The Connection

by Amanda McCree

 

I knew she was the one the moment I saw her. She was sitting alone in a booth on the far side of the restaurant. In her dazzling red silk business suit and white blouse, she was perfectly beautiful. Her long, golden blond hair was gathered into a bun on the back of here head. Her bright red lipstick matched the red in her nails and her suit. She had the style and grace and beauty that I always wished I had. Her figure was camouflaged a bit by her suit and the fact that she was sitting in a booth nearly twenty feet away, but I was confident that her= s was a figure I would truly enjoy. I was excited at the thought of exploring every aspect of her beauty.

I am always on the watch for a new subject, but this was a real treat. From my childhood, I had dreamed and wished and prayed to become a beautiful woman like her. I knew that connecting with her would be a wonderful and stimulating experience.

I quickly surveyed the restaurant, looking for a proper vantage point from which I could establish my connection with her. I needed a place from which I could observe her without being obvious. I didn't need to be especially close to her, but my line of sight needed to be unobstructed. I selected a table several feet behind and left of her. From this seat I could easily watch her and mimic some of her movements. This would help establish the connection.

I slipped my server a twenty and asked him to bring me the same thing that she had ordered. Lucky for me, she had ordered a salad. Experiencing the same sensationsB in this case tasting the same foodB was very helpful in establishing a connection. Of course this meant that I frequently had to tolerate foods or other sensations that I did not like.

In establishing connections, I have had to endure some very distasteful sensations. I have eaten worms. I have drunk concoctions of raw eggs and prune juice. I have dived into freezing water. You get the idea. Some of my attempts to establish a connection have resulted in illness or injury. So I consider myself fortunate when I can share pleasant sensations with a subject.

My server was able to delay delivery of her salad so that she received her= s just a couple of minutes before I received mine.

As she ate, I matched her movements as much as possible, concentrating on the sensations of each bite. With the third bite of salad, there was a sudden burst of flavor as I connected with her senses. All of her senses were now connecting with mine. I could smell her perfume, taste her lipstick, and feel her hair bun on the back of her head. I could feel each item of her clothingB her fitted jacket, her pencil skirt, her three inch heels, her panty hose, her silk slip, her thong, her demi braB each item of her jewelryB her earrings, her pearl necklace, her several diamond ringsB as they contacted her skin. It is always a special experience when a subject is wearing silk.

To explain, I am a sensory empath. I don= t read another person= s mind. I don= t hear another person= s thoughts. I don= t feel another person= s emotions. I experience another person= s sensesB sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch. Once connected, as with this woman, I see what she sees, hear what she hears, smell what she smells, taste what she tastes, and feel everything that she touches (or that touches her skin). I have no idea what she thinks or feels about anything, unless she says something or writes something down. I can, however, identify certain emotions because of the physical symptoms that they produce. I have to be careful, though, since the same physical symptoms can accompany very different emotions. Increased heart rate and accelerated breathing might indicate joyful excitement or great fear.

Once connected, I can maintain the connection for very long periods even after the person is no longer within sight. My personal record was 136 days, 6 hours and 13 minutes. I can maintain the connection over distances of thousands of miles, even while sleeping, unless I am distracted in a major way. Of course, I have to be very careful to keep the sensory information flooding into my mind from confusing me as I attempt to act normal. So, while mimicking her movements helped me to establish a connection, the connection can cause me, involuntarily, to mimic an action and embarrass or injure myself. Just a few months ago, my subject tripped on an uneven sidewalk and fell. His tripping caught me by surprise and I fell just as he had. Since I was at work at the time, I had some difficulty explaining why I had fallen out of my chair.

My co-workers just think I= m naturally clumsy. They have grown to accept my unexpected trips and falls, as well as my ducking under or around unseen obstacles. They tolerate my eccentricities because I am one of the highest producers in the company. I have been among the top five producers every month since I joined the company more than seven years ago. You can easily imagine the advantage that I have in any negotiations. Any good negotiator pays careful attention to the other person's body language. I'm just able to do it from the inside and am able to sense much more than whether the person is leaning forward and smiling.

