by Gail Bridges
“Angie,” he whispered, looking into my eyes, “am I your friend?”
“Yes, Valerian. You are.” I smiled at him.
He smiled back. “Thank you. Angie, do you, as user of this Tool, invite me to play?”
“I do.”
“Good. Then we shall!” Valerian paused for a moment, then moved to the next person in line. “Logan, your turn. This is the Storybuilder. Do you want to play?”
Logan answered the questions affirmatively. Then Geoffrey did.
Valerian nodded. “Good. Do you—Angie, Logan and Geoffrey—wish to play with each other?”
“Yes, we do,” we answered in perfect unison.
Mount Vesuvius rumbled. Lava boiled and bubbled. I looked at my chest, at the place between my breasts and over my breastbone, knowing the skin there had taken on a rosy hue. It always did.
“We’re ready to start, then.” Valerian grinned. “This is going to be fucking awesome!”
I don’t think that was supposed to be part of the script.
“Fucking right,” said Geoffrey.
Still holding the necklace in his hand, Valerian breathed on the capsule. “Watch this,” he said.
A blue light flashed inside its mysterious depths, then a violet one. Then ruby red and scarlet. And orange. In another moment, the capsule was alight with color.
I let out a long breath. “You have confetti lights on your face!”
He gazed at the capsule in his hand, his eyes lowered, his face astonishingly alive with moving flecks of light, an abstract version of himself. I couldn’t take my eyes from his otherworldly face. The artist in me said, paint him, paint him, paint him! The lover in me said, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!
I just about knocked myself over, I was breathing so hard.
Valerian looked up. “Steady there, Angie.”
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
“Now all of you breathe on your capsules.”
I forced the volcano down, just enough that I could function. Then I lifted my hands to my mouth and breathed on my pendant. I sat back on my heels and watched it come to life, marveling at the lights that danced and twirled inside.
“Holy Mary,” breathed Logan.
“Amazing,” I whispered.
“There’s more!” Valerian said, holding his capsule in the center of our little group. “Touch yours to mine. All of them. Like that. Yes. Now wait a moment.”
I stifled a gasp as the four capsules…how can I describe it? They noticed each other. We watched, transfixed, as they began a synchronized light show far beyond anything we’d yet seen. Wands of colored light streaked across our faces, our nude bodies, the walls, the fire, the ceiling.
Valerian, wide-eyed, whistled softly. “It’s never been this dazzling!”
“Oh?” said Geoffrey.
“It likes you!”
We liked it too. Our own private fireworks show.
After a few minutes the show settled down to beautiful, as opposed to its former state of breathtaking.
“Okay,” said Valerian, “let’s get comfortable! Time to have some fun.” He lay down on the carpet and patted the ground next to him. “Snuggle with me? Let’s get close. Really close.”
We lay down in a tight row, holding hands, with our feet facing the fire and our heads almost touching the loveseat. I was in the middle, with Valerian on one side and Logan on the other. Geoffrey was at the other end, next to Valerian. I wriggled and squirmed, getting closer to the long, warm bodies on either side of me as they inched toward me. Heaven! I threw my leg over Valerian’s and we played footsie. On my other side, Logan pulled our clasped hands onto his belly. My hand grazed the very tip of his erection. He turned his face to me. It was flushed. His eye twitched. He opened his lips slightly but no words came out.
I flicked his cock with my pinkie. “You want it first, loverboy?”
He grinned. “Is that a promise?”
Valerian spoke up, silencing the banter. “Okay. I’ve grabbed a handful of condoms. They’ll go with us into storyland. The capsules are primed and ready to go—they’ll generate the Storybuilder. Don’t take them off or you’ll be cast out. Shall we start?”
Cast out? What did that mean? We didn’t say anything, just stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Then get ready for the ride of your life!”
Chapter Nineteen
The Storybuilder.
It was amazing. How did Mr. Abiba come up with these things?
The four of us lay there in the firelight, trembling with excitement. Valerian started talking. We listened, twitching, trying not to move too much because…well, we’d waited all this time for a Tool, why jump the gun?
