Thoughts are Like Books

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There are advantages to knowing the thoughts of Others.
6.1k words
4.67
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Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 11/10/2016
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This is the first Part of what I hope will become a multi chapter story. If there's interest in it. Give me feedback and let me know what you think, what you hope for. Enjoy.

*****

You're likely not to believe me, but I can read minds. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but sometime in my early 20s, I realized I knew what other people were thinking. I didn't find an artifact, I wasn't visited by aliens, to the best of my knowledge I'm not a mutant. I just remember every day, riding the London Underground, focusing on all of the people around me, trying my best to figure out what they were thinking. And then one day, it became clear.

To be honest, when it first happened I was terrified. I thought I was schizophrenic. I was riding a train to my place in the East End, standing near the door of a crowded train. And there was this guy, dressed reasonably well, jacket and tie, coming from work, standing in the other doorway.

His shirt had come untucked, and his tie had been loosened. He struck me as having had an interesting day, and I was trying my best to figure out where he had been and what he was doing when suddenly a foreign voice popped in my head. "Damn I hope I get it, I can't bear living with mum and dad much longer."

It was clear as any voice ever spoken aloud, and it wasn't like any of the internal dialogues that each of us have now and again. I was hearing voices! But almost as soon as that panic set in, I realized it was gone.

I sort of did an internal check, trying to make the voice reappear, but it wouldn't, at least not until I turned my attention back to the guy across from me. As soon as I focused in, more details became clear. He had been a bit of a fuck up in school, had problems finding work, lived with his parents, dad was a drunk. He had a girlfriend but she was getting antsy about his not having prospects. Today had been a promising job interview. He felt good about it, but he had felt good about jobs before.

The thoughts flooded my head and overwhelmed me, and when the train doors opened at the next stop I got off even though I was far from my destination. I fell back against the wall and covered my eyes with my hands. My heart was pounding. We all imagine what other people might be thinking, but this wasn't that. This other guy's thoughts had overtaken my own. It wasn't even like hearing someone speak. I could feel his anxiety, his frustration, his hope, all as my own. I was panicked, I'd lost it.

A woman in a TFL uniform approached me, "You doing okay?"

I looked up at her and nodded.

Now I could hear her thoughts, "He doesn't look too good. I hope he doesn't get sick or I'll be stuck cleaning up after him. Kinda cute though."

I shot upright almost slamming the back of my head against the wall. My eyes wide, I could hear her thoughts change from concern about my well-being to concern that I was dangerous. I realized I had to get it together, took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I'm just having a rough day. I'm okay."

She eyed me suspiciously, and I heard her doubts and felt her apprehension. Still I managed to collect myself, beginning to treat the experience akin to that of being high in public, which, I'm not too ashamed to say, I had done on several occasions.

I boarded the next train and thankfully it was empty enough for me to sit. I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing. That seemed to help. Despite being surrounded by people, no one else's thoughts invaded my mind.

When I finally fell through my front door, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, closing the door behind me, I leaned against it, like I was securing it from some coming invasion. My roommate, Mike, looked up at me and raising an eyebrow asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, "I just had a rough ride home." I sank into the sofa and grabbed his beer and drank it.

"Hey, fuck off," he yelled, "Get your own, you lazy shit." He turned his head toward the television, but I could hear him continue a rant in his head about how entitled I thought I was.

I thought about telling Mike what had happened and asking him to help me test if I was crazy or empowered. Mike and I had been friends since grammar school, but I wasn't ready to open this up. If I had suddenly lost my mind, I'd rather keep that to myself. Still, it crossed my mind that I might be able to test it a different way.

"Hey Mike," I said, "Do we have a deck of cards?"

He looked at me confused, but nodded and told me where he thought they were. When I returned with the deck in hand, I shuffled them and explained, "I learned card trick today, I'd like to test it out."

He nodded lackluster agreement and his thoughts turned to thinking how dopey card tricks were, but he played along.

As I had him pick card after card, telling him to think clear thoughts of his card, I made up a routine of special shuffling to look like I was actually doing something with slight of hand. I got his card five times in a row. I was beginning to realize that I wasn't crazy, but had a new ability.

