Enchanted Again

by Nancy Madore

  Suddenly she became aware of her surroundings and looked around self-consciously. The windows were curtained but she did not want to take any chances. She took the package into the bathroom and quickly removed her pants and underwear. She slipped her fingers between her legs and slid them across her slick opening, making herself even more aroused. She moaned with compunction over what she was about to do. Although she hardly needed the additional lubrication, she opened her mouth wide to receive and wet the phallic sculpture. She longed perversely for Dan’s eyes to be upon her now. She wondered if her behavior would provoke a change in the stoic expression of his glassy stare.

  His craftiness could not be faulted. The sculpture was precisely the size and shape she would have wished for.

  Claire worked the supple sculpture in and out of her mouth, savoring the excruciating arousal it brought her to do so. But all too soon this activity was far from enough to satiate her, and she slid it out of her mouth with sharp anticipation to feel it between her legs. She moved down onto the cold bathroom floor and raised her legs up high over her head—so high that she was able to rest her feet on the wall behind her. All of her movements and actions were contrived for the benefit of her fantasy that Dan’s watchful eyes were there in the bathroom with her. She maneuvered herself in ways she had never done before, caught up entirely in the dream that Dan was there with her as she took pleasure from his creation, and that his intense gaze was upon her.

  Opening her labia with the fingers of one hand, she gently worked the sculpture into her wet hole, moving it up and down when her body resisted, until she reached a point where she could take no more of it. She grasped the nut and bolt at the very base of the sculpture for leverage. She suddenly realized the purpose for the nut and bolt, and felt an intense craving such as she had never felt before in her life. She knew they were put there intentionally to remind her that there existed more than just the phallus-like sculpture. She was keenly aware that somewhere out there was an attachment that would connect the sculpture to something even more depraved and unnatural. In the height of her passion she could only feel a craving for whatever that attachment was.

  She began to work the sculpture in and out of her body with one hand while rubbing her clitoris with the other. She closed her eyes tight as she struggled to envision Dan’s eyes watching her use the object he created for her. She longed to cause a reaction in him, but wondered what the reaction would be. Would his expression become leering and derisive if he were to see her right now?

  Claire gave herself over absolutely to the lust that had been taking control of her since she first laid eyes on the anonymous gift. She stroked herself furiously, thrusting the sculpture violently in and out of her body as she did so. When at last her release came, it brought a flood of pleasurable sensations so strong her entire body jerked and shuddered. The pleasure still lingered a few moments longer, but was followed by a rush of disgust that was almost as powerful as the arousal had been. She got up abruptly and dropped the sculpture into the sink. She dressed in a hurry, mopping up the telltale wetness furiously. Then she washed the sculpture with soap and water and dried it. She felt awkward now to even hold it in her hand.

  She wanted suddenly to rid herself of the sculpture but could not bring herself to throw it away. At last she resolved to return it to the white box and bury it under a pile of clothing in her closet.

  Distressed and fatigued, Claire went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. There was a deadline looming on one of her projects but she dreaded remaining in the house alone for the remainder of the afternoon. She preferred to go to Maggie’s diner and sit amid the warmth and noise. Self-discipline overruled this idea though, and Claire set to work by sheer force of will. Once she began, she found she was surprisingly productive, and it was dark before she stopped to break—and then only for a quick bite from the kitchen before she returned to work again. Her wish to escape, along with her embarrassment over her earlier behavior, were practically forgotten.

  But later, as Claire was clearing away her work from the day, she was once again overcome with a desire to see a friendly face. She looked at the clock and tried to remember how late the diner stayed open. She was generally not one to go out at night, but after such a long day she felt she could do with a drink and some companionship.

