"You promised, Galatea."
"You don't lie."
"Yes I do! I lie a lot! I lie all the time! I'm lying right now!"
"I mean you don't make false promises. You lie about them, but you never break them. There's a difference."
"All right, Dee, you win. You can go to that stupid store. But I still think you need to work on your priorities. Priority one: fuck me. Mm. Priority two: fuck me. Mm, God, you taste good. Priority three: fuck m—oh, fuck me, Dee, just fuck me!"
"I have! I will! Wait a minute, I think I am—Ga-Galatea! No more ambush sex, you promised!"
"We've had this conversation already! It ends with—mm—you fucking me so—ooh—so why stop now?"
"You know, I think you've got a point …"
"Mm—God, Dee! Yes. Fuck! More. God. More."
Dee examined his profile in the bathroom mirror. It was hard to be sure through the grimy crust accumulated over three days worth of nonstop, sweaty sex with an amorphous, amorous, dangerous, nymphomaniac dessert foodstuff, but he had to ask. "Galatea," he called, "do I look any different to you?"
"Say what now?" she called back from the bedroom.
He traced a few fingers over the line of his jaw and pushed up his cheek. "Do I look any different to you?"
"I've only known you for three days. Dee," she added, petulant, "come back to bed."
Dee performed the unflattering half-twist everyone makes when failing to catch a glimpse of their own butt. "We broke the bed when you tried to tie me to the bed frame." He twisted the other way.
He heard a sighing, slurping noise. "Oh, I've made you a bed," Galatea said, her voice so smoky it gave him goose-bumps. "Come here and let momma tuck you in nice and tight."
"I'm serious," Dee said, "I mean, all my zits are gone, for instance. Even that big one that just seemed to move around on my ass for the past five years."
"Will the wonders of nookie never cease. C'mon, let's have s'more before it gets a chance to grow back."
Dee struck a few silent poses. He scratched his head, his hair a calcified mass overdosed on green hair gel.
Galatea huffed in frustration. Dee heard a loud slosh and then the patter of dainty feet. "Alright, then, what do you think is different?"
"I'm not sure. I think I look sort of 'streamlined,' maybe?" He shrugged wide, surprised to see the muscles in his mirror-imaged arms and shoulders bunching. He had been getting a Hell of a workout lately, he admitted to himself. "Maybe I lost weight? I mean, I haven't eaten anything but, well, you, for a while now."
Galatea stood, stark naked, her back pressed against the bathroom doorframe. She slid down the frame like a pole dancer, bending at the knees, rolling her fingers through her hair, head swaying, hips rocking. "'Doesn't just taste good—it's good for you too!'" she baby-talk mocked. She pressed her palms to the floor between her legs and sat like a cat. "You look like you've always looked to me," she said, her voice tender. "I don't see any difference. Honestly." She gave him a sly upward glance. "But the view from here is mag-fucking-nificient."
"All this attention is making me feel self-conscious, and I must be coming off as really self-absorbed. I'm sorry," Dee said, smiling. "I'm sure it's nothing."
"Think of it this way," asked Galatea, standing tall. "Is your dick any bigger?"
Dee panicked. He looked down. "No," he sighed, relaxing.
Galatea whirled around and threw her hands in the air. "Then who cares?" she said, marching back into the bedroom.
She grinned wide at the sound of Dee's laughter and leaned back in to wink at him in the mirror. "You coming? You really oughta give my new bed trick a shot. A money shot, I mean. Maybe a dozen."
"Definitely," said Dee, "but please, later. If I go to bed now I'm sure I won't come up for air until midnight…"
"At the very least, bright boy."
"And I really want to get to SRU today, and it's already, what, eleven o'clock?" Dee plucked a purple bathing scrubber out from beneath the sink and tossed it into the tub. "After today I've only got one more day of bereavement leave and then I've got to go back to work on Monday."
"You've got two other grandparents, two parents, and a sister yet to kill," Galatea said, "I'm going to keep you locked in here for a fucking month."
Dee unwrapped a new bar of soap. "You know that won’t work."
"I know," Galatea sighed, "but I'll think of something! What are you doing in there anyway?"
Dee's hand froze above the shower tap. Had he really not been in the bathroom in three days? "Got to get clean," he grunted, twirling the tap. "Got to go back to SRU," he said, pulling the mildewed, plain plastic shower curtain across the tub to avoid the freezing first jet of water. "Got to figure out what the fuck is going on."
Galatea pelted into the bathroom, her rubbery feet squeaking on the cheap linoleum floor as she came to a juddering halt. She started to bounce and clap her hands. With her elasticity and curves, it was like watching an Orion slave girl porn starlet jumping on a trampoline in slow motion. "Shower scene! Shower scene!" she sang after each bounce.
Dee, a mere mortal, ogled the spectacle for a good long while before remembering what language he spoke. "Galatea," he said, "we can't. You're water soluble."
"Nuh-uh," she scolded, reaching a hand into the showering spray. "I'm water absorbent."
Her breasts fluxed and filled out two extra cup sizes. "How big you want 'em?" she asked, turning her back to the shower to give her burgeoning bust some room and sticking both hands under the water. "Just say 'when.' Oh, you're just going to stand there with your mouth open? Well then step back because it's going to get awful crowded in here. You might get tucked into my bed trick after all. And then momma's gunna tuck and tuck and, mm, tuck until she tuckers you out. And then she'll just keep on tucking. That's what happens to naughty boys when they say no to momma—"
"Enough games," Dee demanded, hurling the bar of soap into the sink. It smashed into perfumed shards.
Galatea tried to cross her arms but settled on drumming her fingers atop her glutted tits, lips compressed into a grouchy moue. "You take all the fun out of having a sex slave." She pried her fingers between her breasts and peered down. "Can you see my bellybutton? I can't." Pushed corset-tight by water pressure, her cleavage only gave about an inch before springing shut over her nose. "I can't even see my feet," she said, voice nasal and plugged.
Dee grinned, exasperated and world-weary. "A minute more under the shower and no one would be able to see your feet. Honey, I love your games, but I—Hey, what's wrong, honey?"
Her gaze glistened. "You never called me that before."
"What, you mean 'honey?' You don't like it?"
He stepped close and took her hand. The top points of her hair tickled under his chin. "But it's such a little thing."
"Not to me."
The tips of his fingers kissed the curve of her hip. "I have an inner vocabulary when I think of you. Do you want to hear it?"
"I…I'm not sure," she whispered.
"Nectar, jade," he said, stealing quick kisses from her trembling mouth, "Ocean, emerald, wine." Galatea's tears ran free. "Darkling, thunder," Dee said, kissing, "fire, river, rain."
"But more than anything," he said, and cradled her face in his hands. "Honey," he said, and kissed her deep. "Honey," he said again and she threw her arms around him and crushed her lips to his, sobbing into his mouth. "Honey," he whispered, and held her tight until the shaking stopped.
"You know," she sniffled, "this would be so much more romantic if…"
"You're breasts weren't shoved up my armpits," Dee said.
She nodded, adding, "And if you didn't smell like ass."
Dee snagged a shard of soap from the sink. "I think the stupid shower is finally warming up." He watched steam rise.
Galatea leaned close, sniffing. "Hey," she said, "that smells damn good. Wuzzat?"
"Homemade castile soap, olive oil and cream tallow and stuff. Don't look at me like that, the Goth girl who makes the absinthe in her bathtub made it for me…Now don't you start looking at me like that, either. Ursula isn't interested in guys like me. Little Miss U isn't interested in guys, period."
"Hmf," Galatea grumped, hugging herself to Dee's chest. A moment later she perked up. "Let's get you cleaned up." She maneuvered Dee over to the toilet, checked the lid was closed, and pushed him down. "You sit here."
"Okay," said Dee, curious.
She skipped over to the tub and turned off the tap. "What's—" Dee started, but was struck dumb by the gleaming emerald smile Galatea threw over her shoulder.
"You just sit right there," she said.
She stood straight, and inhaled deeply, her furled fingers tracing a circle around her tummy. A strong fluxion in her fluidic gel pulled water down from her chest into her abdomen. An inner waterfall transformed her from a pornographic titty queen to a beatific gravid maiden in a matter of moments. She ran her hands over her taut, round belly. She hummed in thought.
"It does not make you look fat," Dee marveled.
She bedazzled him with that starry smile again. She swayed close, plucked the shard of soap, now warm and molded, from Dee's hand. "Thank you," she chirped, and popped it in her mouth.
"What's—" Dee tried again, but Galatea shushed him, and a soap bubble burst against his chin.
Galatea rummaged through the sink, feasting on select slabs and crumbles of soap. She collected the few slivers that remained into a little pile and vigorously poked them down the drain. "Pfft. Ursula. Hmf."
"Now," she said, whirling back to face him, hands clasped to chest, her smile beguiling. "Gimme fever."
Dee moved in to kiss her, but she said, "That would taste pretty soapy right now."
Dee met her gaze for a moment. He pushed her chin up and scraped his parted mouth down the entire length of her graceful neck and across to her shoulder blade in one, slow, warm, breathy exhalation. He sat back, coming away with a swath of runny green icing from his nose to his chin. "You mean something like that?"
"Yeah," she gulped, eyes closed, chewing hard on her lip. "Something—ah—something like that, yeah." She stepped back, her ample belly blooming into turquoise like milk swirling into green tea. The curious color spread until her entire substance turned an opaque, pale jade. "Now," she panted, "come close to me." Dee did as he was bid. "Yes. Good. Stand right there. Give me your hands."
She cupped his hands together, palms up, and positioned them level with his chest. "Hold them just like that," she said, stepping back. He felt supplicant and embarrassed until she bent down, kissed his fingertips, and blew cool, citrus-perfumed air over his palms. His hands started to tingle and the citrus bouquet grew very strong. Galatea stepped back, eyes shining.
His hands had been filled with creamy pale jade foam. "Wow," Dee said.
"How does it smell?" Galatea asked, biting her thumb.
Dee shut his eyes to concentrate on the aroma. "Soothing. An orchard of citrus trees in blossom." He smiled. "I bet this is what really expensive spas smell like."
Dee felt her step close and push his hands up onto his chest. "How does it feel?" she cooed, moving his hands over his skin gentle arcs, spreading the stuff around, before pulling his hands away again.
"Oh, God," Dee said, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. "Uh. Tingly—no, stupid word, not strong enough. Electric. Searing. But gentle, all at once. Like—" He gasped as he felt her finger trace a thread of the foam down his abdomen. "Like dozens of nibbling little lightening kisses. No. Hundreds. Thousands. I, I can’t describe—"
"Shh," whispered Galatea, gathering up his hands. "Those," she said, kissing his fingertips again, "are nanogasms."
She blew cool, citrus-perfumed air over his palms. They started to tingle again. She pushed his hands back toward him, this time massaging the sensuous foam in his stomach. He nearly doubled over from the carnal thrill it drove into him. He still could not open his eyes. "You're…you're not covering me in my own, uh…"
"No," Galatea purred. He heard her exhale through puckered lips for a long moment. "I'm covering you…" she said, and a pair of hands smeared foam down his thighs. Dee groaned and fell to his knees. While her hands worked their creamy way toward his groin, another pair of hands started slathering even more across his back, making him arch and bark, senses running wild. "…In me."
Galatea was working foam into his hair and down his neck when Dee cried, "I can't—"
"Yes you can."
"No, I can't take it!" He fell to all fours as a dozen foamy hands rove over his feet, his arms, his ass. For some reason they really liked playing with his ass.
"Yes you can!" Galatea smoothed the foam gently around his face. "You're about to experience what the female orgasm feels like, Dee." Her many hands gently pushed him down and rolled him onto his back. "That's all." She massaged it deep into his calves, the pits under his arms, and between his toes. "If any man could take it, it would be you. You can do it. I love you. I love you. Okay. It's time. Here we go."
Galatea blew cool, citrus-perfumed air over his dick, and Dee flew mad.
Dee flailed, every muscle jittery with wave after wave of tension and release, his cream-covered body slapping and slopping the floor with foam. Galatea coddled his cock, kneading the jade elixir deep into his very most sensitive skin. "What does it feel like, Dee?" she asked, and blew, heaping his lap with more sizzling foam. She rolled and folded it over his balls, her hands slipping up his shaft and down into the crack of his ass. Dee could only groan. "Talk to me, baby," she said, blowing and working in more cream, "even just a little. Tell me how it feels," she said, and blew.
"Flying," he managed, "flying. It really is just like…"
Dee could say no more for a few minutes, as she blew and salved every inch of him with more and more cream. "It's," he said, his eyes flickering open. "It's not stopping."
Galatea lay down and cuddled up against his side, sleeking herself with foam. "It hasn't happened yet," she said, her chin on his shoulder. "You're still plateauing, baby."
"Oh my God," Dee said, his laughter warm. "How long does it last?"
"That depends." Galatea's hand skated down his stomach and settled over his raging dick. "How long do ya wannit?"
"I don't think I can take much more."
"Mm." Galatea slid atop him, her breasts and big belly sandwiched in cream against his chest, her knee pushing his slippery erection into his stomach. "You got it, baby," she said, spreading her legs over him. She scooted down and guided him into her, frictionless as silk.
Galatea glided on a thick layer of cream. "Cum in me," she said, humping faster, "cum in me, baby." Each upstroke slicked a heavy breast across his face, a cream-covered nipple popping in and out of his mouth. "Cum for momma. Come on. That's it. Yeah, you're doing it." She pivoted against him, sitting up. "I can feel it coming."
She grabbed his hands and clamped them on her tits. "Let is happen, baby, there's nothing you can do." She rocked her hips in topsy-turvy circles, keeping pace with Dee's racing pulse. "Momma's gunna make you cum. Momma loves to make her baby cum. Momma always—ah." Dee's violent shaking suddenly stopped.
"Ooh, good baby," Galatea said. "Baby's giving so much cum to mommy." She let his hands fall to the floor where they pawed feebly at the tile. "Baby's got so much cum for mommy." Her rocking slowed, lingering on each arching upstroke. "Yes. There. Baby's filling momma up to bursting. Such a—mm— good baby," she said, hugging her round tummy. Her downward thrusts grew faster, harder, each agonizing upstroke lasting longer and longer.
"But momma wants more … Nuh-uh," Galatea fussed, shaking her head, treating Dee's dick like a piston buried deep within her pumping hips. "Stay hard for mommy. Momma knows her baby has more. Baby has much more cum to give, and momma wants it all. Momma's gunna take it all, there isn't anything baby can do to stop it. Oh, baby's gotten so hard again. Oh, oh! Baby's cumming so fast! Mm, and so much more than last time, too. Was baby holding back from mommy? I bet he was. Naughty baby. Is baby holding back now? I bet he is. Oh, look, baby's so tired he can barely move a muscle … but momma's got him hard again. Momma knew he was holding back. Baby should know better. Momma's never gunna stop. Not until she—gets—what—she—wants."
Dee guessed the plastic, battery powered clock hanging sideways on the bathroom wall read one o'clock. Or maybe two. The jade foam dripping from the clock face made it hard to read.
Galatea flattened herself out a bit to fit into the tub behind him. Dee tried to pop the stopper in the tub's drain but it zipped out of his cream-coated fingers and skittered out into the hallway. "Don't bother," Galatea said, rubbing Dee down with the purple bathing scrubber. "I've got enough of the three Ds in me right now to sink a battleship, so a little nanomek down the drain is no big loss. Besides, it almost always finds its way home." She blew cool air against his back and rolls of the soapy, jade cream poured over his shoulders and filled the tub. "Can you handle it?"
Dee hugged his knees, feeling countless nanogasms coursing through him. "Yes, it's wonderful." He leaned back and stole a kiss. "Thank you. You gave me an incredible gift. Thank you, thank you."
Galatea just smiled, humming tunelessly, and scrubbed him down. "I wish I could go with you," she said after a while. "To go out in broad daylight and be seen with you, I mean. I want everyone to see us together—especially that Ursula bitch."
Dee laughed. "Speaking of U, I need to remember to pay her back for all that absinthe. Wait a minute." He turned to face her. "Food coloring."
"You wanted to go out and be seen," Dee said, "Ursula has got to have some food coloring in her apartment. Maybe we can…"
"Hey, yeah," said Galatea. "Why didn't I think of that. RGB, right? I've got the G, I just need some R and B."
"I don't think it works that way…"
"Shut up," Galatea said. "And you, move your lazy ass!"
"What," Dee began, but startled when the background nanogasms suddenly vanished. The jade foam boiled out of the bathtub and onto the floor, leaving Dee spotless and squeaky clean from head to toe. The foam whisked up fluffed out and a willowy, ghostly Galatea rose above him, an abstract apparition sculpted from curling arabesques of cloud and cream.
