An Experiment in Dreaming

Chapter 3 - Geoffrey investigates

It was Saturday morning and Geoffrey was thinking over his shaming experience again. He hadn't had a wet dream since his mid-teens and he had never dreamt about raping anyone. The messy result of Friday's dream had been so demeaning to him that he wondered if Mona's recording had really failed or whether she had practised an unaccustomed delicacy by not asking for the report.

The dream also happened to reveal Geoffrey to be exactly the sort of man Mona had wanted him to be that night, sexually vicious and animalistic. These thoughts forced him to become deeply suspicious of Mona.

His strongest suspicion concerned the dream recording. It would be easy to check if the recording really had failed: a friend in the computer department could give him access to the laboratory's file server.

There was athletics practise from 10 until 12, which Geoffrey attended. He was showered, home and had eaten lunch by 12:45, which was a good time to phone a nerd.

"Yo, Dude!" Zorba the Geek answered brightly, "How's it going?"

"Fine, thanks, Zorba. Tell me: have you done anything illegal lately?"

"Nothing worth mentioning, Geoff. What's your pleasure?"

"I need to see if any files have been deleted from Professor Whitehill's lab server on Friday night between about one and three in the morning. Also, I need access to some documents on the server."

"Are you coming 'round or do you want me to mail you the stuff?"

"I'm not sure which files I need. I'll come around. Are you in c-lab now?"

"Yeah, we're setting up for some online fan-boy video conference tomorrow; something to do with rubbishing comics. Doesn't interest me, but they're paying my time until I go to the band contest tonight; which is cool 'cos I finished half-an-hour ago and we've only got to test the connexions."

"Can I bring you anything: pizza, Red Bull, blow-up woman?"

"Actually, you could bring me a real woman. You're just the guy because I've seen you with her."

"Who is it?"

"That tall, beaky Irish girl. All the guys here are creaming their pants over her."

"Do you mean Mona Macready?"

"Yep."

"I am afraid she's unavailable. Why do you guys like her?"

"Are you kidding? She's serious crumpet: she's bright, driven, self-confident and she scares the shit out of us. You don't think we go for vacant bimbos like you do?"

Geoffrey laughed, wondering if Mona knew she was such a hit with boys whose ambition was to live in their own basements.

"I'll arrange a double date for you, me and a couple of nice women who won't scare you, but please don't call them 'chicks' or 'babes'. Now, shall I bring beer?"

"Random! See you in fifteen."

At the computer laboratory, Geoffrey waded through the usual sea of discarded cardboard packaging, unread instruction manuals, old desktop cases and bins overflowing with junk-food containers to find Zorba sitting in front of a huge monitor, playing a shoot-'em-up against an antipodean enemy, Ozweasel.

"Looks boring, Zorba," Geoffrey said, plonking the beer in front of the monitor, obscuring the scene in which Zorba had brilliantly manoeuvred his racing tank behind Ozweasel's armoured sports car, preparing to blast him with a cannon.

"Bollocks!" Zorba said: "I was kicking Ozweasel's arse, Geoff."

"He's probably twelve years old and should be in bed. It's one in the morning over there."

"Yeah, well, move that shit and let me sign off, there's a good procurer."

"I'll open one for you, shall I?"

"Random!"

Then they set to work. It was easy to see that Mona had not deleted any brain pattern recordings on Friday night, which might mean that the program did not run properly, as she said; but Geoffrey still suspected Mona and thought it was best to check the program that drove the brain-wave sensors.

"Can you show me the list of applications running on the lab computer using the comms ports on Friday night from around midnight onward?"

"Yeah." Tappity, tappity, tap went Zorba's fingers on his keyboard. "Here they are."

There were a round dozen programs.

"Keep those there please, Zorba, and now show me Thursday night's apps as well."

Tappity, tappity, tap. Eleven of the same programs showed up and one new one.

"The one that's different on Friday night: any idea what it does?" asked Geoffrey.

"Not a clue. Can't find out either, except by running it, unless you can read code?"

"Nope; but look: it uses a different comms port from the program it replaced. What's connected to that port?"

"Could be anything. You'd have to go look at the hardware to know."

"One more thing, Zorba, can you give me rights to the documents on the server?"

