Blunt Force Drama Ch. 10-11

Like the rest of this story, these chapters depend intimately on the earlier ones. This chapter starts with the couple returning from their first visit to his parents, where Matt discovered he had a new power.

Chapter 10

We arrive at the dorm, having eaten the entire batch of brownies on the drive. Aya sees us entering and waves us over.

"A few things, all pretty important. Angie, IT played some sort of game with your e-mail. They are blocking all mail to your account from outside the campus unless they sent you mail in the 45 days prior to the speech. And they generated a new account for you that does not use your name and should not be guessable. You can give that out to people you need to communicate with. So you should be able to use your e-mail again without much issue. They sent you a message with all this in it. You have a way to let someone else through if you have a grandmother who sends you mail once a quarter or something. If you get more hate mail through this, let the Dean or me know ASAP."

"Sounds good."

"And some social worker from the county came by looking for each of you just about an hour ago."

Angie and I look at each other. "Ethan was right," I say. "And it did not take them long to follow up at all."

Aya looks at us quizzically.

"My father slapped me, quite hard, on Tuesday. Part of the incident at the ceremony that I generally don't tell people is that he looked like he was going to hit me. Matt got between us and said that he would not allow Papa to hit me again. Anna and Ethan are both mandatory reporters and were within earshot of that. On Saturday, Ethan told Matt that he'd report it this morning and, because of my momentary celebrity, he assumed they would at least look at the accusation and probably quickly."

"You should've told me on Tuesday that he had hit you, Angie."

"But you're a mandatory reporter, too. I didn't tell Jennie, either. I did not want this to become officially noticed. This is going to make reconciliation with my father even harder. For as much as I hate some parts of my father, he is still my Papa and I love him. He only hit me a handful of times and never as hard as he had Tuesday. Papa created the scene on Friday and Matt did the right thing, so what will happen, will happen. This is all on him."

Aya is about to walk away, when Angie speaks up.

"Is there a dorm rule about cohabitation or anything like that?"

"You two are flying forward at a million miles an hour, aren't you? It depends on exactly what you're asking about. As long as things happen quietly in your own rooms, I'm not going to say anything. But there are limits to what I'm willing to ignore. When you moved in here two years ago Angie, I heard your stories of your first roommate. I wouldn't have put up with that behavior for an instant. I mostly want to make sure the other students feel comfortable. One absolute rule is that the showers are unisex. So whoever is on the wrong floor will need to go up or down a floor to use the shower.

"And, no, I'm not going to let you swap a bed in one of your rooms for a desk in the other. Even if these beds are damned uncomfortable for two. You don't think you two were the first to think about doing that, do you?"

I frown. I had already been trying to figure out a layout for both beds in one room, both desks in the other.

"Oh, and no indecency running between rooms. You were fine yesterday morning in your nightgown, Angie. But I don't want to get reports of Matt running down the second floor hall in just his boxers. Or either of you running down any hallway in less than that. Does that answer your question?"

We both nod our heads glumly.

I ask Aya, "Do you like cake? My mother baked us way more stuff than the two of us could eat. Or at least should eat."

"I could eat a slice or two. There are some paper plates in the cabinet behind the table in the lounge. If you really have too much, there are five other students in the dorm this week. I'm sure they would appreciate some, as well."

"Can we just leave some on the table in the lounge with a free food sign on it?"

"Yeah, and I think I see everyone every day. I will let them know."

Angie wants to check her e-mail; she is usually very diligent about it and has been forced off for over 48 hours. I go up to my room and review more of my Renaissance Art text. The interview is tomorrow.

We meet in the lounge a little after four to head into my appointment with Anna. I'm nervous for this one. I need to talk to her about Angie's dream. And I guess a few other things.

When I walk in Anna's office, she asks me "How was your weekend of fame?"

There is a smattering of snark and a little bitterness in her. I'm trying to be better, but I have to understand, so I listen in on her thoughts more carefully. She and Ethan had been having a nice Saturday morning. A very nice morning. Angie and I might have to try that. But that all ended abruptly when he got called to help set up the press conference. And he was upset about things when he came back.

"It is not fair to blame me for Saturday. We were having a nice morning too. Although not as nice as you. I want Angie to try that with me."

"Matthew, that is enough. How is your shin feeling?"

"The bruise hurts. Angie hasn't noticed it yet. I'm going to have to think about how to explain that to her. I'm sure she will notice. I get your point. I can tell Ethan did not tell you what happened, other than the press conference, so I guess I shouldn't either. But it was horrific for Angie."

"She got a threat, didn't she? Death or rape?"

"Death. And it was gruesome. God, I never thought about a rape threat. That might've even been worse for her."

"That is something that unfortunately happens for famous women. Especially non-caucasian women."

"Oh, I kind of almost blew my secret with both Angie and Ethan over that."

"How and why would you do that?"

"When Angie first saw the threat, I was outside talking to Ethan. He was telling me he was reporting my accusation about Angie's father. I heard Angie's inner voice screaming and I went racing up to her room. Both Angie and Ethan were trying to figure out how I knew. Ethan is just short of obsessed with what is really going on with me. He knows you're leaving something important out when you tell him about me. He has known that since your first conversation about me. But he also realizes that my problem is with crowds, not noise or bustle, and he cannot make that make sense for something neurological, rather than psychiatric. He wants to ask you, but he knows you cannot say anything. He keeps saying things he hopes will encourage me to explain. If it wasn't so hard to believe, I'm pretty sure he would've already figured it out."

"I know he is frustrated with me about you, Not frustrated exactly, he doesn't blame me or anything, it's more an irritant to him. That all makes sense. It would make my personal life easier if you would tell him, but as your doctor, I'm not going to recommend it."

"But there is something much more important that happened last night that I need to tell you about. I think I'm getting a new psychic ability."

She suddenly sits up straight, listening intently.

"Angie is shy about letting me see her body. We talked about it on the drive up yesterday and basically, she told me it's part of the package, live with it. That was very frustrating; I'm a very visual person, it's why I ended up in Art History.

"So as I was laying in bed last night -- and we were in separate rooms -- I was fantasizing about her doing a strip tease for me. It was the most powerful, explicit fantasy I've ever had. But this morning, she told me she had had a very strange dream last night. And described my fantasy exactly."

"Maybe you were actually hearing her dream."

"I thought of that, but I don't think she was dreaming yet. And I've heard her dreams; this was very different. I apparently got some details wrong and she was surprised in the ways they were wrong. Like I fantasized she had on her gray skirt. But she said the dream one fastened wrong. And stuff like that. But it is the way she described the dream that really convinced me. She said it didn't feel like it was her dream, but someone sent it. She said if this was ancient times, she would've believed it was a message from the gods. And she twice said she felt compelled to act out the dream now. She used the compelled word twice. As much as I want the fantasy, I don't want to make her do things she doesn't want to. Reading minds is bad enough. I don't want to be controlling them."

"I will remain skeptical for now. It could all be a coincidence, although it would be a very strange one with everything you said. Is she uncomfortable with the compulsion?"

"No, she actually decided her prudishness must've been another vestige of her father's morality, a morality she is finding much easier to reject now. So she is happy and expects me to be ecstatic over this. Which I would be, if I didn't think I had done this to her."

"Well, on the one hand, let's treat this as a fluke of some sort. Enjoy that you got what you wanted. Even if you did implant the dream in her somehow, maybe it works like a hypnotic suggestion; she won't really do something she doesn't want to. Her explanation that she is happy with it sounds pretty reasonable to me. On the other hand, try not to fantasize too hard about anything else about her for the time being. Just enjoy the real thing."

"Oh, I almost fainted when I heard about the dream yesterday. She wanted to rush me to the ER on the spot, but I couldn't explain it to her. She may ask you if I talked about this with you. I told her I had just slept too long or something, but she wasn't buying it."

"Have you thought more about telling her? You did promise and it's becoming awkward at times. And your last excuse was to wait until after the award ceremony."

"By the way, before I forget this, she is really appreciative of your support Friday."

"And I am forever your beautiful doctor, thanks to her. But don't avoid the question. When are you going to tell her?"

"Soon. This week or next. It is becoming a problem, you're right. But she said something yesterday morning that scared me about telling her. She was writing in her journal Sunday morning. I had never seen her doing it before. She says she only writes some days, after special events. I asked her if I could ever read it and she said she would be angry if I ever tried to pry into her like that."

"I see."

Anna has a pretty good idea why Saturday night was a special event. She may not be a mind reader, but she is good at reading people and situations.

"I will try not to just spring it on you and bring her in, but it will be soon."

"Any other issues since last Wednesday?"

"I was feeling so good yesterday morning, I didn't think about eating at a restaurant. Angie and I went out for a full breakfast before driving up to meet my folks -- which went really well, by the way. I got a splitting headache and had to have our food packed up. We finished it outside in the car. I made Angie drive the car to the farthest corner of the parking lot. She was confused why that would matter. She was concerned about the headache. She knows I'm not telling her something and is terrified that we both know that I'm dying."

"It is getting to be past time to tell her. That's not fair to put her through."

