Synced Brain Waves
This story contains some violence at the beginning (although it is not gratuitous violence but important for the story). If that disturbs you this may not be the right story for you; of course it might not be the right story for other reasons, but at least in this instance you've been warned.
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I'm Kevin Warren, 43 years old at the time of the seminal event in this story. I'm basically a normal guy in many ways but I have a few distinctions. I have become financially successful by minimizing my need to do things that I'm not good at and maximizing my opportunities to do things that I am good at. Also, I have always been too stupid to know when to back off if confronted with something that isn't right and needs correction, sometimes to my satisfaction, other times to my pain [don't get the wrong idea, however -- I definitely am no saint, and have been known to be an opportunist]. Further, I have a higher than average libido and would fuck my wife every day if she'd agree. One final characteristic; I am infinitely more observant than the average guy (although that may seem to be an example of damning by faint praise since the average guy is close to clueless -- especially when it comes to women -- but I'm even observant compared to a perceptive woman).
In addition to my job I often work with a couple of charities in the area that I live in doing odd jobs for them, or buying and delivering things that they need. I feel it important to give back when life has treated you well. Although my wife and I agree on most things, she thinks that my volunteer work is a waste of time; she is more interested in status, celebrity, and fame than philanthropy.
Speaking of my wife Linda, she was also 43 at the seminal event and we had been married for twenty years and we had two kids in High School and one in college. We had returned a few months earlier from an anniversary cruise. While we had a good time on the cruise, during it some things came to a head that had been building up in the past few years. While there were a number of minor things, one major one was that Linda had lost interest in sex on a regular basis; it seemed like she was passionately in the mood only about twice a month, and only once on the cruise. She never complained about doing a blowup doll imitation seven or eight other times each month if I initiated it which -- since I seemed to always be interested in sex -- I was not too proud to pass up. After all it was better than an actual blowup doll (which I had used twice in my life, circumstances not to be revealed here). Also, some of our previously shared interests seemed no longer to be shared.
Linda has -- no bias, no brag -- a fantastic body. Her face is pleasant, but not beautiful. Her tits are exceptional; I called them "Free-Form," a perhaps juvenile reference to the statically typed, compiled, general-purpose, case-sensitive, free-form computer programming language known as C++ because -- drum roll -- they are C++ cup east-west tits with beautiful protruding nipples. Her thighs are sculptured, and her outer vaginal labia are distinctively and aesthetically curved.
While Linda had gained a little weight and her shape was less than ideal after delivering three kids, by the time that our youngest went to kindergarten she decided that she wanted to reprise her twenty one year old body. She worked out diligently for four months, two hours a day, six days a week, and served only nutritious foods, no added sugar. She succeeded.
How can I state with certainty that Linda's body is fantastic with no bias or brag? -- it's because of what she did once she regained her twenty one year old body.
Linda hooked up with a pay porn site as one of its models and was the top performer of her genre for six years in a row. What was her genre? Masturbation! She collected a wide variety of dildos and vibrators, and could really contort her body and using a voice modifier talked dirtier than Eddie Murphy in his "Raw" performance. In addition to inserting objects into her pussy and asshole she manipulated her tits and often after orgasming (sometimes real, other times expertly faked) from using a dildo or vibrator in her pussy she would put it between her tits and moan and groan and eventually have a real or faked titty-fuck orgasm. In addition to the voice modifier she used a Lone Ranger mask (she had a number of different colors and decorations), a blonde wig that fit perfectly over her short brunette hair, and green contact lenses covering her blue irises so that even I probably would not have recognized her if I didn't know who she was. She went by the stage name Autoerotic Audrey.
Autoerotic Audrey thought that she hid her endeavor from me but as earlier indicated I'm way too observant to be fooled. Having her hair cut short when she had always worn it shoulder length ever since I met her, shaving her pussy supposedly to please me (it did, but I had no problem with her bush either), and asking for a high tech, high definition Internet-compatible video camera for her birthday, led my spider senses to tingle. She had been performing no more than ten days when I found out.
I signed up for the porn site -- and paid just like everyone else. You might legitimately ask why I let her continue on the porn site once I found out. At first I was distressed by her choice of activity to keep herself occupied when the kids were in school, and if she had been fucking -- or even if another person were in the room while she performed -- I would have gone ballistic and would have divorced her; however, she never did anything except masturbate, pose, and talk dirty. Her activity never interfered with her devotion to her family, and it normally took her -- even with preparation time and the time it took to hide all of her wares after a performance (I know because the small cameras I installed in our exercise room and bedroom gave me a perfect record of what she did) she normally never spent more than two hours a day, five days a week, on her secret activity. Also, very important to me, she became a much happier person because she achieved some of the celebrity she craved even if she was anonymous. She was always in a good mood, was a great mother, and made sure that I was in a constant state of sexual nirvana. Finally, although I would never in a million years be a husband who watched his wife fuck, or even be naked live around another man, I have to say that I was justifiably proud when I read the thousands of positive comments about her on the porn site. She seemed to have tens of thousands of guys drooling over her -- yet I was the only one who was actually fucking her and manipulating her C++ tits, which made me very happy.
