everyone else in his demographic: isn't every Millennial depressed, unfulfilled, and obsessed with their own desires, dreaming of the stars but forced to be content with digging in the mud? Sam knew in his heart that he wasn't really happy, but he had no idea how to change his life. He wasn't the sort of guy to be satisfied with a better job. He didn't dream of wealth, of the house and car and family. Nor did he seem to be cut out for romance: he'd tried dating women in the past, but they all lost interest in him fairly quickly because he wasn't very interesting or exciting to be around. Like so many other people, Sam lacked a self-identity, an idea of what made him Sam, different from anyone else.

If there was one thing that made Sam unique, perhaps it was that he wrote, or more accurately,how he wrote. He liked to believe that he was a good writer, and he had been told this in school, so this was the one act of self-expression which he took with himself into adulthood. Now, in his twenties, he had maintained a blog for several years, a place online where he shared his innermost thoughts and feelings. This, in itself, was also nothing special: plenty of people his age kept blogs where they bared their hearts and minds to the world, but perhaps Sam was just a bit different from the rest in how he expressed himself.

Someone else certainly seemed to think so, at least, judging by the e-mail which Sam received through his blog one day. "Hello, I've been reading your blog for a while now," it related, "and I like the things you have to say. I was wondering if you wanted to talk online sometime. I really enjoy talking to intelligent people who have insightful things to say, although I am probably not as deep as you. If you're interested, e-mail me back. My name is Sam."

The fact that the writer's name matched his own didn't mean much to Sam--it was a common enough name. Nor was it unusual that someone wrote to him because of his blog. He often got e-mails from someone who had read something he'd written, and these messages varied widely in tone and intent: some were encouraging, from people who perceived that he was unhappy and wanted to send him some good wishes; some were critical, believing that he was too negative and that he should take a more positive outlook on life since he was likely manufacturing many of his own problems through a negative attitude; some were neutral, commenting on something he'd said without really reaching any kind of conclusion.

Sam usually took care to reply to anyone who wrote to him personally. He didn't get that many messages, certainly few enough that he could reply to each of them, and he had sometimes made friends with people online for various lengths of time, but just as with his romantic relationships, Sam's friendships never seemed to last very long, because once again, he just wasn't that exciting or interesting of a person. Usually when he met someone online, the conversation would go on for a few messages, and then the thread of communication would simply die out because there was nothing left to say and people lost interest. He had a sense that this other guy named Sam would go the same route: it didn't seem like he had anything in particular to say. Perhaps he'd written because he was bored or lonely and was hoping to make a new friend, but Sam the blogger wasn't a good friend.

"Sure, I'd be happy to talk," Sam replied. "I don't know if I would have much to say, but if you see me online, say hi. I don't use social networking sites or stuff like that, just old-fashioned IM, so here's my username."

Sam was actually a bit surprised when, the next day, he actually got an instant message. He had assumed that the Sam who'd written to him would never follow up; the world was full of people who didn't follow through on anything, and in this case, it seemed like there hadn't been anything to say from the get-go, so Sam had expected that the other Sam would feel awkward and at a loss for words. But sure enough, there it was, an instant message simply reading "hi" from an unfamiliar username.

<PhoenixMoon86> Hi.

"Hi," Sam typed back.

<APyreInside81> Hi.

Realizing that this was not a terribly auspicious way to begin a fulfilling conversation, and hoping to save PhoenixMoon a bit of awkwardness, Sam did something atypical for him and decided to voluntarily further along the conversation.

<APyreInside81> I guess you're the one who e-mailed me?

<PhoenixMoon86> Yeah.

<PhoenixMoon86> Sorry if my e-mail seemed strange or intrusive. I don't mean to bother you.

<APyreInside81> Not at all. I'm not doing anything important. I just don't really have a lot to say.

<PhoenixMoon86> I have that problem too. Sometimes I have difficulty opening up to people. It's hard for me to find people I can relate to.

<APyreInside81> Same here. I wonder why that is. Why do people like us have a hard time meeting people we can relate to? Is is something wrong with us, or something wrong with other people?

<PhoenixMoon86> I think we're just different. Everybody's unique, of course, but most people have the ability to join groups that they can socialize with. Not me. I don't want to socialize in groups. I'd rather be alone, or maybe just with one other person.

It was not lost on Sam that PheonixMoon had reached out to him, and so if PhoenixMoon was not the kind of person who liked to socialize, or at most liked to socialize with "just one other person," then perhaps there was a hint that Sam might be seen as a candidate for that one person. It occurred to Sam to wonder, for the first time, who PhoenixMoon might actually be. Because his own name was Sam, he'd assumed that the other Sam was also a male, but Sam could be short for Samantha or something like that.

