It's Always Time - Chapter Six: The Dark Side's Light
A classic tale of boy loses goo
"Dee? Dee! Is that you? What are you doing here?"
Dee glanced up at the tall, lean blond man threading his way through the crowd. "Hello, Yves."
"Hey," Yves greeted, kicking away a stool and reclining backward against the bar, elbows propped up on the mahogany countertop. "How are you? You look-"
"Drunk?" Dee brushed a few strands straying from Yves' low, long ponytail away from his whiskey glass.
"Well, yeah, a little. But I was going to say 'great.'" Yves waved at someone across the room. "No one's seen you at work for days," he told Dee. "We were all sorry to hear about your grandmother."
"She'll get over it."
Yves blinked. "Uh, okay. So, Dee, why are you here?"
Dee nursed his drink. "To get drunk and to get away from my girlfriend."
"Well, you came to the right place, then," Yves said. A man in a business suit approached but Yves shooed him off with a shy, polite smile. "On both counts. I didn't think you were seeing anyone, Dee. It's been almost a year since your last breakup, hasn't it? Who is she?"
"Galatea. I made her last Sunday."
"Jesus, Dee, that's a crude thing to say," Yves said.
Dee squinted up at him. "What are you doing here, Yves? This place is full of swingers on Thursdays, and that's not your scene. You're more...what's that dumb phrase you use? 'Serial monogamist?'"
"Existential monogamist." Yves shrugged, whipcord muscles rolling against the tight, tan, sleeveless tee he wore beneath an unbuttoned white dress shirt. "Friday is single's night, and that's no fun. On weekends, this place is full of kids."
"If you weren't six-foot-four, Y, I'd think you were twelve," Dee grumbled.
"You're a mean drunk. I'm glad you don't drink often."
"I'm not a mean drunk. I'm a stupid drunk. I told Galatea I needed some time alone, some time to 'be me,' and here I am, in a bar, drinking bourbon." Dee rolled the tall whiskey snifter over his fingers. The jigger of amber alcohol crawled up the glass.
"You're drinking it like a pro."
"But I hate bars." Dee took a tentative sip of whisky. "And I hate bourbon."
"Then why are you here? Did you two have a fight?"
Dee contemplated his half-empty snifter. "Sort of."
Yves leaned in. "What about?"
"My girlfriend thinks I'm a god."
Yves shook his head, chuckling. "I thought that's what all guys like you wanted."
"Maybe." Dee made a sour face. "But this is different. If Galatea thinks you're a god, she makes you a god."
"Okay, you are a stupid drunk." Yves leaned back, arms folded. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here."
"I told you already."
"No, Dee." Yves rapped a knuckle on the mahogany bar. "I mean why are you here, in a gay bar?"
Dee surveyed the clusters of men around the bar and high tables. "It's safe."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It doesn't work with men," Dee said. "Or maybe it does, but I can control it better, because I understand men." He emptied the snifter in a single toss. "But I don't understand women," he coughed.
Yves eyes rolled. "I can't believe it. A drunk and bitter Deiter Detwiler. I never thought I'd see the day. C'mon, let me drive you home."
Dee slid the snifter across the countertop. "You don't believe me."
"It's more like I haven't understood a single thing you've said. You're absolutely crapulous, as my mother likes to say."
Dee tapped the snifter with a fingernail. "How many women are in here, Yves?"
Yves took stock of the crowded barroom. "About three or four."
"Notice anything about them?" Dee asked, not taking his eyes off the snifter.
"All right, I'll indulge you." Yves twisted around, surveying. "Well, now that I've made a jackass of myself," he said, frowning, "they're staring at me."
"Guess again," Dee muttered, but Yves was already speaking.
"Wait a minute." Yves frown deepened. "They're all staring at you. What's up with that? It's not like you're the only cute guy in here. Or the only straight guy, for that matter."
"Watch them." Dee pushed himself away from the bar. "And then watch me."
