From: cquinn@wincom.net (Clint Quinn)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: in plain text this time!  <*> New Story "The Crystal"
(mc cons rom)

   Here's the first draft of a story I wrote over the last couple of weeks.
It's copyrighted by the author, limited permission is granted by the author
for electronic distribution with the provision that proper attribution is
distributed as well (i.e.  the author's name [Clint Quinn] is included with
the text.).  Any constructive or blatantly flattering comments are welcome;
please send to my e-mail address, cquinn@wincom.net.  Thanks!



   The Crystal, by Clint Quinn

   I found the crystal while I was walking the dog, waiting for him to
finish his joyous sniffing around the stop sign at the corner.

   It was lying in the gutter like a shard from a broken beer bottle.  I
was about to move on, leash in my hand, when a certain flash of light
caught my eyes.  It was a brownish amber in colour, but had something else
about it that was a trifle unusual; it seemed to glow from the inside.  I
bent down to pick the thing up, and brought the arrowhead-shaped item up to
my face to look at it.  Yes, it was definitely glowing, and was warm in my
hand.  With an audible, "Hmm...", I pocketed it and finished walking back
to my one-bedroom house.

   I went to work the next day with the crystal in my coat pocket, and
completely forgot about it, until lunchtime.  When I sat down at my usual
table at Ziggy's Deli, I ordered a coffee, then lit up a smoke.  Within a
minute, the power-suited businessman sitting next to me glared at me and
spoke up.

   "Hey, don't you know you can't smoke in here?"

   "Pardon me?" I felt suddenly self-conscious and took a puff.

   "Put that thing out!  There's a non-smoking bylaw.  You're not allowed
to smoke in here!"

   I hadn't heard; not one to follow the news, there could have been a
military takeover of the government, and I wouldn't have been any the
wiser. Basically, I just wanted to leave the world alone, and let it leave
me alone as well.  That's why I see a shrink once a week.  But whether or
not I wanted to, I was going to have to deal with this.

   "I'm sorry, I'll put it out, okay?" I wasn't sorry; deep down I wanted
to throttle the supercilious creep, but I looked around for an ashtray to
stub the cigarette out and, finding none, reached into my pocket, meaning
to grab a piece of foil from the cigarette package as a makeshift ashtray.

   Instead, my hand closed over the crystal, and I almost jerked my hand
out of my pocket, it felt so warm.  I winced, and looked at the guy
apologetically.

   What I saw in his face was unexpected, to say the least.  His harshly
disapproving look had disappeared, and instead his face had a pleasantly
relaxed, benevolent expression that shocked me for its placidity. 
"S-sorry. I'll go put it out in the bathroom."

   I started to stand up, but he put a friendly hand on my arm, and said,
"Oh, there's no need to do that.  I can tell you're really enjoying that
smoke, so why don't you just finish it?  Take your time!" Then he sat
looking at me with that friendly puppy-dog expression on his face.

   "Uh -- Okay, yeah.  Thanks."

   I couldn't believe this was happening; guys like that usually took great
pleasure in pushing people around, especially people like me who had "self
esteem problems," and "can't believe in themselves," as my lovely
psychiatrist, Dr.  Wilkinson would put it.  In any case, I took advantage
of the guy's change of heart, sat down and finished my smoke, then had my
supper.

   After I'd finished eating, the guy even told me to go ahead, have a
cigarette, but I had to get back to work, so I left, with my mind reeling.

   It didn't take me long to figure out that the crystal, or some
combination of myself and the crystal, had been responsible for the
businessman's attitude adjustment.  I was worried that I'd done something
permanent to the guy's brain, but when I saw him on my coffee break chewing
out a waiter for bringing him a tepid cup of cappuccino, I knew that
whatever happened while I held the crystal was not permanent.  And so, my
conscience clear, I decided to do a bit of "experimenting."

   I didn't have to wait long; I needed to ask my boss, Mr.  Grimsby, if I
could leave early on Friday, in order to keep an appointment I had with Dr.
Wilkinson.  Normally, our sessions were arranged for after working hours,
but this time it couldn't be done; I had to see her at 2:30 on Friday, or
not at all this week.  I was on the verge of cancelling the appointment,
but the incident at lunch prompted me to try "working something out" with
Grimsby.  So, making sure I had the crystal in my trouser pocket, I went to
his office, and knocked on the door.

