"…Welcome to the club," Galatea was saying into the phone over the noise of the blender. Ice and Nyquil cemented into a thick, medicinal green slurry. "Listen, I've been thinking, and maybe you should tell him…"
"Thinking!" said the pixie voice over the phone, "Yeah, thinking's good! You go do that s'more. I gottagoseeyabye."
The line went dead. Galatea glanced at the digital readout on the microwave in Dee's kitchenette.
6:52 PM.
"God dammit."
She punched the power switch on the blender and poured some Nyquil slushy into a tall plastic cup. She took a tentative sip. The frozen stuff flashed down her throat, chilling her to the core, stiffening her nipples into ice the color of darkest myrtle. "Wow." she gasped, touching them tenderly. "God dammit," she said again after a moment. "I miss Dee."
Galatea emptied the contents of the cup back into the blender and lugged the full mixing bowl into the living room. She guzzled a long draught of slushy before extending a tendril to hit the Play button on Dee's DVD player. She giggled as the Nyquil took effect and the fuzzy logic of her nanomek mind web grew downright hairy and humor impaired. "Dee's Dee Vee Dee."
On the television screen, a severed head grew a pair of glistening eyestalks and scuttled out a door on crab legs. Galatea howled with laughter until the copper-haired hero burned the head-crab to a crisp with flame-thrower. "Aw, poor little guy," she said, tipping the mixing bowl against her lips before realizing she had emptied its entire contents in that initial sip. She plopped onto the couch in a huff.
Something solid pushed between the pliant flesh of her legs and nestled against her sex. She yelped and rocketed upright. The hard intruder bounced and burrowed further into her with each resulting shockwave. "God," she whined, reached between her legs and pulled Dee's square plastic universal remote out of her crotch with a shriek. "Dammit!" She throttled the remote. "Dee, Dee, Dee, everything here is Dee except Dee isn't here!"
She tried shaking the plastic gadget to pieces but gave up with a sigh, paused the movie, and then settled back onto the couch. She waited. She counted ice crystals of slushy dissolving in her body. She waited. She toyed with the universal remote, counting the infrared wave-particles it shot around the room. She waited. She queried her memory web and counted the number of times she had climaxed in the four days of her existence: one hundred seventeen. Then she counted the number of Dee's orgasms in the same period: three hundred forty two. "Typical," she grumped, glancing at the DVD's digital readout.
6:55 PM.
"I'm tired of waiting for Dee," she slurred, and burped. A rainbow bubble popped out of her mouth and burst against her nose. It smelled of Nyquil, citrus, sex…and homemade castile soap. Galatea growled, low and long, until the sound became a name, each syllable slowly toyed with and tasted before it rolled off her tongue.
"Ursula!"
A cascade of nanogasms started a fire in her belly. Waves of heated, melted gel gushed up into her chest and coursed through her legs. "Nanomek, do your stuff." Her body melted, slick and sticky like a well-licked lollipop.
The heat peaked as her meltdown went critical, her surface tension becoming so diffuse she lost all feeling of where she ended and the couch and the air around her began. Her vision doubled, each thought and sensation became muzzy and echoed. "Mitosis," she panted, "is so much better'n Nyquil. Almost better'n sex."
"Nah," said another voice, "who you kiddin'?"
Galatea's sense of self and her surroundings swam back into focus. "Not you," she told the nectarous duplicate sitting in her lap, "obviously. Oh, crap. I'm half as drunk now. Thanks a bunch."
The duplicates' flesh was still so oozy her ass liquefied into Galatea's crotch. Gouts of molten honey rushed between them, making her dizzy. "What do you think it's like," wondered her duplicate, leaning back into Galatea's chest until her breasts melted into the duplicate's shoulders, "to have boundaries?"
"Other than freezing myself into a lime popsicle," Galatea mused, "I doubt I'll ever find out. But who needs boundaries when you can bifurcate? And speaking of being bi…"
The duplicate pulled free and shook loose the remaining filaments and stringy bands connecting the two of them. "Galatea," said Galatea, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?"
"I think so, Galatea, but do we have enough food coloring?"
Galatea swaggered down the hallway and into the bathroom. Plastic vials of food coloring scattered about the linoleum faux-tiled floor. She lined them up on the sink, pausing to stare at the last bottle. "Why the Hell did I bother to steal the green one?" She set the full vial of finger-paint green, edible dye next to the others. "I can be such an airhead sometimes."
She popped off the caps and kissed a dozen drops of dye from each vial into her mouth, skipping the green with a frown. "There's plenty to go 'round," she said between kisses. Clusters of nanomek swarmed in her tongue and made off with the dye one molecule at time. "A little goes a long way."
"Enough for me too?" asked the Galatea on the couch.
"Sure," said Galatea, making her way back to the living room. The nanomek sported with the dye and her body pulsed with psychedelic paisleys. "But one of us has gotta stay here in case Dee calls or shows up. Can I go? Dee's 'little Miss U' has been on my To Do list for a long time now. Yours too, though, 'course."
"You can go," her green twin cautioned, "on two conditions: No reassimilation until after Dee gets back and I fuck him first while you watch."
"Masochist," Galatea accused.
"I'm drunk, jealous, and horny as Hell," her twin said with a squirmy shrug. "Do we have a deal, or do we reassimilate now and risk Dee catching us?"
"Well, it is every man's fantasy to catch his girlfriend with another woman, isn't it? The Internet doesn't lie."
"Dee isn't Everyman," the twin pointed out. "And it pisses you off to see Dee even thinking about another woman."
Galatea conceded, "You have a deal."
"Great. Now get the fuck out so I can get all the way drunk again."
"Alright," Galatea nodded. "But first, some advice: what should I be?" With a metallic sigh her mass morphed into a slobbering tentacular horror, a purple demonic monstrosity with extra sets of oversized sexual apparatus and rows of teeth in some very strange places. "Legend of the Overfiend?" its ivory-tusked maws hissed in a ragged chorus.
Her twin flew into a fit of giggles.
"You're right," the abomination spoke in Galatea's voice, "too silly. Okay. Hm. Oh! What about…" There was another metallic sigh and the beast morphed into a tall, raven haired, Amazon princess wearing nothing but red, white, and blue underwear, a pair of polished steel bracelets, and a golden lariat coiled on her hip. "…Suffering Sappho?" She tried twirling the lariat over her head but fumbled the third spin and somehow managed to lasso her own hands behind her back. "Suffering Sappho!" she swore. "Powerless! Again!" She wriggled and jiggled but remained bound. "Why does this always happen?"
Her green twin perked up. "Ooh, save that one for Dee. That will make him awfully quiet. Golden Age gals are his favorite."
"Something Dark Agey, then?" the Amazon suggested, morphing into a black vinyl clad sex kitten with a whip.
The twin buried her hands in her head. "We have got to stop listening to Dee's comic book lectures."
"You're right." Galatea morphed back into herself. "I'm thinking of Dee, not Ursula."
"We've been in her apartment a bunch of times," her twin noted, "and I didn't see any comic books. Lots of novels instead. And a whole shelf devoted to one author, remember? I don't know what the books were about, though."
Dee's white-box computer squat in the corner of the living room. Galatea stretched her arms to its keyboard and called up a web search engine. "'Anne Rice,'" she enunciated, typing out the name and hitting the Enter key.
Galatea and her twin elongated their necks into emerald crazy straws to get a close look at what the search engine produced.
"Ah," said the twin.
"Heh," said Galatea.
Ursula was possessed of an antique vanity. A sheet of silvered glass framed in dark cherry wood still stained with its original varnish served as its mirror. Only the lining of its drawers and three dowels had been replaced in over a century since its manufacture in New Orleans by a journeyman carpenter whose accident while procuring matted felt for his masterwork from a nearby haberdashery resulted in mercury poisoning, Mad Hatter Syndrome, and subsequent suicide.
"I take pride in my vanity," Ursula said, as she always did whenever she sat before it. The vanity table's aged mirror cast her reflection in mottled brass, as if she were living inside a nineteenth century photograph. "But I hate my hair!" she added, grabbing up handfuls of her massive mane and shaking it in her tiny fists.
She spread her fingers and clouds of baby-fine, black-dyed hair unraveled past her waist. "Rapunzel I ain't." She cinched her silk dressing gown around her slender waist, plucked an ox horn comb from the selection of beautician's weaponry arrayed on the vanity table's blotter, and detangled herself without mercy. "Ow, ow, ow. Ow!"
A distressful hour later the battle was won. "There," she said, tying up her plaited pigtails with purple satin ribbon and turning away from the mirror for the first time since she sat down. "I deserve a Hot Toddy."
