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From: Celeste801@aol.com
Subject: "Virtuous Reality" by Celeste Part 2/2

(Continuation - Part 2 of 2)

  Sue was feeling better about herself, but she still had nagging concerns in
the back of her mind.  As long as she had an angel at her disposal, she
figured she might as well clear up as much of the confusion as possible.
 "But aren't any erotic stories harmful?" she asked.
  "Of course," replied Celeste.  "Any story can be harmful if it leads to
injury or exploitation.  If a nasty or selfish person reads one of your
stories, that person may do something harmful as a result of it."
  "But what about innocent young people?" asked Sue.  "I really worry that
there may be something in the theory that pornography can give kids a bad
outlook on life and make them promiscuous or something."
  "There's no doubt that sick pornography does sometimes have that effect,"
replied Celeste.  "And the Boss is really pissed at some of the people who
write the garbage that makes men and women lose respect for one another.  But
your stories don't do that."  Celeste paused and snapped her fingers.  An
instrument that looked like a remote control channel changer appeared in her
hand.  "Let me show you something."
  Sue followed Celeste's gaze to the wall, where there appeared a lifelike
image of a young man, studiously discussing American literature in the school
library with a beautiful female classmate.  "This is the kid from Nebraska
whose father sent you the hate message you were reading just before I got
here.  He used to be a mindless teenager who would jack off two or three
times a day and watch Brady Bunch reruns on cable.  Then he read two of your
stories: 'Fun with Dick and Jane' and 'Gee Spot Run.'  He enjoyed them much
more than the wannafuck stories he had been reading; and so he tried his hand
at sexual parody himself.  Look what he wrote."  Celeste pushed another
button on her remote control device and the following story appeared on the
wall:

===================================================
The Oprah Renfrow Show - 
Today's Topic "Who Did Madonna Screw?"
===================================================
Oprah: Madonna, you have quite a reputation, and some people - especially in
Hollywood - have weird names nowadays. Can you even remember the names of all
the people you've had sex with in, say, the last month or so?
Madonna: I certainly can.
Oprah: I'm going to call your bluff.  Go ahead; tell me their names.
Madonna: Well, let's see, the names of the people that I have had sex with
recently... Who's the name of the guy I slept with last night, What's the
name of the guy I did in the park this afternoon...
Oprah: That's what I want to find out. So tell me.
Madonna: I just said Who's the name of the guy I slept with last night,
What's the name of the guy I did in the park this afternoon....
Oprah: You've had sex with these guys?
Madonna: Yes.
Oprah: And was it good?
Madonna: It's always good.
Oprah: And you talked to them before, during, or after sex?
Madonna: Yes.
Oprah: And you still don't know their names?
Madonna: Well, I certainly do.

Oprah: Well then who was the person who checked your oil with his dynamic
dipstick last night?
Madonna: Yes.
Oprah: I mean the man's name.
Madonna: Who.
Oprah: The guy you played mattress tag with last night.
Madonna: Who.
Oprah: The one you played hide the salami with last night.
Madonna: Who.
Oprah: The guy whose bone you honed....
Madonna: I don't care how you say it. Who is is the guy I did the horizontal
lambada with last night!
Oprah: Read my lips. I'm asking the questions; you're answering them  Now,
who bobbed his knob in you last night?
Madonna: That's the man's name.
Oprah: That's whose name?
Madonna: Yes.
Oprah: Well go ahead and tell me.
Madonna: That's it.
Oprah: That's who?
Madonna: Yes.

PAUSE  {Author's note: These PAUSES are opportunities for dramatic effect.
 During each PAUSE, the interviewer and interviewee might bang on their
foreheads, roll their eyes, or indicate frustration in other ways.  In
addition, the PAUSES often signal a slightly different chain of thought and
give readers a chance to catch up with the dialog.}

Oprah: Look, did someone assault you with a friendly weapon last night?
Madonna: That's one way to put it.
Oprah: Who was the person you played dueling bedsprings with last night?
Madonna: That's right.
Oprah: This afternoon, when you played your own furry fiddle thinking about
last night, who was the person you had in your mind's eye?
Madonna: That's well put - poetic, but accurate.
Oprah: All I'm trying to find out is the name of the guy that you humped last
night
Madonna: Who.
Oprah: The guy that you...
Madonna: That's it. There's nothing else to say.
Oprah: Who was screaming so loudly that your neighbors could hear him across
the street?
Madonna: That was him. We play practice parallel parking in bed at least once
a week. Sometimes his wife comes with him.
Oprah: Whose wife?
Madonna: Yes.

