An Old Man's Obsession
Richard C. Russell
Copyright 2009 by Richard C. Russell
Smashwords Edition
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An Old Man’s Obsession
Chapter One
William J. Jenkins, MD, PFNP, FLLN, studied the young woman’s long, shapely legs as she lay on his couch and told her terrible tale of woe. Jenkins had a graduated from the UCLA Medical School. After three additional years of residency in psychiatry, including a year’s internship at the state-run mental institution, he had been board certified and licensed as a practicing psychiatrist in the State of California. He had opened his practice five years ago in L.A. and gradually accumulated a long list of patients, many of whom were actors.
Doctor Jenkins’ office suite was in one of the tall, round, mirror-finished glass office towers in Century City. Located in the middle of L.A., a Century City office address was the ultimate symbol of success. He could observe his patients reflected in the plate glass walls of his office or look down at the rest of the world without leaving his very expensive modern chair–a chair expertly molded to his body. He had arrived!
Little Billy J, the name given him by his snotty young preppy friends, was long gone. He was now a handsome thirty-five-year-old very successful psychiatrist. He worked only seven hours a day four days a week, and charged his patients–most of who were simply neurotic–three hundred and fifty dollars for a 50-minute session. Few, if any, of his childhood friends had even come close to matching his success, and as far as he was concerned, they could all just go fuck themselves!
Among the wealthy Hollywood crowd psychoanalysis had been a fad for years. If one couldn’t discuss with fellow thespians one’s latest revelations brought forth while on the couch, one just weren’t today.
“… don’t you think that’s possible, Doctor?”
His patient had asked him a question interrupting his reverie. She raised her beautiful young blond head and tried to look back at him sitting in his very comfortable high-backed padded chair. As one big deep-blue eye questioned him silently, her short skirt rode even further up her long, tanned thighs. What did she say, he asked himself as he admired the view.
“Maybe you should rephrase your question, Lori,” he said automatically. That usually covered his frequent bouts of inattention when a patient caught him woolgathering. They also thought he was being very deep.
“Well, I mean, if it was all a dream like you say,” she said, “why would I have bruises and soreness down there or dried semen on me?” She laid her head back down on the couch, which wasn’t really a couch. It was more like a padded recliner with a long, curved headrest.
Her head lay on a small, square, sanitized cushion covered in soft materials of muted colors meant to help soothe patients. The pads were part of the therapy session. As they entered the room, his patients selected their favorite colored cushion from a stack kept near the office door. Then they lay down on the couch and started talking. It was a habit-ritual he had designed to help his patients focus on their sessions–Get your cushion, lie down, and go to work. It seemed to work very well, so far.
“Lori, as I’ve explained to you previously, the subconscious is capable of amazing things.” He glanced at the large ornate clock, which ticked softly as it sat on a beautiful antique table across the room. Twenty more minutes, he thought to himself. “It has been observed for years that the subconscious mind can cause the body to react in many ways. Rashes, bruises, false pregnancies, even open wounds are sometimes presented, but all these manifestations are from subconscious causes and aberrations.”
For the past three weeks, she had been going on and on about a weird recurring dream. Once a week, a strange man attacked and raped her as she slept. A strange man who looked just like her boyfriend, Chuck, she said. The same Chuck she had lived with and shared the same bed for over five years. If it was actually rape, she was a very willing victim judging by her graphic descriptions of the number and intensity of the orgasms she experienced.
Jenkins was leaning toward the opinion her recurring dreams were probably subconscious manifestations of some repressed guilt, such as a desire to have sex with her father. Many young women had such repressed feelings. They weren’t the least unusual and often accompanied by jealousy of the mother’s sexual monopoly of the father.
His eyes drifted back to her thighs and he felt a swelling in his penis. Lori Porter was indeed a beautiful young woman, tall with large breasts. He really loved large breasts. With a trained and experienced eye he had decided they were real unlike many of his female patients, but like most of his other movie star patients, she was emotionally immature.
Most young stars, especially females, some of whom start out life as child actors on television or in movies, just stop growing emotionally from the first day they get in front of a camera. Constantly primped, petted, catered to, and told how fantastically talented and wonderful they were, they completely detached from normal reality. Who could really blame them for becoming raging egotists?
They all lived in fantasy worlds where they were the center of the universe. They looked at everything and everyone as if they existed only for their personal use and benefit. Therapy for them was having their sense of self constantly reassured. They all wanted to hear that they were making progress with self-realization and awareness. All of them were all neurotic to some degree; but in most cases their neuroses were harmless. They were all victims of their own careers.
Once their careers ended they would need some very serious therapy to help them readjust to the real world, but many would never accept reality. Many sank into alcohol and other drug abuse. Then they could go from being simply neurotic to being psychotic. Most of the medical community agreed that all psychoses were born of neuroses.
“I remember your telling me about that but my dream is just so real. I just know I’m awake, and it’s not Chuck having sex with me,” Lori Porter said and shook her long blond hair. “I know it sounds crazy, Doctor. The first time, I thought it was Chuck,” she told him. “Like maybe he had been half asleep and just couldn’t remember our doing it, but it’s not Chuck. I explained to you that Chuck has never done the things this other man does to me.”
“Yes, he does look like Chuck, but this other man is older than Chuck,” she said. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do, and we have fantastic sex!” She crossed her arms under her breasts and hugged herself. “The best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” she added quietly.
“Lori, we asked ourselves some obvious questions in previous sessions like how this Incubus got into and out of your locked bedroom. Just think how irrational what you have told me sounds.” Jenkins flipped through his notebook. “Here it is,” he said. “I wrote it all down.”
