Strange Connection

[literary_goblin]

Closed for LustyQuill

Leah sometimes had to wonder why she had friends. Really, what was the purpose? She was happy enough doing her work and then going home to lose herself in a book or a movie or really anything that meant she wasn't thinking about that cheating bastard David. But no, after work today, she'd been met outside the museum by three squealing women who honestly meant well but just didn't get it. They really didn't understand that a week wasn't long enough to get over a relationship that would have been a year long next month. They didn't get why she wasn't really interested in going clubbing and hunting down some new man right away.

She was not a serial monogamist. She didn't need to be in a relationship. She sure as hell didn't need to be handing off her heart to some new stranger while it was still broken and bruised.

And yet? They'd managed to annoy her into relenting anyway, and she found herself sitting at the bar in some 'classy' pub downtown, nursing a beer and trying to look unapproachable while they giggled and flirted with every drunk guy in the room. They really did mean well. She knew that. It was just about the only thing that kept her from hating them at the moment. Goddamn did she ever not want to be here.

"Hey."

Her grey eyes lifted from her beer to the source of the voice - some guy with a popped collar who totally thought he looked suave but definitely, definitely did not. She glowered at him, but said nothing. Her body language - leaning away from him to such an extreme that she was on the verge of falling off the stool - should have said enough. But no one ever really credited drunks with an overabundance of empathy. Or sense.

The man leered down her shirt, thinking he was being subtle, and grinned. "I heard girls like you put out."

Wow. So maybe he didn't think he was suave after all. Maybe he just figured being blunt as fuck was the way to go with the ladies these days.

"Girls like me?" Leah repeated, shocked.

The guy, apparently undeterred by or unaware of the acid in her voice, just shrugged. "Yeah, with like... piercings and stuff."

Leah had a few piercings, that was true. Her ears were well decorated with a half-dozen holes each. Her hair, a deep, jet black, was worn long but she bore an undercut on one side of her head. And there was a tattoo of a flock of birds in flight across her sternum that was just peeking out from under her tanktop.

Sure, she knew what he meant by 'girls like her' now. Girls who looked a little different. Who, as they say, followed their own path in terms of how they wanted to look. "Go fuck yourself." She might have been nicer under normal circumstances. Really. She wasn't usually this cold or mean, even to drunks who looked like they were about two seconds from pawing awkwardly at her boobs. But hell, her boyfriend and the man she thought she loved had been caught cheating on her with a blonde bimbo exactly a week ago. She deserved a little slack when it came to her foul mood.

At least this time the drunk guy seemed to realize she wasn't interested and wandered off. So that was a bonus.

And then, just when she thought her night couldn't get any worse...

"Can I get you anything to drink, babe?"

Leah felt like that voice was burned into her brain. She'd sure as hell heard it screaming the words 'It's not what it looks like' enough times over and over. Half-hiding behind her beer glass, Leah looked over to see David himself smiling at that blonde bitch while she hummed and hawed over what she wanted to have.

What a fucking slut. Maybe that was uncharitable. Wait, not it wasn't. Heather, that bitch, had known David was in a relationship when she seduced him. God damn it. I knew I didn't want to be here tonight... She turned towards the bar in the vain hope that he wouldn't notice her. And if he did, she really, really hoped he wouldn't try to speak with her. But it seemed God was just not on her side tonight. Maybe this was her punishment for cursing so much the past week or so.

"Uh. Leah. Hey."

Leah sunk into her seat, only turning around enough to actually meet David's gaze. Pain crunched through her gut at the sight of him. "What?" Get a hold of yourself! You look like an idiot, mourning a guy who doesn't even fucking miss you! She cleared her throat and tried again. "Um. Hi."

David looked like he was at a loss for words, and she felt her lips curling into a bit of a sneer, even as she tried to fight it. Good, you bastard. You know exactly how much of a piece of shit you are. He cleared his throat awkwardly and stepped past her to order a pair of drinks.

Irrational anger speared through her. You fucker, you can't ignore me like that! She nearly said it aloud, too, but some moment of rationality seized her, and she pushed herself to her feet, stomping towards the door. Passing her friend, she ground out a "I'm leaving," before she made it through the doors and into the night outside.

