Eep This Secret

Good stories always revolve around a conflict. Here in Chapter 11, we see the central conflict in

Keep This Secret.

As always, ask yourself how you would handle it.

................................................................................

You might not enjoy reading what happened next. I imagine you'll enjoy the romantic eroticism at the end, but the beginning is kind of rough. I'll be as brief as possible.

I had a problem, and it was a big one. As I worked to wrap up my research and make plans for what came next, I kept encountering a seemingly impossible conflict. It was great that I could think of almost limitless ways to use the sonic stimulator to help people. I'd thought about freeing addicts from addiction, liberating men and women from sexual dysfunction, healing victims of trauma, accelerating learning, and on and on and on. It took very little effort to conceive of more therapeutic applications of my work. That part was exciting.

But I always came back to the fact that this technology was dangerous. It could be misused. I needed to find safeguards to prevent unscrupulous people from making victims commit murder, rob and steal, rape the innocent, and turn victims into powerless slaves. I realized that if I wanted, I could use the sonic stimulator to go on TV and eventually enslave the entire world. We'd all be speaking German today if Nazi scientists knew what I know.

One morning I had to admit the truth. No safeguard would work. You could declare this technology top secret, and it would make no difference. There is no patent strong enough to keep it contained. If I ever allowed others to use this technology, there would be no way to stop them from misusing it. The temptation was just too great. Look at the way I'd used the technology to punish Mary. The only reason it has not been worse is that I am basically a nice guy. There are plenty of people who aren't nice at all. In their hands, a sonic stimulator would be worse than all the H-bombs, nerve gas, chemical agents, bombs, landmines, and guns in all the arsenals in the world.

I had to keep this secret. From everyone. I couldn't talk about this to anyone ever. I couldn't publish. I had to find a way to cover up every speck of evidence of what I'd been doing with my research grant, ensuring that there were no awkward questions about how I'd used that money.

I was not going to win the Nobel Prize.

I sat down in my chair, put my head on my desk, and cried. And cried and cried and cried. It was the first time I'd cried since I was a kid being bullied by my neighbor. I was in so much pain, so much anguish, that I briefly considered trying to use the sonic stimulator to ease my grief.

Obviously, that was a very bad idea.

I did a lot of thinking over the next few days. I made some important decisions. I'll tell you all about it later. For now, just know that after I dried my eyes I took my dogs for a walk, and I found myself thinking about how nice it would be to make love to Mariana. She was sitting in her office in a building nearby. She was temptingly close, but also impossibly far away. Mariana only had time for me on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The rest of her time was devoted to the unrelenting pressure of the loads of work she had to complete in order to be granted tenure. It was a long, slow process that wouldn't end soon.

Or maybe it would.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking? To summarize, I called the chairman of the Department of Modern Languages, playing the sonic stimulator in the background. I convinced her that I needed to discuss something vital, and she agreed to meet right then.

"You want to hear something important that I have to tell you about Dr. Mariana Kahlo," I said.

"I want to hear it."

"Dr. Kahlo has been assisting me with some vitally important research in the field of neuroscience. I'm sure you understand that the grant I received from the National Institutes of Health has rules that prevent me from discussing this work until after I publish our results."

"The rules prevent you," she said.

"But I can share this. Dr. Kahlo provided some insights that led to a breakthrough. When we finally get to publish our work, she is going to attract so much attention in academia that it will cast your department in a very favorable light."

"A very favorable light."

"When that happens, it will be better for you and the rest of the department if Dr. Kahlo is listed as a tenured professor. You already know that her performance has been exemplary so far. She has done more than enough to earn tenure already."

"She has been exemplary," she said.

"What you want to do is assemble the members of the tenure committee, and tell them to approve her tenure. Now."

"That's what I want to do."

This conversation actually went on for a lot longer than this. Academic politics is so complicated that I had to spend a lot of time figuring out a way to make this happen without anyone being suspicious.

And I wasn't done. I called every member of Mariana's tenure committee and told them they should vote to recommend tenure be granted to Mariana. Kahlo, I said, was exemplary.

Those were some complicated conversations, but I got through them, thanks to the sonic stimulator.

