Perception: Breakdown of Sanity

By Nivan Veenith

This Book is created with great love which target today's youngsters
How do they react to specific situation regarding their sex life?

Like every other book we hope that is book bring some benefits with it and make us all better citizen

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387225576

Book preview

Perception: Breakdown of Sanity

PERCEPTION:THE BREAKDOWN OF SANITY

BY NIVAN VEENITH

PREFACE

This Book is created with great love which target today's youngsters

How do they react to specific situation regarding their sex life?

I would like to thank all counsellor who provide me information for this

They have specifically told us not include their name

But I would to thank them from bottom of your heart

Like every other book we hope that is book bring some benefits with it and make us all better citizen.

I hope you would like it

Nivan Veenith

Body Talk

It was rare these days that both of us were in the mood for it at the same time. Tonight was different.

Perhaps the heady red wine with dinner had ignited our dormant passion, lacing our conversation with provocative undertones and stirring our loins? Perhaps it had something to do with atmosphere, or the conjunction of Mars and Jupiter in the night sky? Or maybe it was simply the right time and place, the need of the body, the desire of the mind. Whatever it was, dessert at the table was readily abandoned in favour of the bedroom.

We shed our clothes en route; the lustful haste an indication of our urgent need for physical contact. Foreplay was brief, with torrid kissing on the lips and neck sparking an intensity that demanded extra satisfaction.

Wasting no time, and with the grin of a Cheshire cat about to get the proverbial cream, Lizzie dropped onto the duvet and parted her legs. Immediately I dived in between with my mouth massaging her vaginal lips. Instantly she was wet. With unrepressed delight she grabbed at my hair as she convulsed, pulling me upward with intent.

It had been a clear couple of months since wed had intercourse and my penetration caused Lizzie to wince momentarily even though I entered her gently. We were both giddy with drink and excitement as I initiated a rhythm, and her moans of pleasure spurred me on. My thrusts became quicker and more aggressive, in spite of my lack of energy. Rapacious appetite gave me strength. Her cries escalated. Our hearts thudded and our lungs burst. The savage awakened in me, I located and forced her hands from my hips, pinning them above her beautiful head and locking both her wrists in one of my hands. She groaned with eager anticipation, arching her back in feigned resistance. Hunger reflected in her green eyes, savouring the submissive position. We had played bondage games often, but this wasn't the time for it. Lizzie wanted sex. Now.

I knew that she liked it rough, forceful, but not to extreme. Dynamic. Not brutal. So I renewed my exertions. I was rigid within her. Ready to burst, yet restraining it. I gave her every inch of myself. Dazed, delirious. Aching. Loving it. Pushing. Harder. Panting. Climax. Ejaculating.

Hurriedly I pulled out with an ecstatic cry, closing my legs to catch the exploding love fluids, and falling forward with my face into Lizzies soft, smooth stomach while engulfed in the glorious sensation of spending my entire load into my lap. This was the smallest penalty of unguarded sex - the mess. The greatest risk, always, was unwanted pregnancy, but we seemed to have mastered the art without fail all these years.

Remaining motionless at her naval, I felt Lizzies warm hands cup my head as I basked in the aftermath of copulation. It felt so good.

In a while we both caught our breath, and I raised my head with a smile. Lizzie tossed me that familiar cat-like grin, and we both laughed at the gluey blob on my inner thighs.

She reached over to a box of tissues resting on the bedside cabinet and handed me several of them with a cocky grin, then lay back on her elbows to watch me clean up. Her eyes scanned me, my body, my movements, perhaps thinking along the same lines as myself.

There was a time, before we were married, though in no way was I blaming it, when we used to have sex frequently, perhaps as much as two or three times a day, with passion and energy; sometimes our foreplay was long and so sexy that intercourse would be quick and explosive. At other times wed make love as if it was always for the very first time. Most often wed end up with exhausted limbs intertwined, falling asleep wrapped up in each others bodies. We couldnt stop touching and fondling, kissing, seducing each other with words and sounds.

Those days were now gone and neither of us knew the reasons why. Maybe age had withered our ardour, or perhaps it was a natural progression of sustained co-existence; fondness and companionship replacing untamed voracity.

Lifes stress could also be a mitigating factor. Pressures at home and at work combined to Robert us both in too many ways. Yet, whatever the cause, or causes, for our lack of regular sex, I knew that Lizzie loved me. And I loved her.

But it was different now. Aside from the stuttering intimate physical contact, there was the almost psychic connection that wed once had. Where had that gone? And why had it gone? Had we both changed so much? Did love alter, mould or absorb people in some sort of way? Did all married couples stop having sex, eventually? Could we ever change things back to how they were?

All these questions went to bed with me. Worn-out, I slept like a log.