"I'm afraid of how she's going to react. I'm trying not to listen in as much. But I can't help myself some of the time. I left the room at my parents somewhat so I could hear what questions they asked her when I wasn't there. I got myself back just as my father was asking her about his grandkids. I thought she might need support, but she handled it well."

"I was amazed at the poise she showed Friday. Nothing she does will surprise me."

"I'm trying to give you some privacy, too. But when you were kind of pissy at me when I walked in, I needed to understand why, so I heard more about your Saturday morning than I probably should've. You think about these things in way more explicit detail than Ethan does. He was pretty grumpy about getting pulled away from you when he got there, but all I got out of him was general friendly feelings about the morning. Your thoughts are much more fun."

"I'm not quite sure what to say to that Matthew. I appreciate your efforts. And it was unprofessional of me to allow my weekend to impact my interaction with you. If you were a normal patient, I would be thinking about transferring your case to someone else because our personal lives are becoming intertwined. But given your case, I do not think it is possible. And your abilities make it hard to completely keep the personal out of our doctor-patient relationship."

"Oh, I realized one thing Angie can do to keep some privacy, beyond whatever tricks you can teach her. I met her mother's favorite cousin on Saturday evening and they would talk in Spanish. I knew they were plotting something against me and I tried to listen in. But she thinks in Spanish when she speaks in Spanish. I couldn't understand anything."

"You're not becoming paranoid on me, are you? I have a hard time believing Angie is conspiring with her relatives against you."

"They were. They fed me a death taco!"

"What is a death taco?"

"Her mother's cousin, Theresa, runs a Mexican restaurant that we went out to for dinner. Angie was teasing me about my gringo palate and I told her my mother would be feeding us pickled herring and salted cod, which she believed for a moment. So when we went to the restaurant, Theresa brought me some sort of condensed lava inside a taco shell. I took one bite and almost died. Angie and Theresa thought it was very funny. Angie ate the tacos and gave me the burrito she had actually ordered for me. Angie later admitted the tacos were way too spicy for her, but she ate the first one without drinking any water, just to show off."

Anna is laughing.

"Ok, we should do our measurements then I want to get a moment to talk to Angie."

When we come out of the appointment, Angie is strangely amped up, almost out of breath. Anna doesn't notice, saying to her, "Matthew told me you were worried about him when he felt faint this morning. That was a good call by you. He has a new symptom going on now. It is not a serious concern, and I took careful measurements to be able to understand as best as we can so far. I trust your instincts. If you feel odd about any part of your interactions with Matthew, please let me know. You may be subconsciously noticing something important. If you're not comfortable saying something in front of him, feel free to text me. Here is my cell number."

Angie is trying to decide how to take this news. I change the subject, saying to Anna, "My mother baked us way too much stuff. If I brought you some cookies on Wednesday, would you and Ethan eat them?"

"I won't see Ethan until Friday night. But I could eat a few. Not a whole dozen, please. I wouldn't fit into my beautiful doctor gown anymore."

We stop by a drive through fast food and we eat it in the dorm's lounge. Angie is not about to risk another issue in a restaurant with me. Angie eats her food quickly, almost gulping it down. I'm barely halfway done when she has finished.

She looks at me and says, "I didn't see my journal in my room. Did I leave it in yours? YOU weren't reading it, were you?"

I'm shaking my head. Something is not right here, but she caught me off guard with that accusation.

"Can I get your key so I can grab it while you're finishing your food? I'll be right back and I'll feel better if I haven't left it in your room. I trust you, but ..."

I hand her my key and she darts off. I listen in. This isn't about her journal. She is grabbing my dress shirt and stashing it in her room. She ran out while I was in with Anna and bought a pair of thigh high stockings. I'm getting a treat tonight. I feel bad for spoiling her surprise. I'm not a good person to try to lie to.

I'm finishing my dinner, expecting her to reappear any moment. Instead of her in person, a text arrives on my phone.

Can you come up to my room right now? I need to talk to you about something.

I clean up our dinner refuse and head up to her room. I'm trying to get ready to look surprised.

I knock on the door and she says, "It's unlocked. Come in and close your eyes and sit on the bed."

"You can open your eyes now."

She looks just like I had fantasized her looking. I was worried about trying to fake surprise. I do not need to fake the lust I'm feeling. I'm a hair short of drooling.

She is standing in front of me, wearing her new blue blazer over my dress shirt, her gray skirt coming just past her knees, with stockings on her lower legs. She pushes a button on her phone and some music starts. Lana Del Ray, "Video Games". Good sultry music.

She is a little bashful as she starts to dance to the music, but she is starting to feel it. She turns away from me and slowly slips her jacket off, dropping it on the desk. She dances for a moment facing away from me before turning to face me again. I can see her nipples and areolae clearly through the thin fabric. The nipples look rock hard and fully erect. It is easy to watch her breasts swaying in time to the music as she dances.

Still swaying her hips, she brings her hands in to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. When the last button is released, her shirt (really my shirt) sways open, I can see the inside of each breast, getting an occasional glimpse of one nipple or the other.

She reaches to her side and unzips her skirt, letting it slide off. Reaching beside herself like this is notably different than my fantasy. But it still slides down her legs and falls to the floor, giving the intermittent view of her pussy that I was envisioning. The shirt tails are tending to stay open, so I actually get more of an eyeful than I did in my fantasy.

She turns around and lets the shirt slide off onto the floor. I'm seeing her fully nude for the first time. It's my first glimpse of her ass. And it's absolutely luscious. Her slightly brown complexion gives her an all over tan look. God is she sexy.

She bends over and I can see her pussy in beautiful detail. I'm about ready to erupt, but I know my part is yet to come. I want to grab her, but I know this is her show. She is in control.

She runs her fingers through her folds and holds it up to show how wet she is. But I already know. Not from my special ability; I could clearly see two drops of her juices running down the inside of her thigh.

She turns back around. Before I can even register what I'm seeing, she reaches forward and puts her wet, sticky finger in my mouth. This is a change from my fantasy. A welcome one. I taste her juices for the first time. She is so sweet.

She steps back and sits in her chair, legs spread wide, giving me a clear view of her exposed privates. As she is reaching her hand in to touch herself, I'm pulling my cock out. It is rock hard and about two strokes away from exploding.

I'm listening to her own thoughts and feelings as I watch her hand bringing pleasure to herself. I can feel the intensity of every touch of her clit. I can feel the craving she is experiencing for her release. Her craving for my release. To please me. She has loved showing her body off to me.

I'm not going to last much longer, but fortunately, I can feel her release approaching. I watch her face and step closer to her. The climax is announced by a loud groan, really a yell. Each of the dozen or so waves that follow is accompanied by a loud grunt. By far the most powerful orgasm I've witnessed.

My own release coincides with her initial groan. In my concern of landing short, I've come too close to her. Most of my shots land on her breasts, nice but not what had been envisioned. But one lands on her throat, just below her chin. Another two inches and it would've landed in her open mouth while she was announcing her triumph.

I scan the room and find her tissues and quickly clean up after myself, starting with her throat. She is still breathing hard but moans enticingly as I try to clean off her breasts.

Finally she says, "That was amazing. And the most powerful orgasm I've ever had. God that felt good. Did you enjoy it?"

"Unbelievably so. After our conversation, I had fantasized about seeing you nude last night. But this was so much better than my fantasy. And it was real."

"I've no idea right now why I didn't want to show you my body. You were so obviously enjoying it. Your excitement was really turning me on."

"I only have one suggestion if we do something like this again."

"I aim to please. What is it?"

"Keep your voice down at the end. Aya's room is right down below us."

"Was I really that loud?"

"Well she could certainly hear you clearly if she was in her room. Or in the hallway outside her room. Or probably at the other end of the dorm. Or maybe if she was in the classroom building up on the hill."

Angie is blushing.

"I think it is alright, but I kind of expect to get a polite warning about it from her, maybe even a mild scolding."

Angie stands up and says, "Take your clothes off. I want a full body hug from you. I want to feel your skin against all of me. I know how good it felt to have my cheek against your chest on Saturday."

This sounds like a great plan to me. I stand up against her and we hold each other tightly. It is wonderful. I feel her breasts pressed against me. Our bellies touching. And I feel her pubic hair against my mostly diminished cock.

I lean down and kiss her. Soon we are kissing passionately. Angie breaks off the kiss to say, "Can we sit down, my legs are a bit wobbly."

We sit down on the bed and immediately return to our kissing. After a few minutes, I bring a hand to her breast, fondling it and pinching the nipple. She is back to moaning, softly this time at least.

I turn Angie slightly and push her backwards, so she is lying lengthwise on the bed. I bring my face down to her unoccupied breast. Her moaning is becoming more desperate.

I start to kiss down her abdomen. At the same time, I bring my second hand up to replace my oral attentions to her breast. She shivers as my kisses move below her belly button. When I reach my target, I give a long lick up her slit. She yelps sharply as my tongue crosses her clit.

I pick up my head to look up at her and she puts a fist in her mouth to mute her outbursts.

