Flesh For Fantasy

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Again Barbara straddled Walt’s back, undulating so her pussy rubbed against his heated flesh. “Such a good mount,” she said, gazing off into the corner. She reached into her crotch and fingered her clit. “Ummm,” she purred loudly. “Good horsy. Buck for me, horsy.”

  Walt arched his back and, with only a few more strokes, Barbara came, her wetness soaking Walt’s skin.

  “When does it get to be my turn?” he moaned.

  Barbara caught her breath, then stood up and crossed the room. She pressed a few buttons on a small remote control, then flipped on the TV. “We’ll see what you want after you’ve watched this hot video.” She pressed the remote’s rewind button then pressed play.

  After a moment of snow, the image of Walt on his knees before Barbara filled the screen. Staring at the sight of his head moving against her crotch and hearing the sounds of her purrs and his pleased grunts, Walt stood up and walked, naked, toward the TV. As Walt watched himself get down in his hands and knees, he growled, “You taped the entire thing?” He reached behind him and yanked the dildo from his ass, his face turning bright red.

  “The entire thing,” Barbara said. She pressed fast-forward, then slowed the picture again as a clear shot of Walt, with the tail hanging from his rear, filled the screen. The camera zoomed in on the dildo in Walt’s ass.

  “How did you get it to zoom like that? Shit. Someone must have been holding the camera.”

  Maggie had been controlling the camera at that moment, but Walt would never know or understand that. Barbara let the tape play for another few moments. Then she said, “Now, go home.”

  Walt’s breathing was raspy and his entire body shook. His eyes wildly searched the room. “How? Why?”

  Barbara slowly shook her head. “You poor, stupid bastard. You don’t even remember the trick you and your friend Carl played on me several years ago. The car? The camera?” She watched as recognition slowly changed his expression. “Good. I see you remember now. That was me. And you humiliated me in ways you couldn’t even imagine.” She smiled ruefully. “And you didn’t even remember it.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry,” Walt said as he pulled on his pants. “Really. I am. Now give me that tape.” He prowled the room looking for the camera.

  “I’m sure you are sorry. Now. But sorry isn’t enough. Be a good boy and get out of here.”

  “Not without that film”

  “The film is only part of it. The friend who helped me with the camera also took lots of still pictures. Like the ones you took of me that night. Those photos of you and your lovely tail are long gone.” There were no such pictures, but Walt would never know that.

  Walt stopped searching the room and pulled on his shirt and jacket. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “Actually, nothing.” She retrieved the camera from its hiding place behind some ferns on her wardrobe and pulled out the cassette. “You didn’t do anything with the photos you took that night, so here…” She handed the cassette to Walt. “I’ll hold on to the stills. Just having them is a symbol of something for me.”

  “You won’t show them around?” Walt said, stuffing the cassette into his jacket pocket.

  “No. Unless you get out of line, that is. So run along. Go home.” She thought about the condition of his deflated cock and what she hoped were very uncomfortable balls. “And jerk off.”

  Walt stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “Amazing,” he said. “Just amazing.” He left, and Barbara heard him pound down the stairs and slam the front door behind him.

  “It’s all gone,” Barbara said to Maggie later that evening. “All that leftover anger and frustration are gone. I don’t even hate the poor slob anymore.”

  “I’m glad. Did he believe you about the still pictures?”

  “He did. Just like I expected him to. Thanks for aiming the camera for me. I didn’t even mind it that you were watching.”

  “I only watched for a few minutes.” She patted Barbara’s hand. “You were great.”

  “It all felt good. And maybe Walt will think twice before he plays tricks on women again.”

  “I hope so. What’s up for you now?”

  “Just more of life, I guess,” Barbara said, stretching out on the bed in her bathrobe. “I saw a T-shirt recently. It said, ‘So many men and so little time.’”

  Maggie laughed. “Well, babe, I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  “Yeah,” Maggie said, knowing it was a lie.

