August Moone
Timing is Everything
Chapter 10
Tripping

	A strange but not too all unfamiliar wave of nausea swept over him, enveloping him, seething and teeming within him, his very soul.  Every fiber of his being was on fire.  There’s being seasick and then there’s BEING SEASICK.  He retched, hurled, snorted, convulsed and felt as if though a million tiny stick pins were sticking him, just having been removed from an ice box.  Then, nano seconds later those same stick pins were re-sticking him once more having just been removed from a fiery furnace.
	This process repeated itself over and over all the while he reeled in his illness.  There was nothing to see, nothing to hear.  His mind was fuddled with delusions, swimming in a sea of black ooze with mismatched shapes and sizes.
	At length he felt as if though he were floating.  There was no concise thought, nothing substantial, nothing logical.  His body continued to violently retch, heave, contort oddly and send him further and further into oblivion.
	After a considerable amount of time--or what he supposed was such, he began noting that he was indeed seemingly a-float in a sea--a black sea.  The sea was unlike any sea he knew of, he was at least not drowning and there was the significant lack of “wetness” normally associated with floating in water.
	No salty taste, either.  There were, though, waves.  Huge crashing waves that pounded him.  He soon began to swim finding that he body had at last ceased retching.  The huge waves and surges began propelling him along, much like an actual sea.  He noted that within the tumbling waves shapes.  Objects.  It was near black as proverbial pitch and making out the shapes and objects was near impossible.
	Nothing made sense, that was for sure.  He could recall nothing, not even who he himself was; his only point of being was to keep from drowning.  He did his best at that continuing to swim.  He so noted that, too, he was not cold.  The “water” was seemingly without texture, substance, or temperature.
	A trapezoid he saw baring down on him; an elongated triangle then several misshapened shapes of various sizes in the same wave.  August sucked in his breath and forced himself downward beneath the tumultuous surface.  
	This did little good as the “surge swell” grabbed him and propelled him up and about the cascade.  There was naught to do but hang on and live with it.  But he struggled as he floundered, still not knowing thing one who he was or what he was doing where he was or anything.
	Not until he was thrown somewhat roughly onto the shore.
	A beach, of sorts.  It was still dark, black as pitch.  He could sense nothing; no sensations of anything--it was all rather bland.  Whether this was significant he had no idea.  He could see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing.  He stood--at least he presumed he was standing--and waited.  He wasn’t tired, just terribly-terribly confused.
	Soon his eyes brought to his frapped mind something that resembled trees.  Palm trees he assumed.  Advancing upon them from the crashing waves on the small shore behind him he saw that the trunks of these shoreline trees:  isosceles, polygons, trapezoids, ellipses, polynomials, polyhedrons, along with numbers indicating something like coordinates.
	Shapes.  Dimensional-mathematical shapes, geometrical shapes.  He couldn’t for the life of him finger out why?  Then, as he moved in closer for a closer inspection the tree he focused in on and yea the who area about it (and him) warbled.
	There was a slight ringing in his ears, the “space” warbled more and more, faster and faster until there was such a vibration that in the center there came a small pinpoint of light.
	The light pierced into the bleak darkness surrounding him and like a red lazer shone onto his chest.  (whether he was clothed or not he couldn’t remember.)  The light-hole grew large, he heard mixed sounds; sounds of voices, a cacophony of voices mingled in with the sounds of something shredding, tearing, ripping.  These latter sounds seemingly to be heard from within a great cavernous room, muffled somehow.
	Then, as the light grew brighter August saw PEOPLE moving about on the other side.  No one seemed to be paying any attention to him or the disturbance.  He made out these people, teenagers, in walking shorts, tight white shirts, tennis skirts, blue walking shorts, beige.  Girls.  Teenage girls.  Girls in jeans, jean shorts, bib overalls, cheerleader outfits.
	The light diminished in brightness and the “hole” created was now large enough for August to step thru.  So he did.
					*****

	Timing Is Everything
	“Hey, watch where I’m running, dumbass!” chirped a gruff male jock voice; this after August struggled to pick himself up off of the cement walkway.  He shook his head to look up and see Bret Bartlett, all-star school jock and all-around star asshole.
	August gulped and shook the cobwebs out of his mind, there were flecks of odd-shaped rectangles and boxes and coordinates swimming about his vision.  But it was Bret Bartlett for sure.  