"Well," he said finally, "Fuck if I know how you're doing it. Show me." As he said this he added the thought to himself, "If he says 'a magician never reveals his secrets' I'm gonna punch him."

I smiled and said, "A magician never reveals his secrets." And true to his word, he immediately threw a punch, but I was ready for it. I slid to the side, took hold of his now extended arm and bent it behind his back as I forced him face first to the floor.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed as I let him up, "when did you become Chuck Norris?" I could feel his legitimate amazement at my movements.

It was then I realized that knowing what people were thinking had advantages beyond simply gaining information on the personal lives. If I knew what someone was thinking, could see their moves before they made them, I'd always be a step ahead, and being a step ahead meant being in control.

It didn't dawn on me that I might actually be able to control people's thoughts; that came later.

I smiled broadly and said, "I have cat-like reflexes, don't you know?" But he eyed me suspiciously. Something was happening, and even though he didn't quite know what, he knew something was different about me. Still he let it go.

"There's a party tonight, over in Whitechapel," he said, changing the subject, but I could hear his continued questioning.

"There's always a party in Whitechapel," I said, unimpressed.

"Seriously though," he insisted, "We need to go." I didn't need to read his mind to know why; Michelle was going to be there, a girl he fancied but never quite got on with. He searched for a reason for me to join him, "Lots of girls there, maybe Jess."

I laughed, "Her name is Jenna, and we're just friends." It was true. While she was cute, with her waifish build and pixie cut, I never really felt a sexual spark with her.

"Doesn't matter," he said confidently, "You need to get out more. A bloke your age needs more social interaction. You know what they say, 'all work and no play..." and such."

So we went to the party. I did need to get out more, but I was curious what my new ability might bring in a party setting. Although I was worried that being in a crowd I might be overwhelmed by the thoughts of others, I needed to see if and how well I could control it.

We arrived at a flat crowded with people our age the sound of dance music blaring. I wondered if the noise might bring the police, but I also knew this neighborhood well enough to know that probably everyone in the building was at the party.

I grabbed myself a drink, some kind of punch that was being passed around. It tasted god awful, but holding the cup calmed my nerves a bit. I had already heard stray thoughts here and there, but was doing my best to block them out. Now, with drink in hand, I could settle in a corner and try to focus in.

The music made it difficult, but even more so, I realized that most of the people at the party had sort of, I don't know, switched off their brains, I guess. I could sense people feeling good, feeling a bit of freedom, a bit of stress relief. I could even sense a bit of intoxication which, when I first stumbled onto it made me drunk myself. I worked hard to block it in order to regain some control.

Generally positive vibes at the party. Scanning the room was like scanning a radio dial, signals came in stronger and weaker as my attention switched focus. It was fascinating. And then I stumbled onto someone a bit more interesting.

A young woman, leaning against the far corner, appeared to be in an argument with herself.

"You always do this," I heard her admonish herself. "You go out and then you sit in the corner and get angry that no one ever comes over to say hi."

"Yes," I heard her own reply, "But other girls have guys approach them without having to go trawling the room. I'm attractive enough, aren't I?" Despite looking despondent staring into her own cup, I had to agree, she was definitely attractive. Slight build, with curly dark hair to her shoulders, a pale-ish angular face with dark rimmed glasses. She wore bright red lipstick and a grey plaid skirt with black tights that made her look a bit younger than she likely was.

"Look," her admonishing voice continue, "No one wants shag the mopey little girl in the corner. The vibes you put off say 'stay the fuck away, I'm a head case'"

Her voice of defense fell to a whisper in her own head, "If someone approached me, I'd show them how good of a shag a mopey girl could be."

Well, I'm not too ashamed to say I walked across the room and leaned against the wall next to her. I could hear her thoughts change to a bit of anxiety; she had been hoping someone would approach her, but now she wasn't so sure. I heard her think, "He's cute, just so long as he doesn't tell me to smile."

I leaned toward her, ostensibly to give my voice a chance of being heard over the music. "I'm Paul," I said, "And you look like the most interesting person here."

