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Archive name: unicorns.txt (M+F, fantasy) 
Authors name: Thomas M. Carvett (tcarvett@earthlink.net)
Story title : Unicorn Prayers, The

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Unicorn Prayers (M+F, fantasy) 
by Thomas M. Carvett (tcarvett@earthlink.net)

Author's note: there's something vaguely incestuous 
about the main character's relationship with her 
father; if this sort of thing bothers you, you might 
want to skip this story. Otherwise, enjoy! -T

*

When she was little, -- when her mother was still 
alive and breathing and her father still told her 
bedtime stories about little princesses and kissed 
her goodnight, -- she often thought about unicorns, 
and at night, in dreams, she tried to conjure them, 
but they would always appear misshapen or deformed, 
with a chicken's foot instead of a hoof, or with the 
stripes of a zebra or a horn that was jet black 
instead of silver.

When she was in kindergarten, she tried to draw one 
using finger-paints once, but the smudges she made 
were intolerable to her; she felt as if she'd 
desecrated something pure and holy and it wasn't 
until many years later that she would try again.

After her mother passed away, her father was 
infuriatingly kind and gentle. He treated her as if 
she was a princess, and she hated him for it just as 
she hated herself for living after her mother's 
death. In response, her father tried to become even 
more understanding: he let her wear her mother's 
earrings, the ones her mother never let her borrow.

When she put the earrings on and looked into the 
mirror, she realized for the first time in her life 
how much she looked like her mother. She took a comb 
and arranged her hair, applied lipstick and 
eyeshadow. Suddenly she gasped and coughed -- it was 
her mother's face staring back at her through the 
mirror! She knocked the mirror to the floor and it 
broke into shards, and she ran out of the house and 
kept running until she collapsed on the sidewalk, her 
lungs heaving.

In the mornings, she made her father breakfast. 
Coffee, decaf only, whole wheat toast with margarine, 
pancakes, whole-wheat cereal, low-fat milk, no bacon 
and no eggs. Afterwards, she went to school, where 
she got straight-A's, and when she got back she did 
her homework until dinnertime. In the evenings she 
and her father went out for walks in the park a few 
blocks away from their home. She wore her mother's 
earrings and a touch of her mother's perfume under 
her chin, and they held hands while they walked and 
pretended to be happy.

It wasn't long until her father kissed her goodnight 
and she felt herself responding to him; she wrapped 
her arms around him and opened her mouth, but her 
father broke away. "You're getting too old for 
bedtime stories," he said, and he never kissed her 
again. She felt sick, as if she'd defiled something 
pure and holy.

The next day, she lost one of her mother's earrings; 
it fell off sometime during school. She searched 
everywhere, getting more and more frantic, but she 
couldn't find it and finally she burst into tears and 
the school nurse sent her home.

"What's wrong?" her father asked. "Is it some boy?" 
He tried to sound concerned, but she knew that deep 
down he was jealous over her, and inwardly she 
laughed with glee. She imagined her mother's 
consternation. You never gave me anything, she said 
silently to her mother's memory, and now I'm taking 
him from you.

"It's something only mother would've understood," she 
replied. A muscle inside her chest spasmed and 
squeezed the breath out of her. She started coughing 
and couldn't stop.

And then she started having nightmares.

She often woke in the middle of the night gasping for 
breath -- someone was choking her! she thought, but 
there was nobody in the room but her and the shadows 
of dreams. She closed her eyes and listened: the 
sound of cicadas, the beating of her heart. Nothing.

One day, when she couldn't fall asleep again, she 
tiptoed naked past her father's room and out into the 
garden. She lay down and closed her eyes. The sharp 
twigs and blades of grass scratched her skin; the 
cool night air, and her fear, made her nipples ache 
and she pinched and pulled at them and stroked 
herself between her legs breathing quickly, panting, 
but she couldn't let herself come, she had to wait 
for something she didn't understand.

Please let me, she whispered in her frustration, 
please, her fingers moved faster, but no, not yet, 
not until -- I'll do anything, she whispered, I'll 
sacrifice myself to you -- and then she heard it: the 
whinny of a unicorn! She came, moaning into the 
night, her terror dissolving.

You will be my only joy, my only pleasure, she 
promised, and the cool air felt so good -- so 
wonderful just to breathe -- that she laughed and 
stroked herself again until she came shrieking and 
crying with relief. She lay on the dew-moist grass 
until the first light of dawn, then crept back into 
her room before her father awoke.

She started drawing unicorns everywhere. On her desk. 
On her math homework. On the inside of her thigh. Her 
grades plummeted -- she couldn't concentrate -- but 
her art teacher said her drawings were getting much 
better.

A few days later, one of her classmates, a boy named 
Kip, found her mother's lost earring. "What's so 
special about those earrings?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied.

"But what's the big deal? Why were you so upset?"

