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Subject: Virtuous Reality 1.1 by Celeste
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Date: 10 Feb 1997 02:05:57 GMT
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Disclaimer and Acknowledgement
This story is written for an adult audience. Please do not read it unless
you are of legal age.
I would like to acknowledge the assistance of Delta, who read an earlier
version of this manuscript and made helpful suggestions. In addition, the
influence on this story of SueNH should be obvious.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or deity,
real or fictitious, living or dead, mortal or immortal, is purely
coincidental and should not be taken as a basis for a libel suit or any other
form of retribution, either literary or divine.
Virtuous Reality
by Celeste (Copyright, 1995)
Sue didn't know whether to laugh, to cry, or to scream as she gazed at the
e-mail message on her monitor: "People like you should be put in jail. Why
do you want to shove smut into the minds of innocent little children? I hope
the FBI tracks you down and throws your filthy body and mind into prison."
"What is the reason for this kind of outrage?" thought Sue. Fortunately,
Sue's professional life was going about as well as it had ever gone. But this
e-mail message pretty much epitomized both her literary life and her sex life
lately. To use the common metaphor - they sucked!
It was hard to put a finger one what ailed her. Sue was a world renowned
author of sex stories, which she published through alt.sex.stories, an
Internet newsgroup frequented by a wide variety of readers. Sue's were among
the most popular stories on the newsgroup. Her fantasies were rich and well
developed, not the "buckets of cum" and "wannafuck" stuff that youthful
readers seemed so fond of posting. Indeed, that was perhaps a major part of
Sue's sexual ennui. The simple fact was that it was hard to find sexual
experiences in real life that lived up to Sue's fantasies.
Sue clicked with her mouse a few times, and the another of the hostile
e-mail messages appeared on her screen. It was from a man in Nebraska who
refused to give his name. "My son read your story entitled Slippery When
Wet.. I found out about it when I overhead him talking to his friends about
'banging some woman's **** in the whirlpool at the YMCA after the place was
closed.' I searched his desk and found several disks full of smut, including
stories about the Junior High Neighborhood Sluts, Gang Bang Virgins, and
lurid stories about rape. I read your story, and it was disgusting. I am
sending a message to the president of American Online, requesting that your
privileges to use that service be suspended. I am also sending a copy of
this message to my senators and to my congressman. I will take whatever
steps are necessary to drive you off the Internet."
"Good grief!" thought Sue. " I don't even like most of those other stories.
My stories are harmless fantasies. The worst thing they would do to the kid
would be to make him come in his pants." She sighed deeply. "And he
probably already does that anyway.
Then there was Patrice, a woman at work about ten years older than Sue, who
was upset because her husband was "getting horny all the time." They used to
have a quiet, wholesome life, Patrice said; but lately her husband had turned
into a regular sex maniac. She said Don was now interested in nothing but
sex; and it had something to do with those perverted sex stories he was
constantly reading on his computer. Little did Patrice realize that the
person to whom she was spilling her guts was the author of some of her
husband's favorite stories. At the end of their most recent conversation,
all Sue could think to do was to mumble, "Well, at least Don wants to fulfill
his fantasies with you instead of with someone else." That had ended the
conversation.
Sue glanced at the headline of the magazine article on her desk: "Cyberporn
Smut Ruins Lives of Children!" The article described how easily kids could
get sex stories and pictures out of cyberspace; and it even described alleged
instances of adults seducing children via computer.
As she tossed the article aside, Sue became aware of another of her current
problems: a ringing sound inside her head. Right now it was only background
noise, and sometimes the sounds could be pleasant; but at other times
(usually a day or so after she posted or reposted a story) the ringing became
a veritable cacophony that drove her to distraction.
As she thought about these problems, Sue sighed deeply and uttered a barely
audible murmur: "I'll never write an erotic story again. Dear God, I wish I
had never written an erotic story at all."
Suddenly, Sue was aware that there was someone else in the room with her.
She spun around in her chair and was alarmed to see standing just inside the
locked door a beautiful dark haired woman. She was dressed in diaphanous
clothing that Sue associated with statues she had seen while cavorting in the
Aegean Islands. The woman exuded a sensuous sexuality that made the room
come alive. "Who are you?" asked Sue. "And what are you doing here?"
"I'm Celeste. We've corresponded through alt.sex.stories. And I'm here to
help you."
"You're Celeste?" gasped Sue. "The goddess of alt.sex.stories?"
"Well," replied the beautiful apparition. "I've been called that; but I'm
more like an angel."
