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by Desconhecido

  I plan to scale those peaks again, one day soon.

  Maybe I’ll find her there.

  Maybe, though, she never existed at all.

  My Doll

  Anna woke me up with kisses on my stomach. I watched her in my half-groggy state as she took my cock in one hand and teased the tip with her pink tongue before she slipped it into her mouth. She never once took her beautiful blue eyes away from my face. She enjoyed seeing the pleasure she brought me.

  I tangled my fingers in her silky shoulder-length hair and moved her up and down on my cock. She stroked the lower half of my shaft with one hand, moving it in unison with her hot mouth, and she worked her tongue around the head of my cock, concentrating especially around the sensitive spot just under the tip.

  She came up and straddled me, raising her bottom as she reached back to lift my cock and sit on it. Her knees pressed into the bed on both sides of me and she leaned up, dangling her beautiful breasts in my face. Her nipples were dark brown and as hard as pebbles.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice sweet and slightly hoarse the way it always was first thing in the morning.

  “Morning, doll,” I said.

  That was my pet name for her. She was my doll. Beautiful and fragile.

  She slowly began to ride me. I didn’t have to do a thing. She moved up and down, slow and lazy. She worked her hips back and forth, bringing me close to the edge and then letting me slip back again. Finally she took me to the edge and beyond. I felt my cock jerk inside her as I reached a climax that was almost religious in its intensity.

  We lay together for a long while afterward. She kissed me, got out of bed, and padded naked into the bathroom. I followed her. We made love again in the shower, her legs around my waist as I pressed her against the tile wall.

  We dressed for the day. She had several errands she needed to run. She kissed me and told me to get some work done. She was always telling me to work. She was my driving force.

  I’m a writer. Cheap paperback westerns with less plot than a Geico commercial. Nothing literary, I know, but I make a fairly good living at it.

  I poured a strong cup of espresso, carried it up to my office, and sat at my desk in front of the old Underwood I still used to type my manuscripts. I hadn’t yet, nor did I have any intention of entering the computer age.

  It was October 31st. Halloween had always been my favorite holiday. Not an official holiday for most, at least as far as the working world was concerned, but my favorite holiday nonetheless.

  This particular Halloween was a true nightmare.

  By mid- afternoon, I had managed three chapters of my latest plotless western. I almost ignored the knock on the door, but there was something about it that seemed insistent. Two police officers stood on the porch in the crisp fall chill and told me my wife had been killed in an automobile accident.

  * * * *

  Imagine, if you can, having someone reach into your chest and rip your bleeding, still-beating heart out and then telling you that you are sentenced to spend eternity walking around with the void left behind.

  Can you feel it?

  I sure as fuck felt it.

  I did nothing for the rest of the year, nor did I do anything for the first four months of the following year. Nothing, that is, unless you count drinking myself to sleep every night as an accomplishment. I didn’t write, I didn’t go out, except on rare occasions to purchase food and plenty of scotch, and I didn’t even sleep in the bed I had shared with my wife.

  I did nothing but drink.

  My agent, Kyle Weathers, called me quite often, at first to offer his condolences and his support, then to beg me to get back to work.

  “Writers can’t afford to take time off,” he told me. “People forget about you. They move on. You get left in the dust.”

  And then, of course, he added the part about my being under contract and obligated to turn out two titles a year.

  I told him to go to hell.

  * * * *

  The one- year anniversary of Anna’s death came and went. I continued drinking on a daily basis. I sat in the dark that night and tried to imagine her with me again. I would have given anything to have her with me again. I would have taken my life if I’d had some guarantee she’d be waiting for me on the other side.

  The holidays went by in a blur. Another new year came waltzing in without my blessing. One morning in April I went up to my office. I don’t know what drew me to it that day, but I went inside. Sitting on my desk was the manuscript I’d been working on the day I got the news of the accident.

  I sat down in front of the typewriter and rolled a blank page into it. I stared for a long time at that blank page. The urge to write was fighting to break the surface. The urge to finish the manuscript Anna had told me to work on the day she died was trying to take control of me.

  I tried to type, but my fingers wouldn’t move. They hovered over the keys, motionless, my mind as blank as the sheet of paper.

  I wasn’t ready.

  Not yet.

  That night I didn’t sleep on the couch. I went to sleep in the bed I had shared with my wife. It felt strange but comforting. The sheets had not been changed since Anna’s accident. The pillows were the same. If I closed my eyes and imagined hard enough, I could still smell her on them. It was the first good night’s sleep I’d had in more than a year. It appeared that maybe it was time to move on.

  The next morning I sat at the typewriter and again stared at a blank page. This time the words began to flow. I typed for over an hour before I went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

  I grabbed a half-empty bottle of scotch from the cabinet over the sink and poured it down the drain. I poured the coffee and went back to my office to write some more. I chain smoked and wrote. By the time I turned in for the night, I had completed the entire first draft of the manuscript.

  * * * *

  I started writing again on a regular basis, saving my ass with my agent and my publisher. I also started dating again.

