The Patron and the Saint

I've just gotten my drink order when my date, Sarah, takes the stool next to me at the bar. "Hey! Sorry I'm late."

"I just got here myself. Can I order you something?"

"Vodka soda with lemon, please, and can we hold off on the joust until dinner? The airport was a mess and I really need to freshen up and get a couple of drinks in me before I'm going to be up to dealing with you."

"Pfft. We'll see who deals with whom. Sure, go ahead. The reservation is in about 45 minutes, and curtain is at 9:30. Here's the key, room 2413. Go freshen up, I'll put your drink order in."

"Great! Thanks, sweetie. It's wonderful to see you." With a quick peck on my cheek, I watch her make her way back out to the lobby.

We're an interesting pair. I live here, in the city. I spend most of my time reading or pursuing my hobbies. I'm a professional amateur, in that I dabble in a lot of things, from painting and sculpture to writing and even a little singing. Mostly, though I prefer to meet and appreciate people who are or are becoming true masters in their chosen passions. I'm a great patron of the arts, and I even own a couple of small galleries downtown in which I like to showcase new unknowns that I discover. I'm in my early 40's and fit, with a bit of grey starting to make itself known at my temples.

Sarah, on the other hand, could never be described as a homebody. She told me once that when she was seven that after watching some eco-friendly cartoon she made up her mind to "save the planet". Unlike the average childish ambition, she stuck to hers. She spends about eleven months out of the year out of the country either advocating with various governments for human rights or environmental protections, or out in the field, hands on with the locals devising practical solutions to thorny sociological and ecological issues. I'm almost certain she's got a toe in some questionably legal actions taken against some of the planet's largest corporate polluters by various radical environmental groups, but I try not to pry. Regardless, she's very talented at what she does, and I can say with a pretty strong degree of certainty she's done more to steer humanity in a in a more... humane direction than any other single individual in history, due both to her drive and her unique ability. All that and still in her early 30's, extremely fit, and lovely with pretty auburn hair which she keeps fairly short.

We're not a couple, per se, but we've known one another for the better part of a decade now, and we remain close because we share something of a secret. We both have the ability to control minds. We're not alone in this, but the percentage of the population with anything resembling the talent is so minuscule it's entirely possible to go through life without ever meeting someone else with similar gifts. I've met three, including her. One of the others was my grandmother, and the last was a fairly unpleasant older gentleman who apparently felt the need to go all Highlander upon encountering another savant. The less said about him the better. As far as I know, Sarah has never met anyone except myself with the ability.

Ah, the bartender. I put in her order and request another for myself.

I should clarify, before she returns, that when i say "the ability", I'm being very generic. She and I do not share precisely the same talent. They vary in a number of significant ways, though they definitely belong to the same genus. I have no idea if any two such skills manifest in precisely the same fashion, even my grandmother's ability worked differently than mine does. We've both had our powers since puberty, and we've both refined our individual control over the years. Occasionally one of us will come up with a new trick. For our purposes here tonight, the "joust" she mentioned, the differences keep things interesting. Our tradition is to sit down to a nice dinner while each attempts to establish control over the other. The prize is whatever the winner chooses for it to be, obviously, though we trust one another enough not to be too concerned about surrendering control for the weekend.

The exercise is important for both of us, I think, as either of us can and (in my case, at least) often do take anyone we want for a lover. Or slave, or what have you. I'm no longer governed by my hormones, but I was entirely hedonistic throughout my 20's. I'm still a little stunned that I survived, given my lack of restraint. I might not have, had I not spotted her on the street and attempted to take her in what I can now admit was an embarrassingly clumsy fashion. I failed, partially because I was drunk off my ass and stoned nearly senseless, and the next two weeks were an interesting and completely involuntary education. I can truly say I came out of it a changed man, and I don't think she left the experience unmarked, either.

