Falling and Feedback

by Francis Gideon

  "No. Kiss me."

  She tugged him over her body, their lips meeting easily. This close, and with her thighs as slick as they were, she realized he was still wearing his pants. She traced her fingers down his waist and legs, keeping her eyes on him.

  "Will you take these off?"

  He worried his lip, then nodded. She undid his belt as he helped with the button. She noticed the girth in his dark blue boxers right away. As she went to touch, he intercepted her hand.

  "Let me..." he murmured before taking out a phallus. It wasn't attached to his body, she soon realized, but something he put inside his pants. He mumbled, trying to fill in the blanks before her mind could. "It's a packer. Something I wear. It's..."

  She reached forward and touched the packer. It was soft, latex feeling, and moved a bit if she nudged it. The balls dangled under the shaft, which was maybe four inches. She was never really good with that type of thing, and size was never a selling factor for her. Her fingers traced from the head of the cock to the balls and then over Josh's hands still holding it.

  "What do you look like?" she asked.

  "This is me."

  "It is. And I've seen it now." Tyler reached forward and tugged on the elastic of his boxers. "Can I see you here, too?"

  Josh was quiet, but he didn't move away. Tyler traced her fingers over the slit in the fabric where he had produced the packer. She could feel how warm he was and how wet. Her desire percolated inside of her, and she longed to taste him like he had tasted her.

  "Can I?" she asked again. "I won't if you don't want me to, but I want to. And you should know that."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yes."

  He placed a hand on the back of her neck, guiding her so their lips could meet again. His tongue moved against hers, and she felt her nipples hardened again. Her pussy twitched. She opened her legs as she sat on the bed and slid her hands around his ass. She wanted him, in whatever form, in whatever ways he was willing to give to her. She was about to vocalize this, forgetting he couldn't feel her thoughts like pressing fingerprints, when he put the packer down. With both hands on his waist, he slid his boxers down slowly.

  She watched as the dark trail of hair to his navel moved to his pubic region. When he stepped out of his boxers' legs, she saw a quick flash of his cock. Small, but hard against the lips around it. She realized it was his clit, enlarged from years of testosterone. He stepped closer to her on the bed, still standing while she sat.

  "Is this..." he asked, but was cut off as she placed her hands back over his body. She kissed his hips, tonguing his navel before she spread the lips around his dick. She watched as it twitched, then felt as he hardened more in her mouth.

  "Fuck," Josh moaned, placing his hands over her shoulders. He tangled them in her hair as she spread his thighs more. She relished in his sharp edges and deep curves. She wanted to see him, to feel all of him the way he had her. As she licked around his cock, she spread her fingers farther back, touching his ass before sinking into him.

  "Ohh," he gasped, gripping her harder. "Oh."

  "Okay? I can touch you here?" she asked. Her fingers remained motionless, inert, as he considered the request for some time.

  "Yes," he answered. "But on the bed?"

  Tyler smiled. She scooted back to where she had been before, tossing the stray blankets to make room for their bodies. Now that they were both naked, both next to one another, she almost didn't know what to do anymore, there were so many options. Touch him? Taste him? Let him fuck her? When he kissed her, and their legs tangled together, she fell into an easy rhythm with him.

  "Good, right?" Josh asked.

  "Definitely," she confirmed, and lost herself inside his body for the rest of the night. Josh didn't seem to mind. She could feel his body tense under her―around her―as he let himself go too.

  *~*~*

  As he slept, Tyler found her old battered dictionary in the back of her closet, like a bible she had long forgotten about. Her fingers walked along the Ss until she found the highlighted term that had dictated her youth.

  Synesthesia: a condition in which one type of stimulation evokes the sensation of another, as when the hearing of a sound produces the visualization of a colour. The blurring of the senses; many senses at once.

  She flicked past it in a blink and moved until she found the Ts. She zeroed in on the prefix Trans definition.

  occurring in loanwords from Latin (transcend; transfix); in this model,

  used with the meanings “across,” “beyond,” “through,” “changing thoroughly,” “transverse,”; can be used in any combination in any origin.