I'm now circling her clit with my tongue, crossing one way or another every few orbits. She is whimpering. I bring a hand down from one of her breasts and push two fingers into her. Her whimpers are louder, even through her fist, pleading for her release. I'm listening to her thoughts, trying to touch her in just the perfect ways. I do not always anticipate her reaction perfectly, but I'm able to correct almost instantly. I up the intensity of my tonguing to bring her to the brink. When she is almost there, I pinch her nipple hard just as I gently nip at her clit.

She screams into her fist. I'm glad she had it there. I bet Aya can hear it even with the hand, but it's probably not so loud as to warrant a real complaint. I maintain my tongue until the peak passes, then I stop thrusting my fingers and shift to licking gently away from her clit.

I finally disengage from her and climb up on the bed next to her. She rolls over against me, her head on my shoulder, her arm across my abdomen, a leg across my legs.

"I like oral sex. At least this kind. I really like this kind. Was I quiet enough?"

"If Aya is in her room, I bet she heard you, but I doubt she will complain about that level. We might want to favor sex in my room for a while as we learn how to control ourselves. Of course if we alternate rooms once everyone is back, no one neighbor will hear us as much and might not complain."

"No wonder my roommate wanted to be having sex all the time. This is wonderful. You are wonderful."

I feel pretty wonderful right now. I have a beautiful naked woman lying against me. The love of my life. And I just gave her a powerful orgasm, her second of the evening. I feel very good.

"Give me forty five minutes, then I would like to have sex with you. Do you have a preferred position?"

"I guess it's a good day to try missionary. I'm feeling very friendly right now. And with the two orgasms I've already had, I can live if that doesn't work for me tonight."

I kiss her forehead, rub her back, and say, "I love you, Angie."

"I love you, Matt."

We lie together, snuggled together for close to an hour before I decide I would really like to have sex now. I reach down and grab her hips. Half dragging and half lifting, I hoist her up onto me, until she is lying flat on top of me, her feet six inches above mine, our faces aligned.

We begin kissing passionately as I'm rubbing her backside. It is really my first time exploring her posterior. I love the feel of it, the curves, the softness. I was never really much of an ass guy, unlike like my father clearly is. But I'm starting to understand the appeal.

She squirms a bit in anticipation, which is rubbing her belly against my member. My manhood was already slowly firming up, but it's suddenly rock hard.

I reach a hand around to her front and start to play with her pussy. She begins to moan, squirming even more. As I continue, her breathing is becoming ragged. Finally she says, "I need you in me, Matt."

I roll us over, spreading her knees with mine. I suddenly stop and get off the bed. I find my pants and pull a condom package out of my pocket, ripping it open and rolling it over my cock.

I kneel back between her legs and slowly penetrate her. I listen to her thoughts on how it feels. It is such an amazing sensation to feel both sides of the contact, both sides of the motion. I'm trying to take the slow and steady rhythm that seems to be what feels best to her. It all feels good to me.

She is enjoying the sensation, but I don't think she will ever get over the crest without something extra. I know I'm not going to last forever, so I reach a hand between us to find her clit. Again, it takes minimal contact to push her over that edge. She reaches her arms up and pulls me down to kiss her just as she nears her release. My mind feels her falling into the abyss while my cock feels her muscles squeezing it. The combination pushes me over the top and we climax together once again.

While still an orgasm, this one is not as overwhelming as the earlier two; my mouth kissing her was easily enough to contain the noise.

"Saturday night felt better, physically, but I did like the closeness of this. I can see how much difference the position can make. It becomes a very different experience," she extols. "And I see what you mean about needing something on my clit. It feels really good with you inside me, but I'm not sure I ever would've climaxed. And I hated needing to stop for the condom."

"You keep letting me know what you like and I will do my best," I reply.

But I can feel the wheels turning inside. She needs to know everything about a subject she cares about. This is learning I can fully get behind extra homework for.

"I think I need you to stay here with me tonight. I don't think the message will still spook me, but I want you here just in case. Besides, I want to feel your skin against mine all night long."

I'm certainly not objecting to the idea. I lay facing away from her again, with her curled around my back. The feeling of her naked breasts pressed against the bare skin of my back is heavenly. I listen in on her thoughts briefly as I drift off to sleep. She is fully sated physically -- she should be with those three orgasms. But she is also sated emotionally. She is full of love for me and feels fully loved by me. I go to sleep happy, knowing she is happy too.

++++++++++

Chapter 11

At some point in the night we both rolled over and I wake up to Angie trying to squirm away from me. She is trying to pull my arm off of her, an arm that is reaching around her, with a tight grip on her breast. I drowsily realize what she is doing and pull my hand and arm back.

"Thanks, but you're being even more insistent somewhere else. And you're not wearing a condom. And you're pushing at the wrong hole."

It takes me a moment to parse what she is talking about. "Oh, sorry." I ease my hips back away from her.

"I was going to tell you that was another thing I'm not willing to do, but that actually felt kind of interesting."

I'm only half awake, but I think I heard that right. Thought for another time.

"You can go back to sleep if you want, I'm going to take a shower."

I wake up much later. She is sitting in her chair, writing in her journal. I'm not sure if it was meeting my parents, showing her body off to me, or something else altogether that warranted an entry this morning.

I decide to get dressed in my dirty clothes for now and then take a shower while she is at her counseling appointment. We end up just eating cookies for breakfast.

Angie wants me to meet Jennie, so I walk over to her counseling session with her. I do want to meet Jennie, but there is a down side here. Once I know Jennie, it becomes easier for me to listen in on her sessions; I've found that it is much easier to follow a conversation from someone's thoughts if I also know the other person (or people). Listening in on Angie's conversation with my parents was easy. Listening to a discussion in one of her classes would be challenging.

Keeping it challenging to follow her counseling sessions reduces my temptation. Other than a brief check in when she mentally shrieked my name last week, I've managed to completely avoid eavesdropping; I'd like to maintain that record.

Mixed feelings or no, Angie wants me to meet her, so I will. Angie introduces us. She's around thirty, surprisingly cute and I immediately understand why Angie likes her. She's just a touch bubbly, enough to be a bit infectious, so you want to feel good. And she has these eyes that feel so compassionate. Eyes that make you want to bare your soul to her.

I can't help but listen to her reaction to me. She expected a little more of a hunk. I guess Angie describes what she sees with her loving eyes. But she decides I'm cute. That seems to be a common reaction from women to me. It still surprises me every time. She thinks I look kind. And it's obvious that we are in love. I will take that assessment.

She also thinks Angie looks happy. More relaxed. And she's pretty sure we are having sex now, which she takes as a good sign, given Angie's demeanor.

I give Angie a kiss goodbye, tell Jennie the expected "Nice to meet you," and head back to the dorm. I need to take a shower and think about getting ready for my interview. As I get to the lounge, I decide I'm going to take Janet and Ethan some cookies first. That, plus some for Anna tomorrow, should keep us from overdoing it on the goodies.

I grab a paper plate, it is useful to know about those, and put a mixed dozen cookies on it. I carry them over to the Dean's office. Janet is in and surprised to see me.

"I didn't know you were staying here over break, Matthew."

"I have my interview this afternoon. And appointments with Anna. We went home Sunday and Monday so Angie could meet my parents. But my mom baked us way too many goodies. Angie and I will be diabetics if we try to eat them all ourselves. I thought you and the Dean might like some cookies. Or share them with anybody over here. I figure it's probably a pretty light week, relatively speaking."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Matthew. The Dean's coming in late this morning, but I will tell him you brought them. I may need to ration him; he has a fondness for cookies and I gather Anna teased him that he was getting a bit of a belly."

I laugh. "She was worried that I would give her too many cookies and she wouldn't fit in her gown anymore."

"That gown was stunning on her, wasn't it?"

"She doesn't look like that in scrubs, that's for sure. Okay, I'm off to get my shower before Angie gets back to the dorm."

"Say hi to her from me. And thanks again for the cookies."

I'm in my room, about to get dressed after my shower, when my phone buzzes,❤️in my room. where r u ❤️

I reply, just getting dressed after shower. any plans

thinking about doing some school work right now if u ok

sounds good. will review ren text for interview and work on psych paper

ren text?

my renaissance art text book

DOH!

c u 11:30 downstairs -- fast-food lunch on way?

works for me

❤️❤️❤️❤️

love you too

I skim through the sections of my text again. I think I can be fairly fluent in what the movements were and the differences between the Italian Renaissance and the later styles of art as the Renaissance spread through Europe. I know enough to sound competent, but I certainly don't feel like I will be tempted to be overly cocky about my knowledge.

I write a detailed outline for my psych paper. It's just a five page paper talking about Jung's split from Freud. Before the ice storm, I could write a five page paper like this on a whim, a paper that would be easily good enough for an A in an intro course. It's still pretty straightforward, I just can't crank it out all in one go right now. My endurance for concentration is getting better, which is encouraging to me.

The outline's finished at 11:20. I make sure I have the copy of my resume I printed out last week and take one last look at myself in the mirror before heading down to the lounge a little early.

Angie gets down to the lounge just after me. She double checks that I have everything for the interview. We go through a drive through and eat in the car; no way either of us is going to risk one of my headaches right now.

