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Message-ID: <56016asstr$1181085005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Rod OSteele <rod.osteele@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Wish 2 of 3 (MFF fant)
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Date: Tue, 05 Jun 2007 19:10:05 -0400
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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 II



   After dinner that evening, I sat in my favorite chair and looked at her,
sitting on the table next to me.  I put my hand on her and picturing Nicole
again said, "I wish she were here." Nothing.  I tried to remember if that
was what I had said and it sounded right.  What else?  I had been holding
the statue.  I picked it up and again pictured Nicole in my mind.  "I wish
she were here." I opened my eyes and looked intently at the statue. 
Nothing.

   "Damn," I mumbled.  I had been looking at a picture of her and that was
exactly how she had appeared.  I grabbed the book I was reading a few
nights before.  It was an art book.  I opened to a page that had a painting
of Marie Antoinette by Le Brun.  "I wish she were here." Nothing.  Now I
was getting frustrated.

   What if the magic was a one time shot?  One time, done.  Maybe each man
got one woman to come back, sort of like the genie and the three wishes. 
Damn, maybe I had blown it and used up my chance.  I was petulant that I
hadn't been warned somehow that I was using up my only chance.

   I picked up the book and looked at the caption to make sure I had read
it correctly.  Maybe it only worked with living women.  I was holding the
book, my thumb touching the picture when I tried it again just in case, "I
wish she were here."

   I looked to my right and saw the statue changing in color and size. 
`Hot Damn,' I thought.  It grew until I was holding a woman in my arms. 
She was in a blue dress, the skirt hard and full.  As soon as she realized
she was on my lap, she jumped up and started screaming at me in a spate of
French.  I didn't understand French, not having been taught that as a
military translator.

   "Wait.  Hold it," I yelled back.

   She stopped mid-sentence.  "Parlez-vous le français?"

   "No, uh, non.  I'm American," I said.

   She looked me over, "Americain," then was off in French again gesturing
wildly and obviously commanding me imperiously.  I just had no idea what I
was being commanded to do.

   I had begun to also get another distinct impression, olfactory.  It was
the aroma of unwashed body covered with the smell of French bordello.  B.O.
smothered in perfume.  And it was getting intense as she worked herself up.
Ugh.

   I had it with the yelling and I tried to calm her.  Nothing worked. 
Pissed, I finally screamed, "Marie!" rolling the r in the French way.  I
think no one ever addressed her that way.  She stopped in mid tirade,
stunned.

   In a flash of insight, I grabbed the book and held up the picture,
pointing to it.

   She looked at me strangely but came over to look.  She read the caption.
"C'est moi." She looked at the picture and the dress she was wearing.  "Ma
robe," she said with a puzzled look.  She wasn't screaming any more.

   I pointed to the picture, then prayed, and pointed to her.  I did it a
couple times until she got it.  She asked me something and I picked up the
word, Magicien.  Close enough.  "Oui."

   She fell into a chair.  I took the opportunity of the break in the
action to open several windows.  It was cold outside, but not that cold and
the fresh air blowing through the place was welcome.

   She still looked befuddled so I offered her port.

   "Porto?" she looked hopeful.

   I grabbed the decanter I had filled with Port and poured us both a stiff
shot.  She downed hers, manfully I might add, and held out the glass.  Two
more followed.  "Magnifique," she said as I poured another.  That broke the
tension.  "Où suis je?" she asked somewhat happily.  I didn't understand.
With gestures I figured out she was asking, `Where the hell am I?'

   I grabbed the atlas and pointed at France, then the U.S.  She looked at
me and I nodded.  She held out the glass again downing that one quickly. 
She was getting pretty happy by now and the port decanter was getting
empty.

   This hadn't worked out exactly as I had envisioned.  I took her hand and
led her to the bedroom.  She looked scandalized.  "No, no," I said
horrified for a different reason.  I couldn't imagine being in bed with a
woman who smelled like she did.  Okay, I'm an effete snob, but man, she
could have turned flies away.  "Sleep," I said in pantomime.  She relaxed
and followed me in.

   She asked for something and I finally figured she wanted a maid.  I made
her understand I didn't have a maid.  She motioned at the back of her
dress. I looked and saw an elaborate system of ties, knots, and hooks.  I
shrugged.  She made it clear she needed help.  What we do sometimes.  I
started untying and unhooking, only to find a corset even more complex
beneath.  I released her from that, as she exhaled deeply in obvious
relief. She shucked the dress, and corset along with hoops and stays and
all manner of things.

