Wet Socks (Worlds of Memories) -a short story, a side note to the epic novel "Astarte, the Adventure."

  • 5 months ago
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by Doris and DonDawn
#NudeMinds 2021

Kathy is my girlfriend. Ever since highschool. I played football then. One warm and fragrant Thursday afternoon in October, I finished a local game and informed her that I needed a shower. This was before I headed home. My folks weren't home, and I decided to have a bubble bath instead. She knew that my folks had gone somewhere, and, being kind of gutsy, surprised me by popping over to my folks' house and slipping off her shoes and then climbing into the bathtub with me. Her thin white socks with ruffles (she was a flirt) got wet. This was pretty heady stuff for a painfully shy eighteen-year-old rock-n-roller. I went insane. She was fairly romantic and very daring, more so than me. I'll never, ever forget the sheer eroticism of seeing her blue toe polish through her cute white socks.

Our Halloween habit, for decades, is to meet at Air Force Inns and take a bubble bath together. We chose not to marry. Our family remains the Air Force. She has a boyfriend. I have a girlfriend. It works even in your sixties.

My girlfriend made a wet sock lover out of me, and I've finally accepted this side of myself. If you're okay with it, I am too. Thin socks, like the ones she wears when we get together, are my favorite because they cling and drape around all the absolutely beautiful curves in a woman's foot. White socks are sexy because they get a little transparent. Black socks are incredibly sexy, especially black dress socks, because not only do they shimmer and shine (the thin ones, anyway), they're black because they're office and business socks... they're formal, and they're really not supposed to get wet.

All these simple memories keep me alive. And away from the thrill of my work. Flying these cold dry things is my work. And teaching the young guns about the wisdom of flying, more like sailing, with no jet engine, no propulsion, no reaction. It is an art, yes.

"Colonel Karpenter! Sir."

"Jack! Come in." Captain Jack Johnson is the electromechanical engineer.

"Your new sprite is ready for testing. Sir."

The old one was too cluttered for me. A spinning bell is no jet fighter. Too many controls imply as many distractions for the mind of the pilot. The one who flies the thing. I need to focus in silence when sailing the sprite. No gravity, no acceleration, thus no G-force. More like meditation. I like to think of myself as a monk. Well... a monk with a wet socks fetish. Never mind.

I take my head cap off. Tossing it on the sofa. Sandy can play with it tomorrow morning. Connecting the blue cap to her computers. Calibrating its sensors. Comparing with prior records. Analyzing the results. What an elaborate food chain has been built up on taxpayers' money. And upon my hours of meditation. Inside the spinning bell. The sprite!
Here it is. A line of dialog away from my office. Comes in handy when they've given you an office inside the hangar. My private Liberty Bell. The older models were looking closer to an upside down cup of coffee. But the engineers agreed with me: there's no harm in modeling the new ones after the Liberty Bell. Sounds more American! Well, it doesn't sound much since it is supposed to silently spy on our enemies.

"Everything is in place, sir. According to specs."

"I can see that. Good job, Jack. I'll take it for a ride in a moment."

"Very well, sir."

What I like about sprites is that you don't need to follow the take off and landing drill. All you need is a briefing. On a Monday. Or the start of the month. The rest is in your mind. And it stays there. Until you speak it out. At the debriefing. This is the most painful part. What if you're missing something? Something important. A matter of life and death. Training your mind, day in, day out, for forty years, is no guarantee against accidental oversight. Your mind is vaster than you can imagine.

"What is your destination, sir? For the record."

"Ramstein, Germany. Bye, Jack. See you next week."

That's all they can keep in their records: departures and destinations. Everything else is in my mind. Overwhelming. Told my CG, my psychologist and other consultants, that I'll use the sprite for personal escapades too. Because I need to vent my mind for the maps of memories, so they can better consolidate and make more sense to me. And to them. They encouraged me to do it. Honestly, I am aware that most persons that I meet, especially women, have been somehow 'trained' to meet me.

How funny life can be. On one hand I spy on obscure persons that have no ability to see me, to perceive my presence around them. On the other, my colleagues, my friends, my intimates, are (among others) spying on me, during my free time. Because debriefings are not enough to extract every memory (intentional or unintentional) out of my head. I am not enough to figure them all! Makes me feel like a prisoner. Of myself.
Two thoughts and three memories away, here I am, Ramstein Inns! Allowing the Liberty Bell to cross its zero moment, I jump out in everyone's else present. My sprite resonates behind me, further down to one full second past. Where it halts and locks itself to the current coordinates.

"Karl! Oh, Karl. You look great. Let me kiss you. How long has it been?"

"One year, Kathy dear. Kunsan AB, Korea. We've walked through the snow, remember?"

"Brrr... Yes, wearing only socks in snow is not a very good idea."

"But it makes for a brilliant fetish starter. How are you, Kathy?"

"Doing well. Thank you."

"That was the official answer."

"Indeed. The reality is that I'm scared, Karl, terribly scared. I'm this close to a breakdown."

"We all are, dear. We all are. Things are heading South, as far as I can see. And you know it too well."

I take her suitcase in my left and her arm across my right and invite her to the gates.

"Look, Kathy, what would you say if we'll postpone the socks fetish for tomorrow and let me offer you

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Written by dorisdawn
Uploaded November 15, 2020
Notes "Black socks are incredibly sexy, especially black dress socks, because they're office and business socks... they're formal, and they're really not supposed to get wet." - Mike
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