We get to the museum almost half an hour early. I think we both would rather be early than be stressing about it. We sit in the car for about ten minutes, then she makes sure that my tie and my hair are perfect and that I have nothing in my teeth. We reverse our roles from Friday night; she holds both of my hands and tells me I have this, I give her a thank you peck on the lips. She walks into the museum with me, but not hand in hand. She has brought a book that she can read while I'm in the interview. I haven't noticed what it's, but I suspect it's the next book for her women's lit course. She finds a seat in the lobby.

I walk up to the information desk and say, "I have a meeting with Dr. Timmons at one. I think he said his office is on the fourth floor."

"Take those elevators over there. Good luck."

He recognized me as a job applicant. He's also afraid of Steve Timmons.

On the fourth floor, I see the sign for Museum Staff Offices and go in the door. There's a receptionist here, and I repeat my intro. "I have a meeting with Dr. Timmons at one."

"Have a seat and I will let him know you're here. He should be out shortly."

She has a bit of pity on me. People seem to all be a bit intimidated by him. Even my art professor. I take a gulp and tell myself I have this.

About ten minutes later, a bearded man, slightly balding and shorter than me comes over.

"Matthew Bergman, I assume?"

"Yes, Are you Steve Timmons?"

"The one and only. Please follow me into my office."

I immediately listen in on his thoughts. Oh fuck! He does not want to be interviewing me. He's only doing this to make his boss happy and he resents having to jump when some rich guy wants something. God damn it. This sucks. Ok, try to keep it together, Matthew.

"So, I hear you know Graham Gordon."

I want to interview, not talk about Graham.

"The Dean introduced me to him last month. Until Friday, I had only had a two minute talk with him."

"What happened Friday?"

"He was at the table with us for dinner. My girlfriend won an award from the school and I came with her to the award ceremony dinner. Graham and Bella were quite charming and I think she might help Angie with her writing. I had guessed he was the reason why I got this interview, but I would love to talk about the job and whether I'm suited for it or not."

"We will get to that. So you're Angela Lopez's boyfriend. Her beloved Matt. Are you enjoying your fame? No flowers for me?"

I really don't need this snark from him. If you're not going to really interview me, just send me away, damn it.

"To be honest, no, I'm not enjoying the fame. Neither of us are. But it is what it is. I'm sorry to be blunt Dr. Timmons, I was hoping to be interviewed here. I know you said to call you Steve, but this does not seem to be a very friendly discussion right now. You only seem to want to be able to tell your boss that you talked to me, so he will think Graham will keep giving your museum money. I understand how that works.

"I think I'm qualified for this job, I don't know if you've even looked at my resume or not. And I would very much like the job. This is what I think I would like to do for my career. I believe I have a solid understanding of Art history. Yes, I have a lot more still to learn. I also think I write and speak reasonably well and can explain art and its context to the average person, which is to me the most important part of what makes a good curator. Anyone with money can find an interesting collection of pieces. Does the whole tell a story? Does it connect with the museum goer? That's what I want to do.

"But if this is all pro forma, just say so. I know you're a very busy man. It probably makes sense to tell me the interview's over. Just in case you're worried, I will probably never see Graham again. Even if I happen to, I realize it would be inappropriate to tell him why the interview went so poorly, so you need not worry about your boss getting angry at you because Graham threatened to cut off some dollars."

"I appreciate your honesty and bluntness. Not many people would've said what you just did. Good luck with your career and your fame. This interview has concluded."

I walk out of there seriously pissed. I'm about to push the button for the elevator when I pause and have an image of Fra Angelico's 'The Last Judgement', an early Renaissance depiction of judgement day, including Hell. I visualize him standing in the middle of the picture, on trial for his unfair treatment of me. It's really an amazing painting for its day. I have no doubt which side of the painting he will be sent to. He's found unworthy and suffers forever in the hell depicted in the picture.

I take a deep breath, push the button on the elevator and prepare to disappoint Angie. I guess I can try to find work on campus as well. I could not handle being away from her all summer.

Angie's shocked and concerned to see me coming out of the elevator already. She looks at me and I just shake my head.

"What happened? You were barely up there at all."

"He only interviewed me because his boss told him he had to. He had no interest in hiring me, or even seriously considering me. He even mocked me for your speech. He complained that I didn't bring him flowers."

"You should let Graham know. I have Bella's contact info, we could tell her."

"No, I said I would not say anything to Graham even if I saw him. That means you cannot tell Bella what happened, even if you two get to be friends. I only got this interview because of him, not because of me. So I guess I feel this is fair in some way. I just really hate that they got my hopes up for nothing. That I made you drive me down here and everything. I hate that it was all a charade. I'm pissed at him because he treated me like shit up there, but he was pissed at the situation and I can't blame him."

I'm sulking most of the afternoon. At first Angie tries to talk to me and cheer me up, but I remain a grouch. Then she tries ignoring me and reading her book, but I can hear her guilt clearly; she wants to make me feel better. Finally, she has the idea to look at an article on sex positions together. It's a good idea and it does distract me.

I'm sitting on the bed, while she's sitting in her chair looking at the article on her computer. She reads the description of a position and what the article says are the pros and cons. We decide whether we think it sounds like a position we would like to try or not. We want to try most of them.

We then decide if we understand how to do it. A few of them we try getting in position, still fully clothed. A couple of the ones that sounded good, seem impossible in reality, at least for our bodies.

Overall, it's one of my favorite things we've done together. It's interesting exploring each other's feelings about the positions and what we want and don't want physically. We giggle during it. A lot. Giggling is a really good medicine for sulking. And we are both getting horny.

By the fifth position that we are trying to understand physically, I just start groping her instead of making an honest effort to line our bodies up properly. This quickly devolves into play wrestling on the bed. I don't know if it's my strength or my extra length or she just wanted to lose, but after a few minutes I'm sitting on her, pinning her hands over her head with one of my hands. I can hear her thoughts; she's unbelievably horny. She's really enjoying the feeling of being taken by force, with none of the negatives of the reality.

I kiss her roughly. She's panting heavily when I release the kiss. I take my free hand and pull my belt off. I wrap it around her wrists and then close the other end in the window behind her, effectively tying her in place. I kiss her roughly again, reaching both hands up under her blouse, pushing her bra off her breasts. I pinch both nipples aggressively. I'm listening for any signs that I'm going too far. But she's close to orgasming already.

I swing her around, leaving her lying across the bed, her legs hanging off the end. I loosen her pants and yank her pants and panty off in one fell swoop.

"Fuck me, Matt. Fuck me," she pants.

I grab a condom from my pocket and quickly unroll it as I drop my pants. A moment later, I'm slamming into her. Her legs are on my chest, her feet behind my head. The bed's creaking and she's moaning as I'm groaning, Probably too much noise, but I don't care. I've never been so desperately horny in my life. In a moment of thought, I find her clit with my thumb just before I erupt.

That touch was all she needed and her climax matches mine. It's a brief but intense release for both of us. I would really miss not feeling hers.

Once I catch my breath, I lean down and give her a tender kiss.

As I'm reaching back to reclaim my belt and release her hands, she says, "That was very different. I think I like being tied up. I never really understood the appeal, but god that was hot."

"I didn't think you liked the F word."

"I realized you were right. Sometimes you need an animalistic release. It's the right word for that. I definitely feel like fucking was the correct word for what we just did. I really wish you hadn't had to futz with the condom. It kind of broke the mood for a moment, especially the illusion of doing it roughly to me, forcing me without regards to the consequences."

"Part of me would love to not have to. It's a hassle and I'm pretty sure it will feel even better for me without it. But I have some reservations about the other choices. If you want to go with something like the pill, I'm not going to complain, but I'm not going to push you there either. I can live with this."

"Let me make an appointment with the campus health center and I can talk to someone there about options."

"In the meantime, I probably need to get by a store to buy more condoms. Shall we say, I'm going through them at a faster rate than my past experiences. Something about way more sex in the last four days than in the rest of my life combined."

"I guess I can say the same thing," Angie says, laughing.

Every once in a while, I catch a tinge of jealousy that I've had sex with other women. I will try to be careful to not bring it up as often.

As I'm pulling my pants back up, I'm thinking about the disappointment of earlier this afternoon. I always knew getting into serious museum work was unlikely, I just thought I had been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. But with the wrong curator, I guess. Time to find a plan B.

I really liked the afternoon with Angie though. And not just the sex itself. She's starting to think about what she wants and doesn't want in bed. It had been completely foreign to her that this was something to even think about. It was all the 'they close the bedroom door and wonderful things happen' that she got from her nineteenth century literature.

And now that she has realized that she can read about the options, I'm hoping she will explore on her own some. This afternoon's discovery was pure serendipity, but that opens up an entire range of possibilities I had never really thought about. As did her comment this morning as we were waking up. That was really unexpected to me. If she's really considering it, I hope she reads about it. I'm not going to push there any time soon. Except apparently in my sleep.