   She stood before me, in what I assume were fashionable undergarments of
the time.  She was giggling as she lay on the bed and wiggled her finger my
way.  Uh oh, I was being invited to share the royal bed.  How very
Continental.  Of course, that was expected at the time, what with the king
having a bevy of mistresses, that the queen would get her pleasure as she
could, very discreetly, while the king could be quite brazen.

   I felt my stomach flip flop as I caught a whiff as she raised her arms,
unshaved.  "Madam," I bowed and quickly left.  A pillow hit the door as I
closed it.

   I was going to have to be much more careful in the pictures I chose in
the future.  I sat in my living room and finished off the port.

   *****

   The next morning I went into the bedroom and found the statue curled up
on the bed.  I held it up and saw Nicole but there was a new face, Marie as
well.  Stranger and stranger.

   I exhaled, glad I could breathe freely again.  I had learned a lesson. I
had been considering bringing back all sorts of women from history. 
Cleopatra, from Egypt where they never bathed, no way.  Joan of Arc, when
Europeans were infested with lice, ugh.  As I went down my mental list I
realized, they either wouldn't speak English, or they would be smelly,
dirty, and maybe a bit blood thirsty.  Marie had been a good cheap lesson.

   I took her back to the mantel and went to get some breakfast.  As I
munched an egg sandwich I pondered.  I listed the things I knew, or thought
I knew, if I wasn't going crazy.  I could change the statue into a woman by
holding it and touching a picture.  I had no idea if that would include
fictional characters yet.  It did include long dead women.  The woman was
gone by the next morning leaving no trace.  She seemed to retain her memory
of the moment from which I called her.  But, weirdly, she didn't seem to
have any ability to just run away, as if she was tied to the place. 
Lastly, she seemed to be inclined to erotic adventures, since both women
initiated, or tried to initiate them.  They both went through a period of
acclimatization, then both turned erotic.  I knew it wasn't my handsome
countenance that did it, so it had be something in the statue itself.

   I shook my head.  I had an article on Bulgarian wines that had to be
ready today.  I had it written but it needed editing down to publishing
length.  I needed to trim a few hundred words.  I buried myself in my
computer.  I thought I had done a beautiful job of selling Bulgarian wines,
Cabernets and Merlots as well as some native varieties.  I probably
couldn't have done such an excellent job if I had actually tried them but
that's the food business.  I emailed it to the publisher before noon and
celebrated by taking myself out to lunch.

   Over lunch, I wished I had someone to share the lunch with.  It made me
wonder if I could take one of these fantasy girls out with me.  Imagine
having a super model as your date.  I'd have to dig out my last swimsuit
issue.  What was that one model's name, the Czech supermodel, Petra
something?

   *****

   Early that evening, I decided to try some exploring with my statue. 
Over the next few weeks I learned quite a few things.  The second time I
called a woman, she came knowing me.  I found out it didn't seem to work on
fictional women.  Okay, I admit I tried in on Judy Jetson.  All right, I
may be a pervert but I grew up watching Judy about the same time I was
learning the secrets of masturbation, and she was a hottie.  I should be
embarrassed to admit it, but that wasn't the only cartoon character I
tried. I went through several Frazetta covers and none worked.  It was
probably a good thing because I can imagine those girls wouldn't actually
be able to breathe, what with their five-inch waists holding up enormous
chests.  Fictional characters just wouldn't work.

   I also found out that an image on a computer screen didn't work, but
printing the same image did work.  Maybe the image on the screen wasn't
real enough?  Oh, I did find out that the SI swimsuit issue was a wonderful
source of babes.  I got on EBay and started collecting back issues
immediately.  And last, I couldn't make them go away by wishing.  Once they
had appeared, they stayed until I fell asleep.  I was usually, um, quite
tired and fell into a wonderfully exhausted sleep and never actually saw
the statue change back.  Sex does that to me.

   I started using up all of my adolescent TV fantasies as well.  Remember
Valerie Bertinelli?  That was one righteous night.  Kelly Bundy?  I tried
her.  Buffy?  Better in person than on the tube.  Shannen Doherty and Tori
Spelling, when they were young and cute.  Did them.  The Baywatch babes? 
Burned up a lot of Internet time getting the photos, but they were worth
the effort.