The vampire attacked.
For a second of blinking incomprehension Ursula just sat there, staring at the virago vampire towering over her—staring open mouthed at the buckles of a studded corset belt hovering inches away from her nose. The vampire bent in a mockery of a curtsey, flashing a flawless, ivory leg as her black velvet skirt flared over the floor. Ursula caught another fleeting glimpse of skin guarded by a velvet choker and a severe neckline before the vampire curtsied deep enough to look her in the eye and her mind went blank.
"Why hello there," the vampire chuckled, her voice throaty and thrumming with a power that made Ursula shake like a leaf, setting her legs and loins aquiver like she was eleven all over again. The vampire's tongue lolled over her curving, canine fangs as she tasted the words: "Little girl."
Ursula managed to produce a mousy Eep! noise from the back of her throat—which was tilting backward and to the side, exposing the curve of her milky neck, apparently of its own volition. The remaining shred of her pride and dignity seethed and hated her for it. The vampire cocked an eyebrow at her, an expression so familiar—Dee, that's Dee, why does she remind me of Dee—that Ursula's raging pride boiled up and nearly broke through her paralysis of fear and arousal, but then the vampire declared, "Let's move this to the bed," and hoisted Ursula high into the air, cradling her in both arms on the downswing.
Ursula squeaked in mindless passion, alarm, and assent.
The vampire strutted over to the cast-iron, four poster bed catty-corner to the opposite bedroom wall. Ursula rocked in her strange, rubbery embrace. Squashed against her captor's imposing bust and swaddled in the cool velvet of the vampire's cloak, Ursula felt suspended and enmeshed, enraged but enraptured. The vampire brushed the bed's white lace canopy aside, unwound her cloak and rolled Ursula onto the mattress' plush quilt. She loomed above Ursula like a languorous lion. Spikes of flame-red hair crowned a flawless but cruel face as white as pure marble. Ursula turned away from the vampire's cold, viridian gaze, shuddering but still presenting her neck.
The vampire traced a fingernail under Ursula's chin, clucking. "The carotid artery is so cliché."
Ursula tried to curl into a ball but the vampire pressed her flat against the bed and flicked the dressing gown off Ursula's shoulders. "I prefer the subclavian, myself," the vampire said, dipping her finger down and over the clavicle above Ursula's left breast.
Her left nipple hardened and hurt as Ursula squirmed, the material of her dressing gown scrapping against it. The vampire sat down on the bed as she nudged the top of Ursula's gown open to expose her shivering chest. The vampire leaned down and in, breathing deep. She paused just long enough to blink twice and crinkle her brow. "Slim pickings," she said, shaking her head and recovering from the split second of confusion. "And I'm very hungry." She loosened the knot of Ursula's belt apart and finger-walked across the skin below.
"So," the vampire said as her hand crawled passed Ursula's bellybutton, "tonight I'm in the mood for some profunda femoris." She skirted over Ursula's pudendum and clamped down on the meat of Ursula's inner thigh inches away from her sex. "That's quite an abbuctor magnus you've built up for yourself, little girl," she commented as she squeezed and Ursula squealed. "You must put it through the wringer. How many heads have you wrapped these babies around, hmm?"
The vampire shunted down the bed, pried Ursula's legs apart, and bent low, only to start blinking again. "I could say just about anything right now," she said, a green tint beginning to rouge her cheeks, "and you'd just writhe and pant some more, right?"
Ursula writhed and panted like a puppy.
"Good." The vampire padded down to the foot of the bed and knelt between Ursula's spread-eagled legs. She pulled the knot of Ursula's belt apart, yanking the gown wide open. "Where was I?" She stared at Ursula's creamy tummy and mousy brown mound. A few green beads of sweat spilled down her forehead.
Ursula tugged hard on her own braids, mewling in bewildered need.
"Arteries," the vampire muttered. "Right. Arteries. Good." She grabbed Ursula's ankle and raised her toned leg high. She palpated behind the knee with her other hand and found Ursula's pulse singing like a humming bird's. "The popliteal artery…" she said, greenish pallor spreading and statuesque features softening. Ursula's bucked her hips, her eyes rolled over white. "The popliteal artery," the vampire said again, mouth inching closer to the inner curve of Ursula's upraised knee. She gulped and tried one last time: "The popliteal artery is fine too—Oh, God damn it and fuck!"
The vampire let Ursula's leg drop and mopped away the runnels of green goo that had started to stream down her face. "Why the Hell," the vampire cried, "why the fucking Hell do you smell like Dee?"
The ratcheting plateau-then-tension-then-plateau-then-tension buildup toward the fearsome orgasm twisting into a fist in Ursula's abdomen petered out in a grating, itching ache. "Huh? Wha'?"
The vampire's clothes were melting into thick green syrup, or green syrup was eating through the vampire's clothes from the inside, Ursula could not tell which. The vampire slopped down to all fours on the bed and crawled over her. Droplets of green nectar struck and stuck to Ursula's thighs, searing and sensuous like candle wax dribbled over her flesh. The burning rain raced up her belly and then between her breasts as the vampire crawled up to look Ursula in the eyes.
"You smell," Galatea growled as every last molecule of food coloring burned up in her escalating passion. "Just…like…Dee—Oh, God," Galatea moaned and plunged her head down to wallow in the aroma.
"God! My God!" Ursula gasped in agreement, orgasm uncoiling through her body as Galatea's gel-flesh flowed over her neck, across her shoulders and down her chest. It felt soft but insistent, weighty but delicate, smooth but clingy, its pervasive but delicious heat penetrating down to the bone. "My God," Ursula whispered again as Galatea suckled on the crook of Ursula's neck, blades of living hair reaching up to cup and caress Ursula's face, "it's, it's—"
Galatea broke her full-torso kiss and pulled up and away with a loud, popping slurp. "Better than vampires?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
"Yes," Ursula said, reaching out and pushing her arms deep into Galatea's back for a piping hot, internal hug, and it was Galatea's time to buck and mewl, "yes. I'm never LARPing again."
Galatea laughed, shaking her head. "Now you even sound like Dee," she said, amazed. "And why do you smell like him? I don't understand this at all."
Ursula, lying prone beneath a living incarnation of carnality made of out lime gelatin, said, "I think it's only fair if I get to ask the first questions."
Galatea rolled her eyes. "God, you are such a man." She tried to roll over on the bed but the twin mattress proved too small and she splashed down onto the carpet instead. "Okay," she said, sounding muffled, "you can ask questions while I regain my dignity."
"How did you make me cum like that?" Ursula asked.
"You came?"
"Yes," Ursula said, examining the sticky green smears on her quilt, "when you kissed me."
"Really? Me too!" Ursula heard something slosh and slide about below the bed. "That's the wonder of nanogasms. Don't thank me; thank Dee for those. And no, I'm not going to explain that. Not yet, at least, 'cuz trying to explain it would probably fill a fuckin' book. Anyway, one more question before it’s my turn."
Ursula held the quilt up and over the side of the bed. "How do I get these stains out?"
Galatea's head peeked up. "What are you, some sort of Martha Stewart hippie?"
"I prefer the term 'Bohemian Bourgeoisie.'"
"Fine with me," Galatea said, rising to her full height. "As to your question: I have no idea. I like keepin' Dee too busy to clean up. Now it's my turn, right?"
Ursula nodded and drew the quilt over her naked form. "Right."
"Okay." Galatea crossed her arms. "I can’t help but notice you haven't asked me my name, or what I am, so I'm thinking that you already know. Am I right?"
"I know just a little," Ursula confessed, "Galatea."
"I've also figured out why you smell like Dee," Galatea said, and disappeared below the bed again. Huffing with exertion, she hauled out a small steamer trunk. She snapped open the trunk's fasteners, popped the lip up, and pulled out a handful of homemade castile soap. "You bathe with this stuff too, right? So it’s not the case that you smell like Dee. Instead, Dee smells like you."
Ursula shifted, pulling the quilt tighter around her. "Right."