Tappity, tappity, tap.

"There you are: password, 'changeme'. It'll last a day, use any of the terminals."

"Random!"

Geoffrey started to look at all the dream experiments to see if any suffered from recording failures: Mona would be sure to make a note if that happened. He saw she had done so on Friday night in his case, for example.

There were no other recording failures. On a hunch, Geoffrey copied the reports of all the dreams onto a memory stick.

"You've been a lot of help, Zorba, thanks. I'll phone you about that date, OK?"

"Random. Laters!" Zorba was back on line, blowing holes in Ozweasel's car with a 50mm Gattling gun.

When Geoffrey got home, he began reading the dream reports from the oldest to the newest in the daily order that the subjects wrote them, starting with Steve on Mondays, then Mark on Tuesdays, Colin on Wednesdays and Claire on Thursdays. An hour or so later, he had learned only that he was not unique in dreaming of rough sex: both Steve and Mark did so, too, and far more often than him.

Geoffrey was also amused to discover how regularly Claire dreamed of bondage and punishment but when he read Claire's last dream he was astounded. On Friday, he had somehow had Claire's dream, almost scene for scene. Either the brain scanner had given him telepathy, he thought, or Mona was up to something. Repudiating any idea of telepathy, there were two questions Geoffrey had to ask: How had Mona infiltrated Claire's dream into his brain? And why had she done so?

He had no means to guess at how Mona had induced him to dream Claire's dream, though it surely had something to do with that changed computer application and the different communications port. He would have to get into the laboratory to learn more; but only Mona and the Professor had keys.

Geoffrey turned instead to his other question: Why did Mona get him to dream Claire's dream?

His first guess was that Mona wanted to humiliate him by causing him to have a wet dream, perhaps as a punishment for revealing the truth about Randy Andy.

If so, it might be useful to speak to Claire, who had been with Mona on Thursday night. Maybe she could say if Mona had talked about revenge on him. Geoffrey had no idea how to ask Claire this; then he remembered the band competition that night. Maybe he and Zorba could take Claire and another friend to the show. That would be a start and he might be able to improvise if he could get Claire on her own.

Geoffrey telephoned Claire to ask if she was free that night to go to the band contest.

"I am already going with Sarah," she replied.

Geoffrey knew Sarah, one of Claire's housemates, as a sweet, plain, quiet girl: intelligent but shy. The old, shallow Geoffrey never paid her much attention but since he had learned to appreciate qualities other than surface good looks, he could see that Sarah and a cleaned-up Zorba might well suit each other.

"Here's an idea: I am going to the band contest with Zorba. Would you and Sarah like to make a party of four?"

"Who's Zorba?" Claire asked.

"Zorba the Geek."

Silence.

"Er, ... Joe Mosely, techie guy from the c-lab, wears Hawaiian shirts and an IQ reducer."

"A what?"

"I mean he wears a baseball cap backward."

"You want to bring this paragon for me or for Sarah?" Claire was not amused.

"Just a party of four, Claire. I promise you he'll clean up nice. He's good-hearted and very intelligent: it's just that he spends more time interacting with computers than with women. We'll be with you at 7pm, okay?"

"Okay, I suppose, but I'll check with Sarah first."

"Phone me if she objects," Geoffrey said, ending the call. He immediately rang Zorba.

"Zorba, you and I are going to the band contest tonight with Claire Burton and Sarah Dyer, OK?"

"Quick work, Panderus. Where are we meeting?"

"I'll fetch you at 6:45 and take you to Claire's. Meanwhile, I want you to do three things. First, you need to clean yourself up, including brushing your hair. Second, you need a decent shirt and trousers, freshly laundered and preferably ironed. Any styles will do, so long as they are plain and smell of soap. You should also smell of soap. And wear some clean shoes. Women always notice shoes."

"You what? Why can't I go as I am?"

"Zorba, trust me, if you want a woman to like you, the best start is to smell of soap. I can't guarantee you'll get laid (that's not the plan, anyway) but if you go as you are, I guarantee you'll get ... er ... unlaid."

"Well, all right, but where am I going to get clean clothes?"