<APyreInside81> Forgive me please, because I'm not really in the habit of the usual Internet a/s/l thing, but could you tell me a bit about yourself? Assuming that the 86 in your username is your year of birth, I can gather how old you are, but otherwise I don't know anything about you.

<PhoenixMoon86> Yes, that's my birth year. I'm a woman. I live in Virginia, not far from Arlington.

Psychologically, human beings are dreamers. Even if they've been disappointed countless times, they usually have a tendency to idealize the unknown, to imagine and hope that just around the corner, life has something better that they'll stumble into by chance. From the moment he'd gotten her e-mail, Sam had subconsciously imagined a little dream of someone and something, a faint hope that the woman of his dreams had dropped out of the sky and e-mailed him to announce her presence in his life. And although he didn't dwell on the idea too long, he realized in the back of his mind that he'd hoped all along that she was female, that in fact a cute woman was flirting with him. Her location was far from ideal: he lived in Seattle, putting them on opposite coasts from each other, but that wasn't really a big concern at the moment.

<APyreInside81> Oh, that's nice. Arlington is nice, I've been there. I'm a guy. I live in Seattle.

<PhoenixMoon86> I know. I've been reading your blog, remember? I know a lot about you.

<APyreInside81> If you've read everything I've posted on my blog, then that puts us at a bit of an imbalance. You must know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.

<PhoenixMoon86> That's true, but we can fix that. If we keep talking, I'm sure you'll find out more about me with time.

<APyreInside81> Fair enough. Why me, though? I mean, there are obviously a ton of guys on the Internet. Why did you message me in particular?

<PhoenixMoon86> Well, like I wrote in my e-mail, I really like the things you write and the way that you express yourself. I identify with a lot of it and often find myself agreeing with you.

<APyreInside81> Really? I tend to write a lot of unhappy things. That means that if you identify with me, you probably aren't a very happy person either.

<PhoenixMoon86> I guess not. I mean, isn't every person our age depressive and dissatisfied with their life?

He noted with a faint sense of relief and pleasure that someone five years younger than him considered their ages similar enough to write "our age" as a term that included them both.

<APyreInside81> Maybe not everyone... But a lot of them, sure. Why are you so unhappy and dissatisfied with your life, then?

<PhoenixMoon86> I just never seem to meet the right people or do the right things. I'm not close to anyone... I know a lot of people, but it's like, I don't really know them, you know?

<APyreInside81> Yes, same here. I don't have a lot of friends. In fact, I'm not sure I know anyone whom I could really consider a close friend.

<PhoenixMoon86> I want to be your friend.

This was a bold claim from someone whom he'd just met. He wanted to say that they'd just started talking and they didn't know each other well, but the fact was that she knew him, he just didn't know her. So for her to say that she wanted to be his friend probably carried some weight; it would be impossible for him to claim that she didn't know him well enough to make such an assertion. The problem was that he was still in the dark about her.

<APyreInside81> I'd like that. You seem really nice. I'm surprised a nice person like you doesn't have a lot of friends.

<PhoenixMoon86> Well, I do have "friends," but they are mostly just acquaintances. The last close friend I had left was my boyfriend who dumped me a couple of months ago. So I'm pretty much all alone now.

<APyreInside81> I'm sorry to hear that. Am I a rebound, then?

<PhoenixMoon86> What, you think I'm hitting on you?

Sam cursed himself for his stupid masculine rashness. He'd just barely started talking to this woman, and he had already implied that she was talking to him for romantic rather than friendly reasons, after she'd just specifically said that she wanted to be friends. Guys don't like to be friendzoned, of course, but he realized it was dumb to imply that she wanted him to be her next boyfriend after she'd just started talking to him in a friendly way.

<APyreInside81> I'm sorry, that was a dumb thing for me to say. You know how guys are... They always say the wrong things.

<PhoenixMoon86> Yeah, I'm used to it by now. No, you're not a rebound, although he was a lot like you. Extremely intelligent, well spoken, and surrounded by a dark cloud of frustrated energy.

<APyreInside81> I guess that describes me pretty well. Maybe I'll eventually be able to earn the privilege of being your next ex-boyfriend.

<PhoenixMoon86> You won't want to be.

<APyreInside81> Why's that?

<PhoenixMoon86> You'd miss me too much.

<APyreInside81> What about your ex? Does he miss you a lot?

<PhoenixMoon86> He does. Leaving me was the biggest mistake of his life. But I won't take him back after the way he treated me. He doesn't deserve me.

<APyreInside81> Was he that bad? Or are you just that good?

<PhoenixMoon86> Both.

<APyreInside81> That comes off as a little arrogant, to be honest...

<PhoenixMoon86> Yes.

<APyreInside81> I don't know you well enough to refute that idea. But arrogance is usually not seen as a virtue...

<PhoenixMoon86> It is for some people.

<APyreInside81> Do you see it as one?

<PhoenixMoon86> You do.

