Freedom and Choices

Fanguella was starting to feel overwhelmed. Such overt sexuality, so much skin, and people just touching her, and eating her up with their eyes. The music was loud, the woman on stage was girating, and Fanguella could feel the warmth of Richard’s body beside her. And still she hadn’t found the right woman to give her a dance. Honestly, half of them terrified her. But as she drank from her third drink, she was really starting to relax more, and was in fact itching to do something outrageous as well. She wanted to take her own clothes off, and swing on the pole. Something inside felt like bursting, or stretching. She wanted to whoop and yell, to break out of the social binding that had secretly been confining her. Now that she knew this binding was there, she felt some responsibility to act on that knowledge. But just how far? She could start yelling obscenities. She could take her clothes off and just stand where she was and urinate. She could approach some random person and lick their cheek. How far could she go? She only just realized that she made choices everyday, the choice to control her impulses, choices to fit in, to blend in, choices to feel good, to be polite, choices to take risks or not to take risks, choices even to live or to die. It was a strange feeling, this overwhelming freedom. It both terrified and tantalized her. It was like she was seeing the world for the first time, and choosing consciously for the first time. Her senses felt so raw, that the mere hint of perfume, or brush of a hand on her arm had her shivering. This place affected her. It changed her, right when she needed changing. She started watching the girls with a more predatory eye. A couple of them stood out, and she waited for them to approach, staring blatantly, willing them to come over.

Meeting the Girls

The first girl to approach them is large, with big fake boobs and long black hair. She leans over them both, her bottom sticking out, and her huge breasts spilling forward out of her short red dress. Smiling broadly she says, “wow, aren’t you a good looking couple! I would love to have a threesome with you both, or else I could dance for either of you separately. So which one is it?” She asked in a smooth rich voice, still smiling. “Confident, aren’t you?” Richard said smiling back, eyes nearly popping out at her breasts, “The only way to be, honey. But I also know that we could have a lot of fun together” she included Fanguella in her last comment. “No thanks” Fanguella said. “Unless he wants to.” The woman quickly sat down next to Richard, and, reaching between his legs she said close to his ear as she gripped him, “I would love to sit right here. Don’t you think that would feel really good, if I straddled you, with my breasts in your face,” and here, she stood up slowly, running her hand up his body, and then pushing his face into her breasts. “Wow, yeah, um, thanks there gorgeous, but I think we’ll be needing a bit more time.” “Fine.” She got up abruptly, and walked away, shooting a wink over her shoulder. Fanguella watched, mesmerized by her large wiggling bottom, and started to laugh. “I could so do this job!” She said remembering helping herself to Douglas’ cock in the restaurant. Richard’s eyes were starting to take on a glazed look. “She obviously doesn’t know that she just grabbed the owners penis. She could get us closed down for that. I don’t care what they want to do in the VIP rooms, but on the floor, they need to keep it clean.” But he looked after her, and gave his head a shake, “Damn”. Nearly immediately another woman sat down. This one had frizzy brown hair tied back, large earrings and a gold bikini over more muscular shoulders and legs. Sitting beside Richard she whispered in his ear, “My name is Pussy. Do you like Pussy? Do you want to touch Pussy?” “Thank you, maybe later” Richard replied. And she quickly got up and went to whisper the same few lines in the next man’s ear. A couple more girls came by and simply said “hey there, do you want a dance?” or “I want to get naked for you, lets go!” Many of the girls approached Fanguella first, although some would also approach Richard. Fanguella noticed that not as many girls approached them as were approaching the groups of men, and she mentioned this to one of the girls. It was explained that some girls assumed that couples were just there to watch, or that perhaps the girl might feel threatened and react in a hostile way. Does that really happen? Fanguella wanted to know. “Well, actually now that you mention it, no, I’ve never had that reaction, but I guess some girls still can’t help having that fear. I don’t. I love dancing for women.” And her eyes slid over Fanguella’s body.

In the Club

Richard is slightly hung over. The night before, he couldn’t sleep and had stayed up drinking too many beers and watching X-Files reruns on old tapes. He’d wanted Fanguella to stay over, but she had insisted on having her own space in a motel. The girl on stage was not really to his liking. Being a tall and broad shouldered man, he preferred a taller more ripe body, although he did enjoy some variety now and then. No, it was the woman’s face that bothered him. It reminded him of this woman that he had known when he was growing up. She was a friend of his mother’s, and she had had no patience for children. She was always saying, “come on Claire, we need to get you away from your kid so that you can have some real fun!” And, “Oh Richard, you are sooo cute, but you really need to” and here she would say something like stop bothering your mother, or learn to get your own snack, or wipe your nose, or some other criticism. She had been petite with a wide flatish face, large eyes and a wide mouth. She had a bland sort of prettiness, although all that Richard saw at the time was an annoying old woman who was friends with his mother. His mother would mostly indulge him, and call him her Petit Prince, but when Marguerite was over, she would talk mostly boring adult talk, and sometimes, she would agree with Marguerite. “Yes Richard, please go get yourself an apple, and then go find a puzzle in your room” she might say. The woman on stage brought back that same feeling of boredom and annoyance, so without giving her another thought, he turned to peruse the rest of the room. Also, he took a healthy drink of beer, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head. Fanguella broke the silence and said, “I want a lap dance, Richard.” His boredom and annoyance instantly disappeared. “Really.” He said, his eyes smiling at her. “I just need to pick the perfect girl for this experience, I want to see how these things are done.” Her fingers tapped the table in rhythm with the music. He shrugged, as she started perusing the room herself.

Calligraphy: Pussy Power?

Fanguella was nervous. They were about to enter the strip club that they had been discussing for the past few days. The flashing sign read Calligraphy Gentleman’s club, along with girls girls girls. They walked in, and Fanguella led the way to a seat where they could see the stage, but that was a little off to the side. She wasn’t going to walk in meek and scared. Also she wanted a good view of everything. And there were definitely lots of views. The red lights in the club made everyone look younger and more smoothed over. There were also black lights that made the girls outfits glow florescent. A rail thin woman walked past in a hurry to get on the stage. No curves to speak of, but her body was tight and smooth, and she had long chestnut hair. She put her drink down at the side of the stage, stood, and lost herself in her dance. She swung around the pole in slow motion, legs out over her head. She hung upside down from a bar, and proceeded to remove her bra, revealing large erect nipples on a mostly flat chest. She swung down and slid easily into the splits, then rolled onto all fours. From here a new song began, and she bounced her bottom up and down with amazing speed and control, ending in a girating roll, her knees slowly sliding apart, her panties slowly rolling down and off one leg. From that position, Fanguella could see the woman’s lips brazenly peaking out, on show like the finest diamonds in a lighted display case. Fanguella’s mouth dropped open. It had never really occurred to her that anyone would want to see that. She knew of course that men seemed to like it for various purposes, that they gave them a lot of pleasure, but it hadn’t occurred to her that the sight alone would be so exalted. And yet it was. The woman on stage proceeded to slide down the pole with her legs wide open and the men in their chairs nearly fell over they were watching so closely. A table up front broke into applause. “Look at that”, she overheard a man say in admiration. Fanguella had to stop herself from looking down her own pants in puzzlement at herself. Really?! She thought to herself in amazement. It got her thinking about penis’. Yes she loved the way they looked, the silky strength, the hardness, looking at it made her want it. Men were very visual so of course they wanted to see it. Perhaps it wasn’t something crude or dirty to do, but actually beautiful and pure, to show such a sensitive delicate part of oneself. She glanced over at Richard, wanting to see his reaction. He was in the process of calling the waitress over, seeming unaffected.

Settling in Montreal

Richard sat on the beige coverlet of the hotel bed where Fanguella was staying, waiting for her to get out of the shower. Today they were going to go visit his club, and he couldn’t help hoping she would like it, and feeling somewhat excited to have someone to plan and work together with. Funny though, he was not the type who would often work with others, being a more solitary kind of man. Well, he chuckled, he enjoyed having her around and in this way she would be with him for a little bit. And who knows, she just might come up with a few things he could use, although her ideas seemed to him a little too outlandish when he thought of them practically. They were fun to explore though in theory, while in his mind he could see Fanguella dressed in nearly nothing prancing around his club, as well as picturing her within the fantasies that they were creating together. This of course made him hungrier for her then he’d felt for anyone in quite some time, and he simply wanted to devour her. He had half a mind to barge into that washroom, and pull the shower curtain aside, stepping in fully clothed and taking her naked glistening form to him, and-
“Are you almost ready?” He demanded in irritation. He was getting tired of these thoughts of her constantly plaguing him. He had a business to turn around, he needed to concentrate. He would fuck her senseless later, but for now, he was eager to get going. He hated to wait for anything.

