Freewill Pt. 01

An unimaginable crime.

An unexpected hero.

An unbelievable reward.

Simon lived a comfortable life: a steady job; a wife that shared his interests; an active social life. Yet he knew deep down that something had gone awry; that perhaps the contentment he felt with his life was an illusion. That gnawing discomfort falls to the wayside, however, when his world is shattered after he crosses paths with a monster hell bent on committing a heinous crime; and his act of heroism attracts the attention of a divine presence who grants him literally unfathomable powers in recognition of his sacrifice.

This sets Simon on an epic adventure of discovery as he tries to evade those furious at his heroic intervention, and shadowy government figures intent on discovering the 'secret' behind his new-found abilities. His quest will lead him to parts of the world he never knew existed as he experiences passion, joy, betrayal and heartache unlike anything he could have imagined. In the end, he will grapple with the question of if his 'gift' was in fact a curse, and if a man with his abilities can ever truly deserve happiness.

Freewill is the tale of a simple man given abilities which make him a god among men, and his journey to find the one thing his powers cannot grant... but which all men desire.

Author's note:

This novel is a work of contemporary fantasy adventure. I've split it into five sections for publication here.

For fans of the Dean, this novel began as a thought experiment along the lines of, 'what if Stranger was about a regular guy being granted that powerset, instead of a man born on another planet and raised by aliens (not to mention swapping out a frankly unforgiveable amount of bigotry found in that seminal work with a whole heap of on-page sensuality and a sprinkling of ideas inspired by other works of popular fantasy)?' and grew from there.

Make no mistake, this novel delves into some weighty subject matter. Trigger warnings for significant on-page violence (including a mass shooting and multiple hate crimes), depression and suicidal ideation.

All sensuality (on page or otherwise) takes place between characters who are eighteen or older.

One

"Holy shit, dude. You got all of that one."

Simon York tried to smile good naturedly as he returned to the dugout after flying out weakly to shortstop. He sheepishly said, "Shut it, Robby. You hit into a double play in your last at bat."

"Yeah, but I went long the at bat before that. You ain't sniffed so much as a single tonight. At least your wife's got some game."

Simon sullenly took his place on the bench next to his wife, Casey. She frowned and said, "I thought you went to the batting cages this week and fixed that hitch in your swing."

"Et tu, Brutus?"

"It's not my job to lie to you. I just tell it like it is. You better get on base next time up or Robby will have you riding the bench next week."

"I swear I heard someone say this game would be fun."

"Only when you win," Casey replied sullenly.

It was only the second game of the season and already Simon was doubting the wisdom of joining the softball league again this year. He and Casey had played since the first year of their relationship and had never even discussed not playing. But, as he sat on the end of the bench, he was unable to remember the last game he had truly enjoyed. It had just become part of their schedule.

There were quite a few slots in their schedule which fell into that category: things they did because they had always done them. Their schedule was nearly indistinguishable from what it had been in the earliest days of their relationship. Consistency was good, in Simon's mind. Consistency meant he knew where he stood, knew what was expected of him. But he was increasingly discovering that consistency was not always synonymous with fun.

This point was driven home when Simon grounded weakly to first, with his team down two runs and the bases loaded, to end the game. He endured the grumbling of his team with as much grace as he could manage, but he secretly hoped Robby would tell him he would ride the bench the following week so he would have an excuse to skip the game.

Ultimately, his fate was even worse. The team merely ignored him as they made arrangements to meet up at a local watering hole. Later, as he and Casey loaded their equipment into the back of Simon's truck, he said, "I was thinking we could skip going out with the team this week."

She shrugged and said, "It's up to you."

"Cool. Maybe we could just eat at the house and watch a movie or something."

She shrugged again but said nothing as she headed to her twin-turbo charged, all-wheel-drive German luxury sedan and set off. Simon climbed into his pickup truck he had driven since his freshman year of college for the trek across the north end of the metroplex to their house. Upon arrival, he showered quickly so he would be able to get dinner started while Casey showered. It was not until dinner was nearly ready that he realized Casey was late. He experienced a moment of panic that something terrible had occurred on her drive home. He called her with great trepidation, but she picked up on the second ring.

"Hey," she said nonchalantly. "What's up?"

"Just making sure everything is ok."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I thought we were going to head home for dinner. I got home nearly an hour ago."

She said, "No... you said you were going home for dinner. I'm having dinner with the team."

"Oh... ok... well... have fun. I guess I'll see you when you get home." Silence pervaded the other end of the line for an uncomfortable amount of time. Eventually, Simon broke the silence by saying, "Love you."

Casey said, "Ok, bye," and hung up.

Simon stared at the phone for several moments before placing it back in his pocket. "Typical," he mumbled before getting back to preparing his dinner. He had made one of Casey's favorites, but a meal which he certainly would not miss if it disappeared from their menu. His personal opinion was that while there were a significant number of decent to great dishes which combined peppers, beef and spices, stuffed peppers was the worst possible combination. He covered the meal he had prepared and placed it in the fridge before extracting the makings of a sandwich.

He was on the couch watching a movie when Casey finally arrived home five hours later. She passed through their living room without a word and headed for their bedroom. When Simon's movie finished and he headed to bed, he found her already asleep. He laid down at her side. Or, more specifically, at the side of the picket line of pillows she had carefully arranged to demarcate the sides of their bed. But, three hours later, he was still very much wide awake.

***

Eventually, he abandoned his attempts to sleep and returned to the living room. He opened his laptop and logged into his preferred social media platform. Upon seeing one of his oldest friends was online, he sent him a direct message.

"Hey, brother. What are you doing still up?"

A reply came back instantly from Simon's friend, Hank. "I should ask you the same question, Mr. two time zones east of me. Everything ok?"

"Yeah. Just couldn't sleep."

Simon was about to type more but his phone rang. He glanced at it and saw, to his profound lack of surprise, that it was Hank calling. He answered and said, "Hey man."

Hank said, "In the decade and a half I've known you, I've never known you to experience insomnia. What's wrong?"

"I don't know man. Casey's just being... I don't know... funny."

"Funny, hah hah, or, funny, uh oh?"

Simon said, "Well, I guess the latter since no one's laughing. When we finished the softball game tonight, I told her I wanted to head home for dinner. She said ok, but when I got home she was nowhere to be seen. When I called her about it, she just said 'you said you were going home'. She stayed out and had dinner with the team. Acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then, when she got home, she just went to bed without a word."

"That's cold, brother. Reminds me of how she used to treat you like you weren't there literally all the fucking time while you two were dating in college."

"Come on, man. We got past all that."

Hank paused for a moment before saying, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. Things are great with Casey. We do all kinds of stuff together and always have a great time. You'd know this if you ever settled down."

"No thanks, brother. I'm perfectly happy with my revolving door of beach bunnies and actresses who are just on the cusp of abandoning legitimate acting for porn."

Simon grinned and said, "So I assume southern California is still treating you right?"

"Better than ever brother. Never a shortage of people in need of a man who understands the intricacies of satellite communications. Football season is starting soon so I'll be busy as hell."

"That's really great. So, you really never get the urge to settle down?"

"Nah. I could never date the kind of women I hook up with. Even the ones that aren't rock stupid are vain as hell."

"So why not actually date someone rather than just hooking up with the hottest chicks imaginable?"

Hank chuckled and said, "Just keep repeating that question out loud until you realize how stupid you sound."

"I get it," Simon replied with a chuckle of his own. "But eventually you'll come over to the dark side."

"No doubt. Especially with how appealing you make it sound."

"What are you saying?"

Hank paused before saying, "Do you think Casey's being straight with you?"

"Of course," Simon replied quickly. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"This is the fourth time in two months you've told me she was acting strangely. Each time it involved her being gone without an explanation. Maybe she found someone else to keep her occupied."

"I can't believe that Hank. She loves me. And I love her."

"That's great, brother. I'm happy for you."

"You don't believe me?"

Hank said, "I don't know, man. I haven't seen you guys together since your wedding. All I know about your relationship is what you tell me. I just know the married guys I work with, at least the happy ones, don't talk about their wives ghosting them. Everything still ok in the bedroom?"

"Yeah. Definitely. All fine there. Never better," Simon said too quickly.

"Meaning it isn't. That ain't great brother. I don't know a single divorced guy where things didn't go silent in the bedroom before the end."

Simon said, "Well shit, man. You saying I should divorce her?"

"Not exactly. Although the fact that you're asking me that question is pretty illuminating, if you ask me. I'm just saying don't make any big life decisions."

Simon chuckled ruefully and said, "Not much risk of me knocking her up, if that's where you were going with this."

"Well, there's certainly that. Maybe also hold off on replacing that shit-box truck of yours or dumping any money into your retirement account a while longer. And keep your ears open. She'll likely make it pretty obvious if she really wants out."

"I'm getting some serious de ja vu," Simon observed ruefully. "I remember a certain friend of mine offering to drive me to Mexico and freedom the night before my wedding."

"Hey man, I just had the advantage of being a third-party observer. I watched you two make up and break up at least five times in college. And every time you got back together it felt more like convenience than anything else. Maybe you could force the issue a bit. Do something unquestionably romantic and see how she reacts. If she begs off on you again, maybe she's trying to tell you something. And, for God's sake, if she tells you she wants out, let her go. The last damned thing you need is trying to hold on to something that's past its expiration date."

"You're just trying to turn me into you with your 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' approach, aren't you?"

"Maybe. I suspect I've gotten my penis played with more than you over the last fiscal quarter."

Simon muttered, "Any action at all on your part would have you beating me comfortably."

Hank continued, "And... I know exactly where I stand with the ladies I hook up with."

"Thanks for the advice, I guess," Simon muttered.

"Anytime, brother. You still planning on coming to visit me after the football season ends?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Stay safe, brother."

"Always," his friend replied before hanging up.

Two

"Hey, Simon says," a familiar voice called out as Simon deposited his lunch in the break room fridge. He turned to find his supervisor, Tanya, stationed at the coffee maker and giving him a crooked grin.

"Why'd you call me that?" he asked as he approached her.

"You know... the game? Simon says?"

"Oh, right. That's a pretty good one."

"Right..." she mumbled before heading in the direction of her cubicle.

He followed her soon after and logged in for his shift. He worked in customer service for a telecom company and spent his days talking to enraged people about problems his company had caused for them. He had worked hard to get this position after spending nearly a half decade toiling in the hot sun as a surveyor's assistant once he discovered that his degree in music was nearly worthless if he did not want to teach. Casey had been instrumental in encouraging him to take night classes to gain enough proficiency with computers to earn the position. He made less than he used to, but he considered being able to sit in an air-conditioned room in a comfortable chair to be worth the sacrifice. Not to mention the job came with benefits, which Casey had seemed particularly pleased about even though her job as a senior software developer had provided benefits for them both.

While eating lunch in the breakroom, he heard Tanya and another of his coworkers discussing an outing to a nearby bar that evening for team trivia. Simon really enjoyed team outings, and was eager to join in. He paid close attention to their conversation to glean all the necessary details and texted Casey to let her know he would not be home for dinner.

When his shift ended, he checked his phone and realized Casey had never responded to his message. He called her to ensure she had gotten his message, but she did not pick up. He considered driving to her office to see if something had happened to her. But, when he remembered her behavior after the softball game, he decided to not risk another embarrassing altercation.

Upon arriving at the bar after work, he quickly spotted his team and headed in their direction. He took a seat at the end of the table and nodded to his teammates.

Tanya said, "Oh, hey Simon. I didn't realize you were coming."

"I heard you guys discussing it at lunch. And we all know I'm the trivia master."

"Great," she responded affably. "Well, we're glad to have you. The game should get started in a minute if you want to go order something."

Simon enjoyed himself as the game progressed, but he was repeatedly confused when his teammates discounted his proposed answers. There were a few occasions where the rest of the team was stumped, and they turned in Simon's proposed answer. But somehow those were always the ones he was least certain of, and his answers ultimately proved to be incorrect. Finally, as the final round arrived. Simon's team was tied for the lead and a significant amount of prize money was on the line.

"What infamous Spanish event occurred in the year fifteen eighty-eight?"

Simon, "Oh! I know!" His team shushed him and looked his way eagerly. He motioned for the pad of paper onto which their answers were to be written. He quickly scribbled something onto the paper and said, "We got this in the bag," before heading to the DJ to drop off their answer.

Several minutes later, the DJ ended the game by reading out the final standings. Simon's team turned to him in confusion when their team's name was read out as being in fourth place.

Tanya said, "I thought you said you knew this."

Simon said, "I did. It's the Spanish Inquisition."

It was difficult to make out clearly what followed, as nearly every member of Simon's team seemed to speak simultaneously. But it seemed like the word 'armada' was mentioned several times. Simon, however, never really got a clear answer as all of his teammates disappeared in short order. None of them felt it necessary to speak to Simon before departing. Simon sought out the DJ to get clarification. When he left the bar after paying his tab, he shook his head in confusion. As he started up his truck, he mumbled, "Who ever heard of the Spanish Armada?"

***

A few nights later, Simon stopped off during his commute at an Asian market to purchase the supplies to make Casey's favorite meal, Pad Thai. He had hoped to surprise her with the meal, but after so many instances of Casey failing to show up when he expected her, he made sure she knew his plans and secured her assurances that she would be home for dinner. The meal took an agonizingly long time to prepare, mostly due to the shockingly long list of ingredients required. Simon's efforts were rewarded when he finished the meal shortly after Casey got home. She strolled through the kitchen and moaned softly as she inhaled the intoxicating blend of aromas.

"That smells heavenly," she said with a smile. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble. What's the occasion?"

"I just wanted to do something nice for you, babe."

"Well then I guess we'd better eat before it gets cold. Shall I set the table?"

"I already did. I figured we could eat in the dining room. It hardly ever gets used anymore."

"Suits," she said simply before heading through the vestibule toward the indicated room.

Simon placed her dish in front of her and, once he had set down his own dish, lit some candles in the middle of the table. He took his seat on Casey's right. He had always thought one of the reasons they made such a perfect couple was how his own right handedness was mirrored by Casey's left handedness. It allowed them to eat side-by-side without anyone bumping their elbow. He reached out to take her hand, like he always used to in the early days of their relationship, but she had placed her hand in her lap and was already diving into her food.

"So," he said plaintively, "how was your day?"

"Fine."

"How's that new release coming along?"

She said, "We deployed that last week."

He sighed and began eating his food. 'Another effort wasted' he thought to himself. He just could not figure out a way to reignite the spark which had seemed to always be there in the early days of their relationship. Back then, Casey could not finish a sentence without calling him 'sweetie' or 'babe'. They had had an extremely active, if not particularly adventurous, sex life. Back then, it was not at all uncommon for them to have sex twice, or even three times, over the course of a month. But Casey had never been a fan of 'trying new things', as she called it. Other terms which were a definite no go for her included: 'mouth stuff', 'butt stuff' or 'porn stuff'. The latter category comprised of exotic positions, such as doggie style or cowgirl, or anything involving something one would purchase at an adult novelty store.

