Turning Off Your Brain

It came down hard that day. A torrent of rain that seemed to have had been a long time coming, rolling over the city in thick, dark clouds that seemed to swallow the sun and blot out the sky. The sweltering heat was quickly replaced by a humidity that swelled through the afternoon, cumulating in a refreshingly cold shower that flooded the various districts downtown, blessing the concrete and tar jungle with nature's cool touch.

You didn't go home that day.

When you looked up from where you had sat for the last couple of hours hunched behind your monitor, you realized that the office was now dark. The last few employees had turned out the lights on their way out; a habit formed through countless reprimands by a manager concerned about keeping profits high and overheads low. Glancing out from the window, you removed the IEDs that helped you to forget the rest of the world, allowing the sound of rain pattering on the loud zinc roofs to reach you. The little clock in the corner of your screen ticked up to 21:00. Mounds of paperwork remained unfinished, with the promise of more to come in the following days.

Stretching from where you sat, you felt the ache in your back. A dreariness in your eyes that gave you pause as you considered the hours of traffic you'd have to sit through just to get home today. A throbbing sensation in the back of your head from hours of staring at the screen. You allowed yourself a moment to recollect yourself, the first moment of respite since you had been thrown into this never-ending loop of work today, and the memories began to seep in. Shadows of arguments and quarrels from familiar faces of family and close friends. Warm, comforting places you once knew as home, the paths now shattered with fraying friendships and words that everyone wished they could take back. In the dark, lonely recess of a cubicle, you felt the tears well up within your eyes as you sobbed quietly into your open palms, hunched in your chair as small as you could be in the quiet office.

===

You felt better standing there in the pavement outside. The streets within the industrial complex housing offices were quiet this time of night, the bustle confined to the roads beyond, cars and other vehicles blending into choked arteries that led out of the city and into the suburbs where comfy homes sat waiting for their owners.

There was no one else around. No one to judge you as you allowed the rain to seep into your clothes, washing away the anxieties that had plagued your mind right up till you had locked the iron grills with trembling hands, stifling the sobs that threatened to well up in you until you had burst out from the stairwells from the upper floors and walked into the curtains of water.

No matter how heavy your clothes seemed to get, it didn't seem to burden you as you stood, face tilted skywards as raindrops ran down your face, tears indistinguishable from the waterfall that seemed to liberate the depths of your soul. An act of rebellion against a system that would continue to grind down its pawns until they broke or rose beyond the limitations of their powers. Until you, one day, marched down to your manager's office demanding better terms and fewer hours, holding your ground amidst the patriarchy's seething desire to keep you in your place. Until then, here you were. And your problems seemed small compared to the vastness of the world beyond. You knew then that you couldn't go home. Wouldn't go home at least until you felt better about yourself and the crossroads you had been forced down, swept along without a choice by the whims of selfish people and their selfish needs.

A little light drew your attention. A café that stood in the corner of an alleyway where you had parked your car, veranda tucked in to keep rainwater from pooling. It remained open late into the night, a small bastion of hope for executives burning the oil to get a cup of warmth, hopefully with a slice of something sweet to jog the mind. All at once the cold came rushing in, impulsive bravado giving way to reality as you made your way to your car where you kept a change of clothes and a towel for emergencies. Retrieving your overnight bag, you walked up the stairs and pushed the café doors open.

===

It was warm here. A sharp contrast to the chilly exterior where streetlamps barely illuminated the wet night devoid of people. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen, mixed in with lavender from the various potted plants present at every table. Soft music filtered out from wall-mounted speakers that played soft lo-fi music that immediately called to you, urging you to sit down and relax. The tables were empty, while the barista behind the coffee machine kept his eyes downcast, glued to the phone in his hand. No one stopped you as you made your way to the spacious bathroom in the back to dry off and change. A pair of shorts and a low-cut top, last week's party leftovers.

You weren't sure when the drink you ordered arrived at the table, a simple white cup seated atop a dainty saucer, smoke billowing gently out from the rim. Warm and cosy though the atmosphere may have been, it did nothing to stop the thoughts from returning in the shadowy recesses of your mind, clawing away at you until it took all you had to drown it out, focusing instead on the sound of rain pattering against the glass. You lifted it to your lips, warm liquid flowing through you as it spread out across your body like a blanket, covering you in its embrace.