His eyes ran down the page of neatly written notes. “Okay, you said, ‘He stimulated my clitoris more than any man ever had before. He did it until I exploded in a fantastic orgasm!’ You said you had multiple, highly intense orgasms. ‘He looks just like my boyfriend Chuck, but he isn’t my boyfriend.’ Lori, all this says dreams to me,’” Jenkins told her as he closed his notepad.
All her sex talk had started to get to Doctor William J. Jenkins; his penis had become almost hard. He glanced at the big clock again. His three o’clock appointment would be here soon; then he could relieve his sexual tension. Thank God for Transference, he thought to himself.
His three o’clock appointment had become physically and emotionally attached to him–a common psychological phenomenon–known within the profession as transference. The patient was a shapely, attractive, raven-haired young woman who was a borderline nymphomaniac. For the past three months, they had started each of her sessions with passionate sexual intercourse on the couch.
Jenkins didn’t feel in any way that his conduct violated any professional medical ethics or moral standards. After all, he told himself, he was administering to his patients’ needs as any good physician should.
“Lori, we’ll have to continue this next week, but I assure you dreams can be very powerful, and your subconscious mind can cause physical symptoms in your body. As for the semen you think you find it’s probably your own vaginal secretions. Most women don’t realize how much fluid they can secrete during nocturnal emissions,” he told her.
He watched her sit up and put her feet on the carpeted floor. She slipped on her high heels, stood up, and picked up her small purse. As he walked over to the door and opened it for her, he hid the bulge in his pants behind the notepad.
“Thank you, Doctor, I’m sure you’re right,” she said, but he thought she still looked skeptical. “I’ll see you next week.” Lori Porter walked across the room and out the door.
After closing the door, Doctor William J. Jenkins went into his private bathroom. He unzipped his pants and pulled down his silk shorts. His large erection flopped out. He urinated, and then carefully washed his hands. He smiled as he gazed lovingly at his penis in the reflected in the mirror. He was proud of it.
His cock, as he preferred to call it, wasn’t exceptional in size, but he loved it anyway. He took a foil-covered prophylactic from a large package he kept in the top drawer of the vanity and tore it open. Ribbed with a small nipple in the end, he unrolled it over his penis and carefully smoothed it into place in preparation for his next appointment–it felt really good.
****
Lori Porter got behind the wheel of her large, late model, beige convertible. She started the car and drove up the ramps in the parking garage to street level. Then she turned to the right and drove toward her offices on the old Republic lot. For the past five years, she had leased offices and sound stage facilities on the lot for her production company, Zebra Production, Inc. She had had some success producing low budget movies for TV the past few years.
He’s wrong about it all just being just a dream, she thought, as she drove toward the freeway on-ramp. She knew he was wrong. “It’s not a damn dream!” she told herself aloud. A pleasant tingling sensation began between her thighs as she remembered the last time. “And, it’s not Chuck,” she added. Chuck’s not rough.
Chapter Two
The Old Man, Six Months Earlier
The old man thumbed the snap open on the hammer strap and loosened the 40 cal. automatic pistol in its holster. He slowly opened the warehouse door and quickly stepped inside, up close against the wall. The large warehouse, sparsely lit by security lights that cast small dim pools into the darkness, was quiet and spooky. Near the door, he could hear the alarm pad beep. A small red light flashed in the shadows, showing the system was in alarm mode from an actual break-in or some malfunction.
The old man turned the volume knob all the way down on his handheld two-way radio. It hung from the front of his pistol belt. The noise could give away his position and that could get ugly. He had a rubber band wrapped around the loose keys on his keg ring to prevent jingling. He stayed near the outside wall as he moved slowly and quietly through the vast warehouse. He could see down the long, dimly lit rows of floor-to-ceiling storage racks.
To make himself less of a target, he held the large flashlight in his left hand stretched straight out at shoulder height. His right hand rested on the butt of his pistol as he searched the entire warehouse. Twenty minutes later, he relaxed because he had found nothing. After resetting the alarm, he locked the warehouse door and walked back to his patrol truck. The overhead white and yellow patrol lights revolved and flashed in the darkness.
He opened the door, dropped the big key ring behind the driver’s seat, and slid inside. The ring held a door key for each commercial property his company patrolled. False Alarm, he wrote on an alarm response ticket. In all his years of responding to burglar alarms at banks, stores, houses, churches, and warehouses, nearly all had been false alarms.
“And thank God for it,” he said aloud. He didn’t like to remember those times when someone was on the other side of those doors. He turned the volume up on his radio again and keyed the carrier button.
“Base, this is unit ten. All secure at this location. I’m 10-7.”
“Copy, Ten,” the company dispatcher responded.
Two hours later, the old man finished his shift and drove home. He lived in an old farmhouse in rural Mississippi, 35 miles southeast of Memphis, Tennessee. The old man’s name was Robert S. Wilson and until several months ago, he had lived a quite, routine life. Just eating, sleeping, and working was how he described his life. He had only one more year to work and then he was going to do some traveling.
Wilson was 62 years old, and his home and car were debt free. “They aren’t much, but they’re paid for,” he often told himself. “No note, no note,” he almost heard his old car say as it chugged down the road. For the last twenty years, he had saved most of his meager pay. He had a lot of savings in U.S. Treasuries and almost $50,000.00 in his money market account at the bank. With his social security money and the interest from his combined savings, he could live comfortably until he died. He was set. Well, he had been set until the trouble started.