Dee strolled across the room. Three pairs of eyes swiveled to watch his every move. The bartender licked her lip and dropped a shot glass. A woman in a booth in the corner scissored her legs, squirming in her seat. The girl by the payphone broke into a sweat, downed her beer, and retreated to the restroom.
"What the fuck?" Yves muttered.
Yves watched Dee bear down on a coed clad in a little black evening dress. She boggled, a deer in headlights, as Dee approached, ignoring the quizzical glares of the two men at her table. Dee stood opposite her, nonchalant, and said something. The coed clambered up onto the table, knocking over wine glasses and kneeling in a platter of tapas. Her two friends jerked back in shock.
Yves jumped away from the bar. "What the fuck?"
The coed clawed her way up Dee's denim shirt and dragged him into a clinching lip-lock. Dee backpedaled, arms windmilling, but the coed just hummed and squeaked and clung to him as he fell over backward. The bolted-down table stood fast while the coed in the tapas platter slid forward before both she and Dee hit the floor. She lay astraddle over him for a few more seconds before finishing off the kiss with a delirious, happy squeal. "Oh, wow! Um. Hi!"
"What the fucking fuck?" cried Yves, the only other sound in the barroom.
The coed looked up, noticed that everyone gawking at her, blushed redder than a beet, leapt to her feet, and fled out the front door. Her two stunned friends moved to help Dee up but he said, "I'm fine, I'm fine. God, I'm sorry, I didn't think-Look, just go after her and make sure she's all right, okay? Go, go!"
Dee stood and made his way back to the bar. The carousers slowly got back into the swing of things. Yves looked everywhere but the other three women had vanished. Dee bellied up to the bar, daubing tapas off his pants with a napkin. "What the fuck did you say to her?" Yves hissed.
"I said, 'Hi'," Dee sighed. "Just 'Hi.' It's getting stronger. Or maybe the less I say, the more powerful it gets?" He laughed. "That would fit. It would also mean the only way to control it is to yak my head off."
"Control what?" Yves asked.
Dee's eyes narrowed at the whiskey snifter. "My voice," he said in a deep register carrying strange harmonics and rattling all the glasses on the countertop.
Yves heard a few muffled cries from the women's restroom. "Okay, Dee." Yves swung his legs over a stool. "You've got my attention now."
Dee signaled to the remaining bald and beaded bartender for a refill. "I had a rehearsed hissy fit," he told Yves. "Bitch-bitch-bitch, walk out the door. You know what I mean."
"Famously," Yves agreed darkly.
"Anyway," Dee said, "I just wanted to go out for a walk. I circled the complex a couple of times and then headed north on Route Four."
Yves nodded. "I've been your neighbor for three years and I've carpooled with you for two. I know your routine."
"I'm flattered." Bourbon swirled in Dee's snifter. "So I'm walking up the bicycle lane on the side of the road, but every once and a while a car will slow down and honk at me. A few even pull over. After about half an hour, well..." Dee pulled a wad of crumpled post-its, chewing gum wrappers, receipts, and notepapers from a pants pocket. "About twenty women had gotten out of their cars-on the throughway-just to give me their phone numbers."
Yves fanned the papers scrawled with names and numbers over the countertop, examining each one in turn. "Huh."
"I didn't realize anything weird was happening-I've had much, much weirder things happen to me today, weird like you wouldn't believe-that is, until..." Dee sighed, and dropped two twisty sickles of dull steel onto the countertop.
"What are those," Yves said, "bent can openers?"
"Look closer," Dee said, warming the snifter between his palms.
"They're handcuffs," Yves observed.
"Correction: they were handcuffs."
Yves scrutinized the ruined cuffs. The chain between them had snapped, the hinges of the manacles torn and useless. "I don't get it."
