story - Maa-Shoo-Goo-Eee

[bill512]

Heather was your average girl next door. She was actually very pretty. Long brown hair, bright green eyes, beautiful face, though covered in these very unflattering eyeglasses. And she had a pretty figure. Her problem was that she was average. Average about almost everything. And when she fell in love with a man named Pete who wouldn't give her a second look, she became desperate. As she maintained her daily routines over the weeks and months, her eye began to subconsciously catch ways, experimental ways, to attract her man. To make him love her the way she loved him. The thing of it was, she never even knew him. It was just one of those things. He was the new guy at work. Tall, dark, polite, and there was just something about him that made her crazy, even wet. It took her weeks to find out his first name. She found it out from a colleague, who then laughed indifferently at her curiosity. She fantasized about him, touching herself, a grown woman, and falling asleep in his imaginary arms.

Yup. It's really tough to be average. People all over the world practically all their lives try to blend in, and then when they finally do they find out that no one notices them. They're invisible status quo. They may as well be a piece of furniture or a part of the scenery. But Heather met this woman. A very strange woman. She wore strange cloths. Jamaican clothes. You know? Like men wear these really ugly Hawaiian shirts, color bursting from the seams. They don't match anything, but they're fun to wear. She wore this really colorful skirt and bandana. She looked like that lady who used to have a television show because she was psychic. Read about her in a magazine, so she paid her a worried visit at the price of two hundred dollars, right there in the city.

"So ... this man ... you want him to love you?" "Yes." "Are you sure about this sister? It is a very serious thing you ask of me." "I'm sure." "Why do you love him?" Heather folded her legs in a squat in front of the Jamaican woman. Incense casually floated by her eyes and nose, seemingly studying her. The room was dark. Lots of candles. "I don't know. He makes me excited. I want to excite him too." The lady reached across to her and lightly pulled at her shirt. "With these cloths? What you want you can do just by getting better cloths." Then she reached for her pouched purse. "Here. Take your money back. Try buying nicer cloths first." "No. I want your help."

"It is the Alligator." "The what?" "The Alligator, sister. Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee." She handed something to her. It was long and thin, with a round head on top. "You put it in your vagina." "What?" Heather was shocked. "Take it." But reluctantly Heather took it. "You put it in your vagina. It is your lover ... this man named Pete." "You want me to put this in my vagina?" And Heather laughed.

"It is no laughing matter, sister. That is the Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee. The beast. You wear it. You carry it. But hear me loud and clear. Open your ears. The Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee is very dangerous." "Why?" "Because it is spirit. Your desires for this man of yours. He will be consumed with you. He will never want you to let him go."

Heather studied the tiny object the mystic handed her. It looked like it was made out of some animal skin. It kind of did look like a man. The round head on top was of a face, though of no apparent artistic value. "Is it clean?" And the lady laughed. A hearty, jolly laugh that shook her belly. "Yes it's clean, sister. Wear it to work."


Lots of things are strange in the civilized world. Even nature itself appears strange. In the city there is concrete and steel. Ugly concrete and steel. Packed with traffic and indifferent, lonely people. They go about their daily lives, and there's nothing wrong with that. But still ... there's something about it. Something foreign. The smell. The smog. The ignorance. The crime. A million islands. A million far away and deserted islands of people, so far away.

In the spirit world things are very different. Disparaged, these spirits are. Offended. The ancestors of the very old, though they probably don't even know it anymore. The onlookers who see everything and don't understand the city’s point of view. So they play games with the ignorant. Like slaps in the face. As if to say "Wake up!" ... but no one ever listens. They term it unexplained, and then go back. Back to the unexplained.

Monday morning Heather sat at her computer, like every other day. She'd decided to wear a long dress that day. Usually she wore jeans, but "the thing" was uncomfortable. Dry. And she wanted the quick access. It spooked her, what the lady had told her. It wasn't big, but it was odd. Seemed to tingle. She wasn't even going to do it. Her pragmatic side all weekend had told her to just forget the whole thing. But she woke up late Sunday morning, lonely. And had decided that Monday would be the only day this "Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee" would have its chance to work, and change her life. She spent until five that morning washing the thing with soap and water.

"Heather?" "Yes!" "You're a bit nervous, aren't you?" Then she laughed. "Oh. Didn't get much sleep last night." "Well, here. Here's the new report from human resources." "Ok, thanks." "Have you seen Pete today?" Heather was shocked at the question. "The thing" tingled. "No. Why?" "He's a mess. Must have had a bad weekend too. You should see him. He looks like he's been chewed up and spit out." "Really?" "Yup."