	A small gathering of girls milled about, giggling and laughing, pointing and making small talk.  Some other “jocks” milled about continuing their efforts to further instill that they shouldn’t be allowed to breed.
	August scrambled to a standing position and glared Brett and his dumb-as-bricks cohorts.  Brett stared back and ceased smiling.
	“What, you want to make something of it?” chirped a so-so Brett.
	August said nothing but clenched his fist and stared at the teen.  The gathering crowd grew somewhat quiet but a slight chant had begun (Fight! Fight! Fight!)
	Brett made a sudden jab-flinch.  August reacted as he should and flinched at the suddeness.  To wit there came an uproarious chuckle from Brett which cascaded down to the gathering.
	August hauled off and smacked the head monkey in the jaw followed by a pummel to the stomach.  It was unexpected and Brett doubled over.  August brought his knee up and smacked the youth in the nose.  There was blood everywhere.  The jock went to his knees and August glared at the others:  “Anyone else?” the jocks retreated.
	“You broke my fucking nose!” shouted in a terrified shocked voice Brett.  “Motherfucker you’re gonna die!”  
	“Famous last words, turd.” August chirped and turned to walk away.
	Brett naturally made a lunge.  It was expected.  August pummeled him with his elbow into the teen’s chest without even turning about.  Brett fell away to curl up and retch on the sidewalk.
	The “incident” was taking place under the covered breezeway between Science Annex “C” and General Math.  The breezeway was with waist high cement fencing--painted school color lime green.  August swung his legs over and walked out into the grassy area between the buildings, no direction at all--just away from the “incident.”
	He set his eyes on the tree.  The Senior Tree of Knowledge.  It was dead center of the senior quad.  It was shady and no freshman or any lower classman dared sit beneath the rite of passage icon; it had been in place long before the school had been and was said to have (in its early days) been the site of many hangings.
	August sat on the white bench surrounding the tree.  His mind was still not his own and needed much clarification.  He could still see the gathered teens at the breezeway; he saw, too, Mr. Beamer and Ms. Karmichel racing to the scene and some pointing fingers in August’s direction.  Security guard Hammond came lopping across the quad and making his way to the scene as well.
	August held his hands together in deep thought.  English Hall, the Library, Student Lounge, Trela Hace, Lori James, Radio Hall, Music Lab.  Across from those the cafeteria then the great choir/drama building.  Boys Gym and then the Girls Gym.  Up on the walkway leading down to the general offices the odd-shaped high school icon stood with its newly painted surface and polished emblem, Central High.
	Central High.  August mulled this over, licking his lips and being most curious.  Something was amiss here--just what he didn’t know.  With nothing coming to mind he sighed deeply and left the Tree of Knowledge and made his way along, away from the approaching Mr. Beamer.
	“Mr. Moone!” the tall 3rd period history teacher called.  August ignored him.  He didn’t quicken his steps but Mr. Beamer did, he could hear the man’s jingling keys and rustling clothes.  “Mr. Moone stop!”
	August shook his head, not looking back, and continued his forward destination, the parking lot beyond the tree line and sidewalk.
	Mr. Beamer raced up and grabbed August by the shoulder.
	August whirled on him with glare and disdain.
	“Now you watch it, mister, we’re going to the office.” and the man once more tempted fate by placing his hand on August’s shoulder.  August quickly rebuked this and continued glaring.
	“Now you listen, smart ass, you’re in enough as it is.”
	“FUCK YOU!” August blurted and kept going.
	“That’s it, you’re outta here!” shouted Mr. Beamer.
	“Bite me!” shouted back August.

	Out in the student parking lot he searched and searched, searching for something special but then again--not exactly certain for sure what that was.  Not until he saw two things--Carla Holmes and a ’75 Triumph.
	Carla Holmes was NOT his girlfriend, but could be.  They were “friends” and HAD gone out on small date-like affairs.  He hadn’t gotten anywhere with her--she was afraid to go too far and wind up like Suzy Kellerman who was six months pregnant.
	The ‘75 Triumph was a lean mean get up and go machine.
	Suzy walked thru the parking lot, she didn’t have a car and was walking home, it was just after 6th period and the cutesy junior didn’t have 7th or 8th period classes.