Fuck going out. This had been a terrible idea. She was going home.

 

[LustyQuill]

Jake (Jacob) Scrivener

A late twenty-something pseudo-hipster and political blogger. He’s tall, lanky, and wears oversized glasses. He’s wicked smart, curious, and very opinionated, but bit shy in first contact situations. He has messy dark black hair that he keeps in a floppy beanie most of the time. Though attractive, his fashion suggests a very disorganized man who spends little effort on clothing or upkeep.

--------------

Jake looked up at the clock and sighed. It was after midnight and he still only had a couple paragraphs he considered salvageable. He had another day to get the article done, but he hated the idea of cutting a deadline so close, especially on an assignment this important to his career.

After years of writing unpaid articles and taking meager one-time publishing deals, he'd finally secured a full-time writing gig with a major online magazine and he had poured himself into his research and writing in an effort to prove himself. However tonight, he was coming up empty.

Jake was distracted and he wasn’t sure why. Scratch that, he knew exactly why. It was just a stupid boyish reason that he’d rather not acknowledge. He kept thinking about the cute girl on the subway earlier today who’d winked at him, or maybe somebody behind him. He wasn’t sure. Yeah… no. She had definitely winked at him. He was just so petrified in the moment and his subconscious kept dreaming up reasons for why he didn’t flirt back.

Work would be fruitless until he did something about his distraction or at least got some sleep. So with a long exaggerated stretch, Jake stood up from his desk and closed his Macbook. His article would have to wait until tomorrow, or rather… later today. He sighed again as he looked up at the clock.

Jake turned from his little desk and sauntered across his studio apartment over to the bed. He stood in front of the dresser and took a quick moment to survey himself in the mirror. He stood just over six foot tall sporting a lithe and wiry frame. His lean muscles, sinuous and taut were never evident under any clothing. He removed his beanie and tossed it aside, letting his shoulder length shaggy dark hair fall down in front of his face. He pulled his sweater and plaid button-up off in one motion and began unbuckling his belt. He wasn’t exactly tired, but he knew he should be. Staying up would only prolong his writing block misery.

He unzipped his jeans and dropped them to the floor, stepping out of them. He stood there barefoot in his boxer-briefs and stared at the young man in the mirror, trying to decide if he liked what he saw.

‘Come on Jake…. She had every reason to wink at you’, went the mini pep-talk in his mind.

Jake’s thoughts wandered back to the woman in the subway. He wasn’t sure he had a “type” per se when it came to women but if someone asked him to describe it, he would’ve offered up a vision completely unlike her. Maybe that’s why he was so fascinated with the idea of her. Multiple piercings in her ears, nose, and lip. A blue rockabilly updo with bangs and a purple bandana. A full shoulder sleeve tattoo that wound down into her throwback Betty top ending who knows where. Her bosom was ample and pronounced, likely with the aid of a mini-bustier. Her look suggested self-expression over conformity. Her aura was I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-you-think on full blast.

That was probably why Jake found himself blatantly staring at her for three full stops with no apparent concern for propriety. For her part, she seemed completely non-chalant. Likely, she was used to being gawked at for good or ill. She could see him though, either peripherally or through reflections in the subway windows. Jake realized this when she turned and looked right at him. She cracked a huge acknowledging grin and gave him a pronounced wink for emphasis.

Jake was aghast. He hadn’t realized how much he was staring at her and now she had caught him. She didn’t seem particularly perturbed by it, so he had to wonder if she enjoyed toying with men like this or if she actually thought he was… cute? There were many ways to find out. Smile back. Wink back. Go over and say hello. Anything but retreat.

Jake retreated. It wasn’t even his stop. He felt like such a wuss. He stood on the platform and watched the train roll away. He could only imagine her eyes were rolling as well.

Jake looked at himself in the mirror again. The bulge in his shorts had grown. He thought about finding the rest of her tattoos, tasting her bubble gum lips, surrendering to her as she would surely demand of him. He reached down into his briefs and adjusted himself. Fully erect now, his manhood was contorted in the tight shorts, squirming to break free. He straightened it out, his head poking through the flap. He began to stroke himself.