"I'm going, I'm going," the apparition said, its wispy voice little more than a crackle of bursting bubbles. It wafted down the hallway. "I'll get it."
Dee shook his head, and called after it. "Don't forget to leave Ursula some money! My wallet's in my pants, wherever they wound up."
"Okay!" it bubbled back.
Galatea slipped sideways around him, pancake flat, and filled out to sit in his lap. She grinned like a cat.
"I can see through you again," Dee said. "As much as I ever could, which wasn't really all that much was it?" She just grinned at him, as translucent as green glass. "Was it—that is, were you—aware and awake this whole time?"
"Yes!" she said, bouncing. "Covering every scrumptious, solid inch of you." She cupped Dee's face, kissed him, and pinched his cheek. "Getting into every pore. Giving you all those nanogasms." She drubbed merrily on his chest with her fists. "Oh my God, I can't wait to remember it. It must have been awesome."
"It was," the apparition said, drifting back in through the door, a handful of colorful plastic vials suspended in the core of her vaporous body. Dee thought it looked much less substantial. "But getting these was a real pain in the ass. Thank God Ursula leaves her window cracked open. And the gardening crew almost saw me. And I almost blew away in the wind. And I nearly burned all my nanomek just carrying these things around." The vials dropped through her to the floor.
"And I couldn't give a shit," said Galatea, leaping out of the tub. "I can't wait any longer." She knelt beside the apparition, eyes closed, mouth open, and tongue peeking out over her bottom lip like a shameless Catholic schoolgirl awaiting a communion wafer from a really cute priest.
The apparition pressed her spectral sex around Galatea's tongue. Galatea ate her out and then ate her way in. "Why does this always make me so freaky-hot?" Dee asked.
"Because you’re a freak," Galatea said, sucking on the apparition's left breast from the inside-out. The apparition soon disappeared down Galatea's gullet. "C'mon, c'mon," she muttered. "Fuck, I'm too excited to concentrate. Wait. Oh. Oh my." She unraveled in long, coiling curlicues, the daggers of her hair leading the way.
"Galatea?" Dee said.
The green curlicues sewed themselves back up and Galatea was lying face down on the floor, her disheveled hair curtaining her head. "I think I'm just going to lie here for a while, Dee, if that's okay," she said, hushed and muffled.
Dee listened to her giggle and sigh for a while before sneaking out of the tub and into the bedroom. It looked like a paintball war zone. Galatea had moved Dee's computers and equipment into the living room before really letting herself loose. The bedroom was entirely her territory now. It reeked of citrus-and-sex and a hint of Nyquil, her essence permeating the plaster behind peeling wallpaper and the stucco ceiling and eating through the varnish of the hardwood floor. The bedroom closet door had come off its hinges. He moved it aside and inspected the closet's contents. Much of his clothes, kept in cheap plastic closet organizers, had been spared, although Galatea had taken to wearing his underclothes and all of his ties had been lost to her bondage/tickle experiment earlier in the day. Dee still could not remember how he managed to snap the bed frame in half. He picked out undamaged pairs of briefs, socks, blue jeans, an undershirt and a melon-colored polo. Dee was threading a black leather belt through the loops on his jeans when he heard Galatea crow, "Tah-dah!"
She struck a classic tah-dah! pose in the bedroom doorway, emptied food coloring vials born aloft in an upturned hand. She wore a tight, white, strapless jumpsuit that clung to every accentuated curve and starkly announced her utter lack of bra and panties. Her skin was the color of peach ice-cream, her hair orange as flame, her lips red as blood. "Check this out!"
Dee said, "Um."
"What," Galatea said, her ivory-white smile blinding. "Can't even manage a 'wow'?"
"Wow," said Dee. "Definitely 'wow.' But, um, I don't think it's going to help us in the lets-be-seen-together department."
"What?" Galatea said again. "Why not?"
Galatea's eyes narrowed. "What? And you better not make me say 'what' again, motherfucker."
"…Have you looked in the mirror?" Dee said, and shut his eyes.
He heard dead silence for a moment, then the slap-slap-slap of open-toed sandals, and finally a mortified scream from the bathroom. "Oh my God," Galatea wailed, "I look like a fucking 'toon!"
Dee hustled after her. "Actually," he said, his brain kicking into automatic pilot and launching a routine lecture, "the signature stylization of anime is very different from American cartooning in several key—"
"Shut up, dumb ass! Okay, okay. Let me think. What if I try imitating somebody?" Her gel morphed and color-cycled with a soft, metallic sigh. "Nooo! I wanted Betty Paige and I got Betty Rubble!"
Dee stood, frozen and staring, from the hallway. Complement, complement, he thought desperately, think of a complement. "Betty Paige as Betty Rubble," he heard himself say. Okay, which brain cell came up with that one? Because when I find out, you're fired.
Galatea squeezed her fists over her eyes and morph-cycled again. "I can't look," she said. "Tell me: is it Angelina Jolie, or…"
Honesty works, right? Try honesty. "No," he gulped, "it's Lara Croft, but the rendering is quite impress—"
She pounded against the mirror, morph-cycling on each punch. "No! —Punch! Carmen San Diego— This is so fucking —Punch! GI Joe's Baroness— humiliating! I could never —Punch! Jessica Rabbit— be seen like this! I could die, Dee, I could just —Punch! Princess Jasmine— die! Dee, don't look at me! Dee? Dee, why are you so quiet—Oh." She cycled back to her jade self. "Oh," she said again, the sound drawing out as realization dawned.
"Don't worry about going out," Dee said sotto voce. He stepped into the bathroom and gently closed the door behind him. "Now isn't the time."
Galatea giggled, "Ah—hah, ah-hum, hm-mm."
Where the scent of wild roses
Turns the milk to cream,
Tell your mother how you walked all night
Upon the velvet green.
—Jethro Tull, Velvet Green
"Dee," Galatea called out, "how long will you be gone?"
Dee was back in the closet foraging for a second set of clothes. His first attempt at getting dressed in three days had wound up in the laundry hamper soaked through with pastel rainbows of honey. "It's an hour round-trip to the SRU place," he said, scraping flecks of green icing off another pair of jeans with a fingernail, "so I'll get there right around six. In all honesty, I'd like to stay until I've gotten all my questions answered, but they will be closing up by then, I don't think they'll be very forthcoming, and I really don't want to force anybody to tell me anything—I'm not even sure if I can—but I'm going to try." He buttoned down a yellow shirt. "That makes it two hours, tops. Is that okay?"
"No," Galatea sighed, "but you gotta do what you gotta do. I'll miss you."
He wrestled into his black leather jacket. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll make it up to you."
"Ooh, I like the sound of that."
"Did you ever find my wallet?" Dee asked.
"Yeah, it's on the kitchen table."
Dee rummaged around the kitchen, filling his pockets. "Honey," he asked, "what's up with the Auberjon-eoises?"
"The Odo cut-outs," Dee said, staring.
"What about 'em?"
"Why are they all standing in the recycle bin?"
"Forget 'em," Galatea said. "That was just a school girl crush. Baby-girl, really. I'm onto solids now."
Dee found the tin of thickener next to his wallet on the kitchen table. "Hey, this thing feels lighter than I remember. You sure you didn't take any more nanomek?"
"I told you, I don't need it. It wouldn't do me any good. I've got the three Ds, remember?"
Dee joined Galatea in the bathroom to give her a quick squeeze. "I remember."
She kissed him before turning back to the mirror. She restyled the swooping X above her left breast, giving it a slight slant and staggering the curves a bit, its shape evocative of a dancer with arms upraised. "What do you think?"
"It's very sweet," Dee said, "but you don't have to wear it at all. I trust you."
"I know," she said, turning this way and that, looking at the mark from all angles, "but I want to. I like it."
"All right," he said, hugging her. "It's just…wait. Are you going to stick with that design?" She nodded. He squeezed tight, making her sigh. "Can I add another hour?"
"I've got an idea. You'll see. You'll like it."
"Okay," she pouted, "but you gotta make it up to me twice as hard, you got that?"
"I got it." He goosed her. "And you're going to get it."
"Good," she said, slapping his hands away. "Now get the fuck outta here. I've got Internet porn to catch up on."
"Actually," he said, handing her a thin box, "I found an old DVD for you. It's a comedy."
"'John Carpenter's The Thing'?" she read aloud. "Is it funny?"
"Trust me; you'll love it."
Dee's banged-up Volkswagen drove past fields of wild grass, land zoned for commercial use decades ago but left fallow thanks to its invisibility from the elevated highway. No signs were posted to name the local roads and the MapQuest print-out proved just as wrong now as it did four days ago. Dee half expected never to find the place, or if he did, to find it boarded up and seemingly deserted for years. After all, his previous excursion to SRU Medical Technology had taken him across the Twilight Zone and beyond the Outer Limits to that little curtained-off cubby in the far corner of the video store of cosmic reality that the likes of Rod Serling, H.P. Lovecraft, Stephen King and Clive Barker visited in their imaginations but knew better not to write about it.
A much-relieved Dee pulled into the oversized SRU Medical Technology parking lot just a few minutes before six o'clock. The pickup truck was nowhere to be seen, but the old Mini still sat exactly where Dee remembered it at the very edge of the lot. A dusty blue van rumbled past, its driver apparently lost, the only other traffic Dee had seen since turning onto the local off-ramp.
Dee parked one space away from rose-colored Mini Cooper out of some ancient herding instinct. He listened to the click and clack of the cooling engine, trying to screw up his courage. He might have to shout, he realized, or even threaten violence, to get what he wanted. But could he? He glared at the Mini Cooper. The owner had taped a "For Sale" sign in the passenger-side rear window. Instead of a price, someone had written, "What are YOU looking at?" in an elegant longhand calligraphy. Below that was a phone number: (555) GET-LOST. "I know the feeling," Dee said, but got out of his car and made a bee-line for the store anyway.
A "Help Wanted – Inquire Within" sign hung amid the clutter of collapsible crutches, orthopedic pillows, home blood pressure kits, and posters for various medical manufacturers crowding the glass storefront. The antique bell hanging on the front door clattered even louder than Dee remembered. The elevated counter ran down along the wall to the left; the cash register perched on the countertop just a few feet away from the front door, providing the occupier of the stool behind it a clear view of the remaining three corners of the store. The stool's occupant, however, was currently frowning over a book of Sudoku puzzles as thick as a phone directory, rubbing down the open page with an eraser worn away to the nub. Dee stepped over to the counter directly in front of her, but she did not look up until the puzzle box on the open page was clean. When her eyes eventually met Dee's, however, she startled with a lightning-quick double-take, as if surprised at being surprised at who she saw, but her poker faced mask of happy inscrutability flicked back in an instant.
"Oh, hey!" the young woman said, sounding delighted. "Thick Jell-O boy. How'd it go?" Her dark eyes twinkled. "Let me guess: chocolate, right?"
"Who are you?" Dee asked.
She brushed pink eraser shavings off her white blouse. "You can call me Tomoe Exposition."
"What kind of name is 'Tomoe Exposition'? Other than the obviously fake kind, I mean," Dee said.
Tomoe made her all-inclusive, one-shouldered shrug. "What's your name?"
"Deiter Detwiler. Who are you, Tomoe, really?"
"Oh, hey!" she said, exactly as before. "Deiter Detwiler. How'd it go? And what kind of name is 'Deiter Detwiler'?"
Dee sighed. "Call me Dee. Who are—"
"Oh hey!" she said, a pitch perfect repeat. "Dee. Now are you going to tell me how it went or am I going to have to call in the big guns?"
Dee reached into a jacket pocket. The SRU Thickening Agent tin clicked onto the countertop. Anticipating a samurai staring contest, he did his best to match her inscrutable smile, trying to act cool but certain he looked like a terrified dweeb. "Call in whoever you want," he said, hoping it did not sound as stupid to her as it did to him, "I don't kiss and tell." They matched stares. Dee's stomach knotted as the moment stretched. "Do you?" he said, thinking: I'm not going to get anywhere with her. This is her Mysterious Foreign Shopkeeper schtick, she is a master at it, and she knows that I know and vice versa. I'm never going crack it, and I'm never going to hurt her, or even bluff about it, because I like her too much. How can I not like her? She set me up, all right, but she set me up with the best thing that's ever happened in my entire life…
Tomoe blinked and swiveled her gaze down to the floor. "No, I don't."
Dee, bewildered over winning the standoff, said, "Huh?"
"I don't kiss and tell," Tomoe said, her grin wide and very real. "But for you…" She held out a small hand. Dee clasped it, expecting a handshake, but instead Tomoe used his arm as leverage to stand on the stool. Dee wondered at her strength and grace. "For you, Dee," Tomoe said, "I will show and tell."
She pumped her fist three times at the window. "Wait a minute," Dee said as the Mini Cooper started forward. "What's going on?" he asked, as the little rose-colored car picked up speed. "Look out!" he shouted as the Mini Cooper showed no sign of slowing down, but Tomoe just stood there.
Dee guessed the little car had accelerated to at least thirty miles per hour before hitting the curb of the sidewalk and his mind shut down while his hindbrain kicked in. He stepped up onto the countertop in a single, glass-crunching stride, Tomoe turning to face him just as the front tires cleared the curb.
"What…" Tomoe began, but Dee plucked her up into the air by the armpits as the front tires bit down on the sidewalk. Tomoe tried again, "The…" but Dee spun about, carrying her in both arms as the car's rear tires cleared the curb. "Fuck…" Tomoe wheezed, but Dee held her close, leapt, and ran into one of the aisles across from the counter, laying her flat on the floor. "Do you think you're doing?" Tomoe finished in a shriek. Dee bent over her, shielding her body with his as the car careened into the front door.
The battered doorbell clattered and for one vertiginous moment Dee thought that a strawberry jam factory must have exploded nearby. "What the Hell is going on?" he cried as great bows of rose colored jelly zipped and ricocheted throughout the store.
Tomoe, still pinned beneath him, batted her fists against his shoulders as the springy bows of gel bounced one by one behind the counter. "I'm trying to introduce you to my girlfriend you idiot! But, uh…" Her battering slowed, her fists unclenched and Dee had the sneaking suspicion he was being felt up. "Thanks for trying to save my life, I guess. No, no, don't get up," she added, grabbing his collar. "You, ah, really knocked the wind out of me. You wouldn't mind picking me up…again…would you?"
"Hey," someone said, voice soft but warm and sparkling, "you totally ruined my entrance."
Dee glanced up and Tomoe's hands returned to their surreptitious roving. An aquiline, angelic face chiseled from the pure pink of flawless rose quartz watched them from behind the counter. "What are you two doing?"
"Dee thought you were trying to run me over," Tomoe said. "Dee? Meet SB. SB, this is Dee."
SB stood, shaking out a long, thick mane of narrow dreadlocks spun from cotton candy. Where Galatea had the overripe, fit-to-bursting figure of a Hollywood bombshell from the Fifties, SB took on the lithe power and athleticism of an Olympian. Her coppery spandex one-piece, however, made damn sure everyone knew she had all the curves and swells anyone could possibly want. Her eyes narrowed. "So this is the latest Jell-O aficionado, huh? How's about you standing up and getting the Hell off my merchandise?"
Dee stood and helped Tomoe to her feet. SB did that same quick double-take Tomoe had given him earlier but resumed her what-are-you-looking-at glare just as fast. "You can turn into a car?" Dee asked, not even believing the words were coming out of his mouth.
"It's a dick thing," SB said, but Dee did not understand what she meant until she stepped out from behind the counter and, suddenly, he did.
"He's gone pretty pale, T," said SB.
"Probably feeling a little inadequate, SB," Tomoe said.
Dee had read too much hardcore manga not to know where this was headed. "It's not that," he said, but, looking down at the gargantuan bulge in the overstressed crotch of SB's one piece, confessed, "Well, I guess it kind of is. No, it just is. But that's not important."
"That was refreshingly honest," said SB, binding up her dreadlocks into a thick ponytail. "If that's not the important part, though, what is? Go on. You can see you have my full attention."
Dee took a step back. "Actually, I bet I don't. I suspect your attention can get a lot, er, fuller."
"You'd win that bet," Tomoe said, her inscrutable smile back in place.
Honesty seems to be working, Dee thought. It had better, or else I am truly fucked. "I jerk off to comics about dickgirls as much as the next man," Dee said. "But when I do, I don't fantasize about being with a dickgirl, you see, I fantasize about being the dickgirl. I hope you don't take offense."
"Interesting," said SB, cupping her chin. "I think I'll let this one live, T."
"You want to be a dickgirl, Dee?" said Tomoe. "Why didn't you say so before? I've got just what you need, SRU-label hormone supplements. Right in there." She pointed to the supply closet behind the counter. "You want some? For you? Five dollar."
