Synced Brain Waves

Synced Brain Waves

This story contains some violence at the beginning (although it is not gratuitous violence but important for the story). If that disturbs you this may not be the right story for you; of course it might not be the right story for other reasons, but at least in this instance you've been warned.

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I'm Kevin Warren, 43 years old at the time of the seminal event in this story. I'm basically a normal guy in many ways but I have a few distinctions. I have become financially successful by minimizing my need to do things that I'm not good at and maximizing my opportunities to do things that I am good at. Also, I have always been too stupid to know when to back off if confronted with something that isn't right and needs correction, sometimes to my satisfaction, other times to my pain [don't get the wrong idea, however -- I definitely am no saint, and have been known to be an opportunist]. Further, I have a higher than average libido and would fuck my wife every day if she'd agree. One final characteristic; I am infinitely more observant than the average guy (although that may seem to be an example of damning by faint praise since the average guy is close to clueless -- especially when it comes to women -- but I'm even observant compared to a perceptive woman).

In addition to my job I often work with a couple of charities in the area that I live in doing odd jobs for them, or buying and delivering things that they need. I feel it important to give back when life has treated you well. Although my wife and I agree on most things, she thinks that my volunteer work is a waste of time; she is more interested in status, celebrity, and fame than philanthropy.

Speaking of my wife Linda, she was also 43 at the seminal event and we had been married for twenty years and we had two kids in High School and one in college. We had returned a few months earlier from an anniversary cruise. While we had a good time on the cruise, during it some things came to a head that had been building up in the past few years. While there were a number of minor things, one major one was that Linda had lost interest in sex on a regular basis; it seemed like she was passionately in the mood only about twice a month, and only once on the cruise. She never complained about doing a blowup doll imitation seven or eight other times each month if I initiated it which -- since I seemed to always be interested in sex -- I was not too proud to pass up. After all it was better than an actual blowup doll (which I had used twice in my life, circumstances not to be revealed here). Also, some of our previously shared interests seemed no longer to be shared.

Linda has -- no bias, no brag -- a fantastic body. Her face is pleasant, but not beautiful. Her tits are exceptional; I called them "Free-Form," a perhaps juvenile reference to the statically typed, compiled, general-purpose, case-sensitive, free-form computer programming language known as C++ because -- drum roll -- they are C++ cup east-west tits with beautiful protruding nipples. Her thighs are sculptured, and her outer vaginal labia are distinctively and aesthetically curved.

While Linda had gained a little weight and her shape was less than ideal after delivering three kids, by the time that our youngest went to kindergarten she decided that she wanted to reprise her twenty one year old body. She worked out diligently for four months, two hours a day, six days a week, and served only nutritious foods, no added sugar. She succeeded.

How can I state with certainty that Linda's body is fantastic with no bias or brag? -- it's because of what she did once she regained her twenty one year old body.

Linda hooked up with a pay porn site as one of its models and was the top performer of her genre for six years in a row. What was her genre? Masturbation! She collected a wide variety of dildos and vibrators, and could really contort her body and using a voice modifier talked dirtier than Eddie Murphy in his "Raw" performance. In addition to inserting objects into her pussy and asshole she manipulated her tits and often after orgasming (sometimes real, other times expertly faked) from using a dildo or vibrator in her pussy she would put it between her tits and moan and groan and eventually have a real or faked titty-fuck orgasm. In addition to the voice modifier she used a Lone Ranger mask (she had a number of different colors and decorations), a blonde wig that fit perfectly over her short brunette hair, and green contact lenses covering her blue irises so that even I probably would not have recognized her if I didn't know who she was. She went by the stage name Autoerotic Audrey.

Autoerotic Audrey thought that she hid her endeavor from me but as earlier indicated I'm way too observant to be fooled. Having her hair cut short when she had always worn it shoulder length ever since I met her, shaving her pussy supposedly to please me (it did, but I had no problem with her bush either), and asking for a high tech, high definition Internet-compatible video camera for her birthday, led my spider senses to tingle. She had been performing no more than ten days when I found out.

