Authors: Marilyn Campbell
Topaz Dreams (13 page)
His
powers were increasing. He knew that and was prepared to adapt, but the
struggle between his two selves was escalating in spite of every
attempt he made to suppress his awakening humanity. The emotions
bubbling inside of him, unexpectedly taking over at the oddest times,
had to be some sort of challenge to his worthiness to handle greater
powers. It was as if his human half was demanding he acknowledge his
weaknesses.
Then what did that make Steve—the ultimate test? Resist
her and acquire the gifts of the most powerful felan. Give in to her,
accept his humanity, and lose, not only the chance to reach a higher
mental level, but perhaps the powers he had had since birth.
Not long ago the wiser choice would have been obvious.
Underwood grunted as he ended his telephone conversation with King. So,
the two detectives had pounced on the bait, and Barbanell revealed that
she had made a connection between him and Nesterman. Regardless of what
she had to say, he was not ready to hand over the scientist to her,
even though his efforts to turn Nesterman into an ally had not yet
succeeded. His frustration led him to giving King a free hand in Miami
Beach, so long as none of his actions could be tied to Underwood.
Barbanell and Falcon were like two annoying flies, and he wanted them
swatted away.
Work held little appeal for him this morning. With a
resigned sigh, he headed for the parlor, where he knew Delphina would
be right where he had left her.
"You look very tense, Gordon," she noted with concern. "May I be of some assistance?"
Sitting down next to her, he took her slender hand in his. "You help just by being here, my dear."
"I
am able to do much more. I am aware that Outerworld morality is less
open in some ways than I am accustomed to in Innerworld. It occurs to
me that you might not understand what my job as an entertainer at the
mining camp would have entailed." When Gordon raised an eyebrow at her,
she continued, "I am a fantasizer. For a short time I can make you
believe you are whoever you wish to be. Although you would never leave
this room, mentally you can be any place, any time.
"A sexual
release can relieve tension, but combined with a fantasy, it is
considerably more effective. You have never requested my services in
this manner. I do not know if you were hesitant to ask or if you have
not found me desirable."
"Not desirable?" Gordon took a long slow
breath to steady his erratic heartbeat. "You are the first woman I have
desired in years. From the moment I saw you I wanted you." He pulled
his hand from hers and looked away. He was embarrassed as if he were an
adolescent on a first date. "But it doesn't matter."
"If you have
wanted a sexual release with me and not satisfied the need, that would
explain your frustration. It is not healthy to deny a natural physical
urge such as sexual gratification. I am here for you, Gordon." She
placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face back to her.
He met
her gaze, watched her tongue wet her lips in anticipation of his kiss.
Hesitantly, he bent his head until his mouth touched hers. A small
spark caught, and a long-forgotten stirring began in his groin. He
deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms, seeking her tongue with
his own. Her hand moved slowly from his cheek, kneading the muscles of
his shoulder, discovering his sensitive nipple through his shirt, down
over his belt buckle to the semi-hardness between his thighs.
He
tried, desperately wanting it to be different with her. The past would
not allow it. It intruded with images that reminded him of what he
needed to satisfy the wretched creature in his trousers. With a groan
bordering on a sob, he pulled away from Delphina and strode to the
window.
"Gordon?" She glided to him and placed her hand on his arm. "Have I done something to offend you?"
He looked at her in disbelief, opened his mouth, but foiled to find a satisfactory explanation.
"You
do not need to tell me, you know. I could touch your mind and see
whatever it is that is so difficult for you. Perhaps in the sharing you
would find comfort as well."
Gordon felt an overwhelming need for
the comfort she offered. He had never confided in anyone, about
anything, least of all his secret. "Delphina, whether I told you or you
learned it in your way, you would be too repulsed to allow me near you
again. I don't think I could stand that. You see, I can't ... I'm sorry
I kissed you. Let's forget it, all right?"
"I do not believe that
would be the best thing for you, Gordon. I am very knowledgeable about
sex, and I could never be repulsed by anything about you. Please tell
me why you cannot come to me for your pleasure."
Could she be right?