Nothing much happened for a week. I spent a lot of time thinking about what I'd do next, and I decided that I needed to close down my lab and quit my university job. I'd spent so much time dreaming about living the life of a rich, famous scientist that I couldn't imagine continuing as a normal, ordinary researcher. All my work had been in a field I had to abandon. I'd be forced to start all over, adding years of tedious work to a process that could only lead to me ending up as another unknown, faceless scientist who'd contributed tiny bits of knowledge to mankind's understanding.

I was not going to do that. But I had no idea what I wanted to do instead.

Fast forward to Wednesday of the next week, when I got a telephone call from Mariana. I'd never heard her sound so happy.

"I need to celebrate! Can you help me celebrate?"

"Sure, Senorita. When?"

"Right now would be nice. Can we celebrate right now?"

"Yeah, I guess. I've got a student coming over here in a few minutes to walk my dogs. I need to have a short conversation with her, but I can see you right after that."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Senor," Mariana said. "It's perfect. It will give me just enough time to drive to my place and get ready. Can you meet me at my place?"

"But this is Wednesday. Do you have time for me today? I don't want you to do anything that jeopardizes your work."

"Not to worry," Mariana said. "I have time. Lots and lots of time."

That's when the light bulb turned on. It didn't take a Nobel Prize winner to figure out that Mariana had just gotten the news about her tenure. It made me feel good inside. She'd earned it, certainly, but the reality of academic advancement would ordinarily make her wait much longer. It wasn't fair, but that's the life of a scholar. I'd short-circuited the process in a way that allowed her to get her reward while she was still young enough to enjoy it.

I had a feeling I was going to enjoy celebrating with Mariana.

When she answered my knock on her door, Mariana was wearing some of the sexiest lingerie I've ever seen. Black, sheer and lacy. The perfect shade to accent the lovely brown tone of her beautiful skin.

"I am so glad you're here," she said. "I need you to rip off your clothes, get on top of me, and make me your little bitch. Do you think you could do that for me? Please, Senor?" Despite the adult nature of her words, Mariana wore the smile of a joyful child.

"If that's what you want, Mamacita," I said.

"It will do for now," she said.

We'd made love many times, but never like this. Our love was usually gentle, slow, and relaxed. Mariana was in a frenzy. She laughed out loud. Giggled. Ripped my shirt open so hard one of the buttons flew across the room.

"Oops! My bad!" she said.

"It's nothing," I said. It was an old shirt anyway.

Usually when I started making love to Marina, we'd begin with me on top, then she'd quickly roll me over and laugh as she continued in the cowgirl position. We wrestled around on the mattress like that for a while. It was joyful. Neither one of us were old, but this made us feel even younger than we were. Like teenagers who'd just discovered sex.

Then things got more serious. Mariana got so excited she looked a little bit crazed with arousal. "Fuck me like you mean it!" she shouted. I started pounding into her pussy as hard as I could, and she bucked up to meet every thrust.

She came like a freight train, letting out a howl that must have been easy to hear in the neighboring condos. Neither one of us cared. If someone called the police, we'd just claim we'd been watching a horror movie with the volume set too loud.

Mariana completely wore me out. By the time I finished my climax, I was spent. Literally and figuratively drained. She was in the same shape, sprawled across the mattress face down, her waist-length hair encircling her head like a beautiful black halo.

She still hadn't told me her news. I didn't want to wait any longer.

"You haven't told me why we are celebrating," I said.

Mariana jumped up, leaning on one elbow as she looked me in the face. "I got tenure! It's official! I got tenure! My tenure committee called me into a meeting room and announced that my work has been so important and exemplary they decided to grant me tenure immediately! Important and exemplary! Those were their exact words! I was shocked! I don't think any faculty member in my department has gotten tenure before the age of 30. I'm getting a raise! A BIG raise! Do you know what this means?"

"It means many things," I said. "I hope it means I'll be able to spend more time on top of you, Mamacita."

"That's EXACTLY what it means, Senor! I'll be able to spend more time living a normal life! More time underneath my man! That is, if that's what you want. Is that what you want?"