‘Go fuck yourself!’

Jake froze as the strange voice rung out uninvited in his head. He turned and looked around, hand still gripping himself in his shorts. The tv was off. The jambox was off. The window was closed. The only sound in the apartment was the air flowing through the vents and the dim cacophony of the bustling New York streets down below.

Jake had always felt a sense of unease when he fantasized about real women. Even though they would never know, he always felt like he was invading their privacy somehow. Still, the guilt rarely stopped him. But now he had to wonder. Was that her voice? Did she know he was masturbating thinking of her? Clearly she didn’t approve? Or did she? After all, fucking himself was pretty much exactly what he was doing.

Dismissing the voice as the product of an overactive imagination, Jake shuffled cock in-hand to his bed and flopped down on it. He resumed stroking. Thinking of her, thinking of unlacing her hidden bustier…

‘What a fucking slut.’

Now that seemed entirely out of context. Jake froze again, but only momentarily. Something weird was certainly going on, but he felt more curious than horrified. He resumed stroking, thinking of those hot pink lips wrapping around the wet tip of his…

‘God damn it. I knew I didn't want to be here tonight…’

‘Yet here you are baby…’ Jake thought, playing along with this weird experience.

He could feel himself getting hornier, closer to orgasm. Almost in sync with his rising passion he could feel the strange experience… growing stronger? No, that wasn’t it. It was becoming clearer. He could hear sounds now. Other voices in the distance. It sounded like a restaurant? No… the sounds of ice cubes clinking into a glass, liquid pouring. It was a bar.

‘You look like an idiot, mourning a guy who doesn't even fucking miss you!’

Jake closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of her voice as he continued stroking himself. Now he was getting more than just sounds. He could smell the mahogany of the bar… and a perfume of some sort. He felt like he could almost see something, an extremely cloudy vision with wisps of colors and shapes. He kept stroking, faster and faster.

He wasn’t sure exactly why he was still turned on given the confusing turn of events, but he felt driven, curious even.

‘Good, you bastard. You know exactly how much of a piece of shit you are.’

“I’m sorry baby! I can’t help it!” Jake responded aloud pounding himself furiously.

Jake could feel himself on the edge of orgasm. The vision in his mind began to coalesce. He could almost make out recognizable details in the swirling mists. A reflection… a face in the bar mirror. It was her.

It was a different “her” but beautiful just the same and eerily similar in style except she had raven black hair and a look of deep sadness and anger about her. Jake felt a pang of guilt for intruding on such a personal moment but at the same time he felt an exhilarating sense of attraction to her. He didn't know why the feeling was so strong, but before he could ponder it further, he felt himself begin to climax. Add he went over the edge, pumping his seed all over his fist and stomach. The vision immediately began to fade. The voices drifted away.

‘No… come back…’ he mentally pleaded in vain. Her voice spoke once more as it faded away.

‘You fucker, you can't ignore me like that!’

 

[LustyQuill]

Jake woke up the next morning invigorated. He didn’t know if last night’s experience was real or a dream, but he felt almost possessed by a spirit of angst and dismay. His attachment to it felt nearly tangential as if he were observing his own distraught self instead of living it. The consequence of this weird feeling manifested through words flowing effortlessly from his fingertips to the article due by the end of the day.


As a hired “Millenial blogger” it was part of Jake’s role to put a voice to the economic, political, and institutional struggles that his generation faced. As a young person with a ton of student loan debt, dim (until recently) employment prospects, and a palpable sensation of being disenfranchised politically, it shouldn’t have been at all difficult for him to summon that angst onto the page. Yet he had struggled with it. As intellectual as his understanding of current issues was, his emotional connection wasn’t always there. Now he felt like he had an unending reservoir he could tap. He didn’t even have to wallow in it; just uncork it and let it flow through him and out to the internet.


Satisfied with his work, he gave it a quick proofread, made a few edits, and clicked submit. Now he had the whole rest of the day to do… what? He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to ten. His thoughts drifted again to the girl on the subway and the weird experience he had last night. Was he just really tired? Lucid dreaming perhaps?


It seemed like much more than that, but he didn’t know how to investigate it further. He could always masturbate and see if it happened again. That was certainly a valid idea, but an even better one came to mind.


