“That counseling job must pay well,” Jonas mumbles from the table.
“It does.”
“I’ll pay you back. Those things are pricey.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be worth it if you pitch Jenner.”
“Because you want me?”
I chuckle and take a bite of cereal. “Yeah, that’s it. I want you.”
“A guy can wish.”
The door-pulse hums and I head to answer it. The Hangover Zapper rests on the front stoop. I pick it up and wander back into the kitchen. I place it against the back of Jonas’s neck and press the on switch. A soothing trill begins, building in intensity. Blue light emanates from the Zapper. It spreads across Jonas’s head and moves through his body. It pulses orange when it finds muscles and veins that are tense, full of toxins, and sluggish. The light lingers until it’s restored to blue. Then, it seeks out the next place in need of restoration.
Within minutes, Jonas lifts his head, cocks his head left and right, and sighs. “Thanks, V. I can move again.” He regards me with his beautiful blue, hooded eyes. His mouth parts slightly and his wicked tongue slowly draws across his teeth, grazing his upper lip. Once again, there’s that openness. It’s like he’s inviting me in, without pressure. Letting me see him. Laying his cards on the table, face up. Letting me see the sweet spot, that space inside that only gets revealed through intimacy.
It’s a disconcerting, beguiling expression. I’m starting to feel like a trout in a lake of possibilities, closing my mouth over that one juicy morsel attached to a hook. Stop it. For me to take the bait means having to become intimate and transparent myself. Not going to happen. Good thing there’s still time to open up, let go the hook and slip away. I look away. “Hangover gone?”
“Not entirely, but it’s manageable. These things…” He gestures to the device on the table, breaking eye contact. “Aren’t that good. They can’t erase stupidity, only ease it.” He looks up at me, smiling. “Much better.”
I chew thoughtfully on my protein-and-grain snacks. Food hasn’t changed much over the years. Cereal is still cereal. This one just has added syntha-protein. “Want some?” I point to my bowl.
“Yeah, thanks. Now that the hangover has subsided, my stomach is growling.”
While I retrieve his bowl, I ask, “So what will you do with Jenner? How will you boot the bitch?”
“She wants to try to work things out. I owe her that much.”
Bile spurts in the back of my throat. “You owe her? Who says?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “I do. I have a strong sense of fairness, in case you haven’t noticed. And no better possibilities have presented themselves.”
Ouch. “Oh, I’ve noticed. I see it more as you let her walk all over you.”
The look Jonas fires at me is one I’ve seldom seen. “I just want to do the right thing,” he snarls.
For a second I am taken aback. Have I pissed him off? “Easy there, I meant you no harm. I happen to care for you.”
“Care for me.” He makes air quotes.
His snapping sarcasm stings like a whip. Moisture fills my eyes. I blink and turn away.
He softens. “I know that. I want to give her a chance to explain. It’s bad enough she stepped out on me. She thinks I’ll understand if I give her the chance.”
I roll my eyes and say nothing. When I get the hum in my heart, indicating a friend is calling, I stroke my lips and step out of the kitchen, quietly open the front door and slip outside. “Hello?”
“Hey, girl, how’s that sexy hunk of man meat?”
“Hey, Magicka,” I whisper. When he gave me his number, it made sense to program it into the friend list. I had an instant warm connection with him. I slip out the front door. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I never went to bed. I’ll probably crash as soon as the drugs wear off.”
“What drugs?”
“The drugs of extreme excitement, that’s what. Oh, my, that was quite an exciting evening. First, your friend and his wife…is she soon to be his ex?”
“She’s not his wife, and no, they’re going to try to work things out.”
“Oh, my. I don’t think that’s what he wants. He was looking at you last night, girl, as sure as the moon was bright.”
I get all hot and weird inside. “We’ve been friends for years. Just good friends.”
“Huh uh. No, sir. You cannot sit there and tell me the boy only wants to be your friend. That boy had desire all over his face.”
