Someone's Coming

Traffic flow studies prove that one car flashing brake lights will cause a bottleneck lingering hours, sometimes days.

--You're kidding.

James blurted this, causing titters to ripple through the classroom.

Professor Ang smiled. --It's bizarre but true.

He continued the lecture.

In Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon, everywhere Tryrone Slothrop gets an erection is later inevitably ground zero for a V2 strike, causing a half-mad CIA agent to plot Tyrone's trysts in an effort to predict where the silent missiles, that traveled faster than the speed of sound, would hit next. After something exploded would come the sound of the V2 descending, a whining drone like the ghost of a surprise attack.

Every action, no matter how small, radiates effects outward in a sphere of subtle influence.

Tracing such lines of affect remains too complex for even the most complex models in the fastest computers.

This touches on people, too.

Do depressed thoughts darken the world? Do ugly words coarsen society? Does every sexist glance prompt later rape?

Professor Ang had a lot to say. Too much, really.

James zoned out, wondering along his own line of interest, mainly daydreaming about sex. Did every stiffened nipple or clit cause distant stolen babies, wild affairs, broken marriages?

What about splooge?

Orgasm, ejaculation? Whimpers and shouts of ecstasy? Was every dollop of spurted sperm a seed of endless special effects?

Every time someone comes the intense feelings of pleasure and gratification must explode outward into the world. Private jacking and jilling off could spread everywhere, causing all kinds of fucking.

What about exhibitionists, splashing their momentary tingle onto unsuspecting targets in crowded buses, subways, or other public places?

Even at that instant James would inevitably be catching radiating come signals, had to be. That thought excited him. All the people fucking and coming at any given instant, sending out pulses of breathless joy.

James touched his erection as he gathered his books at the end of class. He ran his fingertips down the length of his shaft through the denim.

Some of the other students saw the quick stroke, a few smiling, one girl fascinated, following him with her gaze locked on his crotch.

When Professor Ang gestured for James to join him for a moment beside the lectern, James ignored him and dived into a cluster of students draining through the door like ...

... semen down a drain.

James savored each bump he got from a coed, imagining soft curves, complaisant hollows into which he could spurt. She'd scream for Mama, demand more, tell him to fuck her hard, deep, and long. She'd command him to give her a baby, to go so far it came out her throat.

He tended to imagine garish extremes.

One of the girls, Eva Toscher, a curvy girl with dark blonde hair to her shoulders, fist-sized breasts, flat belly, and long legs, gave James a look as they rubbed together in the doorway jam. She'd sought him out. She'd pressed her mons pubis against his cock.

She was the one who'd noticed him touching himself as he stood after class was dismissed. Her eyes sparkled as her free hand gave him a quick stroke, lingering to tap, then circle his glans.

--Wanna?

That's all she had to ask.

#

--Mine? Well, my dorm room's closer but my room-mate's there, has the plague again.

She leaned to kiss his ear. --We can go to my place. I have an apartment at Gamma Tau Omega.

They walked across the quad, past couples, trios, and quartets sprawled on the grass, some laughing, chatting, and eating or drinking, others engaged in necking, even dry humping. James imagined the inside of their underwear, male and female both, coated with what popular usage referred to as cum and quim, according to Professor Ang.

As they walked, the campus bell tower chimed once, marking half hour.

At the bell's chime James tingled, gasped a little, and smiled when he saw Eva watching him. --Just thinking about how they must feel. He gestured toward some of the more involved couples lying on the grass.

He thought, too, how their sex organs would swell, tingle, and unload, only to quiver at further stimulation toward another muscle-weakening release. Over and over until their belly muscles got sore.

The fountain of youth seemed never to go dry for long.

#

Midnight, he and a friend prowling the perimeter of boredom, had climbed the carillon tower for no particular reason. While up there gazing over campus and town, his friend had reached over to tag James on the crotch. --You're it.

--I'm what?

Despite himself his cock swelled, stiffened. He glanced at his friend's bulge, wondered how weird it would be if they ...

--Anoint the bells.

They both ended up masturbating as they arched their backs to reach their cocks out over the hollow center, where the bells hung. Both came hard, spewing white goo into the darkness. A faint sound rose to prove they'd baptized the bells with their dribbled spunk.

--Now we'll get hard every time we hear the bells.

James thought his friend was nuts but later admitted it worked reasonably well. Bells reminded him of ejaculating into cold darkness.

He put it down to the thrill of having a secret.

#

Eva led him by the hand up a dark stairwell. It creaked. An older house of brick and bay windows, it houses the sorority with a slumbering dignity. No house mother, no challenge at the door.

