Chasing a Waterfall

Disclaimer: Do not read further if you are under the age of eighteen or are otherwise prohibited by law to view sexually explicit material.

All characters engaging in any sexual activity in this story are at least 18 years of age.

Do not reprint this work on any other website, or any medium, without express consent from the author (me!).

Synopsis: A man awakens to no memory of the night before, and conflicting recollections to his true identity. This is the first chapter in a planned story arc. I hope you enjoy this submission! As always, comments are appreciated and encouraged.

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Standing Under an Umbrella, and Chasing a Waterfall

Chapter One: The Borrowed Life

He awoke started. The room that he was in was black with hardly any visible traces of light, the only shadow from a window that was overcast with a drape. He came to the startling realization at that very moment that he was not home. This was not his single bedroom apartment, in a rent controlled district about three blocks from campus.

Climbing up in bed, he tried as best he could to scan the room, but his eyes had not yet adjusted to the lack of light. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been out. That was not good. A mild chill ran through him. He did not know if that was from the open window or the situation that he was now in.

Thinking for a moment, he was surprised at himself. He was never much of a drinker, not even when in social circles. Nor had he ever experienced a blackout before to the best of his recollection. At the moment he was mostly numb. He truly had no idea what to expect.

The room, however, was beginning to give him a picture of what might have transpired the night before. His vision was finally adjusting. He was sitting up in bed. It was a queen size bed with a fluffy comforter and silky, satin sheets. To the left and right of the bed were identical nightstands, and a top which were identical lamps. A French style, though the word escaped him at the moment. To the far side of the bedroom was a wooden, cherry wood dresser. The room was carpeted and not white walled. The hue was of opaque beige.

It was only after his vision had focused that he began to take notice of a splitting headache. It was of mixed migraine and tension properties. His head was pounding, his right eye was inflamed, but he was not nauseated, though his head did feel like it was in a vice. A smell, a damp musk smell filled his nostrils at that very moment, though it did not repulse him, but rather, filled him with intrigue. It was a very familiar smell.

Feeling a cool breeze on his upper shoulders he glanced up, and was rewarded with sharp pains in his neck. Above him were dual ceiling fans. They were directly above the bed. There rotation was of a constant, slow turn. What was eye catching was not the decorative art of the rotating fans, their symmetry of motion or the fine craftsmanship in which they had been assembled. Rather, what had gotten his eye was a black lacey bra that hung from one of the blades.

The bra, a moderate size was hanging by one end with the other dangling above him. It was of black or navy blue color with a mild amount of lace trim. He really didn't know that much about bras, but it seemed to be of a racerback style. It seemed to almost be within his grasp. He felt as though it were just begging to be handled by him. He resisted the temptation, however, knowing that the ceiling was many feet above his head. It was unlikely that standing, with his six foot plus frame that he could reach it. Given his current condition, he was not even sure that he could balance on the bed long enough to give it a try. Still, he seemed both mesmerized and intrigued by the low dangling fruit of his last night encounter.

He had just gotten to the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the warm, plush carpeting when he heard a noise. No, make that a voice. It was a woman's voice. It was a youthful, lovely enriched melody. It was nearby, not down the hall or on the other side of the residence. Before he could discern the location or brace himself for a likely encounter, the door to the bathroom opened and a mild uprising of steam engulfed the room.

What left him with bewilderment was that not one, but two women walked out. Neither of the ladies seemed to have much in the way of modesty. They were both tall, though the blond was had a slight height advantaged over her darker friend. She seemed to be about 5'8" or so, while the friend was a few inches shorter, though more endowed in her hips and upper body.

He glanced away. A bit embarrassed, though neither one of them was nude. They were both wrapped in dual towels. One of the towels covered their bodies, and the other was for their hair. The towels were fluffy white. Not really able to still comprehend what was taking place, he craned his neck up again. It was only than that he noticed that the women seemed to hardly take notice of him. The raven beauty, which had at that very moment let the towel wrapped around her head drop might have given him a coy smile, but he was not sure. He did, however, know that she he that he was still in the room.