"A couple of cops, female state troopers, pulled over," Dee said. "They told me they were looking for a suspect that had fled the scene of a domestic disturbance. I matched his description, they said. I was in such a funk I just followed directions, lying down on my stomach with my hands against my back, until they locked those handcuffs around my wrists, rolled me over, ripped off the tops their uniforms, and announced I was under arrest for 'public fuckability'."
"I don't believe it."
"Neither did I, until they yanked my pants down around my ankles. Now that I think about it, they were acting lot like that girl who just jumped me. I was answering all their questions and following their instructions with either a quick 'Yes ma'am' or a 'No ma'am.' The less I talk, the stronger it gets."
"So what the Hell happened?"
Dee stared down the barrel of his glass. "One rode my face while the other attempted an ambush blowjob. Which itself is no big deal. I had about twenty of those yesterday. But I'm in love with Galatea, and the two cops were maniac, out of control. So I broke out of the cuffs, pulled the psycho off my face and plopped her down over the cop on my cock. That brought them around. They were mortified. One of them was married. They broke the patrol car's concealed camcorder and drove off. What are you looking at me like that for?"
"You are so full of shit."
"I said I'm in love with Galatea and I damn well meant it. She couldn't piss me off so damn much otherwise."
"No," Yves said, "I believe that you're in love. It's the rest of your story that's pure bullshit. I'm driving you home."
Dee eyeballed him. "You're a black belt in judo or something, right? Nidan or whatever?"
"I'm an assistant instructor aikidoka," Yves said, skipping the usual lecture.
"What do you think of this, Y-sensei?" Dee reached down with one hand and raised the snifter to his lips with the other. A second later, Yves found himself perched on a stool on top of the bar, his head bumping against the ceiling. "Should I be able to do that?" Dee lowered his glass.
"Um. No."
Dee launched back into his narrative unfazed. "So being gang-raped by a couple of girls in uniform kind of bummed me out, and I decided to get drunk. At the first bar I tried, a jealous boyfriend punched me in the face and broke three of his fingers. Next, I tried Phase Five, thinking I'd run into Ursula's crowd there, but it must have been bi-curious night or something, and I barely made it out alive."
"Last call," the bartender announced. "No table dancing, fella," he added to Yves.
"I've got to take my friends home." Yves leapt off the countertop, open shirt flapping like a cape, and caught the stool just as it started to fall. "You're in no shape to drive either, so give me your keys and come with me. And this time you're going to start the story from the beginning."
Dee handed him the keys to his Volkswagen. "It's a long story," Dee cautioned.
"I don't care. Tell me everything, from the fucking beginning, got that?"
"I got it, Yves." Dee downed the last of the bourbon and pulled the last of his cash from his wallet. "And it does begin with fucking, ironically enough."
"I don't care," Yves repeated.
"So it all started," Dee began, "when I decided to masturbate with a Jell-O mold to see what it would be like to fuck a goo girl so I could write some porn about it on the Internet."
"You can skip that part," Yves said.
* * * * *
Yves' silver Jeep sped down Rural Route Four. Dee stared out into the false dawn of Zodiacal light ghosting the horizon as he finished his story. "Bee wanted the nanomek so much he tried to kill me, and I wanted to be rid of it so badly-I could not stand to look at it a second longer-that I, well, I gave it to him. He ran off. I haven't seen Bee since. I hope he hasn't done anything stupid."
Yves grimaced, shoulders sagging, but he watched the road and said nothing.
"Then I drove Galatea home." Dee sighed. "And that's it. Now you know the whole story."
The Jeep's canvas top rustled for a minute before Yves spoke. "So, to sum up: You're in love with Galatea. Galatea is a meliae, a honey nymph of ancient myth."
"Yup."
Yves gave Dee a sidelong glance. "Made out of Jell-O," he added.
"The ancient myth isn't about Jell-O, obviously," Dee said. "The first honey nymphs were probably created from real honey or sweet tree sap. Something all-natural. Tomoe said I could look it up on the Internet."