  The diner was abandoned and dark, but as Claire was turning her car around in the parking lot, preparing to leave, she spotted the back of Dan’s truck sticking out from behind one corner of the restaurant. Slowly inching her car to that side of the building, she caught sight of Dan himself, walking noiselessly away from the house that stood behind the diner—the house where Maggie lived. He was carrying his toolbox. Claire paused only a moment before driving out of the parking lot and into the street to go home. Dan had seen her of course, and he stood there thoughtfully, watching her drive away.

  “Damn!” Claire said out loud, once she was out of his view. Why was he always everywhere she went? What was he doing at Maggie’s house? She thought of the toolbox but recalled suddenly that Maggie’s house had been fully dark. Her mind began to wander and she found herself conjuring up strange scenarios. She laughed at herself, but the thoughts repeatedly returned and she found it hard to sleep that night.

  The next morning Claire was up early and rushed out to have breakfast at Maggie’s diner. Maggie behaved the same as she always did, expressing jovial interest in her customers, particularly Claire.

  “So, how’s it going today?” she asked Claire when she got a minute free from the morning rush.

  “Great,” replied Claire. “I couldn’t remember how late you stayed open, so I missed you last night for dinner.” She watched Maggie’s face carefully as she said this, but she could detect no apprehension over Claire’s having been there after closing.

  “I’m sorry I missed you,” Maggie told her sincerely. “I normally stay open later if I know someone is coming by, but generally, if it’s slow, I’ll close around ten.”

  “I could have sworn I saw Dan drive away as I was pulling into the parking lot,” Claire continued. “You weren’t having any problems with your water heater, I hope.” She couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed that Maggie might have tensed just a little. But Maggie’s expression remained unperturbed.

  “No,” she replied thoughtfully, “no problems there.” She paused a moment before adding, “Dan didn’t even stop by the restaurant for dinner last night. As a matter of fact, I didn’t see him at all.”

  “Oh,” said Claire. “Perhaps he wasn’t leaving here then, but just driving down the street.”

  “Yes, I bet that was it,” said Maggie.

  Claire was incredulous. There was no doubt she had seen Dan, with his toolbox in hand, walking from Maggie’s dark house toward his truck the previous night. Was it possible that Maggie didn’t realize that Dan was there? Claire doubted this and yet, what other explanation could there be? If Dan had been there, fixing something, it certainly would not be something Maggie would feel the need to lie about. Unless…but Claire stopped her thoughts abruptly in their tracks. She watched as Maggie efficiently managed her restaurant, telling herself that it was impossible that this straightforward, practical, sweet woman was so debauched as to participate in the sordid events that were currently popping up in her mind. But then, she reminded herself with morbid incongruity, who would expect—or even believe, for that matter—that Claire would have behaved as she had done the previous afternoon?

  Claire left Maggie’s restaurant and drove to Brenda’s to see how the typing was progressing. She secretly hoped Brenda would be more talkative this time than she had been before.

  “How long has Maggie been widowed?” she asked Brenda casually.

  “Oh, heavens, it’s been seven or eight years now since Scott died,” Brenda told her.

  “Strange, that such a vibrant woman hasn’t remarried,” remarked Claire.

  “Maggie has never so much as gone out on a date since her husband’s death,
” said Brenda. “She really loved him.”

  “Well,” observed Claire, “she’s still young.”

  “It’s not that easy, even if she were inclined to date,” said Brenda. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a shortage of men around here. Especially men our age. Those of us who married young got the pick of the litter.”

  Claire laughed. “Well, we’re not living out on an island here in Anamoose. There are adjoining towns that have men living in them.”

  “That’s true,” admitted Brenda. “Still, I don’t see Maggie dating anyone.”

  Claire paused nervously, trying to find the right words. “That handyman guy…Dan, is it? He seems to spend a lot of time over there,” she began, trying hard to make it sound like a casual observation, but managing instead to sound very schoolgirlish about the whole thing.

  Brenda looked at her a moment. “Dan and Maggie are just friends,” she said.

  “Is Dan seeing anyone?”

  “No. Why?” Suddenly Brenda’s eyes opened wide. “Are you interested?”