Staring deep into that brown swirl of aromatic java, you felt the tears come again as you wondered if you would ever enjoy respite like this evening ever again. You'd have to face tomorrow eventually. You dreaded the thought of opening your eyes after a fitful night's rest, knowing that your life would be a little bit emptier from now on. That your work would march on without you, deadlines forever looming, your problems inconsequential to your manager's demands that you clear the piles of paperwork on your desk or face disciplinary action. A bleak future filled with despair, with no one but your own strength to face it with.

Feeling the tears returning, you reached for the tissue that came with your drink, dabbing your face until the stinging sensation of salt began to subside. That was when you noticed you were not alone.

===

How long had he been seated there opposite you? You couldn't tell. You barely remember how much time had passed since you walked in here to shelter from the rain, numb to the passage of time as your feelings overwhelmed you. Your first thought was to hide it. To clamp down on the emotions that were bubbling out from you in front of this stranger. You felt angry that you had been seen, in such a private moment. That he had intruded into your space when all you wanted to do was be left alone to your pain and sorrow.

But you couldn't bring yourself to speak either. To let your voice betray you any further. You felt like it would crack at a single word, your trembling lips unable to form the dignity you needed to send this interloper on his way. Instead you felt yourself curl up further in your shell, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

"It's okay to cry."

His voice. Silvery with a touch of gruffness from age, all at once comforting. Perceiving without judgment. You couldn't help but look. His face was clean shaven, swept-back hair crisp with gel on top. He wore a white buttoned shirt, featureless except for a left pocket, a blank sheet of silk. He didn't seem like someone who worked here, but you couldn't be sure.

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

You didn't know if you should. You didn't know this person, or what he wanted from you. But there was something soothing in that voice of his that seemed to pluck at your heart strings, enticing your words out from inside of you. Two hands that were urging you forward past your worries and misgivings about sharing your life story with strangers. Dangerously disarming.

Your lips parted and you told your story.

===

It felt better to get it out. Better now that you could rant to someone that would have no impact on your life past this one meeting. Listening to yourself explain to a complete stranger how things had gotten this way gave you perspective. That they could be better in time. It helped to hear your own frustrations vocalized to someone who was willing to simply listen and nod to your outbursts. Pain and raw anger surged through your veins as you felt your fists clench, your tears finding their way back to your eyes as you felt the needles pierce your heart once more at the thought of what you had been made to go through. But through it all, there was liberation. An uplifting sense that you had been seeking today. A point where you could stop blaming yourself and start accepting that life was just shit and that you simply had to deal with it.

But it still hurt. The fresh pain lingered in your thoughts; logic unable to uproot them from your mind from something as simple as a confession. It still hurt.

You felt a presence next to you, and you realized he was no seated next to you instead, sharing this very closed space, trapping you in your corner. Instinctively your eyes darted beyond him, to the counter where the barista should have been. But there was no one there. All of a sudden, the shop felt empty, save for the two of you.

"Its okay. Don't worry," he murmured in your ear. You couldn't bring yourself to not believe it, an instant sense of relief washing over you as his words echoed in your head. "No one will see."

See what? What was worth looking at here that you needed to be worried for? You felt your hands drift to your chest subconsciously, meeting fingers that intertwined with your own as they gently brought your hands down to your sides where they would rest for the rest of the night. "Its okay," he murmured once more, convincing words piercing your brain like needles.

It would be okay.

You couldn't stop him as his fingers reached for your top, gently tugging it down past the swell of your nipples, gradually stiffening in the warm air as you realized that you were letting a stranger look at you. Letting a stranger have his way with you in the quiet booth of a café with no one around to help you. You could feel the shame rushing through you, red blossoming in your cheeks from the idea of being caught. Of being seen. Of being taken advantage of like this.

"Turn your brain off."

All at once your worries dissipated. It was like a switch had gone off in your head, flicked by invisible fingers that controlled you as deftly as any expert doll maker could have. Anxieties, worries and concerns like slid off you like water off a duck's back, draining down through the soles of your feet and from the tips of your fingers as you felt your body grow heavy. Tired. You needed to rest. And now you could, even if it meant you'd soon be violated.

