Incident Report
by
Storytella3000
Part 3
In the middle of all this... "stimulation," I guess food should have been the last thing on my mind, but let's face it - I'm an all-day eater, and it was just about dinnertime. Not wanting to spoil the proceedings, though, or for that matter not really sure that there was anyone really "there" to hear what I had to say, I was unsure about how I would go about getting food. While I silently debated with myself (when I could think, that is), my stomach made its desires known... it started growling.
The first growl elicited a momentary sweep of invisible fingertips along my abdomen. After the second, which sounded something like a wounded cat, fingertips began playing with my navel... while the other hands continued their activities, both tickling my legs and other activity further up.
The next growl was quite a bit louder and longer than before. It was time to say or do something. "Um, I could use something to eat...?" I know I must have sounded unsure to whoever or whatever was listening, because it sounded rather iffy to me.
In a few moments, I heard what sounded like pots and pans being moved around in a distant room, and soon after that I could smell the welcome aroma of food cooking, though I couldn't really tell what was being cooked. I wondered what I would be fed, but before I was able to find out, I heard a British-accented female voice calling out, "Hello!"
The first voice I'd heard, other than mine, since the whole ideal started! For half a second it scared me out of my wits... thought I'd jump out of my skin. My heart immediately sped up to jackhammer speed and force, and didn't slow down any when I realized that I didn't hear footsteps, only a voice that seemed to be getting closer and closer, calling out, "Hello? I know you're in there! I saw the autos pahked out front, and I can smell something cooking!"
That told me two things: First of all, obviously whoever this was knew I was here, but also the entities putting me through this ordeal evidently didn't belong here, or at least their van wasn't usually here. But... a British accent? That means that... these are... people playing with me? Earthlings? Extraterrestrials, maybe? They always seemed to have British accents in the movies... But then, why were they driving cars?
All tickling activity stopped, except for the movement of the hands on my nether areas. My mind began reeling from all the questions rolling around in my head (and from the hand treatment) while the voice steadily grew closer, and closer. Finally, the voice seemed to be coming from the doorway of the room I was in. "Oh, there you are - Oh my goodness!" I turned toward the voice, and froze.
There was nothing in the doorway but a pair of gloves.
A pair of black leather gloves, looking like of like those Isotoner gloves they used to advertise on television all the time. And I have to admit, they looked quite stylish... but they weren't attached to anything! They just floated there, filled out as if there were hands inside, at about the level they would be at if someone had been wearing them.
"I trust my crew has been treating you well," the voice said, and I got the impression that the unseen speaker had turned her face away.
"You know me?" I said, incredulously.
"Of course I know you," the voice said, in a tone that said the speaker wasn't to be toyed with. "We had an appointment this evening. I just hadn't expected you to be here this early... or that my crew would have gotten to you in quite this way."
"Uh, I think maybe there's some mistake," I said, wanting to tell "her"(?) that they had the wrong person. "You see -"
"Pssht, not another word," the voice said. "I'll have my people clean you up, and then we can get down to business."
"But I'm -" I started.
"Ah-ah," the voice countered, shushing me. "Let us take care of everything."
The gloves floated off in one direction, while I was carried the opposite way, to a shower adjacent to the rec room. My undershorts were finally pulled off, followed by all the ropes, as I floated towards the shower stall, which opened by itself. I floated in, and the door closed behind me. The water started out cold! I tried to run from the cold stream of water, but the hands held me to the spot. After about half a minute, the knob to the hot water turned by itself, and the shower began to warm up. Invisible hands lathered themselves and then spread the lather all over me (and I mean ALL over), followed by a floating washcloth. I looked closely and didn't see any sign that water was bouncing off any body but mine, and yet there was plainly someone (or something) in the shower besides myself.
A bottle of shampoo rose from a shelf next to the shower and its cap came off. The bottle tilted, and a bit of shampoo pooled in the air just outside the stream coming from the shower head. More hands turned me around so that I was facing away from the shower, and then they began to spread the shampoo around my hair and massage my scalp. While I was being shampooed, other hands grasped my wrists and held them behind my back while yet more hands began keeping Mr. Johnson and his downstairs neighbors company. It wasn't long before the actions of the "neighborly" hands had turned my legs to jelly, prompting a couple of unseen arms to grab me around the chest so I would stay upright in the shower.