With her back turned to him, she proceeded to let the other towel fall off from her body. The arch in her back was inviting. Her rear was a thing of beauty. Her more compact, but powerful legs teased him as she swayed her hips from side to side. The almost jet black hair hung just below the mid of her back. Her complexion was an offset of olive.

Searching for something, he watched as she rummaged through a bag on the floor that he had not seen until now. Pulling out a pair of black panties, he watched from behind as she slipped them between her feet, slipped them up her legs and adjusted them around her gorgeous buttocks. Turning around she made her way toward him. Smiling, he saw that she had liquid blue eyes. Inviting eyes. Two whirlpools that looked deeply inviting. Coming up to him, she stopped. Glancing up, she took notice of the bra hanging from the ceiling fan. A faint smile came to her face. A wicked grin quickly replaced it. A coy and mischievous smile. It was obvious that she was clueless to his lack of knowledge about what had taken place this evening.

He wanted to say something. However, no voice would come to his thoughts. He desperately wanted to ask her the when, where and how, but he was afraid. He truly had no idea where he was. He was even unable to remember his last clear thought, though he did remember his name and biographical background information. His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by her lurching forward. The C or D cup breast bounced a little as she did so. Looking up once more, she smiled again. She made no effort to get the bra, however. She merely took grasp of another one that had been hanging from the bedpost. Turning around with her bra in hand, she exited back into the bathroom.

With her now gone, his eyes focused on the other woman. A woman of similar age, he would guess mid twenties. She was blond. No, she really was. The curtain, which was little more than a landing strip, most definitely matched the drapes. Unlike, her friend, the blond was more lengthy and sporty. Her hips and bust were of more moderate proportions. Still, he guessed that she was on the better side of at least a B cup. Her hair was long, almost to the lower back and it went well with her lovely, long legs. She did glance up at him once or twice. Her eyes were almond brown as he found out when she glanced up at him once or twice while searching through her things. Unlike her friend, the items seemed to be located in the dresser. This gave him the belief that this was her place. He and the brunet must be visitors.

Still, he could not quiet get up the nerve to ask just what this was. By her indifference he was not sure if she would have answered. While not openly hostile, she seemed a little more guarded with only him still in the room with her. It was more obvious that something of an intimate matter had taken place, though he had no idea what had taken place. No flashbacks, no incomplete memories. Nothing! He had no knowledge of ever meeting either one of them. This made him a little disconnected from what was transpiring before him, and he remembered his headache. It really did throb; a deep, pounding throb that was getting worse by the minute.

When he glanced back her way, he realized that some time had passed. She was no longer bare with her back facing him. Again, like her friend, she had adorned her body with contemporary, yet feminine lingerie. She wore a hippy pair of white with a little lace bikinis and from the look of it, a matching t-shirt bra. Following this, she let a white; see through chemise with lace at the bottom fall onto her figure. It was followed most unexpectedly by a hip hugging pair of blue jeans.

His voyeurism was than interrupted by a buzzing sound. It was her phone. Taking it in hand, she looked to be either looking at the caller id or going through her messages. Deep thought seemed to consume her every so briefly until her friend's voice brought her back to the present.

"Why don't you stay for a while longer?" the brunet inquired, "I am sure I can make it worth the trouble." The playfulness in her voice was overt. It was becoming obvious that the two women were acquainted.

The blond turned to him ever so briefly before glancing over at the brunet emerging once again from the bathroom. A sound of a toilet flushing and the sink still running in the background trailed behind her. Unlike her friend, the brunet was still in her bra and panties. It was only than that he took notice of the blonde's double take on her. She was eyeing her friend, if just every so slightly.

"I've got to get to work," she said, tone deafly. She was serious.

Walking across the room, she began to reach for a shirt. The brunet met her halfway, her finger tips grasping onto her friend as she picked up the sweater. Looking back over her shoulder at him, the blond girl just shook her head. It was obvious that there was very little dilemma. She was not that interested in what her brunet friend wanted, and he thought he might have an idea of what was on her mind.