I signed up for the porn site -- and paid just like everyone else. You might legitimately ask why I let her continue on the porn site once I found out. At first I was distressed by her choice of activity to keep herself occupied when the kids were in school, and if she had been fucking -- or even if another person were in the room while she performed -- I would have gone ballistic and would have divorced her; however, she never did anything except masturbate, pose, and talk dirty. Her activity never interfered with her devotion to her family, and it normally took her -- even with preparation time and the time it took to hide all of her wares after a performance (I know because the small cameras I installed in our exercise room and bedroom gave me a perfect record of what she did) she normally never spent more than two hours a day, five days a week, on her secret activity. Also, very important to me, she became a much happier person because she achieved some of the celebrity she craved even if she was anonymous. She was always in a good mood, was a great mother, and made sure that I was in a constant state of sexual nirvana. Finally, although I would never in a million years be a husband who watched his wife fuck, or even be naked live around another man, I have to say that I was justifiably proud when I read the thousands of positive comments about her on the porn site. She seemed to have tens of thousands of guys drooling over her -- yet I was the only one who was actually fucking her and manipulating her C++ tits, which made me very happy.

Linda also made surprisingly big bucks from her activities considering that she worked only about ten hours a week. She told me that it was from selling Amway products, and she always had a trove of them in the house to make her story plausible, and I never questioned her about it. I was happy to let her use half -- after taxes -- of her "Amway earnings" for mad money, which included lots of trips to the spa, gym, and for massages, to keep her body toned and beautiful.

Linda's aforementioned waning interest in sex started about a year after she gave up her Autoerotic Audrey persona. Another major issue that arose about the same time seemed to be that although I made good money she wasn't thrilled with our status in the community; she was increasingly interested in fame (like pilot Sully Sullenberger who landed a disabled plane on the Hudson River and saved more than 100 lives), or if that was not achievable, celebrity (like the Kardashians).

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While I had a fairly large number of friends in common with Linda (aka Free Form, aka Autoerotic Audrey), and a bunch of friends at work, the three friends that I seemed to be most compatible with were three people that I met doing volunteer work. They were two women, Jane and Tanya, and a man, Dirk. I wondered why I had an almost instant connection with the three of them when we met. Then I read a study that at least in my mind provided some explanation for that.

I know that many people will consider it bullshit, but some neuroscientists can explain an instant connection with someone (not to be confused with "love at first sight," although in some circumstances it could be considered the same thing) as "brain syncing." In particular in a 2018 study of one version of syncing by neuroscientist Pavel Goldstein and colleagues of the University of Colorado Boulder they were able to establish by EEG measurements that brain waves called alpha-muband waves matched when certain compatible individuals were faced with the same situation, especially if they touched each other. Maybe if you read the study you'd think that it was bullshit, but I believe it, and in my mind it explains my instant connection with Jane, Tanya, and Dirk.

Although I had an instant connection with these three friends, please don't get the idea that it was a sexual attraction, because it wasn't. While Jane and Tanya are very nice looking women about my age whenever I met with them I didn't suddenly have the urge to throw them down on a bed and ravage them, and except for a few ethereal situations I never dreamt about them; and I never have had a sexual attraction to any man. Jane, Tanya, and Dirk were also all married -- for some reason we usually never talked about our spouses, however.

We four amigos, in addition to twice a month working together on some volunteer project, also had lunch together every two or three weeks. We laughed and joked for most of 90-120 minutes during those occasions while consuming food and drink, although sometimes we would discuss serious topics.

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The Seminal Event:

On a Friday afternoon I was shopping for a few items at the back of a local large supermarket when I heard "pops" and screams. A number of terrified people ran past me. A tall teenage boy, who I estimated to be sixteen or seventeen years old, was near me and we viewed each other with wide eyes. I looked around the corner into an aisle and saw a guy with a ski mask and rifle. Since the kid did not have the same deer-in-the-headlights look as the people who had run past an idea quickly formed in my brain.

