I was finally able to get a hold of Morgan through emails. She wanted me to come meet her at Cherry Pick again, but I knew how that would turn out. I decided enough was enough with the games and asked her to come to my place. She asked me what had changed my mind, which I took as a hint that Blog had probably used one excuse or another to avoid that scenario. I took the offensive, saying that it was time, she’d earned it, and I was going to make sure she’d get rewarded for showing up.
So she wrote back and accepted. That was on Monday. The appointment was last night. She showed up around 8PM, wearing a raincoat and carrying an umbrella. She shivered as she came in, even though it wasn’t that cold. (It was instantaneously obvious to me how aroused she was.) Under her coat, she was wearing a silk blouse, a jacket and a skirt. The blouse did little to conceal the two mounds of flesh that struggled against their boundaries. I noticed her breasts seemed to move freely, too — she wasn’t wearing a bra. I let my eyes drop a bit further down, noticing how high her skirt rode on her thighs. I could easily imagine my fingers reaching down then sliding up her legs, touching her moist junction. She gasped, almost as if she could read my mind. She squirmed a little.
“You have to…” she started, her voice trailing off. “Have to…”
I motioned for her to sit on the couch.Instead of complying, she made a quick decision and took me by surprise. She slammed her palms against my shoulders, throwing me down on the sofa. Without hesitation, she straddled me, her skirt riding higher and revealing she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She’d come prepared. A wild woman on a mission. Within moments, she was kissing me and struggling to get out of her jacket. She ripped her blouse open, broke the kiss, and guided my head to her breasts. Thanks to my faerie sight, I’d seen my share of women getting aroused and I could tell she was ramping up WAY too fast for this to be entirely normal. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I was getting into the heat of things myself, so one thing led to another. You know how it is. Less than a minute later, I was pumping madly inside her, my own heat fueled by her shrill cries of delight. When her orgasms came (there were many), they rocked her body so hard I thought she was being electrocuted. She didn’t need much time to recover, however, and we were back at it like wild weasels.
When we were both done and a little calmer, I cuddled with Morgan on the couch and absentmindedly played with one of her boobs.
“That was long in the coming, wasn’t it?”
She smiled. “But worth every second.”
It was time for us to have that conversation, I thought. No time like the present. Considering how difficult she was to find, who knew when we could talk about this again.
“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask,” I said, hoping to sound light and casual. “Why me?”
She seemed to stiffen just a bit in my embrace.
“You’re pretty cute,” she said, her eyes averting mine. “Do I need a better reason?”
She wasn’t being honest, I could tell. There was something she didn’t want to say.
“Come on, ‘fess up!” I reached down to caress the intersection of her thighs. “I have ways to make you talk!”
She squirmed and laughed a little.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she said.
“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen crazy and you’re not it.”
Though I had to admit, she’d done some pretty crazy shit in the past. The way she’d broken Lana and me up was pretty insane. Normal people didn’t do that. But to be fair, I live with faeries, and that’s pretty crazy too. I can’t exactly pretend my life’s not crazy either.
She must have sensed I was sincere, so she continued.
“I’m not like other people, I… Promise you’re not going to make fun of me, okay?”
There was real vulnerability in the way she said it. I nodded gravely.
“I… I have a curse. Many curses, actually…”
There it was. She was a victim of magic and she knew it. I didn’t say anything, just gave her the space to tell her story, and she took it She told me it had begun before she met me, at her previous job. She’d fired this man, a copy editor in his fifties who’d sexually harassed a female colleague. He promised her she’d pay for what she did. She didn’t know how he did it, but occasionally, when working at night, she started to get these odd sexual urges. Eventually, she switched jobs (that’s when we met), but the urges continued to occur, apparently centered around me. Things really span out of control around that time. Eventually, she ran into her former colleague, the one she’d fired, and he claimed he was the one doing all this to her. She thought he was crazy, but right then and there, he turned into a hot, wet, sexy mess, and she had no choice but to believe him.
I interrupted just long enough to confirm who that man was–the Hobo I’d met before. He never said how he could do all these things to her, but he gave her a choice: she could continue living like this, never knowing when she’d turn into a sex beast, or she could live with him. He would make sure she would live well and be happy. She turned him down initially, but the feelings of depravity got so bad she eventually relented. That’s where (and with whom) she’s been all this time: my nemesis, the Hobo.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I know I should know this, but I think he’s made me forget his real name. He just goes under a nickname, now.”
“What is it?”
“Old Crow.”
–Jaycee