That one actually gave him pause for thought. He wanted to say that this wasn't true, but it was difficult for him to say such a thing, because... well, maybe she was right. If she'd been reading his writing, she had probably analyzed it and read into some of it. Did he see arrogance as a virtue?

<APyreInside81> What makes you think I see arrogance as a virtue?

<PhoenixMoon86> You do, at least in my case. I can tell.

<APyreInside81> I guess I can't argue with you on this point. Are you really that good-looking?

<PhoenixMoon86> Yes and no. I think I'm good-looking, but my real virtues are hidden underneath the surface. You'll have to get to know me to really understand.

<APyreInside81> I'll go ahead and be an Internet male and demand photographic evidence of the aforementioned claims regarding your appearance.

<PhoenixMoon86> Gladly. Give me your e-mail address and I'll supply all the evidence you need.

He complied, and in another few moments, an e-mail with an attached photograph arrived. It was difficult to read into the picture at all. It portrayed a slim young woman with a sweet smile sitting at a table and smiling amiably into the camera. Her seated position made it impossible to judge her height, but it was clear that her dirty-blonde hair was long to an extreme. Other than this, however, the woman named Sam had no particularly distinguishing features: her clothes were tight enough to make it clear that her body was normally proportioned but not large-breasted, she had a cute nose above that pleasant smile, and her eyes were beautiful but not unusual. She looked like the all-American girl: fresh-faced, healthy but capable of some mischief, self-confident but friendly, and beautiful without being supermodel-level gorgeous. She was right: there was nothing particularly unusual about her appearance, but any guy would have been glad to have a pretty woman like her for a girlfriend.

<APyreInside81> Wow, you are really pretty. o_o

<PhoenixMoon86> Thanks. =)

<APyreInside81> I'm sorry I live so far away... We're on opposite sides of the country. If we lived close to each other, I'd ask you out.

<PhoenixMoon86> You could move here.

<APyreInside81> That's a tempting offer, but what would I do there?

<PhoenixMoon86> Same thing you do now, except with me. I'll keep you company.

<APyreInside81> That's really nice of you to say, but considering we've just met, it's a bit soon for me to start thinking about moving to be close to you.

<PhoenixMoon86> I know, I was just kidding anyway.

<APyreInside81> Well, I've been thinking of moving for a while now. Not specifically to Virginia, but to anywhere. I'd like to try living somewhere else, just for a change of scenes. And now you're telling me to move there. So.

<PhoenixMoon86> Oh, so you would listen to me?

<APyreInside81> Um, what do you mean? I'm open to taking advice, anyway...

<PhoenixMoon86> Well, then yes, you should.

<APyreInside81> Are you giving me orders now?

<PhoenixMoon86> No, you said you were open to advice, so I gave you some.

<APyreInside81> That doesn't sound like advice so much as you telling me what to do.

<PhoenixMoon86> We can just think of it as me helping you. Since you have trouble making up your mind.

It was difficult for him to argue with this. Actually, it was difficult for him to argue with anything she said, because she already knew these things about him. Yet she herself remained an enigma. Even knowing what she looked like, he was still completely unable to understand her in a way that allowed him to respond sensibly to her words.

<APyreInside81> I guess I can't argue with that. But even if I'm indecisive, it's probably not a good idea to take advice from people whom I've just met on the Internet.

<PhoenixMoon86> But you'll do it anyway, because you want to.

<APyreInside81> How do you know that? For all you know, I've already resolved to never meet you.

<PhoenixMoon86> That's a pretty funny idea, considering that you're already planning the trip in your mind. Tell me I'm wrong.

He stared at the words on the screen in quiet, helpless defeat. What could he say? Everything she said was true, and she seemed too confident in her understanding of him for him to be able to get away with denying it.

<APyreInside81> All right, maybe I am. But that doesn't mean that I'll actually follow through with it.

<PhoenixMoon86> Well, think about it some more. I have to go now, but I really enjoyed talking to you. Wow, I can honestly say that for the first time in two months, I actually feel happy. Thank you for bringing a smile to my face, Sam.

He couldn't help but smile at that himself.

<APyreInside81> You're welcome. I'm smiling too, so thank you for that as well. Goodbye for now, Sam.

<PhoenixMoon86> Bye! :)

And then he was alone again, with only the glow of a computer screen and a head full of confusing thoughts to keep him company. It was impossible to shake the feeling that something meaningful and important had just happened. And whenever he tried to think about it, it was just as impossible to keep that shy little smile from spreading across his face. Whatever had happened, it had been good. He was glad that she'd come to him, glad that she'd talked to him, glad that she'd said what she had said. His life had suddenly and inexplicably become better than it had been before. It seemed completely immaterial that he had no idea how to get his thoughts in order or how to think about what had happened. All that mattered was that she'd been there, and would hopefully be there again.