Ah, I believe she's on her way back down. I just felt her ability go active, which makes her feel like a sort of pink foggy blob to my mind's eye. Her unguarded mind or that of any normal person feels more like a semi-transparent soap bubble, iridescent patterns and all. While she's like this, I can't fiddle with her patterns directly, which is fairly effective protection from me. Sadly, I have to work a little harder than she does to protect myself. She doesn't have the nuanced control I do over my targets, but her ability acts on generalized impulses and emotions, which means she doesn't require the high resolution I do to make her subjects submit. My only real defense against her is awareness of her talent and my ability to manipulate my own psyche to counteract any effects I manage to notice. Still, I'm safe until we actually sit down to dinner. We can trust one another to observe the niceties, because neither of us want these games to end.

And here she comes, dressed to kill.

"Nice outfit."

"Why, thank you." That last with a smirk and a twirl. She's in a sleeveless black evening gown that bares a fair amount of her back and a not-inconsiderable amount of cleavage. "I thought you might at least like a glimpse of the prize. After I win I'm going to wear sweatpants and an oversize t-shirt all weekend while I figure out what to do with you. Which is definitely going to involve foot rubs after an evening in these heels."

"I'll promise you a foot rub in addition to any other activities I come up with if you feel like throwing in the towel early tonight."

That earns me a snort. "I'm two for the last two of these, and tonight I intend to make it three. What's the concert, by the way?"

"A mezzo-soprano. She's supposed to be amazing, only here for a couple of nights, so I'd ask we attend, regardless of the outcome of our little contest."

"Sure. Should we go get our table?"

I check my watch and finish my drink. "Yup, let's head in. Seated is the starting bell, yes?"

"Of course."

I give her my arm and we leave the bar for the restaurant proper. The smiling maitre'd recognizes us and leads us to our usual table, which is a bit odd because he's never met us we've never been here before.

"What are you up to?"

She smiles. "Just setting up the board, dear. Besides, he was going to seat us by the kitchen."

She may not have the fine-tuned control I do, but she's a lot better at plucking actual thoughts out of her subjects and interpreting them. The best I can do is get general impressions of emotion and intention. Usually enough for my purposes, but I do envy her clarity. Irritatingly, I didn't notice a flare from her when she used her abilities on him, which means she's gained a lot of subtlety since last time.

"Your damping has gotten distressingly effective."

She grins at that. "Thanks! It's hard to be sure without you to actually watch, but I remembered what you told me you saw last time, so I've been trying to practice influence without... extending myself? It's hard to describe. I'm just glad it has the effect I was hoping for. Did you pick up anything?"

"Not a thing. We hadn't been seated yet, so I wasn't as focused on your bubble as I am now, but before I would have felt you touching him without even trying."

"I still think it's weird it's all bubbles with you."

"What are you talking about? You don't have any kind of mental radar. If you did it might be bubbles for you too."

"I do have radar! I can sense you. When you're holding your power, anyway."

"And it doesn't feel like a bubble to you."

"Not at all."

"What does it feel like?"

"Spiders."

"... spiders."

"Yeah. It feels like you've got these little spiders crawling all over you, but it's kind of like television snow, like if I watched long enough I could see a pattern."

"That's... kind of disturbing."

"And when you use your power on someone it's like a little clump of them jump off of you on to them. I can even see them for a little while."

"You can see spiders on people I've influenced? I knew you could tell when I used my power on someone, but you mean even after I've stopped?"

"For a couple of minutes, yeah, I think so."

I should mention that we were now well into the soup course. All the time we've been talking, my 'spiders' have been making little sallies against her, only to get lost in the pink fog. Similarly, she's been playing with my emotions and impulse control, while I run around in my own head flipping off the lights as quickly as she's flipping them on. Both of us have already taken control of a few diners around us as well as a couple of passing staff, causing little trips or sudden movements or interrupted sight lines in the hopes of distracting one another. That's less than useful, because she can clearly see who I send commands to and I can still pick up her own flashes if I stay focused on her.

I've lost this little game the last two times because she would manage some subtle change in me that I didn't pick up on, which eventually led to her full control over me. I've managed to defeat her fog in the past, almost always with the help of distraction from either the conversation or from one of the pratfalls happening around us. Since she's learned how to see my targets, that's been spectacularly ineffective. So far, tonight isn't shaping up any differently than our last couple of encounters. Chasing after her in my own brain is exhausting, and it's not going to be long before I slip up.