The Jeep drew near a faded billboard advertising "The Channel Apartment Home Community: Efficient Luxury of Executive Living." I've driven by that damn sign twice every work day for four years, Dee thought. I still have no idea what that slogan means.
"But Galatea's made out of Jell-O," Yves repeated.
"She's more nanomek than Jell-O," Dee said, "although she keeps asking for collagen. That's the protein in gelatin. It would give her nanomek more raw material, or make her stronger, something like that. I don't really understand that part."
Yves shrugged. "Okay. But the myth of the meliae is just a cover-up for guys who are into goo girls, an Internet fetish that's been a secret part of human history for thousands of years, even during the age of Atlantis, which really existed until it was destroyed..." Yves glanced sidelong again. "...destroyed by said goo girls."
"Slow down," Dee cautioned. "There's always a cop with a radar gun right there. Always."
Yves coaxed a few more miles-per-hour out of the Jeep's taxed engine. "Probably not tonight."
"Why not?"
"'Public fuckability,'" Yves reminded.
"Yeah, yeah." Dee crossed his arms. "Anyway, yes, Atlantis really existed until it sank under a goo girl rampage. Unless Tomoe was lying, but I bet she has a rule against that."
Yves hit the brake and pulled the Jeep onto the off ramp. "Oh, right, Tomoe Exposition. I forgot that part: the myth is a cover-up for the fetish, but the fetish itself is just a scheme of this medical supply company to make a quick five bucks."
The Jeep lurched to a halt in front of a closed iron gate. A welded, green placard with flaking gold letters welcomed visitors to the Channel Apartments.
"You could say that, yeah," Dee said as Yves unrolled the driver side window and waved a keycard at an electric reader. The reader's red, LED eye winked and the gate rolled open.
"And Galatea's a lime meliae," Yves said, timing the Jeep's entrance through the yawning gate so closely Dee thought he might shear off a side view mirror. "The most powerful, dangerous, and horniest honey nymph of them all."
Yves drove by the deluxe apartment homes of Channel One and Two. "Every man that's ever made one becomes so overwhelmed by her insatiable, sexual appetite that he succumbs to sublimation, which in this case means he's consumed and destroyed-vaporized-by perpetual orgasm."
Channel Three, a complex of family suites, swooped in and out of sight as the Jeep bounced by.
"Every man, that is," Yves said, leveling a finger at Dee, "until Deiter Detwiler, who, despite his nice-guy exterior, is such a freaky sex machine that the he overwhelms her."
The Jeep rocked as Yves goaded it over a speed bump. "Uh," Dee said, "I'm not sure I'd put it that way..."
"I'm not finished." Yves pulled off a hairpin turn into a row of covered parking. "So this super-freak Dee and this super-nympho Galatea spend four days in a nonstop fuck-a-thon, each trying to one-up the other in a triple-X battle of the sexes to prove, once and for all, who's the most perverted: men or women."
Dee threw his hands in the air. "What the Hell-"
"Shut up. But while Galatea tries to drown Dee in sex and Dee tries to get Galatea so turned on she'll burn up and dissolve, they wind up learning a lot about each other and..." Yves paused for the most theatrical, sarcastic eye rolling Dee had ever seen. "...fall in love instead." The Jeep lurched into a narrow parking space. "In fact, Galatea loves Dee so much that she uses meliae magic or 'nanomek' or whatever to give Dee preternatural strength and endurance, which saves his life when Bee, that creep who lives on the first floor, tries to kill him."
Dee's shoulders sagged. "Um."
"It took days," Yves said, hauling up the emergency break, "days for Dee, as clueless as he is impervious, to finally realize she had given him these incredible gifts. For some stupid reason, this makes him bitchy. He treats her to one of his infamous, rehearsed hissy fits. He walks out on her, leaving her alone for hours, leaving her wondering if he's ever going to return, or whether he's going to dump her when he does return."
