Total Focus

It was a cold winter's day at Middleton Beach in Western Australia and if you were to be looking, as I was, at the image on my drone controller, at the pattern that she was drawing in the beach sand, you would probably comment that it was either a fine example of geometric art or a pretty pattern. If it were the former you would probably wonder how she could do this precisely geometric pattern without any form of guidance, and to achieve it would require a great deal of concentration. The guidance was, briefly, in her head, the concentration non-existent, that was focused elsewhere.

I know this because, for the past five years I have lived with her, loved her, and learned from her, learned this process that she calls 'Total Focus'.

She introduced herself to me as she dropped into the seat next to me in our first Engineering lecture. "Hi, I'm Holly Woodvine, I have chosen to sit with you."

My immediate thought was, 'Holly Woodvine, Hollywood & Vine, yeah right'. It remained a thought because she cut it short, "Don't go there."

"Okay. I'm Tom Roberts."

"Any relation to the artist of the same name?"

"If I were to rely on talent as an indicator of a potential relationship, then no."

"Pity, I need someone who can paint."

"Portrait or landscape?"

"Bathroom."

Our conversational by-play was interrupted by the arrival on stage of Professor Barraclough. He dumped a heap of papers onto the lectern and glanced myopically in the general direction of the students. "My name is Professor Barraclough, and I will be one of your lecturers for this trimester. You are here to study Engineering, and I am here to teach you. In an ideal world, the combination of these facts should be sufficient for you all to gain passing grades at the end of this trimester. But like most engineering situations, there will be variables that will impinge on a successful outcome. You are those variables. How well you will do depends on how well you can assimilate the information that I will provide you, and how well you are able to disseminate what you have learned at the end of it all."

Holly stood up. "Professor Barraclough, is that pile of dog-eared paper on the lectern the same lecture notes that you have used for the past ten years? If so, I think that it's time for you to get hold of a new data stream, that lot is so out of date."

"How dare you question me young lady, you have not even heard what I am going to say."

"Oh, you'll probably expound on the genius of Brunel and others, and how, with a little application, we can achieve a similar exalted status?"

"Then, if you know it all, what are you doing here interrupting my lecture?"

"I just dropped by to make sure that you are actually earning the exorbitant salary this University pays you to teach us this antiquated bullshit. I, for my sins, am being forced by some economic imperative to sit through this course so that I will eventually have a piece of paper that tells the world that I know what I already know. Mark my name off and I'll leave you in peace." She scooped up her backpack and leaned over to me. "See ya Stud." just loud enough for those in the immediate vicinity to hear, kissed me on the lips as a warning to other girls to leave me alone, at least that's what I hoped it was, and left with the eyes of the world upon her.

Barraclough looked at her retreating form, then at me. I responded with the universal gesture of 'I don't know what the fuck is going on', and he left it at that.

The lecture was followed by a tutorial that explained in some detail what was expected of us if we wanted to graduate. Holly was not there and I felt a hole in my being. How could I feel this way after so few minutes with her?

I was waiting at the bus stop for my bus when she appeared, her arms loaded with books. "I need you and you need me."

"I don't know that I can be of any help, but for you, I'll try."

"Don't worry, it's nothing too mentally taxing." She kissed me, unexpectedly but not unwantedly. "Come with me."

Okay, this was one weird girl. I didn't know whether I could keep up with her seemingly random actions. There was only one way to find out. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." She led me to the car park and an oddly strange car, at least it was not something that I would have expected her to drive, but then I had no idea what I expected her to drive. It was a Caterham 7. She dumped the books behind her seat and climbed in. I followed suit and she fired it up. It didn't sound at all like I expected, it positively screamed as she flung it into the traffic stream, much to the displeasure of the fellow road users.

"Do you always drive like this?"

"No, sometimes I drive much faster."

"Shit."

"You're not scared are you?"

"No, not at all." I lied.

"That's good then."

"Do you get many speeding tickets?"

"I don't know, it's not my car."