   *****

   We were having a cocktail party to celebrate the publishing of our
`Bulgarian Wine' issue with the major advertisers.  I was invited and told
to bring a date.  I was about to use the SI issue when I realized taking
date in a bikini probably wasn't the best idea.  So I searched high fashion
websites until I found a beautiful picture of Petra Nemcova in a dress, a
spangled purple cocktail dress.  I printed it out and there she was, in her
heels and dress.  "We're going to a cocktail party," I told her.

   "Okay, Michael," she said.  She always called me Michael.  Uh, I guess
you figured out this wasn't the first time I called her.  It was the first
time dressed.

   I threw on a suit and tie, called a cab, and off we went.  I can't begin
to tell you the reaction when I swept in to the bar, a supermodel on my
arm, and her in that dress.  Frankly, any other woman would have looked
like a slut, but Petra had this presence, confidence, so she looked as
comfortable as if she were wearing old jeans and a lumberjack shirt.  That
dichotomy between slut and saint made her presence felt in the entire room
as she entered.  Every female in our office nearly broke her neck turning
it so quickly.  The look on the guys' faces was even better; undisguised
lust mixed with unconcealed envy.

   I took her over to the main group, my editor and the president and
marketing VP of our advertiser.  "Lillian, I'd like you to meet Petra. 
Petra, Ms.  Dickenson is the editor of our magazine."

   She took her hand, "Ms..."

   "Just Petra," she said.

   Lillian looked a little discombobulated, but she sucked it up and said,
"This is Bob Ralston and Jim Gray, they're with Emery Importers."

   After the handshakes, Bob turned to me, "Great job on the article," his
eyes never quite leaving Petra, even though he was talking with me.

   "Thanks.  It was easy," I said.  "And I learned a lot there.  Met some
interesting people."

   We wandered over to the bar where I got us a drink.  It was like being
the elephant in the room.  Eyes followed her wherever she went.  I was
surprised that even the women were intimidated by her.  I knew the guys
would be.  Of course, most guys were there with their wives or girlfriends,
and coming up to Petra would have been suicide.  Maybe the girls didn't
want to come over because their hubby's would have followed along. 
Whatever it was, we were left alone while being watched surreptitiously.

   Petra excused herself and headed for the ladies' room.  In a flash,
Donna Herford, one of the edit staff, was at my arm.  "Who is that?"

   "Petra," I said.

   Donna's eyes got wide.  "How the hell do you know her?"

   "She's just a friend," I said

   "I saw how she's hanging on you," she said with a bit of malice I
thought.  It's amazing how jealous women are of truly gorgeous women. 
Donna and I had never been the least bit romantic.

   "She's just a friend, Donna.  I don't understand your concern," I said
pushing the button hard.

   Petra came back into the room and Donna quickly returned to the editor
clique gathered around the bar.  "Who was that?"

   "One of the editors.  She was asking how I knew you.  I told her you
were a friend," I said.

   "Why don't you introduce me," Petra suggested.

   I led her over.  "Donna, this is Petra.  I knew you would like to meet."

   Donna's mouth hung open as Petra, in her cute Czech accent said, "So
good to meet you."

   Donna recovered enough to say, "Nice you could come."

   "Yes.  I didn't know of the party until tonight.  Michael makes the trip
to New York worthwhile, yes?  It is always wonderful when I can see him,"
Petra said grabbing my arm and plastering herself against me.

   I could see the blood pressure rising in the group...  the men because
of their erections...  the women because of the envy.  Several of the women
were looking at their guy, him, practically drooling, and I knew he'd be
getting an earful later.

   "Michael," she said quietly, but loud enough to ensure they could hear.
"I don't have so much time tonight.  Please, could we go somewhere more
private?"

   "Certainly," I said.  I headed for the door.  Petra was giving the room
the full show with her runway walk, just exuding sexiness and class.

   We both laughed as we got into the elevator.  Petra snuggled up,
"Michael, take me home," she said with those big beautiful eyes on me.  All
I could do was nod, and I knew why those guys couldn't say anything.  I
couldn't either.

   *****

   I woke in the morning, a smile in my heart and a glass statue next to
me. It was still a shock waking up with a glass statue when you expect a
woman.  I was going to have to find a way to extend the stay.

   At eight, my phone rang.  It was Lillian's secretary telling me I was
wanted at work, post haste.  I scrambled getting cleaned up and dressed and
jumped the subway to work.  I was ushered into the boss's office as soon as
I arrived.