"Well," Galatea said, standing up again, "I've bathed with it too. Sort of. I suspect you know 'just a little' about that as well. But let me tell you something I know: I know every single ingredient you've put into this damn stuff, and you can be sure as shit a bunch of it ain't soap. So I've just got one real question for you. Answer correctly and I'll fuck you so good that orgasm you just had will be a little nibble off a chocolate bar in comparison. Answer it wrong…"
Galatea surged onto the bed. Ursula clutched the quilt to her neck but Galatea just seeped under it from below and filled it out so Ursula suddenly found herself holding the quilt around Galatea's body rather than her own. "…and I'll get creative," Galatea continued, leaning in nose-to-nose. "My question to you, little Miss U:
"Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"
"I'm a bad witch." Ursula dropped the quilt and scooted her round butt up against the bed's headboard. "Very bad. Terrible, in fact." Ursula saw a crinkle of confusion cross Galatea's brow, and added, "That is, I'm really bad at witchcraft." Galatea's silence felt like a vacuum and the lacey confines of the four poster bed became a confessional. "My older brother let me play Dungeons and Dragons with him and his friends when I was nine. After a couple of games the group thought my ideas were cooler than his and asked me to be Dungeon Master. I was still running the show in high school. One girl in my group, Marcie, had a real crush on me, but her character died…I think her name was Black Leaf or something…Marcie took it kind of hard. Anyway, that's how I got into the occult.
"I studied for years, became a pagan, started spelling 'magic' with a 'k,' went to Bryn Mawr College, you name it. At first, it made me feel good; gave me something to be angry and defensive about other than being a really short, big dyke, you know?" Ursula wrapped herself around a down pillow and chewed, absent minded, on a braid. Galatea just stared, eyes shining like polished moss agate. "But soon it became my routine and I just went through the motions, until something incredible happened: I discovered the Internet."
Galatea blinked. "Wait. What?"
"I moved here. This town is geek Heaven except, for some reason, the closest thing to a New Age store is the local Hobby Lobby. Dee built me a PC and Viggo let me splice into his broadband connection…Don't look at me like that, I'm so not Dee's type and Viggo isn't interested in any woman that comes without a combo attack….Now don't you start looking at me like that, either, that was a damn good pun. Anyway, I found this medical supply outlet online that had a huge selection of homeopathic and all-natural products for all kinds of stuff. Their wholesaler must be really great, because whenever I use their stuff as reagents or ingredients or whatever, my magic actually works! Although it never works exactly the way I expect. So I went from being no witch at all to a bad witch."
"Holy shit," Galatea said, letting the quilt slide off her slick back. "You talk a lot."
Ursula blushed, tried to hide her entire body behind the pillow. "I wanted to give the right answer."
"I was joking," Galatea laughed, "I was gunna fuck you senseless no matter what you said."
"Yes!" Ursula hissed, waving her fists high in the air.
Galatea spread out on the bed, her legs first fusing and then oozing out into a wide, low, jellied mound beneath her bellybutton. Ursula hugged the pillow, watching the glistening mass roll closer like liquid, green glass. "How does it feel?" she asked, staring down.
"Touch me," Galatea said.
Ursula's hazel gaze rose to meet Galatea's. "I mean, how does it feel to be you?"
Galatea smiled, and spread her arms out to her. "Touch me."
Ursula pushed the pillow away and sat cross-legged before Galatea. Ursula reached out and ran a hesitant finger around Galatea's right palm. "Smooth," she breathed, tracing a circle in Galatea's palm. A little ripple of gel raced ahead of her finger. "Silken." Emboldened, she slid her hand up Galatea's forearm. "Elastic and cool. I like it. What happened to all the sticky goop?"
Galatea reached over and took Ursula's right hand in hers. "Not a fan of sticky goop?"
"Don't get me wrong," Ursula said, squeezing, "it felt wild and downright wicked, but the little Martha Stewart in me felt aghast."
"Let's give Martha a goo girl anatomy lesson," Galatea said, and pulled Ursula's hand to the lower swell of her breast. "Surface tension," she said, pressing Ursula's hand up and in. Her pliant flesh bulged but did not break. "Mm."
Ursula's jaw dropped. "Wow."
"Dee's favorite word," Galatea purred.
"Yours is 'fuck,'" Ursula said, slipping gel between her wriggling fingers.
"Hey, yeah, it is!" Galatea bubbled. "How'd ya know?"
"I hear you shout it whenever I'm in the hallway. You and Dee have been going at it all week, seems like, and you're not exactly modest."
Galatea giggled.
"So," Ursula said, and pressed her other hand over Galatea's stiffening nipple. Galatea's giggling trailed off into a contented sigh. "Lesson one: surface tension."
Galatea gathered up Ursula's hand again and brought it inches away from her mouth. "Lesson two," she cooed. Ursula jumped at the sudden burning breeze of her breath. "Inner gel," Galatea said and popped Ursula's hand in her mouth with a meowing nee-yum!
Ursula swooned but lurched forward into Galatea's awaiting lap as Galatea swallowed her arm up to the elbow. "My God," she cried from the confines of Galatea's cavernous cleavage. "My God, how does Dee take it?" Galatea's throat relaxed and Ursula's arm popped free. Ursula snuggled into Galatea's smooth, cool surface. "How does he stand it?"
"He stands tall, proud, and, mm, hard," Galatea said. "You didn't like it?"
"It was so warm and strong, I just…" She gulped, cheeks and neck flushed in crimson. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can't imagine what it would be like to stick a dick in there."
"Oh? Wanna find out?"
Ursula bolted, causing a gel-quake. "Say what?"
"I'll save that for lesson five," Galatea said, arching an eyebrow.
"You're joking, right?" Ursula laughter developed a nervous edge as she peeled herself out of Galatea's lap and back onto the bed.
"We'll see." Galatea grabbed Ursula's hand again. "Ready for lesson three?"
"Um. No?"
"That's nice." Galatea pressed Ursula's hand into the gel of her tummy and pushed it down. "Lesson three." The goth and the goo girl watched their entwined hands creep over the delta above Galatea's sex. "Nectar," Galatea murmured and eased two of Ursula's fingertips into her pussy, her eyes roving over Ursula in eager triumph.
A few moments later, Ursula said, "Hm."
Galatea's brow crinkled in confusion. "'Hm?' No fainting? Not even a 'wow'?" She let go of Ursula's hand.
"Don't worry," Ursula said, slipping her fingers in further, "I'm definitely wowing on the inside." She moved her thumb in quick little circles over Galatea's clitoris, making her shudder. "But this lesson I already know. I'm damn well versed, in fact," she added, and got down to business.
"Wow!" Galatea splashed down onto the bed, writhing and melting. Ursula leaned in and dropped her lips delicately down, replacing her thumb over Galatea's clit. "Oh, wow!" Ursula's thumb arced below Galatea's sex and probed the tender gel beneath. "Oh, fuck, wow!"
Ursula swayed on her knees as she caressed and kissed, coddled and invaded.
"What's happening?" Galatea whimpered. "What are you doing?"
Ursula's head peeped over the trembling curves of Galatea's calves. She wore a mustache and goatee of glimmering green nectar, grinning like her own evil twin from an alternative universe. "It's called the Venus Butterfly."
"A Technique?" Galatea demanded, dumbfounded. "You are using a Technique on me?"
"Half of one." Ursula rocked forward onto her elbows, her rump bobbing high in the air and her milk-white, elfin face descending below the verdant swell of Galatea's cleft. "For a proper Venus Buttery, my thumb would go up in here—"
"Ah."
"—my middle and ring fingers would go down in there—"
"Yah!"
"—and my tongue, well my tongue would go—hmmph, hmm, mm."
"Ooh, fuck!" Galatea chewed on a fist to muffle a scream and then begged, "Enough. Enough!"
Ursula scuttled back. "Don't you want to cum?"
Galatea burbled, "Look at yourself, girl."
"Huh?" Ursula looked down to find herself green and dripping from chin to bellybutton. "Whoa."
Galatea rose from the sodden quilt. "Can your inner Martha cope?"
"She's a bigger dyke than me," Ursula said, daubing a dollop of green honey off her left breast and rubbing it between her fingers. "That was well worth the mess. And you got so hot! Like paraffin wax, but delicious."
"Delicious?" Galatea repeated, wobbling past the vanity and through the bedroom door.
"Yeah," Ursula called out, licking her fingers. "It's like a combination of my two favorite flavors. When I was a kid, I loved this candy called Sweet-Tarts. Ate so many my tongue would bleed."
"And the other flavor?" came Galatea's voice down the hallway crowded with oil paintings in antique frames.
"Pussy, of course!"
Ursula heard Galatea laugh, followed by a loud grinding. "Dee can't say words like 'pussy' or 'cum'," Galatea said over the mechanical noise. "He just goes, 'Um, you know.'"
Ursula feasted on the nectar cooling on her body. "Yeah, I know he does," she said, her mouth full of sticky fingers.
"What?"
"Nothing. Why do you keep comparing me to Dee? And what's that noise?"
"Your ice maker," Galatea said as the grinding wound down. "And Dee's the only other person I know besides you." She spoke as if her mouth were full of pretzels. "Anyway, oo' were 'ucky to get to fird base wiff'out second degree burns. I've got to cool down for leff'on four."
