Imaginariman

This story is the introduction/explanation that lays the groundwork for a series of sexual encounters that will span a variety of sexual adventures. The main character, described here, changes as he changes the world around himself. This particular chapter contains no sexual scenes. So, if you're looking for something to arouse you (which is usually why I'm on this site as a member), sorry, this one is just a setup for the other ones I'll be posting.

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It was just another ordinary morning in the dark. Zero dark thirty standing under a tree which mostly blocked out the pale light of the streetlamp. As many mornings as not, the bus would pass by because the driver couldn't see him standing there waiting. There wasn't even a bench or trash can; just a slender pole with a small sign posting the route number on it.

This morning, he got lucky, though. Approaching like a furious, puffing dragon, the noisy behemoth began to slow. Brakes pads that needed changing badly were screeching, metal on metal as the bus zoomed past. Even though it was stopping for him, he still had to trot a good hundred yards or so to catch up with it.

Slightly winded, he climbed aboard and showed his monthly ride pass. At a dollar per trip, fees would normally have been about $40 per month, but the pass was just $25 and enabled him to take side trips if time allowed and the inclination struck him. At this time of morning—a time when many late-night revelers were just dragging home after all-night partying—there were never many passengers, and this morning was no exception.

Just like him, the other riders valued their privacy. There was no conversation, not even head nods to acknowledge that they'd been sharing this bus every morning for months, or years in some cases. This was, unfortunately, the first of several busses he had to catch to get to work across town. This route intersected with an express route, but was sometimes a given bus wasn't in time to catch the connecting bus, so he had to take an earlier bus to cover that possibility. And since he had three transfers, he had to plan against multiple misses. So instead of being able to take a 6:00 am bus to get to work by 8:00 am, he was taking a 5:00 am bus to reach work by a guaranteed 7:30 am. Anything else and he was guaranteed a late arrival.

He was, in general, a solitary person. Not that he disliked people, but simply couldn't understand most of them. While he was fascinated by many areas of human interaction—politics, business, philosophy, art, music, spirituality, technology, space travel, alien visitations—he was frequently baffled by some peoples' close minded attitudes toward these and other topics.

With the advent of the internet, he began finding others who shared many of the same interests. It seemed there was at least one chat room available for any topic he wanted to discuss or learn about. There were others who seemed to have expertise in almost all the areas. Some challenged his mind, and others simply challenged him. It didn't take too long, in most cases, to figure out who was real and who was fake—a poser, as the saying went.

He even discovered that open and free discussion about sexuality and something called 'cyber sex' was common—if not rampant. The discovery opened new vistas in his experience. Things he'd only dreamt (or fantasized) about, he was able to freely talk about, albeit behind the anonymity of an online persona. Among other outcomes of his online activities, he found that many of his online 'partners' were willing to do the same thing over the phone. More than a few offered to do the same things in person if he were able to provide funds to fly them to his city. These invitations, he always declined.

So, here he was on the bus, hours before sunrise, going to an unremarkable job, which he enjoyed but would have left had money been no object. Since he had as much as two and a half hours of sitting to endure, his mind tended to wander. Many mornings, he was simply too tired to put much energy into mental activities. This morning, though, was different. Due to a power outage, he had been unable to indulge his chat room addiction. After browsing through his stash of adult magazines for a while, he'd succumbed to weariness and gone to bed and fallen asleep unusually early. So, this morning, he was energetic and alert, having gotten nearly 9 hours of sleep.

While mornings like this weren't too common, they did occur occasionally. And, of course, he had to repeat the process in reverse every afternoon coming home. Coming home was different because there usually were more people riding then. And since he was more awake, he tended to play mental games with himself. One of this favorites was to imagine what someone was really like. Did their physical appearance match who they were inside? Did it match who they thought they were inside? As he played this game, he would make up backstories about them.

One person, a middle aged woman, slightly overweight, but nicely dressed. She had a tightness about her eyes and mouth which he supposed might be an outward sign of some internal stresses she was working hard to keep bottled up. He had imagined her being the mother of six kids, the two youngest still in high school, one boy and one girl. The boy was in a gang and it tore at her heart to see him going down that path. She was especially fearful because his oldest brother (the oldest of the six kids) had done the same thing with the same gang and had ended up in prison for murder. She was on her way home from her weekly visit to the jail where he would spend the rest of his life without the possibility of parole. His imaginings went on to build lives for each of the six imaginary kids, the absentee father, uncles, aunts, sisters (she didn't have any brothers of her own in his imagination).

A young man dressed like a hip hop, break dancing, low-pants wearing, rap spouting gangster wannabe evoked images in his mind of a fatherless youth, spending most of his time on the street. At home, if there was a fridge, it was virtually empty except for a moldy carton of soured milk and a fly-speck covered dish of butter. The cupboards were all bare and the youth spent most of his nights sleeping on the couch of a friend. The reality was that he was nowhere near threadbare and probably didn't live at all close to the imagined narrative. But, after all, it was his game and had nothing at all to do with others' realities.

Of course, the nature of his mental games changed after he discovered chat rooms. And since he was decidedly straight, his new games focused exclusively on the female riders on the bus. This led to a rich, imaginative, and quite varied set of mental activities. Some of them even spilled over into his private times at home—times when he would mentally involve those bus-riding women in his vibrator and lotion laden world.

There's nothing unusual about people making up stories about other people's lives. There's not even anything terribly unusual about people having cybersex, phone sex, or fantasizing about sex (even weird, kinky sex) with people they've never met. What is unusual is when one person's casual fantasies about another person suddenly become causal realities. In other words, his fantasies started becoming real. Even the simple mental games he was playing about making up stories about other people suddenly started becoming real in the other peoples' lives.

Thus begins the saga of ImagineMan.