Seeds Of Fear (10 page)

All the time she was doing this, she was rocking up and down on my lap till I began to change shape too—I was getting harder and stiffen She grinned at me, and the couch was suddenly a very big bed.

"Now, honey, why are you here?"

"Morrie sent me over to see if there was anything you needed." I was very proud that I could still put two words together.

"Morrie is such a nice man." Tiffany reached down and the buttons of my shirt got all of her attention.

I needed something to think about and I didn't like baseball. "What's the story with the little guy on the door?"

She stopped undoing buttons (by that time she had worked down to the pants) and looked at me with big black eyes. "Jealous already?"

"No, I was just wondering if you two . . . ?"

"You don't know much about us Animates, do you?"

"I've been around." I hadn't, but I wasn't going to admit it.

"Then you should know that there is nothing like sex between two of us. We can be anything and do anything, and we never get tired."

"But he was such a little guy."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you size doesn't matter?"

"Once, but I think he just felt inadequate in the shower."

"Well, to an Animate it doesn't matter at all. Twink can do more with his five little points than you can with your one." With that she reached between her legs and gave my "one" a friendly little squeeze. "Now, let's see what you can do."

The bed gave a small shudder and I noticed, barely, that it was changing again. It now was a bit more severe and I saw what looked to be handcuffs hanging off one post. Tiffany smiled down at me and once more her chest expanded. This time the dress didn't and her breasts exploded out of confinement, so very white, though the nipples were black and tasted a little like ink. I bit down and she moaned. "Come on, lover, you can play rougher than that." I reached up and grabbed her other tit and squeezed hard.

She retaliated by grinding down with her hips. I shifted my grip and caught hold of her hips. Still wearing some of my clothes, I thrust up at her. Tiffany yelled and her dress shifted to a bra with nipple cutouts and garter belt and stockings. I could feel the heat between her legs. All I wanted now was to get out of my shorts and slip into something more comfortable—
her.

I reached down to tug off the last article of clothing that kept me from entering paradise. Tiffany caught my hands, and with surprising strength forced them back to the bed. The cute little face shifted and the new one was a bit slimmer and definitely sexier.

"Not so fast." She bounced up and down a couple of times and a groan escaped my lips. "You're not an Animate. Once you explode, you're no good to little Tiffany."

I tried to grab her shoulders and roll her under me, but she wasn't having any of it. Her strength was all out of proportion to her size, and I was easily outclassed.

"Oh, you want to try another position?" Her features flowed around her face and suddenly I was looking at a face that looked very doglike. She had a little snout and her hairstyle was now dog ears, but you could still see Tiffany's features. My mouth dropped open and she bent down and licked my nose with a tongue like sandpaper.

"How about . . . doggy style?" Tiffany threw her head back and did a sort of barking laugh. The features shifted into a caricature of an African native. "Or maybe . . . missionary?"

The changes were playing havoc with my lust, and part of me began to wilt. It was not a pleasant look that crossed the face above me. "You better not be going soft on me, or I'll try something you might not like."

My imagination stalled at the threat, but it didn't help the little pointer. Tiffany saw the problem and the next change was much more human; in fact, it was the best look yet. Her raven black hair grew longer till it covered her face and tits. Once more I had lead in the pencil and she was a happy Animate.

"Look who's back." She slid down my legs, and the shorts went south for the winter. I, or at least part of me, sprang to attention. She peered through all the black hair and began little nibbling kisses at my toes and moved upward toward my exclamation mark.

I was thrashing like mad and trying to get ahold of her. I didn't want to wait another second. All I wanted was to be inside her and ride off into the sunset. Trouble was, I just couldn't get ahold of anything. She'd shake me off, or what I grabbed flowed between my fingers and left me empty-handed.

"Please," I said in a very strained voice, "Tiffany, hurry up or I'm going to die."

"Relax, you can't die from blue balls." She stopped torturing me for a minute and looked at me quizzically. "Do you think we Animates will ever come in colors like you Reals?"