I just had to pull up my pants, but she had to fix her bra and find her pants and put things all the way on again, so I was dressed much sooner. But I've been standing here thinking for long enough that she comes up and wraps her arms around me, saying, "Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking about today."

"I know you're really disappointed, but we will figure out something else."

"I did think about that, but I'm more thinking about the rest of the day, about how much I love you and how much I loved today. I really like that we are exploring ourselves like we are."

"I'm thinking of it as getting a head start on research for my dirty books class. I have to have intimate knowledge of everything they try, don't I?"

I laugh. But that really is the way she thinks about school work. It's just paying off big dividends for me in this case.

My stomach growls loudly. It's her turn to laugh and I'm soon laughing with her.

"How about we get a pizza tonight and eat downstairs," she suggests. "And no, you're not getting me to eat pineapple on my pizza. There are some lines a girl cannot cross, even for love."

We order a large mushroom and green pepper pizza, with a jug of ice tea. We take a bunch of cookies and the cake down with us and wait for delivery downstairs. Aya sees us sitting there and comes over to chat. Here comes the noise scolding, I think.

"So even rabbits need to come up for air, I guess," she says. "Are you two working towards some sort of world record or something? At least you left for a while this afternoon so I could get some writing done."

"I'm sorry if we are too noisy, Aya," I say.

"Mostly the noise level is fine. Matt, I don't know what you were doing to her last night to make her scream like that -- and please don't tell me -- but yeah, that was a problem."

Angie's turning bright red.

"Another one of those and I will need to file an official noise complaint. We don't want to go down that path. And once the other students are back, it really needs to be a lot quieter. In the interim, I could use a night with you being in his room where your squeaking bed's not right over my head."

I think a change of subject's called for. "Did you say you were writing?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to be a writer. It's a good complimentary job to being RD."

Angie's now engaged. "I never knew you were a writer. What do you write?"

"Romances for Islamic women. I've written three short novels so far. I was working on my fourth today."

"Did you get them published?" Angie asks.

"I essentially self publish, using one of the sites that sells through all the electronic markets. I'm never going to get rich doing this, but I made a few hundred dollars last month. It has gotten better every month. I have several regular readers who've read all three and are waiting for the next one. I get occasional fan mail, which is really exciting."

"I bet it is. I was talking to Bella Gordon at the award dinner about writing."

"Bella Gordon?"

"She writes under her maiden name, which I can't remember right now. She has sold a bunch of sci fi and fantasy books. Planet Zaldon is her primary sci fi series and the Miralea series in fantasy. She has won several big awards. She's Graham Gordon's wife. They sat at our table at dinner."

"Like Graham Gordon, the real rich guy?"

"Yeah, that one," Angie says.

"It's cool that you know them," Aya says.

"For all the good his help did," I say, sulking a bit.

"Graham got Matt his interview at the Mason today, but the guy interviewing him resented the interference and didn't really consider Matt."

"That's right, That's why you were gone. I'm sorry about that, Matt. I know you really wanted it."

"If I wasn't going to get an interview on my own, I guess I wasn't a good enough candidate anyway. But it just sucks that they yanked me around like that, got my hopes up, then treated me like shit when I got there. I get it, but I was pretty pissed when I got out of the interview."

Our pizza comes and we have enough to share with Aya. We stay in the lounge chatting with her about all sorts of things until well into the evening.

"Thanks for the pizza and the company," Aya says. "And I will make you a deal. I will clean up from dinner if you two promise to only have sex in his room tonight and tomorrow. I had gotten really spoiled by how quiet you were, Angie."

We say goodnight and head up towards my room. Angie makes a stop at her room to grab a few things, like her bathrobe in case she needs a bathroom visit over night. It really will be nice to have our own apartment. And a bigger bed.

We settle into bed quickly and try doggy tonight. It worked, but it wasn't a favorite for either of us. I can see it in some moods. She didn't like that I couldn't reach her clit and she had to help herself along.

I sleep well again. It really does help having so few other minds in close proximity overnight. Angie slips out in the early morning hours again, but she seems to actually leave this time. I fall soundly back asleep and wake up at 9:30. I grab my phone and text her.

morning❤️. finally awake

what r u doing

❤️sleepy head. Just wanted to use my computer.

any plans for today before my Anna?

I have appt at health center at 1

heading into shower, be down once dressed. Love you

love you too ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

In the shower, I think about her appointment. That probably means we are about to stop needing condoms. I really am looking forward to that.

I'm getting dressed when my phone rings. It's the same number from the Mason.

"Hello?"

Is this Matthew?

"Yes."

This is Steve Timmons. I suspect you did not expect to hear back from me. I know I did not expect to follow up after our meeting yesterday. But I realized overnight that I had been unfair to you. So this morning I looked more carefully at your application. You're a qualified candidate. And I have to admit, I actually agreed with everything you said yesterday, especially about what makes a good curator.

I just got off the phone with Fred. He had very positive things to say about you, including confirming your own self assessment about being able to communicate effectively about art and its context.

It takes me a moment to think of who Fred is. Of course, Professor Frederick Amberson. I had listed him on my application as a reference.

Anyway, if I didn't alienate you too much, I can arrange an interview with the actual people you would be working with. The final decision's still up to them and I'm not going to interfere. But you do deserve that chance. So, are you interested?

"Absolutely, do you know when?"

I'm barely able to contain my excitement enough to sound calm.

Does 1PM on Friday work for you?

"That would be fine."

That's great, come up to my office again and I will introduce you to them. I have to tell you, you did impress me by having the balls to stand up to me. Not many people will.

"Thank you, sir."

You definitely get to call me Steve now. And I feel compelled to tell you something odd. I assume you know the Fra Angelico painting of judgement day.

"Yeah, I know it." But I'm dreading what he's about to say.

I had the weirdest dream where I was stuck in the painting and you were judging my soul and you found me unworthy and I was sentenced to hell, still in the painting. I'm sure it was just a guilty conscience -- I did treat you poorly yesterday. The flowers crack was completely uncalled for. But this dream almost felt like a message sent from God or something. It was weird is all I can say. I'm not sure why I feel compelled to tell you this, but there it is.

"Well thank you so much for the reconsideration. I look forward to seeing you on Friday, Steve."

And the call's over.

I shriek a loud "YES!" and then consider the ramifications. There's no longer any doubt that I can project compelling dreams into people. Maybe Anna's right, maybe it's limited to hypnotic like suggestions; they can only be compelled to do things they actually want to, but I remain unconvinced. And I do not want to experiment to find out.

My phone buzzes.

You okay? What was that yell?

Good news. Somehow, I got a second interview at Mason. With the real group

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Be down in a minute

I hurriedly finish dressing and race down the steps, knocking on her door.

"Come on in, it's open."

"So Steve felt guilty about how poorly he treated me and looked at my application and talked to Professor Amberson and is sending me to meet with the real group on Friday at one," I rattle off quickly. "He made sure I realized it was still up to them. But I am getting what I originally thought I was. At the end of the interview on Tuesday, I kind of called him on being a dick to me. He said he was impressed that I had the balls to do that. I guess I had figured I wasn't getting it, so what the hell."

She gives me a big hug. "I'm so happy for you! You must've done something right there."

"I really wish I could go out for a celebration meal right now. Not being able to eat at restaurants kind of sucks."

"If we had our own kitchen, I would cook you a big breakfast like your mother made you."

"Do you like to cook? We haven't really talked about how we want to work out domestic chores when we have our apartment."

"I can cook and I enjoy it sometimes, but I would not want to be stuck cooking every meal."

"I can kind of cook, but I will learn more and we can split the cooking. At least the meals we don't eat out."

"We will have to see how our budget works out to see how many meals out we can afford. And see how your head's doing."

"I really hope I can handle restaurants by the summer."

"So is there any kind of take out that sounds good?"

I decide I really want breakfast food, so we go for Charlie's again, this time getting it to go right away, bringing it back here, eating at our table in the lounge.

Aya comes out again to keep us company and we tell her about my interview on Friday. Aya and I keep talking while Angie heads over to her appointment. Aya and I are still talking when she comes back about forty five minutes later. She interrupts our conversation, saying, "Can I talk to you, Matt?"

Aya says, "I will head back to my room and you two can stay here."

"What's up?"

"I'm starting on the pill. But I absolutely need to take it at the same time everyday. Can you help remind me?"

"What time?"

"I haven't taken one yet. That's part of what I need your help for. I could take one now. But this is during class some days, so that won't really work. Or I could take it at dinner time, which might work. Or I could wait and do it in the morning or at lunchtime tomorrow. What do you think?"

"Lunch time seems the safest to me. Is there a downside to waiting until tomorrow?"

"Only that we have to keep using the condoms for seven days after I start, so it's one more night of condoms. But I guess tomorrow it is. But you have to make sure I take it every single day. And how soon do you run out of condoms?"

"I have three or four more."

"We better go tonight or tomorrow morning."

"You have high expectations of me, don't you."

"My expectations are for you to keep it up, if that's what you mean. A woman has her needs and it's your duty to fulfill those needs, early and often."