Her room had a mullioned window that opened like a door. Too small to squeeze through, perfect for tossing things onto passers-by, except it overlooked the back garden, surrounded by a high brick wall. No one to water-balloon would casually stroll by.

--Room's nice.

--Private, too. She turned a skeleton key in the lock, left it there, and crossed the uneven floorboards to hug and kiss him.

#

In high school he hit age 18, having been held back, which meant he was shaving, a grown man, and he'd had a crush on a younger teacher whose husband had been killed in a car crash. Kids called her the Black Widow but James, smitten, wanted only to be inside her somehow.

He took a blank paper from her desk one day. At home, he jacked off all over it, several splashes, each one sweeter as he imagined her body, her responses, her enthusiasm for his throbbing cock.

He let that soaked page dry overnight, folded the wrinkly, parchments-stiff paper, and slipped it into an envelope. On the envelope he block printed in tiny letters: WHEN?

As he entered her class he slipped that envelope partly under her green blotter. When class commenced, he kept an eye on the desktop, her movements. He regretted leaving it. He feared reprisal. He daydreamed of a thousand good responses.

He quivered when he saw her frown and pluck the envelope free from the blotter. She held the letter closer to read the tiny writing.

James wondered if his heard would squeeze itself into failing.

Bolting from the room sounded good but he couldn't move, could't breath. His sweat trickled down his ribs.

She opened the envelope, unfolded the oddly-stiff paper, and looked at it. An instant's expression crossed her face.

James couldn't read it.

She folded the paper, put it back into the envelope, and picked up a pen. She wrote something, then set the envelope aside.

He'd be reported. She knew it was him. Cops would drag him off, beat him senseless, force him to confess. He'd be a laughingstock.

He wanted to shrivel and die.

By the time class ended, James had recovered self-control enough to let him stand without swaying, speak without croaking, and walk without falling down. He went past her desk in line, his class having been instructed to file out. Not intending to so much as glance at her, he let his gaze fall to the envelope. In the corner where he'd printed so small, large numerals had been printed. --5:30 HERE.

His head woozy, he managed to get out of the room, to his locker, and to the next class. She wanted him to meet here there, in her classroom, after school had let out, after most everyone would have gone home.

School let out from 3:30 to 4:00, as the waves of buses and parents' cars picking up their kids arrived and departed. Teachers left next, chatting or slumped, glad another day was over or crushed by the prospect of going home to misery.

Sitting in bushes across the street from the school, James watched. He knew her car. It remained while all the others trickled away.

When it was the last in the lot, he got up, brushed off, and headed across the street. He didn't know whether it would be open but tried the side door. He found it swung freely so he entered the building.

He walked quietly. He'd left his stuff in the bushes. His sneakers squeaked on the tiles. He went down the hall to the end, turned right to find her door ajar. He pushed it open, shy.

--Come in.

Her voice nearly made him shoot a load into his pants. Low, calm, the kind of voice an experienced woman had. His adoration of her blossomed.

--James. She sat at her desk, her blouse opened at four buttons. This showed black lace, her bra. In it her breasts rested full, pale.

He raised his gaze to her face, noting her beautiful lips, expressive eyebrows, deep brown eyes.

She smiled and raised her arms, gesturing for him to come stand beside her. She picked up the envelope. --You gave me this?

He tried to say yes but his voice didn't make it past the dry strangling he felt, so he nodded.

--So much. She licked her lips, holding his gaze.Her smiled pulsed warmth. --It's wonderful. Best gift I've gotten in ages.

She touched him then, one hand rested lightly on his stomach before sliding slowly down. --Would you like to see where I live?

--Yes, please.

She chuckled and stood, her arms encircling him for a hug.

Pressed against her body, alive to every square centimeter, he hummed inside like a James-sized vibrator. He gulped a breath, dizzy.

Following her out of the room, along a short hall, and out yet another side door, they got into her car and, as she drove, he watched her legs, her arms, her silhouette. Outwardly calm, inside he was freaking out.

When they reached her home, a small house set back from the curb, screened by pine trees, shaded by oaks, he thought of a witch's cabin. Would she fatten him, shove him into an oven, make a pie of him?


He didn't care as long as they could touch, so captivated did he feel toward her. Being with her, just sitting or walking beside her, fluttered his senses, but entering her private spaces, her home, levitated him.

Her cat rubbed on his shins.

She fed it kibble and took James by the hand, giving him what she called the nickel tour. With only a small, unfinished attic used to store Xmas and Hallowe'en decorations, that sort of stuff, and only a small finished basement where a single round-shaped room had a brick fireplace and glass brick window wall over a curved sofa, the house had only a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a small parlor. Bathroom in the center, directly behind the kitchen sink area.