I screamed and grabbed her. This time she stayed solid and I thrust her down on the mattress. Her legs flew open and my arrow went right into the bull's-eye. I don't know if she was fooling with reality or if it was just me, but rockets went off, there were fireworks, and for some reason, I could picture a train hurtling into a dark tunnel. It was earthshaking and over in an eternity; at least it felt like that to me.

The earth spun for a while, and when it stopped I was lying on my back gasping for air. Tiffany ran a hand over my chest and I shivered happily. I reached over to her and noticed that while I was covered in sweat, she was still dry as a bone. Inky black eyes gazed down at me and I drifted toward sleep. She shook me.

"Don't doze off on me, boobsie. That was great, but not nearly enough." She slid her hand between my legs and fondled the victim of hit-and-run sex.

"You're too much, Tiffany. Let me rest a little bit and I'll spring back for you." I started to flop down on the bed, but I hit my head on a hard surface. I turned around and saw the mattress was gone, and we were now on a wooden table.

"I said, I'm still horny. I'm horny now, and I don't feel like waiting for some limp-dicked Real to recover." Her edges looked harder and her face was becom-ing more severe.

"I want to, but I can't work miracles." I started to slide off the table, but she pinned me down. The handcuffs were back and ready to be used. Down at the end of the table was another pair. I figured this had to be the weirdness that Mack had warned me about. But I was wrong—this was a walk in the park compared to what was about to happen.

"Please, I have to go now." I tried to shake loose again, but no luck.

"Too late, sweetie, you've already come . . . too early to go. If you can't satisfy one way, then I guess you'll just have to be flexible."

Struggling wasn't doing me any good. She had a tight grip on my wrists and a leg over my waist to hold me down. Sex had retreated a long way from my mind, and fear was banging on the door to get in. Then she started to change again.

Her face stayed the same, but her body was flowing into new formations. The shoulders got broader, arms thickened, and there seemed to be more than two. I could feel her legs changing, and not for the better. It felt like she had coarse fur, and something like a claw scratched me.

It was then that I felt it—between her legs it was still hot, but now there was a bunch of writhing things growing down there.

I struggled upright to see what I already knew. The face was still the Kewpie doll I had just had sex with, but the body wasn't even remotely human anymore. My eyes popped open, and if I'd been an Animate, they would have rolled out onto the floor. Tiffany had parts I'd never seen anywhere before, and they were growing larger by the second.

"Like I said, if you can't get me off one way .. . I'll have do something else to get my kicks."

She let go of one wrist to reach for a set of handcuffs. I screamed and thrashed with all my might and bucked her/it off of me. I hit the floor running toward the door. The room whirled and the exit now looked about a mile away.

"Give it up, sweetie. You're not going anywhere. Just relax. Hell, you might even enjoy it more than the last one did." A chair stuck a leg out to trip me, and a lamp cord slithered across the floor like a snake.

I just kept running and eventually got to the door. Out of breath and too terrified to look back at what might be gaining on me, I grabbed for the doorknob, but it slid across the surface of the door and out of my grasp.

"Knobby, don't you dare let him out of here till I'm through with him." The Tiffany creature was up and the room reverted to normal dimensions. It started toward me and its appendages almost reached to its chest. They were very white, very thick, and very, very frightening.

"Please," I said to the doorknob, "let me out."

It made a face and slid to the other side of the door. "No way, buddy. I want to watch this."

"Pervert!" I clutched at it again and missed. Behind me I heard Tiffany moving slowly and deliberately toward me. There was a weighty thump at each step and a sound like something heavy dragging behind it. My mind raced and an idea came to me.

I looked up at the door and cried, "What a set of knockers!"

Knobby, the doorknob, stopped sliding all over the place and tried to look up to see what door knockers I was talking about. While he was distracted, I grabbed the knob and wrenched the door open. Then I ran like a thief into the hallway.

Behind me I heard a scream of pain from Knobby and one of rage and frustration from Tiffany. Both were music to my ears.

I ran onto the lot buck naked and didn't stop till I reached my apartment, where I threw my things in a bag and caught the next train out of Hollywoodland. Didn't care where I was going, just so long as it was far away from anyplace that had Animates.