"You do know there is a launderette on campus, don't you? Do you need me to help you work the machine? You've got about four hours. My third rule is that you are not to talk to either woman about computers, video games or the weird music you listen to. OK? See you at 6:45. And, oh, yeah: can you get me a ticket?"

"No probs. Laters, Dude."

Geoffrey and the freshly scrubbed and brushed Zorba, reeking of soap, uncomfortable in his pale blue shirt with a button-down collar, grey slacks and leather brogues, arrived five minutes early at the house Claire and Sarah shared with two other girls. Claire let them in and they waited in the lounge for Sarah. Claire was nicely dolled up in a red frock and black heels, but she brushed off Geoffrey's compliment, saying she took every chance she got to dress up.

Then Sarah came down. She had on ankle-length boots, torn jeans held together with large pink safety pins, a tee-shirt in support of one of that night's bands, a denim jacket and green highlights in her spiked-up mousy-coloured hair. Her transformation astonished Geoffrey and he fumbled the introduction, so Sarah introduced herself to Zorba, the only person she did not know there.

"You're supporting 'Descended Larynx' tonight, are you?" Zorba asked Sarah, looking at the logo on her tee-shirt.

"Yes. You like them?"

"They suck pony!"

"They do not! So who are you supporting?" Sarah asked.

"Road Kill."

"Yuck! Pretend Jurassic rock-heathens. Anyone better?"

"Autopsy."

"Yeah, they're random." Sarah granted him that. "Who else?"

"Slug Juice."

"Now, they really suck pony. Their lead guitarist, Spanner, ..."

"Wrench."

"... whatever ... he poses like a rock god, shakes his guitar around and does that windmill rubbish with his hand. You know he can't play."

"At least they don't just play the same four chords, like 'Larynx'," Zorba insisted.

"Don't they? What about 'Chunking On Your Doorstep'?" asked Sarah, really enjoying teasing the uptight square in his casual clothes and neatly brushed hair who thought he knew about music.

"I don't know that one," Zorba said.

"Maybe I got the name wrong. It's their big number but it sounds flat and insipid in the coda. You know why? It's because it needs the progression B-flat, F, D7 but Spanner can't play it quick enough, so he leaves out the F."

Geoffrey had long since given up waving frantic "schtum" signs to Zorba.

"Have you any idea what they are talking about, Claire?" he asked, sotto voce.

"They are Fargs from the planet Gorm," she answered, seriously. "They speak a language called 'Indie Garage Funk'."

"Claire!" Sarah protested, "You know there is no such thing as 'Indie Garage Funk'."

"Yeah, that would really suck pony. ... 'Larynx' could play it," Zorba said, starting his argument with Sarah again, which continued all the way to the Student Union, where the band contest was to be held.

Sarah and Zorba argued about music while in the queue to the venue, then through the first few bands, none of whom they liked, and together in the crush at the bar. But it was an argument they both enjoyed and they were getting on so well that Geoffrey thought he could safely steal Claire away for a private conversation. He invited her to the chill-out room.

Claire was not much interested in the music. She had come to accompany Sarah and to support Mark, one of the other subjects of the dream experiment, who was playing drums in his band, Leviathan, due on at about 10pm. She had plenty of time to talk to Geoffrey, for whom she had once quietly had the hots.

They had the chill-out room to themselves when they got there.

"Have you spoken to Mona today?" Geoffrey asked.

"No. We spoke briefly on Friday afternoon. How was your session last night?"

"Odd. She seemed to be having drastic mood swings."

"I found her too calm and unemotional," Claire said, explaining how Mona betrayed her secret then rigidly controlled herself. "I am worried she is bottling it all up and she will explode sometime. She got on with the job almost mechanically."

"She did sort of explode Friday night," Geoffrey said, "but then it all washed over and she was her normal icy self. She admitted about Randy Andy but my sympathy made things worse. I feel dreadful about sticking my foot in it. You will tell her, won't you?"

"Of course. ... How much do you like Mona, Geoff?"

"Hmm. ... Oh, you know, she's striking looking and fearsome intelligent, and I've come to enjoy her company since we started on this project; but she's not my type, you know."

Claire knew. Claire wasn't Geoffrey's type either, she thought, because she was a slim brunette rather than a curvy blonde.