  Nothing heavy, mind you. I wasn’t interested in anything of substance on that front. There was no way I’d find a woman who could fill my emotional needs the way Anna had. I stuck pretty much with one-night stands, fucking beautiful women I met at book signings mostly, having a roll in the hay with a woman I’d meet at one of the frequent parties thrown by my publisher.

  There were plenty of women both willing and eager to wrap long legs around my waist and meet every thrust of my cock. There were plenty of women willing to lick and kiss me, plenty of women who would take me in their mouths and suck me until I was finished. Those women seemed to wait for me at every turn, and I was more than happy to take advantage of them.

  But only for a while.

  Sexual flings are fun, but the one-night stands began to inhibit me. Regardless of what many women claim in the beginning, most want more than they let on. Sex is fine for them at first, but then they look for more. I didn’t have the time or the inclination to deal with women who required anything more from me than detached sex. I stopped dating altogether. All it did was put a damper on my ability to work.

  I threw myself into my writing again. My secret lover, always there when I need comfort in the night or a friendly face in the morning. My writing demanded very little of me and had always served me well.

  Sexual urges still came. I took care of myself, masturbating usually with a pair of my wife’s panties. I still had her things. Her bras and panties, her nighties, her socks, stockings, and shoes, all still tucked away in their proper places.

  I would close my eyes and take my erection in a firm grip, stroking it slowly, conjuring up the image of Anna, naked and wanton. My thoughts of her ran rampant. I would see her in my mind’s eye, so beautiful and vivacious, her pale blue eyes and thick black hair, the heavy fullness of her breasts, the curve of her back and the smooth rise of her ass… those visions never failed to arouse me.

  * * * *

  October 31st, the second ann
iversary of my wife’s death, I woke up early and made coffee. I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette and enjoy the crisp coolness of Autumn. There was a very large package leaning against the door frame. I found no return address and no identifying marks of any kind.

  I brought the package inside. I didn’t open it right away. I was curious, of course, but a gut instinct told me to prepare myself for what might be inside.

  When I finally did tear the package open, I thought I was going to faint dead away. Lying in the box, surrounded by a soft velvet wrapping, was one of those sex dolls you see advertised in the adult magazines.

  But this wasn’t just any sex doll.

  This one looked exactly like my dead wife.

  It was uncanny. She was made of realistic material. Her hair was full, soft, and shiny, her pale blue eyes looked moist and soulful, and skin felt warm to the touch. Looking at her unnerved me. It was how I imagined she might have looked in her casket, except I hadn’t been able to see her that way. Due to the nature of the accident, Anna’s casket had been closed.

  I was about to close the box, unable to take this sick prank any longer, but Anna’s eyes seemed as if to plead. I looked at her for a long moment, forgetting that what I saw before me was nothing more than a replica, and then I leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

  I went to bed that night with Anna quite naturally on my mind. I dreamed of her. In the dream we made love. We were on the beach, lying in the sand, hidden by a cove. I tasted the salt of the sea on her lips. She locked her legs around my waist and pulled me deep inside her…

  … and then I woke up.

  My bedroom was dark. It was raining outside. A flash of lightning and the crack of thunder startled me. I could hear something I recognized immediately as the clack of typewriter keys. My heart nearly seized in my chest.

  I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and stood on shaky legs. I headed down the hallway, moving cautiously to my office. The door was closed. No light shone beneath the door. Someone was not only typing on my typewriter, they were doing it in the dark.

  I took hold of the door knob. My palm was slick with sweat. I turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open, then I reached into the room and ran my hand along the wall, searching for the light switch.

  The typing stopped.

  I flipped the switch, flooding the room with soft yellow light. There was no one at the desk. The typewriter was silent. A piece of paper had been rolled into the platen. I read the words that had been typed onto the paper: I ask you now to close your eyes, if you dare to fantasize. You will hear the gentle sigh of a doll with pale blue eyes.

  I read those four lines of text again and again, trying to make sense of them. Who’d written them? What did they mean?

  I turned away from the typewriter and saw her sitting in a corner of my office. She was wearing one of Anna’s nighties, a short see-through black number.

  And I swear she smiled at me.

  I grabbed the doll up and carried her back downstairs. The box was still where I’d left it. I tossed the doll inside and closed the lid. I planned to get rid of her first thing in the morning. She looked like Anna, true enough, but there was something unnatural about having her there.

  I went back to bed. Sleep came gradually and fitfully. I dreamed of Anna again, dancing for me the way she often had when she was alive, wearing a thin negligee and panties, her hips swaying from one side to the other, hands behind her neck and on her hips and behind her back, grinding to the beat of old time rock ‘n’ roll. In my dream I tried to touch her, but every time I reached out, she slipped away from me, fluid and quick…

  … and then an explosion of thunder startled me from my sleep…

  … to find her standing at the foot of my bed, a shadow wrapped in shadows.

  Another flash of lightning and she removed the nightie, her dark hair catching on it as she brought it over her head, her breasts jiggling with the movement.

  “Anna…?”

  The next flash of lightning illuminated her standing right beside the bed, reaching out to me.

  It wasn’t Anna, it was the doll.

  She was alive.