“It’s a story,” he said, “we need a setting. Who has a setting?”
Logan squeezed my hand. Gazing into my eyes, he licked his lips.
“Come now,” prompted Valerian, “someone has an idea, surely?”
“Um,” said Geoffrey, “how about the Wild West?”
The combined lights emanating from our pendants rose up again, swirling, trying to coalesce. Vague shapes formed and disintegrated around us. Entire landscapes came and went. Was that a desert I saw briefly where the stone wall above the fireplace used to be? Was that a saguaro cactus rearing its arms where the doorway had been? Open-mouthed, I squinted and stared and turned my head this way and that, straining to see things before they faded from view. It was the same fool-your-eye magic the Invisa-Lover had employed, looking so real, so very real, as if these imaginary things were more substantial than the room we were actually in. I gaped in amazement and delight.
An ancient wooden windmill appeared, then faded away.
“This is so cool…” whispered Logan.
“Oh my god,” said Geoffrey, “I can’t wait to tell Jonathan about this…”
“The Wild West. Good,” said Valerian softly. “But we need more. Add a few details. Be specific. Someone else this time—we all have to add something.”
“A ghost town,” I said, “An old deserted silver mining town in…um…Colorado.”
“In 1895,” added Logan.
Things started to happen. The lights from our capsules flashed, then coalesced. Reality began to fade, replaced by our Storybuilder world. A derelict wagon appeared in front of our feet, mere inches away, making me flinch. A row of faded wooden buildings materialized on the other side of the wagon, connected by a boardwalk. A tumbleweed blew over us, just out of reach. In the distance were mountains. Even the air had changed. It was golden, dusty, hot, smelling of dirt and prairie grass and horse shit. How did Mr. Abiba accomplish that?
We sat up, peering around.
“I never get tired of this!” Valerian said, “Okay. We have the setting. Now for the characters. Who are we?”
Horny, I thought.
Geoffrey cleared his throat. “We get to choose?”
“Yes.”
“I’m an outlaw,” laughed Logan. “Mean, mysterious—and on a mission. To get me a woman!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, dusty black trousers, a button-down dingy white shirt, and a leather jacket covered his bare skin. He gasped in surprise.
We all did.
“This stuff is real!” he sputtered. He touched his trouser leg and rubbed it between his fingers, shaking his head in wonder. “And—ugh—it smells like I’ve been wearing it for a couple of months.”
A train whistle blew in the distance. Now there were sounds too?
Valerian grinned. “Good effects, huh? It’s what makes this Tool so fun. Who is next?”
“Me,” said Geoffrey, “I’m a prospector—a mountain man—and I’m a horny old coot. I go from place to place, looking for gold in them thar hills!” A moment later, marvelously, he was outfitted in proper mountain-man clothing. Heavy denim pants. No-nonsense shirt. Utilitarian broadcloth jacket. Suspenders. Wide-brimmed leather hat. He turned this way and that, examining himself. Then he plucked at a tear in his jeans, muttering.
Valerian looked
at me, his eyebrows raised.
My turn.
I took a breath. I wanted something interesting. Not a saloon girl, not a preacher’s wife, not a schoolteacher… Who would I be? I pondered for a moment, then made a quick decision. “Okay. My name is Running Deer,” I said, swallowing. “An Indian maiden. I am alone—and I need a man!”
Valerian rocked with laughter.
“Not what you expected, was it?” I said, elbowing him with an arm covered in softest buckskin. My eyes shot open in surprise. Buckskin! I was wearing buckskin. I examined my outfit. I wore a skirt—I could feel it, it was real—and a beautifully beaded, low-necked shirt that showed off the curve of my breasts. Not particularly historically accurate, but who cared? I lifted a moccasin-clad foot and moved it from side to side, admiring the fine stitching.
“You’re hot, Angie,” said Logan.
“My name is Running Deer, white man.”
He made a face at me.