Dee opened his mouth, waiting for his conscience to voice an objection, but then he remembered he did not possess a conscience any more, at least when it came to sex, so he just turned to the supply closet with a thoughtful, "Hm."
"Go on in and take a look around," Tomoe said. "Don't worry, nothing in there will bite you, at least not until you get it home."
Dee wandered into the supply closet and SB pulled Tomoe aside behind the counter. "You said he was cute!" she whispered.
"He was!" whispered Tomoe.
"You didn't say he was so panty-soaking fucking fine!" SB hissed, teeth gritting.
Dee clambered up the short ladder at the far end of the closet to get a better look at something and SB yanked at the collar of Tomoe's blouse. "Oh, lover-girl, would you look at that ass!"
"I am! I am!"
"I don't see any more thickener in here," Dee said.
"You wouldn't," Tomoe called back, trying to keep the anxious quaver out of her voice, "not when you don't need it. One of the rules."
"I see you have some SRU-label herbal-enzyme male enhancement supplements. I bet I know what those might do."
"You want some?" asked Tomoe.
SB chewed on a fist and whispered, "God, no, what if he took some right here in the store I don't think my mind could take it."
Tomoe steamrolled ahead out of habit and arcane ritual. "For you? Five dollar." She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "No, no, please say no."
"No thanks," said Dee.
The two girls relaxed.
The two girls clutched each other in fear.
"We've got to get a grip!" SB said.
That seemed to snap Tomoe out of her panic. "Like this?" She grabbed SB's dick. Her slight hand barely wrapped half-way around its girth but her grip was long-practiced and ironclad.
"You guys okay?" said Dee, coming out of the closet. "I thought I heard someone shout. What's so funny?"
"Nothing, nothing." SB coughed to smother her case of the giggles and walked away from the counter.
Dee shrugged and turned to Tomoe. "'Rules,' you said? What 'rules'?"
"I can tell you rule number one," Tomoe said. "We get to ask the first questions around here."
"So," said the well-endowed rose girl, "What flavor did you start with?" SB wriggled out of her one-piece, rolled it into a jelly donut, and ate it. She pirouetted, with the elegance and dignity of a Bolshoi ballerina apart from the monster cock flapping like a windsock glued on her groin. She rode the momentum of the revolution to spin and reweave her gelled body into the form of a slinky, doe-eyed bimbo lying supine on the store's checker-tiled floor. She bent her legs at the knees and spread them, obscenely wide, dick replaced with a pink and puffy pussy. She turned her head away bashfully and bit down hard on a curled knuckle. "Vanilla?" she asked through clenching teeth, her voice shuddery with anticipation.
"Eh," said Tomoe, shrugging. "He doesn't look like the vanilla type."
SB clucked impatiently and rolled onto her belly, facing Dee. The color of her crystal-polished skin cycled down to a rich, ruby red. She clasped her hands behind her back, wide leathery bands snaking around her arms to bind them tight together. She scooted up on her knees, rump rising in the air, two ruby pseudopodia morphing into bloated, knurled, thrumming dildos that stuffed themselves up her cunt and down her ass. "Ch-cherry?" she managed to sob before a ball gag popped itself into her mouth.
Outside, something clattered like a garbage can overturning. Dee looked out in alarm but a purring croon from Tomoe drew back his attention. "Ooh," she said, eyes locked on SB's reddening, violated derriere. "I don't know about him, but I could go for the cherry-treatment right about now."
SB swallowed the ball gag and blew Tomoe a petulant raspberry. Then she chuckled and leapt up, filling out into a toothsome Amazon, round ass pressed up against the glass counter, proud tits mashed together with her elbows. "Chocolate?" she asked in honeyed, fiery voice, drawing out the first syllable as she leaned in toward Dee, leering.
From behind the counter, Tomoe looked down and wolf-whistled. "That's my bet," she said. "Bet you five dollar he's a chocolateer, SB. But don't answer yet, Dee!"
SB bounced up to sit on the countertop and quivered back into her original, chisel-perfect form with one glaring exception. "Strawberry?" she asked in her own voice. "Or…" she said, and with a crick of her neck and a jut of her jaw, her dick billowed out, a tumescent fire hose. "Strawberry-Banana?"
Dee sighed, took the crumpled, soggy, empty Jell-O box out of his jacket pocket, and placed it on the countertop next to the tin of SRU thickener.
SB took one look and toppled over backward into a display of vitamin supplements, her massive manhood weighty and elastic enough to stick tight to the countertop as she fell. Tomoe backpedaled away from the box, swearing a blue streak in Japanese. The pull of the SB's fall eventually caught up with her enormous dick and sack and they squeaked over the countertop glass, flipping up and then slapping down behind the counter with a loud thwap! and a muffled oof! from SB. "Lime?" Tomoe cried, nearly twisting an ankle on a Vitamin C bottle SB had sent spinning her way. "Lime?! Doaho! What did I say? What. Did. I. Say!"
SB peeped up from behind the counter. "You went lime?" she whispered, eyes wide in wonder. "You went lime…first time?"
Dee flushed. "It was an accident."
"No way, José," Tomoe said. She jerked a thumb back toward the SRU supply closet. "Once you take something from there, nothing is accidental. That's one of the rules."
"So there are rules?" asked Dee.
SB murmured, "Wow, a real lime-guy."
"Hundreds and hundreds," Tomoe said, "and I hardly know half of them. Lost the franchise manual a day after I assumed the place, although I bet that was just a rule in action, too." She glared at the gaping SB and gave her an annoyed kick. "Pick your jaw up off the damn floor, SB."
SB pouted but pulled herself together.
"Anyway" said Tomoe, turning back to Dee, "I'm glad you got away. She'll lose cohesion quickly without that first infusion of sperm."
Dee shuffled his feet.
"What?" Tomoe said while SB breathed, "Uh-oh."
"She got that four days ago," Dee answered.
"Four days." Tomoe shook her head. "Four days? You've been with lime for four days?" She drew close to SB who gave her a loving, reassuring squeeze. "Never mind about me," Tomoe said, "Who the Hell are you?"
"I'm not answering any more questions until you answer some of mine," said Dee. He tapped a finger on the top of the thickener tin. "What is nanomek? Is…SB…made out of it too? SB, if you're made out of Jell-O, how come you're so, well, cut? And how does it all work?"
"You want the long answers or the short ones?" asked Tomoe.
"Short will do."
"Okay. Nanomek is a magical powder, some 'techno-alchemical' handwavium stuff or something. I don't really know, I'm not science fiction fan. It's a basic component of a lot of the SRU gimmicks and gimcracks. When used as a thickener for sweet liquid, it makes meliae." Seeing Dee's confused expression, Tomoe repeated, "Meliae. Honey nymphs. Goo girls. Just look it up on the Internet later, will you?"
"Why goo girls?" Dee said.
"Nanomek is entirely female," Tomoe answered. SB cleared her throat, and Tomoe looked up at her, smiling, "even if the meliae it makes aren't."
"So that's why it needs sperm," said Dee. "That makes sense, I guess." Then, after a beat: "No, that actually doesn't make any sense at all."
Tomoe continued, "As to your second question: yes, SB is a meliae. And as to why she's 'cut,' as you so delicately put it: I cut her collagen-based gelatin powder with the polysaccharide pectin when I made her." She nestled further into SB's protective embrace. "So that means she's my meliae, Deiter, and don't you damn-well forget it."
"I'm a one-woman man-woman," SB told her, "you know that, lovey."
Dee said, "So then how do you get…well, you know…"
"We used to steal from sperm banks," said SB. "But that was too complicated, random, and not a very nice thing to do in the first place."
Tomoe smirked, running a finger up and down SB's breastbone. "So now, every once in a while, we go to a club and make some guy really, really, lucky."
SB stepped back, rolled her trim, broad shoulders, and stood proud, fists pressed to outthrust hips. "And very, very surprised."
The couple collapsed together in a fit of cackling laughter. Dee found himself grinning like an idiot.
After a minute, SB brushed tears away from Tomoe's eyes with her thumbs. "You okay, lovey?"
"I am now," Tomoe said, bussing SB's lips. "This just isn't the way it's supposed to work. When they go lime, they're not supposed to come back at all. Something is going on here."
"He's a real lime guy," SB told her with a shrug. "We always suspected there had to be some out there, somewhere."
Dee felt like he was intruding on something that should have been very private, but the questions were burning too brightly in him, and he had to interrupt. "I'm sorry," he said, giving them a moment to drift apart, "But what's the deal with lime?"
"Let's start with how the nanomek works, how the meliae is born." Dee felt a flash of panic at hearing the word 'born,' although he did not know why, but Tomoe must have read something in his eyes and added, "I mean made, or summoned, if you prefer."
"Sure," said Dee, relaxing.
"The goo girl takes on characteristics associated with the flavor you make her with, often with unexpected results," Tomoe explained.
"Huh?" said Dee.
"The nanomek metamorph assembles by a process of allopoiesis informed by a collaborative-learning neural net filter trained in the recognition of poetic justice and irony," SB translated. The coppery one-piece fanned out from her shoulders to cover her Olympic diver's physique again.
"Oh," said Dee, one of nature's nerds. "Duh. You should have said. So what's so bad about lime? All lime meliae are tarts or something?"
One of the women in the store harrumphed indignantly.
"What's Latin for 'slime,' Dee?" Tomoe asked.
Dee thought for a moment. "Uh. 'Oblimo?'"
Tomoe and SB shared an awkward, embarrassed glance. "No," Tomoe said slowly, "that's the verb."
"Latin has a verb meaning 'to slime?'"
"Forget about 'oblimo,'" Tomoe said, waggling her hands. "The Latin word for slime is 'limus.'"
"'Limus,'" Dee repeated.
"'Limus' as in 'lima?'" Dee said.
"And 'lima' as in lime," Dee said. He got it now. "And lime as in lye. And lye as in 'will burn your face off.'"
"Lye's also used to make pickles," Tomoe said. "Your dick pickled yet, Dee?"
"I'll say," said Dee.
"The nanomek won't make the same associations with the flavor as you do," SB explained. "It won't behave as you expect. It never does. Rules are rules."
Dee thought about it. Why had he wanted the thickener in the first place? Oh, right, to keep Jell-O thick when it warmed up. Instead, the nanomek gave him a girlfriend that melted faster the hotter she got.
"When you went lime," Tomoe said, "you jumped ahead few dozen chapters of the story, like trying to graduate from kindergarten with a PhD in fucking."
Dee felt foolish for asking so many questions, but that was why he came here in the first place, so he said, "There's a story?"
"There's always a story," Tomoe said, rolling her eyes. "Once you buy something from SRU, you're subject to the rules. And the rules demand a story. They won't just let us skip straight to the fucking." She grabbed SB's hips and mashed herself against SB's package. SB purred and tugged playfully at Tomoe's hair. "Believe me, we've tried. Instead it's always talk, talk, talk, romance, romance, heroes, villains, yadda yadda. The gods have hard-ons for melodrama, seems like.
"Anyway," Tomoe continued, "you deserve to know how your story was supposed to go. It's a fairytale. Lonely guy buys magic powder for mysterious stranger. She promises it will bring him riches and delights the likes of which he had never experienced—"
"You didn't tell me anything like that. You didn't really tell me a damn thing, if you care to recall."
"Shut up," Tomoe said, "I'm on a roll. 'But,' the mysterious stranger says, 'there is one thing you must never do: you must never mix the magic powder with lime.' So the lonely guy goes off and has all sorts of wild adventurers with honey nymphs, trying different flavors and concoctions that never seem to work as he intended, and much zaniness ensues. And then the story ends in one of two ways." Tomoe held up her thumb. "First, the Disney lovey-dovey ending. Our lonely guy learns about the true meaning of love, goes on some grand quest to truly earn the love of his beloved honey nymph, and in the process she turns out to be a warrior princess under an enchantment or something equally trite, his true love for her sets her free, and they live happily ever after and all that kind of dumb crap, at least until the straight-to-video sequel is released." Tomoe's forefinger joined her thumb. "Two, the Grimm's Tales cautionary ending, which seems to be getting more and more common these days: lonely guy fucks his way through dozens of honey nymphs, getting more depraved, bored, and even lonelier with each dalliance, until he finally decides that the mysterious stranger was full of shit and lime must really be where it's at, so he makes a lime honey nymph and he…" She rubbed her extended thumb and forefinger together, making a soft sandpapery sound, and mimed flicking away something tiny and distasteful. "Well, he sublimes."
Dee remembered ["…keep you cumming and cumming…"] and admitted, "It almost happened to me. A couple of times, in fact."
SB moved close, hands splayed on the countertop, her almond-shaped, diamond eyes narrowing as they hunted for something deep within Dee. "But it didn't. No man comes back from lime. No man denies sublimation. God damn it, Dee, Lime could probably devour me in a matter of minutes. Who are you? What did you do to Lime?"
More memories ["…The fridge. You. Before that? Dunno…" "…It's time? It's time? Is it time?…"] brought Dee to the verge of tears. He tore his gaze away from SB and watched the autumnal gold sunset through the storefront window for a long, quiet moment. "Her name was never 'Lime,'" he whispered. "She is Galatea." He turned back to face SB wearing a smile so inscrutable Tomoe wanted to photograph it for future study and practice it in front of a mirror. "She's back at my apartment," Dee said, and touched his palm to the tips of SB's fingers. "I can introduce you if you'd like."
Little drops of sport-drink florescent red sweat pricked across SB's brow, and she started to stutter. "S-s-s—"
Dee arched his eyebrow in an unconscious but perfect imitation of Galatea herself. "Solid?" he said, and lifted his hand. It dripped like it had been dipped in red grapefruit juice.
SB took a few jerky steps backward, eyes glazing an opaque, milky pink. The fingers where Dee had touched her ran together into a formless flipper. The plum-sized tip of the bulge in her one-piece crept up past her bellybutton and a candy red, gooey stain spread over her stomach. Tomoe reached out to her but hesitated.
"Your precum is maraschino cherry syrup?" Dee said but shook his head. "I'm sorry, that was going too far. I haven't been myself lately."
Tomoe glared at him. "Maybe you just didn't know who you really were before now. Dee, you need to learn how to control it."
Dee matched her glare. "Control…what?" Dee growled in a deep, bass register.
Tomoe wilted, knees buckling, palms flat against her inner thighs. "Please, Dee," she said, gnawing the flesh of her bottom lip. "Call it back. Dial it down. Do whatever you want—" Dee snarled wordlessly and Tomoe's eyes fluttered up as her head lolled down. "Ah, God, do anything you want, just please, stop playing games," Tomoe begged.
"Games?" Dee said, gripping the countertop. "What games?" A tracery of cracks raced away from his clutching fingers, weaving an irregular spider web in the counter's glass. I've said that before, he thought, haven't I? No, it wasn't me…One of his earliest memories of Galatea hit him hard. He blinked. "Tomoe? SB?" But the two women just gawked in fear. Fear of me, he realized. He slumped over the countertop. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't. I would never…" And this time he let himself cry for a while.
Someone stepped close. "SB," Tomoe said, "you were right." Her petite but strong fingers ruffled Dee's hair. "He is a real lime-guy."
SB strutted up, and gave Dee's shoulder a friendly punch. Dee stood and she greeted him with a wide, knowing grin, "Go on home, hero," she said and struck out her right hand. "Galatea is waiting."
He nodded, straightened out his coat, and shook her hand. "Man," SB marveled, "what a grip." She threw her other arm around his shoulder and slapped him hard on the back, taking the opportunity to bury her face in his neck and drink in his scent. Dee felt a very unfamiliar pressure against his groin. His absent conscience was dead silent about it and his raw sex drive did not care what was touching his dick as long as it got him off. Dee himself chose to postpone his final opinion for a later date. "Dee," SB sighed as she broke the oddly-mixed embrace, "if one day Tomoe and I invited you to go…clubbing…"
"I'd be sorely tempted," Dee interrupted, grinning, but SB just laughed.
"I was going to say, 'Do you think Galatea would kill us,'" she said, peeking over his shoulder into the shadowy aisle behind him.
"I don't think so. Not for just asking, anyway," he smirked.
"Now scram, sport," Tomoe said, "but don't forget your nanomek." She held out the tin of SRU Thickening Agent.
"Galatea doesn't need any more," Dee said, "and I don't want any more meliae, just her. Can't you put it back wherever it came from?"
"No way, José," Tomoe said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Dee, but you brought it forth. You paid five dollar. It's yours, and whatever happens with it is your responsibility, your karma. I wish I could rewrite the rules, but I lost the stupid policy-and-procedure manual. Keep it close, keep if safe – and for God's sake keep it dry. One schmuck poured his down the drain and the next thing he knew his city was crawling with tentacled, sperm-stealing, sewage she-demons. That's how Atlantis sank, don't you know."