Was there any way she could know about him and not hate him? Would this
beautiful woman from another world grant him the satisfaction he had so
long denied himself? "I would not know where to begin," he finally said
with a shake of his head.
Delphina took his hand and led him back to
the sofa. She made sure he was comfortably seated, walked around behind
him, and placed her fingertips on his temples. "Relax now, Gordon.
Close your eyes and remember. Let me see what I need to do to please
you."
As soon as Gordon closed his eyes, a scene crystallized before
him. At first he knew Delphina was planting the image into his mind. A
moment later, all awareness of present time and place was gone, and he
was reliving a memory, physically and emotionally, not merely watching
it.
He was thirteen again, sitting at Miss Preston's kitchen table.
His knuckles smarted from the whack she had just delivered with her
wooden ruler. Not for the first time, she reminded him that she was
hired to tutor a genius, not to teach manners to an adolescent.
But
he couldn't seem to help himself. Ever since his friend, Frankie, had
told him about what men and women did in private, he hadn't been able
to get it out of his head. Maybe if he didn't love Miss Preston quite
so much, or if her red hair, green eyes, and small body were not quite
so beautiful, maybe then he could keep his eyes from wandering over
her, and stop wondering what she'd look like without her clothes.
That
day she changed her tactics. Accepting the fact that his highly active
curiosity about every academic subject had naturally extended to sex,
she took on the responsibility of satisfying that curiosity in order to
get his mind back to his studies.
Gordon could not believe his
dreams had come true when she undressed for him, and when his hesitant
first touch made her moan, he was certain she loved him, too. She
showed him how to please her with his hands and mouth, but a moment
after she seemed satisfied with his performance, she turned on him.
He
had to be punished for his wicked behavior, she scolded him. She had to
help him learn not to be ruled by the mindless devil in his pants. By
threatening to tell his father that Gordon had raped her, she forced
him to accept the punishment she believed would teach him the
self-discipline he needed.
Gordon's father preferred to use his
fists or his leather belt to enforce strict discipline in his house.
Miss Preston's weapon was her wooden ruler, but she was equally
proficient at inflicting punishment with her hands, fingernails, and
teeth. But that day through it all his erection never relaxed, as if
that part of him truly did have a wicked mind of its own. That was
enough to convince him that she was right about having to learn to
discipline himself before the stupid appendage between his legs
destroyed his intelligence, the only thing his father could not take
away from him.
When she felt he had been sufficiently chastised, she
allowed him to climax with a few impersonal jerks of her hand. Then
they both got dressed and returned to the calculus lesson as if none of
it had happened.
Each lesson after that began in a similar way, with
Miss Preston continually finding new, inventive ways to punish Gordon
for his evil male thoughts. When she did take him into her body, she
tainted that joy as well, with tricks such as viciously biting his
nipple or sticking him with a hatpin at the moment he climaxed.
For
two very formative years he anticipated and dreaded their time
together. As in all subjects, Gordon was an excellent student. By the
time they parted company, pain, pleasure, and guilt had permanently
meshed together inside him. From several futile attempts with other
girls and women, he also knew he could not maintain an erection without
the pain. Eventually, he gave up trying. He had an empire to build
instead.
The years flew by in a sexless void with the exception of two notable incidents.
Gordon's
father stopped beating him for his many offenses when, at age sixteen
Gordon topped his father's six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame, but his
mother's torture worsened. He considered his mother a weak, spineless
creature, a victim if there ever was one, but that was no excuse for
what his father put her through. He hated his father. And he hated
himself for being the same gender.
For years Gordon stood by
helplessly as the old man took out his anger on her verbally, but when
he had used his meaty fists, breaking her jaw and blackening her eye,
Gordon had had enough. In a fit of accumulated rage, he had used his
own fists, just like his father always had, but he had not stop with
injury. He had not stopped until the older man lay in a bloody,
lifeless heap.
