One morning the persistent ringing of my doorbell rudely awakened me. I quickly jumped out of bed, grabbed my pants, put them on, and raced for the door. As I was hurrying, I could feel the beginning of a pounding, throbbing headache. No, not a headache from drinking, but one from not enough sleep. Last night, I had stayed up way too long playing on my computer. I opened my front door just in time to catch the Fed Ex delivery guy, as he was climbing back into his truck. He came back, handed me a large white, Fed Ex envelope, and had me sign for it.
By now my head was really throbbing, so I searched for the bottle of aspirins. There were still a couple left, so I downed them with water, and headed back to bed to see if I could catch some more shuteye.
Less than two hours later, I woke to a ringing in my head. This time it was the telephone. A secretary, from some darned law firm, whose name I didn’t quite catch was on the phone. She was asking me if I had reviewed the contents of the Fed Ex package, and I told her I hadn’t opened it yet. She asked me if I could possibly take the time to look over the contents and call her back. I felt like telling her to take a bus out of town, preferably with a one-way ticket, but I refrained myself.
I did feel a lot better with the additional two hours of sleep, and my headache had pretty much gone, so I ripped open the Fed Ex package. Inside was a large brown envelope. I ripped it open, and found a letter, as well as a smaller white envelope. I scanned the letter. It was from the law firm of Eggers, Owens, Smith and Baulieu. I guess that is what the girl on the phone had tried to tell me. The law firm’s letter was a cover letter, asking me to please read the letter inside the white envelope. This envelope was addressed to me, and I ripped it open. I brought my eyes to the Dear S4E that was written at the top of the page, and I almost went into apoplectic shock. There are only six people in this world that know me by my real name, as well as my internet name, and I certainly did not recognize this persons name as anyone I could possibly have known. But, as I read the letter, I began to realize that there was one other person who knew both my names, but I had not known her name at all. I gradually connected the blanks, and I came to the conclusion that the writer of this letter was none other than “Myodisc Carole”.
I started to feel queasy as I saw the statement that if I were reading this letter, it would be because Myodisc Carole had died. I had been under the assumption that Carole was a phony, an Internet persona so to speak. I had felt this right from our very first communication, and nothing had given me any reason to believe that she actually was who and what she said she was. I had played along with her for at least three years. I had given her all sorts of advice, about life, and such. I had disclosed all sorts of things about myself that on reflection I really shouldn’t have done. One day I decided that the game had to end, as I was spending way too much time on a phony non-entity. So, I told her that she could either reveal the truth about herself, or I was ending our correspondence. She chose not to reveal anything, and even though I had made the decision, I felt hollow inside for many months. I knew she was a phony, but in my heart I wanted her to reveal the truth, so that we could continue on a legitimate basis. If she wanted to pretend that she was a young girl with a –24D prescription who actually was proud to wear myodiscs, I was more than willing to go along with it. I just couldn’t accept the lies as the heart of our relationship. So, the relationship had ended, and later on I found a number of lies perpetrated by her on the Internet. I learned that she also had an amputee fantasy, and was continuing her charade on the Internet with this as well.
But now this letter was the revelation that I had wanted and gave me her real name, and where she had lived. A couple of years, after she had graduated, I had gone to the school where she was supposed to have been a student, and I had obtained a copy of the school yearbook, and searched the whole yearbook to no avail. And now here it was, right in front of me. This was a goal I never thought I would attain. But I was deeply saddened to learn that she was dead, as I now would never have a chance to tell her how much she had meant to me for a period of my life, where I myself was coming out to a group of people on the Internet. She was the first to read my stories, and while she didn’t edit any of them, I was able to receive a lot of positive feedback from her. And, until this day, I had not known for sure if she was really a she, or was a he pretending to be a she.
The next day found me searching the Internet for the lowest priced plane fare to a city in the Midwest. I won’t name the city, but will tell you that it is on a large river that flows through the heart of the Midwest. I booked a midweek flight, and planned to return the following week. I then booked this time off work, forgoing a week of my two weeks holidays on what I hoped was not a wild goose chase.