But now, Simon literally could not remember the last time they had had sex. He frequently wished he had thought to keep a journal, just to keep his own thoughts in order. He knew it was less than four years, as that was how long they had been married and he had a very clear memory of their wedding night. Casey had looked so beautiful in her wedding dress. And even more beautiful once he managed to get it off of her. She had been wearing a white lace bustier with attached garter belt and matching full coverage panties. There had been many a time when Simon had pleasured himself to the sight of his lovely bride smiling up at him as she spread her legs wide, her thick thatch of pubic hair spilling out from the edges of her lingerie.

He was also certain they had had sex since their wedding. He had one very clear memory of Casey becoming quite cross with him after he had cum inside of her. She had taken birth control starting a month before their wedding night but, after deciding she did not like how it made her feel, she had apparently stopped taking it. Simon had somehow further queered things by saying he thought it would be wonderful if he had made her pregnant as he was anxious to start the family they had always discussed having. The ensuing weeks had allowed Simon to reach the decision that they should replace the mattress in their guest room as it was far too firm for any reasonable person to be expected to sleep on.

Thinking back now, he felt it likely that the misunderstanding regarding the birth control was their last moment of intimacy. But he had no concept of how long ago that had been beyond taking place sometime in their first year of marriage.

'And, it's not like it's just the sex that's gone all wrong', Simon thought to himself glumly. He had tried everything he could think of to reignite things with her: fancy dinners at expensive restaurants; romantic dinners at home; trips to secluded cabins; cruises to the Caribbean. They all turned out the same. Casey smiled and thanked him, and then got away from him as quickly as she could without making a scene.

When Casey finished eating, she said, "Thanks for dinner Simon. It was lovely."

She stood up and picked up her plate, carrying it into the kitchen before heading upstairs to their shared office, which Simon was not allowed to enter.

"Swing and a miss," Simon muttered ruefully, imitating baseball announcer. "York went for the downs on that one but came up empty once again. He's currently riding an eleven hundred game hitless streak. He'll get sent down to the minors if he doesn't turn things around pretty soon."

He picked his own plate up and carried it into the kitchen to begin the hour-long process of cleaning up from the meal which had required him to soil a significant percentage of their cooking apparatus. Once everything had been cleaned up, he decided to hop online to play his favorite video game. But even an hour of killing terrorists and communists did nothing to improve his mood. He headed to bed in hopes of getting a good night's sleep for a change. Casey was already asleep, and he found that her pillow barrier had grown. He was left with only a few inches space on his side of the bed.

"No, no," he muttered, almost uncaring if he woke her. "Don't sacrifice your comfort on my account. Please, I insist. You take the enormous, super comfortable bed all for yourself. I'll be fine in the crappy bed in the guest room."

He collected his effects and retired to the guest room, but sleep was a long time coming.

Three

"Holy shit, Casey. Check it out. Victor brought his trailer-grill... thing."

She looked up from her phone and said, "That's great. I hope they're very happy together. Do you know if Val is coming?"

Simon demurred and said, "I'm not sure. I heard they weren't doing so good, but wasn't she here two weeks ago?"

"She was. Do you not remember me spending all my time with her since I can't really stand any of the cretins you insist we tailgate with?"

"What are you talking about? We've been tailgating with the same group since college. Why wouldn't we tailgate with them?"

Casey sighed and said, "We're not the same people we were in college, Simon." She looked out her window and mumbled, "At least some of us aren't."

Simon could not be sure if she intended for him to hear her, but the words rang like a klaxon inside his skull. It was not until he had had several beers that her words started to fade. As it turned out, Victor's wife had opted to skip this week's game. Simon was actually glad for the fact, because Victor's moping had really killed the mood during their last get together. He was glad to see his friend back to his old self.

Simon tried to pay more attention to Casey's needs. He situated his chair next to hers and always made sure she had a fresh seltzer when she ran out. He also made her a plate when Victor started grilling an hour later. But Simon could not help but notice that Casey was even more withdrawn than usual. She stopped drinking after her first few drinks and did not even pretend to touch the food he had brought her.

Eventually, Simon gave up trying to appease her and went to stand with his fraternity brothers. Tailgating was, in many ways, the best part of Simon's year. Seven weekends out of fifty-two, he got to get together with his oldest friends to hang out, drink beer and watch football. He could literally not think of anything he would rather do with his pants on. Many of his fondest memories from college had taken place in this very parking lot. In fact, he had proposed to Casey on the very spot where he was standing right before their annual game with their biggest rival.

Simon was throwing a football with Jason, a fraternity brother who had been a few years behind him in college but who was now the manager of a fast-food restaurant. As the parking lot filled up and their tailgating spot grew nearly to capacity, Simon looked around for Casey. Eventually he spotted her standing along the edge of the parking lot where people typically stood to smoke. She was standing beside Jason's wife. Both seemed to be very agitated. At first, Simon thought they were arguing, but he soon realized that whatever had them so worked up was in the vicinity of the center of their tailgating spot. He headed in her direction cautiously, having learned through experience the price for 'eavesdropping' on her. As he drew near, she stared at him with a mixture of surprise and loathing.

She said, "Can you fucking believe it, Simon?"

"Um... what?"

She pointed in the direction of the grill and said, "Victor brought his goddamned side-piece to the game."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you not see that skinny bitch hungrily hanging off his every word?"

Simon looked and saw that Victor was indeed in the company of a female who was not his wife, but she was not what Simon would typically define as skinny. She was likely about seventy kilograms and stood around one hundred seventy centimeters tall with bleach blonde hair and C-cup breasts. But Simon was unsurprised to hear Casey describe another woman in such a fashion. Simon truly felt that Casey was beautiful, but he knew she was sensitive about her looks, and it was undeniable that she was about ten centimeters shorter and massed at least ten kilograms more than the object of her ire.

Simon said, "Sure, I see her. What of it?"

Jason's wife, Quinn, said, "That bitch is why Victor's gonna end up living in a trailer after Isabel leaves him."

Casey said, "Her name's Britney, if you can believe it. Typical whore name." She turned to Simon and said, "Come on, Simon. We're leaving."

"Wait," he said. "Why do we have to leave?"

"Because Victor sullied this place with her," Casey practically spat.

Simon said, "How do you know he's even cheating on Isabel. Much less with that woman?"

Casey said, "Can't you see how she's touching his arm or his shoulder constantly? The way she laughs at his jokes? Even the ones everyone has heard before. For God's sake, Simon, he just took a peek down her top and she leaned forward to give him a better look. Not that it's hard with her chicken tits hanging out like that."

"It's hard to say, Casey. I haven't exactly been watching them like a hawk. But I'd hate to make assumptions about the guy."

"Here, we'll do a little demonstration. Quinn, why don't you go hang out with Jason for a few minutes? Just act like you normally do, and we'll see if Einstein here can spot the similarities."

Simon said, "I'm not sure this is a fair exercise," as Quinn strutted dramatically over to her husband. Simon and Casey had known Quinn for several years, although neither was close to her. But Casey had clearly found a kindred spirit in their loathing of Victor's interloper.

As Simon watched, Quinn sidled up to Jason and wrapped an arm around his waist. He smiled down at her and kissed her briefly. She continued to rub her hand along his back and once even dipped her hand down to pat his ass when he said something which made those grouped around him cackle.

Casey said, "There. You see?"

"What does this prove, Casey?"

"Obviously, that Victor is fucking that trollop over there. And that he should be publicly shamed for doing so. Which brings us back to... we're leaving. Say your goodbyes if you must, Simon. I'll be in the car."

Simon was fuming on the inside. He detested couples that fought in public, but he could not believe how unreasonable Casey was being. 'It's not like we're taking sides by staying at the tailgate' he thought angrily. 'No one else is leaving... including Jason and Quinn'. He gave voice to his thoughts.

"How come Jason and Quinn aren't leaving?"

"I'm not the boss of them," Casey spat. "I am the boss of you."

"I thought we were done with all this demeaning nonsense, Casey."

"Call it what you want. Are you going to back my play here... or aren't you?"

"Why are you being like this? I do everything you ask me to, and a hell of a lot more. I ask for a few weekends a year. And now you want to take that away from me?"

"You can still watch the game at home, Simon," she said derisively. "You said you can tell what's going on better that way anyway."

"But our friends," Simon practically wailed.

"They're your friends. Your cheat-on-their-wives friends, to be more specific."

"All this based on a couple of gestures and a few looks?"

"Like I need any more. It's practically plain as day that they're together."

Simon took a deep breath and said, "If you're so smart, then how come you never treat me that way?"

"I don't think you want to have that conversation here, Simon," Casey replied through clenched teeth.

Simon thought he smelled blood in the water, that he was on the verge of convincing her she had made a mistake so they could stay and enjoy the game. He said, "We're together, but you never treat me like that. So how do you know you're so right about Victor. Maybe she was just raised different and is a naturally affectionate person."

Casey merely sighed as she looked up to the sky. She appeared to be exerting significant effort to calm herself down. At length, she said, "You know what? I'm not doing this here. You may as well stay and watch the game, Simon. We'll finish this later."

She then turned and walked away. Simon was torn between feeling triumphant that he had successfully lobbied to stay at the tailgate and worried about how he would get home if Casey took the truck. But then he noticed that she was not heading in the direction of their vehicle. She was, instead, walking in the opposite direction from the football stadium while she furiously tapped on her phone. He assumed she was arranging for a ride and turned back to the tailgate feeling victorious.

***

Simon arrived home just before sundown to find the house empty and Casey's car absent. He tried calling to find out where she had gone but the call went straight to voicemail. He texted her but his message never indicated that it had been delivered. He began to worry that she might have been in a wreck, but then he noticed a note on the fridge. He took a deep breath before opening it as he suddenly remembered the second time she had broken up with him.

It was during their third year at college. He had gotten powerfully drunk at a fraternity party and had apparently strenuously tried to convince her to let him take a body shot off her tits. She had seemed ready to agree until he mentioned that Victor would be the one doing the pouring. She had stormed out of the party. He remained behind since he knew he was in no condition to drive. He conceded, with the benefit of hindsight, that the fact that he would be allowed to pour tequila over the tits of Victor's girlfriend at the time, who happened to have a magnificent set of tits, may have factored into his decision. The next morning, he had found a note on his fridge from Casey informing him she was dumping him. It was nearly six months before they got back together, their longest ever time apart.

Simon winced as he opened the note, but inside was only written one sentence which said Casey would be spending the next few nights at her parents' lake house where, she reminded him, there was spotty cell service. He breathed a sigh of relief and made his way upstairs to take a shower.

When he was finished, he decided to try calling her again. He was surprised when she picked up after the fourth ring as he had been about to disconnect the call.

"What is it, Simon?" she answered wearily. Simon felt like he could hear music playing in the background in addition to several voices.

"I just wanted to make sure you got to your folks' house ok."

"I'm fine. Is that it?"

Simon hesitated. He was not sure how long it would be before he had a chance to speak to her again. Sometimes when she went to her parents' house, she was gone for up to a week. He also wanted a chance to clear the air between them after their very public argument.

He said, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't know. I guess I feel like I was kind of a jerk to you earlier today."

He could hear her sigh audibly through the phone. She said, "You think maybe you guess you were kind of a jerk?"

"Um... yeah. I guess."

"I don't have time for this right now. I made it to my parents' house fine. I'll talk to you in a few days."

Simon said, "Come on, Casey. Don't be like that. I'm really trying here."

"I know you are, Simon. I've just had a really long day and I want to get to bed."

"But..."

"But, what, Simon?" Casey snapped.

"I just sometimes feel like our marriage isn't what it used to be. You know what I mean?"

"You can't honestly think this is a marriage," she retorted, a sob accentuating her last syllable.

"What are you saying?"

"I didn't want to do this over the phone Simon. But I just couldn't stand waiting around the house for you to come home from your game. I think you should maybe think about getting your own place."

"What?" he practically shouted. "This is our house. We bought it together."

"Yeah, but I pay for it. Same with nearly everything else we have. Don't make this difficult, Simon. We had a good thing once, I guess. But that's long gone. It's time we both moved on."

"How can you say that? I love you, Casey."

"I think you think you love me, Simon. Or maybe you just love the idea of being married. It checks all the boxes for you, allows you to fit in with your friends. But I can't keep doing this. I have to get out there and see if there's somebody who really gets me, who can make me happy."

"I thought I was your soulmate," Simon muttered. "At least that's what you said in your vows."

"Don't be an ass. People change. Or at least I changed. You're still the same guy I met in college at a frat party a decade ago. And that's not who I want to be married to. I'm sorry Simon. This is how it's got to be. I can stay at my parents' for a few days, but I need to know when you can move out. Preferably within a week or so. I can loan you some money if you need it."

"Don't bother," he spat into the phone. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you any further. Goodbye, Casey. And don't worry, I won't make things weird by waiting for you to say you love me too since you clearly never loved me in the first place."

Four

Simon had been driving around aimlessly for several hours when his gas light came on. He told himself he was looking for an apartment, but he was honest enough with himself to admit that after the conversation with Casey, he felt a profound aversion to being in the house they had shared for so long. Her promise to stay away until he found a place to live rang hollow for him. He knew her well enough to know that after a couple of days of commuting from several hours away, she would insist that he either moved to the guest room or move out altogether. And she was not the type to be swayed by arguments from him such as, but I have nowhere to go.

He tried to tell himself that nothing had really changed. After all, the intimate part of their relationship had been gone for years. They did not even have the benefit of some long-time couples whose sex drives had shut down but still genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Instead, it was as Casey said. They were roommates. Reasonably friendly roommates, and roommates who used to touch their naughty bits to each other, but roommates, nonetheless.

He thought about calling Hank, but ultimately decided against it as the last thing he wanted to hear was 'I told you so'. He pulled into a petrol station to top off his tank, realizing as he did so that he would have to arrange a new bank account for himself. He briefly wondered if Casey would have suspended his debit card, but the pump grudgingly allowed him to dispense fuel. He spotted a restaurant across the road which was part of a chain which Casey typically called titty bars but was not in fact a strip club. It was just a place where the waitresses dressed skimpily and tended to be unusually attractive. He had not been to one in years due to Casey's feelings about them. He decided it was the perfect time to reacquaint himself with their board of fare.

He had difficulty parking, as the restaurant was next to what was either a nightclub or a strip club which seemed to use the restaurant's parking lot as overflow. The establishment appeared to cater to gay men based on the ubiquitous rainbow flags and the line out front which was almost exclusively male. Simon headed into the restaurant after finding a place to park near the back of the lot. Upon entry, he found the seating area full to capacity, so he took a seat at the bar. He grumbled to himself about the only seat remaining which was positioned in such a way that he could not really see much of the interior of the restaurant. All he could see was part of the bar, but he had a splendid view of the parking lot and the line of men at the club next door. He felt it defeated the purpose of coming to such an establishment if one could not appreciate the floor show.

