"A'Frayed" by RJWing and Skydax (continued) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Doug ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Doug realized he must have been really hammered last night. At some point, Nikki had come into the bar, and had come to join Scott and him. But he awoke, and there was no one beside him. His other "woman friend" had not been feeling well, lately. He tried for a second to raise his aching head, then dropped back. His six cats had joined him (as they always did when he slept in the trailer), and were either purring and rubbing against various parts of his body he would much rather have found some young...hmmm... what had happened to Nikki? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scott ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scott returned from what he considered “a typical evening” with Doug. They (Doug mostly) flirted with waitresses...ogled young girls (even though Scott’s perception of them as “babies” didn’t really stop him from looking), even spent an hour watching Doug and his..."girl-friend"?? He remembered being slightly shocked, not only when Mick kissed her as she joined them...but that she had kissed him back, with what appeared to be genuine passion. For a split second his old jealousy...one that really had stopped long since high school, flared again. This young woman was attractive. She was, like the first girl Doug had pointed out to him that night, younger (or at least no older) than his own youngest daughter. She had a sweet face (a little on the paleside, but it added a quality of mystery to that face that it was surrounded by jet black hair, tied back, but wind-blown). She was definitely a biker. Her cut-off t-shirt/halter ended just below her breasts. Several times he could not help but notice when she raised an empty beer bottle to order another, that she also had small, but perfectly shaped breasts. And there was a tiny tattoo of Harley wings on the right, as well as a small gold ring through the nipple of that same breast. She talked with Scott for a few minutes, and then she and Doug proceeded to get well beyond happy hour. Scott was driving anyway, as the non-drinker of the bunch. He left the bar, thinking he was taking Nikki to Doug's place (she was far too drunk to ride her Harley, though at first she resisted when Doug told her that). Somehow, he used what little bit of charm he had left that evening to convince her that "she needed someone to watch out for her interests..." It came out "Jus lookin' ou fer ya, hon..." But she bought it. Doug directed her to a "friend's place" somewhere else in RedRock that evening. Then, they went to Doug's trailer home. Scott didn’t look down his nose (as did some of his “friends” (including his ex) at Doug because he lived in a mobile home. In point of fact,Scott had considered purchasing a home in the same park as Doug. When he viewed the “true space available” however, that was the end of the consideration -- he had too much “stuff” (as George Carlin liked to say). He simply couldn’t live in that small a space. They lit up a jay -- though Scott hadn’t had a drink, or any other “recreational” drug for years, he still enjoyed a good piece of Mexican agriculture. Under the influence of a good buzz...they both went outside to view the sky. It was one big benefit of living in this particular trailer-court -- the night sky view was incredible. Even the day-time view wasn’t bad -- Doug lived across from the Red-Irons, a section of the “foothills” that was made up of of upthrust shale, bright red (especially at sunrise and sunset --hence the name). At night, they were far enough away from the RedRock lights that millions of stars were visible, even to the naked eye, than were visible from Scott’s apartment. He considered Doug lucky in that respect, among others (Doug’s ability with a paint-brush...his feverish, though seemingly un-focused direction), and he didn’t be-grudge him these amenities in the least -- he was happy Doug had these things (at least) upon which to focus his immense cosmic curiosity. During the time, he and Doug brought out a couple of Doug's guitars, and played, very softly...a few blues songs from their collective past. Doug had once been part of a popular group in Denver -- “The New Carpet Alley Jug Band.” Scott had once played rhythm guitar and back-up vocals on a “demo-tape” for another friend who’d made it big time in recording. There was something bucolic and heroic about the music, all things considered...and Scott enjoyed it. This was his favorite part of a “typical evening with Doug.” When he finally returned to his apartment, he felt "overly warm" (as he thought of it -- his body tended to operated in a meta- bolic state that seemed a few degrees higher than most peoples'. He hated feeling the least bit sweaty...and although he wasn't, really... he immediately undressed when he closed and locked the door of his apartment. He went to his dresser, where Rae had left (among other things...like her own French-cut silk underwear, and little reminders of their "explorations") a pair of silk under-shorts for Scott. He smiled at his memory, when she had given them...how he had worn them...what she had done to him when he had them on...and how she had so expertly utilized them, before taking them off, slipping them, with her impish smile, over his ankles. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the other lover ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ His wings were big. Heavy. Dark green. If it weren't for the wings, she might have been able to fight him. But she could do nothing but lay pressed against the earth with his hot breath at her neck. He had her arms pinned above her head, both of her small wrists held tightly in his....what was it? Hand? Claw? The green palm was large, with tough skin that rubbed harshly agains the thin layerd flesh of her own small hands. Long scaled fingers,three of them, with curved small points of sharp ivory colored claws, circled her fingers into fists. He held her firmly, while his other fingers, slow moving snakes, slithered across her body in different directions, as if searching for the opening that would bring them all home...to some deep, dark cavern where they would be pleasurably safe and she knew what he was hoping to find... His mouth opened for the first time and from the demon came a tongue. Long, unfolding, silver and moist, this was the Serpent King, and she felt with great shudders through her body, the tongue tip expertly slip between the buttons of her silk blouse. His tongue searched, touching skin and cloth. It moved wettly across the tops of her breasts, then disappearing into the folds of her bra. It writhed between her mounds. Even beneath her blouse and bra, she could feel the tongue taking in her texture, her shape leaving in its path, warm, heated saliva... It found her nipple. And despite all the horror, the fear, the revulsion and disgust, the expert tongue with tiny circling movements... sent an electric shiver through her body that brought forth from her mouth, an unwanted, uncontrolled, sensual moan. The demon ripped open her blouse and with one clawed finger, cut the bra in half. He tore her skirt, tore her panty hose, tore the panties. And now the tongue, determined to elicit such sounds again, grew and glowed and descended upon Rae's body, hot and wet to search all crevices... plunging between her legs. "NO!!!"Startled by her own voice. Rae woke. "Mom?" Jory sleepily rolled over. "Mom? You o.k.? Hey you o.k?" . . Images fading fast...the pressure gone. No longer held to the earth, his face against hers. No wings, no claws, no...thank God, tongue...but she was still swimming in saliva. "Jesus, mom. You're soaking wet." "What?" Rae's head cleared. " You’re soaking wet. You look like you've been in a steambath with your clothes on." Jory was right. Rae was drenched from head to toe.. Her hair, her night shirt. The pillow underhead had a damp circle. "Is this one of those night sweat things you've talked about?" Jory asked, hoping her mom would say yes...Night sweats? Was the demon a night sweat? Is this what happens in menopause? Rae started to laugh....she thought of all the women in the world having night sweats. Waking up drenched from perhaps secret dreams of demon pleasure. She loved all women at the moment. Loved them for their fears of losing their sexuality as they aged. Sensitive, loving women ...who never wanted to give up that part of themselves and feared it was going to be taken away. "Mom? Are you o.k.? Why are you laughing?" And Jory began to laugh because her mom could do that to her....just my laughing make her laugh. It was a game they played with each other since she was very young. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jory ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jory loved her mother. Her mother was a last refuge in a world gone more than slightly mad. She had school-mates who’d been killed in drive-by’s...who’d killed themselves while driving drunk... who were killing themselves on a weird kind of installment plan by pissing their lives away. Her mother was a high school English teacher -- there were some problems about that, of course -- beginning with the fact that, since she attended the same school in which her mother taught, she’d already taken two classes in English with her mom. That, in itself, was not so bad....it was just....well, how could you be yourself when you were surrounded by friends, and your mother was standing at the front of the room, handing out the “assignment du jour”? And yet...being able to see her mother daily, when it seemed her father had all but disappeared into his own life...that had its considerable (though unspoken to her mother) advantages. She felt safe with her mother. But...how could she tell her mother what was truly on her mind that day? The answer was... she couldn’t. Any more than her mother could tell her what was happening with her and Scott, the man her mother had met on-line a year ago, and with whom she was sure her mother was...”involved.” Scott was okay...he was a teacher as well. He had retired...but he was working on some project that involved “teaching on-line.” She was never quite sure what that meant, as far as details. She had corresponded a time or two with him, but it was mostly in the area of “role-playing games.” At one time, her mother, Scott, and she herself had developed characters based on graphics from fantasy sites on the net...and their own imagination. But, with so many school assignments and extra-curricular activities (which included doing portrait photography of her friends), she’d had to quit that correspondence early. After that...their correspondence dropped to a trickle...and then stopped. She saw him, perhaps once or twice a year, when he visited her mother -- he lived out west, in Colorado... she and her mother were living in a small town in Ohio -- it was convenient for her... but she suspected her mother wasn’t satisfied with this arrangement. It was hard to ignore the fact that her mother wanted to spend as much time as possible with Scott. That was okay. It wasn’t quite like her father’s relationship with...well, who the hell was it this week? Her father was making up for what seemd (to him, she thought) for some imagined “lost time.” Why was she thinking about him, anyway? She supposed it was because, in her own imagination, her mother was doing Jory could only imagine. Was that how it worked? Was that how one learned about sex? It had never occurred to her before...but that was before she’d met Michael. She’d kept her emotional life simple up to this point. Now, it seemed a bit more complicated than she could imagine...or reveal...even to her mother. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ west again ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scott woke in an early morning twilight. The phone was ring- ing. He knew who it was, immediately, and he grabbed the cord-less phone lying next to him on the couch. "'Lo?" he mumbled. "Well...hi!" the voice was Rae's. She was both surprised and pleased to hear him, he thought...and his pulse quickened, as it always did, when she responded to him. She seemed to to know where, when, and how to touch him...with an eerily magic sense. He loved it. He loved her for it. "I didn't expect to hear your 'live voice,'" she whispered. "I needed to hear yours," he replied. There was a moment of silence. He could see her face so clearly. Somehow, he knew she was smiling, as he himself was...as if they were lying together, as they always did when they slept together...naked (or, if it were truly cold outside...maybe wearing a top of some sort...but nothing on below). She gave a slight giggle, one he loved. It was what he called her "deliciously naughty" giggle. He felt himself responding. He couldn't believe the effect her voice had on him, but it did, and he thought he would respond in kind. "Rae..." his voice was still thick with sleep, but just as her voice sounded sensuously overpowering when she was just awakening, he suspected his voice affected her, likewise. "You know you caught me in bed..." This time there was the sound of a little gasp...a little exclamation point of indrawn breath. Even that simple sound aroused him further. "And I'm guessing..." she began. "Yes?" he asked, knowing he was being coy...but also with the sense that she enjoyed it. "That you're..." "Naked as the proverbial day I was born..." he murmured, enjoying the feel of the words in his mouth, because she was hearing them. It was an electric sensation that occurred between them. He'd wondered often about so-called "phone sex..." the 900 numbers and other avenues of "release" (for lack of a better word). He himself might even have tried it...if he were 10 years younger and in the same marital situation. But until he had talked "naughty" with Renee on-line, then on phone...he had never given it much thought ("what's to experience?" he wondered). That was before he'd met Renee. He had no idea when they had started this game, or who started it (he was, in fact, fairly sure it had been one of their "mutually initiated" fantasies. But after the first experience with her (after their first truly explosively successful experience face to face, body to body) on the phone left him in a dazed state. Yes, indeed...there had been many changes in his life, he was discovering, with Rae. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ there will be more, oh yes! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nikki ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Her brain throbbed. Light struck terror into her eyeballs. Those seductive green pupils of hers that in combination with her long black lashes had the power to stir all that hid behind any man's tightly teethed pants zipper. Doug was going to be easy if she wanted him. And there were many times through the evening, she wasn't sure if she did. He had come on so strong. But puppy dog strong. Wagging his tail, literally, she thought...until she had a sense that he was scared of her. That knowledge gave her power but also endeared him to her. There was another time that his friend seemed more interesting. Tall, lanky, long haired...eyes almost like hers and a face that had aged handsome...deep lines that did not reflect the years but instead experience, exploration. She could sense he had been around and was capable of taking a woman to unimaginable places. But he had drifted in thought away from her. She could swear when first introduced that he was tempted...could feel his eyes on her lips, her young breasts... she was the forbidden fruit, the dream of an older man, to caress the inner thighs of a younger women. But his eyes became dreamy and she knew instinctively that he was some place else...with someone else. Liz struggled to sit up. A pain shot through her head. "Jesus, I feel like shit," she whispered. "Baby," a groggy voice from somewhere below her. " You're making too much noise." Moving her painful head she sought to see whose naked body she was next to this time. It wasn't Doug. That was a given. She couldn't remember when they parted last night. He almost didn't let her "part" as a matter of fact because she was definately getting too drunk. And she knew again instinctively, to let him be her protector... for now . He wasn't ready for the likes of her. No matter what fantasy might be rattling in his brain. In a strange way...she was the protector. So she had returned to the "boys" with sex on her mind and wondered which one of the lucky ones, Jason, Grahm or Frankie had got to screw her this time? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jory ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jory was nervous. Well...how else could one put it? She was a virgin. And Michael was...well, becoming a little more demanding. She had, one night, while they were parked in a particular wooded area infamous for such trysts...allowed him to touch her breasts...although when had mangaged to "un-hook" her bra (why did she wear one? she thought)... the sensation, finally, as he gently touched the very edge of one of her nipples was so electric, she jumped. There was a moment of awkward silence. She managed to glance at Michael, who seemed suddenly like a pup that has "done bad" and she laughed. "Oh, terrific!" she thought. Now, he thinks I'm laughing at him! "No...no..." she whispered, and surprised herself as she reached to touch his face. He had (sometime ago?) withdrawn his hand. At the moment, he seemed a bit frozen. He was not looking at her. That bothered her. He had told her that she was pretty -- that memory was powerful with her. She put her hand down toward the lower part of the left side of his face (he had sustained an injury there...some time ago, he'd told her...his face had been fractured there, thought it had healed). She turned his face to look at her. With gratitude she noticed that looking at her, he seemd a bit more relaxed...and he made no move to avoid her eyes. "Michael...I'm not laughing at you. But...I've never done this before. I told you that, before." Several seconds passed, feeling like hours. "No...Jory, I apologize," he murmured. He was still looking her in the eye. "It's just...well...it's just that..." he trailed off. Jory couldn't wait for another pause. She wanted to keep his eyes on hers. "Okay...maybe it's just...well, you know...I mean, guys...hmm...wanna have fun???" This time they both laughed. Jory loved the moment. They began to hold each other once again. She put her hand on his chest. It felt strong and good to her. They kissed in a manner that shocked Jory (though she didn't...thank God...jump when it happened). As their passion gre, she even slip his hand down below the waist band of her panties. She had stopped him, just short of touching her...there... While one part of her wanted to say, “No...Michael...it’s not right...” Another part of her...a part she hadn’t even known existed until that evening (not that boys hadn’t “hit on her” before) was awakening. Michael was...she couldn’t think of a word beyond “different.” That wouldn't cut it with her. It wasn't right. But...how the hell did you know when it was?? For whatever reason, her mother’s discussions with her over the difference between love and lust came to the fore at these critical moments, or she was fairly sure she would have given in, long ago, to Michael’s persistence. Still, the fact remained that Michael was different. He seemed...like...how her mother had described Scott once. Granted...her mother was a grown woman, with experience and apparently her own share of scars from relationships with men to know the hazards of the field. “But,” she thought, “...if Michael is like Scott...if he cares for me...” (she was convinced he was)...”then, what was the problem?” Of course, there were two major problems up front -- one was pregancy, and the other was “the big A,” or, at minimum...some STD (the old “sexually transmitted disease” of which the biology and family planning classes taught). ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to be continued ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nicki shoved the faded brown sheet covers away, swung her thin legs over the side of the bed. She could see the dried semen droplets on the inside of her thighs. It was a habit of hers to shove the boys out of her as quickly as possible no matter the depth of her drunken or drugged stupor. It was as if an automotic jettison lever went off in her brain to get whomever, the hell out of her body. Oh, she admitted, she knew it was one of a repetoire of ignorant, mythological birth controls methods, but what she didn’t admit, yet knew, was she didn’t want to linger. Leaving Tom, Dick or Harry’s “dick”...meant thinking about what meaningless and even possibly nameless person was deep inside of her. She would not allow that to happen. For a moment, she saw Doug. Warm smile, bright eyes. Caring. No. She wouldn’t go there. “Shove em’ out”, she whispered and stepped away from the bed in a wobbley motion, catching her balance against the four drawer bureau. She opened the third drawer, leaning her head against the closed first drawer. “Shit”. She looked back at the black, stringy hair, jutting out of the sheet. RENEEE2 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Demon ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ DEMON1 The demon in Rae’s dream watched them all. It had a detached, curious interest in their affairs, as casual as some human’s interest, in say... birds, or insects. There were some humans who captured these creatures in fact, and kept them in cages, or bottled them in preservative and pinned them to bright posters...with Latin names for their human designation. The demon had become interested in this group of humans in much the same way as the collector, and the breeder. In point of fact, it was the latter process (not the offspring of, although that would be an interesting concept to persue...the demon thought), that attracted its attention to this group of humans -- they were so....sexually inter-active...a process, that, despite the demon’s absolute lack of any physical analogues, intrigued and excited the demon. And it had, at one point, “engaged” with one of the females ...though she thought it a dream, and the demon’s last thought (though there was no emotional analogue, either) “I love you....” it had whispered in the female’s ear, just before she had woken and cried out. It had become, in its own way, addicted to observation of, and what little influence the demon could manage, at first...these fascinatingly physio-emotional-astral acrobatics of theirs. They were the most wonderful things it had seen in tousands of human years. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to be continued ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scott had a drinking problem. His ex had known it...but had never learned to deal with him, drunk or sober, AA meetings, or no AA meetings. He supposed, in some vague way, it was why the woman who was supposed to be “the love of this life” and he didn’t get along very well. Rae was considerably different, in that respect...among others. He could push aside the realization that he was making comparisons and backed up. Whoa....hoss....not there. He thought, as clearly as he could, at the moment -- “God, grant me the serenity... to accept things I cannot change... courage to change things I can... and wisdom to know the difference.” And he added a quick request to stay away from alcohol and chemicals that day. He still enjoyed his “wacky tabacky” (as Doug referred to it)...and since his ex had begun using it again after under-going chemo-therapy for breast cancer, he had that to share with her. Well...she had a “new attitude...” of recovery, and that was cool, as well. In many ways, it allowed him to share more deeply with Rae. But today was turning into a tough one. His “second oldest daughter” as he had to think of her (couldn’t bring himself to think of her as the “middle child” and knew she would hate that term, herself) had been distant from him for some time. He was sure it was residue from the ugly fall-out from the divorce. Even though he and Sara had begun to “heal”...he and Ashrawi, his delightfully intellectual, diminutive spit-fire of a daughter hadn’t quite reached that point. And he was assuming (he at least admitted that much to himself ...that he didn’t know how she felt) that she was flying in, out of this “half-unexpected” rain-storm, was going to be difficult over the issue of his relationship with Rae. It was an issue complicated by the simple fact that Ashrawi was defiantly lesbian, and for all her attitude, she still knew how to mess with men’s minds -- she was tall, blond, and drop-dead gorgeous ...with an innocent face, and a well-aerobicized body...tan and lithe -- he had “had words” with Doug over her, in fact, on more than one occasion. “You do understand, Doug.... you’re my twin brother and all ...but if you even think it...I’ll shoot you in the head!!” They had both laughted...uncomfortably. The fact remained...as determinedly lesbian (“Not bi!!” she made clear...and monogamous -- Jasmine, her lover...was her only lover) as she was...she had to make a living. She was good at “erotic dance.” She danced and showed her body to men for money. The thing that truly bothered him was that he had once frequented those places with Doug -- “Back then...” as he referred to his drinking and drugging days. He could hardly be judgemental, and wasn’t. But, he suspected strongly that Doug had been to the “Wolf and Rose” (what a clever name, he thought sourly) bar where Ashrawi danced. His friend had looked, but not touched. It still bothered him. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the demon in Scott's dream ~~~~~~~~~~~~ The demon decided, finally, that it could not understand the actions of the humans unless it took part in the female's dreams (nightmares...but, they were so...fascinating...his tongue where her "birthing place..."? was, and she so electrically charged, the demon had to avert its eyes). It also realized it could only understand that in a complete sense if it experienced through the male, as well. In the dreams, he ran...naked... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scott ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She was so beautiful as to be frightening. Scott felt himself laugh...but where did the laughter originate? He was laughing because the line itself was pure Bram Stoker a la Belladonna Bela. But her body was perfect. That is...her arms were beautifully proportioned. Her breasts were noticeable, firm, and the nipples were erect...small buds of pink ice. Her torso was smooth, and supple, and it arched toward him...hungrily... Her legs stretched back, athletically supporting the forward thrust of her smooth belly. He was on the verge of a euphoric delirium and was ready to be consumed by this creature, so enticing was her face, her smile... The sense of all of his limbs being caressed by...her...wings. Something about it made him start. The feeling of euphoria was replaced by a taut wariness. His sense of abandonment to the ecstasy this female figure offered was tempered slightly with a sense of survival...a need to withdraw. Distantly he felt himself grow smaller, knowing in the same distant way that he'd had an incredible erection, but it was retreating...if only slightly. There was no question in the continuing image. The woman had wings. Still...they were ephemeral, multi-colored, and supple. They were not the wings of a predator. They were the wings of a magnificent butterfly...of the faerie folk...of a being somehow deeply rooted in his deepest consciousness as both woman and...goddess... And then, his terror struck. For...if she were the goddess, some other part of his mind said -- to love is to court madness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nikki ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The dress was a light pink muslin, that danced easily around her ankles, barely covering the top laces of the brown high top shoes. Thin leather and dainty, with silver eyelet holes, they added a sense of old fashioned purity to her birthday dress. Her hair, tied back in a pink ribbon, framed her green jewled eyes and soft rose lips. She didn't move when she felt the carress of the wing along her bare arm. It was a faint but firm touch...like one finger trailing, seductively along the flesh of a waiting virgin, knowing the youth wanted to be taken.