  “No!” Claire said this a bit too adamantly, so she tried to rectify this by adding, “I don’t even know him.”

  Brenda looked at her sideways. “The truth is, I don’t know if Dan has ever dated anyone.”

  “Why is that?” Claire asked. “I mean, he’s not the most attractive man…his face is…I mean, well, but I have seen less attractive people get married.”

  “With Dan it is not his appearance that keeps him from dating,” Brenda said. “There is actually something attractive about him. Something that kind of grows on a person. I think it’s Dan’s choice not to have a girlfriend.”

  “Is he gay?”

  “No,” laughed Brenda. “He is most certainly not gay.” But suddenly her expression changed, and she abruptly switched subjects. “I have to pick up little Bobby from his play group,” she said.

  Claire was disappointed. She was certain there was some mystery pertaining to Dan, but the women of Anamoose were not forthcoming.

  At home, Claire was acutely aware of the gift she had hidden away in her closet. Since succumbing to its startling persuasion she had refrained from going near it or its hiding place. As she labored to concentrate on her work that afternoon her thoughts persistently meandered in the direction of the closet and the extraordinary sculpture that was hidden there. These thoughts she persistently and resolutely squelched, dragging her mind laboriously back to the task at hand; but the repeated efforts exhausted her and left her fully discouraged. She stared out the window at the pale sky that was as blue, it seemed to her, as the glassy stare of Desperate Dan.

  Finally accepting that she would get nothing accomplished by staying home that day, Claire stuffed the unfinished manuscript into a leather bag and took it with her to Maggie’s diner. She spotted Dan immediately—having lunch alone in his usual booth in the far corner of the restaurant. Claire could see that he was watching her. She smiled inwardly. She positioned herself strategically, several booths away from him and sitting sideways, so that her face was partially visible from his vantage point. Then she pulled out the manuscript and began to work, without difficulty at all this time, pacified at last by the steady, inexhaustible gaze radiating over her from across the room. Maggie brought coffee and Claire continued to work, fully engrossed. She worked until late in the day, when suddenly she looked up and became aware that Dan was no longer in the restaurant. But she was satisfied that she had never been more productive.

  Returning home, Claire was both alarmed and excited to see a much larger package waiting for her on her stoop. It was wrapped in the same brown paper as the other package had been, and tied with the brown twine. She looked all around her for a sign of someone watching her, but there was no evidence of another soul about the place. As before, there were no marks to identify who had sent the package or who it was addressed to. Nevertheless, Claire new.

  Once inside, Claire tore wildly at the knots in the twine and ripped away the brown paper used for wrapping. Opening the box at last, she stared at its contents uncomprehendingly. It appeared to be some kind of mechanical apparatus with folding tubes and connections and wires that frustrated her expectations. Tentatively she reached inside and clumsily removed the bulky contraption.

  It quickly became apparent that whatever the instrument was, it was meant to stand upon three metal legs, like a tripod. At the center of the tripod there was secured a heavy circular revolving mechanism of some kind. Claire did her best to snap the gizmo into place, examining the parts as she set it upon its legs. She knew instinctively that somewhere this contraption held the mates to the nut and bolt at the base of the lifelike phallus that was hidden in her closet. Her heart raced as she tried to disentangle the jumble of metal into something she could understand.

  Four hours later Claire gave up. She concluded that there must be parts missing still. She shook with a mixture of indignation, mortification and frustration. Her body ached from the hours of neglected arousal. She trudged off to bed miserably, her anger making it possible for her to avoid her closet and what she kept hidden within.

  What was she to do? Her consciousness struggled to conquer the feelings of unrest and longing that besieged her. The whole situation was insupportable. There was nothing even remotely acceptable in her connection to the benefactor of these highly inappropriate gifts. But her awareness of how wrong it all was did very little to dampen her desire. She could not sleep. She stared wide-eyed at the ceiling in a sort of ecstatic stupor. She should be contacting the police and here she was, barely able to contain her emotions while she waited breathlessly for his next deplorable action.