Sexy New Job for Fanguella

“So Richard. Have you ever thought about having more private fantasy rooms, and perhaps special membership?”
Richard looked up from his breakfast plate, toast in hand. “Sounds interesting, what were you thinking.”
“Well, It’s just that I’ve been to some of these clubs before, and my two biggest complains were that… You know, here is a place that can have so much potential, for fun fantasy and sensuality, yet more often then not, they are dirty, they serve greasy food, and the quality and pride are simply lacking. Why not have a club that is cleaned up, has style, creativity, and options. People go to these clubs for the fantasy, so why not give them the fantasy? Have theme nights, or even theme rooms! I love the body paint theme, but then why stop at the paint? Water, whipping cream! Put some humour into it! Have a woman dress as a man, with padded shoulders and every thing, and as she strips, have it turn out that she is in fact a sexy woman! You know, things that entertain and make people laugh, and opens there minds to the possible! What else is sexier?” Richard laughed at her enthusiasm. “Wish I had you around when I was doing my brain storming! I actually had a lot of different ideas, but I was encouraged by some of my financial backers that simplicity was best. But the way you paint the picture, like making use of different theme rooms or else elite membership…I wonder… Maybe if I had you to help me work out a detailed plan, then it may work. Alone, it just seemed like such a great undertaking to do more then just the paint, that I never even pictured all these possibilities of branching out for my club. How long do you plan on being in Montreal? I just might want to hire you.” He said this last part with a smile, but Fanguella could tell that he was serious. What was she doing? Did she really want in on this venture? SHe looked around the tiny dinner car and noticed that it was now empty.  And she thought, this was the first time that she has been this passionate about an idea in a long time. She enjoys reading cards, but this was something new, something fresh, maybe it was just what she needed. After all, what better escape? Right into a literal world of fantasy, one where anything is possilble. Could she really do this, or would it be running away? She wanted to face her demons once and for all, yet she really didn’t know how to go about it. Was she really just trading one mask for another? Yet at no other time did she feel more real then when she was absorbed in a task. And here, she would be forced into the public eye, maybe that was what she needed to do to face her fears. Not avoid having people see her, but actually do the opposite. Put herself out there. She still wasn’t completely clear as to how, only that this was something she really wanted to do. This might be just the medicine. Food lying forgotten on her plate, Fanguella felt a flash of fear course through her, yet she forced the words out anyway. “Richard. I know that I’ve never done anything like this before. Thank you for giving me this chance. This is something that I would really like to do. Let me work on your club with you. But also, let me work in it.” They looked at each other very seriously for a moment. Richard took a sip of his coffee, then he nodded slowly. “Listen. When it comes down to it, I don’t really know you that well. But new life in the club might be just what it needs. Seeing you walking around half naked may be just what I need as well. Let’s talk. Tell me more about you’re ideas, and how you think they might work. If I like them, I’ll use them.”

Fanguella's Last Train Ride

Fanguella sat at the table across from Richard. She was remembering another trip, long ago that she had taken by train. After spending three years with her aunt in Montreal, her parents arranged for her to return to them. She had been nine. She believes now that her parents had never meant for her to have been gone so long, but that time had just flown into itself, passing one week into another, until they suddenly remembered that they had another little girl. Her parents were neither old nor young, nor especially rich or poor when they had had children. They were not addicted to drug, and they were not violent. They simply had no idea how to take care of their children. They got overwhelmed when Fanguella’s little sister was born when Fanguella was five, and when a brother was born two years later, Fanguella assumed that they simply grew accustomed to the chaos. Realizing that it would not eventually alleviate, they suddenly decided to take Fanguella back from her lengthy visit. Fanguella shook her head to pull herself back to the present, and she looked at Richard.
"That meant nothing to you. I know that. And it is ok." Fanguella had to say it. She wanted no lies, no false affection, especially right now when she was still feeling so vulnerable. Something about the train created a ruckus in her stomach. Bubbles, and a tightening, her mouth gone dry. This can't be happening to me. Not me, not now, but already she could feel her throat tightening over a lump, and her eyes well up. He's going to think it's about him and it is not. I just don't want to be alone, not again, not like the last time. Things are different now. I'm a grown woman. Independent, strong, alone but not lonely, and not desperate. But she was feeling desperate. Auntie Lorraina sending her away, and her mind screaming not again! Why won't anyone keep me! I'll be good I won’t cry, I won't ever cry again. I'll be good, I’ll listen. You won't have to nag me to cut my nails, I'll let you do it, and I won’t even complain. I'll let you read the paper in the morning without even talking. "Fanguella, really, aren't you exaggerating? You should be happy, your going back to be with your parents. You don't want to be with me.” But she had tears in her eyes. Fanguella felt a glimmer of hope. She fell into a fantasy at the time that Aunty Loraina wanted her to live with her, and her parents did too. That they wanted her all along, but her aunty wouldn't let them have her back. She took the train all by herself. She was nine. She had spent three years with her aunty, and she had been happy there. There was a little girl upstairs that she was sometimes friends with. An older girl, who would play with her when there weren't any other kids around to play with. "I just got my period the girl had told her proudly, pushing the little buds of her breasts out, talking loud enough for the boys at the skating rink to hear her. Fanguella had felt a mixture of awe and embarrassment. She felt worse then embarrassed on her train ride back to her parents. She felt mortified. She imagined herself being sent back in dishonor, like she was supposed to fill some unknown purpose, someone else’s void, or perhaps she was not the kind of little girl that people want to have around. Not her aunty, not her parents. And she fought even harder to keep the tears from falling. Instead, she felt sick to her stomach, her whole little body tight with fear and anticipation. The thought of her parents made her ache. She wished she too had something big to tell them, like that she was a woman now, and had her period and they had missed everything, they weren't there. They didn't come to visit when she got her tonsils out. They never came to get her when that first summer had finished.
When Fanguella had gotten home, she was welcomed warmly then simply forgotten. The new baby, whom she had first blamed for her rejection was now three years old, and a new baby had arrived while she had been gone. She felt as though her parents loved her in an absentminded way. A pat on the head while they ran off to work, to a party, to poker night. Frazzled, her mother came to depend on her more and more to care for the younger children. Fanguella came to feel that she had been called back to hold the fragments of their family together, it was her job to keep everything from falling apart. She complied for about a year, while she continued to hope to be noticed, loved and cared for. Her parents continued to fade in and out of the house, leaving her alone to baby-sit, yet still a child scared of the dark herself. Fanguella could feel a hard cornel begin to form inside her. Her body felt hard with it, unforgiving. She began to leave the baby to cry herself to sleep. She left the four year old hungry in the morning, until her father finally got up to feed her, all the while her mother in the background, “well where is Fanguella, can't she hear that her sisters’ hungry” It was then that the panic attacks had started. Won’t feed the kids, won’t change the baby, won’t baby sit. Will they throw her out now that she was of no use? They didn't throw her out, but she did get a lot less notice. Still there were still some times when her mother taught her how to play cards, and her father liked to read the newspaper to her. And life went on. But she could never forget their earlier betrayal. The horror of those train trips, always being sent away from someone. Even now, she wondered what has she left undone, what more was expected of her. Had she done something wrong, telling Richard not to lie to her? She fluctuated between that hard inner kernel that held her head up and kept her tone honest in that selfish uncaring way, but on this train ride now, she could feel that she had not always been that way, she could feel herself as the little girl she had been curling in upon herself, all her tender caring turning in upon herself, with a bitterness that made her honest but cruel. You’re dead little girl, she whispered inside her mind, go away and depend on no one. Not Richard, not Andrea for dying, not mom dad or aunty Loraina. Your hard, she told herself as she forced her chin up to look calmly into Richards eyes, and miraculously, she stopped her tears from falling.
"I prefer not to proscribe any meaning to anything right away, I usually like to digest an experience before providing commentary. Sometimes that means I'm dishonest in what I don't say. Can I apologize for that ahead of time and be done with it?" "Very cute" Fanguella managed to say. The lump in her throat had subsided. "I don't follow those rules though.” She continued. “ I'll come right out and say that at least for now, why not be cuddle companions, at least for this trip?" "Can that include a little sex on the side?" "Well, some cuddles, are closer then others” She smiled. This was good distraction. She could feel her breathing becoming slower; she had managed to distract herself out of her anxious state. She is rarely that lucky. "Do you know, I loved the feel of your lips around my cock." Richard started, whispering across the table, in his now famous phone sex voice. “I love your naked body” Fanguella started, but just then, Pierre who had finally gotten up enough nerve to enter the dinner car, was just passing their table and turned shocked eyes on her.
“Don't make fun, madam! You cannot blame me for my dreams, can you? I am afraid that I am already dreadfully mortified." He lowered his eyes, and Fanguella and Richard looked at each other; Richard trying not to laugh, Fanguella, struggling with a different emotion entirely, "You, mister are a completely disgusting pervert and should be reported! I had no idea that you would be so rude as to sit underneath our berth and listen in to our personal and private matters!" This time it was Pierre who looked shocked, "You mean to say that you were engaged in, you were, doing... In a public train! "He didn't seem to know what to say after that, and was in fact so shocked that his eyes bugged out and his face turned bright red, and all he could do was gape at them for a moment before rushing from where he stood, to the table that was farthest from them. Fanguella and Richard could no longer hold in the laughter. All the stories that came out from that exchange, of things assumed that were really unknown, became too much for them, and they laughed so uproariously that other patrons who were entering the dinner car looked at them strangely. “So much for talking dirty,” Richard said, glancing around the tiny dinner car. Anything they said would have been heard by any other patrons. Fanguella took that moment to bring up something about his club that she had been thinking about.

Pierre's Dream

Pierre, meantime had been awakened by them. At first he thought that maybe he had called out in his sleep, because although Pierre was not awake and masturbating, he was not unaffected by the goings on above him or by the motion of the train. His embarrassment was that perhaps he had called out in his sleep. He knew that he could be quite loud at the moment of orgasm, and that was the kind of dream that had taken Pierre. Unfortunately, just as he was emerging, Richard and Fanguella were as well. He assumed that he had awakened them with his cries, and was in fact very embarrassed. What's worse, his dream was not about His wife Janine. Was he a masochist that he should dream about a woman who was obviously not a nice woman, had in fact a mean streak, and had an obvious dislike of him? Why was it so appealing to be disliked by this woman? Sure she was beautiful, he had noticed her strong legs, round breasts, full lips. But he was a happily married man! That wasn't the worst of it either. Pierre considered himself an ordinary man. Like most French men, he was Catholic. He preferred to keep things pretty conventional. Yet he could never take being disliked. He felt guilty without having even done anything. He felt ashamed. It made him picture what she most think of him to have given him such a look. What a horrible man she must have imagined him. Being beautiful, she probably thought that he was after her. Him! Pierre! Faithful husband, active in his community, regular churchgoer. Yet he felt guilty, because he started to imagine what she might have thought he was thinking, he thought about things that he only really saw himself doing with Janine, although not really so much anymore. He had lost a lot of interest in those things, after all, he wasn’t so young anymore. Yet when he thought of this woman he shocked himself. He woke up to the sound of his own voice calling out in a moment of orgasm. Which wasn't the worst. In his dream, simple, conventional Pierre was being spanked enthusiastically by Fanguella. And from that moment on, Pierre’s uncomplicated life became more complicated. He became obsessed. Why did she dislike him so much, he wondered over and over, and then the sting of her hand on his bottom left him tingling, dreaming, fantasizing.

