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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Wishes (MF) {Kellis}
Date: Fri, 18 Aug 2000 20:10:09 -0400
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Wishes
a Short Story by Kellis
August, 2000
"Joseph, can you hear me?"
His eyelids fluttered open. A beautiful woman hovered over him,
looking down with interest and a slight smile. He thought, *Aunt
Ellen used to smile exactly that way* -- and realized that this
face indeed belonged to Aunt Ellen, a much younger one, however,
than the wrinkled visage of his last memories. The hair was
short around her head as she had liked it, but brown now instead
of gray. She wore the man's white short-sleeved shirt, tails
tied under her breasts as he recalled from the summers of his
childhood. A heart-shaped locket dangled from a gold chain
around her neck. Uncle Gene's purple heart? But Aunt Ellen had
produced no progeny. Who was this that so resembled her?
"Joseph," she repeated in Aunt Ellen's exact tones, now
exhibiting impatience, "you're looking at me. I don't believe
you can't hear me."
"I hear you," he said in a crisp voice. "Who are you?"
She nodded, then cocked an eyebrow. "I'm certain you remember
me."
He shook his head. "I'm trying to figure you out. You are the
exact image of my aunt Ellen, the woman who raised me. But Aunt
Ellen had no sibling and no child. Or did she mislead us all?"
"I never told you a lie, Joseph."
He took a breath, studying her. "You claim to know me?"
"I know you very well, Joseph." Her smile had gone. The eyes on
his were steady, the same almost-green that he remembered.
He felt the beginnings of a chill. "Who ... who are you, then?"
"You know me, Joseph. I'm your Blue J."
The chill strengthened. He felt hair rising on his temples. He
said hesitantly, "Aunt Ellen ... might've told somebody ..."
Her expression didn't change. "Besides you, no one ever
discovered it after Gene."
"Aunt Ellen had other men."
She nodded. "A few, but always at night, in the dark. Except
you."
He shivered. The involuntary movement annoyed him. Compressing
his lips, he declared, "You want me to believe you *are* Aunt
Ellen!"
She smiled Aunt Ellen's slight smile. "Raise up on your elbow,
Joseph, where you can see."
He was lying in a single bed, his body covered by a white sheet.
He raised himself as she directed, noting peripherally the taut
musculature of his bare right arm, but concentrating on her brief
beige shorts, cut off from her dead husband's britches, that she
had also liked to wear in those long-ago summers. Her legs as
far down beside the bed as he could see were pink, shapely and
full.
Her hands were already at the front buttons. As he watched, she
fully unbuttoned the fly, slid her fingers under the pink panties
thus exposed and forced both garments down her thighs, bending to
push them below her knees. Her bare right foot stepped out of
the clothing and rose to perch upon his bedside.
His wide eyes stopped first at the thick pubic bush, dark and
wiry as he remembered, then came to rest upon the tattoo inside
her right thigh, just below the line of the groin. It was the
five-pointed solid blue star, about an inch tall, with the
enclosed bright red J, that he had discovered on a memorable day
during his sixteenth year. She had explained that her new
husband had wanted to mark her as his woman, a proposition to
which she was wholly agreeable, but the artist had misunderstood
Gene's first name as "Jean," with a contrary result. The
enthralled lad had seized upon it. The artist must have been
prescient. J meant *Joseph*. He had proceeded with the aid of
her inducements to take possession of his "Blue J" more
thoroughly than even Gene had managed. Ellen had learned a few
things since Gene's failure to return from Vietnam.
The image now exhibited was crisper than he remembered, its
colors more vivid, as it must have appeared a year or two after
its application, while Gene was still alive, while Joseph was a
small boy in the arms of a mother not yet destroyed along with
father and sister in a fiery automobile crash. Orphaned at five,
he was not to see the J, called blue though it was actually red,
until he had lived eleven years with Aunt Ellen, his legal
guardian, the childless widow of his father's brother. By that
time the edges had begun to blur.
His face was hardly a foot away from her crotch. The extension
of her leg pulled the labia slightly apart. He took a breath and
smelled her femaleness. His eyes rose at last to find hers
twinkling. "Convinced?" she asked.
He grunted. "I *want* to be! But Aunt Ellen must have shown
somebody. It's the only rational explanation."
The foot came down from the bed but the woman only stepped free
of the clothing entangled on her other foot. "What do you
remember, Joseph?"
"I remember Aunt Ellen, old, wrinkled, gray, then smooth-faced
again in her casket."
The voice softened. "Did you cry at my funeral, Joseph?"
"I couldn't help it. Aunt Ellen was the only -- Damn it, cut
this out! How could you *possibly* be Aunt Ellen? I personally
scattered her ashes off Brighton Bridge."
"Thank you for that, Joseph... You've looked at me. Now look at
yourself." She tilted her head toward the wall. "There's a full
length mirror on that door."
He hesitated. "I seem to be naked."
She tilted her head indulgently, another gesture so typical of
Aunt Ellen. "I've seen you naked countless times, Joseph."
He threw off the sheet, bounded to his feet beside the bed -- and
pulled up short. He recalled only too well the last time he had
departed a bed under his own power. That maneuver, undertaken
with the nurse out of the room, had required most of his
remaining strength plus all his capacity to concentrate, yet
still had resulted in a fall and a broken hip. Now he stood
confidently, correcting his balance with the thoughtless ease of
youth. Incredulous, he looked down at himself, seeing a flat
belly and smooth unveined legs lightly dusted with the hair that
had departed them before he was 60. His toenails were clear and
perfectly rounded.
He raised wide eyes to the woman. "My god, Aunt Ellen!"
She smiled, perhaps at the implicit recognition of her identity,
but reminded him, "The mirror, Joseph."
