The Empath Cycle: 2001 It Takes One - Book 1

Her body showered, ate breakfast, joined the throng in public transportation, went to class, took notes. Her mind, though, was still trying to process the deluge of information she had been given. She felt as if on the verge of seeing the pattern that would explain it all. Of resolving the obscure equation of the problem in which she saw herself as a variable among so many, when she heard the voice again.

"Are you okay, sweetie?"

Startled, she looked up and there were the green eyes, looking at her with concern. She began to relax at the now familiar sight and felt the pull of the loving presence waiting to embrace her.

That's when she realized that the woman in her fevered dreams was the sweet smelling woman from school.

With a cry, she grabbed her things and ran away, more confused than ever. How could this be?

She found herself leaning her back on the closed door of her apartment with little recollection of how she got there.

When she came to in response to the urgent signals of her bladder, she discovered that she had been sitting blankly at her kitchen table for over an hour.

Sylvie did not go back to the university the rest of the week.

She spent her time in bed or on the couch, in a daze. Before the woman had startled her in the cafeteria, she had barely come to grips with the idea that a loving entity, as a manifestation of her subconscious, had visited her dreams and had showed her that the pleasures of the flesh were not a sin, after all. That she was not a perverted monster to be punished severely. Now all that revaluation was for naught. She had dreamed of having sex with a woman. An actual living woman, one she met daily, though she had hardly ever spoken to her.

There was no more doubt in her mind. She was a pervert.

She took to avoiding looking in the mirror, dreading the green eyes. Not sure if they would accuse her or, worse yet, look longingly at her. She could not sleep because she was afraid the woman of her dreams would be there again. She found her only respite in meditation and, even then, the state of peace was attained only with great difficulty.

When Saturday morning came, she had regained a modicum of equilibrium.

She could not change what had happened, but it had only been a dream. She had committed no serious breach of propriety. If she was a slut in her sleep, so be it. She could still control her waking life and no one needed to know her shame.

Once she had reached that conclusion, she was appalled to see the state her apartment was in. Unwashed dishes were piled in the kitchen sink and on the counter. What little clothes she had worn were strewn about her room. Aghast, she even found a pair of soiled panties under her pillow and the place smelled as she imagined a whorehouse would after a busy night.

She set to repair the damage. Though not obsessive-compulsive, her -- normally -- disciplined mind required a neat, clean and orderly environment.

After a few hours of steady work, she was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a well-earned cup of coffee. The expenditure of energy on the routine housework had further settled her. Saturday was shopping day. She needed to buy groceries for the coming week and a few items she knew she would find in one of the downtown underground stores. That was one of the things she loved about Montreal: there was a large area of downtown completely underground. Stores, boutiques, bars, clubs, movie houses, all could be accessed via the metro or pedestrian tunnels. If you could afford the various high rises connected to the network, you could live through the winter months without ever setting foot outside.

So, she put on a light jacket for the short walk to the metro and made her way to what promised to be a fun afternoon away from temptation.

She purposefully got off at a further station than she needed so she could window shop at some of her favorite boutiques. She rarely bought anything there because they were out of her price range, but she loved to browse through their merchandise and the salesladies weren't too aggressive and let her look around. Another thing she loved was looking at the classy women who shopped there, imagining where they would wear the designer dresses from this store, the silk underwear from that other, or the diaphanous sexy lingerie from that last.

She was holding a raw silk blouse wondering how it would feel against her skin when she froze. She dare not move, lest she attract attention to herself. Her fragile equilibrium threatened to dissolve and leave her a messy puddle of quivering, weeping flesh. She began to tremble when the scent got stronger as if its source was nearing her. She lowered her head and shut her eyes tightly to hold back the tears that were set to flow if unchecked. She hunched her shoulders as if dreading a blow.

Through it all, she was unsure if she wanted to go unnoticed or not.

"That wonderful blouse would suit you perfectly, sweetie. The ecru colour would set off your skin tone prettily." The voice said.