His mother had observed him wordlessly as he removed
all his father's identification and folded the body into a large
garbage bag. Gordon had weighted the bag and dumped it in the river. It
never occurred to him that he could be caught. It simply was not in his
destiny. He had returned home to find his mother had cleaned the
bloodstains and was calmly waiting for him to take her to the hospital
for her jaw. As far as anyone ever knew, her husband had left home one
night and never returned. The matter was never discussed at all between
her and her beloved son, but ever since that day she believed she owed
him her life and her freedom, and he could do no wrong.
That night,
with adrenaline still racing through his system, Gordon Underwood had
masturbated, each purposeful stroke matching a remembered punch to his
father's face.
The second incident occurred exactly fifteen years
after he and Miss Preston had played out their farewell performance.
One night she had appeared on his doorstep looking much older than her
fifty years. She had allowed her own hatred and anger to take its toll,
but her greed had not dwindled at all. She had read an article about
her one-time star pupil, she had informed him, saying that life was
treating him well and that he was wealthy and gaining prominence daily.
Underwood
had been tempted to turn her away, then thought better of it. He had
listened to her reminders of their relationship, which she said could
be renewed openly now that he was of age. After all, she had helped to
make him what he had become. By showing him his weakness he had
overcome it, hadn't he? Shyly, she had spoken of financial assistance.
Blackmail was such an ugly word, she had whined, and he had coolly
agreed.
They had been alone in the house; no one knew she had paid
him a visit. He had shut out the vision of the scrawny hag she had
become, and remembered the beauty he had worshipped; she who had taken
his innocent, pure love and had turned it into a grotesque perversion.
It had been so long he told himself, then had told her aloud, with a
hard, punishing kiss on her tight mouth. Her teeth had clamped down on
his lower lip, breaking the skin. The taste of his own blood pushed him
over the edge. It had been too long for both of them. They had
undressed hurriedly. He had allowed her inflictions of pain and verbal
abuse, and he had grown stiff and anxious, as he had known he would.
But he was no longer a boy who could be cowed by threats and promises
of dark pleasures. He was a full-grown man with a glowing future and
enemies who would use his weakness against him if they knew of it.
Unexpectedly,
Underwood had pushed her down on her back and mounted her. He had
savored the look of surprise and fear that touched her cold, green eyes
when she saw the size his weapon had grown to, and it grew when she
screamed from the pain of his thrust into her skinny, unprepared body.
"I
loved you, Miss Preston ... once upon a time." His hands had closed
around her throat as his hips slammed into hers. Miss Preston had
absorbed his final climax with the last beat of her twisted heart___
Delphina's
fingertips moved from his temples and stroked the skin of his head for
a moment before releasing him completely. Reliving every sickening
incident left him too spent to raise his eyelids. Nor did he want to
see the change in Delphina now that she knew of the ugliness inside
him. And yet, for some reason, he did not feel so ugly anymore.
She
took his icy hands, and warmed them with her breath. Only when she
settled herself on his lap with her arms around his neck and her head
on his shoulder did he dare look at her. Delphina smiled. He was so
elated by her reaction, he found himself running his hands over her,
kissing her, and murmuring nonsense against her neck.
"Gordon. My
Gordon. You have very dark memories, but that is all they are—memories.
I cannot change them and neither can you. You must not let them affect
the present. It is against our laws to do violence to each other, even
if it is for the purpose of pleasure. But I still want to try to please
you. Remember, you cannot disappoint me. Whatever happens, I will be
here for you."
Delphina unbuttoned his shirt and toyed with the
sparse hairs on his chest. "I like the man you are, Gordon. In
Innerworld, a man with such a beautiful body would be in demand by many
women.. You should never feel shame about your natural physical needs."
She kept talking, telling him what a good thing it was that he was a
man, how much she needed him, exactly as he was, and how much she
wanted to be needed by him.
Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Gordon
could not be sure. He was entranced by her voice and the butterfly
movements of her fingers over his naked body. A thought floated by that
this was one of the fantasies she had spoken of, but he wanted it to be
real, and so it was.
Her skin warmed to his touch. She melted for him. And he was all man for her.
"I love you, Delphina. You are mine, now and forever."