"It feels like our little duels are getting a bit one-sided recently." I note while the entrée is being served.

Another snort. "Whatever. At least you know you'll get laid if I win, I'm way softer than you are in control."

"As I recall, last time my 'getting laid' involved jacking off and eating out some random college kid you found while you pegged me. Not precisely what I would define as 'soft'."

"God, you have to admit that was hot, though. And it's not like you haven't gotten your jollies with a stranger and my backdoor. You made me beg you for it!".

"I also made you enjoy it."

Conversation is getting harder. I've stopped trying to use puppets to distract her, almost all my mental energy is devoted to chasing her around my brain, and I know she's gotten at least one change past me without my noticing. I have minutes, if that, before I'm in her thrall for the weekend. She knows it, too, because she's got a flush to her cheeks, and she's leaning forward with her lips just slightly parted. It would be extremely erotic, if I could spare the attention to enjoy her expression.

"Let go, sweetie. I've got you, and you know it. I might be nicer if you surrender to me now."

I manage to look her in the eye long enough to smile and say "Dessert is here, dear."

The waiter places my dish before me, hers before her, slides his hand down the front of her dress, cups her breast, and gives her nipple a firm twist.

Fog stutters, patterns emerge, and I've got her wrapped in spiders before he manages to pull his hand out of her décolletage and move on to the next table.

She leans back, panting like she just finished a race, and sputters "You bastard."

I grin. "Just so you know, 'nice' is not something I'm inclined to be, after last time. Now clean up my head, I feel like I just spent 20 hours watching Lifetime movies high on acid."

My mind clears while she leans forward to eat her dessert. "I didn't even see you reach out to him!"

"I didn't, while you were here. All I can really do to get at you is distract you, and if you can see me setting up the distractions, they don't work. I got to him earlier tonight. Honestly, I was a little worried when you mentioned being able to see traces of, uh, spiders after the fact. I was also concerned when you changed our table, but he still saw us. Maybe this is also his section."

"It is." she said, staring at the man in question. Turning back to me, she reiterates, "You bastard."

"Oh hush," I reply, taking a bite, "you just got cocky. Not to mention horny. You were lit up like a Christmas tree there towards the end."

She makes some unintelligible reply as I signal for the check.

I pause on our way out to send a few commands to my savior, the waiter, who also got an extremely large tip.

"What are you doing to him?"

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. I'm just making sure he's well taken care of. I owe that guy a lot tonight. Ah, no peeking. And no more powers for you until further notice. In fact, you are unable to sense my powers for the rest of the weekend."

Her reply this time was intelligible, but unrepeatable.

We retrieve our coats and head outside to where the limo is waiting.

"A limo? Really?"

"You want to trust that dress to the back seat of a cab?"

"Point taken." she says as she moves towards to enter the vehicle through the door being held open by the driver.

"Slow down there, loser. You'll be riding up front, with Sam here. Once you're in the passenger seat, you're eighteen years old, trying to get to California to become an actress. You've agreed to give Sam here a blowjob in exchange for a ride out of town, which is something you've never done before, and really don't know how to do. You will let him take the lead without complaint and you're going to swallow everything he gives you to swallow. Once his cum is inside you, you will come back to yourself and join me in the back seat."

"Sam, you heard what I just told her. We've got an extra thirty minutes or so before curtain, and she's going to need ten of those to repair her makeup. Find somewhere we can park this monster fairly quickly and don't waste any time getting yourself in her mouth. Take special care not to ruin her hair or her dress, I suggest her ears and the back of her neck if you need a grip. Don't hurt her, but don't spare her either, your time is limited. Off with both of you, now."

I settle into my seat and get a sparkling water from the minibar. Sam drives us for about half a block before finding a large enough opening on the curb to get the limo parked, apparently relying on window tint rather than seclusion to provide privacy, as there are throngs of people on the sidewalk out for a night on the town. As the sounds of an extremely unsubtle blowjob come begin to emerge from the front seat, I amuse myself with random passerby.