"Of course it's what I want. I'm pretty sure I've done a good job letting you know how I feel about you. One could even say I've done an exemplary job expressing myself. I'm thrilled for you, obviously. I know how much this means to you professionally. But I'm also thrilled for myself. I can't tell you the number of times I've wanted to call you and couldn't do it because it wasn't Tuesday or Thursday. This means we get to forget that shit, right Senorita?"

"Yes! Fuck that shit!"

She laid down next to me and curled up under one arm. "It means so many things. I'll have time to join a gym. Take an aerobic class. Whip my soft ass into shape again."

"I, for one, am very fond of your soft ass," I said.

"I know you are, David," Mariana said, smiling. "You have done a good job expressing your feelings about my ass. One could even say you've done an exemplary job."

"Damn right," I said. "That's one hot piece of exemplary ass."

"I love hearing the word exemplary," Mariana said.

"That's because you are an exemplary woman. You are an exemplary professor. Your research is exemplary. Your teaching? Exemplary. You manage to be exemplary in a particularly exemplary fashion. Of course, you are an exemplary lover. That's all I can think of right now. Give me a minute and I'll figure out some more ways to describe you as exemplary."

"That's sufficient. For now," she said.

I was seeing something special. Joy. Mariana had been chained to her professional burdens for so long that it affected her in ways I hadn't noticed. It wasn't that she expected she could stop working hard. Tenure is not a way of getting permission to coast along in her job. It's just that she knew she would be able to live like a normal human being. She wouldn't have to work on multiple research projects at once. She wouldn't have to attend so many committee meetings. She could do things that had nothing to do with work. She could breathe. She could laugh. She could go places and do things.

Go places and do things.

"David, do you think it would be alright with your girlfriend if you and I went off for a trip some weekend? I haven't done anything like that in years. I understand if it's not OK, but it would be very nice to sit on a beach and have rum drinks with my favorite man in the world."

"I'm sure that would be just fine," I said. "Mary does not possess the part of the brain that allows people to feel jealousy. Actually, she has expressed an interest in meeting you. Said that many times. I never brought it up before because you barely had enough time for our little sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe it's time to make that happen."

Mariana looked concerned. "What if she doesn't like me?"

"I can guarantee that won't be a problem," I said. That was the truth, of course. I didn't think I'd need the sonic stimulator to encourage Mary to like Mariana as much as I did, but it was something I could use in an emergency.

"Tell me what she's like," Mariana said.

"Well, there's a lot to tell. She's a very interesting person."

"How so?"

"For one thing, she's a certified personal trainer. She hasn't had a client in a long time, but she knows everything there is to know about diet and exercise. If you want help whipping yourself into shape, I'm sure Mary could be persuaded to hold the whip."

"Nice," Mariana said. "But if she doesn't work as a trainer, what does she do?"

"She has two jobs, actually," I said. "I make a pretty good salary, but she makes more than me."

"Really? How? Is she some high-level executive at some big company?"

"You are not even close," I said. "For years, Mary has worked as a hairstylist. A very good one. The folks who run the salon are afraid that if she ever quits, they'll lose a lot of money because so many customers come just to let Mary do their hair."

"I wonder if she'd want to cut my hair?" Mariana said.

"I certainly hope not," I said. "Your hair is a miracle of nature. Kind of like your exemplary butt."

"Enough about my butt," Mariana said. "I didn't think hairstylists made very much money."

"Mary does alright, but her salary as a stylist isn't her main source of income," I said.

"Are you going to keep me guessing, or are you going to tell me what she does?"

I took a deep breath. "She is an exotic dancer."

"She's a stripper?"

"We prefer the term 'exotic dancer.' When you meet Mary, you should avoid using the s-word."

"That's fine. I can do that."

"I know that many people judge dancers harshly," I said to Mariana. "What I want you to remember is that dancing is a very demanding job. There are long hours and intense physical demands. Part of the reason Mary does so well is that she's spent many years attaining a very high level of fitness. I hope you won't judge her."