Train Sex

When Fanguella awoke, she was first aware of the smooth warmth of his skin, the slight musky smell of him. She inhaled deeply, rubbed up against the length of his naked body with regret. Sex would complicate things for her. It would only serve as a temporary opiate, a possibly addictive one, and she needed to reach within her, not without. She was scared of further problems. She was not acting herself
Normally she would have simply taken what she needed, and gone on her way. But this time, she was feeling too vulnerable, too exposed. She was scared of becoming dependent on him. She couldn't afford to do that, she had left to become more dependent on herself, this did not fit in with her plan. Richard slept like the dead. She lifted the covers briefly, looked down his firm belly, smooth skin, and oh my Goddess. Her memory was not wishful thinking. He had a beautiful cock. Her lips parted her hand inched closer, she dropped her hand back to her side, sighed and lifted her suddenly tense body out of there as quickly as possible. She didn't trust herself to linger, she didn't even trust this decision to leave, but at this close proximity to him, she couldn't even think. Clothes she remembered in a sudden shock, lifting her naked body back up into the berth in a hurry, reaching for her clothes. Just as she was about to get her clothes, Richards’s hand caught hers with lightening speed. Morning. He said in a sleepy gravely voice. Hi. She responded breathlessly. Escape had been so close. That voice of his had been her undoing. She straddled him, arching her back cat like as she climbed up the length of him, planting a long and lingering kiss onto his luscious lips. He made no move to touch her, but returned the kiss. Slowly his hands rose to cup her face, holding her lips on his, smoothing her hair out of her face. She broke the kiss, clambered off the covers, lifted them over them both tent-like as she resumed her straddling position. She felt his chest hair on her breasts, her nipples, and she sighed into his mouth. His hands suddenly felt as though they were everywhere, trying to touch, trying to devour her completely, but always returned to her mouth, kissing dizzily. He took out a condom; she took it from him, opened it and popped it into her mouth. Moving down his body, she placed her lips onto his cock, and rolled the condom on in a smooth fast motion. In a moment she was on him. Rocking and grinding, his mouth on her breasts, her neck, whispering in her ear. Don’t stop. Only the words never left his mouth. He rolled over on top of her and she could feel the full length of his body against hers, the weight of him. He used slow and grinding motions, sexy, smooth. She arched her hips up, and together they increased the tempo, faster and harder, bruising, she scratched her fingers down his back, he bit her shoulder. They collapsed together; catching their breath, sweat mingling, bodies still joined. Sex. Better then numbness, better then pain, feeling only pleasure, and relaxation. Oh, yes, she said, that wasn't such a bad idea after all. Ummm. She said, stretching, "you could say that again he said, smiling, and she noticed for the first time that he had a dimple in his left cheek. Once their breathing had returned to normal, they helped each other dress, both still silent, or trying to be, as they would kiss the skin they covered, change their minds, and uncover that skin to kiss it some more, laughing silently. When they finally emerged from the berth, Pierre was emerging from his own berth, which happened to be the one bellow Richards. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, avoiding their eyes as he took his book to the dinner car. Was he listening to everything, or had he been awakened by them. Was he embarrassed by them, or by himself for listening, Fanguella wondered, suddenly excited that he may have heard them, lying below, feeling the motion of the train and hearing their moans of passion while he masturbated and fantasized to himself. That’s all your ganna get, thought Fanguella wickedly, all the while trying to picture the fantasy the he may have been having.

On the Train

After returning to his seat, Richard was dreaming also. He was walking down the street when a herd of people suddenly approached him, all of them calling to him- "Richard!! Richard!! How you doing, Richard!!" He smiled in his dream. He felt a sudden itch in his back. He started taking all his clothes off, and suddenly became very embarrassed to find that he was covered in feathers. He looked in shock at the crowd, and suddenly saw that they too were covered in feathers. The itch on his back were a pair of bright red wings, soft and wide, and strong. He found himself lifting off the ground, waving goodbye to all the well-wishing crowds of people. It reminded him of Dorothy waving goodbye to the crowds of people in Oz, and suddenly he was the wizard standing beside Fanguella in the hot air balloon, both of them waving and waving, until she turned to him, eyes wide, and said, "No Richard I can’t go with you." Then she jumped out of the balloon. Looking up sadly as he floated higher and higher away” She called to him "I can't leave it behind." He pictured her little dog Toto, and somehow, under her arm, he saw a cat. He was getting more and more frantic, calling after her, but she was too far, a fog was setting in, he could only see her far off outline through the mist, standing watching as he floated farther and farther away. Just when he was getting more and more desperate, to get back down, talk some sense into her, feeling sure that she had somehow made some grave mistake, he remembered his wings, and felt a wave of relief and hope. Richard awoke. He gathered his few belongings, edged out of his seat and turned onto the aisle walking back to where Fanguella had been sitting. Fanguella meantime had awakened before Richard. She felt more relaxed, less anxious, and she felt the relief of mental numbness. The fat man across the aisle leaned over and said something about "her boyfriend" in a thick French accent, and motioned to the aisle behind them, smiling. Boyfriend, and pointing towards the washroom? Disgusting man had been looking at her, she'd been right. She gave him a dirty look. Pierre, which was the mans’ name, gave her an uncertain look, started to repeat that if she was looking for her boyfriend he had seen him go that way, but at her look thought better of it. Janine his wife was waiting at home in the berbs of Montreal. He hadn't seen her in over a week and missed her simple earthy ways. Janine was kind; she would never give a stranger a look like that even if she were in a bad temper. Pierre just shook his head, and looked for a sandwich from his bag. Fanguella smelt the egg salad sandwich that he had pulled out and realized that she was hungry. Checking her watch, she realized that she hadn’t slept long. It was another 5 hours before she would arrive in Montreal, and her stomach growled. She got up, and started making her way to the club car and froze. Richard had just gotten back to her car when he remembered that she probably would not welcome his presence. He stood for a moment in indecision, and was just turning to go back to his old seat when Fanguella got up and started walking right in his direction. Before he had a chance to make a run for it, she saw him. "Hi," was all that she said, looking like she was at a loss for words. "Um, I was looking for the washroom." Richard replied, carefully looking over her face. After the first moment of discomfort and indecision, Fanguella said hesitantly," I'm on my way to the dinner car, there is probably a washroom around there." With that unspoken invitation, Richard followed Fanguella over to the dinner car and sat down across from her, moving the fake flowers off to the side beside the wall. “I'm sorry I didn't " Fanguella started, but Richard cut her off. "Don't mention it, I'll take a rain check if you ever change your mind" They both smiled, feeling awkward. What could they possibly say to each other, after all, thought Richard. They have never had any kind of in-depth conversation together about anything except sex. He knew nothing about her, except that she was a fortuneteller. And that last meeting they had had together.
"How long have you been telling fortunes for?" He Asked.
"Well,” she started, hesitantly, “ I’ve been playing around with them ever since I was a teenager. I got quite good; people I didn't even know started coming up to me, asking to have there fortunes told." She paused, looking down blindly at the menu before continuing. "At first I got pretty popular at my school, older kids would approach me to get it done; I became a sort of celebrity around my school when people would swear that what I said came true.
“The people that I wasn't already friends with, I would charge. My first business was under a stairwell in a high school. Saved my pennies. I left before my last year, opting not to complete my OAC’s. Moved away, started this business." The waiter came at that moment to take their orders. Not a lot to choose from Fanguella noticed, and decided on a fish sandwich that came with fries and coleslaw. Richard chose a hamburger. Both got a beer. They were both puzzled, curious, wanting to read minds, feeling the tension become alive between them again. Beer after beer they relaxed more with each other, and Richard felt hope, and Fanguella reached for salvation. Salvation in sex? yes, sex will save her, sex will stop the numbing, stop the pain, sex will make her feel good again, and close, how she needed to be held close all of a sudden, she’d been so lonely lately. Looking at Richard, she noticed that despite a certain unpredictable glint he had in his eyes at times, there was also a gentleness. Richard was talking. She watched his lips, and his words seeped over her. " Like I've said, I've done a great many different things in my time, I was an entertainer for a while, I stripped. It was a lot of fun. Then I ended up opening up my own strip club, mostly left it to be run by the manager, up until now that is. I’ve recently become more interested in it. I’ve got some ideas for it, and that is why I'm going back to Montreal, which is where Calligraphy is. That’s the name. I've always loved the sound of that word, but more specifically, my dancers use body paint on each other. For a price, audience members can get in on it as well. I'm mostly living in Montreal these days as well, except I do come to Toronto for most of my conventions on massage therapy." “You've done lot of things," Fanguella slurred. "And from your background, it looks as though I crank called the right guy." They smiled at each other and there was a comfortable silence. “Where are you sitting? " Richard thought at first to lie, and say he was sitting in the car that she had been sitting in. Well, if she wanted him to sit with her, he'd leave that for her to offer, the ball was in her court after all since she had stood him up. "I've got a berth. I'm an old man these days, need a comfortable sleep. Like the idea of getting to where I need to go while I sleep." They smiled again at each other. "Mind if I join you?" Fanguella asked quietly. Gone was the saucy girl he had seen that first time. Her energy and confidence both seemed to have seeped out of her. She appeared fragile as she asked. He located a couple of green bills and a blue one from his pocket, dropped them onto the table and took her hand. “Let’s go.” He said gently. She allowed him to lead her down the hall. Each stopped in the washroom for a minute. Richard had a silent conversation with himself in the mirror. I won't rush things. He told himself. What are her intentions, he wondered as well, she was different this time, he couldn't place her. He washed his hands and left. Fanguella on the other hand did not think, she was tired, that’s all she knew. She needed to touch Richards broad muscular back. Her fingers tingled. She held back as she followed him down the hall, eyes glued to his back. Each climbed up, started undressing. It was warm. Fanguella slid in-between the sheets, against Richards’s long warm body and sighed. They kissed slowly; Fanguella buried her face in his neck and was asleep in a minute. Richard cupped her bottom and pulled her up against him. He nibbled her neck a little, but it was too late, she was asleep. He sighed, not really all that surprised.