Ursula's eyes widened in alarm. "We're still doing the lessons? I thought we settled those."
"Hell no, girl." Galatea marched back into the bedroom, her surface tension solid but shimmying from the cold, a living statute of green tourmaline crystal. "You may think you're little Miss Thing with your Venus Butterfly Technique, but you’re in the big leagues now, this is a five-round fight, and you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."
Ursula boggled at Galatea as the green girl drew herself up to her favorite height of seven feet, her fists pressed to her hips, at the foot of the bed. Something complicated happened inside her neck. "'Yeah, I know he does,'" Galatea mocked in a perfect impersonation of Ursula's voice, her eyes narrowing into predatory slits.
"Wait a minute." Ursula sat up. "Fight? What fight?"
Galatea leveled an outstretched arm, ignoring her. "Lesson four—"
"Wait a minute!" Ursula yelped, her eyes squeezed shut, hands upraised and waggling like mad. Something cool and soft brushed across the fingertips of her right hand, slithered down her fingers, tickled her palm, and stuck to the pad of her thumb. "Huh?" She peeped open one eye.
A fluorescent lime green coating gloved her right hand, shining in the mellow glow of the twin Tiffany lamps on her vanity and bedside table. Ursula curled her fingers and felt the stuff resist but flow with the movement. She made a fist and it filled out into a perfect green sphere. She flexed and fanned her fingers out and the coating snapped back into a skin-tight glove. The lamplight refracted in dozens of translucent filaments that traced through the air from the tips of her fingers and lead back to Galatea's outstretched arm. "What the Hell?"
"Lesson four: advanced surface tension," Galatea said with a goofy smile and shrug. Ursula felt the gentle force of the shrug travel through the filaments connecting them, giving her hand a snug, squeezing tug, raising gooseflesh over her arms and neck. "How does that feel?"
Ursula rubbed her gloved fingers together. They squeaked. "Like liquid satin, fluid but not gooey."
"Not that…"
Beads of gel pulsed down the filaments, glommed onto Ursula's fingertips, and rolled down her hand. The glove grew, swallowing her forearm like a hungry lover, electrifying her flesh.
"…This," Galatea said, shrugging and tugging as the glove slunk around Ursula's elbow and clamped down more tight and clingy than any garment or stocking Ursula had ever worn. It was as pliant and sensuous as it was confining and terrifying. Ursula could only blush, stutter and squirm her hips.
"Very interesting," Galatea drawled, and Ursula's blush burned brighter. "Well, then." Galatea leaned close, reaching out. "Let's get started."
Ursula started to protest but Galatea's questing hand stretched past her, drawing Ursula's enveloped arm back with it. She stared at the fun-house mirror reflection her flushed face cast in the sleek substance of Galatea's arm shining like lime-tinted chrome. She did not notice Galatea flow silently forward until the green girl spoke again. "Well, what do ya know?"
Ursula sat up straight and the two girls bumped noses. Galatea's attention was focused on something behind her, her goofy smile sharpening into a wicked grin, her nose bobbling like Samantha Stephen's as she cast a spell on her hapless husband Darrin, her breath perfumed with the scent of green-apple flavored Sweet-Tarts. The smell is precisely perfect, Ursula realized, her mouth watering and mind flooding with awkward girlhood memories. She must be doing it on purpose. Again her dignity nearly surfaced but she heard a familiar clinking behind her. "Looky what I found," Galatea taunted.
Ursula's stomach flopped but her sex throbbed, and she turned to follow Galatea's gaze. The green girl's thumb hooked into a wide iron ring, the last loop on a short chain soldered onto the bedpost. "What's this for, hmm?" Galatea asked, clinking the chain. "Martha Stewart living? Somehow I doubt it."
Galatea wrapped the cobweb-thin, carbon-steel strong filaments trailing from her fingers around and around the short length of chain, pulling Ursula's arm higher, farther back, and straighter with each twist. Ursula's vision doubled, then swam. "Galatea," she whispered, and it was the sound of her own voice that made her eyes brim over and spill their tears. She heard the voice of a shrimpy, pudgy preteen who chewed on hard candy until it hurt after sneaking behind the gym equipment shed during recess to coax lingering kisses from popular girls, only to be sneered at when she dared greet them in the school hallway. "Galatea, you win, you win."
The living glove swallowed her arm almost to the shoulder, its icy-hot grip tickling the skin right below Ursula's armpit. "Hm?" Galatea murmured as she cocooned the bedpost chain in a growing lozenge of green chrome, a giant Sweet-Tart.
"You win."
"No, kiddo," Galatea said before stage whispering to the green disc. "You got her?"
With a quick metallic sigh the disc morphed into a miniature Galatea, legs wrapped around the iron bedpost like Stripper Barbie humping a flagpole, her teensy hands seizing bundles of the green tendrils trussing up Ursula's arm. "Oh, I got her," Sweet-Tart smirked. A surge of chromed gel pulsed down the sturdy webbing and the smooching, pinching, liquid velvet of the hungry glove swarmed over Ursula's shoulder and into her armpit. "Thanks for the extra nanomek," Sweet-Tart said over Ursula's barks of mad laughter.
"You win!" Ursula cried. "I'll leave Dee alone, I swear!"
"No, kiddo," Galatea repeated and sidled to Ursula's left. She fished the second bedpost's chain out of the lace canopy. "The safe word is 'Pygmalion,' not 'you win'."
She took the chain into her mouth and sucked on it like a lollipop. Even through the tingling, tickle-torture from Sweet-Tart, Ursula named another childhood candy favorite. Charm's Blow-Pop. The chain popped out of Galatea's mouth encased in a candy-apple green sphere. The sphere cracked open and morphed into another doll-sized Galatea. "You heard the woman," Blow-Bop huffed, loping up the chain and planting herself on the bedpost, "the safe-word is 'Pygmalion'…Well?"
Ursula blushed hotter than she thought possible. Already dizzy and giddy from the assault on her arm, the miasma of sensation threatened to drown her. Just as her body was choosing between falling faint or throwing up, her dignity finally surfaced and told her exactly what she needed to do. She clamped her mouth shut, squirming but dead silent, her eyes sparkling with tears and mischief.
The original, queen-size Galatea just smiled and moved to a third bedpost at the foot of the bed, but Blow-Pop crowed in triumph. "Now we're talkin'!" She punched her arms out, fingers curled in a peculiar but familiar hooked horn gesture. "Thwip!"
Skeins of spun sugar sped from the little green girl's fingertips and lashed about Ursula's left wrist. "Ooh," Blow-Pop purred as the webbing raveled around the trembling hand, "you're just so dainty, so darling, solid but so subtle, so different…I want it." She reeled in her net of green silk, dragging Ursula's arm toward the bedpost. "Gimme, gimme," she giggled. "Got it!" Blow-Pop furled into a sphere around Ursula's hand and a lazy river of satiny, molten candy trickled down her forearm.
The tickling under Ursula's right arm melted away into a lingering squeeze. She felt a feather light caress in the hollow of her right collar bone. "How do you want it?" Sweet-Tart asked.
Her arms trussed wide, Ursula managed to tip her head. "Huh?"
"Do you want it warm…" Sweet-Tart asked, and suddenly Ursula's arm was bathed in a luxurious heat. Ursula sighed. "…or cold?" Ursula shrieked as the green sleeve iced over.
"Warm! Warm, please!" Heated green gel surged down both her arms and melted together into a sultry collar around her neck before inching down her back, rubbing and soothing. "Oh, that's wonderful."
The hot gel crawled up over ribs. "Warm? Here too?" Sweet-Tart asked as the living suit lapped around the curves of Ursula's breasts.
Ursula gulped. "I…I don't know." The gel rolled up and over her sensitive skin. "Ooh, yes, warm, definitely, yes."
"So this is what a solid girl's nipples feel like," Sweet-Tart mused. Points of pressure dimpled the gel covering the gentle but wide rise of Ursula's breasts, like pinches from the Invisible Man. "So much bigger and stiffer than Dee's—ha, there's something I'd never thought I'd say."
"Oh, ha, ha—Ah! Not that rough, please!" Ursula squeaked, chest heaving.
"Shit, sorry." The dance of dimples disappeared. "Hm. Pfft, what am I thinking, I've got an expert. What do you do?"
"What do I do?"
"When you get past second base for the first time with another woman," Sweet-Tart said.
"You know," said the queen-sized Galatea at the foot of the bed, "we were starting to feel left out of all the fun." Two more miniature green girls, dangling from the bedposts near Ursula's feet, crossed their arms in identical gestures of impatience, using the loops of chain as stirrups to keep themselves steady. "But I really wanna hear this."