"Please..." the brunet whined. It was almost a young teenager's voice. It was cute, too cute.

Her friend, however, was having none of it. "Look, I've really got to get going. I really can't be late for work again. I really, really need the hours. You might not need..." the blond dropped the utterance in mid sentence. "I gotta get going, call me later. I need to talk to you about something."

"What?" the brunet asked. "Can't you just tell me now..." she dropped off. The brunet noticed that her friend was looking over her shoulder as she pulled on her sweater.

"It can wait... Michelle." Walking over toward the dresser, she took hold of her phone and made her way to exit the bedroom, only to be caught in the arms of the brunet. It looked to be awkward for the blond. Just as she seemed to be warming to the idea, she literally shook her head to clear the thought. "I've really got to get going Michelle. Later!"

Michelle backed up. The blond than coyly returned the smile. The snap had simply been a brief moment of annoyance. A full smile returned to her lips.

Turning to look back over at him, the blond followed the direction of her friend's eyes. She was a bit more embarrassed than Michelle to make eye contact.

"So how did you like it? Was it, better than you thought it would be? I mean, I know it was kind of sudden and all, but I think he was pretty good. He sure lasted for like, forever."

An amused look came over the blond. Making eye contact with her friend again, she embraced Michelle again. They ever so briefly kissed. Not on the cheek, it was a passionate full lip on lip kiss. The blond than just as suddenly broke the kiss off. Glancing over at him for a final time, she smiled ever so briefly at him. The smile didn't seem to be forced.

"It was alright." Pause. "He really wasn't that bad. He was pretty good for a guy." the blond responded in a moderately hushed tone.

And than she was gone. With her friend now gone, Michelle seemed to turn her attention to him. A smile traced over her lips, which broke into a wicked grin. It was obvious that she was planning something. By the look on her face he really didn't have to think to hard about it. It was obvious.

"So, Vincent do you think that you can get it up..." she paused. Under Pressure by Queen was playing. No, it wasn't playing, the song was a ring tone on her phone. Taking hold of her phone, she glanced at the screen. "I've got to take this, in private, sorry baby I'll be out... don't go anywhere," she mischievously said.

Watching her leave, her buttocks swayed in a most alluring manner. Exiting and closing the door behind him, he was now alone. A since of panic began to consume him. He really had no idea who either of the women were or how he got here. The last clear memory he had was driving home in the midst of a rain storm. He did not know whether that was the night before. He somehow doubted it, and he didn't know why. While the headache was now only a dull ache relative to the intense throb that it had been, his heart began to pound in his chest. He was either on the verge of a panic attack or a heart attack. He was guessing the former.

Worse, it was becoming clear to him that he had just been to bed with two very lovely ladies, and he didn't remember anything. Not a thing! Nothing was coming back to him. This filled him with a sense of dread, an ever growing feeling that he was loosing control. How would he even be able to have a conversation with her?

Just as he began to ponder how to handle the situation, something he had been too distracted to come to the tip of his tongue, though it vanished just as quickly. She had reentered the bedroom. Phone in hand, an annoyed look on her face. This one was not focused on him, however. She was very much internalizing her anger at someone or something she had been talking about.

When he came back into her view, she smiled warmly. "It looks like you are off the hook for now. Something important came up with my father. I've got to go and straighten out one of his clients." A deep pregnant paused fell between the two of them. "I'm not really sure when I'll be back, you really don't have to wait around all day for me. I really have no idea when I'm going to get back." A pause followed, and she inhaled a deep breath. "Damn my father, he can be so crass sometimes." Another short pause followed. "Feel free to show yourself out, I'm sure we can hook up again sometime later tonight or maybe tomorrow at the latest. Hopefully before tomorrow!" A bright, warm smile returned.

With his mind still reeling, she went through her closet. Found a few items, stripped out of her panties and bra. Found a fresh panty and bra. He watched as she pulled on the rest of her clothes, and stopped in the bathroom to straighten up. When she exited, she was wearing a typical black woman's business suite; a black skirt, top with a white blouse underneath. Gone were the shoes, being replaced by high arched pumps.

