August Moone
Book 4
Still Tripping
Chapter 3
Have You Noticed
That None of the Chapter Headings
Has Anything to do
With the Chapter Content?

	 
	Kenelle Nohemy.
	She shook a little when the boys, all of them, came up and surrounded her.  Vance and Chip had raging boners, cum drippled from Vance’s cock.  Young Adam had a half boner, Bryan’s drooped but was “thick”, Carlos and Doh Chee’s were back to “normal” positioning.
	Kenelle blinked her eyes some, shook her head and fought off the invading “suggestions” coming into her mind.  That was okay, she seemed to have won, seemed to have.  Her moment of seemingly glory was curbed when Vance stepped up, the boys surrounding/flanking her hooked her legs and held them out, her butt still rested on the butt seat she rested on.  
	Vance seemed to be struggling, his head bowed and he began to stare at Kenelle’s twat.  Her fiery red pubes and fuckable cunt did him in.  The boy blinked his eyes excessively, his tongue darted out and licked his lips, his cock sprang to full fuck mode.
	Kenelle shook her head trying to rebuke the boy despite her restrained composure.  Vance lowered himself into position, rubbing his cock against the woman’s entrance.  Kenelle at first thrashed about madly, gritting her teeth and clenching her pussy so as to keep the invading cock out.
	But the cock head tantalized her, rubbing up against her, and all the poking and prodding finally enticed her to give in.  it was a forced rape she knew, the boys surrounding held her legs and Vance entered her.

	His eyes fluttered, his body swathed in a sheen layer of sex sweat, his ass cheeks flexed; for a moment he was unable to breathe.  His mind was blank, filled to capacity with the enjoyment of unleashing a tumultuous orgasm unlike any other.
	Vance’s cock remained embedded inside Kenelle Nohemy’s pussy, still jutting juices and reeling in the incredible fuck that had taken place.  The sensation was sensational, beyond belief, beyond the scope of comprehension to understand the venacular of orgasmic thrills.
	Finally, though, he managed to pull out.
	Another jut of cum spewed forth and doused the woman’s pussy.
	A long strand of sticky goo came away as the teen numbly stood up on wavering legs.  He was speechless.  He gazed upon the woman, blinking his eyes and still virtually mindless.
	Casually he wandered back to where the girls had been assembled and sat behind them.  Jolene and Julie looked to him, then returned their looks to Kenelle.
	Vance would not be her first “fuck.”
	Chip went into her nextly.  He fucked his fill, his pud slipping out now and then as his frantically humped madly, sometimes he humped the woman’s gash before re-entering her.
	Bryan’s young bone was not 100% stiff, but after easing it into Kenelle’s love tunnel it was.  The boy was mesmerized to be sure, he went thru the motions kind of blankly; but he would get better.
	Carlos and Doh Chee took their respective turns and the whole group watched as a lone figure once more appeared from out of the lingering darkness.  It wasn’t clear to him what was happening, but Kenelle’s legs were once lifted up and she began to appear as if though she was once more being fucked.
	And so she was.
	After the lone figure, two more came, boys, teenagers.  They were naked and sported serious erections.  Both took turns fucking Kenelle, thereafter…

	Choices.  Choices-choices-choices.
	Decisions.  Decisions-decisions-decisions.
	Charlene, Jolene, Amber, Julie, Jin, and even Kalley, warmed the cockles of his soul.  Each girl was different, each girl had charm and each girl was seriously-seriously fuckable.  Seriously.
	Chris selected Julie, Harold sought favor with Jin.
	Carl had no particular favorite but took Amber for himself.
	Those selected were not taken far, just around to the two other open cell rooms.  Here there were actual beds, twin size in one and full size in another.  
	Carl Mitchell guided Amber to the bed, his cock still stiff and ready to act.  Amber still under mind control laid out nervously on the bed.  Carl gave her verbal commands and the girl readily complied, albeit timidly if not nervously.
	“I’m not going to hurt you.” Carl told her, ‘just fuck your brains out.’
	He did have qualms about the deed, he was generally a decent man and morally just--okay, he had incestuous relations with his son and daughter, son’s friend and daughter’s friend; there had been a previous kidnapping for sexual gratification; Brandy and her young step-sister…
	The metal springs of the full sized bed squeaked as Carl Mitchell put it to the fourteen year old.  She wriggled some, but otherwise kept her legs open while the adult man on top of her plowed her.

	Julie scooted on the bed she lay on, holding onto the mattress as the person on top of her, IN her, fucked her.  There was very little pleasure in the deed--for Julie.  She thrashed some, winced, and fluttered her eyes repeatedly losing some equanimity in her demeanor.
	Chris drove deep into the girl, his hand under her butt, his eyes fascinated onto her pretty face--although it was highly emotional and screwed up.
	His balls were singing, singing and swaying, slapping against Julie’s body as several inches of teen cock piston fucked the girl into a furor.  The sensation was beyond anything he knew.  He felt his cum squirting through his penis, it was astounding to say the least.
	When done and done he pulled out and lay his cock against the quivering cunt of Julie Veeber, cum spilling out of his piss slit as well as oozing out of the girl’s cunny.  He lay partly on her, sucking on her nipples as she was slightly beginning to “blossom.”  He dug his finger into her sopping wet pussy meat, fingering it and working her up into a frenzy yet again.  He wanted to fuck her up the ass but his cock would have none of that.