"Want to stop the gunman and save some lives?" I asked him in hushed tones as I handed him a twelve ounce can of tomato paste from my cart while I picked up a twenty eight ounce can of tomato sauce.

Without flinching the kid nodded his head and said "I do!"

"Then throw this can of tomato paste at the gunman, make sure that he sees you, and then run like hell in the opposite direction from where we're standing and try and get out of the back of the store," I instructed.

The kid looked around the corner to see that the gunman was not looking our way, then threw the can; hesitated a second, and then ran like hell.

I was very impressed with the kid's throw, since it actually hit the gunman. I found out later that as a sophomore the kid was the starting center fielder for my kids' High School varsity baseball team. The gunman yelled, turned to see the kid run where I had told him to run, and the gunman fired one shot that was way off target but just as I hoped came running down the aisle. As the gunman reached the end of the aisle, looking in the direction that the kid had run, I swung the 28 ounce can of tomato sauce at his head with all of my strength. I connected just above his right eye; he went down with a thud, the rifle clamoring to the ground.

Not taking any chances I hit him in the head with the can again while he was on the ground -- he was not going to be getting up anytime soon, if ever.

I felt really good until I heard another "pop." Shit -- there was another gunman.

I picked up the rifle -- it was a common model that I was fairly familiar with -- familiar enough to know how to shoot it even if I wasn't a marksman with it. I went toward the sound of the last "pop." I came across a second gunman -- who had a handgun -- three aisles down. I peered around the corner and as soon as he turned his back I shot him. I was aiming for his back, but the shot went high and hit him in the neck. No matter -- he was out of the fight too.

I paused for a couple of minutes. There were no more "pops."

I went up to the second prone gunman, kicked his pistol out of his reach in case a miracle happened and he arose, then put down the rifle and called 911.

Obviously there were many calls before mine but not with what I had to say. "My name is Kevin Warren I have disabled both gunmen at the supermarket shooting and am waiting next to one of them at the start of aisle 29. I believe that it is safe for the police to enter and not worry about getting shot. I'll stay on the line until you give me instructions."

I could hear the 911 operator talking to other people, she told me to stay right there and tell her what happened. I gave her a blow-by-blow from my perspective.

A SWAT team entered the store after I had been on the phone 3-4 minutes and I held up my hands above my head while waving them over.

"Are you Kevin Warrant?" the lead dude asked.

"Kevin Warren not Warrant; yes," was my response.

I kept my hands up while one of the SWAT members frisked me. Then the lead dude asked "Where's the second guy?"

"At the end of aisle 26 I believe," I replied, resulting in three SWAT guys immediately taking off in that direction.

"Is this the first guy's gun?" he asked pointing at the rifle.

"Yes, it's what I shot the second guy with. I kicked his handgun away -- it's over by aisle 31, I believe."

Two regular cops came by. The lead SWAT team guy told them "Take Mr. Warren to a cruiser and have him sit in the back until he can be interviewed by a detective," which is what they did with my complete cooperation.

To make a long story shorter, when I got outside all hell had broken loose; there were vehicles with flashing lights all over the place, crime scene tape, wounded or dead shoppers being treated or covered up, and TV vehicles with satellite dishes on top -- like I said, pandemonium!

The cops took me to the station; there they interviewed me for two hours for something that had taken, at most, three minutes, before they let me call Linda to have her pick me up since my car was within the taped off area in the supermarket parking lot and I couldn't get it until the next morning. In talking with the cops I really played up the participation of the High School kid: "He was the one who really took the chance; he could have been shot; that kid's a hero."

I asked the cops not to release my name to the press. They promised that they would keep it under wraps as long as they could.

Linda was wide-eyed when she picked me up. I gave her a condensed version of the story -- she had to pull over to the side of the road she was so flustered by it. I concluded with a wry smile: "Since for some reason the cops wouldn't let me buy the pasta, and the tomato sauce can is dented with blood on it lying in aisle 26, you're not going to be making lasagna tonight."