She moved against him in answer and he wanted her . . . again . . . and again.
powers were increasing. He knew that and was prepared to adapt, but the
struggle between his two selves was escalating in spite of every
attempt he made to suppress his awakening humanity. The emotions
bubbling inside of him, unexpectedly taking over at the oddest times,
had to be some sort of challenge to his worthiness to handle greater
powers. It was as if his human half was demanding he acknowledge his
weaknesses.
Then what did that make Steve—the ultimate test? Resist
her and acquire the gifts of the most powerful felan. Give in to her,
accept his humanity, and lose, not only the chance to reach a higher
mental level, but perhaps the powers he had had since birth.
Not long ago the wiser choice would have been obvious.
Chapter Nine
There is no great genius without a mixture of madness.—Aristotle
GordonUnderwood grunted as he ended his telephone conversation with King. So,
the two detectives had pounced on the bait, and Barbanell revealed that
she had made a connection between him and Nesterman. Regardless of what
she had to say, he was not ready to hand over the scientist to her,
even though his efforts to turn Nesterman into an ally had not yet
succeeded. His frustration led him to giving King a free hand in Miami
Beach, so long as none of his actions could be tied to Underwood.
Barbanell and Falcon were like two annoying flies, and he wanted them
swatted away.
Work held little appeal for him this morning. With a
resigned sigh, he headed for the parlor, where he knew Delphina would
be right where he had left her.
"You look very tense, Gordon," she noted with concern. "May I be of some assistance?"
Sitting down next to her, he took her slender hand in his. "You help just by being here, my dear."
"I
am able to do much more. I am aware that Outerworld morality is less
open in some ways than I am accustomed to in Innerworld. It occurs to
me that you might not understand what my job as an entertainer at the
mining camp would have entailed." When Gordon raised an eyebrow at her,
she continued, "I am a fantasizer. For a short time I can make you
believe you are whoever you wish to be. Although you would never leave
this room, mentally you can be any place, any time.
"A sexual
release can relieve tension, but combined with a fantasy, it is
considerably more effective. You have never requested my services in
this manner. I do not know if you were hesitant to ask or if you have
not found me desirable."
"Not desirable?" Gordon took a long slow
breath to steady his erratic heartbeat. "You are the first woman I have
desired in years. From the moment I saw you I wanted you." He pulled
his hand from hers and looked away. He was embarrassed as if he were an
adolescent on a first date. "But it doesn't matter."
"If you have
wanted a sexual release with me and not satisfied the need, that would
explain your frustration. It is not healthy to deny a natural physical
urge such as sexual gratification. I am here for you, Gordon." She
placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face back to her.
He met
her gaze, watched her tongue wet her lips in anticipation of his kiss.
Hesitantly, he bent his head until his mouth touched hers. A small
spark caught, and a long-forgotten stirring began in his groin. He
deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms, seeking her tongue with
his own. Her hand moved slowly from his cheek, kneading the muscles of
his shoulder, discovering his sensitive nipple through his shirt, down
over his belt buckle to the semi-hardness between his thighs.
He
tried, desperately wanting it to be different with her. The past would
not allow it. It intruded with images that reminded him of what he
needed to satisfy the wretched creature in his trousers. With a groan
bordering on a sob, he pulled away from Delphina and strode to the
window.
"Gordon?" She glided to him and placed her hand on his arm. "Have I done something to offend you?"
He looked at her in disbelief, opened his mouth, but foiled to find a satisfactory explanation.
"You
do not need to tell me, you know. I could touch your mind and see
whatever it is that is so difficult for you. Perhaps in the sharing you
would find comfort as well."
Gordon felt an overwhelming need for
the comfort she offered. He had never confided in anyone, about
anything, least of all his secret. "Delphina, whether I told you or you
learned it in your way, you would be too repulsed to allow me near you
again. I don't think I could stand that. You see, I can't ... I'm sorry
I kissed you. Let's forget it, all right?"
"I do not believe that
would be the best thing for you, Gordon. I am very knowledgeable about
sex, and I could never be repulsed by anything about you. Please tell
me why you cannot come to me for your pleasure."
Could she be right?