That was years ago. I settled back East in a boring, but safe and sane job. I married a nice girl who doesn't change shape when we make love, at least not any more than anyone else does.

We've been married for years and we have three great kids. I'm lucky; the three boys think I'm just about the best dad in the whole world. We do everything together; well. . . almost everything.

Even though it's been more years than I can count, there are just some things I'm never going to be able to do with them. I'm never going to take them to an Animated movie and I'm never going to be able to explain to them why I get the shakes every Saturday morning when they turn on the television.

And now there is a new horror—cable. All those channels, all those choices. And hidden somewhere among them, lurking, waiting for me ... I know she's out there.

Maybe I can get my kids interested in reading.

Rob Parvis overheard snippets of their conversation from three barstools down, and decided to move closer. As he edged past the other men and women seated around the bar, he was thankful for its no-smoking rule. It kept the bar from becoming too noisy or crowded, and seemed to bring in a better clientele. His kind of clientele: attractive, single, horny women.

He placed his Cabernet on the glass countertop, which was lit from beneath by neon, giving nearby patrons unusual flesh hues. The women he was spying on were both attractive. The shorter one was a dirty blonde with a tomato face, a cute smile, and small breasts, dressed in a conservative white silk blouse and drawstring pants. The taller one next to her was a brunette with a strong chinline, thin eyebrows, which he disliked, and who also, he noted, had small breasts, concealed under a leotard top tucked into blue jeans. He dubbed them the Itty Bitty Tittie Committee as he leaned closer to hear more.

"I haven't been laid in years," the blonde complained. "But it's so scary out there these days, I just can't see picking up just any guy. I'm going crazy!"

"What do you mean, 'going'?" Her friend laughed.

The blonde ignored her. "You're better off married, Vickie, even if you're not getting along with Jack right now."

Her friend answered, something Rob couldn't hear, and then they both laughed. Rob waited till the laughter died down before handing the blonde his business card.

"What's this?" she asked, straining as she read it aloud by the room's dim light. " 'The Handyman— Your Sexual Stand-In. No money, no diseases, no questions. One hundred percent satisfaction.'" She looked at the card for a moment and burst out laughing.

"You're kidding, right?" she managed between chuckles. "Sounds too good to be true."

"What an opening line!" the brunette said, clucking her tongue in obvious disapproval.

But the blonde extended her hand to him, noticing his perfectly polished nails. "Christine Kent," she announced. "You must have heard me complaining. I guess I should be embarrassed, but fuck it, it's just so depressing these days, you know?"

"Chris!" Vickie was surprised by her friend's candor with this stranger. "Either you two know each other, or you have had too much to drink, girl!"

"Neither," Rob said, making sure they had to lean in closer to him to catch his words. Baiting the hook, he thought, using his best radio voice to snag their attention. "I couldn't help overhearing Christine's complaint, and I decided to offer her my services."

Vickie shook her head. "Sorry, Charlie, we're not looking for a gigolo. Nice try, though."

Chris placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Speak for yourself," she said. "Your card says no money." She checked the card again and smiled as she spoke his name: "Rob, Is that false advertising?"

He smiled. "Not at all. You might just say I'm a good Samaritan, offering my unique services to a select group of people like yourself."

Vickie interrupted. "Chris, you don't know anything about this guy."

"And he doesn't know anything about me."

"But he's not even your type," Vickie argued, in obvious disregard of Rob's presence. "You can do better."

Chris looked over the man who'd given her his business card. It was true he was no GQ model. His silk shirt was wrinkled, he wore his hair in an out-of-date ponytail (and it didn't look particularly clean, either), and there was some sort of stain on his jacket collar. Still, she'd slept with worse—an awfully long time ago, she reminded herself. Finally she answered her friend, "That's where you're wrong, Vickie. I think he's just my type."

Vickie grabbed Chris by the arm. "Will you excuse us a moment, Mr. Studley Do-Right?" Without awaiting his response, she grabbed her girlfriend brusquely and walked out of Jay's earshot. He watched them argue back and forth, straining in vain to hear their words. He smiled as Chris turned to him at one point and winked. Finally they returned to his side.