The heat inside intensifies. I aim to redirect. My pussy is getting willful and out of control. It’s wearing me out. “Thanks for all your help. With getting him out of the restaurant, I mean.”
“That skank-ass blond was going to drill him a few new ones if I didn’t. Could you believe her? She was the one caught red-handed and she’s blaming him?”
“I know, right? And now he wants to work things out.”
“Sounds like the boy has a case of the ‘Do-the-Right-Thing Guilties.’”
“What do you mean by the ‘guilties’?”
“Oh, some men are so possessed to do the right thing they fail to notice what the right thing really is. They’re so afraid people will cast them in a poor light, they hang on to misery long after misery has left the building. It’s like they perpetuate a shell of their life instead of reaching for something better.”
I frown, trying to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“He’s clinging, girl. Afraid to step off that edge. He wants to change but is probably so wrapped up in the life he’s built with her that stepping off the edge doesn’t seem appealing. He’d rather stay safe.”
“Rather stay safe than get happy and try something new?” Himeros flashes in my head. Maybe I should take his next call.
“We all have our own rhythms, darling girl. We all move with our own sense of timing.”
“I suppose,” I say, twirling a lock of hair. “So what did you do after you got Jonas in the car?”
“Oh, my, goodness. I met up with my own sexy hunk of man meat. Mm hmm. We tripped it, stripped it, and flipped it. Hold on a second, honey.”
Murmured, hushed tones greet my ears until Magicka starts talking again.
“He’s awake, dear heart. I’m going to scoot. You and your boy take care, now, you hear? I’m signing off.”
I meander back into the house and find Jonas sitting in the kitchen, talking heatedly to someone. Sounds like a Joner conversation to me. I have a violent, irrational urge to grab the connection and yell at her, saying, “He’s mine, bitch!” I sure hope he finds a way to step off that edge. For the teensiest, tiniest moment, I think, and I’ll be there to catch him. My eyes widen and I actually flick my hands at that thought, telling it to get far, far, far away from my consciousness. Another thing I never want to be is someone’s rebound queen—ever.
Chapter 9
IT’S BEEN AN interesting week since I last saw Jonas. Devon’s been blowing up my HoloMess, asking for daily encounters. I’ve set a limit on two, and no more energy sharing—with anyone.
Back in my own personal zone of control, I picked up a couple new clients who proved to be both amusing and entertaining. They’re twins and they booked me for the entire week. Each night they’ve appeared as someone different. The first night they sauntered in as the Brewer twins, circa 2015, all sun-bleached blond and surfer-boy buff. We did it on a surfboard in the sea, bobbing in the waves. Each guy took turns with me. As awkward as it sounds, I even went down on one of them, sitting at one end of the surfboard, while the other pumped me from behind. You can do what you want in my Headspace and defy natural laws—like falling off the surfboard when a wave hits. That stuff doesn’t happen unless we let it.
They arrived the next night as the Twin Foxes, Albert and Ebenezer Fox, famous poachers from the late eighteen hundreds. That night the avatar Juliana was to be the “game” they were hunting. A huge reward was set
for their capture. An even larger reward was set for my avatar’s capture. Once they caught me, I was bound, gagged, and treated to innumerable delights by the twins.
Tonight, they promised a “special treat.” At half past ten, I’m beckoned by a silky sensation along my throat. I stroke my lips and I wander into my Headspace for some fun. “Hey, big dogs, who wants to come out and play?”
The scene immediately shifts to baked summer hills and sparse grass plains. Puffy white clouds linger in the summer sky.
Two huge roan stallions prance into the space, bearing two Greek gods, Castor and Polydeuces. Thank heavens I excelled in my Greek mythology courses. Here we are in ancient Greece again. The horses’ necks are covered with foamy sweat as if they’ve been racing to get here. They toss their heads as they stand, impatient, excited, eager to move.