If he left his apartment now, he could make it to the subway stop by 10:45am; the same stop and time where he saw her yesterday. It seemed like a ridiculous long shot given how many people ride the subways of New York every day. But many people have daily patterns. Maybe he could catch hers again. Even if he was right the odds of him finding her in a crowd or even being on the right train car seemed ridiculously long. For some strange reason, Jake still felt that fate would favor him on this day.


He threw on his clothes, grabbed his glasses, beanie and satchel and was out the door.


As Jake rounded the corner from the tunnel to the stairway down to the platform, he eyed the throng of waiting passengers before him. Even if she was here, how could he hope to find her? Then he spotted the blue hair.


‘Holy shit! That’s her!’


What were the chances it was a different tattooed girl with blue hair? In New York, anything was possible but Jake was excited at the same time… and suddenly filled with dread.


‘Ok, now what?’


He made his way down the steps and into the crowd, trying not to lose sight of her. A train was pulling into the station. As soon as the doors opened, he spied her blue coif stepping inside the nearest car. He hustled his way forward and slipped into the back door of the same car just as the warning chime sounded.


There she was, mere paces from him. Jake’s plan had worked perfectly up until this point, despite the long odds. But once again, he found himself petrified. Before she was just a pretty girl on the subway he found himself staring at. Now he felt like he had some odd connection to her. The stakes were somehow higher. He wasn’t sure why.


‘Come on Jake! Go talk to her! What’s the worst that can happen?’


He racked his brain for some inspiration as to how he would talk to her.


‘Hey there sugar-tits. Ride this train often?’


No. no. no. no… Why would he even think that?


She stood there, blissfully unaware of his presence. She was alone apparently, standing a mere 10 paces away, holding onto the rail and staring off into the distance, earbud wires trailing from her bedazzled lobes. She certainly gave off a “leave me alone” vibe which was not uncommon on the subway. Regardless, he found her disinterested demeanor even more unnerving.


He sidled forward, looking around, trying to appear as if he was searching for a seat or perhaps a more open space on the train. She continued staring off at the distance. One step at a time he moved towards her. He felt like he was balancing on a trapeeze, one misstep would spell certain doom.


‘Come on Jake. Keep moving. Don’t be a pussy!’


He continued racking his brain for some appropriate way to break the ice.


‘I like your hair. It’s very pretty.’


That could work… for a perv. Jake sighed. He got two steps away from her and froze for a second before attempting to non-chalantly grab a nearby hold.


Just then she turned and looked right at him. Her eyes seemed to wander his visage for a split second before she tossed him a quick smile. Did she recognize him? He couldn’t tell. Maybe she was just being polite?


Jake smiled back.


‘Say something you idiot!’


“Uhh….” he murmured, drawing and enraged blank.


Suddenly she took a step towards him, smiled again, and leaned close to his ear. Her smell was intoxicating.


“Excuse me, but I thought you should know…” she whispered.


‘Know what? Yes! Anything! Yes!’


“Your fly is undone,” she giggled.


Jake turned bright red.


“Uh… oh. Oh my god… I’m sorry!” he stuttered pulling his satchel in front of his crotch out of sheer embarrassment.


“Ha ha!” she giggled again, “I’ve seen much worse on the subway, but you might want to take care of that…”


Her voice trailed off as she stepped away. Jake only now realized that the train had stopped and the doors had opened. She stepped off onto the platform and winked at him once again.


He stood there petrified, gripping his satchel and watched as the doors closed and she once again slipped away.

 

[literary_goblin]

Saturdays were always nice. Leah's alarm went off, was promptly turned off and then ignored. She rolled over, wrapped up in her sheets and her dreams, and went back to sleep.

And yet? It wasn't long before she came out of her sleep herself. It wasn't that late - in fact, the bustle of the day hadn't even started. She couldn't hear the cars moving outside her window as usual. The sun was still barely risen. She must have slept extremely well; she certainly felt better than she had the night before, and she was glad she'd left the bar when she had - if she'd stayed, she would have gotten drunk, and no doubt been saddled with a killer hangover. Besides, she had to laugh at herself for her behaviour yesterday. Sure, she still thought David was a huge asshole, but it seemed a little more distant today. A little easier to deal with. Everything seemed better in the light of the morning.

