Strange Thoughts

Author's Notes: This is my attempt at the 750 Word Project 2020 and the first time I'm trying my hand at such an event. The story is based on an idea I had a while ago. I never got around to turning it into writing so I repurposed it for this event. Sticking to the 750 words was quite a challenge and I have mixed feelings about the result, but let's see what you think.

***

The metro train arrives at the platform and I brace myself for the ordeal I'm about to undergo. Using public transport is always a tedious experience to me. As I step into the wagon, my affliction manifests with all its potency. I'm subjected to an onslaught of roaring, chaotic, barely comprehensible voices. Those voices don't manifest as real sound; they are thoughts of other people, projected into my mind.

I'm capable of hearing the inner workings of the brains of humans in my immediate vicinity. I don't know why or how, it has just always been this way. What might sound like a powerful ability is more curse than gift. It is always there, making interacting with or being close to people almost unbearable. There is no way to turn it off or tune it down. I don't read minds; I just hazily perceive what is thrown at me.

There are plenty of people on the metro, enough to keep my mind spinning. I lean against the side of the cabin in a futile attempt to keep a distance. It is pointless of course; there is no escape from the bombardment of disorganized mental ramblings.

My eyes dart around between the passengers, not daring to remain anywhere for long while involuntarily eavesdropping on unwelcome thoughts. I spot an attractive brunette not far from me, looking vaguely in my direction. My gaze is attracted by her inviting neckline and close fitting outfit, accentuating a shapely body; but it lingers for a different reason: Her mind is extraordinarily calm and controlled, more than any I have encountered.

"Like what you see?" The question is not asked aloud, but in the woman's head. Is it directed at me? Does she know I can hear her?

"Yes, I do," she answers mentally. That hasn't happened before. I'm completely baffled. I have so many questions. She doesn't answer any of them. There is amusement in her face. "And I can do so much more."

Before I can even begin to wonder what she means, I am subjected to an invasion of foreign impressions, more intense than anything I have known; wickedly lecherous thoughts, carnal desires and a series of very vivid imagery. The latter features exhilarating glimpses at the woman's alluring body in various states of undress. As my mind struggles to keep up with processing the stream of stimulating inspiration, my body reacts autonomously. My heart races, sending blood rushing and causing a stirring in my loins.

"Curious for more?" the woman enquires with a soundless purr. I don't need to answer, she is clearly aware of my arousal. With artful precision she projects a vision onto me in which the two of us meet to embrace in a sensual kiss. The artificial occurrence is so distinct, so life-like, it drowns out all the noise around us.

"Show me what you want," she demands. The cravings she reveals and the inspiration her thoughts provide are more than enough to set my imagination loose. Following her lead I conjure up my own share of fantasies, preferences, and physical details to complement her exciting fabrication. In the jumble of our intertwined minds, the exchange of thoughts spawns a spectacle of passion, guided by the yearnings we so clearly perceive in each other.

Our real bodies remain immobile, but in our conjoined psyche we are floating naked in a timeless void, our fingers roaming each other's bodies with greedy determination. The illusion feels so real I am completely lost in it. Her touch becomes bolder and the sensation draws gasps from our lips.

As the stranger hurries our lustful game to the next level, the intensity becomes overwhelming; too much for my affection-starved self. An uncontainable eruption brings the incredible experience to its climax. The premature conclusion drops me back into reality with an agonizing abruptness. All that remains is a haunting memory and the discomfort of the wet, sticky discharge in my pants.

I am utterly embarrassed. With a satisfied smirk the woman crosses the distance between us; for real this time. Putting a gentle hand to the side of my head she leans in close as if for a kiss. When we almost touch she stops short and whispers: "Farewell."

Then she bolts through the open train doors. I am too stunned to follow in time. The metro departs before I can get out. Seeing her look back at me through the windows I catch one last thought: "We will never see each other again."