I immediately split into two avatars, Phoebe and Hilaera, known as the “daughters of the white horse,” who married the twins, defying their intended husbands. I and me look at each other and shrug. It’s the first time I’ve experienced myself as two entities and I’m curious to see what happens. My avatars are dressed in simple gowns draping to sandaled feet. One of us wears an earthy orange chiton. The other sports a green tunic. All that hooey about Greeks wearing nothing but white is just that—hooey.
Castor and Polydeuces are built of solid muscle. Their skin is burnished gold with touches of green, like oxidized copper. They dismount their stallions at the exact same time, like it’s a choreographed dance. They strut before me—I mean us—they strut before us, giving us time to take in their strength…to admire their long foreskin-covered phalluses hanging proudly between their legs. My two avatars coo and compliment. It’s odd to have two perspectives going on at the same time but I manage to roll with it. In one mind, I’m demur and shy. The other avatar is bold and outspoken.
“What say you, maidens?” the one called Castor asks. “Think you could find us pleasing to run off with?”
“You are fine to behold, sir, but we are betrothed.”
“We think otherwise,” Polydeuces claims. “We are here to prove you wrong. Wouldn’t you rather have us?”
“Why, yes, fine sirs, you are without a doubt handsome. Your strength is legendary. But our betrotheds will not stand for this. You must leave us and get away while you can.” I’m enjoying this fanciful play. I always was a sucker for make-believe. One of me, the shy one, bats her eyelashes and looks at her feet, dusty in the heat of the midday sun.
The horses whinny and scrape the ground with their hooves.
“Our steeds grow impatient. Let us leave. Together…”
Two horses with riders appear in the distance. They gallop with a fury in our direction.
“Oh, it’s our betrotheds! Get away, fine sirs!”
In synchrony, the twins leap onto the backs of the stallions. One of the horses rears in the air. The men kick the flanks of their steeds, move toward us, and scoop us up onto the backs of the equines. “Hold on!” they shout in unison.
I’m so caught up in this fantasy I’ve forgotten that it’s all a virtual world. Both avatars cling to the backs of the gods. Our long hair whips in the wind. The men’s hard muscles radiate heat to our breasts and bellies. We’re tickled by hair, flesh, and sweat while the muscled animals beneath us propel us forward, stimulating our kitty-cats to arousal.
We out-race our captors and find ourselves in a green and blue oasis. We stand at the opening to a breathtaking cave. We’re surrounded by green trees and golden grasses. Below us lies beckoning turquoise water.
“Care for some refreshment, brother?”
“The horses are thirsty,” Polydeuces responds. “And I’ve got a thirst that needs quenching as well.”
The two men shrug, spur their horses forward, leap, and we fall down, down, down into the cavern, landing with a mighty splash. I’m surprised we all remain on the backs of the horses, but in a fantasy world, you can do as you please—it’s like a dream, where reality isn’t the same as when you are awake.
The horses swim to the edge and haul themselves out of the water. They lower their heads and drink from the cool clear water.
Castor turns and grabs my Phoebe avatar and lowers me to the ground. He deftly dismounts and scoops me up in his arms. He wades hip deep into the water, lifts my sodden skirts and lowers me onto his shaft where he proceeds to rock me against his hips, making gentle splashes as he moves.
Polydeuces pivots, takes my Hilaera avatar and moves me to the front of him. “I’ve got wood that needs waxing. What say you?”
I glance down at his throbbing heat. “Oh, yes,” I breathe, fully engaged with my avatar.
He coaxes me to spread out along the neck of the roan. I lean forward, allowing my arms to drape around the sweat-soaked muscles of my strong steed. I grab onto the stallion’s coarse-haired, reddish mane. Polydeuces grabs my hips, lifts me, and leans into me, entering me from behind. He pumps vigorously.
No foreplay here, my Hilaera avatar thinks. Unless you call “capture and flee” foreplay.
