There are strict rules and regulations to being a Psychonaut. The ethical justification for going into the minds of others is already tenuous at best, and those moral boundaries become even more essential when working with a partner. A team needs a thorough understanding of one another to work effectively, but they must also respect the private spaces in each other's minds and refrain from any unwarranted mental trespassing. This can be difficult for two powerful psychics, especially when in a partnership as close as the one Milla and I share. Sometimes you just can't help but know what the other is thinking.
Milla and I have been partnered agents together for nearly 5 years now. Right from the start I admired her mind and respected her talent. Our gifts compliment one another, and if I may boast, we make quite a formidable team. She is an excellent agent and a dependable partner who makes me feel that everything is under control. It wasn't long before we both felt confident with our lives in each other's hands and minds. I noticed right off the bat that she is extremely beautiful – she's not nicknamed "The Mental Minx" for nothing, after all – but a bit into our working relationship I was surprised to find myself excessively attracted to her. I was even more surprised when I realized one day that not only did I love working with her, I was actually in love with her. And so now I find myself in a dilemma: to say nothing and try to hide these obvious feelings for as long as possible (not so easy when the object of your love is a brilliant psychic…) or to come clean and face whatever changes and consequences my revelation may bring. So far I am maintaining the status quo, and have locked away those more alarmingly tender and carnal feelings deep in the cube in my mind, but I am not sure how much longer I can keep it up.
I was surprised to find I loved and wanted her because she does not seem that she would fit my typical "type", to say the least. Although actually, if I'm being honest with myself, I haven't had much of a "typical type" of woman at all so far, until she became it. Her style and mannerisms had first seemed too bubbly and enthusiastic for me to tolerate, and I hardly need mention her taste in clothing and decor. I am very reserved in my social manners, but she always assumes the best of everyone and makes friends quickly and easily. As time went on, I found her increasingly to be the most genuine and sincerely caring person I had ever known and, as I mentioned before, extremely beautiful. I put down the book that I was hardly reading and lean back in my seat, closing my eyes and relaxing a bit as her image swims before me.
The first thing I think of is her eyes: huge, green, liquid pools of compassion and good humor, turning sharp glinting emerald when we're hot on a case, and warm and dark sometimes when she looks at me. Sometimes I think that I catch a hint that she may have more than professional and platonic feelings for me, but she is so friendly and flirty with everyone that it is hard for me to tell if her attention towards me is anything special. I'm probably just seeing what I want to see, but I can't quite squelch the hope I feel that maybe…. The next thing I think of is her mouth – full lips usually painted to match her outfit, I long to press my own to hers and catalogue every inch of it, exploring her tongue with mine. I feel myself heat up a bit with the thought. I can imagine bringing my hand up to her face, feeling the softness of her warm brown skin, maybe running my fingers through her thick, shiny dark hair (of which she is rightfully proud). The third thing I think of, which gets my heart pounding blood rapidly south, is her body. Milla is tall and slender, with a small bust and an impossibly thin waist that flares into wide, curvaceous hips and the longest, most shapely legs I have ever seen. She makes me think of fertility goddesses and the archetypal feminine, and I am embarrassed by how desperately I want to lose myself between her lush thighs, her broad hips cradling me, and bury my face in what I imagine are perfect breasts.
I expect that Milla would be as enthusiastic in bed as she is everywhere else, and an involuntary vision flashes before me of her bouncing on my penis like it's a levitation bubble, her pert breasts swaying and her head thrown back in ecstasy, long hair tickling my thighs. I instantly harden at the thought, and what little blood is left over flushes my face. For the millionth time, it seems, I battle with myself on whether to ignore the uncomfortable straining in my trousers or to allow myself to relieve the tension. I weigh the pros and cons. I know that I am safe in my laboratory, shielded by the GPC and far from Milla, and I know that if she needed to enter into my mind for any reason I would know it instantly. We are set to take off on a potentially dangerous mission tomorrow, and it would probably be good for me to get some of these urges out of my system before spending an extended time in close physical proximity to her. I know that it's unprofessional to indulge in such fantasies, but despite my best efforts, I am still a human being. I lean back a bit more in the chair and rub a hand over the bulge in my pants, justifying my need and giving in to the pleasurable feelings the pressure creates. My head lolls back against the top of the chair, and my breathing quickens as I unzip my trousers and pull myself out, imagining it's her hands holding and stroking me. I can picture Milla with a smile on her face during lovemaking, but I relish the thought of pleasuring her so intensely that all she can do is moan and gasp my name. I grit my teeth to hold back a groan, pumping faster until orgasm overtakes me, wishing it was with her.