Chapter Three
The trouble had started about three months before. The old man usually spent a lot of his free time watching television. One night, while channel surfing through his satellite stations, he came across a sitcom. Apparently, the weekly show had been on the air for years in other parts of the country. The old man enjoyed watching the sitcom very much; he especially liked watching the performances of one young actress. The channel running the sitcom was showing three old episodes at a time. Each week, the old man watched the young girl grow and mature, both physically and professionally.
The young women’s name was Lori Porter. In the sitcom, she had started out as a long-legged, gangly, skinny young girl with long blond hair and deep blue eyes; but in just three months of real time, she had grown into those long legs. Now a beautiful young woman, she had a quality about her the old man couldn’t describe, but he could feel it. He felt it like a ton of bricks hitting him every time he watched her on the small screen. He felt irresistibly drawn to the young woman. He searched the Internet and found her bio. He had soon memorized everything he could find out about her.
He ordered the few motion pictures she had appeared in, before and after, the sitcom had gone into syndication. He had watched her performances in these movies repeatedly. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. With a new expensive electronic devise he purchased over the Internet, he recorded and edited the last season of the sitcom, deleting everything but her appearances on screen. He ran the recordings over and over, studying her facial expressions, her figure, and her voice–just the sound of her voice gave him pleasure.
The old man wasn’t dumb. During his youth, before his tragic downfall, he had gone to college. He had taken psychology courses. He knew exactly what was happening to him. He became more and more obsessed with the young woman. He couldn’t help himself.
He wasn’t eating right and he wasn’t sleeping right. More and more, he wanted the unattainable. It was hopeless. He knew it was hopeless; but knowing what was happening was one thing, preventing the obsession from growing was an entirely different kind of thing.
His quiet routine life had been shattered. The neat, well-worn groove in which his life had run for the past twenty-two years was gone. He sank deeper into depression. A depression caused by the absolute frustration of knowing in his logical mind there was no way he could ever obtain the object of his obsession–no way! The sitcom was off the air, and all he had left of her were the recordings he had made and his copies of her movies.
Acceptance of the things that he couldn’t change was the key to his serenity. He had learned that in the AA meetings, he attended for so long. His serenity was the key to his long years of sobriety, but his obsession for the young woman felt stronger than his old addiction to booze. Was there a twelve-step program for obsessions, he had asked himself.
The old man felt as if he already had one foot on a long dark road and he knew where that road could lead. It could lead him to drinking again and that would mean insanity and death for him. He had to find a way to defuse and drain his obsession for the young actress before it was too late. There had to be some way out for him.
Chapter Four
How could he obtain the object of his obsession? The question nagged the old man incessantly. After a long time, a possible, a kind of maybe answer came to him late one night just as he was finally falling asleep. His eyes popped opened in the dark bedroom. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.
“No,” he mumbled in a sleepy voice. At first, he dismissed the idea and then he reconsidered the idea. Maybe, he thought. His mind went back to something he remembered from his psychology studies. He could almost see the print in the textbook. The human mind has great difficulty in distinguishing the difference between a real event and a vividly imagined event.
If, he reasoned, he could come up with a fantasy–a powerful fantasy he could get his mind to absolutely believe–he could use that fantasy to drain away the power of his obsession. He could save himself from the downward spiral of depression he felt caught up in, and go on with his life as he had before this crisis.
He would start building his fantasy right now. Every night, before he went to sleep he would work on it and he would perfect it. He would practice it and practice it until it became real in his mind. The old man turned off his reading lamp, closed his eyes, and tried to imagine her face. Just to see her in person was all he really wanted to do–maybe meet her–or was that all he wanted to do, he asked himself as he drifted off to sleep.
Weeks went by and became months. Every night, the old man would lie in his bed and practiced his fantasy. He would lie very quietly with his arms at his sides breathing in deeply through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth, as he tried to reach and maintain a theta brain wave. He tried to focus all his concentration and consciousness on an imaginary small round spot in the center of his forehead. A spot directly in line with his Pineal gland located in its little cave deep within the center of his brain.
The Pineal gland had indirect connections with the optic nerve, and often called the Third Eye. Down through man’s history, it had been associated with mystical powers. Modern science knew very little of the exact functions of this gland other than it produced the chemical known as melatonin. Melatonin was involved with the body’s daily biorhythms, such as, sleep, sexual maturity, mating cycles, etc.
Practitioners of ancient occult rituals believed the pineal gland was also the seat of vast powers, including the abilities to see into the future, and project matter through time and space.
Night after night, the old man practiced his fantasy. As the months went by he began to despair of ever obtaining his goal, and then one night something very strange occurred as he lay in his bed. His already dark bedroom became totally black and he could see faint stars far away. At first, he thought he had fallen asleep and was dreaming; but no, he wasn’t asleep. He wasn’t fully awake either when, suddenly, he stopped thinking and heard a snap!
The sound wasn’t loud, but it was so profound it totally filled his room and his mind. He felt himself become both suspended and weightless, as his body slowly began to rise from the bed. No, not his body, he thought, because his physical body was still on the bed. He could see it as he ascended toward the ceiling, but he still felt he was in his body. He didn’t feel any fear. Why wasn’t he afraid? he asked himself. He felt calm, blissful, and free, as his body rose toward the bedroom ceiling. That was all he could remember of the first time.
The next day, the old man awoke in mid-afternoon as usual. He was a night worker and he always slept until well after lunchtime. As sleep passed from his mind and body, he felt unusually well rested but he was sore all over as if he had done some strenuous work like chopping wood. He was eager for the coming day.
