index


Message-ID: <56015asstr$1181085004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Rod OSteele <rod.osteele@yahoo.com>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} The Wish 1 of 3 (MF fant) 
Lines: 495
Date: Tue, 05 Jun 2007 19:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright 2007 with all
rights reserved by the author unless explicitly waived.  Non-commercial
re-posts to ASSM or similar venues are allowed provided copyright
information remains on the re-posted story.  As a courtesy to the author
please do not delete the copyright information.  No commercial reprints are
authorized.

   The author relishes your comments at rod.osteele (at) yahoo (dot) com.
If you like this story, see my other stories at www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/osteele/www.

   WARNINGS: This story depicts consensual sexual activity between men and
women, or women and women.  Some of the participants in the story may be
under the age of 18.  If you are too young to read about sex please do not
read this.  The law says you teens should remain in ignorance of the thing
you think about the most.  If that makes sense to you please write and tell
me how it does because it sounds just insane to me.



   The Wish

   Part I

   I was in a little shop in a small town in Bulgaria.  I wanted to see
truly remote areas that hadn't been affected by the westernization and
modernization that much of Eastern Europe was going through.

   I was in Bulgaria on business.  Even the Russians thought the Bulgarians
were old fashioned and backwards.  That's why they used them for the worst
of the Cold War's evil jobs, like trying to kill the Pope.  This part of
Bulgaria was backwards and superstitious to this day, so I could kill two
birds with one stone.

   I looked about the shop while the proprietor eyed me suspiciously.  Not
many foreigners made their way to this little corner of the land.  I
spotted a funny little statue.  It looked like plastic and I wondered if it
was some Soviet toy left over from the occupation.  As I moved, the thing
seemed to change.  It was a woman, but every time I looked at it, she
seemed a different woman.  I had seen some modern works of art that used
that used the refractive property of glass to create illusions.  It must be
that, I thought.

   I picked it up, surprised to find it heavy in my hand when I expected
plastic.  On the bottom were carved letters in what looked like Cyrillic
script.  "That says `For Tsar Ivan Asen II.'" I jumped as the old
proprietor had appeared at my elbow.  He pointed to the statue as he
explained.  "It is from the 1200s.  Beautiful, is it not?"

   "Unusual," I answered in Russian, which he had used to address me.  I
had learned Russian as a translator many years before.  It was my first
time actually using it in many years.

   "You are not Russian?" he asked.

   "No, American," I told him.

   "Ah, I have never met an American.  Welcome to my small shop.  So, is
she not beautiful?" bringing the conversation back to a possible sale. 
"How many statues in America are from the 1200s?"

   As I turned it in my hand, it never seemed to be the same woman.  She
changed constantly as it turned.  I was fascinated, even though I was sure
the story about it being made in the 1200s was rubbish.

   "I can see you are a cultured man.  I can let you have this for five
hundred Lev."

   I did the quick math.  That was about $350.  I set it down and turned
away.

   "Four Hundred," he said quickly.  I took a step.  "Three hundred," he
said.  "Comrade, this is genuine, I tell you.  Look at her.  She is
beautiful."

   I turned back.  "Comrade, I will have to pay tariffs on her.  I tell
you, yes I am interested.  But, I am interested only about 150 Lev." That
was about 100 bucks, what I was willing to be cheated out of if it was a
scam.  For that, I'd put it on the mantel as a conversation piece.

   Angrily, he shook his head.

   "I understand," I said.  I walked to the door.  As I opened it, he
shouted, "All right.  You steal it from me." He grabbed the statue and came
forward, handing it to me gruffly.  "But this is robbery."

   I peeled off the 150 Lev in bills and handed them to him.  It was
getting late and I was hungry.  "Tell me, Comrade.  If you were going to
eat where would you eat?"

   "Here, there is only one place." He pointed down the street to an inn.

   "Would you join me?" I asked.

   He was surprised, but a smile broke on his face.  "Trying to make up for
the theft.  I accept." He pulled the door shut, locked it, and grabbed my
arm to lead me down the street.  "Your Russian is good, but you sound like
you haven't used it much."

   "It's been many years," I acknowledged.

   "You were a spy?" he asked friendly.  Of course, everyone who was a
foreigner was a spy back in the bad old days.

   "No, a translator.  But that didn't pay much," I said.