I decide it's a good time for me to try to finish my psych paper. She's fine with doing a couple of hours of work -- she has her first work shift at the library from noon to five tomorrow afternoon. If I finish my psych paper today, I just have three more classes to catch up on tomorrow afternoon, plus submitting a topic for my major Renaissance Art paper.

I do manage to finish my psych paper without giving myself a headache. And even start reading ahead in Renaissance Art. Anything extra I know has to help on Friday, I figure.

I make a plate of a half dozen cookies for Anna and go down to the lobby; Angie's already waiting there looking anxious. "Let's go," she says, "I want to have time for you to run into the drugstore and buy another box of condoms."

I'm worried that I've created a monster.

I do get another dozen condoms, I expect that sixteen should get us through a week. And we get to the office with time to spare. Angie already has her new book out while I'm waiting for Anna. This time, I glance at it. Middlemarch by George Elliot. Must be another male pen name.

I hand Anna the cookies and then immediately tell her what happened with Steve Timmons.

"That does seem to pretty much clinch that you can implant compelling dreams into people. We still don't know whether you can actually make someone do something they don't want to. From what you said, he did not regret his reconsideration. Any sense of Angie?"

"She definitely did not regret it."

She laughs, saying, "I can see the appeal of listening to a mind behind a comment like that. Especially with that grin you have right now. But seriously, I'm concerned about this. As far as we can tell, you have no conscious control over this new ability. I can't tell you not to be unhappy about what someone does. Or doesn't do. And that seems to be all that it takes. I think this is another reason to tell Angie now. We can use her to help figure out how to control your abilities."

"I'm not going to become dangerous to people!"

"But you're going to get angry at me for just thinking about a real question? Am I going to have a weird dream tonight, now? What are you going to make me do? Can you see why I might be afraid? Maybe I can avoid the effects of the dream because I understand. What if it's Ethan? Or a teacher? Or one of your parents? Can you honestly tell me you know how to control this? And what does this kind of power do to you? Our psyches haven't developed to handle this kind of power."

"I'm sorry. Please stop this. I don't know the answer to any of your questions!"

I'm feeling confused and a little panicked.

"This is why I think it's so important to tell Angie. We don't know what's going on or where this is going. I need an ally. Angie needs to be able to protect herself. Before you complain, I know you're a good person. I like you. I would be terrified if you were not. Some people would be trying to abuse this power in horrific ways. We do not know how far this is going to go."

"Okay, you can tell her on Friday."

She tries to have a friendly chat to calm me down. But I know that's what she's doing, which makes the approach much less effective. Finally, with some laughter and some innuendo, I'm mostly on an even keel. Anna takes our usual measurements and we head out to see Angie.

"Have you noticed any unusual behavior in Matt, Angie?" Anna asks.

"Only that he has become a raving sex maniac," she says. "But that's mostly because I'm insisting on it."

Anna's struck by how substantial the change in Angie's sex drive is and how open she has become about the topic. She has the momentary fear that I have been doing more manipulation of her than I realize. God, I hope not.

We get takeout subs for dinner on the way back to campus. But I'm doubly terrified right now. What if she hates me for having pried into her, can't handle knowing about my abilities? Even worse, what if I've been coercing her and I've broken her somehow. I would never forgive myself for that.

Angie asks me, "You've been odd ever since you got out of your appointment. Are you okay? Usually, those seem to relax you, but today you're all tensed up."

"She thought she needed to understand my limits and kind of pushed me today. A little harder than my head was ready for. It didn't give me a headache, it just left me kind of weird. I'm sorry. I will try to be here with you more."

I do manage to stay engaged with her and we have a pleasant evening joking and planning out our time in an apartment. Not surprisingly, she's a bit of a neat freak. And things will need to be done to her standards. So far we can laugh about it, but I can imagine this becoming a point of irritation and some fights. I wish I could contort my own mind to make me better at cleaning up.

One snippet of our conversation does help me tremendously.

"I meant to tell you something Jennie told me," she says, "but your interview kind of distracted me. She says that the incident with my father seems to have allowed me to let go of some of my need to follow him and his beliefs. She says I'm so much more comfortable with myself than I was last week. She says it's really healthy."

Well, if Jennie's right, then Anna's fears about me coercing her are not. I like that answer a whole lot more. Now I just have to worry about her hating me or fearing me because of my abilities.

The sex tonight is good. I give her oral sex again. She really likes the orgasms she gets from that. And then she rides me cow girl again. They may be re-runs in some sense, but certainly not boring.

She heads down to her room early in the morning again, while I sleep in. I ask her what she's doing, she just says she wanted to be on her computer again. Part of me is dying of curiosity, but I'm trying really hard to give Angie her privacy. I do not pry even though I could; it's something I can tell her in my defense when she finds out the truth tomorrow.

We finish the cookies for breakfast. I'm starting to get anxious about tomorrow night. She knows I'm off, but she thinks I'm nervous about the interview. I did pry enough to check. I don't dissuade her from that assumption. It makes a convenient excuse.

We have takeout sandwiches for lunch. I do remind her to take her first pill. I was tired of FoodMart, but it was easy. And eating out every meal is getting expensive. Then Angie's off to work at her new job at the library.

I get completely caught up on my ecology assignments. I needed to do this; there's an exam on Monday. I'm starting to think about my eighteenth century thinkers paper when there's a knock on my door.

"Coming."

I open the door and Aya's standing there with a man in a somewhat wrinkled suit. He must be in his late thirties and he looks very harried.

Aya says, "Matt, this is Don Sweeney. He's from the county social work department. He needs to ask you some questions about a report that was filed."

Aya leaves and the man asks me, "Is it alright to talk in here, or would you rather go someplace else?"

"Here is fine. I assume this is about the accusation I made at the award ceremony against Angie's father. Dean Fernandez had warned me he was filing a report about it. As soon as I had said it, I assumed either he or Anna would have to. I know they are both mandatory reporters."

"Did you say it because you knew it would be reported?"

"No, I said it because I was afraid he was going to hit her again. I was pretty certain he was about to, so I stepped in front of her to protect her. I felt like I had to say something about doing it. I really was hoping to make a good impression on him that night. It's the only time I've met him."

"Why did you believe he had hit her previously?"

"Because she came back from seeing them a few days earlier with a big mark on her face and she told me he had done it."

"Did she give any explanation as to why he was angry enough at her to hit her?"

"Because of me. She knew we would meet at the ceremony, so she told her mother about us. Apparently, her mother told her father and he confronted her."

"Do you know why her father objected to you so vehemently?"

"This is obviously all second hand. Or I guess third hand or something. But I will tell you what my understanding is. Her father has some very conservative beliefs about many things, including pre-marital relationships. Angie was coming to reject those beliefs. I think her admitting she had kissed me was the final straw. Angie has since told me that was the hardest he had ever hit her -- he left a notable mark that Angie was covering up with makeup for several days -- but he had hit a few times previously. I didn't want to ask, I knew she would tell me when she was ready to."

"Can you tell me, in your words, what led up to your accusation? I've watched the speech, so I know something happened that Angie referred to as the incident."

"Dean Fernandez had just told Angie that it was time for them to go up to the podium so she could give her acceptance speech. Angie was nervous about the speech. I held her hands and told her she had this. She gave me a peck on the lips as a thanks for my support. Her father, who was sitting on the other side of her, called her a slut, apparently for giving me a kiss. He was loud enough that I think most of the room heard it. She turned to him and said something like 'Papa, not tonight, please'. He stood up and I was fairly certain he was going to hit her. I got between them and said I would not let him hit her again. He stood there furious for a few moments before he stormed out of the room. I've not seen him since. If you have not talked to Anna Chekhov, you should. She was sitting next to me. She also asked Angie at that moment if he had hit her before and she admitted he has. Anna's a neurologist at the hospital."

"Your beautiful doctor, I think Angie called her. She's your doctor, isn't she? Why was she at the dinner?"

"Yes, I see her regularly because of my ongoing symptoms from my fall last month. Angie has to drive me and they talk about my condition almost every appointment, so they know each other well. But she was there because she's also in a romantic relationship with Dean Fernandez, who was the emcee for the ceremony. It turns out they had known each other years ago, but reconnected recently when they were both doing work for me to support my recovery. Beyond our doctor-patient relationship, I would consider Anna a friend to both Angie and me."

"Thank you for your time, Matthew. Do you know when Angie would be available?"

"She's working at the library right now. You might be able to talk to her there. She should be in her room tomorrow morning. She has to take me to an interview tomorrow afternoon and then to another appointment with Anna. This is an important one and she has to be there."

"It's not part of my investigation, but that sounded ominous. Is everything okay? Angie talked about your concussion in the speech."

"There are some complications that she does not know about, but Anna and I decided that we should tell her. Oh, absolutely do not mention this to her. She does not know that's happening tomorrow."

"I will be discrete. Thank you for your time again. And good luck together. She obviously loves you very much."

"And I love her very much."

He seemed nice enough. Between Aya the last few days and my parents and now him, I realize I'm enjoying talking to people again. And I don't think I used my ability on him at all. Maybe just to get a sense of what he was feeling, but not real mind reading.

