When he got his tongue in place Skip said, "Uh, tell me about this soul transfer business that you do. Exactly how do you go about it?"
They walked together into the living room. Skip fancied he could feel the heat of the woman's body even when they did not touch.
"It's rather a complicated business," she said, "but I can give you a general idea. There are certain specific moments when a man's soul is outside the protection of his body. It is at this precise instant that it must be stolen. You may have heard of the ancient superstition that says one of these unprotected times is when a person sneezes. Today we still say 'God bless you' when someone sneezes to ward off any nearby evil spirit that would snatch away the poor fellow's soul."
Skip smiled knowingly, but Aunt Edith's expression remained serious.
"There are," she continued, "other circumstances in which a man's soul is even more vulnerable for a second or two."
"That's really interesting," Skip mumbled, though he had been paying scant attention to what the woman was saying. She was facing him now, standing close enough that he could almost feel her heartbeat.
Struggling to maintain some shred of control, Skip drew a deep breath and pulled his eyes away from her breasts. His gaze came to rest on the half dozen rodlike figurines on the mantel that had caught his attention earlier.
"Those are strange-looking trinkets," he said.
Aunt Edith watched him. "Do you like them?"
"Not very much, to tell the truth. Something about them makes me feel creepy. Audrey tells me you make them."
"Yes. I have one in my workshop that's not quite finished. Would you like to see it?"
"Thanks all the same, but I don't think —»
"I should tell you that I use my bedroom for a workshop."
"But on second thought I might learn something."
"You might, indeed."
Beckoning to him, Aunt Edith led the way back through the dining alcove to a room in the rear corner of the cottage. Skip followed hungrily, watching the fluid motion of her buttocks under the clinging white silk.
The bedroom was a carnival of reds, yellows, oranges in swirling designs that seemed to draw Skip into them. The bed wore a soft crimson quilt. Beyond it was a low, round table. On this stood a figurine like those on the mantel, but somehow without the vibrancy of the others.
"Do you like it?" the woman asked. The tips of her breasts moved against his chest.
What little remained of Skip's self-control deserted him. He wrapped his arms about the woman, caressing her flawless back with trembling hands. He pulled her close and crushed his mouth on hers, feeling the full lips open under his and the warm tongue slide into his mouth like a small living thing.
His fingers found the single clasp at the back of her gown. He undid it clumsily, then gasped as the entire garment whispered to the floor. The tall woman stepped back for a moment, letting him enjoy her naked flesh. With numb fingers Skip fumbled at his belt.
"Let me do that," she said. "You lie back on the bed and relax."
She turned him effortlessly and steered him to the bed where he reclined with his eyes fixed on the woman's golden body. With deft movements she undid his clothing and whisked it away.
She paused with her hand resting flat on his bare stomach. "I have to ask this, Skip. What about Audrey?"
Several seconds ticked by before Skip could organize his thoughts enough to answer. "Audrey's a child," he rasped finally. "You and I… we're different. We're worldly. We need each other."
"Aren't you afraid this will hurt her?"
Skip thought fast. Never in his life had he wanted anything as much as he wanted this woman. He said, "She doesn't have to find out. We can still be married. You can live with us. You and I can still have each other, and Audrey will never have to know. With her money we can do anything we want to."
Aunt Edith sighed. "That's what I wanted to hear you say."
Her head dipped and the coppery wings of her hair whispered down across his naked chest and stomach like the touch of a shadow. His hands clawed at the scarlet quilt as he was sucked into a new world of unbearable pleasure.
Abruptly the woman's mouth released him and she let her body flow to the thick orange carpet beside the bed. She rolled onto her back and held her arms out to Skip.
"Come to me, my lover."
With his every nerve screaming, Skip rolled off the bed and onto the firm, yielding flesh of the woman's body. She guided him expertly with one hand and stroked his back with the other. Skip gave himself up to the whirling vortex. He slid in and down, deeper and ever deeper.
At the instant of crashing climax he felt a violent wrench unlike anything in his experience. It was like being yanked inside out. He had a momentary sensation of disembodied movement, then all feeling dissolved into a murky blur.
When Audrey returned, her aunt stood waiting for her in the living room.
"I got the cognac," the girl said, holding up a brown paper bag. "Where's Skip?"
Aunt Edith shook her head and smiled sadly at her niece. "I'm sorry, dear."
"Not another one?"
"I'm afraid so."
"You gave him the test?"
"Like the others, he failed."
"Oh, Aunt Edith, won't I ever find a man who will want me for myself and will be true to me?" She put her arms around the older woman and lay a cheek against the cushion of her breast.
"Of course you will, dear." Aunt Edith stroked the girl's hair. "It's just a matter of meeting the right one." She smiled. "But in the meantime, remember that it's not a total loss."
"That's true." The girl sighed and stepped back from her aunt. She turned her eyes to the mantel where seven erect figures stood in a row at attention.
"Will you be wanting him tonight, Aunt Edith?"
"No, dear, you first. It's only fair."
Audrey crossed to the mantel and grasped the newest of the rigid figures. It was warm and pliable to her touch.
"Good night, Aunt Edith," she said.
"Good night, Audrey. Enjoy."
As his sensations gradually returned Skip realized he had no power of movement. After the first flash of panic he relaxed, stopped resisting, and let himself be thrust head first into the warm, wet orifice. The slippery walls closed around him, caressing him all over.
A hard way to go, maybe, he decided, but all things considered, not so bad.
DAUGHTER OF THE GOLDEN WEST
Dennis Etchison
At the school were three boys who were best friends. Together they edited the campus newspaper, wrote or appeared in plays from time to time, and often could be seen huddled together over waxed paper lunches, over microscopes in the biology lab, sometimes until dark, over desks leafed with papers most Saturdays, elbow to elbow with their English Department advisor, and even over the same clusters of girls gathered like small bouquets of poppies on the steps of the cafeteria, joking and conning and in general charming their way through the four long years.
Almost four years.
Don and Bob were on the tennis squad, Don and David pasted-up the Buckskin Bugler feature pages, Bob and David devised satirical skits for the annual Will & Prophecy Class Assemblies, and together they jockeyed for second, third and fourth positions in their graduating class — the first place was held inexplicably by one of those painted-smile, spray-haired secretary types (in fact she was Secretary of the Senior Class) named Arnetta Kuhn, and neither separately nor en masse could they dislodge, dissuade, distract, deflower or dethrone that irritating young woman from her destiny as Valedictorian, bent as she had been upon her goal since childhood, long before the boys had met, a target fixed in her mind as a stepping stone to a greater constellation of goals which included marrying the most promising young executive in Westside Hills, whoever he might happen to be, and furnishing him and a ranch-style home yet to be built on a South American Street with four dishwater-haired children and a parturient drawerful of Blue Chip Stamps. And so it went.