"You're as beautiful as I imagined you'd be," said Sue, as she continued to
wonder what in the world was happening.
"And you're almost as beautiful as you say you are in your stories," replied
Celeste. After a pause, Celeste continued. "To be honest, I'm not actually
a full angel yet. I've met most of the requirements, but I still have to do
one more good deed. I've been sent here as sort of your guardian angel.
That bit about wishing you had never written an erotic story began with
'Dear God.' That constitutes a prayer. The Boss was upset by your comment,
and she sent me here to help you get over your malaise or angst or whatever
you want to call it."
"Your boss?" replied Sue. When Celeste responded by merely folding her arms
and raising her eyes toward the heavens, Sue began to get the message. "I've
always heard your Boss referred to as 'he' or 'him,'" she said.
"Actually, my Boss is neither a he nor a she," answered Celeste. "I just
prefer the feminine pronoun, because so many men are assholes. Men write
stories on a.s.s. that degrade women and describe harm to little boys and
girls. But this isn't a theological essay. It's a sex story. Can I get on
with what I came here for?"
Celeste then explained to Sue the purpose of her visit. Her Boss, as she
liked to put it, was concerned that Sue was going to make a bad career
choice. She had sent Celeste to help Sue get her priorities in order.
"Let's take the case of your coworker who is upset about the horny husband,
said Celeste. Let's see what would happen if she responded just a little
differently, as she did earlier tonight." Celeste pointed toward the wall,
and suddenly it came alive, showing a clear image of Patrice at home with
Don. The children were snuggly in their beds; Patrice was watching
television; and Don was sitting at his computer terminal, with a shit-eating
grin on his face.
"Wow!" exclaimed Sue. "Are you the Ghost of Christmas Present?"
"Don't be silly," replied Celeste. "That's a different story. We're on the
information superhighway. What you're seeing is a combination of virtual
reality and mystical transcendence. I like to call it virtuous reality."
While Sue and Celeste watched, Don expressed a note of satisfied finality as
he struck a key on his keyboard and the computer went into its shut down
mode. He mumbled softly, "Slippery When Wet! That was a hot story." He
smiled as he moved across the room to where his wife was watching a rerun of
Cheers. Our celestial voyeurs could see that there was already a slight
bulge in the crotch of his pants.
"Is that a good show, honey?" Don asked as he sat down on the couch next to
Patrice.
"It's OK. But you certainly look happy to see me," Patrice replied,
glancing at the little tent between his legs."
Don was obviously surprised at his wife's receptive response, but why ask
why? "Have I piqued your interest?" he asked.
"I hope you can pique more than my interest," she answered, as pulled
herself close to him and pressed the entire length of her upper body up
against his. She kissed him hard, pushing her tongue gently but deeply into
his mouth, where it playfully joined his tongue. He was taken completely by
surprise; she had become the aggressor, as she rubbed her breasts into his
chest and then slowly lowered herself down his body, unbuttoning his shirt
and pulling it to the side. She moved her body slightly away from his and
quickly managed to remove her own blouse and bra. She faced him topless,
with a devilish grin on her face. She moved closer again and let her naked
nipples drag over the rough material of his shirt and pants.
She slid off the couch and kissed her way downward, until her head was even
with his crotch. Without unzipping him, she kissed at the pinnacle of the
bulge in his pants. When she withdrew her mouth briefly, it appeared that
her moist, hot breath had dampened his pants; but then it became obvious that
the damp spot at the edge of his fly more likely had arisen from an internal
source. She unzipped his pants, and the hard cock immediately burst forth,
dripping precum and straining to pull upwards. She immediately encased it in
her eagerly receptive mouth.
The taste of the salty liquid seemed to energize her even more. When she
removed her mouth to take a breath, his cock forcefully flipped upwards
against her chin and then bounced up to the side of her face. She pulled back
and kissed the tip of his cock once and then fastened her lips around the
shaft and sucked in hard, pulling her lips down the length of the cock.
After a few seconds of sensuous sucking, Patrice withdrew her head and said
simply, "Let's get out of these clothes." In a few seconds both were
completely naked, with Patrice kneeling at the side of the couch, on which
Don sat with his eyes closed in blissful rapture as her suction pulled her
lips all the way into the hair at the base of his cock. Her nose nestled
comfortably into that hair, and she breathed in the exciting, musky scent of
his sexual arousal. She fondled his balls with one hand and caressed his
buttocks with the other. His entire cock was throbbing and dancing in the hot
cavern of her mouth. It was obvious from the impassioned look on his face
that he really liked what she was doing.
