This choice: Don't tell him about that other project • Go Back...Chapter #35The Fun of Being Joe by: Seuzz   You push the Libra at Jonathan. "If you want to make yourself useful, see if you can figure out the next spell in here." He shrugs and takes it into the living room.
It's Sunday afternoon at Frank and Joe's place. You spent all of Saturday night on the polarization sigil that will let you copy your portions of your imago into separate layers for study, and into separate eyeglasses, and most of the morning getting those layers into different sets of spectacles. You'd only finished sixty pairs--just a fraction of what you'll require, probably--before Frank insisted that you take off Joe's mask and tackle the job again using only your own head. You'd been at a loss initially, but it hadn't taken you long to get back into it. Your own gift is for application, and looking at the results had given you the theoretical side again. You feel now that you've a solid understanding of how imago are generated and can be manipulated, both in theory and in practice.
But before breakfast, Frank had sat you down for your first experience at meditation. It had been a short but exhausting affair, though not much had happened. After a lot of deep breathing and concentrating in a dark room, you'd received a vision of the Moon and of a dark, throbbing planetoid, and that was all. Frank had professed himself satisfied, saying that more would come, and that it would get easier after practice. You will do it at least three times a day under his direction.
After that you had donned Joe's mask and gone for an invigorating run around the neighborhood--chirping cheerfully at the college girls you'd passed, and even falling into conversation with a few--before showering and eating and tackling the spectacles again. You now have extensive notes on which sigils show up across which layers.
It's now a little after one, and Jonathan--Joe--has dropped by to brag about how nasty he'd gotten with Monique. "Had to do it with a rubber," he grimaced. "But I talked her into anal for the first time."
"And how out of character was that?" Frank snapped.
"I was totally in character," Jonathan retorted. "Straussler's a sweetie pie." He tucked his arm into Frank's and leaned his head on his shoulder. "You could talk me into anything, you know," he'd said softly. "I'd do anything to make you happy. God, you know you could probably talk me into doing anal?" Frank shoved him away roughly. That's when you gave him a project.
So now he's in the living room, and Frank is back to doing his homework, like yesterday. There's a debate meet coming up, and Frank is expected to anchor one of the teams.
You concentrate on the spectacles. But you've only been at it for ten more minutes when you spot it: a telltale pattern indicating the presence of the "surd" sigil. That's one of the fundamental elements in the "horror" sigil your own double had found in the gypsy curse. Here, then, is your first direct glimpse of the hex. With trembling hands, you push glasses on and off as you track down the rest of it.
Jonathan comes in and talks to Frank. You try ignoring them, but their voices are so loud--
"Fuck it," you snarl, and sweep your work into Joe's bag. "I'm going out to Blackwell's where there aren't any distractions." You swing the pack onto your shoulder, but Jonathan catches your arm. You look up into his stony face.
"Are you at least going to have fun as me at school tomorrow?" he asks. "Because you don't seem to be having fun now."
"I'm in the zone, Joe. But I'll be fine tomorrow. A total goofball."
"I'll be keeping an eye on you."
"Do that." You jerk your arm away, and stalk out the door.
It's nearly midnight before you return. Frank leads you through another meditation exercise before putting you to bed.
* * * * *
"Oh God, Joe, you know exactly where to touch me!" Becky gasps.
You grasp her more tightly around the hips with one hand, and with the other play your fingertips up and down her spine, like the keys to an accordion. You nip and bite at her neck. She shifts and you follow, letting her feel your straining cock through your shorts and against hers. You're behind the gym, between periods, at Eastman High, and Becky Torres, cheerleader, is like a hefty meal for a starving man.
She has wide eyes and a wide mouth with an adorable little gap between her teeth. You've heard she's a little self-conscious about it: Her folks are not well off, and her teeth are good enough that she didn't need braces for medical reasons. You cradle the side of her face in your palm.
A few hours before: "So, are you ready for this?" Frank growled as he parked the truck in the lot.
"Thpfht!" you said, and slapped your head a couple of times with spastic hands. Joe is as brilliant as Frank is strong, but it's part of their cover that they hide their gifts. So Frank cruises through athletics at about forty percent of capacity, which is enough to make him one of the better Eastman athletes, while Joe pretends to be an addled blonde himbo.