   He held open the door of the inn, shouting something in Bulgarian, as we
entered.  A middle-aged woman came scurrying in, shouting at him in the
same language.  I could tell it was friendly banter.  He said something;
she looked at me for a moment and went off to the kitchen.

   I asked him about the village, the history and what he thought might be
their future.  That was all I needed to ask.  He launched into a long
story. Soon, two other older men came to the table, listening, agreeing,
disagreeing, and arguing.  I bought drinks for the table, to many thanks. I
would ask questions when I didn't understand some part of the arguing,
usually having to do with the local government down in the provincial
capital.  Idiots, all of them, apparently.  I could have been in a town
meeting in Vermont.

   I bought another round for the table.  The woman brought out plates with
chicken and vegetables, along with another round of drinks.  The arguing
soon was punctuated with pointing chicken drumsticks for emphasis.  The
volume of the conversation escalated with the consumption of the alcohol. I
bought another round as several more of the locals came in.

   I was introduced, asked a few questions, then the argument was off and
running again.  Another round.  I had thrown some money at the Innkeeper
and the conversations had drifted to the bar leaving the shopkeeper and me
at the table.  He was lubricated as was I.  "I know," he said, "You did not
think the statue was real." He waved away my protest.  "But I tell you as
an honest man, I bought it from an old witch.  It was made for the Tsar
Ivan Asen himself by a great magician.  I could not discover its magic. 
Maybe he used it up when he conquered the whole country.  But I believe it
was magic.  Just look at how it changes.  Magic," he said slurring his
words.

   I thought it much more likely a trick of optics, but I didn't argue. 
The men came swirling back to our table, to ask about America, land of
intrigue.  I was, once again, the center of attention and only half
believed.  I was invited home by several of the men, one of whom was
accused of trying to get his daughter married off.  Several others told me
he had an eligible daughter and I should go home with him.  I declined and
got a room at the inn.

   I looked at the statue sitting on the mantle above the fireplace there
in the inn in Bulgaria.  It sparkled in the candlelight.  It seemed to draw
my eye into it.  Maybe it wasn't magic, but in that old inn, in that old
world of vampires, werewolves, and gypsies spinning tales, I would have
sworn it was.  I packed it away, deep in my bags, and continued my journey.

   *****

   The statue wound up on my mantel at home.  It was a conversation piece
all right.  No one seemed to quite believe it, how it changed as you moved.
But everyone saw the same weird phenomenon.  I became convinced it wasn't
magic, just some optical illusion.  I hung out at several galleries that
had sculptures of glass.  Modern artists were able to do all sorts of weird
effects, making things appear smaller and larger, changing their shapes and
colors.  I had no idea how it got to a little town in Bulgaria, but that's
what it had to be.

   I got to really like the little girl, as I had come to think of her, and
found myself holding her as I watched TV or read.  Okay, maybe that is a
little weird.  But it wasn't like a blanket or stuffed animal.  She had
some substance to her, my little girl.

   *****

   I had quite forgotten the old man's pronouncement, until one night that
is.  I had a few glasses of port and was reading the latest issue Playboy.
I was resting my eyes on the centerfold, Miss August, Nicole.  She was hot,
as was appropriate for August.  I was holding the statue in one hand while
the other rested on Miss August.  I had one of those typical male wistful
moments and said out loud, "I wish she were here."

   With that, I felt the glass in my hand get warm.  I looked at it and saw
it start to color, turning from cold white to a warm tan, the hair turned
dark brunette.  She began to grow, turning from a small crystal statue into
a real live woman sitting on my lap.  I looked at the photo and back at
her. It was her, wearing nothing except high heels, just like in the
picture.  She looked at the photo in my hand.  "Is that what it's going to
look like?"

   I looked at her unable to say anything.  The cat hadn't just got my
tongue; he'd seized every part of me.  She was a brunette, apparently real
since her hair matched on both ends.  Her eyes were gorgeous.  Close up, I
could see the amount of make-up applied for the shoot.  My eyes latched
onto her hooters, amazing, and more amazing, they moved like they were
real, not store bought.  Sitting there, one nipple was close enough that if
I moved my head just a little I could have taken it into my mouth.