"Yeah," her tiny twins echoed.
"The very first time," Ursula said, trying to concentrate as the clutching gel cupped the small of her back and nestled into the plane of her abdomen below her ribcage, "I'm gentle and slow, because you never know. I kiss her areola into my mouth, my open mouth, and then I—"
"Like this?" Sweet-Tart interrupted. The gel crowning Ursula's breasts plumped and rippled for a long moment, sparking the electric current connecting her chest to her bellybutton that always ran whenever her nipples were over-stimulated.
"Yes," she stuttered as the current ebbed, "but not, um, both at once like that."
"Well, duh," Sweet-Tart said.
"Shut up," full-sized Galatea said as her flanking twins leaned in and chorused, "Go on."
"I kiss her areola into my open mouth," Ursula whispered, "and press her nipple to the roof of my mouth with my tongue two, three times, a baby's suckle really—Oh, God, yes, just like that." The green body glove puddled into Ursula's bellybutton and pressed a finger between the globes of her ass. The electric current became a live wire. "Mm, ngh, not so long, not so long without stopping." The live wire turned white hot. "Please…please…"
"That's funny," Sweet-Tart said, "because I was wondering how it would also feel here…"
"Oh, oh God."
"…and under there and there…"
"W-wait, please…"
"…and then everywhere at once…"
Ursula arched her back, locked her legs, and whipped her head back and forth just once before collapsing her weight against the elastic green gel supporting her shoulders.
"What the Hell was that?" Sweet-Tart marveled.
"Breast orgasm," Ursula breathed. "For me, very sharp, really fast, and fucking hard. I can only do it after lots of over-stimulation, so it actually kind of hurts—"
"Do it again!"
"Pygmalion!"
"Aw, okay." Sweet-Tart scissored her legs around the bedpost, working the strands of gel stretching from her fingers as if playing a very complicated game of Cat's Cradle. "Your whole body changes after you cum, did you know that? Your skin gets even softer and smoother." She wiggled her fingers and green gel roiled across Ursula's rounded belly in tandem, pinching and pushing in waves. "Fuzzier and sleeker." She sucked a few candied strands into her mouth. "And the taste—"
Ursula heard a wordless screech of frustrated rage from the foot of the bed. The teeny twin of Galatea dangling from the left bedpost raked her spiky pixie-cut mane—Pixie stix, Ursula decided—until it looked like a nest of pine needles. "Shut up!" she cried. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! I can't take it any more!" Pixie-stix Galatea hooked her feet into a loop of chain and dove headfirst for Ursula's foot. "Lemme at her!"
Uncontrollable laughter racked Ursula's body as Pixie-stix Galatea dug doll-sized fingers into the sole of her foot for purchase while growling and gnawing on the goth girl's ticklish toes. The gel slathering her from neck to belly shimmered and fixed into an adamant candy coating, freezing Ursula in mid-convulsion. Molded to every millimeter of her musculature, her candied prison buoyed and supported her body in exquisite, comfortable immobility that somehow magnified every twinge and twitch of her toes a hundredfold. Her laughter cycled up into a wolf-cub howl. Ursula kicked like a chorus girl, her leg pivoting past vertical—"Damn, girl," queen-sized Galatea whistled, "you could kick a Rockette in the freakin' face."—but Pixie-stix Galatea stretched and followed, a rubber snake, her legs glued to the bedpost and her worrying mouth vacuum-sealed against Ursula's foot.
Ursula's leg hurtled downward and splattered Pixie-stix Galatea against the mattress, the force of the blow spreading the little green girl's malleable gel-flesh around Ursula's foot like a slipper. "Works for me," Pixie-stix Galatea muttered. She melted into a sheer, glossy stocking, one end knotted about the bedpost and the other swirling up over Ursula's buttery calf. The body glove holding her captive relaxed, allowing Ursula to sag, sway, and catch her breath.
"Oh, no," said the fourth miniaturized Galatea, hunkering down into the loops of chain on the bottom-right bedpost. The jelly stocking that was once Pixie-stix Galatea glided up and over Ursula's left knee in smug silence. "There is no fucking way you're grabbing that awesome ass without me." She squeezed herself into a dense ball the color of food additive Green Dye #3. Ursula's sensory-overloaded, oxygen-starved brain danced with green M&Ms and sugary jaw-breakers until the green ball spewed jets of gluey resin, enveloping her right leg in an instant, crushing hug.
"Hold it," queen-sized Galatea commanded, and the gel on her legs set firm like a pair of lime green, vinyl thigh-high boots. "Upsy daisy." Ursula was hoisted into the air, the glop binding her limbs taking up slack until she bobbled a foot above the mattress. She rolled her shoulders and scissor-kicked her legs and felt nothing but bouncing gel.
Ursula cooed and sighed in her floating prison. The frozen moment stretched long. She blinked and rocked her head up. Galatea stood, arms folded over her breasts, mouth curled into a triumphant grin of sharp sickles. Ursula started, "What—" but Galatea whispered, "Now," and gel swept in from all four corners—across and through her inner thighs, down and over her pubis, up and around her ass—to tickle, burn, freeze, pinch, prod and squeeze Ursula's pussy.
"'Venus Butterfly,'" Galatea clucked over Ursula's screams of mindless delight. "Pfft. Amateur."
Suspended in the air and coated neck-to-toe, Ursula's sensorial world focused on her ravaged sex. She felt an impossibly large gulf between her legs, swollen and agape. "Fuck me, Galatea," she begged, her hips and abdomen trembling and relaxing in plateaus of increasing tension. "Fuck me, fuck me."
Galatea surged to the side of the bed and filled Ursula's mouth with the sweet, tart, citrus honey of her searing kiss. Ursula moaned and bit, drank and swallowed until her lips brimmed over. The fiery nectar trickled down her chin and dripped onto her neck. The gel-suit sucked it down, took up the kiss, and spread its urgent suction over every inch of Ursula's skin. When the kiss reached her clit she came, hard and abrupt, tension releasing in sudden, fierce waves. "Please," Ursula whimpered into Galatea's molten mouth. The void between her legs seemed to yawn empty and wide. "Fuck me. Fill me."
Galatea reached down. Her hand merged with the green suit assaulting Ursula's sex. Slicked with Galatea's and Ursula's own honey, Galatea's fingers drove deep into Ursula's pussy, fluxing but firm. Their body-kiss never broke, and Ursula flew.
Ursula luxuriated in her body glove, rocking and recovering. "So that was lesson four," she pondered. "Just lesson four?"
Galatea sat at the vanity, staring as Ursula bopped up and down. "Yep."
Ursula watched Galatea watch her. "What are you looking at?"
"Your ass," Galatea said, unabashed.
Ursula chuckled. "It’s my best feature."
"It's spectacular," Galatea agreed. "I want to borrow it. Copy it, I mean. Do you mind?"
"Friends are supposed to borrow each other clothes, not body parts."
"You're doing both right now," Galatea pointed out, then blushed dark. "Thank you for calling me your friend," she murmured and turned away. "It means a lot."
"You sound lonely," Ursula said. She waited for Galatea to say something but gave up as the silence lingered and asked, "Where's Dee?"
"Out," Galatea grumped, "getting his brains fucked out."
"Oh, Galatea," Ursula gasped, "I'm so sorry. Are you sure? That's so unlike Dee."
Galatea whipped around, eyes narrowed and sparkling wet. "I'm sure."
"That jackass," Ursula hissed.
"Yeah." Galatea boiled off the vanity bench and paced the room "Yeah! Imagine! He's out there…" She threw her hands in the air. "…Somewhere, letting me fuck him as much as I want when he knows perfectly well the rest of me ain't getting any!"
Ursula rocked in thoughtful silence. "You know," she said after awhile, "if we are going to commiserate about our love lives like proper girlfriends, you are going to have to explain the basic physics of yours."
Galatea paused mid-oozing-stride. "I thought you knew all that stuff."
"How would I?"
"I dunno," Galatea said, pacing again. "Magic? You're the damn witch. How did you know my name?"
"I heard Dee shout it once," Ursula admitted.
Galatea froze. "Say what?"
"'What's my fucking name?'" Ursula mock-screeched, then dropped her voice a few octaves: "'Galatea!'"
Galatea glared, gemmed eyes aflame.
"I'm not spying on you," Ursula insisted. "You two are the loudest lovers I've ever heard. Everyone on the second floor can hear you."
Galatea giggled.