It's a nice Friday evening, one of the first semi-warm weekends of the year, and it seems like most of the city is out to enjoy it. There's a lot of well decorated young flesh on display, and now a significant fraction of it is pausing to display itself to me. A lot of passing strangers are making brief intimate introductions to one another as well, with hands dipping into pants and under dresses for a friendly rub or squeeze. Two young ladies out for a night on the town have assumed the position against my window and a passing cop is in the process of giving them an extremely thorough frisking when the passenger door opposite opens and Sarah joins me in the rear of the vehicle.

I smile at her as we pull away from the curb. "Enjoy yourself?"

She looks at me through narrowed eyes and ruined mascara. "Did you do something to my libido during that?"

"Nope, just the roleplay."

She blows out a puff of air through smeared lipstick. "God, that was hotter than it should have been. Did you pick him specifically? He was unrelenting and he's got a fat cock. My jaw feels loose and I think he was he was trying to pull off one of my ears.

I chuckle, watching her rummage through her purse and begin putting her face in order. "No, luck of the draw. The process sounded hot, though. If we weren't pressed for time I might have brought you both into the back and found out where else the little runaway could have fit him."

"Hnn." is her only comment as she reapplies her lipstick.

"Here." I hand her a fresh sparkling water from the bar, which she accepts gratefully. "I'm really happy you were in town this weekend, I've been looking forward to this singer for a while now, I'm glad you're here to enjoy the show with me."

"Mmm, me too. It was a near thing, Heathrow was a mess and the flight was overbooked. They had snow forecast. I'm glad we made it off the ground."

"Where have you been the last few weeks?"

"Japan most of last month, Tanzania these last two weeks. Good progress in both places, I think. There's a pretty important vote on a fishing bill in Japan next week, so I'm headed back there Monday. How about you? Is the singer one of your projects?"

"No, she has nothing to do with me. She's German, this is her first international tour. I've got a sculptor who's opening next week though, he's done some really amazing stuff. It's at one of my places, I'll take you for a sneak peek tomorrow."

"That sounds lovely", is all she has time to say before Sam is opening the door to let us out at our destination. Observing his frank stare at her body as he helps her out of the vehicle, she turns to me, "You're letting him remember?"

"Yes, with the usual non-disclosures and a little bit of fogginess regarding my abilities."

She turns to regard him for a moment before leaning forward to give him a peck on the cheek. Whispering something in his ear and giving his crotch a brief squeeze, she turns to take my arm and we walk into the concert hall.

We approach the will-call and an usher shows us upstairs to a box overlooking the concert hall, which is packed. Mostly an older crowd, as is generally the case at this sort of thing, and there's enough jewelry on display to rival a night sky in the desert.

"Very nice," she says, settling back into the plush upholstery and fiddling with the opera glasses provided with the box, "you should have brought me here before."

"Timing, dear. It's very hard to predict when you'll come see me for a visit. I'll do my best from now on."

The orchestra is finishing up tuning and the house lights are dimming. The crowd begins to quiet as the ushers bring a last few latecomers to their seats. The conductor is introducing himself and gives a brief biography of the mezzo being featured this evening. As he's speaking I can't help but notice the rather obnoxious shine of a phone screen a few rows from the front. One of the senior ushers has apparently noticed as well, and is on his way to invite the offender to leave, as management has a no-tolerance policy for technology inside the hall proper. Phones must be on silent and you're expected to excuse yourself back to the lobby if you must take a call.

Turning to my date, I whisper in her ear "Read the cell phone user and the usher. What are the details?"

Her eyes unfocus for a moment before she whispers back, "Woman, twenty years old, college dropout, doesn't want to be here, brought by parents, who are in the seats next to her. Usher is offering to let her stay in the lobby rather than asking her to leave altogether, since she's a minor. She's willing, mother is balking because she wants a daughter that appreciates the arts. Father just wants the show to start so he can snooze."