PAUSE

Madonna: What's wrong with that? She's a consenting adult.
Oprah: Look, all I want to know is when he was driving you crazy with his
tongue tickling your taco, what name did you call out?
Madonna: Who.
Oprah: The guy with his head in your muff.
Madonna: Who.
Oprah: What name did you call out?
Madonna: That's his name.
Oprah: Who?
Madonna: Yes.

PAUSE

Oprah: All I'm trying to find out is what's the name of the guy who was
buttering your muffin last night.
Madonna: No. What was the name of the guy whose Wee Willie Winkie I walloped
in the park this afternoon.
Oprah: I'm not asking you about who you gave the blow job to in the park.
Madonna: Who's the guy that negotiated my forested chasm last night.
Oprah: That's what I want to talk about. One partner at a time!
Madonna: Well, then don't change the partners around. 
Oprah: I'm only asking you, who's the guy that stuffed your muff last night?
Madonna: That's right.
Oprah: OK. Then tell me.
Madonna: I just did.

PAUSE

Oprah: What's the guy's name that buried his dynamic love truncheon in your
pleasure pouch last night?
Madonna: No. What was my afternoon playmate today.
Oprah: I'm not asking you who was plowing your garden this afternoon.
Madonna: Who bored my cylinder last night!
Oprah: I don't know.
Madonna: Oh!  He's the guy I plan to lay cable with in the fire engine
tonight; we're not talking about him.
Oprah: Now how did I get into a fire engine?
Madonna: Because you mentioned the guy's name.
Oprah: If I mentioned the guy in the fire engine, who is the guy I said you
were going to do the Posterpedic polka with tonight?
Madonna: No. Who's the guy whose one-eyed yogurt shooter I drained last
night.
Oprah: What's the name of the guy whose cock you popped last night?
Madonna: What's the name of the guy in the park this afternoon.
Oprah: I don't know.
Madonna: He's on my schedule for tonight in the fire engine.
Oprah: There I go, back in the fire engine again!

PAUSE

Oprah: OK. Since we're discussing tonight, would you just stay in the fire
engine and don't get out of it?
Madonna: All right, what do you want to know?
Oprah: Now who's in the fire engine with his head nestled up against your
honey pot tonight?
Madonna: Why do you insist on putting him in the fire engine?
Oprah: Who?
Madonna: Right! Why?
Oprah: What is the name of the guy you say I am putting in the fire engine?
Madonna: No. What is the name of the guy I did in the park this afternoon.
Oprah: You did what to who in the park this afternoon?
Madonna: I keep telling you: Who is the guy that dined on my hair pie last
night.
Oprah: I don't know.
Together: In the fire engine tonight!

PAUSE

Oprah: Look, let's try it from a different angle. Did you exchange bodily
fluids with anyone last week?
Madonna: Sure.
Oprah: Give me the name of the person that dipped his wick in your tuna
tunnel last Sunday.
Madonna: Why.
Oprah: I just thought I'd ask you.
Madonna: Well, I just thought I'd tell ya.
Oprah: Then tell me who's the guy with whom you had sausage and eggs between
the legs last Sunday.
Madonna: I'm not going to lie to you. Who's the guy I did the wild thing with
last night.
Oprah: I'm not... stay out of this week!!! I want to know what's the guy's
name that you balled last Sunday night.
Madonna: I know that's what you want me to say, but that's not true. What is
the name of the guy whose power tool I charged in the park this afternoon.
He's really cute.
Oprah: I'm not asking you who it was that you screwed in the park this
afternoon.
Madonna: Who's the guy that poked my whisker biscuit last night!
Oprah: I don't know.
Together: In the fire engine tonight!

PAUSE

Oprah: The guy that boinked you last Sunday night?
Madonna: Why.
Oprah: Because!
Madonna: Oh, he was last Wednesday.

PAUSE

Oprah: Look, Did you get lucky last Friday?
Madonna: Sure.
Oprah: What was your victim's name last Friday?
Madonna: Tomorrow.
Oprah: You don't want to tell me today?
Madonna: I'm telling you now.
Oprah: Then go ahead.
Madonna: Tomorrow!
Oprah: What time?
Madonna: What time what?
Oprah: What time tomorrow are you gonna tell me who was your date last
Friday?
Madonna: Now listen. I have been trying  to tell you Who stabbed me with his
muttondagger last night. Who did not bump my fuzz last Friday.
Oprah: Well, I imagine if we thought about it long enough we could think of
someone who wasn't cleaning your clam last Friday. But listen to me: I don't
want to hear you say again who's the guy who punched your ticket last
night!!! I want to know what's the name of the guy that yodeled in your
valley last Friday.
Madonna: What was the name of the guy in the park this afternoon.
Oprah: I don't know.
Together: In the fire engine tonight!