Finally, the shower was finished. All the hands pulled away as the shower door swung open again and I was floated out. A towel wrapped itself around me and began drying me off, again paying special attention to my crotch. Another towel wrapped itself around my shoulders and began drying my hair. I didn't feel anything like hands moving these towels; it was as though they had come to life and were drying me off by themselves.
Once I was dry, a pile of very familiar-looking clothes floated up to me... they were my clothes, the clothes I had been wearing before the whole incident started. They had been freshly washed and dried. I took them and put them on myself. I'm sure it would have been fun to allow my captors to dress me, but for reasons I'm still not sure of myself, I decided to dress myself.
When I emerged from the shower room, there was a single latex glove floating in the doorway to the rec room, beckoning me. I followed it as it directed me through the house to a sitting room, where the leather gloves awaited.
"Ah, I see you've been properly tended to," the voice said. My stomach growled in response. I walked over to a couch and took a seat. "Once we've concluded our business, I'll provide a fitting reply to that growl. But first things first, Kenneth. What is the frequency?"
"Excuse me?"
"Kenneth, no games. The frequency - what is it?"
I laughed, long and hard, remembering the story Dan Rather told about being beat up in an elevator by some strange men while one kept asking, "What's the frequency, Kenneth?"
My "hostess," or the hostess-voice at any rate, protested. "I don't believe you're in any position to be making jokes, Kenneth. My people and I have given you all the time and resources you need in order to solve our problem. Now, it's time to see some results. What is the frequency?"
My laughter died down but didn't stop. "You - ha- you're not kidding?"
"I've never been more serious in my life. Kenneth, what is the frequency?"
I sighed. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been trying to tell you that I'm not your guy -"
The voice cut me off. "Wrong answer, Kenneth. Do you realize that you could be terminated with less energy than you use to blink?"
"Whoa, whoa, no need to get violent. I'm just not your guy. I'm sure that Kenneth -"
Cut off again. "I'll give you one more chance, Kenneth. This time, you'd be advised to tell me what I and my people want to know. What... is... the... frequency?"
"For the last time, I'm not Kenneth," I said. "If you'd just check my ID in my wallet -"
"A man of your resources could get a very authentic false ID, Kenneth. That plastic thing in your wallet means nothing to me, and evidently your life means nothing to you. Say goodbye, Kenneth," the voice said, as invisible hands took hold of my wrists again, this time much more firmly and roughly than before.
"Hold on a minute," I said to the unseen hands holding me. "Aren't you the same honeys that made me feel so good before? Now you're gonna do what? Kill me? That doesn't make any sense."
"Kenneth," the voice said, with more than a little exasperation. "You know that my drones feel what I tell them to. They made you happy before because I told them what would make you happy, and that making you happy would make them happy. Now, all I have to do is tell them it would bring me great joy to see you dead... and it would make them happy to make me happy."
"What about my wallet?" I said.
"You're only prolonging the inevitable, Kenneth, but if it makes you happy I'll play your little game," the voice said, as my wallet was pulled from my pocket.
"Maybe Kenneth hates them, ma'am, but I have no problem with them," I said.
The voice "hmmm'ed" as the gloves continued picking through my wallet. "You have appointment cards from a dentist and a cardiologist in here. But... Kenneth's in perfect health," the voice said, with a tinge of doubt creeping in.
"Maybe Kenneth is, ma'am, but I'm not," I said truthfully.
Then the gloves pulled out a dark blue credit card-sized card, which must have struck them as strange. "What is this?"
"ESPN Zone, ma'am. It's an entertainment and sports complex in Times Square, down in New York City."
"Really?," the voice said, in apparent surprise. "That seals it then. You can't be Kenneth. He knows nothing of sports or entertainment. Science is his life. He probably doesn't even own one of those video units... what do you call them again?"
"Television?" I offered.
"Yes, I believe that's it," the voice replied. "Anyhow, I'm terribly sorry about all this mixup. I don't know how we can possibly make it up to you..."
"Make what up to me?" I asked.
"Kidnapping you, for one thing. Then torturing and blindfolding you. For Kenneth it would have all been a big game, since he claims to fantasize about being treated this way..."