Nor here, my Phoebe avatar agrees.
Still, when the men release inside of us, we moan, shriek, and wail as if we are having the orgasms of our lives. All the while I could be doing my nails, I’m so uninspired.
After that, HoloMess 500 interrupts to see if I’ve accepted Himeros as a new client. I haven’t vetted him yet but I’m in an expansive mood so I take the bait. He pulse-coms within seconds.
“Hey, big dog, who wants to come out and–”
“Can you feel me inside your pussy? You’re soaking wet and I’m big and hard and inside you right now.”
“Why, yes, I…” I start to stammer and lose control because he’s right. It does feel like he’s inside of me. I take a deep breath. I need to be in control in here at all times. This is my Headspace. “Who wants to know and why?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Sorry, but the rules are you tell me who you are, I access your headspace, and then we play.”
“This is just a game.”
“That’s right.”
“So, let’s play by my rules. You don’t like them, you don’t have to play.”
I’m busy scanning him to see who he is beyond the pixel wall. I get fragments of images, nothing more. He’s wealthy. He’s got a wife—wait! He’s got several wives. None of them know about the others.
“That’s my business,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“You scanning me to see who I am. That’s my business. Now do we play or not?”
The green lights go off in the corner indicating the guy has put money in my account for his pleasure. A number flashes indicating it’s twice as much as I usually get paid for a first session. I regard it and frown. The red lights go off in my head. Big, blaring red flags finally get my attention. There’s something about this guy that bothers me. Something’s not right here. Is he some sort of mental, stalker case like the guy who tracked me to my home? “I’m going to issue you a refund.”
“Keep it.”
“I don’t think this transaction is going to work.”
“We haven’t even begun.”
“Yes, I’m afraid we have. And it’s not going to work.”
“You haven’t even seen my avatar.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It will when you see me.”
Against my better judgment I say, “Okay, hot stuff, show me,” glad he can’t see my eye roll and scathing smirk. Some guys think they’re all that. I sink onto the sheepskin rug, prepared to be unimpressed, and wait. “I’m waiting.” Nothing happens. I start to unplug from the session when the room changes. We’re in the headspace of Himeros, a lesser-known Greek god of sexual desire.
He stands before me, completely naked. He’s muscular. Gorgeous, shimmery golden wings extend from his ravishing shoulders. His huge, ruddy cock hangs, slightly aroused. It’s one of the most beautiful cocks I’ve seen in my life. It says desire
. It promises pleasure. It speaks of endless satisfaction. “Do you know who I am?” he asks in a soft, rich voice.
“Sure,” I say nonchalantly. I lick my lips. “You’re Himeros.” I know my Greek mythology. Inside, I’m quivering with anticipation.
“What do you know about me?”
“You’re a Greek god. You hang with Aphrodite. You’re the god of uncontrollable desire.”
The room has changed to a stone temple. Soft torches illuminate the walls. I can’t tell if this is his doing or mine. He’s in my Headspace and I don’t know who is in control here. This is both disturbing and intriguing.
“Are you feeling me?”
My pussy is throbbing. Sure enough, I do feel uncontrollable desire. I want this avatar. I want to play with him like I’ve never played before. I decide to roll with his rules. He’s probably a control freak like me. This could be very interesting. “Oh, yes, Himeros, I feel you.”
“I told you you’d like me.”
“Liking my clients isn’t part of the job description. Servicing their needs is.”
“All I want to do, baby, is to get you to come.”
I pause. Does he know about my little problem?
“Don’t you want to come around my hard cock?”
“You know I do, sugar. I want to come and come again.”
“Yeah, well I heard you have a problem with that.”
I pause again. Jonas? Nah, the guy has made his position on fantasy sex quite clear. “What are you talking about?”
He laughs.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Himeros.”
“I don’t have any problems.”
“Really?” he says in a mocking tone. “I was led to believe otherwise.”
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