As one, the outlaw, the mountain man and the Indian maiden turned to look at Valerian. Who would he choose to be? Valerian closed his eyes, then cleared his throat. He opened his eyes again and took a good long look at the three of us. “I am the law. I am the sheriff who has searched long and hard for that outlaw over there.” He pointed at Logan. “And by the way, I’m also in desperate need of a woman…”
Three very interested, very desperate men turned to stare at me.
A raven screeched in the distance. A cloud threw a shadow over us.
Geoffrey stood up. He looked at me, then at the darkening sky. “As the resident mountain man, I say a storm is about to catch us out in the open. Running Deer, you pretty little thing, may I escort you inside, under shelter?”
Logan swore under his breath. “Why didn’t I think of that? He gets her first?”
We all laughed.
I rose to my feet, amazed by how completely Logan’s Castle Room had transformed into a ghost town. The illusion was complete—there wasn’t anything left of Logan and Nikki’s room unless I squinted my eyes and crossed them slightly, which I didn’t want to do. Why ruin what Mr. Abiba built for us?
I tucked my arm in Geoffrey’s, and we rushed across the street, dodging hailstones.
He barreled through swinging saloon-style double doors—it was the Wild West, after all—and the others followed. It was dark inside. And empty, but for a pile of woolen blankets leaning against the far wall. Light came in through slats in the front of the room, casting surreal-looking stripes over us. Geoffrey pulled me close. “Running Deer,” he whispered, “that outlaw dude is right. You’re the purtiest thing I ever done set eyes on!”
I undid the top buttons of his shirt and buried my hands in his chest hair. My heart pounded. “Mr. mountain man—you are as furry as my totem animal, the mighty grizzly bear!” Lame response, I know, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. The circumstances being, of course, the way my head felt all fuzzy due to dire lack of blood. The missing blood was now residing in my genitals. Geoffrey the mountain man encircled me in his strong arms and kissed me. His hands rested on my butt. His erection pressed against my stomach. I moved my pelvis hard against him and heard his sharp intake of breath.
There was yelling from the other side of the room.
“Don’t listen to them,” said the mountain man, “the outlaw and the sheriff are swinging at each other. Fighting over you, I believe.”
“Oh,” I said, laughing. Then I put my hands flat against his chest and searched his face. “Geoffrey, do you really want to do this?”
He pulled me close and nestled his chin on top of my head. “I do. This place—the inn—is doing something to me, Angie. It’s making me see possibilities. I’m the same person as always, just curious.”
“Like I was curious with Zenith.”
“Exactly. It’s in the air.”
I believed him. He kissed me again, and I decided curiosity was a very good thing indeed.
“Look at those two,” the mountain man said after another delicious kiss.
The outlaw and the sheriff had come to some sort of agreement. They were in each other’s arms, feeling each other up. Good. They were occupied for the moment.
I pulled the mountain man over to the stack of blankets. I tugged off the top one, spread it on the dusty floor and got to my knees in front of him. Finally, some real action. Almost an hourafter my blood had first begun to boil. All that rule-making and planning had been fun, really it had, but now it was time to do the deed. Time for some skin-on-skin action. With shaking hands, I worked at the buttons on the mountain man’s trousers. No zippers—Mr. Abiba had thought of everything. “Damn,” I said, shaking my head. “Who needs six buttons on a fly?”
Finally I got his pants off. I waited for him to make the next move.
He kneeled in front of me, joining me on the blanket, and I lifted my arms so he could pull my beaded blouse over my head, leaving me with nothing but the pendant falling between my breasts and my yellowish leather skirt. He put those wide hands of his on my breasts and closed his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he said. Then he leaned down and took one hard, erect nipple in his mouth.
My back arched.
“Tasty,” he said, still sucking, his words slurred and garbled. His hand worked its way under my skirt and his fingers walked slowly up my thigh. “Well, well, well,” he whispered, releasing my nipple, “it appears that Indian maidens don’t wear any underwear.”
My breath came in soft puffs as he slowly, gently explored me. I spread my knees to give him more room. His hand cupped my mound, fitting as perfectly as it had fit over my breast, warm and confident. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, “sopping, in fact. Know what? That totally turns me on!”
“Me too, me too!”