"Wow," Dee eventually said, "I really fucked up, didn't I?"
"Yes, Dee. You really did. If your story were true and not some delusional break from reality, that is. Good God, Dee, what you just told me makes my teenage wet dreams sound like Ibsen plays in comparison."
Dee sank in his seat. "You don't believe me?"
Yves glared at him but then shook his head. "I don't know yet, but I'm going to decide soon enough."
"What do you mean?"
Yves unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across Dee to pull on the passenger side door handle. "Dee," he said, pushing the door open, "do me the honor of introducing me to your beloved."
"I don't know," Dee said, unbuckling, "You'd be the first human being she'd ever meet." Dee blinked. "Other than me, I mean."
"I think you just made my point for me."
"You're right. Let's go." Dee hopped out of the car. "Whoa, I'm pretty woozy."
Yves joined him on the parking lot pavement. "You drank most of a bottle of bourbon on an empty stomach. I'm surprised you're still vertical."
Dee marched off down the footpath. "I need to apologize to Galatea for being a total jackass. Then I'll pass out. Come on, if you're coming."
"I'm coming," Yves said. His reserved parking space was closer to the side entrance of their apartment building than the front. "We should go by the front door and ask security if they've seen Bee. Hell, we should call the police."
"You'll want to see if Galatea is real first," Dee suggested, "and if she isn't you'll want to call the police about me, not Bee. That's what you're really thinking, don't deny it. I may be drunk but I've known you for years. You're always thinking at least three steps ahead."
Yves frowned, following. The sienna colored aluminum siding of Channel Four's three stories looked garish in the sour sodium floodlights. Dee tapped his keycard against the door's sensor and gave the security camera a curt nod. The metal door clicked open. Yves flashed his keycard past the reader before following Dee up the cement staircase. At the entryway to the second floor Dee stopped and turned. "Do you smell that?"
Yves inhaled. "Smells like a spa. It's nice. Is Ursula making perfume again? Why are you breathing funny?"
"That's Galatea's...scent," Dee said, flushing. "I didn't realize you could smell it all the way down the hallway."
"For a possible figment of your imagination, she smells great. She should bottle it and make a fortune."
Dee shook his head. "It's not her perfume. It's her, you know, scent. Up close it's pretty raunchy."
"Oh. Wow. Or, ew. I'm not sure which. Doesn't matter. Get going." Yves watched Dee mince down the hallway. "You're walking pretty stiff there, big guy," he smirked.
"Shut up," Dee said. The back of his neck prickled and he turned around. "Yves, what is it? You're in a ready stance."
Yves stood, shoulders squared, forward leg and elbows bent at relaxed angles. "Your front door is open."
Dee squinted down the hallway. The door to his apartment canted a hairbreadth ajar. "Good eye," he whistled. "I think I broke the door jam when I left. It's no big deal."
Yves did not budge. "Something is wrong."
Dee stepped back. "Yves, you're sober, you're a kung fu-"
"Budo," Yves muttered.
"-bad ass, and more importantly, you're you. If you think something's wrong, I believe you. But what should we do?"
"Just be ready for Bee to do something stupid."
Dee tensed, spinning. "If he's touched her I'll kill..."
Yves crossed the distance between them in one bounding stride and clapped a hand on Dee's shoulder. "No macho bullshit," he said. "From what you've told me, Galatea is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. If anything's wrong, your hero routine will just make it worse."
"You're right, as usual. Lead on, Macduff."
"No." Yves stepped aside. "I take point, you go see who's home. I'll be right behind you."
They moved down the hallway. "Wow, that smell is strong," Yves said. They passed a familiar door. "Ursula's home."
"How can you tell?"
"She's burning incense. Patchouli," Yves smiled. "And Galatea's scent is winning. Amazing."
"God, I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be," Yves said, listening to the sounds of digitized combat and incidental music thumping through the next door. "Viggo doesn't seem to care. I don't think he's gotten off his couch since Final Fantasy XII came out."