  The mattress shifted as she climbed into bed with me. She ran her hand over my across my chest, over my stomach, and slipped it beneath the covers. I felt her fingers slip under the elastic band of my briefs and encircle my erection.

  “This is part of the dream?” I asked, but I knew the answer to the question. This was no dream. She was here, warm and real and alive.

  She bent down and kissed me. Her lips were full and soft, her breath tasted sweet on my lips. She began to jerk me off, a nice slow rhythm, her fingers tightening with just the right pressure, her thumb concentrated on the sensitive spot just below my glands. She knew exactly what to do as only Anna would know how to do it.

  She explored my mouth with her tongue. I sucked it, I took it as deep as possible, I tried to bring it inside me, tried to make it part of me. It was a kiss I never wanted to end.

  When the kiss did finally end, Anna made her way to my chest. She teased my nipples with her tongue. She licked and nibbled them. She worked her way down, planting wet little kisses on my stomach, and then she pushed the cover away and straddled me, slowly backing up until her hard nipples dragged over my thighs.

  She grabbed my briefs and pulled them down, exposing my hard-on. I watched as she teased the head of it with her tongue and then took it in one hand and brought it into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head of it and sucked at the same time. The warm, wet sensation drove me mad. She went down further, taking more of my dick into her mouth. It seemed as if she were sucking and licking and nibbling all at once.

  She raised up and took off her panties. She held them against my face and I inhaled the heady scent I knew so well-the scent of Anna’s pussy.

  I slid my hands over her waist, over the curve of her bottom, lifting her up as she reached back and brought the tip of my cock to rest between the soft, plump, and very damp lips of her pussy. She didn’t put it in yet. She rubbed the head of my cock between those lips, caressing it against the silky-slick folds.

  “Do you want me?” she asked, her voice breathy and full of desire.

  “Yes, I want you,” I responded.

  She came down and kissed me again, her lips just touching mine, and whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Anna.”

  She slowly sat back, pressing her wet pussy down on my cock, and then she grabbed the headboard for support as she began to ride me, working her hips in slow circles, grinding back and forth, her breasts bouncing and jiggling above my face in a tempting invitation.

  I reached down and cupped her round, soft ass in my hands, squeezing my fingers into her cheeks so I could raise and lower her on my cock. I could feel the lips of her pussy against my fingertips, I felt my cock slick and hard as it moved in and out of her. I brushed the puckered entrance of her asshole and then slipped it into her, exploring that tight, hot little region.

  She rode me hard, bouncing on my cock, panting and moaning. The cheeks of her ass slammed down on me, my finger plunged deeper into her tight bottom. She let go of the headboard and fell on top of me, covering my face with her tits. I caught one dark nipple in my mouth and sucked hard on it, bathing it with my tongue. I did the same to the other one, working my way back and forth between them, sucking and nibbling, teasing the rubbery tips with my tongue…

  She raised up suddenly and lay back on the mattress, keeping my cock inside her as she did. She pulled her knees back and I grabbed her by the ankles, lifting her feet high in the air, spreading her legs wide apart. The lips of her pussy clung to my cock and folded in and out with every stroke.

  I reached down and pressed my thumb to her clit. I manipulated it, rubbed it with a concentrated circular motion until Anna, my doll, began to gasp and pant and slam her hips up at me to meet every thrust of my cock.

  “I’m coming,” she said, barely getting the wor
ds out between gasps.

  She pulled her ankles free of my grasp and locked her legs around my waist, pulling me deep inside her. I pumped faster, spurred on Anna’s fast-approaching climax. Her body shook beneath me. The slick, hot walls of her pussy tightened around my cock. Her muscles contracted, caressing the length of my cock, coaxing me to climax just as Anna reached her own. My cock jerked inside the tight confines of her cunt and unleashed a thick and creamy torrent of pent-up passion. I pulled out of her, releasing a flood that left the sheets soaking wet.

  We didn’t stop there. I pulled her to her hands and knees and entered her from behind, reaching under her to play with her tits, I twisted and tugged her nipples and slammed my cock into her cum-flooded pussy.

  We made love in the shower, we went down to the kitchen and I fucked her on the kitchen table. We went outside and had sex in the backyard as the wind howled, thunder cracked, and lightning fractured the night sky.

  Back inside the house, Anna went to her knees and took my cock in her mouth. She used one hand to stroke my shaft and the other to massage my balls. She tightened her mouth around the head of my cock and sucked. I closed my eyes and let her take me to the edge one more time, filling her mouth with the last bit of cum I was able to manage that night.

  We took a long shower together. I ran soapy hands over her tits and slipped soapy fingers into her pussy. She soaped my cock and balls and worked up a thick lather. We stood under the hot spray of water and rinsed off, then we got out and spent some time drying one another with a thick, fluffy towel.

  We went to bed naked. She snuggled up beside me. I draped one arm across her midriff and cradled her head against my shoulder.

  “Will you be going away?” I asked.

  “I’ll always be with you,” she promised.

  We kissed.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you too, doll,” I told her.

  Those were the last words I ever spoke to my dead wife…