PAUSE

Oprah: Let's try last Saturday. Did you have a date last Saturday?
Madonna: Certainly.
Oprah: The name of that person?
Madonna: Today.
Oprah: Today; and tomorrow was your date last Friday.
Madonna: By Jove, I think she's got it!
Oprah: All we've got is a couple of days for your dates! I should be
interviewing a calendar.

PAUSE

Oprah: You know I have dates too.
Madonna: So the tabloids tell me.
Oprah: Let's say I'm having sex tonight with the guy whose little highness
you saluted last Friday night. This guy asks me to give a message to the guy
that jumped your bones last night. Now, who is the person I give the message
to?
Madonna: Now that's the first thing you've said right.
Oprah: I don't even know what I'm talking about!

PAUSE

Madonna: That's all you would have to do.
Oprah: I would just have to talk to the guy that from whom you received
swollen property last night.
Madonna: Yes!
Oprah: So who's the guy who put his snake through your grass last night?
Madonna: Naturally.

PAUSE

Oprah: Look, if I talk to the guy whose love wand you waved this afternoon,
somebody's going to get my message. Now what is his name?
Madonna: Naturally.
Oprah: But who is the guy who went for a ride in your fur-lined canoe last
night?
Madonna: Naturally.
Oprah: Naturally?
Madonna: Naturally.
Oprah: So I give my message to Naturally.
Madonna: No you don't; you give the message to Who.
Oprah: Naturally.
Madonna: That's different.
Oprah: That's what I said.
Madonna: No it's not.
Oprah: I give the message to Naturally.
Madonna: You give it to Who.
Oprah: Naturally.
Madonna: That's it.
Oprah: That's what I said!
Madonna: Look! Maybe it would be easier if you say it to me.
Oprah: I give the message to who?
Madonna: Naturally.
Oprah: Now you say it to me.
Madonna: You give the message to Who?
Oprah: Naturally.
Madonna: That's it.

Oprah: OK. So let me summarize before we go to a commercial. . Last night Who
made the sign of the eight-legged aardvark with you. Then this afternoon What
was the name of the guy who tempted your tummy with the taste of nuts and
honey in the park. Tonight you're going to get your canoe shellacked by - I
don't know! Not only that, but you claim you fucked Tomorrow last Friday -
Why? Because it was Wednesday! And you think I'm confused when I can't
understand who you're having sex with! Well, I want you to know I don't give
a damn!
Madonna: What?
Oprah: I said I don't give a damn!
Madonna: Oh, she does threesomes with me on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

===================================================

  Sue was nearly in tears from laughter.  "Not bad at all," she said, when she
regained her composure.  "So what you're telling me is that my stories are OK
because they inspire kids to write creative smut. But how does this end, does
this kid have a polite orgy with this girl and her mom or with the
librarian?"
  "Actually," replied Celeste, "I'm not the Ghost of Christmas Future.  You're
in the wrong story again; but I'm sure the Boss would approve another
exception in this case.  You'll be surprised to know that this kid is still a
happy virgin; he just has an active imagination.  The boy grows up to be a
Catholic priest.  He will become the Bishop Sheen of the 21st Century.  He'll
cause a sensation at George Burns's funeral by delivering as part of the
eulogy his skit on 'Who is Seated at the Right Hand of God?'  Millions of
disenchanted churchgoers who see it on Entertainment Weekly or on the late
night news will return to the church of their choice with a renewed religious
outlook.   Later, he will foment a major social revolution with his 'Who Will
Feed the Hungry?'  He'll also translate your stories into Latin, and a future
pope will read them and then reverse the Church's position on birth control.
 Largely because this young man has read your stories, the problem of
overpopulation and world hunger will be solved within the next 25 years."
  "Wow!" whispered Sue.  "And to think I helped cause that!"
  "That's right," answered Celeste.  "And I'm not even going to tell you what
happens to the girl."

