Mindtrap
by f. aces


The power of a circle lies in its permeability: the ease with which you pass
through it.

Not what's inside it.

I remember being told that the center of a wagon wheel is so powerful that it
can hold the spokes in alignment, that it can maintain the force of motion, and
it can only do this because it is empty.

The nothing in my lungs draws in the smoke. The bitter nothing of the smoke
burns me.  The nothing in my pockets reminds me of where I've been: nowhere.

Funny, I always thought Utopia would have a lot less asphalt.

My legs begin to ache from sitting on the bench so long, and I am just about
to stand up when two ghosts sit down with me.

Ghosts have so much nothing to say that they're best listened to, lest they
ignore you, and when you're ignored by nothing, where would you be?

Says the one, ``Do you know what a circle is that you can enter, but can't
leave?''

A book-of-the-month club.

``A trap,'' says the other.

So I was close. Points for creativity.

``So, sweetie,'' a new voice. A new ghost. She trails her fingers along my
back. ``Do you know what the value of a memory is that cannot be forgotten?''

Everything, nothing, ten pounds of wax.

A sultry chuckle.

Fingernails along the neck. Cold and wet breath in my ear as she huskily
breathes ``And what about an event that you can't remember?''

Fingernails under the ear, my pulse is quickening.

``It can control your life.''

Shit, I said that aloud.

The other denizens of the bus stop to look at me, then look at the man across from
me.

``That's right, Sir. The Word of God can reach into your heart and bring you
onto the high road from your troubled path.''

Oh, dear god. Or not. Or maybe I'd better pay attention to my surroundings next
time.

``No, I said 'Nothing'. Nothing can control your life.''

``Yes, exactly. With God on your side, there is no force that can stand against
you.''

``Oh, you've got it wrong there, sweetie.'' She says as she kneels between my
legs. ``A good blowjob can control your life pretty much forever.''

A sly smile.

``Don't underestimate the power of fellatio to change a man's mind.''

I grimace, which the evangelist takes as his cue to continue.

``What troubles you, brother?''

``Nothing.''

``Consider yourself blessed. Sin may trouble many a weary soul.''

I smile.

He moves on.

I stand up.

The ghosts come with me.

``The merit of a path is in its ability to provide passage.''

Again, a reprimand. The ghosts are unhappy, today.

They're not always so talky as this. A good Chinese restaurant would take the
starch out of Mr. Fortune Cookie.

``A name is an attempt to capture what you cannot grasp.''

Yeah, he doesn't like it when I call him that.

But he might have a point with that ``Food is the river in which we run'' bit.

Chintzy bar at 3 o'clock. Waitress at 3:15, through window. Whiskey Probable,
expect Gap in reinforcements. At least it's not a Tommy bar.

5 minutes, 5 dollars, 8 ounces with a twist.

She has a sip.

``Looking after you is thirsty work.''

Somehow, I doubt that.

She hands me the drink to distract me and rests her head in my lap.

As I swallow my mouthful, I look down at her. Her eyes look so sad, and her
hair scatters about her, as if I were a warm, comfortable, and safe quilt at a
picnic.

This is a bit much, and she knows it.

I take another sip so I don't have to look her in the eyes, and she nestles
into my hip a bit more snugly, her nose wedged into me.

This is way too much.

Her hand comes up and strokes my throat.

Things are falling apart. I drain my glass, and lean back in the booth.

``You need to remember, you know.''

No.

``No?''

No.

She looks at me and narrows her eyes. No mercy. No mercy.

She arches her back a bit to accommodate the curve of the booth, and moves her
hair out of the way. She licks her lips and unzips my fly.

She inhales deeply, and nuzzles her face in, her left hand coming to help with
getting to her goal.

She gets to work, her feet in their soft leather half-boots lazily and
languidly shift on the wood of the booth.

Throaty murmurs, the sound of skin on tongue, and the rustle of jeans.

``I'll bet you wish you knew how that felt, don't you?''

Shut up, ghost. Shut up.

``It's really very funny, watching you watch her do that to you and listen to
her do that to you, and watching you try to puzzle out what it must feel like.''

....

``Want a hint as to what it feels like?'' David is feeling cruel again. He's not
a nice ghost. ``I could tell you, you know. Maybe it would help. I hate to think
your imagination is stunted, but sometimes a little help is nice.''

She stops, puts her arms around my neck, pulls her hips under her, tilts her head
a bit, and slowly presses her lips against mine, closing her lips around my upper
lip.