	Jin Wo gasped as up into HER ass a teenage boy stuffed his prick.  The violation was intense, but her mind was still filled with the horrors she had witnessed beyond the wall--the other side.  She lay on her side, clinging to the twin size bed as she was buggered.  Just across from her on another twin bed another teen lay with Julie.  The girls looked to one another and almost managed to smile.  Almost.
                                                       *****

	Other than screwing around in the dungeon, there was legit work to be done.  Chris had made as many as four videos of the dungeon shenanigans, made backup copies, then deposited them into Mr. Thomas’ capable ($$) hands.
	They viewed the videos and Chris got to shag the Missus (again) along with the girls of the family.  There were some “captives” in the basement but Chris was already shagged to the limit of his ability to keep his cock from severing itself from his body and running away…
	Mr. T would take the videos to his contact in the City and in a couple of days Chris could hand his father a nice tidy sum.  Chris promised more videos, at least one more batch.  Keeping the group in the Mitchell family basement was not to be an enduring thing.  One by one or two by two they would be released; taken somewhere far-far away.
	Once home again Chris found Harold the Tactless & Moral-less humping on little Mandy.  Chris patted the girl’s butt, she lay wiggling on Harold; his cock was not IN the three year old, he had the girl laying on it and he was moving her up and down upon it.
	Carl Mitchell worked on an engine pump for a generator on the porch.  Chris told him about the video deal with his “contact” in town;
	“He thinks we might make about a couple thousand per video, maybe more, depends on the buyer and market and stuff.”
	His dad paused in his tinkering with the engine.  It was incomprehensible, the amount of money, real money for the expense of others.  He had a problem with the doings, he wrestled with himself and couldn’t believe it.  
	Chris let him be and slinked away.

	He gazed over them; Charlene he liked, Jolene was okay, too.  Amber he could really like.  Julie was the most, though, who warmed him.  It wasn’t that she was so appealing, striking, outstanding.  He didn’t know what it was, exactly.  She was a charmer, was getting “lumpy”, had a smile that had melting effects.  He liked her, her hair style, body style, general demeanor.  
	Jin Wo was okay, too, ultra skinny, though.  And Kalley, she was seven.  Naked she was cute and all and he didn’t mind fingering her and having her bob on his knob, but as far as anything else he wasn’t so sure.
	As for the boys of the group, Chris wasn’t into any of them, maybe Doh Chee, the Chinese boy, and Chip.  But just because for the boys.  The best fun was watching them screw the others and themselves, as well as the one woman, Kenelle.
	Chris noted that Kenelle was not so unlike John Hursh, the grandfather to Jolene.  John had at first seemed to be resistant to the narly shenanigans in the seatrain dungeon of hellish horrors.  And though Jolene, his granddaughter was his granddaughter, and young; Chris so noted that the man had indeed been high aroused.  The conditions were outlandish and out of proportion, had they been different and on their own--John may have fared better.
	Chris had been unable to delve into the man’s mind and see if he had any narly desires for his granddaughter or had he already done anything with her.  Of course, he DID have Jolene.  But Jolene’s mind was filled with conflicting horrors and it would take some time to sort out.  Chris would give her that time.
	Back to Kenelle.
	Though she detested the manner of which the horror was pressed upon her, getting boned by fourteen year old Vance was tolerable.  She was even so-so okay with getting dicked by Chip and Bryan.  She had a little issue with being dicked by Carlos and Doh Chee, but…
	Chris again tried Minding with the woman, the shackling of her was merely a precautionary thing as well as for video effect.  But there, too, was Chris’ inability to get a “lock” on the woman’s mind to lull her into a secure state of being.  It was hit and miss with the others, too.  He WAS able to force them into compliance; in no way did he wish to pursue the antics that LaFrost did,  No Balls had carried his horror a little too far.
	He would take what he could get.
	It had been two days, he selected Julie and brought her around to the open cell where there were beds and laid her.  He had no qualms about boning a girl such as she.  Her pussy was delicious, snug and received his cock well.  There was insufficient strength to try again for the buggering of the young girl, he made a mental note to do that first next time.
	He had Jin suck him and while she did so Chip was put to fucking Amber.  Vance fucked Jolene in the ass (the girl had pooped the panties crammed in her hole the day after her arrival).  Amber spread her legs for Adam and Doh Chee.  Amber was another who openly denied immoral sexual deviancy but to themselves embraced it.
	Bryan and Carlos took turns double teaming (double penetration) with Kenelle.  Adam Jones, the other shoplifting boy with Charlene, fucked Kalley.  He didn’t want to, but was sucked on by Charlene and then positioned on Kalley.  His pud was stiff enough, he had licked out the young seven year old’s cunt and then pressed into her his dick.  Kalley had already been breeched, she had been well fingered and probed.  Harold the Tactless had fucked her the second day of her arrival.
	None of the girls were seriously harmed; gently and easily they were laid and/or buggered.  Time and care was taken in the screwing of their young bodies, they learned the techniques of masturbation--to themselves as well as everyone else.  Oral and anal sex was another thing they learned.
	They took group showers, mixed sexes washing the other in an open no-door bathroom (see Fig 1).  They slept together, ate, and did all things naked and sexually.  Time meant nothing to them.  Music was supplied for them via a radio cassette/CD.  No news, no tv.  A VCR w/monitor was set up for their entertainment and they were fed three meals a day with snacks in between.
	Carl seriously hoped the sale of the videos would net a profit.

                                                *****

	For video classification:  there was the Spanking Video; The Golden Shower Video; the GangBang Every Hole Video; Mixed Ages and Sexes Video; Same Sex Video; The GangBang II Video; and the Endurance Fuck Video.
	Each one netted the Mitchell family a nice chunk of change.  Cash, too.  Carl still had qualms about the deal, but Chris assured him that he would be able to help the tortured minds of the dungeonites, allow them to return to society with a minimal amount of “brain damage.”
	Chris, though, had his work cut out for him; each dungeonite would have to be dealt with singularly.  It was time consuming and the side effects put Chris out of commission for the rest of the day and part of the next.  This worried his father he grew more and more concerned, thought maybe a tumor or something could be caused by the ordeal.
	Chris worried about it, too.
	He decreed to himself that he would lay off for a while, a long while, afterwards.  His father thought that a fine idea.  Harold mused that in that case maybe HE should take up the cause.  Chris and his father rolled their eyes, neither thought THAT was a good idea.
	(Harold the Tactless in charge of the Pen Flasher; an item that could render his every whim, wish, and desire?  (all at once!?))  no, not a good idea.  And Harold realized that, too, himself!  It was just a thought.
	Mandy needed no mind alteration, she was three and would easily readjust to civilian life.  She had not been too adversely sexually destroyed:  she ran about the house and outside buck naked, she had been humped on, peed on.  She had sucked on the Mitchell family cock, fingered and poked and gouged and showered with gobs and gobs of spunk.  But not vaginal or anal penetrations.
	Charlene and Jolene had.
	Both girls Chris did in one day, er--mind linking to say.  In a way, Chris sorta kinda wouldn’t mind to see Charlene stay on.  Julie, too.  Harold preferred Jin while Daddy Carl favored Amber.  
	In the end, after two weeks of the “rescue” from the seatrain and woods, Charlene, Adam, Amber, Chip, Julie, Jin Wo, Doh Chee, and Kenelle Nohemy became semi-peremenant residents of the Mitchell family.
	Their dungeon abode was redone; 	
	Construction of  two bedrooms; not very elaborate or anything, but with beds just the same.  
	Jolene, Vance, Bryan, Carlos and Kalley had their minds dinked with and then taken to the City in the middle of the night with Kalley and Vance taken to ANOTHER city way-way beyond and dropped off (in the middle of the night.)
	Mandy was kept on, too.  Harold had a shine for her.
	Naturally Chris thunk up others who could come to the dungeon, if only for a visit:  the gang from the dude ranch, the bitches Brandy couldn’t stand, and a whole shit load of others; including those of mutual friend Garret.  Harold wouldn’t mind to see the nuns, Sister Rose and Agatha!
	Chris wouldn’t, either, but feared the wrath of God.  