"No, I didn't know." He took the tin of thickener from Tomoe, carrying it as gingerly as he would a live grenade. "And I really didn't need to know, either. And please, don't let anyone else know. I do not want to see fan art of that on the Internet."
The old bell clattered as he opened the front door. He paused. "Tomoe?"
Tomoe was counting out the money in the cash register. "Yeah?" she said, and turned to SB who was flipping through the Sudoku puzzle book and muttering in befuddled anger. "You had done them all wrong, so stop bitching," Tomoe told her.
"There were three questions I forgot to ask," Dee said.
"Go on." Tomoe worked on a tall stack of bills. "One five dollar," she muttered, "two five dollar, three five dollar…"
"Why did you fire the other guy?"
"I didn't like him," said Tomoe, "and besides, I didn't fire him. I just said, 'Whatever you do, don't take anything from the supply closet.' Never fails."
"Oh," Dee said. "Tomoe?"
"Yes, yes, two more questions, I know, I'm listening. Galatea must have to sit on your face to shut you up."
Dee turned the tin over in his hands. "What would happen if you ate some nanomek?"
"Me?" Tomoe said, about halfway through the stack of five dollar bills. "Probably nothing. Unless I guzzled semen at the same time, then I might turn into a cum-powered hose-beast monstrosity or something. Remember, it never works as expected."
The silence stretched. Tomoe and SB looked up at him. "Dee?" Tomoe asked.
The nanomek powder scrapped and scratched the inside of the tin. Dee tried to steady his hands. "What if…what if I ate some nanomek?"
"Don't," said Tomoe, jumping out her seat and scattering the pile of bills, "don't even think about it. You can eat Galatea out as much as you like, but don't swallow any raw, non-patterned nanomek. That's even crazier than making a lime meliae."
"That would be giving nanomek its own source of sperm," explained SB. "Take me, for instance. I can cum. I can cum gallons. I'm a one man-woman bukkake extravaganza."
"She really, really is," breathed Tomoe. She reached out and twined a cotton-candy dreadlock around a lazy forefinger, her eyes roving up and down SB's crystalline angles and jellified curves.
SB flushed russet under Tomoe's hungry gaze. "Any-anyway," she stammered, as Tomoe slid her other hand down the front of SB's one-piece, "I c-cum seminal fluid, not semen. Letting nanomek—ah!—have its way with your balls would be—oh, yeah—no-don't-stop! Just, just keep doing that. Oh, wow."
Dee shuffled uncomfortably. "You, uh, could've just told me to get lost. I would've taken the hint."
Tomoe disappeared below the countertop. SB started, "I—" but gave a little yelp and threw her arms wide to clutch at the counter, the fat puzzle book flapping to the floor. "I-thought-I-told-you-that-when-we-first-met," she squeaked as fast as she could before a small, delicate hand with an iron grip reached up and hauled her down by the ponytail behind the counter.
Dee listened to the couple murmur and gasp for a moment before whispering, "Good night, guys." He shut the door as slowly as he could to keep that horrible bell from clattering.
A few seconds later, Tomoe, topless but with her blouse gathered up to cover her chest, jogged out from behind the counter. "T, you devil-bitch, get back here!" SB cried from behind counter.
"Fuck you I want to watch him walk," Tomoe said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, me too!" SB ran to join her.
"Christ, SB, cover up, he might notice a three foot erection bouncing in the window."
"Oh, shit, sorry. Um. Do you have a tarp or something?"
"Never mind, SB, just let me look. God, what an ass."
"He's got a cute butt, though, T."
"Seriously, T. What's going on? What is she doing to him?"
"Her? Nothing. Him? Everything. Rules."
"I've known you for three thousand years, T, if you include the future and all those temporal continuum anomalies, and I don't even know what the fuck you just said."
The odd couple watched in silence as Dee started up his car and pulled away.
"He had company, you know," said SB. "An entire entourage, seemed like."
"I know," said Tomoe. "One I expected, the other I didn't. Still, it's best not to warn him. These things just get worse if I meddle. More than my usual meddling, I mean."
"What happens now?" said SB.
Tomoe reached up and wrapped her arms around SB's shoulders. "You know how this goes," Tomoe sighed, "they think they're in love, but all they have in common is sex, sex, sex. So, their love must be tested. You remember."
SB's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You and your stupid rules."
"I didn't write them, SB."
"Bullshit. You're forgetting who you're talking to, T." But SB cradled Tomoe's head on her shoulder.
They stood in silence as twilight fell, a dusty blue van rumbling down the access road providing the only movement and noise. Tomoe stepped back to look SB in the eye. "Tell me truthfully, SB: Would you fuck him?"
"What, you mean would I fuck Dee?"
"Do you want to fuck him? Tell me true, now." Tomoe asked. Her eyes twinkled with the potential of tears.
SB glanced out to the window and sighed. "Yes, T. I would fuck him. I want to fuck him. In fact, lover-girl, I would fuck him and fuck him until his ass was as red as mine and then I'd keep fucking him until my dick fell off." SB turned back to Tomoe and locked her in a clinch, mashing their breasts together. Tomoe's legs had to bow slightly to let SB's cock slide tight against her crotch and under her ass. Now fully engorged, SB's dick curved like a scimitar, its head pushing into the small of Tomoe's back. SB's pale crystalline eyes flashed brighter than the stars. "But I'd much rather do that to you."
"Oh, honey," cooed Tomoe, flipping the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED. "You say the sweetest things."
My creation, is it real?
It’s my creation, I do not know
No hesitation, no heart of gold
Just flesh and blood, I do not know
From my heart and from my hand
Why don’t people understand
-Oingo Boingo, Weird Science
The gloom of a New Moon twilight settled over long stretches of grassy, undeveloped commercial lots. The elevated highway loomed ahead, but the onramp was nowhere in sight. Dee flipped on the car's high beams, switched off the radio and drove into the whistling wind, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It took about two minutes.
Dee heard a metallic sigh. "First this Ursula woman is giving you bars of homemade soap," Galatea grumbled from the back seat. "Now I find that a lipstick fem from Japan and a chick with a three foot dick made out of rock candy want to take you 'clubbing' and treat your balls —which, I'm sure I don't need to point out, are named Mine Too and Mine Also —as their personal sperm banks."
Dee smiled into the rearview mirror. "So?" He saw no sign of Galatea in the rear shadows.
"So? So? So what is it with you and lesbians?" she demanded.
"I collect gay friends," Dee shrugged. "Everyone needs a hobby."
A chilly silence descended in the creaky cabin of the old Volkswagen. He glanced up at the mirror, but the reflection of a high-riding pair of headlights ruined his night vision. Dee sighed and tried again. "Would you believe I'm a butch trapped in a man's body?"
The cold silence seemed to turn thoughtful. "You know," Galatea said after a while, "I just might." Her voice sounded a little closer. "How did you know I was here, anyway?"
"I didn't," Dee said, peering ahead for the elusive onramp, "until SB tipped me off by looking right at you."
"Your lesbians are conspiring against me!" Galatea cried. Dee heard a rapid, unhappy drumming.
"Oh, come on," Dee laughed. "Besides, I should've known. You just said 'I could never be seen like this.' You didn't say that you weren't coming with me. Oh, there you are. Where's the rest of you?"
A diminutive Galatea lay on her back on the passenger side headrest, no bigger than a Barbie doll but twice as curvaceous. "At home," she fumed, "and probably so horny I'm raping the next door neighbor. Think he'd put the X-Box controller down long enough to notice?"
"Possibly. But I think Viggo's safe. "
"How do you know? This is the longest I've gone without touching you, or kissing you, or, or tasting you—"
"Or tying me down and tickling me to death."
"Exactly!" She punctuated her exclamation by fracturing into dozens of little emeralds, pelting down into the passenger seat and reforming with her head squashed formless against the grey cushion and her doll-sized, heart-shaped rump wiggling a few inches the air. "And I need you inside me so much it, it hurts. It actually hurts…"
Dee took his foot off the accelerator. The headlights behind them drew close but soon receded. Dee reached for her but she seemed so small and so fragile he did not know where to put his hand. "Honey," he soothed, "honey, what is it? What's wrong, really?"
Galatea sat up on her knees, rubbing her eyes. "Can't cry," she said, "too small. Not liquid enough."
Dee's car was rolling down the road little faster than twenty miles per hour. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said, his fingertip alighting against her cheek.
She nestled the pad of his fingertip to her face as if it were a favored pillow. "Back at the store, it felt like you had more in common with those two women than you did with me. I watched the three of you become friends. We never became friends like that. They were your friends, and I was just a fuck buddy. It made me feel so lonely."
"Do you want to know why I asked for the extra hour? It wasn't for clubbing."
She hugged his finger closer. "I know," she sighed and shivered for a second. Then she perked up. "And yes, I want to know."
He pried his finger away and pulled a grubby, folded piece of printer paper out of a jacket pocket. "I'm going to get one of these," he said, handing it over.
Galatea's face crinkled in confusion as she unfolded the paper. She stared, and stared, and stared, and then leapt into the foot well of the rear seat. "Where is it?" she grunted. Dee treated his car like a purse. Maps, empty cans, CDs, and more detritus flew high in Galatea's frantic search. "I know I saw one here somewhere!"
"What's wrong?" Dee stomped on the accelerator. "I'll try to get home as fast as possi—"
"No!" Galatea screamed, and then: "Yes! Yes. Got it. Yes!"
She lugged a plastic water bottle, a taller and wider than her pint-sized form, back into the passenger seat. She wrenched off the white bottle cap, crammed her unhinged jaw over the mouth of the bottle, and plopped down onto her back. Dee found the onramp to the highway at last and gunned for it. "Hang on, honey," he said, watching the plastic bottle crunch and accordion down as she sucked it dry.
The crumpled, empty bottle fell away from her face. She wobbled up. A smidge taller than twelve inches high, she had plumped from voluptuous to positively zaftig, a figurine of a fertility goddess carved of mint jelly, the swells of her breasts and hips as wide as she was tall. "Okay," she gulped, "okay. Okay…Wahhh!" She cried like a lawn sprinkler. Tears squirted in curved trajectories all around her.
Dee's car roared onto the highway. "Honey?"
"That's so romantic!" Galatea sobbed, spilling over onto her back. Saccharine, green water rained down inside Dee's car.
"Galatea, it's not that big a deal. I just thought you'd appreciate it."
She undulated up and over to hunker on all fours. "I love it," she groaned, starting a deliberate, rippling crawl toward Dee's crotch. She had lost much of her water weight but she was still so stacked it looked like her tits and hips were creeping along and her arms were moving just for show. "It's also," she panted, "the hottest fucking thing I've ever fucking heard in my entire fucking life."
"Uh," said Dee, checking the rearview mirror and shifting uncomfortably as Galatea oozed over the emergency break between the two front seats, "you've said that already. Uh. Remember? Galatea?"
"Nooo," she cooed, flowing into Dee's lap like a heavy, hungry cat, her outline swallowed by the shadows beneath the steering column, "this tops that by like a fucking mile." Dee felt hundreds of questing, urgent fingers slip over his belt, into his pants, behind the elastic band of briefs, and wrap snuggly around his dick. The fingers squeezed a pulsing rhythm. His hands jerked on the wheel and the car swerved. "Why the Hell are you still wearing pants?" Galatea said.
Dee tried slow the car down but felt thick rubbery bands bind his foot tight to the accelerator. "Oh, no," Galatea chuckled from the darkness below the steering column. "You're going to make sure you keep moving as fast as you can." Dee's belt flew into the back seat. The top button of his jeans, trailing thin shreds of denim, soon followed. "And I'm going to make sure you keep cumming as hard and as fast and as much as you can."
The long, narrow fingers encircling his manhood braided together into flexed, snaky ropes. "I think I'll start you off with a quickie," Galatea said as more ropes threaded into position, wedging the fly of his jean open and ripping his briefs in half. "I'm gunna need a vitamin Dee pick-me-up for what I've got planned."
Dee concentrated on the dark highway ahead. The braids twisted over him, their knots clicking out a quiet percussion. The rhythm sounded familiar and he did his best to act terrified. "Not the Nest of Twenty Rattlesnakes Technique!" he improvised.
"The very same!" reveled Galatea, her impression of a vaudevillian villainess pure perfection. "What the Twenty Rattlers lack in subtlety—" Dee's lap began to purr like a snare drum "—they make up for in speed."
"Do your worst," Dee said, laughing as the bumping, tickling, rippling percussion droned on, faster and faster, "but I'll n-never reveal the location of the hidden…" A dark green tendril uncoiled and drifted over the dashboard. "Uh," Dee gulped, "r-rebel…base…" The tendril popped the cover off the electric cigarette lighter next to the radio. "Oh fuck," he managed before the pointed tip of the tendril dipped into the socket.
"And that," said Galatea from the darkness of the driver's side foot well half-a-minute later, "is what the Nest of Twenty Electric Eels Technique feels like." Her lips smacked. "God, what a rush. Nanogasming is so much better than Nyquil. I'm never ever going this long without a fix of vitamin Dee again. Now we can get started."
Dee heard a metallic sigh. He toggled on the overhead light, keeping one shaky hand on the wheel. A cloudy green, moony face the size and shape of a silver dollar peered up from between his legs. "Hey, Dee," said the green fairy with Galatea's voice. She slicked a loose curl back into the gooey, vibrant mop of hair she wore like a crown of moss. "Long time no see."
"Hi, Fée," said Dee. "Galatea let you out?"
She crept up into his lap. "I am Galatea, dumb ass," she said, dragonfly wings buzzing. "I don't have to let myself out. I'm here all the time." She squat crossed legged before his cock, gazing up at its swollen head. "Man," she said, "déjà fucking vu."
"Yeah," Dee said, distracted by another car speeding up to pass them on the right, "but when you're on the surface, things really start getting weird."
"Hmph," Fée Galatea said and stood to lean over Dee's dick, one arm draped over its head, her perky tits cool against the corona of his glans. "Does this feel weird?" She spread her legs wide to squeeze his shaft between his knees.
"It feels wild," Dee said, catching glimpses of her while he drove.
Fée Galatea rested her chin on head of Dee's cock, and breathed deep, her eyes heavy lidded, smile dreamy. "That smell. When I was really small and pressed up against you like this, that smell—the smell of, of you—seemed to fill the world. It—oh, God." She nipped at at his meatus, the slit on the head of his dick. It was wider than her mouth. The car swerved. "It makes me want to bite something." She nipped again.
"Stop!" Dee begged. "Stop, it's too sensitive. And your teeth are kind of sharp." Galatea squeezed her knees tighter. "Wow, you're really firm," Dee said, adding with a smile, "almost solid. It's different. I like it. How are you doing it?"
"Nanomek density," Fée Galatea said. "When I'm bigger—ooh, that smell makes it so hard to think, I just wanna squeeze and squeeze…Hey, watch the road! Anyway, when I'm bigger, the replicating nanomek has to spread out more. When I'm this tiny, the nanomek's much more packed together. I can do all sorts of stuff when I'm pint-sized. Or…" She stood in his lap and measured the girth of Dee's dick with her hands. Keeping her hands the same distance apart, she moved them down over her hips. There was plenty of room to spare. "Or maybe not," she muttered.
She took a slow, cleansing breath, pushed her arms out and flexed deep at the knees in a fluid, balletic grand plie. She grew a few inches as she completed the graceful move, her arms and legs stretching, breasts and hips swelling, and the mop of her hair thickening. She measured Dee's girth again, and this time each hand landed squarely on her thighs. "Ooh," she said, giving her own thighs a rough squeeze, "much better. Yes, I can do all sorts of stuff when I'm quart-sized."
"Let's find out," Fée Galatea said, stepping back after giving his glans a final nibble. She wedged herself into the steering column. Her pert derriere, as round, wide, and green as a Granny Smith apple, covered the VW emblem in the dead center of the steering wheel. She hooked her elbows around the outer bends of the wheel, her gauzy wings buzzing across Dee's wrists. "Alley-oop!" she said, swinging her shapely legs up and wide like a gymnast practicing on rings. The Volkswagen's horn beeped and she had a quick giggle fit, her teensy toes wiggling in the air.
Her legs swung out and she locked ankles behind the head of Dee's dick. "You know," she said, cinching his dick closer, "I spent the ride to SRU hiding behind you, watching the back of your neck. Just staring at your neck–the whole trip—right where those last few curls of your hair brush against your bare skin, thinking about how your neck moved beneath my hands when I held you, when you fucked me, remembering how strong…It made me so hot. But not wet. The other hot, like—ooh, how do you explain this to a man? Like really, really itchy."