"So what's the catch, Rob?" Chris asked, exaggerating his name as if he were famous. "Do you have six months to live, a girlfriend you want to piss off, or are you a porn film producer?"

He shrugged. "None of the above. I just take the stress and games out of finding a partner for the night." He took a sip of his wine. "You'd be surprised how many women welcome my offer with relief. It's sex with no strings attached. Tomorrow morning, we've both gotten something we want and we say good-bye, satisfied and with no regrets."

"As easy as that?" she said as she reached for her glass of cranberry juice and vodka.

"As easy as that." He placed a hand over hers as she grabbed the tall glass like a cock. He squeezed her hand softly and she gasped. The physical contact was electric.

"I'm going to powder my nose," she said. "You get the car and I'll meet you outside."

As they entered his apartment, he turned on a light switch that controlled not only the lighting but his CD player, which immediately fired up a Yanni CD at a comfortable background level.

"Ooh—you do know the way to a woman's heart, don't you?" Christine cooed as she allowed herself to be led to his living room. Privately she winced; actually, she hated this sort of music. She glanced around at his apartment. It was drab, dark, and messy. It didn't look to her as if Rob Parvis had thought he was going to get lucky tonight.

"Remember the rules." She spoke to his back as he retrieved a bottle of white wine from his refrigerator. "You show me the doctor's note you claim to have. I want to know the person I'm climbing into the sack with isn't dangerous."

"Me too," he laughed as he showed her a computer printout of negative HIV blood test results that was indeed dated that day.

"Fair enough," she breathed as she allowed herself to stroke the front of his trousers.

"And you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "You'll have to take your chances. You heard me—I haven't been laid in years. It would be pretty hard to catch anything. .." Her voice trailed off.

"Why no action?" he asked, massaging her shoulders and allowing his hands to drop lightly to her small breasts, where he traced her nipples through the silk blouse.

She whispered, "You said no questions, right? Let's just fuck."

He raised his hands in submission. "Right you are." He popped the cork out of the bottle. "It's a Vouvray—a sweet French wine. I find it tastes especially good when licked off nipples."

She shuddered at the statement. It had been so long. . .

He unbuttoned her blouse, tugged it out of her pants, and tossed it on the floor. He gently guided her backwards to his couch, where she sat back against a cushion and allowed him to dribble the golden liquid on her tiny areolas. Then he lowered his head and slowly licked at the dark bumps of flesh, encircling one with his mouth and then sucking at it until it had grown twice its normal size. Chris sighed with pleasure and grabbed at his crotch, where she felt a medium-sized bulge. She was momentarily disappointed he wasn't even bigger, but she enjoyed the feel of a man's dick in her hands nonetheless.

He continued to lick at her nipples, gently biting them and then sucking, kneading her breasts like bread dough beneath his strong fingers.

By this time she'd slipped his pants down to his knees and was pleased to find he was wearing no underwear. She pushed him off her and made him sit down so she could pay attention to his erection. She smiled as she noticed the precoital fluid dribbling down his throbbing dick; it looked as if he hadn't gotten any in a while either.

She decided to see if she could still throat; it was a talent she'd honed over the years, and she hoped she could still control her gag reflex. She took the head of his dick into her mouth and he squirmed in obvious pleasure. She kept going and was thrilled to discover that throating was almost like riding a bicycle. Once learned . . .

He bucked like a bronco as she tickled his balls with one hand while tweaking his nipples with the other, throating him at the same time. He was already gasping for air like a fish out of water, and before she knew it, she felt his hot come spurting down her throat. She sucked him bone-dry, disconnected her face from his genitals, and smiled at him, a thin line of come dribbling down her chin.

"Boy, you were eager for some beaver!" she chided playfully. But he turned away from her. "Hey, what's wrong?" she asked.

"I.. . didn't expect to come so fast. Sorry."

"I thought you said you got sex all the time. Maybe your card trick doesn't work so well after all."

He turned back to face her and she noticed his face was red. Studley Do-Right was embarrassed, she thought with amusement.