  The wall faded to it's original off-white color.  Celeste was gradually
winning the battle, but Sue still had an important question. "But aren't
pedophile stories harmful?" asked Sue.
  "Some of them are. But the Boss counts them as religious essays.  They're no
better or worse than some of that Puritan crap and the papal bulls of the
last five centuries."
  "Religious essays!? Why?"
  "They almost all require a leap of faith.  They're invariably stories about
nice friendly adults doing sweet sexy things to beautiful little children and
everything turns out rosie.  If you don't just make a blind leap of faith
that all of this is possible, these stories would be completely absurd.
 Besides, the people who read and write these stories are almost like a sect.
 They won't listen to arguments that what their characters are doing might be
wrong."
  "Do you think they're evil people?"
  "No, not usually.  As a matter of fact, in the letters they write to me and
in the messages they post on the newsgroup, they're more civilized and
rational than their opponents.  Sometimes when I read the a.s.s. postings I
see more messages denouncing pedophiles than there are stories.  They even
denounce all erotic story writers - especially who those write gay stories -
as child molesters."  
  "Tell me about it," mumbled Sue, thinking of the flaming she had been taking
in her e-mail.
  "But I'm digressing," continued Celeste.  "The main problem is that the
pedophile stories just don't ring true."
  "Why not?"
  "Well, if someone wrote a realistic story about a man having sex with lots
of cute little 10-year-olds, it would be a sad story.  It would read like a
tragic case study.  Good scientific research actually shows that kids who
start having sex when they are ten years old are about a hundred times more
likely to live a miserable life than those who postpone sex until they are
ready for a mature adult relationship.  Realistic pedophile stories would be
like homework for an abnormal psychology course.  So the only thing that gets
posted on the newsgroup are these religious essays on how wonderful it is to
encourage children to be sexually uninhibited by having sex with adults."
  Sue felt better than she had felt in a long time.  She glanced at the
digital clock that she used as a screen saver on her computer.  Celeste
seemed to be able to read Sue's mind.  "He's approaching your door right
now," said Celeste with a smile.  Almost instantly the doorbell rang.
  Sue was impressed at Celeste's clairvoyance, but also a little annoyed that
so much time had slipped by.  "Damn!" she said.  "I had a really sexy fantasy
planned for tonight; but now it's too late."
  Celeste patted Sue on the shoulder.  "You've gotta get your fantasies and
real life in order.  Let him in."
  "But aren't you going to leave?" asked Sue.
  "Don't worry," replied Celeste.  "Only you can see and hear me.  Just
pretend that I'm not here."