These thoughts, however, evaporated when the bartender approached him. She was without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was of average height and had a slim build. But at this point, the word average could no longer be used to describe her without a war crimes council being convened. She had large, full breasts and a well-rounded ass that both jiggled alluringly whenever she moved. She had long blonde hair, which she wore in twin braids, and bright blue eyes. She was wearing Daisy Duke jean shorts, which featured nearly as much material as one would normally find in a bikini bottom, but the garment was prodigiously perforated to such a degree that it seemed impossible that she was wearing any type of panties. Even a thong would have had difficulty staying hidden. Her top was either a very thin bikini top or a bra, but Simon could not tell which without further intensive study. Regardless, the material seemed to exist merely to keep the authorities from complaining too loudly, as her top did nothing to constrain the jiggling of her breasts. Nor did it hide the outline of her nipples. She flashed Simon a naturally disarming smile, causing his mouth to drop open as he lost the ability to either breathe or blink.

She winked as though this kind of thing happened to her frequently and said, "Welcome to Overflowing Cups. I'm Kayden. What can I get started for you?"

He slowly regained some measure of his senses and responded in what he felt was his smoothest pick-up voice, "Huh?"

"It's ok if you take a peek sugar," she said as she leaned forward and squeezed her tits together, placing her top in what Simon felt to be significant risk of catastrophic failure. "That's what they're there for."

"You mean you want me to look at your..."

"Why, the menu of course," she said with a wink, releasing her tits so they bounced with jaw dropping sexiness. She handed him a drink menu and stared at him expectedly. "I recommend a buttery nipple, or perhaps a blowjob."

Simon nearly hyperventilated as his vision began to tunnel and sweat covered his brow. He reached out to steady himself on the bar.

Kayden grinned and said, "I'm just fuckin' with yah, honey. How 'bout a beer?"

Simon could only nod in response. By the time she brought him a beer, he had his breathing mostly under control.

She placed it before him and said, "Here. That'll cure what ails yah."

He nodded his thanks but did not trust himself to take a sip.

"I don't think I've seen you in here before. You new in town?"

"No, lived here all my life, but I've never been in here before even though I drive by here every day. I just decided to treat myself tonight."

"What's the occasion?"

Simon said, "My wife wants a divorce. I'm supposed to be looking for a new apartment."

"Oh, honey. That's too bad. Tell you what, the beer's on the house."

"I can't let you do that," Simon replied quickly. "I know they'll just take it out of your pay. But I appreciate the sentiment. And the company."

She smiled brightly and said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not much to say really. We've been married about four years, but I guess we just grew apart."

She eyed him warily and said, "You didn't cheat on her, did you?"

"Of course not."

Kayden paused before lowering her voice and saying, "Did she cheat on you?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. I guess it doesn't much matter now."

"I suppose not. I wish I could look at things so logically. My last boyfriend cheated on me, and it just wrecked me."

Simon's eyes widened and he said, "How on earth could anyone cheat on you?"

"It seemed pretty easy for him. He just stuck his big dumb cock into my former best friend."

"I just meant..."

She smiled and said, "What is it?"

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. How could anyone think they could do better than you?"

"Aw, that's so sweet. What's your name, sugar?"

"Simon."

"Simon" she repeated as though committing his name to memory. "I'll remember. You want another beer?"

He said, "Why not? And maybe a cheeseburger, if they're any good."

"Best damn burgers in the state," she replied with a grin before sashaying in the direction of a patron who was, in Simon's opinion, disgustingly ogling her jiggling breasts and quivering ass.

***

Simon leaned back with a sigh. Kayden left the bar to attend to something in the kitchen, so he let his eyes wander over the darkened parking lot. He noticed a large pickup with a preposterous lift kit and roll bar pull into the parking lot and park clear at the back even though there were spaces available closer to both the restaurant and the club. The truck had a pair of large flag poles attached to the rear of the bed. One held an American flag while the other held a flag which had become synonymous with white supremacy and hatred.

Simon pulled out his phone and called nine-one-one. When the dispatcher picked up, she said, "What's your emergency?"

"I think there's about to be a beat-down at the night club next to Overflowing Cups on Highway Seventy Eight."

"Why is that, sir?"

"Because there's about twenty gentlemen standing in line to get into the club, and they just saw a moron flying the stars and bars in his pick-up pull into the parking lot. They look pretty pissed."

"I understand, sir. We're dispatching a unit to your location. Please stay on the line and let me know if the situation escalates. Are the men in front of the club making any overt threats?"

"You don't understand, ma'am. It's the dumb hick in the pickup who's making the overt threats. The men in front of the club haven't done anything wrong."

"Sir, do I understand you to say that the men in front of the club might be armed?"

"Huh? No. No one is armed. I just think this dumb racist might be trying to pick a fight."

"Please hold the line, sir. I need to update the unit in route to your location. I'll be back in a moment."

Simon had lost sight of the man in the truck in the course of talking to the moron with police dispatch. He scanned the parking lot to find the man was still by his truck. He seemed to be busy unloading some items from the rear of the truck, placing some on the ground while putting others into his pockets. As Simon watched, he seemed to finish whatever he was doing. He closed the bed of his truck along with the driver's side door. He then seemed to pat the side of the truck affectionately before setting off through the parking lot. As he approached a flood light, Simon got a better look at him. He was likely in his twenties with a clean shaved head and pale skin. But the sight that made Simon's blood run cold was the assault rifle the man carried in his hands.

"Oh, shit!" Simon whispered to no one in particular. He quickly stood, leaving the phone from which the voice of the emergency dispatcher was demanding his attention on the bar. He looped around the end of the bar and into the kitchen where he encountered Kayden in the midst of retying her top.

She covered her breasts with her arm and loudly said, "Hey, you can't be back here."

Simon approached to well within her personal space, looking around furtively. "Hey," she repeated and made to shove him away.

"Stop!" he whispered fiercely. "There's a man in the parking lot with an assault rifle. I think he means to shoot up the club next door."

Kayden dropped her arms and wrapped them around Simon. She said, "Oh, fuck. Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. He looks loaded for bear. Listen, is there a back way out of here that isn't alarmed?" She looked at him with an inscrutable expression which seemed to be a mixture of loathing and hope. He realized she must think he intended to run away, so he elaborated, "I want to try to get behind him without him noticing."

Her expression immediately changed to one of terror. She said, "Don't Simon. What if he sees you? Oh, I get it. You have a concealed carry permit. In that case, the door at the back of the kitchen isn't alarmed and the light out there is out right now. You should be able to sneak out that way pretty easily."

He merely nodded his thanks as he made his way out the back of the restaurant. He quickly scanned the parking lot but could sense no movement. The small voice in the back of his head transition from whispering 'what the fuck are you doing?' to shouting it. But he told that voice to pipe down. He thought back to his basic hand-to-hand training he had received in ROTC before he had quit during his junior year. The manta there had been that firearms, while profoundly lethal, were shit for close in defense against a motivated adversary. This had been demonstrated by a pair of senior instructors who stood a few meters apart. One had a holstered pistol and was made to face away while the other was unarmed. Upon a signal, the former went for his weapon while the latter charged. The unarmed instructor prevailed in every engagement. This gave Simon confidence that he had a chance. If he could get close enough without being detected. But he had to find the maniac first.

He finally spotted movement, but was horrified to discover how far the gunman had progressed. He was nearly to the corner of the nightclub, which meant he could open fire at any moment. Simon hurried in that direction, trying to keep low and between the rows of parked cars. Within seconds, he was only about ten meters away. But he feared he was too late as the gunman started speaking loudly. Simon ignored the racist drivel spewing from the gunman's mouth and hurried forward, hoping the gunman's obviously carefully prepared speech had a few more paragraphs.

When Simon drew within a single car length, he faced a moment of decision. He had drawn close enough to have a chance, but there was no more cover between him and the shooter. Simon reached down to take off one of his shoes and held it firmly in his hand while he crouched next to the car. The patrons outside the nightclub were advancing on the shooter, who had lain his weapons on the truck of a nearby car so as to appear to be nothing more than a bigoted asshole, as opposed to the murderous bigoted asshole he actually was.

Simon knew his odds would only get worse, so he sprang from his hiding spot and ran toward the maniac. His hopes of his footsteps being drowned out by the combination of the music from the nightclub and the shouts of the maniac were short lived. When Simon was still a few meters away, the gunman turned to face him. Simon threw his shoe at the gunman with all his might. Unfortunately, the shoe missed the maniac by a comfortable margin. But the shoe worked like a champ as a distraction. Simon hit the gunman in the sternum with his shoulder, driving the man into the ground. He heard a sickening crunch in his shoulder to go along with the breath rushing from the gunman. Simon tried to collect himself to finish incapacitating the gunman. He rose up to his knees to glare down at the maniac, but he was horrified to see the gunman pulling a pistol from a shoulder holster. The last thing Simon saw was a flash before everything went black.

Five

Simon paced nervously as he grew increasingly uncomfortable in the stifling heat of the antechamber. He looked at his watch for at least the fourth time in the last minute.

Hank said, "Would you relax? You're going to give me an ulcer."

Simon said, "I'm just so goddamned nervous, man."

Hank glanced around the room before stepping up to Simon and leading him by the arm to the far corner, as far as possible from the room's four other inhabitants. He whispered, "Do you want to get out of here?"

"What?" Simon almost shouted.

"Keep your voice down, damnit. Do you want to get out of here? I can see you're nervous as fuck. If you're having second thoughts, say the word and we'll be on the road in sixty seconds."

"You don't think I should do it, do you?" Simon said derisively.

Hank shrugged and said, "Doesn't matter what I think. Matters what you think. Do you want to go through with this?"

"Absolutely. No question." Simon said confidently.

"Then why are you acting like a man awaiting his own execution?"

"Because I hate this goddamned monkey suit. And it's hot as hell in here."

Hank grinned and said, "You're not really supposed to talk like that in here. You're gonna curse the whole fucking thing."

Simon gripped his friend's shoulder and said, "Now who's trying to curse us. I swear, you cringed when you walked in the door today."

"Hey man, you can never be too careful. Come on, the man in the fancy drapes is waving us over."

"Those are vestments, you bloody savage."

They made their way to their positions and waited for the music to start.

"She looks beautiful, brother," Hank whispered in his ear as the doors to the church opened to reveal his lovely bride.

Simon's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. He had always maintained that his fiancé was a beautiful woman. But as he watched her enter the church, he was awed by her transformation. She normally wore her hair in a ponytail, almost never down even though she preferred her hair to be long. Today, her hair was made up in a fashion which Simon would have thought was reserved for royalty. That combined with tastefully done makeup combined to give her a level of beauty and femininity which he found to be, quite literally, breathtaking.

Her dress was strapless and flared out below her bust in a style which Simon's mother had called an A-line. The dress left her shoulders bare, but somehow it lifted and enhanced her modest B-cup breasts, making them appear twice as big as Simon knew them to be.

Her face bore the widest smile Simon had ever seen, and her eyes never left Simon's. She reached the front of the church and gave her father a kiss before taking Simon's hand. He was still having trouble catching his breath, as her beauty had only grown, the closer she came. Now that she stood by his side, he was quite literally dumbfounded.

She leaned over and whispered, "You like?"

He nodded his head dumbly. She gripped his hand firmly and said, "Focus, sweetie. Just try to breathe. Everything is fine."

He shook his head briefly to clear his head and said, "You're beautiful Casey."

"Casey?"

***

"Hey, babe. Why don't you throw another log on the fire? I'm getting cold."

"Sure baby. You want another drink while I'm up?"

"That'd be great. Thanks."

Simon wandered into the cabin's kitchen after adding another log to the fire. He was grinning from ear to ear in post orgasmic bliss. It had been a perfect moment. Just the two of them, cuddled beneath a pile of thick blankets, laying before the roaring fire. No distractions, no worries, only each other. He knew he would remember this moment forever.

He returned to his lover, handing her a drink before resuming his spot at her side. They kissed passionately, their hands seeking out each other's pleasure centers. His manhood grew hard once more under his lover's caresses, and her wetness slicked his fingers as he teased her opening. Her caresses turned into fervent stroking.

He murmured, "I want to make love to you."

She lay back on the fluffy blanket, the fire bathing her supple body in soft, flickering light. He leaned down to claim her lips once more, their tongues twining together. His hand found her warm breast, tweaking her nipple gently and eliciting a soft moan from her lips.

"I want you, Simon," she whispered contentedly. "Always."

He positioned himself at her entrance and slowly sank into her heated core. Their combined moan filled the room as he began thrusting into her. He leaned down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking fervently on it as his lovers' moans grew louder.

He rose up onto his knees, worshiping the way her supple curves moved with his eyes and his thrusting increased in tempo.

She gazed up at him with lust filled eyes and said, "You feel so fucking good, Simon."

He moaned loudly as he felt her inner walls contract around his hardness. He reached between them to pleasure her clit. Her moans joined his own as she neared release. She grasped his hips, urging him ever deeper into her core. He sped up his thrusts until he felt her wetness surge and her muscles lock as her orgasm took her. She screamed his name in pleasure before pulling him down for an urgent kiss.

He stayed buried within her until her bliss receded. She nodded at him happily, urging him to find his own pleasure. She raised her arms above her head so that her supple breasts could move freely in time with his thrusts, providing the perfect picture of loving femininity which she knew would get him off.

"Give it to me, baby," she panted loudly.

He thrust deeply into her once more, grunting loudly as he achieved his own release. She sighed contentedly as she felt his seed flood her womb. Her inner walls rippled along his length, milking the last of his seed. His body gave one last mighty shudder as he withdrew from her silky heat.

He leaned down to kiss her passionately before whispering, "I love you so much, Casey."

"Casey?"

***

Simon was conscious of his racing thoughts, but he could perceive nothing with his senses. Darkness surrounded him, but he could not tell if this was due to his eyes being closed or the absence of light. He felt as though he were floating in a warm pool of placid water, but he found it odd that he did not feel wet. The more he thought about it, he could not feel much of anything. He tried moving his hands, but nothing happened. Trying to move his fingers yielded a similar result. Objectively, he decided this must mean that either he was paralyzed, or he no longer had hands. Or feet, he discovered when he tried similar tests with his lower extremities. In fact, he could not feel any of his limbs. His sense of taste, hearing and smell were also similarly offline.

'Perhaps this is hell. Or limbo,' he thought glumly to himself. He felt the pull of unconsciousness but resisted. Wherever he was, he did not want to miss anything should it come to pass. Assuming he still had any senses with which to experience anything, he added mentally. In any case, he was not even sure sleep was possible for him anymore. Besides, he was growing weary of remembering the infrequent moments of happiness he had experienced with Casey. Nice as they were, he had no wish to spend eternity this way. It felt as though he were being made to watch only his two favorite movies, forever. No matter how good they were, they staled quickly without variety.

He decided to try focusing his consciousness on a single thing in hopes of ascertaining more about his predicament. He concentrated on opening his left eyelid, but no matter how hard he focused, nothing happened. He decided he was being too nonspecific, and that it would be necessary to get even more granular. He concentrated instead on a single muscle which controlled the interior portion of his left upper eyelid. This too seemed fruitless, so he decided to take another tactic.