	“Suzy!” August called out, “Need a ride?”  August quickly made an intercept course to the bouncy girl, sure she was a year younger, but she was cute, acknowledged his presence on the Earth, and was cute.  Short blond hair, well rounded face w/dimples, dazzling blue eyes, a great sweet smile, and a fantastic set of---
	She smiled and seemed to become illuminated as August approached her.  She shrugged and August helped her onto his bike.  August gave one look back to the school, something dark & bleak crossed his mind--but left just as quickly.  He saw Mr. Beamer standing with Vice Principal Matthers, the VP gave the “Come here” signal with a flail of his arm.  August gave him a signal back, too…

	Close by and on the way home to Suzy’s house there was an A&W Rootbeer place.  August stopped there and got the two a large frosty rootbeer float.  Small talk came between them, August’s young mind was filled solely with seeing the young girl naked, sprawled out and his salami slamming DEEP inside her.  She had the sweetest smile, most gracious eyes, softest skin…
	After their shared rootbeer they zoomed on down mainstreet, blasting through a red light and across a service station lot to avoid stopping for a right turn.  Suzy clung to his motorcycle jacket, knees pressing to his hips, clinging on for dear life.
	Finally he pulled up into the drive where she lived.  August sat back gazing at her, Suzy blushed and bit her lip.  August noted the absence of any vehicles and the two oil stains on the driveway.
	“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” shyly the girl chirped.
	August rolled his shoulders and furled his lips, “Ain’t you gonna ask me in?”
	“I don’t think so, Auggie, my folks--”
	“Aren’t here.” August added for her.
	The girl thought it over.  August eyed her and deeply imagined her taking a shower, laying out on her bed naked.  His bone increased ultra dimensionally within his tight 501s.  “’side,” he amended, “I need to use your bathroom.”
	“Don’t you have a bathroom at home?” she persisted on putting him at bay.
	“Yeah, but, uh--” he smirked, smiled, rolled his shoulders and leaned onto the handlebars, “I gotta go NOW!”
	Suzy blushed more and bowed her pretty head, swishing about embarrassingly-like.
	“Hey, no worries--uhm, I’ll just go over there by the tree.” and he casually swung a leg over facing the direction to the great oak by the side of the family drive.
	The house was in a neighborhood that was--nice.  Upscale moderate with medium income level families.  The yard was well manicured with bushes serving as the boundary/property line.  
	“Okay! Okay!” shouted the girl still embarrassed.  She was still all smiles and blushing and not angry with him.  He followed behind her gently swishing ass as she rounded the extended garage sticking out into the drive, around the rose bushes and brick flowerbed.  
	August had never been in Suzy’s house, barely had he been to her house period.  Inside was cozy, kitchen and dinning to the left with living room and den to the right.  No one was home, Suzy had two other siblings, both younger and both boys.  
	“Bathroom’s down the hall.” she quipped as she slung her books into a chair and entered into the kitchen.  “Would you like a soda?” she asked, despite the fact that they had just had a killer rootbeer float.
	“Sure.” he answered moving slowly down the hall.  (no, he didn’t really need to “use the bathroom” it was just a ploy.
	But, once inside the bathroom he took a nosey look around, noted the wicker hamper and peeked in.  He was more than delighted--finding a treasure trove of clothes--specifically undies.  He snagged a pair and sniffed the crotch and carefully examined it, noting the “skid-marks” and pee stains.  The undies he stuffed into his pocket and scammed for some more.
	After a few moments, and two more narly pairs of undies later, he flushed the toilet and exited.  
	“I’m in here!” perked the girl.  Bedroom.  August smiled, gouged his cock with the heel of his hand and peeked into the open door to Suzy’s room.
	Dang, she was still clothed.  She was still all kinds of embarrassed, though but had kicked off her shoes.  August occupied the threshold and blocked her attempt to leave.  He held her, hugged her and put a kiss on her that practically melted her.
	She at first resisted.  At first.  Then embraced the rugged biker and Frenched him.  Their bodies meshed and his hands began roaming all about her person--mostly up and down her back until moving down (south) to her delicious butt.  Suzy quickly grabbed his hand to try and move it, but August held it firm and began moving the girl to her bed.
	Suzy began to panic, “I can’t, Auggie, I can’t!” she wailed and pushed August back.  August stared at her, Suzy no longer was embarrassed, blushing, or anything in the persona of a bashful risqué girl.