"Viggo said he purchased some 'acoustic full-spectrum noise-canceling ear-speakers,' whatever the Hell those are, so he can play his video games in peace."
Galatea clapped her hands over her mouth but the giggles shot oscillating spikes through her jellied fingers and down her arms.
"He said, 'I heard them break their fucking bed, I swear to God'."
Galatea rocked back and fell on her rubbery rump. When she thought Galatea's silent giggle-seizure died down, Ursula asked, "Still with me?"
"Yeah," Galatea said, sitting up. "But I hate answering questions; I get way too many from Dee as it is." She stood. "I follow this rule that always shuts him up."
"What rule?"
"Show," Galatea declared, swaying her Ursula-inspired ass over to the bed, "don't tell."
"Good rule," Ursula agreed. She caught a glimpse of Galatea's saber-toothed grin and her eyes bugged in sudden realization. "Oh, shit: Lesson Five."
"Mm-hmm," Galatea hummed, nodding and leaning close.
"Wait," Ursula said. Galatea sighed theatrically and plopped her chin between Ursula's breasts. "I want the lesson," Ursula insisted, "but there's something I want to do first."
Springy daggers of lime-colored hair drummed on Ursula's forehead like impatient fingers. "What's up?" Galatea asked.
Ursula pulled at her elastic restraints. "I've been dying to see what I look like in this. In you. Can I walk over to the mirror? Then you can Lesson Five me all night if you want."
The bodysuit slackened its hold on the bedposts and Ursula drifted down onto the mattress. "It's a deal," Galatea said, standing up straight, chin stretching as it tore away from the gel coating Ursula's chest, "but I will have to go back sooner rather than later. Dee won't be gone much longer, and there's no way I'm ever going to let myself fuck him again unless I'm there too."
Ursula alighted upon the mattress. "I almost understood that." She felt a gentle gush down her arms and legs as the gel glued to the bedposts gave up the ghost and glissaded into the rest of the bodysuit. "Oh, that was yummy."
"Likewise, I'm sure," Galatea said, stepping back.
Ursula sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed—and collapsed, mewling.
Galatea loomed over her again. "What happened? Are you okay?"
Ursula rolled over onto her stomach. "You mean—ah, God—" Her hips pumped and gyred over the mattress. "You mean you don't know?"
"No, you're wearing a discrete me," Galatea explained. Ursula moaned, pushed a gel-gloved hand into her bed-humping crotch, and Galatea added, "Maybe 'discrete' isn't the best word. What's going on?"
"Can't talk," Ursula murmured, her hips juddering against her hand, "getting off. God, I'm so wet. The suit, it's so damn slick…"
The goth girl waggled her middle finger against her clit in furious little circles. Galatea blushed, feeling more surprised and shocked from being embarrassed than from watching Ursula masturbate. "I'm sorta superlubricative," Galatea mumbled.
Ursula shuddered one final time and sunk into the quilt. "If I lie still, I think it'll stop."
Curiosity overcame embarrassment. "What'll stop?"
Ursula did not even risk turning her head to one side. "The suit," she muttered into the quilt. "It moves when I move, but it keeps moving, slipping and sliding all over me but still hugging me really tight, like a, like a—fuck, it's like nothing else I've ever felt, but it's amazing. Too amazing. Another orgasm like that and I'll go into cardiac arrest…Can you talk to it? Her? You know, the suit?"
"Sure." Galatea shrugged. "Just as you can, and a few other ways, like bursts of short-wave electromagnetic radiation or aerosolized nanopackets or whatever, but I'm sure she's listening aurally, too, in case you say the safe word."
"Dee would never cheat on you," Ursula said after a long pause. "You are the great love of his life."
"Really?" Galatea bubbled.
"You've got a vocabulary more technical than his—I haven't understood half of anything you've said—and you've got tits as big as your head. It's like you were made for him."
Galatea's voice iced over. "Is it now?"
"Damn," Ursula said, "I'm sorry I insulted you. You really were made for him, weren’t you?"
"I wasn't made for him." Galatea wrung her hands into a fused ball. "He made me."
Ursula slowly turned her head to watch Galatea pace the room. "Like Pygmalion?"
Galatea dropped down onto the vanity bench. It disappeared inside her gelatinous translucent bulk. "No," she said, staring at her dappled reflection in the antique mirror, "nothing like Pygmalion. I looked the myth up on the Internet. In one version, Pygmalion jerks himself off between the statue's legs, did you know that? He'd talk to it and even buy it dinner and presents first, but then he'd dry hump it—when it was just a statue, just a thing. He was so pathetic that Aphrodite brought the statue to life. Love took pity on Pygmalion, you understand?"
"Yes," Ursula answered. "The uncensored version of the story always creeped me out a little, honestly."
"Well," said Galatea, lost in reflection, "Dee didn't do that. He made me, but I chose him." She shrugged and turned around. "So don't you dare pity me. Got it?"
"Got it," Ursula nodded. "Hey, the suit didn't move. I think she's listening. Maybe she's as pissed at me as you are."
"I doubt it," Galatea said, then laughed. "I mean, I'm not pissed off at all. Having a girlfriend to talk to is awesome. So get up and shake that thing already."
Ursula arose. "Mm, she's still the kinkiest thing I've ever worn, but I can move without cumming now." She took a few tentative steps. "Ooh, damn." She strode around the bed, her hips rolling in a liquid rhythm. "But I can still think of nothing but sex…Galatea, stop staring at my ass."
"Stop moving it like that," Galatea said.
"Like what?"
Galatea detached herself from the vanity bench and oozed aside. "Check us out."
Ursula sashayed up to the vanity, ogling her own reflection. "Holy shit." The sepia tones of the mirror could not dull the electric effect the bodysuit had on her figure. Ursula gleamed, a lime green fetish queen, every curve, bump, and line standing out in stark, polished relief. "I look more naked now than I do when I'm really naked." She rocked her ass toward the mirror and whistled. "Not bad."
"It's a-frickin'-mazing," Galatea said, moving in toward the mirror to get a better view, "but then I'm an ass-man."
"Oh, ha, ha," Ursula said, turning the other cheek and swinging her pigtails. "I love how she doesn't stick to my hair."
"I'm serious. I love to play with his dick, but I'm always staring at Dee's ass."
"So are half the women at the office," Ursula said dryly, but jolted into the air when Galatea screamed.
"I knew it!" Galatea jammed her fists through her temples. "He's such a clueless idiot. He says he hasn't had a date in over a year."
"He hasn't," Ursula said, shying away. "That is, he hasn't asked anyone out in over a year."
"Dee? Ask a woman out?" Galatea raged. "Oh, no, of course he wouldn't. That's too obvious for him to even consider. He just hangs out waiting for someone to jump him."
"That's Dee, alright." Ursula shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"Well," Galatea muttered darkly, "if he keeps that up he's not going to have to wait much longer."
"Huh?" Ursula said, shifting her weight back.
"Never mind. Why are you…squirming…like that?"
"I'm sorry, Galatea, it just feels too damn good." Ursula ran her hands down the inside of her thighs. The bodysuit squeaked. "I don't want to talk about boyfriends right now."
Galatea broke into a sweat watching Ursula wriggle. "You're, ah, putting on quite a show there."
"I know," Ursula giggled and sauntered around Galatea. "Every move I make pulls the whole suit across my body." She reached high before curling her arms down to hug her shoulders in one lurid, languid motion as she strutted her stuff in a lazy circle. "I just take a breath and the suit kisses me…everywhere." She scraped her lips down her gel-coated forearm. "I wish I could kiss her back." She sucked on her gloved fingers. "I wish I could kiss her back everywhere…Hey, what's happening? Where's she going?"
The bodysuit dissolved into a growing green puddle on the floor, leaving Ursula naked and dripping fat droplets of green nectar.
"I think you really turned her on," Galatea said. Her hair started to drip like melting icicles. "Hell, I got turned on just by watching you two go at it."
"That was 'going at it'? But I was just walking…No, you're right, it was more than that. It really did feel like sex. Constant, nonstop sex." Ursula pouted. "And I could've done that all night. Hell, I'd've locked myself in my apartment and never come out. Did she like it?"
The puddle raced away from Ursula in a citrine stream. "I'll remember soon enough," Galatea said as the stream ran up her legs and slurped into her core. Galatea stood still for a moment, then blushed black as night. "Wow." She backpedaled until she crashed like ocean surf against the bedroom wall. "Oh, fuck, wow."
"Does that mean she liked it?"
"I liked it," Galatea gulped, her voice dreamy and low. "I fuckin' loved it."
Ursula grinned and bit her thumb. "What was it like?"