   "Come!" I almost bailed out right there, but something made me go on,
despite the butterflies in my stomach.  Opening the door, I walked quietly
in to the sanctum sanctori.

   "Mr Grimsby?  May I speak with you for a moment, sir?"

   He looked up from his desk, the light from the desk lamp shining off his
polished pate.  "Well, what can I do for you today, Mr.  Fenton?" He placed
his hands behind his head, gazing at me with narrowed eyes, waiting to
pounce.  I put my hand into my pocket, and grasped the crystal.  It was
burning hot.

   Grimsby's position didn't change, but his facial expression appeared to
changed ever so subtly, from one of feral sarcasm, to one of avuncular
sincerity.  I made the plunge.

   "Um -- I was wondering, sir -- er -- if I could leave early on Friday; I
have a doctor's appointment."

   He sat back for a moment, looking at me.  Damn, I thought to myself. 
This isn't going to work!  I was all set to accept his "No!", when he
grinned at me, and said, "Sure, Fenton!  Don't worry about it.  In fact,
why don't you take the whole day off.  Take a rest, eh?"

   "Well -- sure, great!  Are you sure, sir?"

   "Of course I am, son!  You've been looking a little peaked lately, and I
think it would be good for you to take an extra day off and have a long
weekend.  At full pay, of course!" Then he stood up and came around his
desk, put his arm around me, and walked me back out into the main office.
"Now, why don't you take off a little early today; I'll finish up your
books!" He was joviality personified, and I was a little taken aback.

   "B-but..."

   "Go on, son.  You've been working too hard.  Go on home, have a beer,
and relax!  And that's an order!" And to my astonishment, he winked at me,
looking for all the world like a short, bald, beardless Santa Claus!

   I took his order with a stiff upper lip, and left the office.  I also
took a piece of his advice, and headed directly to Wile E.  Coyote's, my
favourite watering hole, and ordered a cold one from Vicki, the day
waitress.  She's a cute, chirpy girl of about my own age, mid-twenties,
about five-two, with big brown eyes, short straight black hair, and a
perpetual grin.  I've known her for three years, and I consider her a
friend; I hope she feels the same way about me.  She's not the brightest of
people (or pretends not to be, I sometimes suspect), but seems to have that
talent of coming up with the right remark for the right occasion.  In other
words, perfectly suited to her job as a bartender.

   "Hey, there Fenton.  You're here early!" She bustled over to wipe the
bar top in front of me, bending over just enough for me to see a little
cleavage down her sky blue tank top.  She has smallish but perfectly
rounded breasts, and the sight of them bobbing around slightly reminded me
how horny I've been lately.  I shifted in my chair slightly, to relieve a
sudden discomfort.

   "Yeah.  The boss let me go early today.  Says I've been working too
hard."

   She stopped for a moment, cocking her head pertly.  "That doesn't sound
like old man Grimsby.  What'd you do, drug him?"

   I smiled a little, caressing the outside of my pocket, feeling the shape
and warmth of the item inside.  No, not yet.  "Something like that.  What's
on tap today, Vicky?"

   She smiled sweetly, arousing me even more.  "You're in luck today.  Your
favourite, Old Nick."

   "All right!  I'll have a pint.  In a frosty mug."

   She beamed at me, showing just a hint of moist tongue behind lovely
white teeth.  She turned around, and I watched the movement of her small,
round behind as she walked over to the freezer to grab a mug.  She was
wearing her usual uniform, tight faded blue jeans, and they clung to her
like skin.  A graceful, barely visible curve of panty line ran from high on
each hip across her buttocks, joining together as they disappeared into the
mystical cleft of her ass.  God, I marvelled; what I wouldn't give to see
what she looked like in just those panties!  Idly, my hand reached into my
pocket and closed over the crystal's hot, faceted surface.