Fanguella dreamed of killing cats. Cats everywhere, swarming around her, claws, blood, teeth. They dove at her. She was in a strange kitchen that also had a bed in it, mixing things the way dreams do. She pulled out a knife and started stabbing these cats, throwing their suddenly stiff bodies everywhere. Then the bodies became those of people, and she gazed in horror as some human bodies crawled towards her, begging for help, and asking, "why, why?" while others lay stiff around her. She looked at the knife in her hand, at the blood. Wondered why killing cats did not hold the same horror, and am I a bad person? The blood on the knife turned to frosting, and she sat on her bed, the bed with the pink spread that she had had as a child, and she started to eat a slice of frosted cake, all the while wondering at the appropriateness of it at a funeral. Her kitchen was full of mourners suddenly all in the black garb, none of them seemed to notice her though, where she sat eating cake on her childhood bed, wearing a child’s princess dress, pink like her spread. She felt a great comfort all of a sudden, as though someone were embracing her, or patting her shoulder. She realized then that one cat remained, and it was curled warmly around the back of her neck. "It's ok" it seemed to whisper. And she knew that she was forgiven, that somehow the cats had gotten away, they had forgiven her. And the warmth on her neck from the cat reassured her, calmed her, and she fell into a more peaceful sleep.

Richard gazed down at Fanguella's sleeping face, tight and anxious even in sleep. She kept twisting her head, and her back, raising her shoulders in the ways of a person with chronic pain. Her tears had dried on her face, her eyes were shadowed. Richard frowned. All that he knew of this woman was the saucy, sexy woman that she had portrayed for his benefit. Her social face, he supposed. If this was her face when nobody was looking, then there was obviously a problem. He had been disappointed when she had not called back and had stood him up for their "appointment" as he liked to think of it. He hadn't known what to think. He had obsessed over her. Yet here she was, appearing as if by magic on the very train that he was on. He couldn't look at her any more, her sad face, her hopeless tears, her back twisting in discomfort. He had simply come back here planning to tease her a little for 'chickening out' he was going to say, no hard feelings he was going to add, still feeling hopeful that he could charm her and hook up in Montreal. When she had bumped into him from behind, she had looked very familiar. Richard had not gotten a good look at her face, and had to come and be sure that it was she. Make some tasteful comment about what a coincidence that she should bump into him from behind just as he was picturing that exact thing, only naked. He had smiled wickedly to himself. He sat down in the seat behind her, leaned forward and dropped the Now magazine he had been holding onto the floor, and placed his hands gently onto her shoulders. He began to massage her tense shoulders, kneading her muscles gently at first, not wanting to wake her. She sighed in her sleep, turned her cheek to the side to rub against his hand. He cupped her cheek for a moment, holding her head up in his warm hands, and simply looked at her for a moment. Her face seemed to relax a little as she absorbed the warmth of his hands. He was glad. After a moment, he placed it against the back of her seat again and began to massage the back of her neck and shoulders again. He started kneading more deeply as he felt her start to relax. She sat up straighter all of a sudden, and for a moment, Richard feared he had wakened her. He felt the urge to flee. He didn't want her to see him there, he felt suddenly that he was intruding, getting in the way of her escape, invading her privacy. She was escaping, he realized more clearly in his mind. She did not answer her door when he had come knocking for reasons that probably had nothing to do with him. She seemed to settle more comfortably into her chair, her face appearing less tense. He massaged her back a moment more before getting up silently and leaving. The large man from the seat across the aisle from her watched him leave, wondering. Assuming Richard was her boyfriend from the tender way he had pushed her hair from her face as he had left, and the feathery light kiss he had pressed to her face on the skin beside her eye. He went back to his book, an Agatha Christy mystery, his favorite reading for traveling.

The world was spinning around her as people marched by hurrying here and back, everyone knew where they were going. Fanguella got up, walked to the ticket booth. “I'll take the next train out of here. I don't care where.” The woman behind the ticket booth gave her a funny look. "Well, next train goes east to Montreal.  Forty please." Handing her the money, Fanguella turned and rushed to terminal eight. Rushing up the stairs, she foolishly broke into a run as she turned the corner, and crashed right into a man's hard back. He quickly swiveled around and caught her as she stumbled. Sorry!" They both said. Glancing up, she saw a face that looked a lot like Richards. She hurried off, just as the train was about to depart. She was really starting to lose it now, seeing him, and that other one everywhere. People she knew were coming out of the woodwork right when all she wanted was to be left alone. Yet she worried, what if it was Richard, and he appeared to be rushing for the same train. She threw her small luggage in the overhead, and sat down with a sigh, closing her eyes. She concentrated on breathing. She needed to start feeling normal again, yet she did not know where to start. Her mind danced with images of Douglas, his face, his various expressions. She remembered Richards phone messages, his voice, his touch. She reminded herself to breath. She could relax, and think of such things, in fact she had to, or else what else would she think of? Her thoughts would come back to herself, her weaknesses, her memories, her pain. She knew the pattern. She forced herself to relax her shoulders. They were tight and aching. She rubbed at them absentmindedly. What had happened to her that she should become so wound up, so conscious of all the wrong things? She wondered if that fat man across the aisle was watching her. She hated drawing attention. Sometimes she wished that she were invisible, that she could just pass through walls, watch people go about their daily business unaware, and acting as they would act when they feel that nobody was watching them. She worried that people could hear her thinking, and quickly an image of the fat man appeared in her mind, of him wearing only his underwear. She shut her eyes tight, pretending to sleep, feeling her face flush, worried that maybe he somehow knew her thoughts, or perhaps had somehow put that vision into her mind. She couldn't shake her fears, she felt her hands start to shake and helpless tears slipped through her closed lids. After a time, she slept.

There was a crack in the ceiling, Douglas noticed, as he stared up at it from his loft bed, unable to sleep. He was thinking about Fanguella. Feeling both guilty and defensive, but mostly completely confused with the way that she had left him that day, and especially that last look that she had given him. He didn’t know why it mattered, why he could not stop thinking of her, but he couldn’t. Boy, I’ve got it bad, he thought, smiling wryly to himself. And for all I know she could be, in fact probably is completely insane. But she intrigued him and excited him as no woman has done in a long time. She was unpredictable, spontaneous yet secretive, with moments of contemplative brilliance. Her face was soft and cool, he loved to watch the expressions flicker there, and he wanted to learn to understand what each one of those expressions meant. But she was crazy. Her behavior from the minute he had met her had been down right hostile and unpredictable. But the attraction was so strong between them, and those few moments of honesty between them felt so close, so intimate. As though they didn’t even need to open their mouth and they would understand each other. She really got what he had been trying to say when he was telling her about why he needed to create. And all that material that has been flying through his mind ever since he had met her, all those songs, all those ideas about how he wanted to live, who he wanted to be, and what would Fanguella think? Always it was what would she think?

  For five days, Fanguella did not show up at the restaurant. She did not answer her door when Richard showed up for their appointment. She did not pick up her messages, or leave any. She told herself she was sick. She lay on her bed in her red silk kimono, simply staring out the window, watching brilliantly red leaves on the old oak tree out in her yard dry up and fall, one after another. Not many left, she thought, mourning them. They had been so beautiful, She would watch them every morning before getting up to go for brunch at the restaurant, glad for them, for they made her start each day with a smile. Now they were almost all gone. And all she could think of was, why is it that I can smile at a bunch of leaves, feel glad of them, peaceful even, yet I can't leave this house without the need to protect myself. I used to be shy, scared of people. I thought I was over that, but now I see that I am not. I've been lying to myself. I still can't leave this house and smile spontaneously if I feel I am being watched. I need to be alone with a tree, a tree. Fanguella was an attractive woman, she knew that, and more then that she held herself with a kind of dignity, an otherworldliness that people couldn't help but to look at. She left the house, she was going to be looked at. A lot. She could never get used to that. She used to cover herself up, loose clothes, head down, but one day she had had enough, enough of living in reaction to fear. She wore what she liked to wear, if it drew attention, so be it. She walked with a natural grace, an arrogance that made her lift her chin, look down her nose, challenge coldly with a mere glance. That is if she deigned to look at you, which she would mostly only do to people who were rudely staring. Mostly though, she kept her chin up, and her eyes turned inward, and like this she felt, nobody could touch her. And she no longer needed to feel scared. But Douglas, he looked into her face, caught her in an unguarded moment, caught, and saw her, and through her. And when he mentioned in that soft, warm way of his that she wore a mask, a guarded look, he had stolen her one defense, by giving it a name. He had spoken the truth, and in so doing had unmasked her. How could she go out there now, feeling so exposed, surely others recognized her mask for what it was, would she have to get rid of her pain before she could face the world without her mask? And weren't masks necessary? Didn't everyone wear one at times? Whatever the case, she has lost her only protection, and did not know what to do now, could not even think of what that could mean, so she simply lay there, watching the leaves fall, brilliant red tears, slip down slowly in the breeze, soon to watch the last ones final death. The oak trees will reach up beseeching with naked arms, frozen in a death prayer right outside her window. Its prayers and her own, may not be answered for a very long time. If only she could shed her pain like leaves, and start anew. Yet even the tree she reminded herself, seems to go through a mourning time, must live through a winter before fresh new leaves are born. Well, Fanguella has found her winter. Human nature was funny, she thought. People feel horrible about their problems, yet once they are able to discard them, they almost miss them, don't know life without them. People take comfort in their old pains, just as they are tortured by them. Unfortunately, her old pains, or fears still existed, she had only managed to hide them, mask them. Now without her mask she did not know what to do.
Fanguella got up and got herself a glass of juice. Grapefruit. She wandered round her apartment mindlessly, unsure. Her indecision seemed to be spreading to all different parts of her life, generalizing. Should she eat eggs or cereal, sit in her room or move to the living room for a change. Should she go out? She would have to go out some time. She didn’t even want to think of Douglas, it made her cringe in embarrassment. Richard must have assumed that she had lost interest. Douglas haunted her though. She pictured how he would react if she told him the truth. She was scared of people. She was scared of herself. Did he know that too? Just how much did he know of her, how much did he see? Something that had been floating at the back of her mind made her jump into action. She took off her kimono and walked naked to her bedroom. She pulled on a fitted red t-shirt and jeans, found a bag that she had stored under her bed, and she packed her kimono and a few articles of clothing. As she left her house she forgot to place her mask into place on her face. She was already too deep within herself for others to see her or for her to care if they did. She hopped onto the Queen streetcar and went west to Yonge Street, then south to Union station. She did not know where she was going, but did not stop until she was inside the station. She would look at train and bus times; take a cheap trip to some unknown town. Her only care was that it would be a place with a comfortable motel, where nobody knew her face. People crowded past her walking in every direction. They raced by, unseeing. She noticed a row of black plastic seats, and walked over to sit down and perused her train and bus schedule.