  She liked that, she decided. Across or beyond. Maybe it suited them both.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "Josh!" Herbert Monsoon, Josh's PhD supervisor, greeted them at the door to his three-storey house. His round-frame glasses were perched at the edge of his nose and his shock of white hair set off the orange-brown colour of his suit. His voice was purple to Tyler, which added another dimension to his already chaotic appearance. "So good of you to make it over."

  "Of course. I love your parties," Josh said in a tone that Tyler already knew was fake. She smiled as they both stepped into Herbert's house, removing their shoes by the front.

  "I'm sorry, I don't think I know you," Herbert said, extending a hand to Tyler.

  "I'm Tyler." She shook it, her smile not wavering.

  "She works at the Tristero Rare Book library," Josh cut in. "I've mentioned her before. Lots of times. She's been the one helping me with some of the translation of the poem."

  "Oh. Of course," Herbert said. "Come to think of it, Josh has mentioned you many times. I just thought Tyler was a boy."

  Josh opened his mouth, about to defend her, when Tyler stepped forward. "Don't worry. I get that a lot. Josh told me that my name used to be one for boys only. But the times change and so do the people in them."

  "I suppose so. And if they didn't, there'd be no work for us! So come in, welcome to my housewarming party. The rest of the guests are in the living room, along with the food. Please help yourself. I'll be right in."

  Herbert took a left in the hallway to his kitchen. From where Tyler stood, she could see nothing but the stainless steel countertops and white tile floors. The other side of the hallway was filled with chatter and more voices that sounded like Herbert's. Purple and rich, but also sardonic and hinted with burgundy at the same time. Josh lingered behind Tyler as she veered off to the left and eyed a picture framed on Herbert's wall.

  "Oh, God," Josh groaned. He held his bottle of wine by the neck, seemingly grateful to have not given it up yet. He ran a hand through his dark hair, then touched the tie around his neck. "I hate parties like this. I always feel like such a fake by the end of the night."

  "We're all kind of fakes. No one can really tell why we're here."

  "Do you mean here tonight or existentially?"

  "A little of both." She smiled. "But seriously. We're all faking it. I bet the person with the most degrees and publishing credits to their name in that room still feels inadequate."

  "That's depressing."

  "Not really, though. Take this party as an excuse to role-play, almost. You can concoct whatever story you want."

  "Not when I have to work with these people again."

  "Well, then. You can hear whatever weird stories I make up, then."

  "Oh, trust me. I'm looking forward to it." Josh placed a hand on the small of her back before extending his gaze to the painting she was looking at. It was a simple drawing of what looked like a trumpet. Colours spilled out of the brass bell at the end.

  "What's this?" she asked. "It looks familiar, but I can't place it."

  "I don't know, honestly. Herbert has a lot of rare books and paintings that should probably be in museums. Maybe you know it from an old book?"

  "Hmm. Maybe."

  While Josh squinted in the left corner to read the signature, Tyler tried to find a title. When she saw Mute as the n
ame, she furrowed her brow again.

  "I'm so lost already," Josh said. "I have no idea who this painter is."

  "It's called Mute."

  "Really?" Josh examined the image again, focusing on the rainbow music pouring out of the trumpet. "But... there's sound. How can a trumpet full of music be mute?"

  "It's music without a player, though. This is just a trumpet that's playing by itself. So maybe Mute is referring the players." Tyler paused, realizing she was already reading too much into this small event. She longed for a drink. "Or something. I don't know."

  "Sounds better than most of the academic papers I read."

  "Oh?" she asked, sensing a layer of cynicism in his words that hadn't been there before. "I thought you liked your PhD."

  "I do. Doesn't mean I don't think most people are speaking nonsense."

  Tyler chuckled. She looked down at the other end of the hallway, the party roaring on. She tried to mute the words of people and focused only on the colours. She liked that a lot more―but these people weren't her TV growing up. They couldn't be muted―only drowned out by something louder.