   Take a moment here and really try and put yourself in my position. 
We've all read enough science fiction that our imaginations can hang with
pretty weird stuff on the printed page.  `Oh yeah, that's like in Dune.'
Or, `Asimov did something like that.' But when you are sitting in your den,
enjoying a little quality time with Playboy, having a playmate suddenly
turn up naked in your lap, that goes way beyond anything in a book.  I felt
a woman sitting in my lap, not to say she was a porker by any means, but it
wasn't smoke and mirrors sitting there.  I felt her skin, as my hand had
wound up on her back.  And I felt the warmth of her, I smelled her, faint
perfume and musk.  That is all by way of explaining why I sat there
stunned, unable to say anything, my mouth hanging open.

   Nicole took the magazine from my hand and looked at the picture.  "They
air brushed my tattoo," she said with a hint of disdain.  She started
looking at the rest of the spread commenting on some perceived problem with
every photo.  Then she looked at the magazine cover.  "August?" She looked
at me, "But I was in the middle of the shoot..."

   That explained the slight sweatiness if she had been in front of camera
lights for long.  Those things are hot.

   It was then that she noticed a few other things as well.  "Why am I
sitting in your lap, naked?"

   "Nicole," I started...

   "And how do you know my name?  I don't know you!" she exclaimed.

   "I, um," I said.

   "Get me some clothes," she demanded.

   "Wait a minute.  This was my wish," I burst out.

   Nicole, if this really was Nicole, stopped and stared at me.  "Your
wish? You wished me here naked, you pervert."

   Now I got pissed.  "Well, hell.  What did you think guys were going to
do looking at your naked pictures?  Thinking about algebra?"

   She looked indignant for a moment, then giggled.  "Well..."

   "Well, yeah," I said.  I noticed that nipple again, right there...  It
was all I could do to pull my eyes away from it and look her in the eyes.
There were an amazing set.

   I could tell from her eyes that she had seen where I had been looking
and she was laughing inside at my predicament.  She took the magazine from
me and looked at it again, then back at me.  "So you wished me here?"

   I nodded, "I was sitting here looking at your picture and I said, 'I
wish she was here,' and then next thing I know, you were here, right from
the photo shoot I guess."

   "Does that mean I'm not real?  I sure feel real," she said.

   I had one hand on her back and one on her knee and she sure felt real to
me.  "I don't know.  This ain't ever happened to me before."

   "How long am I going to be here?" she asked.

   I shrugged.  I sure didn't know.

   She was holding the magazine and looked closer.  "I didn't pose for that
one.  Or that one." She looked back at the centerfold.  "Wait, Stephen had
just taken that shot.  Then I was here." She looked at me.

   "That's the photo I was looking at."

   "But the others...  I must have finished the photo shoot, but I'm here.
I don't understand."

   "You must have come here at that moment because that was the photo I was
looking at when I made the wish.  But you also finished the shoot at the
same time, because it was months ago, right?  It's August now."

   "We did the shoot in February," she said.

   "You're here from months ago.  But you had to go living for the next six
months, I mean you must also be somewhere else right now.  This is very
confusing," I said.

   "I'm somewhere else right now?" She was scooting around on my lap, her
ass rubbing me and I couldn't help but notice.  "Damn shoes," she said as
she flipped them off.  "I can't see how women wear those things." She
turned around until she was facing me, straddling me and sitting in my lap.
Now it was her pussy that was rubbing against me.  The predictable
occurred. "So, you're saying that I came here from six months ago because
of a wish, and at the same time, I'm also living for the past six months
somewhere else?"

   "That's the only thing that makes sense," I said, feeling my cock
growing.

   She relaxed and sat back.  Her eyes widened as she became aware of a
certain bulge pressing against her.  Her hips rotated just slightly as she
was making sure of what she thought.  "Is this part of your wish?"

   "Nicole, I have the most beautiful woman I have ever met in the flesh,
and man, you are in the flesh, sitting in my lap.  You can't be surprised,"
I said.

   She laughed.  "I suppose I would be insulted if you didn't get..." she
raised her eyebrows.  We both laughed.  At the same time, there was a
sudden tension in the air, a different sort of tension.  Her hips rotated
again, pressing against the bulge in my slacks.  "My friends were teasing
me about it, how many men would be...  jacking off looking at my picture. I
was thinking about that some as we took the photos.  Stephen kept telling
me to think sexy thoughts." She had been looking off, then glanced back at
me, "Stephen Wayda was my photographer.  Anyway, he kept saying things
like, 'Make love to the camera.' It leaves a girl kind of horny."