	The Dungeonites weren’t fucked on a daily basis, not even by themselves or from each other or whatever.  Carl didn’t see keeping the captives for very much longer anyways, it was a terrible strain on his son.  Chris had to keep a mind link on the downsized group, instilling the NEW Way of Life for them every few days to make sure the Way of Life was not depleted in any way.
	And after another two week’s time it did seem as if though the group was fully accepting their “new way of life.”  It allowed Chris to ceased dinking with their minds.  He slept for a week thereafter.  (at least it gave his cock a rest!)

                                                      *****

I Am the Darkness That Walks in the Fog
						   I and the Fog Are One

Standing alone in the dark--drowning in the fear that is smothered in the shadows 
I am the only one here 
Visions of evil flitter about recklessly--silently
Alone I am--on a moonlit night so cold on an empty beach
Only the waves make the subtlest of sound lapping against the shore
Silently, though, they move back out to sea to leave me alone again

Alone I sit on a rock that is surrounded by the sea
I hear the waves crashing on the stone wall around me
The bright moon dances on the shimmering glass-like surface;
Like a thousand mirrors shinning in the sea

A gull calls out overhead breaking the silence nulled in my mind
We are as one in nature, a bleak nature of dismal gray and putridness
The lazy methodic clap of the bird’s wings pierces the night’s air

Suddenly the great bird heads downward breaching the surface
He hurries off with his prize from the sea
The ripples of the sea form and move silently towards me
As each succeeding ripple reaches out the placid moonlight is bounced into my eyes

I am not lonely--I am alone

	My soul is putrid and I choke
	Gasping for air that is just as putrid
	Standing lost and forgotten in the darkness
	The fog rolls in and envelopes me
	I become as gray as the lucid air about me

	Deep into this darkness peering
	Long though I stand wondering and fearing
	Doubting dreams I’ve dreamed before 
	That no mortal has dared dream before

  	The fog dissipates and there is nothing
	The epitome of my soul lies open for me to scour
	My heart beats silently pumping putridness again and again

	Evil is as Evil does.
	Darkness of the putrid since, or even sense!  It is by far  considered the worst state one could live in.  It is not so perceived by the masses that anyone who is evil is automatically bad, or vice-versa; but it is only is only a vision of things that are.
	Those who of Goodness or the perception thereof, tend to look favorably on surviving, and worship the evolution of society.  And society is obliged to have a good government centered on gallantry of goodness and righteousness to properly prosper; other than that, it would be anarchy.
	So its what most of the philosopher, politician, civilians tend to explore (and general fail at, but so long as they made the effort they feel good about themselves, soooo…) There is a much more wider awareness of Goodness and Light.  The Darkness is more subtle and it exists in all of society, religions and castes.  
	Individualism, the one who think toward themselves rather than finding answers for someone else, answers for someone else; tend to embrace the Darkness in all its various forms while casually observing the Light of Society (but mostly to find its flaws).
	Good and Evil, the old rhetoric, are the ultimate yin and yang (good and evil) but the fact that they are complete opposite doesn’t mean Society has to endorse one or the other.  
	For fact, Darkness is the opposite of Light and is comprehended by most of the peoples.  It is normal to think the majority must hate Darkness.  This is not so.   Certain persons of both Light & Dark living lifestyle will discover a state of well-being and universal comprehension, not the worthless comprehension learned in school, or comprehension of working, raising children, participating in the general stream of good living.
	It is not to say that persons deciding for themselves to embrace the Dark Side didn’t sell their souls to Hell.  Embracing Darkness did not/does not entail its members to be thugs, murders, generally despised society anti socialist, they only represent the face of Evil because and even only because they are individualist. 
	They are not productive for society which mean they are deemed worthless and not good for anything.  This generally encompasses the younger generation of society, inner city youth.
	However, most of the time, they are repugnant before society, despised and hated and definitely misunderstood.  Is the breakdown of the Family structure to blame?  The breakup of family unity itself?  Society?  Some do indeed blame Society, as a whole--violent video games, violence in movies, contradictions of life in itself and just the basic over population of sooooooooo many peoples--we are not all bound to get the fuck along with one another!
	So, just by the fact that stupid people understand nothing or that they are the opposite of what they think they understand, they become like mere robots methodically feeding the economy and not much else.  
	This is life for most of people, the people of Goodness and Righteousness.  The Evildom festers, biding time, feeding on the putridness of society  There is no extraordinary tonic at this blight of society; except self-destruction.
	It is virtually impossible that such a democratic society can function if the most strong principle is individualism. On the opposite, the best society would be the one were everyone would know each other and so, no more violence, rape, murder, general mayhem.  
	The earth is constituted of humans being put in various caste systems and levels of hierarchy.  The biggest populated number are the people in the middle, which are neither solitary, nor individualist. 
	Then there are those who make part of, for example, sects; which begins the Trickle Down Effect of which can be more solitary) as well as developing other inner castes of inner city life.  
	And then the minority, the neo-philosopher individualist. All the human beings are repatriated in their societies.  There is no remedy, of which the general hierarchy decrees.  The “remedy” would consist of changing all the people to the Third State (Individualism).
	This 3rd State would render each person conscious of their existence.
	It would evoke a revolution. 
	But society forbids this evolution of a revolution because they are afraid of the repercussion it might bring.  It kicks out individuals and forces them to fend for themselves, and the become even more of the societal problem not dealt with--a festering boil on the buttocks of humanity.
	And one such “festering boil” was Forrest Finch.