"Whose is it then?" I was expecting her to tell me that it belonged to her sugar daddy, I don't know why, but nothing would surprise me about her.

"My father's. It's a company car and all speeding fines are paid by the company. They do not have to, because of some legal loophole, reveal the driver's name when paying the fine."

"I guess you're lucky then."

"Why would you say that?"

"Not having to worry about fines or license suspension."

"I still pay the fines, I have to pay them or I'll be grounded, and I can't have that."

"I know a little about cars, and this doesn't sound like any Caterham that I've heard before."

"I did some work on it. It now has a 1.3-litre turbocharged Hyabushi engine that pushes out a few more neddies (horsepower) than even the standard Hyabushi engine, and a lot more than the usual Toyota engine that comes with these."

"How many more?"

"You don't really want to know."

"How did you come to get involved in working with cars?"

"My father owns a car racing team. What is not widely known is that for the past two years I have been his chief Mechanic. I've sort of grown-up around fast cars and engine tuning."

"Okay, that's fine for you, but I've only just learnt where to stick the petrol pump nozzle. I know nothing about cars."

"You will. By the time I'm finished, you'll know as much as me."

"What if I don't want to know as much as you."

"Then I'll be very disappointed in you, after all, I have chosen you to be my friend, later my lover, and if you play your cards right, I might even marry you."

"What if I don't want that. I hardly know you, and from my brief experience, I'm not sure that I want to. You, Holly whatever, are one seriously weird girl and my conservative lifestyle up to now may not be able to handle you."

We had arrived at a large house, set on large grounds. She drove at a garage door that opened at the last moment, just when I thought that we were going to smash into it. The silence after the engine stopped was deafening. Holly slid out and waited for me to do the same. As I walked towards the door at the rear of the garage she pushed me against the wall, pushed herself against me and her mouth against mine. It was a hardcore kiss and her groin pushed against mine, my cock failing to heed my instructions about staying where he was. "That's a start," she moved back and grabbed him, "and a foretaste of things to come. Come." She led me out the door, up a flight of steps and into an apartment above the garage. "This is where I live, where we will live, eventually."

"I haven't agreed to any of this."

"You will, when you have heard what I have to tell you. Make yourself comfortable," she pointed to a sofa, "and I'll change your mind." She headed for the refrigerator and extracted two beers, twisting the cap from one, she handed it to me.

I was just about to tell her that I didn't drink the stuff until she held up her hand. "You're a man, you drink beer." She opened hers and took a swig as she sat down beside me. I had no option but to drink mine.

"I still don't know why I am here."

"You're here because I chose you. I am going to show you stuff that will blow your mind. By the time that I've finished, you will be able to breeze through any university course that you want, with virtually no effort, and I want you to be able to do just that. Would you believe that I got my first degree when I was 17 and my second a year later? I now have a PhD in Automotive Engineering and I'm working on finishing this latest degree in one year."

"You must have a high IQ."

"Not really, I just work smarter with what I have. I have developed a new way of studying that takes all the effort out of it, and I'm going to teach it to you."

"Why me? You only met me for the first time today."

"I chose you because I like the look of you. When we get around to having kids they stand a good chance of not being ugly."

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?"

"Meticulous planning has gone into this so strap yourself in, it's going to be some ride. I am going to teach you how to study with as little effort as possible and still get distinctions at the end of the course. When you fully grasp my concept, we, that's you and me, will have degrees that will make us a fortune, and enough spare time that we can enjoy life."

"That part sounds good, but the rest of it is contingent on me being able to grasp your concept."

"You will. Look it is so simple that I can teach it to just about anyone. You at least have some degree of intelligence."

"Okay, when do we start?"

"Now is as good a time as any. What I am going to teach you is something I call total focus. What that consists of is to programme yourself to enter an autonomous state that will allow your mind to focus on what you need to learn. It will allow you to look at a page of information and take a virtual snapshot of the contents, file it in the computer that you have between your ears in such a way that you can extract that information as necessary."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Okay demonstration time. Do you have a book in that bag of yours?"