Alarms

I wasnt sure which woke me up first: the wail of my alarm clock going off at 6.30am or the great bang. Either way, I was woken with a start. My head shot from the pillow and I stared around at the darkened room, listening intently, waiting for another sound to confirm that I hadn't merely dreamt it. Sleep had a funny way of playing games with a persons mind and an interrupted dream left a fuzziness in the head that made any clear perceptions of reality difficult to determine.

Next to me, Lizzie was sound asleep. I could hear her shallow breathing and it was all I needed to tell me I had simply been kicked out of reverie by my wake-up call.

In fact the alarm was still beeping. So I knocked it out, quietly, and gently pulled back the duvet to get out of bed. I was tired and sleepy-eyed, and the rudeness of my awakening hadn't helped in any way.

There was just enough light coming in through the slats of the shutters to see with. Daylight had broken, of course. It was June and it was expected. The chorus of morning birds screaming for a share of breakfast could easily be heard, especially with both the windows in the tilt-open position.

I made my way around the bed to the en suite, desperately trying to minimise my dizzy shuffling, and closed the door behind me. The shutters were also down in the bathroom, so I clicked open the mirror light to see my way properly through a face-wash and brushing my teeth.

Splashing cold water on my face was invigorating, initially, but sleep wouldn't go away easily. I yawned and kept it quiet somehow and proceeded to load my brush with toothpaste. A clean mouth always aided revival first thing in the morning. It gave breathing in a fresh taste and clear air down the lungs.

The mirror commanded my attention. I took a long look at myself.

At 39, I wasnt in bad condition. There were plenty of younger men who appeared older than me. Physically, I could do with more exercise, but age hadnt taken me by storm. My complexion was good, wrinkles below average. Eyes in pretty good nick; I wore glasses when working, sometimes for reading, but I could still drive without them. My dark hair betrayed grey roots but at least my hairline remained intact, courtesy, perhaps of my fathers genes; general health: not much to worry about. Mentally¦mentally - now there, perhaps, I needed some help. Maybe it was the mid-life crisis, or maybe it was personal. My life was at a standstill. I felt I should be somewhere by now. My career was faltering, my salary was insufficient to give me adequate financial confidence, and I no longer enjoyed my work. I was self-imploding.

The guy in the mirror stared back at me. He was asking questions, way too many bloody questions; and it was too early in the morning!

A sense of foreboding began to penetrate the breaking wall of sleepiness. The reason for it, even in my presently dulled state, was obvious. Today was Monday and I was going to work - back to work - for the first time in 2 weeks; an enforced break, not because of holidays, but because of stress. I wasn't looking forward to it, at all. After all, it was stress at work that had driven me to demoralisation and depression in the first place. To go in today - to go in at all given how low I felt - summoned up deep wells of courage. But my holiday was over.

Instead of sick leave, I'd decided to take some holiday leave before it was too late. It was easier this way. I wouldn't have to humiliate myself by seeing a doctor and pour out my pathetic feelings and frustrations; plus I saved the need to explain myself to anybody else, particularly Lizzie. I didn't want to worry or upset her.

Both at work and at home I'd reached a crisis stage, an emotional time bomb waiting to go off. If nobody had noticed, then they were themselves brain-dead. I had become irritable and argumentative during the course of my duties, especially at critical pressure points, and it was getting increasingly difficult to hide it.

I hadn't yet shouted or raved at anyone, but the compulsion was there, too often, boiling under the surface of my usually placid demeanour. The fuel tank that was my self-restraint was smouldering. At any moment the lid could blow clean off, and the nearest guy to me might become the hapless victim of a mad thump, which would really send my Appraisal to a new inglorious depth.

Up to now, thank God, I'd managed to resist the lunatic impulse. But my variable mood-shifts had given way at times to caustic remarks where a simple shrug of the shoulders should have sufficed. I was prone to lapses of confidence and concentration. Whats more, I'd brought it home, my awkwardness, my aggravations and grievances, my fatigue and my loss of enthusiasm - the lot. Lizzie had commented on it but my boss had not.

Yet.

I couldn't wait any longer. I didn't need telling or coercing by anyone to reason for myself that I needed a break. Badly. But finding the time during the horrendously arduous schedule of the Millennium project at the Bank made it difficult. Fortunately my boss had agreed. Perhaps he'd seen the reflection of murder in my eyes.

Now, today, I felt a lot better. The deep troughs of tension were gone. But I wasn't happy. Depression was still rife in me although I felt I could at least control it.

However - it was back to business, and work.

After a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, I left the house without disturbing Lizzie. The sun was shining already and the car computer registered an external temperature of 12 degrees. The forecast was 20 degrees by midday. Now it was 7.30 am. There was no traffic on the road, and that surprised me even though it was often normally scarce at this time in the morning through the country route. But zero traffic? It was odd.