As Wilson got out of bed, he felt a crusty patch of dried semen in his shorts. Oh, lord, he thought, at his age. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he’d had a wet dream. Too bad he couldn’t remember it, he thought. He slipped off his shorts and threw them into the dirty clothes hamper that sat on the floor near the bathroom door.
He looked up at the bedroom ceiling, but he didn’t remember anything about what had happened late last night. He took a leak before getting into the shower. Later, he went into the kitchen to get some coffee and instant oatmeal. He ate a lot of oatmeal for his bad cholesterol.
Late that afternoon, as he got dressed for work the black cloud of depression started to settle over him again. It was never far away these days. He got short periods of relief and then it returned driven by the same nagging hopeless obsession for the young actress. “God help me,” he prayed silently and buckled his pistol belt.
Chapter Five
Three months later, around four o’clock in the morning the old man awoke, suddenly. He gasped for breath as his old heart raced and banged away in his chest like a trip-hammer! His body, covered with sweat, shook, and again he could feel he had ejaculated into his underwear.
God, was he going to die, he asked himself in panic. He put his shaking hands under his arms and pulled them tight against his chest. He tried to breathe deeply and slowly in an effort to slow his racing heart. Gradually, his heartbeat did slow a little. The panic slowly passed and his body relaxed into a deep sleep.
****
Two hours earlier and almost two thousand miles to the west, Charles Matthews’ right eyelid slowly opened. After several more long minutes, his left eyelid fluttered opened. In the soft glow from the bathroom nightlight that dimly lit the huge bedroom, his eyes could clearly see the back of her head. Her long blond hair sprayed across her pillow.
The eyes could see her back and the curve of her hip under the silk sheets. One at a time, the fingers of his right hand twitched weakly, and then began to move tentatively. The right hand and arm moved slowly with a jerking motion across the sheet toward her golden hair. The right hand took hold of strands of her hair and let the strands run through its fingers.
Sensations caused by the feel of her silky hair conveyed by nerve endings in the fingertips, raced up Matthews’ nervous system. These electric sensations triggered the mating response located deep within that part of Matthews’ brain known as the Reptilian Brain. A small volume of blood flowed into Matthews’ penis. The penis became partially erect.
Using its left arm as a lever, Matthews’ body slid against her sleeping body. The right arm moved over her right shoulder and the hand cupped a breast. Fingers tips felt her nipple through the sheet and the material of her pajama top. The fingers took the nipple and began to rotate and squeeze it. Soon the nipple became full and firm and she moaned softly.
The fingers released the nipple. The hand pulled the silk sheet down and away from her body. Then the fingers slowly unbuttoned her pajama top. The hand pulled the pajama top open exposing her large breasts to the soft light. The hand cupped one of her breasts, lifted it, and felt its weight and firmness. Nerve impulses caused from feeling her warm naked breast raced up the arm and then up the spinal cord exciting the reptilian brain’s mating response. The penis became more erect.
Releasing her breast the hand moved to her shoulder, pulled her over onto her back, then slid slowly down over her sleeping body from her breasts to her lower belly. It spread her long lovely legs open. Matthews’ body knelt between her thighs. The fingers of the hands easily ripped apart the thin flimsy panties.
****
Suddenly, Lori Porter awoke from a deep sleep. Already sexually aroused, she felt her clitoris wetly laved by his tongue. Electric sensations of pleasure traveled up her spine and bloomed in her brain. “Ooooh!” she moaned softly, as her pelvis rotated and rocked. She felt her clitoris swell under its fleshy hood. Her fingers made fists in his thick hair and pushed his head down. He’ll stop soon, was her first thought. The pleasure she felt paled due to the usual disappointment she knew would come.
He never did go down on her for long, she thought. Usually, just long enough to get her a little hot and to prevent her from making any complaints, but to be fair he did try to arouse her with cunnilingus more than her other lovers. There hadn’t been that many other lovers before Chuck despite tabloid-gossip to the contrary. She and Chuck had lived together for a long time and their sex life had become predictable, but tonight there was something different in his behavior.
He didn’t stop licking her clitoris after a short time. He continued the firm wet strokes of his tongue up and down her clitoris as it grew fully erect. Her orgasm built rapidly as exquisite sensations of unbelievable pleasure climbed her spine. The hood encasing her swollen clitoris slowly retracted until the little pink head of ultra sensitive nerve endings was fully exposed.
No man had ever seen her clitoris completely erect! Lori thought. She was taller than most women were and she had a robust clitoris. When fully erect, it extended well beyond the end of its hood and was as round as her little finger.
No man had ever before taken enough time to arouse her to this point. Now he licked and nibbled the exposed head of her clitoris. The intensity of the sensations she felt drove her mad! She ground her pelvis harder against his face. Her orgasm expanded quickly in her lower belly. She moaned loudly!
Matthews’ eyes saw the tender inner lips of her vagina swell as they filled with hot blood. They opened like a delicate flower. Her rich sweet primordial scent rushed up his nose. It exploded like a bomb in the reptilian brain causing the engorged penis to swell even harder.
“Ooooh!” Lori yelled as he sucked the little pink head of her clitoris into his mouth and gently nibbled on it again. Intense waves of ecstasy roared up her spine overwhelming her brain. “OhhhmyyGoddd!” she screamed loudly and slammed her long thighs together tight against his ears.
Lori moaned continuously and ground her bucking pelvis into his face hard, after her orgasm had exploded! Convulsions of exquisite pleasure jerked and jolted through her young body. Her clitoris, now painfully sensitive, retreated into its hood. She ascended to that special place in her mind–that special warm, lovely place, she could never go often enough or stay long enough. She soared up and down wave after wave of delicious pleasure.