	‘Fucking bitch!’ August said to himself.  ‘If I had something to make you--’
	In his mind something flashed off.  He shook his head and nearly stumbled.  He heard Suzy’s voice but not the words.  He blinked and saw that the room was beginning to spin.  In about the room there were glowing green numbers, triangles, polygons, boxes within boxes.  Red numbers, yellow elongated boxes, all swirling about his head.
	“August, I’m sorry.” he heard her voice plainly.  “Are you all right?” she asked out of concern.
	August felt himself leaning against the outside wall, it was dark within the house, cool.  Only the light of day filled the house, it was quiet and still.  
	“You-you said something about a soda?” 
	Suzy stood before with her hands before her, she nodded and then made her way to the kitchen.  August gulped and remained where he was staring at her ass as she moved.
						****

	He stared at her, for how long he didn’t know.  They sat at the kitchen table, quiet and still.  After his little “episode” and the soda he desired a smoke.  While digging in his back pocket for his smokes he found not his smokes but something like a cigarette case.  But it WASN’T a cigarette case.
	It was three times as big as a regular old person’s ciggy case and not the goofy silver color but kind of gray.  As soon as he opened it--strange things occurred.  Mostly in his mind.  The first was a strong wave of confusion.  Lingering about that were visions of things he was only so-so familiar with.
	There was a rush and a sudden awareness of being.
	It was a little frightening--if not perplexing.
	He sat at the table staring at Suzy Holmes.  ‘Holy shit.’ he wheezed to himself.  His eyes then glanced down to the Device.  It looked different than before, than usual.  His mind was still fuzzy and not quite clear on what had happened to him.  Only partly did he realize the depth of trouble he was in.
	Several minutes passed before he felt himself--er, one of his selves.  Slowly he began to realize (somehow) that he WAS two peoples:  he was himself back in 1980 as a senior at Central High, and he was also August Moone twenty years from the future.
	Reality, what a concept.
	Tapping his fingers together he gave this some thought.  He didn’t completely understand it, but then again--since acquiring the Device, he didn’t understand a lot of things…
	Sitting back staring at the very lovely and demure Suzy his mind flashed forward--in recollection only--to his last moments in June 2000:  Central High School, Flagstaff, Arizona, 1980  Y/N?  ENTER.
	‘nuff said.
	It had worked, apparently.
	It was a bit tough to swallow, but he had no other choice.  He could feel the table, hear the hum of the air conditioner, feel the air moving, hear the click-clock of the grandfather clock, and smell the wondrous strawberry fragrance of a one Suzy Holmes.
	According to the Device, she was “under.”  He didn’t recall how it had happened, there was some “gaps” in his memory, but he was willing to let that go.  Sally Holmes.  Strangely he didn’t remember a lot about her, only that she had been nice to him, nicer than most of the other girls of his class and of the 24. 
	‘Welp, might as well make the best of it.’ he said to himself.  He stood sized up the situation, mulled, contemplated, fucked up the possible future and picked up the Device.  

	“Take off your clothes.” he said in a low mono voice.
	Slowly before his eyes Suzy complied.  August leaned against her dresser as the zombiefied teen followed with the spoken command sent via Device.
	He had her Stop when just at her panties.  He liked a girl in her panties.  Suzy wore stripped pink and white panties, bikini style.  Very nice.  The wheels in Auggie’s mind began to turn, slowly, but turn just the same.
	He nextly “commanded Suzy to lay out on her bed; of which she readily complied.  August then stripped out of his clothes and the fun was to begin!
	He had her hand guide up and down his cock, clutch his balls, and masturbate for him--her hand inside her stripped panties.  She apparently knew how to frig herself and Auggie was pleased with that.  He liked, too, her lovely bouncy titties; they flattened out as she laid out but were still apple size (and delicious).
	He slid her panties off himself, opened her legs and marveled at her well trimmed bush.  It was slightly musty smelling but that was okay, he noshed, licked, sucked, nipped and finally slid his schlong into her poon and began fucking her--discovering that she was NOT a virgin.
	“Who have you had sex with?” he asked whisperingly into her ear.
	“Adam.” she whispered back.
	“Adam who?”
	“My cousin, Adam.”