"Whoa, hold on," I said, cutting in. "You mean to tell me that this Kenneth person looks like me, likes what I like, drives the same kind of car, and everything?"
"I'm not really sure how much attention my people paid to the car you were driving. They saw the resemblance, and went on from there."
I shivered, to think that there was really another person out there that much like me, fantasies and all. I always liked to think of myself as unique, and here these... "people"(?) fulfilled an impossible fantasy of mine based on nothing but mistaken identity. Freaky...
"So... what happens now?" I asked.
"Well, we have no choice but to return you to the location where you were found," the voice said, in an apologetic tone.
"No need to go through all that trouble," I said. "Just point me toward home, and I'll find my way."
"I really am sorry," the voice replied, "but we really can't chance anyone knowing how to get back here. For our own safety as well as yours, it's best that we return you the way you were brought here."
"You don't have to worry about me," I said, in the most reassuring tone I could muster. "I can keep a secret."
"Yes, I'm sure you can," said the voice in a conciliatory tone, "but as Kenneth is so fond of saying, 'Every man has his price.' Even if you wouldn't choose to give out our location, someone could torture you or threaten a family member or something. We can't take that chance." The voice paused a moment, then continued, "Besides, from the report I received, you rather enjoyed your trip here. Is that correct?"
"Uhh... yes, ma'am, I did," I said. "But -"
"It's settled, then," the voice said, cutting me off. "We will serve you a wonderful dinner, and then we will take you back where we first found you."
The floating latex glove that had led me to the leathers now beckoned for me to follow it yet again. I did so, noting that the strong aroma of some kind of gravy grew stronger as I followed. After a few twists and turns, I came across what appeared to be another recreation room, though this one was more of a den than an exercise room. The glove motioned toward a chair that I figured Archie Bunker's favorite must have looked like when it was brand new. I sat, opposite a huge fifty-inch television, which blinked on as soon as I hit the chair. The channels flew by, stopping at Jeopardy, which was just coming on.
After a moment or two, a handmade-looking wooden lap tray floated into the room, stopping a few inches away from where I sat. A cloth napkin rose from it, opening itself out, spreading itself out over my clothes, and tucking itself inside my shirt collar. The cover rose from the steaming hot serving dish to reveal... beef stroganoff, one of my favorites!
This was getting more and more freakish, even as the circumstances of my being here had cleared themselves up. My likes and those of this Kenneth person were so apparently similar that I began to wonder if maybe we were really the same person but from parallel universes and somehow I wound up in his (temporarily, I hoped), or something. Whatever the explanation, though, my favorite beef-and-noodle dish was smelling mighty good...
I reached for a fork, but as soon as I did so an unseen hand gently but firmly pushed my right arm back to my side... and held it there! Another hand, also unseen, then took hold of my left wrist and held that one still. The fork and other utensils then moved by themselves and began feeding me!
When the fork began to rise from the tray, I pulled gently against my unseen bonds, softly but feebly protesting against being catered to. Not because I didn't like it, exactly, but more because I wasn't used to it. As I tried to vocalize a protest, I felt a finger press against my lips, and a voice very softly shushing me. "Let us," a voice breathed in my ear. So... I let 'em.
The fork and knife fed me one of the few dishes that I could really and truly eat until I can't move. When I finished the first serving, the tray floated out of the room as another took its place. When that one was done, I looked up hopefully, towards where the first tray had disappeared to. When the second tray floated away without a replacement, I said, "No more?"
"Enough," came the whispered reply, as the hands released my arms. A finger hooked my shirt collar and led me to a washroom, where I washed my hands and face, and then I was beckoned again by the floating glove and led back to the first rec room. As soon as I entered the room, my feet broke contact with the floor beneath them as my body was shifted to a horizontal position. I didn't feel any grips on me as I first left the ground, but as soon as I became horizontal, I felt soft hands caressing my chest once again. This time, they were caressing through my buttoned shirt, as though I weren't wearing one. The same effect was applying fingertips to my ankles and the soles of my feet, though I was wearing pants, socks, and shoes.