I feel a bit better and crank out my Voltaire paper. and start looking at my last stats assignment when I decide to take a longer break. There's definitely light at the end of the tunnel. I had gotten myself up to being able to tread water before break. If I'm caught up by the end of break, the rest of the semester should be fine.

My only worry is my major paper for Renaissance Art. That's going to be a big commitment. And with Professor Amberson saying good things about me, I feel especially obligated to do a good job on it. And I really would like to finish my last three semesters with straight A's. If I looked at the catalog correctly, and did my math correctly -- always a big if for me -- I think I make magna if I do that. I know I will be getting some sort of latin honors, but magna would be cool. It's obvious that Angie's getting summa, but I have no need to compete with her there. And I think it's already too late for my grades anyway.

I'm starting in on the second problem for my stats when I get another knock on the door.

"Coming."

I open the door and a beautiful woman wraps her arms around me and kisses me.

"Miss me at work today, did you, Angie?"

"Shut up and make love to me, silly."

It only takes a few minutes before we are both naked and she's on her back, legs on my shoulders as I'm pumping into her. A few minutes after that I'm lying on my back, with Angie's head on my chest.

"I could get used to you working if this is my welcome home kiss," I say.

"I guess I did miss you today. And I figured you were lonely here. Did you get much work done?"

"I had a very productive day. I'm all the way caught up on Ecology and got my paper on Voltaire submitted. And I'm half way through my last stats assignment. When that's done, I'm completely caught up. My only real concern for the rest of the semester is my final paper for Renaissance Art, which will be the biggest thing I've ever written. And after he gave me a glowing reference, I better do a good job on it."

"Do you know what you're writing it on?"

"I've been thinking about the development of the modern view of Hell in Renaissance art, but I'm not sure yet. I owe him a topic."

"Could you find more of a depressing topic than that?"

"Remember, I was thinking about the perception of pain in art for my honor's thesis, so that's up there."

"You don't seem that depressive. Do you just pour it all out into your major papers?"

I laugh. "I think both of us know where the honor's topic comes from. But Hell is about the most interesting thing they were painting in the early Renaissance, before they moved to painting rich guy's wives and mistresses. Of course the Dutch aren't as romantic as the Italians; they just paint the rich guys."

"And you think my nineteenth century writers had hangups."

"Should we just order a pizza again, like we did the other day. I thought that worked pretty well. Have I corrupted you yet to be willing to get pineapple on it?"

"My father's strictures were nothing compared to my aversion to pineapple on pizza."

I laugh to myself. If I was going to see if I could compel someone to do something they were opposed to, turning her to a pineapple pizza lover would be a good target.

"It's not funny. You're not getting me to eat pineapple on my pizza."

I'm getting myself in trouble, but her seriousness about this is making me laugh harder.

"Really. Seriously stop it." She's actually getting upset.

I hug her. "I am sorry, my love. You're being so serious about something so silly. We might as well be arguing over which end of the egg to eat."

"What the hell are you talking about, Matt?"

"I would've guessed you would've read Gulliver's Travels."

"You mean the kid's story about the giant who washes ashore?"

"The book's definitely not a kid's book. It was political satire. The Lilliputians, one of the kingdoms of little people, were in a major religious war over whether you ate an egg starting at the big end or the little end. It was Swift's commentary on the absurdity of most wars of his day. I think it still fits today as well. The writing's not comfortable. It's early eighteenth century, so it's closer to Shakespeare than Dickens or someone like that. I read it last year in a class and we talked about it earlier this semester in my eighteenth century thinkers course."

"I guess I should put that on my list of things to read."

"I saw you're reading Middlemarch. I've heard of the book, but I know nothing about it. I assume George Elliot's another woman using a male pen name, like George Sands."

"Yeah, she is. I had never read it before. It's pretty good. If you have a real length interview tomorrow, I might be able to finish it at your appointment with Anna."

And I'm back to worrying about telling her at the appointment tomorrow. She must've seen my mood change.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up your interview. I know you're worried about it. Should I grab my phone and order our pizza?"

I nod my head. Saved by a mistaken identity again.

She grabs her phone, mildly curses at her broken screen, and places the order.

"We should probably find our clothes and get dressed," I say.

As we re-garb, I ask her, "How was your first day at work?"

"I spent the whole day shelving books. Working as a cashier's easier. The people there seem nice enough, though. Oh and some social worker came by and asked about Papa hitting me."

"Yeah, he came by here mid-afternoon. I told him what I knew and how I knew it."

"He wanted to know how often Papa hit me. And if he hit anyone else. I was honest, although I really don't want to get Papa in trouble."

"Well, if they can get him to stop hitting your mother, that would be a good thing. She seemed nice in the brief exchange I had with her."

"I think you two will get along very well once we can get together again. I'm hoping Papa will accept you when we get married. I'm not sure if standing up to him will get you respect or hatred, but almost certainly one or the other. Or maybe both."

"It seemed to work out okay for me with Steve."

"I hope you don't get into too much of a habit of it. It seems more likely to get you burned."

"We should probably head down to wait for pizza."

"I will bring the last chunk of cake. Your mom's goodies lasted us most of the week even if we gave a bunch of it away."

Aya joins us for dinner again and the three of us talk well into the evening. I've never really known a muslim person very well. Growing up in my very white little town, I never would've imagined having deep discussions with two women, one a hispanic and the other a muslim. It makes me think about Angie's speech.

"I will clean up again tonight," Aya says. "Thank you for keeping the noise down. I was expecting for this to be a good week for writing, but the noise had been getting to me. And after you've fed me two meals, I should probably feed the two of you a dinner. Say Saturday dinner here?"

"Sounds good to me. What's the menu?"

"Have either of you had much Tunisian food?"

We both shake our heads.

"Then it will be a new experience."

Angie and I seem to be settling into nights in my room, with her slipping down to her room while I sleep in the morning. The curiosity of what she's doing is driving me crazy, but I'm restraining myself from checking.

She grabs the same things from her room on the way up. Unlike this afternoon's quick, fiery sex, we have a slow, passionate build up to a comfortable cow girl. This has definitely become her favorite position. We figured out a bunch of other positions, but so far, she just wants to keep coming back to this. I'm not going to complain, no matter what position we are in.

I notice her leaving as usual and sleep until about 9:00. I will need to get up a little earlier next week when we have classes again. I wonder whether I will still sleep as well with the dorm full of people whose voices want into my head.

And that makes me think about telling Angie tonight. Can I really do this? If I try to chicken out, I think Anna might come out to the lobby and tell her anyway. I'm terrified of what Angie's going to do, what she's going to think about me.

I take my shower, get dressed, and head down to her room. I knock on the door and test the handle without waiting for a response. The door's unlocked and I walk in on her. I catch a glimpse of her quickly closing something on her computer. She's blushing and says, "You could wait until I let you in, you know!"

I've learned that when she accuses me of something, it means she's trying to hide something else. I do not know what she's hiding, and despite the enormous temptation, I do not pry to figure it out.

We decide to go for a big breakfast, and then dinner right after the appointment, sticking to only two meals to save money. we get takeout from Charlie's and eat back at the lounge again. She tells me Marci sent her a note. Her speech has over two million views, which is by far the most views for any non-athletic video the university has ever posted. She says they are up to forty seven articles about it, including several in national publications. And this is the biggest jump in requests for information from admissions since the school last made the final four. Neither of us can believe that students really choose a school because their basketball team's competitive for the national championship.

I try to seem excited, but it's a struggle. Between the interview and tonight's appointment, I'm kind of a nervous wreck. Angie's trying to be supportive, but nothing's really going to help. A little after twelve, I head upstairs to get changed into my suit and comb my hair. Once again, I grab my resume, three copies today.

I come downstairs and Angie gives me a once over, fixes my hair and tries to straighten my tie. I leave her in the lobby of the museum and head up to Steve's office on the fourth floor. The receptionist recognizes me. I guess my voice carried when I told him off last time and I seem to be a bit of a legend now. Everyone else really is intimidated by Steve. Maybe I'm just too naive to hold him in such awe.

Steve comes out in a few minutes and, after a few social niceties, walks me much further down a hallway to a smallish office with two desks and a bunch of bookshelves.

"This is Sandy Devers," he says. "She's the curator of the Renaissance exhibit. And this is Phil, her assistant."

I don't think Steve even knows Phil's last name. He doesn't usually deal with such low levels. No wonder he was so put out to have to interview me. I do quickly listen to each of their voices. Steve has not said anything about how I came to them through him, but they are mildly surprised by it. They've already interviewed two candidates and thought they were both pompous asses. They need to hire someone and are hoping I'm better than that. I like the relatively low bar to surpass.

Steve disappears without another word. Sandy clears a pile of books off a third chair and offers me the seat. I hand her a copy of my resume and sit down.

"So what can you tell us about yourself, Matthew? Or do you prefer Matt?"

"I answer to either. My girlfriend and my mother call me Matt and some of my friends do too. Everyone else calls me Matthew.