   Immediately, Vicky straightened, her back still to me.  She slowly
turned around, an odd, confused look on her face.  Her lower jaw was
slightly slackened, and her eyes looked unfocussed; I noticed that her
nipples pushed out sharply against the taut material of her tank top.  The
girl stood there for a moment, looking adorably vulnerable, then seemed to
remember what she was doing as she looked at the pint beer mug in her hand.
She shook her head, then went to the taps and filled the mug with my
favourite beer, a dark red, rich-looking liquid with a foamy head that
overflowed the mug.  She quickly wiped it with her apron, walked over to me
and put the beer down on a coaster by my right hand.

   "You okay, Vicky?"

   She looked at me for a second, then looked away, her face suddenly
flaming red.  "H-huh?  Oh, -- y-yeah, I'm fine.  I just felt a l-little
funny there, for a second.  I'm okay now!" Then she giggled nervously, and
went off to serve another customer.

   Right then and there, I knew I had something incredibly powerful in my
pocket; I'd known intellectually what the thing could do, but I hadn't felt
its raw power until now.  The realization gave me a sudden attack of
vertigo, and I took a sudden large gulp of beer to bring me back to
reality. The alcohol surged into my system and produce a pleasant glow, but
it was a familiar one, and I felt grounded again, to my immense relief. 
Like I said, all I wanted was a quiet life, to be left alone and not bother
anyone; I had no desire to become an instant dictator.  Uh -- well, maybe I
should rephrase that -- there were a few people I wouldn't mind taking down
a few pegs, as evidenced by my experiments earlier in the day.

   So for the next half-hour or so, I drank, relaxed, and watched a
baseball game on the TV, deliberately keeping my hand away from the
crystal. Vicky, who seemed to be her old self again, came by and poured me
another beer, and I got her attention.

   "Hey, you're almost done for the day, aren't you?" I asked as I dropped
a ten on the bar.

   "Yeah, another one bites the dust.  You want change?"

   "No, thanks, Vicky.  Keep it."

   She smiled again, and my heart warmed.  "Thanks, Fenton!  You're a
saint!"

   Oh, no I'm not, I almost said out loud.  But instead, I did say, "You
mind if I walk you home?  I think I've had enough, and there's something I
wanted to talk to you about."

   She looked at me strangely.  "You, know, that's weird.  I was going to
ask you the same thing.  When did you learn how to read minds?"

   "Ha, ha," I chuckled weakly.  "Weird.  Really, there's something I need
your advice about."

   "Yeah, okay." She looked at me, concerned."You're not gonna die, or
something, are you?"

   "No, no", I said hastily.  "Nothing like that.  I just need to show you
something."

   She went and got her coat, then called out to the waiter out on the
floor.  "Hey, Patrick.  I'm outta here, okay?"

   The tall, thin man waved half-heartedly, and ambled towards the bar. 
Vicky took off her apron and left it beside the sink, and came around to my
side of the bar.  "Okay, let's go!" She seemed so eager, I felt my mood
improve drastically.

   Outside, we turned uptown, up the long hill that Princess Street is
built on.  The day was pleasant, neither too hot or too cold, without that
oppressive summer haze that always seems to make it hotter than it actually
is yet I still felt too warm, as I wrestled with how I was going to tell
Vicky about my discovery without coming across as totally nuts.  Finally, I
decided, at least initially, to tell her about the crystal as some
interesting-looking but more-or-less prosaic curio.

   As we approached a small coffee shop near the Odeon Theatre, I turned to
her.  "You want to have a coffee?"

   To my amazement, she took my hand and squeezed it briefly.  "Sure,
that'd be great!  But why don't we go up to my place?  It's only another
block." And she smiled brightly.  Her smart-ass bartender attitude had
disappeared entirely, and I felt closer to her than I had in a long time.

   So we walked on to her apartment, the lower floor in one of those brick
Victorian houses near campus where the upstairs is home to a number of
students during the school year.  She unlocked the door, and we went
inside, through a long hallway into a small kitchen at the back.

   "You want a beer?"

   "No, thanks.  Coffee's fine, or whatever you're having."

   "Okay.  Just sit down anywhere." She turned to the counter and busied
herself.  I sat at an old, tubular steel kitchen chair, that matched the
design of the table.  Watching Vicky as she prepared the coffee was
entertaining, as she moved with unselfconscious sensuality, her ass gently
rocking as she moved around.  I felt myself harden again, but I
deliberately kept my hand away from the crystal.  I felt apprehensively
excited, unsure of what was about to happen, but looking forward to it.  I
didn't want to ruin it.