  Sue's boyfriend had been out of town for the past week, and she had missed
him.  Shortly after his arrival, the two of them were seated on the couch,
enjoying a cold drink while they talked.  There seemed to be an unnecessary
tension between them, and neither of them knew how to break through it.
 Finally, Greg said simply, "I've missed you" and kissed Sue."  
  As they continued their kiss, Sue glanced across Greg's shoulder and was
astonished to see not just Celeste but also an extremely handsome young man.
  "What you need is a visual aid," said Celeste.  She immediately began giving
her young companion a passionate kiss, wrapping her arms and one leg around
him. The man was trim and strong, clean-cut and young - just the way Sue
herself liked them. Celeste stepped back and with a single sudden motion
swung her diaphanous clothing off over her head.  She stood naked before
everyone who could see her.  Her breasts became the center of attention as
she began to caress them lewdly - first her breasts and nipples, then her
crotch from asshole to clitoris. Ignoring Sue completely and staring hard
into her lover's eyes, which moved longingly back and forth from her face to
her pussy, Sue gradually shifted her hands from her breasts to her lower
torso, as she began to fondle her crotch form asshole to clitoris.
Eventually, she leaned forward onto the dining room table, forcing her torso
to drop forward and her nipples to come into contact with the table's shiny
surface. Fondling her own buttocks, she asked the young man if he'd like a
piece of the action.
  Celeste's lover immediately came closer, knelt down behind her, and placed
both hands on the smooth curves of Celeste's asscheeks. After a half minute
of deep massage his thumbs maneuvered further into the crack of her ass and
his fingers ran lightly over her asshole. She could obviously feel his breath
on her exposed wet tissue. He repositioned his hands so that he could use the
finger tips of both hands to fondle and massage her cunt, sliding between the
inner and outer lips of her pussy and teasing her clitoris.  Next he used the
thumb and forefinger of each hand to grip each of her outer labia and to pull
them outwards. While doing this, he gently rolled and pinched the flesh
between his fingers. Celeste's breathing became shorter as her lover's hot
breath teased her cunt and informed her that his face was getting closer and
closer to her most private parts. When was he going to kiss her? When was he
going to make her explode?  
  Sue saw Celeste become tense with anticipation as the very tip of his
teasing tongue made contact with the very tip of her eager clitoris. The
touch sent a jolt up through Celeste's body, and it made her involuntarily
push her ass back into his mouth. He didn't back away at all. He kept his
tongue pointed and long, and she began to shimmy her hips around. His nose
was now prodding into the rosebud of her asshole. She rotated around so that
his immobile tongue flicked over her clitoris and into her cunt, and back and
forth, again and again. Occasionally, she impaled her asshole an inch or so
onto his tongue, and he seemed to not object to this forbidden area. Celeste
was getting hot, and so was Sue from watching her.
  Suddenly Sue was struck by a sense of deja vu.  She realized that this scene
was familiar.  "To Serve and Protect", thought Sue. "Celeste is doing my
story 'To Serve and Protect,' except he's not in a police uniform and they're
not doing it on the hood of my Miata!"  Sue herself had been engaged in a
warm and passionate kiss with Greg.  He had reached his hands under her
tee-shirt and began to remove it, exposing her beautiful naked body.  As Greg
buried his head in her breasts, Sue came out of her stupor.  Without
disturbing the work of her boyfriend, she looked in astonishment at Celeste
and her partner.  "You're acting out my story!" thought Sue, as loudly as she
could utter a silent thought. "And what's all this crap about monogamy in
Celestial Reviews?  Am I supposed to believe that hunk is your husband?" 
  Celeste read Sue's thoughts.  Without missing a stroke in her own
love-making, Celeste made a conciliatory but somehow sexy gesture with her
right hand.  "Wake up!  You've seen me walk through walls, read your mind,
show you the present and the future - and you're upset over the fact that
you're getting turned on by watching me get it on with this stud in your
living room.  Get real!"
  Sue paused, pondered for a few seconds, and thought, "Thanks!"  Without
saying a word out loud, she returned her full attention to her boyfriend.
 She pushed him gently away, unzipped his cock, and planted a tender kiss on
its trembling tip.  At first Greg just leaned back and relaxed, but soon
Sue's level of excitement drove him to a higher level of arousal.  He wrapped
both hands around Sue's lovely blond hair and drew her head tightly into his
crotch.  Then he began gyrating back and forth wildly but rhythmically,
driving his cock deep into Sue's throat and then withdrawing it to the point
where it was almost removed.  Sue went with the flow.  Greg's excitement
became her own, and her tongue did whatever seemed to be natural. 
  Just as Sue was sure he would fill her mouth with cum, Greg withdrew his
organ and placed Sue in a half-reclining position on the couch.  With his two
hands he began kneading Sue's breasts, while his tongue licked the insides of
her thighs.  Sue's body tingled as her two breasts mashed together under his
gentle pressure.  She felt like screaming out loud as his tongue began to
inch its way toward her clitoris; but she grit her teeth and remained silent.
This repression seemed to intensify the feeling.
  Because Sue had changed her position on the couch, she could no longer see
the other couple; Sue could hear Celeste's moans but could no longer see her.
 Direct sight was no longer necessary, though, as Sue's imagination easily
pictured the other couple.  Sue could imagine Celeste mounted astride her
handsome young lover, pinning his hands back and rendering his strong body
immobile as she humped up and down on his engorged cock.  While Sue continued
to receive pleasure from her own lover, she heard Celeste shout out in sheer
exhilaration while exploding in what sounded like a truly heavenly series of
orgasms.
  Sue was brought back from her reverie by a suggestion from Greg to rearrange
their bodies.  They fluidly moved into a 69 position, with Greg on the bottom
and Sue on the top.  He was apparently no longer in desperate need to come,
and he was ready for further stimulation.  Sue quickly, gently, and firmly
met and exceeded his needs.  As her mouth again engulfed the top of his cock
and her tongue began to lick the already lubricated shaft, she thrust her
torso back towards Greg's face.  The taste of her juices combined with the
hot, moist mouth on his cock to nearly drive Greg over the edge.
  Suddenly Sue was surprised to feel a gentle kiss higher up on her ass, where
Greg could not possibly reach if he was doing what he was doing to her pussy.
 Then she heard Celeste's voice: "Tell him how much you like it.  Tell it to
him the way he wants to hear it.  Tell him you like it when he eats your
pussy while you're eating his hot cock."
  Watching Celeste make love to her virile partner had been a tremendous
turn-on, but feeling the lovely woman's lips kissing and fondling her
asscheeks while Greg did his industrious work on her pussy was almost more
than Sue could bear.  "Oh, Greg!" she whispered.  "I love the way you're
eating my pussy while I swallow your hot cock."  Then she added, almost
breathlessly, "I can't take this much longer!"  
  Almost immediately after her eager mouth returned to its hungry task, she
felt Greg's cock tremble gently and then explode inside her mouth.  Because
she was certain she would bite his dick off, she withdrew her mouth from his
cock and placed it instead against the side of her cheeks as it continued to
explode. She continued to kiss and lick the sides of the shaft while his cock
sent load after load of milky white cum into her and onto the sides of her
cheeks.  Meanwhile, Greg's tongue attained perfect intensity on her clitoris
while his probing fingers found Sue's already stimulated g-spot.  Sue's body
vibrated so intensely that she was certain she would break at least a few of
Greg's fingers. She drove her pussy hard into his face as he continued to
kiss and lick her until her final orgasm subsided.
  It was the beginning of a good night.