His erection, surrounded by wild black hair, pointed directly at me, an invitation. I took it in my hands, not doing much of anything, just holding it and maybe squeezing it a little, waiting, because the mountain man wasn’t finished with me yet.
Not by a long shot.
I bit my lip as a finger trailed its way over my mound, found my cleft and moved inward, following the path of least resistance—a prospector looking for gold. He found it. His finger settled on my nub, then began to make languorous circles. I sucked in my breath and looked down at the arm buried under my skirt. The muscles rippled under his skin as he worked his magic on me. I almost had an apex just from watching.
I was an Indian maiden in a ghost town in the Wild West, and a gay mountain man had his hand up my skirt…holy shit. Just wait ’til I told Josh about this.
I almost had another apex.
This man knew what he was doing…even though he didn’t.
“What’s this I’ve found?” he whispered, kissing the top of my head, “could it be the elusive, never-before-seen clitoris?”
I gasped.
He flicked my clit…then quicker, and quicker, and quicker… Oh my lord! Until my legs quivered so hard that I thought I would topple over on top of him.
“Well, is it?” he asked.
“Yes, it is! Yes!”
“Ah. I thought as much. And this…” His finger left my clit and wandered in a tortuously indirect trail toward my vagina. Slowly—very slowly. The man was killing me. “What is this? What have we here? A cave? I’m a mountain man, and we mountain men adore caves!”
I moaned as he carefully slid his finger into me, investigating my depths. I gasped and trembled—oh god, oh god—and spread my knees as his finger plunged ever deeper. I held his thick erection in my hands, massaging it, wanting it, wanting it in me.
“Tell me when,” he whispered.
“Geoffrey,” I gasped, saying his real name, using the same words that Zenith had said to me, “you’re a goddamn natural! You can fuck me now—see how wet I am?” I sucked in a ragged breath. “Oh god, I want you so bad!”
His finger withdrew.
He kissed me. Then he shoved my buckskin skirt up around my waist, expos
ing me to the cool air, and helped me to lie down on my back. I squirmed, but it wasn’t from the scratchy wool blanket. He stood over me, naked, holding his erection, his feet planted on either side of my ankles, stripes of light from the slatted walls falling on him in brilliant, abstract bands. He was beautiful. Striking. Otherworldly. This little tableau was yet another vision I would have to paint someday.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded.
He grinned. He lowered his big hairy self on my mostly naked body and I almost apexed right then and there.
My god, what it did to me!
I spread my knees, lifting them, opening myself for him.
And then, in a single, mighty thrust, that huge cock was in me, filling me, making me clutch at his ass and making me push my hips up to meet his, making me forget that I’d ever had sex with anyone else.
He buried his face in my neck, moaning. “Angie…Angie…Angie!”
Oh, the hairy bliss of it!
He rode me like a man possessed.
And I rode himlike a woman possessing her man.
I took handfuls of his chest hair—that hair! Then all at once—oh god! I was shuddering and writhing and shouting, and…apex!
So soon, so soon, the familiar wild surge of molten lava rose inside me, expanding and flowing and infusing every cell of my body. I grabbed at his ass, riding the wave, knowing he was having his own very special apex.
Special indeed.
Phenomenal.
He collapsed on top of me. Then we lay there together, panting, still clutching each other, his cock still inside me. I threw my arms around his back, hugging him tight, enjoying his man-weight on my bare chest. It had been one of the quickest fucks of my life but I didn’t mind. Fast was sweet. Fast was intense. Sometimes it was exactly what a girl needed. I smiled up at my mountain man, content.
“Thank you for that, Running Deer,” he murmured, kissing my neck. “I can’t wait to tell Jonathan.”
I patted the small of his back, smiling. “I know, I know.”
He pulled out of me and I felt empty, alone—just me again. I was just Angie, by herself again, no longer sharing my body. My least favorite part of sex, so necessary and unavoidable, so final. I’d never get used to it. I scooted out from under him and we rearranged ourselves, cuddling on the blanket. He threw an arm over me and pulled me close, cupping my breast in his warm hand. It felt nice.