   Vicky flipped the switch on the coffee maker, and sat kitty-corner from
me at the table, a little closer to me than I'd expected.  It felt good.

   "So, you wanted to tell me something?" Her right eyebrow raised
expectantly.

   "Oh, yeah." Mindful of what had happened between her and me back at the
bar, I reached into my pocket, and took out the crystal.  It looked like a
piece of brown quartz, or one of those pieces of fake coal people used to
have in their fake fireplaces.  It didn't look at all out of the ordinary.
"I found this yesterday." I put it on the yellow Formica tabletop in front
of me.

   Vicky looked at the triangular crystal, then looked at me with a bemused
but wary smile.  "You wanted to talk to me because of a piece of rock?"

   "Uh -- yeah, but there's something weird about it." I looked away from
her.  "Oh, boy.  You're not going to believe this..."

   She folded her hands on the table, and looked at me defiantly.  "Try
me."

   I thought for a moment.  "You remember this afternoon when you sort of
-- well, I don't know what happened, really -- I asked if you were okay,
and you said you were....  Well, anyway, you looked like you were about to
faint or something, then you acted a little funny.  You actually giggled,
and I don't think in all the time I've known you, I've ever heard you
giggle.  Well, anyway, you remember that?"

   "Yeah?" she answered suspiciously.

   "I think this thing had something to do with that." Then I told her
about the incidents that had happened earlier in the day, the boorish
businessman who had suddenly become oh, so generous, and then the
benevolence of my boss, who usually had all the understanding and
compassion of a mollusc.  "And each time it happened, I had my hand on this
-- whatever it is, it got really hot, and voila!" I spread my hands out to
punctuate my story, not knowing what else I could say.  I certainly didn't
want to tell her about what I was thinking in the bar!

   She looked at me, then a crafty smile formed on her well-shaped lips. 
"You were thinking lewd thoughts about me, weren't you, Mr.  Fenton?"

   I blushed and looked down.  "Y-yeah, I guess I was.  I'm sorry."

   She was silent, looking at me with a peculiarly amused expression.

   "Look, it was an accident!  I didn't mean for you to know..."

   "You know, Fenton.  I believe you.  About this thing -" She pointed at
the crystal.  "-and about you not wanting to use it on me." F Relieved, but
somewhat wary, I looked at her.  She was looking at me with a smile I'd
never seen from her before, a smile filled with warmth, affection, and yes,
even a little lust.

   "You mean it?"

   She reached across the table and took my hand.  "Sure, I mean it.  I've
known you for a long time, and I know how much of a sweetie you are.  I'm
also very happy," she glanced at the crystal, "that I found out how you
really feel about me."

   I was speechless.  As I searched my mind for something appropriate to
say, she got that crafty look on her face again.  I finally found words. 
"Vicky?  What are you up to?"

   "Oh, nothing.  Nothing really...Say, you've got an appointment with your
shrink tomorrow, right?"

   "Uh -- yeah?"

   "And you tell her all about what you're feeling, right?"

   "Well -- that's the way it's supposed to work."

   Vicky's hand still covered mine; she squeezed it a little, giving my
blood pressure a little bump.

   "Okay, then," she said slowly.  "How about being really honest with her
tomorrow?  Not about the crystal; then she'd really think you're nuts!  But
tell her all those feelings of attraction for her that you've been holding
back.  And hold the crystal while you're doing it!"

   "Wait a minute, I don't have..." Vicky pressed her fingers up to my lips
to silence me.  I kissed them, acting on some impulse I'd never felt
before. She sighed in a most feminine way, then took her hand away.

   "Of course you do, love.  I've heard you bend my ear about the good
doctor lots of times at Coyote's.  And I do know a little about
transference, you know."

   Vicky was certainly full of surprises.  So I just shrugged, and she
leaned close to me and began to outline what I'd do the next day.  Of
course, she was at pains to point out that it was my choice, and that she
wouldn't think the less of me for not going through with it; but by the
time she was finished talking, I was more than a little intrigued.  I also
saw the logic behind our little plan, and that some good might actually
come of it.