  "Well, in that case," she said, taking Josh's hand, "let's go and speak some nonsense."

  "But only if you tell them you're an alien or―oh, even better―tell them you're a rock star."

  Tyler chuckled again as they walked down the hallway and into the room filled with academics. Most people wore tight suit jackets made of tweed of some awful blend of polyester with leather patches over their elbows. Even in a hundred years, she thought, academics still had one style. She glanced down at her red dress with a deep plunging neckline and her long legs in black tights.

  "Maybe you're right," she whispered to Josh after an hour had passed. She'd spent the last fifteen minutes listening to a man drone on about Jean Jacques Rousseau and his papers on ice water versus room temperature water; all she'd asked was for a drink, and instead, she'd gotten a treatise.

  "Hmm?" Josh asked. He already had his second glass of wine.

  "Maybe I am a rock star."

  "Among these people, you are. So does that mean I'm your groupie?"

  "Oh, I think I'd like that."

  Tyler was about to kiss Josh when another professor stepped between them. Josh took another forlorn sip as he was dragged into a conversation about the ethics of poetry translation and the author's role in interpretation. Tyler followed along, adding some commentary from her position as a library archivist, as if the former concocted story of rock stardom had been nothing but a shared dream between herself and Josh. In many ways, she supposed it was true.

  "Finally," Josh said when the third professor left his side. He walked over to the snack table, where they marveled at the options of food. "Eggs! And butter! And are those small donuts?"

  Tyler grabbed a small round ball of fried dough dusted with powdered sugar and took a bite. Josh did the same, leaving white flecks around his mouth. She leaned closer to kiss them away, and Josh's hand went immediately to her waist.

  "You know," she said softly, "you could be a rock star too."

  "Please."

  "No, I'm serious. You're actually dressed with some colour, so already, you're ahead of the game."

  Josh raised an eyebrow. His look seemed to suggest that his dark blue suit hardly qualified him as breaking down any boundaries in style among the erudite. Soon, he shrugged.

  "Did you ever play any instruments?" Tyler asked. "Anything at all?"

  "Nah. Not well, anyway. I had to play trumpet in middle school, but I was awful at it. When I was thirteen, though, my best friend got a guitar and I learned bass to play with her. Then I learned her guitar parts because it was fun. We did a few alt rock covers, but nothing much. I think I was better with string instruments than anything else."

  "You know, I can tell. Your fingers are talented." She blushed, not realizing she had said it all out loud. She touched her cheeks. "Oh, no. Maybe I'm tipsy again."

  "Then let's get you some coffee from the kitchen." Josh connected their hands as they moved through the crowd. None of the other academics seemed to notice they were missing. Including Herbert. As Josh made coffee from one of the machines, Tyler leaned against the counter and watched the crowd from a distance.

  "Why do you go?"

  "Hmm?" Josh asked, looking up from the coffee grounds.

  "If you don't really like it here, why go?"

  "Because it looks bad when I don't. And where else would I get all this free food... and water!" Josh pressed a few buttons on the tap and they both watched as the coffee pot filled up to the top. She shook her head. Though Josh was probably using his own key pass code, the fact that it was registering from this house meant that he got so much more water than if he had entered it in his apartment.

  "I should have brought a bottle. Stock up," she said.

  Josh reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a metal canister. He tapped it with a devious smile.

  "Ah," she laughed. "Now all of this is making sense. You're in it for the perks."

  Josh prepared the rest of the coffee, his mind somewhat distracted. By the time the first cup was done, Tyler was no longer watching the crowd or the painting of the trumpet, but only looking at Josh. He handed her the drink and she thanked him.

  "You're not getting one yourself?"

  He shrugged. His fingers went to his tie, loosening it as he watched her drink. "I'm fine. But... you do know that I like what I do, right? I complain, but everyone does about their jobs."

  "I know. I heard you talk about authorial intent for at least a half hour. You're definitely passionate."