He knew that his eyes rolled back when his eyelids were closed. Perhaps it would be sufficient to roll one of his eyes forward. If there were any external illumination, he would likely detect it even through his eyelid. He focused this time on his right eyeball, concentrating on the individual muscle groups which surrounded his eye and controlled the minute movements which facilitated the wonder that is human sight. He started slowly, allowing his consciousness to descend upon the muscles in question. He considered each muscle individually, learning its purpose in order to slowly build within his mind a detailed understanding of the system as a whole.

Once his introspection was complete, he slowly directed each tiny muscle to relax, or contract, as necessary. This, at last, seemed to bear some fruit as he perceived his eye to be slowly rotating toward the front of his head. He cheered to himself in triumph as he realized there was indeed a small measure of external illumination coming through his eyelid.

"Good," a voice boomed, seemingly shaking the very fabric of existence. "Very good. I think he will do nicely."

But the voice went away, as did the light source, and soon Simon felt his consciousness slipping away once more.

***

"Simon. Can you hear me? Come on, Simon. Please wake up."

The voice seemed to come from several light years away. It also refused to be quiet, although it did occasionally change in timbre, sometimes seeming more feminine and exasperated while other times seeming masculine and hopeful. Eventually, Simon had the dawning realization that he could hear again. He celebrated this milestone briefly, but soon returned to the task at hand.

Simon was unaware how long he had been toiling at painstakingly reassembling his body. He had vague memories of the assault he had attempted to thwart and could cognitively grasp the concept that his body had been damaged. He was vaguely aware of the efforts of medical personnel, and while he respected their efforts, he wished they would just leave things up to him. Each time they sliced into his body, he was forced to begin some tasks anew, lest the well-meaning doctors inflict permanent damage. The effort was slow going, but he sensed that his body was reasonably safe and was receiving sufficient nutrients to allow him to concentrate on more pressing matters.

Eventually, he sensed that his task was complete, and he was ready to bring his body back online. He slowly allowed his breathing to quicken. He also quickened his metabolism back to what he perceived to be appropriate levels. Once he had fully allowed his consciousness to inhabit his body, he reached out with his senses to ensure that his body was still safe and that no threats lurked nearby. He knew there was one other human in the room, a male of intermediate years who sounded to be in reasonable health. There were also a large number of electronics, including those which were attached to him, which persistently beeped and buzzed with maddening consistency. Satisfied that the situation was nominal, he opened his eyes.

He was greeted by the worried face of his best friend, Hank, who was seated next to the bed regarding him with a mixture of shock and joy.

"Hey, brother. What's up?" Simon asked pleasantly.

"Oh, shit. You're really awake. I thought I was dreaming. How you doing, bud? You need anything?"

"I think I'll need something to drink in the near future, preferably before sunrise tomorrow."

"Oh... um... ok. I'm not sure what you mean, but how about I just get you some water?" Hank asked with a look of utter confusion. He handed Simon a cup he filled from the tap in the restroom.

Simon took a long drink and said, "Perfect. That was delightful. Thank you. Now, what are the odds we can get out of here? I've got a lot to do."

Hank's look of confusion deepened, and he said, "Um, I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me, brother. Wait here a moment while I go find a nurse."

He then turned to leave with what Simon felt was an inappropriate amount of haste.

Six

Simon watched his friend leave. He sensed his friend's confusion but was at a loss to explain the reason behind it. He reached over to pick up his cup of water. But when his gazed returned to the door to his hospital room, he noticed a stranger sitting in the chair Hank had vacated. The man was old, how old Simon could not immediately ascertain, but certainly older than Simon. He had unkempt white hair which surrounded his head giving him an air of wildness. The hair on his head was matched by a bushy mustache. He wore a white, three-piece suit with an open collar. On the whole, the man reminded Simon of a professor of American literature he had had once, and he nearly addressed him as such until he noticed the visitor's eyes. They were a deep, piercing blue which seemed to look right through Simon.

Simon cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, "That's an unusual uniform for a nurse."

"Ah," the man said with a satisfied sigh. "Success. I knew it would work. You speak beautifully, my boy."

"I always thought my voice was a bit nasally, to tell you the truth," Simon retorted. "And you knew what would work?"

"The grokking, of course."

Simon smirked and said, "I read that book in high school. Dug the religious critique, not to mention the sexiness. But holy shit, was it misogynist. Not to mention a bit bigoted."

"Indeed. I could make excuses along the lines of it being another time and place, but that's hardly an excuse. But that young man borrowed the term from an older source. And no, I don't mean the character in the book. I meant the author. Fascinating chap for a philosophical debate. And, if it makes you feel any better, he felt terribly about some of the opinions he put to paper early in his career."

"You're telling me you knew him?" Simon said excitedly. "What was he like?"

"I'm telling you I know him. Not coincidently, I was speaking to him a femtosecond before I came to see you."

Simon's face fell, to be replaced with a look of confusion. He said, "But he's been dead for years."

The man's brilliant blue eyes twinkled. He said, "Only from a certain point of view. Now, the man who was here when you woke up will return a just a few of your moments, so your time grows short."

"Wait!" Simon said desperately. "Who are you? And why are you talking about an author who's been dead since before I was born? And what are you doing here? Hell, what am I doing here? At first, I assumed I'd been shot, but I seem to be completely fine."

"Ah, yes. I will answer your questions in order of ascending importance, since that is the order in which you asked them. Usually in this type of situation, I tell people my name is hardly important since they would have no chance of pronouncing my true name anyway. You, however, are under no such handicap. That being said, since my name is several thousand syllables long, and your time grows short, you may also feel free to call me Sam.

"Next, I bring up that author in an attempt to find a common frame of reference to explain what has happened to you. In time, of course, such crude methods will become unnecessary. But that is then, and this is now.

"Next, I am here because you are here. If you were elsewhere, I would be there. Finally, you are here because you were shot, quite grievously I might add, in the midst of your moment of bravery and sacrifice."

"Remarkable," Simon replied. "You just said, one hundred and sixty words without answering a single one of my questions."

Sam grinned wickedly and said, "Tell me this, Simon: how long have you been here?"

Simon looked around for his phone. When that failed, he tried to focus on the monitor near his bedside in hopes of getting some clues.

Sam said, "You no longer have need for such crude methods. Think about it, young man. How long have you been here?"

Simon was at a loss to solve this mystery, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before asking himself, 'how long have I been here?'. The answer came to him instantly, and with perfect clarity.

"Ninety-seven days!" he exclaimed. "How is that possible?"

Sam said, "You suffered a wound from a high velocity projectile. It entered just below your left eye and exited the back of your neck."

Simon's hand flew up to his face, but he could detect no damage or bandaging.

"As I said," Sam continued. "You were very badly wounded. It took you this long to learn how to repair your body. But your skills will improve with time."

Simon groaned and said, "What are you talking about?"

"That's not important right now, young man," Sam said impatiently. "What is important is that you must relearn how to speak your native tongue. Preferably before your friend returns if you hope to avoid further confusion."

"Is that not what we're speaking?" Simon said, his confusion at this point nearly complete.

"We are not speaking the language you think of as English. That is what I meant by the grokking. You have been taught the language which was old when your species was still fighting it out with the Neanderthals for supremacy. The First Language. The language of angels."

"Oh! Of course. How stupid of me. The language of angels. Obviously."

Sam frowned and said, "Think back, young man. Do you not remember rebuilding your body? Do you not remember The Test?"

"You mean when I was trying to see my surroundings? And once I managed to move my eyes a voice screamed at me?"

"Precisely. You have been given a great gift, Simon. One offered to only a select few throughout the whole of human history."

"Let me guess. Galileo, Newton, Tesla, Turing, Einstein?"

Sam said, "Yes to the first four, but no to the last. He was just naturally quite clever, although many of his theories will eventually be proven to be false. As you'll soon realize."

"Why me. Those guys were all next-level super geniuses. I'm just a dummy who works customer service whose wife wants to turn him in on the next model."

"Not anymore, Simon. Not anymore."

"Casey changed her mind?" Simon asked hopefully.

"Perhaps, although I would be surprised if you decided to stay with her. After all, if she didn't love you before your grokking, would it really matter if she changed her mind now? No, Simon. I meant you're no longer a man of average intelligence working at an average job. I suspect you'll find yourself capable of doing anything you set your remarkable mind to. As to the why, I have a soft spot for individuals who are willing to sacrifice themselves for their fellow man. Especially when that individual has no possible ulterior motive.

"You witnessed a horrific crime in its infancy. You watched that wretched creature load himself up with weapons of mass destruction and walk toward what he was quite confident would be his eternal glory after dispatching as many, to his mind, deplorables as possible. You ran into the fire, literally."

Simon quietly said, "Did it work? Did he hurt anyone else?"

Sam grew somber and suddenly looked to be positively ancient. He sighed wearily and said, "Your species is a thing of wonder, Simon. You are capable of such mystifying highs and such devastating lows. Sometimes I find it difficult to contradict my peers who insist that it is in your species' nature to destroy yourselves. Then I watch your sacrifice, your bravery, and it gives me hope. Yes, my boy. It worked. The other young men on the scene were able to subdue him before he hurt anyone else. You likely saved tens, and potentially hundreds, of lives that night."

"I'm glad. I just couldn't imagine allowing that to happen again."

"I know, son. And that is why you were chosen."

Simon smirked and said, "You realize you still haven't told me what I was chosen for, right?"

"Yes, I did. You just didn't realize it. You have been given the gift of the First Language. It is now the language you think in, in addition to being the language we are speaking now. I hesitate to tell you too much, as I am genuinely curious to observe how you utilize your newfound knowledge. But, as I said, time grows short, and you must retrain yourself to speak using your birth language or your stay here will quickly transition from voluntary to involuntary."

"So, what do I do?"

"You must simply focus your thoughts when speaking to other humans. Do not try to form words or phrases in your head, as that will result in speaking a language which they not only won't recognize, but which causes them significant distress to hear. Focus on speaking in their language. Form your thoughts, and then concentrate on communicating those thoughts in their language. It will be challenging at first. But as with every task to which you set your mind, it will soon become second nature."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, formulating a thought before saying, "There once was a man from Nantucket."

Sam grinned and said, "Remarkable."

"Did I do it?" Simon asked excitedly.

"No," Sam said, still smiling. "It's just that in all of recorded history, I'm quite certain that phrase has never been spoken in the First Language. Back to the task at hand. You have to do better than just coming up with phrases which seem particularly human. You must focus young man."

Simon frowned and said, "If only those infernal machines would pipe down, maybe I could concentrate."

"If they bother you, filter them out," Sam said with a smile.

"But how?"

"The same way you do everything else. Focus."

Simon closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath as he tried to center himself. He spared a thought for the machines whose noises were bothering him, and soon that noise faded. He concentrated on speaking in English and said, "What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"

"African or European," Sam replied with a smile. "Well done, my boy."

"Thanks," Simon replied wanly.

"You must continue to focus, Simon. Remember, other humans not only cannot understand the First Language. It will pain almost all of them to hear it."

"What do you mean, almost all?" Simon asked quickly.

Sam winked and said, "Some humans can be taught. Some cannot. Thus, the Test. Time for me to go, Simon. Good luck, we're all counting on you."

Sam winked and then slowly faded from existence. To Simon, he seemed to grow slowly smaller, as though he were receding, but Simon could sense no movement. At least not within the commonly accepted three-dimensional space. He did not have long to study the effect, as Sam was gone in less than a second.

Simon leaned back in his bed and took a deep breath. Strangely, no part of his consciousness rebelled against what Sam had told him. Or, for that matter, Sam's very existence. That all seemed quite natural. His memories included hazy recollections of rebuilding his body, and of the Test. What did fill him with uncertainly was just what this all meant? Sam had repeatedly referred to Simon's great potential, but had said next to nothing about what this might mean beyond vague references to being able to do nearly anything to which he set his mind.

He slowed his breathing and relaxed. The answers he sought were not available to him, so it was foolish to expend effort on worry. He would be patient and wait until the answers presented themselves. Or until the lack of answers seemed likely to lead to crisis. In the meantime, he was anxious to see his friends. And perhaps even Casey, if only to take some small measure of pleasure in her unease at him having been grievously, perhaps even almost mortally, injured mere hours after she told him she never wanted to see him again.

Seven

Hank reentered the hospital room in the company of a nurse. He stood warily back from the bed, regarding Simon suspiciously. The nurse approached Simon with slightly widened eyes. Simon, whose good friend in college had been an ICU nurse for going on a decade, knew this was the nurse-speak equivalent of running in circles whilst screaming and shouting. He took Simon's vitals and made a notation in a chart before turning his critical gaze on Simon and saying, "How are you feeling?"

Simon took a deep breath and focused the way Sam had taught him. He said, "I feel fine."

The nurse glanced back at Hank, whose look of unease was falling away, before saying, "That's good. You know, Mr. York. I was originally scheduled to be off today, but I got called in. I cursed my shift lead for my entire commute. But I'm going straight from this room to thank her. It's not every day you see a miracle."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked carefully.

"I guess it doesn't hurt to tell you, considering that you seem to be fit as a fiddle. But you were a vegetable. A goner. They even pulled the plug on you because your brain function flatlined about a week after you got here. But you didn't die. You just stayed in a coma for week after week. Then, about two weeks ago you started getting better. You've had every notable doctor in the southwest come through this room in the last ten days. I got to thinking it was an honesty test. Those that claimed to be able to explain what was happening with you were full of shit. Those that just said they had no fucking idea were the honest ones."

"What was your theory?" Simon asked.

"I was firmly in the no fucking clue group. You're a mystery. But I'm glad you pulled through. Now the docs will want to spend the next decade running tests on you to explain the inexplicable."

Simon cringed and said, "I don't suppose there's any way of avoiding that."

"Not really. Sorry, but you could be the key to unlocking a host of different issues related to the treatment of traumatic injuries. I paged the docs when your friend told me you had woken up. That's another mystery, these machines should have notified me, but according to them you're still in a coma."

"How does that happen?" Hank said, inching closer to Simon's bedside.

"I don't know. I just know your friend here still has a heart rate of about forty beats per minute."

Hank said, "Is that really that unusual?"

"No," the nurse replied. "That's perfectly normal," the nurse replied diffidently. "If you're a world-class triathlete. And, no offense, but your friend here doesn't fit the bill. Listen, I need to inform my charge nurse that you're awake, in addition to about a thousand doctors. Press the call button if you need anything."

After the nurse departed, Hank and Simon's eyes met. The former said, "Do you want to get out of here?"

Simon grinned at him and said, "I seem to recall another conversation we once had where you asked me that."

"Yup. You said no and just look at how things turned out," Hank replied jovially while waving to the array of machines hooked up to Simon.

"I hardly think you can blame my current circumstances on the fact that I got married to Casey."

"Whatever, dude. Near as I can tell, you got off the phone with her and headed straight, pardon the pun, for a gay strip club. She literally drove you into the jaws of disaster."

Simon guffawed, prompting a cocked eyebrow from Hank. The former said, "Even if that were true, she could hardly be blamed for the actions of one deranged mass murderer. Besides, it never occurred to you that maybe I was actually going to the restaurant next door which is, as near as makes no difference, on the opposite end of the sexual orientation continuum?"