   I didn't need any more invitation.  I pulled her head to mine, my lips
finding hers.  She was hot and our tongues started to dance.

   She was wearing a filmy little thing and it was soon lying on the floor.
I had my arms full of very naked, very beautiful, very sexy woman.  I led
her into the bedroom, my clothes hitting the floor along the way.  She
wasn't just compliant; she helped get them off, cooing in pleasure as she
brought my cock to light.

   Once in the bedroom she pushed me back on the bed, knelt between my
legs, and introduced herself to Willie.  I had images of tennis balls being
sucked through garden hoses.  Nicole slid up over me, positioned herself,
and slid down, hiding Willie in his favorite hiding place.  Then she played
peak-a-boo with Willie -- everything but his head coming out, then he'd
slid back into that dark warm hiding place.  Nicole seemed to love the
game, her head thrown back, a red flush spread across her chest until she
shuddered, again and again, gasping in strange huffing noises, and pitched
forward onto my chest.

   I was still buried in her, still horny, and interested in fixing that. I
rolled her to the side, then over on top I went.  My hips began slowly
moving over her, rubbing Willie over her most sensitive spots.  Her eyes
opened, lust on her face, "Yessss..." she moaned.

   Willie was getting anxious and nervous.  Willie was also excited and
making little jerking motions as he slid in and out of Nicole.  Not being
able to take any more, he finally blew his top.  This time, I fell onto
Nicole.

   We fell asleep, both wiped out, in a tangle of arms and legs.

   *****

   I found myself waking in the morning in that sort of hazy half-awake
fog. I recalled the previous night.  I had bedded a Playboy Playmate and it
had been the best screw of my life.  Damn, but life is good.  I wanted to
stay right there, in that fog forever.  But a nagging pressure urged me to
consciousness.  I had to pee.  I opened my eyes and turned to see Nicole.

   There was no one in bed with me.  Instead, the crystal statue lay on the
pillow.  "Nicole," I shouted at the bath.  Nothing.  I jumped up and ran in
to pee.  After, I scouted out the house.  Nothing.  Not even a trace that
someone might have ever been here.  Even the shoes she had taken off in the
den were gone.  She couldn't have walked out naked, could she?

   I went back to the bedroom.  The statue was laying on the bed in the
posture Nicole had been in.  It was different than it had been.  Before, it
had been standing, hands at the side.  Now, the hands were up at the head,
as if she had been sleeping.  The legs were longer too.  It still had that
indefinable look that many women were inside...  Oh my God!

   I picked up the statue and turned it.  From one angle it looked exactly
like Nicole, just as I had seen her sleeping before I feel off to sleep. 
"Nicole?" I asked.  There was no answer.  I set it down next to the bed.  I
looked at the clock and panicked.  I was going to be late for a meeting
with my boss.  I grabbed a towel and ran to take a shower, hoping the hot
water would somehow help me understand.

   As I dressed, I kept looking at her.  I couldn't help but think of it as
'her.' It was no longer a crystal statue; it was a collection of women.  On
the subway, I kept thinking and I remembered that afternoon in the village.
The shopkeeper, after a few too many, slurring out the words, "But I tell
you as an honest man, I bought it from an old witch.  It was made for the
Tsar Ivan Asen himself by a great magician."

   I barely managed to listen during the meeting.  Luckily, it had nothing
really to do with me.  I had been invited for some reason that made sense
to someone.  After the meeting, I had to rehash the entire proceeding with
my boss as she dissected the possible political intrigues connected with
this new project.  I just wanted to go home.

   The day dragged by as I kept thinking.  The possible theories were
endless.  I was mad.  Certainly, it was a possibility and if I had told
anyone it would be a certainty that I'd have been locked up.  On the other
hand was the possibility it had happened.  I had in fact called a beautiful
woman to my bed and had incredible rabbit sex with her.  Could I call her
back, or did I just get the one wish?  Could I call other women?  What were
the key words?  What exactly had I said?  Maddening...  it was maddening.
As a writer, I normally worked from home anyway and I finally was able to
get away after a 'working' lunch.  I jumped a subway train and headed home.