  Maggie pushed through the revolving door and, as she thought she would, ended up in the computer room, wearing the soft white gown she had been wearing on her first visit. This was it, she knew. Up or down. And how had she done? She didn’t really know.

  “And we don’t know either,” Lucy said, as always reading her mind.

  “Yes, we know you did your job,” Angela said.

  “And you did it well,” Lucy chimed in.

  “But the outcome is not quite what either of us anticipated,” Angela added.

  “Outcome?” Maggie said, making herself comfortable in a chair facing the women’s desk.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Angela said. “You left Barbara after her evening with Walt.”

  “That was seven months ago,” Lucy said.

  “Seven months? Oh,” Maggie said. “It’s funny. I miss her even though it seems only a moment ago.”

  “Well, once we knew you were gone permanently, we fixed it so she wouldn’t miss you.”

  “Fixed it?”

  “We erased you,” Lucy said.

  “You what!” Maggie yelled, jumping from her chair. “You erased me?”

  Angela walked around the desk and patted Maggie’s shoulder, pushing her back down into her chair. “Lucy’s got the tact of a wart hog, and that’s an insult to wart hogs. But try to understand.” A chair appeared beside Maggie and Angela sat down, arranging her wings carefully behind her. “We couldn’t let her remember you. She had come so far and missing you would have only depressed her. And she needed to remember all her changes as her own doing. It was the final step in her lessons.”

  “And after all,” Lucy said, “how could she have explained you?”

  “But…”

  “Sweetie,” Angela said, still patting Maggie’s shoulder. “You really do understand.”

  Maggie sighed. “I guess I do. It just makes me sad.” She sniffed and a lace hanky appeared in her hand.

  “I know,” Angela continued. “But she’s doing so well now.”

  “Really? What’s she doing?”

  Lucy picked up the story. “She’s got a boyfriend. Full time. They are thinking about moving in together. Barbara met him just after that evening with Walt. He’s a banker and went to her boss about some legal matters. They met and hit it off immediately, both as friends and hot lovers. For a long while they dated, but continued to see other people. Now they’ve become exclusive and they’re very happy.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Maggie wondered why she felt so empty. It was nice when Barbara needed her, looked to her for guidance, learned from her. Now her job was done and it was a letdown. She blew her nose.

  “I know it’s a letdown,” Angela said, “but you can relish the fact that you did a super job.”

  “Would you like to see them, her and her boyfriend?” Lucy asked. “I can tune you in if you like.”

  “Not in the bedroom,” Maggie said, curious to see the ending to Barbara’s story. “I don’t want to eavesdrop.”

  Lucy’s fingers danced over the computer keyboard. “Not at all. They’re out for the evening at a little place they frequent.” She turned the monitor so Maggie could see.

  In the picture, a couple danced, their bodies close. Barbara leaned against the man who held her, her mouth beside his ear. “I just love slow dancing,” she whispered. “It’s like making love standing up.”

  They turned so Maggie could see the man’s face. “That’s Paul!” she cried. “That’s the guy I was
on the phone with that last night. That’s my Paul.”

  “That’s her Paul now, and they’re blissfully happy,” Angela said.

  Maggie caught her breath. Paul. She had really loved him, she realized. She gazed at him for a while, getting pleasure from the obvious joy on his face. Maggie sighed and smiled. “We could never have been happy together,” she said. “He was a banker and I was a prostitute. It would never have worked.” She watched the screen.

  Paul spoke into Barbara’s ear. “You know, every time you talk about slow dancing, I remember a woman I once knew. Her name was Maggie and it was very long ago. I loved her.”

  “Do you still love her?” Barbara asked.

  “She’s been dead for a couple of years. I just remember her fondly. She always liked slow dancing.”

  “I vaguely remember someone named Maggie in my past, too. I don’t remember when I knew her, but I get warm feelings when I think of her.”

  Paul pressed his hand into the small of Barbara’s back, moving his body still closer to hers. “I like warm feelings. Let’s go back to your place and feel warm all over.”

  As Lucy turned off the image on the computer screen, Maggie brushed a tear from her face. “I’m happy for them. I really am.”