"You mean the Overflowing Titties place?"

"I believe they had the temerity to call themselves Overflowing Cups, which I'm not sure is a better name than what you came up with. And yes, I mean that place. I'll have you know I was having a very engaging conversation with a delightful young lady before our evening was so rudely interrupted."

"Well," Hank grumbled. "I still say if she hadn't chosen that night to give you the heave ho, you wouldn't have been stuck here for an entire goddamned fiscal quarter."

"Perhaps. But I'm sensing more hostility toward her than normal from you. And I doubt it's due to you actually blaming her for my current predicament."

"You're right," Hank admitted. "It was tough sharing watching over you with her for those first few weeks. She and I were never friendly, and things went downhill fast. Especially when the docs told her they wanted to pull the plug and she eagerly agreed. I tried to get an injunction, claiming that her decision to leave you no longer gave her the legal authority to make that decision. It was tied up in court for a couple weeks, but they finally sided with her and the plug got pulled. But you tricked them all, brother. You just kept right on going even without all these infernal machines."

Simon's breath caught as he regarded his oldest, and best, friend. At length, he said, "You've been here since the beginning?"

"Well, Bitchy McBitchyFace didn't even fucking tell me what had happened. I saw it on the goddamned news, if you can believe it. After that, I came right away."

"And you've been here this whole time?"

"Pretty much," Hank admitted with a shrug. "I left a few times for client meetings and once because there was a storm which did some damage to my condo. But otherwise, this has been my office." He gestured behind him, and Simon noticed for the first time the open suitcase on the couch near the window and the reasonably sophisticated workstation which Hank appeared to have fashioned using a few rolling carts.

Simon said, "I don't know what to say, brother. I can't believe you did all this just to watch over me."

"Yes, you can," Hank said gruffly. "Because you'd have done the same for me. Now, do you actually want to get out of here, or do you want to continue yacking until the men in white coats show up?"

***

Simon had felt a little silly during their 'escape', mostly because he had been forced to borrow clothing from Hank. In days gone by, this would have been quite problematic as Hank took good care of himself, including regular exercise and eating properly, whereas Simon... did much the opposite. However, Simon reflected to himself as he climbed into the passenger seat of Hank's luxury British sedan, it would appear that being in a coma for over a quarter of a year did wonders for one's waistline. He had shed over twenty kilos during his somnolescence. Although, he realized as they hurried across the parking lot, he had lost a good deal of muscle mass along with the fat. He arrived at the car quite winded while his friend was not even breathing heavily.

Upon arriving at the condo Hank had rented for, as he called it, 'the duration', Simon was anxious to catch up on things he had missed. He borrowed Hank's computer and tried to access his email but discovered that his accounts had been suspended. He found similar results with many of his accounts. It seemed evident that, as far as much of the world was concerned, Simon York had perished nearly one hundred days earlier in a parking lot outside a gay strip club. He resolved to get in touch with Casey to see if she could help sort things out.

Hank, having anticipated Simon's need, handed him a phone and a debit card. He said, "Listen, buddy. I can't tell you how glad I am that you pulled through. But I've got to..."

"Go, brother. You've got a life to get back to. I owe you a debt I'll never be able to repay. But if I happen to win the lottery someday, I swear I'll hand the ticket over to you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hank said with a genuine smile. "You only have to give me half. Listen, the rent's paid on this place until the end of the month, so feel free to stay here. I also figured you'd have money problems, so feel free to use that debit card until you get something sorted out."

Simon suddenly felt the need to look anywhere but at his best friend, as it had somehow grown quite dusty in the room. Once he dried his eyes, he met Hank's gaze and embraced him with all his might.

"You truly are your brother's keeper," Simon said huskily. "Any time, any place, any reason. You need me, I'm there. I love you, man."

"I know. Now get going before I break down too. And call me tonight to let me know how everything goes."

Simon wiped his eyes and headed for the door, pulling up a ride sharing app on his new phone as he did so.

***

"Listen Mr. Räikkönen, if that is your real name. It's not strictly necessary to use your emergency brake to affect a simple right-hand turn. We're in a neighborhood for God's sake."

"Why the fuck you did not tell me that earlier?" the diminutive driver replied in a heavy Finnish accent.

"Why don't you just let me out here?"

"Fine. Fine," the driver said as he slammed on the brakes, locking all four wheels of the small sedan which caused it to quickly screech to a halt in the middle of the street. Simon quickly exited before the driver once again stomped his right foot to the floor, causing the car to set off at a sedate pace, it's tiny three-cylinder engine screaming in protest.

"Maniac," Simon mumbled as he fished out his phone to leave the driver a one-star review. He had been let out a little less than a kilometer from his house, so he began walking slowly in that direction. During his walk, he passed a few neighbors who either eyed him with suspicion or wonder.

Upon reaching the house, Simon examined it carefully as he felt as though something was slightly off. He realized with a start, that the difference was that the yard was quite lush, and the flowers were all blooming. When last he had been here, it had been late in the year and everything was dormant.

As he inspected the house, he had a stunning realization. He knew with certainty that there were two humans inside. He assumed one was Casey, but he could not be certain. He concentrated harder and was shocked to discover that the two people were inside the master bedroom and appeared to be mid-coitus. Simon quietly climbed the front steps and took a seat on one of the conveniently placed rocking chairs to await their conclusion.

Without conscious effort, he was able to maintain an awareness of the activities within. He was unsure how his perception worked. It was not as if he could see them, or indeed sense them in any way. He was merely aware of their presence. The idea that they were fucking was even more esoteric. He was unsure if it was by inference that he knew, after all what else could two people whose heart rates and pheromones were elevated be doing on a bed, or if it was something even more inexplicable. He was still pondering this when the activity within peaked before quickly falling away.

He felt guilty interrupting her just after sex, but he did not want to sit on the porch all afternoon if both of them fell into a post orgasmic slumber. He stood up and rang the doorbell. He sensed rushed activity within and shortly the front door opened to reveal an unremarkable middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a bit of a paunch hastily cinching the tie to a bathrobe closed.

He said, "Can I help you?"

Simon said, "I'm here to see Casey."

"She's not here right now," the man replied hastily. Simon heard a hushed voice whisper urgently within the house, asking who was at the door.

Simon raised his voice and said, "It's me, Casey. Please come to the door."

A fiercely whispered, "Fuck!" reached Simon's ears. He smiled at the interloper before him, who was now regarding him as though he had seen a ghost.

Simon raised an eyebrow at the man who'd just had sex with his wife and said, "Don't worry. I'm not here to start anything. I'll wait out here."

Eight

Moments later, Casey emerged from the front door wearing sweatpants and a tank top, and quite clearly nothing else. She approached Simon slowly, coming within arm's reach before stopping. Her hand rose briefly, as though to reach out and verify tactilely that Simon was not an apparition, but it fell just as quickly. She regarded him sadly.

She said, "I'm sorry, Simon."

He considered this before saying, "Because you told me you wanted a divorce? Or because you couldn't wait to tell them to pull the plug on me? Or is it because you just had sex with what's his name?"

Her head dropped and she said, "I take it then that you've spoken to Hank."

"He was there when I came out of the coma."

"Clearly he brought you up to speed on what a shitty person I am. Telling you to get out. Telling the doctors to take you off life support. Hooking up with literally every guy I match with on you name the dating app just to try to feel something other than this persistent self-loathing. I wish so much that I could take it all back, just let things go back to the way that used to be. You cannot possibly hate me more than I hate myself, Simon."

Simon reached out to take her hand. He inclined his head toward the front door and said, "Do you want me to get rid of him?"

"Yeah, kinda. I honestly don't even remember his name. And I'm pissed at him because he came on my face when I told him to do it on my tits. I'm gonna get fucking pink eye."

Simon grimaced and said, "I'll see what I can do about Tony Soprano. You wash your face," before heading into the front door. He found the man in question standing in the kitchen, making himself what appeared to be a very crude martini.

"You know those are supposed to be made with gin, right?"

"Fuck off, cuck boy."

Simon proceeded into the kitchen. He poured himself two fingers of bourbon and leaned against the counter to regard the man before him. In Simon's condition, the man outweighed him by at least thirty kilos and had at least ten centimeters of height on him. And, if his last comment had been any indication, he was likely a person predisposed to conflict. In a previous life, all of one day ago by Simon's internal reconning, he would have demurred in the face of such apparent hostility. But as he regarded the man before him, Simon felt no apprehension. Perhaps it was his recent brush with death, or even a sense that he was living what would, in video game terms, be an extra life. Regardless of why, Simon only felt the need to remove this man from the home which had once been his.

"What drives a person to derive sexual pleasure from depositing his reproductive excrement onto the unwilling face of another person?"

"Huh?" the man replied quickly.

"Why did you cum on my wife's face, you ignorant wretch?"

"Because I wanted to," the man replied, undeterred. "Besides, it was fucking hot. She looked epic covered in my splooge. Took it like a champ, if you know what I mean. Listen, I ain't got no beef with you, skinny. Why don't you scram back to wherever you came from? That little lady and I have just started getting acquainted. I intend to introduce her to a whole new world of pleasure. Clearly you ain't man enough to satisfy her."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that. This is her house, and she wants you to go. You need to leave. Now."

The man threw down his martini, shattering the glass at Simon's feet, and shouted, "Now you've done it! I tried to let you off easy, but you just had to try to be all manly. You stupid cunt, I bet you ain't never been in a fight in your life."

Simon shook his head and said, "Do I need to call the police?"

The man cracked his knuckles and said, "You can try. But they ain't gonna get here in near enough time to save you from a beatin'."

The man advanced on Simon, his fists clenching menacingly. Simon took a small step to his left, not entirely certain as to why until the man howled in pain. Simon glanced down to see a large shard of what used to be a martini glass sticking out of the side of the man's bare foot. Simon chuckled, in spite of himself. This caused the man to look up at him murderously before closing the remaining distance between them and punching Simon in the face.

Pain exploded from the right side of his face, just below the ridge of his cheekbone. Simon took a small step back which led to him slipping on the remains of the martini and falling onto his backside. The man regarded Simon with a sneer and advanced upon him once more. He drew his uninjured foot back, preparing to kick Simon's midsection viciously.

"Stop it!" Casey shouted from the door to the kitchen.

"I'll be with you in a moment, toots," the man replied before turning his attention back to Simon. He raised his foot again, this time aimed at Simon's face.

"Stop!" Simon shouted with a not insignificant amount of dread. A wave of nausea overcame him, and he forcefully ejected what felt like everything he had ever eaten onto the floor between his feet. He took a deep breath before surveying the situation. He was quite surprised to find not only his attacker, but also his soon to be ex-wife, frozen in place. The former had already established enough momentum from winding up to kick Simon that he began to slowly rotate before crashing unceremoniously to the floor amongst the freshly deposited contents of Simon's stomach.

Simon tried to stand, but another wave of nausea threatened to overcome him. His head was pounding with a headache the likes of which he had never previously experienced. He tried again to rise, this time much more slowly. As he rose from the floor, he regarded both Casey and his attacker with wonder. Neither had moved a muscle. Even the attacker was still in the same pose he had been when upright, giving him quite a comical appearance now that he was prone.

He stepped over to Casey and inspected her more carefully. He realized with horror that she was not breathing. Her heartbeat also seemed to be suspended. He began to panic but when he anxiously asked himself 'what the fuck do I do?' the answer popped into his head without hesitation.

He leaned close to Casey and whispered, "Um... un-stop. I mean, Go. Wake-up. Shit... um... Start!" This had no effect to he took a deep breath and then repeated, "Start," but this time he did not make the effort to translate his words into English.

Casey gasped, breathing in a huge lungful of air and she looked around in terror. Simon let her be and quickly located a package of zip-ties in the kitchen's junk drawer. He secured the wrists and ankles of his attacker before instructing him to also re-start.

By this time, Casey had calmed somewhat but she was still looking at him quite warily. He picked up the phone and dialed for the police to report the attack. He was nervous about word of whatever it was that he had done getting out, but he was more worried about what would happen if they tried to deal with Casey's paramour on their own. The wait for the arrival of the police passed in silence, at least between Casey and Simon. The bound attacker made plenty of noise to fill the void, however. The police were efficient in carting off the attacker. Simon suspected that it did not hurt that one of the officers recognized him from the nightclub almost-shooting. With the departure of the officers, Simon and Casey found themselves in the living room. Simon sat on the couch while Casey stood in the doorway with a suspicious expression on her face.

She said, "How did you do that?"

"Honestly," Simon replied slowly. "I'm not sure. I don't even really know what happened in there."

"You yelled something in another language, and then I felt like I'd been frozen in a block of ice. Except I wasn't cold. I just stopped. My mind still worked, but all of my muscles stopped."

Simon shrugged. The mental picture of what had happened snapped into place with perfect clarity, but he doubted the wisdom of giving Casey too much insight. He opted, instead, to change the subject.

"You shouldn't hate yourself, Casey."

"What are you talking about?"

"Earlier, on the porch, you said you hated yourself for the decisions you made. I didn't get shot because you told me you were leaving me."

She frowned and said, "Yes, you did Simon. You never would have gone to that strip club when we were still together. Although, in hindsight, I wish I'd known you were gay. It would have made things a lot easier."

Simon glared at her and said, "Why does everyone think I'm gay? You of all people, Casey, should know that's demonstrably untrue. We've had sex hundreds of times."

"Well... not hundreds. But you stopped wanting to have sex with me, Simon. That's part of why I decided to break things off."

"Jesus. I'm out of it for a little while and everyone gets delusions of grandeur. I never stopped wanting to have sex with you. I tried all the time to set up romantic evenings or getaways for us to reconnect. They all failed spectacularly."

Casey gazed at him intently, almost as though seeing him for the first time. She nodded slightly and then crossed the room to join him on the couch. She took his hand and said, "I really am so sorry Simon. About everything. Maybe we could just let bygones be bygones. You know? Pick up where we left off?"

It was Simon's turn to frown. He harbored no ill will toward Casey, but he had no wish to be with her. Romantically or otherwise. He realized that it was not her wish to divorce him, or her decision to pull the plug, or even the fact that she had just had sex with someone else. It was simply the fact that he knew she had been right all those months ago. He did not love her, and she certainly did not love him. He found himself increasingly just wanting to close out this chapter of his life.

He squeezed her hand and said, "You have nothing to be sorry for Casey. You did nothing wrong. You told me you wanted a divorce because we weren't happy together. You told them to pull the plug because the doctors told you there was no hope. You had sex with Tony Soprano because... actually I'm not sure why you did that. But moving on from me when all of medical science tells you I'm as good as dead doesn't make you a bad person. Neither do the other things. They just make you a person." She smiled wanly at him, so he added, "I'd have done the same thing in your shoes."

Her smile faded and she said, "That's a shitty thing to say."

He said, "I don't follow."

"You'd tell them to pull the plug on me? Jesus, Simon."

He grimaced and said, "You know what? Forget it. I just came by so I could see you again, and to pick up my stuff."