She felt hands on her ankles as he pushed her knees up against her breasts. She was totally open, hot, and wet. She felt him force his engorged penis into her vagina. Yes! she thought. “Oh yes,” she moaned. “Give it to me!”
Her body bounced violently on the bed. Her long legs rocked back and forth from the force of his thrusting into her. Her vagina was on fire! Greedily, it tightened around his hard penis with a sucking motion. She could feel another orgasm expand quickly in her lower belly. Oh, God, another one, she told herself. She had never had multiple orgasms. Having just one good one had always been her only wish.
Lori Porter screamed loudly! She dug her long fingernails into his back as her body exploded again. Her loud moans of pleasure filled the dark room. It was much more intense than the first one–it was great! She gasped for breath as she rode it in ecstasy. Before it was completely gone, she felt another begin to grow as he drove into her, deeper and faster. So many, her mind cried.
She opened her eyes and saw his face. Contorted in a bestial expression, his face seemed to glow as his eyes bored into her eyes. His body still pounded her powerfully as his hot sweat fell onto her breasts. Chuck was completely absorbed with fucking her. What had come over him, she wondered.
Charles Matthews’s hands slid under his girlfriend’s shoulders and made tight fists in her long blonde hair. The hands pulled, forcing her head down while raising her chin. He growled again, louder this time.
Lori Porter watched her boyfriend’s face as he pulled her hair. He opened his mouth wide and sank his teeth into her chin with another low growl. His teeth didn’t break the skin, but now her body felt trapped beneath his. She could only move from the waist down. At first, she felt alarmed by his behavior. He growled louder now as he drove powerfully into her.
She knew he would cum soon. This behavior was so unlike him! she told herself. It was as if he had gone wild. Previously, he had always made love to her in a gentle and considerate way. Too gentle maybe to get her really excited, she thought, as she bucked her pelvis up hard against him.
“Chuck,” she said aloud. “Chuck … Charles!” she said louder, but there was no response from her boyfriend. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her talk to him. He began to thrust even harder into her and she felt her new orgasm grow more rapidly. She forgot about everything except the sensations of pleasure flooding her mind. This one would be the best! she told herself. It grew and grew. “Ooooh!” she moaned loudly with each deep thrust.
Instant impulses from nerve endings in the head and shaft of the penis fired up the spinal cord and flashed through the reptilian brain like a great lighting storm. The penis, completely engorged, was painfully erect. The testicles were drawn together tight against the base of the penis, and the prostate gland was about to burst with fluid. He would have to ejaculate soon or explode!
Lori Porter heard her boyfriend start to growl loudly again against her chin, and she knew what it meant. Her own orgasm rushed toward climax. She could feel it about to burst! Any second now, she thought.
“OhhmyyGoddd!” she screamed loudly. Her orgasm broke over her like a great wave that had rushed in to the shore. Waves of pure ecstasy washed over her mind and body. Lori held on as long as she could; then she fainted–her conscious mind completely overwhelmed by all the intense pleasure.
As semen jetted in explosive spurts into her vagina, he growled deeply and repeatedly. Spasms of pleasure caused the young body to slam into her harder and harder. Nature demanded the seed be planted deep. Teeth clamped tighter into her chin as the body convulsed and convulsed. At last, lust ebbed away and the body rolled off her onto its back and went into a deeper sleep. Soon, deep snores filled the dark room. Lori Porter also slumbered away the rest of the night.
****
Later that morning, Lori Porter awoke. With a big yawn, she stretched her long body. She looked across the bed at Chuck. God, she thought, last night had really been great! “Multiple orgasms!” she said softly. She had never had more than one before and none to compare with last night. No wonder she had fainted. She had never had such an intense sexual experience in her whole life. She smiled to herself and stretched again. She didn’t know what had come over Chuck, but she hoped it would continue. Lori slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom.
After her shower, Lori dressed in her jogging suit, sat at the kitchen table. She had finished her breakfast fruit and was drinking her one allowed cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Lover,” she said to Chuck when he walked into the kitchen yawning.
“Morning,” he mumbled, and poured coffee into his favorite cup.
“You sure outdid yourself last night, Lover. I can hardly walk this morning,” she said and smiled at him.
“Really,” Chuck said and looked closely at her. He knew that look. It was the look of a woman who had been thoroughly fucked, but he couldn’t remember fucking her last night. The last thing he remembered was a dream about a new sports car–a new sports car he hoped she would buy for him. Well, he told to himself, if she’s this happy, he might get the new car.
”I’m off for my workout,” Lori said. After putting her cup and saucer into the sink, she gave Chuck a quick kiss on his lips and went outside to do her stretching exercises.
Every morning of every day, Lori Porter did her exercise routine. At the age of twenty-six, she knew she was already dangerously close to being unemployable as an actress. She would never again be able to play the role of the young ingénue, and she knew there were literally thousands of more beautiful younger women crawling all over L. A. trying to break into the movie business.
She had no choice but to fight time by trying to keep her body in the best possible shape through vigorous daily exercise. She started to jog along the path that ran through the woods surrounding her house. There was a fresh breeze blowing in from the ocean and she could feel it against her back as she ran into the trees.
Lori Porter was a wealthy young woman. Among other things, she owned this expensive two-story home in the hills above Hollywood. She had paid cash for the place and since then the property values in her area had skyrocketed. She didn’t work professionally as much as she wanted to, but she still got the occasional movie part, and residual checks for reruns of her long-gone syndicated sitcom still came in the mail.