"It's not that, it's just. . . well, I didn't get to—you know—get you off."

"So who's stopping you?" She pulled the drawstring and her pants slid noiselessly to the floor. She stepped out of them and glared at him defiantly, allowing him to notice that she too had neglected to wear underwear that evening.

He gasped at her bare beauty and at his first-ever view of shaved pussy. He approached her slowly, trembling slightly, and finally allowed his hand to caress the soft mound of skin directly above her vagina, rubbing his hand up and down, exploring her innermost secrets with his eager fingers, slipping one, then two deep inside her. She stood as still as a statue as he finger-fucked her and he kissed her breasts while pushing his fingers in and out of her vagina. Then he replaced them with his again engorged dick.

She moaned as he pushed into her and they started a love dance, still standing while moving slowly around the small living room, their every movement ecstasy to her supersensitive pussy. Despite her own preferences, she felt herself on the verge of coming. All too soon she was forced to allow herself to experience a thunderous orgasm while still standing and locked in his sexual embrace. The climax was better than she remembered, and a thousand times better than the orgasms she'd given herself over the years as she waited for the chance to fuck a man again.

Finally her orgasm ended and she disengaged from him and fell back on the couch, catching her breath. He lay down next to her. She looked around lazily until her eyes spotted an ashtray.

"Oh God, you smoke! I'd
kill
for a cigarette right now."

"No problem," Rob said, reaching to open a drawer of an end table next to the couch. He sifted through it and brought out a pack of Winstons, displacing a book from the drawer. They both watched it fall to the floor.

"Oh shit." Rob blanched as Chris read the title aloud.

'"How to Seduce Women: A Failsafe Guide for Bachelors.'" She reached down for the book, but Rob caught her arm.

"Please," he said, obvious strain in his voice. "Don't."

"Is it yours? Let me see it." She shrugged his hand off her arm with surprising strength and flipped through the book's pages.

"Oh, this is great," she said sarcastically. "This is priceless." She held the book up for him to see the page featuring the "Handyman" business card. "I don't fucking believe it! You got all this from a fucking book!" She laughed at him. "Where's the page that tells you what wine to use on nipples? Or how to do it standing up?" She threw the book down in disgust.

"I've been had," she said as she stood up and gathered her clothing. "Well, it serves me right, I guess, for being so anxious myself. I mean, I just got out today, so you can imagine how horny I was after eight years in the asylum."

Rob was quickly putting on his pants to hide an erection that had faded with embarrassment down to a dick that was smaller than he could remember having since he was in grade school. "What. . . what did you say? What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath of smoke into her lungs, held it for a second, and exhaled in his face. "Eight years—that's a long time to waste away. But they were convinced I was crazy for killing my boyfriend Rob." She blinked twice. "What did you say your name was?"

"R . . . Rob."

"Rob. Well. Of course." She thought about that for a moment, chuckled to herself, and then continued: "My Rob, he was a liar too. Told me he wasn't having an affair when he was actually fucking his secretary. Are you fucking your secretary too, Rob? Did you use the book on her too, Rob? I can't stand liars, Rob."

Slowly she placed the pack of cigarettes in her purse. "Thanks for these, Rob. You remember what I said before?"

Stunned that she'd found him out, stunned by everything she'd said, he could barely concentrate on her words, as she repeated softly, "I said I'd kill for a cigarette."

As she removed the long, razor-sharp knife from her purse, she stepped menacingly toward Rob Parvis, once a lonely, desperate bachelor, soon to be deceased.

Christine Kent and Vickie Wayne sat at the bar, sipping cranberry juice and vodkas. Chris spoke first: "First round's on me because you won the bet. How'd you know I'd kill him?"

Vickie shrugged. "It doesn't take a brain surgeon. As soon as you said his name, I knew he was a goner. I just hope you cleaned up after yourself."

"The place is spotless, I promise."

Vickie shook her head. "You really are crazy, Chris."

"That's what they said at the asylum, till I convinced them otherwise. Took eight years, though. Needless to say, I'm still horny."