Heather’s company had a spartan break room. A few vending machines and a cheap table and chairs. It was there that she saw Pete. He was sitting there, arms on the table, clutching a cup of vender coffee. She walked in and put in two quarters with her back to him. Pete immediately noticed her come in. His face was pale. All his color was gone. Usually he took on a glow of health, but not that day.

"You're very pretty today." "What?" She turned around to face him. Her eyes studied him, curiously, and down below, for the first time that day, she got wet. "You look very pretty today." "Thank you." "What's your name again?" "Heather." "Heather. What a beautiful name. Heather ..." And she smiled. "You're Pete." Then he smiled too. "Yah ... wow." Then he shook his head as if snapping out of a trance. "I can not concentrate today." "Have a bad weekend?" "No. I mean ... Yah. I guess I did." "Everybody has bad days." Her coffee was done, but she decided to take it to her desk. She was very nervous. The thing seemed to be working. Weird. But Pete didn't let her leave. He stood, his tall six foot three stance towered over her. "Heather?" Then he laughed, nervously too. "Can we go out tonight?" "I beg your pardon?" "Sorry. I just ... can I take you out for dinner tonight?" Heather began to breathe heavy. What was the right thing to do? What was the right thing to say. Down below was a boil. The Alligator. The thing. It was talking to her. Interacting with her. Making her reach climax with the uncertainty of the atmosphere. "Ok!" Then she ran, spilling some of her coffee on the cheap blue rug, out the door, and to her desk.

She had an orgasm….

[bill512]

A geek is young. Average is young. Barren. Immature. Deprived of life's better virtues. We're made for one thing, and do another, abandoning it. And that makes us strange. Just like Heather. Just like Pete. That night they ate, laughed, joked, even held hands as if brother and sister. But deep inside both of them was a hunger. A yearning. "Rescue me ... Take me away." It is a lie that makes us this way, and that lie is being civilized. Passionless. Proper. How could anyone possibly be civilized?

Pete took her to his apartment and they made love all night long. He was obsessed with her. Everything about her. And she him, when hidden inside her purse was a beast that watched. Grinned. Stared at its handy work. Floating like smoke throughout every room. Past the pictures on the wall. Past the food in the refrigerator, to the bedroom. Where two passionate lovers, no longer afraid, learned to bury one another in each other's love. Like they were one. But it knew they weren't. Not yet. And ten miles away a jolly Jamaican woman suddenly stopped whatever she was doing. Something was wrong. More work had to be done, it said. So it sent its message.

Immediately Pete went down. Down to her vagina, where he licked and kissed. Heather was consumed in pleasure. She'd never felt such pleasure before. Everything he did. His kisses. His love-make. And now? His head between her legs. She passionately grasped his head, opening. Moaning. And she pulled, rubbing her vagina carelessly up and down his face. Sloppily. So wet. So hot in mutual fluid. Sweat dripping around and down her belly. She never wanted it to end. And Pete endured it, letting her lead, her devotee. Then when she let go in ecstasy he wouldn't let her rest, or breathe. He'd go back to his kissing. Back to his every fiber wanting and needing her pleasure. Up her belly, back to her face, to her lips, the smell, the odor. Then back down again. She'd scream not even knowing what she wanted. Passion does that to people. Loses them in long drifts of barren and plentiful sea. Oceans of never-ending wonders and monsters. She rolled screaming, over top of him. Sweaty and powerful thighs clutched onto his head. And she sat up digging. Grinding. It was exquisite. "Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee!" She yelled out, and she shook. Vibrating. Pounding his head into her middle, up and down, while Petes big frame bounced, tugged along with her. His hands massaged up her slender stomach.

"Yes." It said. "Much more work still to be done." "No!" Was a cry that came from ten miles away. “Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee! No!”

[bill512]

"How did you know where to find me?" "It's not important." The lady looked around the office cubical. She was drawing attention from Heather's coworkers. It was a week since they last met. "Can we talk somewhere? Outside?" "Sure. There's a coffee shop across the street."

"Something is wrong." "Why?" "This man of yours. How does he do?" "Pete?" Heather smiled. "Ah. So you do fine. But how does he do?" "Fine." "He is obsessed?" "We both are. Your thing worked the very first day I used it." "Where is it now?" "It's at home." "Do you still use it?" "No. I've not had to."

"Why do you say something is wrong?" She shook her head, worried. "I sense something." Then she leaned across the table and stared deep into Heather's eyes. "You are certain about your man?" "Yes." "I feel I must remove the spell." "Remove it? No!" "Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee is mischievous. Something is wrong. I sense something terrible is going to happen." "To Pete?" "To both of you." "If you remove the spell what happens then? Does Pete forget about me?" "I don't know. Maybe he'll forget. Maybe not."