The drive was 45 minutes to the Bank. It took me only 30 minutes today. When I reached it I entered the near-empty underground car park and turned off the engine at a selected space, taking a moment to command my self-composure before entering the building. It was eerily quiet. Security was absent in reception and that was also strange. Both guards couldn't have dashed off for a pee or a coffee at the same time. But I didn't hang around. I took the steps to the third floor where the IT offices were located and headed less than enthusiastically to my own little office, which I shared with a team of 3 other guys, passing the computer room en route.

I glanced in through the window that housed the tiny ops room fully expecting to see Rob, one of the two morning-shift operators, standing at the console or near a printer, but I didn't spot him. Arriving at my desk, I dropped heavily into my seat at my PC and switched it on. While it booted, I gazed around, looking for changes or signs that Arnold and Bob had been progressing during my absence. I sighed openly and my shoulders sagged as if a great weight had just been placed on them. At once I felt tired, wishing for the security of home and the peace of my bed next to Lizzie.

When my PC came Ready, I logged on and entered my password without having to think twice about it, and got straight down to business with none of the rustiness which normally accompanied a long holiday break. I scanned through a few system files, expecting a few of them to have been updated, but the modified dates appeared unchanged. The guys are slacking, I thought. What's going on? I looked elsewhere on the system for evidence to confirm my suspicions. There were one or two tasks accomplished, but very little. They're waiting for me to do it, or what?

I frowned, annoyed, and leapt out of my seat. Intending to rifle through George's drawer, I had a better idea. I'd go and see Robert, maybe get a picture of the latest situation around here, clue myself into the latest weekly departmental meeting talk-outs.

Containing my rush of adrenalin, I ambled towards the computer room, relaxing my approach. I didn't want to be seen in aggressive mood so soon. I keyed the pass-code at the security pad, and entered. Nobody around. Okay, maybe the machine room itself? It was separate to the operators' room, minimising the harsh sounds of equipment and air- conditioning.

'Robert? Jake?'

My voice wouldn't have carried over the disk drives, so I strode around them and round part of the room as well, checking little niches where I'd seen the operators at other times during the day. I shrugged my shoulders in mute response to my own questions.

Striding back to my office, I found myself close to alarm. No security guards, no operators -

What the hell was going on?

As a last thought, en route, I checked the mini kitchen in case both ops were standing around having coffee. My heart was beating a lot faster when I sat down by my PC. Think, I ordered myself. Why would the building be empty? Was it Sunday - or a national holiday? Had I got out of bed on the wrong day and for nothing?

The wall-calendar proved me wrong on that score.

A fire, maybe? Or a suspect package? Evacuation?

No, I'd have driven into a police cordon long before I made it to the Bank if that were true. And if it was only the operators who were absent I'd say they were both late for their shift.

I clung onto that thought as I picked up the phone to call security. Perhaps the guards were back at reception by now. The phone was ringing.

And ringing.

Weird. No answer. I replaced the receiver and hastened to a window that overlooked the main road, trying to convince myself that Id somehow got past a roadblock or something, and that a whole lot of people were standing around waiting for an all-clear sign to enter the building.

Outside, it was bright and sunny. The clouds were white and wispy. I looked down at my watch. Just after 8.30am. Okay, so it was still early morning; not many would have arrived yet.

I calmed myself and withdrew back to my office, sitting down and staring into the screen. After a few seconds and some basic thought, my hands reached out voluntarily and tapped a few keys of the keyboard. It was an effort, but I forced myself to forget everything and just do some work. The others would be in soon. I supposed.

A small bird landed on the ledge outside the small window of our office, distracting me momentarily. I watched it, followed its tiny, brisk movements, fascinated by it. Then it flew away.

Nothing strange in that. An ordinary scene for an ordinary bird. But, it snapped me back to reality. The cold thought that I might be dreaming, vanished.

I called reception again.

No response.

I sat back and waited as time passed slowly. 9 o'clock came. 9.15.

The building remained silent. No operators, no programmers; and no security. I'd called them again recently.

Really nervous now, I stood up and decided to go walkabout in an attempt to dismiss stupid thoughts that were creeping up on me while expecting, hoping, to come across somebody on another floor or corridor who might advise me on what was going on. Occasionally I glanced out of a window but there was nothing to see except abnormality in a normal surround. The rush hour - without cars, buses or people.

This was crazy.

Yet, in some way, it was pleasant. Gratifying. Calm; quiet. Did this mean no work? I felt peaceful. But not relaxed. I couldn't relax. Questions were queuing in my head and a pain began to burn in the pit of my stomach. Anxiety again. I recognised the feeling. I thought about going home. Why should I hang about if no one else was coming in?

Lizzie came to mind. She'd be getting ready for work. She started at 10. If I called now - my hand was already on the phone. I hadn't even finished the thought let alone what it would mean if she didn't answer.

'Lizzie?'

'Yes. Mark?'