   I went to my appointment with Dr.  Wilkinson the next day, as scheduled.
What transpired during that session left me shaken, stirred and more than a
little , well, overwhelmed.  My whole body was trembling as I walked up the
steps to Vicky's place, and I knocked lightly on the door.

   Immediately, Vicky was in front of me, a wild, glistening look in her
eyes, behind round, tortoiseshell glasses.  She was wearing what we'd
agreed on the previous day; a knee-length brown skirt, a
conservatively-tailored white blouse and beige blazer; she looked for all
the world like my psychiatrist.

   "Won't you come in, Mr.  Fenton?" Her voice was cool and professional,
and she stood aside as I walked in, turning left into her living room.  The
couch was against the far wall, and I walked over to it and sat against the
armrest at one end.  Vicky followed me in, and sat in a big old wing chair
that faced the couch.  She sat primly, legs held tightly together, and held
a clipboard on her lap, looking exceedingly formal.

   Studiously avoiding me, she smoothed her skirt out a little, adjusted
the collar on her blazer, then finally cleared her throat.  It was an
amazing performance; she had all of Dr.  Wilkinson's mannerisms down pat.
Well, I thought to myself, let's see if the rest of it goes just as well!

   Finally Vicky spoke.  "What's on your mind today, Mr.  Fenton?" The play
starts.

   "Uh -- I guess I better just come out with it."

   A thin smile.

   "Well - lately I've been getting some very strong feelings about you. 
Quite inappropriate feelings, I suppose."

   I look at "Dr.  Vicky," who was writing on her clipboard.  She looked
up. "Go on."

   "Ah -- I'm a little embarrassed, really."

   "Please don't be.  It's perfectly normal, you know." Her voice was
suitably crisp, reassuringly condescending.

   "I keep thinking about what it would be like to -- well, do things --
with you." I paused.

   "I can understand how you might feel reluctant to reveal these thoughts
to me.  If you're concerned about embarrassing me, or making me feel uneasy
in any way, don't worry.  I'm quite able to cope." Then she smiled a little
bit more, intending to reassure.

   "Okay, then.  If you're sure..."

   She nodded.  "Go ahead.  It's really up to you to decide what you'd like
to talk about."

   I took a short breath.  I was starting to get very excited.  "The other
day, I was wondering what it would be like to give you a backrub.  A nice
one."

   "That seems innocuous enough.  Would you like to continue?"

   I nodded.  "I keep thinking about how tense you look all the time, and
how I'd like to help you to relax.  Silly, isn't it?"

   "I think you have a sincere desire to make others feel better.  That's
very commendable."

   I shrugged deprecatingly.  "Well, anyway, I think about what it would be
like if you let me stand behind you, and start massaging your shoulders. 
Gently, but not too lightly." I smile a little.  "I know what it's like to
have muscle tension, and what feels good!"

   "Mmm -- uh, yes.  I'm sure you do."

   "Anyway, I'd put my hands on your shoulders -- on either side of your
neck -- and use my thumbs to rub up an down, on either side of you upper
spine.  And I'd work my way outwards, along your shoulder blades, making
sure I didn't miss a spot."

   Vicky appeared to be softening, her posture becoming more relaxed as she
leaned back against the large wingchair.  Her knees fell apart slightly,
and the clipboard lay forgotten on her lap.  "That feels really good -- I
mean," she sat up a little, and her voice regained some of it's earlier
crispness.  "I mean, you sound like you'd know what you're doing."

   My mouth felt dry, and my stomach tightened with a delicious spasm of
anticipation.  Still, I kept to my role.  "And then, after doing that for a
little while, I'd notice that you were getting nice and relaxed; your body
would move back and forth as I rubbed.  Then I'd move my hands slowly up
and down both sides of your spine, finding all the stray little knots of
tension, and smoothing them out as I went.  Then I'd bring my hands back up
your sides, tracing the contours of each of your ribs as I went.  Then I'd
start over again, and this time as I brought my hands up your sides, my
fingers would reach a little bit closer to the sides of your breasts as I
passed by them."

   "Oh, gosh..." Vicky looked enraptured, a private smile on her face as
she sunk down into her chair, her eyes half-closed behind those oh-so-sexy
glasses.

   "Doctor Wilkinson?  Are you okay?"