  “I know you are, dear,” Angela said, rising and circling the desk again. “But that still leaves us with the problem of what to do with you.”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “We’re still confused.”

  “We had a bet about how this would end up.”

  “And we can’t even decide who won.”

  Lucy leaned over and whispered animatedly to Angela. Although Maggie couldn’t hear the words, it was obvious from the body language that the two women were arguing. Hands flew through the air, Lucy’s tail swished, and at one point Angela’s wings flapped and she rose several feet into the air.

  Finally Lucy said, “That’s the only answer.”

  “I think so.”

  “Well,” Maggie said, realizing that her fate for the remainder of all time was being decided, “have you figured it all out?”

  “Actually, no,” Angela said. “But what about you? Where do you think you belong?”

  “I don’t know either. Heaven sounds real nice, I guess, but maybe a bit dull.”

  “Well, I have no complaints,” Angela said, looking offended.

  “I didn’t mean to be insulting,” Maggie said quickly. “I’m sure it’s a lot of fun once you get used to it. But I’m not accustomed to sitting around all day discussing philosophy.”

  “See, I told you,” Lucy said. “My place is much more interesting.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is, but I’m not sure I want to associate with the people who go…” Maggie pointed her thumb downward.

  “Shows you have good taste,” Angela said. “And I think Lucy and I have arrived at a solution, at least for the short run.”

  “How would you like to be an operative for us?” Lucy continued. “You would just do more of what you did with Barbara. Fix up people’s lives.”

  “Like Michael Landon in Highway to Heaven?”

  Angela nodded. “Maybe, but on a more earthy level. You know, teaching people to love making love.”

  “Teaching people to love to fuck,” Lucy said, turning to Angela, a mischievous grin on her face.

  Angela hurumphed, and looked seriously at Maggie. “Would you do that? We’ve got a lot of cases like Barbara’s waiting for someone like you.”

  Maggie swallowed her tears and thought about Barbara and Paul. Then she considered the offer for only a moment. “I think I’d like that.”

  “Good,” Angela and Lucy said simultaneously.

  “Okay. And this time, how about giving me some powers. You know, like the stuff Michael Landon had.”

  “We’ll see as the situation arises,” Angela said.

  “Now, come over here. I want to show you a woman named Pam.” Lucy’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “She’s a tough one.”

  Maggie swiped a tear from her cheek. The girls were right. Barbara and Paul would be so good together. But it was hard to grasp that that part of her life was over. Maggie circled the table and stood behind Lucy. “That’s her?”

  “That’s Pam. She’s almost forty, divorced and dumpy.”

  “She must weight over two fifty.”

  “Aren’t you the one who believes that sensuality is as much a product of the look in the eyes as the body behind it?”

  Maggie drummed her fingers on the back of Lucy’s chair. “I hate hearing my own words thrown back at me,” she said, “and you’re right, of course. Anyone can be sensual.”

  “She really needs your kind of help,” Angela said.

  Maggie took a deep breath. “Okay, when do I start?”

  MIDNIGHT BUTTERFLY

  Chapter

  1

  That makes tonight’s winning lotto numbers 1, 2, 11, 13, 16, and 23. Good luck. And remember that if no one wins tonight, Saturday’s New York State Lottery jackpot could be more than seventy million dollars.”

  Ellen Harold opened one of her green eyes, yawned, and glanced at the blue digits on the front of the VCR. Seeing that it was just after eleven, she realized that she had, as usual, fallen asleep in her lounge chair, watching a rerun of Baywatch. She yawned again and stared at the 11:00 P.M. news anchor, not really listening to the day’s headlines.

  Ten minutes later, as the anchorman introduced the sports reporter, Ellen swung her short legs off the chair and stumbled into the bathroom, scratching the back of her neck. Barely awake, she brushed her teeth and gazed into the mirror. She sleepily looked at her half-closed green eyes and her shoulder-length, baby-fine brown hair and slightly sun-burned ivory skin. Next time I mow the lawn, she thought, I’ve got to use more sun block.