Lori still waited and prayed for her big movie break. The big break would be a movie role, which would propel her into the rarefied air of the Hollywood A-List. That would put her at the very top of her profession. It would bring her worldwide fame and as much as twenty million dollars for starring in a single movie. She had already had more success than most actors had because her long-running television sitcom had made her both famous and financially secure. She no longer needed to work, but she wanted to work. She wanted to be a movie star and she was going to be one or die trying.
As she jogged along the first mile to warm up, she replayed in her mind the great sex she had had last night. It was just so strange, and so sudden, this drastic change in Chuck’s sexual behavior. As the miles sped past beneath her pumping feet, she tried to understand what had happened. She covered the ground in long loping strides. It was a great morning.
She soon reached her usual turn around place near the big tree with the funny limb growing at a weird angle. Covered in sweat, she ran the last mile as fast as she could to her front door. When she reached her driveway, she trotted around it slowly to cool down. After she had cooled down, she drank a bottle of mineral water and then took another shower.
After her shower, Lori put on a pair of pink bikini bottoms and a terrycloth robe and went out to the pool to work on her tan. She was trying to deepen her tan for an upcoming publicity shoot at the beach. She wore a straw hat with a brim, which was just wide enough to hide her face from the direct rays of the hot California sun. She had a special procedure for tanning her face to avoid prematurely aging her skin. Her face was her fortune–well, her face and her body, she thought.
She studied the surface of the pool as she relaxed in the warm sun. There had been some high winds during the night and lots of small debris floated on the placid blue water. It’s a good thing tomorrow is pool-cleaning day, she thought. Then she thought about Chuck again and smiled.
He had gone in to L.A. for an audition for a small role in a TV sitcom. It wouldn’t be much money at first, but it might lead to a permanent role as a full-time character on the sitcom; then, the money could be very good. She wondered if Chuck would back in time for them to have a nooner. She smiled and giggled as she rolled over so the sun could tan her back.
Over the next weeks, it was Chuck’s increased aggressiveness during their sexual encounters that had alarmed Lori Porter and caused her to seek advice from a shrink. If it were dreams, she thought, they were becoming rougher. Maybe she was losing it, she thought.
She had become convinced it wasn’t Chuck fucking her in the wee quiet hours of the morning. If it’s not Chuck, then who was fucking her so ardently? she asked herself fearfully. He looks just like Chuck. It just has to be him, doesn’t it? Who else could it possibly be? Was she going nuts? she wondered. Despite the mind-blowing orgasms, she was afraid. An actor friend gave her the name of his psychiatrist.
Chapter Six
The old man lay very still and relaxed in his bed. He was in a very deep state of mediation. His brainwave activity was in the Theta state or maybe even higher. Mediation, once thought to lower brainwave activity did just the reverse. It raised brainwave activity to much higher levels. How high was it possible to go? No one knew the answer to that question. The old man knew the human brain was almost as much of a mystery today as it was thousands of years ago. Even the most highly regarded medical scientists knew very little about the human brain. What was the brain capable of doing? Many guessed, some suspected, a few theorized, but no one knew for sure.
The old man felt himself rise slowly, with a profound popping sound he separated from his semiconscious body. His body remained on the bed. He could see it there as his other nonphysical body rose slowly toward the ceiling. He could clearly see the small holes in the acoustic tiles covering the ceiling, and then he could see through the tiles! He could see the rafters of the roof. He began to ascend faster. He could see the limbs of the large oak trees which grew around his house. He moved upwards faster!
In the cold blackness above he could see millions of stars. He didn’t feel the cold but he knew it was cold. His body rolled and rotated until his stomach was toward the ground, and then he accelerated forward through space at an incredible speed! The old man wasn’t afraid. All this was familiar. He knew he had made this journey before. The first few times, he had only been able to cover short distances before abject fear had driven him back to his bed, but now, he was free.
Patches of light blurred past beneath him as his speed increased. He covered great distances almost instantly. The great sensation of speed began to slow. Beneath him, he could see the lights of a great city. No, he didn’t actually see as in seeing through his physical eyes. He felt or sensed rather than actually saw what was around him. It was as if he was seeing from all parts of his body at once. No, that wasn’t right either because he knew his physical body wasn’t even here. He knew his physical body was at home. His physical body was at home in bed waiting for his return.
The body he was in now wasn’t really a body at all. It was a dark body shape, a dark plasma shape composed of millions and millions of atom-size energized bits of electromagnetic energy that were being projected through the astral-plane. The dark plasma shape was seemed real–it was him. Maybe it was the essence of his being or maybe it was his soul. He didn’t know. All this was way beyond anything he could really understand. It could all be a dream or a nightmare.
Under him, valleys, hills, and mountains stretched away to the north and the south. To the west the land became a curve of seacoast. He could clearly see a surf line of ocean waves roll into the beach. His forward motion stopped above some hills. He knew exactly where he was because he had been here before. Now he remembered the first time as he started to descend slowly toward the ground. He had passed through the roof of this same large house. He had hovered just below the ceiling of this same bedroom.
In the bedroom still dimly lit by a shaft of soft light from an open door in one wall, he could see two people sleeping on an oversized bed. The person he saw to his left was a young man. She was on the right side of the bed. He studied the young woman. Her long blond hair spread over her pillow. He clearly recalled how smooth and soft it had felt the first time.
The old man’s dark and nebulous form slowly descended and hovered very closely above the young man’s face. The young man was breathing deeply through his nose. His eyes rolled under his eyelids. He was in a deep dream state of sleep.