  He smiled, but soon worried his lip. "Do you like it here?"

  "It's okay. What else was I going to do tonight? Other than hang out with you?" When Josh still didn't seem that pleased by her answer, she added. "And I like the painting. The Mute one."

  "With the trumpet?"

  "Yes. I like it. I have no idea what it means, but it intrigues me."

  "Exactly. That's why I'm doing all this PhD stuff. The translation work. I know it means something, but I still don't know what. And I really want to know."

  "So you can frame it on a wall afterwards?"

  Josh shrugged. "No. In theory, we found the poem framed and waiting. So I don't want to solve it to hang it on the wall again. Maybe... maybe we can do something with it."

  "Like what? And what do you mean we? What could I offer?"

  "You're a librarian. You could help me preserve it."

  "Preserving is another fancy word for framing. And as much as I like it, I don't think I want to preserve anything."

  "So why are you at the library, if you don't like it?"

  Tyler could hear―and see―the sharp edges of his voice. Was this a fight? No, we never fight. No one ever fights anymore because there are too many other things at stake. What we have right now, Tyler reasoned, is a cross-communication. Our film systems and our sounds are not syncing up to the right movie.

  "I'm not a librarian, remember?" she said, smiling deviously. "I'm a rock star."

  He laughed, and the sound was a relief to hear. He crossed the kitchen to see her, sliding a hand around her waist. "In that case, can I really be your groupie? Please?"

  "Hmm. I think you're a better fit as my lyricist."

  The thought seemed to strike him as a revelation. His blue-green eyes widened, and then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I like that. I like you."

  She could hear the shadow of the words he wanted to say. They had only been together a month, if that, but she wanted him to not be afraid to speak something he wasn't sure he'd get a return for. So she tilted her lips up to meet his own, kissing him and then nuzzling her nose against his.

  "And I like you. We should... Find a practice area. What do you say?"

  "No way. Really?" Josh asked, giddiness overtaking him.

  Tyler nodded. "I saw a closet when we came in. Just on the other side of the hallway, away from the crowd."

  "No way..
. No..."

  Words fell away as Josh linked his hand with Tyler's. She opened the closet door, smelling detergent and a faint whiff of cactus flowers she had seen in the desert before they both slipped inside and shut the door.

  "It's so dark," Josh said.

  "I know. But you should know me enough by now to find me easily." She took his palm and placed it over her breasts. Even with the pitch black separating them, she could hear his smile. See it in her mind's eye. He rubbed his thumb over her nipple, then slipped his fingers down under her neckline. Gently, he tugged the dress off her shoulders so her breasts were revealed in the dark.

  "You're so beautiful," he said as he caressed her again.

  "You can't see me."

  "But you're right. I know you." He leaned down, sucking at her nipples. Tyler took in a deep breath as she traced her fingers around Josh's collar. Then his shoulders, then all the way down to his ass. They fumbled, locating places that they knew off by heart, until her fingers were on his belt.

  "Can I?"

  She felt his face nod against her body. She wondered, as she slipped a hand into his pants, if he was closing his eyes as he did this. Hers were wide open. Even if she did close her eyes, she could still see the oranges of his moans, and the crisp colours of their bodies together.

  As she touched his boxers, she realized he didn't have his packer tonight. "Were you planning on pulling me away?"

  "No. I just... forgot it."

  Tyler furrowed her brows. The packer was a part of Josh, almost as much as his hair or scars were. The idea he could forget it was odd to Tyler. "Do you still feel it?"

  "Hmmm?" he mumbled between kisses on her neck.

  "When it's not here, do you still feel it? Like a phantom limb?"

  "I suppose," he said. "But right now, I want you to touch me."

  She smiled and kissed his mouth. After making out for a few heated moments, Josh took her hand and guided her this time. He placed her hand inside his boxers, then over where the head of his cock was just peeking forth. Together, they rubbed the folds of his skin, and waited until his cock grew larger and larger. When his thighs started to trembld, she knew he would let go soon.