  Didn’t the guy say 13, 16, and 23? she thought as she entered her bedroom. Hey, I might have at least three of the numbers. Ellen played the local six-number lottery twice a week and always played the same numbers, 11 and 16 representing her birthday, 1 and 13, her older sister’s, and 2 and 23, her late mother’s. She scratched the back of her neck again, wondering whether three numbers pay off. She didn’t really hear the rest but maybe she even had four. Afraid to hope, she undressed, pulled on her pajamas, and settled into bed. She closed her eyes and let herself drift, dreaming not of money but of romance.

  She was tall, maybe five foot nine, slender. Men thought of her as willowy. Reed slim. She had thick auburn hair that fell in heavy waves almost to her waist. Tonight she was wearing an orange bathing suit like the women in Baywatch. She walked along a beach at sunset, the sand warm, the water cool as wavelets lapped at her dainty feet. Her blue eyes searched the strand before her, knowing the man she looked for would appear.

  He looked a bit like David Hasslehoff, long, sandy hair dancing on his shoulders, tousled by the soft breeze. He had beautifully developed arms and shoulders, a hairless chest with well-defined layers of muscles. Muscles. She loved the idea of a man who could overpower her should he choose. But he wouldn’t have to.

  As they approached each other, he gazed at her, burning her with his stare, undressing her with his eyes. And she was more beautiful naked than she was in her suit. “You knew, didn’t you?” he said when they were only a breath apart.

  “I knew. When I first saw you, I knew.” She reached out and flattened her palms against his warm skin. Beneath her hand she could feel the drumming of his heart.

  “Now,” he whispered. “Right now.” He cupped her face, staring deeply into her eyes as his fingers glided past her temples to comb through her hair.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  His mouth descended and covered hers, his tongue playing beautiful melodies against her lips. She parted them, allowing his tongue entrance to her hidden cavern and the kiss lengthened until their universe was spinning out of control. She couldn’t think, and knew she didn’t want to, ever again.

  Then, they were naked, lying on sand as soft as any feathe
r bed, tiny waves playing with their toes. His hands covered her breasts, kneading her hot flesh, his mouth toying with her ears. “I want you,” he murmured, “as I’ve never wanted anyone.”

  “Then take me,” she replied, slipping her hands around his waist. Then he was inside her, his manhood large, filling every inch of her. His thrusts, his movements perfectly timed with her need, his huge body driving her upward, making her crave. His mouth covered her erect nipple, licking and sucking as his hips pressed his flesh more deeply into her.

  “Oh, Lord,” she said, “make me yours.”

  “You are mine,” the man said, “always.” And with one final push, warm fluid filled her and her pleasure was complete.

  And in her bed, Ellen reached down and touched herself sleepily between her legs, enjoying the small spasms that completed her. Afterward, the transition from fantasy to sleep was smooth and she slept dreamlessly through the night.

  The following morning, without getting out of bed, she pressed the button on top of her radio, hoping the local news would mention last evening’s numbers. She had awakened thinking about the lottery and, from what she remembered from the previous evening, she probably had at least three of the numbers. The announcer’s voice droned on. Suddenly, Ellen sat bolt upright and stared at the radio. “Last night’s winning numbers were 1, 2, 11, 13, 16, and 23.” Those are my numbers, she thought, pressing her hand against her breastbone, feeling the sudden pounding of her heart. Those are my numbers. It can’t be. Things like that just don’t happen to people like me. I must have heard wrong.

  She threw on a pair of many-times-washed jeans and yanked on a navy T-shirt. Slipping her feet into sneakers without socks she ran out her door into the warm July morning. Without conscious thought she dashed around the corner to the little convenience store where she bought her ticket early every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon. Panting, she pushed through the front door. “Hi, Ellen,” the counterman called in lightly accented English. “What brings you out this early?” Hispanic with deeply pigmented skin and heavy five o’clock shadow despite the early hour, his smile of obvious pleasure at seeing her exposed large white teeth.