Amalia's Cat says:  Hey folks, this part's a bit rough, needs smoothing over, to paint the picture more clearly.  Suggestions as usual are always welcome.

"Fanguella." She has just sat down at the restaurant. She half expects to see Richard, but no, it was Douglas. "You're here early. Can I buy you a coffee?" He asked. She motioned for him to take the seat across from her. The dynamics between them have somehow changed. It was a kind of truce. As though they had each taken a shot at the other and they wee now on equal footing. They had each taken the other by surprise, been made to feel vulnerable, exposed, and now both felt that they were now on a more intimate, yet more risky footing. Douglas was curious. Who was this woman, what did she do, did she have a family, what made her tick, and especially, did she have other secrets that would be worth finding out? But instead of asking a more typical "so, what do you do?" he took a chance. After all, he did know one thing that made her tick. "So," he started, "I've been thinking about how your hand felt on my cock all day yesterday. You know, when you grabbed it. Did you like what you felt?" He had leaned over, and was looking intensely into her eyes, while at the same time, he had slipped off his sandal and allowed his bare foot to travel up her leg teasingly, pausing slowly to rub against her inner thigh. Fanguella was glad she had decided to wear her short suede skirt. His foot felt delicious against her bare legs, and she could hardly breath as she thought about her impulsive decision she had made while dressing this morning. When she had decided to forgo wearing any panties, she had mostly been imagining teasing him, not saying a thing, simply arranging for him to catch a glimpse of her as she'd bend down to pick up her purse. She had never imagined sitting down for coffee with this man, having him suddenly take control of the situation by reversing their roles and talking dirty to her. Talking dirty to her not over the phone, not in the middle of a sexual encounter but over a coffee in a restaurant in the middle of the day. He was also touching her. His foot was making its way up further between her legs, feeling her smooth inner thighs, and suddenly she stopped breathing. She almost wanted to push his foot away from sheer nervousness. He paused just short of her hot swollen cunt. He must be able to feel her tropical heat, she thought. But he kept pausing, looking at her expectantly. She suddenly remembered that he had asked her a question, in what felt like an eternity ago.
"It felt...good." She managed to choke out.
"How good" He whispered. Fanguella swallowed, then licking her lips she said,
" It felt thick and hard. I wanted... "
"What did you want he coaxed.
"I wanted to feel the silky skin of your cock. I wanted to feel its smooth hardness in my mouth, on my tongue. But mostly I wanted to look at it. It felt perfect in my hand, and I wanted see if it really was, I wanted to feel its thickness as I watched you part me with it."
As she said that last part, whispering, their eyes still locked, his bare foot came into contact with her naked cunt, the coarse hairs, and the wet opening that she had just mentioned. As surprise registered on his face at the sudden unexpected feel of hot flesh, Fanguella gasped at the sudden feel of his bare foot pressing against her aching cunt, under the table of convention, of common etiquette, where their two cups of coffee sat with a mask of casualness. "I though to surprise you, Fanguella, press my foot against your panties, help myself to a feel as you did with me. But it seems you have surprised me once again. My God your juicy,” His toes were rhythmically massaging her clit, his big toe was parting her, rubbing her inside. When the waitress came, she could hardly manage a polite no thank you, as she asked if they would like anything else. Then, glancing suddenly back at Douglas she added,
"Actually, could we get the bill?"
"No lunch today, Fanguella?" the waitress asked, since she knew her routine.
"I just thought of something I need to do." All this time Douglas had not removed his foot, his toes or the slow rhythm that was causing a thin film a sweat to form on her brow. Once the waitress had left, with an effort, Fanguella pushed his foot down from between her legs. She grabbed her purse, then his arm.
"Lets go." She said, and he followed her out the door.
"Where do you live" Fanguella asked, walking fast.
"Not far. I'm in one of those warehouses just at Carlaw Ave... So, are you married?" She sent him a dirty look.
"Not everyone wants to get married."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I was just wondering whom you might have been sending those sexy messages to. I've thought about it, and it seems as though your latere messages were spicier. I was wondering what happened to make the tension escalate in your messages. "
"Look. If you don't want to go through with this, if you can't handle it, then that's fine. Sex with a stranger isn't for everyone."
"I wonder who is really scared. Maybe it’s you who can't handle having sex with someone you know something about." They stopped walking. Fanguella paused.
"Ok. Going home with you does not make you privy to my personal life. If we had a foundation of friendship, a history longer then two days, that might call for some personal history. As it happens, we have neither." Her rudeness was starting to get to him. He stopped walking.
"Its called small talk. It’s also known as getting to know each other. Either you’re scared, or you've got something to hide. I'd like to know what else could be going on in your life besides these sexy phone calls." Fanguella was scared. It suddenly dawned on her. There was something about this guy that got to her. Something she feared that could be more then physical. But the way they had met, their relationship up to this point was not exactly the foundation for a relationship any more intimate then pure physical sex for its own sake. For her there was an unspoken rule. Don't get to know casual lovers too well because due to there very nature, they did not last. She regarded talking to Douglas as a threat. But he couldn't know that. She admitted to herself that she was being cold and abrupt and that it was not his fault but her own.
"If you must know, the sex change was a success, and my ex-wife has taken it quite nicely by recovering from her breakdown by killing herself....” He took her hand off of his arm, and started walking away. " I…I'm sorry." Called after him. "You're right. I tend to cover things up with sarcastic humor." He stopped walking and turned to look at her.
"No, I'm not married. I never have been. I am not in any relationship, and haven't been for some time. Perhaps because of this I've grown to be a very private person. And you were right. Something did happen to make my calls hotter." She decided not to be too specific. She couldn't after all be expected to give away all her secrets. She took his arm again and they resumed walking.
After a short silence, Fanguella, who had been holding Douglas' arm, stopped him. "What is it Douglas, that keeps you going every day, what is your reason? How is it that every day you can get up and go for lunch at the same spot and find enough meaning in that simple experience that you continue to do it day after day." Douglas stared at Fanguella. He gave her a deeply unsatisfying,
"I don't know” and they walked on in silence. Fanguella had to ask. She hadn't even meant to ask, only lately these questions had been bothering her. She was trying to live to her fullest, but her life seemed so narrow and insignificant of late. And she felt as though she could trust him to give her an honest response. One that might mean something to her.
"I get up every morning, because of the music in my head. The lyrics that float in and out of consciousness. I'm constantly in search of the perfect song that will sum up all of human experience, some universal truth that will say everything that people have always felt but been unable to put to words or music."
"You do this to connect." Fanguella added, nodding. " People do what they do whatever it may be in order to feel as though they are apart of something, connected to everything in some way. You do this with your music. Me, I have a way of knowing about people. Not always, but …I can read the symbols on the cards and see how they relate to a particular person. But behind this I know that what every single person seems to want, to need, is to connect, to feel as though they are part of something bigger." They were both silent for a moment. Then Fanguella continued in a quiet voice.
"When my best friend died, I lost that connection... You asked me before whom I left those messages for, I'll tell you. At first I was leaving them for myself. They didn't start out as sexy, and they weren't always sexy. Some people write, some people play music. I spoke. As I drew more and more out of my grieving, I began to connect more with other people, but first I had needed to connect with myself. That was how I did it. I am now learning to live with my grief, but I still enjoy the freeness of speaking to myself, of saying whatever I felt like saying. I never took offence. I tried being brutally honest. Erotic messages seemed a natural progression for me. I've been leaving messages for myself for a year now."
"Thank you for telling me that. I truly wondered. And I'm sorry for your loss." After a few more moments of silence Douglas asked,
"So tell me, do you save these tape recorded messages." they both laughed, the seriousness of the moment lightened.
"Of course." Fanguella smiled. "Not just that, but I've realized that there is an infinite supply of them. Different ones to suit different situations…care for a sample?" They had just reached the bushed area in front of his studio, and Fanguella, slid in front of him so that he had to stop walking.
"Do you see this little finger? I know over a hundred different ways to touch your body until you scream. You won't be sure if it is for me to stop, or for me to go on. Do you think you can handle me? I want to use your body in ways you've never even thought of before. I can't wait to see your ass. It's so perfect and round and firm in your jeans I want to tear your pants off and… Tell me, are you a virgin, … here?" she pressed the crack between the two round cheeks of his ass. I know spots up there that could make you scream for more. I want to tie you up and lick your body all over. All over." She whispered this as their lips touched yet she did not kiss him. It was Douglas who finally bruised her lips with the force of his lips and tongue and teeth. God, could he kiss! He was animalistic in one moment slow and teasing in the next.
They were already taking each other’s clothes off as they stepped into the building and walked down the hall to his door. They moved slowly, leaning against the wall kissing and groping and discarding clothes as they inched to his door when suddenly the door they were just passing and leaning on heavily opened, sending them crashing to the floor. Fanguella sprawled on top of Douglas, their hands stuck between their half clothed bodies.
"New girlfriend, Douglas?" a woman in gray track pants and short purple hair asked, after a shocked moment.
"Ah no! I mean yes! I mean I don't know!"
"Ah it's like that, then. I guess no one was knocking after all."
"Yeah, sorry Jill." They scrambled up, straightening clothes as best they could, while Jill closed the door, looking away with shy embarrassment. They looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
"That scared the shit right out of me!"
"Oh God, that was right out of a movie!"
"And she's my shyest neighbor, too!" They were talking and laughing at the same time, catching their breath as they continued down the stark hall with the burnt out bulb. Once they reached his purple steel door, walking this time, they stopped, and Douglas regarded Fanguella, with a small smile and the warmth left over from their shared laughter.
"You're beautiful when you laugh. Your face becomes less guarded, softer. I've wanted to ruffle you ever since I saw you" he added wickedly, just as he leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips, and then again.
Fanguella was feeling dizzy from the laughter, from his kisses, from the warm way that he was looking at her. Her heart beat faster, and she knew fear. She could lose herself in this man, completely, lose all self respect, lose all control. How dare he look at her like that? She liked who she was when she was unruffled, how dare he set out to ruffle her, to make her fall for him, all as some kind of a, a, sick game to ruffle the bitch who was so rude to him, who had groped him, a stranger, now he was trying to get her to fall for him, simply so he can ruffle this chicks feathers, well this was not going to happen. This was more then she could take. And calling her usual expression guarded? Was she so transparent? What else did he see? Suddenly Fanguella felt completely exposed, and vulnerable. Worse, she felt like crying. What was wrong with her? Before she could allow him to see her vulnerability on her naked face, she quickly put back in place her cool look, and she smiling coldly, as if amused as she told him, "Well yes, you've certainly managed to ruffle this birds feathers," and with that she turned and started to walk away, replacing her shirt, and pulling her skirt down as she went.
"Fanguella." He called gently. She kept walking. "Fanguella" he called again, louder this time, but just as gentle. She stopped walking, but did not turn around, did not want him to see her face.
"What's wrong."
I can't take your honesty" she threw over her shoulder, and for a second, Douglas saw her face. Yes, she was ruffled all right, but not in the way he had wanted to see her ruffled. She was crying. And then, she was gone.