   On the train, I thought back to the trip to Bulgaria.  I had gone to
research Bulgarian wines.  Don't laugh; they have them.  They aren't French
but they are drinkable.  Turns out an American company was working on an
import deal and wanted a food magazine to run an article at the same time
that the company was going to start their advertising campaign.  It's a
dirty little secret that many of the articles written in magazines are
actually commissioned and paid for by companies doing the advertising in
the magazines.  Check out how the articles and the advertising seem to go
so well together.

   So I had been there to research the wines.  Looking back I kept seeing
in my mind the village, the man...  magic.  He swore the statue was magic.
It couldn't actually be magic...  I shook my head sending the visions back
into the nether world of my mind.  I was a modern person and realized that
the Universe operated on scientific laws.  Magic was just superstition.  It
had to be.

   I got off the subway and practically ran to my place.  I grabbed her and
carefully put her in a padded bag.  I ran back to the subway and rode
downtown.  I went into Christies.  If there was an expert who could debunk
the age claim, it would be here.  I told the secretary I needed an expert
on medieval glass and showed her the piece.  She looked at it, nodded and
picked up the phone.  "Ms.  Parker, I have something that might interest
you.  Yes, a Mr.?" She looked up at me.

   "O'Hara, Michael O'Hara."

   Into the phone, the receptionist said, "O'Hara.  I'll tell him." She set
down the phone.  "Please have a seat.  Ms.  Parker will be right up."

   A nice looking woman appeared a few minute later.  I stood as she
introduced herself and led me back to her office.  "How may I help you, Mr.
O'Hara?"

   I took my girl out and set her on the desk.  I quickly told Ms.  Parker
the story of finding it, showing her the script on the bottom.  I told her
I thought it was a fake at the time, but now I wasn't sure.  She examined
the thing, first just looking at it.  I could tell she was intrigued by it,
just as I had been.  Then she got out a loupe, examining the carving on the
bottom, then the piece itself.  She put it down and looked at me.

   "Well?" I asked.  "I thought it might be glass.  I've seen some things
glass makers can do now with illusions."

   "It isn't glass.  It is a natural crystal carved with exquisite skill
into a statue...  quite rare for Eastern Europe...  amazing to find a
single crystal that large.  I didn't see any boundaries." Finally, looking
up at me, she said, "It is possible it really is that old.  It would take a
bit of research.  I would do it if you were considering selling..." she
looked at me hopefully -- I think.

   "No.  I kind of like it.  I was just looking to see if it was a fake."

   "It isn't a fake.  It may not be as old as claimed, but it also might
be. I am amazed at how the carver managed to use the internal structure of
the crystal to make so many faces appear.  I have no idea how he did it,"
she said.

   "Magic?" I asked.

   She laughed.  "Magic is what we call things we don't understand.  It is
a marvel though.  I've never seen anything quite like it so I have no idea
what it might sell for.  A lot is my unofficial estimate."

   "A lot," I said.  She simply shrugged.  Nothing is free in this world.
If I wanted a valuation, I'd pay for it.  "Thank you, Ms.  Parker," I said
standing.  She escorted me out.  In the reception area, she shook hands and
told me if I ever thought about selling, call her first.

   *****

   When I got home, I knew I had to make sure.  I found Nicole on the web.
I used my limited industry contacts to get past the first layer of guards
at Playboy.  I did get to an editor with my story about doing a food column
on the Playmates, mutual publicity for us.  He was intrigued enough to
listen.  I gave him my name and said I had talked to Nicole about it; maybe
he should call her to confirm.

   He called back an hour later.  She had never heard of me.  She had no
interest in any cooking column and he let me know I wasn't welcome to call
back.  He made it plain he thought I had lied about talking to Nicole.  It
was really a stupid idea anyway.  Our clientele, married women, wouldn't
like to see an article on playmates anyway.

   I had my answer.  The `real' girl had no idea of what happened with the
statue.  Somehow, the statue was able to pull the woman in the picture into
itself without the woman being aware.



   -------------------------------- Looking for a deal?  Find great prices
on flights and hotels with Yahoo!  FareChase.

	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
	This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's
	Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP)
	system due to inadequate formatting.
	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

	
<1st attachment begin>

<HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy>
<1st attachment end>

----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+