"Yes."

"Take it out and open it at any page. Hold it so that I can scan it, and when I tell you, turn the book so that I can't see the page and I will recite verbatim what is on the page."

The book that I took from my bag was one that I was sure that she would not have read. I opened it and held it to her. After no more than five seconds she told me that she was ready.

I turned the book to me and she recited the entire page word perfectly.

"How the fuck did you do that?"

"Total focus. Part of this is a photographic memory and the ability to look at the page in its entirety and not to have to scan it line by line. The rest of it is the ability to close your mind to the rest of the world."

She had taken off the rather bulky knitted thingy that she wore revealing a rather flat-chested body. Looking closer at it I realized that what she wore was actually flattening her unsupported breasts.

"Why do you flatten your breasts like that?"

"So that I'm taken seriously. How many girls with big tits are taken seriously. They can be really smart but all you blokes care about is the tits."

"Are you telling me that you have big tits?"

"I suppose that you want me to show them to you?" Un-selfconsciously she removed the offending garment to reveal two more than adequate breasts. They were not large by any stretch of the imagination, but by the same token they were certainly not small, a description that I heard once seemed to fit; 'they were a goodly handful.' They, as I was about to discover, a goodly handful. They would have been able to pass the pencil test; (a pencil placed under the breast would fall to the floor). "Had a good feel have we?"

"Yes, they are beautiful, the best that I have seen in fact."

"I suppose that you are going to tell me that you have a large sample group at your disposal."

"No, no more than any other virile, testosterone-driven young man."

"I'll hold you to that description when the time comes. Wait here." She left me to look around the room while she went off to fetch something. She came back a minute or so later with a box of flashcards. "Right, we'll begin with the easy stuff. What I want you to do is to look at the cards that I'll hold up and memorize what is on them. The first group is simple geometric patterns."

The first card was a square, the second a circle, the third a triangle, the fourth a hexagon and the final a parallelogram. "Now tell me what you saw."

"A square, circle, triangle, hexagon and the last a parallelogram."

"Very good. Now the next."

This time each card contained a single word which I managed to recall. The third lot of cards, that were shown at the same speed, had two words, not a problem. The fourth three words and so on until I was able to recall whole sentences.

"That will do for today, we don't want to tax your brain too much. Now it's your turn, show me what a virile, testosterone-driven young man looks like."

I gave it my best shot and she seemed content with my efforts, calling for an encore, then another. Would I be able to keep up with this?

"I'm going to have to help you to improve."

"Wasn't I good?"

"Yes, you were, for a beginner. What you need to do is to take your mind off your performance and channel your thoughts to your dick, let him guide you, after all, he's the closest part of you to my pussy that has my total focus going for it."

"I don't know whether I'll get a handle on this."

"You will, I'm counting on it. What you need to learn is to be able to prioritize your actions and focus totally on what requires your total focus at any given time."

I didn't get to go home that night due to the many lessons I was given. It was sometime in the early morning that I called a halt. "I don't know about you but I think that the synapses between my dick and my brain will seize up unless they get some lubrication."

"Yeah, I think that I'm in danger of running dry myself." She put a finger into her pussy and brought it out to look at it. "Just as I thought, running dry."

We got out of bed and went to the kitchen and she poured us a glass of fresh goat's milk. Thus refreshed we went back to bed and much-needed sleep.

Over the next week, I gave some serious thought to giving up my student accommodation and moving in with Holly. I didn't know whether to add mind-reading to her many talents or whether she was having similar thoughts, but two weeks after meeting her I moved in with her and got to meet her parents.

"Tom Roberts, that name rings a bell." Her father said as I shook his hand.

"Well, he was a famous artist."

"No, not that Tom Roberts. It seems as if there are allegations within academic circles that you and Holly have been cheating on your assignments."