                                             *****

	To say it was hot would be a classical understatement.  He had been used to hot weather, but there was the accumulative mugginess that accompanied the hot weather--that he was not used to.  
	Heat waves rose up from the sidewalk, the pavement, from the very body itself; the trees, and even the water in the water fountain.  Overhead birds and planes soared in a perfect blue sky.  Heat bore down on him from every direction.  
	A graying black man in a fancy dude outfit (kinda like a butler) briskly waltzed to him, “Can I hep ya wid yer luggage, sir?”
	Forrest blinked at him, he was already numbed by the fact of just arriving in a “foreign” land, the oppressive heat was cooking him alive, and now faced with a congenial aged black man.  It was too new an environment to adjust to so quickly.  Forrest shook his head and the man frowned but went on to serve someone else.
	“Git yer ass across the street!” yelled the sergeant from behind him.
	Forrest whirled around, almost stumbling off the cooking cement sidewalk and hurried across the pavement to the awaiting bus.  As many as twenty other souls followed suit.
	They all lined up and faced three men in soldier’s suits.
	“All right,” bellowed the same sergeant, “You got three Goddamn seconds to git on that bus!  And two of them are gone, now!”  a maddening scurrying of potential soldiers rushed to scramble onto the bus, taking a small ditty bag with them, leaving their suitcases of civv clothes behind.
	It was an oven inside the bus.
	‘What the fuck have I gotten myself into!?’
	His mind was numb for the most part of, culture shook and all that.
	Never in his life had he traveled on a plane, it frightened him and vaguely did he remember any of it--except flying over the Rockies and the long wide sweeping turn that put him in the Palmetto State.  He was 18, just a few days fresh out of high school, and he was in the Army.
	Not a great career choice, but back home in the Golden State his choices were very limited--oilfields, potato sheds, or truck driving.  None of those suited him as they had been the tasks of his family.  He wanted something a little more.  And joining the Army was the answer?
	It was a government job, benefits, clothes, travel.  A general snow job by the recruiter paved the way.  He sat on the quickly filling bus, mixed Nationals, breeds, and humans--his mind still awash in the murkiness of the entire ordeal.  ‘Take it day by day.’ his dad had given him the advice.  Day by dad--uh-huh, sure, right.
	The bellowing sergeant came onto the bus, “Sit yer ass down, shut up, eyes front.” the driver got the nod from the 6’4” 220 man who definitely filled out his khaki uniform.  The driver shut the door to the “cattle car” bus and they were off.