Her legs crossing, she aimed and angled Dee's cock at her crotch. "It started like a little tickle against my clit." She rocked her hips up. Ignoring the beeping horn, she clamped her legs down on either side of Dee's shaft and thrust herself onto him. The head of Dee's dick scrunched against her sex and even her bellybutton. "But it got intense and moved in deep. And I mean deep. Imagine a prickly itch inside you, deep in the middle of you, that just went on and on and you knew you could never scratch. But, God, am I gunna scratch it now."
Her arms locked around the steering wheel, Fée Galatea began to belly dance, head titled, moving to a sensuous beat only she could hear, rolling her lower body over Dee's primed glans in slow, constant oscillation. Soon she was greased from tummy to ass in his precum. "You're awfully quiet, Dee," she said, head rocking and never meeting his gaze, her smile distant but wicked. "I bet you’re itching now too; itching to wrap a, mm, big hand around me and just ram me down." She rolled around his dick faster. "And I could take it all in, too." She tipped her hips up even higher and ground her fleshy ass around and around the tip of his cock. "I want to take it all in. Sure, I could stretch, I could grow, but I want it tight." She swiveled down and smeared her pussy around the slit of his meatus. "I think, I think I even want it to hurt. Anything to scratch that damn itch. It's itching so hard and, ah, deep now, Dee, it's like a, a burning wire running from my clit into my cunt and up between my tits. I want you in me so bad, Dee. I need you to fill me, to fuck me, and I want to feel it hard and tight and right now—but don't you take your fucking hands off that fucking wheel!"
Her upper two wings, so sheer and gentle against his wrists until now, lashed out and around his hands, strong as nylon. Her entrapping wings gave just enough to let him steer, but if he moved so much as an inch away from the wheel they clapped down like irons. "This is my ride," Fée Galatea snarled, humping even faster. "Just me and Mine. All Mine. You wanna drive? Drive the fucking car." A leg kicked out and stomped on his knee, forcing his foot and the accelerator pedal beneath it to the floor. "But drive it fast."
Dee's teeth grit together so hard it sounded like kernels of corn popping in his mouth. "Pygmalion."
Fée Galatea's wings and legs released him even before he uttered the third syllable of the safe word. "You want to stop?" she asked, disappointed but kind.
Dee shook his head with whiplash violence. "No," he said, teeth clenched, "Hell, no. Fuck, no. I just don't want to die." His passion ebbed a tiny bit, permitting him more complex thought. "You're turning me on so much I can't see straight. Although it would be a great death, and I'd have bragging rights in Heaven for centuries, I don't want our relationship to end after only four days."
"I need it bad," Fée Galatea admitted. "I mean I need it bad and I need to be bad, but I want you to feel good. Do you have any ideas?"
"How about I pull over and we pretend I'm about to die in a ten car pileup? You can fuck me to death when I'm ninety five, I promise."
"You mean we're only going to fuck twenty-four-seven for a lousy seventy years? I won't even make it through half my Techniques!"
"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Dee said. He squinted through the windshield. "That off-ramp has a rest-stop. And I think this neighborhood has the kind of place we're looking for, for this," he said, waving the rumpled, tear stained piece of paper.
"Then you've got a deal. Wait a minute," she said, excited, "if it's just pretend, does that mean I get to be even nastier?"
"Awesome. Pull over, solid boy. Right now. I can feel that damn itch behind my damn eyes."
Fée Galatea hopped into the driver's foot well, watching Dee watch the road. "C'mon, c'mon," she said, snuggling up to Dee's cock. "Mine's raring to go and I don't want…to…" Her voice grew more pensive with each word "…lose…his…interest…" She buried her face against the side of Dee's glans, muffling her babbling cry, "Oh my God it smells so good and it's so fucking big!" She smeared her mouth and her flushed cheeks over it until her face was painted in precum. "So good," she muttered mindlessly, "so good."
Dee pulled the Volkswagen into the darkest corner of the rest stop. He jerked up the handle of the emergency break hard enough to crack its plastic cover. He stared at her, never saying a word.
"You’re as silent as the grave," Fée Galatea wondered up at him. "This is going to be the greatest fuck I've ever had."
Dee reached for her.
"Nuh-uh," she said. "You keep your hands—" a wing stretched out to snag his hand "—on the damn wheel." Her wing wrestled his hand back onto the steering column. "Don't make me have to tie you down," she said, wing unwinding. "See if you can keep your hands to yourself."
Dee nodded and grabbed the wheel, hands placed at nine and three o'clock, knuckles crunching. Fée Galatea scrabbled up to stand in his lap. She vaulted up and over and passed his dick in a wild game of leapfrog, her tiny feet plunking down into his wiry pubic hair. "Nice shirt," she taunted, reaching for the lowest shirt button. "Lose it." She had to squat for leverage, her ass sliding against his shaft, angling it down, and tore at the yellow fabric.
The white plastic button bounced off the windshield. She pulled herself up to the next shirt button leaving a trail of little, green finger-paint handprints. She grabbed with both hands, planted a foot against his chest, and wrenched the second button free. A sharp knee pressed into his sternum as she knelt to yank his shirttails out of his pants. She gathered each shirttail in her hands and rent the shirt in twain, scattering the remaining buttons and revealing Dee's undershirt, now spotted with sweat. She sat down on Dee's belly in a huff. "I love wearing your tees," she said, leaning close, "especially after you've already worn 'em." She held up two fingers and they merged, the conjoined edge gleaming like a shard of green glass. "But this one's got to go," she sighed, and sliced the shirt open in a single sweep. She gathered the split undershirt, ready to wrest it off his shoulders, but froze, finger-blade dulling. "No, wait." She pressed her cheek against his slick chest, drinking in his scent. "Oh, yes," she said, curling up like a cat. "Oh, God," she sighed, wrapping herself tight in the two halves of the undershirt. "Oh my God, oh my God," she gasped, snuggling in as close as she could. "Dee, Dee, you're everywhere, you're every…" She shuddered, let go of the undershirt and pressed her fists to her temples. "I came, Dee," she whimpered, "I came, just being with you like this made me cum. Oh, Dee," she sobbed, "you can't imagine, you can't imagine how incredible this is. I want to feel like this forever."
Dee wanted to tell her he knew exactly how it felt ["…cumming and cumming…"], but the force necessary to break through the crushing, silent fury of his need to have her would probably rip the steering column right out of the dashboard.
Fée Galatea tucked herself in, trembling. After few moments, her uncontrolled movements took up a steady rhythm. "Can't sit still," she said, rolling onto her stomach, pelvis pumping, one hand wrapped in the undershirt to keep herself nestled into his chest. She reached between her legs with the other hand and plunged her fingers deep into her sex. "Deeper," she said, and her pulsating, flexible fingers obeyed. "Deeper," she commanded, humping against Dee's chest to ram her hand in further. "God damn it. No good, it's no good. Gotta fuck." She glared up at him. "Gotta fuck you." She rolled onto her back, her spider-silk sticky wings pinioned under his arms. "Fuck me, Dee," she implored, straining then buckling as she masturbated, "please, please fuck me, Dee. Dee, why won't you fuck me?"
Heart pounding, eyes squeezed shut against stinging sweat, Dee locked his elbows and kept clutching at the steering wheel, fighting the impulse to try and twist it into a pretzel. Tiny hands clawed handfuls of hair on either side of Dee's neck. Fée Galatea kicked out and swung up, back curving, until her legs pressed hard over his ears, her feet hooked together behind his head, and her pussy smashed into his mouth. "If you're not gunna fuck you are gunna eat," she growled.
Her nectar was so tart that a single droplet against his tongue made Dee's eyes water and nose run. Fée Galatea let go of Dee's hair and clamped her legs tighter around his head. She arched high, throwing her arms out in a swan dive, only to plop supine and upside down against Dee's chest and stomach. "Eat me, damn it," she said, pressing her miniature mound into his mouth hard enough to cram her apple-sized ass between his lips before launching another nibbling, pawing assault on the head of his dick.
Dee lanced his tongue into her cunt. The searing sour-sweet flavor of concentrated Galatea overwhelmed every other sensation. His arms jerked, his hands itching to cradle her little ass so he could suckle her in earnest. His fingertips were just clearing the steering column when he snarled, curled his fists around the wheel again, and stabbed his tongue into her as far as he could. He felt the flesh of her jellied hips spread and compress against his lips to accommodate the invasion.
Fée Galatea shrieked, "Yes!" She pushed up with her hands lost in his pubic hair, bucking and grinding to take his tongue in deeper. "Yes! Harder. Deeper. Yes! Yes." She rode his tongue and Dee was lost in the taste of her. "No," she said, head shaking, "no, damn it. Fuck! Not deep enough. Not big enough. I need Mine. I need Mine in me right fucking now."
She slipped out Dee's mouth, leaving his tongue coated and lips gummy with potent green honey, and rolled into his lap before bounding on all fours back up Dee's stomach to position her steamy sex above his cock. Dee felt tension gather in her arms and legs. "Mine," Fée Galatea said, "all of Mine. Now!"
She thrust herself down and sat up on the head of his dick. She compressed his glans between her thighs to give her purchase. Her thrumming wings blurred the air to aid her balance. Her hands seized his open shirt to give her traction. "Don't you dare let go of that wheel," she said, tugging on the yellow shirttails like they were reigns on a thoroughbred.
She began her tormenting belly dance again, panting hard and sighing heavy, unable to spare the breath for dirty talk this time. A lubricating mix of her nectar and his precum spread all around Dee's glans and Fée Galatea's pubis, thighs, belly, and ass. Dee reclined against the head-rest, trying to ease the stresses building his neck as his hindbrain and muscle-memory insisted he should be hurling the little hellcat into the backseat to cleave her with his prick. He let the strain express itself by worrying his fingers over the steering wheel. That helped a little, and Dee closed his eyes to focus on the surreal sensations she was giving him.
At first, he only felt the slippery folds of her sex circling the very tip of his cock, teasing the slit of his meatus. I'm getting fucked by a thimble, Dee decided, knowing better than to speak his mind for once. His tension ebbed further at thought, giving him the willpower to sit still while Fée Galatea gyred and gimbaled atop his manhood. Her molten, innermost nectar tugged tighter and swirled stronger than he could ever remember. Hungry folds crept over the dome of his glans, and Dee's thoughts were consumed in a torrent of anticipation. "Oh, this is good," Fée Galatea whispered, working Dee into her one millimeter at a time. "This so fucking good. I can feel myself stretching—I usually don't feel it, Dee, I just do it. And when I'm fucking you, there's like nothing I can't do. But, but now it's like I'm stretching toward a limit – ah! – stretching past my limit. And you're letting me go there. You're taking me there, Dee."
Her pussy captured the dome of Dee's glans and started its slow, widening descent to the corona of Dee's cock. It felt so intimate and tender that Dee sensed orgasm building from just this tiniest of embraces. "I've never had, had boundries before," he heard Fée Galatea say, her voice indistinct against the foreground of rising pressure, "but you've given them to me, and now you're breaking them, just by holding still, and letting me fuck you." Dee's sensorial world focused to the sweet sting of her embrace and the urgency welling up inside him. "It hurts, but only a little, and I love it," Fée Galatea said. "I love you. I love you, Dee, I—Oh my God, you're gunna cum!"
Dee thought: I can't hold onto the wheel.
"I can feel it, Dee! You're going to cum so much!"
The crashing over to release was seconds away. I can't hold onto the wheel anymore, not a single second longer. I'm going to cum and I've got to hold her and kiss her and tell her I love her but I can't speak I can't ever speak why can't I—
"You're going to fill me! Oh, God, I'm going to be full. I never ever thought I could be full. Oh Dee, thank you, thank you. I love you so much. I love you so much! Cum, Dee, cum in me. Cum now!"
I'm going to let go—I'm cumming—there's nothing I can do—I'm cumming—unless—cumming—unless I can—
"I love you, Galatea," he whispered, hearing her cry out in wordless delight at the sound of his voice, and he came.
And he never let go of the wheel.
The spasm of orgasm relented into afterglow, allowing Dee to open his eyes. Fée Galatea rode rigid upon him, a statuette of green agate marbled with mother-of-pearl, and while she did not move a muscle, milky veins riled across her like the banded clouds of Jupiter. The intrusion of his glans gave her a pot belly, distended hips, and bloated thighs. Again she reminded Dee of a Stone Age fertility idol, the dragonfly wings only heightening the impression of being ridden by an ancient, primal divinity. The image both aroused and disturbed him powerfully. What did Tomoe tell me? "That's how Atlantis fell, don't you know." SRU has been in the honey-nymph business a very, very long time. But Tomoe and SB were scared. ["…You went lime … first time?…"] Scared of me.
The opalescent veins spread across her hair and even into the gauze of her wings. "I'm full," she said. "I'm more than full. I'm, I'm happy." She gaped at him, starry eyed. "Dee, I'm happy!"
"You sound like you never were happy before."
The stars in her eyes fell as tears. "I wasn't. I was always in need, need of you, and afraid that need would drive me mad and I'd do something horrible, something terrible to you."
["…so he makes a lime honey nymph and he, well, he sublimes…"]
"I've always trusted you," Dee said.
Fée Galatea hugged her ballooning belly. "I know." The white veins began to fade as the nanomek worked its strange magic with Dee's sperm, the transparency of her gel slowly returning.
Dee wanted to hold her but she had not given him leave to release the wheel. Instead he asked, "Do you want to stop? I want to keep going, but I'm okay with stopping if you want to."
She flashed her wicked, dagger-toothed grin at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She dried her eyes with a ragged shirttail. "Of course I don't want to stop. I said I didn't need it, dumb ass. I still want it." She started belly dancing atop his dick again. "Actually, I want it now more than ever. While you were doing your stupid new-age nice-guy impression—'Golly gosh, honey, I'd sure like bang you so hard that your head might pop off, but not if you don't want me to, because I'm so sensitive and enlightened and stuff'—I had about half a billion nanogasms. I'd've had more if you'd've kept quiet for once." Their eyes met and her grin softened. "Oh, shut up," she told him, wriggling, "I wanna get busy."
Dee slumped against the head-rest and sighed, "Lord all-mighty."
"No, you always say that after sex," Fée Galatea said. "We're just gettin' started. I've got so much nanomek inside me right now I've go no idea what to do with it. I could grow fifty feet tall and carry you to the top of the Empire State Building and screw you stupid. I could fill this parking lot with a few hundred duplicates and line up to screw you stupid, but I doubt any of us could be that patient and we'd just pin you to the pavement with pussy and screw you stupid. Or with a little more food coloring we could first morph into every female character in those comic books hidden in your closet and then pin you down and screw you stu—Holy shit, this is really turning you on, isn't it?"
Dee groaned. "Don't pretend…you didn't know…what you were…doing."
"I could do all that, you know," Fée Galatea said, convincingly coy and demure—or as coy and demure as any woman could sound with a fire hydrant shoved up her cunt, "but not if you don’t want me to, because I'm so sensitive and enlightened and stuff."
"Fuck…you," Dee croaked, laughing.
"That's…your…job," Fée Galatea mocked. She started another wisecrack but the head of Dee's dick slid into her another millimeter and she could only quake and mewl. After a while she started an excited babble. "I love being so tight. I could just stretch or grow but this feels so good I don't wanna but this is taking so long and I want all of you in me right now but I don't wanna stretch I want it tight and oh, it's so tight, Dee! But I want it all and I want it hard and I want it fast and I want help—" Dee's arms twitched "—but not from you! This is still my ride. Let's see what this extra nanomek can do."
She frowned in concentration for a moment. A penetrating heat flowered around Dee’s cock. "Oh, yeah," Fée Galatea said. The air grew sultry as the blooming fever within her belly radiated into the close cabin of the car. She bent over double, pulling Dee’s shirttails to her chest. Dee baked in a sudden burst of heat. "Now we’re talkin'."
Two new pairs of wings unfolded out of her back, dewy and shapeless as a true dragonfly’s after molting. The cabin suffused with the unmistakable smell of her innermost gel, the windows steamed up, and the Volkswagen became a citrus-and-sex sauna. "I'm so tight," Fée Galatea said, green sap trickling from her mouth and puddling into Dee's bellybutton, "and you're so big that I can feel every little pulse and twitch of your cock. Your cock jumps when I say 'tight.'" The second set of wings tautened and thinned. "Or is it 'so?' So tight. Mm. So big. So good. Ooh, Mine really likes it when I say 'So goooood.'" Eight filmy dragonfly wings stewed up the balmy air. "You wanna know what I said that made your cock jerk and thump the hardest, oh so hard, against my clit, Dee?" Her shoulders softened and wept green honey. "'Pin you,'" she said as her shoulders sprouted a second pair of arms like a vine sending out fresh shoots. "'To the pavement…'" The new limbs glommed to the steering wheel and a twin fairy formed of pure, runny honey spilled away from her and sloshed into the foot well.
