Perceptions (5)
It was pitch black. I couldn’t tell whether my eyes were open or not. I could see absolutely nothing. Worse, the pain coming from my legs was excruciating. ‘You’ve tied me too tightly!’ I yelled. ‘Lizzie! Teri! It’s hurting! Untie me!’ I groaned loudly, wanting to scream, wishing it to stop, and wondering why the girls wouldn’t respond. Trying to raise myself I found I was trapped. My body was immobile. Legs. Arms - no! My right arm was free. I used it try and free myself. I felt the nakedness of my torso but could not locate the thing or things restraining me. I struggled furiously but I could hardly move. Frightened now as well as hurt, I shouted again. Where were they? Why were they doing this to me? I knew something had been wrong. Their behaviour had been weird to the extreme. ‘Please stop! Lizzie! It’s hurting! Untie my legs!’ Slumping back in anger and frustration, I wailed again. Neither of them came. They wouldn’t help me. Fatigue enveloped me quickly and my futile struggles began to subside. And so did the pain in my legs. Gradually it stopped and I could feel my toes, wiggling them with blessed relief. But I still couldn’t move, couldn’t get up from this flat-out position. I cursed aloud with irritation; intentionally inciting them to even touch me just so that I knew they were there. I stopped, remained still. Waiting. Listening. What was that? The noise. It sounded oddly familiar. Grinding, creaking metal. What was happening? ‘Teri? Lizzie? Enough! That’s enough! Let me go!’ I tried to raise my head again in the solid darkness, barely able to do it. Still I could see nothing. The noises persisted, galling in the blackness. Fear drilled through me, the fear of the total unknown. Now the cold; a chill hit me. I began to feel cold, shivering slightly. Had they opened a window or a door? What were they doing? Why? The noises stopped, and a beam of intense light struck my eyes, burning. Briefly. Voices sounded, as though they came from a distance; and the light began to play over my body, away from eyes. Another beam joined it, flitting around me, denying me the chance to glimpse my bonds, register my condition. ‘Who’s there?’ I hollered. ‘Lizzie? Teri!’ The lights seemed to have no source. They were like a long narrow beam with no beginning. Funny torches. ‘How bad is he? Is he bleeding?’ My head turned to the sound of the voice. Somebody was there! ‘Where are you?’ I cried. ‘I can’t see you. Hello?’ The fear factor had just cranked up a notch. This was terrorism. Somebody was out to hurt me. Lizzie and Teri must be their prisoners. Perhaps here, with them, watching, unable to speak, powerless to help me. ‘Who are you? What do you want? You’re hurting me! Let me go! You bastards!’ More noises. Where were they coming from? Was I still in the bedroom? What were they doing? The lights circled my head, and then down to my groan, up again, and then out. Blackness resumed. I woke up in perfect daylight. The sun shone through the shutters and I heard the chatter of the birds in the garden. Is it over? The question flew from my brain. The thought was barely registered. The answer was even swifter. Lizzie lay asleep in my arms. The duvet covered us and I felt snug and secure. Carefully, I detached myself from her blissfully sleeping form and wiped the sleep from my eyes. It was just a dream. A dream? That’s all it was? A nightmare, sure, but not just a dream. Stifling a yawn, I tried to turn, and found another body in the bed behind me. I sat up in a start and twisted my neck to see its face. I screwed my eyes and blinked. ‘Holy shit!’ I exclaimed, keeping my voice down. Teri! Fuck! This is real. It wasn’t just a dream; nor a nightmare. It was fucking real. My head spun to see if I’d awakened Lizzie. No, she was out cold. The other side of me, Teri was in similar mode. Christ, what was going on! I calmed myself and clawed my way gingerly out of the bed in an effort not to disturb either of them. Successfully negotiating the task, I entered the bathroom and perched silently on top of the toilet lid, questions galore in my head. Sleep was shot and I was wide-awake with my heart banging. A few minutes passed, and I listened to the silence. Eventually I jerked myself to my feet. Memories of last night’s events came flooding back. My mouth was odorously dry and my cock was burning. I’d had the fuck of my life, as promised, and the two harlots who’d done it to me were fast asleep. How about the rest of the population? Were they back this morning? I washed and shaved and prepared myself to find out. It was important. The girls weren’t even up before I went outside and strode purposefully round to the nearest neighbouring house. I rang the front door bell, waiting, and gazed around for signs of early activity elsewhere. Only the chirping birds could be heard and seen flying around overhead. Not a plane and not a car passed by. Strangely, I didn’t feel particularly unnerved by