	Welcome to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina the sign said.  The non-air conditioned bus rumbled onto the military installation and to the raw recruits new living quarters.  They disembarked with the barking of the same sergeant, “You got three seconds to git off of my bus!” he bellowed.
	There was a ten minute barking lecture, mostly about what Forrest had no idea; it was fucking-a hot!  Sweat rolled in rivers down his neck and balls.  This was NOT a good idea.  Although, it was June and he COULD be sewing potato sacks in a sweltering warehouse--it would be just as bad.  Same amount of PAY, though.  (but w/o the bellowing sergeant.)
	For the next week the 20 men would be housed in an Induction Center, getting the necessary shots, clothes and equipment they would need for their 9-week basic training.  They began to learn the rigors and proper procedures of military life, codes and ethics, discipline, and protocol.
	For part of the time Forrest realized that he was too immature for the Army way of life, he felt that it was a general mistake.  But realizing it was half the battle.  He spoke with his platoon sergeant, who was not a bad person--a career man, had been in “campaigns”, had seen war action, and now was prepping young men/women to do the same.
	He spoke, too, to the company chaplain.
	He then spoke to himself.
	Day by Day.
	It was a learning experience.  Luckily he was not an idiot, when asked a question he was able to come up with a correct answer.  He was able to blast targets at long ranges, he was physically fit and quickly learned how to adjust to the Military Way of Life.
	By the end of his basic training he had become well liked and looked upon favorably.  He had graduated from squad leader to platoon leader, assisting the platoon sergeant.  He earned an early stripe, recognition as an expert marksman, and went on to the next phase of his military career.
	Which was Advance Individual Training (AIT).
	At a new base for this training he learned to be an Infantry Operations & Intelligence Specialist.  (Military Operations Specialist (MOS) assigned number being 11F).
	He also took a stint at ranger school, becoming a member of the 82nd Airborne Rangers.  And then--there was an incident where he was severely injured.  It was a time in his life that changed him, forever.
Wherever you go, your Dreams will come too
	Soft sea breezes with just the scent of sea ickiness; that mixture of sea food with sea water, seaweed, sea life all mingling as one to waft about on the almost ever constant sea.  Growing up in the central area of the state he was generally a long ways from the ocean, but always felt a draw; the sea was relaxing, he felt more alive.  He had always enjoyed anything involving the sea; pirates, ships, naval warfare and exploration.
	He was fresh off of 2-weeks furlough, or modern terminology, “leave.”  It had been good to be home, but he was still a member of the armed forces and had to go on.  That had been several weeks ago, too.  He needed the relaxation the sea provided.  In the short time he had come to the new duty station, (Ft. Ord) he had gotten around fairly well, public transportation as well as by bicycle.  He had found a so-so secluded spot that looked over a rocky beach.  It was there he could sit and think.
	And he had a lot to think about.
	In recent weeks all seemed--vague.  Looking back on his life as a whole seemed vague and unfamiliar.  Upon arriving to new digs he found out something about himself.  Something that caused him to be highly concerned.  He needed the time by the sea to reflect.
	He had arrived at the new duty station at dusk, had found the Receiving Hall despite being misdirected by the locals (he made a note of them so as to be sure not to defend them in time of war.)  The desk sergeant looked over his paperwork and stamped it, Forrest was four hours from being AWOL, but he wanted to spend as much time with his hard working parents as possible.
	The sergeant handed the paperwork (orders) to the lieutenant.  The lieutenant handed the paperwork to a captain.  There was the proverbial “hurry up and wait” and then he was directed to report to his new unit but not until the new morning.  Checking in with the Rec. Hall saved him from being AWOL.  He stayed the night with some other near-late arrivals and reported to his new unit the following day.
	He stood staring at the new unit (building), it was stucco white, though weathered some, being just a couple of miles from seashore.  Multistory, narrow it was but long.  Seaside trees surrounded it.  A main street before it, a large sloping landscape of ice plants behind it.  A mess hall to one side, a POV (privately owned vehicle) parking lot to another side.
	 Something clicked in his mind; he didn’t know, a creepy eeriness enveloped him.  And his headache was back.  For weeks upon weeks he had been plagued with a reoccurring/staying-on headache.  Sometimes it was accompanied by ringing in his ears.  He also had blurred vision. 
	His father had told him that he could make a deal about it and get out of the Army on a medical discharge.  But then what?  He would still need a job, the headache and earaches weren’t debilitating enough to warrant Disability.
	“But it could be.” stated his worried father.
	Forrest would have none of that, the Army had good medical facilities and as soon as he was settled into his new digs he would seek out their help.
	He walked into the building and to the CQ (Charge of Quarters) desk.
	A burly sergeant and a pipsqueak private sat in their chairs there.
	Forrest handed over some paperwork.
	“Hey, yer the new Tossed Salad!” sparked the sergeant.
	Forrest nodded dryly accepting the new acronym to his MOS title, TOSS SALAD:   Tactical Operations Special Security-Special Advanced Logistic Adverse Deliverer.  
	Huh?
	He was a member of OppFor; Opposing Forces, specialized units placed in military units whose primary goal was once on maneuvers for training purposes the TOSS-SALAD OppFor member was there to make it as difficult as possible for the Unit to communicate and/or opperate efficiently (or otherwise.)
	“What happened to the other?” Forrest asked since he realized he was “replacing” someone.
	“He got shipped out.”
	The sergeant stepped out around the desk and made his way down a hall.  Forrest knew the routine and followed.  He passed several doors, bathrooms, closed doors and opened ones.  The building housed three companies, forming a battalion.
	Into a room Forrest was escorted, his paperwork handed off to his new company commander.  The Puerto Rican captain gave the paperwork the once over, shook the newcomers hand;
	“Welcome to the 7th!” he said with a smile.
	Forrest nodded with a half smile, the ringing in his ears was coming back.  The captain gave instructions to the sergeant to set Specialist Finch up with supplies and a room.
	Being a member of an elite organization (TOSS-SALAD) got Forrest his own room.  It was suited for two, most of the rooms in the four story building had were designed for four peoples, each person (soldier) had a wall dividing to give him (or her) some semblance of privacy.
	Forrest had all kinds of privacy, his own bed, a desk, and key to the door.  After quickly settling in he stood at the large bay window looking out to the front staging area, the lawn, the grassy knoll and trees.  His headache and earache had diminished somewhat and he didn’t pay any attention to them anyways.
	First Call, so he was told, was at 5AM.  Second Call came thirty minutes later.  First Formation was at 6AM.  From 6AM to 7AM there was the general rigor of PT (Physical Torture (Training)).  From 7AM to 8:45AM it was chow time.  Thereafter, Second Formation either at the staging area before the 7MI building or at the motor pool, communications building, or day room for a lecture.
	First & Second Call were when the private manning the CQ desk to come get a dose of verbal abuse from sleepy soldiers.  The private would come rap-tap-tapping on all the doors to awaken his fellow comrades so as they could scurry out of their bunks and be ready for the 6AM Formation.
	Military regiment.  Forrest didn’t know if he wanted to make a “career” of it, but he had four years to finger it out.

	It was his personal preference, not that he didn’t overly care for it, that had Forrest on his own.  He DID meet and encounter others of his company, and the other two companies sharing the building, but no one to chum with.  Which well suited Forrest regardless, his entire life he had been alone.  His family had lived aways from others so having “friends” as he grew up were far and few between.  He was okay in school, but not athletic, not outstanding in any field or class.
	 So he was well suited for the OppFor classification, too.  It was a loner field, he went into the “field” when the company did.  He camped aways away from them and did his thing to interrupt their ability to communicate and be secure.
	He did have to answer to higher authority figures.  He himself had achieved the rank of Specialist 5, equal to rank classification of E-5, or basic sergeant, but specializing in a particular field or MOS.
	One of his higher ranking authority figures was a one Lt. Karen Saro.
	A short gal, mid 20s, blond, nice butt, nice chest, nice smile.  A compact dame Forrest found his eyes lingering on.  She was friendly enough, too, smiled a lot and was helpful and curious about Forrest’s job.  She was in communications herself.  On her uniform was the emblem of a ranger, a paratrooper she was, 101rst, to be exact.  
	An incident one day, a few days after his arrival.  It set him on a whirlwind trip into himself, a trip into insanity--to be exact.
	They were in the communications building, B1-7MI.  The 7thMI was Military Intelligence (in some forms this was an oxymoron in progress.)  It was a narrow building that was really long having two floors.  In its heyday, like the big wars, the building and several dozen other sister building were really something.  But since then, the buildings had become little more than storage facilities.
	Forrest had an “office” here himself, a place to store his “stuff” for use in the field.  The company had SOP to boogy to the outland of the area at least once a month, but generally speaking didn’t make it except once every other month.  (SOP--Standard Operating Procedures)
	One day, Sp.5 Finch was passing thru the narrow hallway on his way to lunch--a nearby building housed a chow hall for the area and was a favorite hangout.  Passing thru the hall, too, was Second Lieutenant K. Saro.
	They spoke briefly, she asked, 
	“How’s it going, Specialist Finch?” in regards to his “work.”
	“Just fine, Ma’m, thanks.” he said.  
	She nodded and moved on.  Finch stood by the drinking fountain staring at her as she moved along in her tight-form fitting fatigue green outfit.
	‘Damn!  She looks good!’
	Lt. Saro stopped and turned at the end of the hall looking back at him.
	“Excuse me?” she said.
	Finch shook his head in disbelief, “I-I didn’t say anything.” he proclaimed.  He hadn’t said anything, he had THOUGHT it!  
	She smiled and shrugged and disappeared up the stairs to the 2nd floor leaving Finch very confused.