  When Sue awakened in the morning, the sun was shining through the bedroom
window.  As she thought about the previous evening, she began to wonder
whether the whole series of events might have just been figments of her
imagination.  Her own movement awakened Greg.  As he moved toward her, Sue
leaned on her side and asked, "Was sex especially good for you last night?"
  "It's always good.  But yes, it was great last night.  You've been in a
strange mood lately; and it was like you were your old self again."
  Sue was genuinely perplexed.  Had the events that she so vividly recalled
from the previous evening been real or imaginary?  A possible way to answer
this nagging question occurred to Sue.  She realized that Celeste often
answered her e-mail at about this time on Sunday mornings. She said to Greg,
"Hold the thought.  I have to send a quick e-mail message."
  "No problem," he replied, reaching for his cellular phone.  "All this good
sex has reminded me to call my mother anyway."
  Sue went to her computer and quickly typed the following message, which she
sent to Celeste: "Did you visit me last night and give me advice about my sex
life?  Do you know anything about a kid who will read my stories and then
will save the world from hunger?"  

  After she sent the message, Sue returned to bed, where Greg was holding the
phone to his ear and listening intently.  Sue slid between his legs and began
kissing her way up toward his penis.  Just as she began licking his love rod,
she heard him say, "I'm sorry to hear that.  Maybe she should try petunias
next year."  From previous experience, she knew that this conversation would
take about a half hour.  She ran her tongue lasciviously around the head of
Greg's cock and kissed the tip. Then she slid the entire cock into her mouth
and began sucking.  She felt his body begin to throb.  She could notice a
slight change in his voice.  "Well, of course marigolds are nice, but...."
 Sue was going for the record.  She was pretty sure that she could have at
least fifteen minutes of solid orgasm herself and make him come at least
twice without his mother knowing what was going on.

  Just as she climaxed for the final time and as Greg was hanging up his
phone, Sue heard a robotic voice in the next room: "You have mail."  She
kissed Greg once more on each cheek and went to get her message from Celeste.
 It was extremely brief: "What are you talking about?"
  Sue was stumped.  The message proved nothing.  Celeste was one of the most
intelligent people on earth; she would be too smart to disclose the truth if
she wanted to conceal it.
  Was it possible that Celeste had really visited her the night before and was
merely toying with her now?  Or had the whole affair been a matter of Sue's
imagination?  In a sense it didn't matter.  The lovemaking of the previous
night and this morning had certainly been real and had been better than she
had experienced in a long time.  She had finally gotten a grip on the balance
between reality and fantasy.  Who cared whether this insight had been
revealed by an angel or had been invented by her own brain?  But still....
  "There is one way," thought Sue, "to verify the authenticity of this
visitation.  If that kid really does write that Abbott and Costello parody
and does the rest of what Celeste predicted, I'll certainly be able to find
out about that.  All I have to do is wait till George Burns dies or the pope
reverses his position on birth control.  If world hunger ends within the next
twenty-five years...."
  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of church bells. Sue smiled and
thought, "A little late, aren't you, Celeste?"  She returned to the bed and
pulled the covers off her boyfriend.  "Come on, baby.  We're going to
church!"
  "We're going where?"  Greg was obviously stunned.
  "To church," replied Sue.  "There's something I have to find out."
  "What's that?" he asked, as he swung out of bed and began to get dressed.
  "Who is seated at the right hand of God?" answered Sue.
  "What?" he asked in surprise.
  "That's a good answer," said Sue; "but I'm pretty sure it's not correct.  I
think What is the name of the person seated at the LEFT hand of God."

- The End


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