"I'm a junior at the university and an art history major. I think my strength is communicating about art. I hope I can be good at explaining the art and its context to normal people, museum-goers; it's why I would like to do this kind of a thing as a real job. I'm hardly an expert on Renaissance art, but I'm taking a class on it and I think I learn fairly quickly. What else can I tell you?"

"That was a great start. I already like you better than our last two candidates. Is that Amberson's class you're taking?"

I nod. "Did you both go to school here?"

"Both BA and MFA for me, but Phil was not so privileged. He had to suffer through Harvard."

Phil laughs. It's the first indication that he can communicate.

Sandy asks, "Have you decided what you're doing for your research paper?"

"I fell a little behind because I had a bad head injury earlier this semester, so I still owe him a topic. I'm leaning towards something to do with early Renaissance imagery of Hell. I told my girlfriend that last night and she complained it was too depressive. Angie likes Jane Austen and her romantic literature."

"Oh my god, you're her Matt. Angie Lopez's Matt, aren't you? Do you really bring her flowers? I'm sorry, this isn't really fair as part of your interview, but I'm a huge fan of hers."

"Yeah, I've brought her flowers several times, including just before that dinner last week. I will tell her she has a fan when I get downstairs."

"She's downstairs right now?"

"Reading Middlemarch as we speak, I'm pretty sure."

"Sorry, to so fan girl her, but she was amazing. But she's not a big fan of Renaissance Hells, I take it."

"No, apparently not."

"Have you seen any of our pictures of Ηell? We have three, but only one's on display."

"You have things that aren't on display?"

"Only about half of our art is actually available to the public. Our Botticelli stays on display all the time. That's the crown jewel of our Renaissance material. Our only real masterpiece. It's worth far more than everything else combined. We rotate some of the pieces from time to time. And sometimes we lend things out. That's the way art museums work. I think the modern exhibit only displays about a tenth of their works."

"I never knew that. So is that part of your job, to pick which works get displayed?"

"Yeah, but we don't change very often. Almost every time we do, someone complains that we took away their favorite painting. It's something to remember. Every piece is someone's favorite."

"I would love to see your pictures of Ηell. I might be able to use them."

"Phil, make yourself useful and grab the catalogue to show him the pictures. You know the ones I mean."

"Of course I know, Sandy. First one is 1428, so it's here."

Phil has a page in the book open and pushes it under my nose. I look at it saying, "Did you say 1428? That's right when Fra Angelico painted his Last Judgement. This is really interesting. It has much more of our modern concepts of hell fire than most of the early ones. The listing says unattributed. Is it Florentine?"

Sandy answers, "It was originally attributed to Massacio, but we don't think it is. It was also dated 1428, and he was sick that year until he died, so it's certainly not his that year. And he had started doing patronage art rather than religious art for his last few years. I trust the year more than the artist. Our guess is that it was done by an unknown artist who studied under him."

"Is this the one on display?"

"No that one's in storage," Phil says.

He seems to have an absolute knowledge of every piece in their collection.

He grabs the book back and flips a few pages. "Here, 1477. This is the one on display."

I get the sense that Phil lacks a little in social niceties, but he really knows his stuff.

"This one's more attractive and interesting. I'm not surprised you put it on display. But for me, this reverts much more towards the earlier perceptions of hell."

Sandy looks at Phil and he nods.

"You said there was one more?"

"1504," Phil says, "Turn three pages, left page, middle row."

He is, of course, absolutely correct.

"I have to ask you Phil, do you know every single piece in the collection like this?"

He nods. Sandy adds, "And every piece in the country that might be available for loan if we want something specific."

"I can think of eleven other depictions of hell that we could borrow, including two with much better hell fire, if that's what you want."

"I'm in awe of your mind, Phil," I say. "That's just not how my mine works."

He feels appreciated.

"Is it possible to see the collection? At least what's on display and I would love to see the 1428 work if that's possible."

Sandy says, "I think continuing our discussion in the gallery would work well. Phil, can you scamper down to storage and see if you can make the 1428 available?"

She has already decided that she wants to hire me. And Phil feels comfortable working with me, which I guess is pretty rare.

We take the elevator down to the second floor. She says "Hi, Tim" to the guard in the gallery; he nods his head and just says, "Sandy."

He sincerely likes her. She's nice to everyone as far as I can tell. I would like working with her.

She talks me through each piece they have on display. She then explains that they got a grant to make the art more accessible to the average museum-goer. I guess I hit a home run with my opening statement. A big part of the grant is paying my salary for the summer. The rest is to produce a special catalog for the new exhibit, which is kind of the standard brag piece for art museums. My job would be to help write the verbiage so it tells a story that's attractive to more than just art historians. It's exactly what I want to be doing.

I try to ask intelligent questions. And she seems to like them. Sometimes she has straightforward answers, other times she considers it a good question. A couple of them are questions she had not considered, but thinks she should have. She really wants me on her team. She's already trying to think about how to find funding to keep me part time during next school year as well.

We walk back through a door I had never noticed, past a guard that nods to her, and suddenly we are in a kind of warehouse. She leads me through a maze of shelves and then I see Phil standing next to a shelf.

"Welcome to the rest of the museum. It looks like Phil has found our baby."

It's smaller than I imagined from the image. I never thought to check the size. Something for me to be careful about.

I study the painting carefully.

"I love this picture. Is that image of this available on-line?"

"No, but I can send you a high-res image. Is the e-mail on your application correct?

"Yes. it is."

"And are your references on there?"

"Yeah, I think Steve called Professor Amberson already, if that counts. But I'm sure he would be glad to talk to you."

"I will ask Steve about that. Do you have any questions for me?" she asks.

"I think you answered pretty much all my questions already. I want to thank you for your time. I really did enjoy our discussion. And I would really appreciate the chance to work with you. This is exactly what I want to be doing."

"Let me walk you through the museum back to the lobby in case you think of anything else."

She needs to walk me back to the public part of the museum at the minimum. She's hoping she can meet Angie if she walks me all the way to the lobby.

Angie looks up and sees me walking across the lobby. I nod to her to come here and she darts over, as quickly as she can without getting yelled at by a guard.

"Angie, this is Sandy Devers. She's curator of the Renaissance exhibit. She just showed me a Renaissance picture of Hell that's not even on display."

"You and your pictures of Hell," Angie says, laughingly. But she shakes Sandy's hand.

Sandy goes all fan girl, "I'm a huge fan of yours. That was an amazing speech you gave. And I hope you don't mind lending me your Matt for the summer."

Angie looks at me.

I say, "Thanks again. And thank Phil for me as well. He's really amazing himself."

I take Angie's hand and we start walking away.

As soon as we are out of earshot, I turn to say, "I'm pretty sure I'm getting the job."

"Sounded like my fangirl had already hired you. So are you getting hired or is my boyfriend getting hired."

I didn't expect her to get testy about it.

"I'm not trying to sell myself as your boyfriend and I'm pretty sure that's not why I'm getting the job. But she figured out who I was when I was saying I had talked to you about doing my paper on depictions of Hell and you preferred your romantics like Jane Austen. And I think I called you Angie somewhere in that discussion. After my issues with Steve, I would have rather they didn't notice. We had really good discussions about how to present the art and everything. I really like both of them. And I think they like me. I didn't expect you to get pissy about me doing well at the interview."

"I'm sorry, Matt. I had three people ask me if I was Angela Lopez while I was sitting there reading. I don't want a fanbase. I just want to do my women's lit and be ignored. I'm happy it went well. And I know you're not just trying to leach off of my stupid fame. I think Marci's message this morning got under my skin; now I can't just sit and read in peace."

The appointment with Anna is going to be a disaster if she's in a mood like this already.

"We've an odd amount of time to kill. If we go back to campus, we will only have a few minutes until we'd have to turn around and go again. Let's do something fun for us. Something like getting ice cream cones."

"Isn't it still kind of cold for ice cream?"

"Would you rather get hot chocolate with lots of whipped cream? You would be cute right now with a dollop of white on the tip of your nose."

She looks at me with disbelief in her eyes, as if she wants to say, "Really?"

But I know silly is what she needs right now. "And I would try to kiss it away."

And I reach down and kiss the tip of her nose.

"But that would not get it all, so I would need to lick the rest off."

I reach down, this time licking the end of her nose.

"That was disgusting, Matt," she grouses as she wipes my saliva off the end of her nose. But she's laughing, too.

"Okay, I will go to the ice cream store with you. But only if you promise never to lick my nose again."

"I just get confused where I'm supposed to lick and where I'm not. Two days ago, I thought you said I wasn't supposed to stop licking you."

She turns bright red and tries to poke me, but I dodge. She has to chase me for a few hundred feet, trying to poke me every few steps. We are both laughing pretty hard. I finally let her catch me and she grabs me and kisses me.

"That's probably enough kissing in public," I say. "And besides, here's the ice cream shop."

"I love you. And I really am happy the interview went so well."

"I love you too. Even if you are too famous for either of us to deal with."

We both get cones and walk around the area eating them. The city has made this neighborhood around the museum very pedestrian friendly, with lots of nice shops. It's far from hot out, but it's a nice day for a walk and the days are getting notably longer. I think the equinox is early next week.