Mariana smiled. "You are preaching to the choir, Senor. My sister is a stripper. Excuse me, she is an exotic dancer. In Las Vegas. She used to make shit wages as a project manager at some shitty company that didn't appreciate her work. Now she makes four times her former salary, and she likes what she does. Says it's like being paid to exercise."

"Mary says the same thing," I said.

"My sister and her husband would have a hard time getting by if she hadn't become a dancer. They have a mortgage. Car payments. Bills. Kids. The whole package. She is being smart about it, saving a lot so they'll be secure when she decides she doesn't want to dance anymore. From what she tells me, that's not going to happen anytime soon. She likes the job, and loves the money."

"Mary enjoys dancing nude."

"My sister does, too. She's pretty turned on by the end of a shift. Her husband gets the benefits."

"I know just what you mean," I said. "Isn't this convenient. I was all prepared to explain why Mary deserves your respect."

"Like I said, David. Preaching to the choir. What does she look like? Do you have a picture?"

"I have several, actually," I said, pulling out my cell phone. I showed Mariana a photo of Mary on the beach in a bikini, smiling sweetly.

"David, she's lovely," Mariana said.

"You are a very quick learner," I said. "One could even say you are exemplary."

Mariana smiled. "I think we've beat that joke to death, David," she said.

I gave it some thought, and realized that Mary wouldn't object if I showed her nude pictures to Mariana. After all, millions of people had seen the photos on the web. One more viewer made no significant difference.

"I've got some more pictures if you'd like to see them. Take a look."

Mariana looked shocked when she realized what I was showing her. She paged through the pictures. Her hands were shaking.

"David, these are beautiful pictures of a beautiful woman."

"I'm glad you think so," I said. "Keep swiping right. I'd like your opinion of the pictures at the end."

It took a while. There were a lot of gorgeous photos that captured Mary's erotic beauty. Any person with a pulse would like them. I wanted to know what Mariana would think of the more explicit pictures. Pretty soon I saw Mariana's eyes get wide. She was looking at a photo of Mary posing on her couch, legs spread wide.

"Wow," Mariana said. "She isn't shy, is she?"

"Not one bit," I said. "She has no reluctance to expose her body to the camera, or to the audience that comes to see her dance. She's proud of the way she looks."

"I can see why," Mariana said, continuing to view the photos with a slack-jawed look. "David, I don't understand why a man in a relationship with a woman like this would be interested in a woman like me. I look like a boy next to Mary."

Why do women always think this way? When did life become some kind of contest?

"I can't believe you just said that. Mariana, you are a great beauty and a great woman. I think about you constantly. I love the things you say. I have sex dreams about you. I enjoy nothing more than studying your beautiful naked body before, during and after we make love. Your face and body exude femininity. You are so staggeringly lovely that I could barely speak coherently the first time we met. I can't come up with words to describe what happens to me when I look at you."

For the first time, Mariana smiled. "I think you're doing just fine, Senor. Coming up with words, I mean."

That touch of humor made me think Mariana was feeling alright. She'd been overwhelmed by Mary's photos, and that was a sensible reaction. They overwhelmed me, too.

"David, I'm sure I've told you that I like women. I like men more, but I consider women to be very attractive, and I've been with women in the past." She held up my cell phone. "These pictures really get my blood pumping," Mariana said. "I haven't had such a strong reaction to a woman in a long, long time."

"Good. That's good. Mary and I both appreciate it when other people find her attractive."

I couldn't help remembering that I'd told Mary in the past that I wanted her to try having sex with a woman someday. She didn't know if she'd enjoy such a thing, but she'd do anything I wanted. Her sexual horizons had expanded so much that I felt certain she could learn to love sex with women. Maybe Mariana could be the one. It was something to think about, but I decided not to mention it right then.

Mariana kept scrolling through the pictures. "David, I used to go watch my sister dance in Las Vegas."

"Yeah? Did you like it?"

"Loved it. Beer. Loud music. Naked girls. What's not to like?"

"Maybe you'd enjoy meeting Mary at the club?

"Maybe I would. I haven't gone to a club like that since I went to work for the university. I have always feared what would happen if a student or coworker saw me there."

"No worries now. You've got tenure. This could be one more thing you can enjoy now that you can start living like a normal person."