But it didn't feel like that. Not one bit as any bit of animosity you may have felt for this stranger having his way with you floated away together with all the pain and sorrow you had been carrying with you that night. Drowned out by an entirely new sensation that you were growing increasingly aware of. You could feel your blood rushing through your body now, heat radiating as it pumped through you. You could feel your eyes dilating as his fingers closed around your nipple, rolling it gingerly between thumb and forefinger until your toes curled in their shoes.

Something warm pressed against your other nipple. Warm and rough, you could only look for a second before your eyes rolled up into their sockets and the image of the stranger with his tongue lapping against your eraser-hard nubs imprinted into your mind. You thought you heard yourself groan out as it passed over your sensitive teat, a part of you wondering if anyone would hear. But there wasn't anyone around to hear you. You knew this. He said so.

You felt your shorts being unbuttoned, hips raised as he slid them down to your ankles with your panties where they sat, cuffing you in your seat. You felt the warmth of his palm pressing up against your crotch, a tingling sensation shooting through your mind, ricocheting around the inside of your head as you felt his finger slid against you, gently sawing back and forth over your dripping gash. When had you gotten so wet? You couldn't remember. All you knew now was that you were glad he had taken your pants off before you could ruin your panties any more. Before they grew sticky and hot with your juices that seemed to flow out from you so freely now.

Why were you like this?

A part of you struggled to find meaning. Struggled against the bliss you had fallen into. It was difficult; your mind saturated with pink, drowning in serotonin as the pleasure spiked in your head. You weren't this type of girl. Weren't the sort to have ever wanted this to happen. And now that it was, you couldn't do a thing to stop it.

You were enjoying it.

"I...W-why...?" You managed to utter, lips barely able to form the words as drool began to leak from the corner of your lips as you felt him impale you with his fingers, digit sliding up inside of you to press against your aching walls as he began to massage you inside.

"Shhhh," you heard him say as an intense wave of lethargy hit you, sinking you deeper into the ocean beneath your feet, threatening to drown you in satisfaction. "Just let it happen, and I promise that you'll feel better."

Feel better. You couldn't remember any more how it felt today, standing the way you did under the rain to wash away the pain. It was all becoming a blur, swallowed up by the burning need that was flaring up in your pussy. You felt your hips rise to meet his fingers, thrusting against him as he edged you closer and closer to the orgasm creeping around the corner, your brain free to acknowledge all the pleasure it wanted while forgetting all the things you wanted to forget. For a brief moment, it was frightening. Frightening to let go of a part of you that was until a moment ago so unequivocally tied to your sense of self.

You could feel it building in you. You felt it throb inside, rivulets of fresh honey flowing down between his fingers as he worked you silly, your pussy responding in the only way it knew how. You felt yourself clenching against him, milking those fingers desperately as your body responded independent of your thoughts. Wanting greedily as you thrust yourself against his hands, wanting the crest to come and wash you away.

"Nng...I..."

And his voice was there. There to wash away your doubts once more as he spoke the words you were yearning to hear. Words whispered into your ear, warm air delivering meaning directly into your mind as you felt your teeth clench.

"Turn your brain off."

"HHhnngnggggggg!!"

You felt your body seize, thighs locking in place, back arching sharply as the words pushed you over the edge. Just for this moment, you were responsible for nothing but your own self pleasure. For the orgasm that was ripping through you heedless of your wishes. And you wanted it to come through. Wanted it so badly you couldn't think any longer.

You felt yourself moan desperately as it hit, your voice echoing through the empty café as you creamed yourself where you sat impaled against the stranger's fingers, your top pulled down, breasts exposed, drool running down your chin and your pussy soaking into the vinyl of the seats, where anyone could have seen you if they had glanced over. Glanced over to see you cumming hard. Harder than you remember ever doing, driven on by a mixture of shame and need as you spent yourself utterly and completely in your booth.

===

You don't remember going home. Don't remember anything past the haze of last night. It was difficult remembering the details now. Had you drunk too much? You touched your hand to your head, miraculously free from the migraine accompanying a post-drinking session. Maybe not. But then what had you been doing?

Rising from the pillows, you felt a dull sensation. A lingering sadness as the fog began to clear and memories of your pain returned. Only they didn't seem to hurt as much now. It was like watching a film reel in sepia tone, old and ancient, the memories dulled by a blanket over your head, no longer sharp. A smile on your face, you rose from bed, allowing your newfound sense of acceptance to carry you through the rest of the day.

In the pocket of your shorts, a crumpled receipt remained. All that remained of the night.