"Oh, I kind of donated your stuff when they said you were never coming back."

"Did you donate my money as well? I notice my accounts are all frozen."

"No. I just transferred that into my account."

"Splendid," Simon said with a Cheshire cat smile. "You can just give it back to me and I'll be on my way."

"I'm not sure I'm really in a position to give it back to you. I only have a few hundred in my account and I need that to get through to pay day. Turns out this house is a bit much for me to afford all on my own."

"So... what? I'm just supposed to head out and start over with nothing?" The look on her face informed him that the answer was definitely of the affirmative variety. He said, "What about my truck?"

"They towed it after the... incident."

"You can call it a shooting, Casey. That's what it was. That guy shot me. In the face. So what happened after they towed it?"

"I don't know. The police called a couple times about it, but I was so busy. After a while, they just stopped calling."

"Meaning they sold it. Great. Just fantastic. Is there literally no sign left in this house that I ever existed?"

She looked forlorn for a moment, but then her face broke out in a smile. She said, "I have your phone and your wallet."

He sighed mightily and said, "I knew coming here was a good idea."

Nine

Simon spent the remainder of his day going through all of the text messages and voice mails which filled his phone, in addition to having a long, frustrating conversation with some Silicon Valley companies in an ultimately successful effort to resurrect his email accounts. This gave him another glut of messages to go through. He was surprised at the volume of messages from both sides of the proverbial aisle. The ones from the right varied from accusing him of being a fraud to damning him for interrupting the Lord's work. The ones from the left were more uniform in their praise but some still found ways to disparage him.

At the end of this exercise, he was left with a list of about a hundred people to whom he actually wanted to respond. This list ranged from a few former presidents to the beautiful waitress who had been the last person he spoke to before running face first into a loaded gun.

He fashioned a form letter to respond to the people he did not know personally, telling them that he was out of the coma and appreciated their concern. He was careful not to ask for anything from them. His goal was only to let them know he appreciated the effort. He was still trying to come up with an effective response to Kayden, who had texted him several times with increasing levels of apparent anxiety in an attempt to find out what happened to him, when he saw a new email come in from the owner of the strip club where the shooting had taken place. They were anxious to meet him as soon as he felt up to it so they could thank him in person. He quickly made the decision to kill two birds with one stone and emailed the club to say he would be available the following afternoon.

That evening, he had a long conversation with Hank, the latter having just landed in California, about his next steps. Simon was unsure if his job had been held for him, but he was certain he no longer wanted it. But, as Hank so helpfully pointed out, he needed to do something for money. And waiting around for Casey to produce the money she 'owed' him would only lead to disappointment. Hank suggested that Simon really take this as an opportunity to figure out what he wanted out of life. Or, as Hank put it, Simon did not need to re-enter himself in the rat race. He had the chance to start fresh, and perhaps find the happiness which had eluded him in his life with Casey.

Upon waking the next morning, Simon decided to 'astronaut the shit' out of his problems by solving something attainable, and then reassessing. He queued up a ride-share while looking up the address of the police impound lot. When he arrived, fortunately this time not at the hands of a maniacal wanna-be race car driver, he sought out the main office and encountered something unexpected. His entire life, and every piece of pop culture he had ever experienced, had prepared him for the impound to be managed by a corpulent, cigar smoking, overalls wearing, personal hygiene neglecting cretin. What he actually found was a young, buxom, pink-haired, friendly-face woman named Zoe.

She smiled and said, "Good morning. Be with you in a moment." Simon loitered in the waiting area, which was quiet at this early hour, until she said, "Thanks so much for waiting. What's the name?" Simon provided it and watched her expression go through a wild evolution, from curious to perplexed to disgusted, as she searched her computer. "Oh! You're him."

"I suppose," Simon offered. "Although I suppose that phrase could apply to half the population."

"No," she said snippily. "You're that guy who couldn't mind his own business."

"What's that supposed to mean? I stopped a tragedy."

"Whatever, traitor. Why are you here?"

"I'm here for my truck. My wife told me it got towed here after the shooting."

"Ruined shooting," Zoe mumbled under her breath.

Simon slapped his palm on the counter, eliciting a look of anger from the woman. He said, "Where is my truck."

"Destroyed," she said quickly. "No one claimed it, so we sent it to the crusher. Maybe next time mind your own business."

Simon said, "You're lying. You, or, perhaps more accurately, your superiors, would never risk the public relations fallout of me going to the press saying you trashed my truck while I was in a coma."

"Fuck you, traitor!" Zoe screamed.

Simon groaned audibly and thought to himself 'why can't she just shut the fuck up?'. Simon felt a twinge of dizziness and reached out to steady himself against the counter. When his eyes returned to Zoe, she had a triumphant expression on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, presumably to tell Simon to get out, but no sounds escaped. Her eyes widened in horror as she repeatedly, albeit unsuccessfully, tried to speak.

Simon felt uncomfortable about the effect his newfound abilities could have over people, and the dizziness had not gone away. But he was determined to get what he came here for. He lowered his voice and said, "That's better, isn't it?"

Zoe glared at him with hatred filled eyes, but Simon was undeterred.

He said, "Where is my truck? Feel free to write down your answer. And you can keep the judgement and epitaphs to yourself."

Zoe furiously ripped a piece of paper off the top of the printer to her right and scribbled out a message.

Simon picked it up and said, "How poetic. By the way, you misspelled 'cunt'. Or do you people just use the letter 'k' as often as possible?"

He groaned to himself, knowing that eventually someone else was bound to stop by. This would leave him with the choice between doing whatever he had done to Zoe to someone else, or just giving up. He decided to double down.

He quietly said, "Be nice," in the First Language.

Zoe's eyes grew wide just before she bent over and emptied the contents of her stomach into the wastebasket behind her. The effect was nearly identical for Simon, he made use of a corresponding wastebasket on his side of the counter. He reached for a napkin from the coffee station and cleaned himself up. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he looked around to see a cup of water being offered. He took it gratefully and rinsed his mouth out before standing to find Zoe looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

She said, "I'm so sorry I was nasty to you, Mr. York."

Simon shook his head and said, "It's fine."

"It really isn't, sir. I could get in so much trouble for how I behaved. But my boyfriend had me get this job specifically in case you ever came in. He told me I was to give you a hard time before I actually let you have your truck. But he also said he had a tracker in it."

"Why would he do that?" Simon asked with a growing sense of dread.

"So he could kill you," Zoe replied simply.

"And you were on board with this?"

"Oh, absolutely," Zoe gushed. "The white nation will..."

She fell silent as Simon raised his hand for silence. He said, "Since my car was bugged, I don't suppose there are any other cars here I could take in trade."

"Sure. I mean, I guess. Which one would you like?"

"You misunderstand," Simon groaned, rubbing his temples. "I do not wish to steal a car. I merely meant that, since you have rendered my car unusable, perhaps there is another car which the owner will never have use of again. Perhaps one actually scheduled for destruction."

"Oh, I understand. One sec." She pranced around to the other side of the counter and began tapping away at the keyboard. She said, "Here we go. All of these are scheduled to go to the crusher this afternoon. They've all been identified as belonging to people who couldn't pay their fines."

"I thought you auctioned those off."

"Normally we do, but no one bid on these. You sure you don't want to just take one of the drug dealer cars? We got a really cherry one out there. It goes, like, super-fast. My boyfriend took it out for a spin last weekend when we were closed."

"No. Drug dealer or not, I have no interest in taking someone else's property. I feel scummy enough talking about these other ones. The only thing which makes it even marginally ok is that they'd be destroyed this time tomorrow anyway."

"Fine. Here's what we got," she said, turning the monitor in his direction.

As he pursued the list, he had a dawning realization. "These cars aren't all beaters. Some of them are only a year or two old and have really low mileage. Why didn't anyone bid on them?"

Zoe merely shrugged in response. Simon glared at her, and she quickly demurred. "Fine. My boyfriend told me to stop publicizing the auctions. He said too many colored people where benefiting from the misfortune of whites."

"Do you actually believe all this nonsense? Or are you just parroting what your boyfriend tells you?" She opened her mouth to speak, but Simon raised his index finger in the air and added, "Be honest," with quiet intensity.

"Not really," she whispered. "But it's all I've ever known. My father's a big muckity muck in the local whatever you call it. He encouraged me to start dating my boyfriend."

"Why don't you just leave him, leave both of them, if you don't agree with their hateful philosophy?" Simon asked carefully.

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "What do you expect me to do, just leave and start over?"

"Yes," he said simply. "That's what I'm doing. I was in a coma for three months and I wake up to find my wife took everything I own and threw me out for good measure. I am quite literally, wearing all my worldly possessions. But I am undeterred. I chose to look at this as an opportunity. You've got ten cars out there scheduled for demolition. Take one and just start driving. Don't stop until you've crossed at least a couple state lines. And just settle down somewhere. You'll have to start small, but with determination I'm certain you can break free from your hateful upbringing."

She looked at him wide-eyed, almost reverently. He cleared his breath, trying to break the tension. She looked away and mumbled, "So, you want to go check out the cars?"

He nodded and she led him outside to a row of cars near the office. As they perused the cars, he felt her hand slide into his. He looked at her in surprise, but she merely smiled shyly and molded herself against him. He felt his body react to her nearness. It made him realize that, with the exception of nurses and Casey, he had not been in the vicinity of another female in nearly one-hundred days. He firmly thought 'down boy' to himself, and was quite surprised when his erection immediately deflated.

As he suspected, the quality of the cars was high above what one would expect from vehicles destined for the chopping block. He spotted several which seemed like they would do nicely for his needs and one which he hoped Zoe would make use of. They headed back into the office and returned to Zoe's computer.

"So, how do we do this so it's legal?"

Zoe smiled and said, "Simple. The cars are technically still available for auction. You place a bid on whatever you want. If no one bids higher, you get the car."

"How charming. Very well, I bid one dollar on the heavy-duty pickup, another dollar for the trailer and a third dollar on the late model minivan. I suggest you bid one dollar on the hatchback."

She rubbed his upper arm affectionately. She said, "You really think I can get away from my boyfriend just by getting in the car and going?"

"I don't see why not," Simon replied. "Just go to an ATM and withdraw as much cash as you can, making sure you park at least one hundred meters from the ATM, so the camera doesn't see what type of car you're driving. Then just go. Once you decide to stop moving, take a job as a waitress or a bartender, anything where you're paid mostly in cash. Just live on cash only until you're settled somewhere. And try to get in good with the local authorities, in case anyone comes looking for you."

Simon glanced back at the screen to confirm the mileage of the vehicles. He sensed movement beside him and then felt a disturbance at the front of his trousers. He glanced down to see Zoe, now very much topless, eagerly trying to free Simon's once again hardening erection. He gasped in shock, taking in her undeniable beauty. She succeeded in her efforts, pushing his trousers and boxers to the floor as she took his cock into her mouth. Her large, supple breasts jiggled alluringly as she bobbed her head. Her nipples felt fantastic as they repeatedly dragged against his thighs. She pulled back, continuing to stroke him as she looked up at him hopefully.

She said, "Will you come with me? I don't think I can do this alone."

He shook his head to clear away the haze of lust which had clouded his thoughts. He once again instructed his coupling gear to stand down. Zoe's eyes widened alarmingly as his penis went from throbbing to flaccid in a heartbeat. He took her hands from his member and pulled her to a standing position.

He said, "You don't have to do that Zoe. And you can do this. I cannot go with you. My journey lies along a different path than yours. But you're a smart girl. You don't need a man to take care of you."

Her face fell, but her eyes twinkled with newfound confidence. Simon bent down to pull his trousers up and handed Zoe her hastily discarded clothing. She put them back on quickly, but without embarrassment.

She took a deep breath and said, "Mr. York, I am pleased to inform you that you have won each of the auctions in which you placed bids. That'll be three dollars, please."

Ten

Simon left the impound and proceeded to the city's seedy used car district. After stops at seven different establishments, he finally reached an agreement and sold the minivan and trailer for slightly over ten thousand dollars. His conscience, which he theorized was now directly connected to his general level of well-being, seemed to approve of this strategy. Simon was unsure if this was because he tricked said conscience into believing that it was fine to acquire vehicles for basically nothing since they were destined for destruction, but he was glad that there were no more gastrointestinal fireworks.

He drove his new truck to the strip club, as their opening time was nearing, and he wanted to keep his promise to the owners. He felt a little awkward walking up to the bouncer and showing his ID. The bouncer eyed him warily but ultimately granted him access. The awkwardness increased when he stepped inside to find several very well-built men, with penises which would have made a porn star blush, dancing on the stage. Simon approached the bar and asked to see the manager.

The bartender looked at him severely before saying, "Why?"

"I have an appointment. My name is Simon York."

The suspicious expression on the bartender's face vanished and was replaced by a huge smile. He quickly reached below the bar and pulled out a microphone. Before Simon could stop him, he said, "Gentlemen. May I please have your attention? Our savior has arrived. The beautiful man at the bar is none other than Simon Fucking York."

A cheer went up and soon Simon was mobbed by what seemed like every human in the establishment. He tried to endure the crush of humanity with good humor, constantly willing himself to relax. Everyone wanted to buy him a drink and he hoped they accepted his refusal without rancor. He figured he must have repeated the phrases 'No, thank you', 'I was glad I could help' and 'You're welcome' at least a hundred times each.

At length, Simon was rescued by what appeared to be the club owner and taken to a much quieter office. The man bid Simon to take one of the chairs in front of his desk, and then took the chair next to him.

"Sorry about all that," he said sincerely. "But you're something of a celebrity here. Who woulda thought that a white man in the south would have taken a bullet for a club full of gay black men?"

"That's not why I intervened," Simon said carefully. "I would have done it regardless of the people he had threatened."

"I know. But that doesn't change that you did it for us. I gather we're not your cup of tea for entertainment, but if you're ever thirsty, feel free to stop by. You'll never pay for a drink here. That goes for the breeder bar next door as well. I know the owners well, and they're nearly as thankful as we are."

Simon's eyes widened and he said, "Why?"

"Because, while that good ole boy had his sights set on my establishment. He parked in theirs. God knows how that would have been spun had he been successful. It's as likely as not that they'd have been painted in the press as culpable.

"Now? They're part of the story about how you saved us. A white man, minding his own business and looking at some sweet titties. No offense." Simon shrugged in agreement with the man's assessment, prompting the latter to continue. "This white man tears his eyes away from the aforementioned titties to spot a racist murderer loading up to come kill a bunch of sodomites. Black sodomites, at that. And this white boy, without hesitation, springs into action and saves the day. Hell, Simon. They come off looking nearly as good as you. Their business has doubled since the shooting. So has mine. Words can't express our gratitude, and free drinks is a poor substitute. I know you didn't do it for glory, I can see that in your eyes. But if there's ever anything you need, you give me a call. I owe you everything, including my life."

Simon could only nod in response, as he knew something as trite as 'you're welcome' was wholly insufficient to meet the moment. He did agree to share a drink with the man, and he was not disappointed as behind the impressive looking desk was a wet bar containing a dizzying variety of top shelf bourbon.