Southwest throw rugs, sepia western landscapes framed in hammered copper, and Hopi tishu dolls, known by the spirit name Kachina, perched along the mantel or on tables, peering out from behind potted cactuses.

--It's really nice.

As soon as he said this he blushed. What a stupid banality. He wanted to ask if she was from New Mexico or something but before he could get a breath she took him into her arms and kissed him full on the lips, long and hard, her tongue flicking, her hands wandering.

His own hands slid to her waist, lower. When he grabbed her ass, he nearly creamed his jeans again. He could hardly breathe, didn't care.

They'd taken off their clothes and lay on the floor beside the fire she'd lit. She'd used a long match, the flame of which she held near one of her bare nipples with a dark smile on her face.

--Ouch. She laughed, flicking her nipple with her thumb.

James, mesmerized, stood naked with his cock sticking about nine feet out from his hips, not knowing what to say or do.

She sidled to him, lay him back, and eased herself down over him, a buttery warmth enclosing his cock, a sensation of sinking upward into depths of dark sky as he closed his eyes. She began riding him.

He came at once.

--That's okay, honey, don't let it worry you.

Sure enough, he remained hard for her, sensation returning to him in different frequencies. A new tone of pleasure engulfed him.

Slowly she worked inner muscles, whispered shocking things, brushed his face with her breasts, told him to suck hard and bite a little on her nipples as she rocked, ground, and moaned.

He'd risen to a controlled intensity through slow stages, paying attention to all over her at once, to small parts of her, to the experience as a whole and in fragments. He knew he would explode again soon, this time much deeper, much bigger, pouring out far more of himself into her. Thrusting in strong, punctuated strokes, he watched her breasts bounce, her face clench in agonic pleasure. So good to fuck her, be fucked by her.

So that's what Lady Chatterley's Lover was all about.

Just as he felt the first spine-centered tingle foretelling a tsunami of orgasmic flow, lava and sparks, inertial offload, just at that instant she stopped her fluid motions, her inner clenching. She opened her eyes, glancing toward the basement doorway, the stairs leading up to the kitchen.

Tires on gravel in front of her house told them a car had arrived.

--Someone's coming.

As she said this she went cold to James, inert to his urgent probing. Leaping to her feet, she grabbed up her clothes. --Get up, get dressed, we have to get you out of here.

--What?

When she'd said someone's coming, he'd wanted to say yeah, me, big time, but she'd gone fishwife and slipped off him before he could muster enough mental focus. Meanwhile, his body kept doing what it needed, a huge orgasm crashing through him, causing him to splat fountain after fountain of semen into the air, across her nude body, onto his own, onto rug and furniture. He wasn't sure but he might've hit the ceiling too.

--Fuck, what are you ...? She swiped at his splatter, then stiffened when a car door thunked shut just outside. --Get up, you have to go.

Still not sure what was going on, James had the presence of mind to dress fast. He put on jeans, slid socks and shoes on, then his tee shirt as she bum-rushed him to a small door in the basement. --Go through here, don't be seen. You can walk back to town from here, through the woods. Go, go.

He went, senses blended toward a giddy exhaustion.

He never found out who'd interrupted them but the experience cured him of his crush, led him to be gentle and kind with girls his own age. Being friends should come before being lovers, he figured. That way, fewer ridiculous farces arose.

Then he joined the Army, went into combat for four years, and qualified for college through some fragment of the GI Bill left intact.

#

As Eva hugged and kissed him, he recalled his experience with the wanton young predator and knew he'd probably dodged a bullet. She'd have drained him, cast him aside in time, left him stranded well past his own halcyon days. He would have wasted his life when he should've been living it with people of his own generation.

--Hey. He pushed Eva gently from him. He fiddled with her shirt's hem, tugging it not up but down. --We don't have to, you know, go for it right away. We can talk some.

--Don't you wanna?

--Fuck yes I do, I'm just saying, if we know each other better, it'll be better when we ... touch each other.

She cocked her head to one side. --Knew you were a weird one. That's why I liked you. I'm weird, too.

They talked books and movies into the evening, got a pizza and some beer, talked life experiences and hopes and dreams into the night, and when they did finally take off their clothes to press their bodies together Eva admitted she was glad this hadn't been just a hook-up.

As she came again, just as she fell asleep in his arms, as he came across her belly, she said his name with a beatific smile and dawn thrust an insouciant tongue of red-yellow light through her mullioned window, which patterned the light into a dozen little suns.

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