"Like been carried, cradled." Galatea's body slipped down the wall into a sticky huddle on the floor. "It was…total surrender."
"I don't understand."
"Whenever I speak," Galatea said, "whenever I move, when I do anything, it burns some nanomek. It costs me magic," Galatea explained when she saw Ursula's puzzled expression. "I've got a lot of…magic…but I'm spending it all the time, and if I ever really run out, I'm probably gone for good."
Ursula thought it over. "How do you recharge, then, by ancestral ceremony? Sacrificial rite? Invocation of the gods? Abjuration of angels?"
"Uh, something like that; I go and fuck Dee's brains out."
Ursula bit her lip but Galatea could see the laughter in her eyes. "That explains a lot," Ursula said when she caught her breath. "But what does that have to do with me?"
"When you were wearing me, and I held still while you moved, I didn't burn any magic." Galatea's eyes slid closed as she clutched at her breast and started to ramble. "But I could still feel you—taste you, touch you, smell you—and you pulled me and pushed me and stretched me and…and fucked me. There's no better word for it. You were touching every part of me. I had no core, no reserve, no backup, no body, just you, you, you, everywhere. I could feel your tits bounce and you pussy drip and your ass rock and your legs swing, and when you put me into your mouth…I came, and came, and came apart."
Galatea pulled her gluey eyes open. Ursula stood stark naked before her, face flushed, lips wetted and parted. "Galatea…"
"I could use some ice," Galatea said, her tremulous tone on the verge of hysterics. "You want some ice?" She squelched toward the bedroom door, leaving a wake of frosted mint icing. "I think I'll go get some ice."
Ursula flopped onto fluffy, green-stained quilt. "It's the story of my life," she groaned. "After years of searching and hoping and waiting, I finally experience my first supernatural encounter. The sex is amazing, but she turns out to be only bi-curious."
Galatea turned in the doorway, her frown pensive and sympathetic. "Oh, Ursula, I'm sorry. Are you angry? You don't sound angry."
"It's okay," Ursula said, rolling onto her back, her legs dangling so her toes dusted the floor. "I'm used to it by now. Almost. But it would never work out between us anyway."
"Why not?" Galatea's brow crinkled in confusion for a second before Ursula kicked a dollop of green icing right between her eyes.
"You’re a slob," Ursula gibed, giggling until Galatea licked her eyebrows clean with a forking pair of tongues. "Damn, girl."
"I guess you won't be wanting lesson five then," Galatea said, her sibilants hissing long like a cartoon snake's.
"No need to be hasty," Ursula said, sitting up. "If the you out there fucking Dee is anything like the you in here fucking me, there's plenty of time."
Galatea harrumphed, "I need ice," and marched down the hallway.
"Just what are you doing here anyway?" Ursula hollered after her.
"I came for a catfight." The whirring clatter of the kitchen icemaker started up. "You know, like on those talk shows: 'Stay away from my man, you slut!' That sorta thing."
"What? Why?"
"Made perfect sense when I was plastered. Hm, outta ice. Do you have any in the freezer?" Ursula heard the freezer door clunk open. "Holy shit, look at all this crap! What's in all the Tupperware?"
Ursula scrunched her nose. "Soup. I'm on a kind of soup kick lately. Last month was vegetable and bisque. I've moved onto fruit."
A plastic top popped. "What's the frozen purple stuff?" Galatea asked.
"Probably borsht." Ursula rubbed the bridge of her nose with the palm of her hand. "Could be plum coulis."
Something thunked onto a countertop. "Any ingredients from SRU in either?"
"No." Ursula massaged the sinus pressure points below her eyes for a moment before perking up. "Hey, wait a minute. How did you know the name of my Internet wholesaler?"
"Educated guess." Ursula heard something slap and slop. "Guh—Woo!"
"What are you doing to my borsht?"
"Mm. It's the plum. And you don't wanna know."
Ursula shook her head, then cradled it in her hands. "Ow. Galatea, I don't know if I'm up for lesson five. I think I'm getting a sinus headache."
"It's not a sinus headache," Galatea's voice drifted over the sounds of Tupperware being resealed and restacked in the freezer. "Don't worry, though. It won't last long."
Ursula squeezed her temples. "But why did it start?"
"Because lesson five is starting." Galatea glided into the room, her green, frosty gel-flesh sporting a purple patina like the rind of an avocado. "And I'm permeating your blood-brain barrier."
Ursula gawked. "What? Why?"
Galatea affected a professorial cough. "Ahem. Lesson five: the mindfuck."
The pain ringing Ursula’s skull vanished into a heavy, beery buzz. She keeled to the left but propped herself up against an iron bedpost. "Oh, shit."
Galatea swooped in to stand a few feet from the foot of the bed, her starlit eyes dancing over Ursula’s face. "So that’s what getting drunk is supposed to feel like? I think I’ll stick with the green stuff."
The world wobbled worse when she shut her eyes so Ursula kept them peeled. She picked out her panicky reflection looking back at her from the vanity mirror on the other side of Galatea’s translucent, purple-green shoulder. "You can read my mind."
Galatea squinted, focusing her gaze somewhere directly behind Ursula’s nose. "No, not really. Just hindbrain echoes. You didn’t swallow enough nanomek, enough magic, I guess. Thirsty?"
“No,” Ursula said with a sloppy shrug. Galatea arched an eyebrow. Ursula blinked and swallowed. “Yes,” she choked out, clasping her throat. "Christ, yes."
Galatea smirked and pressed forward, pursing her gelid lips against Ursula’s right ear, her breasts brushing Ursula’s naked lap with a deliciously cool, powdery weight. "How thirsty?" she purred, the frozen floe of her breath skating down Ursula’s neck.
Ursula’s mouth worked but no words came out. Galatea shushed her, resting her chin or Ursula’s shoulder. Icicled hair skimmed her chest and back. "Don’t worry, little girl," Galatea whispered between quick freezing kisses on the curve of Ursula’s skull behind her ear. “You may still say 'Pygmalion.'" Galatea pried Ursula’s hand off the bedpost, slid it down her chilled gel-flesh and planted it on the slope of her ass. "If you want to."
Ursula trembled in silence.
"Good," Galatea said. She nudged Ursula prone onto the bed, spanning over the goth girl like a bridge of arctic ice. Ursula's trembling grew violent as she felt the slithery gel grow and expand beneath her hand. "Because you're so thirsty—and hungry now too, aren't you? Ah, but those words are too plain, too weak for what you're feeling now." Ursula shut her tearing eyes. "You feel emptied. Not in the way your pussy gets when you're desperately horny—the swollen, greedy pit between your legs. You feel…hollow with hunger." Galatea stretched higher until a nipple, purple as a plum and pearling with wine-dark nectar, brushed against Ursula's shivering lips just hard enough to splash a tiny drop of nectar between Ursula's parted teeth and onto her tongue.
Ursula’s eyes rolled back behind fluttering lids. Mindless and whimpering, she wrapped her arms around Galatea’s suspended back and dragged herself up. She latched onto the engorged nipple above her mouth, burying her head in Galatea's lush breast until jellied flesh clogged her ears and filled the world with her own pounding heartbeat and the taste of—
"'Ambrosia,'" Galatea sighed in Ursula's voice as Ursula drank, and drank, and drank. The word thrummed through the green girl's inner gel. "Promise you'll give me the recipe for your plum coulis after dinner, okay?"
Between swallows, Ursula went, "Mmf."
"No," Galatea chuckled, "for some reason I can't read or direct the part of your mind that cooks. Go figure. Maybe if you drank more, drank faster—Oh, oh my. You didn't need any h-help with that idea…"
"Mm," Ursula agreed, blush nectar dribbling down her chin. A few overeager swallows later and she fell back, her lips painted in pink-purple honey but her face scrunched in pain. "Nnf!"
"No," Galatea laughed again, "that's not me; I've opened enough ion channels already." She contracted her arcing back a bit to look Ursula in the eye. "It's just an ice cream headache. Relax." She patted Ursula on her gurgling belly. "Just relax and let me in your mind some more. All you need to do is trust me. You can trust me. I'll prove it. You can't speak, can you?"
Ursula opened her mouth but nothing came out so she shook her head. "Nnf."
"But you can say the safe word. Try it, if you wish. It won't count, this one time."
Ursula grinned. "Pygmalion."
Galatea returned her sweet smile. "So you trust me."
Ursula nodded and closed her eyes.