Suction caused by the young man’s deep inhalations began to pull bits of the dark matter that formed the old man’s shape up the young man’s nose. The old man could feel his shape become a thin dark stream that slowly disappeared into the young man’s nostrils.
Inhaled deep into the young man’s lungs the bits of matter transected minute air sacs and flowed into the blood stream. Pumped along by strong heartbeats the stream of bits finally reached the young man’s brain. There, the bits of matter reformed into a shape that filled the folds and convolutions of the young man’s reptilian brain.
It had been a long dark trip of terror the first time. The old man had panicked at the thought of becoming trapped forever inside the young man’s body. The powerful pounding force of the resting heart had frightened him. “Trump, Trump, Trump,” thundered the heartbeats that forced blood and him through the sleeping body. The total blackness was the worst. Only the sensation of flowing had kept him focused on his goal. He was going somewhere, but where was he going?
He had endured the blackness until the end of the journey. Then he became aware of an electric tingling sensation as he connected to the young man’s central nervous system. Just making that connection had taken him a very long time. His many failures were finally rewarded when suddenly a faint reddish grow had appeared. Puzzled at first, the old man came to realize the reddish glow was coming from the young man’s optic nerves. Light protons from any source, no matter how dim, active the optic nerves; but humans had learned to ignore extraneous light and go to sleep anyway. It was just another adaptation. Human beings are wondrously adaptable.
The old man had taken control of the young man’s reptilian brain. That had been the tricky part. He still had no real idea how it worked. He had done his homework. From his research he knew the reptilian brain was the emergency response center for the human organism. All stimuli from the physical environment received through the eyes, ears, nose, taste buds, and millions of nerve receptors in the body went to the reptilian brain. Instantly evaluated, any stimuli perceived as danger caused the reptilian brain to respond to ensure the organism’s survival.
Thousands of muscles reacted with incredible speed fueled by adrenalin pumped into the central nervous system from Adrenal Glands attached to the kidneys. Flight from danger, fight and kill, hunger and sex are the reptilian brain’s main concerns. It deals with life at the most elemental levels of existence. The reptilian brain was happy to leave all higher and finer brainwork to its big brothers the paleo-mammalian and the neo-mammalian brains which had grown up, over, and around it during thousands of years of evolution.
The old man had reached his target. Now he took control of the young man’s reptilian brain again by tapping into and overriding its Amygdale Synapses. Control of his reptilian brain gave the old man control over the young man’s body. That was the theory, but the first time it had required hours of effort before he could do as much as cause the opening of an eyelid, but the eyelid had finally opened. Then the first trembling movements of one of the young man’s fingers further rewarded the old man’s efforts.
All sensory input from any exterior stimuli received by the young man’s reptilian brain would now echo in the old man’s reptilian brain and cause the same physical responses in his own body resting at home in his bed. The old man would experience everything the young man experienced. He would co-inhabit the young man’s brain and body.
All the old man really had to do was stimulate the young man’s mating response, and then thousands of years of instinct would do the rest. After that point, the old man would just be an observer who would share all the young man’s sexual experiences. No matter what occurred, the young man’s conscious mind would remain in a deep dream-state of sleep. He would have no memories of what followed.
This had all been the old man’s original plan–the fantasy that would save him. It was the only possible way he could possess the young woman, and the only way of draining the power of his obsession before it killed him. He was excited and anxious to get started again.
****
Lori Porter, torn from a dream by rough hands, was confused with sleep. She realized she was on her stomach. Several large pillows piled under her raised her hips. She was on her elbows with her knees were spread wide apart, and she could feel Chuck’s tongue licking her from behind; licking her anus, her vagina, and her clitoris.
At first, she felt alarmed; her hands were tied loosely to the headboard with her pajama top. She soon realized she could easily release her hands, but she didn’t want to. The thought of being tied up and helpless excited her!
She moaned with pleasure as Chuck’s tongue, wide and wet, licked her up and down. She could feel the outer lips of her vagina swell open. “Oh, Chuck,” she said hoarsely. Then she thought it’s not Chuck!
She had asked him every time since that first time; and each time he had said he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember their having had such great sex, she had wondered. How could he not remember?
“Ooooh,” she moaned loudly with pleasure. She could feel her clitoris grow firm and crawl under its fleshy hood, as the delicate inner lips of her vagina slowly opened under his laboring tongue. She was already so very wet! The orgasm spreading through her lower belly swamped what she had been thinking. She would think about it later, she told herself. “Ooooh!” she moaned.
Through the young man’s eyes, the old man watched as her vulva swelled and opened. Her scent rushed up the young man’s nose and burst like a bomb in his reptilian brain. Blood swelled his penis painfully erect. The old man could taste, smell, and feel it all! He could also smell the rich sweet primordial scent of her young vagina, and his real physical body lying in his bed at home in a deep trance state responded just the same. It became sexually aroused and its penis grew fully erect.
Lori felt Chuck’s hands lock tightly on each side of her hips. She felt the head of his penis meet the open mouth of her vagina. “Yessss!” she moaned aloud. Then she screamed more from surprise than from any real pain as he drove deeply into her body. His thighs slammed hard against her buttocks as he thrust forcefully in and out of her. She felt an intense orgasm rush upward toward her brain. Her body tensed and released in growing anticipation as he rammed her from behind.
She panted for breath as he drove into her faster and harder. She moaned loudly with pleasure at each deep thrust. Her vagina clamped tight around his driving penis. Hot electric sensations raced up her spine and flooded her conscious mind. She could hear Chuck’s growl become louder and louder. Her body gathered itself to explode.