"X is three, Joe," Mr. Jones said through gritted teeth in the remedial algebra class. "So what is x squared plus 3x?" You said nothing. "It's eighteen." He tapped at the board with the chalk.
"How do you figure?" you'd asked.
"It's right there in the equation. It says x squared plus 3x equals eighteen."
"So why are you asking me?"
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, since that seems the only way to--"
"Cool! So x is eighteen?"
"Joe, use 'impetus' in a sentence please," Mrs. Cunningham said in the remedial English class.
"I drove my Chevy Impetus to the mall." The other kids laughed.
"It means 'forward motion', Joe," she said.
"Well, yeah, I don't drive backwards to the mall. Except on a dare."
"And what happened in 1840, Joe?" Ms. Cussler asked in a pained voice.
"Did they celebrate Christmas back then? Because that would have happened."
But with girls Joe practices post-graduate advanced physics. You wrap Becky in the crook of your arm and gently take the curl of her ear between your teeth. She breathes softly. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"Shh," you hiss, and go back to holding her ear in a gentle nip. You squeeze, rather than bite. She suddenly goes very liquid in your arms, and you pull her close; it's like trying to hold a column of water. The trick doesn't work with every girl, but you figured you'd gotten her worked into a state where a little dental acupuncture would release all the accumulated tension. You cradle her, and suck at the base of her neck.
"Mm," she sighs, you let her sag to the ground. Her eyes are dreamy, and you crouch between her splayed thighs, gazing deeply into hers while stroking the underside of her breasts with light fingertips. "Is this what you call foreplay?"
"It's what I call goofing off. If you want foreplay, I'd have to do some serious stretching first."
* * * * *
"There's the ladykiller," Jonathan Straussler says as you saunter (alone) up to the cafeteria table shortly afterward. He's got his arm draped loosely around Monique Travers. The latter is a small, brunette freshman with big eyes and a faun-like shyness. "How's Becky doing?"
"Buy me a diamond bracelet, Straussler, and I'll give you a blow job that'll leave you embedded in the ceiling." You give his shoulders a brief massage as you pass. There are a few awkward laughs from the other Eastman athletes as you drop your tray onto the table with a clatter.
"What if I just gave you the cash equivalent?"
"I'd tie you to the bedposts, then drive your car to Vegas. I do it for love, Straussler." You shift your attention to Alyssa Randal, the head cheerleader. "Speaking of things I'd do for love, I could get lost in a tub of pudding with you, Alyssa."
"You could get lost in an empty room with an 'Exit' sign over the door, Joe," she retorts.
"Sure, but put me in a tub of pudding with you and a spoon, and I could eat my way out." You lasciviously suck down some apple sauce.
"Don't be crude, Joe," Ian Carpenter, the captain of the basketball team says with a faint glower.
"Just sharing food for thought."
"You know, if you spent one tenth of your sex energy on schoolwork, you'd be a fucking genius," Straussler observes.
"No, he'd still be getting Ds," Ian says.
"Am I getting a D in Jones?" you gasp. Ian is the teacher's aide in there.
"Are you happy about that?" Kyle Lakewood asks, sounding staggered.
"Sure! I thought I'd be getting, like, a Q in there. Or an X, since that's all Jones seems to--"
"You're only getting a D because I'm propping you up," Ian says. "I don't want to see you forced off the team."
"Speaking of people with brains trying to impress the girls," says Alyssa in a smug voice, "where's your brother, Joe?"
"I dunno. Last I saw, Chief Walks With Broomstick Up His Ass was heading toward B wing."
"Last I saw him, he was heading toward Munson's with Tina," Alyssa dimples.
"Frank and a girl?" you exclaim. "He must've been reading up for Biology class and discovered there are such things. The only time he talks about 'feeling lucky' is when he's using Google."
* * * * *
But when you do see Frank, he's got another girl to talk to you about. "What do you want to do about Yumi?"
"Fuck her senseless?"
"Be serious. She's not earning her keep, and you're bumping up against your five golem limit. If you don't have a use for her, we do."   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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