Was there any way she could know about him and not hate him? Would this
beautiful woman from another world grant him the satisfaction he had so
long denied himself? "I would not know where to begin," he finally said
with a shake of his head.
Delphina took his hand and led him back to
the sofa. She made sure he was comfortably seated, walked around behind
him, and placed her fingertips on his temples. "Relax now, Gordon.
Close your eyes and remember. Let me see what I need to do to please
you."
As soon as Gordon closed his eyes, a scene crystallized before
him. At first he knew Delphina was planting the image into his mind. A
moment later, all awareness of present time and place was gone, and he
was reliving a memory, physically and emotionally, not merely watching
it.
He was thirteen again, sitting at Miss Preston's kitchen table.
His knuckles smarted from the whack she had just delivered with her
wooden ruler. Not for the first time, she reminded him that she was
hired to tutor a genius, not to teach manners to an adolescent.
But
he couldn't seem to help himself. Ever since his friend, Frankie, had
told him about what men and women did in private, he hadn't been able
to get it out of his head. Maybe if he didn't love Miss Preston quite
so much, or if her red hair, green eyes, and small body were not quite
so beautiful, maybe then he could keep his eyes from wandering over
her, and stop wondering what she'd look like without her clothes.
That
day she changed her tactics. Accepting the fact that his highly active
curiosity about every academic subject had naturally extended to sex,
she took on the responsibility of satisfying that curiosity in order to
get his mind back to his studies.
Gordon could not believe his
dreams had come true when she undressed for him, and when his hesitant
first touch made her moan, he was certain she loved him, too. She
showed him how to please her with his hands and mouth, but a moment
after she seemed satisfied with his performance, she turned on him.
He
had to be punished for his wicked behavior, she scolded him. She had to
help him learn not to be ruled by the mindless devil in his pants. By
threatening to tell his father that Gordon had raped her, she forced
him to accept the punishment she believed would teach him the
self-discipline he needed.
Gordon's father preferred to use his
fists or his leather belt to enforce strict discipline in his house.
Miss Preston's weapon was her wooden ruler, but she was equally
proficient at inflicting punishment with her hands, fingernails, and
teeth. But that day through it all his erection never relaxed, as if
that part of him truly did have a wicked mind of its own. That was
enough to convince him that she was right about having to learn to
discipline himself before the stupid appendage between his legs
destroyed his intelligence, the only thing his father could not take
away from him.
When she felt he had been sufficiently chastised, she
allowed him to climax with a few impersonal jerks of her hand. Then
they both got dressed and returned to the calculus lesson as if none of
it had happened.
Each lesson after that began in a similar way, with
Miss Preston continually finding new, inventive ways to punish Gordon
for his evil male thoughts. When she did take him into her body, she
tainted that joy as well, with tricks such as viciously biting his
nipple or sticking him with a hatpin at the moment he climaxed.
For
two very formative years he anticipated and dreaded their time
together. As in all subjects, Gordon was an excellent student. By the
time they parted company, pain, pleasure, and guilt had permanently
meshed together inside him. From several futile attempts with other
girls and women, he also knew he could not maintain an erection without
the pain. Eventually, he gave up trying. He had an empire to build
instead.
The years flew by in a sexless void with the exception of two notable incidents.
Gordon's
father stopped beating him for his many offenses when, at age sixteen
Gordon topped his father's six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame, but his
mother's torture worsened. He considered his mother a weak, spineless
creature, a victim if there ever was one, but that was no excuse for
what his father put her through. He hated his father. And he hated
himself for being the same gender.
For years Gordon stood by
helplessly as the old man took out his anger on her verbally, but when
he had used his meaty fists, breaking her jaw and blackening her eye,
Gordon had had enough. In a fit of accumulated rage, he had used his
own fists, just like his father always had, but he had not stop with
injury. He had not stopped until the older man lay in a bloody,
lifeless heap.