"I suppose that it was that old fart Barraclough who rang you. The next time he rings tell him that we are working together in an attempt to overcome the deficiencies in his outdated teaching. One day, before he retires, he will arrive in the twenty-first century. I am teaching Tom my study methods and he's getting pretty good at it, which explains why our assignments, apart from their brilliance, meshed fairly closely with each other. Plagiarism, while common in academic circles, does not enter into this, and you can tell him that as well."

While I was progressing it would take many more lessons (I hope) before I become fully competent to her satisfaction, and I'm referring more to the sexual aspects of our relationship.

Fast forward two years and we were in trouble, no, not that kind of trouble, we take the necessary precautions, but academic trouble. It was Barraclough's final act before retirement to give us both an 'F' on our assignment on the basis of cheating.

We immediately appealed to the Dean for a review of our assessments.

We all assembled in the Dean's office. "Tell me, Barraclough, on what did you base your accusation of cheating?" Dean Walters asked.

"Mister Robert's Tutor brought to my attention his last assignment because he considered it to be exceptional in the information provided, the conclusions reached and the overall competence of its presentation. When I looked at it I was shocked to see that it was an almost exact copy of the assignment handed in by Miss Woodvine. As both were produced on a word-processor, there was no way of identifying which was written first, both had the same time and date stamp on them, so one must have copied the other."

"I see. Mister Roberts, Miss Woodvine, do you have an explanation for this?"

"Yes." Holly said. "We have been developing a study system that allows us to scan read documents and by using our photographic recall are able to regurgitate the scanned information at will. Because of this, we have found that we have developed a synchronized thinking process, arriving at identical conclusions for each problem presented to us. With the paper set by Professor Barraclough this process was made so much easier by the fact that he has not been blessed with a new thought in ten years."

"I'm intrigued." Dean Walters said. "You say that you can scan read a document and recall everything that you have read? How does this work?"

"If you want a demonstration. . . " I said.

"That would be exactly what I'm looking for." The Dean said. Barraclough had a smirk on his face, expecting that we had to be bluffing.

"I want you to select, at random, a book from the bookshelf behind you and open it at any page. When you have done that, show it to Holly, when she tells you, turn the book around so that you can read the page, and follow her as she recalls what is on that page."

I would never have expected him to have a copy of the Bible in his possession, let alone the Message version which he opened and held it for Holly to read.

"Okay, I'm ready." She had only looked at it for no more than a minute. Barraclough's smirk got bigger. "people of whom the citizens of Jerusalem are saying, 'they're in the far country, far from God. This land has been given to us to own. Well, tell them this; 'This is your Message from God, the Master True, I sent you to the far country and scattered you throughout other lands. All the same, I've provided you a temporary sanctuary in the countries where you've gone. I will gather you back from those countries and lands where you've been scattered and give you back the land of Israel. You'll come back and clean house, throw out all of the rotten images and obscene idols. I'll give you a new heart."

"Enough." Dean Walters held up his hand. He closed the Bible and returned it to the bookshelf. Opening a drawer in his desk he produced the book for me to scan. It was a copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to Great Britain, which explained the trace of an accent. It was slightly dog-eared so I assumed that it was not the latest version. He opened it, the left side had two columns about 7 centimetres long, easy I thought to myself, but no. He pointed to the opposite page, the beginning of the section about Yorkshire.

I scanned it for around a minute. "Okay, I'm ready." He turned the book around. "With a population as big as Scotland's, and an area half the size of Belgium, Yorkshire is almost a country in itself. It even has its own flag (a white rose on a blue ground), its own distinctive dialect (known as 'Tyke'), and its own official celebration (Yorkshire Day, 1 August). Needless to say, while Yorkshire folk are proud to be English, they're even prouder to be natives of God's Own Country' as they (only half-jokingly) refer to their home patch."

"All right, that's enough. Barraclough, I believe that you owe these exceptional students an apology and a grade commensurate with their abilities. I would hate to have to terminate your employment at this late stage in your career."

"But I have tenure."