The two were silent for a long time. She was ominous, the lady. The way she stared. Wise. Heather just stirred the sugar in her coffee. Thinking. Worrying. For the past week she and Pete enjoyed what any romance novelist on the planet would label the perfect relationship. He was adorable to her. Worshipful. He thought about her every day, surprising her. Playing wonderfully romantic games. And the sex. Oh the sex. It was beyond words. He found pleasure for her in ways she never knew she felt. With senses she never knew she had. Every night she was like butter, and melted with him in the sheets. It should have been exhausting, but it was exhilarating.

"I can't let you." "You don't have to let me, sister. I just do." "Please don't." Her face turned pale. Panicked. "Please. It's wonderful. Don't end it now. This thing has changed my life. We're going to get married." "Hmmm.... Don't say I didn't warn you. I know when things are wrong. That is my gift. And something is wrong here. I don't know what, but something is terribly ... wrong." Then she stood and was about to walk away, but instead asked: "Are you pregnant?" Heather was surprised. "No." "Hmmm.... Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee ... what are you up to ..." Then she left, out the shop door and disappeared down the busy street. "Pregnant?" She hadn't thought of that. She went back to work stopping off to see Pete along the way. Like a boy, he hid something under his desk. Another surprise. But he seemed fine. In love.

That night they both went to Heather's apartment together. But along the way, Heather wanted to stop at a local drug store, where she picked up a pregnancy test. When they got home she ran the test, and it tested negative. "Pregnant?" She asked herself. "No."

[bill512]

It wasn't for another month that anything really strange happened again. Heather and Pete were the perfect couple. They'd even planned a wedding together. The man's devotion seemed to stretch to no end. And Heather was no longer an average woman. She was exceptional. Important. A lover's star.

But it was late at night on a Sunday, early morning hours. She was sound asleep but suddenly snapped out of a dream. A dream she immediately forgot. And down below, between her lovely legs was Pete. Still. Quiet. Eyes wide opened, but distant and looking past her. His mouth planted firmly, square on her vagina. She smiled and caressed the hair on his head, but Pete still didn't move. She felt him from her middle. He felt warm. Comfortable. But there was something strange about him. Something spooky.

A tingle...

"Pete? ... Hey!" And she pushed him away from her, but felt a deep tug from underneath her belly. It didn't hurt her, but it felt odd. Something she'd never felt before. And her vagina seemed to be glued to him. Like a woodworker's glue. Transparent, but hard on the surface. And it was all over Pete's face and nose, and spilled over and hardened on her skin. Even on one of her thighs.

She stared, confused, for the longest time between her naked breasts. She looked down at him. The silence was overwhelming. Those eyes. They weren't there. He wasn't there!

She tried to sit up and lean against the headboard, pulling back, but again felt that internal tug, and on the outside where the glue met his face, it tugged at the hairs, pulling some. "Pete ... Pete wake up!" There was nothing from her man. He was quiet. He didn't blink. He didn't even breathe. She put her hand against his neck and felt his pulse. It was there! He was alive! But if he was alive then why didn't he answer?

And there was something else. A feeling. It was strange. Deep. Slow. As if something was happening insidiously. Inside her vagina. "What's happening!?"


"Ma-Shoo-Goo-Eee ... what are you up to?" "Hahahahahaha. I am up to nothing, sister." "What did you do to them?" "To who?" "To the woman! To who!?" "The woman. The man. I have done nothing to them but what they wanted. So cute he is. So lonely she is." "Ma! What have you done?" "I made them one." "What do you mean? What is this mischief?!" "I made them one, sister, and don't give me none of that." "How can you make them one?" "In the womb! You know this. It is the womb they want." "No! They want love."

"Ah ... He was not in love. She was not in love. They are now one. Go to them and see. Go see what magic I do. He is her son. And do not call me again, sister! ... hahahahaha ..."


"What's wrong with you? ... Please ... Please, Pete, wake up. Peter, wake up! Sweetie! ... Peter! ... Peter!"

It took a little over two days, but Peter died, and there was nothing she could have done to stop it. She lay there, in a weird kind of comfort and tingle, massaging her lover's hair, helplessly locked and unable. At least that's what Heather thought, that he was dead. The thing she had inside of him receded, and the gum let go. He took on a look of pale. The same look as the one he had when she first saw him in the break room, and he lost his pulse ever so slowly. Now his body was dead. A cold shell. She ran to see the lady again frenzied, but was told she was gone. And that she'd never be back again.

And then nine months later Heather had a diminutive.