Damn. Fanguella couldn't listen to that bloody message of his until Mrs. York was gone. Mrs. York was a regular and was very concerned about two of her grandchildren in particular this time. Timothy, who was eight has tonsillitis and might have to get his tonsils removed, and this concerned her because she knew how understaffed the hospitals were nowadays and that the doctors were probably stressed out. The other one, Jessica was fourteen, and the family was scared that she might be taking drugs. She booked for a full hour, and even went over time because she needed to talk about it, as she was quite distraught. Fanguella dropped both of their empty teacups into the sink and barely stopped herself from running for the phone. She made herself wash the cups first, place them in the drainer, before she allowed herself to walk through the kitchen, and into her living room to pick up the phone and dial into her messages.
"It's me. You left me a very interesting message. I want you, and I want to do all that to you and more. When we fuck, I don't want you to stop talking in that sexy voice of yours. It really turns me on. Then, I want you to turn me over, and peg me. Yes, I want to feel you fucking me with a strap on, and I want to feel your tits bouncing and pressing up against my back while you fuck me with a double sided dildo. I want to hear all those sexy sounds you'll be making breathed hotly into my ear. Next time, it won't be through a phone that I will be hearing them." Fanguella stared at the phone, shocked. Peg him? She’d never even heard of that before now, and this was supposed to be her specialty?!! Yet, the more she thought about it, the more intrigued she became. She would be able to see what it was like from the other side, from the man's side. She'd be fucked by a dildo as well, but with the man with his back to her. She'd be plowing into a man for a change. And she knew that there was a certain spot, right up the ass that if she could reach it by fucking him with a dildo, she would drive him mad. But damn, it wasn't exactly her specialty! Maybe… it ought to become her specialty, she thought smiling to herself. Putting the phone she was holding back onto its cradle. Pegging. She was becoming more and more intrigued by the idea.

Just then Mr. Richard O'something walked in.
"Hi” He said smiling widely over perfect teeth and exposing a single dimple on his tanned right cheek. "You must be Ms. Fanguella Sangcoci,” That voice.
"Have we met before, Mr. O'...yes I'm sure there is something familiar about you." That was a good cover-up for not remembering his name, but there really was something about that voice. Was she going to be imagining everyone that she meets as possibly the man who had left her that sexy message? It would definitely not be a bad thing if it were him, she thought, looking him up and down. As she took his coat for him he answered,
"Well, your voice does sound familiar now that you mention it." She froze, then caught herself.
"Well, Richard, let's just sit down here and get started. Maybe it'll come to one of us later. Put your hands flatly on mine please, and I'd like just a moment of silence please. It's just my way of feeling your energy so that I can get focused onto you."
Fanguella couldn't concentrate though. He gave a slight chuckle, husky, like the one on her machine. Was it? and those hands of his. Large, firm, strong hands. Looked like they would know just what to do. She moved on quickly to the cards. The first card that she turned over. The devil card. She looked up at his smiling face and then she knew.
"How did you find me?” she whispered.
"Your address isn't exactly unlisted. So tell me, do you randomly go through the phonebook and leave messages like that on every ones machine, or was I just lucky?"
"It was not meant for you. She somehow choked out. "I - it was for my own machine. I got the wrong number, and… someone distracted me. So I never even realized. "
"But you called back. What did you want"? He had taken her hands and placed them flat against his own, just as she had done a moment earlier. All the while, he wore an expectant smile, his head tilted slightly as he appeared to listen closely to her response.
"I wanted..." She was quacking inside. Scared. Who was this man, yet she was already feeling very uncomfortable in her clothes. This time she was not on top of things. This game, she no longer wrote the rules to. Why was he here? She wondered, not that she wanted to answer yet she felt she already knew the answer. What did he want, expect of her? A part of her was too terrified to talk, yet her feet were glued to the floor. She asked any way.
"Why are you here." His laugh did sound like it had come from the devil. "I want you to tell me my fortune. What does my future hold.” She made sure her cold calm expression was on as she looked back at him, pulling her hands out of his. She turned over the next card.
"This card tells of a great need for control in your life… This one tells of a woman who will help you with this need. And others." She looked up at him, and slowly she licked her lips. She was still quacking inside, yet she was unable to stop.
"This one shows the picture of a tall glass tower, with no windows or doors. It symbolizes feelings of isolation... I can help with that…" As she said this, she walked slowly around the table to him.
"I know a window that may have been overlooked. " She dropped to her knees, unzipped his pants, "Tell me Richard, may I call you...Dick?" and she took his large pulsing member deep into her mouth. She sucked him hard and slow, increasing the rhythm so she could feel the head of his cock pounding against the back of her throat. Suddenly he took her head between his hands and made her stand.
"Take your clothes off. I want to fuck you with this big fat ol' cock of mine and make your cunt pulse" He mimicked her words. Yet he remained clothed. This made her nervous. He was after all a strange man sitting in her own front room, where she lived alone. He claimed to be the devil. The cards had warned her as well. She was scared. She was thrilled, she couldn't move, so he took control. He took a small pocketknife from his pocket.
"Don't be scared sweetheart, I don't enjoy inflicting pain. This is only for the clothes. I love the sound of tearing." The buttons to her shirt he merely pulled off and ripped her shirt open to reveal her round lush breasts with no bra. He pushed them together just as she had mentioned in her phone message. She remembered what came next and started breathing heavily in anticipation. He sucked her nipples one at a time biting softly. His hands felt like they were everywhere at once leaving a trail of hot shivers and again she felt scared. What were his fantasies? She had not yet listened to his message to her from today. But his hands and his mouth, moving everywhere, licking, sucking, biting, grasping, pulling, scratching, she was growing dizzy. And she still couldn't remember his last name. Next thing she knew he was cutting her pants in two with that pocketknife of his. The material tore loudly. His hands were on her thighs grasping massaging, working there way up her leg with the scratch of his nails. Mmmm. Just enough pressure. And then his fingers found her. He pulled at her pubes gently, rubbing her lips together, one wet finger on her clit as though he were rolling it into a ball and then his finger was there. At her wet entrance. Yet his finger did not enter it yet. He was talking. He was telling her about the size of his cock, how good it will make her feel once he put it inside of her. How it would feel like he was splitting her open with something hot, and his cock knew all the right spots. But not yet. Maybe not even today. Today he wanted to play with her, maybe taste her a little first.
"Yes, lick me, I want your finger up my cunt and another up my ass. I want to feel your naked body, and especially that beautiful cock. But first." She wanted to see him before she could hardly move or think straight enough to get his clothes off.
She stood up, and took the penknife from his grasp and tore open his white shirt, and his black dress pants with the ironed crease, the sound thrilling her. She gaped at his wide shoulders with hard rounded muscles, and smooth tanned skin. His chest and abdomen were muscled and hard as well, ripples that she couldn't help but dive into with her mouth and hands, digging, wanting to own it, pull it off of him, biting, sucking, feasting. But that horrible underwear, blocking everything. It had to go. She needed to explore, she had to, and she was glad for her little knife that would finish the job quickly. With a quick cut, the underwear was off in a second and his cock seemed to bound out with a life of its own.
"Not so fast." He said. "I wasn't finished yet. I believe I was right… here" he placing a finger right at the entrance of her cunt, "and here" he added, placing his lips around her clit. She couldn't just stand there, her knees were buckling; he picked her up, and placed her lying down on the table. The parlor had suddenly gotten dark, and thunder could be heard as lightning flashed the skies momentarily lighting his face from the shadows of the storm. His face looked intense, his pupils looked dilated just before he closed them. His face looked both relaxed and tense at the same time. Devil and God. He was sucking with such gentle passion that as much as she loved to watch, her eyes closed on there own.
One finger crept over to massage her ass before gently inserting itself. Another finger was sliding in and out of her wet and tightening pussy. He'd slow the rhythm telling her
"You taste better then anything, like the juiciest fruit. I can't get enough." She could feel that hard silky cock of his rubbing rhythmically against her leg as he devoured her until suddenly it was too much. He could feel her go still then start to shake.
"OH my God Oh my God OH my God!" her legs squeezed his face both wanting it closer wanting those lips to never stop but also thinking, this is too much- this is too much as she tried to both stop him, and draw him closer in that same instance.
"Not the devil after all?" He jested, still lying between her legs. She could feel his soft dark hair brush against her thigh and belly. She couldn't answer. She lifted his head away gently, rolled over onto her stomach and arched her back cat like.
"Mmmmm." She said as a satisfied cat, as she licked her lips and said as she climbed over his face first one leg then the other leaving him a view, and then she rubbed her front along his, hard meeting soft until she reached what she was looking for.
"Mmmm, I've got quite an appetite after that." She wrapped her fingers around his still throbbing cock and gave it a little lick. She laughed huskily, then she gave it hard little licks up and down before she lathered it with her full tongue and took him completely into her mouth for one hard suck. But only one, because then she gave that low laugh again and started making her way down his leg instead, licking and biting, sucking and massaging. She aimed for his inner thigh, behind his knee, his ankle. She turned him over onto his stomach and made her way up his leg until she reached his ass. She licked her finger and massaged his anus for a minute before inserting a finger. Keeping her finger in his ass, she turned him over and took each ball into her mouth with slow sensual movements, her other hand holding his cock firmly as though she were pumping it. Next she bit his inner thigh, breathed hot air on the sensitive dripping tip of his cock but then she could wait no longer. She took his cock into the wet cavern of her mouth as though she were ready to swallow it whole, like she hadn't eaten in days and was starving to be filled up. And he filled her up as she worked on him, up and down, her hand working along with her mouth, her finger closest to his balls found that secret hard sensitive spot just between his balls while her other hand still filled his ass massaging it in and out all in the same rhythm of her soft wet mouth. Finally it became too much for him, he was grunting, yet unable to stop the explosion. He came with such strength that the air left him in a loud moan and his cum shot out covering them both in hot wetness. She lay down on top of him his cum mixed with both of their sweat between them, and for a while neither of them could speak. It was then that the doorbell rang.
"Oh, shit I forgot about my next client. I'll be back. Let me just let her in.
"I'll tidy up in here for you" he said with a sigh of disappointment, pulling his spare clothes on from his black briefcase, much to Fanguella's amusement. Damn. This guy came prepared, and confident. She liked that, she thought as she left to get her kimono and a hair towel for her hair. Her client was early. Might as well pretend that she was just out of the shower, and ask her to wait.
Dressed in her kimono and hair towel, she returned to her parlor after having settled her next client in the kitchen with the kettle on for tea. Mr. Richard O'something had tidied up all her cards, candles and other knickknacks, had wiped down the table with a cloth and stood there leaning against the table fully dressed in a new suit. He looked as though nothing at all had happened except for that hot look he gave her when she walked into the room. She smiled cat like, as was her style, and went to him, opening her kimono to rub her bare body against his fully clothed one.
"You have talent. Your cards have been very accurate. When can I make another appointment?"
"Today is Tuesday, and Wednesday I've got a full schedule… Thursday?"
"Sounds good. Why don't we start thinking about my suggestion that I made in my last call, hmmm? For Thursday." He said, his hands running up and down her body.
"That Mr. Dick" she answered, "is my specialty.”