   She sat up suddenly, remembering what she was supposed to be doing. 
"Oh....Yes.  Of course, Mr.  Fenton.  Please continue." Her voice wasn't
quite as commanding as it had been; there was a slight tremor to it, and
didn't she say "please" a little more emphatically than was necessary?

   "Okay.  Well, after I realized that you liked what I was doing, I'd run
my hands up the sides of your breasts, stroking them softly as I went."

   "Ohhh....", I heard a murmur from the woman in the chair.

   "And I'd keep rubbing your back too, but at the top, I'd let my fingers
slide around to the top of your neck, caressing the soft skin around your
collarbone.  I'd move my hands down the front of your blouse, and cup your
breasts, squeezing then gently, feeling the shape and texture of them
beneath the material of your blouse and bra."

   "Oh, yesss -- uh, I m-mean, go on." Vicky shifted in the chair, pressing
her head into the back of it, and crossed her legs, which she began to rock
slightly, in a slow, undulating rhythm.  She was tracing the edges of her
mouth slowly with the end of the pen she still held, occasionally teasing
the end of it with a slight, quick flick of her tongue.

   Despite my distraction and growing arousal, I went on.  "While I was
holding your breasts, I'd start to kiss you lightly, on the neck.  From one
side to the other, just little kisses one after the other, and finally
you'd turn around and I'd see your face.  You'd look so relaxed and
sensuous that I'd want to kiss you right then and there -" Vicky made a
soft, questing moan.  "-but I'd hold off, instead holding the sides of your
face, looking into your lovely, wide eyes.  Eyes that used to be of cool,
dark, hard glass, but now were pools of warm, accepting liquid.  And I'd
move my hands back and up, running my fingers through the soft strands of
your hair.  You'd tilt your head up, and then I'd kiss you on the neck,
under your chin."

   "Ummmm!" She smiled broadly then, her eyes closed and her head back
against the chair.  Her legs stretched out in front of her, the brown skirt
riding up to mid-thigh.  I wanted to go to her now, and take her to me, but
I kept talking, knowing that this was the better way.

   "I'd reach up and begin to undo the buttons of your blouse, one by one,
from top to bottom.  And after each button, I'd squeeze your breasts again,
stroking each nipple just once with my thumbs, and I'd kiss you on the
neck. After all the buttons were undone, I'd slowly pull your blouse out
from your skirt, and ever so slowly, down each arm until you had nothing on
above your waist except for your bra.  And, before I paid attention to
that, I'd come close to you and finally kiss you on the mouth, deeply,
slowly, and we'd open up to each other like never before.  I'd always been
the one opening up to you," I spoke softly, almost in a whisper, "but now
you'd open up to me, allowing my lips to move upon yours, and my tongue to
probe your willingly open, hot, moist mouth."

   By now, Vicky had broken character, though I didn't mind at all; she was
squeezing her breasts with her own hands now, playing with the nipples
occasionally as she lolled her head against the chair back.  Her mouth was
open, with an unbridled smile of pleasure drawing her lips back from her
glistening tongue and teeth.  She made small rhythmic moans of incredulous
sensuality, which nearly drove me over the edge.  But I kept on.

   "We'd kiss for a while, and I'd undo the clasp on your bra, and take it
off.  You'd reach up and undo the buttons of my shirt and soon, we'd have
our bare chests against each other as we kissed, feeling our skin rubbing
together as our hands began to explore, as though they were children let
outside by their parents after two weeks of rain.  I'd find the zipper on
the back of your skirt and pull it down slowly, half-expecting you to tell
me to stop.  But your only answer, as our mouths stayed interlocked in
passion, would be to reach for the front of my pants, and slowly undo the
buckle of my belt, and the snap on my blue jeans.  And then you'd undo my
zipper too, and your skirt and my trousers would fall to the floor."

   All this time I was looking at Vicky, and as I spoke, she drew her legs
up and spread them languidly apart on the armrests of her chair, her skirt
riding up to her waist as she did so.  I could see her wonderfully curved
upper thighs, a silky white strip between them covering a darkened patch. I
could hear her heavy breath as she reached inside of the front of her
panties, the shape of her moving fingers visible beneath that iridescent
whiteness.  I was almost ready to go to her now, I wanted so much to be
with her, inside her - almost!