this. When I’d waited long enough, in my opinion, I tested the door. To my surprise, it opened. With a frown, I went inside, calling as I entered. In the living room I halted and looked about. There was nobody home, it seemed, yet the place was tidy and proudly clean. So I continued onwards through the dining room and went upstairs. Again, I found everything normal, tidy, the beds made, and still nobody home. Content with my discovery, I marched quietly to the next house. Once again I replayed the routine. One more time, the door came easily open, and yet again I found nobody at home. Somehow, the fact that yesterday every house in the street had been locked tight and now they weren’t, didn’t seem to alarm me. And it should have done. Almost with a spring in my step, I returned home. The girls were up, dressed, eating breakfast, and conversing cheerfully together. Neither of them asked where I’d been, and neither did I think it strange. When I told them about it all, they both took it with a pinch of salt and inquired what we could do to entertain ourselves today. I suggested a game of badminton. We could go to the leisure centre just outside of town and help ourselves to the facilities. Both girls applauded the excellent idea. Of course, there would be no queue and we wouldn’t have to pay. What a wonderful life. We drove there in my car with the sun shining and spirits between us merrily high. There was no problem entering the leisure centre, and after we’d changed into our sports outfits, we played several sets. It never bothered us that we were alone with the whole place to ourselves. Having fun was contagious. Afterwards, we went to town, stopped at the local pizzeria, and went inside to eat. It didn’t take me long work out how to use the oven, and I didn’t even have to think about how to make a pizza. It seemed to come to me naturally. The girls were impressed. We ate, we laughed, we joked, drank a little wine, and walked out into the hot sunshine. Instead of jumping back into the car we went for a stroll. I felt great, the girls looked beautiful, and the whole day was perfectly fantastic. Returning home, we sat in the living room and played a few CDs and drank a little more wine. As the sun began to set, we stripped each other naked and had a shower together, happily lathering each other up, and playfully hosing each other down. We kissed and cuddled, both as two-some and equally as threesome. We had wild sex; what might easily be construed as an orgy. Thereafter we settled down with exhaustion to sleep together - and that brought us to the end of the second night of our future existence. The pain in my legs was sheer agony, a stabbing, throbbing assault on my senses. It made me feel dizzy, sick, and I wanted to pass out, but mercy wouldn’t allow me. I was forced to endure it. Ruthless torture. I knew I was awake. This was not a dream, and I was no longer in my bed at home. In the darkness, the cold air encapsulating my body smelt of fields, of fumes, of blood - of vomit. I could taste the bile in my mouth, and a trail of sticky fluid ran along my forehead. I dabbed at it with my fingers. Only my right hand would move. The other was trapped, immobile, like the rest of my body. I groaned loudly, wanting to shout. My furious attempts to rise didn’t last long. Tired, I fell back and waited. Waited for someone to come and help me. That was when the lights hit me. Two beams of solid, narrow lights, coming out of nowhere, projected into my eyes temporarily, and then they dropped to my body. Quickly I raised my head enough to see what was holding me, but the lights shifted. I could barely see. A cloud of mist also surrounded me, I realised, the icy cold sharpening my senses to inflict further misery. Blue lights. Suddenly I could see blue flashing lights, not far from me, the type you’d expect on a fire engine or police car. I could see moving shadows, vague images of people, activity. Who were they? What were they doing? I watched them. Could they see me? Was it me they wanted? I thought about calling to them, but would they hear my cries for help? And was it wise to call? What should I do? I saw a flurry of movement, only shadows, but clearly they were people. A figure was advancing towards me. Momentarily, he eclipsed the lights and I became aware of a glass panel in front of me. It was broken. Shards of glass reflected in the light, creating hundreds of tiny mirrors, shooting a glimpse of the world beyond my vision: vehicles, people… trees. And then abruptly a leering face loomed before me, shuddering me with fear and surprise. He was upside down. Upside down? How could that be? ‘Who are you?’ I called, and his face turned away. ‘What do you want from me? Wait! Don’t leave me! Help me!’ A memory snapped; my life in a nutshell. Help - the key factor underlining the misdirection of my life. Who was there to help me when I needed it? Who could I count on to put me on the right track? Everybody needs help, sometimes. When you’re young, when you’re lost and confused: somebody should be there at your first crossroads in life. A correct left or right takes you on to the next stage. Miss that first turning, a wrong decision, and you can end up lost, possibly till you die. Some lucky bastards see it on a neon sign. They’re gifted it. They seem to know what they want to do, what they want to be in life, from an early age, and take the appropriate route to their goal. Others find the guidance, the inspiration, the motivator, that something special that spells it out to them - this is what you want; this is where you have to go. Bitter? Maybe. Everybody has a talent, that rare ability they’re born with. It’s in their genes, provided for them by life’s kindly inheritance. But you have to recognise it, see it, before you can use it. Or lose it. Life goes on - it doesn’t wait; and that talent, fledgling as it is, dies before it can grow. Your vocation in life dematerialises, fades away; comes to nothing. Your chance is gone and you don’t even know it. Weren’t even aware of it. How many of us are out there? How many people can honestly claim that they could have been this or that? If you can draw, why shouldn’t you be an artist? If you can write, why can’t you be a writer? If you can kick a football, why can’t you be a footballer? That’s what your parents are for, aren’t they? Shouldn’t they be the ones to help you find your way in life? They gave it to you in the first place. Without them you would never have been born. Sometimes I felt like that; wishing I’d never been born. That’s the lowest feeling you can ever have. You don’t want to die, but there’s nothing out there for you. You don’t know where you’re going, or even where you are. Depression takes a hold and all you yearn for is death. The death that you had before life was given to you. The blame is surely on your parents. Those lucky bastards who see their talent, recognise it, shown how to use it, they’re the ones I envy the most. Even if they make a mess of what they’ve got, at least they had it, seen it, tasted it. I missed my turning because nobody helped me when I got there. Where were the signs? Where was the notice - the beacon with my name and direction on it? Did I even have a turning or a talent? Yeah, I blame my parents. I also blame my teachers, the forces of nature and the bad timing of my birth. I even blame myself; for being blind, for being stupid, or even just for being. I could have helped me. ‘My name’s Mark,’ I said, letting my natural charm over-ride my nuisance shyness. I was blushing like hell, and she could probably see it, but I forced myself to make the first contact. I’d fancied her since Day One. She worked at the meat counter at the local supermarket where I regularly bought my ham and salami for my sandwiches. Yet, I’d only ever said hello to her. Tall, dark haired, slim and pretty, she gave Cupid my ticket for an arrow up the arse. I was lovesick, and that was a bind. I couldn’t get past the first word towards a decent chat-up line. Not until today. With no queue behind me at the counter, and feeling in a good mood, I made my move. Telling her my name was always a good start. Her smile was heavenly. ‘My name is Gina,’ she told me. ‘I’ll have my usual,’ I said, trying to keep talking. ‘I love ham and salami. I’ll take three slices of each.’ Not the most breath-taking lines imaginable, but the ice was broken. We started chatting. Before long we started dating. By the second date, I was invited to her home. She was living down the road from me with her grandparents. They were out on the day, and Gina offered me a coffee. We shared a few laughs, and got to know each other. Within the hour we got down to some serious communication, of the vertical sort. Generally I wasn’t so fast off the mark, but Gina made it simple. First of all, she liked me. Secondly, so she said, I was gorgeous. Though I wasn’t so sure about that, I didn’t argue the toss. Gina was irresistible. She was my first love. I was 19 and she was a year younger. With her knickers on the floor, we caressed. We kissed. We played. She brought out the rope. And I looked at her with a stunned disbelief. ‘You want to do what?’ The cold began to make me shiver. The lights were going out on me. The pain. The people. The fear. Gina. It all turned black. At 16, boys often have an enormous crush on certain women, and I was no different. Mine was Barbara Eden. She was the most beautiful woman on the planet, and every week I’d watch my favourite program I Dream of Jeannie mainly because of her. So you could imagine my surprise, one day, when my brother knocked on my bedroom door. ‘Mark? Uh, you have a visitor.’ Rob was my younger brother by 15 months, and we got on very well for the most part. We did a lot of things together, unlike some siblings, and we rarely argued. The look on his face when I opened the door was one I’d never forget. Standing right behind him, dressed exactly as she did in the show, and seemingly not having aged a day since 1966, was the lovely Barbara Eden! Her billowing pink outfit, the long blonde ponytail, and that delicious smile, nearly took my legs away. ‘Come in, come in!’ I begged, my eyes like saucers. Rob made to enter, and I stopped him with the palm of a hand. ‘Not you! Barbara, welcome! Please, come inside.’ She wafted past me with her silky costume and bare midriff. ‘What about me?’ Rob hissed. ‘Scram!’ I shut the door in his face. Barbara was in my little bedroom, looking as extraordinarily gorgeous as she did on the telly. She glanced around, perhaps weighing me up by the décor of my bedroom. ‘What are you doing here? How’d you find me?’ ‘You called me, remember?’ she said, her twinkling blue eyes sparkling as she leaned forward to kiss me on the lips. I turned bright red. ‘Oh, you don’t have to be nervous with me,’ she said, with a familiar Jeannie giggle. ‘I’m your birthday present, silly boy.’ ‘But -’ She took me by the hands and held them tightly. ‘Now, come on, be bright. This is only a dream. You’re still asleep. Look.’ Barbara leaned forward to show me her exquisite cleavage. ‘Do you think I’d show you my breasts if I were real?’ ‘Well….’ Barbara giggled again, her smile becoming a light frown at the sound of a knock at the door. ‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Take a bed - uh, I mean a seat.’ I opened the door to find Rob there again. ‘What?’ I growled. ‘Do you think Dad is going to let you shag Barbara Eden up here on your own?’ ‘Well, he isn’t going to join me, if that’s what you think. Anyway, he’s out. So go away.’ ‘No. Let me in. I want to talk to her.’ ‘You’re too young! Anyhow, it’s my dream, so disappear!’ I slammed the door and whirled round to Barbara, who’d quietly laid herself on the bed, her head propped up on one elbow, watching me. ‘My,’ she said, ‘aren’t you the masterful one?’ Before I could speak, she added: ‘Now, what would you like me to do with you?’ ‘How do you mean?’ ‘Don’t be bashful. I’m a genie. I can do anything you want me to do. Think carefully now. We only have until you wake up.’ ‘Are you quite sure this is really a dream?’ ‘Absolutely!’ She blinked and nodded her head at the same time. Another woman appeared. I was staggered. ‘Claudia Cardinale! She’s my favourite film star! After you, of course, Barbara.’ ‘Of course.’ Claudia, circa 1965, with her Mediterranean tan and her beautiful long dark hair draped over her heaving chest, smiled radiantly at me. Fractionally taller than me in her black spiky high heel shoes, she looked scintillating in silk stockings and a red low-cut off-the-shoulder figure-hugging dress. ‘Hi, Mark,’ she purred, greeting me in that distinctive, sultry voice that I’d fawned over for so long. She advanced upon me in my mesmerised state, her arms encircling me, and she squeezed me to her warm breasts, touching my lower lip with a long-nailed fingertip before planting a huge smacker on my mouth. ‘Now do you believe me?’ Barbara inquired. I gazed into Claudia’s ravenous eyes. ‘Shame it’s only a dream.’ ‘But the best part of it is,’ Barbara continued, ‘you get to have sex with both of us, and nobody will ever know!’ A huge roar erupted as the ball hit the back of the net, and thousands of fans dressed in red and white hollered Goal! I shuddered. Where was I? Shit! Where were Claudia and my bedroom? How did I get here? The football stadium was jam-packed. I recognised it. The North Stand, the fabulous turf, the famous red shirts with white sleeves. ‘One-nil!’ cried Rob, and I looked at him. He was 21 and we’d travelled to the match together. His happy face beamed at me. ‘This is gonna be our year - I know it!’ I was about to reply when, to my horror, the jubilant crowd all around me began to slow down, en masse, slower and slower, as if a film was winding down. The sound of rejoicing soccer fans went the same way, suddenly to be replaced by screaming police sirens. I stared in disbelief as the stadium began to fade, like a tarnished picture, to be replaced by a uniformed man bearing down on me in the dim interior of what appeared to be an ambulance. My eyes were closing and my vision blurring. He placed a mask over my face. I could hear the beat of a nearby heart pounding for survival, the sound of heavy breathing. Someone was struggling for air. I looked around. It was me! I was gasping for oxygen! It was me! Me! I yelled, shooting up into the arms of Lizzie. My eyes were wide with terror. Her face was creased with concerned. We were on the bed together. I burst into tears. ‘What the hell is happening to me?’ I bawled. In the kitchen over coffee, Lizzie watched me like a nurse in a geriatric home. She put on her bravest face, and remarked: ‘It was just a nightmare, Mark. Nothing more.’ ‘It seemed so real.’ I took another sip, the steam billowing up my nose.
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