Fanguella went straight to her phone and dialed her own number the minute she got home. "Grabbed a strange man's cock today at the restaurant. It was large, AND hard. He was beautiful. Note to self. Make this a habit." She hung up the phone. Laughed out loud and began to prepare for her one thirty appointment with a Mr. Richard O'something. As she got out her cards, her tape recorder and paper and pencil, she thought of Douglas. He had stumped her for a moment, when he had asked her why she did what she did. It wasn't just the question itself, but the tone, the sincerity, and honest curiosity. His incredibly warm eyes, the eyes of some one who has had his fun at another persons expense, yet who had really meant no harm. Who seemed to care what she answered, care enough about her, who was a complete stranger to wonder about her motives. He made it impossible to lie, or be flippant. He had made her see behind his playful, and irritating public face to the man within. It was a naked moment. Not that banter that she could have used so well to keep him at a distance, none of the jokes, no opening for her to be snappy and rude. All she could do in that situation was to answer honestly. But to have answered, "I don't know", she hated that. She hated that she had revealed that she doesn't always know her own motives, doesn't always plan. It seemed to her that to answer "I don't know" to anything was somehow dimwitted. She didn't like that. It made her vulnerable to someone she hardly knew, exposed. That was what made her grab his cock. She had a feeling he wouldn't react too badly, and in that way she was able to turn the tables. Maybe it had made him forget her moment of uncertainty. Yet she did not want to lose the moment completely. It opened a window on him for her. He was honest in that moment. He was gentle. It was intimate, and she didn't want to forget that and she didn't want him to either. Hopefully her grabbing his cock did not diminish the moment. If only she had waited even just a moment longer so that she could gouge out his reaction to her bold hands, if only she had not turned her cowardly back on him and run away. She knew her coolness; she knew she could pull things off without making it look anything but planned, cool and calculated. It was that her honestly cowardly reaction was sure to be taken as calculated that bothered her. But to be recognized as a coward was not much better. Damn. If he did take it well she'll know it by his reaction to her tomorrow. She felt pretty sure that her hands slid over him in such a way that he could not be anything but pleased, and she planned to do absolutely nothing tomorrow. Except that she may have a slight oversight while dressing tomorrow. She just might forget to put any panties on under her short suede skirt.

Douglas stood for a moment, feeling uncertain as he watched her retreating back. What the hell was that? But then who cares. There was no telling what this woman would do next. He was loving it. He stood in indecision for a moment, wondering if she had expected him to follow. But then if she had, she could have given an invitation. She had not. She seemed to have simply copped a feel and then dismissed him. He walked out of the little hallway where the phone and washrooms stood, cleared his bill and left. There was always tomorrow, and it would do her some good to think about just what it was that she felt today. He knew he was nothing to cough at. He had also made most of the moves, shit she had started by being very rude to him, a stranger, since after all she didn't know that he had been listening to her calls at the time. She had also accused him of rudely gawking at her luscious body, and then there she was helping herself to his! No, he would wait and see what she would do next. One thing he knew for sure though. Somehow or other, she was gong to end up in his bed, and it was going to be her idea. By then he had arrived at his work live studio on Carlaw Avenue off of Queen street east. As he was letting himself in, a thought came to him for a new song. She has eyes of a cat/and she knows what she's after/ she has sophistication/ yet she's as wild as a tiger/what she wants/she helps herself to/today she just happened to help herself to you. The words were a little rough, but the melody itself was clear as a bell. He set to work.
After a few hours of jamming and writing, he fixed himself a coffee, Double cream, double sugar, organic gourmet coffee. Going to drink that poison might as well do it right, he thought, as he rummaged through his cluttered kitchen table for a spoon that would no doubt need washing, looking forward to his first sip. Found one, wiped it off, stirred and sipped. Mmm. He walked lazily over to his studio space and sat on a stool beside which leaned his guitar. Douglas thought again about Fanguella. Couldn't help himself. He was not going to make it easy for her. He knew her type. She was looking for a plaything, and he had no problem with that, but he intended to play as well. He wanted to have her begging for more from him and not simply helping herself as the need arises. He planned to be helping himself as well. She was too sure of herself. She didn't seem to give a shit. But then she did have this dude that she leaves those messages to. Who the hell was this lucky bastard? Suddenly he felt an overwhelming obsession to know. If this is her boyfriend, just what kind of relationship do they have, anyhow? Is it one of those open ones where each of them can date whomever they please with their partner's blessing? Had they broken up and she was trying to coax him back into the relationship? Good technique he thought. Maybe she made lots of um, friends and helps herself to other men as well as to me. Shit. He didn't like that last one. He didn't like the idea that she would be one up on him in this experience since he had never done that kind of thing before. That is, helped himself to a stranger in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe he should help himself?