She began to shake, whimpering with desire or fear... or both.

"Are you okay? You're not going to run out on me again, are you?"

That last paralysed her, keeping her from doing just that. She knew she should answer something, but her throat closed on her. She couldn't breathe. In a panic, she looked up to ask for help and the green eyes were there, unthreatening, understanding... loving? Her knees buckled and she would have fallen to the ground if the familiar arms hadn't embraced her, guiding her to a nearby seat.

"Aw, shit! Marie, can you get a glass of water, please. This young woman is feeling faint."

The warm body sat next to her, the strong arms embracing her tenderly, without thinking Sylvie wrapped her arms around the woman's waist and laid her head against her generous bosom. She was at peace again.

"You're going to have to let go for a minute, sweetie. Here, drink this, it will help some."

Reluctantly, she let go of the woman, drank the water and it did settle her nerves.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I am. Thank you. I think I will be fine now. I'd better go home and lie down."

"Are you sure? There's a café nearby. I go there all the time. Why don't we get you a coffee and a bite to eat before you go? I would feel better knowing you won't faint on the metro platform and fall under its wheels."

Though every instinct told her to decline the invitation and run to the safety of her apartment, the solicitous insistence got the better of her weakened resistance. She followed or rather was guided by the woman who kept a light hand on her elbow. Her heart was beating fast, her breathing shallow. The blackness at the edge of her vision a sign of incipient fainting. As she felt she must certainly lose consciousness, they arrived and were seated immediately by a cheerful young woman who greeted Sylvie's rescuer warmly.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Patricia. Is your friend all right? She looks pale."

"Hi, Camille. Can you get us a couple of café au lait and a plate of baklava, please? She needs to pack some energy quickly and that should do the trick. Unless you want something else, sweetie?" She asked, turning to Sylvie.

"No, that will be perfect. I've been sick these last few days and I guess I didn't eat enough."

"Ah! That explains why you ran away the last time I saw you. Are you feeling better?"

The green eyes were still solicitous, Sylvie saw with relief. Her secret was safe, but she must be careful.

"Yes, thank you for asking. I suppose it must have been a bug I caught. It's the beginning of flu season, so I guess I succumbed to the first outbreak. Lucky me."

"It is indeed. That's why I get my shots early. A few years back, I got hit by a nasty strain of the influenza virus and ended with pneumonia and pleurisy. I was laid down for ten days and home bound for three weeks until it cleared. I'm not taking any chances if I can avoid it."

The conversation was light thereafter. They went over what Sylvie had missed in the last three days of school and moved to various innocuous subjects. They were pleased to find they shared a passion for Fantasy books. They compared notes on their favorite books and authors until the waitress came inform them that the café was closing.

It was 5:00pm. They had spent four hours talking comfortably, something Sylvie had never done in her life and that with a relative stranger.

Patricia insisted on paying. "If you feel the need to repay me, coffee and muffins are on you Monday." She said with a grin.

They walked together to the nearest metro station where they found they were going in opposite directions.

"Are you sure you will be all right to make it home, sweetie? I can accompany you and hop back in the metro. It's no big deal." Patricia asked, still not convinced her companion was in good health.

"Thank you, but I'm sure I can manage. Once there, I'll eat a hearty supper and get some rest."

They stood there, neither willing to go. Patricia was worried. She could see something was wrong with Sylvie, but there was no way for her to know what without insisting and she had a feeling the invasion of privacy would cause more problems than it would solve. Sylvie knew she should move away before she broke down again, but, at the same time, she desperately wanted to move into the reassuring embrace of the woman, to taste her sweet lips, to...

"I must go. I can hear my train coming. I'll see you in class Monday." If she did it with a little more dignity that the last time, she was still fleeing and both knew it.

She had been wrong. It was not her train entering the station, but Patricia's and it was gone by the time they made it to the platform, so they stood, facing each other across the tracks. Sylvie was trembling again as she looked at Patricia through tear filled eyes. She yearned for the comfort of her embrace so much that she felt paralyzed, torn between her need and her shame.