The connection grew stronger and I could hear through her ears and see through her eyes. We ate our salads and drank our teas in tandem. I was experiencing her life completely, but from a very fresh perspective.

I noticed that, even though she was presenting herself as a cool and composed person enjoying a leisurely lunch, I could pick up on some nervousness she was concealing. Her heart rate was higher than it should be. Her breathing was shallow. There was tightness in her neck and shoulders. This was not a contented person. Something was very wrong and I hoped that, whatever the problem might be, it could be resolved soon. The level of stress that I could feel in her body would soon lead to physical illness. I had seen it happen before.

She shifted in her seat and I felt something unexpected. I scanned again the sensations of her clothing touching and caressing her body. There it was, tucked away neatly between her legs. A penis. This lady was a man.

I scanned again around her chest. I had so easily sensed the feeling of her bra holding tightly around her ribs and the straps over her shoulders. Checking now, I confirmed that her cups were filled with real flesh. Judging from the weight of each breast, I surmised that she probably wore a C-cup. So, this man was a she-male. Well, maybe she was a transsexual in the midst of her transformation—living as a woman, taking her hormones and planning for the surgery.

I hoped that I would be able to maintain the connection long enough to discover her (or his) story. I guess I'll keep referring to her as a female. After all, that was how she was presenting herself.

I still marvel at how beautiful she was. Her beauty had struck me when I first saw her. Now that I was sitting near her and watching her movements, I knew that her masculine identity was totally hidden. There was no hint of facial hair. Her long blond hair, gathered into a very professional looking bun, was no wig or extensions. Her hands were slender and delicate. How did this gorgeous woman come to have a male organ?

Suddenly, she turned to look toward the door. A woman had just entered and was walking toward her. I don't know how she knew to turn at that exact moment. She had not been watching the door. There had been numerous people entering and leaving the restaurant and she had taken no notice of them. But she knew then this woman came through the door. And there was something else. She was becoming more agitated. Her heart rate was increasing. I'm sure that her blood pressure was climbing as well. She was frightened of this woman.

The woman was attractive, probably in her early thirties. She was tall and slender. Her three-inch black leather heels took her to nearly six feet in height. She was dressed in a conservative grey dress with a matching, waist length, and fitted jacket. She carried a grey leather shoulder bag and a black leather attaché case. She came to my subject's table and leaned forward to give and receive the ceremonial kiss on the cheek before sitting down. My subject responded in kind, but I could tell that it was an automatic response, without feeling. Her nervousness was increasing. This woman was the focus of my subject's anxiety.

The woman spoke first. "Gretchen, you look marvelous. I love the way you have learned to put yourself together."

Now I knew her name, Gretchen. Knowing a subject's name always makes me feel an even stronger connection, though it really has no effect on the process. I just prefer to use a name rather than thinking of her (or him, in many cases) as "my subject."

Gretchen responded, automatically, "Thank you."

"Now, Gretchen, that's now how I taught you to respond to a complement. Is it?"

"No ma'am," Gretchen replied with her head bowed.

"Let's try that again." "Gretchen, you look marvelous."

Gretchen's reply was more animated this time. "Thank you Sylvia. I really like this outfit and the pearl earrings, choker and ring you gave me are perfect accessories." Gretchen smiled, but I felt her stomach cramp.

"That's much better. I'm glad to see that you are eating a salad. It is so important that you keep good control of your weight. Now, tell me about your morning."

"I had a terrible time getting ready. I was so nervous I almost could not get my makeup on. I really hate this whole thing. I'm not ready!"

"Of course you are, dear." Sylvia spoke with a sickeningly sweet, patronizing voice. Then her tone changed abruptly. She spoke with quiet intensity, "You have been created for this job and you are going to complete the contract. Now pull yourself together. Finish your salad and freshen your makeup. Hardesty is waiting."

  

  

  

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