***

He left the club an hour later, having endured another round of gratitude and drink offers from the crowd. He was surprised to find that the sun had set while he was inside. He was even more surprised to realize that he had had nothing to eat since his emergence from the coma. He was not hungry, but he figured it would be foolhardy to assume that his body could sustain itself without fuel. He decided to stop by next door in hopes of actually getting the cheeseburger he had ordered so long ago.

He entered the restaurant, which was thankfully less crowded than on his previous visit. The hostess smiled and asked if he was alone.

He said, "Is Kayden working this evening, by any chance?"

"Sure, honey. She's behind the bar. You want to sit there?"

Simon nodded and headed in the indicated direction. He took the same seat at the end of the bar which he had occupied on his previous visit. Simon's breath caught in his throat a moment later when she emerged from the kitchen. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Today she was wearing a tartan skirt which did either a pitifully poor or supremely splendid job, depending on one's sexual orientation, of covering her delightfully rounded derriere. She also wore a white button up shirt which she had tied closed between her breasts and had done her hair up in twin braids. Her gaze traveled down the bar, looking for anyone who needed a refill or their tab, before finally settling on Simon. He watched realization dawn behind her dazzling blue eyes. She hurried over to him, which caused her supple body to jiggle in ways which led Simon to groan silently to himself.

"Simon!" she exclaimed as she stepped upon a railing behind the bar so she could lean over it and embrace him tightly. She then decided this was unacceptable and hurried around the end of the bar to embrace him more fully. "I'm so glad you're ok!" she gushed. "What took you so long?"

She released him from her embrace and pulled back to gaze into his eyes. Up close, her beauty was even more mesmerizing, especially considering her intoxicating scent. Simon would never have previously even considered the possibility that the combination of warm vanilla and stale beer could be alluring. But on Kayden, it made her even more irresistible.

He realized she was staring at him expectedly and it dawned on him that he had not answered her somewhat confusing question. He stammered, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"It's been, like, a million years. Why are you only coming to see me now?"

He shrugged sheepishly and said, "I only came out of the coma yesterday."

She said, "I know. That was a whole day ago. What else could you have possibly been doing?"

Simon started to answer but then noticed a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He smirked and said, "You know. A little bit of dropping in on my ex to find her in flagrante delicto with another man here... some visiting gay strips clubs there... I'm a busy man."

"Your joking! You got out of the hospital and went to visit your ex, and she was literally fucking someone when you got there?"

"His bits were literally in her bits. I sensed what was happening inside, so I waited outside for them to finish."

Kayden smirked and said, "That was nice of you. Did they appreciate it?"

"Not really. The guy attacked me and we had to call the police."

"I assume your wife thanked you on her knees and begged you to come back."

Simon grinned and said, "Not so much. She asked me to come back, but no sexual favors were offered."

Kayden glanced behind her and said, "Listen, I've got to see to these customers. But please don't go anywhere. I really, really want to catch up."

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

She gave him a dazzling smile and said, "You want a beer? Or anything to eat?"

"Now that you mention it, I think I could eat. How about that cheeseburger I ordered, as you put it, a million years ago?"

"I'm so sorry, Simon," she said, her eyes growing big. "We threw it out." She then snickered and said, "But I'll get you a fresh one. I don't know if the guys next door told you, but your money's no good here. Anything you want, it's on the house." She gave him a parting hug, squeezing him tightly. She whispered in his ear, "And I do mean anything," before sauntering back behind the bar to attend to the other patrons while leaving Simon in a state of shock.

She delivered his beer and burger moments later, demonstrably compressing her impressive breasts as she set it before him. She said, "Would you like to coat the buns in anything?" before turning around to bend at the waist and retrieve some condiments from the fridge behind the bar. Simon was dimly aware of other patrons' wolf whistling, but he quickly tuned out everything but her. She set the condiments before him with a wink.

He muttered, "Woman, you're going to be the death of me," but she only gave him another of her dazzling smiles in response.

He stayed at the bar for the remainder of her shift. Once food was set before him, he realized he was famished and ended up consuming thirty-seven hundred and forty-two calories over the course of several hours. Part of him knew he was being ridiculous, perhaps even pathetic. Kayden was charming, not to mention extraordinarily gorgeous, and the two of them continued their conversation throughout the evening, albeit in ninety-second-long segments. But Simon knew intellectually that even if her interest in him obviously exceeded what she would normally show a customer, it could not possibly extend further than platonic friendship with perhaps a dusting of gratitude left over from the shooting.

But her flirting and innuendos continued throughout the evening. If anything, they grew more bold. At one point, she asked him for a favor and bid that he come behind the bar with her. She led him into the employee lounge where he had told her of the shooting on that fateful day.

She said, "You remember the last time you came in here?"

"How could I forget? I wanted to apologize for that, by the way."

"Whatever for?"

"Because you were changing, and I burst in on you. It was necessary, considering the situation, but I still invaded your privacy. And, for that, I apologize."

"I didn't even remember that. I only remember that you got shot a few minutes later, you dummy." Simon raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. "I thought you were armed, Simon. I never would have let you go out there if I knew all you had to go up against racist Rambo was your fucking shoe."

Simon shrugged and said, "It was all I had. What was I going to do, let him shoot all those people?"

She pulled him into a tight embrace before whispering into his ear, "You must realize how truly remarkable you are Simon. When you got shot, this place was a mad house. But none of those mouth-breathing savages who paw at me every night were running towards you. Even the ones that I know for a fact were carrying, they were the ones running the fastest in the other direction."

She released him and regarded him intently. Simon could think of nothing to say, so he merely shrugged again helplessly. Kayden sighed and said, "So decisive in the face of danger, but a set of boobs get you all tongue tied." Simon opened his mouth to protest, but Kayden surged toward him. Her tongue hungrily invaded his mouth. His hands wrapped around her without thought, savoring the softness of her skin as his tongue joined hers in an eager ballet. She pulled back and sighed contentedly.

"You don't have to worry, Simon. You're definitely going to get the girl. You didn't think I'd been teasing you for the last four hours to send you home with blue balls, did you."

Simon shrugged again and said, "Is that why you brought me back here? To tell me that?"

"No, I was actually thinking of doing some even more overt teasing. Like maybe telling you my panties were all out of sorts, but I couldn't figure out how to fix them because my skirt was in the way. Or asking you to hold my boobs while I re-tied my top. But my shift ends in a half hour, and I promise you can see all of me then. Not to mention that I'll make quite certain that you don't have blue balls."

"But, why?" Simon asked warily. "You hardly need to sleep with me just because I was too dumb to duck."

She frowned at him and opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp voice called from the door, "Kayden, are you back there?"

She grimaced and said, "Later. Just promise me you won't leave until my shift ends."

Eleven

"Thank you for waiting," Kayden said softly as she emerged from the employee's changing room. She was dressed in flip flops, a comfortable looking pair of jeans and a T-shirt bearing the logo of one of the local professional sports teams. Her braids were gone, and her hair was pulled through the back of a plain black baseball cap. She had also removed the makeup she wore while working. Needless to say, Simon felt she looked absolutely stunning.

He offered his arm, which she took with a smile. He said, "Where to?"

"I actually got dropped off today. My car's in the shop. The cops towed your truck after the shooting. Did you ever find it?"

"After a fashion," Simon allowed. "But I found a new one. Right this way."

Kayden's eyes widened when Simon clicked the fob to unlock the doors of his 'new' truck. He held her door for her and offered his hand to assist her with climbing aboard. He then shut her door and made his way around to the driver's side.

"This is quite an upgrade," Kayden observed as they set off.

"Turns out the police impound was infested with sympathizers for the shooter who were hoping I'd show up so they could track me down and properly thank me for my intervention. I convinced them to give me this truck instead."

"Impressive. But how do you know they won't just track down this truck?"

"I also convinced the young lady working there that she was wasting her life being the lackey of a bunch of white supremacists. She's going to head about a thousand miles to the north before trying to start over."

Kayden was quiet for a while, prompting Simon to say, "You never actually told me where you'd like me to take you, Kayden."

"Two things. First, I told you I wanted to have sex with you. And, unless you're opposed to having sex with me, I'm not really picky as to where said sex happens. Hell, we could have a go right here in the cab of your truck. It's big enough."

She was quiet for a moment, so Simon prompted, "You said there were two things."

"My name isn't really Kayden. I just picked it because it sounded sexy. My real name is Karen."

"Karen can be a sexy name," Simon said lamely.

"No, it can't. Karen is what you're called when you're in your fifties, and usually a bitch."

Simon said, "You could make any name sexy."

"Then why do you keep changing the subject when I tell you I'm down to fuck?"

"Because I can't comprehend it. Why on earth would someone as friendly, and warm, and charming, and beautiful as you are, want to have sex with me?"

"Because you're the most amazing man I've ever met. In all the men I've ever known, and please no jokes about how many guys I've fucked, you're the only one who I could imagine doing what you did. I've dated sports stars, and internet millionaires, and even one porn star. I've also dated a ton of regular guys. But they were all just self-absorbed assholes.

"But you're different, Simon. I knew it right away when we first met. Sure, you checked out my tits and my ass like all the rest. I guess that is kind of the point of that place, after all. But you looked at me like I was a goddess. You weren't leering like you wanted to break your dick off fucking me. You made me feel beautiful with how your eyes worshipped me.

"Then, you upped the ante by running out the back door and stopping a tragedy. Any one of those would have been worth a casual roll in the hay. But taken together, I just can't get over the feeling like I absolutely must get to know you better. I'm not just looking for a one-night stand here, Simon. Although I'll take it if that's all your willing to give. But I want to find out what makes you so special. And I want you to feel special. Make sense?"

Simon said, "Sure. I mean, I guess so. I'd love to get to know you too. But we don't have to have sex to accomplish that. We could just get a cup of coffee."

"Are you attracted to me?"

"I believe you already know the answer to that."

"You're right. I just wanted to make sure that wasn't a pistol or a couple rolls of quarters pressed up against my belly when I kissed you. And whether you choose to believe it or not, I'm super attracted to you. It's just that the signs we women give off when we're turned on are a little less obvious. I'd invite you to stick your hands down my pants to find out for yourself, but if you were willing to do that, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Where are we, anyway?"

Simon put the truck in park and shut off the engine. He said, "We're at the condo where I'm staying."

"You've been driving here this whole time and you just let me prattle on and on, trying to convince you to fuck me?"

"Two things," Simon parroted back to her. "First, I quite like talking to you. I find it to be one of the more thoroughly pleasurable experiences I've ever had. I could do it for hours and not feel as though a second had been wasted. Second, you hardly needed to convince me, Karen. I was merely trying to understand your reasoning."

"Enough talk," she said, pushing open her door and jumping down from the truck.

Simon grinned and exited the vehicle, meeting her at the front bumper. She melted into him, kissing him briefly, before Simon led her in the direction of his unit. She reached back and pulled the hand that he had placed in the small of her back down to her ass, moaning quietly as he squeezed her perfectly rounded bottom. When they reached his door, he started to retract his hand so he could extract his keys, but she whimpered loudly, so he started to reach across his body to attempt to extract them with his other hand. She beat him to it, reaching her hand into his pocket. She gave his throbbing shaft a quick squeeze before extracting his keys and handing them to him.

Once inside, her lips crushed against his. Her mouth opened and her tongue hungrily sought out his own. He blindly dropped the keys on the table by the door before slowly leading her in the direction of the living room without ever relinquishing her lips. They sank down onto the couch, her hands furiously working to open the front of his trousers while he slid his hands beneath her shirt to cup her breasts through her bra.

She broke the kiss breathlessly once she succeeded in extracting his throbbing erection and immediately dropped to take him into her mouth. He groaned loudly as, for the second time today, a beautiful woman forced the head of his cock into her throat. But unlike the encounter at the impound, Simon very much wanted to be with Karen. He slid his hands along her back, unclasping her bra, before he slipped a hand beneath her shirt to enjoy the feel of her bare breast. He stroked her hair, holding it back from her face without doing anything which she could perceive as forcing her.

He gasped, "I'm gonna cum if you keep that up."

She pulled back, leaving her hand to stroke his shaft while she bathed the head of his cock with her tongue. "How long since you had an orgasm?"

"I don't know, at least a hundred days."

"And how long since you busted a nut in a girl's willing and eager mouth?"

"Much longer," he admitted. "My ex wasn't really into mouth stuff."

"Probably not butt stuff either, I'd wager."

Simon could only shake his head as he felt his orgasm grow closer. Karen grinned and said, "We'll get to that, lover. For now, why don't you just let me take care of you? Fill my mouth, and then we'll be able to go nice and slow as we get to know each other. I want this, Simon. I want so much for you to fill my mouth with your hot cum. I hope there's a lot. I'll try to swallow it all."

"You don't have to do that for me," Simon grunted, knowing he couldn't take much more.

"I know," she said with a wink, briefly taking his entire cock down her throat before pulling back once more. "But I want to swallow your cum. I want you to fill my mouth with it, and then I want to drink it all down. Would you like that, baby?" Simon could only nod. "Would you like it if I gulp down your huge, tasty load?"

Simon moaned loudly as she drove him over the edge and his orgasm washed over him like a shock wave. Karen quickly engulfed that head of his cock in her mouth, caressing him with her tongue while she moaned in pleasure. Simon's orgasm seemed endless. Each eruption of his seed into her mouth was accompanied by a spasm which coursed through his entire body. Karen continued to sigh contentedly through it all, even when cum started to stream down the sides of his cock past her smiling lips. His pleasure began to recede, but then he felt her tongue flick against the sensitive underside of his cock as she swallowed, and another torrent filled her mouth. She pulled back, giggling happily as he coated her throat in his seed while she continued to stroke him gently.

When he was spent, his head fell back onto the couch. He felt her tongue languidly running along the sides of his cock to the base of his shaft. He looked down to discover that she was lapping up what had escaped her greedy lips during his orgasm. She grinned at him and smacked her lips loudly.

"That was a whole lot, Simon. You should be proud."

"On the contrary, Karen. I am ashamed."

"What are you talking about. That was incredible. And your cum, it tastes fantastic. And I'm not just doing the dumb girl thing here trying to impress you when I'm actually feeling a little grossed out. I mean it really tastes great. I can't describe it, but it's heavenly. I want some more."

Simon smiled and said, "I'm not sure I can take credit for that, but it pleases me that you enjoyed it even a fraction as much as I did. What I meant is that I'm ashamed because you've been in my home for six hundred and forty-two seconds and you're still, as near as makes no difference, fully dressed."

"Oh, well that's different," she said with a glint in her eye. "Would you like me to get undressed?"

"No," he said, causing her face to fall. "I want to undress you."

Her smile returned. She leaned back on the couch, and she said, "Well, what are you waiting for lover?"