She looked up at me apprehensively. Her internal monologue went about evaluating my pick up line. She appreciated my straightforwardness, but thought I was laying it on a bit thick.

"I'm Lorelai," she said, "and I'm really not that interesting."

"Alright," I said with a shrug, and started to walk away.

Her inner voice screamed at her, "You wait all night for a guy to approach you and then you tell him to fuck off? A cute guy at that. Stop him!"

"Wait," she reached out and took hold of my upper arm. I turned back to her smiling. She smiled back, and then covered her pretty face with her hand, "You were teasing me. I'm afraid I'm not very good at sensing a bluff."

"I'm not sure I was bluffing, but you left me little choice," I explained, "I don't want to be one of those guys who pesters women at parties hoping to wear them down."

She was a bit impressed with that response and looked at me thoughtfully, "There's something different about you, Paul. I can sense you're not like the other guys here at the party."

If only she knew. "Different good, I hope," I said optimistically, already knowing the answer.

"I think so," she replied. "I'm not much for dancing, but if you'd like we can step onto the balcony and chat a bit."

She seemed to know the place well, and lead me through the crowd, reaching back and taking hold of my hand, ostensibly to guide me, but I could hear that she really just wanted an excuse to touch me.

I learned that she worked as an admin assistant in Canary Warf, the business district of London, and that she hated it. She had studied dance and poetry in university, and of course, had few options for employment upon graduating.

When I heard her think, "Why doesn't he kiss me?" I leaned in and did just that. Pressing my lips to hers in a what started as a very chaste kiss, but as she responded we begin to drink each other in. I could taste the vanilla of her perfume as I pressed against her body, gently pinning her to the wall. Her hands wrapped behind me as mine went to the swell of her hips.

Now, if you're asking, "Do you feel guilty at all, using mind reading to become physically intimate with a woman?" the answer is, no. In my years with this ability, I've learned that minds are easily read by those adept at paying attention to the behavior of others. Mind reading just clued me in to what I should have known anyway, that she was as into me as I was in to her.

And she was into me. As we kissed on the dark corner of the balcony, she raised her knee and rubbed her inner thigh clad in black tights, against my outer thigh. My hand slid down her hip and under her ass, kneading the soft flesh as our tongues explored each¬-others mouths.

By this point, she was thinking the same thing I was, "Where should we go to continue? Are we secluded enough to continue here?" Probably not. But then her hand slip from over my shoulder and down my chest and stomach between us to the crotch of my trousers, rubbing my hardening cock.

I had to concentrate to stay in her head, and not lose my own. I thought to myself how much I wanted to be in her mouth; how much I wanted her to sink to her knees right there. Or were those her thoughts? I was losing track with her hand rubbing me through my trousers. But then she pulled back from me, looked up into my eyes with the most coquettish smile I've ever seen, and then slid down to her knees in front of me.

She glanced side to side, to see that no one was really paying attention to us. Had they looked they'd have known what was happening but would have had a hard time seeing clearly. She fumbled undoing my belt and zipper, but soon my hard cock was exposed to the cool evening air right in front of her waiting mouth.

Wrapping her hand around it, she stroked it a few times and thought to herself, "My god, Lorelai, I can't believe you're doing this." But then she leaned forward and took my length between her lips.

The alternating sensation of the warmth of her mouth doubled against the cool of my exposed, now wet, cock as her head bobbed back and forth was amazing. I bit my lip as I looked down at her, my cock disappearing and reappearing under a mop of dark curls.

I bit my lip as I reached down and ran my hand through her hair, not guiding her, letting her maintain control, but I just wanted to touch her as I felt my cock swell in the hollow of her mouth. I pressed my hips forward and more of my cock disappeared, the head sliding over her tongue and reaching the entrance to her throat.

I momentarily took a fistful of hair. "Oh god yes," she thought, "Pull my hair a little." I obliged, taking firm hold of a nest of girl and taking control of the speed and depth.

She moaned around my cock and the vibrations sent electric jolts up my spine, which in turn prompted me to both grip her hair harder and push harder into her.

Her thoughts became more lewd, more free, but also more inchoate. "Yes," she thought as I pulled her head down hard onto me, "Fuck my mouth. Fuck it. Cock. Cock, such a slut. Harder. Harder. Pull my hair harder!"