	He remained confused thru lunch.
	The headaches and earaches continued.  As did the confusion.  On a lark he tried it again, just because.  After lunch walking back the half block back to the com building he passed two soldiers, one female.  When they were almost to the chow hall building, Forrest looked to the woman, ‘Damn, that’s a nice ass!’
	The woman stopped and looked back in extreme pissed-offedness.
	Forrest scrambled to his building’s secondary door entrance and up the stairs.  Not so much as for flight, but to make the far left side window that had a direct view of the chow hall.  He saw the woman, a private, and her boyfriend, a corporal.  The woman was pointing madly back behind her.  The boyfriend apparently telling the black female that he had heard nothing.
	Forrest was in a funk.  What the fuck?

	That was on incident.  There was a nothing.  He could have done without it as it was the one that led him on the route to his insanity.  It happened as he was showering.  In the general latrine there were as many as eight stalls, eight sinks, and in a separate room there were eight shower heads for that gang shower thing.
	While showering (alone) he dropped his dog tags, the identifying metal tags issued to every soldier so as to--uhm, er, identify their bodies upon their deaths.  In the light Forrest noticed something about the tags, he hadn’t given them much thought since having them issued to him in basic.  
	His name was there.
	His ID Number (SS number)
	His faith.
	His blood type.
	But at the bottom was a string of numbers, a letter preceding them.
	He didn’t know what it was for and couldn’t remember if it had been there before--but had to assume it had.  The dog tags were always on his person, always.  He had learned that valuable lesson in basic--among many others.
	Forrest Francis Finch.
	Non-Denominational
	O-Positive.
	EXP-011010100110
	He had no idea.  Maybe it had to do with the tag number itself or something.  He finished showering and went on about his business.
	Some days later and he was showering again.  But not alone.  Something was noticed by Forrest, the fellow soldier’s dog tags.  They were dangling on the shower spigot.  His curiosity was wild with him.  And when the soldier left the shower room to fetch some shampoo, Forrest peered at the tags.
	Eric William Galls
	Social Security Number
	Catholic
	O-Negative
	Nothing else follows.
	There was no tag number.
	Forrest’s curiosity was not curbed, it festered.

	One tag missing the number string meant nothing, he needed a more to draw any pertinent conclusions.  He began making it a point to shower when there were others and steel glances at their tags.  He did more research about the metal tags and the info imprinted thereon.
	He finally just upped and asked his favorite lieutenant.
	She looked at the tags but had no idea, she looked at hers and there were no extra numbers.  They asked a gruffy sergeant major of the company and in all his bourned years, Nope, never saw any extra numbers on a set of dog tags.
	This was no longer amusing.
	They took it to their unit commander.
	He didn’t know either but promised to look into it.

	The captain didn’t have much in the way of information about the tag, either, and explained that it was probably a tag number that is used but not supposed to be imprinted on the tag itself.  But…
	There was something the captain wanted to discuss with Sp. Finch.
	The captain had Finch’s file.  
	“You entered the Army at Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, June 18th.
	  Graduating Basic August 29th.
	  September 2nd entered Ft. Gordon for 9 weeks of AIT.”
	He paused for a moment.  Forrest nodded his head that the information was all correct.  What’s your point?  (sir)
	Captain Pinto gave one more bit of info:
	“You entered Ft. Ord for first permanent duty station, reporting in on May 1.” he paused again to let the Specialist Five digest.
	Specialist Five Forrest Finch stood before the ornate cherry wood desk of Captain Pinto, blinking his eyes.  Behind the captain on a wall next to some plaques and awards and degrees was a calendar.  It was June.  A ringing in Forrest’s ears began again.  He gulped.  He felt his heart pounding in his chest.  Something didn’t jive.
	“You have orders putting you here May 1.  You have paperwork here that says you graduated AIT October 31.” the Captain stood cocking his head, “Where the hell you been for six months?”
	Forrest had no idea.

	It wasn’t easy and Capt. Pinto got the runaround a few times, but the captain found there “sealed” medical records on his TOSS-SALAD specialist, and the info he got he didn’t believe, but had no choice ’cause it was the most and all that he was going to get.  
	“You were in an accident.”
	“I’m sorry?” Forrest said, he needed clarity, and a lot of it.
	“You had original orders from Gordon sending you here November 17, after your 2-weeks home on leave.  Enroute to the airport you were involved in a serious traffic accident.  You nearly died and for a time you were apparently in a coma.  After the new year you awoke and the doctors were able to manage you back to full health and re-fit for duty.”
	Finch wrinkled his nose.  He didn’t remember any of that tank dust.
	The captain seemed content with the info.  Forrest wasn’t.  Something didn’t jive.  (for one thing, why didn’t his PARENTS say anything, surely being in a friggin’ coma the military would have notified them?  Being missing for 6 fucking months surely they would have said something when he finally DID go to see them?
	Why hadn’t anyone told him what had happened?  He didn’t remember any of it?  He vaguely remembered Ft. Gordon.  But that was all.  The captain said medically speaking there had been some memory loss, amnesia and that sort.  More tank dust.
	Forrest had a creepy feeling.  He didn’t care for it, no, not at all.