"I'm too shell-shocked to cook anyway -- let's just have a pizza delivered -- the kids will like that," Linda sighed. Then she gave me an powerful kiss on my lips and said "You drive, I'm too rattled," so we changed seats.

Of course the shooting was the number one topic on all local news media the entire weekend, but I was pleased to see that my name had not been released. The hero High School kid -- whose name was Trent Greene -- did come forward and I was happy to see him getting many accolades. He couldn't identify me, and keeping their promise the cops didn't tell the press who I was.

Although not in one of her passionate moods, to my shock and almost unprecedented in the last couple of years Linda actually initiated sex all three weekend nights. While she was primarily a blowup doll-like fuck for some reason that turned me on much more than normal and I was happy to bust a nut even if she wasn't lively. In fact, all four times that we fucked that weekend she violently orgasmed -- something that she had done rarely the last few years, and giggled when I sucked and played with her C++ tits. She was also more happy and cheerful than at any time since she was Autoerotic Audrey!

*************

Jane, Tanya, Dirk, and I had a lunch planned for Monday at noon. Tanya, Dirk and I arrived about the same time and got an outside table at a local café. Our conversation was low key until Jane arrived, the most animated that I had ever seen her.

"Did you guys see the news about the supermarket shooting," she gasped out of breath leaning toward all three of us at once, if that's possible.'

"We'd have had to have been in China, deaf, and blind, not to have," laughed Tanya.

"Well I witnessed it first-hand. I was in the store, saw one shooter who shot the guy next to me, and I ran to the back of the store. I was huddled in a big refrigerator with about 10 other shoppers or employees until SWAT got us out," Jane spit out all in one breath.

Dirk and Tanya immediately perked up.

"What do you know?" Dirk asked.

"Aside from what's been on the news one of the cops told me that some High School kid helped a Good Samaritan disable the two gunmen. One gunman was apparently shot dead and the other one is barely hanging on in the hospital," Jane replied.

"Who's the Good Samaritan?" Tanya asked.

"I don't know -- but if I saw him I'd give him the most passionate kiss he's ever gotten; he probably saved a lot of lives, including mine," she choked out, on the verge of tears.

"You'd really give this guy a kiss passionate enough to make his knees weak?" I asked, keeping a straight face.

"Hell yes," was her enthusiastic reply.

I smiled, stood up, grabbed her hand and pulled her up, and then laid on her lips one of the most intense kisses that I have ever given. I sensed surprise for the first few seconds, and then a zealous response smashing her lips into mine while grabbing me around the torso. It may have been the longest kiss of my life -- I broke it off only when I heard Tanya laughing like a hyena and Dirk yelling "Get a room!"

When I broke the kiss my knees were weak and I honestly felt like someone had stuck me with a cattle prod because an electric shock seemed to be traversing my spine. As Jane stared up into my eyes I noticed that we both were trembling slightly. After a pregnant pause during which Tanya and Dirk became silent Jane asked "Was it really you?" But there were more than her words; I swear that I could almost read her mind saying "I never felt like this before," but there certainly were no words coming out of her mouth like that.

"Brain sync?" flashed into, and immediately out of, my consciousness.

I smiled at her, then turned to Tanya and Dirk, and said "I'll tell you three about it but only on the condition that you not tell anyone else, including your spouses, unless it gets out in the media."

They all enthusiastically said "Yes," so Jane and I sat down and I started in on the story, pausing only when the waitress took, and then delivered, our orders. One "disturbing" thing during my soliloquy was that Jane occasionally touched my knee or hand, and often looked at me with "doe eyes." Her eyes had never had any particular effect on me before, but they did now, causing unwanted activity at my crotch. Also, it seemed that every time that she touched me I got a glimpse into what she was thinking or feeling -- and her thoughts and feelings could only be described as amorously confused.

Several times during the luncheon I tried to change the subject, but that seemed to be overruled by the other three as they hit me with as many questions as the police had in their interview.