Their conversation had stopped. In the silence, Geoffrey considered how to discover Mona's motivation. He wanted to tell Claire of his suspicions concerning his dream on Friday night, but he could think of no way to broach the subject. He could not admit outright he had read her dreams but would have to work up to it. He resolved to try because Claire would be an invaluable ally if Mona were up to something self-destructive, which was his major worry.

As for Claire, she now assumed Geoffrey's desire to talk about Mona was just a pretext and that he got her alone for the obvious reason she always associated with Geoffrey. In fact, she was fascinated to learn what his seduction technique would be. She might even allow herself to succumb if it was any good.

After some thought, Geoffrey decided he would recruit Claire and he would do so by gently letting her in on his secret, telling her about his dream and gauging her reactions before telling her more, such as some of what Mona said to him and what suspicious things she had been doing.

They had sat in silence for a few minutes longer while Geoffrey rehearsed his speech to himself and Claire enjoyed feeling butterflies in her stomach, waiting for him to begin his approach.

Here it comes, she thought, when Geoffrey turned toward her and gave her his full attention. She sat up expectantly. Geoffrey began, saying:

"I had a dream about you last night, Claire."

Claire was hugely disappointed: worse, she was offended. Of all the lame, boorish, schoolboy opening lines! How can Geoffrey have been so successful, or were all his girlfriends completely stupid?

"Spare me" she said angrily, getting up and walking toward the door.

Geoffrey realised he had blundered somehow and stood up after her, trying to explain but the door opened just at that moment and Mona walked in, to be confronted by Claire's red face and Geoffrey's guilty look. She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I was looking for you both. I am going backstage to wish Mark good luck with the competition. Are you coming?"

"I'd like to come, Mona, thanks," said Claire, putting such an emphasis on 'I' that Geoffrey understood his company was not required. He stayed where he was. Taking this in, Mona said "Goodbye, Geoff" and led the way. Claire's strutted after, her anger noticeable in the swishing of her skirt and the stamp of her heels.

Geoffrey stood in dejected incomprehension. He thought he was fated to be misunderstood that night; and he was no nearer solving the puzzle of Mona. He resolved to leave. On his way out, he caught a glimpse of Sarah and Zorba, jigging along to one of the third-rate student bands, thoroughly enjoying themselves. Even his inadvertent success in matching these kindred souls could not console him. Geoffrey spoke to no one but went home.

'Descended Larynx' won the band competition and Zorba handsomely conceded to Sarah that they deserved it. 'Road Kill' and 'Slug Juice' came nowhere. After the competition, there was a disco. Sarah and Zorba danced together all evening and at midnight, when the lights went low and the slow music began, they shared their first kiss. A few dances later, Sarah moved Zorba's hand from her waist and put it on her breast. She moved his other hand onto her bottom and ground her pelvis slowly into Zorba's erection. This was not a long-sustainable manoeuvre for a twenty-year-old he-virgin but Zorba did not want her to stop.

Pretty soon, however, Zorba did briefly push Sarah away from him: after all, they were his best trousers and freshly laundered. Sarah understood and kissed Zorba deeply. Then it just seemed as natural as anything that she would take him back to her room, with only a short wait while he bought some protectives.

The two virgins made sweet, sensual love that was for Sarah only slightly painful at first. Sarah had read manuals and lots of romances and was very pleased to discover that words could not convey the satisfaction of an orgasm from a man absolutely smitten with her.

Zorba, a male child of the internet generation, was all too familiar with pornography and he was even more pleased to discover that, although Sarah didn't wail like a banshee, nor want to swallow his semen, nor ride him facing the camera, squeezing her own breasts, biting her lips, yet she was an erotic powerhouse. Her gasps and moans of pleasure, her pelvic thrusts meeting his stroke for stroke, her muscle spasms at the height of ecstasy, her arms and thighs gripping him, not wanting him ever to leave her, made the online facsimile of passion seem even less than two-dimensional.

At midnight, Mona had walked back with Claire. After a cup of coffee at Claire's, she made her way home via the laboratory, where she took the brain-wave inducers out of Geoffrey's headpiece and put them in Steve's.

***

'An Experiment in Dreaming' continues in chapter 04.