``And you don't even know what that feels like either. Hmm...and I haven't the
first idea how to explain it to you.''

Muse frees her left hand and flips off David. He laughs at that, but goes away.

``You know,'' she says, stopping the kiss to look me in the eyes, ``I do love you.''

                        *  *  *

``Someday''

He's singing, again.

``Beyond the sea. Somewhere waiting for me,''

Watching the ships that go sailing. Feeling the ocean breeze rush out to meet them.
I remember a boat, standing on the bowsprit as the ocean lunged beneath me. My jacket
flailed in the wind, the kiss of winter.

I remember the rest of the passengers back below-decks, wanting to avoid the wind and
the rain clouds.

And I was alone. The crash of hull to ocean was monotonous, but not totally regular.
The sensation of movement undeniable, but the belief of movement untenable. And the
water became darker, and darker, greeting the clouds in the sky. My hair ruffled
to the quick, making me feel even more alive.

And though I felt pleasure and peace, I knew that nothing showed on my face. As I faced
that broad ocean's nothing, I reflected that nothing back to it.

Behind me a few passengers paused in their talk to wonder before then dismissing.

The crew, composed of drivers and tour guides more than seamen, also dismissed, going
back to their duties and their card games.

Save the woman at the helm, who also held the ocean's gaze. We stared into the
horizon's abyss together. It was my first taste of nothing.

And that was many years ago.

Many years ago.

I turn away from the ships, and walk back into the city, my jacket snapping in the wind.

I think I'll head to the bus stop. Maybe this time I'll get on the bus.

Giggling and heavy breathing. I look into the alley and see a young couple. She is getting
her grey leggings dirty, but I am impressed with her ability to keep her beret on straight
while working her head like that.

His hands cast about before settling like finches upon her shoulder. Then a wince of pleasure
brings his hands right above her ears. She seems to put up with it.

Twisting his head in idle pleasure, he sees me. Looks me in the eyes, and smiles a friendly
half-smile.

``Do you know what a circle is that you can get out of easily, but others can't get into?''
The ghost whispers in my ears, ``A fortress.''

The concussion of the wave, the armies of nothing scream as the main gate goes down.

``I haven't done this before.... I'm not sure I'll be good at it.''

Her nervousness makes him smile, ``Well I've never had it done before, so I don't know
how it'll be.''

She smiles, and settles in between his legs, trying to get her arms comfortable and her
shoulders arranged properly. She glances from his penis, to his face, to the space
between her elbows. She opens her mouth and leans forward a bit, and then goes back,
coughing and with a sheepish expression.

``You okay, babe?''

She looks into his eyes. She says ``I want to do this.''

He smiles at her, ``Okay.''

She leans in again, the support of her arms giving way to wrap around his legs, sliding
up his hairy thighs. As her jaw lowers, she gets a funny smile on her face. She kisses
the head, and then takes him into her mouth, letting his erection part her lips.

I am on the top bunk of the bed, and I am supposed to be asleep. Instead, I have exchanged
dreams for a slow, cold death.

His breath catches in his throat.

She's not very good at it, and she drools a bit too much, being too cautious
about her teeth.  Her hair falls around his crotch, and she slowly develops a
rhythm, and confidence.

He shifts his hips, and moves his legs. His eyes track lazily.

And meet mine in the mirror.

He smiles lazily at me.

You see, he never knew that I was dating her, too. That she told me she felt more comfortable
around me than anyone else she knew. That she and I had this deep bond together. That I met
her first.

And, of course, I didn't know until then that she didn't find me attractive. That she didn't
like me, sexually.

And that she, the nervous and adamant virgin all these years, wanted to suck his cock.

So I went back to sleep. Tried to go back to sleep. Succeeded, yes, and as I drifted off
I heard him gasp, and I heard her stop, then cough a bit, noisily swallow, then whisper
``How was it?''

                                    *  *  *

And there I was, in my jacket with the wind whipping around me, looking into the eyes
of some young fellow who might have been me, or might have been her boyfriend oh so
long ago.

And I smile back, and chuckle a bit.

I nod at him, and continue on my way.

Nothing sometimes holds us back, and nothing sometimes draws us forward. It's rare,
however, to be able to meet nothing as a friend, and shake its hand.

And listen to the wind rush out to the sea.

---
Beyond the Sea lyrics are (c) Bobby Darin, used without permission.
This story is (c) f. aces, slipstream_sunrise@hotmail.com