Almost reluctantly he moved to stand before the door. The image
reflected to him was that of the young man he had been in
university, slim but muscular from workouts in the gym. He was
clean-shaven, but a thick shock of close-cut hair adorned his
head. Wiry hair curled on ample pectorals. The image was
beautiful, but ...
"Who's that?" he asked, staring around at the woman.
Her smile widened. "You don't recognize him? Oh, I surely do!"
She came up behind him. Her cool arms encircled his chest.
Pubic hair tickled his buttocks. She peered over his shoulder at
the twin image. "Oh, Joseph!"
Suddenly she frowned and withdrew long enough to untie the shirt
tails and shrug out of the garment. Then her arms re-enclosed
him and she pressed warm breasts into his back. She kissed his
shoulder and the nape of his neck. He felt her tongue like a wet
firebrand.
Together they watched her hands creep down his firm belly and
play among the reflected genitals. His hands closed over hers.
He sighed, "Aunt Ellen, how long has it been?"
Her reflected eyes twinkled. "Who cares, Joseph? It won't be
long now."
"But how can this *be*? Am I dead?"
"Do you feel dead, Joseph? I can assure you, *this* part is
certainly not dead!"
He ceased to think of questions. He rotated within her arms,
pulled her against him once again and covered her mouth with his
own. His whole body resonated to her tongue as it had not done
in 30 years. When at last their lips parted, he mumbled, "Aunt
Ellen, when --"
"It's now, Joseph."
He laid her back on the bed. Her body opened and her legs
enwrapped him in paradise. He knew he had felt this before, long
ago, but now the poignancy of comparison to enfeebled age made it
overwhelming. When they had groaned in mutual orgasm, he pressed
a wet cheek against hers. His tears wet her hair.
"That was wonderful, Joseph," she murmured, relaxing, a gentle
hand caressing the back of his neck as only Aunt Ellen had ever
done at such a time.
"Oh, god, Aunt Ellen!" he whispered fervently. "I never hoped to
have you again."
"I'm yours now, Joseph, completely, at last."
He rose off her, rolling to his side, propping his head up on an
elbow to study her. She endured his gaze with her slight smile.
After a while she turned somewhat toward him and threw a shapely
leg over his hip.
"Did you have a few questions, Joseph?"
He shook his head. "I had a few, but no longer. I'm even afraid
to think them, much less ask. Whatever this is, I don't want it
to end."
"You don't have to worry about that, Joseph."
"I don't intend to worry about it." His hand encircled her
breast, squeezing gently. "This is what I mean to worry."
"Well, it's all yours. But there are other things you might
love. What did you tell me you wanted the night before you went
away to school?"
He grinned. "What a wet-behind-the-ears snot I must have been!"
"A precious one to me! But I'm sure you recall telling me your
ambition."
"The dreams of youth!" He sighed. "No skill for math, they
said, but who needs math to walk on the Moon?"
"Who indeed?" She released him and got out of bed. "Come on,
Joseph."
He followed her lithely, flexing his arms, and stretched
luxuriously. "God, I feel good!"
"Why not?" She went to the mirror door, turned its knob and
threw it open. "Take a look, Joseph."
Through the door he saw a strangely gray and lifeless but
sun-drenched landscape. He stood in the doorway, scanning right
and left at a black sky and smoothly rounded hills in the
distance beyond a flat plain peppered with meteor craters.
"The Moon?" he asked incredulously.
"Go ahead, step out there," she suggested behind him.
He obeyed, taking several strangely light steps, and found
himself standing in warm talcum powder that coated his bare feet.
He turned to look at the woman. She waited in a bright doorway --
but the doorway stood alone with no building around it. The gray
landscape stretched away to a short horizon beyond the impossible
doorway.
He murmured, "My god, what a great simulation!"
"You think so? Try a high jump."
"A what?"
"Jump as high as you can."
He shrugged, crouched and leapt upward. To his amazement he rose
two or three times his own height above the ground and drifted
back slowly.
She smiled into his wide eyes. "Could anyone simulate the lesser
gravity?"
"B-but ... There's no air!"
She strode to him and put her arms around his neck. Her breasts
pressed him unmistakably. She whispered before their lips met,
"Who needs air?"
* * * *
The chief veritor turned her attention to the assistant. "Very
good. This is most promising, the easiest transition yet. We'll
have to do several more before I can recommend a policy change,
but the idea of suppressing background details seems to let the
verry proceed without the doubts and fears we've seen before. I
think you're well on the way to that award."
"That you, ma'am," the assistant responded. "And your suggestion
to have her sidetrack his questions was brilliant."
The chief was clearly pleased. "We make a good team, Mr. Ord."
The attending validator sniffed. "Your mutual congratulations
are a bit premature, don't you think? You have failed to
consider the implications. Suppressing Joseph's final memories,
including his experience of the transfer, means that he has no
basis upon which to continue his education. I'll mention that in
my report."
The chief veritor's amusement was apparent. "Madam, you surprise
me. Don't you understand what it means that we were even allowed
to perform this experiment? Your Puritanical insistence on moral
instruction by pain and suffering is no longer in vogue on the
council. I and a lot of others are very pleased by the new
hedonistic tone. When Joseph communicates with his descendants,
I think we'll find most of them a lot more eager to transfer than
they are under the present regime. I predict a great increase in
rates of acceptance. Isn't that our common objective?"
The validator sighed. "I suppose so. But in the long run I
think we'll all be sorry for turning Virtual Reality into nothing
more than a means of wish fulfillment."
END
Copyright (C) August, 2000, Kellis
Stories at http://www.dhp.com/files/Authors/kellis/www
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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