Before she left for the restaurant for brunch, Fanguella checked her machine again to find out when that sexy message had been left. She was going to call him back, only she hadn't admitted it to herself yet. She decided that this morning which is what she called the noon hour, this morning she would leave another sexy message on a machine. only this time it would not be her own. and this time she knew just what she was doing. Just as she was going for the phone at the restaurant, someone cut in front of her to reach the phone before her. That same bloody exasperating man from the day before. He glanced up, gave her a bright innocent smile and wave, and it seemed to her that his teeth positively glinted. Here was a troublemaker. This jerk was obviously trying to get to her, to piss her off. He was like one of those schoolboys who would tease the girl he has a crush on by taking her pencil or pulling her braid. She decided to finish her brunch first. He didn't need to know that it was working, that she was pissed off, that to her this meant war. When he finally got off the phone he passed her table as he left and she said sweetly, "Oh! You might want to take that toilet paper off your shoe." He glanced down, and as he was pulling the long white paper from off of his shoe, he noticed her opening her purse as she got up to go to the phone.
"s'funny," he commented, "I find I need to use the washroom." He made a show of opening the door to the men's room that stood just beside the phone, and going in. Fanguella refused to be fazed. She dialed the number quickly. She got the machine.
"I was thinking about you last night. I was thinking about what you might look like, with that big fat ol' cock of yours fucking me so hard that I felt my cunt flex. I couldn't help but try to picture it. I put my hands on my breasts and pushed them together as I listened to your message as I imagined you might do. I let my hands trail down my stomach and my hands massaged my thighs, squeezing them before I trailed my nails up them, and I reached in-between them. My cunt was so hot and wet already, and it was just from listening to your voice. Call me back. Tell me more." As she hung up she allowed herself a small smile, and almost immediately after the phone reached its cradle, Mister No Life Of His Own popped out of the washroom.
"So how's granny?"
"If you must know, I think I made her feel better".
"I pray only that when I'm an old grampa that I have a grand-daughter just like you to make me feel better." Fanguella didn't answer right away. She had to catch her breath. She couldn't help but be secretly excited that this beautiful man had heard every word that she had said. It was like having sex and knowing that someone was watching but not letting on that she knew. It excited her to know that she had excited him.
"What's your name." She demanded. "
I'm Douglas. And I thought you didn't even like me." He grinned. He couldn't help being obnoxious, wanting to ruffle her. She looked so calm and collected yet he had been listening to the messages she has been leaving for a few days now; and those messages where anything but calm and cool. They were so hot and sexy, they were so raw and animalistic, he wanted to fuck her right here and now. Against the wall beside the phone. He could hardly help what came out of his mouth, he couldn't think straight after that last message she had left. His pants were uncomfortably tight. He put his hands in his pockets to readjust himself.
"Need any help, gramps?" His mouth fell open; he wasn't sure how to respond. After all he had flirted a little with her but she had not given any indication that she was into him as well. She most likely disliked him. He had after all been listening in to her conversations for a few days now, and had in fact admitted as much. She was of course toying with him. If only, he thought.
"Look. I've been acting like a schoolboy, skulking in corners, behaving like a rude and crazed man. I'm not sorry for listening in, but I am sorry for telling you I was doing it. I had no business putting you on the defensive... Why is it though that you use a public phone when you leave messages like that? Did you want people to hear you?"
Fanguella was thrown. This was a very different approach he was taking. He even recognized the whole schoolboy analogy that she herself had come up with for him only moments before. He had asked such an honest question, and he did not seem to be judging her. Honestly, she had never really thought about it herself. From the first time she had left herself a message, she did not plan it so much as respond and act on an urge. To question it would have been to kill the moment. Now she was stumped for the moment.
"I don't know,” she answered softly looking him in the eye.
"What's your name." He asked in that same soft voice.
" Fanguella.". He nodded, and was about to return to his seat when she said suddenly,
"You didn't answer my question. You need any help?" She asked in a slow voice, eyes trained on his face. He stared at her for a moment, looked down at his still too tight jeans, and shrugged. Before he could say anything, her hand was gripping him over his jeans, feeling the length of his long hard cock up and down, in a slow sensual massage. She pushed down with the flat of her hand onto the tip and whispered,
"There. Is that better, grampa?" He opened his mouth to say "much" but when he tried, no words came out, so great was his surprise and pleasure. He tried again, and this time it worked.
"Much". She simply gave him a small smile, and walked away to return to her table.

Amalia's Cat says: Part 2 of Fanguella

Just to let you all know, that most of these parts have not been edited or polished. There may be inconsistencies that if you find, feel free to point them out. Any comments are welcome.

Silky kimono dressing gown, no pajamas. Fanguella loved the feel of silk. Glass of red wine in hand, Masi Amaroni. Not as good as she remembered, but decent, she thought, sipping it where she sat with her feet tucked under her on the carpeted floor in front of the couch. Ten o'clock and she was exhausted. Alone in the quiet of home, the white noise of work, and rushing, and other people's world's crashing into her own, and yet she feared these alone times most of all. They felt heavy, sucking at her, loud. Only this was her own noise, refusing to be ignored, refusing to be blocked out by sleep however much she needed it.
Fanguella could not handle the concept of time. The way it flowed, how sometimes it felt as though it stopped, or that she could step outside of it, but never for long. It was a most faithful follower in life. She feared she would turn around and suddenly it would be gone. The same way her mother used to call with a faithful dogged regularity to insult her and criticize her, before going on to discuss other things on a pleasant tone as though she had not just hinted at the fact that there must be something wrong with a woman who at her age still wasn't married. At her age hadn't had a steady boyfriend in years. Not to mention made her money weaseling money out of poor desperate people who come to her in search of hope, and for whom she makes up futures with the use of phony cards, and a kindly look. And if those cards really were telling her anything then it was surely from the devil, so she lost either way.
Not that Fanguella didn't worry about the devil, she did. She feared he could shapeshift into any creature he wanted, to watch over people, to listen to their thoughts and make their fears reality. It was a deeper part of Fanguella that thought that way, that feared. Mostly Fanguella would sip her wine with cool indifference and mock herself, laugh at her own fears, her own imagined inadequacies that this deeper voice inside her would hint at. She would pretend to agree, look herself in the mirror and mouth the words to herself. Fanguella you're a phony. If you are touched with any powers it is the art of shuffling cards, of faking sincerity to others, and then faking indifference to yourself. Of course, she would tell herself, you only do it because it is the only thing you can do. She did not agree. Yet when she said the words, when she tried to laugh, she found only tears. And a set of eyes that were her own yet would dart around as if with a mind of their own searching searching for the devil hiding in some corner, shapeshifting into a moth on the wall, the yowling cat in her yard. Wiping at her face with a tissue from the box on the side table, Fanguella sniffed, mopped at her nose, pushed her hair back. Now. She needed to listen to that message Now. She dialed the number to her answering machine, pressed in her code and listened. A mans voice. "Hi. I got your message. I'm so glad you left a number so that I could return your call. Because I've been wanting to tell you how badly I want you to suck me every minute of every day, as you so generously suggested. I like your voice. It’s high and girly yet husky and hot. I want to hear it screaming as you cum with my large cock inside of you. I want you to call my name. I know that the name you will call me will either be Oh God or Satan have mercy. I want you badly. I know I can make you scream. You won't believe I'm real. But I am. Call me. 416 698 0201." Click. No more new messages. The phone nearly broke from the force with which she had hung it up. That was NOT the message she had left herself. How? If that bloody ass from the restaurant hadn't distracted her she would have realized that she had in fact misdialled. And left a total stranger a hot message with a return phone number. Oh God. Or Satan? She began to laugh. For what it was worth, that was one hell of a sexy message he had left her. And a rich deep voice that did not sound older then creation as he had claimed he might be. Quickly she redialed her own number and left herself a message. "You've been found out my deary. Caught in your own game. We’ve practiced leaving these messages for some other purpose after all. The supernatural phone sex master has returned your call. Role the dice sweetie. Our turn is up. Do we return the call?"

Fanguella picked up the payphone and began to dial her own number, just as she has been doing everyday for a week now. It used to be more sporadic, but lately she has needed to do it more often. Fanguella lived alone. After listening to her own chipper girly voice, she would then whisper into the receiver after the beep, but just as her answering machine clicked on, the man behind her asked if she was going to be a while.
"Yes, it could take a long while. It is also a very personal and private discussion. I would appreciate it if you would look for another phone elsewhere." She said this coldly, disdainfully. She did not break a smile. In fact she rarely did. The man, obviously a Canadian born and raised, apologized effusively for interrupting her, and probably never even realized that it was in fact she who had been rude. With a start Fanguella, a little flustered, heard the beep.
"I've missed you." She quickly whispered into the phone. "It's as if I haven't seen you in a life time. All I can think of is that perfect round ass and that place I think about sucking every minute of every day that is just on the other side of it. It's been too long. Call me soon or you’re in trouble... Have you forgotten? 416 691-2410. " As she breathed out the last Ohhh in her own number, she hung up the phone and stood for a moment in indecision. Should she dial into her machine now or wait until she gets home to listen to it? Quickly she reached into her wine red satin purse for a quarter, spilling the change onto the floor in her rush. The apologetic man, apparently realizing a bit late that she had been rude and possibly a liar as well since she was already off the phone, rushed over and picked up the phone from her hand while she was scrambling for her change.
She looked up cold and expressionless, as though his behavior was not at all offensive and she was not at all affected by it. He did likewise, rubbing his nose, looking her in the eye for a moment extra, and he was about to look away when something caught his attention. Fanguella had the roundest lushest breasts he had ever seen. She was evidently braless in a tight kakhi shirt. Her breasts bounced around as she scurried for change. Her nipples began to peak through in response to his stare. He looked up at her face again, his cold mask from earlier was replaced by a look of surprise. She raised a brow at him. A thin arched black brow that matched her exaggeratingly long curling black lashes. She wore no makeup, and her hair was slightly mussed from the windy October day. It fell just past her chin in large loose curls that took some of the edge off of her mostly cold expressionless face. He wanted to put expression there. Fuck, he wanted to see her scream in a loss of that incredible control she held. He gave her a wolfish smile. She noticed perfect teeth and the softest sensual mouth she had ever seen on a man. A devil's goatee, dark blue eyes. Feeling flustered, yet with cold expression still intact she grabbed for the rest of her change, aware of his eyes on her. Oh, she was getting really pissed off now. She wanted him, her whole body felt hot and tight with a new energy. But there was no way she would let him get away with that rude stare and smile. As though she had invited him to look at her, as though he might have some chance with her. Even if he did, he didn't know that, and therefor, he had no business exposing his thoughts to her with such a blatant look. She knew how to put people like him in his place. With a quick zip of her change purse, she got up abruptly, and pressed the receiver down hanging up the phone for him.
"What the hell do you think your doing?" He started to say, but she cut him off, "Who the hell do you think you are that you can look at me as though you had half a chance at so much as licking the soles of my feet. You don't give a woman bedroom eyes, unless she has welcomed you into her bedroom." She grabbed the phone from him and started to dial. He made no attempt to stop her, instead he inquired,
"Just who is this lover that you leave such hot messages to every day at lunch in this restaurant?"
"So you've been following me. And listening in to my phone calls to my dear old granny. Why." He grinned at the granny comment then replied,
"I just moved around here and started coming here for lunch. I was coming out of the washroom about four days ago when I first accidentally overheard you on the phone. I'm here nearly every day for lunch, and after that first time that I had accidentally overheard you, I couldn't help but find that I had to go to the bathroom around the same time that you just happened to be going for the phone. When you gotta go you gotta go I guess! Today out of curiosity I decided to talk to you, see what you might be like." At this point they had both forgotten about the war over the phone. Fanguella gave him a disgusted look.
"Judging by your manners, I suppose that you are very used to rejection by now. Be seeing you."
"It's been a pleasure," he called after her sarcastically as she marched off.
"Real." She shot back.
She had already paid her bill and was home in less then a five-minute walk. She decided she would wait until the end of the day before she would listen to her message to herself. She might need it more then.