"…'With pussy,'" burbled the new fairy, peering up at them. "Hey," she said, trying to point an accusing finger at Fée Galatea, but her oozy, indistinct arm merely flopped in her progenitor's general direction. She harrumphed in indignation and shimmied like a dog shaking itself dry. A rind of surface tension spread across the new fairy, bringing definition and strength with it. "Hey," the new fairy tried again, stabbing an accusing finger at Fée Galatea. "Those are mine."
"Oops," Fée Galatea said, plucking the four extra wings from her back and passing them down. "Sorry."
The new fairy snapped her wings into place.
Dee gaped in awe. "My God."
"That's right," said the new fairy, climbing up to sit upon Dee's left knee. "You've never really seen me divide before." She wrapped her arms around Fée Galatea, still astride Dee's dick and now squirming with impatience. "Whatcha think?"
"It's beautiful," Dee said. "Mythic. Poetic."
"How sweet," Fée Galatea said. "Now shut up and prepare to be screwed stupid."
"Mm," agreed the new fairy, hugging herself close to Fée Galatea. "But I was expecting his usual 'wow.' Does that mean he's not turned on?"
"Oh, he's turned on." Fée Galatea squirmed faster. "You wouldn't believe how hard Mine throbbed when you showed up. C'mon, let's make him throb like that again –" a second duplicate peeled away, filaments glistening, to slop down onto Dee's right knee "—and again—" a third pulled itself away and scrambled up the steering column to laze across the plastic cover over the speedometer. "And again," Fée Galatea said, and this time all four green fairies split right down to their juicy centers.
The cabin of the car became a furnace, the smell of sex overwhelming. Dee reeled. "What's, what's happening?" he mumbled as urgent voices whispered, "…and again…and again…"
"Mine is in for the riding of his life," Fée Galatea said. "Open your eyes, Dee, and look at me, at all of me. And remember, you know the safe word, and you know it works, so relax, yes, that's it, just relax—but keep those hands on the wheel. Thank you. Now, open your eyes, take a good look, and tell us: Is it time?"
Try to realize
It's all within yourself
No one else
Can make you change…
And to see you're
Really only very small
And life flows on
And without you.
—The Beatles, Within You Without You
The phone rang.
"You. Have. A, collect, call. From…Hey, Galatea, it's me Ga…Do you accept-the-charge? Say 'yes,' or, 'no.'"
"…I'm sorry, I did-not-understand. Please say 'yes' or 'no.'"
"Thank you. Caller, your call has gone-through."
"Hey, Galatea! It's me, Galatea."
"No shit. Where are you?"
"I dunno, at a payphone in some parking lot somewhere. Dee's in the car and some of me snuck away to make sure you haven't gone batshit-insane horny yet."
"It's pretty touch and go with me right now. What's going on?"
"Dee's getting us a gift. He showed me. Oh, it's wonderful, it's so romantic, and then he like really, really fulfilled me and—"
"And so you've kidnapped him to see if he can die fucking."
"Don't give me that crap. Dee can make me cum by just saying 'Hello.' If he was stupid enough to actually try something that romantic with me I'd get so turned on I'd suck and fuck him until his head caved in."
"Eh-heh, yeah, he is kinda tied up at the moment. Sorta. That's why I'm calling. We're going to be a little late, but don't worry, he's with you. I mean me. Us."
"That's exactly why I'm worried."
"Oh, c'mon, Galatea. Dee can't die. He's Dee. He's the one."
"Yeah, yeah. The one you've got and I don't."
"Think of it this way: When we reassimilate, we'll have both the denial and the satisfaction of the exact same experience. Won't that be awesome? What's that noise?"
"The blender. You get Dee and I get Nyquil slushies."
"It'll be great. And wait to you feel what it's like to be full. Do you think any of us has ever been full? Ever? In all these years? No way, not until Dee. You'll see…look, I, uh, I wanna get back there. It sounds like the party's gettin' started. Just thinking about it makes me kinda, uh…"
"Welcome to the club. Listen, I've been thinking, and maybe you should tell him—"
"Thinking! Yeah, thinking's good! You go do that s'more. I gottagoseeyabye."
Dee opened his eyes. Almost three dozen pairs of burning emerald eyes glittered back at him in the murky glow from the overhead light. Thirty-two cupid-bow lips puckered into identical, knowing smirks. "Of course," he said, setting aflutter many dragonfly wings at the sound of his voice, filling the cabin of the car with the buzzing of a beehive. "It's always time."
Dee sat at the center of a semi-circle of quart-sized green fairies. Fée Galatea still capped his cock with her outspread sex but now a horde of hands held her in place. Fairies stood in the foot well to lug on her hips. Fairies thread themselves through the steering column to grapple her arms. Fairies overhung the dashboard above the wheel to push down on the top of her head. Fairies sat on Dee's knees to cling to her chest. Fairies huddled in his lap to tug at her legs.
"Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh God," Fée Galatea said, hyperventilating.
All the fairies shifted their weight against her. "Do it, do it, do it," she hissed, "just fucking do it."
Moving as one, the fairies pressed down on her shoulders, pushed down on her head, yanked on her arms, hauled on her hips, heaved on her legs, and drilled Dee into her, her body bulging as Dee's dick squeezed up, and up, and up. Fée Galatea gaped at Dee, gawking and mute, as she descended. After a few breathless, silent seconds, her ass touched down on Dee's balls and she screamed a single, fervid, "Yes!"
The tide of the fairies' efforts turned and Fée Galatea slid up, leaving Dee's cock coated in molten green honey. Her frenzied gaze sought his. When his glans finally slipped out of her sex, she wept. "Please," she whimpered. "Please, please, oh, please…More."
The fairies brought Fée Galatea glissading down over Dee's nectar-painted dick, fast and hard, grinding her ass and sex against the base of his shaft—"Yes!"—before wrenching her back up and off. The fairies tilted her about in tiny, teasing circles over his glans. "More, more, more," she begged.
The fairies slammed her down and rocked her hips around. "Oh my God, ohmyGod…" They hiked her up, slow and steady. "N-no," she said as she rose. "Please, no. No! I want him in me." Dee's dick fell free. "God, no! I want him in me! I need him in me plea—Yes! Yes! I—No, bring him back, bringhimback! Dee, fuck me, oh, please, fuck me, Dee!"
The blanketing heat, the overpowering smell of Galatea's sex, the teasing, squeezing, embrace of her pussy, and the little sounds of her pleasure, pleading, passion, and agony had already driven Dee wild, but her last words pushed him over the edge. His hands flew from the steering wheel and flung dozens of green fairies into the far corners of the car. A fairy bounced off the overhead light and Dee and Fée Galatea found themselves together, alone, in a green-tinted world.
Fée Galatea reached out and wrapped Dee's hands around her. "Fuck me, Dee," she sighed, kissing the curves of his fingers. "Take me. Forever. Love me. Forever."
"Always," Dee said, curled up to kiss her, and entered into her.
Fée Galatea tucked her head under Dee's breastbone and pulled the shorn undershirt over herself like a shawl. "I love you," she whispered as they moved against each other. "I love you. Cum in me now, Dee." Dee's pace quickened. "Yes, Dee. You've made me cum so much already. Let yourself cum. I'm full, Dee. I'm happy. You've made me so happy. Cum for me, Dee. Let yourself go. You won't hurt me. You would never hurt me. Fuck me as hard as you want."
Dee fell back into the seat and mashed her into his stomach. "Yes," Fée Galatea said, "as hard as you want. I can take it. I want it. I want you to cum in me." He jammed her over his dick. "Yes," Fée Galatea whispered again, "do anything, everything that feels good." She kissed the flesh of his muscled belly when he pumped her down, cradled the undershirt against her cheek when he jerked her away. "I want to make you feel good. I want you to feel so good, Dee. I want you to—Oh my God!" Dee rammed her down, again and again. "So hard, so strong, so solid!" He squeezed her close enough for her gelled flesh to ooze out and spill over his fingers. "Yes, fuck me!" His hands rippled inside her.
"Always!" Fée Galatea cried, and Dee seized up and came.
The fit passed. Dee's hands and dick were coated in a mix of spunk and formless green gunk. "Galatea," he said, "did you like it? Did I go too far? I thought you wanted—"
The green goo in his lap just giggled at him: "Ah-hah, ah-hum, hm-mm."
Dee laughed as Fée Galatea coagulated out of green, slimy chaos. "When you said you needed it bad," he said, "and you needed to be bad, you weren't fooling around."
"You did it, Dee. You fucked me apart," Fée Galatea said. "You fucked me to itty bitty pieces. I knew this was going to be the greatest fuck I've ever had, but I never imagined how out-of-control it would really feel…" In miniature, her wicked knife-toothed grin looked full of needles. "Let's do it again!"
Dee dropped the crook of his arm over his eyes. "Lord all-mighty," Dee said.
Fée Galatea nuzzled his dick. "You know you can," she said.
Dee glanced at the dashboard's digital clock. "But it's almost seven." He watched her wriggle and dance against him for a while. "Well," he pondered, "I suppose that at this size it would only take me a few minutes to screw you senseless—"
Someone interrupted him with a polite cough. It rebounded around the car over two dozen times. Thirty-one green fairies arched their eyebrows at him from shadowy wells and corners.
"Oh, shit," Dee said. "I'm sorry, guys. Girls. Galateas."
A few green fairies crawled out onto the passenger seat. "What are you sorry about?" one fairy demanded. "That was awesome. You were awesome. And you know it."
Agreement echoed around him as the green fairies crept out from hiding. "Yeah!" "Fuck, yes." "Totally blew my mind." "Really? Mine too!" "Well, duh."
"But what we really want an explanation for," said a green fairy standing on the cluttered backseat, "is this." She pushed aside a silvered solar reflector, rifled through a small tote bag, and tossed an overstuffed, zipper-locked freezer bag at him.
Fée Galatea's neck elongated so she could get a better look. "You brought along a second set of clothes," she said, "you vacuumed sealed a second set of clothes. You seconded-guessed me? Again?"
"I didn't know," Dee said, "I only suspected. I know how much you like ambush-sex, and I know you know how much I like ambush-sex, and I really can't walk around in shredded clothes covered in green slime where we're going, even the kind of place that's open late at night. You're not mad, are you?"
Dee felt the pressure of thirty-one silent needled grins. "So, uh," said Dee, looking to Fée Galatea in desperation. "What happens now?"
She glared at him but soon relented. "Okay, okay," she said, turning to her duplicates. "How are we going to work this out?"
"Work what out?" said Dee.
A green fairy swung over the head rest and onto his shoulder. "How's about I pick a number from one to one hundred?" she suggested.
"Pfft," dismissed one of the green fairies standing on the passenger seat. "That would never work."
The fairy on his shoulder crinkled her face in confusion. "Why not?"
Thirty-one pairs of eyes rolled, and the green fairies all chorused: "Sixty-nine."
The fairy on his shoulder giggled. "Oh, yeah!" She slung down into Dee's lap next to Fée Galatea. "Let's wrestle for it!"
The other fairies hissed and catcalled. "Boo!" "Lame!" "No Jell-O wrestling jokes!"
"Wait a minute," said Dee, aghast. "You don't really mean you all want me to—"
The catcalls got louder. "As if you didn't know!" "As if you didn’t want to!" "No playing hard to get!" "Actually, I like it when he plays hard to get." "Yes, yes, everyone knows that already. Now shut up."
"But," Dee said, "couldn't you all just reassimilate and re-remember?"
"No way!" "It's not the same!" "I want to re-remember being fucked apart for the first time, thirty-two fucking times!"
"Ooh, yeah!" came the resounding, unanimous reply.
Then: "Holy shit, why didn't I think of that?" "There's no way he can argue around that one." "Wow, wow!" "Hey, uh, I came just thinking about it. Did you? Anyone else? No? Hm."
The green fairy standing next to Fée Galatea started to hop and clap. "I got it, I got it!" she cried. "Dirty talk contest! Whoever turns Dee on the most goes first!"
"Good idea." "That'll work!" "Let's do it!" "Um, I still cum whenever I think about the whole 'getting fucked apart for the first time thirty-two times' thing. Maybe I should go first before I go, like, bugfuck nuts or something?"
"I don't believe this," Dee muttered.
Fée Galatea batted playfully at Dee's cock. "You love it," she said.
"Yes, I love it," Dee said, leering, "but I still don't believe it."
Dee heard the patter of tiny hands rapping against the driver side's rear door. "I made the phone call. The Galatea back at the apartment is just fine. What's goin' on? Don't make me go through the tailpipe again. Lemme in!"
Galatea loosened her throat and the rubbery, peach-colored cock flopped out of her mouth. "It's not the same," she moaned, sagging back into the couch. She snatched up an empty bottle of Nyquil and filled it with a few feet of coiling tongue, searching out every last drop.
"You should try it from this end," said Dee's voice. "It really sucks."
"'Oo don' eefin thound wike him," Galatea lisped around the bobbling Nyquil bottle. "Not wealy."
"This was your idea, if you care to recall," said Dee's voice. "I believe your exact words were: 'I'm tired of waiting for Dee.' Then, a couple hours later, you said, 'I'm sick and tired of eating pussy. How's 'bout we flip a coin, and the loser has to morph into Dee and do whatever the winner wants?'"
"Thath a wittle bettah," Galatea lisped, "but it dothent make me wet." Her tongue rolled back between her lips and the bottle fell free. She stood up. "Maybe I should sit on your face?"
The cartoony Dee clone, naked skin the color of a politically incorrect "flesh" crayon from the 1970s, tried to shrug, but it was hogtied to the coffee table with torn strips of bedclothes and doing its best to impersonate solidity. "Maybe we should talk," it suggested.
Galatea wobbled over to the other end of the coffee table and braced the clone's head between her thighs. "What've we got to talk about?"
"That's exactly my point," said the clone. "We—me and you, Galatea, I mean—don't ever just talk with Dee, do we? I don't mean talking dirty, or roleplaying, or warm fuzzies. Just talk."
Galatea glowered down at it.
"Is it because we don’t have anything to tell him," the clone said, "or is it because there's too much we want to tell him?"
Galatea squeezed her knees shut, concaving the clone's jellified head into an hourglass shape. "Now you sound too much like Dee. He is such a girl, I swear," she grumbled, glaring at her fist as she shook it. "I mean, it's past nine o'clock already, and I bet he's still asking for foreplay with me in that stupid car. And he resisted fucking me for three days. Three days! He wanted nonstop foreplay for three whole days!"
"It was a nightmare," the clone agreed, speaking in Galatea's voice this time, the peach souring into a pickled green. The clone slipped out of the restrains and fluffed up into full femininity. "And now he wants to fuck and fuck and have hours of foreplay. He's insatiable. Inhuman. Monsterous. He just wants more, and more, and more."
Galatea knelt to give the clone a fierce bear hug. "I love it," they both sighed.
Galatea and her duplicate spoke in an exchange so quick she had trouble figuring out who said what: "He's incredible." "He's unstoppable." "He's perfect." "She was right, he's the one." "He'd better be; if he's not, then the real one would kill me." "Do you think she learned anything at SRU?" "I hope so, I know so little, and there's so little time." "So what do we do?" "We tell him." "Now?" "No, but soon." "You're right, we need to move beyond sex first." "Dinners and movies and meeting the parents, stuff like that?" "Stuff like that, yes, but nothing so…so mortal." "You don't mean—" "Oh shit, he's back!"
Keys rattled on the other side of the front door and the deadbolt slid back. A quick green oil slick seeped in between the door and the floor, congealed into a Thumbelina-sized green fairy and sprang into the air. She zipped into the living room, dragonfly wings blurring faster than a humming bird's, as the keys rattled and clicked into the doorknob. "Reassimilate. Now," the green fairy told Galatea. "Eat me. Now."
"But," said the Galatea on the coffee table as the doorknob began to turn, "shouldn't we wait so Dee can watch—"
"No," the tiny green fairy said, and zipped close. Galatea saw she was crying. The front door cracked open. "Now. You need to re-remember. Now."
"What—" the standing Galatea said, but the green fairy flew into her open mouth, shouting, "Now!"