I tried moving my leg, to shake off the unseen ticklers, only for hands with what felt like an iron grip to take firm hold of each ankle and each wrist. They weren't causing any pain, but it was clear that their owners didn't want me to interfere in the, uh, activities. Meanwhile, a lone fingertip was all it took to keep Mr. Johnson standing at attention. I kept expecting that particular movement to transform into a fondle or a squeeze, but all I got was a fingertip gently and S-L-O-W-L-Y stroking up and down, down and up, until it was plain that the feeling was too much, and I was about to go over the top, at which point the fingertip would withdraw for a while. Talk about your Postcards from the Edge...
Soft unseen lips planted invisible kisses all over my face. That was a fantasy I'd had practically since elementary school, and again, the idea that my captors were doing it because they initially thought I was someone else was mind-blowing. Of course, the kisses themselves, especially the ones sending a tongue to duel with mine, were mind-blowing enough on their own.
I'd closed my eyes as soon as the kissing started, but as soon as I realized I was being carried I opened my eyes to confirm. I was being carried, towards the front door of the house. I looked around for some sign of the woman... or voice, or whatever-she/it-was with the British accent that was in charge, but there was no sign.
As we approached the front door, it swung open, and I floated out and across the porch towards the van. The doors swung open, and I was placed gently on the floor, my arms and legs still securely held. I tried to sit up, but as soon as my shoulders broke contact with the van's floor, I felt a couple of hands push me back down, pinning my shoulders. I lay there for what seemed like hours while the kisses continued, but eventually my captors stopped with the kissing as the van's engine started. My head was raised, and the back door of the van was kept open just long enough for me to see my own car pulling into the driveway behind us with no one at the wheel. Then the van doors closed, and a blindfold was reapplied.
"I just want to say -" I started, before a finger was placed against my lips and a voice softly shushed me. I only wanted to tell them that this was the oddest day I had ever experienced, odd because it was both scary and enjoyable, and both for the same reasons. But every time I tried to open my mouth, I'd feel a hand pressing against it. After a while I gave up and just lay there, taking in the sensations of these hands holding me down. Every so often I'd feel fingers drawing patterns on my chest, or on the soles of my feet. Remember, at this point I was fully dressed, but these fingers were manipulating my skin as if I were buck naked.
I felt the van begin moving, and then suddenly stop. The hands pinning my shoulders and holding onto my wrists let go, and my blindfold was removed. The back door swung open, and the leather gloves were floating there again, holding what appeared to be a wad of money. "Before you go, Kenneth -" the voice began, then stopped. "Excuse me, sir, I don't believe we even got your proper name..."
"Bryan," I corrected.
"Very well," the voice said. "Bryan, I do believe you should be compensated for the mistaken identity." Then the gloves began counting out hundred-dollar bills. After a few, they stopped, the voice saying, "Oh, what's the point? Take it all."
I gladly accepted the wad and counted. "But this is... ten thousand dollars," I said.
"Not enough?" the hostess-voice asked. "I could always arrange -"
"No, this is fine," I said. No need to get greedy, especially since I didn't know what other "games" they'd have in mind while the other money was being arranged.
"Then I'll let you be on your way," the voice said. "And don't worry about that blindfold. You won't need it, since you can't see anything outside the van anyway. In fact -" at this point an overhead light in the cargo compartment was switched on. "That might make your ride home a bit more interesting," the voice said, sounding like the unseen speaker was smiling. The van door swung closed again, and the kissing resumed as the van pulled off. Invisible kisses rained all over my face and chest, and just like before, every few minutes a pair of invisible lips would engage mine, pushing an invisible tongue into my mouth.
The van came to a stop and again the doors swung open. All hands holding me let go, and the kissing stopped. It was dusk, and we appeared to be parked outside my job, right where I had been abducted hours earlier. I swung my legs out of the van and hopped out. The driver's door of my own car swung open as I approached, and that's when something rather crucial occurred to me.
"Um," I started, not really knowing whether the drone(s) responsible for driving my car was/were even still there. Addressing my car and the van, I continued, "I can't see any of you, so how do I know that when your van pulls off, you'll really be gone?"
"You don't," was the whispered reply. I got an unseen peck on the lips, and a soft giggling voice retreated towards the van. The doors closed, and the van pulled off.
I just stood there, my car door hanging open, staring at the space the van had been parked in long after it had pulled off, letting those whispered words sink in. I won't ever know if they're tailing me, waiting for another opportunity to have their way with me?
14nov2001