By Ellie Dauber © 2015
Here’s a gargoyle that kept me up about an hour last night insisting that I write it.
* * * * *
Morgan sat on a curved oaken bench at the edge of the parkway surrounding the harbor. It was late afternoon, and, far to the west, the sun was hovering just above the water’s edge. “Seems like everything’s getting ready to die,” he said sourly and flicked his half-finished cigarette into the water.
“When did you first notice?” asked a very female voice.
He turned and looked up at her. “Where’d you come from?” She was beautiful, five foot four of delightful feminine curves, displayed in a green blouse and matching, short skirt. Her long, straight blonde hair framed a round face with full lips and deep coral blue eyes.
“A nightmare.” She waited a moment. “You’re the last man I slept with. The Voices tell me that you’re the one. It happens at dusk.”
He studied her face, not quite understanding. She was trying to smile, but she looked so nervous, so drawn and tired. “Here?” he asked in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.
“By the water? Crashing waves… swept away by the force of our passion; it – look, this is your party as much as mine. Where do you want it to happen?”
“Up in the hills. The air’s clear, with the smell of grass and trees; nature, the way it was when I was a kid.” He could see her strained expression. “You don’t mind... do you?”
“Not if it’s important to you…” Her voice trailed off.
He stood up and took her hand in his. “It is. My car’s right over there.” He pointed. “Let’s go.”
* * * * *
They drove less than twenty minutes. Micklesohn Park would have been full of people on Saturday or Sunday, playing games, cooking and eating dinner. This was a Wednesday, and the place was almost empty. Especially around the remote parking lot where he finally stopped.
Morgan hurried around the car to help Elysse get out. She needed the help. She was pale and unsteady on her feet. “I’ve got a blanket in the trunk. Give me a minute to get it.”
“O… Okay.” She leaned against the vehicle for support.
He was back quickly with the blanket and – surprise! – a bottle of very good red wine. “There’s a great view just over here.” He took her left hand in his and put his other arm around her waist.
“Thanks.” She was annoyed at how husky, how tired her voice sounded. Still, she was grateful for his concern. And she could feel the beginning of arousal in his gentle touch.
He found a nice space near a small stand of pine trees. The trees blocked the view from the parking lot. She braced herself against one, while he spread out the blanket. A patch of pale blue wild flowers grew around the trees giving off a pleasing scent.
“Careful, now,” he said, helping her onto the blanket. He was smiling, but his happy mood, she could tell, was as forced as her own.”
He used a corkscrew, one that she hadn’t noticed before, to open the wine, pouring some into a glass. He took a sip and smiled. “Good as advertised.” He filled the glass and handed it to her. He filed a second glass and raised it in a toast. “To my beautiful Elysse.” He clinked he glass with his own and drank.
“Thank you.” She also drank a bit of the wine. “It is good.” She quickly finished her glass.
By now the sun was sinking down behind the buildings of the buildings in the city below. It seemed to be pulling the energy right out of her. “We must get started.” She grasped the hem of her green silk blouse and pulled it up and over her head, tossing it away. Her breasts were proudly displayed in the froth of an off-white lace 36-C brassiere.
“Good start.” He noticed that her nipples were extended, pushing against the fabric of her bra, and he felt himself grow hard. He undid the top three buttons of his shirt and yanked it off. That done, he leaned over and took her head is hands, steadying it for a kiss.
She tensed, but then moaned softly and gave in her feelings and began to return the kiss. Then she sighed and pulled away. We… We have to keep going. We can’t… can’t waste time….” She looked ready to cry. “…enjoying ourselves.”
“Elysse.” He gently touched her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re --- don’t apologize! I’m the one doing this… Doing it to you.” She kicked off her shoes. She wasn’t wearing hose. Her legs were long with an elegant curve, even seated on the ground..
He quickly pulled off his own shoes and socks. And pants. His arousal was obvious, tenting his camo-colored boxers almost to bursting. “Oooh, damn!” he gasped when she reached over and ran a finger along it.
Her hands trembled as she slid down the zipper that held her skirt tight to her waist. He realized that he couldn’t tell if that trembling was sexual excitement or physical weakness. She grew paler, more drawn even as he looked at her. Much as he hated all this, he had to continue.
“I need some help here.” Her voice was hoarse, raspy, as if she were ill.