"Should I knock?" Dee asked when he reached his apartment.
"On your own door?" Yves inspected the crack in the doorframe. "No. Announce yourself, though, and then announce me after you step inside. Jesus, Dee, you're really wigging out. Try to relax."
Dee sighed, combed his fingers through his hair, and opened the door. The full force of Galatea's citrus-and-sex scent washed over him. Yves gasped but Dee did not notice. My God, he thought, I missed this. I missed her. How could I have been so stupid? "Galatea? It's me."
The silence stretched long enough for Yves to glance sidelong at Dee one last time before Galatea's voice called back. "Dee? Is that Dee?"
"It's me," Dee said, stepping into the apartment hallway. Say something. "I'm back." Oh, bravo, genius.
"When you were not here," came Galatea's voice, "it made me so sad." He heard the bedroom door close.
"I'm sorry," Dee said, "I'm a complete idiot. I want to apologize to you properly, but a friend of mine drove me home. I'd like to invite him in, if that's all right."
"Of course, Master."
"Very funny," Dee said. "Okay, we're coming in."
A girl the color of lime finger paint paced the living room, fidgeting and wringing her hands. She appeared rough hewn, a living but unfinished statue in Galatea's likeness, the features of her face worn down from stark relief to soft impression by the passage of time. As bodacious as ever, her body lacked the level of detail Dee knew she preferred. He could not tell if she had chosen to confront him naked but with the anatomical vagueness of a Barbie-doll, or decided to meet him clothed in a clingy but concealing spandex jumpsuit. One look at Dee and she froze, blushing black, eyes sliding shut, lazy smile curling. "You're here. I waited so long. I thought you would never come, or come too late."
"Galatea?" Dee said. "Are you okay?"
She hugged herself tight, squeezing her shoulders and squashing her amble breasts until gel flesh overflowed and engulfed her crossed forearms. "But I should have known. Dee would come. My Dee would come to me." She peeped at him with eyes of frosted green pearl. "And he did." Yves stepped into the living room, gawking at her. The green girl smirked at him. "And he brought snacks."
Yves laughed. "My name's Yves, Galatea." He strode forward, arm extended. "I'm flattered, but I'm not on the menu."
Something is wrong. "Yves," Dee started, but the green girl's smile was warm as she shook Yves hand, and Dee relaxed a little.
"I hope you're not offended if I still find you delicious," the green girl said.
"Not at all."
The green girl gestured at the sofa. "Please do sit down. I would offer you something to drink but the only thing Dee keeps to eat or drink nowadays is, well, me." She arched an eyebrow at Dee. "Not that I'm complaining." Her wintry eyes shone. "Are you hungry, Dee? No? Well I'm_famished_."
"Is that why you're opaque?" Dee said. "And so, uh, shapeless?"
Yves rolled his eyes and reclined on the couch. "Real classy, I'm sorry, Galatea, but Dee's hammered, and evidently he is a stupid drunk after all. She looks awfully shapely to me, Dee."
"That's not what I meant," Dee said. "I meant formless. Abstract? Damn it, my mouth is talking faster than my brain can think." He turned to the green girl. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm worried about you. I left you alone for a long time, for no good reason at all, and I want to make sure you're okay but I keep screwing up. You're beautiful. You just look different, that's all."
"I will be perfect again." She stood on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, "Now that you're here." She kissed the curve of his neck, her lips as firm and smooth and cool as marble, before stepping back to take him by the hand. "It's my novilunium."
"Your nova-what?" Dee asked.
"I've heard Ursula use that word a few times," Yves said. "What does it mean?"
"My changeability," the green girl answered, her eyes never leaving Dee's. "My nanomek. You've been gone so long and I need..." She pulled Dee's hand, backing away toward the bedroom hallway. "I need more."