	He thought of calling his parents.  He thought of writing them.  He nixed them both and hoped to get leave and go and confront them.  In the meantime, he came to find something else.  With the knowing that he had been in a serious accident he knew nothing about he gave himself a look over.  He found no scars on his person save for the scars on his head.
	There were scars that were actually circles, in three areas on his noggin.  He couldn’t figure them and they were only present when he buzzed his head of its hair.  
	His head looked like one of those puzzles.
	His life was a puzzle, and it was missing some pieces.
	Back to the other thing…
	Again and again he spoke his thoughts to a passing cute girl.
	And again and again she did in fact “hear” him!
	He couldn’t explain and didn’t understand.
	Time he began to spend in quantities at the sea, it relaxed him and put him in a better mood.  It didn’t help him understand whatever the hell was going on--but at least he was relaxed about it.
	When he DID get to see his parents, they gave him a bigger snow job than his captain had!  Some bullshit that they couldn’t get out to see him in the hospital there in Ft. Gordon--which was 100% BS ‘cause the Army would have secured their way not at their expense.  They claimed that they knew all about the accident and prayed that he would pull thru and apparently he did.
	Forrest returned to Ft. Ord more confused than ever.
	He needed a vacation.  He needed one away from the Army, far away, very far away.  He thought of a cousin he knew, in the Midwest, Illinois somewhere.  He had a farm, or a ranch of some kind.  Mitchell.  Carl Mitchell.  He had one son and something about his wife just passing away.  He lived on a ranch out from a small town out from a large city.  He had an open invite to go there any time.
	He threw himself into his work; it was the only saving grace that saved him.  The plaguing things in his life he could do without and chose not to deal with them.
	Until again he begun to think about his Thinking.

                                                                  *****

	It was not improbable to think that his “coma” trauma had released brain powers, or mind powers--enabling him to have astounding telekinetic abilities.  It was what he thought and had to firmly believe.  What else was he to believe?  What other answer was there?
	When he could, which was often, he tempted fate with speaking out via his mind.  He couldn’t believe the results--people actually heard his unintended thoughts!  And on one such occasion, he found another incredible facet to his new found ability:
	He was in the parking lot heading to the bus stop to head to the wharf for dinner and relaxing hours away by the sea.  In the lot he came upon Lt. Jill Casper.  Early 20s, kinky (permed) reddish brown hair, soft alluring blue eyes, very trim, and quite the cordial one despite being an officer.
	She was standing at her car shuffling some paperwork before going home, she had an apartment off-base.  Forrest kept out of sight, going to the trees in the middle separating “A” lot from “B” lot and made eye contact with the gal.
	‘Damn, nice-nice ass!’ he thought strongly.
	Lt. Casper whirled around wide eyed, mouth open.  She saw no one.  It was Close of Business day, a few folks at by the chow hall and malingering in front of the Unit building, no one close.
	Then, something new happened, it was unintentional but it was okay by Forrest.  After Jill Casper had shrugged off and went on to get into her two-door compact, a fleeting thought blurted itself into Forrest’s mind:
	‘Damn, wish you would take your clothes off!’
	And behold and lo if she didn’t start doing just that, undoing her fatigue green uniform shirt.  Underneath was a crisp white tee shirt, Forrest stared at her, ‘Uhm--uhm, I-I wish you would stop that.’
	And she did.
	Forrest had to pause--this was beyond comprehension.
	What was going on here!?
	Then, ‘Uhm, I-I wish you would--lay down in your car.’
	Compliance!
	She wasn’t overly comfortable as she had one of those small two-door compact cars, foreign made.  The emergency/parking brake in between the seats.  ‘Backseat, crawl into the backseat.’ he said coming up to her.
	She wasn’t opposed, she didn’t bitch or ask questions or anything, just compliantly crawled into the backseat.  Forrest was amazed, blown away.  He didn’t understand.  What was there to understand? 
	He took a few minutes to rationalize and think.
	It only garnered him a headache.
	‘Uhm, undo your pants.’ it was worth a shot.
	And before his eyes the lieutenant began undoing the web-utility belt and green button to her fatigue pants.  Forrest looked around for security purposes.  He was in total disbelief.
	Jill had undone her pants and unzipped them.
	Forrest blinked his eyes, gulped, sweated, and mulled several thoughts all at once.  ‘Uhm, uhm, slide-slide them, your pants, down.  Slide your pants to your ankles.’ might as well go full bore.
	Beyond his comprehension she did as he “thought.”
	‘Son-of-a-bitch!’
	Lovely lavender panties, skimpy kind.  Forrest stared and began to drool.  What the FUCK was going on here!?  Another fleeting thought erupted into his mind, might as well--’Ta-take your panties down!’
	He couldn’t believe it.  She did!  She did! She did!
	Jill Casper, 2nd lieutenant United States Army, pushed her panties down to her ankles where her green fatigue pants were.  Unbelievable!
	‘Wow.’ he thought to himself.  A nicely trimmed snatch the lieutenant had.  Very nice.  Into the car he went, sitting sideways and staring at the nakedness of the woman who was staring up to the ceiling of her car.  
	‘Wow.’
	He then wondered about something.
	He had to think and think hard.  What he was thinking could be dangerous.  But then again, sitting in a car with an officer, female officer, who had her pants and panties at her ankles--that wasn’t dangerous enough!?  It went against protocol and ethics and all kinds of stuff that would land his lily white ass in the stockade.
	He had no plans for that to happen.
	But looking upon the woman, she was calm.  Almost like she was asleep.  The notion he had about ‘touching her, fingering her’ slipped wisely away until he could give the situation more thought.
	He had no choice but to believe that he HAD developed some sort of intrinsic mental prowess.  It was the only answer.  He didn’t have enough information about the subject, but deemed to himself that he would.  
	He had the lieutenant pull her clothes up and dress, then stand outside the car, like she had before--before Forrest interrupted her.
	When she was doing these things, Forrest amscrayed, back to the trees.  He watched her as she got back out of the car and stood beside it.
	‘Uhm, go-go back to as you were.  I-I release you to yourself!’
	Sounded like the thing to do, say.
	Surprisingly it was exactly what the lieutenant did.
	She looked around, stumbled into her car, shook her pretty head and looked around some more.  She seemed dazed, confused.  Then, sluffed it off and got (back) into her car!