Linda also made surprisingly big bucks from her activities considering that she worked only about ten hours a week. She told me that it was from selling Amway products, and she always had a trove of them in the house to make her story plausible, and I never questioned her about it. I was happy to let her use half -- after taxes -- of her "Amway earnings" for mad money, which included lots of trips to the spa, gym, and for massages, to keep her body toned and beautiful.
Linda's aforementioned waning interest in sex started about a year after she gave up her Autoerotic Audrey persona. Another major issue that arose about the same time seemed to be that although I made good money she wasn't thrilled with our status in the community; she was increasingly interested in fame (like pilot Sully Sullenberger who landed a disabled plane on the Hudson River and saved more than 100 lives), or if that was not achievable, celebrity (like the Kardashians).
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While I had a fairly large number of friends in common with Linda (aka Free Form, aka Autoerotic Audrey), and a bunch of friends at work, the three friends that I seemed to be most compatible with were three people that I met doing volunteer work. They were two women, Jane and Tanya, and a man, Dirk. I wondered why I had an almost instant connection with the three of them when we met. Then I read a study that at least in my mind provided some explanation for that.
I know that many people will consider it bullshit, but some neuroscientists can explain an instant connection with someone (not to be confused with "love at first sight," although in some circumstances it could be considered the same thing) as "brain syncing." In particular in a 2018 study of one version of syncing by neuroscientist Pavel Goldstein and colleagues of the University of Colorado Boulder they were able to establish by EEG measurements that brain waves called alpha-muband waves matched when certain compatible individuals were faced with the same situation, especially if they touched each other. Maybe if you read the study you'd think that it was bullshit, but I believe it, and in my mind it explains my instant connection with Jane, Tanya, and Dirk.
Although I had an instant connection with these three friends, please don't get the idea that it was a sexual attraction, because it wasn't. While Jane and Tanya are very nice looking women about my age whenever I met with them I didn't suddenly have the urge to throw them down on a bed and ravage them, and except for a few ethereal situations I never dreamt about them; and I never have had a sexual attraction to any man. Jane, Tanya, and Dirk were also all married -- for some reason we usually never talked about our spouses, however.
We four amigos, in addition to twice a month working together on some volunteer project, also had lunch together every two or three weeks. We laughed and joked for most of 90-120 minutes during those occasions while consuming food and drink, although sometimes we would discuss serious topics.
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The Seminal Event:
On a Friday afternoon I was shopping for a few items at the back of a local large supermarket when I heard "pops" and screams. A number of terrified people ran past me. A tall teenage boy, who I estimated to be sixteen or seventeen years old, was near me and we viewed each other with wide eyes. I looked around the corner into an aisle and saw a guy with a ski mask and rifle. Since the kid did not have the same deer-in-the-headlights look as the people who had run past an idea quickly formed in my brain.
"Want to stop the gunman and save some lives?" I asked him in hushed tones as I handed him a twelve ounce can of tomato paste from my cart while I picked up a twenty eight ounce can of tomato sauce.
Without flinching the kid nodded his head and said "I do!"
"Then throw this can of tomato paste at the gunman, make sure that he sees you, and then run like hell in the opposite direction from where we're standing and try and get out of the back of the store," I instructed.
The kid looked around the corner to see that the gunman was not looking our way, then threw the can; hesitated a second, and then ran like hell.
I was very impressed with the kid's throw, since it actually hit the gunman. I found out later that as a sophomore the kid was the starting center fielder for my kids' High School varsity baseball team. The gunman yelled, turned to see the kid run where I had told him to run, and the gunman fired one shot that was way off target but just as I hoped came running down the aisle. As the gunman reached the end of the aisle, looking in the direction that the kid had run, I swung the 28 ounce can of tomato sauce at his head with all of my strength. I connected just above his right eye; he went down with a thud, the rifle clamoring to the ground.
Not taking any chances I hit him in the head with the can again while he was on the ground -- he was not going to be getting up anytime soon, if ever.
I felt really good until I heard another "pop." Shit -- there was another gunman.
I picked up the rifle -- it was a common model that I was fairly familiar with -- familiar enough to know how to shoot it even if I wasn't a marksman with it. I went toward the sound of the last "pop." I came across a second gunman -- who had a handgun -- three aisles down. I peered around the corner and as soon as he turned his back I shot him. I was aiming for his back, but the shot went high and hit him in the neck. No matter -- he was out of the fight too.
I paused for a couple of minutes. There were no more "pops."
I went up to the second prone gunman, kicked his pistol out of his reach in case a miracle happened and he arose, then put down the rifle and called 911.
Obviously there were many calls before mine but not with what I had to say. "My name is Kevin Warren I have disabled both gunmen at the supermarket shooting and am waiting next to one of them at the start of aisle 29. I believe that it is safe for the police to enter and not worry about getting shot. I'll stay on the line until you give me instructions."