   "And then I'd have my hands on you, on your beautiful, curved little
ass, exploring the edge of your panties, finally feeling that subtle line
I'd seen beneath your jeans so often, that I'd wanted to see.  And you'd
place your hand over my achingly hard cock, then we'd shudder with
pleasure...the I'd ask you, do you want me, Vicky?"

   "Yesss....", I heard faintly from across the room.

   "Do you want me to come to you now?" I stood up from the couch, nearly
toppling over as I'd underestimated how much I'd been overcome by this
whole game-that-was-not-a-game any longer.  But I managed to maintain my
balance, as I heard Vicky moan through parted lips.

   "Ohhh -- please, yesss....Come to me..."

   "Do you want me inside you?"

   "God, yes!  Oh, fuck me, Fenton!"

   I was across the room in an instant, though I don't remember hurrying;
and we were all over each other, one moment kissing any bit of skin or
flesh that came into reach, the next tearing at whatever scrap of clothing
was between us, and then we were together, naked, my cock bigger and harder
than I'd ever known, Vicky's mock-cynical bartender expression replaced by
a magically radiant glow of lust and pure hedonism, as I plunged into her
hot, yielding center, sensing every intense centimeter as she opened for
me, and I heard both of us gasp-sigh at the unexpected intensity of
release, the wet-slapping sounds as we fucked together in the chair, her
legs splayed over my shoulders and my hands gripping her body to me, and it
took only seconds to reach what seemed an hour-long climax, as Vicky
shrieked joyfully and I gasped helplessly as spasm after spasm shook my
entire body, and finally, it ended with me collapsing on top of her, and
with both of us looking unbelievingly into the other's eyes as our hands
found their own way through each other's hair, along our faces, and as a
signature of connection, to our lips.

   After a few moments of gentle sighs, laughs and caresses, we stood and
undressed each other, then went to the bedroom and got to know each other
even better, this time slower and with greater attention to detail.  And
after a while, we dozed in each others arms.

   "Poor Dr.  Wilkinson." We lay on our sides, looking into each other's
eyes, as Vicky spoke.

   "Yeah," I responded, "She was pretty stunned by it all."

   "Stunned isn't the word, if she feels anything like I do right now!" She
ran her fingers through my chest hair.  "That was amazing!"

   "I don't think she was as surprised at her arousal, you know.  She is
married, after all." I lay on my back, remembering the doctor's supreme
battle to maintain the structure of the interview.  "In the end, she found
out what it was like to be one of her patients; to feel totally at the whim
of outside forces." I turned my head to look at Vicky, who was looking at
me with affection and attention; it was a very pleasant gaze.  "I really
didn't like what was happening, though."

   "It didn't bother you here, did it, Mr.  Scruples!"

   "This -- this was different.  This was more honest.  I don't really like
manipulating people like that."

   Vicky sat up suddenly, fire in her eyes, but a mischievous smile on her
lips.  "Oh yeah?  I don't recall seeing you agonizing a whole lot about
what we just did.  Are you just kidding yourself, or are you trying to jerk
my chain too?"

   "I gave her the crystal.  I didn't have it at all when we were --
playing our little game, or whatever it was."

   She blinked.  "You -- you...?

   I felt a glimmer of mischief myself as I broached this bit of news. 
"Nope.  We did this all by ourselves!"

   "Oh -- wow!", was all she could say.

   Vicky and I remained friends from then on; we each married different
people, but kept in touch, by mail, and then by e-mail when the Internet
became commonly used.  I don't think anyone else knew me as well as she
did, and I believe it was the same for her, but there were other needs that
had to be met, things that we tacitly agreed that we weren't equipped to do
for each other.

   A couple of years ago, I read a feature in the Sunday paper about a
certain Dr.  Wilkinson, who'd been having apparent success in treating
depression patients with something called "Evocation Therapy." The
psychiatric establishment claimed it was a hoax, yet the paper hadn't found
a patient that wouldn't praise the doctor to the ends of the earth.  After
I read the article, I nearly reached for the phone to give her a call, but
stopped myself; I'd already done enough damage for one lifetime, hadn't I?

   The End
   10 March, 1996