This classical yet, elegantly worn attire seemed to get an unexpected rise out of him. Until now, he had been too much in shock and awe, but now that he was growing increasingly comfortable with the situation, little Vincent wanted in on the scene.

For her part, she was very happy to see him making his showing. It amused her when he made some uncomfortable adjustments in his black, silk like (micro fiber?) boxers. It stopped her. This latest development stopped her cold in her tracks. Moving toward him, she whispered in an unnecessarily hushed tone, "You know if you want I could help take care of that for you. I mean you kind of left us a bit early last night."

He looked puzzled. She saw his confusion. "Don't get me wrong, you were great... you were really good. You really put a lot of e-f-f-o-r-t into it. Don't worry. It's just the simple mechanics of the issue. You're a guy. I am a woman, were women and well, she kept me up a while longer." A tremor went through her, she was a bit shaky. "Speaking of her, she is really good with her tongue. I mean like really, really good." An almost dazed look came over her, though she quickly snapped out of the trance like state. "What am I doing? Sorry. I've got to get going. I'm already running late. I really don't need to be thinking about these things, it will only delay me all the more."

Silence as she made one last bathroom visit. Coming out she reminded him, "Feel free to do whatever. Just don't..." she motioned to his nether region "discharge any unnecessary bullets while I'm gone." With that she was gone.

He was now Alone...

So there he was, alone, with neither of the women. Oddly, they never showed any signs that he was at a loss for who they were and where he was. The last memory he had was now becoming clear. It was after work he believed, in the late afternoon. He was going to pick up coffee. A double shot soy latte at a local coffee house, the Smoked Bean.

He had a friendly conversation with the barista. A friendly college student, who was working at the Smoked Bean to help supplement her income, something that was badly needed. A sense of ever brief relief came over him. At least he could remember her. She was a bit on short side, mildly overweight and he guessed of Mediterranean descent, but the topic to the best of his knowledge never entered the conversation. What he remembered most about her was her personality. She had an intense drivenness about her. It was almost like a blinding rage, yet on the surface she was very relaxed with almost a carefree attitude.

They had gotten into a conversation after she had revealed to him that she was double majoring in philosophy and anthropology. He had taken a number of anthropology courses as part of his general course requirements back in the day in order to obtain an undergraduate degree in Government Studies. Oddly, this had crossed paths with one of her core passions. She loved kooky conspiracy theories. It wasn't that she believed them, but rather she loved to research into their origins, and breakdown the conspiracy at its core. Her favorite topic of interests at that moment had been the MKULTRA Project. It was an alleged black research project run by the CIA that had used psychedelics, among other things to establish mind control over their research subjects.

For his part, he had little interest in MKULTRA. He had of course heard about it during his early undergraduate days, but had filed it under little more than government propaganda. We had been in a Cold War at the time with the Soviets. America, like the Soviets had been looking for an edge. If this meant putting out disinformation or wild, fantastical stories in order to create paranoia in the enemy, so much the better. He saw little difference between MKULTRA and psychic experiments that both the Americans and Soviets had conducted at roughly the same time that the alleged MKULTRA research was going on.

Sure, they had some basis in reality, but for the most part there was little tangible evidence. What gaps had presented themselves we filled in by individuals with no association with the program. Or in the case of remote viewing, by individuals who either actually believed in their madness or had some alternate agenda. In truth, he didn't care either way. He was not expecting the men in black arriving by way of a so-called Whisper Helicopter to show up at his doorstep. He believed in aliens and government voodoo about as much as he believed in a god or gods, which was to say very little, if at all.

Still, he was intrigued and drawn into their conversation. He played along with her. Their conversations would sometimes last a good hour, though they would dial it down when other customers entered her place of work. These encounters continued for a good few months. Nothing became of their interactions. It was clearly just a platonic relationship. He could not even remember a time that either had expressed a sexual desire in the other.