	Fish & Chips (fries) and a soda suited him for his dinner.  His favorite place he had found on the wharf, it wasn’t too fishy but fishy enough.  He got his favorite place, too, a seat by the window so as he could hurl the fries out the open window to the sea gulls malingering about waiting for a freebie.
	Had what happened with Lt. Casper really happened?
	He couldn’t believe it.  It was unconscionable and totally inconceivable.  Had his accident really released his mental abilities?  Was that what caused his headaches and earaches?  
	He looked to the waitress who was his and flipping about delivering orders to the other patrons.  ‘Bring me another soda.’ he thought to her.
	She paused a moment, scratched her nose, then went to the bar and drew a glass of soda; and promptly delivered it to Forrest with a smile.
	‘Holy shit!’ he said to himself.  (he hoped he said to himself.) the waitress gave him a curious look, ‘What?’  Forrest shook it off and gave her a blank stare, ‘Huh?’ the confused waitress then scurried away to continue her work.
	Forrest realized that his thoughts he would have to find a way to curb them, to keep them from being broadcasted--er, the ones he wanted to keep to himself that is.  Exclamations (Oh Shit!), personal thoughts (I wish Lieutenant Haser would go fuck himself), angry thoughts (I wish Lieutenant Haser would go fuck himself).  All could get him into trouble.
	After dinner he walked along the way back out of the wharf, he had to either catch the last bus back to the base or walk.  
	He had yet to acquire a bicycle.
	Lots of people to contend with, shopping, eating, yapping, mingling.
	At the end where the last shops were a woman in a black pleated short skirt stooped over to retrieve some dropped car keys.  She was tall.  Very tall.  Young adult, a pinkish nylon top with red dots all over it, huge red loop earrings dangling in her ears.  Short upturned nose, long jaw line, too much makeup, too much perfume, too little time--she seemed to be in a hurry.
	She was also alone.
	Forrest still needed to know about what his “ability” could do.
	He followed the woman.
	And when she began to hurry her steps a little more and casually glance over her shoulder nervously like, 
	‘Don’t worry about who’s following you.’
	And it seemed to work.
	‘Slow the fuck down!’
	She did that, too.
	Her car was a VW Bug.  Where she had parked, though, there were not many cars.  It was getting dark and Forrest ansy.  Forrest looked around for security’s sake, then,
	‘Take your panties down.’
	To his delight, the woman shucked her panties right down to her ankles!  ‘Bend over!’ came the next Thought.
	Compliance!
	She did that, too!
	Forrest stepped up to her and brushed his hand against her ass, her bare ass.
	No reaction from the woman.  None.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Nothing.
	From brushing to pressing.  (nothing)
	From pressing to anal hole exploration.
	Still nothing.
	From funk hole to sweet hole.
	The body of the woman, Sherry Mullighan, tensed up and shivered, but it was an involuntary reaction from the body and not the mind itself.
	On a dare (with himself) Forrest hauled out his cock and pressed it against the woman’s crack.  He tried for penetration but his fear overwhelmed him--it was a public place--a public parking area.  It was getting darker by the minute but he didn’t care for the sheer openness.
	He moved the woman to the lee side of the port authority building, a trendy hip and expensive restaurant was next door to it.  On the lee side, the side that was mostly flowers, shrubs, and faced the docks.  It was fairly quiet and serene there.
	Forrest was in a bad way, his cock was 110% engorged and he wasn’t going to let it go without relief.  He was amazed that he was able to keep such a mind-lock on the woman, Sherry.
	Under the breezeway where the security light was supposed to be on they went, it was dark and quiet.  On a sitting bench he gracefully slid the woman’s panties down and off.  Laying her out on the bench, legs up around his waist he plowed into her for a wondrous three minute fuck.
	Her pussy was deliciously snug and gripped his cock hungrily.  He was well pleased with his actions, amazed, too.  There was nothing from the woman save for a bit of typically-expected sexually orgasmic bliss.  Forrest filled her cunny with his love cream, contemplated plugging her backdoor but his cock wasn’t ready for it.
	He dressed her and walked her back to her car, sliding her panties into the crack of her ass and pussy.  Let her figure it out!
	He stood back aways and Thought/Minded:  ‘Okay, yer on yer own.’
	Seconds later the woman faltered, shook her head and looked around curiously, tugged her panties out of the crack of her ass, got in her car ans zoomed on.

	It gave him a lot to think about.  A lot.  He didn’t pretend to understand it; what was there to understand?  He “thought” a thought and it was received by the Receiving Party and they acted on his transmission.  Easy as pie!
	The how of it was the kicker.
	He didn’t much believe in magic per se, sleight of hand was one thing, but mental telepathy, telekinesis, psycho mumbo jumbo…  There were books upon books about such stuff, he had never been one to put much stock into it, having not experienced  it himself.
	But…
	He tested his new found ability again, some days later at the Comm Building.  The conditions were right, just right; as it was close to the end of the day and most of the communications people had gone up to the main building for the end of day formation.  The comm people consisted of tactical wire operators, radio personnel, and anything/one dealing with communications from the mundane to the extreme.
	In her office doing paperwork was Lt. Saro.
	The perky blond was oblivious to the presence of specialist, although he was slinking to the far side just out of eye-view in the hall.  No one else was in the building.  There would be no final formation, he had heard the top sergeant saying so earlier in the day.  
	He wasn’t so sure if he needed line o’ sight or what.
	‘Saro, Karen Saro--’ he decided to use her name, that would make it sort of a certainty.  ‘Stand up.’
	He heard the chair scoot back.
	‘Come to the door.’ of which was open.
	Compliance!
	To his surprise, if not delight, Karen Saro did indeed appear at the door.  He looked to her, she seemed to be looking at him, but said nothing.
	‘Uhm, I-I wish you to--undo--no, unbutton your shirt.’
	He didn’t know why but he was nervous.
	To his delight (again) Lt. Saro unbuttoned her shirt.
	He had her go back into the room.  He shut the door behind him.  The windows of the room were so grunged up with time they couldn’t be seen thru anyways, two of the three windows were cracked open for to let in soft warm summer air.  They opened from the bottom.  Carefully so as not to be seen Forrest drew the funky almost canvas-like drapes for added security.
	Now was time for a little fun.