Galatea swallowed the green fairy down as Dee came through the front door. The little fairy dissolved in an instant but it always took a few moments of concentration for the nanomek of two duplicates to reintegrate into a single web of mind and memory. Galatea waited for the flood of vivid flashbacks she called "re-remembering" until Dee stepped into the living room. She saw the haunted, unreadable expression on Dee's face and could not think of anything at all. He wore different clothes from when she saw him last, a weathered denim button-down and a pair of khaki pants. He held a long grey cardboard box in one hand and a crooked tire iron in the other.
The duplicate on the table huddled close to Galatea. They exchanged worried glances and merged without any of Galatea's usual theatrical, kinky flair. "Dee," she whispered, wishing the memories would come, "what's wrong?"
A full sized green fairy crept around Dee and took her by the hand. "He's leaving," she said.
Galatea tore free of the fairy's grasp. "I don't want to remember," she said, stumbling back. "I don't want to remember!"
"I don't think you have a choice. Fée remembers," he said, pointing with the bent tire iron. "It's already happened to her, to you. And you and I need to talk. No games, no lies. Just talk, right now, or I leave, right now."
The green fairy reached for her again. "It's time," she said.
Galatea fell into the couch. "No," she said, hands fluttering about her throat. "No, no, no, no."
The green fairy turned to Dee. Dee pulled a balled-up piece of printer paper from a pocket of his leather jacket and handed it over. The green fairy smoothed it out, kissed it, and pressed it into one of Galatea's palms. Galatea looked down. Under the green lip-print, she saw a pencil sketched X, its thick, staggered curves swooping in a slight slant to evoke the impression of a dancer with arms upraised. She glanced at the very similar mark on her own left breast. "I don't understand," she said.
The green fairy joined her on the couch. "You will," she said, sliding sideways into Galatea's gel like someone slipping into a heavy fur coat. "You will," the green fairy said again, and disappeared into Galatea, leaving only concentric rings rippling out from her chest.
Galatea gasped—so much nanomek! More nanomek than ever before, more than she ever imagined could exist within her, swarmed and swam and rewove the web of her memory. Dee was right, she realized, as the overabundance of nanomek forced a cascade of flashbacks, I don't have a choice. She re-remembered a ferocious jealousy quickly replaced by such joy, such fulfillment, such happiness, and then an eternity of agonizing anticipation followed by so much amazing, mind-blowing sex that her mental web almost unraveled. He is the one, she thought.
But the re-remembering continued, the flashbacks unspooling closer and closer to the present, and somewhere within her, the melancholy green fairy thought, He was the one.
Don't believe in fear,
Don't believe in faith,
Don't believe in anything
That you can't break.
—Garbage, Stupid Girl
Fée Galatea saw little value in the virtues of patience. She tried to develop an appreciation of patience once, during Dee's blackout four days ago, but it took too damn long and she discovered how Dee could cum (and cum and cum) even while unconscious so she chose to put off developing a sense of patience until Dee's balls gave up the ghost, which they never did. Now that Dee had fucked her apart into itty bitty pieces for the first time, thirty three times over, she decided that good things cum to those who say "fuck this waiting shit—that's Mine, and I'm takin' it." But Dee did not want her to see her present until it was done and she had promised to wait in the car. Every hour of every day, he thinks up new ways to tantalize and tease me. My God, I love this man.
Reassimilated into a petite but human sized pixie, Fée Galatea sat quietly in the passenger seat of the Volkswagen as Dee circled their destination, looking for a place to park, or rather the perfect place to park, since there was an open spot right in front of the damn place. "I need to find somewhere I can change clothes," he said. "It's not even eight o'clock, and I bet they're open all night."
You magnificent bastard, Fée Galatea thought, as Dee milked this explanation to excuse driving by the place three times. First he drove past on the left, forcing her to bob and weave to get a peek at it through the driver's side window. On the return pass it was on her right so she got a long, slow look. On the final pass it was on the left again, and Fée Galatea just glared at him. Dee showed no awareness whatsoever of what he was doing to her. He only stared ahead, wearing the inscrutable smile he initially picked up from that lipstick lesbian Tomoe Exposition before improving it a hundredfold. You magnificent, tormenting bastard.
Dee pulled into an unlit, rubbish cluttered alleyway a few blocks away from their destination, parking the Volkswagen against the chain link fence on the far end. He took the keys out of the ignition and picked up the plastic pouch containing his second set of clothes. "Oh, snookums," Galatea imagined him saying, "I didn't know you were going to sneak in and jump me in the car, I only took the precautions all us sensitive-enlightened-and-stuff types do. I was only thinking of you, because I wuuuv you so." Dee twisted some knob on the dash and the headlight's low beams snapped back on, powered by the car's battery. "Would you turn those off when I'm done?" he asked, stepped out of the car. "The battery's out of warranty and I had to jump start the car twice last week."
"Huh?" said Fée Galatea, but he pecked her on the cheek, shut the door, and walked into the glow of the low beams. Oh my God, he's not wicked enough to do that, is he? He popped open the pouch and pulled out a washcloth before dropping it to the pavement. He is. Dee shrugged off his buttonless button-down and flipped it into a trash bin. He really, really is. Dee peeled out of the ruined undershirt. The white spotlight of the low beams highlighted every line and relief of a chest slick with baby oil—No, slick with me. The nanomek in her pussy went nuts at the thought and churned up a prickly heat between her legs. She gaped as Dee rubbed himself down with the washcloth, her core temperature rising. He turned his back to her and toweled off his arms, his shoulders working in strong rhythm. Keeping his back to her, he kicked off his jeans and ruined underwear, and set to clean up his crotch. Helpless to look away, she watched the cords in his neck flex and strain, the firm gel of her pussy melting into runny honey. And when Dee bent over to fish around in the pouch lying on the pavement, Fée Galatea, upper and nether lips gumming together, gurgled, "This man has got to be the biggest cunt tease on the face of the Earth."
Dee turned back around and shimmied into a new pair of snug briefs that accentuated rather than concealed. Fée Galatea's eyes narrowed as the elastic band snapped over Dee's crotch. God damn it, he's made me jealous of a pair of underwear. Dee pulled a clean undershirt over his head and arms and down his chest. "That should be me," Fée Galatea sighed.
Dee wrapped himself in a distressed denim shirt. "That should be me," Fée Galatea sighed again.
Dee stepped into a pair of khaki pants. Fée Galatea groaned as he dragged them up over his legs and around his waist. "That really, really should be me," she whimpered, arching back, eyes shut tight, hands snaking down to sink into her sex, where they melted. He's made me so fucking hot I can't get myself off.
"Honey," Dee called. Fée Galatea pulled her gluey eyelids open. Dee was buckling his belt, not even looking at her. "Would you turn off the headlights now?"
She opened her mouth to scream but heard herself stammer, "O-okay." She pawed at the dashboard, too gooey to form fingers, coating the knobs and switches in thick green icing. The headlights flicked off.
"Thanks," said Dee. His grin disappeared. "Hey, are you okay?"
No, dumb ass, if it weren't for this bucket seat I'd be a puddle on the fucking floor. "Sure. Heh heh. No problem. Get goin'. See you, ah, when you get back." I hope you brought a few extra sets of emergency clothes, solid boy. You are soooo fucked when you get back.
The New Moon night held no secrets from Fée Galatea. Her eyes lit with gem-fire, their scintillating clusters of nanomek going to work. Don't watch him walk away, at least have the willpower not to watch him walk—Oh who am I kidding, it's just too much fun. The nanomek clusters filtered out various spectra to give Galatea her favorite view of Dee's loping, instinctive strut. Especially in five dimensions.
After a quick backward glance over his shoulder, Dee disappeared up the main drag. Fée Galatea cranked down the passenger window and ramped up her olfactory input to bathe in the lingering scent of Dee's musk, a trace molecule cocktail of pheromone, sweat, homemade soap, spunk, and her own cum. She imaged herself stepping up to a podium: "My name is Galatea, and I'm a Deiter Detweiler addict. This is my first DDAA meeting." "Hello, Galatea. I'm Ursula. I spent hours making Dee soap with my bare hands but he never got the hint." "Hello, Galatea. I'm Tomoe. Dee made me cum at the sound of his voice, twice in a row, and he didn't even notice." "Hello, Galatea. I'm Strawberry Banana, and I'm gay for Dee. Or is that straight? Anyway, he only had to brush against my fingers and I almost bukkake'd all over myself. But, hey, at least with me, he got the fucking hint. Although, it was kind of hard to miss, you've got to admit." "And we're just the first three women you've ever met or heard about. How many more will there be? Just how big is the DDAA going to get if you keep doing what you're doing? You do know what you're doing, don't you?"
Fée Galatea met her own frowning reflection in the rearview mirror. "I'm not doing anything." You sure 'bout that? Then at the very least you're letting things happen. That's a mighty fine distinction you're drawing, lady. "Do all women talk to themselves like this, or just the divisible ones?" Go fuck yourself.
Her train of thought cooled her pussy down to a low, itching simmer, her liquefying gel retaining some definition again. "Don't mind if I do," she said, squelching both hands into her sex. She grew a third arm to give herself something to suck and chew on so she would not have to face the humiliation of talking dirty to herself. Whenever her pussy got attention—especially from Dee—it was as if her mouth got jealous and demanded to be full of flesh or it would fill itself with words, words, words. How can Dee be so silent when he fucks me? He just gasps and growls and grits those solid teeth or fills my mouth with his thick, delicious, solid tongue—oh God Dee fuck me, come back and fuck me! Fill me! Destroy me! Fuck me! Holy shit, I'm dirty-thinking.
Finger-fucking kept her busy for about fifteen minutes before the itch moved inward to where only Dee's cock could scratch it. When I really turn him on, it's as thick as a fucking MagLight. Her extra arm siphoned down into her shoulder. "Shut up before you drive yourself nuts," she muttered. All right, girl, think, think, think. Mmm, MagLight…no, no, not about that. This is yet another one of Dee's cat-and-mouse games. There's gotta be a way outta this. Okay. I promised to stay inside the car, right? No, he asked me to, and I said that I would. No, wait a minute, what were his exact words? "Please don't follow me inside." That's it! Not "stay in the car" but "don't follow me inside." He wants me to get out and watch from across the street! And, so help me, I'm horny enough to do it!
Fée Galatea bounced out of the car and burned some nanomek in an extended fingertip to lock the door. Mossy and forest green were the perfect camouflage colors for urban shadows on a moonless night. She rolled up the alley, her lower body a single mass of suggestive curves, not making a sound. Sneaking down a busy thoroughfare would be trickier, however. She opted to run in a long, winding rivulet up a drainpipe and along bundles of electric cabling strung between telephone poles down the street. The main street turned out to be not very busy after all. A brood of Goths eyeballed a flock of art majors, debating whether etiquette permitted both groups to patronize the neighborhood head shop at the same time. Fée Galatea could only tell the difference between the rival gangs by the black duster coats on the former and the black mock turtlenecks on the latter. A couple of cars jammed full of frat brothers jounced past an idling, dusty blue van. Pretty quiet for a Thursday night this close to campus. She pooled into a darkened doorway across the street from Dee's destination, and started her stakeout.
Sample stencils and inks covered the storefront windows, forcing Fée Galatea to filter out visible light and focus on infrared and electromagnetic radiation. Dee's heat signature was unmistakable but he was standing in the middle of the shop rather than in one of the dentist's chairs like she thought he would be. A burly man even taller than Dee tried to hand over something. Dee stood stock still, flushing hotter than Galatea had ever seen him. What the fuck? She burned over thirty thousand nanomek to eavesdrop, focusing on the microvibrations in the storefront window caused by the noises inside.
"You take them," the big man rasped. "I certainly can't use them any more, and, honestly kid, I never want to see them again for the rest of my damn life."
"I'll pay for them," Dee said, voice hollow and monotone. Fée Galatea felt a stab of fear.
"No need," the man said. Dee took a step toward him and the man flinched. "Sorry, kid," the man said, palms raised, "but you scare me, and I don’t scare easy. Do whatever you're going to do and go."
Dee said nothing and made for the door. "Hold up," the man said, shaking his head, "I thought you'd come in here for a laugh, to fuck with my head and stir some shit up, but you're just as scared as I am, aren't you?"
"Let's make a deal, then, you and me," the man said. The object in his hand rustled. Fée Galatea guessed it was a cardboard box or maybe a plastic envelope. "I'll keep one. I've got a safe in the backroom. It has a false bottom, just in case some asshole ever manages to get past me trying to rob the place. I'm going to put this in there and forget about it. I've got a couple of grandkids. They're rugrats now and their ma doesn't speak to me, hasn't even called in years. But if she ever comes around and lets them visit, I'll take them back there, show them what’s under the false bottom of that safe, and tell them the story. You keep the rest, 'cause the story will be cooler if I can tell them you only let me keep the one. That'll make us square. Deal?"
Dee smiled, but Fée Galatea could tell it was thin and forced. "It's a deal." He stuck out his hand. The man stared at it. "Shake my hand," Dee choked out. "It won't be right otherwise. I won't feel human otherwise."
The man stared a minute longer. "Damn, I can't end the story with, 'And I was too much of a chickenshit to shake his hand,' now can I?" They shook hands and Dee pocketed the container. "Done deal," the man sighed, relaxing. Fée Galatea did not realize how tense and terrified he had been beforehand. "You've got a Hell of grip, there, kid."
"My name's Dee—"
"Don't," the man interrupted. "Don't tell me. You never know when a secret identity might come in handy."
Dee nodded and moved for the door. Fée Galatea spooled up a rain gutter and threaded across the electric cables intersecting overhead before Dee stepped onto the sidewalk, keeping a few paces ahead of him, vision clusters scattered to provide a three hundred and sixty degree view of his amble back to the car. I've seen him scared, worried, angry, confused, and even weepy, she thought, but I've never seen Dee unhappy until now. What happened?
The Goths and art students had made peace and crowded the head shop. The driver of the dusty blue van had made a poor effort at parallel parking before abandoning it. A sporty yellow SUV drove by but screeched to a sudden stop about half a block after it past Dee. What now? Fée Galatea protracted a thin pseudopod for a better look and listen. The SUV brimmed with a gaggle of girls in college skank-wear: tight black jeans, white v-necked, one-size-too-small men's tee-shirts, and gaudy gold necklaces.
They gabbed at each other: "Who is that? Who is that?" "Holy shit. Hole. Lee. Shit." "I've found a piece a paper, anyone got a pen?" "I've got lipstick." "Okay, who's going to give it to him?" "Not me." "Me neither." "But we've got to. He's getting away!" "Let's go together." "Okay."
The passenger doors of the SUV popped open and three girls dropped onto the pavement. They scampered after Dee. "Hey. Hey!" one shouted, but when Dee turned around she blanched. "Um. Uh. Um."
Her redheaded companion pulled a piece notepaper scrawled with lipstick from her purse. "We're, uh, having a party at our sorority tomorrow. Epsilon Zeta. This is, uh," she said, brandishing the paper at him, "this is the address. And my phone number." The blanching blonde had enough presence of mind to elbow her in the ribs. "Oof, uh, I mean our phone numbers."
"What?" said Dee. The girls startled at his voice. "Why?"
"The Hell with the party," mused the brunette third. "How about tonight? How about right now? Our car's pretty full but we can make room."
"You can sit in the middle," said the redhead.
"I'll sit in your lap," gushed the blonde. Her face drained even paler. "Oh God," she whispered. "I'm an idiot."
Dee shook his head. "I don't—"
"Don't say another word. Just think about it," the redhead insisted, pushing the notepaper into Dee's hand. "And call. Or come by. Whatever. Whenever. Okay?" The blonde tugged at the redhead's shirt, dragging her back toward the car. "Okay. We got to go," she said and fled.
The three girls piled into the car, giggling and groaning in turn. "'I'll sit in your lap,'" Fée Galatea heard the redhead mock. "Fuck that. I'll sit on his fa—" The engine roared and the SUV lurched into gear.
The DDAA just doubled its membership. Through her panoramic view, Fée Galatea saw Dee blink at the notepaper and crumple it into a jacket pocket. She had to race ahead of Dee to sneak back into the car before he reached the mouth of the alley. She practiced an unworried smile in the rearview mirror. "Hi!" she said when Dee opened the driver side door. "Did you get it? Can I see?"
"No," Dee said, leaning in to turn the key in the ignition. The radio and cabin lights flickered on. "I mean, I didn't get it." He found the cigarette lighter and pushed it into its socket. "I couldn't get it."
Don't sound scared. That will only make him feel worse. Look confused. He loves that thing you do with your eyebrows when you get confused. "Why not?"
Dee stood just outside the open door. He reached in. Fée Galatea did her best not to shrink back. "What's that?" she said, staring at the rattling, grey cardboard box in his hand.
"See for yourself."