As her train arrived, she was jostled by passengers coming out and those rushing in the car as she stood rooted in place. When her train left the station, she barely had a glimpse of the woman between the tail end of her train and the front of Patricia's. She thought she saw her get in the car and look at her through the window. Sylvie gave a feeble wave and a tremulous smile before her flowing tears blurred her vision and Patricia disappeared from her sight.

The train had left the station, taking the woman away. Sylvie was still standing on the platform, sobbing deeply, her face in her hands. Then the scent enveloped her a second time before the familiar arms embraced her.

As she flung her arms around the woman, clutching her as a drowning woman would a lifeline, she wailed in despair at what she saw as a situation with no issue.

Chapter 2

Life had been unsatisfying in many ways for Patricia Summers these last twenty years, except for one aspect.

Her world had tilted at conclusion of her college years where she has been chosen valedictorian for her scholastic achievements. She had been very proud of the address she had delivered at the graduation ceremony.

The highest ranking among her graduating class, she had also been voted 'most likely to succeed' which came as no big surprise to anybody who knew her. She had been driven by a passion for science from an early age. When young teens idolized pop singers or actresses, Patricia looked to Marie Curie as a role model following a grade seven class outing at the Science Museum where she saw an exhibit on the famous scientist.

She had been very impressed to learn that Marie Skłodowska-Curie (1867-1934) was a French-Polish physicist and chemist, famous for her pioneering research on radioactivity; that she was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize and the only person to win it in two fields; that she was also the first female professor at the University of Paris, and, in 1995, became the first woman to be entombed on her own merits in the Panthéon in Paris.

What was a simple class outing for the other children became a turning point in young Patricia's life. Already interested in science, she became obsessed. She was determined to leave her own scientific legacy. Her name would be remembered as that of a second Marie Curie, she vowed to herself.

After finishing high school with the highest marks in all her sciences courses, she chose the college with the best reputation for its science curriculum so she could have a better chance to continue to the most reputed university.

The only problem she ever had in high school had nothing to do with her studies.

Seemingly overnight, at fourteen, Patricia went from plump kid to attractive young woman, as if her baby fat had redistributed itself to more aesthetically pleasing areas. Within a year or so, she had perky C-cup breasts, her middle had thinned to a flat tummy with no more unsightly bulges and her hips had widened to complement a pleasantly rounded ass. Her features had also thinned to acquire a feminine quality beyond her years. Her full lips made her look like she was pouting, in an attractive way, as if always ready to be kissed. Her straight nose was exactly the right size. Her almond shaped green eyes were startling. Her shoulder-length hair framed her perfect face with their auburn curls.

That was of no moment to Patricia except that she was now plagued by the unsolicited and unwanted attention of boys. She didn't care for them at all. In fact, when her own hormones manifested themselves, she had researched the subject and, in her usual logical way, had concluded that masturbation was the best way to satisfy the natural needs of her body without the messy emotional entanglements of a relationship with a boyfriend.

As she was a very sensual girl, she became quite adept at it.

It was not rare for her to wake fully aroused from a wet dream. In fact, she had to get protection for her mattress as she often woke during the night with hands between her legs, bringing herself off in response to a particularly vivid dream and she produced a copious amount of cream.

So she regularly masturbated before getting out of bed and, when she took her morning shower, the hot water massaging her body along with the sensation of the soft washcloth as she soaped herself were more than enough to induce Patricia to bring herself off once or twice more in the hope that she could last the day unbothered by her body's demands.

Sometimes, she had to go to the girl's bathroom to 'take care of business', so she could concentrate on her beloved science. She would lock herself in a far stall and do her best to avoid making noises that could be overheard by the group of girls that hung there to smoke. She preferred vaginal orgasms, but coming out with hand covered with cream to the wrist was out of the question, so she had to settle for quick and dirty clitoral orgasms.