"Good. Headache gone? Good. Now relax." Ursula felt Galatea's heavy tits press against hers and drag slowly up her chest and neck, nipples weeping an icy trail of plum-and-citrus ambrosia across her skin. "And let me in some more." Unwilling to wait, Ursula heaved a breast to her lips and pressed the nipple against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until it expressed a trickle of ambrosia down her throat. "Mm, a little more." Ursula sucked the wide areola into her mouth and the trickle became a steady stream. "A, a l-little more."
Ursula reached up, snaked a hand over Galatea's stomach, and sank a couple of fingers into the green girl's pussy. Galatea's innermost gel was as molten as her ambrosia was frozen. Ursula pulled her fingers free, smeared the searing honey over their tips before running them over the lips of her own sex, never stopping the rhythm of her suckle.
"Oh, holy shit, yes," Galatea grunted. She slammed her gooey pelvis down. Ursula ground her sex up against it. The ice of Galatea's ambrosia and the fire of Galatea's pussy collided somewhere deep inside Ursula's body and being, churning until the boundaries between the sensations of cold and heat, the concepts of mind and body, and even the identities of "Ursula" and "Galatea" dissolved and lost all meaning to the goth girl, leaving nothing but the rush-and-gush of multiple orgasm. "Let me in a whole fucking lot more, and I'll mindfuck you straight into the fucking loony bin."
Ursula floated on air. "That was incredible."
"Did you cum?" Galatea asked.
"Well, duh, yeah," Ursula said, "but…"
"But what?"
"It's weird," Ursula reflected. "It was either the fastest, hardest orgasm I've ever had in my life, or a bunch of little climaxes that seemed to go on, I don't know, for about a hundred years. I can't tell which…"
"That's because it's still happening," Galatea said.
Ursula drifted closer. "What?"
"Look down, little girl."
Ursula swiveled her attention downward. The gauzy white top of her bed canopy hung a few feet below her. Dropping her focus down through the canopy lace, Ursula spied Galatea, the green girl with the proportions of a porn-starlet and the height of a pro-league basketball player, writhing on the mattress beneath. Galatea's translucent curves played optical tricks on the much paler, leaner, and shorter girl thrashing under them, making the girl's limbs appear almost as boneless and bendable as Galatea's own.
"Oh my God," Ursula said, "I've been fucked right out of my body."
"Sorta," said Galatea, her voice coming from somewhere between Ursula's ears, or where Ursula's ears would have been if her point of view still coincided with her eyes. "You've entered an ecstatic trance. You're much stronger than you give yourself credit for. There's some serious shamanic mojo in here."
"Where? Where are you?"
"Inside you."
"Where inside me?"
"Everywhere."
On the bed, Ursula's arms clasped Galatea's back tight enough to break the surface tension and sink into the glue of the green girl's inner gel. "Ooh," Galatea's disembodied voice murmured, "I'm so glad I taught you lesson two." Galatea's body on the bed threw back its head and howled. "I love the feel of something solid inside me."
Ursula hovered higher. "If we're down there," she said, "why are we also up here?"
"You and I need to have a little talk."
"Can't you just read my mind?"
"That's what I'm doing now," Galatea explained. "But you're too powerful for me to just take what I want."
Ursula followed her lead. "Well, what do you want to talk about?"
"Your soap, for a start. What does it do?"
"By itself, nothing," Ursula confessed. "But I always keep a little of the base left over from each batch I make, and I bathe with it, too, so I've got a sympathetic link to whoever uses it in case I need one. The law of contagion, you see, is a keystone force in sympathetic magic and I don't need to explain how magic works to a mind-reading, six foot tall girl made of green goo, do I?"
"Not really," Galatea admitted, "although I bet there's a lot you can teach me. I don't know how I know the things I know, but I must at least half-remember the things I don't know, because I know enough to know I don't know them, you know?"
"No."
"Oh. Besides, I'm six-foot-six, usually, thank you very much. Dee likes to look up into my eyes. Usually. Anyway," Galatea continued, "who've you given the soap to?"
"Let's see," Ursula said, ticking off the list with imaginary fingers, "Granddad, my mom and dad, my big brother—to keep tabs on them. Diane and Joy from work—Oh, and that girl who works at the Starbucks because she's got a great…uh, personality. And I tried to give some to Bee, because he worries me."
"Bee?"
Ursula nodded, or at least the focus of her vision bobbed up and down. "Your downstairs neighbor. Quiet guy, very intense. He wouldn't take any soap. Wow," Ursula added, distracted, "look at us down there. We're still cumming."
"Why did you offer Bee soap?"
"Like I said, I worry about him. Hasn't he complained about the racket you and Dee make yet? If I were your downstairs neighbor, I'd be calling the cops so I could get some sleep."
"Is that why you gave some to Dee?" Galatea asked, unfazed. "Because he worried you?"
"No," Ursula said. "Because Dee terrified me."
"Good," Galatea said. "But did you know why?"
"No," Ursula said again. "He's gabby, friendly, and utterly clueless. Most straight women I know think he's charming and disarming, but after a few months of waiting for him to make a move, they add 'frustrating' or 'infuriating' to the list."
"That's not terrifying," Galatea pointed out. "That's just geeky."
"True. On the night he set up my computer, I saw him disappear into his work. Have you ever seen Dee get worked up about something? Well, as he was assembling all the boards and wires and junk, he got this, this look, and at first I thought he was acting very quiet and intense—very Bee-like, actually—but then I noticed he wasn't the one getting quiet and intense, not really. It was the air around him, the room, and even the noise from outside. Hell, it was me. I was getting quiet and intense, just watching him make some dumb machine. If he were a girl I would've whacked off thinking about it when he left. No wonder some women at his office follow him around with their tongues hanging out. Galatea, you've never let me talk this long without making a joke or making me cum or something."
"Oh, I'm taking it out on your body, believe me," Galatea hissed, "It just had its fourth consecutive breast orgasm. But keep talking or I'll make you cum so hard you won't be able to sit in a chair for months."
"If more people released their aggression by making other people cum," Ursula observed, "I think the world would be a much better place. Have you ever mindfucked Dee?"
"Nope," Galatea snapped. "Can't."
"Why not?"
"His nanomek won't let me."
"You mean his magic won't let you," Ursula translated.
"Yeah," Galatea said, uncertain. "I guess I do."
"Then, if you ever see Dee work, you'll know what I mean. But that wasn't what scared me. When he was finished, he looked up, looked me straight in the eye and said, 'It is done.' And that's what terrified me. His voice…'It is done'…it was like a pronouncement from God. God, that sounds stupid."
"Not really," Galatea said, her disembodied voice managing to sound meek. "Not to me, anyway."
"I guess it wouldn't. So Dee declares, 'It is done,' and stalks out of the room. Literally stalks, a panther moving to its next kill—maybe to repair a hard drive or something. Whatever he does when he gets worked up."
"He writes," Galatea said, meeker still.
"Dee writes? He never mentions it when I talk about my poetry. "
Galatea's voice was so meek it could inherit the Earth. "He writes porn. On the Internet."
"Oh, Jesus, never mind. I don't want to know. Just let me finish. I never really planned on using the computer. I'd always hated the things. But Dee's performance was so melodramatic that not trying out the computer he made for me at least once would've been like shooting a puppy. So I sat down, started messing around on the Internet, and—bam!—I found SRU in under a minute. With the stuff from SRU, I was finally real witch. 'It is done,' he said, and it was. He did it. Dee made me a witch…and now he's made you, so I was right to be terrified, wasn't I?"
"Yes," Galatea said, sounding stronger, "but Dee didn't make you a witch, at least not in the same sense he made me. And he didn't make me, not exactly. And that's what we need to talk about. Dee and me."
"What about Dee and you?"
"Sooner or later we're going to get in trouble, serious trouble, and we're going to need your help."
Galatea glared at Dee's blender and wondered how it would feel to be pureed. "Prob'ly like getting blown apart by house music." She glanced at the kitchenette microwave's digital readout.
9:03 PM.
"God dammit," she said, hefting a half-filled jug of Nyquil onto the countertop. "This is the last of the green stuff."
The front door of Dee's apartment trembled as sheets of green icing sleeted through the cracks on all four sides of the doorframe. Galatea poked her head around the kitchenette's doorway, squinting. "Izzat me?"
The growing ziggurat of icing darkening the front door filled out fuller than Jane Mansfield.
"That's me," Galatea decided, and wobbled into the living room. "About damn time too. You were gone two freakin' hours. I thought we just wanted to scare Ursula. What were you doing all this time?"
"I'm sick and tired of eating pussy," the returning Galatea responded. "How's 'bout we flip a coin, and the loser has to morph into Dee and do whatever the winner wants?'"
|
Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me,
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
'Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
—Hedwig and the Angry Inch,
The Origin of Love |
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