   "Mike," she said.  "I'm not going to beat around the bush.  How the hell
do you know Petra Nemcova and can you get her to do an article for us?"

   "What kind of article?" I asked.

   "The typical.  What kind of cooking she does.  What she likes.  Photos
of her place, her cooking.  Her friends at a dinner party.  We supply the
food and photographer," she finished.

   I realized that I had a major problem.  Petra Nemcova, the real Petra
Nemcova, didn't know who I was and wouldn't be amused that I was dating,
among other things, a copy of her.  If I brought my Petra to a photo shoot,
I get sued by the real Petra Nemcova.  Try explaining that lawsuit to your
boss.  I temporized.

   "Lillian, I know she has a contract with somebody.  But I promise next
time I see her, I'll ask," I said.

   "When will that be?" she asked.

   "Uh, I really don't know.  I, uh, well, we had a fight last time and she
sort of stormed out," I lied.  But I was stuck.  It was the best I could do
on short notice.

   "You had a fight with a supermodel and she walked out?" Lillian asked me
incredulously.

   "Haven't you ever heard the saying, `No matter how beautiful she is,
there is some poor guy who is tired of putting up with her crap.'" I said.

   Lillian looked at me like I was an idiot child, "Men," was all she said.
"If she is stupid enough to come back, please get her to agree to a spread
here before you fuck up again," she said.

   I wasn't about to take those insults lying down, even if she was my
boss. I stood up.  "Fine.  If she comes back I'll make that my second
priority," I said.

   "Men," she said waving me out of her office.

   There were two guys in the elevator when I got in.  As soon as the door
closed, one guy asked, "Was that really her?" The other guy hung on every
word as well.

   "No, it was a blow up doll," I said.

   He shook off the sarcasm.  "Damn, where'd you fucking meet her?" a tinge
of wonder creeping into his voice.

   "A dream," I said smiling.

   The elevator door opened to the lobby and I walked out leaving two
bemused men behind.

   Lesson two: Don't take supermodels places where people you work with
hang out.  Too many things can go wrong.

   *****

   I was perusing the Playboy Playmate website when I saw a centerfold for
the most amazing woman.  She was blonde, white blonde hair and blonde at
both ends.  I don't know what it was, but I instantly in love, lust, and
several other attractions all at once.

   Why does one woman attract this guy and another attract that guy?  I
suppose it's the same for women, but since I never seem to attract them, I
wouldn't know.  What is that mysterious thing that happens when you'd give
all you have just to be able to kiss her hand, to hold her in your arms, to
run your hand along her back, to feel the heat of her skin next to yours?
It isn't rational, I know that, but it is irresistible when it hits.  It
hit me like a wrecking ball taking down an old building.  In a moment, I
was rubble and she was standing amidst the rubble like a shining star, or
whatever mixed up metaphors you can think of.

   I printed that picture and while the printer was chugging away I went
and grabbed the statue.  I sat back at my computer and waited an
agonizingly long time while it printed the color picture.  God, she was
beautiful.  As soon as it was spit out, I picked it up, held the statue and
wished her here.  It grew, changing into a woman as it grew.  In just a
minute I was holding Anulka on my lap.  "I love that necklace," I said. 
"It contrasts so completely with how pure you look and gives you a bit of a
wild and untamed look."

   "Oh, thank you," she said in a cute British accent.  Her hand went up to
it.  "The bloody thing scratches." She looked around, saw me holding the
picture, saw she was naked, and somewhere she had never been.  "What in
bloody hell am I doing here?"

   "I wished you here." I had found that the straight forward explanation
worked best and brought out the erotic side quickest.  Once the question
why was answered, the passion kicked in.  It worked every time.  It was
funny, every woman still had her own personality, but, the statue drove
their libido.  And who was I to complain about that?

   "And what for?" she asked.

   "Because I saw your photo and I fell instantly, helplessly, insanely in
love with you.  I just had to hold you, kiss you," I said.

   "That's a bit cheeky.  And why should I cooperate in this mad dream of
yours?" she asked.  But she was also turning to straddle me as she asked
it. She put her arms round my neck so that our lips were just inches apart.

   "Because of this," I said and brought my lips to hers.  It was an
electric kiss, the kind where you see stars after.

   That's when there was a series of loud knocks on the door.  I ignored
them.  I heard a key scratching in the lock.  SHIT!  I dumped Anulka off my
lap and ran towards the door.  It opened right before I got there and Edna
stepped into my place.