Patricia had been friends with a boy since childhood. They shared a passion for science and became closer for it. As a defence strategy against the advances of other boys, they became a couple. She was upfront with him when she proposed the arrangement. She had no interest in having sex with him, but she would allow him to hold her hand and kiss her in public as part of her camouflage.

By the time they were in grade twelve, she had confessed her solution to the demands of her sexual nature and he had convinced her that it wouldn't hurt if they masturbated together. At first, she would only lift her skirt so he could watch her as she drove her fingers in her pussy and he lowered his pants just enough to stroke his shaft to completion.

Eventually, they would lie naked on her bed so she could do things properly. Playing with her breasts, massaging the firm flesh in a gradually rougher manner, pinching, twisting pulling on her long hard nipples until her vagina was leaking. She would then bring one hand down and cup her close-trimmed mound, kneading the fleshy blood engorged outer lips before sliding a finger along her cleft, spreading her always abundant cream. Flicking her fingertip over her erect pearl never failed to bring her, moaning, to a higher pitch of excitement. She played with it until she could take no more and drove two or three fingers deep in her vagina, curling them upward to stroke her sweet spot. When he saw her humping her hips against her hand, trashing on the bed, moaning continuously, he would accelerate his strokes and apply more pressure on his hard member as he tried to time his orgasm with hers.

If he was frustrated that she never let him touch her or she never touched him, he didn't show it, knowing it would mean the end of their relationship, such as it was, and of his private peep show. He was content with what he had and with the bragging rights to having been naked in the same bed as this gorgeous young woman.

When he chose the same college as hers, she refused to share an apartment with him, but agreed to continue their relationship on the same basis, for the same reason.

She applied her considerable intellect to her single-minded pursuit of scientific renown, enrolling in the most advanced courses available to her. Since she needed to work, she applied as laboratory assistant and, as first in class in all her courses, she got the job. In fact, she was so good at it, she soon was in demand by all the science departments and found she had little free time. She didn't mind as it gave her more opportunities to apply what she learned in class and access to the teachers, one on one, to ask questions and get clarifications as needed.

One night, a few weeks before graduation, when she was particularly tired and had allowed herself one glass of wine too many, he had taken advantage of her horniness after she had masturbated but confessed she was still unsatisfied, to talk her into having sex with him, saying that it would 'scratch her itch' more fully than simply frigging herself. In a daze of fatigue, wine and unsatisfied lust, she agreed, but insisted he use a condom.

She found the experience unsatisfying, but she managed to get off by rubbing her pearl as he was clumsily humping her.

Patricia was well aware that there was a 2% per-year pregnancy rate with perfect use and a 15% per-year pregnancy rate with typical use of a condom, but she was confident they had done things right and 2% per-year was an acceptable risk for this onetime thing as she had no intention to repeat the sorry experience.

She was wrong.

When she missed her period later in the month, she got worried, but not overmuch as it could have been caused by the stress of the finals and the following graduation where she would give a public address.

She was a little anxious in the days leading to her next period, then panicked when she missed it again. She immediately went to the pharmacy to get a home pregnancy test and was stunned by the positive result. The next day Patricia saw her family doctor on an emergency basis and her worst fears were confirmed: she was six weeks pregnant.

Her parents were dismayed when she told them, but they promised to support her with any decision she made for the future. They had raised her to be a responsible independent woman and trusted her judgment.

The response was quite different when she spoke to her 'boyfriend'. He said he was not ready to be a father and wondered if he was really the father because, after all, they had done it only once and they had used a condom. He insisted she get an abortion, going so far as to offer to pay for it.

Dejected, but not really surprised, Patricia told him he was right. Such a lousy excuse for a man as him could certainly not be the father of her child. She strongly suggested he proceed to engage in some patently physically impossible acts and told him she never wanted to see his sorry face ever again. Before she left, she took the precaution of having him sign a document stating, in no uncertain terms, that he renounced any present and future parental rights to her child and that, in return, she renounced to any claim to child support for now and in the future.