	August smiled and continued humping, kissing her and fondling her titties; Suzy humping back, cumming, shuddering, and getting into the “groove” of the doings.
	Her last time with Cousin Adam was during the Christmas holidays. 
	They had first fucked when she was twelve, he was fourteen at the time.  She sucked his cock and he fucked her in the ass, too.  It was consensual, she was more (or less) just curious as she had seen him jerking off behind the house.  Curiosity led to one thing and then another and then to the both of them naked in the basement where Suzy found her self in quite a predicament.  Through the years when he came to visit they did it again.  As she got older she knew it was wrong and all, but it had already started.  She made him wear a condom when he fucked her--but just when he boned her pussy--the mouth and asshole were still “free-range.”
	August fucked her without the use of a rubber; legs up against his sweating body he nailed her good, emptying all that he could fascinated with watching her breasts jiggle while he boned her.  
	He rested, fondled himself and watched his ooze ooze out of Suzy’s cunt.  He rolled her over and began diddling her asshole, spanking her, caressing her.  He slowly felt the presence of himself and--himself! He felt himself August Moone of 2000 as well as August Moone 1980.  It was a most odd feeling of realization.  
	He gave Suzy another good doinking up the butt, spanked her, and then took a quick shower.  Suzy he allowed to get redressed, but left her in that “fucked” feeling.  He was moving down the hall straightening out his hair when the front door opened.
	“Suzy?” came a voice coming thru the door jiggling keys.  “Whose motorcycle is that out in the drive?”
	August, thinking (and acting) quickly, zapped the woman.  He himself was now in control--er, August 2000.  He wondered how this was going to work--to be himself or be himself of 1980?  Who would control Who?  When?  There were problems he realized with this happenstance.  It could be something akin to having a split personality.
	He decided to think on it later--currently he had Ms. Holmes to deal with.

	While undressing (again) in Suzy’s mother’s bedroom, August noted something of note--in the dresser he saw himself--as he was in 1980.  He was eighteen, his hair long, rugged features, etc.  He looked exactly like he did in 1980.  He didn’t pretend how this strange phenomenon worked, only to rest assured that it did indeed--work.
	Ms. Holmes lay out on her bed, naked.  August reeled in watching her strip for him.  His bone got sooooooooo hard.  Part of him realized the reasoning for this--he was an eighteen year old kid--naturally someone like Ms. Holmes (who had a hot body regardless) was going to turn him on.	
	He sank himself into her for a glorious fuck.  
	He found her asshole was tight and virginal.  She had never given head and only sometimes gripped her husband’s cock.  Being August of 2000 he had to ask--had she ever had sex with her boys?
	No.
	Had she ever WANTED to?
	No.
	She was a drag.  August banged off in her and left her on her bed, naked and in a fucked-horny state of being.  He showered again then paused long enough to dink with the two’s minds:  clearing them and implanting new notions.  It was then onto his bike and off…

	His parents had kicked him out when he was fifteen.  He didn’t blame them, he was an asshole.  He regretted some of his early teen doings, and lightly wondered if there was a way to correct it?  Or should he?  Serious contemplation was needed here--the consummation of interfering with his PAST could have serious detrimental changes in his future.
	And that would be bad.
	Into the backdrop of August 1980 he went, allowing the rebel to go where he willed.  Which was to a small dingy apartment downtown.  August 2000 chilled out to contemplate the mysteries that plagued while August 1980 changed clothes, grabbed a bit to eat at the nearby crappy restaurant and then off to work--at Mr. Peter’s Wrecking Yard!
	As he “rested” in 1980 August he of August of 2000 became more and more cognizant of his being, though not his purpose.  Some things were still a little fuzzy and hard to grasp, but for the most part he remembered who he was and how he had come to be BACK 20 years in his past.
	Now the only questioned remained was--could he get BACK to where he wanted to be--July of 2000?  While 1980 August “slept” August of 2000 checked over the newly conformed Device.  Why it had “changed” he had no idea, was this significant?  It seemed the same, just smaller and in a different order.
	On a whim he pressed the same sequence of color symbols as before, and when the command prompt prompted him Destination? He typed in July 2000.
	However, there came the reply on the screen  Does Not Compute  Please Retype Destination.
	August did so.
	Does Not Compute, Please Retype Destination.
	Uh-oh.