He started to push her away, but instead of pulling her mouth off his cock,
she clamped down harder and then started to move her head back and forth, so
that she was truly fucking his cock with her mouth. On each upstroke, as she
brought her head away from his prick, Patrice let her tongue slurp in a
circle around the cock's crown, and poked lightly into his pisshole. She had
his hard long cock fucking deep into her sucking mouth, and she juggled his
balls in her palm while she toyed with the sensitive spot near his asshole.
In return, he simply caressed her naked back and shoulders. Patrice seemed
to have sex organs in her upper back, as she timed her own movements in
response to his tender caresses. Both of them were obviously hot from
exertion and lust. Don's eyes clamped shut and his face became twisted. He
was panting quickly, and quiet moans came from his mouth.
Patrice was pumping so hard with her head in his groin that her hair was
flipping around her cheeks and onto his thighs. Just as it seemed that he was
going to come, she drew back her head a few inches from his, and fondled his
shaft with both hands. Her saliva mixed with more of his precum to supply an
excellent natural lubricant, and she squeezed hard with both hands.
The first jet of his cum shot out from the tip of his cock. She hungrily
moved her mouth closer to his cock again and tried to catch as much as she
could as it splattered over her outstretched tongue. When she closed her
mouth to swallow and savor his juices, the next two jets hit her on the nose
and chin. She nestled forward and rubbed her face into his still throbbing
and drooling cock.
As they cuddled in the afterglow on the couch, Don said to Patrice,
"Sometimes I forget how much I love you."
"Me too," she replied contentedly. She paused for a a few seconds with her
head against his chest, while she listened to his heartbeat. "And don't
forget: you owe me an orgasm, which I'll accept in the bedroom. And remind
me to send flowers to a friend at the office."
Sue was both relieved and impressed. She had noticed that the couple's
sexual acrobatics had started out almost as a verbatim script from the story
Don had been reading, but it had diverged sharply as their own feelings came
more heavily into play. As the images of Don and Patrice faded, the wall
gradually turned back into an ordinary surface, decorated only by the
numerous plaques Sue had won for some of her many accomplishments in her
professional life and by a framed photograph of her with a former governor of
Arkansas.
A remaining thought lingered in Sue's mind. Just before the images began to
fade, she had become aware of the sound of church bells ringing. There was
no church near Sue's house that would be ringing its bells at this hour of
the night, and so she asked Celeste if she also had heard the sound.
"Certainly," Celeste replied. "The bells were my idea. They're part of a
tribute to you. Every time somebody has an orgasm as a result of one of your
stories, a bell rings. Do you like it?"
"I thought bells rang whenever an angel got its wings."
"Angels don't get wings any more. That's old fashioned. So the bell thing
was available, and I put in this suggestion for you. The Boss is really
impressed with your work, and she bought the idea. Do you like it?"
Sue wanted to be careful not to offend her celestial visitor. "Well, it
really is a beautiful thought. But I've had these constant ringing
sensations in my head. I thought I was going crazy, but now at least I
understand why I'm hearing them."
Celeste was crestfallen. She had meant well, but she had botched things up
again. She would never become a full angel this way! Suddenly she
brightened up. "How about if we just change the rules a little. Right now,
we're giving you credit for making people horny and happy and jerking off by
themselves or for just being warm and happy and thereby being a lot more fun
to be with and thereby getting themselves laid a lot more often."
"Are you sure you're really Celeste?" asked Sue. "I've read all her
reviews, and she has never said 'thereby' in any of them. I watch for that
sort of thing."
Celeste ignored Sue and continued, "We've also been giving you multiple
bells for multiple orgasms." Celeste struck herself with the palm of her
hand on her forehead in an expression of amazement. "Holy cumshot! Ann
Douglas alone could be making you deaf after she reads just one of your
stories. This is almost as bad as when I invoked the Hemingway rule and let
the earth move for Deidre and Tammy Ng whenever they had really good sex.
They almost wiped out a major city before I realized my mistake."
Celeste paused, and then spoke more calmly, "OK, we'll change the rules.
From now on you get bells only for really hot orgasms with loving partners
as a direct result of reading your stories. And one bell per partner per
session." She seemed satisfied but added, "The rest we'll work into
firework displays or something."
Sue smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That will help a lot."
There was a brief moment of silence. "Sometimes I think orgasms are
overrated anyway," Sue added anticlimactically. But then she realized that
this was not a Tom Swift story and that it would be very dangerous for her to
match wits with someone as sexy and intelligent as Celeste.
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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