   Digression for the purpose of explanation: Edna is my cousin.  Her
mother was my dad's sister.  They lived three doors down from us so Edna
and I were practically joined at the hips as kids.  When I was fourteen and
she was thirteen, the hormones really kicked in for both of us.  As Irish
kids in an Italian neighborhood, we were outsiders and so closer than most
cousins would be.  It was pretty natural that we initiated each other into
the mysterious world of sex.

   She stole her parents' copy of Joy of Sex and we worked through a bunch
of it.  Being good Irish Catholic cousins, we never thought of marriage, it
was just good old sinful sex, to be confessed on Sunday morning before
Mass, and taken up, in all sincere regret, on Tuesday afternoon, about as
long as the hellfire and damnation warning could override the urges in our
bodies.

   Both of us had several long term relationships as adults.  But whenever
we were both free, it was understood.  If one of us showed up, the other
helped out with the itch.  That's why we had exchanged keys.  So, when Edna
showed up, knowing I didn't have a girlfriend, she was horny and was
already in the mood for some sweaty exercise.  Back to the scene.

   Edna stopped in the door and stared.  I tried to get between her and
Anulka and get her back out the door.  Having grown up together, Edna was
as used to wrestling with me as much as talking.  She pushed me aside and
walked in.  "Who's that?"

   I closed the door making sure no one else was around and possibly
watching.  "Anulka, Edna, my cousin.  I'm sorry for the intrusion," I said
to Anulka.

   Edna turned on me, "Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend?"

   "I'm not his girlfriend," Anulka said in that wonderful accent.  I
smiled.

   Edna frowned, "Who are you?"

   "Anulka," she said.

   Edna was more confused now than before.  "Why are you here?"

   "I came because of his dream," she said.  "I was shooting a layout for
Playboy..."

   "You're a Goddamn playmate?" Edna screamed.

   Anulka nodded.

   Turning on me, Edna said, "Jesu Christo.  Michael Patrick O'Hara," I
knew I was in trouble then.  Much like a mom, Edna only used my middle name
when she was about to lower the boom on me.  "How the fuck did you get a
playboy bunny naked in your house?  You ain't nothing special."

   Anulka, still naked, still radiantly beautiful, asked, "Who are you and
what are you doing here?"

   "I'm his cousin..." her voice ran down, realizing she couldn't exactly
explain what she was doing here.

   "Anulka, sometimes, when we don't have a boyfriend or girlfriend, well,
we take care of each other," I said delicately.

   "Your cousin?  Pervert," she said.  Looking at Edna, she continued, "So,
you're here to get laid.  So am I," kind of laying it all out there.

   Edna nodded, then looked at me.  I had no idea what to do, so I
shrugged. She looked back at Anulka.  She smiled and shrugged, but there
was a twinkle in her eye as she looked at Edna.  Damn, but she was sexy at
that moment.  Edna, despite the awful name her folks laid on her, was also
a sexy woman having taken care of herself and being that pale skinned
redhead with freckles, looking just like a tourist picture of an Irish
lass. Edna looked back at me, "Well, you always were trying to talk me into
a three way, weren't you?"

   Edna grabbed my arm and started dragging me into the bedroom.  Anulka
laughed, the twinkle still in her eye, and followed.  Thank God she was a
creature of my dreams.

   Try to imagine what it must be like to be between a Nordic blonde
goddess and a red-haired Irish goddess, both in heat, both demanding, both
insatiable.  It was better than that.  Edna had always been an amazing
lover, open to new things, and always appreciative and giving of herself.
But having Anulka there opened some wild place that was tied directly to
her libido.

   They were still going strong after they had coaxed my third erection of
the night from me and left me wrung out.  Remember the expression, ridden
hard and put away wet.  That was me.

   I woke up as Edna was leaving.  She was dressed and had a dreamy
expression on her face.  "Thanks for inviting me, Mike."

   I sat up, "Sure." What else could I say?

   She gave me a sly smile.  "Next time you invite Anulka over, make sure
you call me."

   Anulka, naked beside me in the bed, laughed as she stretched
seductively. How could she still be sexual after a workout like that?

   Edna left, blowing both of us a kiss.  Anulka cuddled into my side.  "Is
that what you dreamed of?"

   "Yes," I said wrapping her in my arms.  I was soon asleep.



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