She had a dark side that I couldn't resist, so I pressed forward, pinning her head against the wall and pressed hard enough that my cock slipped into the tightness of her throat. I held myself there, buried, reveling in the sensation of her countless attempts to swallow.

She put her hands up, flat against my pelvis on either side of her head. She looked like she wanted to push me away, but she never did, like she struggle between bodily need for comfort and a mental need to be taken as thoroughly as possible.

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, but suddenly they became clearer, "Yes! Yes! No! Fuck, what the... YES!" And then I could tell she shuddered through a mini-orgasm, all from having her mouth taken in the way she had always imagined. And then I could tell she went shuddered through a mini-orgasm, all from having her mouth taken in the way she had always imagined.

The feeling was too much for me and my own orgasm overtook me. Buried in her throat as I was I pumped jet after jet of cum directly down her esophagus before she actually did push me away as a signal that it was too much. She had the presence of mind to hold me long enough in her mouth so that I didn't pull out completely and leave her to return to the party with a face covered in cum.

I fell back step from her and she leaned forward, panting, some saliva and cum spilling from her mouth as she did and drooling to the ground. I slipped my now spent cock back into my pants and kneeled next to her.

This time her thoughts came out in words, jumbled and shaky, but audible. "How could you...? How did I...?" She wiped a dollop of cum from her lips, and when she looked up at me her eyes were wet with tears.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," I blurted out. It was a natural reaction to seeing a woman cry after something like that. Nothing in her thoughts merited it though, so I was worried I had somehow missed signals or lost the ability.

She fell towards me and wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulder. I held her, confused, and let her have her moment.

Collecting her thoughts and words she said, "No, you have nothing to be sorry for. It was amazing." She kissed my neck. "Too amazing. It's like you knew every desire I had and met it." She leaned back, her makeup mussed from both the blow job and the crying. "How did you do that?"

I smiled and leaned in and kissed her, "I guess we're just perfect for each other."

"Jesus," she thought to herself, "And that was me giving you head, what's the rest going to be like?"

Since we were both kneeling and she had been crying, people began to take notice of us and I thought it best we move along.

"I think you might want to uh..." I said, reaching forward and wiping another drip of cum and saliva from her chin.

"Freshen up?" she smiled and pulled out a compact from her bag. "Oh god, you ruined me." Her eyes were twinkling.

"You're lovely, and you know it." And she ushered off in search of a ladies, glancing back at me over her shoulder and giving me the sweetest smile.

She was lovely, and I was nowhere near done with her. It had been a while since I'd had sex, or sexual contact of any kind really, and I felt fantastic. Of course I'd just got off with a very attractive girl, but I had managed to make her cum while she was down on me. Not everyone could do that, but apparently, I could. At least now.

As I walked back in looking for a drink, Mike called out to me and grabbed my arm.

"Hey man," he said, "Where you been? Moping in the corner?" Michelle was with him and they had both had a few, his arm was around her waist.

I couldn't help a grin, "Something like that."

"Oooh," Michelle said, "He's met someone. Who is she?"

I smiled sheepishly. "You'll meet her soon enough I hope." I motioned to Mike's arm around her waist, "You two getting on then?"

"Famously," Mike said and he attacked her neck with his mouth and she shrieked playfully. Tuning in to both of them there thoughts were less complete and more something animalistic, like what you'd expect from Freud's Id, just a stream of desires like, "Sex, sex, sex, beer, beer, beer, food, food , food." And on and on. I suspect it had something to do with being drunk, because even during sex, Lorelai and I never devolved to that.

Speaking of Lorelai, she chose that moment to reappear. She was behind me, so I didn't see her come up, and her natural shyness kept her back away from me while I was talking to Mike and Michelle. Apparently she stood back a bit, but hovered, because Mike motioned to her with a quizzical look and said, "You need something, luv?"

When I turned and saw her, I smiled and her face lit up. "Mike, Michelle, this is Lorelai. We met here tonight." I reached out and pulled her into me. Her arms were crossed in front of her as she reached out to shake their hands.

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