"Well," Yves coughed. "I drove your boyfriend home and I've met you, so my work here is done. I think this fifth wheel is going home. It's just upstairs, after all." He stood, ripping off a sarcastic salute. "Dee, it's been surreal."
The green girl craned her neck to look over and up at him. "No, stay," she said, her eyes urgent. "There's always room for dessert."
Yves shot Dee a fractional what-the-fuck? frown. Dee returned with a I-dunno microscopic eyebrow raising. Yves volleyed back a are-you-going-to-be-okay? slight narrowing of the eyes. Dee replied with an I'm-clueless half smile. Yves pouted what-now-then? and Dee flicked a just-go-along-until-you-think-of-something glance at the green girl. Their silent conversation, the kind that was possible only between close friends who were also longtime coworkers, took about two seconds.
"Okay," Yves said, over enunciating, "I guess I can hang out for a little while. Dee's movie collection is better than mine, after all." He sat back down, picking up the universal remote. The green girl led Dee by the hand and disappeared down the corridor to the bedroom. Yves tossed the remote aside, rubbing his fingers together and clucking with disapproval. "Sticky."
Dee moved to open the bedroom door but the grinning green girl pulled him into the bathroom. "This way, Master."
"What's going on, Galatea?" Dee asked her as she closed the bathroom door.
"Dee," she sighed loudly over the clicking of the lock in the doorknob. "When you said you wanted to make sure I was okay, did you mean it?" She whirled around, frosted eyes glowing. "Did you really mean it?" Oozy flesh spreading across the door.
"Of course, but-"
She surged into him, arms latching around his chest, her heavy breasts slapping against him with an audible -glomp!- noise, her gelled cleavage rushing up his neck and snuggling his chin. "Then take me." She pitched Dee backward and down onto the lidded toilet seat. "Take me and make me perfect." She kissed him with a fearsome hunger, cool lips parting to draw his tongue into her oven-hot mouth.
He met her peculiar, reverse French kiss with a boozy, forward one. She moaned, nibbling and suckling. Her strong, sticky fingers twined behind his neck and egged his kiss onward. He tried to pull away for a quick breath, but she murmured, "Nn-mm," and tugged him back, chewing on his tongue, her lips locking over his. Dee duel-kissed with her for a minute more, breath hissing through his nose, before pulling away again. She squealed "Mmm!" and rocked forward to follow him, grabbing him by the ears and clunking the back of his head into the wall. She sunk her full weight into his lap and refused to break the kiss. Dee chuckled and inhaled. The green girl's eyes popped open and she squeaked a puzzled "Hm?" as her sizzling, fluid tongue flooded into his mouth. Her lips still worked against his, but slowed. Dee arched an eyebrow at her. The green girl's gaze turned quizzical.
Dee bit down until his teeth clicked together.
The green girl's eyes rolled up into her head and she peeled away, swooning to the floor. "Master," she gurgled as Dee chewed thoughtfully. "Oh, Master." She writhed on the linoleum, rolling over to paw up his legs. "I'm in you now," she sighed, rising, "I'm in you."
Dee swallowed. "Why do you taste like a cupcake?"
The green girl's unwrought fingers fumbled with the zipper of Dee's khakis. "Now come into me," she said, giving up on the zipper and pulling the pants apart at the seams, "and I'll taste however you want." She yanked the khakis and underwear down around Dee's knees, the plastic of the toilet lid hard and cold against his ass. "Cum in me," the green girl said, "and we'll be perfect. Together. Forever."
Dee felt absurd sitting there, awaiting service like some enthroned king of fools. You've treated her like crap and now she's got you on the toilet. Take the hint, take your lumps, and do what she wants you to do for a change. "Is it time?" he asked, smiling.
"It's my time," the green girl growled, and devoured his cock.