She tried to speak -- she wanted to tell him 
everything: that the earrings belonged to her mother, 
and if she could she'd bring her mother back to life, 
even though she hated her, yes, hated her and wished 
her dead every day of her life; but she could not 
open her lips. She could not speak. Instead, she 
kissed him, partly to thank him, and partly to shut 
him up. He asked if she wanted to take a walk in the 
park with him after school, and she said yes.

She was tongue-tied the entire time. Something 
prevented her from talking freely and she stuttered. 
She knew that Kip felt her discomfort, and she didn't 
want to lose him, and so after they found a secluded 
spot in the park, hidden away behind the evergreen 
trees and hemlock shrubbery, she kissed him, and then 
kissed him again fiercely and forced her tongue into 
his mouth.

"I'll do anything," she whispered. He unzipped. She 
knelt, took him into her mouth and closed her eyes. 
His buttocks were hard beneath her fingers and he 
filled her mouth again and again as he thrust into 
her, groaning and clutching at her hair.

Her mind began to drift away from her body and she 
imagined she was far away from that park and the boy 
she barely knew, kneeling on soft green moss in a 
magical forest, near a castle by the foaming sea that 
lapped gently against the shores. I sacrifice myself 
to you, she called out silently into the open woods, 
you are my only joy, my only pleasure. For the first 
time in her life, a unicorn appeared for just an 
instant, a perfectly formed creature that she could 
never imagine before, and then the entire illusion 
disappeared.

Her hand reached under her skirt and stroked herself 
as she sucked the boy. Her pleasure made her moan, 
and that brought him over the edge. She swallowed, 
and swallowed again. You will always be part of me, 
she thought. You are my first and only love. She 
imagined she heard the unicorn whinny in reply.

Kip never spoke to her again, but he told his 
everybody about her.

"I'll do anything," he mimicked.

Her female friends abandoned her, sometimes one-at-a-
time, but usually in pairs or groups. The boys hit on 
her often, especially the ones who despised her the 
most, the ones she slept with. She wanted to 
sacrifice herself, and they all obliged.

She lay naked on the cold basement tiles and 
masturbated while James watched, incredulous, and 
then he couldn't wait any longer and he pushed his 
jeans down and entered her. She cried out as her 
hymen tore, bit her lip, but her eyes shone. I 
sacrifice myself to you, she whispered. James heard 
her and he started thrusting wildly and mashed his 
mouth against hers. He came, spurting into her -- oh, 
my love, my love, she repeated, still crying, 
trembling from the enormity of what she'd done.

The stress took its toll. She was always tired and 
she hardly slept or ate.
"You've lost almost twenty pounds," the nutritionist 
said in alarm. Her father was angry and afraid he was 
losing her, and that pleased her, but the thought 
made her cough uncontrollably.

Her drawings improved rapidly. It was as if 
everything that was good and strong within her fled 
out through her fingertips and into her drawings.

Her health and her relationships deteriorated.

"My only pleasure, my only joy," she whispered into 
the night. Paul held her wrists down, but she rolled 
her hips and used him for her own pleasure, arched 
her back and scraped her nipples against his chest. 
He bit the skin on her neck until she gasped and 
writhed, and came.

"There's real passion in your drawings," her art 
teacher said. She coughed, blushed, but didn't say 
why: she masturbated while drawing.

On the nights she was alone, she lay on her stomach 
on top of her quilted bedcovers and drew on her 
sketch pad the unicorns and the serpents, the dragons 
and the gryphons, the severed head of Medusa that 
haunted her dreams and now her days as well. She 
always drew the head of Medusa without the eyes; she 
could never draw the eyes -- her hand trembled and 
cramped whenever she tried, and she left the eye 
sockets blank -- but the thin red lips excited her 
and angered her at the same time. 

It seemed to her that those lips mocked her, dared 
her to be sexual and seductive. She squeezed her legs 
together with each frenzied stroke of her pencil, 
waited until the drawing was finished, then bit her 
pillow and orgasmed silently so her father couldn't 
hear her come, again and again, drawing after 
drawing, late into the night until she fell 
unconscious from exhaustion.
And then one day she disappeared -- nobody knew where 
-- and after a long time the police gave up, though 
her father kept trying. 

The day she left, an intricate mural was discovered 
on the wall of the boy's restroom. Someone had broken 
in the previous night and painted a unicorn, resting 
its head on the lap of a pregnant young woman. The 
unicorn was beautifully drawn with a shining silver 
horn, a pure-white mane, wise eyes and gentle hooves. 
But the young woman's face was taut and etched with 
lines and her lips were pressed together as if to 
hold back some unspoken anguish; her hair was in 
tangles and one of her earrings lay on the ground.

The mural remains there to this day, untouched by 
graffiti. The boys and men still look at it in wonder 
and awe.

Copyright (C) 1998 by Thomas M. Carvett
tcarvett@earthlink.net  
http://home.earthlink.net/~tcarvett

END

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 17