“Oooh, Goddd!” she screamed when her orgasm peaked and burst within her. Her body and mind exploded with unbearable pleasure. Points of light flashed before her eyes as her body convulsed with spasms of ecstasy. Her senses were completely overloaded. She fainted into a deep sleep.
The young man’s penis ejaculated in long, convulsive spurts of semen. Then his body collapsed onto his girlfriend’s back. He gasped for breath and sucked huge amounts of air into his lungs. Gradually his racing young heart slowed to a more regular beat.
The young man’s hands untied her and removed the pillows from under her stomach. His strong hands turned her on her back, arranged the pillows comfortably under her sleeping head, and pulled the silk sheet up under her chin. Then the young man lay down on his back and his body became very still and relaxed. He went into an even deeper sleep. Soon a thin dark stream of matter began to flow slowly out of the young man’s nostrils. The thin stream grew into a form that resembled the shape of a human body.
The old man hovered over the young woman’s body. Her face was relaxed and beautiful in sleep. She breathed deeply and peacefully. Her lips curved in a slight smile. He could still smell her and feel her as he felt himself start to fade away moving away faster and faster. He wished he could have kissed her goodbye, but he was gone.
****
The old man jerked awake in his bed! He felt terrible pains in his chest! His heart was racing and banging against his ribs! He gasped for breath! He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs! His body, covered in sweat, shook violently. Again, he could feel he had ejaculated into his underwear.
He fought for air for a long time. He became afraid he had gone too far with his experiments, but finally, his heart rate began to slow a little. Yes, now he could breathe more easily. This time he could remember everything just as it had happened. But surely, he thought, it was only a dream.
After his body had recovered some from the terrible exertion this last experience had cost him, he lay in his bed and stared at the dark ceiling. He replayed it all in his mind with complete graphic detail. He was dreaming, he told himself again. It wasn’t possibly he had done all he remembered; but it was so real to him, so vivid! He could still perfectly recall the feel of her skin, her hair, her smell, and the sound of her moans before and during her intense orgasms. It was so real!
Well, as far as he was concerned it had been real enough, he told himself. He wasn’t going back again. Hell, he couldn’t go back! He’d die the next time, he told himself as he rubbed his chest. His old heart still thumped hard. This last experience would have to do him forever. He was satisfied, except for one thing.
He felt his obsession had been defused. He felt less depressed and was sure he could continue with the plans for his life; but the more he thought about it, the more he deeply regretted and couldn’t accept the fact that she didn’t even know he existed. She didn’t even suspect he lived and breathed in the same world she inhabited.
Yes, he did feel better and happier. His serenity was returning but he would like the young actress to know he lived. How could he cause her to know of him? That wasn’t going to be something he could just vividly imagine, he told himself as he lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. How could he let her know he was alive? How could she come to know of him?
Could he write her a letter? he thought. “And send it where?” he mumbled aloud. He didn’t have her address. Even if he did, his letter would just end up in a pile of thousands of other fan letters she must get and never read. No, that’s no good, he decided. If he were famous, she would hear of him. Yeah, but how does an old man become famous? he asked himself. What could an old man do?
Well, he thought, he could write a book about the whole damn experience. Of course, he would have to change her name. He didn’t want to cause her any embarrassment nor did he want her suing him.
“Right!” he said aloud. “I just go over to the computer, turn it on, punch up the word-processor program, and write a damn book!” What in hell did he know about writing a book?
The old man lay in his bed for a long time and stared across his bedroom at his computer. There was a long folding table against the far wall. His TV, satellite receiver, DVR recorder, and computer sat on the table. “Well, why the hell not?” he asked himself aloud. Then he rolled over and went to sleep. He was very tired.
Chapter Seven
After eating his breakfast the next morning, the old man sipped a second cup of coffee as he sat in front of his computer. The large monitor displayed a bright white empty page, except for a tool bar across the top. He had read all the help notes included with the program and he had set the format for a novel-size page. He had also set the gismo that would automatically insert page numbers in the bottom center of each page.
Now he was ready to begin writing but there was just one problem. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to start. Well, he thought after staring at the blank page for a long time, he should start with a title page. All books have titles. What would be the title for his book?
After another long time during which he considered and rejected possible titles, the old man selected a font and a large type size from the little drop-down window and scrolled the pointer down toward the middle of the page, where he typed the words: An Old Man’s Obsession.
****
“Fuck this!” the old man yelled aloud three weeks later. He jumped up from of his computer chair, stomped through the living room and out the front door to the screened-in porch. He banged his way out the screened door and stomped down the front porch steps. “What in hell!” he yelled. What had made him think he could write a goddamn book?
He went through the fence gate at the carport and walked out into the pasture. He was cussing loudly now. The old palomino mare grazing nearby lifted her head, stared at him for a minute, and then returned to chomping the long grass. “Yeah and fuck you, too, you big bitch!” he yelled at the mare. The mare didn’t pay him any more attention.
In school Robert S. Wilson had never been very good at grammar or punctuation. He even had to look up the spelling of the word punctuation in the damn dictionary and that wasn’t the only word he had had to look up. All that was bad enough, but what he really hated were the goddamn commas and semi-colons and that damn syntax stuff! What the fuck was syntax, anyway?
His book was going very slowly and very painfully. He was frustrated with the whole thing. If it weren’t for some of the features on the word-processor program, he would give up on the venture. He was trying to tell his story in a way he hoped other people would like to read it, but wouldn’t people just think him a foolish old man? He often stopped and stared at the monitor for long periods.