Panic thrilled through Dee and he startled upward. The green girl sat up on her haunches, scooped up handfuls of his butt and aimed his hips at her mouth. Dee's jump away from the seat only drove his dick further down the velvety vortex of her throat. For a moment of woozy free fall the green girl held him suspended in the air, cradling his ass and slurping on his cock, treating his pelvis like a big, juicy wedge of watermelon-Strong. How could she be so strong?-before she slammed him back down onto the toilet hard enough to crack the ceramic. Her cold lips worried the base of his shaft, her fingers digging into the meat of his ass. She hauled him forward, pivoting her face against his lap-What is she doing-and Dee felt his rock hard dick plough up through the gel of her neck and stab, not down her throat, but upward until-Oh my God what the fuck-the green girl was literally giving him head. She groaned in delight, bobbing. The small bathroom filled with the bouquet of fresh cookies over-baked with too much chocolate.
"What's...going...on?" gasped Dee, sloppy pressure of a drunken orgasm building.
She gripped either side of the toilet lid and arched upward, hovering inches above him. Dee shuddered out of control as the green girl used his cock to furrow a gash down her neck and between her tits. She pumped him deep into her cleavage, her hands creeping up his back and locking onto his shoulders. "Yes," she hissed, dragging her self up to straddle him, his dick cutting a frothing wake down her belly before disappearing between her legs. With the slightest tilt of her hips she pushed him like a piston into her pussy. "Cum in me now," she said, rough-riding him. She pried open his mouth and filled it to bursting with sticky breast. "Eat me now." Gluey green gunk plugged his nose and Dee choked down a river of burning syrup tasting of chocolate cherry cordial candies. "Become me. Now!"
Dee shivered, muscle tension coiling before explosive release. The green girl's huge, smeary tits slapped and smacked against his smothered face. He caught a glimpse of the long wound his dick had sliced down her chest. He remembered-
["...Please, God, no. Let her be okay. Galatea, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."]
-and he had to look away, tearing his mouth from her fountaining flesh. A few flakes of homemade soap stuck to the white porcelain of the bathroom sink. The mostly empty vials of food coloring clustered around the sink's silvered tap, their colorful, pinched plastic caps of blue, yellow, green, red-_Empty. It's empty. The green vial is empty _.
Dee's gaze flashed back to the green girl's face. "Pygmalion," he coughed.
"Hm?" The green girl's hips rocked in violent jerks. "Eat me, Master," she said, offering him a breast.
No X. Sober up right fucking now, you fucking idiot. He reached for her shoulders. "Pygmalion," he said, loud and slow.
Her mouth puckered into the grin of a knowing coquette. "Eat me, 'Pygmalion'."
Dee stood straight, pushing out, palms flat. The green girl splashed to the floor. "Where is Galatea?" Dee snarled.
The green girl sat up on all fours. "M-master?" she stammered in an astonished, breathy voice sounding nothing like Galatea.
The empty vial with the green lid shattered on the floor between her hands, slivers of plastic shrapnel peppering her face. "Where is Galatea?"
A translucent, ruby red blush spread over her as the solid green receded. "But I'm the one you really want, Master," Black Cherry said, her body streamlining, red batwings rising.
Dee's blood sang in his ears. "No. Never. You want a master? Go back to Bee or whatever creepy fuck was stupid enough to cook you up."
The scarlet girl backed away from him, the claws at the end of her wings working at the doorknob. "It should be you," she said, her eyes black and bottomless. The door opened behind her. "My master should be my first."
Dee raged. "Where. Is. Galatea?"
"It should have been you," Black Cherry said, whirling about, "but I have no time." Dee lunged for her but a wing claw lashed out and down, tripping Dee up with the tatters of his khakis. He fell forward, his reflexes dulled with bourbon. The scarlet girl vanished down the corridor.
"Oh, Yves," came Galatea's voice, "looks like dessert's being served early, and I have one Hell of a sweet tooth tonight."
| You come out at night That's when the energy comes And the dark side's light And the vampires roam.
-Sarah McLachlan, Building a Mystery
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