His mother had observed him wordlessly as he removed
all his father's identification and folded the body into a large
garbage bag. Gordon had weighted the bag and dumped it in the river. It
never occurred to him that he could be caught. It simply was not in his
destiny. He had returned home to find his mother had cleaned the
bloodstains and was calmly waiting for him to take her to the hospital
for her jaw. As far as anyone ever knew, her husband had left home one
night and never returned. The matter was never discussed at all between
her and her beloved son, but ever since that day she believed she owed
him her life and her freedom, and he could do no wrong.
That night,
with adrenaline still racing through his system, Gordon Underwood had
masturbated, each purposeful stroke matching a remembered punch to his
father's face.
The second incident occurred exactly fifteen years
after he and Miss Preston had played out their farewell performance.
One night she had appeared on his doorstep looking much older than her
fifty years. She had allowed her own hatred and anger to take its toll,
but her greed had not dwindled at all. She had read an article about
her one-time star pupil, she had informed him, saying that life was
treating him well and that he was wealthy and gaining prominence daily.
Underwood
had been tempted to turn her away, then thought better of it. He had
listened to her reminders of their relationship, which she said could
be renewed openly now that he was of age. After all, she had helped to
make him what he had become. By showing him his weakness he had
overcome it, hadn't he? Shyly, she had spoken of financial assistance.
Blackmail was such an ugly word, she had whined, and he had coolly
agreed.
They had been alone in the house; no one knew she had paid
him a visit. He had shut out the vision of the scrawny hag she had
become, and remembered the beauty he had worshipped; she who had taken
his innocent, pure love and had turned it into a grotesque perversion.
It had been so long he told himself, then had told her aloud, with a
hard, punishing kiss on her tight mouth. Her teeth had clamped down on
his lower lip, breaking the skin. The taste of his own blood pushed him
over the edge. It had been too long for both of them. They had
undressed hurriedly. He had allowed her inflictions of pain and verbal
abuse, and he had grown stiff and anxious, as he had known he would.
But he was no longer a boy who could be cowed by threats and promises
of dark pleasures. He was a full-grown man with a glowing future and
enemies who would use his weakness against him if they knew of it.
Unexpectedly,
Underwood had pushed her down on her back and mounted her. He had
savored the look of surprise and fear that touched her cold, green eyes
when she saw the size his weapon had grown to, and it grew when she
screamed from the pain of his thrust into her skinny, unprepared body.
"I
loved you, Miss Preston ... once upon a time." His hands had closed
around her throat as his hips slammed into hers. Miss Preston had
absorbed his final climax with the last beat of her twisted heart___
Delphina's
fingertips moved from his temples and stroked the skin of his head for
a moment before releasing him completely. Reliving every sickening
incident left him too spent to raise his eyelids. Nor did he want to
see the change in Delphina now that she knew of the ugliness inside
him. And yet, for some reason, he did not feel so ugly anymore.
She
took his icy hands, and warmed them with her breath. Only when she
settled herself on his lap with her arms around his neck and her head
on his shoulder did he dare look at her. Delphina smiled. He was so
elated by her reaction, he found himself running his hands over her,
kissing her, and murmuring nonsense against her neck.
"Gordon. My
Gordon. You have very dark memories, but that is all they are—memories.
I cannot change them and neither can you. You must not let them affect
the present. It is against our laws to do violence to each other, even
if it is for the purpose of pleasure. But I still want to try to please
you. Remember, you cannot disappoint me. Whatever happens, I will be
here for you."
Delphina unbuttoned his shirt and toyed with the
sparse hairs on his chest. "I like the man you are, Gordon. In
Innerworld, a man with such a beautiful body would be in demand by many
women.. You should never feel shame about your natural physical needs."
She kept talking, telling him what a good thing it was that he was a
man, how much she needed him, exactly as he was, and how much she
wanted to be needed by him.
Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Gordon
could not be sure. He was entranced by her voice and the butterfly
movements of her fingers over his naked body. A thought floated by that
this was one of the fantasies she had spoken of, but he wanted it to be
real, and so it was.
Her skin warmed to his touch. She melted for him. And he was all man for her.
"I love you, Delphina. You are mine, now and forever."
She moved against him in answer and he wanted her . . . again . . . and again.
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