  The next morning Claire was surprisingly alert and optimistic. She had accomplished much in the week so far, and decided to continue on the path of productivity by riding out to Brenda’s to drop off more typing. As she drove she tried to keep her thoughts on the manuscript and her new typist, wondering vaguely if being a wife and mother would inhibit Brenda’s ability to manage all the work.

  Brenda lived in a more rural part of Anamoose, where the houses were rarely in sight of their neighbors. Just beyond the long driveway that led to her house Claire spotted a truck pulled off to the side of the road and parked in a small, dirt clearing that was mostly hidden by trees. She passed Brenda’s driveway and drove up beside the truck to verify that it was, in fact, Dan’s. Stopping right in the middle of the street, she stared at the truck, and then looked all around her. Brenda’s was the only other driveway by quite a distance. Dan could be visiting Brenda; he may well be her friend. No doubt they had known each other all their lives. Or perhaps Dan was hunting in the vast woods behind and in between the sparse houses. There were many explanations, none of which were any business of Claire’s, but even so, Claire parked her car beside Dan’s truck and walked surreptitiously through the woods toward Brenda’s house. She noticed that one side of the house had only a single window, set up high. It was unthinkable, and yet, she found herself taking long, determined strides toward that side of the house so that she might poke around until she found a suitable window from which to spy through. The word Peeping Tom came to her mind but she brushed it away. She felt that she must see what was happening. She was certain things were being kept from her. She believed that in one of those windows she would find Dan, and that whatever else she saw there would shock her. Even so, she had to see it. She reached the house at last and then moved purposefully along the side of it, taking one window at a time, to carefully peer inside.

  There was a small basement window at ground level that Claire almost passed by, but getting down on one knee and supporting herself with the side of the building she bent down carelessly to have a quick glance. Her head immediately shot back up. They were in the basement. Claire got down on her hands and knees and, very cautiously this time, peeked in the basement window.

  Brenda’s basement was considerably darker than the outdoors, so it took a moment for Claire’s eyes to adjust. Even so, she instant
ly perceived the enormity of what she was witnessing. Her mind reeled as she took in the astonishing scene before her. Brenda was not fully visible from her vantage point, but Claire could see enough of her to know that it was indeed Brenda who was fully nude and splayed out on all fours on a low, sturdy table. Perhaps three or four feet behind the table upon which Brenda knelt, there stood a contraption much like the one Claire had received the night before, with the same type of tripod base firmly holding in place a revolving mechanism of some kind that was being controlled by Dan. At the moment it was circling at a sluggish pace, similar to that of a train engine that was just starting to warm up. Claire noticed that Dan had his hand on a large lever which increased the speed of the machine as he slowly moved it toward him. The circular motion of the apparatus appeared to power a long, metal arm that connected the machine to a phallic-like sculpture that was very similar to the one Claire had been given. With each rotation of the machine, the long, metal arm was thrust forward and back. With the increase of speed to the machine’s revolving engine came an increase in speed to the thrusts of the long, metal arm.

  Claire’s eyes traveled the length of the cylinder as it firmly and steadily drove the phallic sculpture—which was fastened to the arm with a nut and bolt similar to the one at the base of her own sculpture—in between Brenda’s labia and far into the softness beyond. Claire moaned involuntarily at the sight of it. She felt all at once incredibly drained by the powerful surge of emotions that flooded her consciousness during the seconds that passed while she comprehended the incredible scene before her. The initial, debilitating surge was past, but she was still affected by the conflicting sensations that lingered. Foremost was a sort of unspecified infuriation so palpable that it brought physical discomfort. This, she knew, was what caused her to shake so violently. The source of her fury was unclear to her. She told herself that what she was watching had nothing to do with her, and yet, she felt that she was at the core of it. She felt as affected as if she were somehow being physically attacked.