The letter started off apologizing for the many lies that she had told me, and the embellishment of those lies. Carole was no young lady of 18, but rather was a 55 year-old mother of twins, who were now in their late 20’s and married. And surprise, surprise she did not wear myodiscs with a –24D prescription. She went on to explain that she had developed a fetish for eyeglasses when she was a teenager, and she had obtained a pair of weak minus glasses and had started wearing them. She was able through bumping, to increase her real prescription up to a –5D. Unfortunately she had been diagnosed with breast cancer when she was only 48. Treatment had apparently been successful, but her husband had left her during this period. It was at this time that she discovered Eyescene, and she came onto Eyescene pretending to be an 18-year old high myope. She was pretty sure that I knew that she was not who she said she was, but it gave her a thrill to be writing about life as a very high myope teenager. She apologized for not accepting my ultimatum, and coming clean with me, but she told me that she was falling in love with me, and she didn’t want to destroy my life with my wife and family, even though my marriage did fall apart shortly thereafter anyway. And, her amputee fetish was a result of having lost her breast to the cancer, although she was not nearly as serious about the amputee part as she let on. The letter went on to tell me that thanks to the advice I had given her about glasses over contacts she had been able to fulfill her glasses fantasies. And apparently she was not short of money, as she told me that she had a secret collection of contacts, and glasses to wear over them that numbered well over 200 pairs. This was the reason for the letter. If I was willing to go to her home, and find her secret stash of glasses, I would be able to do with them as I wished. It was her fervent wish not to have her children find out about their mother’s secret life and fantasies.
It was the postscript, however, that did me in. “PS: S4E, you may wonder why I didn’t destroy my collection of glasses before I died. Lord knows, I had the best of intentions, and I might have actually done so in the few days I have before I die, but I am so weak now that I just don’t think I can do it. And before I got this sick, I just couldn’t bear to part with any of them. They brought me so much happiness!” Boy, did I know about that feeling. I also have tried to cut my collection back many times. And I actually succeeded last year. I am now down to 390 pairs from 407. Unfortunately, there were far more pairs that I couldn’t bear to part with, than ones I could.
I arrived in the city and rented a car for the week. I went to the offices of the law firm, and was greeted by a very attractive middle-aged lady who was wearing a pair of glasses that looked to have been made to my personal specifications. They were small, dark red frames, what they call “cats eyes” with very thick lenses. I estimated the far sides of the lenses to be near 1 inch. As I looked at her, I thought, she must be very nearsighted. This lady, who was the Executive Secretary to the lawyer that handled Carole’s affairs, was also extremely attractive looking, and I would have been willing to forgo the task at hand to have been able to take the time to get to know her better. She handed me a key to Carole’s house, along with a map with nicely written directions. The lawyer’s knew that it was their client’s wishes that I be given access to her home, but they “could not allow me to remove any of the contents.” This was going to be a fine kettle of fish. How was I going to find the collection, and spirit it away without the lawyers knowing. As I was leaving the law firm, the lawyer that was Carole’s lawyer came over to talk to me.
I wondered if Carole had picked this lawyer because he wore glasses with very strong minus lenses. They looked to be almost strong and thick enough to have been myodiscs, if they had not been made in a very hi-index lens material.
The lawyer said, “I know from my client’s instructions that you are to find some items of no monetary value, and remove them from the premises prior to anyone else being allowed to enter and catalogue the effects. She told me that it would be an embarrassment for these items to come to light in front of her family. She also stated in her instructions that you are very trustworthy, and that you are to be allowed to do this task without any supervision. All I can tell you is that you cannot remove anything of value. Can you promise me this?” he asked.
“I most certainly can,” I replied, and I set off to find the house.
The house was a beautiful, older 2-story home, built around the end of the Second World War, in a subdivision of similar homes. I entered, and opened some windows to air out that musty smell. My friend, who I still think of as Carole, was actually named Nancy, Nancy O’Donnell. In her letter she had left me some clues to orient me with the house, before I could discover the meaning of the clues.
I went upstairs, and looked over the rooms. There were 3 bedrooms, all with closets, and a fairly large bathroom. As I looked around I had the feeling that there was something wrong with the room dimensions. I paced one of the bedrooms off, and then went into the hall, and paced off the hall. Then I paced off the other bedroom that was next to the first room. The hall was almost eight feet longer than the bedrooms. I checked again, and found I had forgotten about the closets. But then I discovered that the closets, which were actually very deep, were back to back, and they didn’t go the whole length of the room. There was a space of at least 6 x 8 ft that wasn’t accounted for.