Morgan nodded. He moved up beside Elysse and carefully slipped his arms under her at the waist and just below her hips. “Ready?” When she nodded, not wanting to use the energy to speak, he lifted her middle a few inches from the blanket. Her hand snaked down and yanked at her clothes. When she had finished, her skirt – and panties – hung down just below her hips. Her most secret self was now exposed to him.
“Still so very beautiful.” He said in a husky voice that betrayed his arousal. He set her back down, and then grasped her garments and slid them down her legs. He put them out of the way in a corner of the blanket.
Her breath was coming in short gasps, and she looked so thin. ‘Like some Third World famine victim,’ he thought. In spite of that – or was it because of the curse – she was more sexy than he had ever seen her. When he yanked off his own shorts, he was almost surprised not to see a billy club, no a baseball bat down there between his legs. He felt that hard.
He climbed over her. She spread her legs and guided him in. Damn! She was wet and more than ready for him. Before he started pumping, he reached up and tried to kiss her.
“Just do it!” she ordered angrily. Then her voice softened, and she added, “Please.”
He nodded and started to move, stroke after pleasurable stroke. She was so very good; so tight that there was almost a hand around his member, stroking him as he moved.
She gasped. Her hips moved with him. Her arms flailed for a moment before they grasped at the blanket. Her head rolled from side to side as she made small, cooing sounds.
He felt the pressure build in him. Build and build, and he would do anything to stop what he knew was going to happen. The line-up of the 1969 New York Mets, the twelve times tables; they held the pressure back. But not forever. He grunted like the great brown bear he’d once seen in a circus and felt what must have been gallons of his male essence into her.
His release set off hers. She screamed and her fingers clawed at his back. He devoutly hoped that nobody was in the twenty-block radius that her screams must have been heard.
He felt himself grow flaccid. He started to move off of her.
And found that he couldn’t. He was frozen in position above her. A feeling of... was it weakness spread from his member to all parts of his body. He no longer had the strength to be on his hands and knees above her, and his body sank down onto hers.
No… into her. His body was insubstantial, a mist, and her body seemed to be soaking it up like a sponge.
“I’m sorry, Morgan.” Her voice sounded much stronger. “And I-I did love you.”
“So did I,” he managed to whisper.
She smiled, bright as the sun. “I think we can live with that.”
It was the last thing he heard, as his head settled down, absorbed into hers. He found himself drifting in a dark, silent place.
But then there was a great wrenching. He found himself looking up at a sky that was shifting from daytime blue to evening purple. He felt full of life and energy.
He sat up and looked down at his nude body on the blanket, his pillowy breasts, his narrow waist, his legs that went on “forever”, and the hair covered slit between his legs. “I-I’m her. I’m Elysse.”
“Welcome to the job,” a voice in his head greeted him. He – no, she – recognized it somehow as Tom, Elysse’s previous lover.
Tom had become Elysse some twenty-five years ago, just as he – she, she reminded herself – had just become Elysse. Now they were separate within in Elysse’s mind. Tom joined Billy, and Jared, and Frank, and a long line of others stretching back over five centuries and more to the original Elysse.
She had been a poor Tuscan peasant who had betrayed a rich landlord, and then betrayed the man’s son, her lover. Both had died, but another, younger son, a tonsured monk, had laid the curse of 1,000 years of lust and betrayal upon her.
Morgan would have been astounded, even angered by the truth. That she had been forced by her lover to betray his father might not have mattered to him. He was a man after all.
She… She was Elysse, now, and she had a woman’s sensibilities. “And no sensible woman stands around naked on a blanket in a deserted park at twilight.”
She dressed in a hurry. That she knew how to put on a brassiere was no surprise. She’d been wearing the things since they were invented more than 100 years ago. Walking on grass in two-inch heels was no mystery either.
She gathered up the blanket. The last effects of Morgan, his wallet and his keys, were on it, and she stuffed them into her purse. She climbed into the car, the driver’s side this time, and adjusted the seat for her shorter height. When she adjusted the mirror, she saw another trace of Morgan. Her hair was now red, with a bit more curl, and her eyes were a shade of green. “Something to remember him by,” she said. Such changes weren’t uncommon in her half-millennium of experience.
She started the car and turned on the radio. With a frown, she switched the channel from a sports call-in show to an NPR classical music station. It had been too long a day, and she just wanted to relax.
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