He pulled her to her feet and kissed her deeply, his hands cupping her perfect ass. He removed his hands, earning him a groan of protest from his partner, until he slid them inside her jeans and groped her again. He kissed his way down her neck until he met the resistance of her shirt. He pulled it up her body slowly, savoring each centimeter of her flawless flesh as it was exposed. When he pulled her shirt over her head, her bra fell away and he beheld her incomparable breasts. He dipped his head down to take one of her tiny nipples into his mouth, stroking it gently with his tongue as his hand caressed her other breast. He switched between her breasts several times. Each time he released one of her nipples, a tiny moan escaped from her lips.

He could have spent a lifetime pleasuring her breasts and shuffled off his mortal coil without regret, but he sensed her need for him to sample the rest of her unparalleled body. He unfastened her jeans and slid them slowly down her toned legs. Her thong soon followed, and she stood nude before him. He leaned back to appreciate her beauty fully. She smiled brightly at him and struck a pose that was old when Moses got into the boat building business. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Her breasts jutted firmly out from her chest but displayed a supple jiggle whenever she moved. Her toned stomach gave way to a small triangle of dark blonde hair just above her hairless slit. The way her hips flared out from her tiny waist combined with her long, slender legs to give her an air of breathtaking femininity.

Simon breathed, "You're perfect, Karen. The gods themselves stand in awe of your beauty."

She sighed deeply, and appeared about to speak, before Simon stood up with her in his arms. She squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around his neck. He laid her on his bed and kissed her briefly before a terrible realization hit him.

He pulled back and said, "Honey, I'm so sorry. I messed up, big time."

"What is it?"

"I'm not prepared. I don't have any protection."

"You honestly think I'd seduce you without bringing along a box of rubbers? They're in my bag, wherever that ended up."

Simon breathed a sigh of relief and went in search of her bag. He returned with them, along with a glass of water for Karen. She accepted it gratefully.

He said, "Sorry, I should have gotten that for you before. After... you know... you..."

"Swallowed about a gallon of your cum?" she asked with a smile. "I appreciate it, Simon. Truly, I do. But I meant what I said. You taste delightful."

Simon took the glass from her and set it on the nightstand. He said, "Let's see how you taste."

"Please, Simon. I need you inside of me. I swear you can go down on me later. Jesus, that's a sentence I've never spoken before. But I mean it, I'm so turned on I'll go off like a Roman candle the second you touch me. Please put your cock in me, baby. I need it."

Simon nodded gravely as he took his place on the bed at her side. He was determined to make this as special for her as it was for him. He took a deep breath. He carefully said to himself 'this is all about her' and he could immediately sense that his mind was actively shutting out all distractions until nothing in his universe existed except her. He felt her hands on him, rolling the condom over his throbbing member, and let his breath back out with the knowledge that only a few seconds had transpired to Karen's way of thinking.

He smiled at her and kissed her, expanding his awareness in the hope of sensing her needs, her desires. He let her guide the kiss, both physically and by responding to what his awareness told him she wanted. Their tongues twined languidly but steadily grew more frenetic. His hands roamed her body, pulled to her various pleasure centers at the bidding of her yearnings. By the time Simon sensed her hunger for his achingly gentle touch on her clit, she was at the precipice of orgasm.

She broke the kiss breathlessly and said, "Please make love to me."

Simon resumed their kiss, his hips moving of their own accord until he was poised at her opening. He held himself micrometers away from her soaked entrance until he felt her need peak. She screamed in ecstasy as he thrust firmly into her core. He held himself motionless as she stretched around him, her inner walls rippling along his length as she rode out a small orgasm.

She breathed, "How are you doing this to me?"

"Because you deserve it," Simon whispered before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

Her moans grew louder as he began slowly thrusting. Her legs wrapped around his hips, locking him in place. Her hands roamed over his body: kneading, pulling and scratching in an effort to display her satisfaction.

She mumbled, "I can get on top."

He said, "Maybe next time, my dear. But tonight is just for you."

He pulled out and pulled her into a sitting position. He stacked the bed's pillows up next to her and said, "I know this is how you want it, baby. Let me give it to you."

She sighed languorously and gave him a crooked grin. She shifted onto her knees and leaned against the pillows, presenting her perfect ass to him. "How did you..." she started to ask, but her words were cut off when Simon entered her.

He quickly established a swift rhythm, leaning over her to wrap an arm around her waist and kissing the nape of her neck. He cupped her breast lovingly and teased the tip of his tongue along her earlobe. She reached a hand back to cup his face, pulling them even closer together.

"You are so beautiful, Karen," he whispered into her ear. "Cum for me."

Her moans devolved into screams as a new orgasm washed over her body. Her muscles spasmed mightily as her wetness flooded Simon's balls. Her inner walls rippled along his manhood, pleading for his own release. But Simon sensed her true release still eluded them.

He sped up his thrusts, filling her completely on each stroke. He pulled her up into a kneeling position. Cradling her beneath her breasts with one hand while he rubbed her clit with the other.

"Please," she gasped. "Please fill me up."

He sensed she desired for him to remove the condom, but he was not yet ready to act on some impulses. She put the condom on him, and it would take more than his admittedly sparse understanding of his new awareness for him to remove it. He sped up his thrusting as much as he dared. No matter how much he felt her desire for harder and faster, he had no wish to harm either of them.

Her moment of release arrived with a whimper, starting impossibly small but growing quickly in intensity. He felt her pleasure wash over him, and he allowed himself to join her. She groaned loudly at the sensation of his throbbing manhood pulsing within her. Her screams of pleasure grew more hoarse until they stopped altogether. Her muscles seized as she reached the heights of ecstasy. He laid her down on the bed, kissing her cheek tenderly as he felt her heart finally start to slow and her breathing resume. He pulled her into an embrace before gazing down at her unconscious form and whispering, "Thank you."

Twelve

Karen woke a few moments later, a wide smile on her face. She pulled Simon's chin down and kissed him tenderly. She said, "I don't have the words."

He smiled in return and said, "Me either."

She said, "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Don't be coy with me, Simon. Please. This is too important. How did you know... everything? You met... every need, every desire, every passing thought, instantly and perfectly. And you gave me an orgasm the likes of which I suspect even God has never contemplated. You literally fucked me into unconsciousness."

He grinned and said, "I prefer to think of it as making love until your conscious mind could no longer stand the pleasure your body was experiencing."

"Fine. Let's call it that, then. And it was perfect, Simon. You've ruined me for all other guys. But, how?"

"I just paid attention to what your body was telling me. It's not some kind of trick Karen, I swear."

"I don't believe that for a second."

He said, "You should. You did the exact same thing to me in the living room."

"But that's different," she retorted with a grin. "Making a guy cum by going down on him is easy."

"Not for everyone. You just happen to be a particularly empathetic person. You can sense others' emotions to a degree. It makes you a great bartender. It also makes you amazing at giving pleasure. I swear to you Karen, I've never been able to orgasm before from oral sex. But you brought me effortlessly to the brink, and knew exactly how to maximize my pleasure. I just did the same thing. It only seems rare because my gender is, by and large, far too concerned with our own pleasure to ever truly place our partner above ourselves."

"Not never, lover. You did it. Holy shit, did you do it. I don't know whether to be anxious for an encore, or if I should just let that one shining moment exist by itself. Alone, for all time, in the hall of fame of orgasms."

"I suggest the former, although I'll need another three minutes before my body will be ready to go again."

"Not tonight, Simon. I would have to call out sick tomorrow if we went again." She paused for a moment, snuggling closer into his arms. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I wanted you to take the condom off. I wanted to feel you fill me up for real."

"I suspected as much," Simon murmured. "But that was not something I was prepared to impose on you."

"Would you? Next time? I mean, assuming there is a next time. I'm on the pill, and I've had a clean test since my last partner."

"I hope very much there is a next time. But why would you not ask if I am clean."

She yawned and said, "I don't have to. You've been with one woman over the last half decade. And you had to get tested before you got hitched. I'm the only risky one here."

"Not to my mind. As I said, you're perfect. Now sleep, my dear. You have earned your rest."

"You're like a dream Simon," she whispered groggily as she drifted off to sleep, "Be careful, or I might end up falling in love with you."

***

Karen's words reverberated in Simon's head long after she had fallen into a peaceful slumber. Her falling in love with him had not even been something he considered to be in the realm of possibility when he walked into her restaurant earlier that afternoon. Of course, the hug with which she had greeted him would also have been impossible to his way of thinking. He pondered how such a thing could happen so quickly. To his recollection, it had taken him at least a year to fall in love with Casey. It had been that feeling of belonging and rightness which had convinced him he was in love. He felt a similar level of contentedness around Karen, and they certainly had more sexual chemistry than he had with Casey. He smiled at the realization that he shared Karen's sentiment, and at the way she sighed in her sleep when he glanced down at her.

Simon tried to go to sleep with Karen in his arms, but he eventually gave up upon discovering that he was not tired. He was in fact almost worryingly awake. He tidied up around the condo while pondering why he was so restless. He had spent most of the previous night tossing and turning. At most, he had gotten an hour's worth of sleep. As Simon glanced at the clock, which indicated it was just after midnight, he knew that tonight was unlikely to shape up much better. The most curious part about this fact was that Simon did not feel remotely tired, or even a bit run down. He felt no different than he had, in a previous life, after a full night's sleep.

Simon sat down at his makeshift desk and opened his email. There had been a significant uptick in the volume from complete strangers since the world, at least the part of the world that paid attention to ten-second blurbs at the tail-end of the local news, had learned he had awoken. He was able to quickly sort these into two categories. The first was those who wanted to leverage his fame to enrich themselves. This included everything from: media outlets, to locally owned businesses, to social media influencers, to politicians. Simon deleted these without a thought. The second category was smaller and was comprised of people who had been sympathetic with the shooter. These people used very explicit, and usually misspelled rhetoric which left Simon with no doubts as to how they felt. He was initially content to dismiss these as well, but he realized there could be some true threats buried in all the hate speak. He scrolled back through the handful of email he had kept and pulled out his phone.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation," a pleasant-sounding voice answered. "How may I direct your call?"

Simon consulted an email he had received shortly after it became known that he had emerged from the coma and said, "Assistant Special Agent in Charge Johnson, please."

"Do you mean ASAC Ella Johnson?"

Simon consulted the email and responded, "No, the other one."

"Please hold," the voice responded before placing him into the hell of autotuned country hold music. Simon put his phone down to escape the torture. But what he could still hear was unbearable. He concentrated on tuning out the abomination, while crossing his mental fingers that he would be able to tell the difference when the aural assault on his ears ended. Simon was just starting to wonder the advisability of calling the agent, who he assumed was in the same time zone as the clock on Simon's wall which indicated that it was fourteen minutes past two in the morning, when a gruff voice answered.

"ASAC Johnson. This had better be an emergency."

Simon replied, "I apologize for calling so late, sir. My name is Simon York..."

"The guy from the shooting?" the agent replied excitedly, his apparent exhaustion a distant memory.

"Um, yeah. I guess so. I was calling because..."

"What is your best friend's birthday and your wife's least favorite color?"

"Why would I tell you..."

"Because you're the fifth person I've spoken to this week claiming to be you. Out with it."

"Um, February twentieth and pink," Simon replied somewhat surprised he had managed to complete a sentence.

"Good. I'm glad you called, Mr. York. We have reason to believe you may be in danger."

"That's actually why I called. I've got some emails which I thought you might want to take a look at. They range from reasonably offensive to outright threatening."

"Send them over. Better yet, you should get a new email address which you only share with your friends and family. Then you can give us direct access to your old email. That way we can respond to the threats, and you don't have to see all the vitriol."

"Suits me. But what if these threats are real?"

The agent said, "We can offer you protection, if you wish. I can't really evaluate the level of threat until I see what we're dealing with. But it's not nothing. That's why I reached out to you originally. We've seen some chatter on the dark web which had us a little concerned."

"What about my wife... I mean my ex-wife? What about Casey?"

"The protection can be extended to her as well. This can range from full-on witness protection level stuff where we help you relocate and give you a new identity, to something as mundane as agents watching your house."

Simon thought for a moment and said, "I think I'd like to take advantage of the former in any case. I find myself forced to start over anyway. Might as well leave behind the persona which horrible people apparently love to hate while I'm at it."

"Why don't you stop by my office tomorrow and we'll get all this set up. Until then, stay safe. Lock your doors, be aware of your surroundings, and call me at the number I'm about to text you should anything suspicious happen. Don't bother with the local cops, call me directly."

"I appreciate your help Agent Johnson. I'll see you in the morning."

Simon hung up and scanned around the condo. He was still not remotely tired. He found this somewhat alarming, but was at a loss for what to do about it. He knew if he tried to consult medical professionals, they were as likely to lock him up as help him. He shrugged and tabled the issue.

He was about to close his email when a new message arrived. The subject of the message promised that Simon could 'get rich quick'. He raised an eyebrow and clicked on the message. After scanning the contents, he deleted the message and closed his email. But the idea had taken root in his head, like a splinter in his mind. Getting rich quick with little to no risk and a guaranteed return. It was the twenty-first century's version of the American dream. But, so far as Simon knew, it was virtually unknown in practice. But he figured that the concept must have come from somewhere. After all, he mused, it could not just be tech billionaires who had been the genesis of this narrative. As jealous as most people were of the fantastic fortunes of these people, most also knew the tremendous effort and luck which had gone into their successes. But Simon wondered if it were truly possible to turn nothing into not only something, but more than most people could ever imagine.

Instead of moving on from this frivolous thought exercise, as he would have before whatever the hell the grokking was had happened to him, he truly tried to ponder the problem from a fresh perspective. He opened up a text editor on his laptop and began to make a list of attributes common to the get-rich-quick myth. Most involved the stock market, since that was where the most well publicized explosions in value took place, but all that was really required was an asset whose value was a matter of perspective. In essence, that was all trade entailed: taking a thing from a place where it was undervalued to a place where it was overvalued, and hope the trip did not wipe out your profit. He knew the gig economy, with its work people to death logistics, had forever killed the traditional idea of trade as a profitable business venture, unless one considered smuggling. But Simon knew he would be on the FBI's radar, so he wanted to keep things above board. This led Simon back to the idea of trying to play the stock market. He spent a few hours researching how the markets worked, and decided to invest about half of his money to test out a few theories.

This left him with barely enough to get an apartment once the lease on the condo ran out. He knew he would need more money quite soon. There was an email in his inbox from his old boss, informing him that his job was available if he wanted to come back, but Simon knew that this would lead to madness.

He glanced up at the clock to see that it was nearly dawn, and he was somewhat heartened by the fact that he felt the slightest bit tired. He wandered back to the bedroom, his heart once again catching in his throat at the sight of Karen's stunning beauty. He fetched a glass of water for her side of the bed before disrobing and climbing into bed beside her.

She sighed softly and molded herself against his body. He smiled contentedly and kissed her forehead. He considered his last twenty-four hours and decided he could not remember a better day. At least not since his wedding day. He rested his head back on the pillow and slowly let all the air out of his lungs. He slowed his heartbeat until it was almost imperceptible, allowing his body to truly rest. Once he made sure his body would be safe in his absence, he allowed his mind to take a well-earned break.

Copyright © 2022 Jake Lazarus

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This is a work of fiction.

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