I began my search in the master bedroom, and after a couple of hours, I was forced to give up. I had examined the closets, and I pushed on the walls, to no avail. But, on examining the cedar paneling on the end wall of one of the closets, I thought I spotted some scratches. I knew that there had to be some form of locking mechanism, but what could it be. Then I found it. There was a board that looked to be fastened to the wall, and this board held the closet rod, as well as a couple of robe hooks. I screwed the robe hooks out of the board, and when they were out almost an inch, I could feel the whole wall come free. I slid the wall sideways, back behind the wall for the other closet, and I was in a very small room.
Down one whole wall were the display racks that were found in optical boxes, with the pegs filled with glasses. But, these glasses were unlike the ones in an optical store, as every pair of glasses here had lenses in them. And, what was really neat was that each row of glasses had a different color backing. I figured that this was a method that Carole, no I mean Nancy, had used to keep track of the different prescriptions. She was far more organized than I had ever been. At one end of the tiny room was a desk, with a computer on it. I looked through the desk drawers, finding Nancy’s contact lens collection in one of the larger drawers. I then booted up the computer, and sure enough, the colors of the glasses were apparently correlated with the colors of the dots on the bottom of the contact lens cases.
I spent the rest of the day in an optical obsessive never-never land. Nancy even had an auto refractor so that she could fine-tune the contacts with the glasses she wore over them. I found the listings on her computer that gave the prescriptions of the different colors. However, the contact lenses that Nancy wore to do her GOC were of no use to me, as the base curve, and the diameter were wrong for me.
I locked everything up, and I went out for a nice dinner. I stopped at a Safeway on my way back, and picked up a number of boxes to pack everything up in. Then I went off to bed. I slept fitfully, and I had some dreams. I suppose I was really wishing that I had gotten the chance to know Nancy in real life. There are only a handful of people in this world that are as deep into GOC as Nancy and I were, and my heart felt hollow knowing that we had lost one of us.
The next morning I saved everything from Nancy’s computer by burning them onto CD’s. And when I was looking for all of the GOC related information I found a letter to me from Nancy. The letter read:
“If you have gotten this far Specs4ever, you are in the process of doing everything I asked you. However, I have one more favor to ask. I know that you are recently divorced from your wife, and I also know that you are a decent man. In the red section there are a number of pairs of glasses that I would like you to give to Brenda, the secretary to David Owens at my law firm. These glasses were made for me to wear with Brenda’s –18D prescription. I think that it would be nice if someone who needs that prescription in real life could wear them. Also, I would suggest that you yourself might consider asking Brenda for a date. She was married for a while to a man who was not very nice to her, and she deserves better.
Well, I certainly was interested. Brenda was the secretary that I first met and she indeed was attractive, and had to wear these lovely glasses with a –18D prescription. But I would have to know her for a while to see if we were compatible. As much as I like glasses, I have to also like the lady who wears them.
When I had everything packed in my car, I took Nancy’s collection to a freight company. I piled the boxes on a pallet, used some plastic shrink-wrap, and shipped the package back home to myself, with instructions not to deliver this for a week.
Then I went back to the house. Nancy’s computer was wiped clean, so I reloaded the operating system, and put some of her innocuous personal stuff back on so that her kids wouldn’t be suspicious. Then I moved the desk and chair out into the bedroom. I took the entire optical store racking down from the wall, and then I rebuilt the wall in the closet, so that it matched the wall in the other closet, and it no longer slid. Then I opened up the little room into the master bedroom. This work took me the rest of the week.
Finally, after lunch on Friday, I returned to the law firm. I gave Brenda her package of glasses, and had a very long conversation with her. I asked her to go to dinner with me that evening, and she accepted. Then I was ushered into David Owens office, and he and I had quite a chat. I do believe from what I gleaned from the conversation that he and Nancy had been intimate, and when I left, he thanked me very much for what I had done. I wondered what he knew about his former client’s obsession with strong glasses, and I concluded that he probably had a pretty good idea of what Nancy found attractive in him.
I had dinner with Brenda that evening, and we had a very good time. Brenda put on one of the glasses from Nancy’s collection. In addition to having to wear very strong, thick glasses, Brenda was very charming and had a stunning figure with nice breasts and long graceful legs. She had a sweet voice and smile, dark auburn hair, and a peaches and cream complexion that seemed to shine. Just before dinner, she took her glasses off to clean them, and I saw a pair of beautiful light brown eyes. I knew that they must be nearly blind without her glasses, but her eyes also seemed to shine. I will indeed be returning to this city to see her again.
Specs4ever, from a story theme by Andy, with editing by Aliena