She was lying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She felt relaxed, she felt well-rested, she felt... aroused? A slow, curling smile appeared on her lips. Maybe she'd been dreaming. She couldn't remember, but there was a definite, tell-tale throb of arousal pulsing through her body. Well, it wasn't like she had anything to do today anyway, and getting off was always a good way to start the day...

On hand pressed flat against her trim stomach, pushing up the hem of the old tanktop she wore to bed, exposing a few more inches of skin before her fingers slipped underneath to grasp and lazily massage one of her breasts. She cooed softly, enjoying the way her nipple stood at attention under her palm, and the way the feeling of her hand only made the throbbing between her legs more intense.

The other hand pressed against her stomach, this one slipping down her body, meandering towards her waiting pussy. She could feel slick wetness in her panties, running her fingers slowly, teasingly, over her lips. And then...

Come on Jake! Go talk to her! What’s the worst that can happen?

Leah jerked in surprise, half-sitting up and staring around her bedroom with wide eyes. What the fuck was that?! Her gaze flickered to the window, as if she expected to see some pervert watching her play with herself and giving himself a pep talk from the window. But there was no one.

She was sure there was nothing on in her apartment - no radio, no TV. Couldn't be her phone, no way it was that loud. She sat, frozen, her hands still cupping her own body awkwardly while she tried to figure out where the noise had come from. Finally, flopping down on her bed, she realized it might have been a TV from the apartment above. Just a good reminder that she'd need to keep it down if she didn't want to accidentally give the dude upstairs some 'entertainment'.

Sighing softly, she was at least pleased to realize her arousal hadn't gone down. Biting her lip to muffle a moan, her fingers dipped quickly inside herself, drawing a small gasp. God, it had been way too long since she'd done this. Her body was crying out for attention now - she must have been ignoring a lot of unreleased sexual tension.

Hey there sugar-tits. Ride this train often?

Leah started with surprise, but this time she didn't freak out. It was the same voice. What the hell was the guy upstairs watching? It sounded like a cheap porn. God, she hoped she wasn't going to have to listen to fake porn moans while she was trying to get herself off...

Come on Jake. Keep moving. Don’t be a pussy! This time, the voice came with a flash of something. What... blue? Was that hair? And why the hell was she seeing it at all? Her fingers had plunged deep inside herself, and she was working her body quickly to the crest, but this new change - this vision - was concerning. There was no way it was the TV upstairs. Her fingers slowed, but her hips lifted off the bed, immediately craving the friction she was denying herself. A frustrated groan escaped her throat. She should be worried about what was happening to her, but instead her brain couldn't get past the need to get off!

I like your hair. It’s very pretty. She jumped. Okay, that time it sounded like there was some dude speaking right next to her ear. Her vision was swimming, half seeing her bedroom and half seeing... something. A bunch of blobs. Were they... people? She was tempted to draw her fingers out of herself to figure out what the fuck she was seeing. Was she having some kind of psychotic break? But her body craved the coming orgasm, and she figured if it was a psychotic episode, it probably wasn't going to stop once she finished, and there was no need to be distracted by sex, right?

Well, she was good at making excuses to keep playing with herself, at least. Say something you idiot!

"You're already talking too much," Leah answered breathlessly. Somehow, it didn't occur to her that it was odd that she was replying.

"Excuse me, but I thought you should know…" There was a female voice. Muffled, as if she was hearing it through water. More blobs in her vision, but they were starting to coalesce into figures... and one, the one in focus, the one she could see best, was a woman with blue hair. Was she the one speaking? “Your fly is undone."

What? But it didn't matter. Leah's fingers were plunging in and out of her body with wild abandon, and she crested right as the man she'd been hearing made some kind of garbled reply. It didn't even occur to her until after that it was strange that she stopped being able to understand him so clearly once she started coming down from her orgasm.

As she lay in her bed, her arms splayed out beside her, enjoying her afterglow, she came to the slow conclusion that, despite her expectations, the voices and visions had stopped once she came.

What the actual fuck?