Fée Galatea peered into the box. A handful of long, hollow needles rolled around inside. She plucked one out. Its tip was bent flat. She picked out another. Its tip had broken off. "I don't understand," she said, pulling out a third. This needle's tip curled back around on itself in a snail shell spiral.
"I think you do," said Dee.
The tip of the fourth needle flared like an umbrella turned inside out by the wind. "Honest," Fée Galatea said as the cigarette lighter popped up from its socket. "I don't understand. I'm, I'm scared."
Dee pulled out the lighter, its coiled wire filaments glowing orange-hot. He pressed it against the lipstick covered notepaper. The paper smoked. "There's something I've got to do," he said, blowing on the paper to keep it burning, "and then you and I are going to talk. If you lie to me again, if you lie just one more time, we're through. Do you understand?"
No, no, God no. It's much too soon. "Yes."
Dee shut the door and crossed the alley to where someone had stood a steel metal drum on its end. Dee dropped the smoldering paper onto the lid of the drum, feeding the growing flames with discarded newspaper and old flyers advertising garage bands. After coaxing a modest but steady blaze out of the rubbish, he stepped back and produced the tin of SRU thickener from a jacket pocket.
"Don't get it wet, right, Tomoe?" he said, unscrewing the lid. "Let's see if the damned stuff will burn."
A strangled cry echoed down the alley. "No! Please no!"
A man in a black tee-shirt staggered out from shadow. The baleful light of the burning trash lent a demonic cast to his bulging eyes and unkempt tufts of auburn hair. "Please, no," he said again.
"Bernie?" Dee said, unbelieving. "Is that you?"
"Bee," the man said. He moved closer, one hand behind his back. "Everyone just calls me 'Bee.' Except you, Deiter."
"You look like you haven't slept in days."
Bee swiped a forearm across his brow. A tire iron dangled from his loose grip. "Snape killed Dumbledore, you know," he said.
"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Dee asked. "Are you talking about this?" He held up the tin of thickener. "I guess you must know about this. You're my downstairs neighbor, the guy who keeps banging away."
Bee laughed, nodding, stepping closer still, his grin maniacal.
"This isn't magic, Bernie," Dee told him. "It's not kid stuff, at least. It's dangerous, possibly deadly. I've got to get rid of it."
"Do you know how Snape killed Dumbledore?" Bee cackled, pointing the tire iron like wizard about to duel with a wand.
"I don't have time for this," Dee said, turning his back to Bee, holding the tin over the greasy flames.
"Avada kedavra," intoned Bee, swinging the tire iron in a lethal, downward arc.
Fée Galatea threw herself against the shatterproofed window. Too far it's too far I'll never get— The heavy, socketed tire iron accelerated to almost thirty miles per hour before it connected with the base of Dee's skull with enough force to smash through bone and sever the spine in an internal decapitation.
"Ow," Dee said, "quit it."
Bee collapsed. The tire iron thunked on the pavement. "My wrist," he hissed, rocking, "I think you broke my fucking wrist."
Fée Galatea flattened her face against the window. What's going on? she thought. Dee stared down at Bee, then at something on the pavement. What the Hell's happening? Dee reached for the tire iron. Oh God. Oh no. He scrutinized the iron in the wavering firelight. The end of the iron bent sideways at a crazy angle. The cracks in the floor. He rubbed his unblemished neck, as if puzzling through a twisty riddle. The busted tattoo needles. After a moment's hesitation, Dee let go of the iron and dropped his hand into the fire. I get it now. Dee held up a handful of burning newspaper, flames licking about his unharmed fingers, until the paper curled and crumbled into soot. He's so solid.
This is way too dangerous, she thought, and way too soon. Fée Galatea peeled away from the window, trails of her gel sticking to the glass in strings and streamers. And turning me on way too much. What kind of sick fuck am I? Wait. What is he doing?
The tin of thickener was in Dee's hands again. "Do you really want this?" he asked, sounding dazed. "Do you really want it that much?"
Bee glared at him.
Dee secured the lid. "Take it," he said, and tossed the tin end over end. Bee's hands shot out to grab it. He yelped in pain but held on tight, faltered to his feet, and stumbled up the alley and out of sight.
Fee Galatea shrank back into the passenger seat. Oh, shit.
"Cherry, cherry, cherry," Bee said, chucking tiny boxes into his shopping cart one at a time. "God damn it, is that all the cherry Jell-O you assholes have?"
The husky stock boy down the aisle stared at him. "We close at nine, sir," he advised, "that's in fifteen minutes."
Bee struggled with his cart and winced at the flaring pain. He fumbled for the padded wrist splint he nabbed from the first aide aisle earlier. "I said, where's all the God damned cherry Jell-O!" He ripped the splint's plastic packaging apart with his teeth. Grunting and whimpering, Bee inexpertly bound his swollen wrist. Just a sprain, he thought. I would've broken his fucking neck, but that pussy Dee wasn't even man enough to break my wrist.
The stock boy sighed. "Try the restock carton at the back of the shelf," said he, keeper of secret grocer lore, "behind the pudding and pie mixes."
Bee pushed past instant pudding. The soft splint made him clumsy but eased the pain. "Cherry," he muttered again, dropping another box into his cart. "Cherry—ow. Cherry, cherry—ow. Fuck it," he said, rubbing his wrist.
"What're going to do with all that stuff?" said the clerk. "Make Jell-O shots?"
"Fuck it," muttered Bee again and emptied the contents of the restock carton into his cart.
"Host a Jell-O wrestling contest?" the clerk hazarded.
Bee fixed the clerk with his berserk grin, exposing every tooth. "Are you deaf? I told you, I'm going to fuck it. Now ring me up or I'm going to fuck you."
The last of the green fairy's experiences integrated with Galatea's memory web: the terrible, silent drive back to the apartment followed by the strange mix of pity and envy she felt when facing a version of herself that knew nothing of SRU, how it felt to be horny yet happy, how it felt to no longer need Dee but to want him more than ever, and how close they were to losing everything.
Fingers slippery and unsteady, she traced the curves of the X sketched on the printer paper. "You wanted a tattoo," she whispered.
Dee fell into the couch next to her. "It felt weird," he said, "seeing that mark on you but not on me. I thought getting a tattoo of your cross over my heart would be a goofy, romantic trifle. I wanted your mark on me, not just the other way around. But you had marked me already, hadn't you?"
The tire iron clunked onto the table and Dee placed the box of needles next to it. "When the first tattoo needle bent against my skin, Jack—that's the name of the guy who owns the tattoo parlor—Jack didn't say anything," Dee said, opening the box. "When the next two needles broke, he just laughed, said something about getting a bad batch, and picked out a new needle kit. After the fourth blew out, he switched machines to something he called a 'Custom Iron.' It looked like a cross between an antique sowing machine and something out of a cyberpunk story. It scared the crap out of me."
Dee pulled out the needle with the spiral tip. "Anyway, Jack leaned close and swore he actually saw this thing curl up. And when I said, 'I thought the machine was breaking them; I haven't felt a thing,' he just swore and rolled away from me on his dental stool like I had the plague. I gather you know the rest." Galatea nodded.
"I think," Dee sighed, "I think I need to have a little scene now. I've been rehearsing it my head the whole trip back." Galatea nodded again. "Okay, here goes: I wanted your mark on me, but you had marked me already, hadn't you? You just didn't tell me."
"That's right, you did tell me. 'Oh, you've eaten,' you said. 'I told you, I don't need it,' you said. And when you told me that I made you boil, you weren't exaggerating, were you? You actually boiled."
"What were you thinking when you fed me nanomek? It was during the Fifteen Point Fleshlight Palm Technique, wasn't it? That's what I don't remember, you force feeding me the nanomek, and what happened to me after. What did you want the nanomek to do, give me a bigger dick, bigger sperm count, something like that?"
Jeez, Galatea thought, he says he wants to talk but doesn't let me get a word in edgewise. "Dee, you've got to understand that that was before—"
"I understand. I don't care, but I understand. It's who you doesn't understand. Tomoe told me the nanomek never does what it's expected to do. Ever. Not for her, not even for you. It's not just thickening my cum…" He must be really mad, Galatea thought as Dee snagged the tire iron, he said the word 'cum' without blushing or even blinking. "…It's thickening me," he said, and tied the groaning tire iron into a knot before snapping it in half with a quick twist of the wrist.
Galatea wanted to say, You're solidifying, you mean, but she let Dee scowl at her for a minute and instead said, "Are we finished talking now?"
"Sorry for the angst-ridden soliloquy," Dee said, standing up. "I've been rehearsing it for a while, like I said. Anyway, I'm going out."
"Aren’t you even going to listen to what I have to say?" Galatea asked, frustration and ire rising.
"Yes," Dee said, "but when I get back."
Galatea felt a gush of relief. "You mean," she said, "you mean you aren't leaving me?"
"No," Dee said, "maybe. I don't know. You've done something to me. You're doing something to me. I guess I'm a control freak, because I'm really freaking out right now."
"Dee, I haven't done anything—"
"You're changing me, Galatea." Dee marched to the front door. "But it would be stupid to make any decisions about us right now. I've got to go out. Alone. I've got to get away, by myself, to be myself, for a while. I'll be back. If I can still move. If I'm still alive."
"But Dee," Galatea wailed, hating herself for sounding so desperate, "I'm not changing you. I can't tell you now…there's so much I still don't understand…but you aren't changing."
Dee slammed the front door behind him, cracking the frame and ruining the lock.
"You're just becoming more you," Galatea whispered.
It's been one week since you looked at me,
Dropped your arms to your sides and said, "I'm sorry."
Five days since I laughed at you
And said, "You just did just
What I thought you were gonna do."
Three days since the living room.
We realized we're both to blame,
But what could we do?
Yesterday, you just smiled at me,
'Cause it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry.
—Bare Naked Ladies, One Week
The bulky, express mail package waited outside Bee's front door. "Always thinking ahead," Bee muttered, fumbling his keys into the lock. Plastic grocery bags bulging with boxes of gelatin dangled from his left thumb. He pitched the bags through the door and made a grab for the package, but a sharp spark of pain from his wrist floored him. Too heavy. He kicked the box into his apartment, shuffled in on his knees, and bumped the door closed with his butt.
Bee found the box cutter in the kitchen. A green water stain spread over the ceiling but nothing leaked through like it did in the bedroom. Bee knelt over the package and carved it up with the box cutter, spilling Styrofoam peanuts across the floor. A stainless steel, sixteen gauge, sixty quart mixing bowl rolled out of the wreckage. "I'm such a badass eBay sniper."
Bee piled the Jell-O boxes onto the kitchen table before pinning the cauldron between his forearms. "Brilliant, grasshopper," he said and brought the bowl crashing down onto the stove. "Okay, let's see. I've got about 30 packets. One packet needs, what," Bee pondered, squinting at the instructions on the back of a Jell-O box, "one cup of boiling water, then one cup of cold water. That's sixty cups…aw, fuck, only 15 quarts? I spent four hundred bucks on this damn thing!" He punched the mixing bowl and promptly passed out from the pain, whacking his face against the metal rim on the way down.
A quarter hour later, Bee, his splint reset and a cold compress tied over his blackened left eye with an ace bandage, poured almost eight quarts of tap water into the mixing bowl. He cranked a dial on the stove past 10 to HI. The coils under the bowl reddened with heat. "Oh, Christ, this is going to take forever." I could add salt to speed things up, he thought, but salty cherry? What kind of honey nymph would that make? Maybe I'd wind up with a dick girl like that freak at SRU. Too risky. Stick to cherry. Lots and lots of cherry.
Opening all thirty boxes and emptying their packets into a measuring cup proved to be a long nightmare of sharp pain and clumsy failure. His one good eye blurred with tears as he relieved the last few boxes of their contents. All of this is your damn fault, Dee. Well, screw you. Fuck you.
The water boiled. The powdered gelatin went in. Bee stirred, watching the clock for two minutes, before adding another eight quarts of tap water. Better use a double dose of nanomek, just in case I screwed the proportions up. He tipped a few teaspoons of nanomek from the SRU tin into the cauldron. Is that really a double dose? He checked the instructions on the bottom of the tin. Yes it is. He shook the tin. Jesus, there's so much left, I could make dozens more. And Dee gave it all up for that pushy green bitch? What an idiot.
Bee pulled out all the shelving and threw out half the food in the fridge just to make the mixing bowl fit. He set the refrigerating unit to maximum before slumping at the kitchen table, listening to the clock tick. It's ten o'clock already and I haven't slept more than a few hours in the past three days. But it's all over. In four hours I'll have my Cherry. I did it. I beat Dee…
A clattering racket startled Bee awake. Empty boxes of Jell-O tumbled off the kitchen table as he sat back. The cold compress fell away but the eye beneath was swollen shut, giving him a two dimensional view of the world and halving his peripheral vision. His one good eye glanced up. Twelve o'clock already? Christ, I thought I just closed my eyes for a second. After one more loud bang, the refrigerator door swung open. Holy shit. Bee stood. It's time. It's finally my time.
A slender, cherry-red foot slid toward the floor beneath the refrigerator door but hesitated an inch above the linoleum tile. Toes wriggled and the foot plumped out into a platform Mary Jane clog. Another clog joined the first and Bee's creation pussyfooted into view.
"What am I?" she murmured, her voice breathy and bashful.
Bee ogled. Perfect. Other than the thick clogs elevating her to average height, the scarlet girl wore only the come-and-get-it grin of a baby-faced coquette. Perfect. The bangs of her pageboy haircut fell in occluded angles as she inclined her head to look up at him through lush lashes and thick eyebrows. Perfect. She noticed where he was staring and draped an arm over her pert, full breasts in a seemingly shy gesture that gave her the opportunity to tweak her nipples erect and left nothing to the imagination. He glanced down and she covered her cleft with her other hand, taking care to press her middle and ring fingers deep into her sex so the folds of her labia peeked around them. "Perfect," Bee said aloud.
"I am perfection," the scarlet girl said, sounding satisfied with his answer, and unfolded her wings.
Bee took a step back. Her webbed wingspan filled the width of the kitchen with the colors of black shadow and crimson flame. She's cherry, he thought, and you made her. That makes her yours, so start acting like a man. "I am your master," he told her.
Her smile widened. "I have a master."
She's got to know I'm in charge here. "You will serve me," Bee said, "You live to please me, whether you like it or not."
"I will serve my master," she said, stepping closer. "I live to serve him and please him, like it or not."
"You will do anything, any sick, twisted, perverted thing, I want," Bee said, "and I want to do everything."
"I want to do every sick, perverted, and twisted thing with my master," she said, slinking over to the kitchen table and encircling Bee with batwings. She tilted her head and a second pair of wings, tiny twins of the first, fanned out from behind her ears.
That didn't sound right. And what's with the wings? That's the sort of stupid shit Dee's into. "I'm not Dee!" Bee shouted. This is all going wrong. I'm too tired and hurt to think straight. He massaged his temples with his good hand. Not realizing he was speaking aloud, he said, "All of this is your damn fault, Dee. Well, screw you. Fuck you. I beat you."
"Screw Dee. Fuck Dee. Beat Dee." the scarlet girl agreed, resting a sympathetic arm on Bee's left shoulder. She fingered through the pile of empty Jell-O boxes on the kitchen table. "You used so much," she whispered. "You've made me so strong." Warm wings enfolded him in a crushing, full-body embrace from head to toe. "How shall I thank you?"
"You need cum now," Bee wheezed as the scarlet girl squeezed. "My cum. To keep you…cohesive. Without it, you'll melt. Fall apart."
She stood on tiptoe to mash her mons against his crotch. "My master should be my first, shouldn’t he?"
Bee gazed into the obsidian, abyssal black of the scarlet girl's eyes. "I'm your master," he pled as she reached out with both hands to cup his face. "I'm your only master."
She pressed her forehead against his. "I have a master," she whispered, and kissed him. Her lips were cool and firm but her aggressive tongue was creamy, bittersweet, and scalding, like a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie still gooey and piping hot from the oven.
When she broke the soul kiss, Bee said, "You taste like…like a cupcake."
"Mm," the scarlet girl purred, nibbling Bee's bottom lip, "and you taste like collagen." She picked something off the table. "I have a master," she said, and pushed it into Bee's hand. "Only one master." Bee looked down. She had given him an open Jell-O box, its coloring different from the rest. Frowning, he turned it over.
Jell-O Instant Pudding: Devil's Food
"And his name is Dee," Black Cherry said, broke Bee's neck, and tore off his head.
The castle started spinning
Or maybe it was my brain
I can't tell you what she did to me
But my body will never be the same
Her lovin' will kick your behind
(Oh, she'll show you no mercy)
But she'll sho'nuff, sho'nuff show you how to grind
—Prince, Darling Nikki